It Always Rains on Sunday

A bleak thriller realized with utter vibrancy, Robert Hamer’s savory stew of London’s lower class roils with an emotional brutality and precision that most films don’t dare attempt, let alone achieve. Dense and compact, melodramatic but never maudlin, it’s a portrait of depression that feels absolutely exhilarating.

Postwar desperation permeates the air like chimney soot, as a neighborhood web of subterfuge glimmers in the half-light of an overcast Sabbath. A numb housewife (Withers) discovers her prison-break ex-lover (McCallum) hiding in the back shed. Her stepdaughter courts a married man, while his money-flashing brother horse-trades with crooks in the shadows. And all the while, a detective (Warner) and a reporter each comb the pubs and back alleys, trying to shine light on the darkness.

This East Ender noir is a model of character concision, with an economy of language enhanced by elegant blue-collar performances. Ealing Studios head Michael Balcon (to whom grandson Daniel Day-Lewis dedicated his latest Oscar) made a concerted effort to bring realism to cinema, although in time his productions leavened their bleak assessments with a whimsy known as that Ealing feeling. Enjoy his rare offering that trades laughter for a dry choke.