Review of The Riddle of the Sands

Mr McCorkindale - wearing the mother of all moustaches - is a keen yachtsman exploring the sands off the Friesian Islands.An archetypal Edwardian Gentleman with all the vices and virtues of his class. No apparent means of support unlike his fellow Oxford Man Mr York who is Something in the Foreign Office and rushes to his aid when he receives a telegram about some Germans not being quite "The Thing".Together they uncover a dastardly Hun plot to invade England,led by Queen Victoria's nephew. Clearly a precursor of the better known "The 39 Steps","The riddle of the sands" is as eerie as the creeping fog that regularly envelopes the Friesians,luring ships to their doom.The movie is a mixture of pastels and greys,the dockside buildings,churches,bars,a rare splash of muted colour. Mr McCorkindale's yacht is a thing of beauty indeed in this age of carbon fibre,the train clean and shiny,the waiting rooms reassuringly fugged with smoke.It is a fine evocation of an era when it was indeed the first prize in the lottery of life to be born an Englishman. Elegant and beautifully paced,one of the last of the Rank productions, "The riddle of the sands" deserves to be far better known. From the slough of despond that was 1970s British Cinema it rises and shines.