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The trouble with Fighter Squadron seems to be that Writer-Producer Seton Miller has given his flyers dual, contradictory personalities. On one side, they are clean-limbed, jut-jawed American boys who never wash out, never suffer combat fatigue or fear. Another of their characteristics that will hand veterans in the audience a big laugh: they never finish a tour of duty without begging for another. They are always heroic and self-sacrificing —and always over-glamorized. The squadron ace (Edmond O'Brien) risks court-martial by disobeying flight orders to help a pal. When O'Brien parachutes from a crippled plane, his wing man (Robert Stack) brashly lands in enemy territory to rescue him. This threadbare sort of hokum is fairly hard to take.
What is almost as hard to take about Fighter Squadron's high-minded fellows is the cruel pleasure they seem to get out of destruction and killing. (Blood lust was not an outstanding characteristic of U.S. pilots in the best wartime documentaries, such as William Wyler's brilliant Thunderbolt.) Sample disconcerting dialogue from a knight of the barracks as he shoots down an enemy in flames: "Burn, yuh crumb, burn!"
Dulcimer Street (J. Arthur Rank; Prestige), a sort of neighborhood Grand Hotel, takes a lingering, sympathetic look at the people in a modest London lodginghouse. Following the lead of Norman Collins, who wrote the novel, Director Sidney Gilliat (The Notorious Gentleman, The Adventuress) examines with a friendly eye the small weaknesses and quiet virtues of a few plain people.
The crooked "spiritualist" (Alastair Sim) despises his own shoddy fakery; an old political crackpot (Stephen Murray) really wants to improve the world; the cadging cockney spinster (Ivy St. Helier) needs to cadge a bit of affection. The young man upstairs (Richard Attenborough) turns thief and killer to get money to impress the girl in first floor, front (Susan Shaw). The mousy, retired clerk (Wylie Watson) digs into his life savings to help a neighbor.
Beginning by sympathizing with its characters, Dulcimer Street ends up by frankly admiring some of them. Like many well-made British movies, this one lacks the fast Hollywood pace, but makes up for its slow speed by a patient, understanding humor.