Hell Is Sold Out (1951)

In 1945, successful writer Dominic Danges (Herbert Lom) returns home after the war, just to find a book called 'Hell is Sold Out' on the shelves - but he did not write this novel. In his house, he meets Valerie Martyn (Mai Zetterling) who has moved in. Since he was believed dead, she wrote the novel 'for him' and posed as his wife. He calls her a cheat and wants her to leave immediately, but unfortunately, 'Hell is Sold Out' becomes Danges' most successful novel, so the publisher wants the unmarried couple to stay together and continue the masquerade. When Valerie falls in love with Dominic's best friend Pierre (Richard Attenborough), this becomes complicated...There are two possibilities to turn such a story into a movie. Either you make it a comedy, putting the characters into hilarious situations. Or you create a drama, focusing on jealousy and intrigue. This movie, however, could apparently not decide which way to go for. Thus it became too slow for a comedy, but did not set up convincing dramatic conflicts either.

In the days when this film was made the premise of taking over someone else's identity was looked on as a source of comedy.Nowdays it is looked on as a major source of crime.It would no doubt have been made rather differently and one hopes rather more entertainingly.The whole basis of this film seems rather rocky.Lom comes back from the war and finds he has "written" a novel.Whereas Zetterling has taken over his identity.Lom tells her to get out but she doesn't.Attenborough,playing a rather redundant character,falls in love with her.In the meantime Lom rather changes his mind and opts for Zetterling becoming his wife.Quite frankly the plot sounds as soppy as it sounds.Definitely not one of Lom or Attenborough's better films.

One of those films that dealt - perhaps neither deliberately nor directly - with sorting out the muddle of war, and so a very distant relation of The Return of Martin Guerre as much as The Captive Heart. It was Lom's attempt at playing a romantic hero, and it didn't come off; he's too saturnine and grumpy. But artistically this has an upside, as it leaves us unsure whether the heroine will go for him or the more puppy-like, and more British, Attenborough. Alas, it all needs the Lubitsch touch, or at least the Michael Powell one; instead, it's wobbly in tone, shuffling between romance, comedy, farce and the odd echo of the war (Attenborough has blackouts caused by shrapnel in his head), along with some lame satire of Americans. It isn't bad - and it looks great, with high-contrast mono photography - but it isn't very good either.

Although Dickie Attenborough was developing as an actor at this stage in his career, he was relying on his friend, John Mills, to furnish him with roles. He plays a mediocre character in this film which makes me think that he is going sideways rather than progressing as an actor.