Ealing Comedy #1 : Hue and Cry (Charles Crichton, 1947)

I’ve recently announced that I was starting a new blog series exploring the Ealing comedies, films produced by Ealing Studios in London from the late 40s to the late 50s!

I’m officially kicking things off with what is often considered to be the first one of that, let’s not forget it, unofficial series: Hue and Cry (Charles Crichton, 1947). Despite being part of the series, I must admit it modestly introduced it. Despite its lighthearted spirit and despite being directed by Charles Crichton, it is not necessarily the most comedic of comedies. Compared to other Ealing comedies I had previously seen, it is not necessarily a solid start to this series. However, it still has its qualities and remains a product that can encourage many reflections. It also provokes a potent nostalgia, regardless of when you were born.

Set in post-war London, Hue and Cry could be qualified as a comedic thriller leaded by teenagers. The story revolves around young Joe Kirby (Harry Fowler) who discover how a gang of crooks communicates through codes sent via hacked comic stripes. Helped by his friends, he will try to stop them.

The premise of the film is impressively creative. On that level, Hue and Cry deserves many points. It lacked a few comedic aspects to be both a clever film and a clever comedy. The parts that genuinely made me laugh were rare. But the film doesn’t pretend to be what it’s not, which is its strength. The one who mainly serves as a comic element would be Alastair Sim, who was then a well-established actor. He plays the author of the stripes, a man with no false pretences. He is happy to share a moment with an avid reader but reticent when the latter tells him the reason for his visit. He’s a man of high spirits and, overall, an eccentric that seems to be fun to have around. And let’s not forget Dick the dictaphone. That, despite not being much, did make me laugh. Unfortunately, despite his highly appreciated presence, Sim only has a little screen time. However, he inevitably steals the show in his scenes and proves his admirable ease in front of the camera while the other performers’ acting seems a bit more calculated.

Hue and Cry has this feeling of nostalgia that I mentioned before because it takes us right back to childhood in a very endearing way. Who hasn’t had this very ambitious mind of solving a mystery when they were young? No? If not, well, you were boring. I remember, with friends or cousins, we would find a problem where there wasn’t any and then try to solve it (although there was nothing to solve). That was the power of imagination. Despite being adults now, I’m sure some of you fondly look back at those memories. However, in the case of Joe and his pals, it goes next level as that ambition of discovering criminal activities revolves around something that is indeed happening. It wasn’t just a dream, folks). Therefore, it takes them on a perilous path. They are literally doing some adult job.

Could the post-war context have forged these young minds’ spirit and strength of character? By looking at the setting of bombed buildings, it’s easy to guess that these children previously lived a rough time in London. Leaving the war probably creates mindsets where they are accustomed to seeing danger quickly. You combine that and overall children’s imagination, and you get the result of Joe’s hypothesis and what he discovers while reading the stripes.

Ok, I agree with you. All these reflections sound like this film is a real downer. It’s not as it is presented with a family picture vibe. However, it will be lying to say that there’s no tragedy to it at all. Let’s keep in mind that the Ealing comedies didn’t necessarily use a type of comedy that was thrown in your face. Think of Kind Hearts and Coronets (Robert Hamer, 1949), a dark comedy displayed in the most sophisticated manner.

On its release, Hue and Cry was a commercial success in England. Although it is not necessarily as remembered today as other Ealing comedies, it reflects what Mark Duguid wrote about those films for BFI Screen Online. He describes them as “cheery celebrations of English community spirit and mild eccentricity.”¹ It’s that “community spirit” that is particularly noticeable in Crichton film and something we’ll find again two years later in Passport to Pimlico (Henry Cornelius, 1949).

I invite you to watch the trailer for a more visual preview of that film.