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Jamaica Inn is a 1939 British adventure thriller film directed by Alfred Hitchcock adapted from Daphne du Maurier's 1936 novel of the same name, the first of three of du Maurier's works that Hitchcock adapted the others were her novel Rebecca and the short story "The Birds". It stars Charles Laughton and features Maureen O'Hara in her first major screen role. It is the last film Hitchcock made in the United Kingdom before he moved to the United States.

"A digitized version of the 1939  printed archive in The New York Times wrote a review about the film Jamaica INN: Having set his own standards, Alfred Hitchcock must be judged by them; and, by them, his "Jamaica Inn" (at the Rivoli) is merely journeyman melodrama, good enough of its kind, but almost entirely devoid of those felicitous turns of camera phrasing, the sudden gleams of wicked humor, the diabolically casual accumulation of suspense which characterize his best pictures. Without them, Hitchcock is still a good director, imaginative and cinema-wise, but with no more individuality than a dozen others in his field and subject, like them, to the risk of having a mere actor run away with the film. That had never happened to Hitchcock before. His pictures always were his. But "Jamaica Inn" will not be remembered as a Hitchcock picture but as a Charles Laughton picture. It bears the Laughton stamp as unmistakably as "The Thirty-nine Steps" bore Hitch's. Perhaps that is the root of evil if it is evil. For Hitch never faced a player his size before (and we're not thinking only of gross tonnage). With two such stalwart individualists battling on a bare sound stage they might have come to a draw. But Laughton had more than weight on his side: he is co-owner of the producing firm, Mayflower Productions, and in the film, he wears a costume and a putty nose. No director can spot Mr. Laughton a putty nose and still hope to lead him by it. With Laughton setting the pace then, which is jolly enough, though slower than Hitch would have ordered it, "Jamaica Inn" has become a pardonably free translation of Daphne Du Maurier's romantic novel about the disreputable tavern on the Cornish coast in the eighteenth century where an innocent country girl, seeking her Aunt Patience, found herself in a den of ship-wreckers and murderers led by her uncle under the secret patronage of the local squire, Sir Humphrey Pengallan. The unmasking of the squire (who loves nice things—and never lets us forget the strain of insanity in the Pengallan breed) is a matter less of suspense than of straightforward narration, but the tale-spinning has been glib and picturesque.Mr. Laughton's relish of the squire—it was a clergyman in the novel, but no matter—is infectious. Conscious as we were that he was overplaying him unashamedly, there is that to Mr. Laughton's ogling, lip-pursing, strutting, a nostril-dilating style which makes the offense altogether endearing. We can't recall when we've ever held a monster in such complete affection”


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