1960s film – Page 2 – The Magnificent 60s

The Longest Day (1962) *****

When critics applauded the inspired use of a reaction shot via Omar Sharif to convey the horror of a massacre on the Mocow streets in Doctor Zhivago (1965), they omitted to mention that the technique had been used to similar stunning effect – and twice – in The Longest Day. The first comes when the camera cuts to Red Buttons dangling from a parachute down a building witnessing a massacre in the square below. The second, oddly enough, in virtually the same locale, when John Wayne arrives and views the aftermath.

Emotion was generally not considered a requisite of this epic war picture about the D-Day landings. The general consensus these days is that at best it’s a docudrama or at worst a star-a-minute mess with a dozen storylines vying for supremacy. In fact, it’s neither, but a surefooted and even-handed depiction of a complex battle, concentrating as much on the backroom staff as the soldiers in the line of fire.

Except for German complacency, the Allied forces would have faced fiercer opposition. The German troops had no air cover except for two planes and the Panzers had been pulled back in reserve. High-ranking officers had high-tailed it out of German HQ to enjoy a night on the town. Yes, the Germans expected the invasion to come from Calais rather than Normandy, but once their mistake became obvious, they did little to counter the attack, spending too much time arguing with each other and being too frightened to wake Hitler from his beauty sleep to trigger the tanks and planes.

Producer Darryl F. Zanuck covered his back by enrolling 40 stars for his venture. While most had varying marquee appeal, he had drawn on leading actors and actresses from countries other than Britain and the USA. And there was clearly a calculated decision to make audiences wait for the two major stars, John Wayne and Robert Mitchum, to put in an appearance. It’s a good 15 minutes before we spot Wayne, that time spent setting up the event from British, French, German and American perspectives.

Unusually for major stars, Wayne and Mitchum are not averse to carrying exposition, something generally left to the supporting cast, Wayne in particular spelling out the pitfalls of his particular parachute drop situation. Incidentally, two of the best sequences took a good less time to show – as later explained in feature-length detail in A Bridge Too Far – the dangers inherent in parachuting into enemy territory and trying to capture and hold vital bridges.

The picture could easily have been titled A Gamble Too Far because Zanuck was betting the future of Twentieth Century Fox, facing a financial burnout, on its box office outcome.

While covering the planning for the landings in sweeping terms, the movie concentrates on three major actions – Omaha Beach and the scaling of the impenetrable Pointe du Hoc featuring the Americans headed up by Brig General Norman Cota (Robert Mitchum), a British commando raid led by Major John Howard (Richard Todd) on the Pegasus Bridge and the parachute drop led by Lt Col Benjamin Vandervoort (John Wayne).

By today’s standards the bloodletting is non-existent but the brutality of combat hits hard. Flight Officer David Campbell (Richard Burton) heads up the victims, knowing he is going to die but trying to keep up his spirits. French peasant Janine (Irina Demick) distracts German soldiers with her beauty. Lord Lovat (Peter Lawford) goes into battle accompanied by bagpipes and beachmaster Capt Maud (Kenneth More) tries to keep troops moving on the beach.. Comic interludes are provided by Private Flanagan (Sean Connery) and his buddy and German Sgt Kaffekanne (Gert Frobe).

Many of the commanders that would feature in later World War Two pictures – Lt Gene Omar Bradley (Patton, 1970) and Brig General James Gavin and General Sir Bernard Montgomery (A Bridge Too Far, 1977), played respectively by Arthur Hill, Robert Ryan, and Trevor Reid. German General Rommel had already had his shot at Hollywood fame through The Desert Fox (1951) and Desert Rats (1953) and was the American nemesis in Patton.

Given the amount of rubbernecking by the audience, it’s worth noting the number of actor in small parts who eventually made good including Sean Connery (Dr No had just appeared by the time The Longest Day opened in the U.K.), Christian Marquand (The Corrupt Ones/The Peking Medallion, 1967), George Segal (Bridge at Remagen, 1969), Tom Tryon (The Cardinal, 1964) and Robert Wagner (Banning, 1967).

You could do an entire review just listing who played who. But in spreading the field and covering French and German activities alike Zanuck brings a wider understanding of the proceedings.

Five directors were involved and unlike most anthology pictures where individual styles clash, here everyone follows the same playbook. Ken Annakin (Battle of the Bulge, 1965), Andrew Marton (Africa, Texas Style, 1967), Gerd Oswald (Agent for H.A.R.M, 1966), Bernhard Wicki (The Visit, 1964) and Darryl F. Zanuck all took a turn at the helm.

While author Cornelius Ryan (A Bridge Too Far) was credited with the screenplay he received help in the shape of Frenchman Romain Gary (Birds in Peru, 1968) , American novelist James Jones who wrote From Here to Eternity, and British screenwriters David Seddon and Jack Pursall (The Blue Max, 1966). Remains an awesome experience, one I’d just love to see in 70mm

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.

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.

The Spy with My Face (1965) ****

Far more enjoyable than I had expected and definitely benefitting from being seen on a small screen – I suspect the effects would show up the worse for wear on the big screen. Certainly, a decent enough plot and Napoleon Solo (Robert Vaughn) as the main Man from U.N.C.L.E. dominating proceedings. Despite being an expanded version of an episode, The Double Affair from the television series, it doesn’t betray its origins. Female master spies were thin on the ground until Thunderball (1965) and Deadlier than the Male (1967) and here Serena (Senta Berger) masterminding a T.H.R.U.S.H operation to steal a nuclear weapon, steals a march on both. The action is counterpointed by some nice humor.

While Solo and crew are busy attacking an Australian base of arch-nemesis T.H.R.U.S.H., Serena is putting the final plans together to infiltrate U.N.C.L.E. by using a doppelganger of Solo, cosmetic surgery creating an exact double. Solo’s sidekick Ilya Kuryakin (David MacCallum), portrayed as a cold fish – “I’ve got my computer to keep me warm” – is attacked leaving HQ by gas-spraying robots.

Women here are a good bit more realistic than in Bond. Let down by Solo, his girlfriend Sandy (Sharon Farrell), an airline hostess, proceeds to get drunk. When they go out to dinner, a bandaged man (the double) is at the next booth and when Solo is called to the telephone Serena is there on his return, prompting the jealous Sandy to dump her dinner all over him. In best secret agent style, of course, Solo reckons he can have his cake an eat it, hoping to dupe Serena at the same time as seducing her. However, he is suspicious of her motives – “whenever I go to strange places with strange women I get hit over the head by strange men.”

In Serena’s apartment, suspicion continues, Solo takes his gun into the shower. However, when he answers the door, it’s to his double, and Solo is gassed. Sly sexual elements are brought into play – the double isn’t quite correct, failing the kiss test. While Solo is transported to the Alps where T.H.R.U.S.H plans to hijack a secret nuclear device, the double enters U.N.C.L.E. HQ where he will receive a new password relating to the weapon.

Meanwhile, it transpires the double’s disguise is convincing – the still jealous Sandy pours a pot of coffee over him and later kicks him. And not foolproof enough – nonetheless he wears the wrong aftershave. The real Solo is intrepid enough, finding a clever method of delaying a countdown, and a good bit more alert when captured than when not.

The set pieces are well-done, considerable tension built up at various points, the assault on the T.H.R.U.S.H. premises, while lower-grade than James Bond, considerably more realistic with Solo in Special Forces-type camouflage and hiding in the trunk. The climactic fist fight between the rival Solos is convincing and there is an excellent motorcycle chase. Fortunately, the movie steers clear of gadgets and gizmos, presumably for budgetary reasons, and the only let down is a vault which looks as if it is constructed of bits and pieces of leftovers.

I was particularly fond of a quip by Kitteridge (Donald Harron), U.N.C.L.E’s Australian associate. In response to a query from the big boss, Alexander Waverly (Leo G. Carroll), about whether his beard was real, Kitteridge answers “No, sir, it’s fake, I’ve got the real one in my pocket.”

The movie is surprisingly adept at treading a fine line between serious action and playfulness. The notion that the entire conspiracy can be undone by female jealousy or the wrong scent adds an interesting layer to the proceedings. And even the computer-loving Kuryakin finds time for romantic distraction. Serena is something of a secret weapon herself, far from an obvious espionage villainess, and keeps both Solo and the audience in the dark about her real intentions.

Director John Newland, more at home in television, steps up to the plate with a brisk tale that still has time for surprising subtlety. Robert Vaughn (The Venetian Affair, 1966) strides through the concoction effortlessly. The ever-alluring Senta Berger (Bang! Bang! You’re Dead, 1966) creates an intriguing character. Demands of the plot mean that David MacCallum (Sol Madrid, 1968) is somewhat underused. Sharon Farrell (A Lovely Way to Die, 1968) sparkles in a supporting role. Look out for Bardot lookalike Jennifer Billingsley (The Young Lovers, 1964), Harold Gould (The Sting, 1973) and Michele Carey (El Dorado, 1967). Joseph Calvelli (Death of a Gunfighter, 1969) and Clyde Ware (No Drums, No Bugles, 1972) devised the screenplay.

You can see why MGM went back to the U.N.C.L.E. well so often to plunder movies for foreig release.

Lock Up Your Daughters (1969) **

Worth seeing for all the wrong reasons, prime example being Christopher Plummer with a false nose and almost unrecognizable as an eighteenth century periwigged English dandy in a pure squalor of a coastal town. The best reason is the very realistic background, all mud, missing teeth, drunkenness, cockfighting, poverty, debtors strung up in baskets – not the usual bucolic image of Olde England. But everything gets bogged down in an indecipherable plot. Robert Altman mastered the multi-character narrative in such gems as Nashville (1975) but here debut director Peter Coe most demonstrably did not.

This started life as a modestly successful London West End stage musical and probably for budgetary reasons the songs were discarded. All that’s left is plot. And plot and plot. All to do with sex as it happens. Husbands exist only to be cuckolded. Cleavage is obligatory for women. Young women lusting after sex have been brought up in contradictory fashion to view it as dirty. And no eighteenth century tale is complete without a regimen of long-lost daughters and sons.

It starts promisingly enough in early morning with a town crier (Arthur Mullard) filling us in on the predilections and problems of various prominent citizens, most notably Lord Foppington (Christopher Plummer), the foppest of the fops, gearing up for an arranged marriage to Hoyden (Vanessa Howard). As a virgin not wanting to come to his wedding night bereft of the necessary skills, he employs strumpet Nell (Georgia Brown) to bring him up to speed.

Meanwhile, it’s “lock up your daughters” time as a ship’s crew, at sea for ten months, given two days leave, start charging through the town, fondling and kissing any woman of any age who happens to stand still for a moment. Among this randy bunch are Ramble (Ian Bannen), Shaftoe (Tom Bell) and Lusty (Jim Dale). Ramble is given the eye by married Lady Eager (Fenella Fielding), Shaftoe takes a fancy to Hilaret (Susannah York) while old flame Nell is targeted by Lusty (Jim Dale). Mrs Squeezum (Glynis Johns) seeks sex anywhere and there’s maid Cloris (Elaine Taylor) also seeking physical fulfilment.

Of course, the whole purpose of the narrative is to thwart true and illicit love, husbands and fathers returning at inconvenient times. And had the storyline stuck to the tried-and-tested formula devised very successfully for Tom Jones (1963) and The Amorous Adventures of Moll Flanders (1965) it might well have worked. But the instinct to make meaningful comment by way of satire takes the story in very unlikely directions, an extended court scene with a barmy judge the worst of such excesses, though a food fight comes close.

It’s meant to play as a farce, the men climbing (literally) in and out of bedrooms, the town’s apparently only ladder put to continuous use. But what would work on stage sadly falls down here, and not just because the occasional song might have come as light relief. There is an element of the female confusion over sex, natural instinct going against education, and so ill-informed that at the slightest chaste kiss they are likely to cry rape, but that’s as close as the movie gets to anything that makes sense. A movie that needed a sense of pace just becomes one scene tumbling into another.

Christopher Plummer (Nobody Runs Forever/The High Commissioner, 1968) makes by far his worst screen choice. He’s so concealed in his clothing that movement is inhibited and most of his acting relies on overworked eyeballs. Susannah York (Sands of the Kalahari, 1965) is pretty much lost in the shuffle. Ian Bannen (Penelope, 1966) is the pick, largely because he is required not to play villain, grump or idiot, and his Scottish charm and confidence works very well. Tom Bell (The Long Day’s Dying, 1967) is not cut out for comedy whereas Jim Dale (Carry On Doctor, 1967) who very much is does not get enough.

The movie wastes the talents of a terrific supporting cast headed by former British box office queen Glynis Johns (The Chapman Report, 1962) plus Roy Dotrice (A Twist of Sand, 1968), Vanessa Howard (Some Girls Do, 1969), Elaine Taylor (Casino Royale, 1967), Roy Kinnear (The Three Musketeers, 1973), Kathleen Harrison (Operation Snafu, 1961), Fenella Fielding (Arrivedeci, Baby, 1966) and singer Georgia Brown (A Study in Terror, 1965).

Keith Waterhouse and Willis Hall (Billy Liar, 1963) wrote the screenplay based on, as well as the original musical, a number of sources drawn from the works of Henry Fielding (author of Tom Jones) and John Vanbrugh. Peter Coe never directed another movie.

Hard to find – and probably deservedly so unless you’re of the So Bad It’s Good fraternity.

Penelope (1966) ***

Comedic twist on the heist movie with Natalie Wood (This Property Is Condemned, 1966) as a kleptomaniac. Given its origins in a tight little thriller by E.V. Cunningham, pseudonym of Howard Fast (Mirage, 1965), it’s an awful loose construction that seems to run around with little idea of where it wants to go. Wood, of course, is a delightfully kooky heroine who takes revenge on anyone who has ignored or slighted her by stealing their possessions.

The picture begins with her boldest coup. Cleverly disguised as an old woman, she robs the newest Park Avenue bank owned by overbearing husband James (Ian Bannen). This prompts the best comedy in the movie, a man with a violin case (Lewis Charles) being apprehended by police, the doors automatically locking after a clerk falls on the alarm button, James trapped in the revolving doors losing his trousers in the process.

In flashback, we learn that she turned to thievery after a rape attempt by Professor Klobb (Jonathan Winter), her college tutor, and while half-naked managed to make off with his watch fob. She stole a set of earrings from Mildred (Norma Crane) after suspecting she is having an affair with James. “Stealing makes me cheerful,” she tells her psychiatrist, Dr Mannix (Dick Shawn) and while admitting to dishonesty denies being a compulsive thief. After the bank robbery she even manages to relieve investigating officer Lt Bixby (Peter Falk) of his wallet.

Nobody suspects her, certainly not her husband who could not conceive of his wife having the brains to carry out such an audacious plan. Bixby is a bit more on the ball, but not much. Clues that would have snared her in seconds if seen by any half-decent cop are missed by this bunch. And generally that is the problem, the outcome is so weighted in Penelope’s favor. The plot then goes all around the houses to include as many oddballs as possible – boutique owners Sadaba (Lila Kedrova) and Ducky (Lou Jacobi), Major Higgins (Arthur Malet) and suspect Honeysuckle Rose (Arlene Golonka). Naturally, when she does confess – to save the innocent Honeysuckle – nobody believes her in part because everyone has fallen in love with her. Bixby, just as smitten, nonetheless makes a decent stab at the investigation.

Howard Fast under the pseudonym of E.V. Cunningham wrote a series of thrillers with a woman’s name as the title. He was on a roll in the 1960s providing the source material for Spartacus (1960), The Man in the Middle (1964), Cheyenne Autumn (1964), Sylvia (1965), Mirage (1965) and Jigsaw (1968).

Taken as pure confection it has its attractions. It’s certainly frothy at the edges and there are a number of funny lines especially with her psychiatrist and the slapstick approach does hit the target every now and then. The icing on the cake is top class while the cake itself has little of substance. It strikes a satirical note on occasion especially with the Greenwich Village cellar sequence. It doesn’t go anywhere near what might be driving this woman towards such potential calamity – that she gets away with it is only down to her charm. There has probably never been such a pair of rose-tinted spectacles as worn by Penelope, even though her every action is driven by revenge.

Without Natalie Wood it would have sunk without trace but her vivacious screen persona is imminently watchable and the constant wardrobe changes (courtesy of Edith Head) and glossy treatment gets it over the finishing line. It’s one of those star-driven vehicles at which Golden Age Hollywood was once so adept but which fails to translate so well to a later era. Ian Bannen (Station Six Sahara, 1963) is in his element as a grumpy husband, though you would wonder what initially she saw in him, and Peter Falk (Robin and the 7 Hoods, 1965) delivers another memorable performance. Dick Shawn (A Very Special Favor, 1965) is the pick of the supporting cast though screen personalities like Lila Kedrova (Torn Curtain, 1966), Jonathan Winters (The Loved One, 1965) and Lou Jacobi (Irma la Douce, 1963) are not easily ignored. Johnny Williams a.k.a John Williams wrote the score.

Director Arthur Hiller (Tobruk, 1967) delivers as much of the goods as are possible within the zany framework. Veteran Oscar-winner George Wells (Three Bites of the Apple, 1967) wrote the screenplay but it’s a far cry from the far more interesting source material and I would have to wonder what kind of sensibility – even at that time – could invent a comedy rape (not in the book, I hasten to add).

The Amorous Adventures of Moll Flanders (1965) ***

“The Husband-Hunting Adventures of Moll Flanders” might have been a more accurate title and if you were seeking a template for a multi-character eighteenth-century Olde English picture majoring on sexual shenanigans here would be a very good place to start. Of course, Tom Jones (1963) was the precursor but told the story from the male perspective and here it is from the more vulnerable female point-of-view. Despite the hilarity and the sexual proclivities on show, it remains abundantly clear that marriage remains a refuge, where the those without a title can gain either security or status by contrast, such a contract is viewed as a means of further enrichment for the already wealthy.

So orphan housemaid Moll Flanders (Kim Novak) has a difficult time persuading the elder brother (Daniel Massey) of her wealthy employer to marry her. Instead, he takes her as his mistress, leaving her no option but to marry the drunken fool of a younger brother (Derren Nesbitt) and instantly regretting her decision. When he drowns, you would have thought that would solve her problems. But this was the eighteenth century and a widow with no fortune (and therefore power) of her own can easily be tossed out penniless.

A widowed banker (George Sanders) might be a prospect especially as she has the wits to prevent him being entirely robbed by highwayman Jemmy (Richard Johnson). Plans to marry him thwarted, she takes a job for food and lodgings with Lady Blystone (Angela Lansbury) and her husband, an impoverished Count (Vittorio De Sica), who are constantly pursued by debt collectors. Meanwhile Jemmy has taken the decision to marry a rich woman and become a kept man.

But this set of characters becomes enmeshed, so the tale unfolds in classic fashion. Assuming Moll to be moneyed, Jemmy masquerades as the owner of three ships. Nothing, of course, works out for anybody, certainly not those pretending to be something they are not while aspiring to wealth beyond their reach, but it all concludes in propitious fashion as the actions of the various principals become embroiled.

While certainly having an inclination towards the amorous, Moll wishes for that within the context of true love, rather than selling her physical wares to the highest bidder. So for a picture sold on immorality – the “rollicking ribaldry” of the poster – there is an unsung moral standpoint. Finding safe passage into affluence proves very tricky indeed. And what appears at first glance to be merely a picaresque episodic tale turns out to be very well structured indeed. And those looking for cleavage will find it here in abundance, as if some kind of rationing had been imposed on clothing, or that it was matters of economy that dictated that the area around the bosom be left unclothed. Being the lusted-after heroine it falls to Moll Flanders to shed even more of her attire from time to time.

You are more likely to laugh out loud at the moments of offbeat humour – a flotilla of ducks heading in Moll’s direction when she cries for help in a lake, the Count while acting as a butler demanding a tip – but it is more of a gentle satire. There is some of the expected bedroom farce but, mercifully, no recourse to a food fight. It is handsomely-mounted and meets the highest expectations of the costume drama.

Kim Novak (Of Human Bondage, 1964) easily passed the English-accent-test and carries the picture with ease. Richard Johnson (Deadlier than the Male, 1967) reveals a rakish side so far hidden in his more dramatic works to date. And there is a fine supporting cast including George Sanders (The Quiller Memorandum, 1966), Angela Lansbury (Harlow, 1965), Vittorio De Sica (The Shoes of the Fisherman, 1968), Lili Palmer (The Counterfeit Traitor, 1962) as Jemmy’s mistress, Leo McKern (Assignment K, 1968) as Jemmy’s sidekick going by the name of Squint, Daniel Massey (Star!, 1968) and Derren Nesbitt (Nobody Runs Forever/The High Commissioner, 1968). In bit parts look out for Cecil Parker (Guns at Batasi, 1964), Dandy Nichols later of Till Death Us Do Part television fame and Carry On regular Peter Butterworth.

All directed with some style by Terence Young (Mayerling, 1968) and adapted from the lengthy Daniel Defoe novel by Denis Cannan (A High Wind in Jamaica, 1965) and Roland Kibbee (Valdez Is Coming, 1971).

An old-fashioned romp with, if you can bothered to look, a moral center.

The Ipcress File (1965) *****

Stylish take on the espionage genre when it was still in its infancy and could accommodate stylish directors like Sidney J. Furie (The Appaloosa, 1966). Eschewing the bombastic effects and villains of the James Bond series, relying more on intrigue and the elements of betrayal that other practitioners of the dark arts such as John Le Carre espoused, this is as much a character study and presents in some cases a fairer picture of the class struggle in Britain than most kitchen-sink dramas. So it’s either going to put you off entirely or make you appreciate the film more when I tell you that my favorite scene is the fistfight between Harry Palmer (Michael Caine) and shaven-headed thug Housemartin (Oliver MacGreevy) outside the Royal Albert Hall in London that is shot entirely through the windows of a traditional red telephone box. You can’t say bolder than that.

The credit sequence, more famously ripped off by William Goldman for private eye saga Harper/The Moving Target (1966), is equally inspired. An alarm clock wakes Palmer, he reaches out for the girl who shared his bed last night to discover she is gone and then punctiliously and as if time-shifted to the twenty-first century when it would be the norm proceeds to grind fresh coffee beans, fill a cafetiere with only as much liquid as would constitute a small espresso, dresses and last but not least searches among the disturbed bedclothes for his gun.

Palmer is transferred from dull surveillance duties to a team hunting for missing scientists. Given both his insolent and insubordinate manner, he is not expected to fit in to a service riddled with the upper-classes. His new superior Dalby (Nigel Green), a “passed-over major,” owes his present situation to Palmer’s former boss Colonel Ross (Guy Doleman) and both sport three-piece suits, bowler hats and umbrellas and speak in those clipped tones that invariably carry undertones of menace. Where James Bond’s front, the import-export business, is rather more upmarket, here the background is considerably downmarket, Dalby masquerading as the owner of an employment agency and distributor of fireworks. It is insatiably bureaucratic, reams of forms to be filled in. What Palmer has in common with James Bond, beyond fisticuffs, is the ability to think outside the box and in this case picks the brains of a policeman friend to track down the wanted villain, code-named Bluejay (Frank Gatliff)

As in the best post-Bond espionage, there are traitors everywhere, and the departments employing spies tend to employ other spies to spy upon them, though in this case Palmer has the luck to draw the sexy Jean (Sue Lloyd). When Palmer picks up the trail of Ipcress, the plot thickens. There is no shortage of action, a gun battle, fisticuffs, but it presents a different approach to modern espionage, with a properly rounded hero – one who can cook (as did author Len Deighton who wrote a cookery column) for a start – while the ladies, with whom he shares a roving eye with Bond, are not required to turn up in bikinis.

There is deft employment of that favorite British cultural emblem – irony – and one wonderful scene takes place in a park where Dalby taps his cane in appreciation of a brass band. Throw in a bit of brainwashing and it’s a completely different proposition to Bond who could escape such a dilemma in a trice. There is a clever ending.

Michael Caine (Hurry Sundown, 1967), complete with spectacles, is superb as Palmer, making enough of an impression that the series ran for another four episodes. The stiff-upper-lip brigade have a field day in Nigel Green (Jason and the Argonauts, 1963) and Guy Doleman (Thunderball, 1965), the latter shading it with his purported sense of humor. Sue Lyon (Corruption, 1968) is excellent as the seemingly unattainable gal who falls within Palmer’s purvey but not entirely due to his charm. The villains, too, are not from the James Bond school of cut-outs, but come across as equally human, and the chief rascal you could argue has the most finely developed sense of humor of the lot. Throw in Gordon Jackson (Danger Route, 1967) and Freda Bamford (Three Bites of the Apple, 1967) as the bureaucratic attack-dog Alice and you have a very well cast movie.

Sidney J. Furie divided critics. Some believed he was ahead of his time, others that he was in thrall to arty French directors, and a reasonable number who didn’t give a stuff as long as he delivered the goods. But his predilection for odd angles here proves a strength, his compositional excellence also spot-on, one scene in particular where in a library Palmer looks down on the villain with Housemartin on a landing between. And he takes great delight in emphasizing the class distinctions, both bosses have huge offices with a small desk in the corner, and when Ross places briefcase, umbrella and bowler hat on the desk of Dalby it could not be a more clear invasion.

And you can’t forget the score by espionage doyen John Barry (Goldfinger, 1964). W.H. Canaway (A Boy Ten Feet Tall, 1963) and James Doran, making his movie debut, adapted Len Deighton’s classy bestseller but a fair amount of polish was added by thriller writer Lionel Davidson (Hot Enough for June, 1964), Johanna Harwood (Dr No, 1962), Lukas Heller (The Dirty Dozen, 1967) and Ken Hughes (Arrivederci, Baby, 1966).

A spy classic.

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.

The Spy with a Cold Nose (1966) ***

Surprisingly good fun for a flop. A horde of brilliant visual gags, some of considerably subtlety, keep the ball rolling on what must be the most deliriously barmy concept ever – though, you never know, it’s so ingenious someone in the espionage game might well have tried it out.

The problem for audiences back then was that nobody was going to pay good money to see supporting actor Lionel Jeffries (Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, 1968) hog the screen. It’s not as if he is merely scene-stealing. For most of the picture, it’s like the billing has been reversed. Third-billed Jeffries seems to be actually the star, the character around whom the tale revolves, with the top-billed Laurence Harvey (A Dandy in Aspic, 1968) and Daliah Lavi (Some Girls Do, 1969) relegated to the background and their expected sexual combustion a long time coming.

It’s also a particularly British concoction, belonging to the bureaucratic form-filling world of The Ipcress File (1965) rather than the free-wheeling James Bond series. Middle-aged spy Stanley Farquhar (Lionel Jeffries), with little to show for his decades in the Secret Service and no sign of, as he laments, a naked girl in his bedroom, come up with the clever idea of sticking a tiny microphone up the nose of the British bulldog being presented as a gift by the British prime minister to the Russian supremo (Colin Blakely).

Takes a while for Stanley’s snooty bosses to go along with the idea because, don’t you know, it’s just not cricket. The Russian premier is so taken with the dog it accompanies him everywhere and the Brits are soon smashing Russian spy rings. Eventually, the Russians sent their top spy Princess Natasha Romanova (Daliah Lavi), who has half the Russian hierarchy in her seductive pocket, to find out who’s behind this state of affairs.

She alights first on Stanley and naturally seduction turns into male embarrassment as he’s caught with his trousers down for the whole world to see. Eventually, and more than an hour into the picture, she sets her sights on dog whisperer and dog groomer par excellence Francis Trevelyan (Laurence Harvey) who, of course, is nothing to do with the Secret Service but has been blackmailed into fitting the mic into the canine spy.

The tale is so slight and nutty that you’d be heading for the exist doors within 15 minutes except that the movie is propelled along, very nicely thank you, with a string of visual gags. Stanley, being the type of high-ranking official whose briefcase is handcuffed to his wrist, is so distracted by the torments of his kids, that when we first meet him he affixes said briefcase to said hand before he’s put his arm through his jacket, thus being forced to conceal it under a bulky overcoat all the way to the office.

That means driving one-handed and making his colleagues think he has lost an arm. He’s also arrived at work minus his car roof which he’s managed to burn off after mistakenly using the cigarette lighter which has been turned into a flamethrower by the boffins. When he’s handed his instructions at work, he can’t read them. Don’t we have any ordinary pens around here, snaps his boss, realizing at the same time as the audience does, that he’s used a pen with invisible ink. There’s a lovely gag involving the Queen’s corgis. Another of the gadgets, an umbrella that flowers into a parachute, is brought into play at the wrong time.

And his awful children are straight out of the Just William playbook, stealing his breakfast from under his nose and dropping worms into his open mouth when he dozes off in the garden. Aftet the much-publicized episode of his encounter with the Princess, Stanley is landed with a suspicious wife (June Whitfield) accompanying him on his missions.

As you might expect, there’s some slapstick, but except in the case of Wrigley (Eric Sykes), Stanley’s associate, who overdoes it, it’s generally underdone to great effect, the Princess requiring one of her lovers to push out of the door another of her lovers who refuses to accept his time is up. However, the titular dog, thankfully, makes no attempt to steal scenes and remains a very minor figure in the proceedings.

But the idea of the likes of Stanley either getting the better of the Princess or even understanding the notion of being seduced means that, no matter how hilarious the scene, audiences feel hoodwinked at the lack of top-billed male-female action. When Trevelyan eventually gets to make a major contribution it’s too little too late.

But if you go along with it, and are not frustrated by the lack of screen time afforded Harvey and Lavi, it’s a got a good deal to recommend it. Lionel Jeffries’s acting was acknowledged by the Golden Globes, as was the film itself.

Laurence Harvey shows a keen eye for the comic and Daliah Lavi, as ever, steals every scene she’s in. Denholm Elliott (Maroc 7, 1967) and Colin Blakely (The Vengeance of She, 1968) are the pick of the supporting actors.

Directed by Daniel Petrie (Stolen Hours, 1963) from a screenplay by Galton & Simpson (The Wrong Arm of the Law, 1963).

Great fun and worth a look.