Two women share a bath while others loll upon the floor beside it as their gossip and barbed asides echo around the walls of a high-ceilinged French château. The beverage within their grasp, however, is nothing stronger than tea. This is the early-Forties, and they are holed up in a building requisitioned by the Germans to intern Brtitsh women who had not made it out of the country before the Occupation.
There are moments, with the banter between this mixed bunch, when Twenty Thousand Women (1944) could almost be the stuff of a boarding-school romp or that rooming house of Stage Door. A febrile atmosphere, and what a cast for a film written and directed by Frank Lauder and Sidney Gilliatt.
Here are Phyllis Calvert, Patricia Roc, Flora Robson, an especially sultry Jean Kent, a glimpse of Thora Hird (and her own infant daughter). Their voices are crystal clear, they are well outfitted, and – as with the confines of these writers' The Lady Vanishes – comedy blends well into a thriller which turns around some airmen baling out only to find their parachutes have directed them into these grounds by night.
It would be easy to deride the plot but, as it picks up speed but has to resist doing so but relish such things as the most unusual card game ever filmed – and a stage show, which could have been a West End hit and almost brings to mind The Producers.