This delightful comedy would be a joy in black-and-white. In Technicolor it's a real treat. The vividly English landscapes are used imaginatively to augment the appeal of the trains themselves. Color is drawn upon inventively to set the moods for various scenes and to cast a wonderful spell of romance, of firmly delineated villains and purest-motived heroes in a classic tale of St George versus the dragon.
T.E.B. Clarke's wittily observed, richly characterized script offers a wonderfully unlikely St George in the local vicar. His squire is the young squire himself, his champion a friendly bishop. The dragons are the local bus proprietors. Very fitting. I love trains, hate buses. Any movie that toes this line is going to get 100% of my vote anyway.
But, additionally, the acting here is so winning, so endearing, so priceless. Not a single player is out of step. All have their opportunities even Naunton Wayne (in a more or less straight role) and Sid James (as a heavy) and all make the most of them. It's good to see George Relph (a noted actor on stage, Relph made only 14 movies between 1916 and 1959) in the leading role, though Stanley Holloway's fans may be a bit disappointed to find his contribution is comparatively small and lines up as more of a character part than that of a clown. Nonetheless, he does make the most of some delightfully amusing lines and bits of business and does share some glorious moments of inspired slapstick with Hugh Griffith (even if topped by Wensley Pithey's breathless recital of their collective misdemeanors).
Producer Michael Truman and director Charles Crichton have obviously made a considerable effort to cast Clarke's wonderful parade of village types with just the right players. Gabrielle Brune, hardly a household name (she made only 21 films between 1930 and 1972, mostly in very small roles) seems ideal as the local hostelry's sympathetic barmaid. Similarly, television actor John Rudling (who made only five films of which this is the third), delivers some of the script's most telling lines with exactly the right tone of brusque officiousness. Of course, people like Reginald Beckwith as the stumped union man and Michael Trubshawe as the "I was about to add" public servant play much their usual characters. But they do it so well and with such precision, who's complaining? Crichton's direction rates as beautifully paced and deftly assured as ever, whilst Slocombe's wondrous photography comes over so pleasingly you really need to see the movie three or four times to appreciate its richness. Auric's score is a crowd-pleaser too, whilst Seth Holt's editing seems as polished as spun gold.
Produced on an admirably lavish budget, The Titfield Thunderbolt can be summed up as one of the most brilliant, enduring gems of British comedy. A must for train buffs of course. But equally a superb entertainment for all of us who like to see individuals win against bureaucracy, underdogs defeat "progress".
T.E.B. Clarke's wittily observed, richly characterized script offers a wonderfully unlikely St George in the local vicar. His squire is the young squire himself, his champion a friendly bishop. The dragons are the local bus proprietors. Very fitting. I love trains, hate buses. Any movie that toes this line is going to get 100% of my vote anyway.
But, additionally, the acting here is so winning, so endearing, so priceless. Not a single player is out of step. All have their opportunities even Naunton Wayne (in a more or less straight role) and Sid James (as a heavy) and all make the most of them. It's good to see George Relph (a noted actor on stage, Relph made only 14 movies between 1916 and 1959) in the leading role, though Stanley Holloway's fans may be a bit disappointed to find his contribution is comparatively small and lines up as more of a character part than that of a clown. Nonetheless, he does make the most of some delightfully amusing lines and bits of business and does share some glorious moments of inspired slapstick with Hugh Griffith (even if topped by Wensley Pithey's breathless recital of their collective misdemeanors).
Producer Michael Truman and director Charles Crichton have obviously made a considerable effort to cast Clarke's wonderful parade of village types with just the right players. Gabrielle Brune, hardly a household name (she made only 21 films between 1930 and 1972, mostly in very small roles) seems ideal as the local hostelry's sympathetic barmaid. Similarly, television actor John Rudling (who made only five films of which this is the third), delivers some of the script's most telling lines with exactly the right tone of brusque officiousness. Of course, people like Reginald Beckwith as the stumped union man and Michael Trubshawe as the "I was about to add" public servant play much their usual characters. But they do it so well and with such precision, who's complaining? Crichton's direction rates as beautifully paced and deftly assured as ever, whilst Slocombe's wondrous photography comes over so pleasingly you really need to see the movie three or four times to appreciate its richness. Auric's score is a crowd-pleaser too, whilst Seth Holt's editing seems as polished as spun gold.
Produced on an admirably lavish budget, The Titfield Thunderbolt can be summed up as one of the most brilliant, enduring gems of British comedy. A must for train buffs of course. But equally a superb entertainment for all of us who like to see individuals win against bureaucracy, underdogs defeat "progress".