By 1960 Dirk Bogarde deemed himself too old and serious to continue as Simon Sparrow in the series of medical romps from Richard Gordon's novels. Instead Michael Craig, a former extra who looked similar though more thickset, was top-billed in "Doctor in Love". That he and his partner Leslie Phillips should be named Drs Burke and Hare says everything about a string of mildly farcical incidents, laced with lavender-blue dialogue poised on the brink of permissiveness, which kept the pot boiling for Betty Box and Ralph Thomas.
In truth Craig also is too serious for the part. He had just co-written the anti-trade union screenplay for "The Angry Silence" and seems preoccupied, letting the ebullient Phillips treat him as a stooge in almost every joint scene. There are other dampeners. Lancelot Spratt (James Robertson Justice) is no longer hovering continuously in the background as the ogre of the medical school-- the doctors are taking first steps in general practice-- and the love interests are Carole Lesley (aka Maureen Rippingdale) and Virginia Maskell, both of whom could have featured in a "Pinewood Babylon" sleaze book as future suicides. Poor Miss Maskell, Craig's love interest, had the saddest starlet's eyes since Gail Russell.
Never mind: there's Joan Sims and Liz Fraser as randy strippers to enliven the earlier sequence in a cold-cure laboratory, plus Irene Handl playing against her usual charlady type as a very butch, tweedy female professor. More camp comes from the inimitable Reggie Beckwith as factotum in Craig's surgery-- "I'm a sort of Universal Aunt, you might say"-- and he puts on a fine drunk scene in a police station. For star spotters there is a glimpse of "Last of the Summer Wine"'s Peter Sallis, unbilled, as a patient. Other Britflick support favourites such as chinless wonder Nicholas Phipps, Esma Cannon and John Le Mesurier pop up.
One episode embroiling Spratt in a police raid on a strip club next to a lecture hall is notably well staged. The film rolls briskly along: Thomas, never more than a journeyman, was rarely less than competent at storytelling, a skill sadly missed these days. Three years later he persuaded Bogarde to come back for a final crack at Sparrow in "Doctor in Distress".
In truth Craig also is too serious for the part. He had just co-written the anti-trade union screenplay for "The Angry Silence" and seems preoccupied, letting the ebullient Phillips treat him as a stooge in almost every joint scene. There are other dampeners. Lancelot Spratt (James Robertson Justice) is no longer hovering continuously in the background as the ogre of the medical school-- the doctors are taking first steps in general practice-- and the love interests are Carole Lesley (aka Maureen Rippingdale) and Virginia Maskell, both of whom could have featured in a "Pinewood Babylon" sleaze book as future suicides. Poor Miss Maskell, Craig's love interest, had the saddest starlet's eyes since Gail Russell.
Never mind: there's Joan Sims and Liz Fraser as randy strippers to enliven the earlier sequence in a cold-cure laboratory, plus Irene Handl playing against her usual charlady type as a very butch, tweedy female professor. More camp comes from the inimitable Reggie Beckwith as factotum in Craig's surgery-- "I'm a sort of Universal Aunt, you might say"-- and he puts on a fine drunk scene in a police station. For star spotters there is a glimpse of "Last of the Summer Wine"'s Peter Sallis, unbilled, as a patient. Other Britflick support favourites such as chinless wonder Nicholas Phipps, Esma Cannon and John Le Mesurier pop up.
One episode embroiling Spratt in a police raid on a strip club next to a lecture hall is notably well staged. The film rolls briskly along: Thomas, never more than a journeyman, was rarely less than competent at storytelling, a skill sadly missed these days. Three years later he persuaded Bogarde to come back for a final crack at Sparrow in "Doctor in Distress".