Spencer Teakle and Felicity Young in "The Gentle Trap", and "The Big Day" starring Donald Pleasance and Andree Melly

We're back on track, all caught up and on a regular movie schedule, and last night we watched "The Gentle Trap"(1960), another Butchers Film in which young "Johnny Ryan" (Spencer Teakle) a locksmith, is on his first safecracking job, accompanying "Sam" (Arthur Hewlett), an old robber out for one last heist. The movie opens with tracking shots of their car as it cruises through slick city streets toward its destination, a brick building in a warehouse district. They park, sneak in and know right where the safe is. No explanation is given to whom it belongs, or how they got their info on the diamonds inside, but that's not the plot. Instead it's about the aftermath: after Johnny and Sam steal the ice and leave, we see they've been watched the entire time. A shadowy figure signals a car across the alley, which runs over Sam. Two thugs then jump out and knock Johnny cold. They steal the diamonds from his getaway briefcase, or at least they think they've stolen them, until they bring the case back to the originator of the double cross, a nightclub owner named "Ricky Barnes" (Martin Benson). I have to cut in here to say that I love how nightclub owners are always villainous in b-Noirs. They're the equivalent of saloon owners in 60 minute westerns, who are also always portrayed as crooks. No British actor is more villainous than Martin Benson, whom we've seen many times now in these flicks, and he's furious when the briefcase turns out to be empty. His thugs got tricked by the amateur Johnny, who - as trained by old Sam - carried a decoy briefcase. The thugs know Sam is dead, but Johnny's gotten away by now. He still has the diamonds and might come back looking for revenge. Or, if he gets caught for the robbery, he could rat them out for Sam's murder.

In fact, when Johnny woke up from being cold cocked, he went straight to a lowbrow whorehouse run by "Mary" (Dorinda Stevens), a friend of Sam's. Mary is a tough hussy, but after some repartee bargaining, she lets Johnny stay the night. He's all beat up. Mary's innocent sister "Jean" (Felicity Young) is staying with her at the flophouse. She sees Johnny's bruised face, and wants to help him.

In the morning, Mary sees the paper, which describes the jewel robbery and murder of Sam. She puts two and two together and knows it's gotta be Johnny. After trying to blackmail the diamonds out of him, she threatens to tell Ricky Barnes, whom she knows. This leads to Johnny going on the run with Jean, Mary's sister, with the diamonds still in his possession. Mary then teams up with Ricky to chase Johnny down. They bring along a henchman, and "Sylvia" (Dawn Brooks), a treacherous nightclub singer who double crossed Johnny in the first place by tipping his diamond heist to Ricky. 

Trailing the bad guys are the coppers, who, by now, know Ricky is mixed up in a double cross. Johnny swears he's gonna make Sylvia pay. Jean talks him out of revenge and the cops pull Ricky's car over in a ruse, to set him up for arrest for the murder of Sam. This is The Butchers at their most well executed, even if there isn't much to digest along the way. Butcher Films are always well shot and have good locations, meaning their movies look good. The acting is usually competent, too, but their stories? Hit or miss. Plot development is their Achilles heel. But they hold your attention in the other ways, so you watch them. Would you rather sit through a Will Farrell movie at 82 minutes? I rest my case. Two Big Thumbs Up for "The Gentle Trap". The picture is razor sharp.  //// 

The previous night, in "The Big Day"(1960), three middle-management types at a small automotive firm are selected as finalists for a directorship. Company president "Mr. Baker" (Colin Gordon) informs each man a week in advance, to give them time to prepare for the possible change in job status. The plot focuses on the company's accountant "Mr. Partridge" (Donald Pleasance), a quiet milquetoast (i.e. Donald Pleasance), who, it is revealed as the movie opens, is having an affair with his 19 year old secretary. Everyone at the firm would be shocked if they knew. Partridge of all people? And with a hottie less than half his age? We see them in her rented attic room, eating beans and toast. She loves him in the way only a 19 year old can, with great need and passion, wanting constant reaffirmations of his commitment: "do you really love me?" "Yes, dear. I do." She also wants to know, "if you get the directorship, will you keep me as your secretary? Everyone will eventually know about us. Do you care?"

What she really wants to know is "are you going to leave your wife?" Partridge does his best to placate her, but she's The Other Woman, and just a kid, with a young girl's nervous energy. She wants yes or no answers and can't stand Mr. Partridge's self pity (but it's in his contract because he's Donald Pleasance).

One of the other two candidates sees him and the girl, whose name is "Nina" (Andree Melly), at the local pub, holding hands. That's enough evidence for the guy to infer an affair, and he shows up at work the next day to nudge Partridge: "Saw ya with Miss Nina last night. Was ya workin' late?" Wink-nudge, yeah I might blackmail ya to the boss. The third candidate is "Mr. Selkirk" (William Franklyn), a brainy, handsome family man who's sure he's gonna be the chosen one because he's smarter than the other two, and better looking. He has an above-it-all attitude and doesn't participate in the office gossip about Partridge and Nina, except to report it to his wife.

Then there are the competing secretaries, three in all. One is Nina, another is the pretty, 35ish "Madge", who actually cares about Nina but scolds her in an attempt to set her straight about office affairs. The third is the frumpish "Mrs. Deeping" (Molly Urquhart), the executive secretary to Mr. Baker the president. Mrs. Deeping butts in on everyone else, thinking it her right as the boss's assistant . Madge puts her in her place, and it's all about office politics.

Mr. Baker, highly efficient as an expedient head man for the ownership, but not good at numbers or details, needs his underlings because they keep the ship running. He doesn't want a smart man like Selkirk competing with him for president, or an egomaniac like Jackson, the second candidate. He ends up choosing Mr. Partridge for the directorship, precisely because he's mediocre and a milquetoast. This presents Partridge with a problem: to accept the promotion and piggyback Nina his secretary (who by now everyone knows about), or to reject the directorship, quit the company, divorce his wife, and run off and marry Nina, knowing she'd eventually leave him anyway. She's 19, for cryin' out loud.

This one is all in the subtleties of life at the office, while wives wait at home making dinner. Two Big Thumbs verging on Two Huge. The acting stands out by every cast member. Pleasance, who would add psychos to his resume, is younger and thinner than usual, and he's always very good. Andree Melly is also good as Nina. But Colin Gordon as Mr. Baker is the best. The picture is razor sharp. //// 

And that's all for tonight. My blogging music was "A Curious Feeling" by Tony Banks, my late night is the Belshazzar Opera by Handel. I hope your week is off to a good start and I send you Tons of Love as always.   xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)

Two British Thrillers : "The Hangman Waits" and "Delayed Action" (plus Victoria Horne)

Last night, the search for a trunk murderer was underway in "The Hangman Waits"(1947), a documentary-style thriller told from a sensationalist perspective. As the movie opens, a man wearing an overcoat follows a woman home, then silently strangles her. We only see him from behind. The next day, the body is found, which sends the press into a frenzy. The Linotype machines run furiously, newsboys shout the headlines, and I must say (cue Ed Grimley "I must say") that the production of a daily newspaper (as depicted in the film) is a fascinating, ingenious thing. Bring back newspapers! Screw internet news and phony, corporate cable networks.

Anyhow, Skeertlynd Yeeard discovers their first clue, that the murderer had a limp. Then, in the last twenty minutes, after they find their suspect, there's a Hitchcockian suspense segment in which he goes to a church where an organist is rehearsing. Being an organist himself, he asks to give it a try, and then, because the music drives him crazy, he has to murder the church organist, poor guy. So his motive wasn't all about killing women. Something about the organ makes him crazy.

The movie is good in its documentary way, showing how the news business drives all factors: the public panic, which in turn drives the police to solve the case, which makes the killer feel powerful from the publicity, which makes him more daring, which sells more newspapers. But the problem, because the focus is on the press aspect, is that we never find out much about the killer's life or motivations. Almost nil, in fact. The cinematic style makes up for some of that; it's another Butcher's Films film ("they butchered another one!"), and despite my facetious slogan for them, The Butchers are competent British B-movie mavens.

At 55 minutes though, you can't go wrong with "The Hangman Waits", especially since there are 8760 hours in a year, and ya gotta fill 365 of 'em with one hour movies, and I must say (cue Ed Grimley again) that I don't know if I can ever go back to movies longer than 90 minutes, unless I go on a Tarkovsky kick. (Just kidding. I love all kinds of movies at all kinds of lengths. It's just that I don't have the patience to sit through longer ones any more, because I'm preoccupied with other, more important stuff.)

I love 60 minute flicks because they get the job done. Just go boom-boom-boom and give me a movie. I don't have time to mess around. Two Bigs, picture: razor sharp. 

In "Delayed Action"(1954), viewed last week, we've got another plot you may have seen before. "Ned Ellison" (Robert Ayers) is suicidal. His wife left him two years ago, taking their daughter with her. Then the wife died, now the daughter can't be located. She's with in-laws somewhere in the English countryside. Ellison can't get a job cause he's an American in England, and he's ready to jump in the Thames. As the movie opens, he's sealing a letter to the coroner, explaining his demise. He then heads to the river, but before he can jump in, two men accost him and knock him cold.

When he comes to, at the house of the man in charge, he's pissed. "Why did you stop me?" "Because I need someone like you, to whom life means nothing. And in fact I have a proposition to make." Ahh, the old "I'll pay you handsomely to swap identities with me, but you'll have to die in the end" plot: "I'm sure you won't mind, because you were going to kill yourself anyway."

Didn't we see something similar in a Roger Corman film? Was it "Premature Burial"? Anyway, this one's more of a TV-type plot, the kind of thing you'd see in an episode of Mission Impossible or Name of the Game, when they're trying to psyche a guy out. Ellison agrees to take the gig, and he's supposed to pose as a businessman who's taken over the identity-swapper's company. The boss is supposed to have gone overseas. He's gradually warming up for the swap by getting a haircut, wearing glasses, and posing as the new underling at his own company, where he now works for Ellison. Later he will fake his death, and if the cops don't catch on, Ellison will be free to go. If it's confusing to you, it confused me ten times worse, because it's underwritten. We never know why the boss is in dutch with the law. Why does he need to switch identities in the first place? He insinuates a few things, and Ellison jumps in whole hog. From there, style takes over from substance, and I use the word style carefully because Robert Ayers acting style very quickly becomes something that sticks in your craw. His voice sounds like someone turned the volume up on the post-production looping. It's too loud compared to the other characters. But more than that, he's using an affected, Suave Guy diction, which sounds like he's deliberately talking off the roof of his mouth and bouncing it through his nose. Sorry, but it's annoying, and his physical reactions to other characters are as herky-jerky as can be. It's worth watching the movie for his unusual performance, even though it will bug you. It's like he's stiffening before your eyes while his voice is swallowing him up. Really weird indeed.

You kind of have to go with the plot: "Yeah, I agree to let you kill me at the end of this bargain, because I was gonna kill myself anyway, and at least now I'll have some money to leave to my daughter whom I can't find."

Somewhere along the way, Ellison (now posing as the rich businessman's substitute) rescues a young lass from a car crash. This comes 100% out of the blue, in order to give him a love interest, which in turn gives him a reason to live, which again in turn makes him want out of the bargain, which makes the bossman angry. If you can hack Robert Ayers' performance, you might find this an interesting movie. You've heard overdubs like the one on his voice when they dub an overly loud New York voice on a physically mismatched Spanish outlaw in a spaghetti western. But with Ayers, they just made the looping too loud, and he does this schtick with his dialogue that's still bugging me. But Two Thumbs Up anyway. The picture is very good.  ////  

We're also having fun watching Victoria Horne in "Secret Agent X-9", the chapter serial starring Lloyd Bridges that we began a couple of weeks ago. Horne, an actress we'd never previously seen, plays "Nabura", a Japanese dragon lady working as an Axis-powers go-between on the privately owned Shadow Island in the Pacific. She arranges for secret transfers of information and weapons components between Japan and Germany, skirting the Allied naval presence in the area. Horne's performance intrigued me enough to look her up on IMDB, and I was surprised to find out that she was Jack Oakie's wife, and thus lived with him for decades in Oakridge, the Northridge mansion on Devonshire near Reseda Boulevard, that was built and originally owned by Barbara Stanwyck. Reading about Horne, I recalled a conversation I had with a docent at Oakridge, last October when they had an open house. She mentioned Victoria Horne and told me that after Jack Oakie died, Horne continued to live at Oakridge until her own death in 2003, after which the house and property were acquired by USC. The university held on to Oakridge for years, unsure what to do with it, and was about to sell it to a horrible real estate developer (a redundancy), when the City of Los Angeles stepped in, bought it, and preserved it as a historic site. Thank you, Los Angeles. But another thing the docent said that was cool, was that, as an old lady, Victoria Horne was seen once in a while in the Devonshire/Reseda Ralphs supermarket, when it was still in place. She said you could tell Miss Horne by her all-black clothing, complete with gloves and hat, a mysterious figure from Hollywood's (and Northridge's) days of yore, the Old Lady of Oakridge who lived "in that mansion behind the wall on the hill". Check out her performance as Nabura in "Secret Agent X-9" (the 1945 version). She's alluring in a cute-but-evil way. It's cool to have discovered Victoria Horne, who lived at Oakridge for 53 years. We'll have to find more of her movies.  ////  

And that's all for tonight. I think we're almost all caught up. My blogging music is Happy the Man (debut album), my late night is Handel's Belshazzar Opera. I've had enough rain and cold to last me several lifetimes, and I send you Tons of Love as always.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):) 

Eric Johnson at The Saban Theater, and "Dead Man's Evidence" starring Conrad Phillips and Veronica Hurst

I did end up going to the Eric Johnson concert and I'm glad I did. EJ is unmissable, and for me, he's one of those artists who feel like family, like King's X, Van Halen or ELP. I can't describe it, it's just music that gets so deep into your blood that it feels like it was born in you, or you knew it before you heard it. Something like that. Anyway, I left for the Saban Theater at around 6:15pm. The night was doggone cold but the rain hadn't started, and there was very little traffic on the 405. I hadn't been down Wilshire Boulevard in ages, so it was fun to drive through the heart of Beverly Hills, with it's stylish white buildings. I found schtreet parking on La Cienega, saving me 15 bucks, and I was inside the Saban by 7:10. It's another one of those restored 1920s-era movie palaces, most of which are in Downtown L.A., but some, like this one, are on the outskirts. As mentioned in the last blog, I actually bought my ticket for this show in 2021, but the tour got canceled - twice. Eric Johnson's management said "tickets will be honored," so I held on to mine (gotta have a paper ticket; can't stand mobile ticketing), and lo and behold, they gave me an upgrade to the floor, an excellent seat about 20 rows back.

At first, nobody was in the joint, just a handful of people, and I wondered if Eric was gonna have to face a mere smattering of fans. "Maybe because of the weather," I thought. Folks slowly trickled in, but even by 7:50, just ten minutes before showtime, the place was half empty. Then all of a sudden the floodgates opened, and everyone arrived starting at about 7:55. It was the latest arriving audience I've ever seen. In the old days, fans would fill an arena an hour early, and would eventually be chanting for the band to hit the damn stage, already. The fans tonight were older. Many had white hair. I'd guess that I, at almost 63, was among the younger ones, though I did see sprinklings of 30 to 50 year-olds here and there, amidst the 1000 strong who finally filled every seat. But boy did they wait til the last minute. Maybe they were hanging in the lobby.

The show started at 8:06 with Eric and bassist extraordinaire Roscoe Beck playing an acoustic duet of 3 or 4 songs, with Roscoe on stand-up bass. Then the rest of the band (Wayne Salzmann II on drums, Dave Scher on keys, second guitar and percussion) joined in to complete the rest of the 42 minute acoustic set.

After a 25 minute intermission, the band returned for an electric set that lasted almost 90 minutes.

I'd like to tell you about the music but I can't because no words will suffice. And I'm not trying to do one of those OMG jaw-dropping things, but I just have no words. If you've ever seen Eric live, you'll know what I'm talking about, but then I've gotta add that he may have his best band ever, and that he himself just gets more advanced on guitar as the years and tours go by. Eric will be 69 this year, and the only one who can touch him on guitar is himself, and he keeps blowing himself off the stage with every tour. It's freaking unreal.

I was speechless during the show and I remain so. I first saw Eric on September 29, 1990 at the Irvine Meadows Amphitheater when he opened for Joe Satriani. After that, I didn't see him until April 1997, at the Key Club on the Sunset Strip, when I went with the late, great Dave Small. We were living at the Howard Johnson motel at the time, with my Dad, on Reseda Boogalord. Dave and I went to both of EJ's shows at the Key Club, which were part of his Venus Isle tour. When you talk about music getting so far into your blood that it feels like you were born with it, "Venus Isle" is among my desert island albums. I first heard it when Dave and I were on our way to the air show at Edwards in 1996. It's top-ten all time for me, and Eric has recently re-scaled the Venusian heights with his most recent releases, the counterpart mini-albums "The Book of Making" and "Yesterday Meets Today". 

Staring around 2000, he began touring regularly, and I've seen him about every two years since then, many times at The Canyon in Agoura, but also at The Roxy, and The Grove of Anaheim. I'd have to go back to my journals and count, but I'd guess I've seen Eric Johnson at least a dozen times.  

I can't overstate the effect his music has had on my life, because the effect surpasses being only musical. And as powerful as music is, as a force (some have said it's the second greatest power after love), it's quite a statement to say that an artist's music is even surpassed by it's life-effect on a fan.....

And that's all I can really tell you. I'm glad I went, even though I probably won't be going to lots of concerts in the future, just because my life has taken a major-league turn, and I only have so much energy left to focus. But one concert I'll never miss is an Eric Johnson concert. If you've seen him live, you'll know why.  ////

So that's my EJ review, written when I got home last night. I should add that he played a total of 2 hours and ten minutes, and that the lengthy, improvised guitar intro to "Cliffs of Dover" was by itself worth the price of admission. One thing that stands out about Eric, besides the staggering dexterity and musicality of his lead runs, is his tonal palette. He gets more colors out of his guitar than any player I've heard. At any rate, I'm glad the concert was last night, because tonight's weather would've been no fun to drive in.

I have one movie review of a film watched several days ago, one heck of a good spy thriller from MGM England called "Dead Man's Evidence"(1962). You've gotta pay attention on this one, so bring your scorecard or notepad or whatever works best. As it opens, a man with binoculars looks out on a Dublin beach, watching two women who've just discovered a washed-up dead body. One covers it with her coat, and both run away to call the police. The man with the binoculars walks away, and we cut to the offices of Brrrrittish Intelligence, where the Chief is briefing Agent "David Baxter" (Conrad Phillips). BI has obtained coroner's photographs that show the dead man was wearing a scuba suit. "We think he was one of our frogmen," says the Chief, "and a probable double agent." He's deduced this by a signet ring on one hand of the body, which is otherwise unidentifiable from being in the water.

Agent Baxter thinks it was a man he once worked with on a significant case, and promises a return on the chief's investment : "I'll get to the bottom of this, sir, and if it's not him, I'll find him and bring him back."

Well, get ready. You'll wind up needing (and wanting) to watch it for yourself, because I'm never gonna be able to give you all the details. When agent Baxter arrives in Dublin, he goes straight to the morgue where the body was taken. The coroner's assistant accepts his bribe, but then won't let him view the body. "That's weird", you're thinking, and then the local police supervisor gives him back his bribe money, but still won't permit an inquiry. Possibly, it's because Baxter hasn't identified himself as British Intelligence. He's posing as an insurance investigator, and he's competing for the truth with a very dogged reporter named "Paul Kay" (Alex MacIntosh) who remembers him from an overseas case and does indeed know he's BI, but promises to keep it a secret.

Kay has a female photographer named "Gay Clifford" (Veronica Hurst), who - we learn early on - is a contact of the man with the binoculars from the start of the movie. But who is he? Some kind of crime boss, and she a corrupt newswoman? We don't know, but Agent Baxter is going to get to the bottom of the case, that much you can be sure of. He locates one of the women who discovered the body on the beach, again identifying himself as an insurance investigator. "I'm interested in a signet ring on the left hand of the body. Did you notice it?" She seems nervous and kind of airheaded. "I'm sorry, I don't recall a ring. I was in shock from the way the poor man looked."

At one point, Baxter sneaks into the morgue, still trying to have a look at the body, only to have Kay the reporter surprise him. In between all of this, there are party scenes and social gatherings in which - every single time - drinks are offered and shared. I challenge you to find a "drinkier" movie. This one could serve as an advertisement for Jameson's Irish Whisky.

We eventually find out more about the dead frogman on the beach, and we're gonna hear more from the man with the binoculars, as well as Gay Clifford the photog.  You've gotta be super-tight to write a schript with this much detail and fit it into 64 minutes. It's as good as a 007 flick, without the spectacular action scenes but it's got everything else, especially plot-upon-plot, and snappy, repartee dialogue from every character. Two Huge Thumbs Up for "Dead Man's Evidence". The picture is razor sharp.  ////

That's all I've got for now. My blogging music is "Black Noise" by FM, my late night is the Tamerlane Opera by Handel. I'll be glad when Winter is over and I send you Tons of Love as always.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)

One Chapter Serial : "Zombies of the Stratosphere", and Two Movies: "Devil's Bait" and "70 Deadly Pills"

Gonna try to get caught up here, though it might take a few days. Last night, we began another chapter serial, with the awesome title "Zombies of the Stratosphere"(1952). As the first chapter opens, they've landed in Chatsworth Park. Numerous witnesses have reported seeing an object in the sky, so "Special Agent Larry Martin" (Judd Holdren) dons his rocket-powered flight suit, complete with full-coverage helmet (like a knight in a jousting match) and flies, like Superman, across hills and valleys to get the to landing site. The zombies have already split the scene, though, stealing a car to drive over to a scientist's nearby mansion. Lead Zombie "Marex" (Lane Bradford) gives him a choice: "either help us build and deploy an H-bomb or we will report you to your Federal government for giving away atomic secrets." He's insinuating the scientist is a commie. "Why do you need an H- bomb?" the scientist asks Marex. "Because our planet, Mars, has a thin atmosphere and it is hard for us to breathe. Your planet Earth has a rich oxygen supply, but for it to move into our gravitational hold, Earth must be obliterated."

The scientist considers his options. On the one hand, he doesn't really wanna participate in blowing the Earth to smithereens, but on the other, he wants even less to spend the rest of his life in prison, and it appears that the Zombies (who wear Plan 9-style space suits) do indeed have the blackmail goods on him for espionage. In the end he agrees to help them blow up Earth.

Having landed, Agent Martin has now found the scientist's mansion, but discovers that the Zombies have left for Morongo to obtain a shipment of uranium, so he goes to the Chatsworth train depot and asks the station master to derail their train. When that proves to be too time consuming, he commandeers a miniature (and very speedy) one-man tank that just so happens to be parked by the tracks, and races across country to chase the train down. Can he catch it in time to board, and stop the uranium from being delivered? The Zombies (who are not undead; "Zombie" means something different on Mars) have henchmen who wear suits and hats, and no, I did not make any of this stuff up. This is as goofy as a '50s sci-fi serial can get, but one chapter in, and we're loving it. Two Big Thumbs Up for "Zombies of the Stratosphere". The picture is very good.

The reviews might be a little shorter until we get back on track. 

The previous night, we had a strange little film called "Devil's Bait"(1959), about the search for a poisoned loaf of bread. I'm not sure what to call it. There's an undercurrent of black comedy; the Hitchcockian string swells and quirky "duck waddle" oboes suggest as much, indicating scenes that are meant to be taken as "deliciously macabre", or to indicate eccentricity. A baker has rats in his flour storage room and calls the owner of his building, who arranges for an exterminator to come out. A ratcatcher named "Mr. Love" (Dermot Kelly) lobbies for the job, and though he's a known alcoholic, he gets hired based on his self-professed expertise. His landlady sees him preparing beforehand and is appalled that he has a bottle of potassium cyanide (illegal in England) but he tells her not to worry, "I've been using it for twenty years and I'm the best in the business."

The owner of the bakery leaves Mr. Love to his work. He's a little squeamish about the poison, but he just wants the rats gone. While Mr. Love is mixing up his cyanide with other special ingredients, a bell rings in the front of the bakery, causing him to drop and shatter his mixing bowl. Needing a substitute, he grabs an old and seemingly out-of-use bread tin, sitting rusty on the shelf. After making the poison, he dips the bread bait, then stuffs it in the ratholes and washes up to take a break. It's 5 o clock, which means Time for a Drink, so he heads to the pub for a large scotch but he's just getting warmed up. Forgetting that he still has to clean up the sink area at the bakery, at which he mixed the cyanide, he drinks until he passes out. When he's awakened at closing time, he stumbles out of the pub and down a hill. Then he slips and breaks his neck and dies.

The police investigate, and trace Mr. Love's movements back to the bakery, where the owner hides the poison bottle and bag, so he won't go out of business (because its illegal) but his wife has already used the bread tin the poison was mixed in to bake bread. She grabbed it, off hand, without thinking. The resulting loaf was sold to a customer that evening, so the baker and his wife, having already lied to the police about the rat problem, now attempt to find the loaf themselves. They go to the customers house and climb through her window, but the loaf in her kitchen is half eaten. Is she dead? Is it even the right loaf?

For the audience, there's is no deadly urgency and only mild suspense because of the aforementioned "quirky" soundtrack and character reactions. The police have been following the bakers, suspecting they've been covering something up, and they catch them red-handed in the window of the customer's house, but it turns out she gave the poisoned loaf to her daughter, who is off picnicking with a friend and her baby. Who will eat the poisoned bread? Will it be the new-born baby?

A strange plot, eh? And whisker-thin. It must've had a 20 page script, but the film succeeds in it's conviction of acting, and the canted directorial style. Everyone is invested, which always makes a difference when your story isn't fleshed out. Watching it, you kind of go "huh?" when it's over, but you'll like it all the way through, so Two Bigs. The picture is razor sharp. ////

Shall we do one more? Yeah, let's.

How about another Find the Poison flick? In "70 Deadly Pills"(1964), five Cockney kids, all around 12 years old, have a clubhouse in an old condemned slum building. They furnish it with discarded treasures found in the street, like an old gramophone and a stack of 78rpm records. They've also got a hog's head (not of real fire, though). They call themselves The Rockets, and one day, a younger boy sneaks into their club when they're away and pokes around, admiring their collection of cast-offs, but while he's up there, two robbers pull into the driveway after nicking a doctor's car. The kid watches as they throw out his medical bag and leave, making plans to come back and re-paint the car later. He goes downstairs to see what's in the bag, and finds a tin of sweets among all the stethoscopes, syringes, and thermometers. The candies were post-exam treats for the doctor's young patients, but mixed in with them, inadvertently by the robbers, is a pack of strychnine pills, 70 of 'em just like in the movie's title. The pills are mixed with the candy and they look just like M&Ms. Now The Rockets have the tin and a discussion begins: how should the sweets be divided? Should the finder get the lion's share, or should it be equal between the lot? Therefore, the plot theme is the same as in "Devil's Bait": find the poisoned food item before it kills. The best part of this movie, however, is The Rockets gang themselves, how they interact and their rituals inside the clubhouse. They're like a miniature Skull and Bones, with their oaths and sacred rules, or maybe Lord of the Flies is a better example. Watching them hash things out is fun, otherwise, from the cops' point of view, it's all "Find the sweets before the kids eat them"! And of course, to build suspense, we see every Rocket almost put one in his or her mouth, only to be interrupted "just in the nick of time!" by someone else, before they're poisoned.  One girl finally does eat one of the pills, and I'll leave it up to you to see what happens. Two Big Thumbs Up. The picture is very good. ////

We still have a couple more movies to clear, but we'll get to 'em on another night. Tomorrow night, I may or may not be going to see Eric Johnson in Beverly Hills at the Saban Theater. I have a ticket that I bought almost two years ago (!) when this tour was first scheduled, but Covid was still raging and it was canceled. The weather will decide if I end up going. If it's pouring rain, I'll probably stay home and eat the ticket. I'd hate to miss EJ (one of my Top Ten artists of all time, and Top Three on guitar), but I'm a bit worn out of late, and to be honest I'm long since tired of going to concerts by myself. However, simply because it is Eric Johnson, I'll probably drag myself down there if the weather isn't totally lousy. And if I go, I'll include a Concert Report in the next blog, along with the remainder of our backed-up movies.

My blogging music tonight is Van der Graaf Generator "Still Life", my late night is Handel's Tamerlane Opera. I hope your week is going well, and did you see the Moon tonight, with Jupiter and Venus aligned below it? T'was amazing to behold, like jewels in the night sky. I send you Tons of Love, as always.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)

In Memory of T

I'm a day late, due to some sudden and sad news. One of my long time circle of friends has passed away, and while it wasn't entirely unexpected because he had been in poor health for many years, it is nonetheless a shock, especially given the revelations I've had this week, which have already left me reeling. In his case, the words "long ago" should be added to "long time" friend because I hadn't had any contact with "T" for almost 29 years. Thus he was a long time but also long ago friend.

The reason for this was that he was one of the three people in the room - his apartment - when the events of September 1989 began. If you know me, you already know all about that story, which has been made clearer to me - and more devastating - this week, even before I got the news of his passing.

T was a difficult figure in my life because of 1989, but he was a friend before that, and - surprisingly, even to me, I never held a grudge against him for what happened in his apartment. He always seemed like a side character in the whole thing, and after about six months to a year (when my memories came back), I was no longer angry about what happened in his apartment, because - when you get right down to it - an affair in which you are the jilted party isn't worth getting worked up over. Affairs are childish things (anyone can have one, it's no great accomplishment) and regarding T, while I no longer considered him a friend after my memory returned in 1994, he never registered as adversarial toward me, the way that some other parties did.

One of the great ironies of the aftermath of September 1989, is that after T got evicted from his apartment the following month, I actually invited him to live in my family's garage. Because I had amnesia of what took place in his apartment only eight weeks earlier, and I had no idea I'd almost died in that room on the night of September 1st, I felt sorry that he was losing his place to live. You can't let a friend become homeless if you are in a position to help, and I was, so I offered him our garage as a place to stay, and he lived there for the next 4 years and 8 months, until my memory began to return. Then he moved out in a hurry. But yeah, that's one of the great ironies of the mind-boggling September 1989 event, is that I invited T to come live in our garage, just eight weeks after what happened in his apartment (and if you don't already know the details, you'll have to ask someone because I don't want to repeat them right now). Just for the record, he moved into our garage on Halloween day, 1989. I even helped him move. The reason he gave for being evicted was that his Mom refused to pay any more of his rent, however, knowing what took place there on the night of September 1st, I have a feeling that was not the real reason.

But the thing is, before my memory returned (and amnesia is the damnedest thing), he and I were friends and hung out on a daily basis. That's ironic, right? We hung out and watched TV, played basketball, smoked pot (one of my great regrets is smoking pot for 19 years, a very bad drug in my opinion), and had a lot of fun. Looking back, he seemed depressed a lot of the time he lived at my house, and I can imagine why; always wondering if - and when - I'd remember September 1st, 1989. But I never did, for almost five years, so maybe he felt like the coast was clear. And the thing was, the coast would always have been clear, if someone would've just told me the truth. As I say, for me, getting cheated on upset me for about six months to a year after I remembered it. I wasn't the world's best boyfriend to that particular person who, for now, shall remain nameless, and I would've left me long before she did. So the cheating was never the big deal.

But, what we do know about September 1989, is exactly that: the cheating was never, and is not, the Big Deal. The Big Deal is that it sparked a National Security event that remains the biggest secret in America to this day. Maybe T was aware of this, maybe he was not. But he began drinking and smoking at an early age anyway. His lifestyle was not conducive to good health.

In remembering him today, I'm thinking of the fun times, like taking the bus to Hollywood with T and my brother to buy movie memorabilia at the Hollywood Book & Poster shop on Hollywood Boulevard. That would've been around 1977. Or taking the bus to Dodger games. Playing baseball, basketball and football (every Sunday!), well into our 30s. His Mom took us many places also, like to Disneyland and to see "The Exorcist", back in the 1970s. His Mom was a very nice lady.

I'll sum up to say, that, though I hadn't seen him for 30 years, and our friendship was without a doubt long since over, he was my friend once, and that's what counts today. I know he's in a better place. He has to be.

God Bless You, T.

I'll be back with more movies either tonight or tomorrow.  ////              

Dermot Walsh in "The Frightened Man", and "Snowball" starring Dennis Waterman

Last night, in "The Frightened Man", angry young "Julius Rosselli" (Dermot Walsh) comes home to his father's London antique shop after flunking out of Oxford, which Dad scraped to pay for. Julius is self centered and surly. "Dad Rosselli" (Charles Victor) wants to make him co-owner of the shop, but Dad's fussy & flaming assistant "Cornelius" (Michael Ward) thinks Julius isn't temperamentally equipped to run a business. Julius doesn't want it anyway, he wants easy money so he can marry "Amanda" (Barbara Murray), the girlfriend of an older, strait-laced gent who he's stealing her from with no compunction. She flaunts it in the man's face and marries Julius soon after, but on the side, we see that Julius is hanging around a used car salesman who pulls robberies at night. Soon, he's the driver on these jobs, but Amanda doesn't know about it.

Then, after gleaning info on the jeweler she works for, he tells his partner-in-crime about a bag of diamonds Amanda's boss is holding in his safe, and the movie turns into a heist flick. Julius and his partner are breaking through an office wall to cut through the back of the safe with an acetylene torch. Well, it turns out that the strait-laced gent Amanda was seeing is an undercover cop who's been tailing Julius's partner for months, and the partner has been selling stolen antiques to Dad for years. It's how he paid for Julius's Oxford education. Julius has long sensed his Dad was a crook; it's why he's so resentful. John Gilling, of "Plague of the Zombies" fame, directed. Other than the twists mentioned, the plot isn't that complex, but Gilling keeps the suspense tight during the heist, and the way he peels back the onion skin layers, with the late-in-the-game undercover cop revelation, and Julius's Dad being a fence for stolen antiques, is very effective. Two Big Thumbs Up. The picture is wide screen and razor sharp.  ////

The previous night, we found a British parable on truth telling called "Snowball"(1960), which begins when ten year old "Mickey Donvan" (Dennis Waterman) is two hours late from school. His mother is worried. Did he miss his bus? Was he kept after school? His Dad says the kid needs discipline, "or he'll wind up like I was at 18. We've gotta straighten him out now." But Mickey arrives home in time for supper, and all is forgiven. His story is that he lost his shilling through a hole in his pocket, thus had no bus money and the driver threw him off. "You mean you had to walk four miles home?" says Mom. Dad shrugs it off. "Every lad should walk four miles every now and then." Dad's a man's man, and wants Mickey to be the same. Still, Mom feels it was a little heartless for the driver to kick him off: "He could've let him bring twice the fare the next day."

It's forgotten about until their neighbor, a busybody, pops in to borrow a stick of butter. She overhears the tail end of the discussion, pries the rest of it out of Mom, and becomes outraged. "That driver should be drawn and quartered. If it were my child I'd have called the bus company and reported him." But she doesn't have children and is always butting into other people's business. This time, she goes so far as to call the local paper and report the incident, completely unsolicited by the Donovans. Dad is pissed off. "How dare she make an issue out of this without asking us!" The woman protests that she was just trying to help. "I make lots of complaints about all kinds of things people tell me. I believe in justice." Yeah, and she's also a nosy parker.

The title of the movie tells you what happens next. The miniscule incident snowballs. Pretty soon, the newspaper's publisher smells a story with legs. He sends a cub reporter out to grill the bus company's dispatcher, to find out which driver kicked the boy off. At first, the company protects the driver, saying he's got a clean record and would never treat a child like that, but when the reporter keeps pushing, the owner agrees to do a "lineup" to have Mickey identify the driver, which he does. The driver (Kenneth Griffith) swears he didn't kick Mickey off. "I don't even recall him riding that day." The trouble is, the driver was tortured in a German pow camp during the war and has had trouble with his memory ever since. His fellow drivers faux-sympathize with him, while talking behind his back and looking at him askance because they think he's "touched" in the head, and therefore, he may have indeed kicked Mickey off and forgotten it. The driver has a supportive wife who believes him, but the accusation is getting to him because he doesn't trust his memory himself. Still, he's sure he didn't kick Mickey off. Meanwhile, Mr. Donovan wants the busybody neighbor banished from the house. "Look at all the trouble she's caused!"

And it's gonna get worse. One night, while out for a walk to de-stress, the driver sees a dog walking on the railroad tracks, unaware that a train is bearing down. He scrambles down the hill to save it, but slips and slides and winds up on the tracks himself. I'll leave you to find out what happens next, but the film is about telling the truth, and minding your own business. Two Big Thumbs Up for "Snowball". The picture is very good. ////

I need to report that my life has changed greatly this week, as I have learned of an incident, quite profound, that was part of the September 1989 experience, and may have come at the very end. In all this time, over 33 years at this point, I have never known about this, never remembered it, and I'm not going to provide details except to say that it involved me, and it happened on Rathburn Avenue in broad daylight. What it was, was a reaction to two weeks of being tortured. Learning of this, and realizing that it indeed happened, has had a powerful effect on me this week. When the incident was over, I ended up lying in the street and was taken to Northridge Hospital, and that's all I wish to say for now. The thing is, is that there is no way my family couldn't have known about this. For certain my parents would have known, as would the neighbors up and down the street. There is no way they could not have known. And so, it has been kept from me for over 33 years, kept from me by by family, and everyone involved in 1989. My life was then stage-managed in the aftermath. 

Of course, I wrote an 800-page book about September 1989 that included 1001 extreme details. But this incident is the most personal to me, especially because I haven't previously been aware of it, and as I said, it's also the most emotionally profound. It's an overwhelming thing to know that I've experienced pure evil in my life, evil beyond measure, and have survived it. I am proud of myself for surviving.

My new hero is Lys V., and I hope I get to talk to her someday.

And that's all I know. I wish you a nice weekend and I send you Tons of Love as always.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)

Ray McAnally and Catherine Feller in "Murder in Eden", and "Boy of the Streets" starring Jackie Cooper

Last night's movie was the fun-but-formulaic "Murder in Eden"(1961),  a one-hour Britflick that traces the murdalization of an art critic who is killed after spotting a forgery. Skeeeartlynd Yeeeearrd sends in "Inspector Sharkey" (Ray McAnally), whose chief suspect is the owner of the gallery where the forged painting was to be displayed. The investigation is interrupted by "Genevieve Beaujean" (Catherine Feller), a cute French reporter who's determined to get a scoop for her paper. "She won't take no for an answer," says "Vicki Woolf" (Yvonne Buckingham), the gallery owner's buxom wife, who's having an affair with an art restorer who specialises in the works of the Old Masters. By sheer persistence, Miss Beaujean - who drives a cute French 3-wheeled car - attracts the attention of Sharkey the inspector, who asks her to politely step out of the way, then doubles his request when her hotel room is booglarised by a knife-wielding man, who's seeking the info she's gathered on the killing.

Then the booglar turns up dead, and the inspector asks for Genevieve's help, but too much time is schpent in the middle of the film on repartee and cuteness. There isn't enough suspense, but Genevieve finds out about the affair of Vicki Woolf and the art restorer, and the movie gets good around the 42 minute mark (out of 60). Suddenly, we're in an expensive beach house/art studio, with secret rooms, one way mirrors, and false walls with trap doors leading to the ocean. Then we get a major league curveball, which in this case leads not to a satisfying but bewildering and inconclusive ending, at least I thought so. Good stuff but thin on script, teased out by competent directing and the pouty face of Catherine Feller, and the inspector's reaction to her pouts. We'll give it Two Bigs for style, but it's not that compelling. The picture is razor sharp.  ////

The previous night, we watched "Boy of the Streets"(1937), a Depression-era drama starring Jackie Cooper as a 16 year old street tough in Hell's Kitchen. "Chuck Brennan" isn't a bad kid, though his sweater is torn from fighting. He's only ever home for dinner; the rest of the time, he's hanging out in the local pool hall with his pals, of whom he's the ringleader. Tonight is Halloween, they're planning tricks rather than treats, and "Spike" (Paul White), the black kid in the gang, is eager to participate in whatever Chuck has up his sleeve. Spike is a good boy who actually has a job (he owns a shoeshine stand), and the neighborhood beat cop is always trying to talk him out of gang life: "Whattaya wanna hang around them mugs for, Spike? You gotta brain in your head." But Spike wants to be accepted by Chuck, who is idolised by the rest of the kids, so he spends his free time running errands for the gang and offers to join in their fights. Chuck says, "no Spike, you're too small." Chuck's Dad (Guy Usher) isn't the best example for his son, telling him "only chumps work for a living". He's proud of Chuck's fighting ability. Dad, an ex-boxer, has big ideas for get-rich-quick schemes, though we only ever see him sitting at the dinner table with his cousin "Flannel-Mouth Farley" (George Cleveland), a freeloader who eats all the Brennan's food. "Mrs. Brennan" (Marjorie Main) is worn to a frazzle. She berates Flannel Mouth in that sassy Midwestern drawl Main was famous for.

Chuck and the gang get called before a judge on Halloween night, but the judge knows all of them and believes they are good kids at heart, so he lets them go with a warning. In a nearby tenement lives "Nora" (Maureen O'Connor), an orphan girl staying with her aunt, until they get evicted and have nowhere to go. Chuck likes Nora, and tries to get her a job as a singer in a small cafe, but two women patrons from a social reform league find out she's only fifteen, and threaten to take her away to live in a home for juvenile delinquents. Chuck and his parents hide her, and a kindly doctor (played by Wild Bill Elliott), who tends to the tenement residents free of charge, takes Nora and her aunt under his wing and protects them. Together, they organize for tenement reform.

Meanwhile, Chuck and his friends are getting into rumbles. At home, freeloader Flannel Mouth and Dad sit around all day playing cards, driving Marjorie Main nuts. At the pool hall, Chuck plans a big fight with a neighboring gang. Little Spike, the good boy, wants to rumble too, but as usual Chuck won't let him. "I told ya, Spike, you're too small. You don't belong fighting, go home." Dejected, Spike leaves, only to get hit by a car. When Spike dies in the hospital, the boys are all sad, and Chuck wants out of gang life. He tries joining the Navy, but the recruiter says "come back on your 17th birthday". With his luck running out, he goes down to the courthouse to talk to his friend the judge, and sees his Dad in there begging for money. Embarassed, Chuck storms out and goes back to the pool hall, where a mobster named Blackie is negotiating to buy the place, to use it as a headquarters for his strong-arm collection "business". Rebellious now at seeing his Dad humiliated, and feeling he's got nothing left to lose, Chuck approaches Blackie to offer his services as a street fighter. This leads to the climax of the movie: will Chuck wind up a Mafia hood, or will his parents and the beat cop be able to rescue him?

This type of film is what you'd call a saga, or cultural drama, of a typical Irish/American family struggling in 1930's New York City with cinematic blarney and pride. You've got the fighting, the singing, an orphan girl, card playing, big dreams/unemployment, and Irish cops, judges, and a gentleman doctor. Wild Bill Elliott is in suit and tie mode again (we like him like this), and Jackie Cooper shows why he was a top teenage star. Two Big Thumbs Up for "Boy of the City". The picture is razor sharp.  ////

That's all I know for tonight. My blogging music is "Pawn Hearts" by Van Der Graaf Generator, my late night is the Solomon Opera by Handel, I hope your week is going well, and I send you Tons of Love as always.  xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)