The Black Sheep of Whitehall 1942

In this brisk British comedy-thriller, the debt-ridden head of a correspondence college, Professor Will Hay Davis, is forced to vacate his dingy office and face a chance at redemption at Whitehall. He travels to the Ministry of International Commerce to confront his one formidable pupil, John Mills as Bobby Jessop, a sharp PR man who smells opportunity in every dust mote. Jessop promises a lifeline: a real job at Whitehall if Davis can play along.

To set the plan in motion, Jessop hurries off to fetch Henry Hewitt as Professor Davys, a leading economist who has just returned from a long stint in South America to brief the British government on a key trade treaty that could bolster the war effort. The arrangement hinges on Davis presenting himself as that top economist, a ruse that seems almost too convenient to be true. The tension between ambition, credibility, and wartime urgency fills the room.

What follows is a string of misfires that turns the interviews into a gleefully chaotic showcase of Davis’s bluster and ignorance. The responses are a collage of gambling metaphors, clever con tricks, double entendres, and outright wrong answers, each misstep nudging the public mood toward disbelief. The scene is heightened by the deadpan reactions of Joss Ambler as Sir John, the government minister whose calm façade slowly cracks under the strain of this theatrical deception.

The farce takes a dark turn when Jessop returns with the supposed Professor Davys, only to reveal that the man playing the part—Crabtree, a scheming figure connected to Nazi Germany—is not the real Davys at all. The revelation lands with a mix of shock and humor, as Felix Aylmer embodies the slippery spy in the role of Crabtree, blurring loyalty and ambition. The ministers’ nerves fray, and the briefing room buzzes with confused energy.

With the jig up but the clock still ticking, Jessop pleads with Davis to help locate the legitimate Professor Davys, who is reportedly being held in a safe house by Crabtree’s conspirators. The pair slip into a montage of disguises and quick-change tricks, chasing down leads across a web of stations, offices, and shadowy corners that echo wartime anxiety. Their mission is simple in aim but perilous in execution: prevent the hunter from compromising a treaty that could steer Britain through the war.

As the plot thickens, the comedy refuses to sacrifice wit for peril. The film skims along the fine line between farce and espionage, poking gentle fun at bureaucratic red tape and media hype while quietly acknowledging the high stakes of the era. In a finale that blends brains with bravado, the unlikely duo manages to outmaneuver the conspirators, safeguard the potential treaty, and remind audiences that improvisation and courage can triumph even when confidence is thin.