In 1935, an old-school Whitehall bigwig named Lindemann advocates that “attack is the best form of defense,” but his peers conclude that Britain is ill equipped to combat the Nazi air force head-on, and call on the country’s leading engineers to find a preventative alternative. Nothing sticks until Samuel Watson-Watt — then employed by the Meteorological Office — proposes a then-radical method of using radio waves to locate distant enemy planes; he admits the idea is riddled with unknown factors, but the aerial committee reluctantly declares it the best of a bad bunch, and recruits the plainspoken Scotsman to head up a top-secret development mission.
What ensues is less a flag-waving celebration of British resolve than a study of internal class conflict within the British war effort, as the ministers’ skepticism over Watson-Watt’s suitability for the project stems to a considerable degree from his hearty accent and lack of Oxbridge education. Much to their chagrin, Watson-Watt rejects their offer to recruit a team of top physicists to assist him in his endeavors, choosing instead to work with his existing meteorologist colleagues — like him, regional university graduates dismissed by Whitehall brass as “little weathermen.” It’s a valid and still-resonant angle. It is not so much a tale of brilliance as one of perseverance and thinking outside the box. Very enjoyable.
