Shirley Ann Fields and Sir Robert Stephens in "Lunch Hour", and "Earthworm Tractors" starring Joe E. Brown

Last night's movie was "Lunch Hour"(1961), an interesting, Coca-Cola Generation film with an early '60s soundtrack that's laid out almost like a Godard flick at first. or maybe a Truffaut. A married, 30-something executive at a graphic arts arts firm in London is having an affair with a pretty young designer. She's 24, flirty but innocent. They take the train at lunch to hotels away from the business district. How they have time to do any affair-ing after the train ride both ways on their lunch hour is a mystery, but then so is the whole movie. Or maybe it's supposed to be whimsical and surreal, ala experimental theater. We'll find out as we go along, but for now, it's defintely Godard-like, if Godard was coherent. For the first ten minutes, all the couple does is make small talk. Neither of their names are ever stated, in keeping with the secrecy of their affair. The Girl (as she is known in the credits, played by Shirley Ann Field) is all Eyes, Dimples and Smile. In the early going, you even think Field is a first-time actress for how conscious she is of the camera. The Man (Robert Stephens) is attentive to her, with his deferential manner. He's not leading man material in the looks department, but she likes him and he loves her.

The movie meanders around the two of them at work - where a human resources exec tries to steal her away from The Man on a coffee break - and at a park where couples go to make out. There's zero plot thus far, and we're at the twenty minute mark of a one hour film. You're settled in, going, "okay, I signed on for the duration, I won't turn it off"; it's a Camelot-era, British New Wave-type of deal, made in the brief period of "breezy" international cinematic optimism that preceded the arrival of The Beatles in the midst of the Cold War. Think "Umbrellas of Cherbourg", "Breathless", movies like that, when Pan-Am was the only way to fly.

Well, anyhow. The Man is infatuated with The Girl. She's charmed by him, and flattered that a 37 year old man would give her 100% of his attention over his wife.

Then, in order to find a new hotel where no one will recognize them, The Man travels a bit further on the train, and finds a joint where the owner, a nosy woman, allows the couple to stay because he's told her they're married. "My wife will be arriving from York tomorrow to join me," he adds. It's hard to tell if the owner really believes this or if she's playing along. This was in the days, at least in England,when you couldn't rent a room together unless you were married, but when The Girl does show up, the nosy hotel woman won't leave the two alone. She knocks on their door every five minutes, and seems to want The Man for herself. She insinuates that The Girl is an office tramp (as if she knows their secret), and when she finally leaves them alone, at The Man's request, the movie changes abruptly - you'll know it by a quick change of The Girl's shirt from one frame to the next. Now, all of a sudden they are a married couple, just because The Man concocted that story for the nosy hotel owner.

At first, you're wondering: are they role-playing a fantasy, or are they really married? Have they been married all along, and are just pretending to have an affair, to liven up their marriage? Suddenly, they have two children, just because The Man told the hotel owner so. His fabricated tale has become the couple's reality. Now, The Girl is no longer all eyelashes and winsomeness. She's acquired an edge, that of a married woman with children and housework, and a husband who may be having an affair! The whole story has been turned on its head, and it all happens in the same hotel with the nosy owner.

You start off going, homina-homina-homina because the first ten minutes meanders, going nowhere ala Godard, who filmed pretty, young French people "being French circa 1960". That was his trip, and people said he was a genius. In truth he was a pretty good filmmaker (and original), but not great like Antonioni-oni. But Shirley Ann Fields holds your eye, and when the movie does a 180, she startles you with her talent. "Wow, she can act after all". You'll wind up thinking the movie is a gem of its era. It's important to know that, in the 1960s, a decade like no other, each year had a vibe of its own, so 1963 was different from '64, which was different from '65, et al, and each year felt like five years, because so much happened in that decade. Two Big Thumbs Up for "Lunch Hour", and almost Two Huge, though in the first ten minutes, you're wondering if you should turn it off. But you wind up glad you didn't - good stuff that takes a little while to develop, and very highly recommended. The picture is razor sharp. //// 

The previous night, we had our first Joe E. Brown movie, "Earthworm Tractors"(1936). In addition to his comedic talent, Brown was famous for his look, with a flat face, high cheekbones, slit-glinting eyes, a rangy-boned body and most of all a big, wide mouth with a top lip that covered his teeth when he talked. He had a short, slicked-tight haircut and there was nobody who looked like him. Though his image is somewhat geeky, I'll bet you a nickel he influenced Jim Carrey. Brown comes off as part Carrey, and part Keaton, especially when he starts driving tractors through hot dog stands and towing houses to other locations.

As the movie opens, he's a self-described "born salesman" who's nevertheless only selling silly gadgets, like glorified pea-shooter/bubble-blower tubes. His girlfriend's Dad thinks he's not a worthy suitor, so Brown vows to show him, saying "You'll see, Mr. Blair! I'm a born salesman, and Ill come back with a job to support your daughter". He sees an ad in the paper for "salesman wanted" at Earthworm Tractors, and goes in and fibs to the boss about his background, saying he drove tractors in the Army. Really, he was a cook, but here's where Brown invented Jim Carrey, when he's talking 100 miles an hour in an overly schticky voice, like a cartoon character. He moves like Carrey also, and does outrageous pratfalls. The company owner throws him out, but then he immediately sells eight tractors to "Sam Johnson" (Guy Kibbee), owner of the Johnson Lumber Co., whose daughter "Mabel" (June Travis) is taken with Brown and vice versa. Its the Johnson's house he ends up towing when they move. "I saved your Dad 500 dollars", he says, after putting them through what feels like an 8.0 earthquake. 

But he still longs for his old girlfriend "Sally Blair" (Carol Hughes), and tries to win her back after he's become successful, while destroying numerous cars and buildings in the process. When he does see Sally after a long time away, she's married to another man. So, he turns back to Mabel Johnson, but now she's humiliated, thinking she's his second choice.

Depressed, he almost drives off his tractor off a rickety bridge between two mountains in what's supposed to be a stand-in for Tibet, or "Tibbet" as Mr. Johnson pronounces it, where a gigantic earthquake has taken place. Joe E. Brown was nuts, in a good way, and like Jim Carrey, he always gets the last laugh. I'd guess Carrey studied him and then turned it into his own thing. Two Big Thumbs Up for "Earthworm Tractors". Joe E. Brown was an original and we'll have to keep watching him. The girls in the movie play his foils, with SNL timing and precision. The picture is razor sharp.  ////

And that's all I know. My blogging music is Van Der Graaf Generator "The Quiet Zone/Pleasure Dome", my late night is Handel's Amadis of the Gali opera. I hope your week is off to a good start and I send you Tons of Love, as always.  xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)       

Paul Muni in Joseph Losey's "Stranger on the Prowl", and "Special Agent X-9", a Chapter Serial starring Lloyd Bridges

Last night's movie was 'Stranger on the Prowl"(1952), by Joseph Losey, a director whose films we've liked, even if we aren't sure about his politics. Losey was blacklisted and spent most of his career in Europe, where he did good work, making melodramatic pictures high in style and technique, and commercially sound. He's kind of the Douglas Sirk of Film Noir, though his range is wider than one genre. The reason we've got a bug about Losey is because he swore he wasn't a Commie and we'd like to believe him. Not that we support the blacklist, the opposite is true, but we also don't like to see Communist principles romanticized in motion pictures, or made precious by manipulative filmmakers.

What does all of that have to do with "Stranger on the Prowl"? Not a doggone thing. It's another very good Losey production, his "go" at Italian postwar Neorealism, but with a non-Cinema Verite touch. Remember, Losey's a studio guy all the way, and very polished. Paul Muni, one of the true acting greats (and the best Scarface, i.e. non-hambone) stars as a nameless Stranger who, as the movie opens, is trying to stow away on a boat, to get out of Italy. But he hasn't got any money and the captain kicks him off. Losey is now going to separately introduce the other main characters, all of whom have their own storylines. Lives will converge, of course, not like in a roadside diner on a dark and stormy night (there aren't enough characters for that), but in order to build plot as with bricks of a foundation. So after Muni comes little "Giacomo" (Vittorio Manunta), a ten year old boy whose young mother is a washerwoman. They live in a bombed-out building in what might be Sicily (ultra poor) and they can barely make their rent. Mamma wants Giacomo and his younger sister to earn money any way they can, or by helping with her washing orders, but Giacomo would rather play marbles in the street, for money to go see the circus. He loves animals, especially horses. One in particular will serve as the film's metaphor.

Take one part "Bicycle Thief", one part "Les Miserables", and a genius Paul Muni performance, and you've got yourself a compelling, gritty movie, with deliberate (but not overly demonstrative) commentary about the plight of the poor and the hungry. Now, in Italy cica 1952, such commentary was legit, but no more, which is why we don't care for filmmakers who are still railing about the proletariat who doesn't exist anymore. Directors like that just wanna seem cool, like they've read Marx, and their stance has nothing to do with jobs or culture. It's part of a political hive mentality, so in that sense, Joseph Losey was positively neutral.

Anyhow, Paul Muni wants money to pay the boat captain so he can ship out of the country, but all he has is a pistol to sell. It's hinted that he got it in the war, but no one knows. He tries several fences and pawn shops but no one will buy the gun. Hungry, he walks into a pastry shop, takes a bun off the rack and starts eating. The owner tries throwing him out, and he kills her, not on purpose but by putting a powerful hand over her mouth to stop her from yelling, because he doesn't wanna get arrested for stealing. That's your Les Miz reference. Prior to the accidental murder, little Giacomo had just been in the shop and had sneakily stolen some milk, because he lost his mother's milk money in a marble game. Muni sees Giacomo as he's fleeing the scene. He wonders if Giacomo saw him too, and orders him to "follow me down to the dock". They become pals in the Two Outcasts mode, one old, and street-wise-yet-fatherly, the other precocious and adventure-seeking: "Take me with you, please take me with you," the archetype of The Articulate, Emotionally-Aware Moppet. Giacomo's wisdom is a device, of course, because no kid is that world-weary, but don't worry because the movie is mostly a Noir at this point. What we do like about Losey is that he never shoves politics in your face, just little bits and pieces of comments. The other main character is a beautiful shop girl (Joan Lorring) who lives in the same building as Giacomo and his family. She gets caught stealing dresses at work, and is now at the mercy of her big slug of a boss, who insinuates that if she sleeps with him, he'll forget about the thefts. "Let me walk you home," he leers. "Okay," she answers, but she has no choice.

Of course, her storyline will converge with that of Muni and Giacomo. who now sees Muni as a cohort/peer: ("Take me with you! I love horses and the circus!") Muni tells him about his days as a Strongman (a La Strada reference). There's a lot of metaphor and it's well done. There's also dubbed Italian-to-English dialogue that's better synced than in most such films. This upload is from an Olive Films dvd, so it's razor sharp. The movie is really good, its just that, well......you kind of already know the deal. It's as if Losey signed a contract saying "I wanna work within the system, so I won't rebel too much, because I wanna make studio-quality films". Or something like that. He's one of the few directors we examine this closely. He is a top caliber filmmaker, and he got a great performance out of Muni and the kid, so Two Huge Thumbs Up for "Stranger on the Prowl". Very highly recommended and the picture, as noted, is razor sharp.  ////

The previous night we found a new chapter serial from Universal called "Secret Agent X-9. Lloyd Bridges stars as "Federal Agent Phil Corrigan", aka X-9, who is charged with stopping the shipment, to Japan, of package containing a synthetic fuel formula. A dragon lady named "Nabura" (Victoria Horne) serves as a go-between for the Axis powers, operating from an island in the Pacific run as a private company by Mafioso Cy Kendall, who claims sovereignty: "We are not affiliated with any nation". Nabura has henchmen-soldiers who are forcing a scientist, as the movie opens, to produce a synthetic fuel which will help Japan win the war. The Japanese and German navies have teamed up to keep open a Japanese shipping lane in order to deliver the aforementioned package. Two previous Secret Agents have been shot dead in their attempts to stop the transfer. That's when Phil Corrigan is called in, and the Germans find out he's no pushover. All of this takes place in the first 20 minute chapter, and because it's from Universal Studios, the production values are high. X-9 is on a ship that gets torpedoed, which serves as the first cliff-hanger ending. It would've been fun to be a kid when these chapter serials were in theaters, wondering what was gonna happen each week, and reading the comic book it was based on. This one was written by Hashiel Dammit, er, I mean Dashiel Hammett. It's a total popcorn flick and a good one. Two Bigs and the picture is widescreen razor sharp.  ////

And that's all I know for this evening. My blogging music is a live Rockpalast concert by Wishbone Ash from 1976. I may have mentioned this gig before, but check it out. The lead playing is great (of course) by both Andy Powell and Laurie Wisefield, but Wisefield's Strat tone has to be heard to be believed. My late night is Handel's Solomon Opera. Who d'ya like in the Super Bowl tomorrow? My gut says KC but my head says Philly. I like that I don't care who wins and don't have a dog in the hunt, like last year's Rams; it means I can actually enjoy the game without white-knuckling it, ha-ha. 

I send you Tons of Love, as always.  xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)

Duncan Lamont and Jane Hylton in "Burnt Evidence", and "Private Information" starring Jill Esmond

Last night's film "Burnt Evidence"(1954), is about a man with a cheating wife who is pushed to the brink of suicide. "Jack Taylor" (Duncan Lamont) runs an electrical workshop in a small English town. As the movie opens, he arrives at work looking downcast, for the news isn't good. He's a month behind on his rent and can't collect on the jobs he's contracted for because hes too "soft" a man, in his wife's words, to put his foot down with clients. He does the work and they never pay, or they string him along. He's a good man and an Army vet, but people take advantage of him. The landlord of his shop wants his rent, and Jack and his wife are two weeks behind at home. He has to let his young assistant go: "Sorry, Johnny. You'd better start looking for something else."

At home, his wife "Diana" (Jane Hylton) has his best friend over. "Look" says the friend, whose name is "Jimmy Thompson" (Donald Gray), "we've got to tell Jack about us. it's only right." Jimmy was in the Army with Jack, and has just enough loyalty to want to inform him that he's sleeping with his wife. She, on the other hand, doesn't want to tell Jack. Not that she loves him, but "he's a good man and tries so hard...."

When Jack comes home that evening, Diana has his dinner ready. She is fond of him (fond being different than still attracted) and she has an attachment to their marriage but she loves Jimmy, or rather she lusts after him - huge difference. But all is well at dinner until Jack finds Jimmy's left-behind cigarette case (and no, it's not the sterling silver anti-radiation cigarette case from "Mark of the Phoenix"). Now he knows that Jimmy and Diana are fooling around behind his back, and later that night, after confronting Jimmy and socking him on the jaw, he writes a suicide note. Then he takes his gun out of a sock in his drawer and heads back to his shop to get the deed done. But Jimmy shows up to stop him, and a schtruggle ensues, which is filmed in a sudden change to chiaroscuro, so you know someone is about to die. Remember, Jack brought his gun to commit suicide, and now BANG!

Someone just got shot.

Just after that, a cigarette that was left burning on a workbench falls into some straw and whummo! A full-on conflagration burns the joint down. The fire brigade puts it out and discovers the charred-beyond-recog body of whomever was shot. Diana is sure it has to be Jack, because she just got his suicide note in the mail, but the cops aren't so sure, and a plot that begins as a romantic-triangle-turned-tragic becomes a police procedural at the 25 minute mark. New boy detective "Bob Edwards" (Meredith Edwards) is overly ambitious in his theories, jumping to unwarranted conclusions concerning the identity of the dead man. Bob's a sharp cookie, but he doesn't wait for the medical examiner's evidence. Who is the deceased, anyway? The Taylors have a boarder named "Mrs. Raymond" (Irene Handl), who serves as a gossipy, overly-nice-on-purpose source of info for the police. 

The plot leads you to believe in a certain type of conclusion and you may or may not be surprised, disappointed, or otherwise, but the message of the flick is the sanctity of marriage and the decency of the working man. Two Big Thumbs Up for "Burnt Evidence" and a high recommendation, especially for the excellent black and white photography. The picture is razor sharp.  //// 

The previous night we had yet another British movie, "Private Information"(1952), about a woman who stands up to the mayor of her village and the head of the archi-textural firm who built her council house. It all starts when "Charlotte" (Jill Esmond) and her daughter notice shoddy workmanship in their home: windows that won't open, doorknobs falling off, and walls that are so thin "you could put a finger through them." But that's not the half of it. Charlotte's son, who works for the firm as an in-schpector, has filed a report on a number of similar complaints, and has turned up evidence of faulty plumbing and sinking foundations. Drainage is a particular problem. He shows his findings to his boss, "Mr. Freemantle" (Norman Shelly), who is also his girlfriend's father, but Freemantle says the whole thing is overblown. "Nothing to worry about. Those things can be repaired, and aren't a result of our construction. Lets keep the report confidential, shall we?" Translation: "if we don't announce the findings, we can't be held responsible, and there's no reason for a tempest in a Veddy Brrrittish teapot." But Charlotte thinks there is, and when the mayor calls a town meeting to discuss the problem, she speaks up.

Having inside information on the findings of her son, because her daughter got a look at the report, she stands in front of the mayor at the hearing and declares what she knows, concluding by saying it was probably the result of a bribe. "No one does shoddy work on purpose, and these council houses were payed for with public funds."

The mayor gets up in arms, though we know he's guilty. (I didn't get  harrumph outta that guy!) He ends the meeting abruptly, then sends his haughty wife over to Charlotte's house to demand a signed apology, to be read at another public meeting. They want to humiliate her for telling the truth. At first, she's so intimidated by the wife's unannounced visit, and her threats, that she agrees to sign the apology. But then she gets a second visit from a German expatriate newsman, who - having fled Nazism - urges her not to sign the fallacious document. "I will stand by you and print the truth in my paper". Charlotte still isn't sure if she can go through with it, and her son is caught in the middle as a member of the building firm. He's also the guy who filed the report. But the mayor and Mr. Freemantle have formed a wall, and it's hard to get the truth out when people with more power than you want to keep it silent. But Charlotte, now supported by her newspaper friend, decides not to sign the apology after all. At the second meeting, she explains how she was coerced, and now the townsfolk, who've experienced problems in their own shoddy houses but were too shy to speak up, are championing her. Emboldened, Charlotte stands her ground, even when threatened with libel. 

Her daughter, a budding writer, has been suffering from headaches for a while. The two of them think it's from too much reading and typing, but her pain gets so bad she has to go to the hospital. At the same time, a typhoid outbreak is discovered in the council row. The drainage problem (i.e. sewage in the water) is found to be the culprit. Charlotte's daughter gets so sick it looks like she might die. The mayor and Mr. Freemantle are now exposed in their cover-up, but will typhoid kill all the homeowners? The  movie is from a play and exceptionally well done, though simple in plot. It's all about standing your ground in the face of corrupt power, which few do. Two Big Thumbs Up, and a fine performance from Jill Esmond, who was Lawrence Olivier's second wife. The picture is razor sharp.  //// 

And that's all for this evening. My blogging music is Steve Hackett's "Voyage of the Acolyte", my late night is Handel's Solomon Opera, I hope you are having a good week and I send you Tons of Love, as always.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)   

Two Sheldon Lawrence Specials : "Mark of the Phoenix" and "Black Tide"

We're on a Brit flick kick of late, and we've got two good ones starring the same guy, an American named Sheldon Lawrence, who sort of strolls his way through these pictures - genial even when he's pissed off. He's smiling all the time because he feels obligated to share his handsomeness with you, and in "Mark of the Phoenix", he's a jewel thief named "Chuck Martin", who comes into possession of a cigarette case made out of an experimental metal that is resistant to radiation, and therefore invaluable in atomic warfare. As the movie opens, three grim-faced hoodlums are driving down a dirt road in the Belgian countryside, on their way to the home of a scientist. When they get there, they force him to mold the liquid metal that is bubbling away in his lab. The hoods, wearing suits and gloves (of course), instruct the scientist to make plates that will become the cigarette cases, which they have him coat in sterling silver. Then they shoot him and make it look like suicide.

Martin the thief comes into possession of one of the cases, through his fence, a jeweler. The hoodlums' boss, a Belgian big shot, wants to get his hands on it for political blackmail, but so does a Russian secret agent and also the Belgian IBCurly.

The big shot's girl, half his age, is tired of being treated like an afterthought. He gives her plenty of stolen trinkets, but she thinks he's cheap: "You get them at a discount, just like everything in your life." She wants a "real man" and falls for Chuck Martin, though it can't last. You just can't smile all the time at a romantic Belgian chick. This one is good because the director keeps the action moving, and because it has a cold war stealth-metal premise. Sheldon Lawrence holds his own against well-known European actors like Anton Diffring, and there are brief subplots, like the kidnap and torture of the Russian agent by the hoodlums. It would've been nice (as usual) if they'd developed the importance of the experimental metal, and spent less time on the handsomeness and the romance, but then they'd have had to fork over for a better screenwriter and we might not have been treated to Sheldon Lawrence. 

The movie was made by a group called Butcher's Films, which - I mean, you're taking a chance calling your company Butcher's Films, aren't you? Think of the critics waiting to pounce: "they've butchered yet another one!" But this flick is good, and it's all shot on location in late '50s Belgium, not a place that would top your vacation bucket list, perhaps, but interesting to look at onscreen.. Two Big Thumbs Up for "Mark of the Phoenix", the picture is widescreen and very good.  //// 

The previous night, we had our other Sheldon Lawrence feature, "Black Tide"(1958), with an atypical set-up: two swimmers are competing to cross the English Channel. One, "Danny Parker" (Lawrence), is professional, though he's making his first Channel swim. Ditto for the other swimmer, "Kitty Tyndall" (Joy Webster), an amateur. John Ireland plays Danny's brother "Griff" and is also his trainer. Danny likes Kitty and takes her under his wing. They do a 2 mile practice sprint together, and she flirts with him but seems nervous. Her British trainer is worried that she's distracted from her goal. Danny is falling for her and asks her to come to America when the Channel swim is over. Then, the day before, she disappears for several hours. Her trainer is now quite concerned. Griff tells him not to worry. "With athletes you've gotta give 'em some rope, gotta know when to lay back on the discipline."

Kitty returns late in the day, happier than before and ready to take on the Channel. We know where she went and why she's happy. Now comes the morning of the swim, and it's good stuff cinematically, because they're really swimming the Channel, all greased up and the works. The starting point is Butlin's Channel Camp (you've probably heard of England's series of Butlin's Holiday Camps. All English families have summered at a Butlin's, and Ringo was playing at one while in Rory Storm's band when he was hired to be in The Beatles). The water in the Channel is heaving and choppy, the fog thick as pea soup. No wonder England ruled the waves and the world. You've gotta be a tough people to live up against the frigid North Atlantic.

What's the deal with the Pacific ocean? The non-violent ocean? No wonder Hawaiians are so mellow. Anyhow, when they do swim the Channel, it's the best part of the movie. Their trainers are following them in rowboats, and there's a larger monitor boat making it official. A swimmer is disqualified if he or she touches any boat. They must be careful in the fog so they don't get lost. The current can pull them five miles off course. Something happens whilst the two (david) schwimmers are making the crossing. I shant tell you what, but it leads one of them to quit before they finish. This is the kind of plot I usually describe in detail, but because I like the Channel swim so much, I'm gonna leave it for you to see for yourself.

The one thing I will say, concerning what happens, is that there's no guesswork involved. John Ireland, whose character avoids women because "they're bad for athletes, they make you lose your focus", ends up with the beautiful hotel concierge (Maureen Connell), and they team up to solve the mystery of why the crossing wasn't completed. Two Big Thumbs Up for "Black Tide". Sheldon Lawrence is more serious in this one, but still smiles at every opportunity and the picture is also widescreen and very good.  ////

That's all for the moment. I apologise for the less-detailed-than-normal reviews this time, but I've been working very hard on one of my two upcoming books (due later this year or early next year), and I'm a little short on time and somewhat bleary-eyed. My blogging music is still Van Der Graaf - "H to He" again, and my late night is still Handel's Aetsi. Talk about your binges: I can't stop listening to Handel Operas. He's the Wagner of 2023. I hope you had a nice day and I send you Tons of Love as always.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)  

Edward Underdown and Natasha Perry in "The Dark Man", and "Night of the Prowler" starring Patrick Holt and Bill Nagy

Last night's film was "The Dark Man (1951), a Veddy Brrrittish thrill-ah about a kill-ah stalking his only witness. This is the kind of villain the Brits loved to depict in the 50s and early 60s: a tall, handsome but expressionless killer in a tailored black suit, wearing gloves and sometimes black plastic Michael Caine glasses from National Health, who drives a black sedan and uses a small automatic pistol, the kind with a retractable loader. It's an "efficient" gun and therefore (say it with me) Veddy Brrrittish, rather than a big-barrelled, John Wayne Colt 45 revolver. That would be way too vulgar. and the thing is, the British killer is always far more ruthless, determined and unstoppable than the one in an American movie, who is most often a cowboy or a psycho. The British guy is sometimes an assassin, but regardless of his professional status, he usually just wants money (probably to buy more suits, or he's saving up for a yacht), but he'll kill anyone in his way and in cold blood, dispassionately, whereas the American Colt 45 guy is always gonna rage and give a self-righteous speech. The killer in question tonight, as the movie opens, has taken a taxi to a remote country lane, one of those dirt roads out in the English boondocks from Robin Hood times. He has the driver stop at an old house, then he goes inside and robs an old guy of a ton of dough in his safe. Then he shoots him with his efficient, non-vulgar gun.

One of the dead man's friends goes to the police with some info. "He was a 'sepia' market (not black market) pork dealer." (there's a new one for ya, sepia market pork, get it cheap!). Well, that's a good tip, but Skeertlynd Yeeerd has a better one: a witness, a young lady who was riding by on her bike when the killer left the scene. She saw him shoot the taxi driver to eliminate him as a witness, but he saw her too, and now he's trying to track her down. The witness is a stage actress. She doesn't seem too worried about the man finding her. "He couldn't have seen my face, just as I didn't see his. we were too far apart." But the inspector on the case insists on protecting her anyway, and all of a sudden, they're going to the beach together, then smooching. It's not the smoothest romantic transition ever, and it feels like the filmmakers threw it in for I-don't-know-why, because thriller-fan butts were already in seats. No reason to toss in a romance if you didn't need it.

But it does set up the damsel-in-distress motif, even if it isn't well developed. The killer finally locates the actress in a boarding house and knocks her unconcho, then he pulls the gas line on the stove to make it look like a suicide. But a dog out back is barking up a storm, and the cops arrive just before she succumbs to the gas.

By now, several bystanders have seen the killer leave the house. They point the inspector in his direction, and the chase is on for the last 20 minutes. He runs out of real estate on - of all places - a Veddy Brrrittish Army artillery range. Howitzer squads are blasting away at targets and the killer, normally unflappable (and always besuited), is momentarily thrown for a loss. He does get his mojo back, but by now, the inspector has enlisted the Howitzer men, and the whole brigade, in a lengthwise arm-to-arm search for the killer. A shootout on the beach ends the movie.

It's good, but why the romance? Could've been tighter, and they could've given the killer at least a little more personality. He's a cipher in a suit. Still, Two Bigs for the excellent English location scenes and the ominous, in-your-face Rolls Royce grill shots coming at you on the highway that the Brits also love : the menacing auto, it's going to run you down! They love their giant grills, do the Brits. "The Dark Man" isn't classic but it's highly recommended and the picture is razor sharp.  ////

The previous night, we had a murder mystery set against a race car test drive background that unfortunately wasn't high octane. I can find something to like like in almost any movie, as long as it's in black-and-white and runs no more than 95 minutes (60 is best). But, while I tried, there just wasn't much happening in "Night of the Prowler"(1962), a title that led me to expect a break-'n-enter plot, not a romantic triangle amid the attempted takeover of a race car company. See if you like it better than I did:

"Robert Langton" (Patrick Holt) owns the company. His top test driver is "Paul Conrad" (Bill Nagy). Langton and his wife are separated, she's seeing Conrad now, but it's amicable on all sides. There's a big test run of a new race car coming up, that, if successful, will mean a huge payoff for the company, a contract with an engine builder. But prior to the test, the chairman of the board is shot dead. Who did it and why? A note arrives from a guy named Layton, who used to work at the company as a mechanic but went to prison for embezzlement. Layton claims he's the killer, and he's just been paroled, so he could be. He says that the chairman was only the first victim; he's gonna get everyone at the company who testified against him. Paul Conrad is supposed to be next. Layton fixes the brakes on Conrad's test car, but Conrad has another appointment that day and gives the test to another driver, who is almost killed when the brakes fail.

Conrad and Langton are on alert now. We never see Layton, only a figure in a trench coat who runs around shooting at people, then runs off again, unexposed. An inspector is on the case, querying all and sundry, including Langton's wife and Conrad , who for a while you think have set something up with Layton to get rid of Robert Langton, the owner. He, in turn, also has a sometime girlfriend, much younger than him, who - in an obvious red herring move - he dumps unceremoniously and with maximum cynicism, totally out of character and of plot. Please Mr. Custer, I don't wanna go. 

Listen; I just tried to make it sound interesting, and that is the basic plot. But the direction is phoned in. Much of the movie is about this lukewarm romantic triangle that isn't romantic nor triangular. There's a scene where Langton's separated wife and her boyfriend Conrad the test driver are kissing, and you can see that either the actors are uncomfortable with each other or the entire crew just wanted to get the shoot overwith. Seriously, watch that kiss. How many times have you seen a movie kiss that awkward? Well, anyhow.

Hey! How often do we have a movie we didn't care for? Less than 1% of the time? And I didn't dislike this flick, but there wasn't anything to hold me to it either. The whole thing felt phoned, as mentioned, and the schcript couldn't have been weaker. Grand Prix racing was a big deal in 1962, maybe someone thought it would make a good backdrop for some "hit your markers" performances by the "just put the check in the mail" cast. I want to, but I just can't give it Two Big Thumbs Up. Maybe you can, that's why I'm asking you to watch it, because this rarely happens. The picture is very good.  ////

And that's all I know. Tonight's blogging music was "Still Life" by VDGG, my late night is again Handel's Aetsi Opera. I hope you had a nice weekend and I send you Tons of Love, as always.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)  

Cyril Shaps in "The Pursuers", and "Discarded Lovers" starring Natalie Moorehead and Jason Robards (plus Van Der Graaf Generator)

Last night, we watched "The Pursuers"(1961), a Veddy Brrrittsh Nazi Hunter movie made the year they captured Eichmann. As it opens, a team of male Auschwitz survivors meets in secret in London. Their leader has called them together on a tip that a commandant from the death camp named "Karl Brochmann" (Cyril Shaps) is living and working in the city under an assumed name. They aren't certain it's him; no one has actually seen the man now calling himself Karl Luther. He has an office and secretary, though it isn't specified what he does. The group leader says they won't be able to apprehend and extradite him, as was done with Eichmann in Argentina: "The English won't allow it, they'd try him themselves, and we can't kidnap and sneak him out, too risky with MI5 around. Still, we must believe in justice if it is indeed Herr Brochmann."

He's insinuating they'll have to liquidate him and then hightail it out of the country. The first order of business is to get a look at Luther and decide if he is Brochmann. A team member named "David" (Francis Matthews) volunteers for the job, having been a prisoner at Auschwitz when Brochmann was commandant. He goes to Luther's business, observes him and believes he is Brochmann, then he breaks into his apartment, trashes it to spook him, and draws swastikas on Luther's mirrors and windums to spook him even more.When Luther gets home and sees this, he calls the cops, who show up, inspect the scene (Luther has wiped away the swastikas) but write it off as nothing more than a run of the mill burglary. But Luther/Brochmann knows otherwise. Eichmann has just been caught. Nazi hunters are in the news. When the cops won't provide him a 24 hour guard ("for a burglary? I can't spare an officer", says the captain) Luther appeals to several of his compatriots, other ex-Nazis who are hiding in plaint sight in London under new identities. One owns a restaurant. another has a business, a third is a TV director, but none of them will help or hide him. In fact, they want no association with Luther because they aren't the ones being hunted. Luther is on his own.

Scared, he ditches his car in a lumberyard and goes to a club for a few drinks to calm his nerves. There he meets the club's singer "Jenny" (Susan Denny), who at first appears to be a prostitute on the side. Luther offers her money if she will take him home, and when they get there she starts taking her clothes off. In older movies, "nightclub singer" usually signifies "prostitute", so that's the insinuation, but Luther tells her he just wants to talk. "I'm on the run. I can't tell you all the details, but some men are trying to kill me."

Jenny can sympathize and there's the rub: "I know what that feels like. I am Jewish and was in Auschwitz during the war. I will gladly help hide you." And she does, right up til the end of the movie. It's an hour long. and very well done, the only problem being that it's all about the pursuit, hence the title. There's little mystery about the identity of Luther, if he is or is not Commandant Brochmann, and we never see the other team members again, only David. The movie starts by saying "we aren't sure if it's Brochmann", which leads you to ex-schpect a mystery element: "is it him, or isn't it?" But then we go straight to "it IS him" when David ransacks his home. After that, it's just a matter of time til he is caught by his pursuer, so the movie is all about the character being on the run, and the irony of a Jewish lady hiding him.

But it's really good in that way, and the paranoia level is high, so Two Big Thumbs Up for those attributes. An Elstree Studio production, technically sound and with an early '60s jazz score, it's recommended and the picture is very good.  //// 

The previous night, we found a good pre-Coder called "Discarded Lovers"(1932), starring Natalie Moorhead as a movie star who goes through men like wardrobe changes. As the movie opens, she's making a movie (isn't that nifty?). Her co-star is her current husband, a former leading man who's become a drunken shadow of himself after years of Natalie's cheating. On set, the director admonishes him following several flubbed takes. He finally gets his lines right, but then slaps Natalie after the scene is over. "Now you all know why I'm getting a divorce!", she announces to the crew and storms off. But when you see what she's like, you feel for her husband. Boy is she a tramp, and an arrogant one, too.

Now, an ex-friend of Hubby's is her sideline boyfriend. This guy is so enamored with Natalie that he puts up with her teasing promise to "enjoy" as many men as possible when she goes on her next publicity tour. Man, is this ever some super pre-Code stuff. The new boyfriend doesn't care who she sleeps with, just as long as she comes back to him, which she does not promise to do. Then there's the screenwriter of her current film. She's got him on the hook too. He tailors her dialogue, gives her all the best lines, and she throws him crumbs of attention. 

An entertainment reporter is also on the set. He doesn't fall for Natalie but for her pretty secretary "Valerie" (Barbara Weeks), a nice gal who serves as a witness when Natalie turns up dead in her car about halfway through the film. She cheated on so many guys, and was so haughty to everyone she worked with, that anyone in the movie could be the killer. A big, brutish Keystone Cop takes over the investigation. He seems to be channeling Curly Howard, but is even dumber. When the killer is finally revealed, you'll think "it made sense all along". Featuring Jason Robards Sr. as the boyfriend, "Discarded Lovers" gets Two Big Thumbs Up. The picture is very good.  ////  

And that's all for this Friday evening. I'm on a big Van Der Graaf/Peter Hammill kick for the past couple of weeks. I've had four such "immersions" this year, beginning with Cream. Then it was The Nice, then Traffic. That one was major league, and turned Traffic into one of my favorite bands. Now it's VDGG, who have been one of my favorite bands since I heard "Godbluff" in 1975. I'll always remember taking the bus to Moby Disc in Van Nuys to buy a copy of that album. Me and the late, great Mike B. thought "The Undercover Man" was just about the greatest song ever made. I bought "Still Life" the following year, and that was a great album, too. Somewhere in between or afterward, I bought "H to He: Who Am the Only One", another Van Der Graaf classic. But after 1977, progressive rock started to die out, due to punk and the commercialization of the music industry. ELP broke up. I got into Rush and Van Halen, then metal in the 80s, and 90s music in the 90s. But something about Van Der Graaf Generator always stuck with me, even though I barely listened to progressive rock for twenty years. In about 2000 or so, when I got back into it, one of the first things I did was re-acquire the three VDGG albums I mentioned. Then, needing more, I took a chance and bought "Pawn Hearts." Would it be as good as the others? Holy smokes.

When I originally got into the band, I stopped at the three albums I mentioned. Don't know why, but it was probably that I wasn't aware of their other albums and there were so many groups in those days and limited funds to buy albums. And "Godbluff" was so great, maybe I was worried they couldn't match it, I don't know. But anyhow, I bought "Pawn Hearts" in 2000, then "The Least We Can Do Is Wave To Each Other", and finally "The Aerosol Grey Machine", the band's first album, made in 1969, when Peter Hammill was 20 years old. David Jackson was the band's old man at 22. Those early albums are so freakin' great. Not only do they match the band's best work, they hold up 50-plus years later and I can't stop listening to 'em this week. It's safe to say that Hammill and Co. have six certified masterpieces under their belts, and there's just something about the VDGG sound (even besides Hammill's incredible voice and lyrics) that stays with me. I never get tired of listening to them. The same goes for Peter Hammill's solo work. And it all goes back to that first time of hearing "Godbluff" and "The Undercover Man", and being gobsmacked, as the Veddy Brrrittish say, by the Shakespearean-ness of it all. 

My blogging music tonight is "The Least We Can Do Is Wave To Each Other" (especially the song "White Hammer"), my late night is Handel's Aetsi Opera, I wish you a good weekend and I send you Tons of Love as always.  xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)   

Preston Foster and Frank Jenks in "The Lady in the Morgue", and "Get That Man" starring Wallace Ford (plus Brady and Ozzy)

Last night we had Preston Foster in "The Lady in the Morgue"(1938). I'm trying to think who we can compare him to. He's big, with a manly face and wavy hair. He's got clear, wide set eyes and a radio announcer's voice, and a devil-may-care attitude. He can take or leave the ladies, and they feel the same way about him, even though you'd assume it would be the opposite in both cases. He always plays a private eye, and he's quick with a wisecrack. Any comparisons? I wanna say Tom Selleck, but Selleck has a high voice and that mustache, and isn't as laid back as Foster. In fact, Selleck is a lousy comparison. Try to think of someone while you're reading the review. Well anyhow, on to the movie. It's a plot heavy (maybe too heavy) murder mystery involving a missing woman.

First off, there's a female body in the morgue, as yet unidentified. A chiseler named "Steve Collins" (Joe Downing) has been told his wife committed suicide. "She could be the broad in the morgue" says his associate. "Yeah, maybe," says Collins. He knows she was cheating on him, but doesn't think she killed herself. He thinks her boyfriend killed her and made it look like suicide. But is she the lady in the morgue? "Go down there and find out", he tells the associate.

Meanwhile, at the offices of Strom Investigations, bossman "Strom" (Thomas E. Jackson) is drilling Private Eye "Bill Crane" (Foster) on the same set of circumstances. "There's a lady in the morgue, and our client (who's name is kept private), wants to know if it's her daughter. They're society people and can't be associated with a suicide, and the client can't be seen at a morgue, so you go down there. The daughter was a blonde, but it could be peroxide."

Crane goes to the morgue, and two other men are there: Steve Collins' buddy, and a reporter who's out for a scoop.Then a fourth man shows up, a cabbie named "Courtland" (played by our Western pal Wild Bill Elliott, hooray!). All of them ask to see the body, but then the morgue assistant is found dead. Man, this is gonna get so convoluted I don't know if I can continue. It was the second entry in Universal's Crime Club series, and while the plot is very good, you've gotta be a chess player to stay on top of it. For one thing, the personalities are gonna distract you, especially that of Foster (have you figured out who he reminds you of yet?) and perpetual wisenheimer Frank Jenks, of whom we've seen a lot lately. Jenks plays another private eye from Strom's agency who teams up with Foster to solve the case.

Wild Bill Elliott is my favorite guy in the movie. We loved him in the Red Ryder westerns we saw last year, and it took me a minute to recognise him here because we've never seen him in a suit. It was his deadpan delivery that gave him away, and those smilin' Chinese eyes. All the best cowboys have 'em, according to Pete Townshend, and Wild Bill Elliott is definitely one of the best. But it's Preston Foster's movie. A few pre-Code babes appear, some are red herrings, one is a prime clue.

Watch it for the style and odd pacing which is forward moving but casual at the same time, making room for repartee over crime solving where necessary. Nothing gets in the way of Frank Jenks, not murder nor extraneous brain cells. Two Bigs. Bonus points if you follow the plot all the way through, but only you will know if you actually did it, so be honest with yourself and don't cheat. The picture is very good.  ////

The previous night belonged to early '30s good guy Wallace Ford in a dual role crime-up called "Get That Man"(1935). A private eye named "Malone" (E. Alyn Warren) runs a workshop for victims, including live identification lineups behind two-way glass. Dunno how he has the same power as the cops, (maybe he's working with them), but anyway, at one of the lineups, an ex-con bank robber (Ford) is serving as a decoy. When he's let go by Malone, he drives himself, his wife, and a friend (Leon Ames) all the way to a cabin camp resort for a short vacation. "450 miles is a lot of driving" he says when they arrive, then gets ready to take a nap. But just before he falls asleep, he sees Ames and his wife making out. "I should've known," he says, and starts a punchout that ends in his death.

Now the wife and Ames are on the run. He adopts a new look and identity as "Mr. Macdonald", a college professor. As we know, college professors are often psychos under their rweed coats, and Ames is no different. Meanwhile, we find out that "Malone" the private eye is crooked. As a side business, he chases down missing heirs to inform them of their inheritance, for which he charges a finder's fee. One of the heirs on his list has turned up dead, and he looked exactly like Wallace Ford. Remembering Wallace Ford the taxi driver/ex-bank robber from his line-up, he calls him to come back to the office, then blackmails him into helping with his scheme to collect the inheritance money, because Ford the cabbie is a dead ringer for Ford the deceased heir. This one might be even more convoluted than "The Lady in the Morgue."

Anyhow, with cabbie Ford now towing the line, Malone sets his scheme in motion. Cabbie Ford poses as the missing heir, who's dead so there's no possibility of him messing up their plan. Everything is going fine and dandy when cabbie Ford introduces himself at the family mansion. His aunt welcomes him, and the real heir's half-sister is thrilled to meet him: "It's so wonderful to finally meet my brother." These rich people are so nice that cabbie Ford feels guilty about stealing a faked inheritance, but private eye Malone has no such scruples. Meanwhile, Leon Ames and dead Ford's wife are back in the game. After hearing about cabbie Ford trying to collect the inheritance, they show up at the mansion and try blackmailing Malone, who's there as cabbie Ford's "lawyer" to make sure the inheritance goes smoothly. But he blackmails them in return by telling them he knows about a certain murder. It gets more than a tad confusing because the two Fords are not clearly delineated in the beginning, but it makes sense as it goes along, then it gets damn good.

There are some location scenes that are definitely Valley (as determined by the mountains), and the road they are driving has gotta be Burbank Boogalord going through what is now the wilderness basin, and it's awesome because there's nothing out there but trees. I love seeing locations from 90 years ago, but yeah - this film has a good plot, once Leon Ames (a big mofo who we know better as Judy Garland's Dad in "Meet Me in St. Louis.") starts blackmailing people. Two Bigs and a high recommendation, but eat your Wheaties before watching so you don't lose the plot. The picture is very good.  ////  

That's all for tonight. I was sorry to see two of the greats retire on the same day today, Tom Brady and Ozzy Osbourne. For years, I was one of the biggest Brady haters (because he beat the Rams in the 2002 Super Bowl), but as time went by, it could no longer be denied that he was indeed the greatest quarterback of all time, and in recent years I rooted for him to win Super Bowls. I thought he was gonna give it at least one more year and try to go out on top with one final SB victory, but 45 is 45, and time even catches up with Tom Brady. There will never be another one like him, and the same goes for Ozzy, who announced his retirement from touring today. I was fortunate to see him six times with Black Sabbath (including at the California Jam, my first concert), and about the same amount of times with his solo band, including twice with Randy Rhoads. I also went out to lunch with Ozzy in Beverly Hills in January 1983, for an interview with Jon S. (I was Jon's photographer). That was such a great day. Ozzy had short hair then, having cut it all off after Randy died. He had just gotten his large "demon" tattoo on his chest and wanted to show it off. I took pictures. I kind of lost track of his music after Jake E. Lee was fired. I saw the Zack Wilde version of the band once, and wasn't as big of a fan. It was too "metal" and not as melodic, but I've liked the songs I've heard from Ozzy's recent album. I do wish they'd never made a cartoon character out of him twenty years ago with "The Osbournes" (and I think Ozzy regrets it, too), because he's a very intelligent guy behind all the goofy stunts. And the drugs and alcohol, which he finally defeated, thank goodness. Mostly, he was one hell of a singer, and no one who heard him on his records or live will ever forget his voice, it was - and is - one of a kind. So God Bless Ozzy, and let's hope he lives on, even without touring, for a long time to come, and in as good of health as possible given his various ailments.  ////

My blogging music tonight is "World Record" by Van Der Graaf Generator, and my late night is Handel's Siroy, King of Persia opera. I hope your week is going well and I send you Tons of Love as always. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)