Brian Hannan

Make Mine Mink (1960) ****

Jaunty little picture full of gags and visual treats pivoting on amateur crooks finding life tough in professional waters. While Terry-Thomas proves once again that he can spin any movie on its head with his own brand of upper-class buffoonery and those very distinct nasal tones, it’s very much a team effort with every one of the gang making a contribution.

The down-on-their-luck lodgers of impoverished Dame Beatrice (Athene Seyler) turn to crime after successfully returning a stolen mink. In the impenetrable logic of such tales, the quartet decide that if they can with military precision carry out a robbery reversal they would be well placed to actually carry out a robbery. Anal retentive Major Rayne (Terry-Thomas) would be a one-man League of Gentlemen except he has to rely on a motley crew of females, the luckless Dame, etiquette tutor Nanette (Hattie Jacques) and generally neurotic nincompoop Pinkie (Elspeth Duxbury). Getting very much in their way is the Dame’s maid Lily (Billie Whitelaw), an ex-jailbird, who wants nothing to do with illegitimate schemes and is romancing, to boot, Scottish cop Jim (Jack Hedley).

Nanette spends all her time puncturing the major’s pomposity, Pinkie spends all her time requiring liquid courage, and the major spends all his time happily barking orders and maintaining strict military order. Most of the time the incompetent crooks get away with their crimes because their victims are equally dense.

There’s a marvellous daftness to proceedings. Dame Beatrice, whose efforts at parking her car have resulted in continuous prangs and scrapes, is only too delighted to visit the local cop shop with the proviso that she needn’t bring along her license because she hasn’t seen it in a long time. The flat-chested Pinkie’s disguise is an inflated bosom. Trying to get rid of their ill-gotten gains to a fence sends Major into uncomfortable territory where being out of his depth is an invitation to a welter of fabulous comedy.

Naturally, they are not proper crooks since their thievery is all in the aid of charity. For a time, when Lily finds out, they are forced to give up, but then opportunity beckons.

There’s no attempt at either the satire that seemed necessary to seed into comedic ventures at the time if one were to achieve any sort of critical acclaim nor the double entendres, saucy innuendo and sex jokes that appeared to more easily to attract an audience. This is good old-fashioned comedy and I found myself laughing out loud a lot, which, to my mind, is the definition of a good comedy.

Here, the characters seem to mesh so well, and the narrative scarcely troubles the imagination that virtually everything works right off the bat, including a homage to The Third Man and those gags where bombs refuse to work. The major’s misplaced confidence, Nanette’s crunching handshake and the whimpering Pinkie all burst out of the screen. Lily is luminous most of the time except when she has to tell off the gang.

Terry-Thomas is a delight. This proved something of a breakthrough role in Hollywood terms and soon he would be tangling with Tuesday Weld in Bachelor Flat (1961) and challenging Peter Sellers as the country’s best comedic export. Hattie Jacques is relieved of the stern matron roles of the Carry On films and there’s something both impish and innocent in her head girl demeanor to the extent of still wearing her school uniform. Terrific ingénue turn from Billie Whitelaw (Twisted Nerve, 1968) and a knowing veteran’s one from Athene Seyler (I Thank a Fool, 1962) purring along in Margaret Rutherford fashion. Elspeth Duxbury, in movie debut, makes the most of a peach of a role.

Directed by Robert Asher (The Intelligence Men, 1965) from a screenplay by Michael Pertwee (Mouse on the Moon, 1963) based upon the stage play Breath of Spring by Peter Coke.

Having complained about the music in The Invite (2026), I would like to point to Philip Green’s (Masquerade, 1965) music here as exactly the kind of score that helps complement the action and establish the moiod..

Hugely enjoyable eccentricity.

The Odyssey (2026) ***** – Seen at the Cinema, Twice in the One Day

What sets Christopher Nolan aside is not the visual dexterity, imagination or the confidence of his reach, it’s his intelligence. Once you come to the tortuous end, having perhaps shifted time or point of view several times, and wondered at all the amazing stunts or worlds he has opened up, you are left with something utterly human. Emotion that leaves characters bereft. Here, he turns on its head the greatest deception ever practised in war – the Wooden Horse of Troy. Instead of, as since time immemorial everyone has done, praising the trick and Odysseus the ultimate trickster, he chooses another route in his ruthless examination of the artifice. In sneaking the horse into the besieged city, Odysseus has broken the most basic rule of Civilization. A stranger must be given hospitality. And the visitor must leave his weapons at the door. In this picture it’s known as The Code of Zeus, but it’s what held ancient Greek Civilization together, that trust in one another. Strangers were welcomed and once inside a foreign abode they did not seek to carry out violence.

On top of that, the hero realizes what a hero actually is. Once the warrior in him is let loose, the havoc is unjustified. That PTSD and war guilt would probably be enough for any contemporary audience, yet the confession of Odysseus turns out to be the re-wooing of his wife Penelope, telling her he is not at all, after two decades apart, the man that he once was.

There are few directors who can genuinely claim to be auteurs. Usually, they are not screenwriters so are stealing someone else’s original invention. While Nolan relies heavily on the writings of the legendary Homer, he not only Nolanesques everything, the screenwriter in him takes care to ensure that the groundwork is quietly laid for what will spark emotional tumult later on.

There are four exceptionally clever examples of this. Odysseus’s old dog is on the point of death. When Odysseus strokes him, in recognition the dog wags his tail. At this point Odysseus is in disguise – two decades separating him from an infant son now grown up – and it’s how his heir Telemachus recognizes him. Emotional beat no 1. The younger Odysseus has been gored in the ankle by a boar. When he returns, still in disguise, his nurse recognizes him from the scar. Emotional beat no 2. Odysseus has a bow that only he is strong enough to use. Once it’s ready, he’s in the habit of pulling on the bowstring so it gives a distinctive twang. It’s that twang that makes wife Penelope, in a state of desperation, realize that her husband has come home. Emotional beat no 3.

But the best is the mystery sewn into the lining of the script. Everyone lives in a state of fear. They are preparing for invasion by the unknown. “People from the sea” are reputed to be on their way, who knows from where, nobody knows who they are. When the solution is found it’s an overriding emotional beat no 4 – Odysseus himself is one of the people from the sea, the Greeks who landed on the shores of Troy and set siege to the city and eventually burned and pillaged it.

For all the monsters and witches and slaughter, there is incredible restraint. There’s no nudity. There’s no rape shown or even visually implied. But when Odysseus speaks of the horror of war, we know to include that element.. While it’s certainly stated on several occasions that women, either killed as innocent bystanders or left behind and prey to any passing male predator, they have ways of defending themselves. The witch Circe can turn men into pigs. The sorceress Calypso uses lotus leaves to keep her lover sedated. Penelope keeps her suitors at bay with a clever ruse. Agammemnon’s wife can’t be bothered with any of that, she simply cuts her husband’s throat on his triumphant return.

I’m not so familiar with the Greek myths. I’ve not read Henry Treece since childhood. So I can’t tell you what Nolan has adapted, eliminated or added. But I can tell you it all adds up. All the legends I expected are here – the one-eyed Cyclops, the whirlpool Scylla, Charybdis, Circe, the lotus eaters, the underworld, Troy. I don’t recall the giant soldiers so they may or may not be figments of the director’s imagination. For heroes, the Odysseus gang do a lot of running away as they head for home. And for all that he is hailed as the cleverest of the Greek generals, Odysseus is a mite dumb at time, incapable of reading the room on the boat, unwisely irritating monsters.

Matt Damon (The Martian, 2025) is terrific as Odysseus, and while redoubtable in action, is tasked with carrying the emotional thrust, the fatigue and guilt of war, the knowledge that his actions could bring down Civilization. Anne Hathaway (The Devil Wears Prada 2, 2026) is surprisingly good as his wife, the totem for the women left to suffer. Of the rest, Robert Pattinson (The Batman, 2022) is easily the pick as the glowering surly cowardly suitor. Samantha Morton (Minority Report, 2022) is gleefully venomous as Circe. I’m not entirely sure what Zendaya (Challengers, 2024), as ghostly goddess Athena, is doing in the mix and Charlize Theron (The Old Guard, 2020) as Calypso is mostly there for the exposition and it sometimes feels as if that’s the sole purpose of Tom Holland (Spiderman: No Way Home, 2021) as Telemachus.

Jon Bernthal (The Accountant 2, 2025) and John Leguizamo (Tin Soldier, 2025) stand out for the wrong reasons. They sound as if they’ve strayed in from a Martin Scorsese gangster picture.

Back in the days before VHS, DVD and streaming, you couldn’t watch a picture over and over. But occasionally, I’d be so taken with a movie that, in the days of continuous performance (you might not know what that is but when you go to the movies these days it’s for a separate performance, everyone kicked out after the showing) I would stay on and watch it again.

First time I did that it was for Terence Malick’s hypnotic Badlands (1973) – Martin Sheen, Sissy Spacek, Erik Satie – when it turned up in the UK as the support to It’s Alive and there have been countless other examples. So, on my weekly Monday outing to the cinema, I decided I’d take in this picture again rather than grumble at whatever The Evil Dead Burns brought to the table.

When you watch a movie a second time, you’re not held in your seat by the narrative. You know what’s going to happen. You can marvel at all the rest, the writing, the camera movement, the special effects, the acting. I’ll probably go back next week.

Truly awesome.

The Devils (1971) *

It’s a conspiracy! The British Film Institute and critic Mark Kermode are on a mission to force the public to reconsider this epic travesty. They have managed to convince Warner Brothers to reissue the film in cinemas in October 2026. The only problem is – this is the second time they’ve tried this maneuver. And it was no more successful last time round – two decades ago in a limited release in arthouses – and despite a lavish follow-up DVD packed full of extras and an expensive illustrated brochure.

Knowing this was the second attempt to regenerate interest in this shambolic enterprise from Ken Russell (Billion Dollar Brain, 1967) – who will no doubt be tabbed a “visionary” director this time round – I thought I’d dig out the DVD featuring the original 1971 release cut in the genuine hope that I might be able to add a little spark to the promotional hoopla for the forthcoming cinematic reissue.

The problem is – it’s still awful. And not in healthy cult fashion or as a slam-dunk for the So Bad It’s Good category. It’s just awful every which way but loose. And it commits the worst error of the awful picture – it’s plain boring. And that’s a shame because the tale is an interesting one. How the French church and state connived to get rid of an irritant challenging their authority by placing false charges of satanic possession against the nuns of the small town of Loudon.

It would certainly have helped had not every single person in a position of power not just looked like an idiot and if Russell had cast the parts with actors of authority, say rising star John Hurt in the role of the exorcist or John Gielgud as the conspiratorial Cardinal Richeliu, a character who as we know from The Three Musketeers was always up to no good. Instead, we’ve got actors way out of even their modest league who make an unintentional mockery of their parts.

Anyone complaining about the modern vernacular of Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey (2026) would have a field day here with a cornucopia of accents so it sounds more like a Carry On picture. In fact, Carry On Ken would have been a more apt title.

Vanessa Redgrave (Blow-Up, 1966) had, unfortunately, gone down the Oscar-bait route of hoping that exaggerations of physical affliction will inform her acting. Instead, with her head twisted at ninety degrees, it looks like she’s intent on comedy. And when that only leaves Oliver Reed (Hannibal Brooks, 1968) to hold your picture together you are in dire straits.

Had the director concentrated on the obvious points, that the clergy was corrupt and liable to indulge in sex with any willing participant in the usual male power-abuse scenario, and that nobody went into a nunnery by choice but were sent there by families who could not provide a dowry or who were incapable of themselves finding a husband to support them, then you might have had the beginnings of a good picture.

But Russell is just intent on indulgence. So the nuns behave as if they were being directed by Jess Franco in a Women-in-Prison movie and strip off their clothes and consort with each other. Chief nun Sister Jeanne (Vanessa Redgrave) doesn’t need to wait for a fake exorcist to pass by, she’s already knee-deep in sexual fantasies about Father Grandier (Oliver Reed) who is trying to impregnate as many women as possible.

The American censor had the good sense to cut out the worst sexual extravagances, the British censor was much more lenient though oddly enough David Lean owed the liberal censor a debt of gratitude for when Glasgow City Council, exerting their right as did many other local authorities, banned this atrocity it left roadshow venue ABC2 short of a program so it decided to keep running Ryan’s Daughter.

“Based on true story” has never been more abused. Back in the day it would certainly have challenged a moral order where the Church of any denomination was not yet known for hiding a flock of pedophiles. But any student of history – and in those days, like it or not, that would be all of us given how important that subject was to the school curriculum – would not have been surprised to discover that kings and cardinals were not above unethical maneuver.

I’m not saying this movie required a Hollywood-style heroic figure, but it certainly didn’t deserve these cartoon cut-outs. The campness of the presentation, the excess and overload, only serves to stultify what would otherwise be an examination of how easy it was back in the 17^th century for the authorities to bring down any challenger – but, heck, we knew that.

I saw the original version on my DVD. Theoretically, it was welcomed at Cannes this year, but although it certainly made the kind of controversial splash often associated with the Festival, it didn’t seem to me that critics were united in their praise.

If you are familiar with the Russell oeuvre this has more in keeping with The Lair of the White Worm (1988) rather than a genuine cinematic – and restrained – achievement like Altered States (1980).

If Warner Bros has any sense, they will pitch this as a Halloween picture for the cinematic reissue.

There will be hype, so you have been warned.

The Best Man (1964) ****

Current openness towards mental health issues has bestowed a contemporary vibe on this lively political drama. The other topic raised here has long ceased to be controversial. Not that far removed from Otto Preminger’s Advise and Consent (1961) in terms of dirty dealing and horse trading, flaw is the weapon used to cut opponents down to size.

The two principal candidates seeking their (un-named) party’s Presidential nomination could not be further apart, William Russell (Henry Fonda) a rich intellectual, Joe Cantwell (Cliff Robertson) a self-styled man of the people. Cantwell chases the populist vote with a campaign built on fulminating against immigration and Communism, driving down taxes and spending more on the military. Russell seems unsuited for the cut-and-thrust of politics, too idealistic, too indecisive.

But he is a good judge of character whereas Cantwell most decidedly is not and in misreading the intentions of President Hockstader (Lee Tracy) shoots himself in the foot and leaves the nomination wide open, triggering his use of the dark arts, planning to circulate a file on his opponent’s problems with mental illness. Existing on a much higher plane, Russell refuses to fight back, although he has access to a witness claiming Cantwell was gay.

Apart from discussing these taboo issues – this was the first time the word “homosexual” was uttered in a movie – what’s interesting is that Russell’s philandering is not deemed damaging as long as his wife Alice (Margaret Leighton) is seen to publicly stand by him. Despite the fact that Cantwell is as clean as a whistle – doesn’t drink or smoke or have a lover – affairs are seen as such a fact of life of politics that Cantwell’s wife Mabel (Edie Adams) assumes he will have one. Cantwell, very much one to go for the jugular, clearly believes the public takes the same non-judgemental view otherwise he would easily skewer Russell on his marital discord.

In some respects, Cantwell is by far the better candidate if you were to judge him on personal behavior, but he lacks the necessary savvy, “ a tragedy in a man and a disaster in a president.”

As you might expect from a script written by novelist Gore Vidal, sometime political heavyweight, there are plenty zingers: “expect 22 minutes of spontaneity”; “I don’t object to you being a bastard, I object you being a stupid bastard;” and “I won’t throw my mud if you won’t throw your mud.”

It may be artistic irony that determined director Franklin J. Schaffner to film in black-and-white since politics is nothing but various shades of grey, but there was probably a more practical reason, to incorporate footage from conventions.

Somewhat surprisingly, both men are honest with their wives, Russell making a pact to divorce Alice if not elected, their marriage long ago defunct, while Cantwell’s wife is fully aware of the slur on her husband’s name. The women here are well-drawn, not quite the submissive types you might expect, certainly not Alice who has every right, given his infidelities, to act the shrew, instead of which she plays the shrewd card. Mabel proves a loving wife but a little indulged to the extent her teetotal husband has no idea how much alcohol she can shift and she reserves her right to keep him waiting. Alice, it might be noticed, is more vicious than her husband should it come to the down-and-dirty.

And there’s a stack of wannabe power-makers from pushy busybody Mrs Gamidge (Ann Sothern) – so full of her own importance that she fails to see the slight in being told that “talking to you is like talking to the average American housewife” – to walking timebomb Sheldon Bascomb (Shelley Berman).

Not so full of arcane American politics as Advise and Consent, and with a more straightforward narrative, it digs the dirt in compulsive fashion on the dirt-diggers. In questioning whether someone with mental health issues could be a worthy national leader, the movie naturally ignores the narcissism and megalomania that seemed essential criteria for any person achieving high office or excessive business success. It’s probably a subject that remains unresolved, although a good many personalities have admitted to such problems.

Cliff Robertson (The Honey Pot, 1967) takes the acting honours if only because we have seen a version of the Henry Fonda (Battle of the Bulge, 1965) political idealist before in Advise and Consent. Robertson essays a character of Donald Trump dimensions and Fonda is clearly modelled on Kennedy, but Robertson comes across stronger and even Fonda may have been getting fed up with being such a straight-shooter as seen by his later villainous choices. Edie Adams has a more complex part here than in The Honey Pot and Margaret Leighton (The Fighting Pimpernel, 1949) can play ramrod-stiff women till the cows come home.

Hollywood veteran Ann Sothern of Maisie fame is terrific as the interfering Mrs Gamidge and Shelley Berman (Divorce American-Style, 1967), making his movie debut, is one of the most irritating characters you will ever see. Kevin McCarthy (Mirage, 1965) plays Russell’s whip-smart aide with Lee Tracy (Dinner at Eight, 1933) in his first movie in nearly two decades as the wily President.

Audiences were denied the first glimpse of Penny Singleton (the Blondie series) in fourteen years when her part was excised. To make up for that, we get to see Mahalia Jackson sing.

Director Franklin J. Schaffner (The Double Man, 1967) keeps characters to the fore rather than relying on the many twists, and does a decent job, complete with aerial helicopter shots, of opening up Gore Vidal’s stage play. Vidal (Ben-Hur, 1959) had stood unsuccessfully for Congress so had an insider’s viewpoint.

Term of Trial (1962) ***

Notable for the debuts of Sarah Miles (Ryan’s Daughter, 1970) and Terence Stamp (The Collector, 1963) and an ending that even in those misogynistic times was wince-inducing. The halcyon era of dull English schoolteachers being celebrated (Goodbye, Mr Chips, 1939) or finding redemption or even just managing to overcome pupil hostility (The Browning Version, 1951) were long gone, replaced by a more realistic view of the casual warfare endemic in education establishments, not quite in The Blackboard Jungle (1956) vein but running it close, with bullying, sexual abuse and ridicule running riot.

Self-pitying Graham Weir (Laurence Olivier) has failed to achieve his ambitions in part due to alcoholism, in part to antipathy to his conscientious objection during World War Two. And although he has a sexy French wife Anna (Simone Signoret) in the days when any Frenchwoman was deemed a goddess, she is embittered that the future he promised has not materialized. Like To Sir, with Love (1967) his classroom is filled with no-hopers so that he responds to the meek and innocent wishing for educational betterment.

Weir’s only defence against endless indignity is a stiff upper lip and slugs of whisky. His lack of character contrasts with a young lad who takes revenge against constantly being chucked out of his house by his mother’s lover (Derren Nesbitt) by blowing up the man’s sports car.

Spanning the twin cultures of religion and the razor, one falling out of favor, the other holding violent sway, opportunity to rise above kitchen-sink England lies with the self-confident such as thug Mitchell (Terence Stamp) who smokes in class, gives the teachers lip, takes photographs of girls in their underwear in the toilets, physically threatens classmates and when his target is bigger gets older men to give him a good thumping.

A somewhat unlikely development is an end-of-term trip to Paris where the infatuated Shirley (Sarah Miles), who the good-hearted Weir has been giving free private tuition, ends up in the teacher’s bedroom and later accuses him of abuse. The impending court case and threat of imprisonment scupper Weir’s chances of promotion, make him consider suicide, and Anna to leave him.

The court scenes allow a number of famous character actors a moment of acting glory. Laurence Olivier (Bunny Lake Is Missing, 1965) must in part have been attracted to the role by a terrific court monologue. The movie is very downbeat in a country universally known never to enjoy an ounce of sunshine justifying the black-and-white movie rendition. If there is liveliness in the streets, cinemas, shops, it never translates into any of the main adult characters, all determined to uphold ancient values and endure constricted lives.

Exploiting audience expectation for verbal fireworks, the tension in Laurence Olivier’s finely judged performance comes from his untypical, unshowy delivery. You can almost hear him grinding his teeth. Simone Signoret (The Sleeping Car Murder, 1965) also acts against the grain, battening down her inherent sexuality, and her very presence speaks of lost hope, the fact that she was once attracted to Weir indicating he was once a very different prospect.

Sarah Miles excels as the wannabe seducer, that hesitant voice that would become her hallmark, struggling here to turn innocence into lure, expressing her adoration in heart-breaking simplicity, and yet aware that to catch Weir would require more than just the submission a guy like Mitchell requires. While hers is a stunning debut, I’m at a loss to see what marked out Terence Stamp’s typical surly teenager for speedier stardom.

Oscar-winner Hugh Griffiths (The Counterfeit Traitor, 1962) is the pick of the supporting roles. A remarkable scene-stealer, a shift of his head, a flicker of his eyelashes is all he needs while sitting in the background to attract the camera from another character in the foreground. Look out for Barbara Ferris (Interlude, 1968), Derren Nesbit (Where Eagles Dare, 1968), Allan Cuthbertson (The 7^th Dawn, 1964), Roland Culver (Thunderball, 1965) and Thora Hird (television’s Last of the Summer Wine, 1986-2003).

Surprisingly un-stagey direction from Peter Glenville (Becket, 1964) who was far better known as a theater director in London and Broadway. Probably in those days if you were setting a movie outside sophisticated London you had to present a gloomy version of Britain so you can’t really blame him for that and Olivier was hardly a major box office attraction so a budget trimmed of color would be a requisite. Although the older characters display grim determination, the younger ones have not had the spirit knocked out of them in the Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1960) manner and the location shots reveal a buzzy atmosphere.

Glenville also wrote the screenplay based on the bestseller by James Barlow.

Hannibal (1960) ***

Inconvenient truth never bothered Hollywood scriptwriters when it came to history and here the prospect of solving the “Great Hannibal Mystery” proved irresistible. For in 218 B.C. this invader from Carthage (modern-day Tunisia) had crossed the Alps, battered the Roman army into submission and had Rome at his mercy. But one of the greatest generals of all time did not attack Rome. Why? Love was the answer, according to the filmmakers, following the Romeo and Juliet template.

I have to admit I didn’t have that on my mind. I was seduced by the poster, the involvement of cult director Edgar G. Ulmer (The Black Cat, 1934), the prospect of an action-packed adventure with marauding elephants and the fact that although familiar with the name Hannibal I had no idea who he was and why he crossed the Alps when surely it would have easier to take a ship from Tunisia to Italy. But I guess star Victor Mature (Samson and Delilah, 1949) was also duped into thinking that if an American nobody like Steve Reeves (Hercules, 1958) could make it big in Italy then so could surely the original Hollywood Mr. Muscles. Mixing the new-look sword-and-sandals genre with the old-style historical epic appeared a potential winner. But I should have guessed that the lean running time of 103 minutes meant an “epic” was out of the question.

The British Trade Descriptions Act would have a field day with the way the posters promoted the elephants. The much-vaunted “army” is scarcely seen in battle and the great beasts looked more cuddly than anything, striding along linked trunk-to-tail.

The picture does take a good while to warm up although the movie begins with a sense of the epic, otherwise how to explain the 15 minutes before Hannibal hoves into view, the preceding period of invaders crossing the Alps short of dramatic incident beyond a couple of men falling to their deaths and the elephants becoming a bit restive. Endless lines of soldiers, in this case stretching into the snowbound horizon, almost becomes a motif, too much valuable time wasted on too many marches.

Hannibal turns out to be a clever commander, wanting to conquer Rome more by fear than battle, reckoning that if the Italians believed he possessed an unstoppable force they would rush to the negotiating table rather than engage in open battle and risk the destruction of their cities. He sends the captured niece Sylvia (Rita Gam) of Senator Fabius (Gabriele Ferzetti) back to her uncle with frightening tales. This doesn’t fool Fabius who views the woman as a traitor and realizes the pitfalls of surrender. Hannibal and Sylvia getting it together causes discord not just in Rome but in the Carthaginian camp, the delay in attacking the city put down to their romantic dalliance.

The initial battle scenes come up short, presented primarily in montage, little snippets of fighting here and there, rather than opposing forces facing each other, no sign either of elephants striking terror into the hearts of their opponents. But the later battle more than recompenses. One of the greatest assets of historical and war pictures is the detail given over to strategy. And if filmed properly, you can see plans executed. Hannibal demonstrates his genius by drawing the main Roman phalanxes into a trap, attacking them from both sides and forcing them back towards a river from which there is no escape. Superbly filmed, it’s a bloody conflict (for movies of the period), arms hacked off, faces and bodies weeping with blood. There’s a tragic end to the romance.

*Oh, and by the way, Hannibal loses an eye – but it’s not in battle but from conjunctivitis.*

I should point out, having done my own digging, but there was a sounder reason than love for Hannibal not advancing on Rome. Simply put, he lacked the machinery to do it. The only way to conquer a city was by siege and to achieve that you needed siege machines which Hannibal lacked. But no matter how much he later tried to draw the Roman armies into the open, he was denied that opportunity by the wily Fabius who, instead, waged a war of attrition.

Hannibal was, in fact, an irritant to Rome for a decade, so this tale is heavily truncated. Although the tale of the strong man brought to his knees by passion is a Hollywood trope – look no further than Samson and Delilah – the lovers fail to strike the necessary sparks, in part because initially Hannibal views Sylvia merely as a tool to achieve a political end and in part because their time together is too limited. This is no grand passion in the vein of Doctor Zhivago (1965).

And that’s a shame because despite (or perhaps because of) his muscles, Victor Mature was no slouch in the romantic sweepstakes, having dallied in the past with the like of Janet Leigh (Safari, 1956), Susan Hayward (Demetrius and the Gladiators, 1954) and Jane Russell (Las Vegas Story, 1952). Here, Mature is better as a leader than a lover. The svelte Rita Gam (The Thief, 1952) – first wife of director Sidney Lumet – was the opposite of the more voluptuous Italian screen queens of the Sophia Loren/Gina Lollobrigida variety and her career had not really taken off, only eight films prior to Hannibal and only two in the next decade. Paradoxically, she is better battling her uncle and accepting her fate than a woman in the grip of passion.

Gabriele Ferzetti (Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968) makes the most of a complex character. Look out for Rik Battaglia (Sodom and Gomorrah, 1962) as Hannibal’s brother and, as Fabius’s son, Terence Hill (God Forgives…I Don’t, 1967) and in a smaller role his future sidekick Bud Spencer.

Directorial credit was split between Ulmer and Carlo Ludovico Bragaglia (Amazons of Rome, 1961) with Mortimer Braus (The Son of Dr Jekyll, 1951), Sandro Continenza (The Inglorious Bastards, 1978) and Ottavia Poggi (Queen of the Nile, 1961) involved in the screenplay.

A Matter of Innocence / Pretty Polly (1967) ***

Dramatically undernourished coming-of-age tale over-reliant on “authentic” travelogue and continuing the transformation of Hayley Mills from child to adult star, although that change had been clearly wrought by her previous outing in The Family Way (1966) which had contained her first nude scene. While there’s definitely way more sex here it’s all off-screen.

In Singapore, family black sheep Robert (Trevor Howard) tries to stifle romance blossoming between his ugly duckling niece Polly (Hayley Mill) and local king of the fixers Amaz (Shashi Kapoor), to quote from list of the clichés the screenplay happily summons up. Polly is the bespectacled, dowdy, shy travelling companion to snippy aunt (Brenda de Banzie) – Robert’s sister not wife – who resides in a magnificent suite in Raffles Hotel, consigning her niece to a hovel of a room. When said aunt drops dead in the swimming pool, Polly, wasting no time on mourning, is free to turn butterfly, channeling her inner Brigitte Bardot with bouffant hairstyle and tight red dress.

The genial Amaz is on hand as a guide, in sexual matters as well as tourist, until huffing-and-puffing plantation manager Robert threatens to intervene and smarmy American Critch (Peter Bayliss) attempts to sweep her off her feet. And that’s about it, plot-wise. The meandering story provides insights into different aspects of local culture – Whicker’s World was the only globe-trotting television series available at the time so all this would probably have entranced moviegoers rather than, as now, bored them to death.

Perhaps what’s most interesting is what’s left unsaid or never dwelt upon, of the posh English girl having sex with a native of Singapore. In previous movies – Bhowani Junction et al – miscegenation would have been the sole plot point with Brits up in arms at the suggestion of it. Here, the only objection to Amaz is that he’s a bit of a Casanova, practised seducer in the main of older women. While Amaz falls in love, Polly is considerably more objective, viewing their relationship in terms of rite-of-passage, rather an un-British approach, more in keeping with the attitudes those bold females exhibited in pictures like The Group (1966).

Polly is a pretty cool-headed kid, with a good head for booze, not staggering in gutters or throwing up after imbibing too much, alert to the intentions of Critch and more than capable of putting her uncle in his place. Despite her delight at enjoying sex Polly is more independent than you might imagine and the film’s actually a character study of a woman refusing to be defined – or trapped – by love and its obvious consequence marriage and viewing this new freedom as merely the starting point of her life.

For Hayley Mills fans, of course, her career divides sharply into Disney and post-Disney. Few child stars ever manage to take the first steps to an adult career never mind sustain one, but the actress made a good stab at throwing off her previous precocious screen persona by taking on challenging roles that perhaps upset her core followers. But the film would have benefitted from a better storyline and minus the distracting tourist elements been a lot tighter.

The career of Trevor Howard, long-time second male lead, was on a bit of an upswing after sterling roles in Von Ryan’s Express (1965) and The Long Duel (1967) and although he remained the scowler supreme he brings more vulnerability to this role. Bollywood heartthrob Shashi Kapoor had come to prominence as far as the English-speaking countries were concerned through arthouse director James Ivory’s The Householder (1963) and Shakespeare-Wallah (1966) but this was his mainstream debut. He certainly has a screen presence and enjoys the best character arc, going from the cynicism of sex to the innocence of love. I’m sure the title is intended to refer to Polly but she is innocent, in screen shorthand terms, for about two seconds. Pretty Polly, the title of the short story on which the film is based, was not usable in certain countries because the name was the trademark of a popular brand of hosiery.

This was the final film of Brenda de Banzie (The Man Who Knew Too Much, 1956) and the second for British television stalwart Patricia Routledge (Keeping Up Appearances, 1990-1995), while for Chinese star Kalen Liu (Welcome to Hard Times, 1967) it was both her second and last picture.

This was perhaps an odd choice for director Guy Green (A Patch of Blue, 1965) but he was mired in the on-again off-again saga of proposed MGM roadshow epic Forty Days of Musa Dagh and compared to those travails this may have been welcome light relief. Keith Waterhouse and Willis Hall (Lock Up Your Daughters, 1969) developed the screenplay from Noel Coward’s short story.

Behind the Scenes: The Long Run, Part Two, 1974-1976

The idea of opening a “summer” picture in the middle of winter would have appeared anathema to movie distributors. A movie that relied on sun, sea and sand might prove a bit of brightness in the gloom of a British winter, but a movie that relied for its effect on that critical element of summer, that thousands of people would have be happy to swim in the sea and potter around on boats, might have lost a considerable part of its market by such poor timing. Except the movie in question was Jaws.

Although it opened in the summer in the United States, it didn’t reach British shores until December 1975, one of the greatest examples of building on the phenomenon of the longer you make an audience wait the bigger the response. By 1975 in Glasgow, Scotland – as with everywhere else in the U.K. – the new era of movie distribution was long consolidated. Big movies were held over in the city center’s biggest cinemas until fully played out, and only then moving into the suburbs or the surrounding towns. But as much as Jaws followed the new distribution path, it also broke the rules.

Paramount had decided not so much to limit the movie’s exposure at the ABC1 but to temper it. It could carry on at that cinema as long as it wished, but after a 13-week run in 1976 (it had opened a few days before the end of 1975) at the ABC1, other cinemas were permitted to book it. But on one condition. They had to agree to an unprecedented four-week run. That didn’t stop the ABC1 trying to milk more from the golden goose and it continued there for another five weeks.

By this point, Glasgow was accustomed to blockbuster movies playing like gangbusters. In 1974, The Sting re-teaming Paul Newman and Robert Redford had lasted 15 weeks at the ABC1, while the La Scala had hosted 13-week runs of both The Exorcist and Papillon starring Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman (all three pictures, it should be pointed out, had opened in the U.S. the previous year. Swashbuckler The Three Musketeers had enjoyed 10 weeks at the Odeon complex. Notching up seven weeks were Robert Redford as The Great Gatsby at the ABC2 and an unexpected hit, the double bill of Busting/I Escaped from Devil’s Island at the Odeon.

Clint Eastwood’s first Dirty Harry sequel Magnum Force raced to six weeks at the ABC1, as did compilation feature That’s Entertainment at the ABC2 and Disney’s new animated feature Robin Hood and, separately, a reissue of Peter Pan (1953) at the Odeon. Hitting the five week mark in 1974 in Glasgow were movies as diverse as Don’t Look Now starring Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie doubled up with The Wicker Man at the Odeon 1, Bruce Lee epic Way of the Dragon at Odeon 2, Barbra Streisand comedy For Pete’s Sake at the Odeon 1, Roger Moore in Gold at the Odeon 2, and another in Odeon 3 sexploitation category Secrets of a Door to Door Salesman/Climax.

Prior to the arrival of Jaws, the notion of the extended long run had been established in Glasgow thanks to the short-lived disaster movie boom. Earthquake, in Sensurround, starring Charlton Heston and Ava Gardner and an all-star support attracted audiences for 30 weeks at the ABC2 while it was 21 weeks at the ABC1 for Paul Newman and Steve McQueen fighting The Towering Inferno with William Holden and Faye Dunaway providing even more stellar support. Charles Bronson’s vigilante killer in Michael Winner’s Death Wish shot up 12 weeks at the La Scala while The Who’s rock opera Tommy directed by Ken Russell with an all-star cameo cast notched up three fewer weeks there.

Charlton Heston headed up another disaster movie, sequel Airport 1975, which crash landed for eight weeks at the ABC1. The latest James Bond opus The Man with the Golden Gun in Odeons 1 and 2 lifted seven weeks. The Odeon 3 drafted in further dubious movies – The Night Porter with artistic aspirations and starring Dirk Bogarde and Charlotte Rampling, and, separately, The Devil Within Her with no artistic credentials and the unlikely casting of Brits Juliet Mills and Richard Johnson for seven-week stints. Norman Jewison’s violent sci fi Rollerball starring James Caan hit six weeks at Odeon 1. At the five-week level were Albert Finney as Hercule Poirot and an all-star cast in Murder on the Orient Express (ABC2), Mel Brooks’ Blazing Saddles (La Scala), sequel The Four Musketeers (Odeon 1), a second Mel Brooks’ offering Young Frankenstein (Odeon 3), John Wayne as Chicago cop Brannigan let loose in London (Odeon 1), another Disney reissue Lady and the Tramp (1955) and Mandingo (ABC1).

Jaws was not, in fact, the longest-runner in Glasgow city center in 1976. That honor went to Jack Nicholson’s Oscar-winning turn in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest which clocked up 23 weeks at the Odeon. An unusual long-run contender appeared out of left field. Low-budget weepie The Last Snows of Spring without any marquee names ran for an unprecedented 14 weeks at the Classic. The 70mm reissue of Gone with the Wind (1939) returned in style to the ABC2 for a further 10 weeks. Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman investigating All the Presidents’ Men scored seven weeks at ABC2 and then a further five at the Scala 2 (the La Scala having been twinned and renamed the Scala.)

Demonic adventure The Omen with Gregory Peck and Lee Remick stung the Odeon 1 and Odeon 2 for a total eight weeks. A rerun of The Exorcist lingered for seven weeks at Scala 2. Lee Marvin and Roger Moore in Shout at the Devil were good for six weeks at Odeon 1, as was Charles Bronson as The Streetfighter at the Odeon 1 and 2 combined, Clint Eastwood western The Outlaw Josey Wales at ABC1 and Dustin Hoffman thriller Marathon Man at ABC2. King Kong five weeks plux X from previous year.

Five-weeks runs were achieved by Peter Sellers vehicle The Return of the Pink Panther at Odeon 1 and another crime spoof Murder by Death at the Odeon 3

Taking three weeks as the definition of the long-run, this form of exhibition had grown exponentially during the decade. In 1970 only three movies enjoyed runs of three weeks or more. The following year the number had jumped to 11 and then nudged upwards to 13 in 1972. Growth in 1973 remained modest – a total of 17 movies hitting the target or better. But by 1974 the number was 25 and the following year it rocketed to 35, with 36 the total in 1976.

The Blood of Fu Manchu / Kiss & Kill (1968) **

Three stories in one, except only one tale remotely holds our interest. So what compelled producer Harry Alan Towers and director Jess Franco to sideline the titular character and devote more time to a young explorer Carl Janseon (Gotz George) and bandit Sancho Lopez (Ricardo Palacios). You could probably guess that the physical involvement of Fu Manchu (Christopher Lee) would be in any case limited once you grasped the crux of the narrative which saw ten girls sent out into the big wide world to kill his ten most hated enemies. You’ll probably be surprised to learn that he had only ten major enemies, but since one of them is his old nemesis Nayland Smith (Richard Greene), then you can be sure that that aspect is going to suck up a good deal of what time remains after the subplots concerning the explorer and the bandit.

Which is a shame because neither explorer not bandit employ the kid of evil little grey cells that would allow them to come up with a plot that any of the James Bond villains would be proud of in their bids for global domination. Fu Manchu has located an ancient poison which is transmitted by women in the form of a kiss. It originates in certain snakes and although the women are “kissed” by the snakes, they are apparently impervious to its venom, so the first gender-specific poison in history.

And that’s about it. As usual Towers has rounded up a bevy of young beauties, no doubt sold on the idea that he’s going to turn them into the next big female star, as carriers of the deadly poison. Not all are so keen on the idea, but since he’s got them chained by the neck in a Brazilian cave that passes for his stronghold and with his daughter Lin Tang (Tsai Chin) to threaten them with torture, it’s not surprising they are complicit.

In any case the female assassins are one-trick ponies. The minute they accomplish their deed, they are bumped off. Smith is the first victim (apart from a prisoner selected to demonstrate the efficacy of the poison) but he doesn’t die immediately. Instead he is struck blind, although he is aware he hasn’t got long to live unless an antidote can be found.

Naturally, that puts him on the track of Fu Manchu and, of course, into sudden danger. The Fu Manchu-Nayland Smith had proved a decent cinematic tug-of-war for three previous episodes beginning with The Face of Fu Manchu (1965), so it was somewhat surprising that tension was diminished by spending so much time playing up explorer and bandit, especially as the latter is determined to play out all the cliches, including laughing like a hyena.

There is some occasional visual humor such as when the bandits go on the rampage and the crew emerge from bandits bearing such prizes as a bishop’s mitre and when a governor, having imprisoned Jansen, suggests they while away their time with a game of chess.

It’s odd that part of the disappointment for certain viewers in this opus is the lack of trademark Jess Franco sleaze. There’s barely any nudity and although the girls are kept in prison (until released to wreak havoc) there’s none of the tawdriness of WIP epics such as his 99 Women (1969) which is replete with brutality and sex.

Despite the cultural appropriation, Christopher Lee (The Devil Rides Out, 1968) is, as ever, solid as Fu Manchu, speaking in clipped tones and towering over everyone else, though his main role appears to be to deliver exposition, explain the foul plot and its consequences and so on. It’s left up to Tsai Chin (You Only Live Twice, 1967) to carry the sadism.

Richard Greene (Sword of Sherwood Forest, 1960) does his best in a role of declining returns. You might spot among the cast Towers’ wife Maria Rohm (Five Golden Dragons, 1967) and Shirley Eaton (The Girl from Rio, 1969).

Of the women expecting a major career break, Loni von Friedl had scores of parts including Doppelganger/Journey to the Far Side of the Sun (1969). But Frances Khan only enjoyed three more roles and or Isaura de Olivera this was the beginning and end of her movie career.

Written as usual by Peter Welbeck (Five Golden Dragons) – aka Harry Alan Towers – and Franco based on the novels of Sax Rohmer.

Promising idea ruined.

The Bramble Bush (1960) ***

The secrecy business was working overtime in small-town America according to the Peyton Place template. And that wouldn’t be so bad here except returning big city doctor Guy (Richard Burton) has a few of his own in the locker but more importantly the unfolding of so many secrets detracts from the time available for the main dramatic premise which is an absolute corker.

We might as well account straight-off with the secret Guy drags around behind him like a two-ton weight thus explaining his general surliness, tight-lipped demeanor and occasional flashes of temper. As a twelve-year-old he told his father he had caught his mother in bed lover with Stew (James Dunn) which prompted his dad to chuck himself off a cliff.

The other big secret, dealt with fairly promptly, is that local nurse Fran (Angie Dickinson), who held a torch for Guy, now makes do with district attorney Bert (Jack Carson), that clandestine affair coming to light not so much in flagrante but in full beam when the illicit couple require treatment following a fire in a hotel bedroom.

The unravelling of both secrets impacts on Guy’s emotional state. The fire leads to Fran admitting her feelings to Guy, happy to have him use her for sex if love is not possible, “I love you so much I have no shame,” she proclaims, to no avail, but the hotel business also makes her fall prey to blackmail by local newshound Parker (Henry Jones), a budding amateur photographer of the unsavoury kind. Recounting his personal tragedy results in a Guy having a one-night stand with the married wannabe artist Margaret McFie (Barbara Rush).

But here’s the brilliant twist. Margaret’s husband Larry (Tom Drake) wants her to end up with Guy – but after his death. Larry, Guy’s best friend from childhood, is dying, the doctor scuttling back to a town that harbours too many bad memories in order to act as his personal physician. Larry’s never going to recover, he has the incurable illness Hodgkin’s Disease. His dying wish is that Guy marry Margaret.

Margaret is revolted by the idea, “I don’t want to be beautiful for anyone but Larry,” but unable to cope with his with illness is living on a cocktail of drink and drugs. And although Guy, who distrusts any woman, is similarly ill-inclined, Margaret becomes dependent on his medical ability, treating both husband and wife. Larry turns out to have another crazy idea – he wants Guy to kill him, medically speaking of course, some extra, illegal, doses of morphine would do the trick.

This incredible bucket list provides Guy with a huge dilemma, never mind what to do with Fran throwing herself at him and having to put up with the hypocritical Bert, and Stew, now the town drunk, begging for forgiveness, and Larry’s father Sam (Carl Benton Reid), who, for reasons unspecified, hates the doctor.

There’s more twists to come, just in case you thought you had everything worked out. But you can see the problem over-complication creates. The euthanasia-please-have-sex-with-my-beautiful wife combination would have set the movie up nicely from the get-go. Guy wouldn’t need to have a deep secret to find himself in very deep waters. How he would react to either or both outcomes, how Margaret would equally react to the possibility of ending her husband’s suffering in a quick and painless manner, would be more than enough to provide the dynamic the picture required. The movie then pivots on Guy being charged with murder.

It’s certainly interesting enough but Guy is too buttoned-down to incur sympathy and his revelation, devastating though it is, doesn’t suddenly make him an instantly more attractive screen character. In fact, it’s Fran who elicits the greater sympathy, the woman bedding someone who views her only as a sex object, yet willing to become a sex object for someone she does love if that’s all she can have. Eventually, the two key issues are put in the spotlight, which certainly puts a spark in the picture. But the poster promises a passion that just doesn’t exist.

Richard Burton (The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, 1965) plays this character in a lower register than his screen persona, the sonorous voice toned down, and although the look of someone who doesn’t want to be back rings true the performance lacks variety and there are only occasional glimpses of the fiery actor. Barbara Rush (Robin and the 7 Hoods, 1964) has her own legitimate reasons for being dispassionate and the vibrant character her husband married never really gets an airing. Angie Dickinson (Jessica, 1962) comes across as a more human character with, in emotional terms, a greater flaw, and a more tragic figure, even though there is nothing life-or-death about her circumstances. Two veterans are showcased: Jack Carson (Mildred Pierce, 1945) and James Dunn (Bad Girl, 1931).

Television director Daniel Petrie (A Raisin in the Sun, 1961) was making his movie debut. The screenwriting team of Milton Sperling and Philip Yordan (Battle of the Bulge, 1965) drew on the bestselling novel by Charles Mergendahl.

Hard to find DVD so Ebay is the best source.