Great Britain

Titfield is a small town somewhere in Ealing Films' England. It has the oldest branch line in the world; and British Railways wants to close it down. Should the local people be left to run it themselves? Not if the villainous bus company have anything to do with it - and they have, plenty, including sabotaging the train on the eve of the test run which will enable the Men from the Ministry to decide its fate. Nothing daunted, squire, vicar, bishop, and the local alcoholic - who sees a buffet car with endless licensing hours as earthly Paradise - rally round and haul their ancient puffer, The Titfield Thunderbolt, out of the museum and back on to the rails. Even in 1953, The Titfield Thunderbolt seemed a cosy comedy - a bit too cosy, some said, harking back to slowcoach virtues of 'muddling through' when what England needed was to put speed on. But railway enthusiasts were all for it; and the years have worked an ironic change of attitude, for nowadays 'small' is not only beautiful, but is thought socially desirable as well. So one can look at all the Toytown endeavours - like the passengers hopping off to push in an emergency, or rushing supplementary supplies of water across the fields to the drought-ridden loco in every manner of container from soda syphons to baby's bath - with a guilt-free conscience as well as an affectionate eye. This was Ealing's first Technicolor film, and Douglas Slocombe - today one of the world's leading cinematographers - captures the seductive look of a rural England that no longer is (and maybe never was). Naunton Wayne, John Gregson, Sid James, Jack McGowran, the veteran George Relph and Stanley Holloway as the bibulous local inhabitant play the innocents of T.E.B. Clarke's screenplay. Charles Crichton had already directed such Ealing classics as Hue and Cry and The Lavender Hill Mob and shows the same relaxed flair for community eccentricity. Maybe it's all just 'playing at trains' - but which of us could ever resist that invitation? ALEXANDER WALKER