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From its arresting pre-credits sequence of a blazing 1953 Hillman Minx
Convertible hurtling over Beachy Head and the off-beat promise of Johnny
Gregory's minor key theme, Smokescreen is an utterly charming B-film
comedy-thriller that emphasises character as much as plot and makes full use of
extensive location footage. The standard British second feature crime setting -
a nightclub run by Cypriot/Maltese/Generally Swarthy types and populated by a
dozen underpaid extras - is mercifully absent, as is any hint of a low-budget
car chase. Filming at Brighton's tiny film studios allowed the narrative to
explore an England where men still wear collars and ties as a matter of course,
where Brighton Station still bears the 'Southern Railway' logo and where branch
line stationmasters bemoan the impact of the Beeching Report.
As a director, Jim O'Connelly may be best described as rudimentary, but his
screenplay encompasses fascinating period detail, from our hero Mr Roper, ace
insurance investigator (and expense account fiddler) informing his boss that
"the pips have gone" on a public telephone to the revelation that, in 1964,
chaps still addressed business acquaintances by their surnames. The principle
offender here is Gerald Flood's spectacularly slimy villain, played as a form of
provincial Terry-Thomas who favours cardigans and Hillman Super-Minxes.
Meanwhile John Carson, the future voice of Hamlet Cigars, visibly relishes the
chance to escape playing Detective Inspectors in favour of Roper's
not-terribly-bright sidekick. In fact, the entire cast offers excellent value,
from Sam Kydd's cynical hotel waiter to Derek Guyler's lugubrious station master
and John Glyn Jones' irascible insurance manager. There is also Yvonne Romain as
a possibly duplicitous widow, Penny Morrell's flighty secretary and Glyn Edwards
as a phlegmatic Detective Inspector.
But what really elevates Smokescreen above the morass of British B-films is
Peter Vaughan's lead performance (demonstrating the way second features could
offer middle-aged character actors opportunities they were denied elsewhere). Mr
Roper is one of 1960s British cinema's more memorable heroes, a dogged
individual whose dedicated parsimony runs parallel to a sharp wit and, in
Vaughan's beautifully understated performance, a man whose eccentricity hides a
personal tragedy. The scene where he confronts the doctor who wishes to remove a
mortally ill Mrs Roper to a nursing home best highlights the film's appeal. The
set may be cheap and the shooting schedule limited, but the entertainment value
is far greater than many an over-inflated epic.
Andrew Roberts
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Monthly Film Bulletin review
