Brian Hannan

Texas Across the River (1966) ****

Excellent comedy western mixing dry wit and occasional slapstick to joyous effect. The wedding between Spanish duke Don Aldrea (Alain Delon) and Louisiana belle Phoebe (Rosemary Forsyth) is interrupted by her previous suitor Yancy (Stuart Cottle) who is killed in the resulting melee. Escaping to Texas, Don Aldrea’s marksmanship leads settler Sam (Dean Martin) to recruit him to help fight raiding Comanches. Romantic entanglement ensues when the Don rescues Native American Lonetta (Tina Marquand) and Sam has more than a passing interest in Phoebe.

It is so tightly structured that nothing occurs that doesn’t have a pay-off further down the line. Bursting with terrific lines – including a stinger of a final quip – and set pieces, it pokes fun at every western cliché from the gunfight, the cavalry in hot pursuit, and fearsome Native Americans to the snake bite and the naked bathing scene. Incompetence is the order of the day – cavalry captain Stimpson (Peter Graves) issues incomprehensible orders, chief’s son Yellow Knife (Michael Linden) cannot obey any.

The Don, with his obsession with honor and his tendency to kiss men on the cheeks, is a comedy gift. Despite his terrific head of hair, he is stuck with the moniker “Baldy” and every time he is about to save the day he manages to ruin it. Sam is the kind of guy who thinks he is showing class by removing his spurs in bed while retaining his boots. His sidekick Kronk (Joey Bishop), a mickey-take on Tonto, mostly is just that, a guy who stands at the side doing nothing but delivering dry observations.

Lonetta is full of Native American lore and has enough sass to keep the Don in his place. “What is life with honor,” he cries to which she delivers the perfect riposte, “What is honor without life?” Phoebe is a hot ticket with not much in the way of loyalty.

Two sequences stand out – the slapping scene (whaat?) and a piece of exquisite comedy timing when Sam, Phoebe and the Don try an iron out a complicated situation.

Good as Dean Martin (Rough Night in Jericho, 1967) is the picture belongs to Alain Delon (Once a Thief, 1965) and I would argue it is possibly his best performance. Never has an actor so played against type or exploded his screen persona. Delon was known for moody, sullen roles, cameras fixated on his eyes. But here he is a delight, totally immersed in a role, not of an idiot, but a man of high ideals suddenly caught up in a country that is less impressed with ideals. If he had played the part with a knowing wink it would never have worked.

Martin exudes such screen charm you are almost convinced he’s not acting at all, but when you compare this to Rough Night in Jericho it’s easy to see why he was so under-rated. Joey Bishop (Ocean’s 11) is a prize turn, with some of the best quips. Rosemary Forsyth (Shenandoah, 1965) is surprisingly good, having made her bones in more dramatic roles, and Tina Marquand (Modesty Blaise, 1966) more than holds her own. Michael Ansara (Sol Madrid, 1968) played Cochise in the Broken Arrow (1956-1958) television series. Under all the Medicine Man get-up you might spot Richard Farnsworth. Peter Graves of Mission Impossible fame is the hapless cavalry leader.

Director Michael Gordon (Move Over, Darling, 1964) hits the mother lode, the story zipping along, every time it seems to be taking a side-step actually nudging the narrative forward. He draws splendid performances from the entire cast, knowing when to play it straight, when to lob in a piece of slapstick, and when to cut away for a humorous reaction, and especially keeping in check the self-indulgence which marred many Rat Pack pictures – two of the gang are here, Martin and Bishop. There’s even a sly nod to Sergio Leone spaghetti westerns when the electric guitar strikes up any time Native Americans appear. Frank De Vol (Cat Ballou, 1965) did the score. Written by Wells Root (Secrets of Deep Harbor, 1961), Ben Starr (Our Man Flint, 1966) and Harold Greene (Hide and Seek, 1964).

Terrific fun.

Behind the Scenes: “The Terrornauts” (1967)

Unless you’re a sci-fi buff of a certain vintage, you probably haven’t heard of Murray Leinster who wrote The Wailing Asteroid on which The Terrornauts is based. Which is a shame because he was one of the giants of science fiction of the golden age. Time magazine called him The Dean of Science Fiction.

For a contemporary audience his name is of considerable significance because he invented the concept of the multiverse. In those days it was called a parallel universe or an alternate history but it amounted to the same thing. And he did so nearly a century ago – in 1934 in fact.

He was second only to H.G. Wells in originating science fiction concepts. He was the first, for example, to imagine meeting an alien culture that was as advanced as our own. He explored themes of mutual distrust, mutual assured destruction, and aliens as superior beings. He also invented the idea of the Internet and man-eating plants.

In The Wailing Asteroid, Leinster draws upon many of the ideas he was first to promulgate.

We have alien encounter. We have the fear that as a consequence terror might be brought back to Earth. We have a species that has evolved far beyond human experience.

We have the same kind of instant absorption of knowledge that occurs through the Internet. The little blocks that our hero finds might as well be called Miniature Googles.

You could also argue that what the space explorers discover is akin to The Sentinel that features in 2001: A Space Odyssey, released in 1968. And you could also view the asteroid as a life-affirming alternative to the hovering destructive Death Star of Star Wars filmed a decade later.

The Terrornauts is a rarity because only a handful of Leinster books were ever filmed. But he was very important to the movies in another way, at the forefront of an invention – front projection – that changed the way movies were made in the 1960s.

At this point, production entity Amicus was as well known for its sci fi output as its horror thanks to Dr Who and the Daleks (1965) and Daleks Invasion Earth 2015 A.D (1966).

So when Embassy Pictures knocked on the door and offered a flat fee of around half a million dollars for a science fiction double bill, Amicus was delighted. Hammer sold its horror pictures as double bills, a complete program more attractive to an exhibitor and more lucrative for a producer than half a program.

Amicus contracted to make The Terronauts and They Came from Beyond Space. They weren’t big enough to have stars under contract, nor the first port of call should a director or star have a pet project that required funding.

Their modus operandi was to trawl through the hundreds of novels published every year, either in pre-publication galley form, or when printed. Max Rosenberg claimed to read 500 books a year. “The basic job of a producer,” explained his partner Milton Subotsky, “is to find properties.” That was how they came across The Wailing Asteroid.

It was occasionally part of the deal in Hollywood that when a studio bought a best-seller, the author was given the opportunity to write the screenplay. But that wasn’t the case here.

Instead, Amicus turned to another science fiction author. John Brunner was as prolific as Leinster. Brunner got the gig because he mixed in the same social circles as Subotsky. Mostly, he wrote conventional space opera and it was only after his experience on The Terrornauts that he acquired a bigger name in science fiction, after winning a Hugo Award in 1969.

The first casualty was the title. The Wailing Asteroid was not as catchy as The Terrornauts. And Brunner had no qualms about scrapping most of the original narrative. He telescoped the time frame. The action in the book takes place over several months, not a couple of days. The book involves multiple countries. Leinster’s novel was set in the United States, but Brunner made the characters British and added the comedy – no tea lady or accountant in the original. And there’s no humor either. He changed the hero’s occupation from design engineer to scientist, and dumped the incipient hesitant romance between Joe and Sandy. But he brings in the notion of scientists hunting for intelligent life in space.

Nor does Leinster’s book involve little green men, robots or human sacrifice. That’s all Brunner’s doing. He turns what was really a concept novel, an exploration of ideas more akin to 2001: A space Odyssey and Planet of the Apes. Brunner shifts it from what if to alien abduction.

Budget shaped the picture. The first four reels are slow and full of dialog because dialog can be shot much quicker and more cheaply than action. Low budgets didn’t bother Amicus. “I defy any other picture making company,” proclaimed Rosenberg, “to turn out that sort of picture with the budget we are under.” He added, “We make pictures for a price and I think we’re better at it than anybody else.”

Amicus had something of a stock company, Freddie Francis, for example, the in-house director, had helmed four pictures, the same number as Peter Cushing headlined. Christopher Lee starred in two, Robert Bloch contributed four scripts and Elizabeth Lutyens scored two pictures. But only Lutyens was retained here.

Amicus handed The Terrornauts to veterans, the majority involved were over 50 years of age. Cinematographer Geoffrey Faithful was 74, author Murray Leinster 71, supporting actor Max Adrian 64, special effects guru Les Bowie 64, director Montgomery Tully 63, composer Elizabeth Lutyens 61.

It would prove the last hurrah for female lead Zena Marshall, Montgomery Tully would bow out later that year after Battle Beneath the Earth and Geoffrey Faithful would only make another two pictures.

The Terrornauts and They Came from Beyond Space were not filmed in October-December 1966 as has been widely reported. Instead, production took place earlier in the year. According to British trade magazine Kine Weekly’s Shooting Now section, The Terrornauts was first to go before the cameras at Twickenham Studios, on June 13 1966 and still featured on its production chart on August 3. Filming on They Came from Beyond Space in the second last week of September continued also at Twickenham until the week of November 3.

Though to some observers the amount spent on The Terrornauts was very little, in fact the £87,000 budget was nearly double the amount spent on City of the Dead and slightly more than The Skull. Admittedly, there were special effects to consider but to offset that the stars came cheaper than the likes of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee.

For a time it looked as if Embassy expected The Terrornauts to prove the more popular picture. It ran a one-page advertisement in trade newspaper Variety for The Terrornauts in April 1967 claiming it would be available to rent the following month. The image of Zena Marshall being held down by aliens was accompanied by the tagline – “the virgin sacrifice to the gods of a ghastly galaxy” They didn’t run any adverts for They Came from Beyond Space.

I’m sorry to have to tell you this is a condensed version of the audio commentary by me that accompanies the spanking new DVD released by Vinegar Syndrome – I’m sure you’ll forgive me another small plug – and it’s on special offer.

The Terrornauts (1967) ***

The easiest ways to acquire cult status are a) to be impossible to find and b) in a genre piece add in the unexpected. In this case, although originally devised as the support feature to They Came from Beyond Space (1967), in an Amicus sci fi double bill, this was denied initial release in Britain and other parts of the world and only seen fleetingly thereafter.

The genre upset is in two parts. First, we have the notion of aliens coming to the assistance of Earth. Secondly, for foreign audiences, it upends ideas of Englishness. Overseas moviegoers would have become used to the arrogant upper class characters, the bowler hats, tourist landmarks, Cockneys out for a “larf”, and probably never actually heard a genuine British accent in their lives because the diction was so incomprehensible it was usually dubbed.

Here we have two very recognizable, in British terms, types – the tea lady Mrs Jones (Patricia Hayes) always ready with down-to-earth wisdom, and bureaucracy in the shape of interfering bean-counter Joshua Yellowlees (Charles Hawtrey, taking a break from Carry On duties). They provide a supply of gentle comedy, unusual for the genre.

Along with Dr Joe Burke (Simon Oates), Ben Keller (Stanley Meadows) and Sandy Lund (Zena Marshall), working in radio telescope laboratory seeking signals from outer space, they are kidnapped by aliens. Apart from an odd-shaped robot, on the alien craft they encounter nobody but are still set intelligence tests and then step through a transporter which lands them on an alien planet but one which is strangely familiar to Burke from a childhood incident on an archaeological dig in France. These aliens of the little green men variety are not so accommodating and it would come as no surprise that they elect Sandy for sacrifice. When she’s rescued and they’re all safely back on the alien craft, a greater danger materializes. Earth is going to be obliterated by another set of aliens, deadly enemies of the ones who are so helpful, and the Earthlings have to master the alien weaponry to defeat them and save Earth.

*Saw “The Terrornauts” on original UK release when it was support to “Flight of the Doves.”*

There are two twists at the end, one ending in speculative fashion, the other on a comedic note. The transporter returns to Earth and the same spot as Burke had his odd encounter, though nobody commenta on this. But to undercut that climax, the space travelers are arrested for trespass by a French gendarme. There’s no great acting and, in truth, it’s the oddball supporting players who steal the show, and Patricia Hayes would later achieve considerable fame as Edna, The Inebriate Woman (1971). This was the swansong for Zena Marshall (The Switch, 1963) and the penultimate picture of veteran Montgomery Tully (Fog for a Killer, 1962). Written by sci fi author John Brunner from the novel The Wailing Asteroid by Murray Leinster. Score by Elizabeth Lutyens (The Skull, 1965).

This is more thoughtful than the general run of sci fi B-movies, and the special effects, considering the tiny budget, are acceptable. Had it enjoyed more success Amicus might well have continued down this route rather than the horror portmanteau for which they were associated, for by the time this movie was made, their efforts were split evenly between horror and sci fi and their biggest hits had been the big screen Dr Who adaptations.

Though They Came from Beyond Space was seen more widely in Britain as the support to Rank release The High Commissioner/ Nobody Runs Forever, The Terrornauts sat on the shelf. It was given a very limited release as one of three potential supports to Flight of the Doves (1971) which is how I saw it at the Gaumont first run cinema in Glasgow. And that was because Simon Oates had starred in hit BBC ecological thriller Doomwatch (1970-1972). In the United States, it had a sporadic cinema release, very little evidence of first run, but very quickly became a late-night television favorite.

If you accept the comedy and aren’t fussed to not be battling monsters, this is a very interesting diversion from the sci fi norm and well done with the budget.

Vinegar Syndrome has just brought this out on DVD.

The Terrornauts

Ulzana’s Raid (1972) ****

Still stands up as an allegory for the Vietnam War, superior American forces almost decimated by a small band of Apaches engaging in guerilla warfare. After the consecutive flops of Castle Keep (1969) and The Swimmer (1969), Burt Lancaster had unexpectedly shot to the top of Hollywood tree on the back of disaster movie Airport (1970) and consolidated his position with a string of westerns, which had global appeal, of which this was the third. After the commercial high of The Dirty Dozen (1967), director Robert Aldrich had lost his way, in part through an ambitious attempt to set up a mini-studio, his last four pictures including The Legend of Lylah Clare (1968) and The Killing of Sister George (1969) all registering in the red.

Riding a wave of critical acclaim was Scottish screenwriter Alan Sharp whose debut The Last Run (1971) turned on its head the gangster’s last job trope, and its lyrical successor The Hired Hand (1971) had stars and directors queuing up. Here he delivers the intelligent work for which he would become famous, melding Native American lore with a much tougher take on the Indian Wars and the cruelty from both sides.

The narrative follows two threads, the duel between Ulzana (Joaquin Martinez), who has escaped from the reservation, and Army scout MacIntosh (Burt Lancaster); and the novice commander Lt DeBuin (Bruce Davison) earning his stripes. In between ruminations on Apache culture, their apparent cruelty given greater understanding, and some conflict within the troops, bristling at having to obey an inexperienced officer, most of the film is devoted to the battle of minds, as soldiers and Native Americans try to out-think each other.

Shock is a main weapon of Aldrich’s armory. There’s none of the camaraderie or “twilight of the west” stylistic flourishes that distinguished Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) or The Wild Bunch (1969). This is a savage land where a trooper will shoot dead the female homesteader he is escorting back to the fort rather than see her fall into the hands of the Apaches, following this up by blowing his own brains out so that he doesn’t suffer the same fate.

What such fate entails is soon outlined when another homesteader is tortured to death and another woman raped within an inch of her life, the fact that she survives such an ordeal merely a ploy to encourage the Christian commander to detach some of his troops to escort her safely home and so diminish his strength. Instead, in both pragmatic and ruthless fashion, she is used as bait, to tempt the Apaches out of hiding.

The Apaches have other clever tools, using a bugle to persuade a homesteader to venture out of his retreat, and are apt to slaughter a horse so that its blood can contaminate the only drinking water within several miles.

Key to the whole story is transport. The Apaches need horses. These they can acquire from homesteaders. Once acquired, they are used to fox the enemy, the animals led across terrain minus their riders, to mislead the pursuing cavalry and set up a trap. MacIntosh and his Native American guide, Ke-Ni-Tay (Jorge Luke), uncover the trickery and set up a trap of their own. However, the plan backfires. Having scattered the Apache horses, the Apaches redouble their determination to wipe out the soldiers in order to have transport.

There’s a remarkable moment in the final shootout where the soldiers hide behind their horses on the assumption that the Apaches will not shoot the horses they so desperately need. But that notion backfires, too, when they are ambushed from both sides of a canyon.

The twists along the way are not the usual narrative sleight-of-hand but matter-of-fact reversals. The soldiers do not race on to try and overtake their quarry. To do so would over-tire the horses, and contrary to the usual sequences of horsemen dashing through inhospitable terrain, we are more likely to see the soldiers sitting around taking a break. Ulzana is not captured in traditional Hollywood fashion either, no gunfight or fistfight involving either MacIntosh or the lieutenant. Instead, it’s the cunning of Ke-Ni-Tay that does the trick.

There are fine performances all round. Burt Lancaster is in low-key mode, Bruce Davison (Last Summer, 1969) holds onto his Christian principles so far as to bury the Apache dead rather than mutilate them, as was deemed suitable revenge by his corps, but his ideas of extending a hand of friendship to the enemy are killed off. Richard Jaeckel (The Dirty Dozen) communicates more with looks exchanged with MacIntosh than any dialog. Robert Aldrich is back on song, but owes a great deal to the literate screenplay.

Quentin Tarantino acclaimed this and I can’t disagree.

Adolescence (2025) ***

As riveted as I was by the first two episodes, I was bored rigid by the last two which consisted of waiting for simmering father Eddie (Stephen Graham) and 13-year-old son Jamie (Owen Cooper) to explode. That was no big surprise for the mouthy father had been on a short fuse from the outset, but the son, excepting of course he had knifed a female schoolmate to death, had been working hard on presenting an earnest innocent face.

While the much-vaunted one-take technical breakthrough (??) works well enough in the first two episodes it falls apart in the final two as tension completely evaporates. It was always going to be a big ask to maintain any real kind of tension in a series where we know from the start that Jamie is guilty as charged. The CCTV evidence provides all the confirmation we need, although for some reason Detective Inspector Luke Bascomb (Ashley Walters) wants to drag everything out because he lacks a motive for the murder.

Back in the Hollywood Golden Age, characters were always coming in and out of doors – and, if you recall, one of the greatest images put on film revolved around John Wayne and a door (The Searchers, 1956, if you need a reminder) – but then someone decided we could dispense with all that and just start scenes in rooms. Movies were also keen on people walking down a street – that created ambience, atmosphere, location, whatever, and helpful if they were headed for a western shootout – and television, for budgetary reasons, has tons of sequences of conversations outside during a stroll.

The notion that cinema verite camerawork involving walking endlessly along corridors adds much to a television series beyond bragging rights is misplaced. It comes in handy during the school scenes when the backdrop is teachers barely able to contain riotous kids. It seems a bit odd to expect television audiences who prefer character and story to be asked to applaud these endless walks – and takes lasting a solid hour – just because the director has worked out a way to jump from one character to another without cutting.

Apart from the initial identifying of the murderer, it takes a heck of a long time to go anywhere else. There’s a heinous attempt to make the victim responsible for her own death, she made fun of the younger boy for daring to think he was in her league – or age group – to ask her out. The motivation for the killing appears to revolve around Jamie, in full predator glory, hoping that in taking advantage of a moment of her personal humiliation, that she will relent.

The first two episodes set a high bar in police procedural, especially when answers are not forthcoming and the kids can give two fingers – or worse – to any figure of authority. The moment where Jamie gives vent is damaged by the fact that the psychiatrist Briony (Erin Docherty) is so ineffective.

As you might have guessed, social media is to blame, but any hint of inadequate parenting the director treats like an unexploded bomb best to avoid.

There’s not much character development, the DI farts in the car, a security guard is ignored in his attempts to spark up conversation with Briony, cop’s son Adam (Amari Bacchus) is subject to constant low-level bullying, and there’s a terrible attempt to make Eddie more empathetic by recalling his early dating.

Stephen Graham (Boiling Point, 2023) being both co-writer (with Jack Thorne, Toxic Town, 2025) and a producer probably led to him having more scenes than necessary. Directed by Philip Barantini (Boiling Point) who should win the Oscar for choreography.

Owen Cooper, in his debut, is by far the standout.

Netflix is hoping for kudos for this but it feels like one of those European arthouse movies long on style and short on substance.

The Secret War of Harry Frigg (1968) ***

Except for an ingenious escape attempt and Paul Newman spoofing his Cool Hand Luke (1967) persona, this World War Two POW number falls into the “sounded like a good idea at the time” category. Harry Frigg (Newman), the American army’s most notorious escapee (though from British military prisons), is promoted from buck private to two-star general and parachuted into northern Italy to organize a breakout of five one-star generals.

The premise that the war effort is hampered by embarrassment at the generals being captured seems far-fetched as is the notion that the quintet are hopelessly incompetent when it comes to doing anything that sounds like proper army stuff. Adding another offbeat element is that they are being held in effectively a deluxe POW camp, an ancient castle run by Colonel Ferrucci (Vito Scotti), a former Ritz hotel manager with a lapdog attitude to the rich and powerful.

Almost immediately Frigg discovers an escape route through a secret door but is disinclined to go any further since it leads into the boudoir of the Countess Francesca (Sylva Koscina). New Jersey inhabitant Frigg feels out of the place with the high-falutin’ generals and proceeds to get himself a cultural education. Meanwhile, the countess, obtaining her position through marriage rather than birth, trying to bolster his confidence naturally triggers his romantic impulses.

The humor is of the gentlest kind – Frigg taking advantage of his superiority, Italians speaking tortured English – and not much in the way of bellylaffs either. Director Jack Smight, who collaborated so well with Newman in Harper (1966) and manages to achieve a tricky balance in No Way to Treat a Lady (1968), loses his way here, not least structurally, as the movie pingpongs between the generals, the commandant and Frigg and, thematically, issues of power. Crucially, he fails to rein in Newman.

The generals, squabbling among themselves for power, would be caricatures except that their characters are rounded out by the players, Charles Gray (The Devil Rides Out, 1968) as Cox-Roberts and Tom Bosley (Divorce American Style, 1967) as Pennypacker. The other generals are played by Andrew Duggan (Seven Days in May, 1964), John Williams (Harlow, 1965) and Jacques Roux (The List of Adrian Messenger, 1963). Representing the American top brass in England are James Gregory (a repeat role in the Matt Helm series) and Norman Fell (The Graduate, 1967)

After her excellent turn as a mischievous and vengeful villain in Deadlier than the Male (1967), Yugoslavian Sylva Koscina comes down to earth with a less rewarding role as charming leading lady with a sly sense of humor rather than the femme fatale of A Lovely Way to Die (1968). Werner Peters (The Corrupt Ones / The Peking Medallion, 1968) makes a late appearance as a Nazi and you might spot screenwriter Buck Henry (The Graduate) in a bit part.

The screenplay by Peter Stone (Arabesque, 1966) and Oscar-winner Frank Tarloff (Father Goose, 1968) is an odd mixture of occasional sharp dialog and labored story. The set-up takes too long and you keep on wondering when it is going to get to the pay-off.

No doubt looking for some light relief after a quartet of heavier dramatic roles – Harper (1966), Torn Curtain (1966), Hombre (1967) and Harper (1967) – Newman acts like he has escaped the straitjacket of a considered performance and instead indulges in mugging and hamming it up, his body freeing a barrage of mannerisms previously held in check.

Black Bag (2025) *** – Seen at the Cinema

Explain to me how this cost anything like the reported $50 million. Unless the cost of a nightclub scene has gone through the roof. Or someone has slapped an almighty tariff on shooting in Zurich. Or such middling box office attractions as Cate Blanchett and Michael Fassbender, against the laws of marquee valuation, are pulling down salaries in the region of $10 million apiece.

Because this is nothing but a glorified chamber piece, most scenes shot indoors or in secluded locations. There’s no car chase, one minor explosion (drone-triggered), not even a pursuit on foot. Some clever marketing oik has dressed up what’s no more than a BBC TV film as an expensive espionage picture in the hope of hooking a larger audience.

It’s short, little more than 90 minutes, so that’s on the plus side. But the plot’s full of holes, you’re scarcely going to swallow Fassbender and Blanchett, faces welded to stiff upper lip, as a hot middle-aged couple, and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see Hercule Poirot or more likely Miss Marple lurch into view for the grand finale with all the potential culprits being set to rights around a dinner table.

Fassbender is so impassive at the best of times his character hardly needs to be expanded to include some OCD, and the most expressive he becomes is, wait for it, hand shaking when he pours a glass of water. The theme, wait for it, is that people who lie for a living are not to be trusted in their domestic lives. And just to polish the virtue-signalling credentials there’s still running amok in MI5/MI6/Black Ops/CIA some rogue top dog who thinks he can stop the unnamed war – presumably Ukraine – by causing a nuclear power plant meltdown in Russia.

And when Pierce Brosnan steals the show in a small supporting role you know your movie’s in trouble.

That said, there’s enough going on to keep you entertained. Top British agent George (Michael Fassbender) begins to suspect – or does he really – that his wife, also a top British agent, Kathryn (Cate Blanchett), is up to no good. So he begins to investigate. Mirror is piled upon mirror, complicated by the occasional murder, so that we are soon knee-deep in the kind of narrative where you don’t know who trust – but, equally, unfortunately, don’t much care because none of the characters is remotely attractive.

At least one them, Freddie (Tom Burke), would have been considered a security risk. So often does he stray he would be catnip for any passing honeytrap. But you might also have asked questions about his current squeeze, analyst Clarissa (Marisa Abela), paranoid as a posse of schizophrenics, who knows exactly how to pass a polygraph test (clenching the anal sphincter one of the tricks in case you’re interested), and as likely as not to ram a carving knife into unfaithful boyfriend Freddie’s hand at the dinner table. Naturally, it doesn’t do much harm, because Freddie is back at work next day with bandaged hand and not investigated by cops over a knife wound that could hardly be covered by the old slipping the shower routing.

Then we’ve got straitlaced psychiatrist Dr Zoe Vaughan (Naomie Harris) with a penchant for erotic fiction, sex in the office (including breaking the cardinal rule of her profession, sex with a patient), and stringing along two men at once, both of whom, Freddie and Col James Stokes (Rege-Jean Page), are engaged in other affairs.

George soon realizes he’s being played as a patsy, and that his investigation has compromised another operation, and facilitated the handover of a top secret document to the Russians.

In the current dearth of movies for the over-40s, make that over-30s not yet suffocating in superheroes and multiverses, this is what passes for entertainment aimed at an adult audience. And it is short, as I said, but this is exactly the kind of low-budget movie with a decent cast that traditionally ends up on a streamer.

For once, director Steven Soderbergh (Magic Mike’s Last Dance, 2023), whose career is littered with self-indulgence, sticks to the knitting, and it’s a more than passable espionage thriller, but the kind that would be more at home on the small screen. Written by David Koepp (Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, 2023).

Neither Fassbender (Next Goal Wins, 2023) nor Blanchett (Tar, 2022) do the most basic task required of a marquee name, which is to set the screen alight, and all the rest, excepting the much-in-demand Pierce Brosnan (Black Adam, 2022) – seven pictures in the last two years – merely trundle along in their wake, saddled with scenes where they express alarm at their deepest secrets being revealed like they have drifted in to some shopworn melodrama.

For all the actual investigation that takes place you could have set this in the kind of remote spot favored by Agatha Christie and played it out in traditional Poirot/Marple fashion.

Interesting but ultimately disappointing.

And the big question remains – where did the $50 million go? And, did it exist in the first place?

Sebastian (1968) ***

Decoding the emotional life of mathematics professor Sebastian (Dirk Bogarde) lies at the heart of a spy thriller mainlining on loyalty and trust. The presence of a flotilla of potential Bond girls has opened this picture up to charges of being a spoof, but I saw the mini-skirted incredibly-bright lasses as being a reversal of the standard secretarial pool. And a supposed representation of the “swinging sixties” would hold true if shot in the environs of Carnaby St rather than the bulk of locations being arid high-rise buildings.

In roundabout fashion, intrigued after literally bumping into him in Oxford, Rebecca (Susannah York) is recruited into an espionage decoding department staffed entirely by gorgeous (but brainy) women. Among the older employees is chain-smoking left-winger Elsa (Lili Palmer) whom security chief General Phillips (Nigel Davenport) suspects of passing on secrets. When romance ensues with SY, Sebastian dumps dumb pop singer girlfriend Carol (Janet Munro) who is already having an affair and spying on Sebastian.

Although there is no actual beat-the-clock codes to be unraveled, tensions remains surprisingly high as in best Turing manner, breakthroughs are slow. There’s an undercurrent of electronic surveillance, eavesdropping on recruits, bugs planted in the houses of even the apparently most trusted personnel, seeds of distrust easily sowed, codes shifting from numbers to sounds. The occasional nod to the contemporary, a disco, pop songs, Rebecca doing a fashion shoot in the middle of traffic, is background rather than center stage

Sebastian, though worshipped by is female staff, is “more whimsical than predatory.” Nonetheless, introspective and often morose, unable to deal with emotions, it falls to Rebecca to take on the task of sorting him out which naturally leads to complications.

Most reviewers at the time complained it was a victory of style over substance, but somehow they managed to overlook the essential questions about trust the picture asked. That said, it does follow an odd structure, the third act dependent on directorial sleight-of-hand.

Dirk Bogarde (Hot Enough for June/ Agent 8 ¾, 1964) is always highly watchable and Susannah York (Sands of the Kalahari, 1965) catches the eye with an impulsive, slightly kooky character who turns out to be down-to-earth. Nigel Davenport (Play Dirty, 1969) brings his usual cynical malevolence to the party but with the twist of not knowing whose side he is really on. John Gielgud (Becket, 1964) is a delight. There’s a brief appearance by a pipe-smoking Donald Sutherland (The Dirty Dozen, 1967). Miss World Ann Sidney is one of “Sebastian Girls”

David Greene’s (The Shuttered Room, 1967) direction is mostly competent but the opening aerial tracking shots set the precedence for occasional bursts of style. Jerry Fielding supplied the score. Written by Leo Marks (Peeping Tom, 1960) and Gerard Vaughan-Hughes (The Duellists, 1977).

La Femme Infidele / Unfaithful Wife (1969) ****

Not surprising since French critics worshipped Alfred Hitchcock – the only ones who gave him their wholesale approval in the 1960s – that a French director would attempt to pick up his mantle. But where Hitchcock majored on mystery and suspense and generally an innocent entrapped in conspiracy or crime, here director Claude Chabrol mostly dispenses with mystery concentrating instead on suspense. And it’s of the kind exhibited in To Catch a Thief (1955), Vertigo (1958), North by Northwest (1959) and Marnie (1964) where you are willing a character to get away with their crime or at least find redemption. And where Hitchcock places that load on the glamorous femme fatale, here Chabrol throws us into that most mundane of crimes, the jealous husband wanting revenge on his wife’s lover.

Successful businessman Charles (Michel Bouquet) should be enjoying life, glamorous trophy wife Helene (Stephane Audran) way out of his league, big house in the country, adorable son. But there’s something amiss. When his wife, who appears loving, makes sexual overtures in bed he turns over. He has grown suspicious of the amount of time she wife spends in Paris, ostensibly visiting her hairdresser or having beauty treatments or going to the cinema. Eventually, he hires a private detective and discovers his wife has a lover, Victor (Maurice Ronet). He decides to confront the lover rather than the wife. But instead of playing the outraged husband card, he pretends to be a man of the world, suggesting that Helene and he have an open marriage and that Victor is the latest in a long line of lovers. What he hopes to achieve from this is unclear, perhaps put Victor’s nose out of joint, perhaps cover up his own anger.

But it doesn’t go the way he planned. He spies an over-large cigarette lighter in the bedroom, a present he gave his wife for their third anniversary and kills Victor. This being the 1960s before forensics determined that you could never entirely eliminate a blood stain on a floor, Charles, with considerable diligence, cleans up the blood, remembering to wash out the bucket and cloth, wiping his fingerprints from everything he touched, bagging up the man in bed linen and dragging him out to his car.

On the way to disposing the body he is involved in a minor road accident. Police are called. He is saved from opening the car trunk because it is damaged. But when he tries to get rid of the body, the trunk proves impossible to open. Victor had appeared such a smarmy character, you’ve got no compunction about his death, you just want Charles to get away with the murder. Eventually, he forces the trunk open and drops the body in a small algae-covered pond. For a moment air trapped in the package makes it appear unsinkable. But, then – audience enjoying a sigh of relief and perhaps a homage to Psycho (1960) – it disappears.

Whether he revels in the discomfort of his wife who is no longer able to enjoy her twice-weekly assignations with Victor and unable, of course, to explain her bouts of distress to her husband and must keep up a façade, is unclear.

This is only a perfect crime to someone who has never been involved in crime, unaware of all the means of investigation at the disposal of Inspector Duval (Michel Duchaussoy) and his evil-eyed colleague Gobet (Guy Marley) who has the kind of look that says I know you’re guilty.

Turns out Helene’s name is in Victor’s address book and she can come up with no plausible reason for it being there. Charles denies ever having met Victor. The police are not convinced and return to interrogate the pair. Any viewer will quickly realize that it’s virtually impossible for either of the pair to remain undetected, the regularity of Helene’s visits can hardly have gone unnoticed, and even on a quiet street someone might have noticed Charles’s parked car and possibly him lifting the bulky package.

Nor does Charles dissolve in a bout of guilt. There’s an air of inevitability about him. You have no idea whether he might divorce Helene. The notion that she might not just take another lover doesn’t seem to occur to him and he’s not offered the opportunity to air his suspicions. Is he just going to bump off every lover his wife takes?

His wife finds a photograph of her lover in her husband’s pocket. But instead of denouncing him to the police, she burns it, either to protect her marriage or protect herself from the humiliation of being linked to the dead man, or because she has realized the folly of her betrayal.

We never find out her intentions because at that moment the police return and take Charles away.

A marvellous pivot on Hitchcock, with none of the B-film seediness that might have attended such a femme fatale, as Chabrol sets out his stall as a purveyor of the ordinary criminal, the one who didn’t run in high-class circles or was involved in international intrigue. The crime is so commonplace, that’s the beauty of it, and Charles such an ordinary character it all works superbly.

While Stephane Audran (Les Biches, 1968) is luminous, Michel Bouquet (The Road to Cornith, 1967) is her down-to-earth opposite. Written by the director and Sauro Scavolini (Any Gun Can Play, 1967).

A director finds his metier.

Behind the Scenes: “Diamond Head” (1962)

Charlton Heston was as hot as they come. He was coming off what would prove one of the biggest pictures of all time – and tucked away an Oscar as well – with Ben-Hur (1959) and followed it up with another hit El Cid (1961). He had no shortage of offers. He had pulled out of The Comancheros (1961), part of proposed three-picture deal with Twentieth Century Fox but with an unknown director rather than veteran Michael Curtiz who later helmed it with John Wayne. He had turned down Let’s Make Love (1960) with Marilyn Monroe and a remake of Beau Geste to co-star Dean Martin and Tony Curtis.

He entered into discussions with Nicholas Ray to film the bestseller The Tribe That Lost Its Head (never made) and The Road of the Snail (never made), rejected William the Conqueror (never made) and Cromwell (1970). He was turned down in turn by Otto Preminger for Advise and Consent (1961). “Zanuck’s man called from Paris,” he notes, “they have a new role for me in The Longest Day (1962).” That was another false lead.

In due course he signed up for Easter Dinner for producer Melville Shavelson (Cast a Giant Shadow, 1966) released as The Pigeon That Took Rome (1962). By this point he was being pursued by Samuel Bronston. “I had no idea how determined Sam was to have me follow El Cid with another film for him.” Bronston eventually got his wish. “No sooner had I turned down The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964) than they shoved it back a year on their schedule and began work on 55 Days at Peking (1963), converting the enormous and half-built set representing Rome into an equally enormous and even more beautiful set representing Peking.”

But that meant delay while the massive Bronston machine kicked into gear. In the meatime Heston was “attracted a bit by the opening pages” of Diamond Head with Columbia. “A good part in an overwritten and melodramatic script,” he observed, concluding, “If it’s treated with great care, it might work out all right.”

The project moved along apace. A couple of weeks after receiving the script in December 1961, he was in London meeting director Guy Green (Light in the Piazza, 1962) and producer Jerry Bresler, “an amiable man” though Sam Peckinpah might beg to differ after his experiences on Major Dundee, 1965. “He seems a very intelligent fellow,” Green observed, but queried, “how could a man refer with pride to the fact he had made a film called Gidget Goes Hawaiian?”

George Chakiris (hot after West Side Story, 1961) was already fixed as second male lead and Yvette Mimieux (Light in the Piazza) was being chased for female lead. She wasn’t available but Heston wasn’t keen on second choice Carroll Baker. Luckily, it turned out Mimieux could do the picture. “On the basis of what we saw in Light in the Piazza, she’s ideal for the part.”

But Heston reckoned the script needed work. He was also disgruntled with the costumes for Diamond Head, complaining, “Why is it designers like to costumes instead of clothes? It’s a grievous fault in a period film, but there’s no excuse in a modern story.”

By March, a few months after committing to the picture, he was out in Hawaii, on the island of Kauai, though the trip itself was not without incident, Heston “sick enough to call a doctor.” They were met with unseasonal rain. They were assured this was very unusual. But it wasn’t. In consequence, the first day’s filming was scrapped, filling the actor with the conviction “the whole project was doomed.” It was another three days before filming commenced – the shoot was plagued with rain.

While Heston was impressed enough with the director (“Guy Green works carefully and thoughtfully”) he was distracted by the lighting.

“Those brutes and reflectors loom larger in my mind…One of the banes of my career has been acting in exterior locations with arc lights and reflectors focused in my eyes, which are very light sensitive. (Dark-eyed actors have an unfair advantage, I’ve always felt.) Most people have no idea of the dimensions of this problem. They always ask you how you can remember the lines…they should wonder instead how you can concentrate on the scene when your every nerve is straining simply to keep your eyes open.” Negotiation with the cinematographer ameliorated the situation.

Similarly, Heston found the director responsive to his concerns. For a key scene with Mimieux, he believed “we can both do better” and taking this on board the director agreed on a reshoot the next day. “I have to project Howland’s need to be loved, though he conceals it. You can’t play this, of course, but it has to be in the scene, in the whole film, if we’re going to bring it off.”

As well as a multitude of media – Hawaii at this stage still a rare location, public interest boosted by the publication of James Michener’s Hawaii in 1958, and to a lesser extent, Diamond Head, a more modest bestseller. Swelling the ranks of visitors to the set was John Ford, obliquely sounding Heston out for an unspecified film, possibly Young Cassidy (1965).

Another issue proved to be the horse-riding. While Heston was an accomplished rider, others were not. “Anxious horse-riding…makes for anxious acting.” Even so, Heston found his mount “harder to handle than I figured.”

Heston’s last day of work was May 18. “I waited round most of the day to do one piddling shot from the dream. No dialog, just my face looming up out of the fog. It’s hard to tell what I think now except that I’m still high on Green. He may have made a film that rises above the melodramatic qualities of the script. He didn’t push me as hard as I should be pushed, but he gave me a lot all the same.”

It was October before Heston viewed the completed picture. His verdict: “Diamond Head looks very slick, smooth, not terribly real, and as though there might be some money in it.” Ever the critic, he added, “I have acted better.”

I’ve mentioned in other Blogs the part played by foreign markets in a star’s appeal – Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson both owed their breakthroughs to foreign box office. Turns out that Heston was in the same league, though an established name when first discovering the size of his fan club abroad.

“My films did invariably well in the Far East and throughout Southeast Asia. Films that flopped elsewhere did fairly well, those that were hits elsewhere did incredibly. The fact that this pattern has continued unchanged accounts in no small degree for my continued viability in films.” Apparently, this was because he represented the Confucius virtues of responsibility , justice, courage and moderation. As if to emphasize his overseas appeal, Diamond Head opened first in Japan, in December 1962.

SOURCES: Charlton Heston, The Actor’s Life, Journals 1956-1978 (Penguin, 1980).