Stylish but barely mediocre overall

Let's be realistic.

Good , But It Is Overrated By Some

I wanted to like it more than I actually did... But much of the humor totally escaped me and I walked out only mildly impressed.

Based on the novel 'Murder at Shinglestrand' written by Paul Capon the film starts off with a man going to bed then waking up in a house he has never been in, holding a gun. On searching the place he finds the body of his cousin. Then off we go until the final denouement, which did surprise me. Looking at the film again it is really obvious but I missed the clues on first viewing. Griffith Jones is a bit (well, a lot) dull as the hero but Bruce Seton as the crime reporter brings his usual quiet authority to the part and James Kenney is very good in three parts. Half way through I was looking for him to turn up as he was second billed in the credits but he already had in one role. It fooled me. It's not a fast moving film but there is no padding in its run time. The romance is perfunctory and doesn't hold things up. A lot was filmed on location so there are nice shots of late fifties London, which for a Londoner is always good to see. Continuity for the film was done by the splendidly named Splinters Deason.

Hidden Homicide is directed by Tony Young and adapted to screenplay by Young and Bill Luckwell from the novel "Murder at Shinglestrand" written by Paul Capon. It stars Griffith Jones, James Kenney and Patricia Laffan. Music is by Otto Ferrari and cinematography by Ernest Palmer.A novelist wakes up to find a gun in his hand a relative murdered nearby. Did he do it?Who cares is the serious answer after sitting through this most turgid of "Z" grade Brit crime mysteries. There's just about enough material here to have made a half hour episode of some low rent Private Investigator show, but even then the logic holes and crumbling direction would struggle to hold the attention of the intelligent of mind. Also features one of the most irritating musical scores of the 50s (shudder). 2/10

As "B" features go, this is quite a bizarre movie. It's plot is routine, whilst also convoluted, as are the characterizations. It switches from staginess in presentation, to quite pointed scenes of tension and menace. A lot of this is due to the acting, some of which is wooden in the extreme, particularly from Patricia Laffan who looks like she has simply wandered onto the film set and hasn't learnt her lines! The scene where she ends in an embrace with Griffith Jones is hilarious. The film is carried by James Kenney who, at least, imbues his characters with some style and sense of purpose. He was, of course, an actor who specialised in edgy, sinister type roles and he performs well in this film. It's quaint and dated now, and is very much a mixed bag.

After opening titles of sinister hypnotic music and swirling water, we're in a London apartment where Michael Cornforth, a writer, (Griffiths Jones) is making ready for bed. The next morning when he awakes he's not only fully dressed and in a completely different place in the sticks – he's also holding a gun! After a bewildered nosey round the gaff, this being a black and white second feature, he of course finds a dead body - in the kitchen. Two Rank charm school types, Jean (played by Patricia Laffan) a bossy nosey parker type certainly, a lesbian possibly – and Marian, a beautiful trance like possibly drug addicted living doll – call round on, of all things, a walking holiday. They're soaked to the skin (it is, after all ,raining) and seeking shelter. This being Britain in the 1950, Cornforth can't tell them to do one so he only goes and lets them in doesn't he. After lots of farcical trying to keep them out of the kitchen stuff while not appearing to be totally odd - and Jean informing Cornforth that her friend is "very nervy and imaginative – always expecting to find bodies under the bed" - Marian upsets the Saxa salt and one textbook scream later discovers the corpse. Not unnaturally the two girls try and bail out. Cornforth prevents this at gunpoint – and then things begin to get really silly. He wants to talk to Jean who then simply goes off with him for a nice chat while leaving Marian in the bedroom without explanation like a naughty child. Cornforth says he can prove he was in London last night as his neighbour Mungo Jerry – or Peddy – saw him. Jean then goes from "You murdered him (not Mungo) didn't you?" to "I can take care of Marian. No one believes her anyway" in the blink of an eye. Why I'm not sure. It can't be Cornforth's charisma. Later on Jean informs Cornforth that she's had Marian sent to hospital. "They've got her under heavy sedation. She'll be out for 24 hours." With friends like that? All in all Hidden Homicide – in terms of characterisation, plotting and probability - charters new waters of terribleness even by the standards of the British black and white 1950s B movie.