Episode 196 - School For Scoundrels (1960)

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.  

Episode 190 - Carry On Cabby (1963) "I wonder if I've got the right soap? I can't remember if it was green for oily skin or oily for green skin." "Carry On Cabby" is widely celebrated as one of the most heartwarming and narrative-driven treasures in the famous franchise. Stepping away from the purely episodic sketches of its predecessors, this 1963 classic delivers a genuinely sweet romantic comedy that stands the test of time. It is a delightful battle of the sexes that combines wit, charm, and a surprising amount of emotional depth. The story centers on workaholic Charlie Hawkins, played by the legendary Sid James, who runs the gritty "Speedee Taxis." When Charlie begins to neglect his home life, his wife Peggy—portrayed by the wonderful Hattie Jacques—decides to teach him a lesson he will never forget. She secretly uses his money to launch a rival company, "Glam Cabs." Suddenly, Charlie faces stiff competition from a fleet of shiny new Fords driven by stunning women, turning the streets of London into a hilarious battleground. What makes this film truly special is the undeniable magic between the leads. Sid James and Hattie Jacques are at their absolute best, portraying a married couple with a warmth that grounds the wackiness. The humor is infectious, moving from the cheeky banter of the "Glam Cab" drivers to the slapstick failures of Charlie's men as they attempt to sabotage the competition. Beyond the laughs, the movie serves as a vibrant time capsule, offering viewers a nostalgic glimpse of 1960s London in all its retro glory. Ultimately, love conquers all in a chaotic, horn-honking finale, proving that this is one ride you don't want to miss!

Episode 189 - You Only Live Twice (1967) "I must say, you have a lot of energy for a dead man, Mister Bond." Get ready for the ultimate 1960s spy spectacle! You Only Live Twice (1967) isn't just a movie; it is a massive, colourful adventure that takes Sean Connery's James Bond to the vibrant landscapes of Japan for one of his most ambitious missions ever. From the opening moments, the film radiates a distinct, larger-than-life energy that defined the "blockbuster" era of the franchise. The film is a masterclass in escapism. Bond trades his usual Aston Martin for "Little Nellie," a heavily armed, pocket-sized autogyro that leads to one of the most thrilling and inventive aerial dogfights in cinema history. The action is fast, fun, and filled with the classic 007 swagger that fans adore. However, the true showstopper is the scale of the villainy. We finally see the face of Bond's arch-nemesis, Ernst Stavro Blofeld (complete with the iconic white cat), hiding out in what is arguably the greatest movie set ever built: a massive, hollowed-out volcano rocket base! The climax is pure adrenaline, featuring a literal army of ninjas repelling down into the volcano to stop World War III. With Nancy Sinatra's dreamy, beautiful title track setting the mood and Ken Adam's breathtaking set designs stealing the show, You Only Live Twice is a triumph of imagination. It is campy, explosive, and wildly entertaining—Bond at his absolute biggest and boldest.

Episode 188 - Just My Luck (1957) "Choose Your Entertainment With "WISDOM"!!" Just My Luck (1957) is a sparkling slice of postwar British comedy that captures both the optimism and the charm of its era. Starring the ever-appealing Norman Wisdom as Norman Hackett, a humble jeweller's apprentice with big dreams, the film follows his hapless but heartfelt attempts to turn his fortunes around. Norman, eternally late and forever in trouble at work, is secretly besotted with glamorous shop assistant Anne (delightfully played by Jill Dixon). When he overhears that she's a fan of racing, he decides to risk everything by placing a series of bets—turning a simple flutter into a full-blown adventure. What follows is a joyful run of misunderstandings, slapstick chaos and bursts of romantic idealism, all propelled by Wisdom's trademark physical comedy and irrepressible energy. He tumbles, stumbles, and careens through life with that winning mix of innocence and determination that made him Britain's favourite underdog. The climax at the racetrack—where Norman's luck finally turns in spectacular fashion—delivers a perfectly timed payoff that leaves audiences smiling. Behind the laughter, Just My Luck shows the craftsmanship of director John Paddy Carstairs, who had honed Wisdom's screen persona across several Ealing-flavoured comedies. Shot at Pinewood Studios, the film's brisk pacing, colourful sets, and lively orchestral score give it a polish that stands out among the decade's feel-good comedies. On release, it proved another box-office hit for Wisdom, confirming his status as the British everyman who could make misfortune look hilarious. Critics admired its warmth and verve, and audiences adored its blend of humour, heart, and a touch of fantasy—the notion that sheer enthusiasm might be enough to change one's destiny. Buoyant, bright, and brimming with optimism, Just My Luck remains a charming reminder that sometimes fortune really does favour the foolishly brave.

Episode 187 - Hammer Britannia 022 - The Curse Of The Mummy's Tomb (1964) "He's living in the past! This is 1900, you have to think modern." Dust off your fez and grab your torch! If you're in the mood for a splendidly spooky adventure that oozes 1960s charm, look no further than Hammer's 1964 classic, The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb. This film is a pure, unadulterated slice of gothic fun, a wonderful reminder of a time when movie monsters were tragic, heroes were dashing, and curses were, well, very literal. The story kicks off in the grand tradition: a team of intrepid (and slightly reckless) archaeologists unearths the tomb of the Egyptian prince Ra-Antef. Despite the usual ominous warnings etched on the walls, they crate up their findings and ship them off to London, guided by the bombastic American showman, Adam Beauchamp (played with wonderful gusto by Fred Clark). Beauchamp's plan? A sensational, profit-making roadshow! Of course, the mummy has other ideas. It's not long before the ancient guardian is re-animated and stalking the foggy streets of London, exacting a methodical and wonderfully theatrical revenge on his desecrators. What makes this movie such a joy isn't bone-chilling terror, but its incredible atmosphere and earnestness. It's a film that fully commits to its premise. The sets are a colorful delight, from the treasure-filled tomb to the lavishly decorated London drawing rooms that are about to be rudely interrupted by a 4,000-year-old party crasher. The mummy itself, when finally revealed in its full, bandaged glory, is a fantastic piece of classic monster design. The cast is clearly having a wonderful time. Terence Morgan is the perfect, square-jawed hero, while Ronald Howard provides the necessary archaeological gravitas. But it's Fred Clark's performance as the quintessential "Ugly American" promoter that steals the show, chewing scenery with an infectious energy. The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb is the perfect cinematic comfort food. It's a fast-paced, colourful, and thrilling adventure that never takes itself too seriously. It doesn't aim to haunt your nightmares; it aims to entertain you for 80 minutes with a ripping good yarn. This and previous episodes can be found everywhere you download your podcasts   Bonus content available at: patreon.com/ReelBritanniaPodcast   Follow us on Twitter @rbritanniapod    Thanks for listening Scott and Steven