movie review – Page 26 – The Magnificent 60s

Beyond the Curtain (1960) ***

Richard Greene had been a childhood idol as that dashing hero Robin Hood in long-running British television series (The Adventures of Robin Hood, 1955-1960) and movie Sword of Sherwood Forest (1960) so I was rather at a loss to discover that his career appeared to stumble thereafter. Only one movie in seven years and then a short stint as the hero in The Blood of Fu Manchu (1968) and The Castle of Fu Manchu (1969). What I hadn’t realized given his eternal youthful demeanor was that he was already approaching 40 when he first donned the tights for Robin Hood and that he was coming to the end of a reasonable stint as a leading man in both Hollywood and domestically.

So I shouldn’t really have been surprised that he turned up in this Cold War B-picture. Precisely because he was the star the movie didn’t make the inroads it should have done, given the subject matter and the sensitive playing of Hungarian female lead Eva Bartok (Blood and Black Lace, 1964) whose career was equally foundering after a promising start as Burt Lancaster’s squeeze in The Crimson Pirate (1951).

Audiences were probably baffled by the technicality on which the story pivots. As the Cold War begins – the titular Curtain is The Iron Curtain – air space was as important a national border as land and venturing into foreign air space was construed as deliberate provocation.

East German stewardess Karin (Eva Bartok), a refugee in Britain from her home country, is arrested when her airplane touches down in East Germany after losing its way in a storm. Pilot fiancé Capt Jim Kyle (Richard Greene), who is let go by the Soviet-influenced authorities, returns to East Germany to try to rescue her.

This resonates more than it did at the time when the Berlin Wall was not yet in existence and the Cold War consisted more of saber-rattling than anything as perilous as the Cuban Missile Crisis. And there’s a definite Kafkaesque tone. Karin is treated as a traitor for attempting to flee her native land and is equally used as bait by her captors to attempt to draw out of hiding her dissident brother Pieter (George Mikell). Outside of Kyle, there’s a sense of romantic revenge, old friend Hans (Marius Goring) now leading the forces hoping to entrap her brother.

There’s plenty of the usual escape ploys, and the atmosphere has noir-antecedents with lighting that exploits shadow and night. And while the thriller aspects work well enough, especially the exciting climax in a tunnel, they carry less impact than the emotions. Karin is terrified of not just being held against her will and interrogated by the fierce secret police, but the prospect of repatriation – or more likely imprisonment – in a country she now despises and had managed to escape is proof that you can’t go home again.

If you remember the scene in Doctor Zhivago (1965) of Omar Sharif after the war returning to his palatial apartment and finding it filled up with other occupants and his family relegated to a very small space, this is its precedent. Karin’s family home is ruled by a sinister landlady-cum-busybody-cum-informant and her suicidal mother (Lucie Mannheim) lives in the attic and suffers delusions. The despair of living in a totalitarian regime comes across very well.

While reminiscent of elements of The Third Man (1949) and thoroughly overtaken in the espionage genre by the likes of The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965) and The Quiller Memorandum (1966), this makes it mark by concentrating on entrapment and lack of freedom.

Richard Greene is in his element as the dashing hero, but he’s outshone by Eva Bartok who has much more to lose.

Final feature of British stalwart Compton Bennett (King Solomon’s Mines, 1950) who injects occasional style into proceedings. Written by the director and John Cresswell (Spare the Rod, 1961) from the bestseller by Charles F Blair and A.J. Wallis.

More thought-provoking than you might expect.

Vendetta for the Saint (1969) ***

This big-screen version of a small-screen hero is as pleasant a diversion as you can get. Nostalgia pretty much gives it a free pass and in any case the action, which punctuates the drama at regular intervals, was always going to be budget-restricted. Despite being in almost constant danger the insouciance of gentleman thief Simon Templar dictates that the pace is no more than languid.

As the title suggests, we’re in Mafia country, Templar (Roger Moore) drawn into a Cosa Nostra succession scenario as the result of a casual encounter with former bank clerk Houston (Fulton Mackay), later found dead. Houston has cast doubts on the real identity of Mafia Don Destiamo (Ian Hendry), one of several contenders to become the next Mafia overlord. Templar sneaks into Destiamo’s world by pursuing his niece Gina (Rosemary Dexter). Although outwardly respectable, Destiamo a bit too fond of using his cigar as a weapon of disfigurement, threatening his blonde English moll Lily (Aimi MacDonald) in this fashion.

Part of Templar’s attraction is that, although he has a nefarious side, he is happy to walk those mean streets and has a strict moral code. And he moves in such elevated circles that he has a nodding acquaintance with dying Mafia chieftain Don Pasquale (Finlay Currie) who has yet to pick his successor.

The other part of his attraction is that he’s played with such suaveness by Roger Moore. For a good chunk of the time someone is trying to knife him, shoot him, blow him up, capture him, jab him with a truth serum, and generally trying to stop him. In fending off such attacks, or out-smarting the villains, there’s rarely a hair out of place. It’s not so much devil-may-care as devil-is-wasting-his-time with such an imperturbable fellow.

Although the action is pretty straightforward, Templar is not above a clever ruse – jamming a bus in a gateway preventing his pursuers continuing the chase – nor an old one such as tying sheets together to climb out of a window. While Malta stands in for Italy, the locations still look authentic enough, ancient stone buildings, the occasional horse pulling a cart. When the action/drama eases up, there’s always pleasant scenery.

Following MGM’s success in stitching together into a movie two episodes of The Man From U.N.C/L.E. television series (which of course had pinched the idea from Walt Disney’s cinematic re-presentation of Davy Crockett episodes) it was no surprise that ATV, then under the control of future movie mogul Sir Lew Grade (Raise the Titanic, 1980), decided to adopt the same idea. Although The Saint had been showing on British television since 1962, by the end of its run in 1969 it had stepped up to bigger budgets, 35mm and colour. Given each episode lasted around 50 minutes, it was relatively simple to devise a two-part programme shown over consecutive weeks on ITV in Britain and then release it throughout the rest of the world as a feature film. The first such project was The Fiction Makers (1968) followed by Vendetta for the Saint.

Roger Moore’s movie career had been in limbo since Romulus and the Sabines (1961) and there’s no doubt that his performance as Simon Templar and later in another glossier British television series The Persuaders (1971-1972) made him a candidate for James Bond. While his interpretation of Templar, especially the wry delivery, does bear some similarities to his incarnation as 007, that only holds true as long as you set aside the year’s supply of Brylcreem dumped on his hair, the shoulder-padded shoulders and the fact that he had not yet perfected his trademark move, the raising of the single eyebrow.

While no match for the quips prevalent in James Bond, Canadian screenwriter Harry W. Junkin – best known for his television work, his only other movies being a similar melding of television episodes of The Persuaders – and John Kruse (Hell Drivers, 1957) – had some neat one-liners. Despite the obvious limitations, director Jim O’Connelly (Berserk, 1967) does a decent enough job.

But Moore carries the show. Ian Hendry makes a passable villain but not a passable Italian. In general, not surprisingly since most characters were played by British actors, the accents are all over the place though Moore, courtesy of squiring Luisa Mattioli (later his wife) manages to deliver his Italian lines in an acceptable accent. Otherwise, the only one who comes close is Rosemary Dexter (The Shoes of the Fisherman, 1968) and that’s because she was Italian. Worth checking out in the supporting cast are Finlay Currie (Ben Hur, 1959) and Fulton Mackay (BBC series Porridge, 1974-1977).

You can find a lot wrong with this without looking very hard but if you switch off your over-critical faculties you will be pleasantly surprised.

Texas Across the River (1966) ****

Excellent comedy western mixing dry wit and occasional slapstick to joyous effect. The wedding between Spanish duke Don Aldrea (Alain Delon) and Louisiana belle Phoebe (Rosemary Forsyth) is interrupted by her previous suitor Yancy (Stuart Cottle) who is killed in the resulting melee. Escaping to Texas, Don Aldrea’s marksmanship leads settler Sam (Dean Martin) to recruit him to help fight raiding Comanches. Romantic entanglement ensues when the Don rescues Native American Lonetta (Tina Marquand) and Sam has more than a passing interest in Phoebe.

It is so tightly structured that nothing occurs that doesn’t have a pay-off further down the line. Bursting with terrific lines – including a stinger of a final quip – and set pieces, it pokes fun at every western cliché from the gunfight, the cavalry in hot pursuit, and fearsome Native Americans to the snake bite and the naked bathing scene. Incompetence is the order of the day – cavalry captain Stimpson (Peter Graves) issues incomprehensible orders, chief’s son Yellow Knife (Michael Linden) cannot obey any.

The Don, with his obsession with honor and his tendency to kiss men on the cheeks, is a comedy gift. Despite his terrific head of hair, he is stuck with the moniker “Baldy” and every time he is about to save the day he manages to ruin it. Sam is the kind of guy who thinks he is showing class by removing his spurs in bed while retaining his boots. His sidekick Kronk (Joey Bishop), a mickey-take on Tonto, mostly is just that, a guy who stands at the side doing nothing but delivering dry observations.

Lonetta is full of Native American lore and has enough sass to keep the Don in his place. “What is life with honor,” he cries to which she delivers the perfect riposte, “What is honor without life?” Phoebe is a hot ticket with not much in the way of loyalty.

Two sequences stand out – the slapping scene (whaat?) and a piece of exquisite comedy timing when Sam, Phoebe and the Don try an iron out a complicated situation.

Good as Dean Martin (Rough Night in Jericho, 1967) is the picture belongs to Alain Delon (Once a Thief, 1965) and I would argue it is possibly his best performance. Never has an actor so played against type or exploded his screen persona. Delon was known for moody, sullen roles, cameras fixated on his eyes. But here he is a delight, totally immersed in a role, not of an idiot, but a man of high ideals suddenly caught up in a country that is less impressed with ideals. If he had played the part with a knowing wink it would never have worked.

Martin exudes such screen charm you are almost convinced he’s not acting at all, but when you compare this to Rough Night in Jericho it’s easy to see why he was so under-rated. Joey Bishop (Ocean’s 11) is a prize turn, with some of the best quips. Rosemary Forsyth (Shenandoah, 1965) is surprisingly good, having made her bones in more dramatic roles, and Tina Marquand (Modesty Blaise, 1966) more than holds her own. Michael Ansara (Sol Madrid, 1968) played Cochise in the Broken Arrow (1956-1958) television series. Under all the Medicine Man get-up you might spot Richard Farnsworth. Peter Graves of Mission Impossible fame is the hapless cavalry leader.

Director Michael Gordon (Move Over, Darling, 1964) hits the mother lode, the story zipping along, every time it seems to be taking a side-step actually nudging the narrative forward. He draws splendid performances from the entire cast, knowing when to play it straight, when to lob in a piece of slapstick, and when to cut away for a humorous reaction, and especially keeping in check the self-indulgence which marred many Rat Pack pictures – two of the gang are here, Martin and Bishop. There’s even a sly nod to Sergio Leone spaghetti westerns when the electric guitar strikes up any time Native Americans appear. Frank De Vol (Cat Ballou, 1965) did the score. Written by Wells Root (Secrets of Deep Harbor, 1961), Ben Starr (Our Man Flint, 1966) and Harold Greene (Hide and Seek, 1964).

Terrific fun.

Ulzana’s Raid (1972) ****

Still stands up as an allegory for the Vietnam War, superior American forces almost decimated by a small band of Apaches engaging in guerilla warfare. After the consecutive flops of Castle Keep (1969) and The Swimmer (1969), Burt Lancaster had unexpectedly shot to the top of Hollywood tree on the back of disaster movie Airport (1970) and consolidated his position with a string of westerns, which had global appeal, of which this was the third. After the commercial high of The Dirty Dozen (1967), director Robert Aldrich had lost his way, in part through an ambitious attempt to set up a mini-studio, his last four pictures including The Legend of Lylah Clare (1968) and The Killing of Sister George (1969) all registering in the red.

Riding a wave of critical acclaim was Scottish screenwriter Alan Sharp whose debut The Last Run (1971) turned on its head the gangster’s last job trope, and its lyrical successor The Hired Hand (1971) had stars and directors queuing up. Here he delivers the intelligent work for which he would become famous, melding Native American lore with a much tougher take on the Indian Wars and the cruelty from both sides.

The narrative follows two threads, the duel between Ulzana (Joaquin Martinez), who has escaped from the reservation, and Army scout MacIntosh (Burt Lancaster); and the novice commander Lt DeBuin (Bruce Davison) earning his stripes. In between ruminations on Apache culture, their apparent cruelty given greater understanding, and some conflict within the troops, bristling at having to obey an inexperienced officer, most of the film is devoted to the battle of minds, as soldiers and Native Americans try to out-think each other.

Shock is a main weapon of Aldrich’s armory. There’s none of the camaraderie or “twilight of the west” stylistic flourishes that distinguished Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) or The Wild Bunch (1969). This is a savage land where a trooper will shoot dead the female homesteader he is escorting back to the fort rather than see her fall into the hands of the Apaches, following this up by blowing his own brains out so that he doesn’t suffer the same fate.

What such fate entails is soon outlined when another homesteader is tortured to death and another woman raped within an inch of her life, the fact that she survives such an ordeal merely a ploy to encourage the Christian commander to detach some of his troops to escort her safely home and so diminish his strength. Instead, in both pragmatic and ruthless fashion, she is used as bait, to tempt the Apaches out of hiding.

The Apaches have other clever tools, using a bugle to persuade a homesteader to venture out of his retreat, and are apt to slaughter a horse so that its blood can contaminate the only drinking water within several miles.

Key to the whole story is transport. The Apaches need horses. These they can acquire from homesteaders. Once acquired, they are used to fox the enemy, the animals led across terrain minus their riders, to mislead the pursuing cavalry and set up a trap. MacIntosh and his Native American guide, Ke-Ni-Tay (Jorge Luke), uncover the trickery and set up a trap of their own. However, the plan backfires. Having scattered the Apache horses, the Apaches redouble their determination to wipe out the soldiers in order to have transport.

There’s a remarkable moment in the final shootout where the soldiers hide behind their horses on the assumption that the Apaches will not shoot the horses they so desperately need. But that notion backfires, too, when they are ambushed from both sides of a canyon.

The twists along the way are not the usual narrative sleight-of-hand but matter-of-fact reversals. The soldiers do not race on to try and overtake their quarry. To do so would over-tire the horses, and contrary to the usual sequences of horsemen dashing through inhospitable terrain, we are more likely to see the soldiers sitting around taking a break. Ulzana is not captured in traditional Hollywood fashion either, no gunfight or fistfight involving either MacIntosh or the lieutenant. Instead, it’s the cunning of Ke-Ni-Tay that does the trick.

There are fine performances all round. Burt Lancaster is in low-key mode, Bruce Davison (Last Summer, 1969) holds onto his Christian principles so far as to bury the Apache dead rather than mutilate them, as was deemed suitable revenge by his corps, but his ideas of extending a hand of friendship to the enemy are killed off. Richard Jaeckel (The Dirty Dozen) communicates more with looks exchanged with MacIntosh than any dialog. Robert Aldrich is back on song, but owes a great deal to the literate screenplay.

Quentin Tarantino acclaimed this and I can’t disagree.

The Secret War of Harry Frigg (1968) ***

Except for an ingenious escape attempt and Paul Newman spoofing his Cool Hand Luke (1967) persona, this World War Two POW number falls into the “sounded like a good idea at the time” category. Harry Frigg (Newman), the American army’s most notorious escapee (though from British military prisons), is promoted from buck private to two-star general and parachuted into northern Italy to organize a breakout of five one-star generals.

The premise that the war effort is hampered by embarrassment at the generals being captured seems far-fetched as is the notion that the quintet are hopelessly incompetent when it comes to doing anything that sounds like proper army stuff. Adding another offbeat element is that they are being held in effectively a deluxe POW camp, an ancient castle run by Colonel Ferrucci (Vito Scotti), a former Ritz hotel manager with a lapdog attitude to the rich and powerful.

Almost immediately Frigg discovers an escape route through a secret door but is disinclined to go any further since it leads into the boudoir of the Countess Francesca (Sylva Koscina). New Jersey inhabitant Frigg feels out of the place with the high-falutin’ generals and proceeds to get himself a cultural education. Meanwhile, the countess, obtaining her position through marriage rather than birth, trying to bolster his confidence naturally triggers his romantic impulses.

The humor is of the gentlest kind – Frigg taking advantage of his superiority, Italians speaking tortured English – and not much in the way of bellylaffs either. Director Jack Smight, who collaborated so well with Newman in Harper (1966) and manages to achieve a tricky balance in No Way to Treat a Lady (1968), loses his way here, not least structurally, as the movie pingpongs between the generals, the commandant and Frigg and, thematically, issues of power. Crucially, he fails to rein in Newman.

The generals, squabbling among themselves for power, would be caricatures except that their characters are rounded out by the players, Charles Gray (The Devil Rides Out, 1968) as Cox-Roberts and Tom Bosley (Divorce American Style, 1967) as Pennypacker. The other generals are played by Andrew Duggan (Seven Days in May, 1964), John Williams (Harlow, 1965) and Jacques Roux (The List of Adrian Messenger, 1963). Representing the American top brass in England are James Gregory (a repeat role in the Matt Helm series) and Norman Fell (The Graduate, 1967)

After her excellent turn as a mischievous and vengeful villain in Deadlier than the Male (1967), Yugoslavian Sylva Koscina comes down to earth with a less rewarding role as charming leading lady with a sly sense of humor rather than the femme fatale of A Lovely Way to Die (1968). Werner Peters (The Corrupt Ones / The Peking Medallion, 1968) makes a late appearance as a Nazi and you might spot screenwriter Buck Henry (The Graduate) in a bit part.

The screenplay by Peter Stone (Arabesque, 1966) and Oscar-winner Frank Tarloff (Father Goose, 1968) is an odd mixture of occasional sharp dialog and labored story. The set-up takes too long and you keep on wondering when it is going to get to the pay-off.

No doubt looking for some light relief after a quartet of heavier dramatic roles – Harper (1966), Torn Curtain (1966), Hombre (1967) and Harper (1967) – Newman acts like he has escaped the straitjacket of a considered performance and instead indulges in mugging and hamming it up, his body freeing a barrage of mannerisms previously held in check.

Black Bag (2025) *** – Seen at the Cinema

Explain to me how this cost anything like the reported $50 million. Unless the cost of a nightclub scene has gone through the roof. Or someone has slapped an almighty tariff on shooting in Zurich. Or such middling box office attractions as Cate Blanchett and Michael Fassbender, against the laws of marquee valuation, are pulling down salaries in the region of $10 million apiece.

Because this is nothing but a glorified chamber piece, most scenes shot indoors or in secluded locations. There’s no car chase, one minor explosion (drone-triggered), not even a pursuit on foot. Some clever marketing oik has dressed up what’s no more than a BBC TV film as an expensive espionage picture in the hope of hooking a larger audience.

It’s short, little more than 90 minutes, so that’s on the plus side. But the plot’s full of holes, you’re scarcely going to swallow Fassbender and Blanchett, faces welded to stiff upper lip, as a hot middle-aged couple, and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see Hercule Poirot or more likely Miss Marple lurch into view for the grand finale with all the potential culprits being set to rights around a dinner table.

Fassbender is so impassive at the best of times his character hardly needs to be expanded to include some OCD, and the most expressive he becomes is, wait for it, hand shaking when he pours a glass of water. The theme, wait for it, is that people who lie for a living are not to be trusted in their domestic lives. And just to polish the virtue-signalling credentials there’s still running amok in MI5/MI6/Black Ops/CIA some rogue top dog who thinks he can stop the unnamed war – presumably Ukraine – by causing a nuclear power plant meltdown in Russia.

And when Pierce Brosnan steals the show in a small supporting role you know your movie’s in trouble.

That said, there’s enough going on to keep you entertained. Top British agent George (Michael Fassbender) begins to suspect – or does he really – that his wife, also a top British agent, Kathryn (Cate Blanchett), is up to no good. So he begins to investigate. Mirror is piled upon mirror, complicated by the occasional murder, so that we are soon knee-deep in the kind of narrative where you don’t know who trust – but, equally, unfortunately, don’t much care because none of the characters is remotely attractive.

At least one them, Freddie (Tom Burke), would have been considered a security risk. So often does he stray he would be catnip for any passing honeytrap. But you might also have asked questions about his current squeeze, analyst Clarissa (Marisa Abela), paranoid as a posse of schizophrenics, who knows exactly how to pass a polygraph test (clenching the anal sphincter one of the tricks in case you’re interested), and as likely as not to ram a carving knife into unfaithful boyfriend Freddie’s hand at the dinner table. Naturally, it doesn’t do much harm, because Freddie is back at work next day with bandaged hand and not investigated by cops over a knife wound that could hardly be covered by the old slipping the shower routing.

Then we’ve got straitlaced psychiatrist Dr Zoe Vaughan (Naomie Harris) with a penchant for erotic fiction, sex in the office (including breaking the cardinal rule of her profession, sex with a patient), and stringing along two men at once, both of whom, Freddie and Col James Stokes (Rege-Jean Page), are engaged in other affairs.

George soon realizes he’s being played as a patsy, and that his investigation has compromised another operation, and facilitated the handover of a top secret document to the Russians.

In the current dearth of movies for the over-40s, make that over-30s not yet suffocating in superheroes and multiverses, this is what passes for entertainment aimed at an adult audience. And it is short, as I said, but this is exactly the kind of low-budget movie with a decent cast that traditionally ends up on a streamer.

For once, director Steven Soderbergh (Magic Mike’s Last Dance, 2023), whose career is littered with self-indulgence, sticks to the knitting, and it’s a more than passable espionage thriller, but the kind that would be more at home on the small screen. Written by David Koepp (Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, 2023).

Neither Fassbender (Next Goal Wins, 2023) nor Blanchett (Tar, 2022) do the most basic task required of a marquee name, which is to set the screen alight, and all the rest, excepting the much-in-demand Pierce Brosnan (Black Adam, 2022) – seven pictures in the last two years – merely trundle along in their wake, saddled with scenes where they express alarm at their deepest secrets being revealed like they have drifted in to some shopworn melodrama.

For all the actual investigation that takes place you could have set this in the kind of remote spot favored by Agatha Christie and played it out in traditional Poirot/Marple fashion.

Interesting but ultimately disappointing.

And the big question remains – where did the $50 million go? And, did it exist in the first place?

Sebastian (1968) ***

Decoding the emotional life of mathematics professor Sebastian (Dirk Bogarde) lies at the heart of a spy thriller mainlining on loyalty and trust. The presence of a flotilla of potential Bond girls has opened this picture up to charges of being a spoof, but I saw the mini-skirted incredibly-bright lasses as being a reversal of the standard secretarial pool. And a supposed representation of the “swinging sixties” would hold true if shot in the environs of Carnaby St rather than the bulk of locations being arid high-rise buildings.

In roundabout fashion, intrigued after literally bumping into him in Oxford, Rebecca (Susannah York) is recruited into an espionage decoding department staffed entirely by gorgeous (but brainy) women. Among the older employees is chain-smoking left-winger Elsa (Lili Palmer) whom security chief General Phillips (Nigel Davenport) suspects of passing on secrets. When romance ensues with SY, Sebastian dumps dumb pop singer girlfriend Carol (Janet Munro) who is already having an affair and spying on Sebastian.

Although there is no actual beat-the-clock codes to be unraveled, tensions remains surprisingly high as in best Turing manner, breakthroughs are slow. There’s an undercurrent of electronic surveillance, eavesdropping on recruits, bugs planted in the houses of even the apparently most trusted personnel, seeds of distrust easily sowed, codes shifting from numbers to sounds. The occasional nod to the contemporary, a disco, pop songs, Rebecca doing a fashion shoot in the middle of traffic, is background rather than center stage

Sebastian, though worshipped by is female staff, is “more whimsical than predatory.” Nonetheless, introspective and often morose, unable to deal with emotions, it falls to Rebecca to take on the task of sorting him out which naturally leads to complications.

Most reviewers at the time complained it was a victory of style over substance, but somehow they managed to overlook the essential questions about trust the picture asked. That said, it does follow an odd structure, the third act dependent on directorial sleight-of-hand.

Dirk Bogarde (Hot Enough for June/ Agent 8 ¾, 1964) is always highly watchable and Susannah York (Sands of the Kalahari, 1965) catches the eye with an impulsive, slightly kooky character who turns out to be down-to-earth. Nigel Davenport (Play Dirty, 1969) brings his usual cynical malevolence to the party but with the twist of not knowing whose side he is really on. John Gielgud (Becket, 1964) is a delight. There’s a brief appearance by a pipe-smoking Donald Sutherland (The Dirty Dozen, 1967). Miss World Ann Sidney is one of “Sebastian Girls”

David Greene’s (The Shuttered Room, 1967) direction is mostly competent but the opening aerial tracking shots set the precedence for occasional bursts of style. Jerry Fielding supplied the score. Written by Leo Marks (Peeping Tom, 1960) and Gerard Vaughan-Hughes (The Duellists, 1977).

La Femme Infidele / Unfaithful Wife (1969) ****

Not surprising since French critics worshipped Alfred Hitchcock – the only ones who gave him their wholesale approval in the 1960s – that a French director would attempt to pick up his mantle. But where Hitchcock majored on mystery and suspense and generally an innocent entrapped in conspiracy or crime, here director Claude Chabrol mostly dispenses with mystery concentrating instead on suspense. And it’s of the kind exhibited in To Catch a Thief (1955), Vertigo (1958), North by Northwest (1959) and Marnie (1964) where you are willing a character to get away with their crime or at least find redemption. And where Hitchcock places that load on the glamorous femme fatale, here Chabrol throws us into that most mundane of crimes, the jealous husband wanting revenge on his wife’s lover.

Successful businessman Charles (Michel Bouquet) should be enjoying life, glamorous trophy wife Helene (Stephane Audran) way out of his league, big house in the country, adorable son. But there’s something amiss. When his wife, who appears loving, makes sexual overtures in bed he turns over. He has grown suspicious of the amount of time she wife spends in Paris, ostensibly visiting her hairdresser or having beauty treatments or going to the cinema. Eventually, he hires a private detective and discovers his wife has a lover, Victor (Maurice Ronet). He decides to confront the lover rather than the wife. But instead of playing the outraged husband card, he pretends to be a man of the world, suggesting that Helene and he have an open marriage and that Victor is the latest in a long line of lovers. What he hopes to achieve from this is unclear, perhaps put Victor’s nose out of joint, perhaps cover up his own anger.

But it doesn’t go the way he planned. He spies an over-large cigarette lighter in the bedroom, a present he gave his wife for their third anniversary and kills Victor. This being the 1960s before forensics determined that you could never entirely eliminate a blood stain on a floor, Charles, with considerable diligence, cleans up the blood, remembering to wash out the bucket and cloth, wiping his fingerprints from everything he touched, bagging up the man in bed linen and dragging him out to his car.

On the way to disposing the body he is involved in a minor road accident. Police are called. He is saved from opening the car trunk because it is damaged. But when he tries to get rid of the body, the trunk proves impossible to open. Victor had appeared such a smarmy character, you’ve got no compunction about his death, you just want Charles to get away with the murder. Eventually, he forces the trunk open and drops the body in a small algae-covered pond. For a moment air trapped in the package makes it appear unsinkable. But, then – audience enjoying a sigh of relief and perhaps a homage to Psycho (1960) – it disappears.

Whether he revels in the discomfort of his wife who is no longer able to enjoy her twice-weekly assignations with Victor and unable, of course, to explain her bouts of distress to her husband and must keep up a façade, is unclear.

This is only a perfect crime to someone who has never been involved in crime, unaware of all the means of investigation at the disposal of Inspector Duval (Michel Duchaussoy) and his evil-eyed colleague Gobet (Guy Marley) who has the kind of look that says I know you’re guilty.

Turns out Helene’s name is in Victor’s address book and she can come up with no plausible reason for it being there. Charles denies ever having met Victor. The police are not convinced and return to interrogate the pair. Any viewer will quickly realize that it’s virtually impossible for either of the pair to remain undetected, the regularity of Helene’s visits can hardly have gone unnoticed, and even on a quiet street someone might have noticed Charles’s parked car and possibly him lifting the bulky package.

Nor does Charles dissolve in a bout of guilt. There’s an air of inevitability about him. You have no idea whether he might divorce Helene. The notion that she might not just take another lover doesn’t seem to occur to him and he’s not offered the opportunity to air his suspicions. Is he just going to bump off every lover his wife takes?

His wife finds a photograph of her lover in her husband’s pocket. But instead of denouncing him to the police, she burns it, either to protect her marriage or protect herself from the humiliation of being linked to the dead man, or because she has realized the folly of her betrayal.

We never find out her intentions because at that moment the police return and take Charles away.

A marvellous pivot on Hitchcock, with none of the B-film seediness that might have attended such a femme fatale, as Chabrol sets out his stall as a purveyor of the ordinary criminal, the one who didn’t run in high-class circles or was involved in international intrigue. The crime is so commonplace, that’s the beauty of it, and Charles such an ordinary character it all works superbly.

While Stephane Audran (Les Biches, 1968) is luminous, Michel Bouquet (The Road to Cornith, 1967) is her down-to-earth opposite. Written by the director and Sauro Scavolini (Any Gun Can Play, 1967).

A director finds his metier.

Holiday in Spain / Scent of Mystery (1960) **

There were five our great reasons to see this picture. Firstly, it was in Cinerama. Secondly, it was the first attempt in that special format to tell a dramatic story rather than offer just a travelog. Though How the West Was Won (1962) was promoted at the first dramatic use of Cinerama, that was actually untrue. This came first. Third, there was a terrific gimmick – Smell-O-Vision – which allowed audiences to inhale around 30 fragrances at the same time as the onscreen characters. Fourthly, it was produced by Mike Todd Jr., son of the Oscar-winning producer of Around the World in 80 Days (1956) and second husband of Elizabeth Taylor who was instrumental in bringing Cinerama to the big screen in the first place., Lastly, it was the first top-billed appearance of rising British star Denholm Elliott.

Unfortunately, none of these hit the target and it remains a novelty in the Cinerama canon. For a start, there wasn’t much of a story – it’s a chase tale of sorts with crime novelist Oliver (Denholm Elliott) uncovering a plan to kill American heiress Sally Kennedy. In setting out to thwart it he travels all over Spain in the company of philosophic wise-cracking taxi driver Smiley (Peter Lorre). Cue travelog of scenic Spain including fiestas, dances and the running of the bulls, which appears not to have been specially staged but filmed documentary-style as it occurred with the bulls inflicting considerable damage on the humans foolish enough to think it’s a lark.

The hook is the mystery woman who can only be detected by her Schiaparelli perfume while the giveaway for the villain, hired assassin Baron saradin (Paul Lukas), is his tobacco. Cue an onslaught of scents. But the smells don’t just pop up when characters are involved. When a barrel of wine smashes, that produces another smell.

Astonishingly, the movie manages to bring in some of the Cinerama trademarks – the runaway element seen from the audience POV, not just the traditional vehicle but also barrels of wine.

The smell gimmick worked well enough in cinemas set up for such technical aspects, but that amounted to very few screens, and outside of those the movie just seemed a random series of scenes with only panoramic views of Spain to lessen the boredom.

It did nothing for the career of Denholm Elliott and he did little for the movie. He lacked the edge or innocence required to make such a character come alive and mostly he looks as though he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t make another movie for three years and on his return for Station Six Sahara (1963) he was no longer the star but quickly shifting into the character actor he would be for the rest of his screen career.

It was nearly the last hurrah for Peter Lorre. He suffered heart attack during filming so the real Peter Lorre is only seen in half the picture, for the other half it’s a stand-in.

The presence of Elizabeth Taylor (Butterfield 8, 1960) could conceivably have redeemed the picture but she puts in only a fleeting appearance, so speedy her distinctive features barely register. You see more of Diana Dors (Baby Love, 1969).

In the hands of Alfred Hitchcock (Psycho, 1960) or imitators like Stanley Donen (Charade, 1963) and with a more finely worked screenplay, reliant on neither visual nor olfactory gimmick, this might have worked. But it was in hands of Jack Cardiff (The Girl on a Motorcycle, 1968), famed cinematographer but only his third outing as a director, and he clearly didn’t know how to balance the various ingredients and so it limps home.

The minute the location of the source novel by Audrey Kelley and William Roos shifted from New York to Spain and the number of investigators halved, the trouble started. The hunt for a woman whose existence is in question was a standard mystery trope and might very well have worked here minus the smells and Cinerama.

A curiosity.

The Ugly American (1963) ***

Terrific performance from Marlon Brando saves this prescient but preachy meditation on Vietnam. Harrison MacWhite (Marlon Brando) is the new ambassador, whose political credentials are questioned by many, parachuted into the fictional South-East Asia country of Sarkhan, knee-deep in civil war, Communist north versus westernized south. The battleground is the American construction of a “Freedom Road” north to China which dissenters fear will be a conduit for the military. MacWhite owes his appointment to his friendship with Deong (Eeji Okada), a charismatic leader.

On arrival, the ambassadorial car is engulfed in a riot, car rocked, windscreens smashed. MacWhite shakes up a complacent embassy and though articulate and scholarly believes he holds the solution to the tricky situation, not willing to accept that national self-determination does not necessarily mean complete hatred of the Americans. There is duplicity on both sides, rebels blaming U.S. truck drivers for deaths they caused, the Americans so used to getting their way they don’t stop to think if it is the right way.

Anxious not to be seen as a lapdog for Communism, MacWhite’s actions inflame the situation, while Deong falls victim to internal forces. Construction boss Homer Atkins (Pat Hingle) promotes the clever use of building hospitals along the road, thus encouraging locals to back it, but nobody falls for such honest skull-duggery masquerading as well-meaning intent.

Friends turning into enemies is a decent premise for any movie but this is over-burdened with debate that while interesting and providing a reflection of the times is basically a mixture of virtue-signalling and apportioning blame and, most heinous of failings, doesn’t really advance the story.

First-time director George Englund handles the action sequences well and captures the essence of a country about to explode against a background of growing tension and political machination. Use of Thailand as a location adds authenticity.

Based on a controversial novel by political scientist Eugene Burdick (who also wrote a more straightforward cold War thriller Fail Safe) and William Lederer, navy veteran and CIA officer, so it carried the stamp of authority in terms of putting forth the arguments for both sides. However, while the film bears only a “passing resemblance” to the book, according to co-author Burdick, he deemed it a superior achievement on the basis of its more dramatic treatment. Stewart Stern (Rachel, Rachel, 1969) was the screenwriter who received blame and praise in equal measure.

Marlon Brando (Burn! / Quiemada, 1969) exudes authority, broad shoulders packed into a suit, and brilliant captures the anguish of a man led into disaster by arrogance. Coming off back-to-back flops One-Eyed Jacks (1961) and Mutiny on the Bounty (1962), this was a considerable change of pace, the first of several excursions into political territory. Eeji Okada (Hiroshima, Mon Amour, 1958) proves a worthy opponent. Pat Hingle (Sol Madrid, 1968), Arthur Hill (Moment to Moment, 1965) and Jocelyn Brando (The Chase, 1966) provide sterling support.

The movie did not just predict what would happen if the U.S. lost the battle for hearts and minds but a similar situation confronting the U.S. Ambassador to Indonesia in 1965 whose appointment was unwelcome in that country.