Ralph Richardson, a quintessentially British actor, both directs and takes the lead role as David Preston, a relatively low/middle-ranking employee of a bank - though, seemingly earning enough to buy an attractive character cottage/semi in Bromley - stereotypically takes the same train to work and returns home at the same time, each day.
His attractive wife (Margaret Leighton) is hysterical on a Tuesday evening, when she proves to his disbelief, that he has not been home - or at work - for a day.
It transpires that a murder has taken place and money stolen from the social club he is treasurer of - and when his fake alibi is uncovered, he becomes the prime suspect.
The extraordinary class attitudes of the time are clearly evident: 'he's a good type, one of us...not a CRIMINAL! ' The police inspector suggests one of us, can still be one of them.
Preston's amnesia and the suggestivity of the inspector lead him to believe he has committed murder - especially when it transpires he has underlying financial problems.
There's a touching scene when he prepares his wife for life without him, suggesting her sister joins her at the house and they open a nursery.
The denouement is not very dramatic - but far better than a sudden suicide based on misplaced associative guilt.
We rarely see thoughtful plays or films like this these days, yes, it's low key - but some people, like David Preston, live low key lives.
Jack Hawkins is good as the sympathetic doctor and the blunt Major across the road, whilst something of a caricature, with a 'disgusted from Tunbridge Wells' attitude, enjoys good interplay with Preston, the doctor and the police.
The overall standard of acting is excellent. The mangle in the kitchen, cigarette smoking and traditional Dixon of Dock Green police station remind us of the era. Just in case we'd forgotten.
As David Preston did.
His attractive wife (Margaret Leighton) is hysterical on a Tuesday evening, when she proves to his disbelief, that he has not been home - or at work - for a day.
It transpires that a murder has taken place and money stolen from the social club he is treasurer of - and when his fake alibi is uncovered, he becomes the prime suspect.
The extraordinary class attitudes of the time are clearly evident: 'he's a good type, one of us...not a CRIMINAL! ' The police inspector suggests one of us, can still be one of them.
Preston's amnesia and the suggestivity of the inspector lead him to believe he has committed murder - especially when it transpires he has underlying financial problems.
There's a touching scene when he prepares his wife for life without him, suggesting her sister joins her at the house and they open a nursery.
The denouement is not very dramatic - but far better than a sudden suicide based on misplaced associative guilt.
We rarely see thoughtful plays or films like this these days, yes, it's low key - but some people, like David Preston, live low key lives.
Jack Hawkins is good as the sympathetic doctor and the blunt Major across the road, whilst something of a caricature, with a 'disgusted from Tunbridge Wells' attitude, enjoys good interplay with Preston, the doctor and the police.
The overall standard of acting is excellent. The mangle in the kitchen, cigarette smoking and traditional Dixon of Dock Green police station remind us of the era. Just in case we'd forgotten.
As David Preston did.