Home at Seven

It's not uncommon for actors to direct themselves in films but many do it only once, perhaps because they believe in a project, either as vehicle for themselves or just as a vehicle worth bringing to the screen. In 1952 Ralph Richardson felt the need to direct a film of R. C. Sherriff's play "Home at Seven" casting himself as the bank clerk who has a 24 hour memory lapse and then finds himself inplicated in a murder.

It's a good plot and if Richardson handles it in a somewhat theatrical fashion he, at least, draws first-rate performances from his cast while he is outstanding as the clerk. After Olivier, I've always felt Richardson was the finest of the theatrical knights to make it in the movies and he doesn't disappoint here. It's a wonderful performance and Margaret Leighton and Jack Hawkins are just as good as his fretting wife and the doctor who tries to help him. The plot itself may be a little far-fetched but the treatment is excellent making this one of the best and certainly one of the most underrated British films of the period.

David Preston (Ralph Richardson) arrives home from work on Monday night just as he always does - or so he thinks. He's shaken when he learns that it's really Tuesday night and he cannot account for the last 24 hours. He's doubly troubled to learn that a man he didn't care for was murdered and a witness swears that Preston was the last person seen talking to the man. Can Preston rediscover the lost day and clear his name?

Overall, Murder on Monday (or Home at Seven) is a delightful little film. I enjoyed almost every second. There are two things I can point to that make this film stand out - the acting and the writing. Richardson is perfect as the man trying to discover what's happened to him. You can see the confusion etched across his face. He's joined by the lovely Margaret Leighton as his wife, Janet. I can't explain how much I enjoyed her performance. From the fretting over her husband to the joy she expresses when there appears to be some good news, she's divine. Together, the pair make the perfect on-screen couple. The scene where Preston, over tea and toast, tries to tell Janet how to carry on if something should happen to him is a great example of their on-screen chemistry. They are ably joined by Jack Hawkins, Campbell Singer, and Meriel Forbes in supporting roles. As for the writing, well, I've already used this word, but Anatole de Grumwald's screenplay is simply delightful. The story was intriguing and suspenseful enough that it held my attention throughout. The little pieces of the mystery that point to Preston's guilt unfold nicely. And the solution to the mystery wasn't so far-fetched that I couldn't buy into it. It's a solid piece of writing.

Not only did he star, but this the sole directing credit from Richardson's long career. I'm really shocked because I thought he did a fantastic job. Murder on Monday could easily feel "stagey", but Richardson kept things moving at a nice pace. I never once got that claustrophobic feeling you can get from such a small set. And the movie looks amazing. I was so impressed with little things like some of the shots through windows out to the street. Nice stuff.

8/10

"Home at Seven " (aka, Murder on Monday) is a smashingly good mystery drama. This is such a different plot, that I don't want to take away the surprise of the film by even doing a review with spoilers. I suspect that those who enjoy very good mysteries would not want even an inkling of how this story plays out. Others may want to read another review that has spoilers or reveals some of the details.

But for my contribution here, I'll just say that this is a superb British mystery drama with a cast that includes some of England's best actors of the time. Besides starring as David Preston, Ralph Richardson directed this wonderful film. It was his only such venture behind the camera. Margaret Leighton is his wife, Janet. Jack Hawkins plays Dr. Sparling, Michael Shepley is Major Watson, Meriel Forbes is Peggy Dobson, and Campbell Singer is Inspector Hemingway.

This is a fine film that shows superb acting in dramas sans police chases, running from the law, hiding out, and other actions. The film is based on a play by the title, "Home at Seven," by R. C. Sherriff.

The film is a good reminder that a lie usually leads to misery for the one who tells it. Or, put more poignantly, the truth never hurts anyone.

Ralph Richardson stars (he also directs) as a man with a problem. He comes home from work one Monday night and finds his wife (Margaret Leighton) in a tizzy. It seems it's actually Tuesday and he's been missing for more than 24 hours. As the plot unfolds, we also learn that funds from a social club he's in are missing and that the bookkeeper has been killed. Hmmm. Richardson has a memory blackout and cannot account for his actions.

Luckily in 1952, we were a kinder world (at least in the movies) and a kindly physician (Jack Hawkins) patiently helps him remember events. An equally patient and kind police inspector (Campbell Singer) also helps him sift through the facts and clues. Amid all this patience, his neighbor and club president (Michael Shepley) is only too glad to jump to conclusions. But patient wife Leighton remains staunch.

As the mystery is unraveled, we find that Richardson is not exactly the man we all thought he was, but that he, like all of us, has a few secrets. Late in the film, Meriel Forbes as Peggy arrives on the doorstep and reveals a few things about Richardson. She also steals the film.

This truly enjoyable film portrays the frustrations of a mild mannered clerk embroiled in a mystery that has occurred outside of his memory. Most entertaining is Ralph Richardson, perfectly cast a the staid, banker living a life of ritualistic routine that has been turned upside down. He has that natural gift of absolute clear speech - even in the most dramatic moments and is a pleasure to watch. His reparte with the investigating inspector is most engaging. To bad this movie is unavailable on video.