Uncategorized – Page 3 – The Magnificent 60s

It Takes a Thief / The Challenge (1960) ****

Extremely dark-edged thriller at least a decade ahead of its time. Absolute corker of a sting in the tail. Instead of being the gangster’s moll, Jayne Mansfield – following on from another British-made thriller Playgirl After Dark / Too Hot to Handle (1960) – turns the genre on its head by playing the smart leader of a gang of bank robbers constantly evading detection by the police. Anthony Quayle (East of Sudan, 1964) drops his good guy stiff upper lip screen persona in favor of a villain.

Most heist movies either fall into the category of mostly heist (Topkapi, 1964) and half-heist and half-aftermath. Here the heist is dealt with pretty quickly and then we’re into a complicated aftermath with double cross the order of the day. Even the supposed good guys – a cop and a union leader – have a distinctly mean streak. And on top of that we have a whole load of car chases. Just one would be unusual at the time for this budget category, but here we have three, complete with crashes and cars totaled off the road. And on top of that there’s an exceptionally creepy attempt at getting an inconvenient young child to commit suicide by playing chicken on a railway line.

Widowed lorry driver Jim (Anthony Quayle), who has dreams of owning a farm, is seduced into acting as the driver for the latest bank heist organized by Billy (Jayne Mansfield). While his van loaded with the loot tootles off unimpeded, she acts as bait in another car to snooker the cops into pursuing the rest of the gang. As proof of her love for him, she entrusts him with burying the loot in a place of his choosing.

He doesn’t get the chance to dig it up again because someone’s snitched on him, most likely Billy’s ex Kristy (Carl Mohner). And since he can’t snitch on the gang to save his own skin he ends up doing a five-year stretch. When he comes out, he finds the cops shadowing his every move, and Kristy taking his place in Billy’s bed. Det Sgt Gittens (Edward Judd) decides to play dirty by suggesting that Jim is intent on double-crossing her.

The gang, determined on recovering the loot as soon as possible, have their own arsenal of dirty tricks, beating up Jim’s mother and kidnapping his son. You’d think that with his mum black and blue and his son in the hands of the crooks that Jim would give up the loot. But, as I said, he’s not a good guy and is willing to risk all he supposedly holds dearly to get his hands on the dosh.

There’s a twist that Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (1974) later down the line exploit. Instead of someone building a school over the hiding place as with the Clint Eastwood picture, here it is hidden under dozens of barrels of high explosive encased in barbed wire. With the deadline approaching for killing his son, Jim attempts to enlist a bunch of local laborers only to be stopped in his tracks by the bureaucracy of a union shop steward.

Meanwhile, the couple, and despite all the motherliness of the childless wife (Barbara Mullen), forced to hide the child aren’t making the slightest attempt to help him escape. Instead, we watch with incredulity as one of the hoods, stumbling upon an easy way to get rid of a body, tempts the child into playing the aforementioned game of chicken.

Tension remains at a peak all the way through, in part because audiences are expecting Anthony Quayle to rouse himself from the depths of criminality and do the right thing, but mostly, in the template that Christopher Nolan would follow, three sets of narrative constantly come together.

There are two stings in the tail. Firstly, the burial site is obliterated when the barrels of high explosive shoot sky high. Secondly, with decided relish, Sgt Gittens informs Billy that the cops recovered the loot years before, so he’d risked mother and son for nothing. You can’t get blacker irony than that.

Jayne Mansfield was a much bigger attraction than Anthony Quayle and she puts in a superb performance as the mastermind and the practical woman, not willing to put career or love life on hold while Jim does his time. And while she’s slinky enough and occasionally brazen, she’s also decidedly human, but no more inclined than Jim to allow anybody to get in the way of the rewards of crime.

Like the crime pictures Britain showed a distinct aptitude for in the 1970s – Get Carter (1971), Villain (1971) and Sitting Target (1972) – this stays resolutely on the wrong side of the fence with not a single redeemable character.

Written and directed by John Gilling before he shifted into horror (The Reptile, 1966), this is a more than able piece, pulling no punches and resisting the temptation to sneak in any sentimentality.

Minor gem.

Catch it on Talking Pictures TV.

On Swift Horses (2025) *** – Seen at the Cinema

Authentic story stymied by unlikely plot. Set in a post-Korean War American when the United States is still a land of opportunity even for blue collar workers but sexuality and other forms of self-expression are stifled and the homosexual world is only accessible through secret codes. Married Muriel (Daisy Edgar-Jones) hankers after something of the wilder life apparently enjoyed by the brother Julius (Jacob Elordi) of her staid husband Lee (Will Poulter). Truth be told she hankers after an illicit relationship with Julius.

Muriel harbors two other secrets. Firstly, she wants to gamble, a notion that would never gain approval from her husband, who accounts for every penny in his bid to own his own home and thus move up in society. Secondly, she has lesbian tendencies and gradually, encouraged by the self-confidence generated through successful betting at the racetrack, she assumes a different persona, surprisingly capable of making the first move.

Lee is aware of his brother’s proclivities, though these, too, are measured in guarded tones. Julius lives “in another world”, not just the low-down hustling and gambling and earning a living as a gigolo and card cheat. His homosexuality is repressed but his barriers are broken down by Mexican hustler Henry (Diego Calva). But while Julius is willing to settle for a life of energetic sex with Henry, his lover has greater ambition and plans to move up in society via the scam route.

Muriel’s affection for Julius is not hampered by the fact that he constantly steals from her, pocketing the cash she sends him for a bus fare home, burglarizing their house while they sleep. And while she is happy to indulge in a casual affair with gay neighbor Sandra (Sasha Calle) she’s not whole-heartedly committed to that lifestyle. And it’s hard to see just how committed she is to Lee – the horde of cash she wins at the racecourse she keeps hidden from her husband even though it would miraculously ease their upwardly mobility.

While Muriel negotiates the hidden world with some care – gay people of both sexes meet at a certain hotel or come together under the guise of a book club – Julius is less wary and is beaten up and robbed a couple of times.

This isn’t quite the lush America of 1950s Hollywood with women bedecked in colorful dresses and enjoying cocktails, but there’s still satisfaction to be had in hauling yourself up and owning a tract of land and your own house. And it’s still down’n’dirty. Casinos spy on customers through two-mirror mirrors set in the ceiling and beat the life out of anyone caught cheating.

What wins your heart is the yearning. Muriel is caught in a half-world, even when she finds a willing lesbian partner she still aches for a heterosexual whirl with Julius. And Julius who believes he has found a safe sexual haven with Henry discovers that the latter’s naked ambition will destroy their tryst.

What doesn’t work are the fairy tale aspects. Julius isn’t a particularly good card cheat, a hidden ace or a partner at another table providing him with illicit advantage at the poker table. You’d expect he’d be rumbled quite easily. But the plot says no.

Similarly, Muriel enjoys an unbelievable good run on the horses, able to turn tips overheard from customers in the diner where she works into winning bets. Pretty quickly, and without a stumble, she has amassed a stash of $20,000. As if.

The ending doesn’t work either, Julius galloping on a horse (yep!) from San Diego to Las Vegas – a distance of some 350 miles (that’s some horse!) – after he realizes that, in fact, his heart belongs to Muriel, whose marriage has at last broken up, and she’s decided to follow her heart and become a gambler.

It leaves you wondering what kind of relationship they would have, a lavender marriage, where both are free to indulge in other aspects of their sexuality, no doubt living high on the hog from her racetrack winnings and his cheating at cards.

It looks to me like the director has bottled out of the third act, the one where supposedly they are the person of each other’s dreams and manage to make a life together as happy gamblers, until one or other decides that a person of their own sex is more fulfilling ultimately than a person of the opposite sex.

You didn’t need the barmy plot for this to work. And in fact it’s the barmy plot that gets in the way of it working. Both Julius and Muriel are entirely believable in looking for a love that dare not speak its name but can yet be easily located if you can follow the codes or if your gaydar is sufficiently developed.

Oddly enough, the most heart-breaking scene is the one before the barmy galloping. On the message board inside a gay meeting place are notes revealing the heartbreak caused not just by the dashing of love’s hopes but the destruction of marriages by men unable to conceal their secret desires.

The acting is uniformly good, though Jacob Elordi (Saltburn, 2023) thanks to his vulnerability, wins by a nose from Daisy Edgar-Jones (Twisters, 2024). But Will Poulter (Warfare, 2025) and Diego Calva (Babylon, 2022) also score points. Movie directing debut from Daniel Minahan from a script by Bryce Kass (Lizzie, 2018) based on the novel by Shannon Pufahl.

While you have to admire the actors for taking a gamble on this project – Elordi and Edgar-Jones are down as executive producers so they might also have taken pay cuts. But it has been an unmitigated financial bomb. Even the leanest movies these days appear to cost upwards of $10 million and this has barely touched the $1 million mark in global box offices. I attended the only daily screening at my local multiplex and there was only one other person in the audience. It probably deserves better and might have an afterlife on a streamer.

Enjoy the performances and ignore the plot.

Behind the Scenes: The “Jaws” Juggernaut

Given the surprising success of the reissue of Jaws this weekend – it came in second at the U.S. ticket wickets ahead of such new films as The Roses and Caught Stealing – I thought you might like a second look (or a first one) at exactly how Universal created box office history. And it was not the way you would expect. It did not follow the template set out by previous juggernauts.

Naturally, the hoopla surrounding the 50^th anniversary of Jaws concentrates on the budget overruns, director Steven Spielberg’s problems and the mechanical shark, and no one gives a hoot about the most important aspect of the picture – the box office. Sure, it’s always mentioned in passing, because otherwise the movie would have had little impact on pop culture, the driving force of the water cooler effect when so many people see the same movie at the same time it drives word-of-mouth into the stellar regions.

What is little known is how Jaws changed the release system forever. Even The Godfather (1972), its predecessor in topping the box office firmament, while spreading the goodies amongst nabes and the showcase houses did not ignore first run. In fact, for The Godfather Paramount used five New York first run houses – the 1025-seat Orpheum, 1175-seat State I, 1174-seat State II, 599-seat Cine and 588-seat Tower East – to create a pre-emptive strike. This quintet screened the movie exclusively for the first week, permitting the studio to trumpet the record-breaking results.

The other 350-odd cinemas had to wait a further week to get their hands on the gangster saga.

For Jaws, on the other hand, Universal completely froze out New York first run. Not a single first run house was given access to the picture on its initial release on this weekend 50 years ago.

Instead, in New York, Universal went down the showcase route and clocked up just over $1 million in the first three days at 46 cinemas. Prior to Jaws, the only pictures that would open first in showcase in New York and ignore that city’s vibrant first run were those that first run would most likely have declined to show.

With Jaws, across the country Universal was as ruthless in squeezing out first run if it could make a better deal in the nabes and drive-ins. So while Jaws set house records at all the first run houses that were deemed up to standard, it also creamed the nabes and drive ins. Significantly, not all the first run houses chosen would have been the first choice of most studios for a major picture. You wouldn’t have expected this behemoth to end up at the 925-seat Gopher in Minneapolis where it took in $47,000. Similarly, the 900-seat Charles in Boston ($55,000 take) would not have been your first choice (and it’s worth noting that it was only in this city that the movie did not top the week, beaten into second place by Woody Allen’s Love and Death at the 525-seat Cheri Three).

By and large, Universal picked off those first run cinemas that were so delighted to be asked they agreed to the tough terms – a 90/10 split in the studio’s favor and a 12-week run.

Other first run destinations included the 800-seat Cooper in Denver ($53,000 for openers), the 1670-seat Coliseum in San Francisco ($68,000), the 900-seat Southgate I and 550-seat Town Center II in Portland ($55,000 total), the 1836-seat Gateway in Pittsburgh ($70,000) and the 1287-seat Midland in Kansas City ($55,000). In these cities, the premiere outing was restricted to first run.

But while in Chicago the 1126-seat United Artists hauled in $116,000 in the opener, Universal played it canny by screening it simultaneously at four other nabes which brought in another $260,000. It was the same in Cleveland where the 455-seat Severance II was the only first run house among the five cinemas that hoovered up a total of $84,000. The first run 500-seat Goldman in Philadelphia was the only first run location among the total of 15 cinemas that knocked up $312,000.

Elsewhere, echoing the New York approach, first run cinemas were frozen out in Detroit, Buffalo and San Francisco. In Detroit seven nabes gobbled up $350,000, in Buffalo a deuce of nabes snatched $50,000, in San Francisco a trio set about $75,000.

We’ve all seen movies driven to opening weekend box office heights on the back of heavy advertising or hyperbole only to take a dive in the second week. And the fact that Universal was not making an “event” out of its movie by restricting it to first run meant that the sophomore weekend could easily have brought disaster.

Instead, receipts at virtually all the cinemas either beat the first week or fell only fractionally below. The opening weekend appeared to set the tone, every successive day better than the previous one.

Universal immediately set its sights on taking down The Godfather and began posting weekly advertisements in the trade papers hyping its performance at the box office. But in nudging first run out of the equation, it triggered the slow decline of first run houses.

Tomorrow, you can catch on my article that sunk many of the other myths surrounding Jaws, “Behind the Scenes: Exploding The Myth of Jaws.”

SOURCE: Variety.

The Great Train Robbery / The First Great Train Robbery (1978) ****

Back in the day your IP was the star. And here Sean Connery (The Hill, 1965) is the essence of that belief. The camera homes in on him. He steals every scene with an effortlessness that takes your breath away even as co-star Donald Sutherland (Don’t Look Now, 1973), complete with bizarre sideburns and winks to the audience, is huffing and puffing to compete.

Come at it as the standard heist movie and you will struggle to enjoy it because it is made up of too many different components. But approach it from a different perspective, that of The Sting (1973) as one critic suggests, and it takes on a different complexion and the getting there becomes a whole lot of fun. The background, Victorian England of the 1850s, doesn’t help so much as the sets look like they’ve been plundered from Oliver! (1968) and dirtied up a bit.

It’s worth remembering that in an era when the Mission Impossible series has been constantly sold on Tom Cruise undertaking his own stunts that Sean Connery did something much more dangerous than anything attempted by Cruise which was to race along the top of a train travelling at 55 miles an hour.

And if you need some contemporary analogy, look no further than the rich get richer and mostly through plundering. The ending presents the notion of a Robin Hood outwitting the forces of law and order to the acclaim of the public. But that would be to overlook the fact that chief thief Pierce (Sean Connery) is already so wealthy from previous nefarious dealings that he hobnobs with the rich, so accepted in their world of male clubs and high society that, like a financial trader, he is able to pick their pockets of vital information.

Though it’s not quite that easy. The target is a trainload of gold bullion heading for the Crimean War. And the two safes containing the dosh require four keys, each under the control of a different high-up official, requiring several separate audacious thefts. This involves some play-acting from the principals, dressing up in the main from female accomplice Miriam (Lesley Anne Down), clever duping by Pierce and old-fashioned burglary from pickpocket Agar (Donald Sutherland) who waves his fingers around like a demented Fagin, and whose main job is make wax impressions of stolen keys.

So Pierce pretends to be the ardent wooer of the daughter of one of the key holders, and Miriam essays a prostitute to relieve a key holder of the precious possession he wears around his neck. But the other two keys require a more professional approach which involves first of all the springing from prison of cat burglar Clean Willy (Wayne Sleep) to break into the guarded railway premises in a time-dependent operation.

But the cops get wind of the plan and increase security on the train, including adding a new padlock to the outer door. “Find me a dead cat!”, while not quite in the league of “The name’s Bond, James Bond” might well count as one of the best lines ever uttered by Sean Connery.

Said deceased animal is brought in to supply the necessary stink for a corpse should the cops consider opening the casket containing Agar which is to travel on the train, providing the team with the necessary inside man. But Agar and Miriam as the weeping widow of the supposed dead man have very little to do compared to Pierce who has to climb on top of the train, racing along the speeding top, drop down the side in an improvised harness and pick the padlock, then do the whole thing in reverse.

I may be wrong, and I’m sure someone will correct me if I am, but if this wasn’t the first time running along the top of a moving train was employed in a movie it certainly set a new standard, especially in the willingness of the actor to carry out his own stunts.

Pretty much all that remains after that is the twists that see Pierce captured and then escape. You could pick a few holes in it if you wish. The fact that after Pierce swapping coats (the one that had lain beside a dead cat for hours and provided sufficient stink to convince the lawmen) with Agar, nobody noticed the smell seems unlikely. The same would apply to bank manager Fowler (Malcolm Terris) who fails to spot that the widow he shares a compartment with for the entire journey is the prostitute who duped him, though that prospect does increase the tension.

If you’re expecting a standard heist movie then this takes way too long to come to the boil, but if you go along with the conceit and enjoy the playing especially of Sean Connery and ignore the mugging of Donald Sutherland it is in the forefront of the best robbery pictures.

And it’s worth noting the little gems in Connery’s acting. There’s a scene where Lesley Anne Down is berating him for making her become a prostitute (implicit is her fear she might actually need to have sex with the client). He’s eating an orange. Ignoring her complaints as just part of the job, he offers her some of his fruit as if his main worry is being seen to be rude hogging the fruit to himself.

Connery proves exactly why you hire a star. He carries the picture. There’s a lightness to his overall performance, notwithstanding the few times he needs to take a tougher line, that makes the film a joy. Whereas Donald Sutherland is either too heavy-handed or overacting. This proved a breakthrough role for Lesley Anne Down (British television’s Upstairs, Downstairs, 1973-1975).

Director Michael Crichton (Westworld, 1973) cuts himself too much slack in the first half of the picture which could have been considerably tightened up but comes into his own with the tension and twists of the heist and he has the good sense to rely on Connery’s interpretation of Pierce. He also wrote the script based on his own novel, a fictionalization of the actual original robbery attempt.

There already had been an incredibly famous Great Train Robbery in Britain in 1963, hence the need to differentiate this from that by inserting the prefix “First” to the advertising in Britain.

Great fun and worth a watch.

The Battle of the Villa Florita (1965) ****

One of the few romantic comedies of the 1960s to resonate today. Neglected wife Moira (Maureen O’Hara) abandons her two children to fly to the eponymous villa on Lake Garda in Italy to take up with composer Lorenzo (Rossano Brazzi). While husband Darrell (Richard Todd) accepts the fait accompli, kids Michael (Martin Stephens) and Debby (Elizabeth Dear) set out to bring her back. Although Disney had created a hit on the similar theme with The Parent Trap (1961) – also starring O’Hara – this failed to find an audience primarily because it sailed too close to comfort regarding the reality of the effect of separation and impending divorce on children.

Nor are these kids Disney cute. While Debby occasionally calls upon her internal winsomeness to tug at heartstrings, both she and Michael are made of sterner stuff. Unwilling to use comedy as a means of bringing the errant adults to heel, the movie gets deeper and deeper into darker territory, as the kids embark on a war of attrition, disruption the cushy love-nest and forcing their mother to accept her maternal responsibilities. And the ending is far from what you would term happy.

Moira injects some nascent feminism into her role, determining that she is entitled to happiness rather than merely fulfilling the part of a good mother, running a household, looking after her offspring and enjoying the life of a well-to-do matron marred by a husband too often away on business and the too-familiar company of boring respectable friends. A Disney picture would have seen the kids relying on the kindness of strangers or harmless subterfuge to make the trip from Britain by boat and train to Italy. Here, they fund the journey by selling Debby’s horse. The trek is not only dull but on their miserable budget they spend most of the time famished, unable to afford food on the train, resigned to watching adults in their compartment stuff their faces (Disney would have had the grown-ups share out the tasty fare).

Arriving at the palatial villa, where Moira is waited on hand and foot, spoiled by presents and ardently wooed, the children are under no illusion about the uphill battle they face especially when Moira is not immediately stricken enough by conscience to give in to their entreaties. Lorenzo’s initial solution is to fly the children home. Adult fortitude begins to waver when the English offspring join up with Lorenzo’s estranged daughter Donna (Olivia Hussey) on a hunger strike. Lorenzo shows a sharper side to his temperament, Moira a weaker. The children’s solidarity is, however, sorely tested by their own differences.

That there is no easy solution – the kids perhaps joining their mother full-time in Italy or some kind of child-sharing scheme – is what gives this movie its power. The classical idea of a repressed woman finding redemption in the arms of an Italian lover (as with Summertime, 1955, also starring Brazzi) is turned on its head as reality intervenes. It’s as well the kids don’t kill us with cuteness, but instead present a realistic example of what it’s like for adoring children to be abandoned. As the film progresses, and the children turn the screw, they soon face adult realization that, even if they win, the mother they will bring back will not be the mother they knew.

After turns with James Stewart (Mr Hobbs Takes a Vacation, 1962) and John Wayne (McLintock!, 1963), Maureen O’Hara had regained her marquee appeal, and although feisty enough in those outings, this was a different, and more courageous, performance than her fans might have expected. Her conflict is mostly internalized and especially when her children fail to see her point of view, that feistiness vanishes from view, replaced by a more somber, thoughtful individual. Brazzi is excellent as the lover whose paternal responsibilities he takes lightly compromised by a woman forced to come to terms with motherhood. Martin Stephens (The Innocents, 1961), Elizabeth Dear (The Pumpkin Eater, 1964) and, making her debut, Olivia Hussey (Romeo and Juliet, 1968) make convincing, conniving, children still dealing with their own hormonal and emotional growth.

Adapting the bestseller by Rumer Godden (Black Narcissus, 1947), this proved to be final movie for veteran director Delmer Daves (Spencer’s Mountain, 1963 – also starring O’Hara.).

The Moon-Spinners (1964) ***

Every new Hayley Mills film was an exercise in transition. Would audiences allow the successful child star – the first for a generation – to grow up? Or would they turn against her as they had Shirley Temple? And would her paymasters Disney in the penultimate film in her contract assist her by offering more mature roles or insist she remained the cute kid? She had already ventured into more adult territory with the British-made The Chalk Garden (1964).

Set on the island of Crete, what starts out as typical Disney travelog – traditional Greek wedding and annual festival parade – soon morphs into darker sub-Hitchcockian territory. Nikki (Hayley Mills) on holiday with her aunt (Joan Greenwood), a collector of folk songs, becomes mixed up with skin diver Mark (Peter McEnery) who appears to be on the trail of a local man Stratos (Eli Wallach). Young love looks set to blossom except for the villainy afoot. The picture holds on to its various mysteries for too long so exposition comes in a flood in the second act while the third act introduces a new set of characters including British consul (John Le Mesurier) and wealthy yacht owner Madame Habib (legendary silent star Pola Negri).

*Hayley looks far more well-endowed in the poster than in real life and these days the advert would certainly raise eyebrows for sexualizing a 14-year-old character.*

Along the way some excellent scenes feature: a nerve-tingling high-wire stunt on a revolving windmill, a punch-up on a speeding boat, the drunken wife (Sheila Hancock) of the consul, feral cats in an ancient monument, an old woman thinking she is going crazy when a bottle moves seemingly of its own volition, a hearse doubling as an ambulance, a cowardly leopard and a belter of a slap meted out by Nikki. Mark, physically inhibited by a gunshot wound, has to cede investigation into the nefarious activities to Nikki who in any case has already played the independence card.

Getting all the necessary information to the audience and ensuring various characters are properly introduced without the whole enterprise turning into a turgid mess is a tricky proposition but director James Neilson is equally at home with complicated plot and multi-character scenario from Dr Syn, Alias the Scarecrow (1963) and with Mills from Summer Magic (1963). And he lets mystery and action take precedence over budding romance, the kiss when it comes hardly going to make an audience swoon, and uses the traditional Greek elements to build up atmosphere.

All in all entertaining enough, especially if viewed as Saturday matinee material, but it’s clear that the leading roles would have worked better if played by older characters as was the case with the source novel by Mary Stewart. Hayley Mills (Pollyanna, 1960) makes a game stab at putting forward a more grown-up persona but relies far too much on the acting tricks that got her into the child-star business in the first place. Even so, once she exerts her independence, she becomes more believable although the idea of a teenager solving a crime creates more problems than it solves in attracting an adult audience.

In his first leading role Peter McEnery (Beat Girl, 1960) impresses. Villainy is a stock in trade for Eli Wallach (The Magnificent Seven, 1960) but here he dials down the brutality. Irene Papas (The Guns of Navarone, 1961) plays his sister and were it not for her husky voice Joan Greenwood (Tom Jones, 1963) would have been a dead ringer for a dotty aunt. It’s a treat to see a famed silent star Pola Negri (Shadows of Paris, 1924) putting in an appearance. Character actors John Le Mesurier (The Liquidator, 1965), Andre Morrell (The Vengeance of She, 1968) and Sheila Hancock (Night Must Fall, 1964) complete the British contingent. For British television writer Michael Dyne this proved his sole screenplay.

Catch Up: you can follow Hayley Mills’ unfolding career on the Blog through reviews of Pollyanna, In Search of the Castaways (1963), The Truth about Spring (1965), Sky, West and Crooked / The Gypsy Girl (1966), The Trouble with Angels (1966), adult breakthrough The Family Way (1966), Pretty Polly / A Matter of Innocence (1967) and Twisted Nerve (1968).

The Swimming Pool / La Piscine (1969) ****

A drunk falls into a swimming pool in the middle of the night and drowns. He has already crashed his car into the gate post of the villa. There’s no sign of foul play. No sign of the fact that his attempts to clamber out are hindered by someone holding his head down under the water until he loses consciousness.

The perfect murder? Well, no, actually, because in the aftermath of the murder, recovering alcoholic killer Jean-Paul (Alain Delon) does about the dumbest thing you’ve ever seen. And that significantly detracts from what otherwise is a superb examination of sexual tension and hidden secrets.

So instead of leaving the corpse of best friend Harry (Maurice Ronet) floating fully clothed in the titular pool, Jean-Paul decides it would look better if it appeared that Harry had foolishly gone for a late night swim. So he pulls the dead guy out, strips off his clothes and decks him out in swimming trunks and slides him back into the watery grave.

He hides the sodden clothes somewhere and at the side of the pool puts a small stack of fresh clothes stolen from Harry’s wardrobe – he was a guest at the villa. But for some reason in pulling off Harry’s shirt he omits to remove his expensive watch which isn’t waterproof. Inspector Leveque’s (Paul Crauchet) suspicions are aroused by that simple fact. Although, theoretically, Harry might have been too drunk to notice, even though, obviously, the watch strap and the bulky watch would have caught on his shirt sleeve as he was taking off the item of clothing.

So the cop, in examining the clothes, is mightily surprised to discover they are fresh, unworn, not a sign of sweat or crumpled-ness, which is odd given Harry had been out dancing and enjoying himself for hours.

Psychologically, most of the aftermath is not just whether the cold-blooded killer – the otherwise very handsome, relatively charming writer Jean-Paul – will get away with it but whether his girlfriend Marianne (Romy Scheider), who has her own suspicions, will stand by him.

They have enjoyed a very intense sexual relationship and she clearly adores him. But she’s also the ex-lover of Harry and when Jean-Paul’s old pal, who is decidedly smooth with the ladies, turns up, the old sexual jealousy is rekindled. Either to get revenge or because he’s in any case that way inclined Jean-Paul has been making discreet moves on Harry’s eighteen-year-old daughter Penelope (Jane Birkin) who clearly despises her father.

We discover that Jean-Paul owes a great deal of his success to Harry who nurtured him through a severe depression that ended in attempted suicide. Rather than making Jean-Paul eternally grateful, it’s turned him into a spoiled brat, focused primarily on his own needs and without a loyal bone in his body when it comes to women.

For quite a while it looks like record producer Harry is going to steal away Marianne, if only for a brief affair, as Jean-Paul gives in to the sulks. But since Jean-Paul is already eyeing up Penelope, you would have thought any slip by Marianne would provide him with justification.

The murder is spur-of-the-moment. Jean-Paul has been drinking again and when Harry turns up drunk and launches into an attack on Jean-Paul’s character and hidden past, that’s when he ends up in the pool. Every time he tries to get out, Jean-Paul pushes him back in and eventually holds his head down underwater.

And he might have got away with the perfect murder except for stripping the body and forgetting about the watch, but when he decides to end his relationship with Marianne, the focus switches to whether she will betray him or not. There are a couple of twists on that score at the end.

So severely flawed psychological thriller. I’m guessing you could argue that anyone who kills someone out of the blue could easily be suffering from the kind of brain overload that prevents him thinking straight, but I didn’t fall for it. It would have been as easy to continue with the psychological stuff enough with Marianne maybe finding the wet clothes and facing the same choices that she eventually does.

What does elevate it are the performances. Austrian actress Romy Scheider (Otley, 1969), who had previously had an affair with Delon, is superb as a woman not sure if she has any principles given she is so easily in the thrall of attractive men. Although Alain Delon (Le Samourai, 1967) had played bad guys and immoral sorts before, this still feels like a fresh approach, the watchful, withdrawn calculating killer masquerading as something else.

Maurice Ronet (Lost Command, 1966) and Jane Birkin (Blow-Up, 1966) make significant contributions.

And director Jacques Deray (Borsalino, 1970) would have turned out another masterpiece had the movie not stumbled over the oddness of the murder. Written by the director, Alain Page (in his debut) and Jean-Claude Carriere (Viva Maria!, 1965).

Excepting the murder mishmash, superb.

Flight of the Lost Balloon (1961) **

Fantasy enjoys considerable leeway if its fantastical elements make up for lack of character development and narrative scope. This Jules Verne rip-off – it appeared a few months before Five Weeks in a Balloon – hardly even qualifies as a travelog given the background is simply superimposed and the various locales simplistic in the extreme. And not much point employing condors as a tool of attack unless you’ve got Ray Harryhausen to hand. Even with gorillas and cannibals on the loose and villains putting the heroine on the rack it still falls short of the requirements of a standard Saturday matinee.

Explorer Sir Hubert Warrington (Douglas Kennedy) is imprisoned in darkest Africa for refusing to disclose the whereabouts of the fabled Cleopatra treasure. News of his misfortune reaches London courtesy of a character known only as the Hindu (James Lanphier) who hitches a ride back on a balloon navigated by scientist Dr Joseph Faraday (Marshall Thompson) and carrying as passenger Warrington’s fiancée Ellen (Mala Powers) daughter of financier Sir Adam Burton (Robert Gillette).

Since Ellen is closer in years to Joseph than her fiancé and they are going to be thrown together through trial and tribulation you can assume come journey’s end there might be a tussle among the men for her affections. The Hindu has no intention of helping rescue Warrington since he has been behind his imprisonment. Instead, the Hindu reckons Warrington will spill the beans if he sees his fiancée tortured.

Warrington laughs out loud at such presumption and claims he only romanced Ellen to get backing from her father. But, of course, you reckon, he would say that. Except when she is captured and tortured he doesn’t bat an eyelid. Luckily, this is the kind of picture where guards are easily overcome and escape is a foregone conclusion. Plus, since aforementioned fiancé has proved himself unworthy, the way is clear for a Joseph-Ellen match.

Writer-director Nathan Juran, an Oscar-winner for art direction, has done much better than this. Siege of the Saxons (1963), First Men on the Moon (1964) and East of Sudan (1964) are all vast improvements on his debut so clearly he learned some lessons. What he needed to brush up on was obvious, better locales, more interesting characters, and more intriguing narrative rather than stock versions of all three.

There’s not much Mala Powers (Fear No More, 1961) or Marshall Thompson (Clarence, the Cross-Eyed Lion, 1965) can bring to such cliché under-written roles and the Culturally Inappropriate Police would be on the case of James Lanphier.

And, unfortunately, it doesn’t even have enough going for it to earn a place in the much-prized so-bad-it’s-good category.

I watched it so you don’t have to.

The Madwoman of Chaillot (1969) **

This has been lost for decades – and with good reason. Even Katharine Hepburn fresh from an Oscar-winning turn in The Lion in Winter (1968) can’t save this and to be honest I’m struggling to see why anyone wanted to make it in the first place beyond newcomer Commonwealth United intent on making a splash. That it made nothing of the kind is down to a variety of reasons.

First of all, it’s clearly intended as some kind of broad satire on financiers and the kind of get-rich-quick schemes that prey on the ill-informed. Secondly, you might as well have called it Eccentrics Assemble from the number of oddballs present. Thirdly, director Bryan Forbes (King Rat, 1965) works on the principle that he doesn’t need to explain anything – least of all provide important characters with actual names – because it would all be obvious to an intelligent audience. Lastly, and possibly most important of all, since it doesn’t fit into any obvious genre it just jumps between a bunch of them, including the Absurd.

In fact, some of the better sections are driven by absurd situation or observation. Countess Aurelia – the titular madwoman – points out that the Futures market consists of buying something that doesn’t exist and selling it when it does. A policeman tries to save a man who hasn’t drowned by applying the techniques used to save a person who has drowned. You get the gist? I didn’t.

The basic story concerns a bunch of millionaires attempting to acquire the mineral rights to the land underneath Paris because The Prospector (Donald Pleasance) has discovered oil. Did he drill for it? Did tar deposits rise to the surface? Nope, he has detected the existence of oil by sampling water that has been sourced from the ground.

He involves a bunch of Disparate Anonymites, all designated by occupation or title, thus The Chairman (Yul Brynner), The Reverend (John Gavin), The General (Paul Henreid), The Commissar (Oskar Homolka) and The Broker (Charles Boyer) who spend most of the time sitting outside a café complaining.

The Broker is something of an oddity, being both entrepreneur and revolutionary, all set to direct his nephew Roderick (Richard Chamberlain) to explode a bomb in Paris. Naturally, when this plan fails what else is there for Roderick to do but fall instantly in love with waitress Irene (Nanette Newman).

If this isn’t barmy enough for you, Aurelia is stuck in the past, rereading a newspaper from decades ago, while one of her friends Constance has an invisible dog and another Gabrielle an invisible lover. You can see where this is going. If so, you’re doing better than me.

Aurelia, who gets wind of the scheme from Roderick and The Ragpicker (Danny Kaye), decides to exterminate the financiers by luring them into her cellar. Why she didn’t prevail on Roderick to provide her with another bomb to blow them up is anybody’s guess.

Anyway, before she can do the necessary luring, she conducts a mock trial, finding the financiers guilty of everything that anybody with a scintilla of sense would be fully aware of and hardly need such a heavy-handed lecture.

Everyone comes out of this with egg on their face. The only reason it doesn’t get no stars at all is that anything has to be better than Orgy for the Dead (1965) and Anora (2023) and the only reason it isn’t given the one-star rating of that picture is because Katharine Hepburn is in the cast and even though, as I said, she can’t save it, but I wouldn’t to put her in the same category as the nudie horror.

Bryan Forbes and Oscar-winning screenwriter Edward Anhalt (Becket, 1964) expanded the original play by Jean Giraudoux.

YouTube, where this is showing, clearly believed nobody would get to the end of it because it’s absolutely riddled with adverts, literally one every couple of minutes.

Twilight (1997) **

Thirty years later Paul Newman returns to the private eye genre – and finds the well dry. It’s a Hollywood trope that big stars after decades of employing every artifice in the business decide for artistic reasons to fess up and play their age. But the “tired old man” syndrome here is as much a bust as the story and the characters. Susan Sarandon couldn’t have “femme fatale” written on her face in any bigger letters and only the dumbest viewer would not guess from the outset that she had something to do with the mysterious disappearance of her first husband. It’s no surprise that this is so devoid of anything memorable that it is remembered mostly these days for Oscar-winning Reese Witherspoon getting her kit off.

Worse, despite being second-billed, Gene Hackman hardly appears, no more than topping and tailing the picture. We also have a voice-over that’s not replete with wit but is used to fill us in on bits of the narrative that are either opaque or not obvious enough. And it falls back on the Raymond Chandler gimmick of a man bursting into a room with a gun when the narrative starts to slacken. Except the story here is so slack it’s almost immobile. And there’s just a terrible ongoing joke that everyone thinks (apparently) that Paul Newman has had his pecker shot off, which would explain his general curmudgeonly attitude.

Ex-cop private eye Harry Ross (Paul Newman) is down in Mexico to find the missing daughter Mel Ames (Reese Witherspoon) of old buddy Jack on an illegal sexscapade (she’s a minor) with Jeff (Liev Schreiber). In the process of apprehending her he drops his gun (yep, that’s how good he is at this job) and she picks it up and shoots him. Flash forward a couple of years and Harry’s retired and living in a grace-and-favor apartment supplied by a grateful Jack who is dying of cancer. Harry agrees to come out of retirement to deliver a package for Jack, which obviously contains cash for a blackmail pay-out. Come delivery time, Harry stumbles upon the corpse of another ex-cop, Lester (M. Emmet Walsh), who has continued the search for the missing husband of Jack’s current wife Catherine (Susan Sarandon), a former actress not averse to taking her clothes off onscreen.

Into the equation comes cynical cop Capt Egan (John Spencer) and Verna (Stockard Channing), another old buddy and possibly one-time girlfriend (it’s not clear). Meanwhile, Harry falls for the charms of Catherine since only the dumbest of dumb cops can’t recognize a femme fatale when she falls into his lap. Unfortunately, Jack chooses that moment to have a heart attack and quickly works out from the giveaway of Catherine racing to the rescue wearing Harry’s shirt that he’s been cuckolded.

The trail doesn’t exactly lead to another old buddy, Raymond (James Garner), but he gets involved and another red alert flashes on the screen when we learn that Jack owns a million-dollar house (multi-million dollar equivalent these days) that even in his financially-straitened condition he refuses to sell for the obvious reason – as it takes forever for the audience to discover – that the corpse of the missing husband is buried in the grounds.

Jeff, who’s done a four-year stretch for his sojourn in Mexico with Mel, has worked this out and in conjunction with parole officer Gloria (Margo Martindale) is putting the squeeze on Jack. But he’s pretty miffed with Harry and knocks him out. But he’s also as dumb as the rest of the gang and is hiding out in the unsold million-dollar house. So he’s not hard to track down. And not just by Harry but also by the aforementioned character who bursts through a door with a gun when the narrative goes slack.

So, shucks, eventually we learn what we knew from the outset, that Catherine had her first husband bumped off so she could marry Jack and he was complicit. You might not have worked out that Raymond was somehow involved but what the heck there needs to be some twist in the turgid tale.

Naturally, Harry, being a retired cop and private eye now resigned to the vagaries of life, isn’t particularly concerned with putting away Catherine and in any case, as luck would have it, turns out Verna is still sweet on him so they can walk away into the sunset.

Crikey! And this from triple Oscar-winning writer-director Robert Benton (Bonnie and Clyde, 1967 and Kramer vs Kramer 1979). If it’s intended as a parody of the genre, there ain’t much in the way of laffs and if it’s not then, sorry, that’s the way it’s turned out.

Sure it’s world-weary and all that, and Harry is a sad divorced ex-alcoholic who’s very down on his luck, and while there is some brittle dialog it’s not enough to make up for the sludge of the narrative trek.

Yep, Paul Newman (Harper, 1966) comes across as old and Gene Hackman (The Gypsy Moths, 1969) comes across as old and James Garner (Buddwing, 1966) comes across as old but is that it? Honestly? Worse, Oscar-winning Susan Sarandon comes up short in the femme fatale department. You wouldn’t figure Reese Witherspoon either as a superstar in the making. In fact, the droll Margo Martindale steals the show.

This pretty much put the tin lid on the career of Paul Newman as a top-billed star – and it’s worth pointing out that both Sean Connery and Clint Eastwood in that marquee regard went on longer – as it did on the directing career of Robert Benton.

Must’ve seemed a good idea at the time.