Set in the kind of boarding-houses that simply don't exist any more, SHADOWS ON THE STAIRS is based on a West End hit and contains a cast of Hollywood British stalwarts augmented by Turhan Bey as a suspicious Indian student (in his first film).
The plot is straightforward: Mr. Reynolds (Paul Cavanagh) is apparently knifed to death one night when everyone else is asleep. The Scotland Yard inspector assigned to the case (Lumsden Hare) makes all the wrong deductions and is set right by aspiring playwright Hugh Bromilow (Bruce Lester). An hysterical maid Lucy (Phyliis Barry) apparently commits suicide as she realizes that Tom Armitage (Miles Mander) - who has had a clandestine affair with her - wants to dump her. Add to that an hysterical boarding-house maitresse d'h (Freda Inescort), and a comic spinster (Mary Snell), and you have plenty of material for a fifty- nine minute quickie.
Director D. Ross Lederman ensures that his camera keeps moving up and down the staircases and from room to room; this fast pace seems ideal for a film with more than its share of implausibilities, no more so than at the end, when a final plot-twist reveals that we, the viewers, have been hoodwinked just as much as the Inspector. But it really doesn't matter: the film's primary purpose is to provide a showcase for a gallery of British eccentrics, even down to the mustachioed police constable (Charles Irwin), who averts his eyes to anything potentially salacious.
The plot is straightforward: Mr. Reynolds (Paul Cavanagh) is apparently knifed to death one night when everyone else is asleep. The Scotland Yard inspector assigned to the case (Lumsden Hare) makes all the wrong deductions and is set right by aspiring playwright Hugh Bromilow (Bruce Lester). An hysterical maid Lucy (Phyliis Barry) apparently commits suicide as she realizes that Tom Armitage (Miles Mander) - who has had a clandestine affair with her - wants to dump her. Add to that an hysterical boarding-house maitresse d'h (Freda Inescort), and a comic spinster (Mary Snell), and you have plenty of material for a fifty- nine minute quickie.
Director D. Ross Lederman ensures that his camera keeps moving up and down the staircases and from room to room; this fast pace seems ideal for a film with more than its share of implausibilities, no more so than at the end, when a final plot-twist reveals that we, the viewers, have been hoodwinked just as much as the Inspector. But it really doesn't matter: the film's primary purpose is to provide a showcase for a gallery of British eccentrics, even down to the mustachioed police constable (Charles Irwin), who averts his eyes to anything potentially salacious.