The Titfield Thunderbolt (1953) and Genevieve (1953)

Toronto Film Society presented The Titfield Thunderbolt (1953) on Sunday, June 15, 2025 in a double bill with Genevieve (1953) as part of the Season 77 Series, Programme 8.

THE TITFIELD THUNDERBOLT (1953)

Production Company: Ealing Studios.  Produced by: Michael Truman.  Directed by: Charles Crichton.  Screenplay by: T.E.B. Clarke.  Cinematography: Douglas Slocombe.  Editing: Seth Holt.  Running time: 84 minutes.

Cast: Stanley Holloway (Valentine), George Relph (Rev. Sam Weech – The Vicar), John Gregson (Squire Chesterford), Naunton Wayne (Clegg), Cecil Parker (Blakeworth), Godfrey Tearle (The Bishop), Hugh Griffith (Dan Taylor), Sid James (Harry Hawkins), Gabrielle Brune (Joan Weech), Jack MacGowran (Marooned Drinker).

The Titfield Thunderbolt is a charming and whimsical British comedy directed by Charles Crichton and produced by Ealing Studios. It’s a story about folks from a picturesque English village who unite to save their local railway branch line from closure, after it’s announced by the British Railways that that line will be closed. The villagers – led by kind-hearted Vicar Sam Weech and eccentric Walter Valentine, who is one of the wealthiest men in the area-decide to take control of the line and run it themselves. That decision doesn’t come without some resistance, from both bureaucrats and a pair of reedy bus operators who want to set themselves up in the region. With inventiveness and heart, townsfolks get their train in the running-which include a 100-year-old locomotive-to prove that with unity and willpower, they can make that a viable commute line.

The film was the first comedy produced by Ealing Studios in Technicolor, which meant something for a studio known for its black-and-white classics. The story was inspired by a real-life event, the preservation of the Talyllyn Railway in Wales, the first heritage railway in the world to be run by volunteers. The screenwriter T.E.B. Clarke had had visited the Talyllyn Railway in 1951 and was struck by the passionate volunteerism and nostalgic charm of the effort. Filming took place, for the most part, on the recently closed Camerton branch line of the Bristol and North Somerset Railway. The production team worked hard to recreate an authentic rural setting, especially the railway structure.

The locomotive that plays the ‘Thunderbolt’ is a genuine 1838-built engine originally from the Liverpool and Manchester Railway and was painted in bright colors to match the vibrancy of Technicolor. The filmmakers went to great lengths to ensure authenticity. Notably, the train was manned by real British Railways staff, who all ended up with speaking parts in the film. In one memorable scene involving a crash, the tender of the Thunderbolt sustained real damage, which remains visible today on the preserved engine.

Thematically, the film explores the tension between tradition and modernization, portraying the community’s effort to preserve their way of life in the face of impersonal government decisions and profit-driven enterprise. It’s a light satire that emphasizes collective action, British eccentricity, and the enduring appeal of heritage. Unlike the more biting comedies that Ealing was known for, the film takes a gentler, more nostalgic approach. It celebrates not only the resilience of small communities but also the emotional ties people have to the symbols of their past—like the steam railway.

Upon its release, the film received mixed reviews. Critics appreciated its warm humor and the performances of its ensemble cast—especially Stanley Holloway as Walter Valentine and George Relph as the vicar—but some felt it lacked the sharp wit of earlier Ealing hits such as Kind Hearts and Coronets or The Lavender Hill Mob. Over time, however, the film has developed a devoted following, particularly among railway enthusiasts and fans of British post-war cinema. Today, it is often cited as a quintessential Ealing comedy and an affectionate tribute to the era of steam trains.

Behind the scenes, the film’s production had its fair share of challenges and curiosities. Because they had such an old locomotive to work with, a second engine was often used discreetly to assist with pushing it up gradients during filming. In a particularly inventive move, one scene featuring the Thunderbolt being towed through town used a wooden mock-up of the locomotive mounted on a lorry chassis. T.E.B. Clarke based the character of Mr. Valentine on an elderly gentleman he had once observed drinking alone in a hotel bar—a man whose colorful presence lingered in Clarke’s imagination until it found life in the film.

As both a piece of British film history and a loving homage to grassroots activism, The Titfield Thunderbolt remains an enduring reminder of how humor, nostalgia, and community spirit can come together to fight for something worth saving—even if it’s just an old train chugging through the countryside.

Though the film is often remembered as a quaint rural comedy, it subtly reflects deeper cultural shifts occurring in postwar Britain. Released in 1953 – the same year as the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II – the film captures a country in transition, caught between nostalgia for a romanticized past and the realities of a modernizing future. The decline of branch line railways, depicted with both sadness and absurdity, mirrors a broader societal anxiety about the erosion of traditional village life and the centralization of national services.

The film’s characters are more than caricatures – they each embody different responses to change. The Vicar Sam Weech, played with warmth by George Relph, represents the spiritual and moral center of the village, but also a kind of optimistic idealism. Walter Valentine, played by Stanley Holloway, is the eccentric capitalist whose wealth and enthusiasm prove essential to the campaign. Their unlikely alliance reflects the idea that community efforts must blend both heart and pragmatism. On the other side, Sid James and George Relph (in a dual role) play the antagonistic bus operators, whose crude self-interest stands in contrast to the village’s collective effort. Even the Ministry of Transport inspector, with his clipboard and regulations, is a symbol of how institutional logic often fails to recognize grassroots values.

Unlike other Ealing comedies that lean into sharp satire, The Titfield Thunderbolt is suffused with good-natured humor. Its comedy emerges not from punchlines or slapstick (though there are moments of physical gags), but from the characters’ seriousness about their absurd mission. There’s something inherently funny about a bishop stoking a steam engine, or a bar fight breaking out over railway logistics. This deadpan delivery, delivered in crisp postwar English, is part of what makes the film feel both timeless and unmistakably of its era.

The use of Technicolor is also worth mentioning again. While many Ealing comedies remain in black and white, the lush countryside cinematography in the film adds to the film’s nostalgic tone. Director Charles Crichton and cinematographer Douglas Slocombe embraced the opportunity to present the English landscape not as gritty realism but as an idealized, almost pastoral space—a place worth fighting for. In this way, the visuals support the film’s emotional core: that some things are worth preserving not because they’re practical, but because they’re beautiful.

In retrospect, the film can be seen as a spiritual forerunner to the heritage railway movement in the UK, which exploded in popularity in the decades that followed. While the film was inspired by the Talyllyn Railway, its own popularity arguably contributed to a national awareness of railway preservation, romanticizing steam locomotives and local lines at a time when they were rapidly disappearing. For many, it was not just a comedy – it was a farewell letter to the age of steam.

Today, the film is cherished not only for its gentle humor and colorful characters, but for what it represents: the idea that ordinary people, motivated by passion and nostalgia, can resist the march of progress in small but meaningful ways. It is a deeply British story, rooted in a belief in quiet resistance, eccentricity, and the power of cups of tea shared in a signal box. Its enduring appeal is found in this very balance—between comedy and community, between past and future, between whimsy and grit.

Notes by Leandro Matos

GENEVIEVE (1953)

Production Company: Rank Organisation.  Produced by: Henry Cornelius.  Directed by: Henry Cornelius.  Screenplay by: William Rose.  Cinematography: Christopher Challis.  Editing: Clive Donner.  Music by: Larry Adler.  Release date: May 26, 1953.  Running time: 86 minutes.

John Gregson (Alan McKim), Dinah Sheridan (Wendy McKim), Kenneth More (Ambrose Claverhouse), Kay Kendall (Rosalind Peters), Geoffrey Keen (The Magistrate), Reginald Beckwith (J.C. Callahan), Arthur Wontner (Old Gentleman), Joyce Grenfell (Hotel Proprietress).

The humble road trip is a quintessential life experience for those of us who live in the car-dominated 21st century. Whether it is to visit family, experience the countryside, or drive to Montreal so you can drink just before you turn 19, the almost ritualistic process of loading up your vehicle and sitting on the open road is one that many have fond memories of. The road trip is so universal that it has been crossing over into the world of film since the art form’s inception (coincidentally, both film and automobiles grew in popularity around the same time). From early classics such as It Happened One Night to more comedic examples such as National Lampoon’s Vacation, the road trip movie is one the most enduring subgenera of the film medium. As such, a classic example of a road trip movie can be found in Henry Cornelius’ 1953film, Genevieve.

The plot of the film is simplistic enough; following two couples who drive in the real-life London to Brighton Veteran Car Run, the world’s longest-running motoring event. Focusing on Alan and Wendy McKim (portrayed by John Gregson and Dinah Sheridan), we watch as they work their way through triumphs, tribulations and marital strife as they race their vintage car, Genevieve, back to London. On the way, they deal with car trouble, bad weather, and horrible hotel rooms, all while trying to make it home before a competing couple portrayed by Kenneth More and Kay Kendall. While having a relatively basic plot for a comedy film of the era, Genevieve manages to get a lot of mileage out of the concept. Its storyline harkens back to the days of intrepid drivers using the Michelin Guide to find good digs and even better eats on early adventurous road trips and to real-life automobile races like the 1908 New York to Paris Race, in which six cars from six nations competed across multiple continents. The film is a glorious callback to the romantic days of driving, far from our polluted and car-infested present day.

In a sea of similar road trip comedies, there are a few distinct facets that set Genevieve apart from others of the genre. One of the most apparent factors is the posh atmosphere that permeates every crevice of the film. Especially compared to more contemporary examples like the previously mentioned Vacation films, which are decidedly low-brow, Genevieve is comparatively scholarly in the way in which it is presented. Obviously, this has to do with the style of films of the time, as such vulgar humour would be impossible in film 1953. But even with that in mind, the class on display in the dialogue and wardrobe makes for an oddly comforting and calming viewing experience. But in many ways, it also enhances the comedy, as jokes are punctuated by cries of “I SAY!” and “OH MY HEAVENS!”. While it may not be intended as humorous, having the jokes and scenarios intertwined with such language is a real treat for a modern audience. But beyond the idiosyncrasies of 1950s British cinema, however, we still find the shared DNA and tropes of what would come after. For example, a significant sequence in the film has to do with Alan and Wendy being forced to check into a dingy hotel after they discover that their planned lodging doesn’t have any beds available. What follows is a classic sequence of shenanigans with strange employees, broken faucets, and a clocktower which chimes loud enough to shake their room. These are almost universal experiences for travellers in real life, and bringing in these recognizable elements goes a long way to ground the story.

An interesting facet of the film involves the title vehicle: Genevieve. She is a 1904 Darracq, an early French motorcar, and is very present throughout the film. It’s common in film for inanimate objects to almost become characters in their own right through different forms of characterization or mise en scène. While Genevieve doesn’t truly feel like a character in this sense, she is more akin to a titular prop, she still serves an important role in the film; both in a narrative sense and in an analytical one. Genevieve is a literal vehicle for the plot to move forward. She is one of the first things we see in the film as Alan climbs into her vintage interior, is the vehicle in which the McKims drive from London to Brighton, and as such is physically present for most of the film’s runtime. In many ways, Genevieve’s temperamental nature is a representation of both the adventure of the narrative and a metaphor for the marriage between Alan and Wendy; for both Genevieve and their marriage may have some rough spots, these small issues are always patched over and fixed. In the end, while Genevieve may not be a sentient character in the same vein as Herbie or Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, she is instead a beacon for the main characters. A beacon of love.

Genevieve isn’t the most extravagant film of the 1950s, far from it, but it has its own enduring legacy. It acts as a tantalizing look at British motoring of the time, a look that is somehow nostalgic even if you didn’t live during the time period presented in the film. In terms of film history, writer William Rose would go on to use his Genevieve script as the basis for the now-classic epic comedy, It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. One could argue that it is the filmic equivalent of a Sunday drive. It’s a calm, brisk and thoroughly enjoyable watch. And while the stakes of the film’s storyline may not be staggeringly high, it still makes for a satisfying viewing experience as it transports you to the wondrous world of the English countryside of the early 1950s.

Notes by Ryan Tocheri