I screened this under rather specific circumstances, having finished the last pages of the Graham Greene novel from which it is adapted on the bus coming home from work, starting the film as soon as I arrived not 15 minutes later. Needless to say, the book was still pretty fresh on my mind and so it was essentially inevitable to avoid comparison between the original source and the adapatation; a practice I enjoy doing regardless, but made even more interesting by the close proximity between the two. As to be expected, considerable differences exist between the film and the book, but considering that Greene co-wrote the screenplay, the changes still retain the general spirit of the novel and prove that Greene understands the differences between both mediums, adjusting or deleting certains scenes in order to make it a better fit for cinema's faster pace and more limited scope. Cinematically, dark and high-contrast photography is impressively used to convey the hopelessness of this small underworld, the askew angles in composition an extension of teenage murderer Pinkie's (Richard Attemborough) twisted view on the necessities of life. Attenborough's haunting performance goes a long way to illustrate the book's psychological portrait of Pinkie, the essence of which goes beyond mere dialogue. In fact, strong acting is largely responsible for much of the film's success, the roles of Ida Arnold (Hermione Baddeley) and Rose (Carol Marsh) being perfectly cast, as if the characters were taken directly out of the novel and placed onto the screen. While the film doesn't explore all of the novel's themes with equal depth, the unstability of Pinkie's mind-frame and self-control is genuinely faithful to the source, as well as an uncomfortable joy to sit through.
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