The Small Back Room (1949)

This British production was released in the U.S. as Hour of Glory. I can see why the title changed: "Back room" had a slang meaning that didn't carry across the pond, denoting wartime scientific researchers. Not that directors Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger regularly did a good job with titles (e.g., The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp omits his death), but this time, they were adapting from a same-title novel.

In 1943, bomb disposal expert Sammy Rice (David Farrar), between pain from a prosthetic foot and apparent mismanagement in his line of work, is usually in a mood bad enough to strain his romance with Susan (Kathleen Byron). When pills don't dull the pain, he hits the bottle hard. But his career isn't over; they still count heavily on him when the going gets tough, especially when they're down a man from the latest failure.

From what I recall, not much plot happens for the first half of the 106 minutes (tho still more than in my entire previous viewing). Mainly, we learn about Rice and his compatriots. Sometimes it's almost funny, as when one boffin tries not to be caught phoning his girlfriend. I understand that book author Nigel Balchin meant to poke fun at their type. Since he was ahead of the curve on technological awareness, we also get to see what passed for a state-of-the-art calculator in those days. It's actually kind of impressive, if nothing like what I've ever used.

My assessment began to move from "okay" to "very good" when Rice's alcoholic stress came to a head. He has a several-minute daydream/hallucination sequence that Alfred Hitchcock would be proud of. Yet he takes very little time to sober up in his hour of need. Or glory, if you will.

Given the plot speed after that, it half-feels like one of those flicks that practically center on a certain late scene. In this case, of course, that would be the disarmament of a tricky explosive. Such a conflict is indeed suspenseful, but with a rather constantly moderate level of intensity. It may call for more patience than you're used to exercising for a key scene.

To my mind, this is one of the weaker Powell and Pressburger efforts. Maybe you have to relate more to fully appreciate it. Still, between acting and cinematography, it has its moments.