Atmospheric and gripping adaptation of Richard Llewellyn's debut play about a flood of poison pen letters which deliver scandal and then tragedy to a sleepy village. It's one of those classic English communities of the thirties, set in the pub, church and post office, where all classes are represented and everyone knows their station.
And the very engrossing mystery is, who is writing these letters? Flora Robson is excellent as a lonely spinster and pillar of the community. Ann Todd is incredibly posh as the young gal about to be married whose plans are threatened by lies. Among the familiar support cast, only Robert Newton as an incredibly dumb yokel fails to score.
With war imminent, it would be a few years before we would see the English presented as pessimistically as this. The villagers quickly become a vengeful mob, which leads to suicide in a bell tower. Despite the standard rat-a-tat of deadpan humour, this is a dark picture, all the way down to the sombre, ingenious resolution.
Llewellyn's premise was stolen in 1943 for Le Corbeau, by the French Hitchcock, Henri-Georges Clouzot. While Paul Stein wasn't an acclaimed auteur and mostly directed quota quickies, I actually prefer Poison Pen. It moves faster. There's a splendid ensemble of character actors. But most of all, Flora Robson brings unexpected psychological depth.