Brian Hannan

Walk on the Wild Side (1962) ***

As much as the censor would permit – would be the subtitle. While not as harsh as the Nelson Algren source novel, it’s still, wrapped up in a bitter romance, a more brutal than heretofore expose of the sex worker, far removed from the gloss of Butterfield 8 (1960) or the romantic comedy of Never on Sunday (1960) and Irma La Douce (1963).

The initial thwarted romance lacks the tragic element. It falls apart due to the mundane. After a four-month affair Dove (Laurence Harvey) can’t commit to artist Hallie (Capucine) because his father is too ill to leave. So she ups sticks and heads for New York, hooks up with buyer Jo (Barbara Stanwyck) who turns out to invest in more than art, and ends up in a New Orleans brothel where as well as servicing the clients she can continue making sculptures.

After his father dies three years later, Dove heads to New Orleans to find her, but with no idea where to look. He falls in with vagabond-cum-thief Kitty (Jane Fonda) and eventually having dumped her due to her thieving ways takes refuge in a café whose owner Teresina (Anne Baxter), a victim of Kitty, offers him employment. She suggests he puts an advert in a New Orleans newspaper and just when he’s giving up hope and Teresina is getting up her hopes that she can win him over romantically he gets a phone call.

He’s clearly unaware that Hallie is a sex worker and after romancing her sets them up in an apartment. Hallie abandons the reunion after a night or possibly just an idyllic afternoon. Hallie’s reluctance is twofold. She’s become accustomed to the relative laziness of her life, she’s a high-class lady and is not worked too hard, plus she’s got accommodation and a studio to work in and she knows her boss Jo is sweet on her. On the other hand, it would be difficult to quit, the brothel employs tough guy Oliver to keep the girls in line and nobody’s going to want her to be giving it away for free.

Kitty, now working in the establishment, annoyed that he previously rejected her advances, gives Dove a full run-down on his lover. And there’s a legal catch that Jo is quick to take advantage of. Since Kitty is now a sex worker and it was Dove who took her with him to New Orleans he could be prosecuted for sex trafficking of a minor. When that doesn’t work, Dove receives a beating.

Kitty now decides Dove isn’t so bad after all, feels remorse at her role in his downfall, and helps him get back to café where Teresina cares for him and gets her hopes up once again. Then she helps Hallie escape and then fesses up to Oliver where she is. It doesn’t end well – although the censor would be pleased since after the climactic fracas the brothel is closed down and Jo and Co jailed.

It’s got a Tennessee Williams feel, though everything set in the South appeared to come into his bailiwick, but most of the realism is understated, as it would have to be in those times. Jo’s a groomer of the vulnerable, and for all Hallie’s artistic ambition she’s every bit as easy pickings as Kitty who is grateful to be freed from prison where she was arrested as a vagrant and reckons being given money for fancy clothes and having a roof over her head is good enough reward for selling body and soul. Her role in the denouement is a mite too convenient from the narrative perspective but it will do as a means of tacking on a tragic ending.

It helps enormously that most of the performances are understated. Laurence Harvey (A Dandy in Aspic, 1967), more commonly a scene-stealer, is good value and Barbara Stanwyck (The Night Walker, 1964) only requires a stare to make her feelings known. Though Capucine (Song without End, 1960) was criticized at the time I felt her performance was measured. Jane Fonda (Barbarella, 1968) was more of a wild card and it didn’t seem believable that such a flighty piece was going to become principled.

You can thank director Edward Dymytryk (Shalako, 1968) for keeping the actors in line and maintaining an even tone without spilling over into the melodramatic. John Fante (My Six Loves, 1963) and Edmund Morris (The Savage Guns, 1961) adapted the book. Special nod of appreciation to Saul Bass for the credits.

Surprise Package (1960) **

Poses two questions. Is this every bit as bad as Once More with Feeling, Stanley Donen’s previous picture? Yep, sorry, it’s every bit as wretched. The second question is: how on earth did Donen go from this mess to sublime romantic thriller Charade three years later? Well, the answer might simply be in the casting. Yul Brynner is no Cary Grant. And in this movie he’s not even Yul Brynner.

My guess is he’s meant to be a humorous twist on the Brynner screen persona. But playing a gangster with a thick Noo Yoik accent was always the preserve of the dumb supporting actor not the star. And since Yul Brynner isn’t any more convincing in this than in Once More with Feeling the project is in trouble from the start.

We’re given too much of this faux gangster drivel at the start when mob kingpin Nico (Yul Brynner) is collecting tributes from his underlings. Then, for no particular reason, he is deported, sent back into exile to his homeland of Greece. There he encounters the only smart guy in the picture, the corrupt chief of police Stefan (Eric Pohlmann) who’s so astute in the bribery department that all Nico receives in return for his thousand dollar bribe is to be told he won’t be arrested for bribery.

Stefan sets up Nico to meet another exile, deposed King Pavel II (Noel Coward), whose accent makes no sense either unless he was exclusively raised in high class British society, schooled at Eton, a member of upper class clubs etc etc, otherwise how to explain the plummy tones unless this is also meant to be as over-the-top gag as Nico’s Noo Yoik accent. Nico plans to buy the king’s crown for a million bucks. But the boys back home stiff him and instead of the cash send him instead his girlfriend – the surprise package of the title – mob moll Gabby (Mitzi Gaynor), and the ongoing gag here is that, what with Nico trying to elevate himself in society, Gabby’s table manners and speech let him down.

So with no cash forthcoming, what’s a gangster to do to pad out his exile? So Nico decides to steal the crown. And if there had been either a hint of the classic heist a la Grand Slam (1960) or Topkapi (1964) or its alternative, the totally inept thief, then we might have been onto something. But instead we’ve got much what we might expect from such a poor piece – not much. And in any case, the laffs are meant to come from another party, representing the king’s citizens, and led by Dr Panzer (George Coulouris) who wants the crown restored to its proper home. Two crooks chasing the same prize? What a crazy idea. But this works as well as the rest of the picture.

Thanks to Gabby’s principles, the crown goes in neither’s pockets. To make a buck, Nico and the king transform the latter’s villa into a casino with Gabby, now Mrs Nico, employed as the hat check girl.

Stanely Donen made three pictures in 1960 and then not another man for three years, which suggested he was a) working on too many projects at once and b) that break sure refreshed his cinematic skills. Just like Once More with Feeling he gets wrong virtually most of the directorial decisions, beginning with the accents and ending up with the storyline and characters you don’t care a button for, which wouldn’t have mattered if they could generate a laugh.

Yul Brynner followed this up with his iconic performance in The Magnificent Seven (1960) so perhaps he can be excused. This pretty much killed off the career of Mitzi Gaynor (South Pacific, 1958) – it was another three years till she appeared on screen again, and that was her final picture. It took Noel Coward (Bunny Lake Is Missing, 1965) four years to get another screen role.

Written by Harry Kurnitz (Once More with Feeling) from the Art Buchwald novel so I am assuming this was greenlit before the results of the previous Donen-Brynner teaming were known.

At least Charade revived Donen’s career.

Dr Crippen (1963) ***

I have to confess my ignorance of this infamous British murderer. I knew the name and that he had hacked up his wife and buried her under the floorboards, so I just assumed a nutcase in the vein of Jack the Ripper, a sadist with a bent for mutilation. So I was quite surprised by this biopic which tended more towards explanation – perhaps going as far as expiation – rather than exploitation.

Mostly, this is set around a court case with flashbacks to fill in the story. This is one of these pictures where the victim is completely unsympathetic. Mrs Crippen (Coral Browne) as portrayed here was just awful. An ex-music hall artiste, she not only slept around but taunted Dr Crippen (Donald Pleasence) about how much better her, invariably younger, lovers were in bed. She treated him as her servant, always on the lookout for the opportunity to humiliate him and was at her most venomous when drunk, a common occasion.

He had fallen for a much younger woman, his secretary Ethel Le Neve (Samantha Eggar), who, despite the age difference adored him. Though the notion of her apparently inept husband consorting with a woman was hilarious to Mrs Crippen, his wife wanted to use the opportunity to humiliate him further. Divorce is out of the question. In 1908 the scandal would ruin an outwardly respectable man. In innocent fashion, Ethel plants in the doctor’s head the potential solution.

Crippen poisons his wife, chops her up, buries her in the cellar and comes up with a fantastical tale to account for her disappearance, namely that she had run off to America to take up with a previous lover. The police think he’s lying – assuming she has just run off – but don’t believe this innocuous little man could be guilty of murder. The situation only becomes dicey when Crippen and lover flee the country and this creates a hue and cry, front page news across the world, and they are apprehended on board a steamship where they maintain the charade of being father and son, a cover blown by the fact her male outfit hardly conceals her figure and that he can’t resist squeezing her hand in public..

Ethel believes Crippen is innocent and although he is found guilty, there is a coda where it might appear that the crime should be manslaughter rather than murder. He intended the poison to be used as a sedative, to stop her verbally abusing him, and he only accidentally gave her an overdose.

So it’s far from drawing a lurid picture of a terrible murderer in part due to the portrayal of his philandering, drunken, abusive wife; in part due to the meekness of the doctor; in part due to being shown exactly how the overdose could have occurred in unintentional fashion; and in part because we do not see him butchering the body. It comes across as a more sympathetic portrait of one of the most demonized figures in British criminal history.

The only problem is it’s impossible to see the attraction of a vibrant young women to this fuddy-duddy older fellow. Maybe it was his intellect – a young woman dazzled by his brain.

He’s not exactly creepy, but he lacks an ounce of charisma. But that does square with him not being a murderer, and only wishing to sedate his wife – still a crime – to give him some peace.

Resulted in Donald Pleasence (Soldier Blue, 1970) being typecast as a villain which, while limiting his range, ensured career longevity. Samantha Eggar (The Collector, 1965) continued to burnish her growing reputation. Coral Browne (The Killing of Sister George, 1969) steals the show with a vigorous performance, but, oddly enough, didn’t do her career much good, another four years would pass before she was seen again on the big screen. Inveterate scene-stealer Donald Wolfit (Life at the Top, 1965) hams it up but there’s a more measured performance from the normally ebullient James Robertson Justice (The Fast Lady, 1962).

Directed by Robert Lynn (Mozambique, 1964) from a screenplay by Leigh Vance (The Frightened City, 1961).

More than competent biopic.

Born Free (1966) ***

Unusual mix of the sentimental and the unsentimental, mixing soft-centered animal features like That Darn Cat (1966) where cute beasts cause mayhem with the kind of realism espoused by Sir David Attenborough (Planet Earth, 2006) where nature is red in tooth and claw, though skipping the irony of game warden-cum-conservationist George Adamson (Bill Travers) bringing up the cubs of the leonine parents he has shot dead.

With wife Joy (Virginia McKenna) they decide to rear the baby animals. Joy is most attracted to the runt of the litter, Elsa. Cue much hilarity as the animals destroy their house, knocking over anything standing, pulling down curtains, breaking plates, and like any youngsters resisting bedtime. Joy is so distraught at having to get rid of the grown-up cubs, despatched to zoos, that her husband holds onto Elsa.

If Joy can’t face shipping the cub overseas, she’s unwilling to face up to the fact that the only other alternative is to groom her for a life in the wild. A tame animal let loose would hardly survive a minute. So they’ve got to train Elsa to hunt. This doesn’t work out, Elsa finding herself at the wrong end of the hunting business – attacked by a warthog – or too inexperienced to know not to go near a herd of wild elephants. When she crawls home nursing her wounds, George is on the verge of giving up, but Joy wishes to persevere, resulting in scenes of the cute Elsa now suddenly red in tooth and claw and savoring her kill.

Now, all that’s left is finding her a willing mate. When that’s achieved, it’s job done, though when Elsa returns for a visit she’s accompanied by her own cubs.

And if you’re occasionally bored by the cutesy elements and wish the movie would get a move on, you can always savor, as I did, the Oscar-winning music by John Barry. It’s what these days would be deemed a feel-good movie but that’s only if you wriggle out of the irony.

The problem for the big cats in Kenya was that they were prey to illicit big-game hunters and if that had been the reason for the cubs being orphaned it would be a better fit for the general theme. But, basically, what lions don’t seem to realize is that they can’t treat humans like any other prey. There’s some weird supposition that they can prefer the taste of human flesh, rather than the more obvious reason why humans are attractive being that, unless armed, they can neither run away nor defend themselves like all the other jungle occupants.

There’s an unspoken rule – to which the lions are obviously not privy – that if you get a reputation as a man-eater then that friendly game warden who’s otherwise on your side is going to come after you and shoot you dead. It would only be luck that your offspring might end up with a couple of friendly humans rather than as dinner for other predators.

So being “born free” comes with the proviso of not getting in the way of humans.

Real life couple Bill Travers (The Bridal Path, 1959) and Virginia McKenna (Carve Her Name with Pride, 1958) were considered well past their sell-by date, neither having made a picture in five years. But they seem to embody the characters well, McKenna’s acting recognized by the Golden Globes.

James Hill (A Study in Terror, 1965) directs from a screenplay by Lester Cole (Operation Eichmann, 1961), blacklisted as one of the Hollywood Ten, and Joy Adamson, author of the eponymous bestseller.

While you’re probably not as nit-picky as me, you might well figure this is well past its sell-by date or, equally, you might hail it as the precursor of an animal rights campaign.

Behind the Scenes: Wrong, Wrong, Wrong: “Tarzan and the Great River”(1967): Pressbook

It’s easy to forget that the main purpose of the Pressbook/Marketing Manual is simply to provide a cinema manager which a range of advertisements in various sizes that they can cut out and take along to their local newspaper to be reproduced, plus a synopsis of the picture, list of the cast, billing credits and that other essential – running time. Most Pressbooks were not upscale A3 or even A2, printed in color, with fold-outs, and running to 20-plus pages with extensive cast bios, journalistic snippets and promotional ideas.

They were produced long before the movies went into release, sent out weeks or even months in advance, as a studio promotional tool, to lure cinema managers into booking the picture. Big studios employed marketing teams or farmed the job out to PR specialists before there was a finished film to view – and even that might be considered too time-consuming a task.

So there was a fair chance marketeers were working from a synopsis. And no guarantee they would even have the time to read that. For a picture like Tarzan and the Great River, there were obvious default promotional ideas – tie-ups with travel agencies, or camera stores for people to submit photos of their travels, or lobby gimmicks.

But it’s not going to help your chances if you – as the cinema manager – haven’t read the synopsis either and plan your promotional agenda on the information available in the “Exploitation Tips” section of this particular Pressbook.

Out of seven such ideas, three assume the movie is set in Africa rather than South America. So camera stores, whose managers wouldn’t have seen the synopsis either and were relying on the cinema manager’s advice, might end up asking customers to submit photos “suggesting African scenes.” Similarly, travel agencies would be instructed to “take advantage of the African background” to organise a window display “with African tour backgrounds.” You would be ordering in safari outfits for the ushers to wear or find African motifs to decorate the lobby.

Outside of these blatant errors, the advertising agency had done a good job of trying to reposition Tarzan’s public image. He was now “America’s Number One Hero” in possibly an attempt to challenge James Bond.

To interest editors, the marketers compiled a list of other athletes turned actors. Current Tarzan Mike Henry had been a “bruising line-backer” with the Los Angeles Rams and the Pittsburgh Steels. The villain of Tarzan and the Great River is played by decathlon champion Rafer Johnson. John Wayne and Jim Brown had also been pro footballers.

Babe Ruth put in a screen appearance, playing himself, in Pride of the Yankees (1942) starring Gary Cooper. Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris played themselves and for a full-length feature in Safe at Home (1962). Former Rams star Elroy Hirsch also played himself, but this more than a cameo, as he was the star of his biopic Crazylegs, All-American (1953). Subsequently, he starred in the non-sports offerings Unchained (1955) and Zero Hour (1957)

With not much to interest the newspapers in Mike Henry beyond beefcake photos, the marketeers majored on producer Sy Weintraub, who had begun his career in television syndication, and was credited with originating the concept of the “Late Show.” As president of Motion Pictures for Television, he ushered in the gold rush of buying up old movies for small screens. He also owned a TV and radio station, but he sold up all these interests to finance the purchase of the rights to Tarzan in 1958.

Tarzan had been around for so long on the silver screen that one of the more interesting promotional ideas was to offer a free ticket to anyone who could recall seeing the first Tarzan Elmo Lincoln back in 1918..

The advertising taglines emphasized danger: “barehanded combat with a wild jaguar,” “vicious man-eating piranhas,” “blazing volcano”, “savage tribes,” and “risking his life to save his woman.” It was rather a bold claim that the picture offered “more heart-stopping adventure than anything on the screen now.”

While the Pressbook was A3 in size, it was limited to just six pages. There were only two advertisements rather than the half-dozen-plus that were common. Having said that, the character must already have been imprinted on the public mind so possibly there was little point trying to say more.

Tarzan and the Great River (1967) ***

Tarzan (Mike Henry) has been repurposed as an international adventurer dropped into trouble spots an ocean away from his African roots. He’s the male equivalent of the bikini-clad females peppering the espionage genre, kitted out in only a loincloth, torso kept bare for the titillation of the ladies. And just like the James Bond series, there’s an evil personage, and while not in the business of taking over the world still wanting to dominate a good chunk of it in South America. Barcuna (Rafer Johnson), espouses the Jaguar death cult, terrorizing villages and enslaving their inhabitants for the purpose of searching for diamonds.

To fill out the narrative, a good chunk of the picture is spent with riverboat Captain Sam Bishop (Jan Murray) and the native orphan Pepe (Manuel Padilla Jr.) he has unofficially adopted and their comic shtick mostly involving the older man cheating at cards is all we’ve got to keep the drama going until the female in distress, Dr Ann Philips (Diana Millay), turns up. But, as you know, Tarzan is no lothario, unlike his colleagues in the espionage department, so we don’t have to wonder if romance is going to raise its ugly head.

*Wrong continent. No tigers were used in this film.*

In the meantime the producer has scoured the vaults for stock footage and clearly is of the opinion that if you can transplant Tarzan from his natural African habitat you can do the same with hippos. Tarzan wrestles a lion and a crocodile and despatches Barcuna’s henchmen on land and in the river, swimming underwater and tipping over canoes to do his part in keeping the local crocodiles well-fed.

Barcuna, meanwhile, roasts alive anyone caught trying to escape, though he allows the good doctor to escape either because he’s not partial to blondes or he reckons she won’t be much good at hunting for diamonds or, as suggested once he burns her village, because he wants her to let everyone know that he’s the big cheese around here.

There’s the usual plague subplot. Dr Millay is waiting on the arrival of a vaccine to fight a new plague – Bishop is delivering the stuff – but she has a job getting the natives to accept inoculation and it’s only when Pepe offers himself as a guinea pig that the others queue up.

Devoid of the gadgets, speedboats and fast cars of the espionage genre, Tarzan relies on the speed of his legs as if he was auditioning for the Tom Cruise role in Mission Impossible or that of Liam Neeson in the Taken series. There’s a spectacular fight between Tarzan and Barcuna for the climax.

Harmless stuff, as innocuous as the others in the trilogy featuring former football player Mike Henry (The Green Berets, 1968). They were filmed back-to-back in 1965 and released at the rate of one a year from 1966. This was the third time producer Sy Wintraub’s had reinvented Tarzan. He had previously shepherded home a pair – starting with Tarzan’s Great Adventure (1959) – starring Gordon Scott. Jock Mahoney inherited the mantle with Tarzan Goes to India (1962) and lasted for one more adventure.

This was the last of a quartet of outings with Tarzan for director Robert Day (She, 1965). Written by Bob Barbash (The Plunderers, 1960).

Perfect Saturday matinee material.

The Finger Man / Le Doulos (1962) *****

Stunning tour de force combining narrative complexity with technical audacity. Set up the template for later crime epics like Reservoir Dogs (1992) and The Usual Suspects (1995) and influenced Scorsese and Coppola. For the likes of me who revels in technical achievement, a delight, long tracking shots, two scenes over five minutes long shot in single takes, and rare use of the wipe. But technique is nothing without story. Luckily, here we are offered a riveting tale of double crossing, honor, revenge and that rare beast, irony. There’s a veritable tsunami of twists at the end but all the way through there’s the kind of sleight-of-hand that deserves a round of applause.

Jean-Pierre Melville hadn’t named his picture The Informer for the obvious reason of it being considered, erroneously, a remake of the John Ford 1935 Oscar-winning classic or just the danger of being unfavorably compared with it. But the pre-credit titles tell us that Le Doulos is underworld slang for an informer so we’re prepared for that element of the story. What we’re not prepared for is what comes next.

Maurice (Serge Reggiani), just out of prison after serving a six-year sentence, turns up at the house of fence Gilbert (Rene Lefevre) who’s helped him get back on his feet by setting him up with a safe-cracking job. Gilbert is appraising a cache of stolen jewels. Maurice shoots him, steals the jewels and a bundle of cash, burying the loot under a lamppost.

Maurice meets up with his partner Remy (Philippe Nahon) and another gangster Silien (Jean-Paul Belmondo), previously considered untrustworthy, who supplies the tools for the planned heist. While Maurice and Remy set off to burgle a house, Silien phones a cop, Inspector Salignari (Daniel Crohem). Silien viciously beats up Maurice’s girlfriend Therese (Monique Hennessey) and kills her.

The robbery doesn’t go according to plan, the cops turning up unexpectedly. In the shoot-out, Salignari and Remy are killed, Maurice wounded. Maurice passes on details of where he buried the loot to another buddy Jean (Philippe Marche).

Silien is picked up by the police as a known associate of Maurice. The interrogation scene, which lasts five or six minutes, is a piece of cinematic bravura. Shot in a single take the camera follows chief interrogator Clain (Jean Desailly) as he paces round the room, Silien only coming into view when the cop stops in front of him and asks him a question. While refusing to rat on Maurice, Silien agrees, under pressure from the cops who threaten to expose his drug racket, to phone around the various bars where Maurice might be holing up. This triggers another virtuoso piece of filmmaking as Melville employs the wipe. Maurice is located, reading a newspaper report on Therese’s death.

There follows another colossal technical achievement, Maurice interviewed in another long single take, this time the interrogator pacing in front of the prisoner. Maurice is jailed, where he shares a cell with an assassin.

Meanwhile, Silien gets hold of the jewels and cash. He enrols old girlfriend Fabienne (Fabienne Dali), currently the unhappy squeeze of top gangster and club owner Nuttheccio (Michel Piccoli), and hatches a scheme that makes little sense to the audience. So we just have to watch. Silien breaks into Nutthecio’s club and in the guise of selling the gangster the jewels gets him to hold some of the items, thus, we quickly realize, covering them with his fingerprints.

Silien kills Nuttheccio then waits for the club-owner’s partner Armand (Jacques de Leon) to arrive, kills him and stages the scene to look like they killed each other over the jewels which he deposits in the safe. One of the jewels was found at the failed robbery so that’s enough to free Maurice.

Then we play out the revelation, the same kind of scenario repeated in The Usual Suspects, where the audience learns the truth. Therese was the snitch. That’s why she was killed. Gilbert was shot by Maurice because the dealer in stolen goods had drowned Maurice’s previous girlfriend Arletty. Even though you could argue that was justified, Maurice not being a good judge of character and not aware, as Gilbert was, that Arletty was also a police informer.

It was pure coincidence that Silien phoned Salignari on the night of the burglary. Despite being on opposite sides of the law, they were friends and the gangster was merely inviting the cop to dinner.

Silien proves to be such a straight-up guy that he hands all the stolen cash to Maurice. Silien plans to get out of the business and retire with Fabienne to a house in the country. Then we learn that Maurice has distrusted Silien after all and arranged for the assassin he met in jail to kill Silien. To try and prevent that, he races to the country house, fortuitously arriving before Silien and is, ironically, shot by the assassin. When Silien arrives shortly afterwards he, with more savage irony, is also despatched.

I watched this initially thinking what a huge risk Jean-Paul Belmondo (Borsalino, 1970) was taking in playing, as I initially believed, not just a police informer, but stealing from Maurice the buried loot and leading the police to him. It would have been a hell of a note if the narrative had continued in the same hard-nosed vein especially after Silien’s absolutely brutal treatment of Therese. The slap he administered came out of nowhere and resounded like a gunshot. He then tied her up, again venomously, and poured a bottle of whisky over her head.

That it turned out to be a story of honor among thieves was perhaps the biggest twist of all.

Jean-Paul Belmondo is outstanding in an underplayed role, Serge Reggiani (The Leopard, 1963) convincing as the two-timing crook.

Deservedly recognized as one of the most influential crime pictures of all time, this is nothing short of a masterpiece by Jean-Pierre Melville (Army of Shadows, 1969). Written by the director from the novel by Pierre Lesou.

Beg, borrow or steal this one.

You Can’t Win ‘Em All (1970) ***

Charles Bronson travelogue. Slowest action picture you will ever come across. Director Peter Collinson forgets all he learned about tension from The Penthouse (1967) and action from The Italian Job (1969) and in trying to create a Turkish version of the visual delights of David Lean’s Lawrence of Arabia (1962) comes a cropper, not least because he hasn’t counted on the dust resulting in endless scenes of men on horseback being obscured. There must be about 10-15 minutes of just travelling by horse, train and boat through boring scenery.

There’s an interesting story in here somewhere but you’ll need all your patience to stick with it. Soldiers of fortune Adam (Tony Curtis) and Josh (Charles Bronson) are the type of characters who buddy up one minute and stitch each other up the next. Their attitudes are ingrained from the outset – Josh robs shipwrecked Adam who takes revenge by stealing his boat. They team up to take advantage of the chaos ensuing in Turkey in 1922 following the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, setting themselves up as mercenaries before their small force of like-minded fellows, armed with Tommy guns, is hired by Governor Osman Bey (Gregoire Aslan) to escort a consignment of gold to Cairo. They soon discover that’s just a cover. The only gold on the gold bars is as much as it takes to provide a golden sheen to blocks of lead. There are actually more valuable prizes: Bey’s daughters and a trunk of priceless jewellery.

So far, they’ve beaten off various attacks, the submachine guns making short work of rebels armed only with rifles, and this looks as if it’s heading into fairly standard territory whereby the scoundrels will evade their captors and make off with the loot. But halfway through it does a U-turn. We discover that Adam is actually in the country to repossess one of his father’s ships lost in World War One. This is tweaked into an important plot point – the Turks have been blockaded by the Brits but a ship flying an American flag would be permitted safe passage.

Then it twists on its axis once again and we’re dropped into femme fatale land. The daughters are being escorted by the beautiful but wily Aila (Michele Mercier). She’s a step up from the usual two-timing female of the species. She’s a three-timer, attempting to woo in turn the governor, Adam and Josh. Actually, she returns to two-timing when she knifes the governor to death. And her plans go awry when Josh rejects her advances with a vicious slap.

Even so, he’s not averse to teaming up with her to betray Adam and make off with the loot. Adam, who has considered himself worldly wise, is furious and eventually traces Josh and Aila to the port of Smyrna.

It doesn’t end well, Josh and Adam are captured. But then it does end well. Aila, revealed as a spy, negotiates their freedom. After all, inadvertently, they helped her to transport the real treasure, an ancient Koran, while keeping the jewels for herself.

Leo Gordon (Tobruk, 1967) has penned a very wayward screenplay. Charles Bronson (Farewell, Friend, 1968) and Tony Curtis (The Boston Strangler, 1968) play well off each other, occasionally exchanging decent quips, with the kind of personalities that might congeal into an acceptable screen pairing, guys, while minus an honor code, who don’t stray into unacceptable behaviour. And it might have worked equally as well if the Michele Mercier (Angelique, 1964) strand had been introduced at the beginning and we had a three-way romantic dilemma. But director Collinson takes forever to get the two elements of the tale to mesh and wastes countless minutes, as previously noted, as our heroes laboriously grind their way towards their destination. The introduction of Mercier – sudden light catching her eyes in the darkness – is the only composition of note. And while Bronson and Curtis are a sparky pairing most of the time they flounder in an incomprehensible tale.

You can either catch this on YouTube and have your viewing interrupted by an advert every two minutes or on Amazon Prime where such interference is minimal.

Mosquito Squadron (1969) ****

Surprisingly somber, unusually reflective and exceptionally well-constructed. Except for taking the easy way out at the end, could easily have found itself in the classic finale stakes in the same league as Casablanca (1942) or The Third Man (1949) where true love is thwarted. More than enough aerial action for aficionados and an excellent battle sequence.

In addition we have that very contemporary trope of the human shield and the argument by British officers of obeying orders that would take on a different significance from the enemy perspective at the end of World War Two. Throw in an unexpected slug of guilt, a number of understated scenes, and a very clever wheeze from the Germans and you have a movie that rises well above the standard programmer.

Quint Munroe (David McCallum) is an orphan, taken in at a young age by the family of Squadron Leader “Scottie” Scott (David Buck) whom he regards as a brother. Also a pilot, Quint watches Scottie’s plane explode in a bombing raid over France. Next in line for promotion, Quint, with the usual survivor’s guilt, takes over.

In the first of the sequences that are notably out of place in a standard gung-ho World War Two picture, Quint is sent to tell the bad news to Scottie’s wife Beth (Suzanne Neve). He doesn’t have to say a word. She recognizes the look on his face. Quint had barely escaped from his own burning cockpit, a fact that’s gone unreported to Beth, but when she comes to her husband’s quarters at the air base, she gasps at the burn marks on the back of his jacket. There are four or five instances, again understated, in this scene when Beth is brutally reminded of her husband’s death. And Quint’s colleague Douglas (David Dundas) rejoices in the fact that he’s lost an arm because that’s saved his life, it’s his “ticket” to remain earthbound, and he can safely get married in the knowledge his wife won’t be receiving a knock on the door anytime soon.

This is a mission picture in case you haven’t noticed from my concentration on the other more interesting aspects of the movie. The RAF needs to bomb an experimental station developing the next range of German rockets that’s buried underneath a chateau in France. Flattening the area in the normal fashion won’t do it, the bombers need to be able to hit a very small target indeed, the entrance of the secret hideaway. So they turn to a version of Barnes Wallis bouncing bomb (see The Dam Busters, 1955) and have to practise like billy-oh against a very tight deadline to hit such a target.

Meanwhile…meanwhie…meanwhile. There are three dramatic meanwhiles. Quint begins an understated romance with Beth, he filled with remorse at stealing his dead pal’s wife, she less concerned because there was a hint of earlier romance between them. The Germans protect the chateau behind a human shield of captured RAF pilots. In carrying out the attack, the pilots are condemning colleagues to death, a worry knocked on its head by the gung-ho likes of Air Commodore Hufford (Charles Gray), but other more sensitive high-ranking officers resort to the “obeying orders” routine. Final twist: among the prisoners is Scottie.

Nobody outside the base is permitted to know about the prisoners in case taking such an action damages public morale, so now Quint is in a bind. There’s a final twist to the twists – Scottie has lost his memory so badly that even if he could return to Britain it’s doubtful if he would know who Beth was, though, of course, they would still be married, so that would scupper Quint’s chances unless the story went onto a fourth act in the vein of Random Harvest (1942).

The French Resistance are called in to launch a daring raid to free the prisoners and assuage guilt all-round. Quint is shot down and joins the brutal battle action in which, as predicted by Hufford, the escapees are mown down by superior German firepower. He finds Scottie, who doesn’t recognize him at all. Scottie is also of the gung-ho brigade and dies stopping a German tank.

Meanwhile, Douglas has got into trouble for telling too many people about the prisoners. He’s very good friends with Beth.

You can see the cinematic opportunity. Quint returns knowing he is free to marry Beth only to find Beth turns away from him because he went on an expedition that could kill her husband. But the producers bottle it and go for the happy ending instead.

David McCallum (Sol Madrid/The Heroin Gang, 1968) remains in low gear throughout, and though Suzanne Neve (Naked Evil, 1966) more than makes up for him, you would wonder at the wife of a dead pilot taking up with another flier who could end up the same way.

Director Boris Sagal (Made in Paris, 1966) is to be commended for spending so much time on the themes of guilt and loss and keeping reality to the forefront. Some of the sequences have been stolen from other movies or are stock footage. Written by Donald S. Sanford (The Thousand Plane Raid, 1969) and actress Joyce Perry in her big screen debut.

Raises far more issues than the normal war movie, certainly blown away at the box office by the bigger-budgeted all-star-cast Battle of Britain the same year, but more than holds its own, and if it had been an American low-budgeter with some better-known lesser stars would have probably been re-evaluated long before now.

Impressive.

A New Kind of Love (1963) ***

Just about scrapes by, small thanks to Paul Newman’s atrocious Texan accent, Joanne Woodward’s frightful blonde wig – more Lady Penelope than classy Parisian – and Maurice Chevalier serenading a horde of drunken women. Maurice Chevalier? Well, of course this is Paris and Chevalier always sings regardless of being peripheral to the story.

Suffers, too, from being a smart-ass picture, in the vain hope of hitting the satirical bullseye taking swipes at everything in sight, from women barging into a sale to haute couture, airline stewardesses, journalism and even Paris. And there’s a string of fantasy sequences that might (or might not) have worked at the time but fail to gell now. Takes forever for the principals to even be brought close enough together to envisage romance and it doesn’t help that that supposedly most eagle-eyed of creatures, the reporter, can’t see through a simple disguise.

Tomboy Sam Blake (Joanne Woodward) is a pirate. Not the swashbuckling kind, leaping through the rigging, which would be worth seeing I’m sure, but the industrial kind, stealing the designs of better designers for a New York department store.

Steve Sherman (Paul Newman) is piratical, stealing other people’s wives. When his latest conquest turns out to be married to his boss, he is shifted off to Paris as – punishment? Yep, you can see the awry thinking behind this one.

Meanwhile, Sam and a gang from her store, boss Joe (George Tobias) and colleague Lena (Thelma Ritter), are off to Paris on a spying expedition to the annual fashion shows. Lena has her eyes on romance with the boss but is beaten to that prize by the glamorous Felicienne (Eva Gabor). Sam isn’t interested in romance. She’s a career woman, or in the parlance of the day, a “semi-virgin” (though I suspect that description was a screenwriter’s invention). Neither is Steve, for that matter, at least not of the long-lasting kind, he’s happily tearing around with a woman on each arm, enjoying the more nefarious sights of the French capital while Sam is knee deep in work.

After Sam gets a makeover, complete with long cigarette-holder Lady Penelope style, resulting in the bouffant hair style and is sitting in a café, she is approached by Steve who, assuming she is a high-class courtesan, attempts to interview her for the article he hopes will save his job. They’ve bumped into each other, she disdaining his obvious approaches, a couple of times but then she was rigged out in a short haircut and dark glasses. And this is such a complete transformation he doesn’t recognize her. And, in order to make this movie work, the audience has to play along.

As does Sam, keeping up the pretense of being a high-class hooker in order to get her revenge on the man she despises. The fictions she dishes up, of dalliances with powerful men, are published in his column and their success ensures he’s not fired. Felicienne is edged out of the way, revealed as previously a sex worker, so Lena can make her play for Joe.

Before that ploy can work, Steve sets up Sam with Joe who sees through the disguise. There’s a whole bundle of other unlikely shenanigans before we reach the compulsory happy ending.

Hollywood was fairly enamored with the sex worker or goodtime girl – Never on Sunday (1960), Butterfield 8 (1960), Irma La Douce (1963), for example, with the Oscars chipping in to show their support – and another (yes, this had been done before) comedic twist seemed to offer potential especially with two big stars going all risqué.

Paul Newman (The Prize, 1963) never quite worked out how to manage comedy until Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) where he maintained his usual persona and just delivered the lines rather than trying to wring laughs out of them. He also has a bad habit of trying to demonstrate character by fidgeting, so his face, eyes and hands are all over the place.

Joanne Woodward (A Big Hand for the Little Lady/ Big Deal in Dodge City, 1966) is better value initially but when she takes on the disguise there’s too much of the knowing wink. Six-time Oscar nominee Thelma Ritter (Boeing, Boeing, 1965) has a better idea of how to play comedy by just sticking to the knitting.

Writer-director Melville Shavelson (The Pigeon That Took Rome, 1962) just about makes it work and when it doesn’t throws in sufficient distraction.

Not the Newman-Woodward team’s finest hour.