Directed by Michael Powell, U.K. I love films from the thirties and I love director Michael Powell but, by God, this was insufferable nonsense. Leslie Banks (a certain contender for one of the worst actors ever) stars as Jim Bronton, a “very attractive” chap (apparently) who’s mixed up with insurance, fires, and arson. I couldn’t really tell what was going on most of the time, if I’m honest. The “fast” dialogue (incompetently modeled on the American Pre-Codes) is simply embarrassing and the whole thing is suffused with a ghastly Englishness (by which I suppose I mean a sort of frightful affectation combined with a perpetuation of class stereotypes). Dreadful. 2/5.
MOVIES THAT DIE SCREAMING 