Summary
A champagne-blurred reception, thrown to trumpet the arrival of blue-blooded heir Abington, becomes the spark that incinerates a marriage. Captain Pollock—uniform crisp yet morals crumpled—cornerstones the tragedy by cornering radiant Lady Una, his liquor-loosened lips brushing scandal onto her spotless reputation. Lord Cyril, all starch and self-righteousness, walks in at the precise moment innocence resembles in flagrante; public humiliation curdles into private vendetta. Curley Lushington, ever the gentle go-between whose devotion to Una borders on courtly worship, begs for contrition, yet Cyril’s refusal detonates Pollock’s vindictive ingenuity: a forged injury, a remote inn, another meticulously staged “embrace,” and—snap—the marital bond fractures. Five frostbitten years later, Pollock’s deathbed confession, smuggled out by Curley, is meant to cauterise the wound; instead it provokes a maternal kidnapping, a frantic chase, and, at last, a fragile, filigree reconciliation brokered by the same child whose birth once anchored the family and whose innocence now re-stitches it.
Synopsis
A drunken Captain Pollock attempts to seduce Lady Una at a reception celebrating the birth of her son Abington. Innocent but caught in a compromising position, Lady Una is admonished by her husband, Lord Cyril. Curley Lushington, a family friend and devotee of Lady Una, tries to reconcile the two men by soliciting an apology from Pollock, but Cyril forcefully rejects the captain. Furious at the spurn, Pollock plots to implicate Lady Una further by deviously luring her to an inn where she believes her husband lays injured. Once more Lord Cyril discovers them in an apparent embrace and demands a separation, taking Abington with him. Five years later, hearing news of Pollock's impending death, Curley procures a confession exonerating Lady Una and schemes to reunite her with Lord Cyril. The plan goes awry, and Lady Una kidnaps Abington, but thanks to the continued efforts of both their son and Curley, the couple is happily reunited.
Review Excerpt
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A single mis-timed caress ricochets through drawing rooms and doss houses alike, proving that Edwardian England feared reputational ruin more than artillery shells.
Jeanie Macpherson’s scenario for Evidence—directed with chiaroscuro bravado by Edwin August—unspools like a domino rally of propriety: one push and the whole lattice collapses into chaos. The film’s very title drips irony; evidence here is a malleable putty molded by male egos. We first glimpse Lady Una gliding across marble tiles,..."
