The Ship That Died of Shame
Motor Gun Boat 1087, proudly serving in the English Channel during the latter days of the Second World War the under the command of Bill Randall, a tight ship with a number of confirmed kills tallied on the bulkhead, but just too far from shore to make a difference the when a bombing raid kills Randall’s wife Helen who was visiting him at base, the first time they had been together since their wedding.
The war over, Randall struggles to move on and find employment until a chance meeting with an officer he once served with aboard 1087 who has now purchased the redundant vessel and is using it to courier freight across from the Continent, describing them as luxury items in short supply; initially evading customs or bluffing or bribing their way through inspections, Hoskins makes a deal with a competitor to also carry goods for him, the shipments escalating upwards through guns to wanted criminals.
Originally released in 1955 by Ealing Studios and now restored as part of StudioCanal’s Vintage Classics range, The Ship That Died of Shame was directed by Dead of Night’s Basil Dearden from a script co-written with Nicholas Monsarrat, Michael Relph and John Whiting, based on Monsarrat’s story of the name itself inspired by his own encounter with a former shipmate who had entered the smuggling business and suggested he might also care to throw in his lot.
Starring Doomwatch’s George Baker as Randall and Gift Horse’s Richard Attenborough as George Hoskins, he is smug, equally at ease on the waves, wielding a gun or blackmailing a superior officer while Randall isn’t so comfortable turning a blind eye to the moral equivalences turning grey, and both he and 1087 get a sinking feeling, The Ship That Died of Shame in some ways becoming a horror as the vessel which served them well in war begins to refuse to operate, a presence upon which they are dependent threatening to leave them stranded in the encroaching mist.
Known as PT Raiders in America, The Ship That Died of Shame improves enormously past the opening act as Randall gets into deeper water, slapping away the only hand of friendship offered to him, Bill Owen’s mechanic Birdie, the greatest problem being Virginia McKenna’s ill-fated Helen in what is fortunately little more than a cameo, she and Baker playing stuffy repressed English middle class with such reserve they have all the heat and passion of a disconnected gas stove.
Crisply filmed by Gordon Dines and with superb model work by Sydney Pearson and Haydn Bartlett showcased in the new restoration, it is supported by a discussion from film historian Neil Sinyard where he described it as a “disenchanted and angry” film, a critique of post-war Britain where people of formerly indispensable skills were cast adrift, though he does note that produced by Ealing, had it been approached differently all the elements are present which would have made for another of their celebrated comedies.
