The story of the
killing of Beryl Evans by her landlord John Christie and his subsequent framing
of her husband Timothy, Richard Fleisher’s 10
Rillington Place is a queasy masterpiece. Murder apart, the depiction of Christie’s
flea-pit of a boarding house is unpleasant enough in itself: ragged carpet lifts
off the stairs, the cramped hallway is lit by a single dim lamp, he and his
wife’s tiny quarters have barely enough room for a rope webbing deckchair and a
medical cabinet containing the rubber tube he uses to gas his victims.
The tenants are a sadly
pathetic young couple, a feckless braggart played by John Hurt and his guileless
wife (Judy Geeson) who are already struggling to support their baby daughter
when they move into Christie’s house. After discovering she is pregnant again, when
Geeson decides to have an abortion, both she and Hurt show tragic naivete in
putting their trust in the mild-mannered Christie, who assures them he has the
medical experience to be able to help Beryl.
The unsettling nature
of the film has much to do with the realistic look of the production – there is
nothing idealised in this portrayal of grimy post-war poverty – and the
horribly inevitable manner in which the poor (and poorly educated) are exploited
not only by Christie but also by the law.
But the key element in making this such a
disturbing experience is the chilling lead performance of Richard Attenbrough
who moves soundlessly and half-whispers his way through the film. We often hear
about the cold, calculating behaviour of psychopaths; as Christie, Attenbrough
captures this perfectly. His calm and reasonable manner and apparent
preoccupation with making tea is brilliantly complemented by the volatile,
agitated Hurt, playing the perfect foil for his manipulative landlord.
The BBC produced a
second adaptation of the story, the three-part Rillington Place, in 2016.
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