One thing that musn't be overlooked in this 'murder amongst the champagne for breakfast classes' whodunnit is the remarkable skills of handwriting expert Arthur Lowe. 'What age was the person who wrote this?' asks the detective, 'Twenty-eight' replies the expert - amazing what science could do in those days. The rest leaves little of merit. Hazel Court, in a thankless role, has not only to act in many variations of distraught, but also has to be the wife of the incredibly uncharismatic Vic Morrow, playing the journalist whom the Inspector recruits (as they do) to help with his enquiries. Anthony Dawson is the despised gossip columnist (is there any other kind?), Lionel Jeffries may or may not be American, he couldn't quite decide which it was, and there is a gathering of the suspects denouement at the end that leaves the police none the wiser, until journo Joe suggests a way in which the killer might have slipped the poison into the victim's drink, but presents no evidence to support it. Never mind, the reel is about to run out, so the villain realises the game is up and confesses that it was him what done it because .... well, the victim wasn't a very nice bloke. The fact that he had no way of knowing that Dawson would stop at his table that night to present the opportunity is not explored because thirty seconds later the film is over, in just about the most abrupt ending you will ever see. Waste of time.
Review of Hour of Decision
