An amiable but strictly routine detective potboiler, Penny and the Pownall Case is a good example of the kind of film made specifically as a double-bill supporting feature, as indicated by the 47-minute running time and the rock-bottom budget. Shot in five weeks by independent company Highbury Productions, it was the only film directed by Harry 'Slim' Hand, who had previously worked as a sound recordist and production manager. However, it deserves some passing attention, partly for the presence of future stars in very early roles, but mostly for the time-capsule image of late 1940s Britain, with its references to postwar food rationing ("You're worse than the Food Office!" complains Penny when asked to fill out a form), the use of the now obsolete teletype for conveying messages at speed, and the highly topical issue of Nazi war criminals attempting to flee Europe. Fans of Doctor Who (BBC, 1963-89; 2005-) will be particularly intrigued to see an old-fashioned police box being used for its proper purpose during the climactic chase. Penny herself is clearly inspired by Jane, the hugely successful comic-strip heroine created by Norman Pett for the Daily Mirror in 1932, which became particularly popular as a morale-booster during World War II, both in its original form and as a stage play. There was also a film, The Adventures of Jane (d. Edward G. Whiting, 1949), starring Christobel Leighton-Porter, the model who posed for the character just as Penny does in this film. Both Jane and Penny are seen in a wide variety of outfits, and are just as frequently caught in a state of semi-undress, though always strictly within the bounds of the late 1940s censorship code. Peggy Evans is appealing enough in the title role, and Ralph Michael makes an effective foil as male lead Inspector Carson, but the acting honours are mostly taken by Christopher Lee in what was his first significant screen role. His subsequent career makes his character's sinister secret less of a surprise than the makers presumably intended, but his peculiar brand of devilish charm is clearly visible even in embryonic form. Diana Dors was yet to become a platinum blonde, and the secretary Molly is deliberately dowdy, to strike a contrast with the glamorous Penny - though Hand nonetheless stages a shamelessly gratuitous bedroom wrestling match between both women, clad only in damp pyjamas. Michael Brooke
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