Fletch Gets Out. Getting Back In Is the Tricky Bit. For its landmark 200th episode, Reel Britannia is heading behind bars for Porridge – The Movie, the 1979 big-screen outing for one of Britain's best-loved television comedies. Ronnie Barker returns as the wily Norman Stanley Fletcher, still doing his best to serve his sentence with the minimum possible effort. Alongside him is Richard Beckinsale as the good-natured Lennie Godber, while Fulton Mackay's fearsome Mr Mackay and Brian Wilde's endlessly flustered Mr Barrowclough attempt to maintain something vaguely resembling order at Slade Prison. Peter Vaughan also appears as the quietly terrifying Harry "Grouty" Grout. When Fletcher is persuaded to help organise a football match between the prisoners and a celebrity team, he naturally suspects that something is amiss. Before long, he and Godber are caught up in an escape plan that leaves them facing an unusual problem: not how to get out of prison, but how to get back in before anyone notices. Directed by Dick Clement and written by Clement with Ian La Frenais, the film retains the warmth, sharp dialogue and beautifully observed characters of the original series. It is also one of those rare British sitcom spin-offs that feels like a proper film rather than an extended episode with a slightly larger catering budget. Join the Reel Britannia team as they celebrate episode 200 in their familiar warm, conversational and lightly irreverent style.   This episode and the complete Reel Britannia back catalogue are available wherever you download your podcasts and at: https://directory.libsyn.com/shows/view/id/reelbritannia   Follow the podcast on X at @rbritanniapod. Special bonus episodes are also available through the Reel Britannia Patreon, where your support unlocks even more British film discussion.   #Porridge #PorridgeTheMovie #RonnieBarker #RichardBeckinsale #FultonMackay #BrianWilde #BritishComedy #BritishCinema #ReelBritannia #Podcast #Episode200

When the crooks and the coppers join forces, London's criminal underworld is in very confused hands. For Episode 199, Reel Britannia slips into the sharply dressed, cheerfully crooked world of The Wrong Arm of the Law, a 1963 British crime comedy in which the nation's criminals discover that even dishonesty was better organised in the old days. Peter Sellers stars as Pearly Gates, a suave London gang boss who divides his time between running a fashion house and supervising a criminal organisation with the efficiency of a suburban business. His employees may be thieves, but they enjoy paid holidays, luncheon vouchers and a surprisingly enlightened approach to staff welfare. Crime, it seems, was never so civilised. Trouble arrives when a gang of Australian crooks begins impersonating police officers and helping themselves to the proceeds of other people's robberies. This is regarded as extremely poor form. With both Scotland Yard and the London underworld irritated, Pearly finds himself entering into an unusual alliance with Inspector "Nosey" Parker, played with glorious bluster by Lionel Jeffries. Directed by Cliff Owen and written by a team that includes Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, the film surrounds Sellers with a marvellous collection of familiar British faces. Bernard Cribbins brings nervous energy to Pearly's reluctant associate O'Toole, while John Le Mesurier appears with the beautifully weary air of a man who has already filled in far too many forms. The Wrong Arm of the Law is a breezy caper filled with bungling crooks, pompous policemen, double-crosses and a reassuring amount of London location work. It belongs to that wonderful strain of British comedy in which authority is treated with suspicion, crime is conducted by committee, and nobody appears capable of organising anything without first stopping for tea. Join us for Episode 199 of Reel Britannia, as we revisit a British battle between law and disorder — with just a hint of professionalism.   All episodes available on your favourite podcast catcher      Head over to Patreon for special bonus episodes    Follow us on X @rbritanniapod

Hammer opens the door to a nightmare where every shadow has a secret. For the latest episode of Reel Britannia, we step into the chilly corridors and troubled dreams of Nightmare, Hammer's 1964 psychological thriller from director Freddie Francis and writer Jimmy Sangster. This is Hammer without the fangs, capes, castles, or buckets of Kensington Gore. Instead, it gives us something colder and more unsettling: a black-and-white tale of fear, memory, manipulation and madness, where the terror creeps in quietly and then refuses to leave. The story follows Janet, a young woman haunted by disturbing visions connected to her troubled family past. Sent home from school after a frightening episode, she returns to a grand country house where comfort, recovery and reassurance should be waiting. Naturally, this being Hammer, they are not. The house feels too still, the people around her seem a little too careful, and Janet's nightmares begin to blur horribly with waking life. With Jennie Linden, David Knight, Moira Redmond and Brenda Bruce leading the cast, Nightmare is a neat, sinister little puzzle box of a film. Freddie Francis brings his cinematographer's eye to every shadowy hallway and candlelit room, while Jimmy Sangster delivers one of those beautifully twisted Hammer scripts where nothing is quite as straightforward as it first appears. In this episode, we look at how Nightmare fits into Hammer's run of psychological thrillers alongside films such as Paranoiac, Maniac and Hysteria, and why these smaller, moodier pictures deserve just as much affection as the studio's better-known monster movies. We'll talk about its performances, its atmosphere, its clever structure, and that wonderful sense of 1960s British unease that Hammer did so well.   All episodes available on your favourite podcast catcher      Head over to Patreon for special bonus episodes    Follow us on X @rbritanniapod #ReelBritannia #HammerHorror #Nightmare1964 #BritishCinema #HammerFilms #FreddieFrancis #JimmySangster #ClassicHorror #BritishFilm #MoviePodcast

Episode 197 - The Tall Guy (1989) "What in the name of Judas Iscariot's bumboy is going on?"  Dexter King (Jeff Goldblum) is an awkward American actor stranded in London, suffering from severe hay fever and a chronic case of career stagnation. His day job consists of being repeatedly humiliated on stage as the hapless straight man to Ron Anderson (Rowan Atkinson), a spectacularly arrogant and insecure British comedian who wields his ego like a blunt instrument. Dexter's miserable existence takes a sharp upward turn when a trip to the clinic for allergy shots introduces him to Kate (Emma Thompson), a brisk, hyper-pragmatic nurse with a devastatingly dry wit. Naturally, Dexter is immediately smitten. What follows is a courtship that culminates in one of cinema's most gloriously destructive love scenes, where the sheer force of their pent-up, awkward passion obliterates an entire apartment, claiming a piano, a mattress, and several lamps as collateral damage. However, the path to happily-ever-after is rarely smooth. After finally snapping and getting fired by the tyrannical Ron, Dexter desperately auditions for the only gig available: the title role in Elephant!, a West End musical adaptation of The Elephant Man. It is a masterpiece of terrible taste, featuring upbeat tap numbers, grotesque latex prosthetics, and lyrics that rhyme "freak" with "eek." Just as Dexter is tap-dancing his way toward theatrical infamy, his newfound happiness with Kate is threatened by a misunderstanding and the predatory advances of his former boss, Ron. To win the girl back, Dexter must navigate the treacherous waters of opening night, outmaneuver a megalomaniac, and prove that underneath the giant, rubbery head of a Victorian medical curiosity beats the heart of a true romantic. It's a quintessential British rom-com, laced with absurdity, sharp theatrical satire, and a deeply relatable desire to punch your terrible boss in the face.   #reelbritannia #podcast #movie #britmovie #TheTallGuy #TheTallGuy1989 #JeffGoldblum #EmmaThompson #RowanAtkinson #BestSexSceneEver #ElephantTheMusical   All episodes available at: https://directory.libsyn.com/shows/view/id/reelbritannia Coming soon...our next episode:

Episode 196 - School For Scoundrels (1960) "Hard cheese old boy!" School for Scoundrels is one of those wonderfully sharp British comedies that takes something faintly ridiculous and plays it with a completely straight face, which of course makes it even funnier. Released in 1960, it follows Henry Palfrey, a polite, mild-mannered man who seems to be permanently stuck on the losing side of life. He is decent, respectable and reasonably successful on paper, yet somehow he always ends up second best, especially when faced with people who have more confidence, more nerve and rather fewer scruples. Chief among those people is Raymond Delauney, a sleek, smug and maddeningly self-assured rival who seems able to outmanoeuvre Henry at every turn. Whether it is in romance, social situations or the small but humiliating battles of everyday life, Delauney has the infuriating knack of always coming out on top. Henry, increasingly fed up with being the one left floundering, is drawn into the orbit of the mysterious Mr Potter and his remarkable College of Lifemanship, where the art of being "one-up" is treated with all the seriousness of a military campaign. From there, the film becomes a deliciously observed contest of manners, manipulation and social gamesmanship. What makes it so enjoyable is the way it turns ordinary middle-class anxieties into something almost heroic. A lunch, a conversation, a game of tennis or the purchase of a second-hand car suddenly become matters of strategy and survival. The humour is dry, knowing and beautifully played, with Ian Carmichael bringing warmth and sympathy to Henry's struggles, while Terry-Thomas is gloriously unbearable as the perfectly polished cad. Witty, elegant and just a little wicked, School for Scoundrels remains a classic British comedy because it understands an eternal truth: in a world full of bounders, bluffers and social bullies, good manners alone may not be enough.   Coming soon...our next episode:  

Episode 195 - Home At Seven (1952) He came home on time... a day too late. Home at Seven is a neatly unsettling British mystery that begins with one of the simplest ideas imaginable and turns it into something deeply unnerving. David Preston, a mild-mannered bank clerk, arrives home after work expecting an ordinary evening with his wife. Instead, he is met with shock, confusion and growing alarm, because as far as everyone else is concerned, he has not been gone for the day. He has been missing for over twenty-four hours. David is utterly baffled. To him, nothing is wrong. He left work, came home, and the clock seems to agree with him. But the people around him know otherwise, and the more questions they ask, the less certain everything becomes. His wife Janet is frightened and hurt, his friends are concerned, and before long the police are taking an interest as well. What begins as a strange domestic puzzle quickly deepens into something much darker when it becomes clear that David's missing hours may be connected to a serious crime. The great strength of the film lies in the way it builds tension from ordinary surroundings. This is not a flashy thriller full of car chases and melodrama. It is a quiet, close, nerve-jangling mystery played out in drawing rooms, offices and polite conversations that gradually become loaded with suspicion. The more David tries to understand what has happened, the more trapped he seems to become, and the film draws real unease from the idea that a respectable, routine life can suddenly tilt off balance. With strong performances, especially from Ralph Richardson and Margaret Leighton, Home at Seven creates a mood of creeping dread without ever overplaying its hand. It is a clever, intimate thriller about memory, identity and the terrifying possibility that a missing day might hold far more than anyone is prepared for.

Episode 194 - Go To Blazes (1962) "So many firms nowadays prefer conflagration to liquidation." If you are looking for a cracking way to spend eighty minutes, Go to Blazes is a proper hidden gem of British cinema. It has that pitch-perfect 1962 atmosphere—stylish, colourful, and just a touch rebellious. The plot is an absolute hoot: three ambitious but slightly dim-witted crooks decide the ultimate way to beat the London traffic after a smash-and-grab is to nick a literal fire engine. It is one of those "so barmy it just might work" ideas that keeps you smiling as you watch them navigate the sheer absurdity of their own scheme. What really makes the film stand out is its visual flair. The vibrant red of the fire engine against the backdrop of vintage London looks smashing in Technicolor, and the whole thing has a snappy, rhythmic energy. Dave King is top-notch as the group's leader, Bernard; he plays the part with a smooth, confident charm that makes you genuinely root for the lads to pull it off, even when things start going pear-shaped. Alongside Norman Rossington and Daniel Massey, the trio shares a natural, effortless chemistry that feels like a group of real mates getting in way over their heads. The humour is exactly what you want from a classic British comedy—sharp and dry, but never slow or stuffy. It is a breezy, lighthearted caper that does not try to be a heavy drama, and it is all the better for it. Between the jazzy soundtrack and the escalating chaos of the fire engine ruse, the film is just pure, unadulterated entertainment. It captures a sense of mischief and fun that feels completely timeless. It is a stylish, cheeky joyride that proves you do not need a massive budget to make a comedy that really hits the mark.

Taste Of Fear / Scream Of Fear (1961) "You say my mind is affecting my legs. You're wrong. It's my legs that are affecting my mind." Taste of Fear, released in 1961 and also known in some territories as Scream of Fear, is one of those wonderfully chilly British thrillers that shows just how much tension can be created without a drop of gore. Directed by Seth Holt for Hammer Films, it stands slightly apart from the studio's more famous horror output of the period. Instead of Gothic castles, vampires and lurid supernatural shocks, this is a sleek, sinister psychological suspense picture, elegant and unsettling in equal measure. The story centres on Penny Appleby, a young woman confined to a wheelchair, who arrives at her estranged father's Riviera home only to discover that he is mysteriously absent. Waiting there are her father's new wife Jane, the family doctor, and a coolly attentive chauffeur, all of whom seem polite on the surface but quietly difficult to trust. Almost at once, Penny begins to experience strange and deeply unnerving sights, including apparent glimpses of her father's dead body. The trouble is that each terrifying vision vanishes before anyone else can confirm it, leaving both Penny and the audience unsure of what is real, what is manipulation, and what might be happening inside her own distressed mind. What makes Taste of Fear so effective is its atmosphere. Holt directs with tremendous control, drawing suspense from silence, glances, footsteps, empty corridors and sudden appearances rather than noisy shocks. The black-and-white photography gives the film a sharp, polished look, all bright sunlight and dark shadows, which somehow makes everything feel even more threatening. Susan Strasberg gives Penny real vulnerability and determination, while Ann Todd brings an icy poise to Jane that keeps the nerves jangling. It remains one of Hammer's smartest and most stylish thrillers: tense, clever, beautifully made, and full of quiet menace from the first frame to the last. All episodes available on your favourite podcast catcher      Head over to Patreon for special bonus episodes   Follow us on X @rbritanniapod        

Episode 192 - To Sir WIth Love (1967) "If you must play these filthy games, do them in your homes, and not in my classroom!" Set against the vibrant, swinging backdrop of 1960s London, To Sir, With Love is a timeless feel-good classic that radiates warmth and optimism. The film stars the legendary Sidney Poitier as Mark Thackeray, an unemployed engineer who takes a temporary teaching position at a rough-and-tumble East End school.   At first, the situation seems impossible. The students are rowdy, rebellious, and determined to drive their new teacher away just as they did the others. But Thackeray refuses to quit. In a pivotal, triumphant moment, he literally throws the textbooks into the bin and changes the rules. He decides to treat these "delinquents" not as children, but as adults, demanding nothing but mutual respect and dignity.   What follows is a delightful transformation. Through honest conversations about life, survival, and personal pride—and a charming class trip to a museum—the friction melts into friendship. The students, including the tough Denham and the spirited Peg, begin to blossom, realizing that Thackeray is the champion they never knew they needed.   The film culminates in the iconic end-of-term dance, a scene overflowing with joy and 60s style. When Lulu takes the stage to belt out the soaring title track, it captures the emotional peak of the story perfectly. It is a celebration of growth, gratitude, and the human connection. Ultimately, To Sir, With Love is a shining reminder that patience and kindness can change lives, leaving the audience cheering for the teacher who taught his students how to face the world.

Episode 191 - The L Shaped Room (1962) "You've had eight over the eight, you lovely bit of crumpet, you!" Directed by Bryan Forbes and based on the novel by Lynne Reid Banks, The L-Shaped Room is a quintessential example of British "kitchen sink" realism. The film tells the poignant story of Jane Fosset (played by Leslie Caron in a BAFTA-winning performance), a young French woman who arrives in London unmarried and pregnant—a precarious social position in the early 1960s. Seeking anonymity, Jane moves into a bug-ridden boarding house in Notting Hill. Her room, grim and L-shaped, becomes the center of her new life among a community of social outcasts. Her neighbors include Mavis, an aging vaudeville performer; Johnny, a black jazz musician facing prevalent racism; and distinctively, Toby (Tom Bell), a struggling, cynical writer. The core of the narrative focuses on the tentative, blossoming romance between Jane and Toby. As they find solace in one another amidst the squalor, Jane grapples with whether to undergo an abortion or keep the child. However, the relationship is built on a fragile foundation of silence; Jane hides her pregnancy from Toby, fearing rejection. When the truth inevitably surfaces, Toby's struggle to accept another man's child exposes the limitations of his love and the harsh moral judgements of the era. Ultimately, the film is a sensitive character study rather than a traditional romance. It tackles then-taboo subjects—illegitimacy, race, and sexuality—with remarkable nuance. The story concludes on a bittersweet note of independence: Jane chooses to keep her baby but leaves the L-shaped room and Toby behind, departing not as a victim, but as a woman who has found the strength to face the future on her own terms.