OTLEY, a British spy comedy from 1969, was well received at home but sank without a trace in the States: ask how many people have ever heard of it and hands raised likely belong to people who worked on it. Well, snitty New York critics and indifferent audiences missed out; don’t share their/our error. The industry fancy for one word titles went crazy that year with no less than 27 releases duly christened, four decorated with exclamation points for hopeful oomph. With the exception of Z, most deservedly tanked. This one’s a keeper.

‘Gerald Arthur Otley’ (Tom Courtenay, 31), ‘Gerry’ to his exasperated friends, is shiftless and breezily on the dim side, barely getting by selling antiques and sponging beds from those who can put up with his lazy outlook. Then casual & carefree turns to caught & consequential when Gerry gets innocently ensnared in a deadly duel of intelligence agencies to whom kidnapping, double-crossing and assassinations are merely chess-piece moves in the game.

Directed by Dick Clement, in his first feature go in that capacity, sharing script duties with longtime writing partner Ian La Frenais (The Jokers, The Commitments), this consistently sharp and surprising take on the old sheep-among-wolves trope relies on shaded characterizations and dry asides rather than the ‘zany’ antics of nearly all of the era’s spy spoofs. Droll trumps frantic, and the cast is flaw-free. The never less than compelling Courtenay, who had one earlier brush with comedy (Billy Liar a comedy-drama) added this superb boob-as-hero/survivor to a gallery of keen dramatic coups (King And Country, King Rat, Doctor Zhivago); Otley comes off as real person instead of a comic cipher.

Fave wish-fulfiller Romy Schneider gets the seductress gig, and while her role isn’t as well-drawn as the others, she’s welcome just by showing up, her knowing smile enough to betray for. Great fun comes from Alan Badel, slimy as de rigueur; Leonard Rossiter, unflappably confident hit man; and Freddie Jones, perfectly poofy as an art connoisseur so ‘out’ your gaydar may short circuit. Helpfully the threat level throughout is pitched straight, so the fine line needed between tension and teasing isn’t crossed clumsily to steal cheap laughs and spoil the vital suspension of disbelief.

Smart use is made of recognizable London locations in Notting Hill, Chelsea, Westminster and Knightsbridge; highlights include an ingeniously funny car chase and a drop-in to the Playboy Club in Mayfair. The amusing title tune “Homeless Bones” was written and sung by Don Partridge, “king of the buskers”; the light touch score was composed by Stanley Myers (The Deer Hunter, The Witches).

No box office info on this nugget, which runs 91 minutes with choice turns from James Villiers, Fiona Lewis, James Cossins, James Maxwell, Phyllida Law, James Bolam, Ronald Lacey, Robert Brownjohn, Edward Hardwicke, Frank Middlemass and Geoffrey Bayldon.