A smug sense of triumph pervaded British business last week. On London's Piccadilly, in the City, in the studio suburb of Elstree, even in the little dead end of Downing Street, good Britons congratulated each other on a new and imperial prospect for the British cinema. Cause of all this decorous good feeling was a cigar-puffing 64-year-old onetime Glasgow solicitor named John Maxwell, who had just upset the biggest film deal of the year-to make an even bigger one. Mr. Maxwell had as good as bought Gaumont-British, thereby discomfiting two resounding Hollywood names,...
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