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I saw this film in when it was premiered in the valley where it was filmed. Having already read the book, I had high hopes that the film would be a faithful rendering of the story. And whilst it did indeed draw out the main narrative, to have been wholly faithful to Owen Sheers' novel, the film would have been several days long!

The film is more of an essay on a fictional invasion of a country and its impact on a tiny population - both the occupiers and the occupied. It offers a glimpse into what it might have been like for those whose country was lost to the enemy, and the effect this had on their relatively sheltered lives, quietly farming in a remote valley in the Welsh borders. Equally, it's a study of how a small group of the invading force reconciles their actions - after fighting a bloody war, to win what exactly?

The poor reviews of this film, I think, come from a perspective where the viewer was expecting - perhaps hoping for - more bullets and bombs, and nasty Nazis meting out outrageous torture on an innocent population. If so, I can see why they would be disappointed. There's none of that here. It is instead a gentle exploration of love and loyalty, abandonment and escape. It is about people's fears. Ultimately, it is about how much we are prepared to resist in order to maintain our humanity towards one another.

Some films defy conventional standards of quality. The Crucible of Fear is one of them - a low-budget British horror oddity from 1971 that stumbles, snarls, and swaggers its way into cult greatness. It's so bad it's brilliant - and it knows it. This is not a film to be judged by the slick, soulless standards of modern horror. No, this is pure '70s schlock, served with a straight face and a knowing wink.

This era of horror never took itself too seriously - and that was precisely its strength. Unlike today's over-analysed, over-stylised offerings, films like The Crucible of Fear were intended to be a bit of fun, a bit of fright, and perfect late-night viewing for anyone with a whisky in one hand and a half-smirk on their face. Today's audiences - obsessed with trauma arcs, social subtext, and hidden meanings - would do well to remember that sometimes a creepy woman in a crumbling house is just that. And nothing more.

That said, there are some surprisingly strong performances in this cinematic curio. James Bolam and Ronald Lacey bring a kind of bemused gravitas to the madness, while Mary Maud glides through her scenes with the right blend of beauty and poise. But the true standout is Betty Alberge as Dorothy - the film's mad matriarch, whose glassy stare and off-kilter delivery generate genuine chills. It's the kind of performance that stays with you long after the credits roll, as you start wondering if your gran might be hiding a sick passion for soft toys.

What truly elevates The Crucible of Fear is its location. Shot in and around a rugged Cornish tin mine, the film wrings an eerie atmosphere from the sea-lashed cliffs and claustrophobic tunnels. There's a jaggedness to the setting that echoes the fractured psychology of the plot. Yes, it's a ramshackle narrative, held together with the cinematic equivalent of gaffer tape - but it has mood and menace in spades.

And yes, the budget was clearly pocket change - but that's part of its charm. The cheap sets, grainy visuals, and eerie silences create a texture that's far more unsettling than any amount of CGI gore. You believe this world in a way that today's overly polished horrors rarely allow.

To compare The Crucible of Fear with contemporary horror is to miss the point entirely. These films weren't meant to be flawless - they were meant to be experienced. With a pint. Or a spliff. Or both. Preferably at midnight.

So here's the bottom line: stop dissecting these films as if they're Bergman. They weren't made to be profound, artistic, or even especially coherent. They were made to make you jump, grin, and possibly spill your tea. The Crucible of Fear isn't a masterpiece - and that's exactly why it still works.

"A Call to Spy" is a film that attempts to pay tribute to the real-life female spies who risked their lives during World War II, focusing on three women who played vital roles in the Special Operations Executive (SOE). While the film's intentions are commendable, aiming to shed light on the often-overlooked contributions of women in wartime espionage, its execution falls short in various aspects that detract from the authenticity and impact of the story it seeks to tell.

One of the most glaring issues is the portrayal of London. The buildings and architecture meant to represent the wartime British capital were unmistakably American. The discrepancy between the setting and reality is jarring for viewers familiar with London, particularly those who appreciate historical accuracy. The streets and structures, rather than evoking the grim and austere atmosphere of a city under siege during the Blitz, look as if they belong in a completely different part of the world. This is a fundamental flaw in a film that purports to be a historical drama, as the setting is crucial in immersing the audience in the time period.

Adding to this incongruity, the vehicles used in the film further highlight the lack of attention to detail. The cars, with their white-walled tyres, are typical of mid-20th-century America, not wartime Britain. During the war, petrol was rationed, and car tyres were subject to wear and tear due to limited resources, meaning that white-walled tyres would have been a rare sight, if seen at all, on British roads at the time. This choice reflects a broader issue within the film: a tendency to opt for what might look aesthetically pleasing to a modern audience rather than what would be historically accurate. In a film centred around real events, this decision undermines the credibility of the story being told.

Moreover, the lighting used throughout the film is another aspect where authenticity is sacrificed. The bright, Hollywood-style sunshine that bathes the streets of "London" is far removed from the reality of wartime Britain. London, known for its often grey and overcast weather, would have been even gloomier during the war, with blackout conditions in place to prevent enemy aircraft from spotting targets at night. The perpetual sunshine depicted in the film feels artificial and out of place, stripping away the sense of foreboding and tension that should accompany a story set during one of the darkest periods in modern history. It's as if the filmmakers chose to romanticise the visuals, prioritising aesthetic appeal over the atmospheric accuracy that is so vital in a war drama.

A further point of contention is the portrayal of the lead female character's English accent. Rather than delivering a nuanced and believable performance, the actress's accent comes across as cliched, bordering on the comedic. It's as if the filmmakers relied on a stereotypical "posh" British accent that might satisfy a foreign audience's expectations, but fails to capture the diversity and regionalism of British speech, especially during the 1940s. This portrayal diminishes the character's believability and, by extension, the film's overall authenticity. A film that deals with such serious subject matter should not fall into the trap of leaning on cultural stereotypes, as it risks trivialising the experiences of the real women whose stories it is meant to honour.

The accumulation of these inaccuracies-the Americanised London setting, the anachronistic cars, the unrealistic lighting, and the exaggerated accent-results in a film that feels disjointed and inauthentic from the outset. For a story rooted in the real and harrowing experiences of women spies during World War II, these flaws are significant. Authenticity in historical films is not just about getting the details right for the sake of pedantry; it's about respecting the truth of the stories being told. By failing to recreate the environment and atmosphere of wartime Europe accurately, "A Call to Spy" does a disservice to its subject matter.

In conclusion, while "A Call to Spy" may have been created with good intentions, its execution leaves much to be desired. If the filmmakers had placed a greater emphasis on historical accuracy and authenticity, the film could have been a powerful tribute to the bravery of female spies during World War II. Instead, the numerous inaccuracies and oversights undermine the film's impact, making it difficult for the audience to fully engage with and appreciate the story. In a genre where the stakes are as high as they are in war dramas, authenticity is not just a preference; it's a necessity.