April 2026 – Page 3 – The Magnificent 60s

Eye of the Cat (1969) ***

If I hadn’t watched The Woman Who Wouldn’t Die (1965) I wouldn’t have been so well up on the intrigue of the modern film noir so I guessed where this was going pretty quickly but that did not detract from the enjoyment of watching it reach its stylish denouement. A perfect antidote to the cute cats as personified by Disney in The Three Lives of Thomasina (1963) and That Darn Cat! (1965).

Realizing that wealthy client Danny (Eleanor Parker), suffering from emphysema, might only need a nudge or two to hasten her death, hairdresser Kassia (Gayle Hunnicutt) enrolls the sick woman’s wayward nephew Wylie (Michael Sarrazin) in a plot to kill her off and inherit her money. There are two obstacles, possibly three. Danny has a houseful of cats, close to a hundred at the last count, and Wylie, after a childhood feline encounter, is terrified of the four-legged creatures. Upset at his previous behavior, Wylie has been cut out of the old lady’s will and needs reinstated pronto. The last element is that Wylie has a younger brother, Luke (Tim Henry) who acts as Danny’s gofer, who may take exception to the scheme.

Needless to say, the otherwise imperious Danny is so delighted at the return of the prodigal nephew that she demands her lawyer Bendetto (Linden Chiles) amend the will immediately. She sleeps in an oxygen tent and simply switching off her supply will be enough. But, of course, it would be foolhardy to murder her before the will is signed, sealed and delivered. Unfortunately, Wylie is a high-spirited selfish young man and comes close to offing her unintentionally.

While Wylie takes up residence in Danny’s vast house, Kassia is kept in the cellar and there is a suspicion that he will blackmail her into having sex with him since she sees their relationship as strictly business. Wylie has a whole string of abandoned girlfriends and seems to have capacity for preying on the most vulnerable if “Poor Dear” (Jennifer Leak), the nickname he assigns one is anything to go by.

Meanwhile, Wylie’s childhood fears return. He doesn’t need to see a cat, or even smell it, just sensing its presence is enough. His terrified reaction makes him want to abandon the scheme, despite the amount he might inherit. Desperate to prevent him from leaving, Danny agrees to get rid of her army of cats. Unfortunately, Luke is not as assiduous as he ought to be and a couple escape the round-up.

As the deadline for her demise nears, the tension is ratched up, seeds of suspicion sown among the conspirators, complications with the will and of course the cats hidden from Wylie’s view – but not ours. A fabulous scene with a runaway wheelchair nearly puts paid to the entire endeavor.

The under-rated Michael Sarrazin (In Search of Gregory, 1969), given a more complex character than before, switches through the gears of terror, charm and predation. Gayle Hunnicutt (P.J./New Face in Hell, 1968) is a less obvious femme fatale, relying far more on brain than obvious physical attributes. And what a delight to see 1950s box office queen Eleanor Parker (Warning Shot, 1967) handling a much larger role than was normal at this point in her career. Tim Henry made his movie debut. You might also spot Laurence Naismith (Jason and the Argonauts, 1963) and one of Judy Garland’s husbands Mark Herron (Girl in Gold Boots, 1968).

From the atmospheric credit sequence featuring silhouettes of cats through a rash of twists and turns director David Lowell Rich (A Lovely Way to Die, 1968) guides this unusual thriller with considerable expertise, knowing just when to add another layer to the suspense, and drawing excellent performances from the two principals. The original screenplay is by a master of the macabre Joseph Stefano of Psycho (1960) fame.

This chiller will keep you guessing.

The Spy with My Face (1965) ****

Far more enjoyable than I had expected and definitely benefitting from being seen on a small screen – I suspect the effects would show up the worse for wear on the big screen. Certainly, a decent enough plot and Napoleon Solo (Robert Vaughn) as the main Man from U.N.C.L.E. dominating proceedings. Despite being an expanded version of an episode, The Double Affair from the television series, it doesn’t betray its origins. Female master spies were thin on the ground until Thunderball (1965) and Deadlier than the Male (1967) and here Serena (Senta Berger) masterminding a T.H.R.U.S.H operation to steal a nuclear weapon, steals a march on both. The action is counterpointed by some nice humor.

While Solo and crew are busy attacking an Australian base of arch-nemesis T.H.R.U.S.H., Serena is putting the final plans together to infiltrate U.N.C.L.E. by using a doppelganger of Solo, cosmetic surgery creating an exact double. Solo’s sidekick Ilya Kuryakin (David MacCallum), portrayed as a cold fish – “I’ve got my computer to keep me warm” – is attacked leaving HQ by gas-spraying robots.

Women here are a good bit more realistic than in Bond. Let down by Solo, his girlfriend Sandy (Sharon Farrell), an airline hostess, proceeds to get drunk. When they go out to dinner, a bandaged man (the double) is at the next booth and when Solo is called to the telephone Serena is there on his return, prompting the jealous Sandy to dump her dinner all over him. In best secret agent style, of course, Solo reckons he can have his cake an eat it, hoping to dupe Serena at the same time as seducing her. However, he is suspicious of her motives – “whenever I go to strange places with strange women I get hit over the head by strange men.”

In Serena’s apartment, suspicion continues, Solo takes his gun into the shower. However, when he answers the door, it’s to his double, and Solo is gassed. Sly sexual elements are brought into play – the double isn’t quite correct, failing the kiss test. While Solo is transported to the Alps where T.H.R.U.S.H plans to hijack a secret nuclear device, the double enters U.N.C.L.E. HQ where he will receive a new password relating to the weapon.

Meanwhile, it transpires the double’s disguise is convincing – the still jealous Sandy pours a pot of coffee over him and later kicks him. And not foolproof enough – nonetheless he wears the wrong aftershave. The real Solo is intrepid enough, finding a clever method of delaying a countdown, and a good bit more alert when captured than when not.

The set pieces are well-done, considerable tension built up at various points, the assault on the T.H.R.U.S.H. premises, while lower-grade than James Bond, considerably more realistic with Solo in Special Forces-type camouflage and hiding in the trunk. The climactic fist fight between the rival Solos is convincing and there is an excellent motorcycle chase. Fortunately, the movie steers clear of gadgets and gizmos, presumably for budgetary reasons, and the only let down is a vault which looks as if it is constructed of bits and pieces of leftovers.

I was particularly fond of a quip by Kitteridge (Donald Harron), U.N.C.L.E’s Australian associate. In response to a query from the big boss, Alexander Waverly (Leo G. Carroll), about whether his beard was real, Kitteridge answers “No, sir, it’s fake, I’ve got the real one in my pocket.”

The movie is surprisingly adept at treading a fine line between serious action and playfulness. The notion that the entire conspiracy can be undone by female jealousy or the wrong scent adds an interesting layer to the proceedings. And even the computer-loving Kuryakin finds time for romantic distraction. Serena is something of a secret weapon herself, far from an obvious espionage villainess, and keeps both Solo and the audience in the dark about her real intentions.

Director John Newland, more at home in television, steps up to the plate with a brisk tale that still has time for surprising subtlety. Robert Vaughn (The Venetian Affair, 1966) strides through the concoction effortlessly. The ever-alluring Senta Berger (Bang! Bang! You’re Dead, 1966) creates an intriguing character. Demands of the plot mean that David MacCallum (Sol Madrid, 1968) is somewhat underused. Sharon Farrell (A Lovely Way to Die, 1968) sparkles in a supporting role. Look out for Bardot lookalike Jennifer Billingsley (The Young Lovers, 1964), Harold Gould (The Sting, 1973) and Michele Carey (El Dorado, 1967). Joseph Calvelli (Death of a Gunfighter, 1969) and Clyde Ware (No Drums, No Bugles, 1972) devised the screenplay.

You can see why MGM went back to the U.N.C.L.E. well so often to plunder movies for foreig release.

Fuze (2026) *** – Seen at the Cinema

We often complain that movies are dumbing down, but audiences aren’t as stupid as you would think, which is why it takes half the film before this one catches fire. Can’t be a coincidence that on the very day when an unexploded bomb is discovered in London that a major bank robbery is taking place within the vicinity that’s been closed-off. Or that the finger is going to point at maverick bomb disposal expert Will (Aaron Taylor-Johnson). So while Sky has invested some bucks in having the streets and parks crawling with people and cops, it’s skimmed on the screenplay. And recruiting three potential James Bonds isn’t enough to make a difference.

My antenna were up long before an eagle-eyed subordinate noticed a few anomalies on the bomb, not enough rust for a start to qualify for a leftover from World War Two. So it’s not until the double-crossing of the second half begins that the movie takes off. Even then, we’re alerted to the possibility of double-crossing because one of the thieves, Karalis (Theo James), is clearly doubted by the unnamed robbery leader (Sam Worthington).

The robbery is well-executed though nothing we’ve not seen before except for the use of drones to spirit the haul (jewels and cash only to limit the weight) away over the rooftops. The chase would be more convincing if the pursuing cops had decided not to go any further up the sewer tunnel where some bad guys were hidden. And if the surveillance team had noticed the obvious heat signature indicating the use of power when the electricity cables had been cut by the authorities to assist the bomb disposal. However, the dust from the explosion is eerily similar to 9/11, huge cloud of dust rising over the city streets.

So the big twist is in the double cross. Karalis has stashed a package away on a rooftop chimney so he’s up to something alright. What I didn’t expect was for another gang to burst in on the robbers and steal the loot. Or that the fella who funded the robbery is going to become suspicious of Karalis, not so surprising when he discovers the jewels are fake. While Karalis is hauled away in the boot of a car, fate only too obvious, the robbers escape. Mr Anonymous escapes and gives chase and ambushes the bad-guy thieves. But before he can get away with the bounty a conveniently-placed sniper mows him down.

And then it all comes together and I have to say in somewhat surprising fashion, though the main twist is left to the very last scene. Karalis and Will are in cahoots and Will, having done a stint in Afghanistan, is well-placed for sniper duties. There’s a third member of the team, whom the camera has picked out often enough in the mayhem for audience suspicions to rise, immigrant Raheem who turns out to have been Will’s translator in Afghanistan.

The cops, led by Ms Anonymous (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), haven’t been too sharp all the way through so it’s pretty easy for the clever crooks to evade pursuit, though you would have thought an all-borders alert at airports would not have been so easily avoided by the simple device of hopping on a different plane than the ones the cops were expecting.

If you want to know how fleeting fame can be look no further than Sam Worthington, at one time the next big thing after Terminator Salvation (2009) and the original Avatar (2009) but even though he’s starred in the billion-dollar sequels to Avatar he’s only third banana here. Aaron-Taylor Jonson (Kraven the Hunter, 2024) and Theo James (The Monkey, 2025) are both apparently (though that might be down to good publicity experts working a compliant media) contenders for the vacant James bond crown and in the light of that both acquit themselves well in the action field.

Directed by David Mackenzie (Hell and High Water, 2016) from a script by Ben Hopkins (Inside, 2023).

On a slack week at the cinema, this was an acceptable watch and maybe it will remain so when it rolls up on a television screen near you in a couple of weeks’ time. Apple and Amazon have set a high bar for a streamer with the release of F1:The Movie and Project Hail Mary and if old stagers like Sky want to keep up they’ll have to up their game.

The Drama (2026) * – Seen at the Cinema

Today’s stars – and that’s an ever-decreasing category – seem to want to get into the kind of edgy material that used to be the province of the arthouse. They might even cut their fees to get a beloved project off the ground. I couldn’t remotely begin to understand what was going through the minds of Zendaya (Challengers, 2024) and Robert Pattinson (Die My Love, 2025) to make them think this had any value whatsoever. It skirts the only important subject in the whole picture, trying to fashion a rom-com-gone-bad in order to come up with, after an inordinate amount of time, a happy ending.

The premise, probably understandable in these suspicious times is: what secret is your partner hiding? Could they be bigamists? Have they changed gender? Have they been in prison? Nope, it’s much worse than that.

Emma (Zendaya) confesses that as a 15-year-old she was so fascinated by guns that she intended to slaughter her schoolmates. She didn’t go through with it because on the appointed day someone else had stolen her potential thunder. So what you might expect is that we backtrack and dig into the reasons why. But apart from a superficial stab at what turns an ordinary girl into a serial murderer and the notion that thousands of people would fall into the same category if they could ever get up the courage to do so.

Instead, this information is set against a rom-com backdrop and is used as narrative ammunition to derail her upcoming wedding to soft-hearted museum curator Charlie (Robert Pattinson). Po-faced pals Rachel (Alana Haim) and Mike (Mamadou Athie) get into an almighty snit over this, never mind that they have been guilty of heinous acts themselves. Bear in mind that Emma never actually injured anyone. But this pair who (Mike) used their previous girlfriend as a human shield against a ferocious dog and (Rachel) locked a mentally handicapped child in a cupboard in a remote house in the wood and ran away and didn’t fess up when a search party was formed.

Nobody thinks to send Rachel for counselling to ensure that whatever issues drove her to murder have been resolved. Instead, all concerned get agitated, and start examining Emma’s past and current life to see if she is going to go off on one. She’s certainly tougher than her wuss of a boyfriend, no problem sacking the DJ on the eve of the wedding or removing Rachel from a project.

Just to make sure Emma gets some audience sympathy she’s deaf in one ear and Charlie, on the edge of a mental breakdown, makes an unwise move on Misha (Hailey Gates), a member of his staff, which permits her boyfriend to give Charlie, literally, a bloody nose at the actual wedding.

You would hardly believe after all this nonsense and out of the detritus of the calamitous wedding that writer-director Kristoffer Borgli (Dream Scenario, 2023) manages to fashion a happy ending. This is witless stuff. And Hollywood at its hypocritical worst. I couldn’t begin to count how many people Pattinson has killed in his various movies and Zendaya in Dune has begun to express her violent tendencies. What’s that except glorifying violence and yet they still turn up in movies pontificating against violence.

There’s not a single likeable character. Charlie does his floppy-haired best and, supposedly, has such charm that he can get away with reading the same literary book as Emma – that’s the lame meet-cute – only to admit he hasn’t read a single word. Liar, liar, pants on fire appears to be a line that’s never entered Emma’s vocabulary, no doubt because, at 28, she’s never been in love (that in itself would be worth a piece of psychological digging).

This is one of the laziest attempts to provide contemporary stars with the “edge” they appear to so desperately seek as they try to emulate the Hollywood legends who genuinely did tackle important issues.

A mess.

Lock Up Your Daughters (1969) **

Worth seeing for all the wrong reasons, prime example being Christopher Plummer with a false nose and almost unrecognizable as an eighteenth century periwigged English dandy in a pure squalor of a coastal town. The best reason is the very realistic background, all mud, missing teeth, drunkenness, cockfighting, poverty, debtors strung up in baskets – not the usual bucolic image of Olde England. But everything gets bogged down in an indecipherable plot. Robert Altman mastered the multi-character narrative in such gems as Nashville (1975) but here debut director Peter Coe most demonstrably did not.

This started life as a modestly successful London West End stage musical and probably for budgetary reasons the songs were discarded. All that’s left is plot. And plot and plot. All to do with sex as it happens. Husbands exist only to be cuckolded. Cleavage is obligatory for women. Young women lusting after sex have been brought up in contradictory fashion to view it as dirty. And no eighteenth century tale is complete without a regimen of long-lost daughters and sons.

It starts promisingly enough in early morning with a town crier (Arthur Mullard) filling us in on the predilections and problems of various prominent citizens, most notably Lord Foppington (Christopher Plummer), the foppest of the fops, gearing up for an arranged marriage to Hoyden (Vanessa Howard). As a virgin not wanting to come to his wedding night bereft of the necessary skills, he employs strumpet Nell (Georgia Brown) to bring him up to speed.

Meanwhile, it’s “lock up your daughters” time as a ship’s crew, at sea for ten months, given two days leave, start charging through the town, fondling and kissing any woman of any age who happens to stand still for a moment. Among this randy bunch are Ramble (Ian Bannen), Shaftoe (Tom Bell) and Lusty (Jim Dale). Ramble is given the eye by married Lady Eager (Fenella Fielding), Shaftoe takes a fancy to Hilaret (Susannah York) while old flame Nell is targeted by Lusty (Jim Dale). Mrs Squeezum (Glynis Johns) seeks sex anywhere and there’s maid Cloris (Elaine Taylor) also seeking physical fulfilment.

Of course, the whole purpose of the narrative is to thwart true and illicit love, husbands and fathers returning at inconvenient times. And had the storyline stuck to the tried-and-tested formula devised very successfully for Tom Jones (1963) and The Amorous Adventures of Moll Flanders (1965) it might well have worked. But the instinct to make meaningful comment by way of satire takes the story in very unlikely directions, an extended court scene with a barmy judge the worst of such excesses, though a food fight comes close.

It’s meant to play as a farce, the men climbing (literally) in and out of bedrooms, the town’s apparently only ladder put to continuous use. But what would work on stage sadly falls down here, and not just because the occasional song might have come as light relief. There is an element of the female confusion over sex, natural instinct going against education, and so ill-informed that at the slightest chaste kiss they are likely to cry rape, but that’s as close as the movie gets to anything that makes sense. A movie that needed a sense of pace just becomes one scene tumbling into another.

Christopher Plummer (Nobody Runs Forever/The High Commissioner, 1968) makes by far his worst screen choice. He’s so concealed in his clothing that movement is inhibited and most of his acting relies on overworked eyeballs. Susannah York (Sands of the Kalahari, 1965) is pretty much lost in the shuffle. Ian Bannen (Penelope, 1966) is the pick, largely because he is required not to play villain, grump or idiot, and his Scottish charm and confidence works very well. Tom Bell (The Long Day’s Dying, 1967) is not cut out for comedy whereas Jim Dale (Carry On Doctor, 1967) who very much is does not get enough.

The movie wastes the talents of a terrific supporting cast headed by former British box office queen Glynis Johns (The Chapman Report, 1962) plus Roy Dotrice (A Twist of Sand, 1968), Vanessa Howard (Some Girls Do, 1969), Elaine Taylor (Casino Royale, 1967), Roy Kinnear (The Three Musketeers, 1973), Kathleen Harrison (Operation Snafu, 1961), Fenella Fielding (Arrivedeci, Baby, 1966) and singer Georgia Brown (A Study in Terror, 1965).

Keith Waterhouse and Willis Hall (Billy Liar, 1963) wrote the screenplay based on, as well as the original musical, a number of sources drawn from the works of Henry Fielding (author of Tom Jones) and John Vanbrugh. Peter Coe never directed another movie.

Hard to find – and probably deservedly so unless you’re of the So Bad It’s Good fraternity.

Reminders of Him (2026) **** – Seen at the Cinema

Author Colleen Hoover pulls a fast one on admirers of It Ends with Us (2024) and Regretting You (2025). Audiences had come to expect sophisticated romances that played to feminist mores. While there’s certainly romance involved, it’s more about ex-con Kenna (Maika Monroe) trying to re-connect with the daughter Diem (Zoe Kosovic) she lost after being imprisoned. The situation is complicated because she was jailed for killing her fiancé Scotty (Rudy Pankow) in a car accident while under the influence. You can picture the scene: “Hi, Diem, meet your mother…she killed your father.”

I liked this film instantly because within five scenes it had set out its dramatic stall. Kenna gets out of a taxi taking her to Laramie, Wyoming, to rip out of the ground a makeshift cross marking where Scotty died. She can’t get a job because she ticks the “previous conviction” box in a job application. She is sent to a discount store to try there but a flashback reveals the meet-cute with Scotty who was driving an orange-painted truck. Another man, Ledger (Tyriq Withers) owner of a local bar, takes Diem for school. In the bar she flirts with Ledger until noting his truck she realizes this is her dead fiance’s best friend, whom she’d never met, because during her short courtship with Scotty, Ledger was off trying to make his career in football.

Kenna’s realistic enough but driven by a sliver of romanticism that ends in a relationship with Diem. There’s nothing but obstacles in the way, Ledger for one, who has occasion to physically remove her from temptation, which curdles their growing relationship. The still-grieving grandparents Grace (Lauren Graham) and Patrick (Bradley Whitford) fear Kenna might kidnap the girl and that eventually drives a wedge between them and Ledger, to whom they had grown incredibly close.

Everything about this is slow-burn. And there’s not an ounce of tear-jerking either. Kenna does not cry herself to sleep, doesn’t stand hidden under a tree or peek through a hedge or hover at a school gate trying to catch a glimpse of Diem. She doesn’t complain life’s unfair. Lacking a bed in her miserly accommodation, she sleeps on the couch, and is reduced to bagging groceries for a living.

There’s none of the usual misery memoir beats, nor does it take some miraculous piece of derring-do (saving Diem from drowning or a fire or from being knocked down in the street or – screenwriters have come up with worse – preventing her being kidnapped by someone else) to achieve a breakthrough. Nor is she baited in the street nor run out of town by people furious that she killed the well-liked Scotty.

Slow and contemplative would hardly be the best tone for a contemporary romance, and that takes a long time to get going thanks to the various complications. Resolution is provided with something of a get-out-of-jail-free car. As well as the DUI, Kenna was convicted for leaving the scene of the accident while (unknownst to her) her fiancé was still alive. The accident had occurred in a remote area and she had walked such a distance to get help and was herself in poor shape after the crash that she fell asleep in a barn only to discover Scotty had survived the accident only to die later.

In the old days you’d have called this a woman’s picture, but that category seems to have been taken over the excessively emotional Hamnet or Wuthering Heights, so it’s fairer to just class it as a more than decent picture for adults.

Both Maika Monroe (Longlegs, 2024) and Tariq Withers (Him, 2025) underplay to the benefit of the movie and there are interesting roles for Lauren Graham (Bad Santa, 2003), Bradley Whitford (The Handmaid’s Tale, 2018-2025) and Monika Myers in her debut. Directed with commendable restraint by Vanessa Caswill (Love at First Sight, 2023) from a screenplay by Hoover and producer Lauren Levine.

Like Regretting You, it’s not going to be a blockbuster, but quietly rewarding just the same.

Penelope (1966) ***

Comedic twist on the heist movie with Natalie Wood (This Property Is Condemned, 1966) as a kleptomaniac. Given its origins in a tight little thriller by E.V. Cunningham, pseudonym of Howard Fast (Mirage, 1965), it’s an awful loose construction that seems to run around with little idea of where it wants to go. Wood, of course, is a delightfully kooky heroine who takes revenge on anyone who has ignored or slighted her by stealing their possessions.

The picture begins with her boldest coup. Cleverly disguised as an old woman, she robs the newest Park Avenue bank owned by overbearing husband James (Ian Bannen). This prompts the best comedy in the movie, a man with a violin case (Lewis Charles) being apprehended by police, the doors automatically locking after a clerk falls on the alarm button, James trapped in the revolving doors losing his trousers in the process.

In flashback, we learn that she turned to thievery after a rape attempt by Professor Klobb (Jonathan Winter), her college tutor, and while half-naked managed to make off with his watch fob. She stole a set of earrings from Mildred (Norma Crane) after suspecting she is having an affair with James. “Stealing makes me cheerful,” she tells her psychiatrist, Dr Mannix (Dick Shawn) and while admitting to dishonesty denies being a compulsive thief. After the bank robbery she even manages to relieve investigating officer Lt Bixby (Peter Falk) of his wallet.

Nobody suspects her, certainly not her husband who could not conceive of his wife having the brains to carry out such an audacious plan. Bixby is a bit more on the ball, but not much. Clues that would have snared her in seconds if seen by any half-decent cop are missed by this bunch. And generally that is the problem, the outcome is so weighted in Penelope’s favor. The plot then goes all around the houses to include as many oddballs as possible – boutique owners Sadaba (Lila Kedrova) and Ducky (Lou Jacobi), Major Higgins (Arthur Malet) and suspect Honeysuckle Rose (Arlene Golonka). Naturally, when she does confess – to save the innocent Honeysuckle – nobody believes her in part because everyone has fallen in love with her. Bixby, just as smitten, nonetheless makes a decent stab at the investigation.

Howard Fast under the pseudonym of E.V. Cunningham wrote a series of thrillers with a woman’s name as the title. He was on a roll in the 1960s providing the source material for Spartacus (1960), The Man in the Middle (1964), Cheyenne Autumn (1964), Sylvia (1965), Mirage (1965) and Jigsaw (1968).

Taken as pure confection it has its attractions. It’s certainly frothy at the edges and there are a number of funny lines especially with her psychiatrist and the slapstick approach does hit the target every now and then. The icing on the cake is top class while the cake itself has little of substance. It strikes a satirical note on occasion especially with the Greenwich Village cellar sequence. It doesn’t go anywhere near what might be driving this woman towards such potential calamity – that she gets away with it is only down to her charm. There has probably never been such a pair of rose-tinted spectacles as worn by Penelope, even though her every action is driven by revenge.

Without Natalie Wood it would have sunk without trace but her vivacious screen persona is imminently watchable and the constant wardrobe changes (courtesy of Edith Head) and glossy treatment gets it over the finishing line. It’s one of those star-driven vehicles at which Golden Age Hollywood was once so adept but which fails to translate so well to a later era. Ian Bannen (Station Six Sahara, 1963) is in his element as a grumpy husband, though you would wonder what initially she saw in him, and Peter Falk (Robin and the 7 Hoods, 1965) delivers another memorable performance. Dick Shawn (A Very Special Favor, 1965) is the pick of the supporting cast though screen personalities like Lila Kedrova (Torn Curtain, 1966), Jonathan Winters (The Loved One, 1965) and Lou Jacobi (Irma la Douce, 1963) are not easily ignored. Johnny Williams a.k.a John Williams wrote the score.

Director Arthur Hiller (Tobruk, 1967) delivers as much of the goods as are possible within the zany framework. Veteran Oscar-winner George Wells (Three Bites of the Apple, 1967) wrote the screenplay but it’s a far cry from the far more interesting source material and I would have to wonder what kind of sensibility – even at that time – could invent a comedy rape (not in the book, I hasten to add).

The Amorous Adventures of Moll Flanders (1965) ***

“The Husband-Hunting Adventures of Moll Flanders” might have been a more accurate title and if you were seeking a template for a multi-character eighteenth-century Olde English picture majoring on sexual shenanigans here would be a very good place to start. Of course, Tom Jones (1963) was the precursor but told the story from the male perspective and here it is from the more vulnerable female point-of-view. Despite the hilarity and the sexual proclivities on show, it remains abundantly clear that marriage remains a refuge, where the those without a title can gain either security or status by contrast, such a contract is viewed as a means of further enrichment for the already wealthy.

So orphan housemaid Moll Flanders (Kim Novak) has a difficult time persuading the elder brother (Daniel Massey) of her wealthy employer to marry her. Instead, he takes her as his mistress, leaving her no option but to marry the drunken fool of a younger brother (Derren Nesbitt) and instantly regretting her decision. When he drowns, you would have thought that would solve her problems. But this was the eighteenth century and a widow with no fortune (and therefore power) of her own can easily be tossed out penniless.

A widowed banker (George Sanders) might be a prospect especially as she has the wits to prevent him being entirely robbed by highwayman Jemmy (Richard Johnson). Plans to marry him thwarted, she takes a job for food and lodgings with Lady Blystone (Angela Lansbury) and her husband, an impoverished Count (Vittorio De Sica), who are constantly pursued by debt collectors. Meanwhile Jemmy has taken the decision to marry a rich woman and become a kept man.

But this set of characters becomes enmeshed, so the tale unfolds in classic fashion. Assuming Moll to be moneyed, Jemmy masquerades as the owner of three ships. Nothing, of course, works out for anybody, certainly not those pretending to be something they are not while aspiring to wealth beyond their reach, but it all concludes in propitious fashion as the actions of the various principals become embroiled.

While certainly having an inclination towards the amorous, Moll wishes for that within the context of true love, rather than selling her physical wares to the highest bidder. So for a picture sold on immorality – the “rollicking ribaldry” of the poster – there is an unsung moral standpoint. Finding safe passage into affluence proves very tricky indeed. And what appears at first glance to be merely a picaresque episodic tale turns out to be very well structured indeed. And those looking for cleavage will find it here in abundance, as if some kind of rationing had been imposed on clothing, or that it was matters of economy that dictated that the area around the bosom be left unclothed. Being the lusted-after heroine it falls to Moll Flanders to shed even more of her attire from time to time.

You are more likely to laugh out loud at the moments of offbeat humour – a flotilla of ducks heading in Moll’s direction when she cries for help in a lake, the Count while acting as a butler demanding a tip – but it is more of a gentle satire. There is some of the expected bedroom farce but, mercifully, no recourse to a food fight. It is handsomely-mounted and meets the highest expectations of the costume drama.

Kim Novak (Of Human Bondage, 1964) easily passed the English-accent-test and carries the picture with ease. Richard Johnson (Deadlier than the Male, 1967) reveals a rakish side so far hidden in his more dramatic works to date. And there is a fine supporting cast including George Sanders (The Quiller Memorandum, 1966), Angela Lansbury (Harlow, 1965), Vittorio De Sica (The Shoes of the Fisherman, 1968), Lili Palmer (The Counterfeit Traitor, 1962) as Jemmy’s mistress, Leo McKern (Assignment K, 1968) as Jemmy’s sidekick going by the name of Squint, Daniel Massey (Star!, 1968) and Derren Nesbitt (Nobody Runs Forever/The High Commissioner, 1968). In bit parts look out for Cecil Parker (Guns at Batasi, 1964), Dandy Nichols later of Till Death Us Do Part television fame and Carry On regular Peter Butterworth.

All directed with some style by Terence Young (Mayerling, 1968) and adapted from the lengthy Daniel Defoe novel by Denis Cannan (A High Wind in Jamaica, 1965) and Roland Kibbee (Valdez Is Coming, 1971).

An old-fashioned romp with, if you can bothered to look, a moral center.

Splitsville (2026) ** Seen at the Cinema

Might have worked back in the day when you could have enlisted the likes of Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau whose grouchy sniping sparked The Odd Couple (1968) and Grumpy Old Men (1993). At a pinch might have stood a chance with Will Ferrell (Anchorman, 2004) and Vince Vaughn (The Wedding Crashers, 2005) and others of similar ilk, who might be oiks but had some charm. Starring writer-director Michael Angela Covino (The Climb, 2019) and his writing partner Kyle Marvin (The Climb) as the male leads, this has no chance at all, especially as this pair are responsible for the whole mess.

Theoretically, Dakota Johnson (Madame Web, 2024) is the star but given she only acts with her lips and not her eyes, it’s not much of a step-up. Whenever the narrative gets in trouble, which is most of the time, the movie resorts to the crudest kind of slapstick fights where furniture only exists to be broken and windows and even goldfish tanks to be smashed.

The odd thing is this might have worked a treat if the perspective had shifted from the out-of-their-league Carey (Kyle Marvin) and Paul (Michael Angelo Corvino) to their glossy, sexy, partners, Julie (Dakota Johnson) and Ashley (Adria Arjona). The casting looks like wishful thinking in the first place, the nerds snaring gorgeous women, but what really sinks the project as we learn as the movie progresses is that the feminist attitudes of the women are a bad thing, and that their inclination to take on multiple partners outside their marriages, with the tacit approval of their husbands, and the independence inherently expressed, should not be celebrated and that the sooner the errant women come to appreciate their faithful men the better – at least that’s what the happy ending says.

I only laughed out loud once and that was a crude bit. I’m not sure if Kyle Marvin has it written into his contract, or is taking advantage of his position as a co-writer, that his large schlong gets a good few outings – though maybe this is a modern ironic twist in that it’s the naked male rather than the naked female we see in the shower – but it was the appearance of his privates in an embarrassing situation that got the laugh.

The story is bonkers. Lively Ashley wants a divorce because her dull teacher husband isn’t sexually imaginative. He scuttles off to hunker down with best friend Paul, a millionaire property developer, and wife Julie only to discover they have an open marriage, of which he takes advantage, only to find that he has crossed a line with Paul. Meanwhile, Ashley has taken up with nay number of ripped hunks, that Carey accommodates, so desperate is he to maintain any kind of relationship with her. For some reason – narrative insanity perhaps – all of Ashley’s lovers take the same approach, once dumped they can’t bear to leave their apartment and Carey, being the accommodating sort, ends up cooking and cleaning for them all.

When Ashley’s business goes bust and he’s imprisoned for fraud, he determines to turn over a new leaf and that might work except that’s a fraud. He’s got no reason to turn over a new leaf since, apparently, he only went along with the open marriage idea to placate his wife and has been faithful all the time. Given the already shaky premise, this makes the edifice tumble along with Ashley’s revelation that she’s realized just how much better Carey is suited for her than all her other men. There’s a ramshackle climax where various people conspire to make other people jealous in the hope of winning back their true love. Naturally, this goes all slapstick – by this point you’re wondering if there’s anything left to break.

Three questions are left dangling: what attracted Dakota Johnson to the script given she’s got so little to do; why the movie took such an old-fashioned tack instead of one where the faithful have to work out how to hold onto their unfaithful free-spirited women; and how this was greenlit in the first place.

It’s the kind of movie that appears promising and you think it’s going to improve as it goes along. I was foolish enough to believe it would. The couple next to me gave up after three-quarters of an hour.

The Ipcress File (1965) *****

Stylish take on the espionage genre when it was still in its infancy and could accommodate stylish directors like Sidney J. Furie (The Appaloosa, 1966). Eschewing the bombastic effects and villains of the James Bond series, relying more on intrigue and the elements of betrayal that other practitioners of the dark arts such as John Le Carre espoused, this is as much a character study and presents in some cases a fairer picture of the class struggle in Britain than most kitchen-sink dramas. So it’s either going to put you off entirely or make you appreciate the film more when I tell you that my favorite scene is the fistfight between Harry Palmer (Michael Caine) and shaven-headed thug Housemartin (Oliver MacGreevy) outside the Royal Albert Hall in London that is shot entirely through the windows of a traditional red telephone box. You can’t say bolder than that.

The credit sequence, more famously ripped off by William Goldman for private eye saga Harper/The Moving Target (1966), is equally inspired. An alarm clock wakes Palmer, he reaches out for the girl who shared his bed last night to discover she is gone and then punctiliously and as if time-shifted to the twenty-first century when it would be the norm proceeds to grind fresh coffee beans, fill a cafetiere with only as much liquid as would constitute a small espresso, dresses and last but not least searches among the disturbed bedclothes for his gun.

Palmer is transferred from dull surveillance duties to a team hunting for missing scientists. Given both his insolent and insubordinate manner, he is not expected to fit in to a service riddled with the upper-classes. His new superior Dalby (Nigel Green), a “passed-over major,” owes his present situation to Palmer’s former boss Colonel Ross (Guy Doleman) and both sport three-piece suits, bowler hats and umbrellas and speak in those clipped tones that invariably carry undertones of menace. Where James Bond’s front, the import-export business, is rather more upmarket, here the background is considerably downmarket, Dalby masquerading as the owner of an employment agency and distributor of fireworks. It is insatiably bureaucratic, reams of forms to be filled in. What Palmer has in common with James Bond, beyond fisticuffs, is the ability to think outside the box and in this case picks the brains of a policeman friend to track down the wanted villain, code-named Bluejay (Frank Gatliff)

As in the best post-Bond espionage, there are traitors everywhere, and the departments employing spies tend to employ other spies to spy upon them, though in this case Palmer has the luck to draw the sexy Jean (Sue Lloyd). When Palmer picks up the trail of Ipcress, the plot thickens. There is no shortage of action, a gun battle, fisticuffs, but it presents a different approach to modern espionage, with a properly rounded hero – one who can cook (as did author Len Deighton who wrote a cookery column) for a start – while the ladies, with whom he shares a roving eye with Bond, are not required to turn up in bikinis.

There is deft employment of that favorite British cultural emblem – irony – and one wonderful scene takes place in a park where Dalby taps his cane in appreciation of a brass band. Throw in a bit of brainwashing and it’s a completely different proposition to Bond who could escape such a dilemma in a trice. There is a clever ending.

Michael Caine (Hurry Sundown, 1967), complete with spectacles, is superb as Palmer, making enough of an impression that the series ran for another four episodes. The stiff-upper-lip brigade have a field day in Nigel Green (Jason and the Argonauts, 1963) and Guy Doleman (Thunderball, 1965), the latter shading it with his purported sense of humor. Sue Lyon (Corruption, 1968) is excellent as the seemingly unattainable gal who falls within Palmer’s purvey but not entirely due to his charm. The villains, too, are not from the James Bond school of cut-outs, but come across as equally human, and the chief rascal you could argue has the most finely developed sense of humor of the lot. Throw in Gordon Jackson (Danger Route, 1967) and Freda Bamford (Three Bites of the Apple, 1967) as the bureaucratic attack-dog Alice and you have a very well cast movie.

Sidney J. Furie divided critics. Some believed he was ahead of his time, others that he was in thrall to arty French directors, and a reasonable number who didn’t give a stuff as long as he delivered the goods. But his predilection for odd angles here proves a strength, his compositional excellence also spot-on, one scene in particular where in a library Palmer looks down on the villain with Housemartin on a landing between. And he takes great delight in emphasizing the class distinctions, both bosses have huge offices with a small desk in the corner, and when Ross places briefcase, umbrella and bowler hat on the desk of Dalby it could not be a more clear invasion.

And you can’t forget the score by espionage doyen John Barry (Goldfinger, 1964). W.H. Canaway (A Boy Ten Feet Tall, 1963) and James Doran, making his movie debut, adapted Len Deighton’s classy bestseller but a fair amount of polish was added by thriller writer Lionel Davidson (Hot Enough for June, 1964), Johanna Harwood (Dr No, 1962), Lukas Heller (The Dirty Dozen, 1967) and Ken Hughes (Arrivederci, Baby, 1966).

A spy classic.