noir guy

Liam Regan's debut film - which screened to a highly appreciative audience at Frightfest 2015 - is a love letter to Troma and the early films of Frank Henenlotter. A low-budget exercise in adoration that often plumbs the depths of bad taste to amusing effect, it's an energetic and gleeful tale that also often reveals a surprising sense of self-discipline and maturity for a first effort. This is clearly a filmmaker whose love for the genre and his film shines through and should hopefully be the start of a promising career. Oh, and if you don't know what the title refers to - or what the film is about - I'm not going to tell you; apart from the fact that the film is about a worm that turns. And what happens to one particular 'worm' made me cross my legs - and may have the same effect on many other male viewers! British exploitation cinema is clearly alive and well and, for that, many thanks Liam Regan!

This offbeat 1970 NY-set character study resembles its central character too closely and is therefore something of a cop-out. Jonathan (Jordan ANGEL, ANGEL DOWN WE GO Christopher) is a lazy Princeton graduate who earns what he describes as 'an easy living' driving a NY taxi 'Because I want to show the world the back of my neck'. Together with his frustrated virginal ex-army pal Winston (Robert Walden), he lives an aimless existence disinterestedly weaving his cab through the often traffic-clogged city streets, drifting through loveless and seemingly joyless no-strings sexual encounters and occasionally chasing pigeons before embarking on a tentative relationship with his new neighbour, college drop-out Jennifer (Jill O'Hara, in her only film appearance) who - in counterculture era drop-out fashion - is trying to find herself. But can Jonathan discover true happiness in his own backyard or is he destined to forever fly free like the pigeons he casts sidelong glances at and occasionally tries to kick? Although this ticks many of the early 70s cinema boxes (there are the obligatory party scenes, generation-gap themes, swishy kaftan-wearing homosexuals, casual sexual encounters, characters bonding during a rooftop pot-smoking session, grungy wintry locations, ghastly woozy love songs warbling away on the soundtrack, a self-loathing misanthropic anti-hero and even a somewhat out-of-place car chase), the sum of the parts don't ultimately add up to a particularly satisfying whole. This is due in no small part to its smug central character whose inner monologues tend to resemble a series of clichéd and generally unfunny observations (e.g. 'It's OK to be homely, lady, but you're abusing the privilege' - which is one of the better zingers on offer) and whose selfish behaviour is most likely inherited (he has a similarly solipsistic mother still pining for her late husband and a lecherous and unfeeling stepfather) but don't really give the film the emotional or dramatic heft of the same year's far superior FIVE EASY PIECES. However, there are a few residual pleasures in those grungy wintry Big Apple locations, a catchy electronic central theme and the window cracked open on a vanished era that may have mostly existed through the refracted lens of a movie camera rather than in actuality. And it's a real obscurity that seems to have virtually vanished following its original release in its longer-titled full-length form and subsequent re-release in the retitled and abridged (86 minutes) form as PIGEONS that I viewed thanks to its apparent one-off appearance on UK TV in the mid-90s. The current scarcity factor alone makes it a must for 'Cinema Obscura' buffs.

Sombre French/Israeli co-production about a Nazi commandant Hans Wernert (Karl Boehm, best known for his lead role in Peeping Tom) who ran a wartime counterfeiting unit in a concentration camp and subsequently lives under the false identity of one of his victims Jonathan Strauss in Israel. However, the truth of his early remark to his unsuspecting pregnant wife Dahlia (Corrine Marchand) that "the past always returns" seems increasingly likely to be borne out when American sociologist Fred Blythe (Brett Halsey) begins digging up the truth as part of his oral history of the holocaust seen through the eyes of the survivors. Seemingly unseen in the West, this film must have seemed timely and relevant in 1964 as it explicitly references the then recent capture, trial and subsequent hanging in Israel of Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann whilst musing (often at some length) on philosophical issues concerning the nature of good and evil that are still relevant today. Necessarily downbeat, but decently made and played and never less than dramatically engaging as the viewer is uncertain until the end how it will all play out, the most puzzling issue for many (or those that see it) will be the fact that it appears to have received scant - if any - release in English speaking countries (my DVD is a French language version that features an English subtitled option courtesy of a French DVD release by Les Documents Cinematographiques Collection Classique). Worth a look, then, if you get the chance.

This great supernatural noir hybrid deserves to be far better known and released on DVD (Wake up, Paramount!). Shadowy fixer Nick Beal (Ray Milland) is more than he appears to be (Check out his name for starters). When decent D.A. and seemingly "incorruptible enemy of the legions of evil" Joseph Foster (Thomas Mitchell) claims he'd sell his soul to put away an influential racketeer, saturnine Nick Beal gets on his case and subsequently smooths the way to a successful prosecution and, possibly, a path to the governor's office. But what does it profit a man if he gains the world but loses his soul? This modern dress morality play gives us an answer as well as proving to be a gripping tale of character and drama. Smoothly directed by John Farrow - whose previous film was also a noir with supernatural overtones, NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES (DVD release too please, 20th Century Fox), and who had directed Milland in the earlier more plot-oriented noir THE BIG CLOCK - and atmospherically filmed by Lionel Lindon (who later shot THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE), this is a gripping and unusual noir. Bolstering this offbeat generic tale are a clutch of great performances, particularly those of the saturnine Milland, tormented Thomas Mitchell and a touching Audrey Totter as the fallen angel waterfront lush enlisted by Beal to carry out the fleshier requirements of his plot. Given the era it was made, the Devil may not ultimately have all the best tunes here (which wasn't quite the case with Al Pacino's older Nick in the not altogether dissimilar THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE) but this is still an unusual and tangy take on personal, spiritual and political corruption that is highly recommended and deserves to be more widely seen. As I said, DVD release please, Paramount!

Director Charles 'GILDA' Vidor's psychological crime drama has a few interesting touches as hard-boiled gangster Hal Wilson (Chester 'BOSTON BLACKIE' Morris) breaks out of jail, kills the warden and, together with his gang, hides out at psychology professor Dr. Shelby's (Ralph Bellamy) riverside home and holds him and his dinner party guests hostage whilst awaiting the boat to take them across the river to freedom. During a long dark night of the soul - and after Wilson has demonstrated his trigger-happy nature by murdering one of the male guests who stands up to him - Shelby manages to psychoanalyse the violent hoodlum and discovers what made him who he is. If this sounds somewhat familiar to crime movie buffs it's because it was remade nine years later as THE DARK PAST (with, respectively, William Holden and Lee J. Cobb in the principal roles of gangster and shrink) when the post-War trend for psychoanalysis may have lent it greater resonance. The culture clash elements in BLIND ALLEY would probably have resonated more with an audience of the day familiar with the narrative and thematic tropes of the earlier THE PETRIFIED FOREST but what makes this interesting today are some interesting stylistic touches like Wilson's recurring nightmare shown in reverse negative and his final recovered memory revealed in subjective I-camera point of view. Otherwise, the film never really betrays its origins as a stage play and often feels rather static and talky even with a running time of just over an hour. Still, it's interesting to see a couple of now almost forgotten 30s stars like Chester Morris and Ann 'SCARFACE' Dvorak as the hard-boiled gangster and his moll as well as a film attempting to do something different with the crime movie staples of the day even if it all inevitably seems a shade simplistic and formulaic in these more morally compromised times. However, it's an elusive title these days and is still recommended to fans of vintage crime movies who get the chance to see it.

This lurid hostage melodrama with sexual overtones must have seemed pretty hot stuff back in 1956 (in fact it was as the UK censors initially refused it a certificate until it was subsequently cut for the most prohibitive X certificate), but like other delinquency dramas of the time BLACKBOARD JUNGLE and THE WILD ONE time has softened many of its harsher elements even if it hasn't quite smoothed of all of its rough edges. Beatnik pianist Kicks Johnson (Nehemiah Persoff – yeah, right!) tells us a cautionary tale from the previous year when he was part of the extended rootless network of broken- down ex-football star Tom Kupfen (Anthony Quinn) – the "wild party" of the title who was in desperate need of quick cash – as well as the easily influenced wayward middle- class teen Honey (Kathryn Grant, the future Mrs Bing Crosby) and suited-up sneering cowardly knife-man Gage (Jay Robinson), who learnt to pass for respectable by hanging out where else but at the movies. One night, Gage persuaded society beauty Erica (Carol Ohmart) and her somewhat reluctant military fiancé Lt. Arthur Mitchell (Arthur Franz) to leave their swanky hotel bar for some "safe excitement" watching jazz pianist Kicks in a downtown cellar bar. Here, the slobbish Tom made the first of a series of brutish plays for Erica (who may not have initially been that reluctant to receive the attention) before a plan took hold to kidnap the upscale "square" couple and extort cash from one of Arthur's connections. Director Harry Horner's most notable works from the period were the earlier RED PLANET MARS, BEWARE MY LOVELY and VICKI (the remake of I WAKE UP SCREAMING) although he enjoyed a near 40 year career as a production designer on the likes of THE HUSTLER, THEY SHOOT HORSES DON'T THEY and THE DRIVER and there's something of the latter films' attention to seedy nocturnal detail present here. What Horner served up is another 1950s example of the DESPERATE HOURS middle-class nightmare of the great unwashed fetching up on their doorstep to try and drag them to their doom (a theme that previously surfaced in THE PETRIFIED FOREST but that here seems to foreshadow the likes of LADY IN A CAGE, THE INCIDENT and even THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT). However, this effort suffers from a somewhat wordy script by its source novel's author John McPartland (whose edgy Gold Medal paperback originals are well worth tracking down and whose novel NO DOWN PAYMENT became a key if somewhat elusive late 50s skewering of middle-class ideals) that generally tells rather than allows the film to show and therefore results in a movie which often seems somewhat stagy and static. That said, there's still an often seemingly authentically sleazy atmosphere pervading this long dark night of the soul for the hapless swells and lower depths denizens and if the ending seems rather abrupt and slightly ambiguous as to the fate of one of its principal characters it's nevertheless a punchy and pungent tale (like its 25c paperback origins) and is definitely worth the attention of period genre fans.

Haunting Gothic psychodrama (adapted by Lewis John Carlino whose THE SAILOR WHO FELL FROM GRACE WITH THE SEA covers similarly torrid terrain) which, whilst undeniably owing a shade too much of a debt to PSYCHO (as previously noted by another IMDb commentator), whips up an unsettling and uneasy atmosphere of dread, not all of which is dissipated by apparently heavy censorship cuts made to secure a 'PG' for its original U.S. theatrical release in the early 70s. In fact, these often noticeable edits (scenes cut away before they've barely begun) lends the whole enterprise a greater sense of ambiguity by suggesting, rather than showing, the barely suppressed corruption and perversion. Possibly too low-key for popular tastes (which makes it all the more surprising that this was distributed by a major studio and roped in the likes of Robert Shaw) and, although I don't really go a bundle on films which seem to be bending over backwards to conceal their surprise ending (and, yes, I did see this one coming a mile off), this is still a one-off melodramatic curio worth seeking out and which certainly lingers in the mind. Now, how about a nice DVD transfer (my UK video copy is a nasty full-frame RCA Columbia release from the early 80s which doesn't do justice to what looks like impressive cinematography)?...

According to this film, the 'Mayor of the Sunset Strip' is Rodney Bingenheimer. Rodney who? Well, watch this fascinating documentary, directed by George Hickenlopper (HEARTS OF DARKNESS : A FILMMAKER'S APOCALYPSE), and find out! Bingenheimer is seemingly the kind of selfless guy who appears to have initially been a kind of male groupie in the 60s and who subsequently unconditionally promoted U.S. and U.K. rock and pop acts through his L.A. based 'Rodney on the Roq' radio show and is acclaimed in almost reverential tones by those who owe their Stateside break to the airplay which apparently broke them through to the U.S. mainstream. As these artists include the likes of Brian Wilson, The Ramones, The Sex Pistols, Oasis and Coldplay (not sure I can forgive Rodney those last two), and given that the soundtrack includes these bands and many more individuals and groups (e.g. including a certain Mr. Bowie) which would have set virtually any other movie back several million greenbacks had they not offered their tracks for the minimum cost required to sort the legal paperwork, one can see how revered this apparently somewhat impoverished starmaker is (although his collection of pop memorabilia could set him up for several lifetimes should he choose to part with it). A Zelig-like figure whom the film's archival footage (filmed and photographic) shows to have been present at virtually all the epochal rock moments of the last 40 years, as well as one whose life has perhaps not turned out to be as successful as one might expect (the man still appears to dine at Denny's, for crying out loud!) and who seems to have been let down by those who might have reciprocated more kindly for the leg-up he appears to have given them, is well-served by this compassionate, occasionally hilarious (the Cherie Currie story about sinister svengali producer/performer Kim Fowley and his punchy riposte is a hoot) and ultimately rather sad and cautionary tale of the darker side of the American Dream. A man who, as my friend pointed out afterwards, appears to have inspired The Ramones' choice of tonsorial grooming and who still appears to be occasionally mistaken for The Monkees' Davy Jones (he originally auditioned for Jones' role and was sometimes deployed as his double which, if nothing else, seems to have added a few notches to his bedpost) and whose sad-faced countenance speaks more vividly of a lifetime of let-downs than any rancid verbal outpourings (he actually seems too polite to engage in on-screen badmouthing of even those who might deserve a well-aimed verbal broadside), this features an engaging mixture of talking head and rare archival footage and entertains as it delivers an impressionistic vulture's eye view of the West Coast zeitgeist, leaving one in no doubt that the film's title appropriately rests on this unlikely, slightly-built and spindly-legged character. An enlightening documentary, and highly recommended fare with no 'dead air'.

At last, a British movie with a degree of ambition, even if the ambition remains unfulfilled by the film's fade-out. Basically, this is the old tale of the blocked male protagonist becoming enervated by an encounter with his dark side before ultimately realising the error of his ways (see also FIGHT CLUB). As a meditation on machismo and the male psyche, this certainly passes muster, with the dark side manifestation Billy (a truly scary and, hopefully, career-defining performance by Marc Warren) proving that the devil really does have all the best tunes (literally, as the soundtrack really rocks when the characters get down to their darker doings). However, the invention and insight runs out around the halfway mark leaving us with some sub-Georges Bataille musings and a conventional wrap-up which seriously detract from an interesting set-up which promises much but delivers merely a light cuff when a sucker punch is needed. Still, it's dark, challenging and occasionally disturbing work (the corruption of innocence theme is particularly well handled, as is the direction of all the child actors), and the explicit sexual detail will almost certainly result in a truncated or unrated version being released Stateside. On the basis of this, director Penny Woolcock and saturnine star Marc Warren look to be emergent talents well worth watching. Recommended, albeit with reservations.

Daft remake of STRANGERS ON A TRAIN with glacial Carol Lynley doing a distaff femme fatale take on Robert Walker's classic role. She's disturbed doll-faced Diana, who desires the death of her shrink, who alone realises her malign potential and seeks to have her committed. Fixating on perpetual golf pro runner-up Jerry (stone-faced Paul Burke), she beds the hapless sap and manages to get the admittedly soused sportsman to spout some incriminating pillow talk whilst being unknowingly filmed and recorded by a hidden camera which thereby appears to frame him for his superior golfing rival's subsequent murder as he unwittingly plays into her hands during her switcheroo murder plan pitch. Having held up her end of the bargain (and having purloined both the murder weapon and, as per the original film, a potentially incriminating cigarette lighter which is never flagged up as the classic 'McGuffin' it was in the Hitchcock original, and which both threaten to lead the forces of law and order to his door), the murderous minx now expects him to follow through with his end of the deal but, as Farley Granger found out some twenty years previously, if it isn't bred in the bone the hands will only be used to bash a ball rather than a skull. However, Jerry's reckoning without Diana's in-house editing facility which enables her to overdub the potentially damaging videotape footage (yep, she actually has a video recorder in 1969!) and, with the police circling and madness abroad, the poor dupe has to hack his way out of something more dangerous than the usual sandtrap. Kitsch in the extreme, and lacking all The Master of Suspense's bravura technique and convincing deployment of the transference of guilt theme, this is ultimately an unintentional hoot (especially a climactic dune buggy chase along a beach). Boasting Dayglo cinematography so harsh you almost need sunglasses to watch it, truly atrocious wardrobes (especially for Martha Hyer's estranged wife character) and pointlessly padded out with tedious extended golfing footage, this is really only recommended for true trash mavens as, unlike Ms Lynley's shapely lower limbs, this really hasn't got the legs to follow through on the original classically simple yet intriguing premise ('STRANGERS...' author Patricia Highsmith receives a credit for 'suggesting' the whole concept). Personally, though, I found it a lot of fun.

This gripping 'lost' gangster movie (finally being released on DVD, having never been theatrically released in the U.S.) was filmed in Paris by acclaimed noir director Frank Tuttle (THIS GUN FOR HIRE, THE GLASS KEY). It stars Dane Clark as U.S. army deserter-turned-gangster Eddy Roback who is sprung from a police van by his criminal cohorts whilst being transported to the courthouse. Wounded in the gun battle, Eddy looks up former flame Denise Vernon (Simone Signoret), in the hope that she will obtain the necessary cash for a flight across the border. However, with the dogged police and Denise's new beau, a crime reporter named Frank Clinton, on his trail, time is running out for Eddy as he attempts to rely on his former criminal network and moll to secure his passage to freedom. Shot on authentic locations by noted cinematographer Eugen Schufftan (EYES WITHOUT A FACE, THE HUSTLER), this is a gripping man-on-the-run crime movie, and rattles along at a fair clip, aided in no small part by the performances; especially Signoret as the tragic moll and Clark as the pitiless hard-boiled criminal. The Gallic setting lends an effective air of authenticity and doomed romanticism to an oft-told tale, and this previously rarely-seen genre movie is well-worth seeking out.

Adapted, like Stanley Kubrick's more celebrated 1956 crime movie THE KILLING, from a novel by underrated thriller writer Lionel White, THE BIG CAPER is an economical, pacy minor 50s crime movie which, unfortunately, somewhat loses its grip and falls away on the home strait to deliver less than it initially promises. Trapped in an ever-increasing spiral of gambling losses, Frank (Rory Calhoun, taking a welcome break from the saddle) sells his now semi-respectable gangster boss Flood (James Gregory) the idea of bankrolling a 'big caper'. The sleepy Californian coastal town of San Felipe is home to a bank which holds the substantial payroll for a nearby army base, and appears just ripe for the pickings for a team of professional hoods. Flood stakes the plan, and, after buying up the local gas station (an ideal stakeout locale for the bank located across the street), Frank sets up home with Flood's moll Kay (Mary Costa), aiming to win the trust of the local populace based on a seemingly legitimate veneer of domestic normality. Biding their time, Frank and Kay ingratiate themselves with the local 'square' population as they await the arrival of Flood's specialist team. But when this outfit includes an alcoholic pyromaniac, an inveterate womaniser, a psychotically loyal bodyguard and a kingpin who is beginning, rightfully, to suspect that his girl wants out from her previous lifestyle, the seemingly perfect caper begins to look fatally flawed. Swift and punchy, and betraying the best of its paperback origins in swift, sharp characterisation and abrupt narrative gear changes, this benefits from a nicely embittered change-of-pace lead performance from Calhoun (who, in forsaking his cowboy boots and spurs here, suggests he would have made an effectively downbeat noir actor) and a surprising sense of well-oiled coiled-spring menace from the underrated Gregory. Although a tad schematic in its paralleling of the Eisenhower-era nuclear family with Flood's dysfunctional criminal one, and running out of steam on the way to a regrettably contrived ending which involves a Damascene conversion which doesn't quite convince (a more cynical remake would probably put that right, though), this is a diverting slice of 50s criminality which seems, like much of the quirky crime roster from this period, to have slipped off the generic radar in recent years. Worth a look, even if it can't hold a candle to Kubrick's more celebrated Lionel White adaptation from the same period.

A full-blooded post-War British melodrama set during World War 2, adapted from a stage play, co-scripted by Dylan Thomas and directed by Daniel Birt (see also THE THREE WEIRD SISTERS) and starring hatchet-faced Freda Jackson as wicked landlady Mrs Voray who takes in orphaned children and spends their allowance on drink and finery. Narrated in flashback by Mary O'Rane (Ann Stephens) as she recalls the experiences that turned both her and fellow orphan Norma Bates (get that name!), played by feisty Joan Dowling, into petty thieves, this has apparently been considerably opened out by co-scripter Thomas, to take in a less than thinly veiled attack on Church and State, as well as the kind of class hypocrisy that allowed middle-class types to tut-tut behind their net curtains at the dirty-faced urchins and carousing working-class slatterns, whilst simultaneously cooking up barely credible excuses not to take the hapless youngsters in; even when begged by a selfless and community-spirited young schoolmistress. Described at the time by 'Today's Cinema' as a '...completely sordid canvas...' and a work of '...cruelty which has no parallel on British screens...', this was clearly strong meat in its day and, even though time has dimmed much of its initial power and rendered some of its sentiment a shade sugary, its theatrics a trifle hammy and its portentous religious overtones somewhat trite and banal, this is still an undeniably downbeat tale of often almost Victorian squalor. Partially leavened by occasional shafts of wit (e.g. Voray recalls her ex-husband 'Nobody bothered about his family tree - except the dogs'), humorous comic stereotypes and sharp-tongued kids, this still packs a fair wallop; thanks in no small measure to Jackson's vividly etched turn as the kind of vicious and spiteful harridan who appears to have stepped out of a tale by the Brothers Grimm. Definitely worth a look for those interested in the often overblown, but nevertheless entertaining, school of post-War British genre cinema.

Co-scripted by Dylan Thomas, this tale of three ageing and infirm, although philanthropically inclined, spinster sisters presiding over a crumbling mansion in 1930s South Wales is an oddball post-War slice of Welsh Gothic. In their hermetically sealed universe, the sisters' otherworldly formalism is threatened, firstly, by a landslip caused by the family mine which destroys part of their small village at the outset and, secondly, by the return of their wealthy and apparently hard-hearted pragmatist brother and his primly efficient secretary, whose modernity further unravels the web of antiquity which has preserved their world. The narrative clunkiness is swiftly apparent from the somewhat obvious symbolism of the structural cracks and fissures which fracture the sisters' home at the beginning of the movie, and the stateliness of the family's surroundings is matched by similarly ossified pacing; Dylan Thomas' occasionally poetically barbed and witty insights notwithstanding. It's not just the old dark house that creaks here; even a nick of time climax does little to shore up the cracks of this crumbling edifice.

Above-average post-War British noir melodrama, based on a novel by Vera (LAURA) Caspay, directed by the prolific Lance Comfort (see also the post-War British 'Spiv' movie SILENT DUST) and starring Margaret (THE WICKED LADY) Lockwood as the titular femme fatale who, as per her Stateside counterparts Gene Tierney (LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN), Lana Turner (THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE) and Barbara Stanwyck (DOUBLE INDEMNITY) offs those men who stand in her way; in this case to collect on their life insurance. Trailed by an apparent artist, the enigmatic and not altogether likeable Ben Chaney (Barry K. Barnes - see also DANCING WITH CRIME), Bedelia finds her path to greater riches (the policy held by her latest wealthy husband, Charlie) thwarted at every turn, before events come to a head in a wintry Gothic country estate in the north of England. The British settings add an air of gentility, but it's the somewhat surprisingly sympathetic take on Lockwood's character that softens the often misogynistic genre set-up as Bedelia, often clad in a variety of striking shimmery creations, actually registers more strongly as a protagonist than the often unemphatic or similarly deceitful supporting characters. Directed at a brisk pace by Comfort, this is an engaging work, that more than hints at simmering tensions beneath a deceptively straightforward drawing-room mise en scene and in which, given the well-upholstered backdrops (as well as Lockwood!), it's not difficult to read the subtext on class (a common enough feature in British genre cinema). This film, whilst not in itself being an upper class work, is a decent enough diversion. Middle-class stuff, then, and none the worse for that.

Someone resurrect this 'lost classic' hardboiled noir! Director/Writer/Lead Actor Allen Baron (whose subsequent career took him into TV-land with the likes of CHARLIE'S ANGELS) turned out this bleak film noir in 1961, and it must surely rate as one of the all-time genre downers (and that's intended as a compliment!). Similar in tone to Irving Lerner's earlier MURDER BY CONTRACT (another must-see!), this features a protracted, yet stunningly appropriate, opening tracking shot through a railway tunnel as an early morning train spits Ohio-based contract assassin Frankie Bono (Baron) out into a wintry New York to carry out a Christmas holiday hit on a second-tier racketeer but, as in MURDER BY CONTRACT, all the meticulous planning and methodical preparation becomes unravelled as fate and his malevolent (and often unseen) criminal fraternity deal Frankie a crueller hand than the one he'd planned for his unsuspecting quarry. OK, nothing new here, but the tone, something like a cross between the cruel randomness of a Cornell Woolrich story (read this guy!) mated with an existentialist and angst-ridden take on the 'We're born in pain, We die alone' school of genre filmmaking, means that you'd need to take in a couple of Abel Ferrara movies like THE DRILLER KILLER and BAD LIEUTENANT to get your jollies after watching this one. Oh yeah, and it's topped off by a pitiless world-weary hardboiled third-person narration which ratchets up the ominous atmospherics that all the doomy foreshadowing brings to this dance of death (example - when Bono tracks his would-be victim to The Village Gate, the jazzy soundtrack switches to a beatnik vocalist/conga-drummer whose set consists solely of death-themed numbers). Atmospheric lengthy takes, often featuring a behatted and raincoated (or alternately dark-suited) Bono stalking the mean streets of the Big Apple dwarfed by the concrete jungle cityscape evoke and prefigure both Marvin in POINT BLANK and Delon in Melville's LE SAMOURAI, and his ruthlessly downbeat demeanour also recalls Henry Silva in the similarly ruthless (and elusive) JOHNNY COOL (see my IMDB review for more on this one - shameless plug!). This may be (by now) an oft-told tale, but what we have here is a true low-budget one-off for fans of the lower depths, and there's even a sweaty, weighty (excuse the pun) and telling cameo from Larry Tucker (Pagliacci in Fuller's 'SHOCK CORRIDOR') for cultists to take in amongst the no-name cast. A must-see - if you get a chance to see it.

Pacy T-Man movie, one of only three directed by Boris Ingster, whose STRANGER ON THE THIRD FLOOR is held by many to be the film which kicked off the 'film noir' cycle. A narrative voiceover lends a pseudo-documentary air to the tale of a square-jawed treasury agent, John Riggs (Don DeFore), who is tasked with cracking a counterfeiting ring initiated by a dying master forger from inside his jail cell. Once on the trail, Riggs adopts a false identity in the hope of ingratiating himself with the crooks, and this brings him into contact with larcenously inclined hotel manageress Nora Craig (Andrea King). Although this is fairly standard stuff, with the rather annoying voiceover failing to ratchet up the tension as it did in Kubrick's THE KILLING, Russell Harlan's often moody location cinematography (see also GUN CRAZY & RIOT IN CELL BLOCK 11) and King's hardboiled femme, together with one or two nifty, if contrived, twists make this a worthwhile diversion for fans of noir obscura.

Overlong, and increasingly irritating (and supposedly comic) buddy-caper movie starring Bruce Willis and Billy Bob Thornton in what director Barry Levinson clearly intends to be a contemporary BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID, but which mistakes a bunch of contrived tics, quirks and traits for sharp characterisations as the two laid-back escaped cons, complete with requisite flaky female to complete the triangle (Cate Blanchett in a role which suggests her career could swiftly subside into a slew of shrewish neurotics - she's rich and underappreciated, so we're supposed to warm her) take down a series of federally insured banks ('I never steal from anyone that's earned it' says Bruce in a throwaway remark that makes you wonder whether he's ever heard of 'bank charges' and their effect on beleagured customers who indirectly wind up paying for his jovial criminality). Watching B & BB don dopey disguises once is good for a grin but, when you realise that this running gag is essentially the movie's comic highpoint and that we're meant to find the idea of them repeatedly kidnapping bank managers and sleeping over with their family the night before pulling the heists hilarious (don't worry, they don't rape their wives or douse their kids in petrol - Billy Bob's culinary tips to one man's wife is about as hostile as they get), you get a measure of the level of invention in a work which outstays its welcome well before the overstretched two hour running time is up. Opening with a bank hostage setup which is surprisingly similar to the superior SWORDFISH (yep, this rates so low that Travolta's lightweight high-tech caper movie shines in comparison), boasting a lame AOR soundtrack (complete with supposedly ironic deconstruction of Bonnie Tyler lyrics - give me Patrick Bateman's take on Phil Collins any day), and drawing attention to the fact that it's plot makes no sense even on its own tarnished terms (a bank hostage remarks that she knows they'll be safe as B & BB are known for preserving the lives of their victims, which begs the inevitable question 'Why don't the hostages merely overpower their armed captors?'), this is the type of film which evaporates in the mind before it's reached a lame 'twist' ending. You'd be far better off renting Redford and Newman's wittier and snappier buddy-caper Western which, at least, imbued its cast of characters with more than a smattering of irritating mannerisms to pass for personality, had entertainment value to burn and played fair with the fade-out.

Director/writer Stuart (PREACHING TO THE PERVERTED) Urban's portentous contemporary religious conspiracy thriller marks a return to feature film production for Britain's Romulus Films (THE AFRICAN QUEEN, OLIVER!, THE DAY OF THE JACKAL) for the first time since 1974's THE ODESSA FILE. The story concerns a young couple (he Jake, the computer hacker ex-con son of an enigmatic billionaire akin to Rupert Murdoch, she Mira, a brainy alchemist) searching for a religious relic ('a loculus') purported to possess mythical powers. This sends them spinning around Europe and Asia following alcehmical, astrological and religious clues, all the while stalked by Udo Kier's supremely villainous 'Grand Master' as Urban stirs all these ingredients into a heady brew, cutting back and forth in time and place with no lack of visual style, finally bringing them to the boil in an apocalyptic climax with implications for the future of mankind. Unfortunately the film, ambitious in scope and breadth, has a reach which exceeds its grasp; especially as it ultimately seems to pay off as a two-hour recruitment film for the Catholic church. Dull leads don't help, although there's sterling support from the enigmatic Terence Stamp as Jake's father, Celia Imrie as Mum, Derek Jacobi as a weaselly University librarian and Ron Moody as Sir Isaac Newton (yes, really). Good to see an independent British film aiming high, but difficult to imagine who'll pay to see this generic mishmash (it lacks sufficient impressive horror or action setpieces for a start). After all, if Demi Moore in THE SEVENTH SIGN and Johnny Depp in THE NINTH GATE couldn't bring in the punters, what hope does this similarly themed and thoughtful, if highly-flawed, fantasy have? File under 'Interesting Failure'.

Another great performance by Nigel Patrick is the highlight of this Post-war British 'Spiv' movie (British crime films with roots in the Hollywood gangster cycle of the 30s, but with far less glamorisation of the criminal protagonists - see also DANCING WITH CRIME, NO WAY BACK and NOOSE, with the latter similarly boasting a superior Nigel Patrick 'Spiv' performance). In this one he plays Simon Rawley, the son of a blind self-made country squire who, believed dead and due to be publicly honoured in a grand memorial service by his doting father, fetches up one night at the family home and is revealed to be a cowardly deserter now plying his trade as a criminal. Rawley demands money, initially to go away but subsequently, upon discovering that his wife has found love in the arms of the doctor son of the neighboring Lord of the manor, seizes the opportunity for blackmail. With his stepmother and wife attempting to keep his return secret from his unknowing father, and with the local police searching the countryside for him (he has earlier assaulted a motorist and stolen the man's car), the scene is set for a tense and unlikely family reunion. Directed by the prolific Lance Comfort, this is a tightly knit, sprightly told crime story, whose limited cast and chamber-piece dynamic tightens and heightens the mounting drama. Well-shot and staged, and featuring occasional moments of intentional humour (especially when Rawley's elaborate and fraudulent explanation for his desertion and absence is juxtaposed with images of his real activities and criminal subterfuge), the film also manages to document some interesting historical class distinctions between the moneyed nouveau-riche Rawley senior and his neighbouring Lordship as it zips its way to a satisfying (if somewhat implausible) climax. Entertaining stuff, and well worth seeking out.

Unfortunately, documentary filmmaker Stefan Osieki's foray into fictional form results in a lacklustre addition to the U.K. post-War Spiv' movie cycle (a series of films with roots in the U.S. Gangster films of the 30s, but with a far more negative and unglamourised portrayal of their criminal protagonists). When over the hill former lightweight boxing champion Johnnie 'The Croucher' Thompson loses a fight and the sight of one eye to a younger opponent, he is forced to give up his ring career and retires on a pittance once his grasping manager has whittled down his purse and outstanding career winnings. Dumped by his brassy wife, Johnnie sinks to the bottom of a whisky bottle before being hoisted back on his feet by unsavoury East End villain Jack Sleat, whose girlfriend Beryl soon warms to Johnnie's innate good-heartedness (perhaps because he reminds her of the decent life she's left behind). When Jack gets wise to this burgeoning relationship, he seeks to set up Johnnie in a jewel robbery, and things take several turns for the worse for the various characters who find themselves on the wrong side of the law. With naturalistic post-War London street locations, complete with glimpses of the blitzed city settings, this is rooted in a distinctly grimy low-life milieu. However, it seems that director Osieki is more content with larding on the tragic grandeur complete with staging techniques out of Greek tragedy (e.g. offscreen confrontations with the forces of law and order, and an unseen jewel robbery - an influence on RESERVOIR DOGS, perhaps!), and a mise-en-scene which seems to be striving for an East End rendition of the French street poetry as evidenced in the likes of LE JOUR SE LEVE. Unfortunately, given its relatively routine tale, this film ultimately fails to exert much dramatic grip beyond the predictably melodramatic, and with little to lift it out of the ordinary, remains fairly run of the mill stuff and not a patch on the likes of other lesser known post-War U.K. 'Spiv' movies such as NOOSE or DANCING WITH CRIME. Still, relative scarcity makes it worthy of passing interest, even if the often low-key moodiness fails to engage the emotions over the relatively brief running time.

'Lost' classic crime movie, with 'Rat Pack' member Peter Lawford as Executive Producer, and featuring Rat Packers Sammy Davis Jr. and Joey Bishop in single scene cameos, this is an often brutal mob movie featuring glacial Henry Silva as a pitiless, downbeat anti-hero pitting his wits and weaponry against a variety of slick-suited, big-city mobsters operating behind an outwardly respectable veneer. Opening the movie as a Salvatore Giuliano-type Sicilian folk-hero (the early scenes show a young 'Johnny' being taken under Giuliano's wing in World War II after witnessing his mother's death at the hands of the Nazis), 'Johnny' is reinvented and resurrected by Marc Lawrence's exiled 'Lucky Luciano' type syndicate boss, who has arranged his faked death in order to set him loose against the former Stateside associates who are now lining their pockets with his ill-gotten gains. Swiftly acquiring Elizabeth Montgomery's thrill-seeking, well-heeled moll (a cinematic half-sister to the similarly enthralled Claire Trevor in Robert Wise's BORN TO KILL), Johnny sets about his one-man vendetta amidst the boardrooms, casinos and fancy spreads with a singleminded ruthlessness that, in its settings and attitude (if not it's visual style) appears to foreshadow Lee Marvin's similarly brutal rampage through the well-heeled trappings of contemporary corporate America four years later in POINT BLANK. Comparisons aside, this is a slick slice of thick-ear hardboiled crime, aided by a snappy Billy May score and Sammy Davis Jr. theme which adds to the sense of pace and rhythm engendered by William (BEACH PARTY) Asher's snappy direction. And the ending's a killer (pun intended). Undoubtedly worthy of wider (any!) availability, as it's an often cynical, but arresting crime movie (pun similarly intended)with the makings of a cult. Catch it if you can.

Brisk, efficient British post-War crime melodrama set in London - part of the 'Spiv' movie cycle(films with roots in 30s American Gangster movies, featuring characters profiting from wartime rationing in a similar fashion to 30s bootleggers, but not so clearly glamorised as their Stateside equivalents - see also the superior NOOSE). Richard Attenborough stars as former soldier, Ted Peters, now making a living as a London cab-driver who becomes involved with a criminal gang headed by dance hall owner and criminal mastermind Mr Gregory (the seriously undervalued Barry Jones), whose henchman and M.C. Paul Baker (Barry K. Barnes) has offed Ted's childhood friend and former army buddy Dave Robinson (Bill Rowbotham, better known to U.K. audiences as Bill Owen, star of long-running U.K. T.V comedy series LAST OF THE SUMMER WINE). At Ted's behest, his girlfriend Joy (Sheila Sim) gets a job as a dancehall hostess in Gregory's dance hall as part of Ted's attempts to expose the criminal gang and the true nature of the crime lord's enterprise is gradually exposed. Punchily directed by John Paddy Carstairs, and redolent with post-War atmosphere, this is another example of the type of popular genre fare which entertained U.K. audiences in the 40s at the same time as the now revered 'noir' movies similarly engaged their U.S. contemporaries. Deserving wider acclaim, the movies from this post-War U.K. genre are valid, and diverting, social documents which often gave early exposure to burgeoning talents (in this instance, an uncredited brunette Diana Dors and a 'blink and you'll miss him' Dirk Bogarde) and should, by rights, be as revered in their country of origin as the more celebrated and documented U.S. post-War crime movies. Worth checking out, if you get the chance.

Tangy post-War British 'Spiv' movie (a cycle of films with roots in 30s American Gangster movies, featuring characters profiting from wartime rationing in a similar fashion to 30s bootleggers, but not so clearly glamorised as their Stateside equivalents). Directed by Edmond T. Greville (BEAT GIRL aka WILD FOR KICKS), and adapted from a stage play, this features Carole Landis (in one of her final roles) as nosy reporter Linda Medbury who, together with her ex-commando boyfriend Jumbo Hoyle (played by Derek Farr), gets on the trail of a gang of post-war black marketeers headed by Soho nightclub owner Sugiani, played by Joseph Calleia (whose role was based on a real-life Post-war London criminal). This gets them mixed up with London 'Spiv' Bar Gorman, played by Nigel Patrick, whose slangy, comic performance almost overshadows the surrounding film. Imaginatively shot, speedily paced, and ripe with post-War vernacular and the requisite criminal dust-ups (primarily involving the good guys' recruited gang of boxers, market porters, and cab drivers versus the low-life criminals), this is an entertaining slice of British crime and deserves to be better known, as it's worthy of a place alongside such noted post-War British crime movies as BRIGHTON ROCK and NIGHT AND THE CITY. Check it out, if you get the chance.