“How I loathe adventurous-minded boys”

London in the late 1940s – the Blood and Thunder Boys are a mischievous bunch of teenage boys (and one girl) who spend their days scurrying through the bumbling streets of London, where they narrowly avoid trouble in their various misadventures. They’re bound by their sacred text, the weekly pulp fiction rag The Trump, in which they discover something quite unsettling – the world around them is starting to imitate the stories they devour, which they soon learn is the result of a syndicate of criminals using the magazine as a way of communicating their plots. The protagonists take on the role of amateur detectives, and led by Joe (Harry Fowler), they begin to investigate this absurd set of crimes, which leads them to Felix H. Wilkinson (Alastair Sim), the eccentric recluse who occupies a derelict flat high up in one of the many buildings, from where he writes the stories that ultimately find their way into the magazine – completely unaware that his work is being used for malicious intent, but also not willing to risk his own life or reputation to confront these issues, he leaves it up to the boys, who do their best to convince the adults around them that something is amiss. Working together, they find a way to outsmart the cunning criminals, who are completely oblivious to the fact that their entire scheme is about to be dismantled by a group of adolescent troublemakers, who are hot on their trail, and ready to strike as soon as they get the opportunity to do so.

Charles Crichton is a filmmaker who doesn’t receive the admiration he deserves, despite both the longevity of his career and the astonishing work he produced during it. Hue and Cry is often considered the very first Ealing comedy, a sub-genre that he would go on to help define with the iconic classic comedy The Lavender Hill Mob. However, one of his more unheralded achievements is this film, a daring work of fiction that focuses on a story that may appear relatively slight, but has a lot of depth to it, particularly in terms of what it stands for. Essentially, the director crafts a work of pure, unbridled joy, in which the underlying despair that is undeniably present in this film is overcome with genial humour and meaningful approach to life’s more fascinating quirks, and one where the graveness of the socio-cultural context in which this film is made is not avoided, but rather embraced in quite surprising ways. A heartwarming comedy that is as entertainingly energetic as it is filled with fascinating insights into the past, Hue and Cry is not only one of the most enticing documents of a particular period in history, but also a sincere delight, where an outrageous story works in conjunction with a set of unexpectedly profound themes, creating the first of many brilliant comedies that would not only encapsulate an entire generation of filmmaking but represent the world and its idiosyncrasies in its own special way.

Perhaps best described as an amalgamation of Little Rascals and The Third Man, this film is a good-natured comedy that never takes itself too seriously, while still managing to be an intelligent and engaging piece that combines mischievous misadventure with some incredibly smart subversions of the film noir genre. It isn’t often that we encounter films that focus on such an absurd concept as a gang of street hoodlums taking on a vicious criminal syndicate – not even the most imaginative of children writers tended to give their characters this much to do. However, what becomes increasingly clear with Hue and Cry is that it is in fierce defiance of conventions – instead of relegating younger characters to the margins in stories focused on their more experienced, older counterparts, Crichton is intent on placing them at the centre, giving the cast of immensely talented young actors the chance to not only occupy roles that require them to be far more than just either comic relief or the pictures of innocence. Unquestionably one of the essential texts in regards to younger protagonists, Hue and Cry is a highly original piece that uses the concepts of youthful innocence, as well as the inherent curiosity and tendency for lovable misconduct to fashion a compelling comedy that keeps the audience engaged, while still presenting us with a thoroughly entertaining romp through London that finds the perfect balance between good-natured hilarity and a keen sense of social awareness that many would not expect from what appears to be a relatively twee journey into the trials and tribulations of a group of adorable hoodlums.

There is a lot more to Hue and Cry than what we perceive at the outset – the first few moments of the film lead you to believe this is just going to be a buoyant romp that doesn’t carry much weight, but rather just is an enthralling work of escapist joy, and while this is certainly true, we soon come to realize something is lurking below the surface. The first moment we see the remnant of war-torn London, still recovering from the harrowing conflict of the Blitz that occurred only a few years prior, we understand that Crichton intended to evoke far more than just laughter with this film. There’s a deeper message that lingers over this film, one that makes it clear that Hue and Cry was made to repair the wounds of war, a film that provides joy for those who are still working through their grief, conveying a sentiment of incredible resilience, and encouraging unity through entertainment. Certainly set with the challenging task of making audiences laugh in the aftermath of something that invoked the exact opposite, Crichton manages to accomplish it through navigating a perilously narrow boundary between happiness and sorrow, borrowing from both of them in favour of constructing a heartwarming tale of tenacity amid tragedy. Rather than avoiding the truth, the director embraces it – the ruins of London buildings damaged throughout the war are not concealed, but rather repurposed in an undeniably positive way. A derelict building is no longer the site of lost lives, but not the playground of the next generation, who come of age in a time when strength and resilience are not only encouraged, they’re essential.

However, despite the weight of the subject matter, it is built from, Hue and Cry is quite remarkably jubilant, and even at its most serious, it never resorts to heavy-handed preaching. This is accredited to Crichton, whose masterful control of both character and the eccentric plot make this film an absolute delight, and one that captures the twee charm of a bygone era, while not defining it by it. The film approaches comedy in quite an inventive manner – it presents us with a cheerful story, but one that has an immense amount of gravitas lurking beneath, which only supplements the blithe joy of the comedy, and gives it nuance. Hue and Cry may not be particularly original in the traditional way – if we remove the many wonderful idiosyncrasies that surround it, the plot is relatively derivative, a charming but straightforward crime caper blended with a lovable adventure. However, it layers on a more complex premise, in which the film comments on the nature of fiction and reality, a theme that was quite revolutionary for the period in which it was made. Hue and Cry could lay claim to being one of the pioneering works of metafictional cinema – life imitating art is a central theme in this film, with Crichton inadvertently venturing into the realm of postmodernism two decades before the term was first conceived. The originality of this film comes in this fascinating approach to challenging material, which it delivers with an almost transcendent elegance, and where the brilliance of the film is derived from how deeply compelling its view of the subject matter is, and how it evokes a certain set of ideas from an already fascinating storyline.

Hue and Cry is ultimately an endearing film about youthfulness and the misadventures of a group of rambunctious characters that represent a new generation growing up in a tumultuous period, where the weight of tragedy doesn’t impinge upon their childhoods but rather forces them to adapt to it. This is intersected with the more serious, but certainly uplifting, theme of recovery, with the film standing for unity in a very difficult time. It proves that the best way to overcome tragedy is through forging on and looking forwards, in anticipation of the inevitable brighter future ahead. Crichton keeps everything in this film on a fundamentally human level, and never feels the need to engage with the material in a way that is inappropriate, nor flippant in any way. Rather, Hue and Cry is a film that knows exactly how to have fun and is ultimately a film focused on the undeniable importance of earnest optimism. A powerful snapshot of post-war London, albeit one that doesn’t descend into despair, as some may expect it is a heartwarming comedy, one that carries the incredibly poignant message that, regardless of the trauma that one endures, whether personally or on the larger scale, there is always an opportunity for resolution. Through experimenting with form and content, the film manages to convey the fact that something positive can always be built from destruction – we just need to give it time and space, and we’ll undoubtedly find ourselves growing stronger along the way.