Crime/Thriller – The Magnificent 60s

Seven Thieves (1960) ****

You wouldn’t figure director Henry Hathaway for a caper movie. He seemed more at home with action, whether that be war (The Desert Fox, 1951), adventure (Legend of the Lost, 1957) or western (Nevada Smith, 1966) although he was a dab hand at film noir (Kiss of Death, 1947). And before the big-budget all-star Oceans 11 entered the equation in the same year as Seven Thieves – and stole much of its thunder – the heist movie ran mostly on B-movie steam such as Rififi (1955), The Killing (1956) and Big Deal on Madonna Street (1958).

And probably judged against other glossy efforts of the 1960s like Topkapi (1964) and Gambit (1967) Seven Thieves would appear on the surface to come up a bit short. No doubt accounting for it being so under-rated. But while this is in itself a neat little thriller the kick comes in the emotional entanglements and a succession of twists at the end that sends it in my book into a higher category.

And it’s so outrageously clever that the mystery of why French-based criminal mastermind Theo Wilkins (Edward G. Robinson) would reach out across the Atlantic Ocean to recruit former jailbird Paul Mason (Rod Steiger) to spearhead the heist of a cool four million dollars from a Monte Carlo casino is not resolved until the end, and in spectacular fashion.

Technically, there are actually only six thieves, the other is an inside man, Raymond (Alexander Scourby), who has fallen for the seductive charms of nightclub dancer Melanie (Joan Collins). Making up the rest of the septet are safe cracker Louis (Michael Dante) and muscle-cum-driver Hugo (Berry Kroeger) with Poncho (Eli Wallach) playing the key role of the pretend crippled, arrogant, irascible millionaire – and contrary to the claims of one poster he is the decoy not Melanie.

Distrust of his team makes Theo bring in Paul, who ruthlessly knocks them into shape, putting into seamless action the plan devised by Theo. Simply put, Poncho is going to act as a distraction by having a heart attack at the gambling table while Paul and Louis climb out a window along a ledge to the casino director’s flat which provides, by means of an elevator, direct access to the underground vaults. Once they’ve stolen the cash, they clamber back along the ledge and hide in the flat where, by this time, Theo, playing the role of Poncho’s personal physician, has taken him. The money will be hidden in Poncho’s wheelchair and removed to a waiting ambulance.

But Paul is a rather suspicious character and wants to know what he’s letting himself in for so in turn works out the weaknesses of his team. Melanie hides behind a façade of high birth, Pancho is too reckless, “measuring danger only in terms of profit,” Hugo prone to unnecessary violence, while Louis has omitted to mention he is terrified of heights, the ledge on which the operation depends standing on a 100ft high cliff.

*In some posters, this was promoted as Al Capone (Steiger)*
*vs Little Caesar (Robinson).*

The plan relies on Poncho actually appearing to be dead, so dead that the casino director (Sebastian Cabot) will not hesitate, at Theo’s insistence, to shift him out of sight of the rest of the gamblers into his flat. But Complication No 1 is that Poncho doesn’t want to be dead, even if it is a ruse, skeptical of Theo’s plan to convincingly knock him out by means of a carefully measured dose of cyanide. Complication No 2 is that a night club client recognizes Melanie and casts doubt on her credentials as a lady of quality. Complication No 3 is that English physician Dr Halsey (Alan Caillou) questions whether Poncho is as dead as he seems.

But such complications are nothing compared an extraordinary range of twists that raise tension sky-high at the movie’s denouement. I challenge you to guess what these three superbly-conceived twists would be, all of them one by one turning the project on its head, and it rapidly shifts from one direction to another, ending with an unbelievable – and yet so in keeping with the premise – climax.

Attention to character detail lifts this out of the rut, whether it be Theo’s penchant for collecting seashells, Paul resplendent in a white suit, Melanie resisting the blandishments of becoming a kept woman, Raymond trying to climb out the murky depths into which the lure of Melanie has taken him, and a series of subtle relationships, some developing through the robbery, others which began long before the heist working themselves out.

The heist itself is well done, tension kept constant mostly through the failings of the crew and the suspicions of the dupes. All in all an excellent picture.

This was a critical film in the careers of most of the cast. Edward G. Robinson (The Cincinnati Kid, 1965) was handed his first top-billed role in four years. It was a deliberate change of pace for Rod Steiger (The Pawnbroker, 1964). For Eli Wallach, best known at the time for stage work, it was the first of three films that year that would launch him into the higher ranks of top supporting stars; it was followed by The Magnificent Seven and The Misfits. After being leading lady to the likes of Gregory Peck and Richard Burton, this spelled the end of Twentieth Century Fox’s belief in Joan Collins’ star qualities while for Michael Dante (The Naked Kiss, 1964) it was a step up.

Wallach and Dante could be accused of over-acting but Robinson, Steiger and Collins all act against type with considerable effect. Hathaway does a superb job working from a script by Sydney Boehm (Rough Night in Jericho, 1967) based on the Max Catto bestseller.

Verity (2026) **** – Seen at the Cinema

The Housemaid set a very high bar for the glossy, slick, twisty, female-led thriller. With the same background of wealth and privilege – and the underdog staring through the shop window – this terrific three-hander more than meets the bill. (I saw this on the same day as Digger and there was scarcely a seat left).

Given the twistiness of the genre now, the audience is aware nothing is what it seems and like me from the outset starts to wonder what the reality really is behind the glitzy façade. When you begin to out-think yourself, you know the movie has done its job.

I had a different scenario in mind, one where impoverished ghost writer Lowen (Dakota Johnson) has set it all up, inveigled herself into the household of bestselling crippled author Verity Crawford (Anne Hathaway) and conspired to write a tale, purportedly an autobiography, that would make husband Jeremy (Josh Hartnett) want to kill her. I was wrong, as it turned out, but the screenwriter’s line was just as twisty. In the end the pun on the author’s name, Verity, ensures that we can never know the entire truth.

Given Verity has made fortune imagining villainous heroines, it’s not long before the apparently innocent Lowen begins to fall under some kind of villainous spell, or the self-justification that amounts to the same thing.

The stunning meet-cute sets the tone. When Jeremy comes across Lowen her face is dripping with blood, the result of being too close to a city center car crash. He’s the ultimate gentleman, gives her his shirt in place of her despoiled top, and just as well because she’s going in to interview for the job of a lifetime. Verity needs someone to write three books, based on her voluminous notes, and learn to write in her distinctive style.

I should point the meet-cute between Verity and Jeremy is equally accomplished, Jeremy commandeering someone else’s limousine to make out with Verity.

Lowen is little more than a literary wannabe, published but without commercial success. She’s emotionally raw, too, having just buried her mother and inclined to self-medicate on a combination of her mother’s medication and alcohol. .

Naturally, with the wife out of action and confined to bed, paralyzed, unable to communicate, a romantic vacuum has opened up, a romantic job opportunity if you like, a sort of bonus to the writing gig, and maybe even an opening for a new wife. Kicking off the it’s-not-what-it-seems business, Lowen by accident discovers a memory stick containing, ironically, too much memory, the retelling of Verity’s life minus the fairy tale aspects that appears to cast Verity as a calculating mother resentful of her two children, fearing they are coming between herself and her husband. There’s a tragic accident in which one of the children dies. But is it an accident or convenient murder?

Meanwhile, either Lowen is going barmy with guilt, what with playing around with the husband, or going mad, because she begins to see the paralyzed woman watching her. There’s a terrific scene where Lowen sticks a pin in Verity’s hand, drawing blood, hoping to force the wife out of her stupor and admit her supposed paralysis is all part of some kind of sadistic plan, the aim of which is unclear, unless, like her villainous heroines, this is just the kind of fun Verity enjoys.

Thanks to the autobiography, Verity very much comes alive in flashback. But whose version of her life are we seeing? By the time Lowen and Jeremy had made their own judgements, they have already devised a construct which permits villainous action under the guise of self-justification.

You’ll find a few plot holes if you look hard enough, but I doubt if anyone will be anything but swept along in the dazzling tale with convincing characters. This wouldn’t be a twisty thriller if it didn’t come with a couple of dynamite twists at the end.

This is the fourth adaptation of novels by Colleen Hoover (It Ends With Us, 2024) and I’ve enjoyed every one, and each quite different from the other. Nick Antosca (Cape Fear mini series, 2026) wrote the screenplay while Michael Showalter (The Idea of You, 2024 – also with Hathaway) directed but I reckon they followed Hoover’s guidelines.

This is turning out to be the Year of Anne Hathaway, with two big hits – The Devil Wears Prada 2 and The Odyssey – in the bag. All three actors are superb. I’ve not been that impressed with Dakota Johnson (Madame Web, 2024) before – although admittedly I skipped the Shades movie series – but this works for me, and Josh Hartnett’s delicious turn in Trap (2024) turned my preconceptions of him on their head.

Thoroughly enjoyable.

Assault on a Queen (1966) ***

I always wondered why this was a flop. I’m still baffled. Not only is it a perfectly serviceable caper picture, but it’s also high-concept before the term was invented, a World War Two submarine involved in holding up high-end ocean liner Queen Mary (yep, the real thing, thanks to cooperation from owners Cunard).

The dialogue’s crisp, the robbery well-planned, a good number of twists, plenty underwater thrills, hostility between crew members, and sexual tension kept high by the presence on board of the Italian Miss Big. Diver Mark Brittain (Frank Sinatra) is sucked into a treasure hunt in part because he needs the money and in part through the sexual magnetism of Rosa (Virna Lisi), the expedition backer, who already has suave Vic (Anthony Franciosa) on a string.

The plan evolves into piracy when Brittain discovers a World War Two German submarine on the seabed. As it happens, skippering the salvage vessel is former German U-boat captain Eric (Alf Kjellin). After Mark successfully raises the sub, it’s game on, Vic’s qualms wilting under Rosa’s seductive gaze. The other team members are engineer Tony (Richard Conte) and wireless operator Linc (Errol John). The prize is a cool million in cash and gold bullion.

Catch No 1: the sub can’t stay submerged for more than an hour. Catch No 2: it’s not that seaworthy and could spring a leak at any time (“don’t just look for water, listen for it,” advises Eric). Catch No 3: in order to successfully board the Queen Mary looking for vital equipment, one of these very American Yanks has to pass himself off as a British sub captain on a secret mission.

Potential Catch No 4 has already been dealt with – if the Queen Mary officers rumble the ruse and call the thieves’ bluff the hijackers plan to put a dummy torpedo up the spout and fire it into the ship’s hull. Catch No 5: there’s so much pent-up hostility among the team the whole endeavor could be sunk. Mark and Vic are vying for Rosa’s favors and clever bombshell that she is she intends to keep it that way, stringing both along.

Racist Vic takes against Eric and also resents splitting the loot with late arrival Tony. Alf not only resents Mark, also a former sub officer, for ending up on the war’s winning side, but exhibits psychopathic tendencies and might just for the hell of it blow a passing tanker out of the water. Like any gang, each member brings something specific to the party. And without giving too much away, the endgame turns into a battle of wits, especially when the unexpected occurs.

I’m a big fan of Sinatra’s acting style. He is so natural, his gestures don’t look like they’ve been rehearsed for hours in a mirror, you’ll never accuse him of Method acting, or picking parts with Oscars in mind, but somehow he still manages to inhabit his characters.

This is a fascinating role for Virna Lisi (How to Murder Your Wife, 1965), reminiscent of film noir in the way she handles men, but also years ahead of her time not just in combining sexual and financial independence but of being the boss funding the heist and recruiting the team, and soon has the reluctant Mark playing ball with no sense that’s ultimately she’s going to fall at his feet.

Anthony Franciosca (Rio Conchos, 1964) is mostly a distraction, engaged in a private feud with James Coburn as to who has the brightest and biggest screen teeth. Richard Conte (Lady in Cement, 1969) and Alf Kjellin (Midas Run, 1969) are the physical and mental muscle, respectively, and Trinidadian Errol John (Man in the Middle, 1965) essays an interesting role. Jack Donohue (Marriage on the Rocks, 1965) keeps it all ticking along.

Rod Serling (Planet of the Apes, 1968) devised the screenplay from the novel by Jack Finney (Good Neighbor Sam, 1964). So why did critics and the public have such a downer on the picture? Critical attitudes to the star were easier to understand. Sinatra’s films were generally disliked, and knowledge of his one-take preference allowed critics to thumb their collective noses at his acting, assuming he put no effort into it.

Rumors of his underworld connections were beginning to emerge, he had just married Mia Farrow, less than half his age, and the Beatles and the British invasion had usurped his position in the pop rankings. The general feeling was he was on the way out so why not boot him while he was down. This was despite him receiving some of the best notices of his career for Von Ryan’s Express (1965).

Audiences might have been expecting another Rat Pack lark in the vein of Ocean’s 11 (1960) or felt the supporting cast lacked lustre, Lisi a little known commodity, this only her second Hollywood picture, Franciosca still the second banana, and Hardy Kruger would certainly have invested the German with more malevolence. Otherwise, it’s hard to see what there is to complain about. As I mentioned the dialogue was good, characters simmering, and the story satisfying enough.

Sure, a better director might have extracted more tension from the set pieces, lifted the pace, and added a booming score as with Ice Station Zebra (1968).

It might not be the best heist picture ever made, but it’s too good to be dismissed.

The Pursuers (1961) ***

I tell you now there’s nothing particularly great or particularly awful about this tidy British programmer, made to take advantage of the Eady Levy and suitable only for the bottom half of a double bill, and yet it still has quite a bit to offer. It’s a chase picture, a hunt, but the emphasis, despite the title, is not on the hunters but on the hunted.

Who in this case turns out to be one of those evil people hiding out under the guise of the normal. Before emigrating to Britain, Luther (Cyril Shaps) was a Nazi commandment of a concentration camp. David (Francis Mathews), member of secret group operating out of Paris (cue an establishing shot of the Eiffel Tower), has been despatched not to out him but to kill him.

Luther runs a respectable business in London, and what makes this so interesting is that all the people he turns to for help are all in respectable businesses, yet all have war crimes to hide and appear to have done so successfully. So if you are a famous film director, the British movie industry will welcome you with open arms and scarcely a trace of suspicion about your past.

Since British food was generally in the 1960s regarded as the worst in the western world, then any German who can add a bit of culinary class to a restaurant is also more than welcome. And so it goes on. It’s like these people have managed to disappear into a witness protection program. Although the Mossad hunted down war criminals and had recently located Eichmann in South America and brought him back for a show trial in Israel, it’s clear there was no coordinated worldwide hunt for Nazi war criminals.

When his old buddies don’t want to disturb their carefully constructed facades by helping him out, Luther turns to the underworld. At first, it looks like he’ll get away. He plans to take the next flight out. He’s got plenty dough stashed away.

But what has prompted his fear of discovery is that his apartment’s been burgled and the burglar has daubed a swastika on a mirror. But nothing else has been taken and the police refuse to post a guard outside his house. Except something has been taken – the most important page in his passport has been cut out so that escape route is, temporarily, blocked.

Nightclub owner and gangster Rico (Sheldon Lawrence) fingers him for being someone who can easily and subtly be relieved of his cash, so he sends over sex worker Jenny (Susan Denny) to chat him up.

Ostensibly taking pity on him, Jenny, who escaped the concentration camps, agrees to hide him away in her apartment, presumably able to show sympathy while at the same time finding a way to rob him. She believes his tale of being a good German, a soldier forced to fight.

Unfortunately, this is too loosely constructed for the movie to take advantage of this situation. Though, technically, he is forced to confront one of his victims, in reality her tale washes over him and there’s no sign of remorse. You might not expect that, of course, mass murderers, especially ones who believe what they are doing is right, are unlikely to examine their consciences. But, still, the fact that he shows no reaction at all, makes this just appear a narrative contrivance, since after all, we already know what the Nazis did in the concentration camps.

This came out after Judgement at Nuremberg (1961) which was more specific about the Nazi atrocities, so we wouldn’t have needed any further exposition. That it does work is down to Jenny, sufficiently taken in by this imposter to open up her soul.

Anyways our Luther is a clever clogs and working out that, since his pursuers know both that he lacks a passport and that he’s already been turned away at the airport, he reckons the last thing they’ll expect him to do is try to use that escape route again.

There’s more shootout than you’d expect from what appeared initially as a straightforward drama. But it poses more interesting questions rather than being a rewarding thriller.

As far as I can make out this proved the only top-billed role in the career of Cyril Shaps (Return of a Stranger, 1961) but he enjoyed a very healthy run as a supporting actor. Susan Denny (Too Hot to Handle, 1960) only made one more film. Francis Mathews (Crossplot, 1969) made more of an impact on television as Paul Temple (1969-1971) and as the voice of Captain Scarlet in Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons (1967-1968).

Directed by Geoffrey Grayson (The Lamp in Assassin Mews, 1962) from a script by Brian Clemens (The Corrupt Ones / The Peking Medallion) and David Nicholl in his debut.

For such an undemanding piece, asks interesting questions.

The Mad Room (1969) ***

Tight little thriller lifted by excellent performances from Stella Stevens and Shelley Winters focusing on murders a dozen years apart. Mandy (Barbara Sammeth) and older brother George (Michael Burns), incarcerated in a mental institution after the murder of their parents, the twist being nobody can discover which child was responsible, are released into the custody of big sister Ellen (Stella Stevens), secretary to wealthy widow Mrs Armstrong (Shelley Winters) and betrothed to her son Sam (Skip Ward).

While concealing the children’s past, Ellen persuades Mrs Armstrong to offer them lodgings, that arrangement coming unstuck when the kids demand a room where they can go “to work things out.” Armstrong is a bit barmy, engaged on building beside her home a museum to her husband, hence contractors and construction workers on site, and a horde of “ladies who lunch” involved in fundraising. She has also appropriated masseur Armand (Lou Kane), husband of alcoholic Mrs Racine (Beverly Garland), to fulfil her sexual needs.

*Don’t worry – the poster doesn’t give the game away.*
*The blood comes from Stella Stevens discovering the corpse.*

When Mrs Armstrong threatens to chuck the kids out, she comes to a sticky end, and the question is raised again of whether Mandy or George are responsible. Mandy is the more highly-strung, stubborn and likely to challenge authority. George appears predatory, stalking the maid. Both are convinced the other is guilty.

Meanwhile, Ellen undertakes to remove the body and pretend Armstrong met her death by accident at a beauty spot, no mean feat given the palaver caused by the builders outside and the constant need for construction decisions and the unexpected arrival of a posse of ladies including the alcoholic Mrs Racine intent on raising merry hell.

It’s part whodunit, part nutcases-on-the-loose, part film noir, part slasher picture, and part grand guignol. Hands are severed and blood is used to daub flowers on the walls. It’s tense enough even before Armstrong’s demise. She’s not only a loony, but untrustworthy, selfish, capricious and demanding, and it’s as much as Ellen can stand to constantly iron out all the loose ends in her employer’s life. But she sounds believable, an earnest do-gooder even while conspiring against what she sees as Ellen’s gold-digging.

Ellen, life thrown into turmoil after the death of her overbearing impoverished parents and only now building a new identity removed from the shadow of the children, faces the prospect of losing her ideal future. While it would have suited her for the children never to be released, she exhibits surprisingly a strong emotional attachment to her siblings, willing to both shelter and protect them, and conceal again their crimes.

Initial tension revolves around a chase, savage dogs, a shifty maid and Ellen dealing with the manipulative Mrs Armstrong, holding her own long enough until she is safely married, while further pressure builds with the necessity to cover up the murder, explain Mrs Armstrong’s absence, cope with the sudden influx of people and ascertain who has the murderous tendencies. There are some excellent scenes and twisty payoffs, and quite a bit of misdirection – the chase, rabid dogs, a childish song – and some inspired drama such as Mrs Racine letting rip, and Mrs Armstrong’s growing puzzlement.

Stella Stevens (Sol Madrid, 1968), normally eye candy or in a supporting role, is a revelation as Ellen, creating a grounded personality, with several changes of emotion and except for being a little pop-eyed on occasion carries off the part tremendously well and not falling prey to the temptation of grandstanding. Shelley Winters (A House Is Not a Home, 1964), who knows all about playing larger-than-life characters, tones it down here, even the obvious nuttiness reined in.

Michael Burns (That Cold Day in the Park, 1969) is the better of the two younger actors, while Barbara Sammeth’s (Foul Play, 1978) stiffness could be put down to inexperience – this was her debut. Otherwise former horror queen Beverly Garland (Stark Fear, 1962) is the pick.

Godfather of Harlem – Season One (2019) *****

Harlem gangster kingpin Bumpy Johnson barely lasted five minutes of Ridley Scott’s masterpiece American Gangster (2007), just long enough to show the various elements of his complex character, his ruthlessness, his generosity and his awareness of a fast-changing world. To compensate, here’s a television mini-series devoted to his life, that, like the Scott epic, spreads out beyond mere shooting and killing and takes in endemic racism and politics.

As well as Johnson (Forest Whitaker) various real-life characters are knitted into the fabric: firebrand Malcolm X (Nigel Thatch), Congressman Adam Clayton Powell Jr (Giancarlo Esposito), Mafia bosses Vincent ‘Chin’ Gigante (Vincent D’Onofrio) and Frank Costello (Paul Sorvino), boxer Cassius Clay/Mohammed Ali (Deric Augustine), another Mafia thug Joey ‘Bananas’ Bonnano (Chazz Palminteri), heiress Amy Vanderbilt (Joanne Kelly) and Mafia snitch Joseph Valachi (Richard Petrocelli) – subject of an entire film The Valachi Papers (1972) played by Charles Bronson.

Initially, I had been less keen on this tale and was on the point of giving up after a couple of episodes, but it proved a slow-burn and once the narrative extended out into the wider world of politics I was hooked.

The story begins in 1963 with Bumpy Johnson released from Alcatraz after a ten-year stretch and trying to recover his power base in Harlem which has been encroached upon by Vincent Gigante who shows little sign of letting go. At its heart, traditionally, this would focus on the battle between Bumpy and Gigante over who controls Harlem, both restrained from all-out war by dictate of the Five Families who rule Mafia New York.

But it’s the narrative tentacles that soon take over. Bumpy, intending to go straight romantically-speaking and not play around any more, rebuffs former lover Amy Vanderbilt, even to the extent of turning down the $300,000 loan he requires for survival if it means dropping his pants for her. Ironically, though his wife Mayme (Ilfenesh Hadera), while playing the jealousy card and appearing to do her sexy best to keep him interested solely in her, is actually enjoying an affair with a young boxer.

Powell, desperate for headlines, makes the case that the cops are always pulling in Black gangsters over the numbers racket while ignoring all the Italians involved in the same illegal activity. Malcolm X, Bumpy’s longtime buddy, is planning to overthrow the pacific nature of the Islamic cause and turn it into a violent representation of the Civil Rights cause.

Even Black recording studios refuse to produce civil rights records in case it brings down the wrath of the ruling White community.

*Not to be confused with this 1973 Blaxploitation number which started life as ‘Black Caesar’ until some clever clogs thought to take advantage of ‘The Godfather’ boom.*

And just to add some more spark to this tinderbox, Bumpy’s daughter Elise (Antoinette Crowe-Legacy) is a heroin addict who, in her recovery, begins working for Malcolm X, though she’s not above snitching on him to the leader of the Islamic movement. Gigante’s daughter Stella (Lucy Fry) has taken as a lover Black musician Teddy Greene (Kelvin Harrison Jr), an arrangement that infuriates her father to the extent that he plans to rub out Teddy. Though, if he just let matters play out, he could rely on the cops to disrupt that relationship. Any Black man caught in a clinch with a White woman is assumed to be a pimp and the girl a prostitute, so it’s standard practice to chuck them both in prison. Gigante confesses to a priest that he killed Joey Bananas’ son. And while despised by Gigante, Bumpy is friendly enough with Frank Costello to meet up for games of chess.

And if that’s not enough to keep the narrative wheels well and truly greased, there are some terrific power play subplots. Gigante wants Cassius Clay, then just a contender for the heavyweight crown, to throw a fight and Bumpy backs the boxer as much out of the chance to annoy his rival as in sympathy for the pugilist.

Bumpy goes into partnership with Joey Bananas, again to thwart Gigante, only to find himself outsmarted when Gigante rigs the numbers racket so that Bumpy is faced with a debt of $300,000 that he doesn’t have. He tries to erase the debt by wiping out Valachi but that fails so he’s facing ruin.

In passing, we learn how the numbers racket actually works. The winning number is the last three digits of the amount taken at the box office at a racecourse. One of Gigante’s thugs compromises the gay accountant in charge of doing the adding up at the racecourse and gets him to change the number to Bumpy’s detriment. Normally, there’s no point rigging the number, and the Mafia plays hardball with anyone interfering with their system, but this time the whole of Harlem has bet on a number that has particular significance. So Gigante makes sure this number comes up so that Bumpy’s number is up.

The dramas and crises are evenly meted out and there’s scarcely a character who at some point is not struggling with a major personal dilemma. This has the kind of plotting that Taylor Sheridan excels at, setting up characters facing not just the usual problems of dealing with rivals but with characters facing family issues.

This season ends with the assassination of JFK which, ironically, helps the Mafia, the FBI’s major investigation of the criminal gangs being sidelined in the aftermath of the Presidential killing, and, equally ironically, pulls the plug on Bumpy’s plan to safeguard his own survival.

Great cast in superb form especially Oscar-winner Forest Whitaker (The Last King of Scotland, 2007) and Vincent D’Onofrio (The Eyes of Tammy Faye, 2021). Nigel Thatch is especially convincing as the soft-spoken firebrand – he had played Malcolm X before in Selma (2104) – while Giancarlo Esposito (Maxxine, 2024) has a ball as a tricksy but charming character.

Perhaps as surprising is the focus on the women who in gangster pictures are generally relegated to the roles of molls. Here, all defy the males in their lives. Ilfenesh Hadera (Highest 2 Lowest, 2025), as Bumpy’s wife Mayme, stands up to her husband with her upfront involvement in the civil rights movement while Antoinette Crowe-Legacy (Passing, 2021) as his daughter Elise not only joins the Nation of Islam but threatens to blow apart the family by revealing a major secret, and Lucy Fry (I Live Here Now, 2025) as Gigante’s daughter resorts to violence to take revenge on her father.

Hugely enjoyable – and thought-provoking.

I’m hooked. Catch it on Amazon Prime.

The Informers / Underworld Informers (1963) ***

Who would be a film director? One minute you’re in charge of Swiss Family Robinson (1960), Disney’s biggest live-action venture since 20,000 Leagues under the Sea (1954), and knocking up a home run at the box office. Then you’re handed a massive budget, mega-cast and huge logistics with the added responsibility of saving near-bankrupt 20^th Century Fox with 70mm roadshow The Longest Day (1962) and then you’re hurled into two more roadshows, Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines (1965) and Battle of the Bulge (1965), the latter in Cinerama, again big budgets and all-star casts.

And in between you’re relegated to this black-and-white run-of-the-mill London cop thriller. Maybe you said you were fed up with all those stars and big budgets and fancied a more intimate number. Maybe not. Maybe you just weren’t flying as high as you imagined and like anyone else you just had to eat.

While you’re not contending with the likes of John Wayne, Robert Mitchum or Henry Fonda, at least for The Informers you’ve a pretty good British cast, many of whom would become marquee attractions or make their bones in television. Star Nigel Patrick would head up the Zero One TV series (1963-1965), Harry Andrews (Play Dirty, 1968) would be a sterling movie supporting player. Colin Blakely would be Dr Watson in Billy Wilder’s The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970), Derren Nesbitt would shine as a Gestapo officer in Where Eagles Dare (1968), and Oscar-nominated Frank Finlay would be one of The Three Musketeers (1973).

This crime tale has inefficient cops being led a merry dance by efficient bank robbers. While top cop Supt Bestwick (Harry Andrews) puts his faith in the new-fangled wire-tapping and electronic eavesdropping, underling Chief Inspector Johnnoe (Nigel Patrick) prefers the more traditional method of relying on informers, “snouts” in underworld parlance, such as the perpetually sozzled Jim Ruskin (John Cowley).

The cops might have had a better chance if the robbers weren’t listening in to the cops or using the informer route to mislead them. While Johnnoe might get the better of gangster kingpin Hoyle (Derren Nesbitt) in a verbal duel, he’s resolutely outwitted when it comes to criminal wiles, duped by another crook Sale (Frank Finlay) and gangster’s moll Maisie (Margaret Whiting) so that he ends up on a corruption charge, which puts him out of the investigation.

Luckily, he’s got a smart determined wife Mary (Katherine Woodville) who sets about clearing his name with the help of junk dealer Charlie (Colin Blakely), brother of murdered snout Jim.

Most of this is what would be later termed police procedural as the cops follow up leads and enter the lion’s den and get trapped in bureaucracy until Johnnoe, suspended from duty and out on bail, no longer has to play by the rules. The rogue cop was more of an American movie tradition than the British but Johnnoe makes a good stab at it.

Charlie’s not inclined to play by the rules either and gets together a mob of his own to hit the robbers and revenge his brother. Given the Brits aren’t armed to the teeth, when it comes to the battle royal, they go in there with wrenches and other hand-tools supplemented by the occasional knife rather than machine guns or shotguns. But it’s still an astonishing fight for this era of British crime.

There’s some unusual emotional elements, too, particularly with the moll and a surprising sequence involving Roy Kinnear, generally not considered to have such emotional depth. Did I mention the cat? The one who attempts, for fun, to foil an escape by a trapped cop.

Not quite in the vein of the later British crime thrillers like Get Carter (1971) or Villain (1971) but certainly moving in a harder-nosed direction.

Ken Annakin is almost going back to his British cinematic roots and proving he can do the business on a small budget. Written by Alun Falconer (Never Let Go, 1960) from the novel by Douglas Warner.

Better class of British crime.

I caught this on YouTube but it’s as likely to turn up on Talking Pictures TV.

Fury at Smuggler’s Bay (1961) ***

Surprising to find so much moral complexity when it seemed we would be restricted to discussing the difference between good bad smugglers and bad bad smugglers and good good bad guys and bad bad guys. Given the limited running time (it clocks in at 82 minutes) we’ve also just got about enough time to take in hypocrisy.

Compromise, too, for that matter. Squire’s son Christopher (John Fraser) is inclined to warn girlfriend smuggler’s daughter Louise (Michele Mercier) that his father Squire Trevenyan (Peter Cushing) is setting soldiers on the local smugglers. The local highwayman known as The Captain (William Franklyn) is considered something of a decent fellow because once he’s robbed travellers going along the road one way he’ll make sure they’re not robbed on their return.

Trevenyan finds the most convenient way to prevent his son marrying beneath himself is to imprison Louise’s father Francois (George Coulouris) on the grounds of receiving stolen goods – his sentence is deportation to Australia. He’s helped by his son having to run off to London after killing one of the smugglers in self-defense, the father assuming anyone witness to the struggle will side with the smuggler.

Aware that maybe the plot’s getting a bit too cute for anyone’s liking, director John Gilling makes the most of the thunderous seas, boats getting battered to bits in the storm, waves hammering the wheelhouse, men swept overboard from vessels losing their way because rudimentary lighthouses have been shattered by predatory smugglers (known as “wreckers”). Stunning Cornwall scenery also helps though beaches being littered with heavy-duty rocks rather than glistening sand tends to inhibit action sequences.

The wreckers are the bad bad smugglers, the ordinary locals, dealing with a bit of rum and tobacco to avoid the exciseman or helping themselves to loot from legitimate shipwrecks, are the good bad smugglers.

You can always depend on a good bad highwayman to defend an innocent girl against a bad bad smuggler. As you might expect the Squire is deliberately ineffectual since he’s being blackmailed by Black John (Bernard Lee), leader of the wreckers, because Christopher is the result of an indiscretion. So it’s left to the son to race back from London and set things to rights.

Although there’s a bit of fenceplay – there is one good duel between Christopher and The Captain – it’s not really a swashbuckler, a knife or pistol or musket the more likely weapon of choice, and since the director’s enamored of the silhouette against the darkening sky quite often what takes place is obscured.

Which helps the final section of the plot, as Christopher puts abroad that he’s dead while secretly signing up with Black John. This could have fitted into the Renown portfolio given the number of twists. Traps backfire. Ruses fail. Falling for the tale that his son is dead, Trevenyan puts the boy in mortal danger by sending troops to the beaches. Various rivals have to team up for the good of the cause.

By the time it turns into high adventure most of the moral complexities have been resolved.

The only problem is it’s the bad guys who steal the picture. While Peter Cushing (The Skull, 1965) continues his evolution as an actor of considerable scope, John Fraser (Tamahine, 1963) is a cardboard cut-out of a hero. But Bernard Lee, before assuming the mantle of M in the James Bond series, cuts loose as the bad bad guy while William Franklyn (The Big Day, 1960) does a dastardly good job of creating a charming good bad guy. For a bonus there’s rising French star Michele Mercier (You Can’t Win ‘Em All/Dubious Patriots, 1970).

Written and directed, with some panache, by John Gilling (The Pirates of Blood River, 1962).

Entertaining matinee fare with a soupcon of complexity.

Fame Is The Name of the Game (1966) ***

Glossy entry into the investigation business, no down’n’dirty private eyes this time round, racking up alimony, office the saloon of a bar, little in the way of fashionable attire, best friends with the bottle. Okay, so Jeff Dillon (Anthony Franciosa) is a newshound not a private dick – same difference.

Main problem is that the three main characters seem to be in different movies. Jeff, all teeth, comes over like he’d rather be down on the beach surfing, his unwanted assistant Peggy (Susan Saint James) like she’s auditioning for Nancy Drew, and artist Leona (Jill St John) like she’s in the femme fatale business.

*Small-screen effort in the U.S., released on the big screen in the rest of the world,*
*a fairly common move at the time.*

And it takes forever for our intrepid newshound to work out that the dead girl Ellen found in an upmarket hotel room has been murdered rather than committing suicide. Any time the plot looks like slowing down up pops an interesting character. Gangster Ben Welcome’s (Jack Klugman) secretary (Myrna Ross) turns out to have a neat side hustle as a bodyguard, stiletto heels at the ready to pin a man to the ground.

Ex-baseball star Dizzy (Jay C. Flippen) is a massive fan of passive smoking, the only way, given his health condition, that he can get any smoke into his lungs. Telephone operator Pat (Nanette Fubray) uses her smiles for wiles while sticking it to the man. A beggar doesn’t bother to check if a corpse might be still alive before trying to steal his boots.

While the dialog isn’t exactly full of zingers, it does have some zip and repartee. For too long, though, the plot ambles along rather than anything else.

The dead woman had been married to loser Eddie (Robert Duvall) and befriended Dizzy before ending up as the mistress of billionaire Cruikshank (Lee Bowman). But once the dots begin to be joined, it takes on a seamier tone, sexual coercion, blackmail, murder.

There’s a terrific twist at the end which makes up for a lot of the aimlessness.

A shame this came out the same year as Harper/The Moving Target which reinvigorated the genre and had as its leading man a sex symbol who didn’t act – as Franciosa does here – as if he was a sex symbol. Anthony Franciosa (Fathom, 1967) is the main problem. He’s too full of himself, constantly flashing his teeth as if that’s a get-out-of-jail-free card, and lacks the edge the role requires.

Both Jill St John (Tony Rome, 1967) and Susan Saint James (New Face in Hell, 1967) fall into the rising star category, though the former is easily the more accomplished. Interesting supporting cast in Jack Klugman (The Graduate, 1967), Jack Weston (The Thomas Crown Affair, 1968), Robert Duvall (The Godfather, 1972) and Jay C. Flippen (Hellfighters, 1968).

Ably spun by director Stuart Rosenberg (Cool Hand Luke, 1967) from a screenplay by Ranald MacDougall (Dark of the Sun/The Mercenaries, 1968).

This had an unusual genesis in that it was one of the first made-for-tv movies. Universal promoted the 90-minute feature as a world premiere and it turned into an unusual series with three different stars – the others were Gene Barry (Marco 7, 1967) and Robert Stack (Borderlines/ The Caretakers, 1963) – taking turns headlining an episode.

While classier fare than you might have expected from television during the 1960s, it came up short when compared to similar ideas played out on the big screen. Where it did end up in the cinema, it was as a supporting feature.

You can catch it on YouTube. The streamer even chucks in about 20 ads for free.

Mutiny (2026) **** – Seen at the Cinema

Hooray! The Stath is back. After the turgid Shelter (2026) and the disappointing A Working Man (2025), and while this doesn’t reach the heights of The Beekeeper (2024), it’s a more than serviceable action thriller that will keep his fans – such as moi – happy. Though you’d need Alistair MacLean, “the king of the action thriller” (though I say so myself – see my latest book), to pump some novelty into a seagoing action piece.

This does have one other novelty for a Statham thriller in that it hands him a female buddy, a companion in arms I hasten to add rather than a lame love interest. I’m guessing that should this turn into a global hit, a sequel will be on the cards, where he is called into to help said lady who will transition into a damsel in distress, especially given she’s a single mom, a category which seems irresistible to screenwriters.

But, basically, Statham does what he does best, which is to crack heads, strangle, stab and shoot bad guys, solve a mystery and right whatever wrongs have been committed. On the strict confines of a cargo ship, there aren’t so many places to hide, not that our Jason is the hiding sort, so it’s a barrage of non-stop action as either the bad guys come after him or he goes after the bad guys. There’s some novelty too in the killing. As well as the standard weapons, our hero makes use of a ship’s hook and a handy harpoon, not to mention a Rolex watch.

I have to warn you the title is a bit of misnomer, but it serves its purpose, which is to warn of an armed uprising on board a ship.

Cole Reed (Jason Statham) ain’t a marine. He’s bodyguard to billionaire shipping magnate Tibu Campallo (Ramon Tikaram) who has just retired when he’s killed in Bangkok in an ambush organized by Jaran Daniles (Simon Kluth) for reasons that are unclear except that Tibu is on the point of selling his business. Naturally, corruption being what it is these days, Cole is figured for the murder.

A clue leads him to sneak aboard the Artemis, one of Campallo’s gigantic vessels. He hides out in a lifeboat, the modern kind that offers easy concealment not an antique of Titanic vintage. Also, on board, reluctantly, and at very short notice is replacement Third Mate Angie Ellis (Annabelle Wallis).

Cole’s investigations lead him to a hidden cargo of trafficked people. Angie finds the same but when she reports back to Captain Marko Madsen (Roland Moller) she quickly realizes he’s in on the game. So she skedaddles and eventually teams up with Cole, though they are at various times separated so that Cole can do what he does best which is to escape from impossible situations while it’s left to Angie to manage a wound and incapacitate various crew members on the bridge, from which she can send out a distress signal.

The signal is picked up by a passing U.S. naval vessel commanded by Capt Adam Spencer (Adrian Lester). You think the Yanks are going to get there and rescue Cole and the people, but there’s a twist, the trafficked people are due to be offloaded mid-ocean to another gang. So although Cole has already thinned out the competition, the new arrivals bulk it back up.

It’s preposterous to expect anything new in the action thriller game, even Die Hard (1988) simply played a new angle but was hardly more than a twist on various westerns and anything else where people needed rescued. So as long as the plot doesn’t drift into the maudlin like Shelter, and as long as the action races along, that’s about all you need, as well as an actor who’s a believable action hero.

Plus a director who knows his stuff. Jean-Francois Richet is of that ilk, having directed, most recently, Plane (2023) which follows a similar narrative, as well as superb pictures about criminals, The Emperor of Paris (2018) and especially the two Mesrine (2008) movies. He sticks to the knitting and that’s all you need. There’s a couple of twists to the tale, but that’s standard in today’s thrillers. Annabelle Wallis (Mercy, 2026) kicks ass with the best of them.

Written by Lindsay Michel. In his debut, and J.P. Davis (Plane).

Statham back on form which bodes well for The Beekeeper 2 out in the New Year.