Patricia Dainton – The Magnificent 60s

Sometimes there’s nothing more satisfying than a well-plotted narrative that doesn’t overstay its welcome and comes with a sting – or two – in the tail. And in the B-picture world we can accommodate all sorts of venal characters and even hope – or at least wonder if – they will get away with their nefarious plans.

We might have sympathy for stage composer Norman (Laurence Payne) stuck in a soulless marriage with Helen (Patricia Dainton). Small wonder he seeks spice through an affair with divorced sister-in-law Peggy (Jane Griffiths). After all, being a creative is hard work and we want him to enjoy showbiz success.

But that’s until driving home at night he knocks down an old man and races off without stopping. Luckily, the old fella’s not dead, otherwise it would have been in the papers. But then he’s bounced into asking his wife for a divorce since Peggy has announced she’s pregnant. But Helen isn’t agreeable, not least because of her dislike for her sister. And Helen’s very ill, a heart condition, but for reasons best known to herself, won’t confide this to her husband.

So Norman is left with no alternative but to bump her off. He comes up with a very clever plan that will allow him to pretend not be at home when he kills his wife there and also dreams up one of these clever alibis for Peggy, who’s integral to his plan, by getting her to make a nuisance of herself at the cinema, so everyone recalls her both arriving and departing, allowing her to slip out of the theater for the period of time she needs to assist Norman.

But Helen overhears the conspiracy. And when Norman goes home to shoot his wife, using an unlicensed therefore untraceable pistol provided by Peggy (war heirloom) instead of his own licensed traceable gun, he discovers the house is empty.

*Jazz singer Cleo Laine makes a cameo appearance, as, too, does Dudley Moore*.

When he returns to his lover, he finds her dead, shot through the head. As he rushes out, the police arrive. He’s only a suspect for a short time as his various alibis hold up. Helen appears to be standing by him. But then the police find his gun in the bushes outside the dead woman’s house.

When Helen confesses to the police that her husband has demanded a divorce, that puts her in the firing line. Except she’s got a perfect alibi. She stole the idea from the conspirators, making her visit to the cinema easily remembered by the staff both at the start of the movie and the end. It’s pretty much an unbreakable alibi unless any other witness can finger her.

Norman protests his innocence of course. And the irony is we know he’s innocent, but our sympathies are now with the killer, Helen, which twists around our preconceptions.

After all, not only is she the injured party in the romantic stakes, but she’s very ill, so needs all the audience sympathy she can get. So the audience, against its better judgement, is batting for her.

But, suddenly, twist number one, they don’t have to. Because the strain is all too much, and she has a heart attack and drops dead. And, surely, it won’t be long before Norman can find a way out of his predicament. And he believes he has the very thing.

There’s a nosy old neighbor who takes too close an interest in visitors to the house. So he must have seen Norman arrive there at the very time his lover was shot. The neighbor is brought in.

He’s a poor old soul. And blind. The result of being knocked over by a car a few weeks before.

What a cracking ending to a cracking tale. I always wonder why these kind of stories don’t get resurrected for some sort of portmanteau series, in the manner of Tales of the Unexpected. Although there’s little fat on them, a bit of judicious trimming would make them ideal for a one-hour television slot and this one, in particular, is little more than a three-hander, so wouldn’t cost much.

Each of the main characters is well drawn, each allowed a moment to stretch their emotional muscles. Solid, if not spectacular, acting from Laurence Payne (Crosstrap, 1962), Patricia Dainton (The House in Marsh Road, 1960), and Jane Griffiths (The Double, 1963), and impressive turn from John Arnatt (A Challenge for Robin Hood, 1967) as a doughty cop.

Written by Maurice J. Wilson (The House in Marsh Road) and director Montgomery Tully (The House in Marsh Road) from a play by Pip and Jane Baker. Tully is in fine form at the helm, wasting no time in driving this towards ironic conclusion.

I’ve been clocking up a few from the Tully portfolio in the last month or so. Astonished to find he directed another seven pictures this decade, so I might, in due course, complete the collection.

Enjoyable.

Well-structured thriller – especially given the short running time – that allows time for the story to blossom and, given the supernatural tinge, in a somewhat unusual fashion. Worth noting, too, the gender fallibility in keeping with the time, the wife who will support her husband come what may, through his heavy drinking, philandering and deceit. The only truth is that somehow or other her husband is going to get hold of her money.

Wife Jean (Patricia Dainton) is initially complicit in her husband David’s (Tony Wright) small-time fraudulent activity, willing to scamper from short-term let to short-term let, vanishing without paying the bills, because she believes in his grandiose ambitions of rising above his lowly status as a book reviewer to become a novelist.

When she inherits a house from an aunt, he wants to sell it and use the £6,000 to fund his ambition, though once he meets sexy secretary Valerie (Sandra Dorne) his plans change to using the dosh to set up a new life with Valerie. Of course, that would mean eliminating his wife and inheriting the property himself. A first attempt, to push her down a life shaft, fails and he moves on to sleeping pills.

Jean is so in thrall with him that even when she catches him out in lying, theft and an affair, she still is apt to stand by him after giving him a frosty reception and a good ticking-off. It’s only when she suspects worse that she seeks help.

Unbeknownst to her she has an invisible ally, a poltergeist named Patrick, who has the habit of rearranging furniture, sighing, setting off the alarm, and, for people to whom he takes an aversion – such as David and Valerie – smashing mirrors and disrupting their desk. Given the budget and the period, the paranormal aspects are kept to the minimum, noise the most obvious evidence, while other actions occur when the camera is not present.

You sometimes wish these kind of British B-pictures would add another 30-40 minutes to explore consequence in true film noir style. There’s no doubt that Valerie would soon find a way to rook David of his inheritance and dump him, easiest way being to lead the police to him.

While Jean finds an attorney willing to take note of her suspicions, you can’t but help noting that mention of a poltergeist is not helping her case, and in the normal course of events she would be committed, leaving David free to cash in on the house and indulge his mistress.

It doesn’t get to the obvious ending, of her being disbelieved, and forced to return to the house and spend her time going mad wondering how her husband is going to bump her off. Instead, Patrick comes to her aid, starting a fire which engulfs the house in her absence. Husband and lover die in the blaze.

As ever, no great acting. Patricia Dainton (The Third Alibi, 1961) might be accused of not putting enough terror in her characterization but that would be to overlook the fact that in those days handsome husbands were implicitly trusted. Tony Wright (Faces in the Dark, 1960) is smug enough but Sandra Dorne (Devil Doll, 1964) only requires a touch of smouldering to steal the show.

Based on a story by Laurence Meynall, inventively written by Maurice J. Wilson (Fog for a Killer, 1962), especially for the undercurrent of malevolence and manipulation. Ably directed by Montgomery Tully (The Terrornauts, 1967).

Tag: Patricia Dainton

The Third Alibi (1961) ***

The House in Marsh Road (1960) ***