Where to begin with Basil Dearden

Despite being the most prolific director at England’s beloved Ealing Studios, Basil Dearden is largely absent from history books – that is, when he’s not being damned with faint praise or outright savaged. Take this, for example, from David Thomson’s The New Biographical Dictionary of Film: “[Dearden’s] proficiency was at the expense of inventiveness or artistic personality… His films are decent, empty, and plodding.” Ouch.

Recently things have started to shift, as a critical reappraisal slowly grinds into gear, and the reasons for earlier condemnations now seem puzzling. Could it be Dearden’s tendency towards large casts, which forgoes easy identification with a single protagonist? Or is it the films’ bleak and downbeat natures? Indeed, as early as his first solo directing credit, The Bells Go Down (1943), Dearden displayed a penchant for killing off major characters.

More likely, such dismissals stemmed from Dearden’s desire to educate as well as entertain, with critics turning their noses up at his mix of melodrama and high-minded seriousness. Seen today, however, his films feel pioneering and dramatically impactful and, at their best, remain complex works of genuine substance. They are also incredibly stylish – see, for instance, the way the camera bolts into the barrel of the gun, transitioning us into a circular car horn, in noir thriller Cage of Gold (1950), or the ways shadows and silence are used in the climactic swordfight of the lavish costume drama Saraband for Dead Lovers (1948).

Significantly, both these films were produced and designed by Michael Relph who, for over 25 years, was Dearden’s key collaborator – first as art director, then as producer, writer and even co-director. As a partnership, Dearden and Relph genuinely deserve to be placed alongside Powell and Pressburger as one of the most significant double-acts in British cinema.

Shot on location on the war-ravaged streets of London, The Blue Lamp (1950) was designed to take a wide-ranging, documentary-like look at the inner workings of the police force. As such, it stands as a prime example of the social realism which runs through much of Dearden’s work.

Through the police case at its centre – the armed robbery of a cinema – the film also explores the effects of World War II on the younger generation, shining a light on how the social conditions of post-war British society were disenfranchising the youth and creating a new type of criminal: one born of violence.

The film also introduced the world to PC Dixon (Jack Warner), later to become the central character of the TV series Dixon of Dock Green (1955 to 1976) which, unbelievably, ran to 432 episodes over 22 seasons.

Continuing The Blue Lamp’s striking use of location photography, Pool of London (1951), a noir tale of merchant seamen on shore leave, showcased the eponymous area along the Thames (which runs from London Bridge to Limehouse). The film also offered a breakthrough role to Bermudian actor Earl Cameron, and contained one of the first interracial relationships in British cinema.

Taken together, The Blue Lamp and Pool of London can be seen as part of a wider examination of post-war life that began with Frieda (1947), a searing drama about an English airman who returns from the war with a German wife, and continued up to The League of Gentlemen (1960), in which a group of resentful ex-army officers rob a bank as recompense for the way they’ve been chewed up and spat out by their country.

Among the other films in this series is The Ship That Died of Shame (1955), in which the lack of post-war options available to a crew of navy veterans leads to them becoming smugglers. Interestingly, the film fuses its documentary-like attention to detail with a dash of magic realism – the titular ship is shown to have a conscience of its own.

It wasn’t Dearden’s first venture into the fantastic, having directed both the first story and the overarching linking sections of the supernatural horror anthology Dead of Night (1945), which grimly reflected the atmosphere of the war. Uncanny aspects are also found in two more wartime films: The Halfway House (1944), a call-to-arms in which a group of individuals visit a ghostly inn, and the socialist polemic They Came to a City (1944), in which another group are transported to a mysterious city, where they discuss their hopes for post-war society.

If the above films build a pertinent portrait of life in Britain during the war and post-war years, Dearden would continue to examine contemporary society with a series of realist films centred around pressing social issues: I Believe in You (1952, co-directed with Relph), about probation officers and the teenagers in their care; Violent Playground (1958), a gripping drama about juvenile delinquency and gun crime; Sapphire (1959), a thriller exploring racial prejudice through the murder of a biracial young woman; Victim (1961), a tale of blackmail which argued towards decriminalising homosexuality; and A Place to Go (1963), a kitchen sink drama about slum clearance. Collectively, these films represent a penetrating exploration of British society in the 1950s and early 60s.

Today, these social films are what Dearden is best known for, but those wishing to see other sides of his varied oeuvre should seek out the brutal boxing drama The Square Ring (1953), the action-comedy The Assassination Bureau (1969), the colonial epic Khartoum (1966), the Othello-in-a-jazz-club Shakespeare adaption All Night Long (1962), and the sci-fi-inflected thriller The Mind Benders (1963), which fed on Cold War-era paranoia about brainwashing.

Given that Dearden got his start working on films featuring popular comedians like George Formby, Will Hay and Tommy Trinder, it’s perhaps not surprising that Ealing turned to him when attempting to launch a young new star named Benny Hill. Sadly, the resulting film, Who Done It? (1956), about an ice rink sweeper who sets himself up as a private detective, mostly falls limp – something even Ealing seemed to acknowledge, declaring that it was “not a typical intellectual Ealing comedy” but “a broad farce”.

The same could also be said for Masquerade (1965), an unremarkable comedy thriller in which the British government attempts to protect a young Middle Eastern prince in order to secure a favourable deal on oil. The film once more beats the drum for soldiers who have been treated badly, but it does so in a throwaway fashion. If it contains some strong location work, it’s nevertheless a reminder that when directors are as prolific as Dearden they don’t always make great films, even if they are great directors.

The Mind Benders screens at BFI Soutbank as part of Martin Scorsese Selects Hidden Gems of British Cinema in September.

Read the full list of British film recommendations that Scorsese shared with Edgar Wright.