ABSTRACT
In his review of They Made Me a Fugitive, Arthur Vesselo launched into a general attack on films which, instead of celebrating the new Jerusalem that was being built in Britain, indulged in ‘morbid burrowings’ similar to those of the German Expressionist films of the twenties which were thought to have presaged the coming of Fascism. Despite their English subject matter, Vesselo thought they
have nevertheless an unpleasant undertone, a parade of frustrated violence, an inversion and disordering of moral values, a groping into the grimier recesses of the mind, which are unhealthy symptoms of the same kind of illness.2
