‘I’ve been number two in films for donkey’s years,’ quoth the stalwart support actor’s stalwart support actor, and he was right. Not that, whatever Trev himself may have thought of this state of affairs, there’s anything wrong with that. Of course the knee-jerk thought is of the war, with taut squadron leaders and clandestine platform trysts with Celia Johnson. But then you’ve got his top turn in The Third Man, which for our money is as good as anything in the picture, although of course he didn’t get to say ‘cuckoo’ in a funny way with his eyebrows raised, so it went largely unheralded. You’ve got him ruthlessly epitomising the hypocritically morally outraged gentry in The Missionary. You’ve got him leading The Cockleshell Heroes, for God’s sake! And who else on the big screen would command the authority to keel-haul Marlon Brando?
FINEST HOUR: To be predictably unpredictable, we have to go with his sou’wester-clad, dirty-fingered, drunken indoor polo champ in Sir Henry at Rawlinson End.