1960s film – Page 9 – The Magnificent 60s

The Stripper (1963) ***

Can’t shake off its stage origins though Joanne Woodward is riveting as the eternally optimistic but ultimately luckless showgirl of this tawdry tale. For a while it looks like it’s going be another examination of small town morals but those who want to break free of social constriction come from such different parts of the world that the two tales – teenage rite-of-passage and older woman trying to recapture her innocent youth – don’t mesh while the background for both is routine and stale.

Magician’s assistant Lila (Joanne Woodward) returns to her home town and meets up with old neighbour Helen Baird (Claire Trevor) and her pump jockey son Kenny (Richard Beymer). He reminds Lila of Helen’s dead husband on whom Lila had a teenage crush. Abandoned by lover/manager Ricky (Robert Webber), she finds a safe berth with Helen. Kenny, annoyed at principled girlfriend Miriam (Carol Lynley), soon, as you might expect, falls for Lila. For a time she enjoys the security of small town life.

But, as you would expect, Ricky returns. He beats her up and drags her off to become a stripper. Kenny gets to witness her more degrading employment. Lila manages to quit Ricky and sets off with another suitcase full of delusions.

Despite Lila’s effervescence lacks the emotional punch to make this more than a re-tread of a standard Hollywood trope. Lila’s an eternal wannabe, not deterred by crushed dreams, but failing to understand the limitation of her talent, her most treasured possession a few strips of film from a screen test, and undone by her taste in men. She calls Ricky “daddy” and he punishes her with his belt.

The most effective sequence is the one with leering men reaching forward with lighted cigarettes to burst the balloons that cover her modesty while she strips. That tells a different story to the one we’ve sat through, the degrading endgame, the price paid for falling in with the wrong man or for believing you can live on illusion.

There would have been no shortage of better role models when she grew up, but dreams of stardom derailed that. In some respects, Ricky is rebelling against the same upbringing, requiring excitement (and sex) rather than the life he has been brought up to respect. He’s over-mothered for sure, but lacks ambition and probably needs marriage to give him some direction.

But there’s too many cliché characters, beginning with mother and girlfriend and rough lover. There’s nothing new about Ricky and no depth and while Lila is happily shallow that doesn’t help the story.

As I said, Joanne Woodward (Big Hand for the Little Lady, 1966) more than holds the film together but that’s not really enough. Richard Beymer (West Side Story, 1961) doesn’t rise above juvenile lead. Clare Trevor (The Cape Town Affair, 1967) has little to do but Carol Lynley (Bunny Lake Is Missing, 1965) acts against type.

Solid directorial debut I guess you would call it from Franklin J. Schaffner (Planet of the Apes, 1968). Screenplay by Meade Roberts (Danger Route, 1967) from a play by William Inge (Bus Riley’s Back in Town, 1965).

Worth it for Woodward but not much else.

Whistle Down the Wind (1961) ****

Sheer coincidence that within the space of a week I’m watching three films that deal with the power of a child’s imagination. While The Magic Faraway Tree disappeared into the realms of fantasy and Eye Witness / Sudden Witness a lonely child’s fervid alternative realities, Whistle Down the Wind examines the ability of children to become involved in something that makes complete sense to them while keeping adults out of the picture.

And not just for the religious allegory is Whistle Down the Wind streets ahead. While the children in the other films are believable enough, this is much more down-to-earth. A farm here isn’t a refuge from the city and a place to indulge dreams, it’s muddy and cold and wet. Everyone trudges around in wellies. Adults drown kittens, are overly pious and view children as mostly a nuisance. The children wouldn’t dare be cheeky to those in authority.

And their belief in something that defies belief is both touching and understandable given the circumstances. They are convinced they have found a reborn Jesus (Alan Bates) in their barn. Perhaps it’s only a child, with all that innocence, who could actually be persuaded that, as stated in the Bible, Jesus will come again.

The characters are very well-drawn. Kathy Bostock (Hayley Mills), eldest of three siblings, motherless, is the leader, saving the drowning kittens, stealing to feed the man, and guiding her flock in taking care of him. Youngest child Charlie (Alan Barnes) is instinctively more cynical. Mr Bostock (Bernard Lee) has his hands full dealing with his kids and his snippy sister Dorothy (Elsie Wagstaff) resents having to act as housekeeper.

The religious allegory elements include of course finding Jesus in a barn (doubling for the stables at Bethlehem), bringing him gifts as if the kids were the Magi, feeding him bread and wine (a bottle of port stolen from a cupboard), treating him with adoration and denying him thrice (Judas Iscariot). Even when the first crack appears in the façade after Jesus has allowed a kitten left in his care to die, Kathy battles to keep the dream alive, pestering the local vicar to explain how Jesus could allow this and finding an answer that does the trick.

The enterprise collapses when a child is spotted secreting an extra piece of birthday cake for the man. By this time he has managed to secure a gun and we know he’s wanted for murder.

Even so, Kathy refuses to let go of her belief, promising to a younger child, saddened by the man’s capture, that Jesus will come again.

The allegorical aspects would have worked better at a time when fantasy was not all the rage. But the current diminution of Christian belief means that the ideas spelled out in the New Testament might well sound fantastical to a contemporary audience. Certainly, the idea of stumbling, by circumstance, onto a magical character forms part of the fantasy trope.

Understanding childhood from the remove of adulthood takes some doing. We are apt to forget how our younger minds worked. Children desperately want to believe in something else that lifts them from the gloom of the day-to-day. But, equally, they want to keep their childhood dreams secure from adult interference. No youngster really wants to entertain the cool dad who is “down with the kids.”

And the secret is something to savour. The local bully is disconcerted when a playground full of kids taunt him with “we know something that you don’t.” That fear of exclusion is highly potent.

Unlike The Magic Faraway Tree there is no complicit adult who will back up the fantasy. Here, the kids instinctively know adults will seek to destroy it, especially after the Sunday School teacher clearly can’t come to terms with the idea of Christ coming again any time soon and the vicar uses any interaction with children as an opportunity to blame them for something.

I was surprised this worked as well as it did. The viewer knows full well it’s only an accident of circumstance that there is a man in the barn and that the conjecture that he is Jesus Christ relies on his use of that word as a swear word (as it would be at the time). So we’re not being asked to believe in fairies or elves, as we are by now attuned to do after Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter etc. We are watching the reaction of the children to wondrous mystery.

By this point Hayley Mills was being turned into the standard vanilla child star by Walt Disney – Pollyanna had just confirmed that status – and I’m sure Disney was appalled that he had not secured her to an exclusive contract. Instead, every year she made a movie that, perhaps while capitalizing on the fame Disney was paying for, offered a more challenging role.

She’s not coiffed and clothed as in the Disney ventures, more an ordinary scruffy child, and she gives a superb performance. In some respects, given the acting intelligence exhibited, no one should have doubted she would make the crossover into the adult star of The Family Way (1966). The questioning Alan Barnes (The Victors, 1963) is a treat. Bernard Lee (The Secret Partner, 1961) is the pick of the adults. Alan Bates (The Running Man, 1963) has less to do than you might imagine.

Bryan Forbes (King Rat, 1965) made an auspicious directorial debut, not just wrangling the kids expertly but using the visual to complement the narrative, the bleak landscape a million miles away from the more commonly seen blooming English countryside. Written by the team of Keith Waterhouse and Willis Hall (The Winston Affair, 1964) from the book by the star’s mother Mary Hayley Bell (Sky West and Crooked / Gypsy Girl, 1966).

Despite the unlikely premise, draws you in.

All Fall Down (1962) ***

Both an easy sell and a tough sell for today’s audience. Easy because, this early in the decade, we’ve got a succession of independent sexually liberated women for whom handsome hunks like Berry-Berry (Warren Beatty) are collectibles. Tough because our ostensible hero is a serial abuser, beating up women.

The tale is somewhat complicated by the narrative which, rather than putting Berry-Berry and Echo (Eva Marie Saint) together early on, gets more involved in the travails of Berry-Berry‘s innocent young brother Clinton (Brandon De Wilde), leading us to believe this is going to be more of a coming-of-age saga than a more mature romance, especially when the young lad is besotted by the 31-year-old Echo who appears to foolishly encourage him though he’s not much past the age of consent.

Or that it’s one of those stories when the adoring sibling realizes that big brother is not worthy of any adoration and far from looking as if he rules the world with his drinking and womanizing that he’s a pitifully small part of it.

Given the era, only a fraction of the sleazy world explored in the bestselling source novel by James Leo Herlihy (Midnight Cowboy, 1969) can find its way onto the screen. Still, in the first few scenes were are introduced to hookers, strippers and corrupt cops (who steal the cash Clinton planned to spend setting his brother up in the shrimp business).

Berry-Berry hasn’t a protective gene in his body, abandoning Clinton when a rich married woman beckons. It’s not just the unhappily married who alight on Berry-Berry but otherwise respectable schoolteachers. For a contemporary audience this might have been a more instructive avenue to go down, how such women, not all with money to burn, have the confidence to pick up men from a position of authority. Sure, Berry-Berry’s not one, ultimately, to remain at anyone’s beck-and-call but it’s interesting to see just who’s first to do the beckoning.

This is also the kind of picture that comes over more like a stage play and all the hidden secrets that entails – Echo’s previous boyfriend committed suicide. Clinton’s parents, however, let it all hang out, the father an alcoholic, the mother controlling.

By the time Berry-Berry and Echo manage to get it together, you can tell which way this is heading and even if Echo hadn’t died in a car accident, it’s doubtful given Berry-Berry’s personality whether he could have handled commitment.

Warren Beatty (Kaleidoscope, 1966) comes over like a latter-day James Dean, all quiff and male arrogance and winning smile, but there’s not an ounce of depth to his characterization albeit that he wants to have it all and can’t deal with entanglement and treats women as punchbags when he wants out of a relationship.

Eva Marie Saint (36 Hours, 1964) is better value, expectation already beaten out of her after having put up with the depressed boyfriend all this time and willing to embark on an affair with Berry-Berry because she hopes that eventually he will come to love her. Her ideal lover, it has to be said, looks like being the sweet-natured Clinton. But Saint leans into her feyness too often.

Much better value are Karl Malden (Billion Dollar Brain, 1967) and Angela Lansbury (The Manchurian Candidate, 1962) as the bickering parents. Malden has never looked as unkempt and he retains a marvelous innocence, inviting three bums to the house in the spirit of Xmas.

Too much rests on the shoulders of Brandon De Wilde (In Harm’s Way, 1965) and, in truth, the narrative could have excised him and still arrived at its destination and it seems somewhat preposterous to have him so involved in the final scenes.

The structure emulates F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby where much of what we see is through the prism of a secondary character who in the novel acts as narrator. They junked that aspect for any of the screen versions and they’d have been better off doing the same here.

John Frankenheimer (The Manchurian Candidate) directs from a William Inge (Splendor in the Grass, 1961) script.

A contemporary audience might find more interesting the parts that the film only covers in passing. “They ought to have highways stacked with guys like you,” is the come-on of one rather forward lady.

Death Rides A Horse (1967/1969) ****

Although Once Upon a Time in the West (1969) is my all-time favorite western and although the first X-certificate movie I sneaked into as a teenager was The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966/1968), I never had much interest in spaghetti westerns. For a start, by the time I started my serious cinemagoing – bear in mind I grew up in towns without picture houses – the spaghetti western sub-genre was long gone.

So I was surprised to find how stylish and intriguing this little number was. People had odd ideas about style: they think it’s about capturing a vista at sunset or the way a director moves the camera or some effect gained from the cinematography. But there are other, as important, aspects. And two, perhaps the smallest of the effective ingredients, are on show here.

The first comes with the opening shot. Some cowboys are braving torrential rain. Now movie rain doesn’t behave the same way as real rain. It’s directed and its force depends on something else beyond nature. It’s too consistent in the way that real rain isn’t. So to convince us that these dudes are enduring a storm, director Giulio Petroni has set up on the very edge of the screen a lamp that moves, twisting one way and the other as the wind shifts direction, flaring up and flickering down depending on the position it holds. That little thing was what it took to convince me this was a storm.

The second thing was the editing. Again, critics intend to focus on some unusual aspect. Fast-cutting, for example, as in The Wild Bunch (1969) or cutting between a match and a sunrise (Lawrence of Arabia, 1962)) or from one pillow to another in separate households (Zee & Co, X Y & Zee, 1972). But actually the biggest benefit of good editing is to keep the story moving and not waste time

So here we cut from our blue-eyed anti-hero Bill (John Philip Law) being told to meet a bad guy in his office. Next thing, Bill is entering a darkened room. Automatically, you think this is a trap, that he’s going into villainous saloon owner Cavanaugh’s (Anthony Dawson) office. Instead, he confronts the other anti-hero, criminal Ryan (Lee Van Cleef), just released from prison after 15 years. And without any dialog to otherwise explain the situation, we understand immediately from previous interaction that Bill has been hired by the bad guy to kill Ryan.

There’s countless examples of this kind of editing where action sets the tone rather than dialog, although in the latter regard some of the lines are filled with edge.

Bill and Ryan really should be working as a team. They both want revenge on the same gang of outlaws, Bill because, as a child, he witnessed the gang murder his family and rape his mother and sister, and Ryan because he was fitted up for the robbery the gang committed. But both want the sole satisfaction of carrying out the revenge.

Ryan is something of a mentor to the greenhorn, a skilled gunslinger without the smarts necessary to hold his own. Ryan constantly shows Bill how much he still has to learn about looking after himself and the teaching comes with sharp consequence, Bill left horseless on two occasions and having to tramp miles into the nearest town.

So they get in each other’s way. Bill kills Cavanaugh without realizing that the only reason the businessman is still alive is that Ryan wants reparation from him of $15,000 – $1,000 for each of the years he spent in prison. And now he saddles Bill with that debt.

Ryan knows exactly who he’s hunting down but Bill has to do it the hard way, following a series of clues, personal elements of the masked guys who slaughtered his family, someone who wears distinctive spurs, another with a tattoo on his chest and so on.

This proves a particularly good twist on the older guy-younger guy narrative device so often used in Hollywood. The rivalry rarely cools, Bill taking simple revenge on Ryan at any opportunity.

Eventually, they do agree to work together after Bill works out that Ryan was one of the gang, except that the older man arrived too late to take part in the massacre but just in time to save Bill from being consumed by a raging fire.

The last twist is saved for the climax.

United Artists waited until Sergio Leone’s “Dollars” trilogy had opened the box office doors in America before pushing this out in 1969 (hence the odd dating). Lee Van Cleeef essays a more considered version of his Man in Black persona from For a few Dollars More (1965/1967). John Philip Law (Barbarella, 1969) would never work out, unlike George Peppard, say, that the intensity of his gaze and the blueness of his eyes distracted from his acting.

Put me in mind to check out some of the other spaghetti westerns directed by Guilio Petroni such as A Sky Full of Stars for a Roof (1968). Written by Luciano Vincenzoni (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly).

Well worth a look.

The List of Adrian Messenger (1963) ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A watchable curiosity.

The 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.