Carl Boehm – The Magnificent 60s

Peeping Tom (1960) *****

You could hardly get a more prescient movie, almost in the 1984 class in depicting the future. Not dystopian, but the contemporary obsession with filming every inch of a child’s life. You do wonder what kind of reaction this will generate further down the line when Generation ZZZ realizes how little privacy it has been afforded.

Director Michael Powell – thrice Oscar-nominated and at the time after such hits as The Red Shoes (1948) regarded as on a par with the likes of David Lean (Oscar-winner of Bridge on the River Kwai, 1957) and Carol Reed (The Third Man, 1949) – lost his shirt and his reputation on this, and it took decades before Peeping Tom was accepted as nothing short of a masterpiece.

The narrative cleverly links up several strands. With a portable movie camera landlord Mark (Carl Boehm) obsessively records everything in the vicinity, including posing as a journalist to join a police murder investigation and rigging his apartments to check out the goings-on. He’s also, it transpires, a serial killer, the terror registered on corpses’ faces not aligning with the knife wounds that killed them. Into his world comes a young woman Helen (Anna Massey) who is attracted to this intriguing shy figure. Her mother (Maxine Audley) is less accepting.

In the background are the visual memories of Mark’s childhood, perhaps explaining his current compulsions, the films his psychiatrist father made of how his son reacted to fear, most of which episodes are triggered by the father. And the whole movie takes place in another world of make-believe, that of movie making, where directors are driven to distraction by incompetence and Mark can play on ambition by luring wannabe actress Vivian (Moira Shearer) into making an after-hours movie with him, which ends in her death. Even Helen, a children’s writer, has taken as her subject a magic camera.

Although Mark is interviewed by the police and, in a very modern trope, films himself being interviewed, he is not considered a major suspect. He screens his snuff movies for the blind mother. Murder is perceived as an almost erotic act, correlating with the very modern idea of violence as pornography. Clearly, it’s the progenitor of the slasher film. And Helen would be viewed as the first “final girl.”

But it’s also beautifully made, the color palette, use of light and shadow, the mise en scene, all speak to a master at work, and the delving into the mind of a killer is shown, unusually, in visual rather than verbal terms in the dry tones of a psychiatrist such as parlayed by Alfred Hitchcock at the end of Psycho the same year. Quite why only Hitchcock’s film was acclaimed, given they cover similar personality defects, you would have to go ask the critics.

And the big reveal – why the victims died in such fright – would surely be noted by today’s moviegoer as inspired genius. Carl films his victims dying and he has attached a mirror above the camera so the victims can see themselves die in horrific fashion.

Audience and critical revulsion was as possibly triggered by the scenes of the young Carl being tortured by his father, such aspects of society treated in far more discreet fashion, if at all, in those times. The voyeuristic aspects of the murders are only sexual on the surface, and really harbor back to the tormented childhood where a young boy grows up believing all acts of violence are not only permissible but must be recorded. Written by Leo Marks (Sebastian, 1968).

The raw power must be seen to be believed. Martin Scorsese has promoted many movies he believes under-rated but in this one he gets it right.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1962) **

Hollywood isn’t known for its sensitivity, and this is one of those major misjudgements. An incredibly rich family, ripe with entitlement, find World War Two tough going, in the main because as in Counterpoint (1968), they consider themselves exempt. Being Argentinians, they are neutral.

Unfortunately, it just so happens, with that wealthy person’s penchant for flaunting their wealth in the world’s richest cities, they end up in Paris on the eve of war, ignoring the warning of family patriarch (Lee J. Cobb) who is convinced the titular “four horsemen of the apocalypse” (war, conquest, death and pestilence, in case you don’t know your Bible) are on the march. Not that we see much of that in the French capital, except in newsreel, details of the war delivered in snippets of dialog (“haven’t you heard about Dunkirk?”), and street-loads of refugees.

Because, don’t you know it, our major players, the Desnoyers and Laurient families, are largely immune. Man-about-town and Argentinian art connoisseur Julio Desnoyers (Glenn Ford) – ignoring the entreaties of his father Marcelo (Charles Boyer) to scarper – is making a move on married Frenchwoman Marguerite Laurient (Ingrid Thulin), bored by newspaper editor husband Etienne (Paul Heinreid) who spends way too much time worrying about impending war.

Julio is so rich that even after the German invasion sends the poor of the city – and its Jewish population – racing about terrified for their lives, he can swan around, enjoying fine food in top-class restaurants much as before and even has the temerity to tell a high-ranking German General von Kleig (George Dolenz) that his wealth makes him immune. The general reckons that his rank gives him any woman he wants. “She’s mine,” is Julio’s rather misogynistic retort when the general attempts to appropriate Marguerite.

Meanwhile, though Julio is still slow to catch on, his sister Chi Chi (Yvette Mimieux) has only gone and joined the Resistance and Etienne has also upset the new masters, so Julio has to go begging cousin Heinrich (Carl Boehm), who has exploited his German origins to achieve military high rank, to provide them with a get-out of-jail-free card.

When Etienne is released, Marguerite is initially inclined to stick with Julio until guilt gets the upper hand. Julio, with no lover to keep him happy, eventually throws his lot in with the Resistance, but there’s no happy ending for anyone.

Director Vincente Minnelli (Two Weeks in Another Town, 1962) is terrific at marshalling his set pieces, using widescreen to excellent advantage, cramming extra bodies in at the edges, but since these sequences tend to be little more than extended talk-fests – the activities that got Chi Chi and Etienne imprisoned are ignored – no amount of directorial skill in the world is going to salvage a movie so weighted down with dead wood.

Glenn Ford (Rage, 1966) does his very best to give the viewer something to hold onto. He avoids every shade of angst in his determination to have as much as fun as possible regardless of any situation. He’s scarcely had the chance to be so carefree on screen and he is at his charming best, and he does lift what is otherwise a somber encounter.

Ingrid Thulin (Return from the Ashes, 1965) has her moments, especially when her diplomatic skills prevent a party being ruined, and she enjoys some flighty repartee with Ford, but once the romance gets heavy her personality undergoes a U-turn and she’s holding onto angst for dear life. And there’s a twist in her character that makes no sense. When Etienne emerges from prison a broken man, she gives him both barrels, and declares her love for Julio only for shortly after to recant and dump Julio. Seems mighty insensitive and bordering on cruelty to deal her husband such a blow when he has been tortured by the Nazis. Though she might not have been so forgiving had she worked out just why Etienne was freed and Chi Chi not.

After the colossal success of Ben-Hur (1959), which set the roadshow ball rolling, MGM was on a remake crusade. As well as Ben-Hur, it had remade Cimarron (1960) – the original 1931 version an Oscar-winner and hot box office. The fact that that flopped didn’t deter the studio. The silent version of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921), set against the background of World War I, transformed Rudolph Valentino into a superstar and netted MGM a fortune. The new version sank like a stone, perhaps because it was too wordy for roadshow, or perhaps, more likely, Judgement at Nuremberg (1961) had taken a bolder look at World War Two.

A mis-hit.

REVIEWED PREVIOUSLY IN THE BLOG: Glenn Ford in Experiment in Terror (1962), Love Is a Ball (1963), Advance to the Rear / Company of Cowards (1964), Fate Is the Hunter (1964), The Money Trap (1965), Is Paris Burning? (1966), Rage (1966), The Last Challenge / The Pistolero of Red River (1967), A Time for Killing (1967), Day of the Evil Gun (1968), Heaven with a Gun (1969; Ingrid Thulin in Return from the Ashes (1965); Yvette Mimieux in The Time Machine (1960), The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (1962), Diamond Head (1962), Joy in the Morning (1965), The Reward (1965), The Caper of the Golden Bulls (1967), Dark of the Sun (1968), The Picasso Summer (1969); Vincente Minnelli directed Two Weeks in Another Town (1962) and Goodbye Charlie (1964).

Playgirl After Dark / Too Hot to Handle (1960) ***

Passable British crime B-picture, mainlining on sleaze, plot as flimsy as the costumes of the dancers, rescued by, flipping her screen persona on its head, a heartfelt performance by Jayne Mansfield. Career tumbling spectacularly after her Frank Tashlin heyday (The Girl Can’t Help It and Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter, both 1957) she was loaned out to any outfit that would have her. Director Terence Young’s (Dr No, 1962) career was also at a low ebb after Safari and Zarak (both 1956) while Carl Boehm (Peeping Tom, 1960) and future Carry On stalwart Barbara Windsor, minus trademark Cockney accent, were on the way up.

Ostensibly an expose of the Soho strip club business, invests too much time in cabaret, though Midnight Franklin’s (Jayne Mansfield) number is surprisingly well done. Parallel plots see journalist Robert (Carl Boehm) investigating the industry while rival night club owners Johnny Solo (Leo Genn) and Diamonds Dielli (Sheldon Lawrence) duke it out over the spoils.

As you might expect, such clubs are populated by seedy customers, some harmless like a Leipzig salesman falling for disinterested showgirl Lilliane (Danik Patisson), others on the creepier side like Mr Arpels (Martin Boddey) who tempts unwary girls with talk of setting them up in the movie business. Naturally, so many girls together, jealousies simmer and tensions flare, resulting, as you might expect, in a catfight. But that’s nothing compared to the beating handed out to Johnny by Diamonds’ thugs. Matters aren’t helped by Johnny’s manager Novak (Christopher Lee) being in the pay of the opposition.

Apart from wearing outfits that would give the censor of the time a heart attack, Midnight is really a sensible girl, hating violence, warning boyfriend Johnny to get out of the business before he ends up dead. She’s got few illusions left, hardly expecting Johnny to pop the question, but like Richard Widmark in yesterday’s Two Rode Together (1961) gradually becoming repelled by his actions.

For the most part she accepts that Johnny effectively pimps out his acts to wealthy customers like Arpels but recoils when he attempts to do so with Ponytail (Barbara Windsor) whom most people believe to be under-age. However, when Ponytail’s attempted rape turns into murder and the police turn up at the nightclub, Midnight, initially obeying the laws of omerta, turns on Johnny after she discovers his gun. But in a wonderful closing scene, she picks up the discarded flower he wore in his lapel and kisses it.

There’s some surprisingly potent dialogue and sharp one-liners – “that’s a very nice dress you nearly got on” / “I had a friend once but it didn’t take”/ “there’s not enough milk of human kindness around here to fill a baby’s bottle” / after a date with Arpels “some girls came back with promises…one came back with a baby.” A good bit more of such zingers and the movie would barrel along regardless of limp plot.

Energy is lost by focusing too long on the cabaret acts and on the growing romance between Robert and Lilliane. As glamorous fading nightclub star, Midnight provides the necessary oomph in more ways that one, but the movie would have benefitted by concentrating more on her ruefulness and self-awareness. Though besotted by Johnny, she knows he’s no lifetime ticket, tries to keep from herself as long as possible acknowledgement of his more sinister side, not so much knowing her place but aware which barriers not to cross. There’s a terrific scene in the middle of the night when she guesses he might be in trouble but hesitates over telephoning him in case this would be deemed over-familiar intrusion. Even she doesn’t know why she still hangs around a joint like this except “fish gotta swim, bird gotta fly.”

Bombastic on stage, she’s subtle off. You will come away believing Jayne Mansfield can actually act. But there’s nothing much to get excited about from the other performers, mostly in the stolid category, though it’s interesting to see what Barbara Windsor can do without reverting to a Cockney accent. Oscar-nominated Leo Genn (55 Days at Peking, 1963) proves that even crooks can possess a stiff upper lip. At this point with only a couple of horror pictures to his name Christopher Lee (The Devil Rides Out, 1968) could still be found in dramatic fare, but this is no break-put role.

Herbert Kretzmer, credited with the screenplay along with Harry Lee (All That Heaven Allows, 1955), would go onto worldwide fame and enormous wealth for Anglicizing French hit musical Les Miserables. While posters boast of Eastman color, which would have added to enjoyment of the dance routines, you can pretty much only find this in black-and-white and with ten minutes lopped off.

Wanna feel sorry for Jayne Mansfield, this is for you.