Yet again Network do movie buffs a favour with the re release of what was, at the time, a main feature and the fact that it came and went without causing a stir says much about the early fifties and I think the farm is safe when I bet it that dozens of movies released around the same time to acres of newsprint are unwatchable today whilst Home At Seven proves very durable. It's a great pity that Ralph Richardson didn't direct himself more on film as he shows the vastly overrated Laurence Olivier how it should be done. With a sound basis in the theatre this engaging 'well-made play' by R.C. Sheriff is an excellent vehicle for Richardson who never puts a foot wrong as a victim of temporary amnesia who 'loses' a full twenty-four hours of his hum-drum life completely unaware - and very plausibly. In real life of course this would be distressing at worst but because this is real life heightened by a dramatist a certain spin is applied via the coincidental murder of a man openly despised by Richardson plus the theft of money for which Richardson, as Treasurer of a local club, has responsibility. Needless to say the matter is resolved happily but not before offering a time-capsule of a way of life now as remote as Atlantis.
Review of Murder on Monday
