When Pinchgut (retitled Four Desperate Men for the U.S. market) belatedly reaches this point not only does the film finally take off, but it starts to eerily echo that other ‘deserted 1950s Australian city populated by American actors’ feature, On The Beach (1959).

Recalling how dead the city of Sydney was when I migrated there in the early 70s makes me think the deserted streets were shot on a Sunday morning to achieve their docu-realism! In fact that realistic quality is a major selling point of Pinchgut, given the provenance of its director Harry Watt, the legendary pioneer of contemporary film documentary techniques in the 1930s and 40s. A real plus is the extensive footage shot at the Opera House site, then a crenellated structure (it was a tram shed) suggestive of a fake castle.

The trouble with Pinchgut is it falls flat in the pedestrian interior scenes, of which there is a preponderance. Only in the preposterous upshift to a mutually destructive (and hence metaphorically nuclear?) standoff does it spring to life. By then it’s almost too late, though its establishing scenes are enlivened with a mild drollery that seems almost second nature to the Ealing crew. And when bull-necked Aldo Ray unwisely tries a ‘top of the world, ma’ finale, it begs a comparison with White Heat that can only disadvantage this film.

Worth seeing as an interesting curio, The Siege of Pinchgut's uneven qualities – flatfooted human ‘drama’ and attention-grabbing big picture fireworks – suggest a British film industry unsure of which direction to take in order to prosper in the postwar world.

- Roger Westcombe