'Only When I Larf' (1967) Movie of the Book by Len Deighton

The 1968 film, 'Only When I Larf', directed by Basil Dearden and adapted from Len Deighton's novel of the same name, stands as a curious artifact in the history of British cinema—a caper film that tries to blend light-hearted farce with subtle cynicism, espionage intrigue with post-imperial satire. Starring Richard Attenborough, David Hemmings, and Alexandra Stewart, the film takes on the swinging sixties with an eye toward the absurdity of international con artistry and the blurred moral compass of the post-war Western elite.

At its core, 'Only When I Larf' is about a trio of charming confidence tricksters—Silas, Bob, and Liz—who drift from scheme to scheme with a breezy amorality that occasionally masks deeper psychological games. Silas, played with practiced suavity by Attenborough, is the seasoned leader of the group. Bob (Hemmings) is the younger, slightly naïve acolyte, while Liz (Stewart) occupies the ambiguous space between lover, accomplice, and potential betrayer. Their adventures take them through various exotic locales and cons, including arms deals and diplomatic double-crosses, always with the suspicion that the greatest betrayal might be internal.

What distinguishes the film from more traditional heist or spy capers of the era is its mood. Rather than the glamour of a James Bond film or the satirical polish of 'The Italian Job', 'Only When I Larf' is more understated and more fatalistic. Its comedy is laced with melancholy. The trio’s confidence games—at times so successful they dupe entire governments—are not celebrated as heroic feats, but shown as ultimately hollow gestures in a cynical world. Deighton’s fingerprints are all over the premise, even if the screenplay, adapted by Bryan Forbes, smooths out some of the novel's darker tones.

The film is shot with a kind of visual detachment, never overly stylish but competent. Dearden allows the dialogue and the performances to carry the film, and the interplay between the three leads is where it shines brightest. Attenborough brings gravitas and a slight world-weariness to Silas; Hemmings injects boyish energy and insecurity into Bob; and Stewart’s Liz is enigmatic, never quite letting the audience—or her partners—fully understand where her loyalty lies.

Yet despite its promising setup, the film often struggles with tone. The satire isn’t sharp enough to cut, the humour not consistently funny enough to qualify as farce, and the dramatic tension diluted by the film’s refusal to commit to emotional stakes. The betrayals, romantic entanglements, and double-crosses—though competently constructed—feel distant, as if the characters themselves are merely gliding through the motions of genre convention.

Still, the film finds its strength in moments of quiet ambiguity. It’s when the characters pause, rather than perform, that the existential hollowness of their lifestyle is most effectively communicated. There is an air of disillusionment beneath the breezy exterior—about espionage, about romance, about the very nature of trust. In this way, 'Only When I Larf' fits well within the tradition of British post-war narratives that questioned the heroism of empire and the credibility of official narratives, albeit cloaked in charm and wit.

In conclusion, 'Only When I Larf' is a film that defies easy classification. It is a heist movie with no ultimate thrill, a comedy tinged with moral fatigue, and a character study disguised as an international romp. It lacks the visual verve of the era’s better-known films, but it offers a quiet, wry meditation on deception—both personal and political. While perhaps not a cinematic classic, it remains a fascinating and often overlooked entry in the genre of British spy cinema, and a subtle reminder that even laughter can be a mask for loss.