Director: Henry Cass
Year Released: 1950
Alec Guinness' doctor tells him he has a rare disease and hasn't long to live, providing the spring board for what turns out to be one of the most uneventful 'I'm going to die soon' movies I've had to endure in forever. He decides to move to a hotel 'to enjoy the posh life' and sit around and chat with housekeepers and other stuffy types, enjoying anonymity and playing coy mind games with everyone (he refuses to tell anyone why he can't take any job offers and says vague things alluding to his imminent demise). Whenever anyone mentions something about death, Guinness gets all choked up, leaves the room, and keeps everyone guessing about why he stormed off (for being rich intellectuals, they have the deductive reasoning of the lower classes). The ending is not simply cruel, but cruel and maudlin, jerking the audience around to make a snide point about how no one appreciates anyone when they're alive, and how backstabbing the richer classes can be.