Lunch Hour

Lunch Hour is an early '60s hidden British gem; an overlooked work of cinematic art.

This phenomenal piece of British cinematic art is like a time-capsule of the pre-swinging London early 1960s, and shoots straight to the top of one of my all-time favourite motion pictures, without thinking too deeply, up there with the likes of Casablanca, Singing in the Rain, Black Narcissus, The Red Shoes and Persona.

The cinematography not only captures London superbly, but the lighting reflects Shirley Anne Field's every nuance and inner emotion perfectly. Her performance is sensitive and sensual. Apparently, she really enjoyed making this piece, with a small and tight-knit crew getting it in the can in just 4 weeks. In the movie, the "man", played by Robert Stephens asks her how old she is (after being promoted by Shirley, who is simply "girl"), and she replies that she's 24 - which was her real age as it happened. Not a coincidence, really, because the entire film and script fits the players like a glove.

This is New Wave British cinema at its best, with restrained, unobtrusive camera work which just always seems to capture the action flawlessly in frame - in this respect, equalling the best of European cinema. Without going back and analysing every shot, I don't recall a single zoom shot - thank goodness.

What I don't understand is how Talking Pictures TV and non-other than the BFI list the picture as a comedy. It's first rate drama that probes the usually hidden and dark inner workings of relationships, yes, peppered with comedic elements for sure - just like as in real life. But the film is saying something timeless and the direction never plays just for laughs, and is a profound social document of the early 1960s, avoiding the typical British "beat generation" cliches and prefiguring the hippy generation. It's hard to release that Beatlemania was still off in the future when the film was being made, and were still under contract playing in Hamburg.

Having scanned through some reviews here on IMDb and print reviews, I'm amazed that some feel it is "very dated" and there is a lot of ambivalence toward the plot twist that reveals itself in the second half. Maybe it's because a younger generation find it impossible to identify with British life in the 1950s and '60s. That is not the fault of the film, but it may indicate that today's youth are more out of touch with the past than might be imagined.

Of course with a run-time of just over 60 minutes, it had general release challenges. It's not a B picture, and to bill it as such is to sideline the massive artistic talent that comes alive on screen. It has it's place in art-house cinemas, and I'm going to wild-guess that it was shown a the Curzon when first released.

It is interesting to compare "Interlude", a main stream 1968 British film with an almost identical plot line to "Lunch Hour". Oh boy, what a lot can happen in the six year interval between the two (unrelated) films and society in general! Despite garnering a BAFTA award and featuring Oskar Werner in the male lead, (who ironically appeared in Truaffaut's French New Wave, "Jules et Jim"), "Interlude" falls down heavily and is stylistically quite dated in comparison to this much overlooked black and white early '60s hidden British gem, "Lunch Hour", which still has a fresh crispness that I believe future generations will learn to appreciate and value. Truly, an overlooked work of cinematic art.

Rating: 10/10 John E. Ruffle, January 14, 2019. 585 words.

Bryanston Films were responsible for numerous highly underrated British b-movies of the late 50s/early 60s and this one, at barely an hour in length, is up there with the best. The narrative is simple - a young salesman (Robert Stephens) in a wallpaper manufacturer, trapped in a seemingly loveless marriage, meets and is instantly attracted to a newly employed designer (Shirley-Anne Field) at the works. They want to get to know one another better but privacy is hard to find. So he books a room at a nearby private hotel for an hour one lunchtime....and there the fun (though not the way he intended) begins.

There are two ways of looking at what happens next - either she is, in reality, somewhat unhinged and her subsequent actions are the outpourings of a hysterical individual or, and I prefer this interpretation, she cleverly turns his (white) lies around, deciding that she is worth rather more than the occasional lunch hour fling.

Either way, the conclusion, with him, visibly rattled, returning to his desk whilst she, yards away, continues as nothing has happened is rather chilling.

Field is excellent throughout this film and it's not hard to see why she attracts most every male she encounters in her job. Stephens also excels as the naive, rather gauche individual who, whichever way you look at it, completely misreads the situation.

Definitely worth looking out for with the bonus of some great location shots and a very poignant soundtrack.

To be honest, I don't quite know what to make of this. The meaning of the late plot twist I think becomes quite clear in the last scene with the expression on Shirley Anne Field's face. However with a great cast, great direction and photography, I wondered if the story really merits the super treatment granted to it. The scene where male management jostle each other in their anxiety to impress the young women staff (with Nigel Davenport perfect) is as well covered as it is a near-universal phenomenon.

But rather than make it a subject for wit or drama as it might have been on the Continent - and the affair at least satisfactorily consummated, John (of Rumpole fame) Mortimer's intention is obscure. The earlier part has its witty moments and nice little comic cameos but Mortimer seems determined to ensure that nobody, fictional characters or audience alike, derives much joy from the rest of it. The story and screenplay perhaps were more suited to television - the series Tales of Mystery and Imagination for example. Well worth seeing however for a luminous record of a young Shirley Anne Field, the late-great Robert Stephens, other performances and London in 1961. Significant that a film with such good ingredients received not a single award. A shame that nobody got John Mortimer to re-write the script, presumably nobody dared?

Grateful that Talking Pictures screened it.

The distinguished writer John Mortimer concocted this very, very British romantic drama, a bittersweet tale of what was later known as a "nooner" - clandestine sexual tryst during one's lunch hour away from work. Casting international stars Shirley Ann Field and Robert Stephens results in a classic.

Director James Hill (who directed Mortimer's Peter Sellers comedy "Trial and Error" and later hit paydirt with "Born Free') adopts a deceptively minimalist style that pinpoints the most wonderful little details of the story, many quite memorable incidents. There's the couple attending an Itaiain movie, we only hear the exaggerated, loud Italian dialogue while Stephens only wants to neck (not looking at the picture at all); Kay Walsh scene stealing to her heart's content as manageress of a hotel where Stephens has booked a room for an hour only; a fantasy scene with Auntie (a terrific turn by Hazel Hughes as a meanie); and a cameo by Nigel Davenport as the personnel office's fussy (and perhaps lascivious) man fawning a bit over new employee Shirley.

Right from the abstract opening sequence of railroad tracks crossing in patterns, Hill conjures up some amazing fantasy counterpoint to the realistic events of meeting and getting to know each other, before the romance goes completely off the tracks. Robert's tall tales get him into trouble and we get to see a fantasy world (realistically shot, however) of Shirley becoming his oppressed wife with two kids, all foisted on her by his quite chauvinist imagination.

Unlike the often American-financed and so successful British pictures of this period, this barely hour-long feature was never released in America , and stands for me alongside "Four in the Morning" and other local classics to be appreciated as an outgrowth of the '50s Anderson/Reisz sort of free cinema, not aping the output of Continental Europe or the U. S.

This is the sort of charming little film about the innocence of young love that couldn't be made today without copious love scenes to lure the 'punters' in.

It's also the type of film that nobody ever sees unless, like me, you scour the TV listings for obscure items and curios that are normally shown in the early hours of the morning, as this was, when the sort of innocent people that are portrayed in this film (if they still exist) are tucked up in bed and have been asleep for a good few hours.

This is the story of a young man and woman (Robert Stephens and Shirley Anne Field) who meet at the factory where they work and fall in love. Stephens plays an executive which is a job title that clearly flatters his position and Field plays an artist who having recently left art school paints flowers seemingly all day.

The short time they spend alone together is during lunch hours where they are constantly frustrated in their attempts to have a kiss and a cuddle. Stephens' character attempts to solve this problem by booking a hotel room and attempting to avoid suspicion by telling the landlady an assortment of lies. These include Field being his wife who has come down from the North with the kids (who will be looked after by an imaginary aunt) to discuss something very important.

Why he didn't book the same hotel room and use it overnight so they can really get down to the business at hand is never explained.

This is where the film goes really weird and Field's character starts to imagine the whole lie is actually true and visualises having to dealing with noisy crying kids and all the hassle that goes with it. Maybe this is her scary vision of the pressures of marriage and motherhood that will arise if she hangs around this executive chap much longer. Whatever the reason she comes across as an unhinged psycho who Stephens would do well to steer clear of.

It seems such a shame that Field's character goes from a lovely girl with whom any young man would want to spend their lunch hour to a hallucinating crackpot who probably belongs in a straitjacket. Then again you never truly know your beloved until you have spent an hour together in a grubby little hotel room.