Crime/Thriller – Page 5 – The Magnificent 60s

Apex (2026) ** – Seen on Netflix

Deliverance meets The Silence of the Lambs and that wouldn’t be an altogether bad elevator pitch except for constant interruptions from the Australian Tourist Board flogging adventure holidays. Takes forever to get going – and it’s only 95 minutes to begin with – and after a tight ten minutes somewhere around the one-hour work when it works up a bit of speed it then takes such a loopy turn that any narrative buoyancy gained suddenly evaporates.

Alternatively, it might work as Oscar-bait. You know, those kind of movies where the star goes through such physical trauma that the Academy voters seemed obliged to provide peer reward. And someone was given a drone for Xmas and every time you think the sensible approach is a close-up the camera goes flying back into the sky as if trying to set a record for the longest longshot.

What’s the story? Well you might ask. Bereft mountaineer Sasha (Charlize Theron), recovering from the death of boyfriend tommy (Eric Bana) on a Norwegian peak, heads for the Australian outback for a trip down the rapids. For whatever reason, she’s chosen a spot where dozens of people have gone missing – an event that appears to have received no media coverage whatsoever. For a moment you think we’re going to full-tilt-boogie into the Deliverance backwoods when in very mild fashion she beats back the overtures of a couple of rough Aussies. For about 20 minutes it’s nothing but travelog, Sasha racing through rapids, camping, walking.

Then she meets another Aussie, Ben (Taron Egerton), who seems straight out of Jeremiah Johnson, living off the land, finding some kind of liquid in trees, that kind of fella. However, he’s got the Deliverance bug and soon produces an archery device, this time a crossbow, and before long she’s on the run, pursued through even more scenic areas – of the adventure kind, but still distinctly tourist. Any time there’s any chance of tension, in comes Mr Drone to spoil things by pulling the camera back.

Eventually, as you might have guessed, she does get captured and is dragged into a hidden cave where Ben has hung up all his previous victims, tenderizing them before eating them with his perfectly sharpened teeth. There’s some nonsense about ritual that’s meant to add some meaning. Eventually, she escapes. Cue more scenic tourist stuff though you might just be wondering actually how long can people hold their breath underwater.

Eventually, she gets the upper hand. And then the plot goes loopy. She is handcuffed and tied to him by a long piece of rope. But he has a broken leg that in the heat is going to get infected as a bunch of flies starting dipping into the tasty morsels of bloodied flesh. So she does the obvious. She starts tugging on the rope – obviously he’d be hopping about in agony and toppling over every minutes – and drags him into the water and drowns him.

Nope, we’re barely past the hour mark, so a lot of time still to fill. She’s got a better idea. Why don’t we climb out of the canyon? She being the mountaineer would lead the way and she’d promise not to let him go halfway up. Apex predator that he is, he thinks, yes, why don’t I trust my enemy and put my life in her hands, the one I’ve been torturing and trying to kill all this while? But guess what? He’s the sucker. She drops him off the cliff.

This is advertised as running for 95 minutes but actually it’s closer to 88-89 minutes. It could have taken a swerve into proper horror what with all the cadavers strung up and Ben displaying his sharp teeth or if someone had applied a bit if elbow grease it could have turned into a decent thriller. Instead, it’s not much of anything.

Actually, this might have worked better in the cinema where the action sequences would have had more impact. But there’s just no tension.

Charlize Theron (Fast X, 2023) had six stunt doubles so she didn’t get as physical as I thought. Taron Egerton’s (Rocketman, 2019) teeth are presumably fake, too.

Directed by Baltasar Kormakur (Everest, 2015). Written by Jeremy Robbins (The Purge series, 2018-2019).

Netflix’s previous DTS (direct-to-streaming) offering Thrash at least had the compensation of accepting it was pure trash and making the most of it. This looks like someone thought there was something serious going on here.

Honestly, there isn’t.

The List of Adrian Messenger (1963) ***

The gimmick of stars in disguise isn’t enough to spark this routine whodunit and the extended sequences of fox-hunting might deter the contemporary viewer but oddly enough something else of considerable interest is going on and enough to keep you hooked.

Given it’s an actor’s screen persona that tempts you to their movies, how are you going to respond when that’s gone AWOL? Actually, you get a more intriguing performance. Covered in slabs of make-up Kirk Douglas makes out like a latter-day Alec Guinness or Peter Sellers, essaying a number of quite different characters. So the jutting chin, the fierce eyes and the aggressive tone are all gone and in its place he shows he can act. His vicar is especially appealing.

But the same holds true of George C. Scott even though he’s not in disguise. Director John Huston, much as he did with his trio of star names in The Misfits (1961), gets Scott to tone down his screen idiosyncrasies. So the growl is tempered, the flaring eyebrows in cold storage for much of the time, and his jutting chin and aggression set to one side as he depicts a different character to his usual.

The Academy usually hands out Oscars to people who over-act or have some affliction to overcome, and they seem to wilfully ignore it when actors show how well they can act outside their comfort zone.

The story is the usual combination of clever deduction, red herrings and set pieces. Former spy Anthony Gethryn (George C. Scott) is hired by the titular character (John Merivale) to find out if a bunch of people on his list are still alive. Messenger himself is soon bumped off in a plane explosion but not before he leaves a garbled clue with sole survivor of the sabotage Raoul Le Borg (Jacques Roux). Gethryn soon discovers everyone on the list is dead. This may have something to do with the Second World War or it may be that the killer wants to cover up something now before potential scandal can ruin a promising future.

Meanwhile, the killer keeps bumping people off. And just to keep Gethryn from getting distracted by possible romance by Lady Bruttenholm (Dana Wynter) Le Borg pounces on her.

By this point the director was pursuing his dreams of becoming landed gentry with a stately home in Ireland and very keen on all the trimmings including fox-hunting which probably accounts for the length of time accorded the sport.

Kirk Douglas, who’s company produced the picture, thought – either to fire up public interest or to help along a fairly straightforward tale – he would ask a few of his movie star buddies to bury themselves in make-up and play bit parts. Whether audiences spent all their time when they should have been concentrating on Gethryn’s detection on carrying out their own sleuthing trying to detect which of the supporting characters might actually be Tony Curtis, Frank Sinatra, Robert Mitchum or Burt Lancaster is anybody’s guess. It does have to be pointed out that some of the make-up is unconvincing, some faces looking as though they’ve come out of a box.

Despite all this, I enjoyed seeing George C. Scott (Patton, 1970) and Kirk Douglas (Cast a Giant Shadow, 1966) playing decidedly against type and showing how easy it is to act if you’re not always having to adopt a screen persona.

John Huston looks as if he’s having a ball. Written by Anthony Veiller (Night of the Iguana, 1964) and Alec Coppel (Vertigo, 1958) from the book by Philip MacDonald.

A watchable curiosity.

The Violent Enemy (1967) ****

Surprisingly even-handed and thoughtful with more twists than The Housemaid. Rising star Tom Bell makes a bid to fill the spot in the British movie hierarchy vacated by Michael Caine who had gone to greater things while Susan Hampshire is trying to escape the screen persona foisted upon her by Walt Disney in such innocuous fare as The Fighting Prince of Donegal (1967). Australian director Don Sharp was hoping to add some gravitas to a portfolio that included The Face of Fu Manchu (1965) and Our Man in Marrakesh (1966). To some extent, all three achieve their aims.

Irish terrorist Sean Rogan, learning he has been refused parole and has another seven years of a 15-year sentence to serve, breaks out of jail, assisted by Hannah (Susan Hampshire), scion of an IRA legend. Twist number one, back in Ireland, Sean tells his boss Colum O’More (Ed Begley) that he’s going to go straight. Ireland having no extradition treaty with the United Kingdom for political prisoners he’s safe. Twist number two, Colum threatens to dump him over the border to Northern Ireland where he could be arrested.

O’More wants Sean, an explosives specialist, to blow up an electronics plant that services British armament factories and in doing so restore pride in a fading political force. Sean agrees to plan the job but not carry it out, leaving it to underling Austin (Jon Laurimore). Sean also, surprisingly, has scruples, wanting to limit the charge so that it doesn’t affect people living in caravans below the factory. Meanwhile, Inspector Sullivan (Philip O’Flynn) turns up with a killer piece of information. He tells Hannah, who’s grown sweet on Sean, that the escapee was deliberately misled – his parole had been granted. Hannah refuses to pass this along, her loyalty to the cause greater than her feelings for Sean.

As the deadline approaches for the sabotage, it becomes apparent Austin has a different project in mind. Instead of blowing up the plant he’s going to use the blackout caused by the dynamite to rob the factory, forcing Sean to come along so he can be rendered unconscious and take the fall.

The final twist is that Sean foils the robbers.

Apart from the sabotage and the heist there’s a lot to savor here. Old hands are deserting the cause to enjoy prosperity. The idea of ruining local livelihoods by terminating the plant is anathema to some. Many are just tired of fighting a war that’s not been won. Others, like Sean, believe they have done their bit and are entitled to peace and quiet.

Die-hards like Colum are easily duped by the unscrupulous – one of the best scenes the shock on his face when he realizes he’s been took and he lacks the authority to stop what might be deemed organizational malpractice – while Austin takes advantage of the money-making opportunity that supposed fealty to the cause creates. Hannah, too, has to change her attitude. Sean’s spent enough time in prison to appreciate what he’s lost.

There’s little remorse but equally there’s little tub-thumping and the movie largely steers clear of the political issues and sentimentality. There’s nothing glamorous or romantic in this Ireland, no glorious scenery, just dreich wet streets, and the flag isn’t tied to the mast but employed to package the loot. The heist is well done and there’s an unusual climax. Possibly the most imaginative section is the flight after the initial escape with Sean disguised as a chauffeur driving a Rolls-Royce. It’s probably a plus point that nobody attempts an Irish accent that they’d mess up anyway.

Possibly because of the subject matter, the movie flopped. Neither Tom Bell nor Susan Hampshire ascended to the higher echelons though Don Sharp returned to Ireland for Hennessey (1975) and went on to direct Bear Island (1978). Written by Edmund Ward (Goodbye Gemini, 1970) from an early novel by Jack Higgins (The Eagle Has Landed, 1976 ) who both revisited the Troubles for Mike Hodges A Prayer for the Dying (1987) with Mickey Rourke.

In between the action beats plenty to mull over.

Hidden Assets: Season 1, 2021* Season 2, 2023 Season 3, 2025

Jumping the shark takes a particular blend of over-reach and narrative naivety. Assumptions about what makes a series tick are often misleading. Dramatic changes to personnel and location can both add (as in Season 2) and detract (as in Season 3).

I’ve been binge-watching this Irish-Belgium/Irish-Spanish crime series when I should be knuckling down to viewing more movies from the 1960s. I thought I was onto a winner when the second series proved a vast improvement on the first. That was before I came to the third series. The first two series are connected and I’m just hoping nobody’s of a mind to link the third series to another, as yet unmade, series.

As far as investigation goes, we’re in new territory. The Criminal Assets Bureau in Ireland tracks down the cash made by big-time crooks. Jurisdiction can extend, by mutual consent, to European countries such as Belgium (the first two seasons) or Spain (the third).

What makes the first two, related, series so captivating is that they’re not just about crime but political machination and big business and cover areas like immigration and the rise of the Far Right political parties.

SERIES ONE:

You might wonder how Irish cops end up in Antwerp. The connection is diamonds, Antwerp being famous for them, and gangsters now utilizing them as the easiest way to shift currency away from prying eyes. Irish cop Emer Berry (Angeline Ball) heads up a Criminal Assets Bureau investigation chasing gangster Fionn Brannigan (Peter Coonan).

That leads her to Belgium where she crosses swords and paths with gum-chewing (he’s trying to stop smoking) Belgian cop Christian de Jong (Wouter Hendrickx). He’s on the trail of terrorists whose latest outrage killed 11 people and sent the ratings soaring for Far-Right politician Victor Maes (Steve Geerts). Brannigan turns out to be the estranged brother of Bibi Melnick (Simone Kirby) who runs a huge business in the port of Antwerp.

She’s connected by marriage to dodgy businessman Richard Melnick (Michael Ironside) who wants to privatize the publicly-run port. Bibi gets mixed up in a people-trafficking scam, linked to the terrorist. Takes a heck of a time to entangle most of the proceedings and there’s an ending – a possible connection between the terrorism act and Maes – that lends itself to a sequel.

Bibi is the main victim, losing her job to the ruthless Frances Swann (Karine Vanasse). The hard yards of policing and inspired use of technology are compounded by sufficient action. But the biggest flaw is Angelina Ball. She just looks disinterested all the way through and given she’s our conduit to the developing tale it’s hard at times to summon up the energy to keep watching.

SERIES TWO:

Ramps up the tempo beginning with Emer Berry having been replaced by high-flying Detective Sergeant Claire Wallace (Nora-Jane Noone) who has the grit, tenacity and emotional input her predecessor lacked. And a huge gender shift of power takes place.

It’s the women who take prime position. Frances Swann looks like a distant relative of Jack Palance or Lee Marvin with those gimlet eyes and she spins the wheel astutely. Bibi Melnick, who looks out for the count, standing to lose her entire family fortune and possibly her son (husband James already collateral damage), pulls out an absolute blinder of a last-minute trick and reveals that she’s a worthy successor in the duping game to the likes of Keyser Soze of The Usual Suspects fame. Even Fionn’s wife Siobhan (Sophie Jo Wasson) isn’t an innocent bystander but well up to ensuring she gets her share of ill-gotten gains.

There’s a disconnect between Wallace and De Jong because she suspects there’s a mole in his side of the operation and that person, in the spirit of entrepreneurism that infects the city, is a woman and delivers, if unintentionally, the coup that knocks the audience for six. And in the background, cleverly playing the conservation card, is another businesswoman who turns out to be in collusion with Bibi. Wallace and De Jong also fall out because he shoots the cornered terrorist and she wanted him alive, not out of the goodness of her heart, but for interrogation purposes.

But this is well-drilled stuff, red herrings, twist and turns, interference by superiors, realpolitik, the harsh stink of dirty dealings plus a side helping of racism and drug running. The stakes are incredibly high, politicians blackmailed by criminals, assassins running amok, cops racing against the clock to prevent another terrorist explosion, billions of Euros on tap from privatization and another 200 million Euros – Bibi’s father’s hidden wealth – up for grabs. The cops think they have come out on top, outside of the political machinery that they have to put up with, and the audience thinks so too until the final killer scene.

Without the deadweight of Angeline Ball, the second series really flies, all the actors stepping up to the plate, Nora-Jane Noone (Bring Them Down, 2024) and Wouter Hendrickx (The Class of 2000, 2025) more than hold this together and would be the stars of the show except for sheer cunning they are outdone by Simone Kirby (Kneecap, TV series 2024), who plays an especially clever long game in acting terms, and Karine Vanasse (Cardinal, TV series 2017-2020). Shining among the supporting cast is Cathy Belton (Miss Scarlett and the Duke, TV series 2020-2026).

SERIES THREE:

Begins with a major problem. De Jong was killed in series two so he’s not available and the action switches to Spain. But Detective Wallace (Nora-Jane Noone) is now saddled with two sub-plots. Suddenly, it’s revealed she is a mother with a disgruntled partner. And although she stood calmly by and watched a terrorist get his head blown off in series two – her only emotion being annoyance that she can’t interrogate him – now she appears to fall apart when a criminal blows his brains out in front of her.

The plot, when it veers from the straightforward drug-running and people-trafficking, is shot through with holes. Wallace, hunting 27 million Euros, heads for Bilbao where the trail leads to Irish crook-gone-legit Anthony Pearse (Frank Laverty) and she becomes embroiled in a local investigation into the murder of a local journalist.

I’m sure all the plots regarding drug-smuggling and people-trafficking have been explored and I sympathize with writers forced to come up with something novel. But not when it’s as barmy as this. Immigrants and drugs are being smuggled in from Africa in the same trucks carrying hazardous waste (the immigrants a side hustle).

Immigrants had been turning up in hospital with the kind of ailments you get from contamination with hazardous waste. But none of the gangsters unloading either immigrants or drugs have been so afflicted, yet the minute Wallace inadvertently steps in a puddle of waste alarm bells start ringing.

The waste is being transported out of Africa for treatment in Bilbao by – wait for it – a medical charity that wants to ensure the waste resulting from its good deeds isn’t left behind. There must be countless dumps, legal or otherwise, in Africa for the stuff, never mind shipping it thousands of miles, at who knows what cost to a struggling charity, to northern Spain (presumably there’s no comparable factory in southern Spain.)

Nora Jane-Noone is hampered by having to switch on the emotions every now and then whereas before she had been as flinty-eyed as the criminals and having to keep a straight face at various denouements involving hazardous waste. The screen chemistry (not of the romantic kind I hasten to add) that she had with De Jong in the previous two series is not replicated with the Spanish cop played by Inigo Gastesi.

The only saving grace in the third series is a new character, the extremely annoying ambitious Detective Liam Boylan (Donall O’ Healai) who rats on colleagues, steals everyone’s ideas but actually is an ace interrogator and has the knack of getting information out of people where others have failed.

Series three is a series too far but the previous episodes are worth watching.

Eye of the Cat (1969) ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This chiller will keep you guessing.

Fuze (2026) *** – Seen at the Cinema

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Strip Tease Murder (1961) ***

A treat in so many ways. A killer who could be the evil twin of Q, James Bond’s gadget supremo. A denouement worthy of Hercule Poirot. A femme fatale whose villainous boyfriend thinks he’s in charge until he learns, to his cost, she’s far smarter. A hero who’s just an ordinary bloke, derided for the most part, who enjoys none of the brio of the good guy who wins out because he can’t get over his loss.

And all this packed into an exceptionally slim running time once you deduct time for half a dozen striptease routines. Given the era the title is bait-and-switch, not much to see here that the censor of the times would permit.

I confess to having employed a bit of bait-and-switch. Neither this illustration – by the world’s most famous stripper – nor the poster at the top are anything to do with this film. In my defence, I couldn’t find a poster or lobby card in color and feared the review would be ignored for that reason.

In The Flamingo Club in London’s Soho, businessman Branco (Kenneth J. Warren) is being blackmailed by former mistress Rita (Ann Lynn), a stripper. What he doesn’t know is that she’s set her sights on more than blackmail and she’s not become his mistress for the few scraps of nice clothing and fancy jewels he can bestow on her. She’s set out deliberately to seduce him so she can get the inside gen on his operation with a view to moving in.

Branco, sensing imminent threat, goes to sound engineer Perkel (Peter Elliott) for the answer. Perkel, in a manner that would delight Q, has rigged up a mic that, via a transistor and remote control, will electrocute the singer at the switch of a button. Only problem is, inadvertently, he kills the wrong girl, Diana (Jean Muir), wife of hapless M.C. Bert (John Hewer), an alcoholic former comedian down on his luck.

The cops aren’t interested in his theories of dirty dealing especially when the autopsy returns a verdict that suggests nothing untoward except bad luck for someone so young. But Bert’s found something unusual. Diana’s corpse is cold except for her ear, which is warm, which gets him to thinking. He tracks down Diana, only to be beaten up by her boyfriend Rocco (Carl Duerring), but when he calls on his inner Poirot he alights on Perkel.

Diana reveals her true plan to the astonished Branco, who is shot by Rocco, with the entrepreneurial woman taking over his drug-running operation. Then with the help of the strippers and waiters at the club, Bert brings the villainous trio to the club where he enacts a potential second killing with the cops looking on.

So some very well-drawn characters make this worth more than the meager plot suggests. Perkel is a beaut. It’s worth remembering that Q was hardly a harmless inventor, and that most of his gadgets were meant to kill the enemy, such actions deemed justified because the bad guys are Russians or intent on global domination. Perkel is of the same boastful persuasion as Q, demanding that his ingenuity be recognized, willing to carry out murder for free just for the opportunity of proving that his weapon can kill more than snakes or horses. He is easily flattered and even when being arrested believes the cops are more interested in his invention – who knows, maybe it would end up in Q’s laboratory.

Diana, too, is something of a surprise, shifting from being apparently nothing more than a gangster’s moll to becoming the kind of ambitious gangster her boyfriend could not hope to emulate and more ruthless.

And Bert, while dogged for sure, and dumping the booze after his wife’s death, never finds a moment’s solace. Solving the murder won’t bring back the victim. Unusually, in this respect, reality intrudes in the world of crime fiction.

John Hewer (Three Spare Wives) went on to become a British television fixture, ironically as an M.C., host of variety show The Pig and Whistle (1965-1977). Ann Lynn (Piccadilly Third Stop, 1960) had a more varied career in television and film with a notable turn as the wife with lesbian tendencies in Baby Love (1969). Kenneth J. Warren was the bad guy with too much imagination in The Saint: The Fiction Makers (1968). Peter Elliott (Village of Daughters, 1962) steals the show as the meek killer who thinks genius excuses murder.

This was put together by the Danzigers, American producer brothers, who were prolific creators of B-pictures designed for the supporting feature slot in the days when audiences demanded double bills. Directed by Ernest Morris (Echo of Diana, 1963) from a script by Paul Tabori (Doomsday at Eleven, 1962).

Had this been made today, with hopefully the stripper element not played for exploitation, critics would have been pointing to the unusual depth of character.

It’s short enough to be well worth a look.

Nobody Runs Forever (1968) / The High Commissioner ****

Character-driven intelligent thriller ripe for re-evaluation. And not just because it stands out from the decade’s genre limitations, neither hero threatened by mysterious forces in the vein of Charade (1963) or Mirage (1965) nor, although espionage elements are involved, fitting into the ubiquitous spy category. Instead, it loads mystery upon mystery and leaves you guessing right to the end.

And a deluge of mystery would not work – even with the London high-life gloss of cocktail parties, casinos and the Royal Box at Wimbledon – were it not for the believable characters. Rough Aussie Outback cop Scobie Malone (Rod Taylor) is despatched to London at the behest of New South Wales prime minister (Leo McKern) to bring home Australian High Commissioner Sir James Quentin (Christopher Plummer) to face a charge of murder.

*Probably a better title than either “Nobody Runs Forever”*
*or “The High Commissioner.”*

Unlike most cop pictures, Malone is not sent to investigate a case, he is merely muscle. While he may have his doubts about the evidence against Quentin, suspected of murdering his first wife, he resists all attempts to re-open the case. Arriving in the middle of a peace conference hosted by the principled Quentin, he agrees to investigate security leaks from Australia House and along the way turns into an impromptu bodyguard when Quentin’s life is endangered. But Quentin’s wife Sheila (Lilli Palmer) and secretary Lisa (Camilla Sparv) are not taken in by the deception and so Malone himself forms part of the mystery.

With a preference for cold beer to expensive champagne, you might expect Malone to be a bull in a china shop. Instead, dressed for the part by the solicitous Quentin, Malone fits easily into high society, taking time out from his duties for a dalliance with the elegant Madame Chalon (Daliah Lavi). The background is not the gloss but the passion the Quentins still feel for each other, she willing to do anything (literally) to save her husband, he losing the thread of an important speech when worried about his wife.

While there is no shortage of suspects for all nefarious activities, red herrings abound and cleverly you are left to make up your own mind, rather than fingers being ostentatiously pointed. There is some delicious comedy between Malone and Quentin’s uptight butler (Clive Revill), enough punch-ups, chases and clever tricks to keep the movie more than ticking along but at its core are the relationships. Malone’s growing respect for Quentin does not overrule duty, Lisa’s evident love for Quentin cannot be taken the obvious further step, Sheila’s overwhelming need to safeguard her husband sends her into duplicitous action.

The politics are surprisingly contemporary, attempts to alleviate hunger and prevent war, and while there was much demonstration during the decade in favor of world peace, this is the only picture I can think of where a politician’s main aim is not self-aggrandisement, greed or corruption. There are some twists on audience expectation – the dinner-jacketed Malone in the casino does not strike a James Bond pose and start to play, he is seduced rather than seducer, and remains a working man throughout.

Rod Taylor (Dark of the Sun, 1968) and Christopher Plummer (Fall of the Roman Empire, 1964) are terrific sparring partners, red-blooded male versus ice-cool character, their jousts verbal rather than physical. The rugged Taylor turns on the charm when necessary, a throwback to his character in Fate Is the Hunter (1964). Thoughts of his wife soften Plummer’s instinctive icy edge. Lilli Palmer (The Counterfeit Traitor) is superb as yet another vulnerable woman, on the surface in total control, but underneath quivering with the fear of loss. Two graduates of the Matt Helm school are given meatier roles, Daliah Lavi (The Silencers, 1966), as seductress-in-chief is a far cry from her stunning roles in The Demon (1963) and The Whip and the Body (1963) – and it still feels a shame to me that she was so ill-served in the way of roles by Hollywood. Camilla Sparv (Murderers Row, 1966) has a more low-key role.

Clive Revill (The Double Man, 1967) has another scene-stealing part and look out for Calvin Lockhart (Dark of the Sun), Burt Kwouk (The Shoes of the Fisherman, 1968) and, shorn of his blond locks, an unrecognizable Derren Nesbit (The Naked Runner, 1967) and in his final role Hollywood legend Franchot Tone (Mutiny on the Bounty, 1935).

Ralph Thomas (Deadlier than the Male, 1967) directs with minimum fuss, always focused on character, although there is a sly plug for Deadlier than the Male in terms of a cinema poster. (Speaking of posters, I couldn’t help notice this interesting advert at an airport for a VC10 promoted as “10derness.”) Wilfred Greatorex (The Battle of Britain, 1969) made his screenplay debut, adapting the bestseller by Jon (The Sundowners) Cleary. This may not be quite a true four-star picture but it is a grade above three-star.

CATCH-UP: Rod Taylor films reviewed in the blog so far are Seven Seas to Calais (1962), Fate Is the Hunter (1964), The Liquidator (1965), The Glass Bottom Boat (1966), Hotel (1967) and Dark of the Sun (1968).

Three Days of the Condor (1975) *****

My belated tribute to the recently-deceased Robert Redford. He’s made a bunch of worthier films and his pair with Paul Newman – Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) and The Sting (1973) – take some beating. But this is the one I go back to the most because it combines worthiness with thrills and two stunning performances.

Outstanding thriller in the paranoia vein with Robert Redford delivering one of his best performances. Never mind the terrific score by Dave Grusin (Tell Them Willie Boy Is Here, 1969), the soundtrack to this tale of political chicanery involving the C.I.A. is the chattering of computer printers.

Joe Turner (Robert Redford) is an amiable geek – beanie hat, unfashionable Solex moped – working in an obscure department of the C.I.A. (although one where the receptionist has a gun in her desk drawer) looking for codes in novels. He doesn’t quite conform to type, irritating his rules-conscious colleagues, late for work, illicitly using the back door instead of the front. On returning from collecting lunch, he finds the entire department massacred. His Washington boss Higgins (Cliff Robertson) promises to bring him in but instead arranges an ambush.

On the run, unable to return to his own apartment, his girlfriend Janice (Tina Chen) among those murdered, he kidnaps photographer Kathy (Faye Dunawaye) at first content to find somewhere to hole up but then using her to help him resolve the issues. It’s soon apparent that Turner, in his desk job, has stumbled upon a secret organisation deep within the C.I.A. In a touch of the Hitchcocks, director Sydney Pollack (The Scalphunters, 1968) lets the audience know what Turner does not, that Higgins and his bosses Wabash (John Houseman) and Atwood (Addison Powell) are out for his blood, assassin Joubert (Max von Sydow) the triggerman.

But as Joubert points out, Turner is an amateur and that makes him unpredictable. The killers believe Turner will easily be dealt with. But he’s not as stupid or unresourceful as they might expect. The opening section reveals just how handy he is: fixing a computer, knowledgeable about plants and for some reason the weather, working out an insoluble murder in a book, and most important of all has learned to trust nobody especially his bosses. It turns out he’s got a few of his own tricks up his sleeve, not least how to work a telephone exchange to his advantage and how to flush out his adversaries.

There’s a terrific game of cat-and-mouse and in possibly the only picture in the early cycle of conspiracy pictures the first character capable of harnessing technology.

You often read about character-driven movies but that’s only usually in the sense of dramatic flaws or preferring exploring personality to action. This is character-driven in an entirely different way. Turner’s life depends on him being able to read character, to notice what’s wrong or false in a given situation, to assess the qualities of those around him. For much of the dialogue, Turner is observing as much as listening, watching for behavioural clues.

*Original title of “Six Days of the Condor” “wasn’t snappy enough for Hollywood.*

Even without the presence of Kathy, this would have been a highly satisfactory thriller. But the tentative romance takes it to another level. Unusually, she is a loner, whose photographic metier is loneliness. That they bond at all is surprising, that they do so with such touching emotion brings unexpected intimacy.

There’s a very contemporary feel to the politics, not just American authorities doing what they want but the idea that liberal values will vanish the moment there is genuine threat to loss of the high living standards citizens enjoy or, worse, oil or gas rationing or famine. “Do we have plans to invade the Middle East?” Turner demands of Higgins. You can’t get more contemporary than that! And at one point Turner uses unsuspecting people as a human shield.

For such a fast-moving picture, time is taken out to understand the characters involved, Higgins not quite as far up the espionage tree as he should be, Joubert’s hobby the meticulous painting of model soldiers. A peck on the cheek is all the information we are given that Tina, a work colleague, is Turner’s girlfriend.

As Kathy moves from indignant captive to welcome participant, you can see that she represents the desire of many liberals to give the authorities a bloody nose. There is one brilliant moment at the end where Turner’s fears overcome his feelings and the devastation of what she perceives as emotional betrayal is seen on her face.

But this is Robert Redford’s picture. He was on an almighty box office roll – Jeremiah Johnson (1972), The Sting (1973), The Way We Were (1973), The Great Gatsby (1974), The Great Waldo Pepper (1975) and on the horizon All the President’s Men (1976). Every minute of the movie his face or body are working hard, eyes constantly involved in the character observation I mentioned. He goes from being light-hearted and handsome at the start to serious and deadly at the end. And there are some superb bits of business. When the rain stops, for example, he checks his watch to see it has ended when he predicted. When he returns after lunch, he peers down over the steps to see that his moped that earlier some kids had tried to steal was still there.

This is probably the quietest you’ll ever see Faye Dunaway (A Place for Lovers, 1968). She is an enigma, the puzzle only uncovered in her photographs. But as a photographer, she is also an observer, and she soon likes what she sees in Turner. The strong supporting cast includes Cliff Robertson (Masquerade, 1965), Max von Sydow (The Quiller Memorandum, 1966), John Houseman (Seven Days in May, 1964), Tina Chen (Alice’s Restaurant, 1969) and Addison Powell (The Thomas Crown Affair, 1968).

Sydney Pollack does an exceptional job, cutting between the pursuers and the pursued. The opening sequence itself is quite superb as the director sets up the massacre which is carried out in silence, machine guns fitted with suppressors, while providing insight into Turner. Based on the bestseller Six Days of the Condor by James Grady, the intelligent screenplay by Lorenzo Semple Jr.(Fathom, 1967, and The Parallax View, 1974) and David Rayfiel (Castle Keep, 1969) keeps everyone on their toes.

More straightforwardly enjoyable than Coppola’s self-conscious The Conversation (1974) and Pakula’s occasionally opaque The Parallax View (1974) with computer surveillance, giving this another contemporary edge, a key factor in the way the tale that switches between pursued and pursuer

Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965) ****

Otto Preminger (Hurry Sundown, 1967) returns to his film noir roots (Laura, 1944; Whirlpool, 1950) for this crisply-told tale, mixing police procedural with psycho-drama, of a missing child who may the figment of her mother’s imagination. It’s beautifully filmed and for anyone brought up on modern cinema of short takes and the camera bouncing from one close-up to the next, it will be a revelation, as Preminger favors classic Hollywood style, long takes, in a single shot the camera often following a person in and out of several rooms, and equally classical composition, scenes containing three or four characters where everyone acts within the frame.

Single-mother Ann (Carol Lynley) turns up to collect her four-year-old daughter Bunny from her first day at a London nursery only to discover not just the child gone but nobody has any recollection of the child being there in the first place. That is, apart from the school cook (Lucie Mannheim), who promised to look out for the child but who has subsequently disappeared. Ann is anxious anyway because she is moving house and in her new apartment has an encounter with her creepy landlord Horacio (Noel Coward), a master of the innuendo and the casual stroke of the arm.

It’s a very English school with stiff-upper-lip not to mention snippy teachers. “We mustn’t get emotional,” school administrator Miss Smollett (Anna Massey) warns the distraught mother. Ann’s brother Steven (Keir Dullea), a journalist, kicks up more of a stink, arguing with staff, and with a very threatening manner. Things get creepier still. Upstairs, they hear voices but it’s just the school’s founder Ada (Martita Hunt) who records children talking about nightmares. Steven seems over-protective towards his sister, which is understandable, and somewhat over-affectionate, which is not.

Detective Superintendent Newhouse (Laurence Olivier) and sidekick Sgt Andrews (Clive Revill) investigate. He is an unusual cop. A university graduate but not of the excitable Inspector Morse persuasion for one thing, and reasonable to an irritating degree in that he keeps all his options open. But the cops are thorough, descriptions of the missing child issued, search of the premises and surrounding area undertaken. But it turns out there is no record of Bunny in the school ledger, no sign of her existence in the flat, and it transpires that as a child herself Ann had an imaginary companion called Bunny.

As Steven becomes more obstreperous and the intense Ann verges on the hysterical, not helped by the unwanted attentions of the landlord, a BBC performer with a melodious voice he believes irresistible to women and more than a passing interest in sadism, the case appears to be heading in the direction of a quick visit to a psychiatry ward. The usual anchor in these situations, the policeman, is not as definite as normal, Newhouse not pushing the investigation in a direction the audience will find acceptable, but largely standing back, as if yet to make up his mind, which adds to the sense of mystery.

*Carol Lynley with the potential landlord from hell Noel Coward.*

Preminger isn’t in the business of piling twist upon twist, but as these arrive in due course, the options they offer are even more psychologically damaging. And from setting off at a steady pace with everything apparently settled down by the steady superintendent, the minute he departs the scene, the story takes on a different dimension and there are three superb chilling scenes, one in hospital, another in a doll’s hospital and the last in a garden as the question of just who is unhinged becomes more apparent. There is certainly madness in the movie but it comes when you least expect it and from a direction you may not have considered. On another level, the world of children is entirely alien to the adult and the reconciliation between the two worlds impossible to bridge.

Preminger extracts a performance from Laurence Olivier (Khartoum, 1966) that cuts the character to the bone, eliminating many of the actor’s tropes and tics, but at the same time making him perfectly human, unable to resist, for example, a traditional school pudding, and finding ways to curb Steven’s excesses while comforting Ann. By controlling the actor who always exerts screen presence, Preminger makes him come across with even greater authority. It’s an achievement in itself to ensure that Olivier never raises his voice.

Carol Lynley (The Pleasure Seekers, 1964) is excellent as the distraught mother, one step away from losing her mind and Keir Dullea (The Fox, 1967) constantly raises the stakes. Noel Coward (The Italian Job, 1969) possibly does the best job of the lot, his normal high levels of sophistication eschewed in favour of the downright creepy. In supporting roles look out for Clive Revill (Kaleidoscope, 1966), Finlay Currie (Vendetta for the Saint, 1969), Anna Massey (De Sade, 1969) and Adrienne Corri (The Viking Queen, 1967). Pop group The Zombies featuring Rod Argent and Colin Blunstone put in an appearance.

Husband-and-wife team John Mortimer (John and Mary, 1969) and Penelope Mortimer (The Pumpkin Eater, 1964) wrote the screenplay from the besteller by Evelyn Piper. But it is most assuredly an Otto Preminger production. He has a surprisingly good grasp of British custom and character, shot all the movie on location, but in black-and-white so it is not dominated by the tourist London of red buses or red pillar boxes, and his probing camera and long takes are a marvel for any cinematic scholar.