I. Crime and Mystery Skulks About: Introduction, and reviews of uncategorized Mystery films

II. Dark, Stormy, and Haunted

III. Chillers, Thrillers, and Psychos

Mystery and Crime films benefit from a wealth of literature in the genre; Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes and Edgar Allan Poe’s Auguste Dupin provided more than enough tales of detection ("ratiocination" as Poe calls it) to cobble together many plots. True crime has its day as well; Jack the Ripper seemingly will not be fathomed enough in film.

Beyond these Victorian roots, we have our Dashiell Hammetts and Raymond Chandlers, as well as their contemporary English mystery writers (Agatha Christie...), to fuel our interest. Unlike Film Noir, which tows a tragic and ironic line, mystery can verge into comic territory; strictly speaking, mystery does include the thriller/chiller style, which gets closer to straight horror.

Mystery can be as seriously psychological as Noir, but the individual or family is under the microscope, as opposed to Noir’s focus on society and the angles of the legal system. Unlike Horror, mystery makes do without the supernatural--although sometimes it’s vague or ambivalent about a phenomena’s origin.

One way to look at the mystery/horror divide is to ask: am I going nuts? Or is something/someone making me think so? Let’s say it’s the latter effect ok, that can still be an explainable mystery, but if the phenomena cannot be explained, then we’re probably in Horror territory.

We’ve got those crime mysteries similar to Sherlock Holmes stories, and, in some aspects, police procedurals. In these cases the detectives are often the main characters; and the crime itself is the focus. In a sense, the crime is more significant than any individual character, taking on an existence of its own.

I. For some mysterious reason, English film-makers and authors seem to have this genre covered, so let’s start in London, in the fog...

The Lodger, 1944. A Fictionalized account of the Jack The Ripper case.

********+ 8.5/10.

A remake of Hitchcock’s 1927 silent film, The Lodger: A Story Of The London Fog. Both are based on the Marie Belloc Lowndes novel, which is itself a version of the 1888 Jack The Ripper (JtR) true crime case. That would be the still unknown serial killer of five (or more) women in London’s Whitechapel district.

The Lodger, called Slade (Laird Cregar), is based on a JtR suspect from the novel. Merle Oberon plays Kitty, Slade’s love interest. There’s other showgirls like her, Jennie (Doris Lloyd) and Annie/Kate (Helena Pickard in a dual role). These are among our five victims; they’ve become dance hall performers here whereas most of the actual victims were prostitutes.

Scotland Yard is represented by George Sanders, Aubrey Mather, and David Clyde, as Inspector Warwick, Superintendent Sutherland, and Sergeant Bates, respectively. Then there’s the couple who rents to Slade; Sir Cedric Hardwicke as Robert Bonting, and Sara Allgood as his wife, Ellen.

Some of The Lodger’s aspects that most commentators note include the authentic foggy London atmosphere, and the menacing demeanor that Crager projects--in direct contrast to the innocent, perhaps gullible Bontings. So, let’s see what their lodger is up to...

Even the credits are foggy. We see some locals read a poster offering a reward for info on the murderer (JtR). A party--literally--of revelers carries on in front of a bar. Katie, leaving the group, starts to walk home. We then hear "hello? Who are you? What do you want?" Then a scream, things tossed aside. She’s a Ripper victim. A witness only saw a "shadow."

Newsboys hawk the latest outrage. Now comes Slade, just as Bonting reads the extra. He’s invited in. Looking massive, in dark clothes, he asks to see the attic rooms. He’s intrigued by actress’s pictures. He presents himself as a pathologist; makes sense, he can study himself. He offers a can’t-say-no sum. Rather disarmingly, she lets on how desperate they are.

"Just regard me as a lodger, not a guest." Ok. Robert describes the crimes to Ellen; he’s not necessarily cool with automatically accepting Slade. When she brings his supper, Slade’s moving the actress’s portraits around to face the wall; he thinks that "the eyes of those women seems to follow you around!" If he doesn’t like actresses, that’s tough; because Kitty, who lives there too, is Ellen’s niece.

With the same lack of reserve, Ellen sort talks up Kitty to Slade, as though to pique his interest. He then reads an ad for her current performances, right alongside the JtR update. Now he sees Kitty for the first time; the family quizzes him about his comings and goings. His response only adds mystery--"deep water is dark...and, full of peace" he says of looking right into the Thames as he walks around all night.

"He’s a curious fellow," remarks Robert. In the cab to her performance, they continue to discuss Slade; is he "odd" or merely "lonely"? Both, I’d say. At the theater Annie button-holed Kate, wanting to see her dressing room. Annie’s aged out of the dancehall business; Kate feels sorry for her, and gives her some dough.

The show starts. Kitty really stands out. The royals are in attendance; the king is informed that there’s been another murder. So, Bates and Warwick show up backstage to ask Kitty some questions. Apparently, Annie was the victim. "They don’t call him The Ripper for nothing" say the cops, describing the killer. It’s established that all the JtR victims are actresses (or former ones).

Back at the Bontings, they discuss Slade. Inspector Warwick comes calling; it seems that the flowers sent to Kitty last night could provide a clue. Hey, Slade, bad timing! He comes in just as the Inspector is looking over the flower box. Awkwardly, Kitty wonders why he won’t come to see her show. Warwick’s theory about JtR sounds like it’s on-the-money: it’s someone seeking revenge against a certain actress, and when he finds her, his ’work’ will be done.

Sounds like Warwick is sweet on Kitty. Anyway, Slade is in a panic, fumbling with his black bag--burning it. Yes, might it have borne a resemblance to the infamous JtR bag? Kitty and Ellen tell Robert about the bag. He has the sensible answer that it’s a common type of bag, and that many guys are ditching theirs so as to avoid suspicion.

Slade says he’s rushing off to a hospital; Kitty tails him. Indeed he does go there; he comes out to talk to her. He sort of figures that her family wants to get rid of him, but Kitty, perhaps relieved that he wasn’t inventing the hospital deal, says, ah, don’t worry about it. Later, back home, though, who’s this knocking on Slade’s door? Just Ellen, with his tea.

She entreats him to come to Kitty’s show; he gives her a lecture on the horrid nature of actresses. Then he shows her a picture of his dearly-departed brother, whom he insists "is more beautiful than a beautiful woman." He goes on and on about his "genius" brother, whom he nonetheless says was "strange."

Meanwhile, Warwick entertains Kitty at the Black Museum--a sort of macabre police version of a wax museum. Then he invites her to tea at his mom’s; corpses and crumpets. We don’t see that right away. Rather a pub scene; with some, uh-oh, old-time actresses. Jennie’s turn to get it. True to history, she’s the one who’s attacked in her own place, not out in the open like the others.

Cops and a crowd converge at the scene. Still, of course, he gets away. We see Slade, in a dinky rowboat, washing his hands in the river. Back home, Kitty hears something and looks around. She finds Slade in the basement, burning what looks like blood-stained clothes. He looks over her with a glowing poker.

Here’s the morning paper, obviously more JtR news. But, based on the burning stuff, Ellen wants to get the police on Slade. Again, Robert won’t think badly of him, so, nothing comes of it. Undaunted, Kitty leaves Slade a note inviting him, once again, to her performance.

She gets her aunt to fetch some flowers, leaving her alone in the place with Slade. There’s a sense of urgency, if not panic, as both Robert and Ellen realize the danger for Kitty; obviously, they’re fairly convinced that Slade is JtR. Well, she’s seemingly oblivious, talking to him at some length. Even about his mysterious brother "it was the beauty of women that led to his destruction." Now he provides an exact match to Warwick’s theory on JtR’s motive.

Fortunately, he’s still reluctant to go to the show. The mystery is, maybe he knows she’s the one he wants (to kill), maybe the reality of her, the familiarity with her, has drawn him back from the brink. He plows on, basically telling her she’s cheap for wanting admiration of her beauty. What does it take to jar her? He admits how he can "love a thing and hate it too." I guess my psychoanalysis was correct then. More junk on "the dark and deep" river.

Luckily, before he can explain how "beauty can be evil" Robert gets back. All she can say is how Slade’s such a "philosopher." Of death. Warwick is taking her; but, thankfully, Robert and Ellen clue him in on the bag and clothes burnings. He wants to get them to provide his fingerprints. Slade’s so blatant that he tells her that he’s about "to finish" his work. She gets his fingerprints.

Downstairs, Warwick divines the fingerprints--they’re not a match. But, maybe JtR was using hiss left hand. Anyway, the police escort for Kitty is huge. Staying behind with Robert, Warwick explains that they knew JtR was left-handed. Why test for the right hand, then? Of course it won’t match the left. Slade leaves, by the back way.

Slade’s literally skulking about on the streets. Now they can look for the left-hand print in his digs. Warwick takes the picture of Slade’s brother. Bingo! He shows it to the superintendent; it matches the boyfriend of the Ripper’s first victim. Forget fingerprints (which actually weren’t used as a detection method at the time). There’s a sort of Jekyll and Hyde or The Picture of Dorian Gray contrast between the two portraits.

Sure enough, at the show, Slade’s not only there, he’s utterly transfixed by Kitty. He gets up right after her number. We’re headed for a backstage denouement, as Warwick heads there to intercept Slade. She’s alone in her dressing room; no, "I promised I’d be here, if I could" says Slade’s slithering voice.

He says he’s going to go away, and take her. He grabs her; she tries to get him to go back in the theater. But he knows he’ll not be safe there. "You corrupt and destroy men." Oh, it’s her fault that Freud’s not yet available to help him. Why doesn’t she scream? He nearly strangles her. He loves her, and he hates her. I suppose his vindication would be to possess her; as he, alone among men, can ’save’ her, or something. Finally, she screams.

He’s shot, but not fatally. That means an escape route down the most scary spiral staircase in all filmdom. Kitty’s ok, but it’s absurd that he could escape. Actually, he’s still in the building, hanging from the rafters. Now she’s alone again, with him positioned directly above her. He has a chance to kill her with some sandbags. But, warned, she moves away just in time. Finally confronted by a horde of police, he just glares at them, brandashing a knife. Plunging out a window, he falls to his death in the river.

Wow, this was just right for JtR creepy ambience. It seemed that the streets themselves were scary, dangerous places; a labyrinth of narrow lanes and alleys, with people appearing and disappearing out of and into the fog. The buildings were often used as extensions of the streets--the stairways and rooftops like walls in a cage.

The only comfortable spot was inside the Bontings’ home--but almost anywhere Slade went became a piece of the dark urban trap. Cregar inhabits this film like a vampire; imagine a seven-foot Peter Lorre, and we’re getting close to his look. At the same time, perhaps because of his slick clothes, he can pass for a respectable man, a "gentleman" as Robert says near the beginning.

Not unlike the two faces in his brother’s portraits, Slade gives us both Jekyll and Hyde, as the occasion demands. The intricate psychology that Slade lays on Kitty provides a complete (if necessarily psychotic) rationale for JtR’s thinking about the murders. In a way, because he finds Kitty so beguiling, he’s sort of thrown off his game, so to speak. He can’t quite square the rather considerable distance between love and hate.

Therefore, he hesitates, looks into the water, etc. Along with his will to destroy, Kitty also ignites the last spark of humanity he has. Without that, he would’ve killed her just like that, and we’d had no story.

The other major characters, especially Oberon, were all we could ask for given their roles and this script. That’s a bit of a problem though, as Kitty’s character has to linger in sympathy with Slade, until she’s down to that single thread of humanity that he possesses. There’s nothing Slade does that isn’t odd, suspicious, incriminating, if not downright threatening for the entire film. I agree completely with those who find the Bontings lacking in common sense.

The fact that the mystery here is reduced to how and when Slade will be caught isn’t that much of a let down. His ability to act correctly when need be--remember that he actually discusses the case with Warwick--makes his discovery somewhat less than automatic. As was shown in the actual case, disposing of articles similar to ones used by JtR was nothing to get excited about, although people did anyway.

Admittedly, the 1927 version managed to make its lodger more of an enigma. In fact, he turned out to be a huge red herring. Since the lodger premise is fictional, or, at least, in theory, he could be anything the screenwriter wanted.

This Lodger is highly entertaining, if a bit flawed. Definitely worth watching, especially if viewed along with the earlier version. 8.5/10.

Night Must Fall, 1964.

******** 8.0

A Cad? A Rake? Or, Just A Jerk?

A cozy country home, isolated and summery, and, not very far off, Albert Finney beheading a woman. No problem for him, I guess, as all of these wonderful English spots seem to have a pond handy for corpse disposal.

The three women of the house, Mrs. Brandon (Mona Wasbourne), her daughter Olivia (Susan Hampshire), and the maid Dora (Sheila Hancock) go about their apparently tidy lives. Dora I guess thinks herself fortunate to have Danny (Finney) for a fiancee; kind of an English Paul Newman look to him. I’ve read that Finney wore a lot of make-up for the role; I can’t see why. He’s plenty cool, and doesn’t need to look fopish.

It’s clever how he puts on a different act for each person. I’m thinking what the movie would be like if Danny is merely a parasitic manipulator--and not also an ax-murderer. His personality is repulsive enough. Weirdly, he seems to be thrilled that the police have shown up near the house, looking for clues to the murder.

"You don’t like me, do you luv?" he infers from Olivia’s stiff reaction to his intrusive jaunt into her room. Then he just grabs her; why doesn’t she tell her mom? I guess she’s sort of ’in disgrace,’ hiding out at home from her estranged husband Derek (Michael Medwin). So what? Instead, she just allows him to humiliate her.

Clearly, Danny feels intimidated by Derek; Danny can’t play man of the house with him around, he’s reduced to ’the help.’ Danny visibly regains his composure when Derek leaves, to the point of deliberately making Mrs. Bramson wait for his help. Nonetheless, Danny’s obsessed with watching Derek and Olivia together. Subsequently, he sets himself up as her confidant.

She gives in to all of his insulating behavior. "You’re a real swine, aren’t you?" she accurately concludes. He compounds his transgressions with Olivia by messing with Dora as well--not only by putting off their wedding--but by nonchalantly claiming that Dora can’t be sure that her baby is his after all.

He’s in full Angry Young Man mode when Olivia goes through his room--justifiably for once. But, again, he mistreats her. Again, she responds by paying him more attention; literally letting him play around with her. He even seems to enjoy dealing with the Inspector (Martin Wyldeck). His hideous grin marks his most sociopathic scenes. "I’m not playing!" insists Dora, finding him lying on Olivia’s bed. Incredibly, he sets Dora against Olivia.

The grotesque ’play’ stuff with Mrs. Bramson is even more despicable: Danny pretending to be a little boy for his suddenly batty ’mother’. Is he so deep ’in character’ that he can’t snap out of it? Things get darker by the second. Lights out for Mrs. Bramson. Danny’s in a fugue state as Olivia finally returns. She finally stands up to him, as he collapses into a fetal position, his obscure power dimming like a candle going out.

Night Must Fall is thoroughly dominated by Finney’s performance. It makes for a great character study; but the three women’s characters are lacking good sense. Mrs. Bramson gets half a pass because her role is essentially passive; though she’s still lets her guard down too readily. Dora and Olivia are vulnerable characters, but Danny is never really respectful or even nice to either of them. I guess in their lingo he’s a cross between a rake and a cad; I just see a jerk.

I need to see the 1930s version of this story, as the casting has a crucial impact on the how the characters interact. A very captivating horror movie despite the uneven performances.

Satan Met A Lady, 1936.

********** 10

Satan’s Horn Of Mystery

Now, that’s a catchy title. And also a hint that we’re in for some funny stuff with our crime mystery. I would say that the Horn of Roland is something worth seeking: sounds more historic than the Maltese Falcon. Plus there’s Bette Davis as Valerie Purvis (Satan’s girl?) teamed up with P.I. Ted Shane (Warren William), who deals with his secretary Miss Murgatroyd (Marie Wilson) and police Detectives Dunhill and Pollock (Olin Howland and Charles C. Wilson). Then there’s Shane’s partner Milton Ames (Porter Hall) and his wife Astrid (Wini Shaw). Anthony Travers (Arthur Treacher), a mysterious Englishman, and Madame Barabbas (Alison Woolworth), enter after a bit.

We start off on a train with Mrs. Arden (May Beatty) and Ted. He’s being run out of town for some malfeasance. After listening to his persuasive spiel, Mrs. Arden agrees to hire a body guard from his partner’s outfit, the Ames Detective Agency. It seems that Shane was an old flame of Astrid’s. Next day, Valerie Purvis shows up at the office, wanting help in finding her missing fiancee. Shane and Ames start with Farrow, supposedly the fiancee’s friend.

Turns out Shane finds Ames dead in a cemetery. "Don’t you want to take a closer look at your silent partner?" remarks the Detective. Just as Shane leaves, Farrow is found dead also, putting Shane in hot water. He tries to comfort Astrid, but she assumes, rather nonchalantly, that Shane killed her husband. Seems like she’s still keeping the flame for him. Shane runs into Valerie in a cab. Since they’re both wanted for questioning by the police, Shane helps her relocate.

He gets her to confess what she was really up to; she admits that there was no fiancee, she just wanted Farrow looked into. He, apparently, killed Ames. The detectives look into Farrow, and find out the connection between him and Valerie. Meanwhile, Shane returns to his place to find it ransacked. The burglar, Travers, waits for him to return; then formally calls on him. They chat amicably. He’s interested in the Horn of Roland; which, of course, Shane knows nothing about.

Travers explains the whole deal about the fabled horn. Loud noises interrupt (it’s Miss Murgatroyd locked the closet). The clincher is that both murders concerned the Horn. Shane goes to Valerie’s, who holds a gun on him. They talk about Travers and the mysterious horn, "some silly old French saxophone I don’t even know exists". Next day, the detectives find him getting a shine. Some pest has been tailing him, so he goes to meet his ’boss’, actually his mom, Madame Barabbas.

They talk about Valerie, Travers, and, of course the Horn. Apparently, Travers and Valerie, working for Barabbas, found the Horn; but instead of turning it over, they double-crossed her. Thus the murders, etc. So now there’s $200,000 in it for Shane. He thinks Valerie has the Horn. After unsuccessfully looking for Shane, Travers gets in touch with Barabbas.

Just as at the beginning, Shane’s about to be run out of town by the city fathers. They give him an ultimatum: Ames’ killer in 24hrs, or else. Ames’ widow shows up, and there’s a mysterious call for him to meet a guy at a ship. Down at the dock, he sees that the ship is consumed in flames. But a launch brings up a man carrying a duffel bag. He and another guy are shot by Barabbas’s boy. He admits to killing Farrow.

Basically the entire remaining cast converge--plenty of mayhem, accusations, arguments, and shazam! Shane somehow produces the Horn. Barabbas pays him for it, but it has no jewels--is it a fake? No, but the jewel aspect was a myth, therefore it’s just not worth so much. Since Barabbas and Travers are arrested, Shane makes off with the Horn. Strangely, the police are completely disinterested in it. After all, no one has said it’s missing or stolen. Leaving town with Valerie, Shane fools with the Horn, and then turns her Valerie in. He saves his skin, if not his reputation.

In a neat touch, both ends of Satan Met A Lady concern hasty train trips. That’s just one of many clever plot devices. The red herring of Valerie’s ’fiancee’ search, the gradual complications and characters added and subtracted, the Horn itself--not even mentioned until after the first two murders--it all fits. The casting brings strong performances, the pacing, while laced with a talky script, never lets us pause to ponder. There’s always something, or someone unexpected around the next corner.

The tone is remarkably even throughout. It’s really tough to blend comedy with mystery and not end up with ludicrous characters and situations. But this movie’s cluby milieu draws us in and sustains interest. The nonchalant disdain of the main characters’ personalities simmers with subtle humor. They don’t really have to say something funny to be funny.

Things sort of get in a mashup with the denouement scene at the dock. This is probably intentional, though, because it’s been pointed out that Satan Met A Lady is a direct send-up of The Maltese Falcon. That iconic story suffers just a bit from the intricacy of the plot--just what gets overheated here. A double-feature of Satan Met A Lady/The Maltese Falcon would be greatly entertaining, but probably induce a log-jammed brain.

This is incredibly viewing experience, and a must see for fans of ’30s/’40s murder mysteries. 10/10.

Algiers, 1938.

****** 6.0
"I’m An Informer, Not A Hypocrite!"

The French police, headed by Louvain (Walter Kingsford)) want to bring Algiers criminal Pepe le Moco (Charles Boyer) to justice because "he’s wanted in all the countries of Europe." Pepe’s advantage is the Casbah, his territory and hideout, which he pretty much rules. Inspector Slimane (Joseph Calleia) is an old hand in Algiers, and has respect for Pepe--to the extent of keeping a loose friendship with him. There we also find Grand Pere (Alan Hale) a confederate, Pepe’s mistress Ines (Sigrid Gurie), and assorted underlings, Janvier (Paul Harvey), and Carlos (Stanley Fields). There’s even an informer, Regis (Gene Lockhart).

"We can play the game, but Fate controls the cards" say the card players, as Pepe tells Regis to get lost. From Paris, Gaby (Hedy Lamarr) appears with her fiancee Andre Giraux (Robert Greig). Meanwhile Ines taunts Pepe that he’s already in prison because he can’t leave the Casbah. Everyone’s suspicious of Regis, as he was with Piorrot (Johnny Downs) when he disappeared. Pepe develops an immediate attraction for Gaby, which she doesn’t exactly discourage.

Piorrot shows up, and tells of his betrayal by Regis. The result is Regis’s macabre execution scene. Piorrot dies from previous wounds; while circus-like music blares from the player piano. Pepe seems to come apart, feeling that his number could be up soon. "You seem to be sick of everything" Slimane tells him. In a rage, Pepe tries to flee the Casbah.

Ines, knowing that he’s keen on Gaby, tricks him into staying around to meet her. He’s upset, but grateful that Ines thought enough of him to want him to stay. Then Gaby actually shows up. They go off, but Slimane follows, undetected. "With you, I escape" Pepe tells Gaby, meaning she reminds him of Paris. All of a sudden, Because he’s in love, Pepe breaks into song, entertaining the whole street. Ines, of course isn’t amused.

The Inspector, figuring that he now has an angle on Pepe, tells Andre that he has to watch Gaby. Confronting her, she kisses him off; but when Slimane tells her that Pepe’s dead, she doesn’t leave Andre after all. Carlos disappears. In his mind, Pepe returns to Paris. Actually, he is planning an escape, with Gaby. But, thanks to Ines, the police are hot on his trail, and intercept him as he boards ship. His hopeful glimpse of Gaby is ironic, as she’s still with Andre.

Poignantly, Slimane is angry that Ines intervened. He would rather, out of chivalry, have let events play out, in which case Pepe would’ve escaped. The final tragic result is that Pepe is shot in a futile attempt to do just that.

The beginning is well-done, as stock footage gives an authentic panorama and narrative of Algiers and the Casbah. Even better, the ending flows quickly, full of action and emotion. For the most part, though, the long middle section drags things down quite a bit. There’s so many characters running around that it’s hard to keep track of who’s doing what. Plus, other than Regis’s murder--admittedly a great scene--there’s really no crime going on.

In fact, this is as much a romantic love triangle as a crime mystery. That part of the plot works well enough (Boyer’s singing, while good, seems out of another movie); both Lamarr and Gurie give convincing performances as rival love interests for Pepe. Boyer is very interesting as the slick, but haunted criminal mastermind; Calleia’s role is, in some ways, the most intriguing. His character has in effect become a doppelganger of his antagonist. Slimane’s more compromised and conflicted than Pepe; being a ’good guy’ (as an authority figure) means less to him than being a good guy (as a friend/companion).

The exotic atmosphere is set very well at the beginning. But it sort of dissipates as the film progresses. With some adjustments to the background and costuming, we might as well be in Paris, New Orleans, or Shanghai (with the exception of the four leads, most of the of the cast are obviously Americans). The interiors are pretty generic and unremarkable.

Algiers is worth a look for its interesting premise, and some good portrayals. But it lacks focus, seemingly losing its way halfway through. 6/10.

Arsene Lupin, 1932.

********** 10

"Do You Know Him?" "Intimately, But Innocently"

Thanks to slick pacing and strong performances, this starts off nicely and never lets up. Both Barrymores (John as the Duke and Lionel as the Police Prefect) might be the infamous crook Lupin. Meanwhile, the real Lupin in sending the Prefect Guerchard letters. Then we’re whisked to a swanky party scene at Gohrney-Martin’s (Tully Marshall’s) estate, complete with Sonia’s (Karen Morley’s) risque interlude with the Duke. Incredibly, the Duke convinces two bumblers that It would be good if the Prefect were indeed Lupin because then the Prefect would be on hand to arrest him. Makes logical sense in an absurd way. The double surprise of the booby-trapped safe is a nice touch too. That’s only the beginning of a deluge of coincidences, deceptions, doublings, and other bits of mayhem.

Sonia’s role is interesting; she’s really working for the police, but she’s also playing both sides for her own amusement. She’s definitely having fun in the sleep-walking scene; naturally for this movie, the scene is duplicated with the roles reversed. When the Duke remarks "everything about you is a little bit dangerous, Sonia" he aptly sums up her character. The masquerading theme expands when Lupin’s men assume police guise--who are the real policemen anyway? Who is Lupin?

It seems that the Prefect has the Duke and Sonia over a barrel: if she tells the truth, she goes back to prison, if she lies to protect herself, she incriminates the Duke. Of course, though, that dilemma evaporates as Lupin’s timely message seemingly exonerates both of them. The flower-seller characters (there has to be two of them...) are great; it’s obvious that there’s more deception going on here. The ending is a culmination of all this commotion. First, the Duke trades the Mona Lisa for his ’men’, then attempts to trade his freedom for the Prefect’s allegedly-kidnapped daughter.

The actual denouement is elegant as well as dramatic. Camaraderie, amongst peers and noble antagonists, trumps all. That’s the name of the game In this milieu. Although there’s a comic motif throughout, there’s no lack of tension, and a well-developed mystery. The romantic subplot really is the key to the main plot, as the happy couple stoke-up the chemistry, not least because they also have the best one-liners and the funniest scenes.

I wasn’t prepared for such a good movie; I expected something like the nattering ninny-fests that typified ’30s mysteries. But Arsene Lupin couldn’t be better. Supremely recommended.

The Death Kiss, 1932.

******* 7.0

"What Can Possibly Happen?" "That’s Just It--Anything

A movie within a movie. An actor is shot as required by the script of the movie being made, The Death Kiss. But he really is shot dead. Bela Lugosi is a studio manager, Leo Grossmith (Alexander Carr) is the movie company president, while Tom Avery (Edward Van Sloan) is Death Kiss’s director. Checking relentlessly into the crime is Police Detective Lieutenant Sheehan (John Wray).

One of the writers, Frankyln Drew (David Manners) and his girlfriend Marcia Lane, the Death Kiss co-star, get involved, a bit too deeply, as it happens. She’s a suspect mostly because the victim was her ex-husband Brent, and, of course, she was also on the set when it happened. If that weren’t damning enough, she and Brent had been disputing a life insurance policy. Another guy on the Death Kiss set, Chalmers (Harold Minjir), seems questionable.

Because of the unique premise, there’s film of the actual murder scene. The projectionist is mugged just as the film gets to the murder; obviously, someone tried to prevent the police, etc., from seeing the evidence. Plus the film negatives have been destroyed. Drew tries to recreate the scene, poking around the set. He strikes gold, as he finds a pistol hidden in one of the cameras. Then he gets mugged, the gun goes missing.

The studio cop Gully (Vince Barnett) fingers Chalmers, as the victim had gotten him fired from a previous job. Plus, Chalmers is one of the few guys there having the technical skills to set up the gun and fire it. But then Chalmers turns up dead, a possible suicide. Gully and Drew figure out that Chalmers was murdered. Missing battery acid indicates the means of murder; unfortunately for Marcia, the juice was out of her car. Big deal, just fill up her battery and no one’s going to know which battery was pilfered...

Anyway, Grossman calls on Marcia with a rather pathetic come-on. She brushes him off, but not before he makes a vague threat--which stupidly might implicate him in Brent’s murder. Marcia’s getting grilled by Sheehan in Steiner’s office, they’re ’taking her downtown.’ Drew’s still sleuthing around. He gets the straight dope from a desk clerk at a hotel up the coast that Brent and a lady friend (not Marcia) stayed the night before Brent’s murder.

There was a scuffle there between Brent and another guy--the mystery woman’s husband. He’s the killer. In Grossman’s office Drew finds a bit of doodling similar to one found in the hotel’s phone booth. Back at the movie set, the filmmakers shoot a new scene for of Death Kiss, with a new actor taking Brent’s role. Drew explains his findings to Sheehan, who’s interested, but still skeptical.

The clincher though, is a new tidbit that Brent’s murder weapon, due to a snafu, was a different caliber than the others. Sheehan bites on this. Unbeknownst to them, someone in the studio can hear everything they say, thanks to an open mic at one end, and headphones at the other. The killer kills the lights. A film-noirish denouement, with a dark cat-and-mouse chase scene and shoot-out, rapidly plays out, the murderer plunging to his death--Avery. It was his wife that Brent was with.

The Death Kiss was quite a bit better than I thought it would be. The clever interplay between the movie being filmed parallel with the movie we see deepens the plot as well as providing props and clues derived from the practice of filmmaking. Sort of a reality show about the making of a reality show.

As the protagonist, Drew’s character is well-thought-out. He has a natural interest in solving the crime because he’s a mystery writer, and, more importantly, he wants to clear his girl Marcia. Sheehan’s role as a wide-cracking cop is nicely done as well. Lugosi maybe should’ve had Van Sloan’s pivotal role. Unfortunately, the rest of the cast, other than Barnett, isn’t very memorable.

This is a suspenseful mystery that doesn’t really have any big holes in it. With some stronger performances, it could’ve really lit up the box office. 7/10.

Lured, 1947.

******* 7.0

"My I.Q., it Must’ve Been Flying At Half-Mast"

Lured is a strange movie for several reasons. I can’t figure out why it’s set in London, as location is irrelevant to the plot: L.A. or New York would do just as well. Lucille Ball, as the dancer Sandra, seems out of place in a noirish crime drama. She does a good job in scenes where she’s playing it straight; she’s believable as a police operative. But, for the most part, she’s wise-cracking her way along as though in a screwball comedy. "What is it tonight? Sweepstakes for zombies?" she quips at the unappealing dance-hall clients.

That’s a good one, but there’s too much of that. At 36, she’s a bit old for the role; her character’s friend Lucy seems of a different generation. Cedric Hardwicke (the creepy Julian) and George Sanders (as Robert Fleming, Sandra’s suave love interest) are great in highly nuanced roles. Likewise George Zucco, as Sandra’s police protector Barrett; adds the correct dollop of droll humor which Sandra unfortunately tops off all over the place.

Partly because of the divergent tone, Lured bogs down after a well-paced beginning. Boris Karloff, and, to a lesser extent, James Calleia add a lot of interest. As others have noted, they’re clever distractors from the pivotal pair, Robert and Julian. The fascinating thing is that Moryani (Calleia) actually introduces another plot. This is wrapped up by the police rather quickly, leading to an unexpected false ending. Then the movie picks up steam, tossing the hot potato of guilt between Robert and Julian. The actual ending is a relief in the sense that we’ve been drawn into Sandra and Robert’s corner, so to speak, and more than ready to get rid of Julian. That the police resort to subterfuge to smoke out the truth makes us wonder until the denouement exactly what’s up.

The last part of Lured saves the movie from self-parody. Even with so many good performances, an interesting premise, a complex but intriguing plot, and noirish atmosphere, as well as some unexpectedly swanky sets, this is on a collision course with disbelief about halfway in. It might’ve been better to make the operative (the ’lure’ for the killer) a different character from Sandra’s; a policewoman for example. Ball is almost too good in that role--she shows genuine sympathy for her murdered friend--but not to the point where she’s psychologically affected. I don’t mean hers should be a weak character, but a more obviously sensitive one.

Instead, it’s Julian who struggles psychologically. Robert, given props by the police inspector himself, comes off as squeaky clean, as well as being a cool guy. Why not give him some flaws too, so the Robert/Julian guilt-level comparison isn’t so one-sided? Essentially this is a melodrama. Julian’s character is revealed; which gets us to the bottom of the mystery, but no one changes.

Lured is definitely worth a look or too, for mystery fans especially. In fact, it’s worth it just for Karloff’s gothic nutjob performance. 7/10.

Homicidal, 1961.

******** 8/10

A Pre-Nuptial That Includes Divorce--What a Screaming Deal

A surprisingly entertaining thriller. Although it’s clearly derivative of Psycho, Castle does a masterful job balancing suspense, plot, and a few doses of camp in Homicidal. There’s plenty going on throughout: something does seem off with Warren, but I didn’t figure out his masquerade until nearly the end; Helga is miserable the entire time; and Emily seems not to be done killing after the first stabbing.

Psycho, on the other hand, has much less continuity. It seems like two stories mashed into each other; Hitchcock’s heroine has no ties to the killer, she just happens to check into his motel. Then the Bates motel takes over the plot. But in Homicidal, Emily and/or Warren are the focus from the beginning; only the bellhop’s character recedes into the background.

Like the Bates motel, the mansion in Homicidal plays a central role, even in the prelude showing Miriam and Warren as kids. Helga is a sort of haunting presence, well before the headless staircase descent. Hitchcock uses the skeletal mother’s appearance for the same shocking effect to cap off Psycho. But Castle out-creeps Hitchcock with the Warren/Emily transformation (the bi-sexuality wouldn’t be a big deal now, but using it as a cover for murder is something else). Bates wanted his mother to live on in his imagination, but Emily literally was Warren.

I find that the plot does make just enough sense; it does seem weird that Miriam wouldn’t be aware that Warren was really Emily, but maybe, since they were half-siblings, we’re to understand that there were gaps in their relationship that could sustain the mystery.

The short ’intermission’ before the culminating scene didn’t seem out of place to me. It does imply familiarity with the horror/suspense genre in that era, and particularly with Castle’s plot devices. As other reviewers have said, this is the sort of movie that sent kids behind couchs. It’s full of nightmares.

Chase A Crooked Shadow, 1957.

******* 7.0

"I Deal In Crimes That Are Committed, Not Crimes That Are...Imagined"

Great premise for a mystery. The isolated, exotic locale builds atmosphere, the plot is set in motion immediately, and both Anne Baxter as Kimberley and Richard Todd as her ’brother’ Ward give strong, complimentary performances. The slick way that Ward insinuates himself into Kimberley’s life is convincingly creepy. He and his partner Elaine (Faith Brook) ’gaslight’ Kimberley; she can’t successfully expose Ward, as she’s suspected of not being stable, so she steadily loses credibility.

Her dilemma becomes so insidious that she endangers herself. When she dares Ward to race on the twisty coastal road; she counts on exposing him--as only the ’real’ Ward could drive so fast. Unfortunately, if she’s too right, she’ll probably fly off a cliff with him. So, luckily I guess, she’s wrong; but she can’t help accusing him of trying to frighten her. Which only makes him a better imposter. The diamond issue is the obvious key to the false identity plot. Ward and Elaine coerce her into basically giving up the diamonds, but that doesn’t mean she gets rid of her antagonists.

Things only get more complicated from them on. She tells the policeman Vargas (Herbert Lom) about her brother’s death, and almost, but not quite implicates herself. That, and her confession about the diamonds gets Vargas on her side for a bit. But, the actual denouement reveals both that ’Ward’ is an imposter and that she did in fact kill her brother. Those revelations at least prevent the initial set-up from undercutting the entire plot--from the first scene we see that ’Ward’ and Elaine are targeting Kimberley.

That still leaves a few loose ends: Bridson (Alexander Knox), is taken-in by ’Ward’ just as Vargas is, but why isn’t he surprised that nothing’ turns out as it seems? More importantly, why isn’t Vargas let in on the whole undercover plot? It would make sense for him to not show his hand to Kimberley, but the South African police would tip him off from the outset.

That’s just how it’s done. For one thing, if the ’gaslighting’ goes on too long, Kimberley might end up in an asylum, basically out of the reach of prosecutors. What’s worse is that ’Ward’ and Elaine are about to execute Kimberley; only Vargas’s timely arrival closes the door on that. It would be somewhat counterproductive for an undercover team to bring a corpse to justice.

Chase A Crooked Shadow (a great title) is pretty entertaining. With the exception of Knox, who doesn’t have much to do as the favored uncle, the principal characters swarm around each other with plausible and interlocking motivations. As others have said, the movie is a bit talky and stagey, especially the ending. And the explanations don’t altogether account for the characters’ actions. Worth a look anyway.

I Love A Mystery, 1945.

*******+ 7.5

Nothing like a headless corpse to get things going. Supposedly, it belongs to Jefferson Monk (George MacReady). We backtrack a few days to find Jefferson engaging the services of detectives Jack Packard (Jim Gannon) and Doc Long (Barton Yarborough). That’s because a woman, Jean (Carole Matthews) tells Jeffrey that someone is trying to kill him.

How does she know? Well, Monk had been in contact with psychics/mystics, a Mr. G. Well, to put things bluntly, Monk resembles this mystic orders ancient founder--so if we could just have your head--for $10k, we’ll be square. The catch is that if Monk declines the generous offer, he’ll die. Or so goes the pitch. There’s more: his wife Ellen (Nina Foch) will have a disabling accident.

Obviously, Monk is a bit put out, basically thinking that the clock is ticking. We catch up with him in a Russian restaurant in San Francisco arguing with the very attractive Jean. It’s not clear how they’re acquainted; she mentions his "invalid" wife. He’s introduced to the detectives. There’s a weird flambe incident; Monk thinks the fire was meant for him. Jefferson goes on to describe the yearlong curse; Jack and Doc agree to take his case.

Outside, Jean and Monk walk; she thinks the whole thing is " just in your mind." He gets angry at her disdainful attitude; meanwhile a disfigured peg-legged man closes in on him. Luckily, the detectives scared the guy off. They escort him home. He tells them the whole deal about the ’prophecy.’ Ellen isn’t too happy with the attention, but soon takes up the story of their dabbling in the mysterious.

It started with a street musician in an Middle Eastern country; somehow the same odd tune came from a beggar in San Francisco. This obscure guy has a message, incredibly, from Ellen. She’s, no doubt, in some danger. Monk follows along to some sleazy digs, where the beggar’s ’master’ holds forth. It’s Mr. G. "Reality, Mr. Monk, what is it?"

He has a "proposition." Obviously, Ellen is the security for this transaction. G. Shows Monk the preserved body of their ancient leader. "I’m prepared to offer you..." Monk: "You expect me to sell you my head?!" Well, when he’s dead, hey, what’s he gonna do with a lousy head, anyway. Do, I suppose because the wizened old mummy coot is the worse for wear, Monk needs to die before a year’s ouRRetu

Returning to the present, the detectives consider what their client has said. "You mean you agreed to sell your head?" Well, hokey or not, that’s the smart play. Somehow, G. managed to cripple Ellen into the bargain. So someone’s prowling outdoors; next thing we know, a dark sedan almost runs them all down. There’s footsteps, or peg ’steps’ perhaps. Ellen tells Jack that Jeffrey’s going nuts with guilt for her, and anxiety about the future.

Aha! We see Ellen calling a guy named Justin (Lester Matthews, who’s also Mr. G.; the shocker is that she walked over to the phone. Is she in on this ’gaslghting’ of her husband? Back at the detectives’ hotel room, it’s clear that Jack has his suspicions about Ellen. Another thing, the beguiling Arabic music is actually classical European.

The implication, of course, is that Mr. G. Is no Middle Eastern spiritualist. That fact hich seems inadvertently? already clear enough. Here’s another surprise, It’s Dr. Han (Gregory Gaye), Ellen’s doctor. Jack quizzes Hahn about Ellen, his background, etc. Jack figures that this guy’s no Russian, and he needs to put Doc on Jean. On to the Russian restaurant

The detectives try to interview her there--they convincingly implicate her in drugging and throwing the burning desert tray at Monk. Now, we get to the nitty gritty motive of many mystery stories--money. Specifically, Monk’s will. Ellen would inherit everything if Jeff dies. (As long as he’s not murdered). That night, Jack and Doc are staking out Monk’s place, while peg-leg lurks about. They hear a woman scream. That’s a diversion. Here’s Jean in the nearest available taxi.

When Peg-Leg/Jason Anderson (Frank O’Connor) ducks into a dingy room we see that his grotesque face is a disguise. But his normal look doesn’t save him from being strangled just outside his door. Ok, but, here’s Monk, very strangely, taking a nap in Dr Han’s office. What, Monk’s in on the plot to get his own head cut off? Well, the detectives come calling on Han themselves. Here they broach the topic of money. That is, what Ellen stands to get from Monk’s estate in the event of--we know what.

Monk tells the guys that he was wandering around all night, and sort of ended up at Han’s. Another twist comes in the form of peg-leg’s death; that guy was Jean’s father. Jack goes to visit Justin Reeves. He asks Reeves about the secret order; cunningly, Jack plays the mysterious tune on the piano there. That sort of disturbs Reeves. Anyway, Jack fingers Reeves as the infamous Mr. G. Meanwhile, at police HQ, the Captain (Joseph Crehan) arrests Jack for withholding the name of peg-leg’s killer (this is a ruse to smoke out the actual killer).

The next ploy is engineering Jack’s escape from jail (he’s let out) to attract the bad guys. All of this news makes headlines. Han and Reeves go to tal to Ellen. They know by now that Jack suspects one of them for the murder. Actually, they suspect each other too. Ellen wants to go ahead with the beheading deal, which is scheduled for the next day. TThe two guys leave; when Monk comes into the room, he looks and acts as though he knows That Ellen was up to something.

Reeves pops back in, figuring that Jack has warned Jeffrey. She says to Reeves "you got me into this!". Something is going on outside the mansion; as Ellen goes to the window to get a look, Jeff enters her room. She’s found out, a "miraculous recovery." Now his blood’s up: "I want you to taste your kind of cruelty." It’s he who made the commotion outside, he killed Reeves.

Jefferson’s the killer of record. Doc finds Monk in an alley:; he gets whacked by Monk. Now it’s Jack’s turn to get surprised. They talk about who suspected who of what. Monk admits he killed Reeves/Mr. G. And, he’s going to kill the rest of them, including Ellen. Jack’s already figured out most of the conspiracy. Monk is about to kill Jack, but the wily detective gets away, at least to the dark corners of the warehouse. Doc, more or less recovered, comes up, but is apprehended.

Jack, meanwhile, has worked himself around to ambush Monk. But the old boy escapes into the elevator. Crashing into a curb while trying to make his getaway, he’s...beheaded. The only question left for Jack and Doc: where’s the guy’s head? The end.

Wow, that’s a lot of plot to swallow. With the abrupt ending, there’s several loose ends. Let’s see, Jean, Ellen, and Han are still standing; but they’re more or less left hanging, as well. We can see Ellen’s mercenary angle, of course, and Han’s, as keeping up the disability ruse strengthens the mysic ’curse’ thing. Peg-Leg helped to keep mink creeped out; Jean was riging his coattails, I guess.

But, to go back to the premise: what we’re really talking about here is a Dr. Frankensten-ish concept of reviving a corpse (only need a head, not all the body parts). It woud’ve been cool to explore the horror angle.Instead, after Monl gives th detevtive’s his story about the secret society, etc. we basiclly hear nothing intersting sbout that stuff until the very end. By that time it’s the murder mystery that we’re focused on.

It’s a bit illogical that Monk, knowing that someone is trying to kill him, never considers going to the cops. It’s not as though there;s no evidence (Peg-Leg, for example). Plus, you;d thunk his qife wold insist on it, instead of just moning and groaning about it; the fact that she’s up to something shou;d’ve been a touch more apparent to Monk earlier.

Well, mysteries are rarely very logical. The form it takes here--very much like a movie serial (apparently the story is derived from a radio seril) depends on action. That means quick pacing, a knotty plot, a lot of mayhem, and some wise-cracking charcters. We’ve got plenty of that.

One thing that keeps our suspension of disbelief from leaving the building is that the atmosphere is relentlessly dark and furtive. Doc has some nice quips, which, thanks to good timing, serves to amplify the sense of danger and suspense. The performances are generally quite good, and nuanced enough so thst it’s hard to tell who is one who’s side at this or that moment.

The only issue with the characters is actually with Jeffrey’s. He comes off as an out-and-out sadist. Given time, he would’ve become a serial killer. the ’bad guys’ seem much less evil by comparison. I cansee why Jeffrey wants vengeance on these conspirators; but, again, why does he have to turn vigilante on them? His wild sterak does come as a surprise and makes things more interesting, but it’s a bit over-the-top.

This is entertaining stuff. Maybe not top-shelf mystery, but not lacking in effort and enthusiasm.

Cast A Dark Shadow, 1955.

********** 10

Good Title For A Vampire Movie...

Dirk Bogarde stars as a playboy who uses women to support his lifestyle. He’s Edward/Ted, married to Monica (Mona Washborne). She’s a lot older; her death doesn’t do much for Ed/Ted, though, as she leaves him the house, but no money. Frustrated, soon he’s on the make. He finds Freda (Margaret Lockwood), herself a widower, who agrees to marry him--as long as they keep separate accounts. Well, that won’t do.

There’s also Connie (Kathleen Harrison), yet another love-interest of Ted’s, Charlotte (Kay Walsh), Emmie (Kathleen Harrison), Monica’s attorney, Philip (Robert Fleming), and the coroner, played by Walter Hudd.

Aren’t playboys a modern, mercenary sort of vampire? That’s essentially the deal here. We’re going to see what frightful stuff Dirk Bogarde has in store for the elderly Mona Washborne. What a cool beginning; Ted’s with his wife on a haunted house ride. Looks like in Brighton; having tea in a swanky place before returning home.

They meet Emmie at the door. Philip is there to discuss Monica’s will. Emmie is fussing with the parakeets, while Ted and Monica argue about that will. Essentially it would leave her money to her sister. She wants to reminisce by perusing an old photo album. Looks like she’s been drugged or poisoned--after having coffee she falls asleep. Well, she’s still drowsy later...as he sets the stage for a mock suicide. At the inquest, there’s suspicion of her being drugged, but Emmie refutes that. He’s in the clear.

Philip is suspicious, telling Ted "the case can be reopened". Later, the attorney tells him that Monica indeed had a will--you got the digs, but no dough. He plans to rent the house, to provide an income, of course. at the seaside in Brighton again, he’s having tea at the usual place. He notices an attractive woman, she starts chatting him up, and invites him over to her table.

It’s Freda; she wants to dance, and keeps going on. Then she wants to go to a more happenin’ place. The next spot has a better band, and a pretty good singer. Out on a patio, Tex and Freda size each other up "do you like the look of me?" she inquires. As a tenant, that is. So he brings her to the old homestead. Lurking about is dear old Philip; he’s pretty sure that Monica didn’t have an innocent "accidental death". No slouch in the wariness department, Freda quizzes Ted about Monica as well. "Business has to go on, you know" indicating her blase attitude towards her late husband, and err, feelings generally.

Ted protests too much by sarcastically characterizing his true motive in marrying Monica. Nonetheless, Freda agrees not only to move in, but to marry him into the bargain. She quite possibly has the same motive as Ted; securing a meal ticket, at the least. Out driving, they stop at a scenic lookout. He tries to get her to invest in a business venture; clearly they rub each other the wrong way more often than not--like rivals.

Later, they offer to help Charlotte, a stranded motorist. Back at the house, he tries to talk the lady into some scheme, and then tries to kiss her. Freda comments that "she came too late" meaning her husband’s taken. He takes Charlotte home-hunting; telling her that Freda is jealous. He goes on to say that his wife’s suicidal. Hmm. is it time for Freda to have an ’accident’ too? Now his idea is to offer to have Charlotte stay at their place.

They almost kiss again when Freda pops in. She’s not too keen on having Charlotte as a renter. The couple never seem to have a civil conversation. Now Freda’s brought up to speed on Ted’s finances; she doesn’t pass up the opportunity to belittle him. Unexpectedly, though, she says she loves him. But that means that Charlotte has to go. He’s up to someone: he fakes a call from Philip; he tells Freda it’s about Monica’s sister.

We see him place stuff just so around the fireplace in "accidental death" position. The deception was for the purpose of getting Freda out of the house. That works, and Charlotte comes instead, as Ted lies in wait. She freaks out, stumbling into the chair associated with Monica. He tells Charlotte that he’s had a "premonition that someone will die". He explains, somewhat indirectly, that he killed Monica. But the surprising reveal is that Charlotte is really Dora, Monica’s sister.

He’s deduced that from observing that her familiarity with the house is otherwise inexplicable. That also explains his cunning trap by the fireplace. He dares her to call the police. She yells: "you cant afford another dead body in your drawing room". Good point, who can? He grabs her, but says she can leave. She’s been doing even more sleuthing--she learns that, not only is he an "unbalanced mess" but he almost killed someone when he was a kid. I don’t see why she doesn’t bug out. Well, she hangs around to tell the returning Freda who ’Charlotte’ is and what Ted’s done.

When Charlotte/Dora leaves, he’s ecstatic. Because he’s cut the brake lines on her car. Assuming she crashes and dies, he will inherit the fortune that’d gone to Dora. But Dora reappears with Philip. He knew something was up before Dora could get going in her sabotaged car. Ted eludes Philip, gets outside, and gets into a car.

The road’s blocked by Philip’s and Dora’s cars. Very ironically, he takes Dora’s. Killed in the very car he intended to use for killing her. Spectacular wreck--not at all faked. Back home we see the apparently haunted chair of Monica’s rocking. The end.

This was excellent in every way: the premise, the plot and pacing, the characters and the atmosphere; each element worked together to make an entertaining thriller. Many say that Cast A Dark Shadow isn’t a mystery per se, as we know that Bogarde’s character is the murderer. But there’s mystery in how, and if, he’ll be found out.

Another unknown, which makes for the great denouement, is Walsh’s dual identity. Her role as Charlotte has been set up so deftly--as Ted’s next victim/conquest, that we hardly look for any other reason for her character. Each of the three women have such distinct personalities that it’s impossible to tell which of them, if any, Ted actually likes. In his sociopathic way, he’s loyal to Monica (only after she dies that is); Freda is not very likeable anyway, but, for Charlotte/Dora, he seems to have genuine affection.

The psychologocal aspect of the film is notable: the fixation Ted has on Monica is remniscent of Anthony Perkin’s veneration of his dead mother in Psycho (acually this was made five years before Hitchcok’s movie). It’s doubly strange, as Ted might be driven by both guilt and a genuine sense of love in obsessing over Monica. Or, her memory might simply have triggered a twisted sense of nostalgia for his first victim--’done right’--as he had escaped unscathed at the time, however narrowly.

As mentioned, the pacing is so seamless that we fall right into the plot--right away, we know that Ted is not what he seems to be. Although things happen quickly we never dwell on any scene to the extent that it outstays it’s welcome. This is very much like listening to a masterful storyteller give us a gem by the fireside. Highly recommended, especially for British mystery fans.

Johnny Cool, 1963.

********* 9.0

Henry Silva and Elizabeth Montgomery star in this intense crime drama. Silva is Johnny/Salvatore Giordano, a Sicilian hit man who’s sent to the U.S. by crime boss Colini (Marc Lawrence) to take care of some loose ends–bump off recalcitrant mafioso. To provide a smokescreen, Johnny Cool’s death is faked. .

Also with Telly Savalas, Mort Saul, Jim Backus, and even Elisha Cook, Jr. (unsurprisingly, he’s an undertaker). Montgomery is Johnny Cool’s girlfriend, Darien/Dare. Thanks to some cameos, more cool’s provided by Ratpackers Sammy Davis, Jr., and Joey Bishop.

In any case the opening song ‘Johnny Cool’ is uncool faux hipster-style. There’s some good background stuff to establish Colini’s mentoring of the young Salvatore in wartime Sicily. He saves his mom by pulling the pin on a German soldier’s hand grenade. Still, she’s killed by another soldier; he joins partisans headed up by Colini.

Wow, quite a segue, as we’re twenty years on, at a wedding. Some swells drive by in a Dual-Ghia; a Ratpack carriage, no doubt. Salvatore is a wanted man. An American correspondent is introduced. Reflecting on the war, Salvatore says “In war, you fight for yourself.” As if punctuating that statement, there’s an attack, apparently by the police, supported by the army.

Salvatore gets away, but the other guy’s blasted. Strangely, it’s Salvatore who’s reported dead. It’s as a set up–“the world thinks Giordano is dead.” That’s Colini, affecting to be a monk. He’s got something in mind. “You will be my son” if Salvatore will do Colini’s business. Not just for money, but Salvatore will “inherit my kingdom.”

Shazam! Salvatore is making the scene in America; he’s Johnny Cool in New York. And he meets Dare–in a bar, of course. She’s with her boss; Johnny meanwhile is busy dispatching some hoods. That gets Dare’s attention, but he’s “not buying” her. Among the skyscrapers, in a fancy office, the mobsters are convening with their boss, Vince Satangelo (Savalas), who is worried about Johnny popping up.

Now, we’re at the races with Johnny, and so is Dare. “What do you do for kicks?” she asks. Winning jillions on a horse. Later, at her place, he gets a call to meet up in a hotel room–sounds fishy. Well, a gambling den, actually. Complete with Sammy Davis, Joey Bishop, and a craps table. Johnny loses a few (thousand), and wins some, but hey, it’s just money . Uh oh, cops come to bug Dare about Johnny.

But they’re not cops, they’re hoods from the guys running the table games. Well, there’s mayhem–at the table and at Dare’s. Johnny’s pretty good with the karate. Davis has some magic in those dice. Johnny: “lets see an eleven.” Davis: “you wouldn’t settle for a seven, wouldja?” Johnny: “No baby.” When Johnny returns and finds that Dare’s been beat up by the goons he goes after them. Both get stabbed with a kitchen knife.

Time for Johnny to meet up with Vince. “I’m not here for a job. I’m here to take it all.” They talk about drugs, sources, etc. Oh, but Santanegelo, is a “legitimate” businessman. Right. Anyway, Johnny wants Dare to come with him. None too soon, as another bunch of thugs would’ve broke in on her again, if the lovebirds hadn’t just skipped out.

She’s made it to L.A. Now we see a board meeting, and a lobbyist or frontman for Santangelo. Looks like Johnny’s setting up Mr. Big at the train station. Santangelo, meanwhile, is busy huddling with assorted mafia dons. Johnny drives to Vegas–been a while since we’ve had the roulette wheel in action. He calls this guy Hinds (John McGiver); then we see Johnny cruising and schoomzing the tables and gamblers.

Undoubtedly, they’re cover for something. Well, actually, it’s Hinds that’s up to something. He holds a shotgun to Johnny. Mr. Cool shows his coolness by overwhelming the pudgy Hines. Then he has to blast an underling who offers that Colini called him a ‘brother’, and that the Sicilian don is using Johnny. He’s right.

Time to go back to Sicily and get even with Colini. Dare tells him, aptly, that “Johnny is a name. Giordano is a man!” Santangelo calls Colini, who disclaims all knowledge of and responsibility for Johnny. The cops huddle in Vegas, trying to finger both Santangelo and Johnny. Meanwhile, Johnny’s rigging a dynamite bomb for a guy named Crandall (Brad Dexter).

Hey, what a crazy poolside explosion! Anyway, the cool couple plans to rendevous in New York. To kill time, Dare goes to a hair salon, but inconveniently runs into a friend. Well, the friend’s party that night gives Dare an out, and she takes it. A swinging deal, with the twist the dance of the moment. Johnny is literally up to something now, taking a construction rig up the side of a skyscraper to visit Santangelo. (The ambush from the window thing was used to good effect in 1972’s Shaft.)

Who else is left for Johnny to kill? Well, he goes to a cathedral to see the grieving mafioso. He pays his respects to Satangelo (!); he wants, as usual, everything. And he now claims that he’s set up Colini into the bargain. So, is this something can’t be fixed?

Back on the West Coast, Dare wakes up from the party…and spills a few too many beans to Suzy. She “wants him so badly, that I’d grovel to him.” Despite knowing he’s a murderer. She calls one of the victim’s families to give up Johnny’s location there.

Unsuspecting, he comes to his supposed rendevous with Dare, only to find the widow instead. And tons of henchman. In captivity, his tormentors tell him how he’s going to be treated in Edgar Allan Poe terms After a scuffle, he finally gets stabbed. It’s up to Dare to tell the cops in L.A. that Johnny’s dead. “I killed him” she says, histrionically. An agonizing bit of the ‘Johnny Cool’ song, and we’re done with these dons.

This is much better than I thought if would be; the performances, the plot and pacing, the atmosphere and tone, were all of a piece and contributed to a great presentation. Usually, background scenes are awkward or unnecessary, but here they set up the main story without intruding on it. (the only detail they didn’t get right was ths German troops using an U.S. Jeep). Likewise, the segue to the ’60s in America was as quick as it was smooth.

Silva make a convincing hitman; and Savalas a sleazy but wary antagonist. Montgomery has the beguiling flair that works so well with her deceptive innocence. It’s just a bit hard to swallow her taking up with Silva’s character, though. I could see their mutual attraction, and the lure of living it up with a guy who basically lights a smoke with a thousand dollar bill. But, not being so easily duped, she quickly figures out that not only is her boyfriend a hood, but an integral part of an organized crime syndicate. She does stand up to him. And, most significantly, she leaves him.

Let’s just say she’s adventurous. The settings, obviously on location, are just what we need for an immersion in this outwardly glittery, but essentially tawdry lifestyle. The Sicilan backdrop does manage to establish the original purpose of the mafia as a sort of Robin Hood outfit: protecting and supporting the locals from invaders and occupiers.

This is the sort of movie that doesn’t seem as long as it is (1 hour, 43 minutes). That’s the script deftly moving things along; we meet hoods, Johnny mows them down. In this sense the plot is very simple. But there’s considerable variation in each guy’s demise, and therefore plenty of tension. And, although Johnny is definitely cool, he’s not superman, and his death is certainly not an easy way out.

The romance complicates things (the guys going after Dare to get at Johnny, her overall complicity, etc.), but it also adds considerable depth to the story. After all, without Dare, Johnny is more or less just a sociopath, even though an iconic member of a legendary group of them. His fidelity to her mirrors his first brush with violence–killing to save his mom.

This would just about be perfect if they’d ditched that wretched title song. The folks at the boat party doing the twist was cool; as it was genuine early ’60s pop culture. That tid bit is enough reason to watch Johnny Cool.

City Streets, 1931.

******** 8.0

Crime drama with an interesting premise. A gangster, Pop Cooley (Guy Kibbie) hangs a murder rap on his daughter, Nan (Slyvia Sidney). She goes to prison; meanwhile, her boyfriend, known as The Kid (Gary Cooper), infiltrates the gang to avenge Nan. Maybe he gets too far in, because when Man gets out of the slammer, it’s no simple thing getting Kid back on track.

A real treat are the cutesy names for some of the supporting cast: there’s Big Fellow Maskel (Paul Lukas), Blackie (Stanley Fields), Pansy (Betty Sinclair), and Baldy (Bert Hanlon). Somewhat more in the mainstream, we have McCoy (William Boyd), the Police Inspector (Robert Homans) Esther (Barabara Leonard), and Agnes (Wynne Gibson). City Streets is based on a Dashiell Hammett story.

We start with Prohibition pipe line: beer trucks rolling, a bottling/ distillery, and, a payoff. Two groups of gangsters face off; look at all that beer in the barrel! Not only that, but the parting line, “no hard feelings” becomes a bit ironic, as one gangleader’s hat flows first in the barrel, and then in the Atlantic, where, no doubt, its owner ‘sleeps with the fishes’.

Pop Cooley comes out swimmingly on that deal; he glances in on Nan, who scoots out to a car and drives away. At the shooting gallery, she meets up with Kid, who can’t resist showing off. They amble around, as he can’t help winning various prizes for her.

At the beach, they cuddle “gosh, it’s great!” She muses. She wants Kid to get into her dad’s bootlegging business. Otherwise, they’d “have to live in a tent” if they got married. He’d rather be poor and honest. They argue, but make up.

When she gets home, Pops chides her for hanging out with the likes of the Kid. At a hotel, Pops sees Blackie tell off Big Fellow for hanging out with Agnes. Big Fellow asks Pops “If anything happens to Blackie, could you hold his mob together?” No problem for Pops.

So, Pops calls on Agnes and Blackie. Then he phones home, telling Nan to meet around the corner; he and Blackie are going to Joe’s. Hmm, the game is afoot. Dramatically, we see Blackie followed down the corridor by Pops’ enormous shadow.

Jan waits in an alcove, while the two guys pull up. Pops shoots Blackie, then hands the murder weapon to Nan for her to get rid of. She walks away from the scene as cops converge toward it. Unfortunately, an officer stops her. Meanwhile, Pops is at Agnes’s, going over his alibi with the cops.

Nan got caught anyway, and gets the business at police headquarters. They bring in Pops to ‘talk sense’ to her. But he tells to not give up the ghost “no one in the beer racket ever squawked on a pal yet”; he figures to trust her attorney to get her off.

So, she doesn’t talk. Pops shows up at the shooting gallery to recruit Kid. He tells Kid that the cops framed Nan; that’s not entirely made up, but leaves out the simple fact that Pops set her up in the first place. Anyway, she’s locked up for the murder, where she befriends Esther. Well, Pops convinced Kid to drive trucks for the racket.

Esther gets out, only to find that her Johnny has been killed in his own car. Ironically, Nan takes solace in her (mistaken) belief that Kid’s still clean. He visits her in prison; she’s chagrined to learn that he’s turned crooked. Not only that, but he admits “beer, I love it!” Then it’s her turn to get out of the ‘big house’.

At least Kid doesn’t get shot. Back home, she greeted by Big Fellow and good ol Pops. Dad’s disgustingly unrepenitent; possibly he was able to wangle an early release for her. She meets her new stepmom, Pansy. Kid calls Big Fellow ‘chief’. They plan a mob “coming out party” for her.

She wants to skip the party, and the mob in general; while he’s pretty much all-in. Swanky party anyway. They’ve effectively switched roles as far as mob stuff’s concerned. She tries to talk Big Fellow into laying off on Kid; Big’s basically trying to pick up on her. Agnes is not amused. But, Pops short changes his daughter again, encouraging Big to hit on her.

Kid isn’t any cool with that, but Nan warns him that Blackie was killed for less. “How about those two guys from Detroit?” Goes the idle men’s room chatter between Big and McCoy. Well, the wary couple has left already. The ‘bad’ bad guys roll up at Nans; stupidly, Kid goes to the door.

Ah, but it’s Kid who gets the drop on them. So much for the torpedoes from Detroit. Kid tells her he’s going to see to see the Big Fellow. She hesitates, but then calls Big. Looks like she’s planning an ambush of her own.

Yep, as Big takes Agnes around, Nan goes out on the street packing a pistol. Meanwhile, Kid searches for Nan at the club. Big kicks Agnes out; Nan closes in. He finds her gun. Agnes, lurking outside, sees him nuzzle up to her. Kid speeds across town, sensing trouble. Agnes peeps in the door just enough to grab the loose gun. Nan is framed again, as Agnes pops Big twice–then shuts the door, crying for help.

Kid gets there, believing Nan when she says that she didn’t do it. McCoy doesn’t agree; but when he asks who’s running the mob now, the guys guys agree that Kid does. He says that he’ll handle the situation. Calling Nan, he makes an arrangement with her; the gugs think he’s going to ‘take care of her’, permanently, that is.

McCoy confronts Agnes with evidence that Big was “giving her the air”. A packed suitcase is the tell-tale sign. Well, looks like a thrilling denouement in store. Kid and Nan, with a clump of gangsters in the back seat, chases a train at high speed. They barely make the crossing ahead of the train. He’s scaring the heck out of them; it works because he has Nan cover them while he tells them to tbrow their guns out the windows.

That accomplished, he stops. He tells them they’re gonna walk home. Plus, by the way, guys, it was Agnes, not Nan who pulled the trigger on Big, and he’s out of the beer racket. Take that. The end.

This works fine, because the Nan/Kid romance is very compelling, and the gangster stuff is equally powerful, in its way. The authenticity was spot on, as, of course, as City Streets was made during Prohibition. Although we see little actual racketeering, except at the beginning, and in bits here and there, the criminals are convincingly dangerous and deadly.

Big Fellow would seem to be the evilest guy here, but actually, Pops is worse. Not only does he allow his daughter to be framed more than once, he’s got this smug debonair attitude about it. So, we get the nervous henchmen, ths out-and-out thugs, and the gentleman sociopath. On the other hand, there’s the powerless victims, Pansey, Esther, and Agnes (who turns victimizer).

This leaves Nan and Kid, who are definitely worth rooting for. Both of them are flawed, but each finds redemption; they find that their love is what’s worth having. Cooper and Sidney’s performances are excellent, and the supporting cast shows a variety of interesting personalities.

The pacing moves the plot along without dwelling on distractions. There’s plenty of space for tension and suspense to build, as these folks manuver around each other, leaving some bodies to step over. Entertaining and involving, City Streets is well worth a look. 8/10.

Postmarked For Danger, 1955.

****** 6.0

A murder mystery involving a diamond smuggling ring. Lewis Forrester and Alison Ford (Robert Beatty and Terry Moore) have an apparently fatal car crash, but Alison survives. After she skulks around in Lewis’s brother Tim’s art studio, he and his remaining brother, Dave (William Sylvester, find a dead model, Jill Stewart (Josephine Griffin). There’s plenty of twists and turns before we’re done with this lot.

The car wreck starts us off (with the usual substitution of a much older car for the burning hulk). And, as in 1944’s Laura, a portrait of a beautiful woman in the family’s (Tim’s) house. Tim is busy painting Jill; she tells him about her date with Henry Carmichael (Allan Cuthbertson). He sort of pre-proposes.

Dave goes up to see Tim, and tells him about the accident. Dave says he’s taking a reporter, Fenby (Terence Alexander), to the inquest; Dave’s a pilot, so they take a DC-3 to Milan (near the site of the accident). Back in London, police are discussing Dave’s whereabouts; they think that he and Lewis have been involved in a diamond-smuggling ring. They theorize, that along with another guy found dead in Milan, Lewis was targeted.

Inspector Colby (Geoffrey Keen) takes a call from Italian police regarding Lewis’s death; apparently Lewis had sent a postcard with a drawing of a bottle to someone in London, but no one knows to whom. Clue or red herring? Inspector Colby figures to talk to Tim. Meanwhile, Jill tells Tim that she’s marrying the priggish, but wealthy Henry. They embrace warmly as she takes her leave.

“She works for me” he says to the Inspector, of Jill. “Nice work” he notes. Anyway, Colby asks him about the card with the drawing; Tim just got a conventional touristy card from Lewis, no mysterious bottle picture. Tim looks in on a guy named Smith (Henry Oscar). That guy had mentioned doing a portrait of his daughter from a photograph. Turns out the woman is Lewis’s companion from the accident, Alison, still presumed dead.

Tim agrees to do the portrait (the one we see at the very beginning). While he’s at work, who looks in on him but Jill. Anyway, Dave returns to London. He says he didn’t really find out anything at the inquest. Before the brothers get back from the airport, we see Alison appear miraculously at Tim’s studio. She seems agitated.

What she does is deface the portrait; the brothers discuss the police interest in the accident–they themselves seem oblivious about anything that Lewis might’ve been mixed up in. When they get back, not only do they discover the messed-up painting, but Jill’s body–wearing Alison’s pink dress. We see Alison walking the dark streets.

The cops are going over ‘just one more thing.’ Tim tells them about the dress, Alison’s dad, etc. In a parcel, the Inspector discovers a Chianti bottle, that is, the same type in the one in the sketch. They bring Henry in to grill him about the Chianti bottle, he more or less fingers Tim as a suspect, due, no doubt, to his status as a “bohemian.”

Now that he’s done with the police for a bit, Tim takes a call from an auto dismantler, Dorking (William Lucas). The guy claims to have Lewis’s car; in fact he doesn’t, but he has access to that funky Chianti sketch, for a certain price. Fenby looks in on Tim, who asks him about (oh, yeah) that stupid sketch. Fenby and Dorking are up to something.

Apparently, the police are onto Dorking, and use Tim to attempt an incriminating blackmail payoff. Dorking stalls; which makes Tim out to be even more hapless in the eyes of the police. Plus the Inspector tells him that Alison’s alleged pink dress (that was found on Jill’s corpse) was in fact Jill’s anyway. His whole problem is that Alison has been very elusive.

That’s cleared up, at least, as she comes back to Tim’s. She doesn’t want him to get Colby. “Why are you afraid? Why are you here?” She describes what’s happened. She was with her dad in Italy, where she met Lewis. She wouldn’t believe it when Lewis clued her in about the smuggling ring her dad was involved in.

The gangsters wanted to bump Lewis off, thus the ‘accident.’ The woman found in the car was a hitchhiker. Alison lets on that she’d been in Tim’s studio (thanks to a tell-tale earring)…she admits that she saw Jill’s body there. The good news is, now that Alison’s available to model, Tim can complete the painting. So touching.

Dave comes back from Paris to find out that Alison is a houseguest. But, of course, now that Tim’s told both Dave and Colby about her, she skips out. That dork Fenby doesn’t have the dumb Chianti card… it’s in the mail or some such. Meanwhile, Alison reunites with her dad. She accuses him of being involved with the smugglers.

The Inspector isn’t happy to not find Alison at Tim’s, but he believes that she was there–her passport is lying around. Switching back to Alison, her dad refuses to turn himself in; she meets up with Tim. Stuff happens quickly, as both Fenby and then Alison’s dad get it (Fenby’s murdrered, dad simply falls out a window).

Strangely, Dave starts getting jumpy, and says he’s splitting for South America. Because he’s in the ring too. We find this out because Tim gets the Chianti card–Dave insists that Tim hand it over, as it fingers him. “I’m just a stooge in the game!” But a pretty deadly game. They fight, very unrealistically. Tim wins.

Finally, thanks to Tim, Colby gets the card. He figures that the card had some invisible ink that named all the smugglers; that is, a handy blackmailer’s tool. The police lab decodes the card. Alison comes back to Tim’s to find that old boy Henry looking for something. She recognizes him from Italy; another one of those pesky smugglers.

He’s in fact Nightingale; he’d killed Jill because she ‘knew too much’. He now tries to kill Alison. Naturally, Tim arrives just in time to have a jolly good very dumb fight with him. Good thing the studio has a loft for Nightingale to fall through. That does it for the bad guys. The happy couple’s happy, the Inspector’s happy, and so am I.

Because this is over. It started out with some cunning, but about the time Alison surfaced, it more or less degenerated into sessions of Colby taunting Tim with ludicrous innuendos about Jill’s murder, and Tim’s huffy denials. The smuggling device really didn’t animate the plot as there was no smuggling to be seen, let alone any diamonds to smuggle.

On top of those less than interesting bits, the Tim/Alison romance happened predictably, lacked believability, and was, well, unbelievably unromantic. Jill seemed to be a more interesting character, but she was the first one to go. We never really get a feel for any of the other characters, especially Tim and Dave, so it’s hard to feel sympathy for any of them.

This might’ve worked better as a simple love triangle; with Jill engaged to Henry, as written, but Tim’s the sensitive, artistic guy she really wants or something. In place of a character-driven plot, we get psuedo fights and a whole deck’s worth of that obnoxious card. Invisible writing isn’t going to make it into the Maltese Falcon.

Kind of a disappointing murder mystery; literally too much plot ties up our attention while the characters, instead of engaging our interest as people, flail about until they become targeted as bad guys. Ok, but not worth staying up for.

23 Paces To Baker Street, 1956.

******* 7.0.

Different sort of mystery in that the protagonist, a playwright, Phillip Hannon (Van Johnson) is blind. That makes sense of the title (at first I though Baker Street implicitly meant Sherlock Holmes territory). There’s a small sub-genre of mystery with a detective with a built-in disadvantage; like James Stewart’s character in Rear Window.

Vera Miles plays Jean Lennox. Inspector Grovering is Maurice Denham, Cecil Parker is his butler, Bob Matthews; there’s Alice MacDonald (Patricia Laffan), a barmaid (Estelle Winstead), Joe (Liam Redmond), Lady Syrett (Isabel Elsom), Pillings (Martin Benson), and Janet March (Natalie Norwich).

Jean pops in to visit Phillip; he’s bitter about his condition “I’m all right as long as people leave me alone!” He starts off being a jerk and hardly lets up until the very end. A very coincidental visit to pub means that Phil overhears a man threaten a woman; something about a child, the name Mary, and enty of garbled stuff–interestingly, we don’t see any more of them than Phil does. But Phil gets so absorbed in the mystery that he records a dictation of what was overheard and arranges for the police to listen.

Obviously, what they hear can’t remotely be considered evidence, so they brush him off. But, Phil’s only getting started. He deduces that the woman he heard was a care provider who’d been sent on a job to the very entertaining Lady Syrett. Following the clue of the mystery woman, Janet, to her employment agency, we find Pillings, who acts a bit fidgety. Jean and Phil concoct a scheme to attract Janet’s attention, but they end up instead with Alice–Lady Syrett confirms that Janet is not Alice.

But Janet, responding to the ad to contact Phil, gets it right after she finishes her call. That sets up a very noirish sequence for Phil, in which he thinks he’s meeting Janet’s father in the pub, but instead he’s lured into a condemned building, and locked into a half-collapsed room. Thanks to his intuition and Bob’s arrival, he survives.

It seems that the ‘Mary’ in the mystery conversation was the Queen Mary. In other words, the plot involves kidnapping a child arriving from America on the liner. The police find the girl’s wheelchair and doll in a park. (Before we leave the Queen Mary topic: we get a quick scene at the police station in which the Inspector pronounces another passenger’s home as ‘Who-Stun’, that is, to us Yankees, he means Houston TX).

Soon, they’ve found the girl, unharmed. That’s easy enough. But the actual denouement leads us back to Phil’s, he lays a trap for Evans. It works out well, as his antagonist is ultimately booted off the fire escape and is done for. The final twist is that ‘Evans’ was a woman, that is, Alice.

Well, for me, the real surprise is that Phil, having barely survived his own ambush, would bother to risk ‘turning the tables’ on ‘Evans’ when all he has to do is call the police. I can see him preparing for the intruder, but to make a game out of it, including the cunning use of the tape recorder, is just stretching his luck.

This movie’s got an interesting premise, with nice on-location setting, and a pretty good sense of plotting. It’s fairly long, thanks to a lot of Jean/Phil scenes–some of which add a bit here and there; but, for me, the romance just exists on paper. Phil really doesn’t seem like an appealing choice for Jean, especially since he stood her up before. The other thing, which isn’t as noticeable, is that Bob’s comic relief is not funny, and far from being relief, is just a distraction.

23 Paces is worth seeing, and entertains well-enough. Farmermouse loved the tea party fixins’ at Lady Syrett’s. He gives this seven scones.

The Casino Murder Case, 1935.

****** 6.0

Crime mysteries proved a very popular genre in the ’30s and ’40s; especially those featuring an on-going detective character–Philo Vance, in this case. Paul Lukas plays the detective. The mystery concerns the apparent poisoning of Lynn Llewellyn (Donald Cook), and the murder of Lynn’s wife, Virginia (Louise Henry). Priscilla (Alison Skipworth) is Lynn’s mom–who also ends up dead; Arthur Byron, her brother Richard. Rosalind Russell plays Doris, Priscilla’s secretary, and Amelia (Isabel Jewwell) is Lynn’s ne’er-do-well sister. There’s some kind of junk science going on with the alleged poison, more ’50s sci-fi territory actually. Like many films from this genre, comedy is thoroughly mixed in.

Richard introduces Philo to his family with “He’s no ordinary detective, he’s a gentleman.” Philo has received info that Lynn is in danger; he and Doris go to see the D.A. (Purnell Pratt). Just as Doris lets on that Priscilla has had a new will drawn up, there’s another anonymous threat to Lynn. Adjourning to the casino, Philo and Doris show the letter to Richard. Sergeant Heath (Ted Healy) is detailed to keep an eye on Lynn.

Back at the mansion, Doris is shadowed by a silhouetted figure on the stairs. At the casino, there’s a little too much attention focused on Lynn’s getting a glass of water–sure enough, he passes out–they think he’s been poisoned. Simultaneously, Priscilla’s apparently been poisoned at home. Lynn’s going to be ok, she isn’t. Amelia was the one to find Priscilla. The D.A. does a version of ‘the usual suspects’ routine by quizzing the servants and family members.

Mrs. Llewellyn recounts the evening. Amelia, drunk as usual, was going off about her husband. Amelia talks about the matriarch having an attack of some kind, and then about her talk with Virginia just before she died. There’s some stuff missing in the doctor’s bag. Meanwhile, Sgt. Heath thinks that Doris is the murderess. That’s a joke, but what had got his attention was that Doris found the new will in a cubby hole.

Amelia, still boozing, first thinks Priscilla did it, and then, just about anyone, including herself. Vance then questions Robert about his interest in toxicology (he’s written books on the subject). He looks into various containers, carafes, and flasks. Or was the poison in some candy? “Stop arguing and get pumped!” is Heath’s splendid contribution to the maid Becky’s possible poisoning.

The weird thing is that there was no trace of poison in the corpse. Even weirder, it seems that Priscilla has died, but not before leaving a deathbed confession that she had killed Virginia. Apparently, Priscilla shot herself. But the uber-cranky Dr. Doremus (Charles Sellon) admits “anyone in New York could’ve shot her.”

Philo is cogitating on the fact that water was involved in all of the mishaps with the family. After talking to Dr. Kane he mentions “heavy water.” After leaving there’s a tell-tale call from Kane to Robert. Sneaking around the house, Philo and Doris get into the basement. Jeepers, a secret lab. “It’s heavy water” he deduces. The stuff is valuable. They’re locked in, but soon Robert shows up. Killing off the competition means Richard will inherit the whole deal; the new will is dead, as it’s unsigned.

Philo gets on the phone with Doremus, and they meet up in the lab with the D.A.; but no one will believe that Priscilla didn’t kill Virginia. Later on, up in the house, Lynn pulls a gun on Philo; shouldn’t be a shocker, but it is for me. Lynn framed his uncle for Virginia’s murder, pretending to use the heavy water to incriminate Richard. The police show up just as Philo is getting shot. But with blanks. So, no harm done to the good guys. All’s well.

The ending helped quite a bit–not that Lynn shouldn’t have been a suspect, but because we’re set up so well to buy into Richard’s guilt; especially with the well-conceived heavy water device. That’s an entire lab devoted to a red herring. So, the plot worked fairly well. Other than Rosalind Russell and Charles Sellon, though, none of the performances really stand out.

Lukas does decently as the ‘gentleman’ detective. He’s got the right suave personality. His accent per se isn’t a problem, but in a few situations it doesn’t help–when he’s talking fast it can be hard to make out what he’s saying, and he mispronounces some words.

The atmosphere is on key, featuring the swanky mansion; and the tone balances the underlying humorous element with the serious content. This is entertaining, but not very memorable.

Farmermouse is probably snoozing away in the rumble seat of Philo’s elegant Packard roadster. And he’ll give this six gulps of whatever Amelia’s having. 6/10

Man With A Cloak, 1951.

********** 10

Joseph Cotten, Barbara Stanwyck, Lewis Calhern, Joe De Santis, and Leslie Caron star in this murder mystery set in 1848 New York City. Caron plays Madeleine, who’s newly arrived from France to seek money from her fiance’s wealthy grandfather, Charles Thevenet (Calhern). Martin and Lorna (De Santos and Stanwyck) are hardly happy campers as his help, and want to cash in his chips for their cut. Enter mysterious gentleman Dupin (our cloak guy, Cotten) and we’ve got a plot as well as a full house.

Here’s Dupin, watching from the sidewalk as a young woman, Madeline, debarks from a cab. (She looks about fourteen; Caron was actually twenty in 1951). There’s some sort of wild revelry going on at the place she stopped at, wrong number. So she goes to a bar; Dupins sort of rescues her. The girl’s looking for old man Thevenet, specifically to raise money for the French Republic.

As suspected, the first place Madeline went to was indeed the correct one. Martin lets her in. Lorna comes down to tell Thevenet’s doctor that the old guy’s hopeless. She meets Madeline. The girl asks Martin what’s causing the old man’s fatal illness; he responds, cryptically, “his life.”

There’s a damn pet raven (feels like a Poe story already). Anyway, Madeline has to work to get his attention. Thevenet knows exactly what she’s up to–his grandson wants money. He wants news of Paris: “who writes, who paints?” She’s at least warms his heart; she’s invited to stay.

Martin and Lorna discuss Madeline. “What are we going to do about it?” That is, she’s a complication in their plot “waiting all these years for the old man to die” notes the maid. Weirdly, the old man looks in on Madeline as she sleeps. He unintentionally parrots what the others have said, he’s worried for his safety.

She describes her fiance, and a portrait of Thevenet in his youth. Next day, the doctor’s back. He gives the maid a medicine to fix–will the servants play doctor? On the street she sees Dupin go into Flaherty’s. I think she’s going to pay his tab. She comes out with “I think they [staff] are trying to kill him [old guy].”

She has a bottle she suspects is poison; no, it’s basically just water. But Dupin makes the interesting point that ‘nothing’ is, in effect, as bad as poison, because it’s not the medicine he needs to stay alive. He suggests that she go to the police.

Dupin calls on her later. Of course, Lorna and Martin are suspicious of him, more or less for the same reasons, they don’t trust Madeline either. Now Dupin reads Poe to the maid. Anyway, Lorna tells him “We’ve all grown fond of Madeline.” We learn that Lorna used to be Trevenet’s mistress.

Halloween time, even the bartender gives the kids treats. Back at the house, it seems that there’s a party in progress; Madeline’s worried. Will this be a good cover for…murder? Pretty cool party, costumes and such. When Dupin arrives, Lorna “breaks the ice” with him. Maybe a love triangle brewing…

Trevenet ends the party–he wants to interview Dupin. Our gallant hero says he’s a poet; more to the point, he’s a suitor to Madeline. They speak of the money issue…the old guy says, well, she’s married to a cause. They agree that they’re both cynics. This is an entertaining conversation; they don’t exactly trust each other, but they have mutual admiration.

The old guy calls for his attorney. To change his will? Martin wants to toss Dupin. Then, with Lorna, Dupin hears a the outline of a deal. That is, cut Madeline out of the money, and Lorna throws him a bone, er “loan.” She cosies up to him.

Joseph stalks in the street. Good for Dupin finds a cop to walk with. His problem is he owes big time: not just the bar, but back rent too. Viola! he’s got money, undoubtedly some sort of advance from Lorna. Oh, boy, Madeline comes calling. For some reason, she thinks things are working out at home.

Well, the old boy is altering his will, but we don’t know how. The attorney drinks Trevenet’s drink; old boy quivers, is he having a stroke, or a warning of a poisoned drink? Meanwhile, Madeline and Dupin go out on the town; they’re obviously in a loving way.

Sure enough, not only is Trevenet now paralyzed by his stroke, but the attorney is dead. The loving couple goes up to see the old guy. By gestures, he tries to clue them in about what happened. The raven and the rum? Means… something dark…in the drink? By now, the new will has disappeared. Protesting too much, Lorna actually outlines the malicious plot.

At least Dupin has the empty glass in question. They zip off to the chemists to check it: positive for arsenic. Better (worse?) yet, the chemist sold it to Trevenet. Kind of weird, but the supposition is that Trevenet planned to poison himself after changing the will, but the attorney was thirstier.

When Dupin and Madeline get back to the house, Trevenet has died. They’re getting booted. The new will is the key “They’ll [Lorna/Martin] try to find it by ransacking the house; I’ll try to find it by ransacking their brains.” This is shaping up to an interesting denouement. Flaherty offers Dupin a drink; then Lorna comes into the bar, apologetic.

She gives him her story, which is fairly pitiful. They discuss the will(s). Now she tries to throw in with him; offering him a tidy sum into the bargain. He refuses, and they go back to the house together. Wisely, Flaherty alerts the Patrolman that something unsavory is up.

Playing it smart as we’d expect, Dupin gets them to go to Trevenet’s room. He now has them in a nice blackmail corner, at the very least. With some quick-thinking and deduction, Dupin figures the will must be in the fireplace. Remarkably, it still is.

He’s able to grab it, but the two guys wrestle down the staircase while Lorna looks on. Luckily, the policeman intervenes just in time. Dupin reads the will: Lorna gets the house, Madeline gets the dough. Dupin leaves. Ah, as expected, Madeline pops into Flaherty’s. She’s going to pay up for Dupin.

Well, on the back of his I.O.U. is the poem “Annabelle Lee.” Signed Edgar Allan Poe. We knew that. A good lead in to my thesis: that this is like a lost Poe manuscript, biographical, and a partial combination of other of his works.

Poe was consistently autobiographical in his tales. Here’s a protagonist from Poe’s detective fiction, Dupin (same name), transplanted from Paris into a French enclave in New York. But he’s not exactly Dupin, he’s Poe, essentially pretending to be his own creation. He reads from his poems, and although mysterious enough, claims to be a poet.

Clever. It would be like Hitchcock playing Norman Bates in Psycho, and reveal that he’s actually this filmmaker, Alfred Hitchcock. It works because everything’s of a (Poe) piece. Superb and appropriate setting, atmosphere, characters, acting, and plot. A gothic film noir.

After all, this would be little more than a parlour trick without a good story. And, in fine murder/mystery fashion, we quickly figure out what’s going to happen; the fun, and yes, the mystery remains in how it plays out. Excellent movie. 10/10.

You Can’t Escape Forever, 1942.

******* 7.0

A funsy sort of crime thriller. Featuring George Brent, Brenda Marshall, Gene Lockhart, Roscoe Karns, Edward Cianelli, and Paul Harvey. Steve/Mitch (Brent) is good guy reporter, with tagalong girlfriend Laurie (Marshall) out to get gangster Boss Greer (Cianelli).

This wartime mash-up is known for cool period dialogue and settings (electric chairs, graveyards, and nightclubs). Not to mention one of the classiest henchman names ever: No-Neck (Jack Carr). Can’t wait to get a look at B-picture alley.

Great thunderstorm to begin with. Will death row guy Varney (Joe Downing) get the “juice” since the power’s flickering? Back at the newsroom, things are buzzing. Steve pops in “something screwy is going on up there…that guy was supposed to burn an hour ago.” He’s got zingers for every single person there. Who’s the next guy to ‘pop’ in?

Pop (John Dilson), of course. I’m surprised that anyone has a real name here. Anyway, Greer’s name comes up; Pop’s been working on Greer’s black market activity. Steve has a hunch that Varney will get a stay; sure enough, there’s the old ‘call from the governor’ to the prison warden. Varney’s actually been pardoned; Greer’s fingerprints are all over this deal.

Laurie, who’s there to cover the execution, has already feinted. In fact, when she comes to, she thinks the execution took place; so, she calls into the paper with the ‘scoop.’ She covers up by lying to Steve that she “saw” it happen. That’s not the end of it.

They finally get confirmation of the pardon. As many others have noted, her character is made out to be completely immature and ditzy. Still, it’s funny when she sees Varney, and, convinced he’s supposed to be dead, feints again. Anyway, the new story is Crowder’s (Erville Alderson’s) murder.

Next stop–Greer’s nightclub. Steve and Mac (Karns) come calling on Greer; they’re all very familiar with each other, like guys on rival baseball teams. Varney’s there too. The bad guys act dumb at the news of Crowder’s demise; apparently, he was a hood that was trying to square himself by fingering Greer.

The headlines (thanks to Steve) impugn Greer, who comes with his attorney to complain to the papers’ chief, Major Turner (Harvey). Unfortunately, Crowder’s autopsy points to an accidental death after all. So, it’s Laurie and Steve who get chewed out. Gates (Charles Halton) is in charge of the newsroom now, detailing Steve to the Lonely Hearts column.

Laurie convinces him to make the best of it; we know that this will tie into the plot somehow…Major summons him. Ok it’s this simple–Gates can’t match Mitch’s skill. So, Mitch’s not reinstated? No, he’s too popular as “Prudence.” Now we get what I thought we’d get: Carl’s girlfriend comes to talk to “Prudence”; i.e., Laurie.

Mitch, posing as Laurie’s secretary, gets the skinny. Carl was killed at the same place that Crowder’s wife hung out at. Both guys died mysteriously after meeting “dames” at an actual club for lonely hearts. So, the happy couple drop-in. It’s basically a wedding chapel. Robelink (Lockhart) runs the place.

His underling talks to him about getting “the money”; sounds like a shakedown operation. Sure enough, there’s a money bag of “invoices.” Meanwhile Mitch chats up the judge, who starts talking about dearly departed Crowder (apparently the judge isn’t in on the racket). He doesn’t even know who Mitch is, describing him in the third person.

Mitch sweet talks him into giving him a black book of clients. Mitch, suspecting Robelink’s up to something, dumps his drink and takes the glass for the guy’s prints. He wants to split, but can’t find Laurie–she’s sneaking around backstage. Robelink is onto them. There’s a spontaneous fight on the dance floor. Laurie’s only move is to hustle out. She, Mac, and Steve sit down on the sidewalk.

Back at City Hall, Mitch runs into Greer. Mitch tries to get some help with the prints, but, no dice. Same with the little black book. Last stop: coroner’s office. Still, nothing fishy. Mac got him an appointment with the fortune teller, which is in the same digs as the Lonely Hearts wedding chapel.

Soon we see Mitch and Mac gazing into a crystal ball with the psychic. Meanwhile Laurie chats up Robelink with a bit of underhandedness of her own; she offers to write an upbeat article on his business, to prevent Mitch from writing something nasty. White blackmail?

Cut back to the crystal ball gazers. ‘Madame’ Lucille (Edith Barrett) comes clean; she’s Crowder’s widow, after all. From her statement, it’s pretty clear that her husband had been poisoned before he’d conked out in the pool. Anyway, Lucille is playing both hands–she blows Laurie’s cover, as well as giving up the jist of her meeting the guys to Robelink. Oh man, Laurie’s ‘going for a ride’ with No-Neck. No necking planned, at least.

Back at Greer’s club, Mac and Mitch order drinks; and, with strained hypocrisy, they have a nice chat with Greer’s attorney. Smiling around outside, Mitch eavesdrops on Greer, who dressing down Robelink for being a leaky faucet. Greer tells them he’ll deal with Mitch himself.

Greer and Robelink have words; Greer’s are better. We now hear of Crowder’s “manuscript.” What, he was a novelist? After all the hoods leave Robeson, Mitch swoops in. He tries to turn Robelink. That manuscript is the pivot. Greer walks in on Mitch–Robelink is knocked-out again.

Another fake-buddies talk. By now Mitch knows where the manuscript is, but beguiles his antagonist with a tale of the attorney’s double-cross, blackmail, etc. The point is to use the attorney as a red herring. Another fight scene, as Mitch literally turns the tables in the dining area. Where’s Laurie? Not necking–still with No-Neck.

Amazingly, Mitch gives orders as though he’s with Greer, by shooing away the No-Neck limo. He tells the driver to take Laurie to the cemetery. I don’t get why No-Neck doesn’t make Mitch; guess he hadn’t actually ever seen him. The guard at the cemetary is oblivious, entirely focused on a radio show.

Now we see that the point of all this is to find Crowder’s body in the mausoleum. They hear creepy organ music; Mac says “if you find Crowder, ask him to move over.” There’s someone playing the organ…who? “Every night I play for the dead. They like it” says the caretaker. Pretty good sight-gags, as Mac is scared stiff.

Finally, the good guys find the right stiff–acttually it’s the manuscript they’re after. Absconding with that treasure, they narrowly avoid Greer with his non-No-Necks. A foot race through the graveyard. Escaping in a chicken truck, it’s now a car chase. They throw off the tail.

Mitch and Laurie scramble to the paper. Obviously he’s in de facto control again. We discover the manuscript concerns the black market info on Greer. Meanwhile, Greer’s practically lynched in the street for ramming an Army truck during the chase. He’s toast, as M.P.s arrest him. That’s the denouement. The end comes back at the paper where Mitch gets his old job back, and Gates in the new Prudence.

This was entertaining stuff; at least one critic described this as an extended matinee serial from that era. Non-stop action, plenty of two-dimensional characters (good v. bad), a mangled plot, zippy, and hip-for-its-time dialogue. That’s actually mostly good stuff.

But, the plot shouldn’t shift as quickly as the characters talk. The infamous “manuscript” just emerged near the end of the movie–maybe I missed earlier references–and it determines the entire plot. Also, why were the lonely hearts husbands killed anyway? For their estate, I suppose, and Greer split it with his ‘clients.’ But he already gets a fee up-front; the rest is left for us to figure out.

The comic stuff, especially as a function of the witty dialogue, worked pretty well. But the entire graveyard scene (admittedly with good bits here and there) was mostly just camp. Other stuff was fairly gritty; the scenes with Cianelli were noirish. The best blend of drama and comedy were the newsroom scenes.

At that locale, the supporting cast made great foils (of many types) for Mitch and Laurie. Speaking of Marshall’s character, it’s a bit disappointing. Not bad, just not so good. Certainly, the ‘ditzy dame’ of the era was a creation of the predominant paternalism and condescension towards women.

Good script writers, biased or not, were not dumb. There’s no better way to use a stereotype than to tweak it into its ironic opposite. There’s some of that here; Laurie shows as much grit as Mitch in many scenes, and is probably more clever (how she reads the widow who assumes that she’s still “Prudence,” and receiving Robelink, for example).

But there should be more of that. I’m recalling a scene (but not the movie) in which Rosalind Russell shoots the bad guy to save her lover/partner. What makes it work is that she just closes her eyes and shoots in the general direction. It’s both ditzy and gutsy, and sort of anti-macho. In a drama, I’d expect more than ‘beginner’s luck,’ but both the Russell and Marshall movies are comic crime/mysteries.

This is worth checking out, despite some notable flaws.

Strange Justice, 1932.

********+ 8.5

A B-movie, in the ’30s unique light-hearted murder mystery sub-genre. Pretty simple premise, but a convoluted plot. Banker Henry Judson (Reginald Denny), sweet on nightclub worker Rose (Mariah Marsh) hires her nutty ex-con boyfriend, Wally (Norman Foster) as his chauffeur. Meanwhile, cohort L.D. Waters (Irving Pichel) plans to blackmail Henry, who has been assiduously embezzling from the bank.

When Henry turns up dead, Wally gets fingered for murder, as he’s recently had a fight with his boss. Thing is, Waters has his mitts in Henry’s business, shouldn’t he get a Sing Sing reservation too?

In supporting roles, we have Myriad Westman as Gwen, Rose’s roomate, Richard Bennett as Kearney, Gloria (Geneva Mitchell), Judson’s secretary, and Thomas E. Jackson as Smith, a detective.

We start with Rose, at work. At a table in the club, Henry and Gloria are drinking up. Kearney wants to have a word. He wants $5k to help defend his client. Then Henry goes to chat up Rose. And, well, cozy up to her. When she says she could get fired for fooling with him, he says, ok, you’re fired here, but hired, by him.

But she gets him to agree her boyfriend instead. Wally pops in, looking desperate. Then she tells him that he has a job, as Judson’s chaffeur. Next day, at the bank, Harry sends Waters to see Kearney. That attorney, of course, is wheedling for the $5k for Harris, his framed murder suspect.

Waters confronts Harry with a check made out to himself for a half million–his ‘share’ of the on-going embezzlement (as a “silent partner” literally silent, as in not speaking up about it). Henry mulls it over.

Wally comes along at Rose’s. Gwen has some sort of portable sauna she’s trying out–her get-rich-quick sales schemes are an on-going joke. With Rose, Wally goes over his own entrepreneurial plan for a taxi company.

Meanwhile, at Henry’s, he’s having dinner with Gloria. Kearney comes calling. Henry tells him he’ll give him a personal loan; the lugubrious attorney tells him that his client’s rotting away at Sing Sing. Wally drives him up there; Kearney makes him as an ex-con, as Wally gets skittish on the prison grounds.

In the infirmary, Kearney sees that his esteemed client is a withering, moaning wreck; opportunistically, the attorney keeps Henry’s check. What does this wretch need money for anyway?

Back in town, Gwen and Rose are at the bank. Who’s this in a conspiratorial talk with Waters? (Smith). A detective? Waters slips him some background dope on Judson. Then we see Henry closing in on Rose; he, trying to fix two things at once, proposes that she go to Europe with him. That is, he gets her, and he gets away from the law.

But she says no dice, undaunted, he asks her to a party. Wally, not too pleased to be upstaged with Rose by his boss, no less, has to drive her home. “Can I help it if I’m crazy about you?” Ok, Wally. She replies, “can I help it if I love you?” She can’t. So the two of them are good.

The landlady pops in to say that Judson’s called. That gets Wally steamed again “go as far as you want with him!” Well, they both go to the party, but Wally’s presence is as “the help.” Waters shows up, unexpectedly. Gwen and Rose are greeted by Henry, but he’s stuck dealing with his “partner.” Waters has a cunning plan…involving… Henry’s car?

Looking like a chump, Wally’s reduced to a butler/server “hey boy!” He hears. Feeling sorry for Wally, Rose helps him out–they kiss. She tells Henry she’s leaving, he grabs her, and Wally intervenes. He slugs Henry, and threatens to kill him. Waters sees all of this.

Back at the girls’ apartment, Rose and Gwen commiserate about the party. Wally tells Gwen that, what the heck, he and Rose are getting married. He’s on a natural high, which gets higher when he’s approached by the sneaky detective. Posing as some sort of lottery official, he tells Wally that he’s won $3k.

Going directly to Kearney, Wally tells him he wants to get his taxi license back, and fills him in on the altercation with Henry “I’ll fix it” the attorney reassures him. Seems like there might be a resolution–there is, he gets a reference, and, realizing that Wally is really in love with her, he even apologizes to the younger guy.

Now their buddies. Wally’s showing off his new-found wealth; Henry’s so cool, he even gives him a ring for Rose. Now it’s Wally’s turn to have a party. (Offscreen, Henry’s had a fatal car crash, he’d been drugged). Arriving at Wally’s digs, Rose is ecstatic, but curious. So, where did he get the dough? Things become clearer when the police come calling.

He tries to explain how he got the money, and the ring. Nice chat with the cops, when they discuss his prior conviction “I was framed!” Ok, but…”this time you’re not gonna be framed, you’re gonna be burned!” Big ouch. Who enters the interrogation at this point–but Waters. So, cherry-picking evidence, he tells about Wally’s death-threat against Henry.

At the trial, Wally’s found guilty, and indeed, sentenced to death. Kearney tried, but this client is toast too. All of a sudden, Wally’s down to his last meal. Back in town, who’s this come to visit the ‘dead’ Henry? The detective (at least I think it’s him, though Henry calls him ‘warden’). Then Henry breaks down; he feels guilty about framing Wally, and wants to turn himself in. Not wanting to go down with him, Smith shoots him.

Rather unrealistically, Henry manages to choke the guy to death. He stumbles over to Rose’s, where Kearney has been comforting her. She calls the prison “The dame says Judson’s not dead, and she’s going to drive up here with him.” But she is. Pulled over by motor cops, they explain themselves convincingly.

Escorted by the cops, they arrive just in time to save Wally. He’s literally being led to the chair when Judson shows up. Wally and Rose are reunited. All’s well, Judson doesn’t look so good, but saving one guy, and making a happy couple was worth it. The end.

This was much better than I expected. Granted, there were some holes: Judson’s ability to wrestle with, and bare-handedily kill Smith, was a bit odd. Also, since Judson obviously didn’t die in the car wreck, whose body did they find there, with his ID?

But everything else worked together cleverly. Marsh’s performance high-lighted some convincing characters; she’s very winning, without being guileless or weak.

I began by labeling this as ‘light-hearted,’ which isn’t as strong a description as saying it’s a comedy. It isn’t. But Gwen’s and Kearney’s roles are continually crackling with madcap or bumbling antics that add some spice to what is essentially a conventional crime mystery.

The whole scene when Kearney visits his first client at Sing Sing is memorable–the nonchalant Kearney–despite the pervasive sound effects, manages to ignore the dying patient.

Neither he or Gwen are so outlandish as to seem out of place. These bits fold in seamlessly; after all, what’s implausible about some absurd juxtapositions in life?

It’s also a plus that the movie is piled high with plot, characters, witty dialogue, and a zippy pace. No time’s wasted; in fact, things go almost too quickly. The fact that my preview mentions the real culprit isn’t really demonstrating any genius on my part, or a weakness in the script. The mystery derives from how Waters gets caught, and what has to happen to stop him. Just about everything, as we see. Very entertaining.

Farmermouse dug the cops’ Knucklehead Harleys, so he gives this eight and a half sirens.

Midnight Manhunt, 1945.

******* 7.0

You would think that the concepts comedy and crime thriller are complete opposites; they should be, which is probably why this sub-genre can work well. The trick is finding the right mix of these elements. Sometimes the characters are too goofy, and not funny; in some of the British old dark house stuff from this era the humor adds to the plot.

Let’s see. George Zucco is a creepy gangster Jelke, who starts things off by plugging Joe Wells (George E. Stone). Weirdly, reporter Sue (Anne Savage) props him up in a wax museum (most of the scenes take place in this museum/hotel/police outpost building) run by Miggs (Charles Halton) and ‘Clutch’ Tracy (Leo Gorcy). Sue’s fellow reporter/love interest Pete (William Gargan) is alerted about the killing by Clutch, but doesn’t know where the body is. Miggs discovers the corpse, but Clutch convinces him not to call the police.

Already I don’t get the reason for secrecy. There’s a dead-or-alive reward for Well’s corpse. Why wouldn’t either Sue or Miggs alert the police and collect the reward? Jelke is the only one who has a motive for hiding or doing away with the corpse. Anyway, Jelke forces Sue to reveal the its whereabouts. But Miggs/Clutch have stashed it elsewhere already. The police (Don Beddoe as Lt. Hurley) shows up at Well’s room, finding Pete there, but nothing else of interest.

Jelke checks out the museum, with the police and Pete right behind him. Pete tells Jelke that he knows where the body is (Hurley doesn’t show until Jelke leaves). Fortunately, at Sue’s, Clutch shows up and tells Pete he’s got the body on a freight car. Sue is taken to jail (as is Miggs) for her involvement, but Jelke bails her and forces her to accompany him to the corpse.

With everyone converging on the freight car, Clutch and Pete manage to dodge them all, and drag the corpse away. Jelke sort of gratuitously lets on that he’s recovered diamonds from the corpse. They go to retrieve the body from a taxi. Jelke attempts to ambush Pete and Sue, but they turn the tables. Cunningly, it was really Clutch huddled in the taxi, pretending to be Wells. That way even if things backfired, Sue came Pete would still have the body…somewhere.

This was better than I thought it would be. Gorcy snags most of the humor–and such misbegotten witticisms he comes up with! Describing Wells reputation, he says “He (Wells) had so many notches in his tommygun it looked like a buzzsaw”: to the officer who maybe doesn’t see so well “I’d advise you to see an optimist”; to Sue and Pete: “did the milk of romance finally…curdle?” Then there’s subtler stuff for the other characters. Miggs constantly complains about how tired he is; the lieutenant gets so wound up when the body keeps disappearing that he finally just screams–since we anticipate this scene it’s all the more effective. There’s plenty of other little touches like this.

On the other hand, Jelke is deadly serious the whole time. All of his scenes have a looming noirish quality that disturb the more nonchalant, idiosyncratic attitude of everyone else. Zucco and Gorcy definitely bring this up a few notches. the only significant problem I have with the plot is the aforementioned reward; it would’v been better if no one knew about that until near the end. If Well’s diamonds are known to others besides Jelke, then they become a decent reason to to take the body. Once the diamonds were found though, the body would still only be of interest to Jelke.

Midnight Manhunt does a lot with a simple, if gimmicky device, mostly with pretty good suspense and surprisingly apt use of humor. Farmermouse was pretty scared of those guys in the wax museum, but he won a few rounds of dice, so he gives this one seven snake eyes. 7/10.

The Case of the Black Parrot, 1941.

******* 7.5
A young woman and her uncle, Sandy (Maris Wrixen) and Paul Vantine (Charles Waldron) go furniture shopping in Paris. So? Well, this particular wooden treasure is one deadly piece of work. What? Sounds like Sherlock Holmes material. On the liner returning to the States, Jim (William Lundigan) befriends Sandy, and is puzzled by the strange cabinet.

Apparently, The Black Parrot is a guy, a criminal forger. On the lighter side, Jim and Sandy seemingly have an entire relationship just by hanging out at the ship’s rail. Colonel Piggot (Ernie Stanton) figures into this cabinet business somehow. But “mum’s the word.” Soon we see the cabinet itself, said to be worth $10k. Jim wants to write a story about it.

The surprise is, it’s not a forgery: it’s a genuine antique–worth $250k. Suddenly, there’s an (false) alarm triggered, like general quarters. In the panic when everyone’s up on deck, someone had access to the cabinet. A shadowy figure is looking in on Jim and Tripod’s (Eddie Fay, Jr.’s) berth, but nothing happens.

Ashore in New York, Jim comes calling on Sandy, and asks about ye olde cabinet. They go into the uncle’s office…to announce their engagement. That’s a quick romance. The Paris art dealer’s son, Armand (Paul Cavanagh), comes to check out the cabinet; the dealer wants to exchange the authentic cabinet for the Black Parrot version.

Uh, oh, there’s a dead guy in the cabinet room. None of them knows who he is. Meanwhile, Tripod talks to Jim. It seems that the dead guy, Daurelle (Louis Natheaux), was murdered; he has two incisions on his hand. Those are the marks of the Parrot’s victims. The inspector Grady (Ioseph Crehan) knows Jim, anyway, at first, the cops think it’s a suicide.

There’d been a woman caller too, but she went away in a huff before the murder occurred. Unsurprisingly, it seems that Daurelle was on the boat with them. “You are still convinced that the Black Parrot is involved in this?” Yes, Jim thinks so. Here’s that mysterious women, Julia (Phyllis Barry). The butler, Rogers (Cyril Thornton), knows her; she wants to see Paul. So she does. This Rogers is the shiftiest dude imaginable.

When the cops talk to Armand, Julia goes skulking about…Hey, look! Paul falls down dead after seeing Julia, two bite marks and all. Tripod calls Jim: there’s some new clues in the offing. Jim, Tripod, and the Lieutenant go to the steamship company to ask about a certain French duchess (Luli Deste).

Tripod has pictures of Julie–the same woman who’s in a picture found on the first victim. Jim asks Rogers about Julia, he stammers and mumbles, and claims illness. Now the duchess herself comes calling–she claims the cabinet is hers, and was sold without her permission.

She’d been on the boat (with millions of others it seems), one of her hankies was in the cabin after the false alarm. Colonel Piggot had been in contact with her, apparently to help her retrieve the cabinet. She says there’s some incriminating letters in a secret drawer. Amazingly, she’s right, and retrieves the letters.

Julia was the duchess’s maid; because she’s been in the wrong place at the wrong time, the cops focus on her. Jim asks her about Daurelle. Her explanation is that she was trying to retrieve the letters for the duchess to prevent Daurelle from blackmailing her boss. The servant Rogers admits that Julia is his wife. Why does Jim act like he’s a detective?

Tripod finds a cufflink (with a fleur-de-lis engraving, obviously belonging to a Frenchman). At night, a mysterious figure lurks about the house; Jim waits behind a sofa–in the cabinet room. Everyone’s surprised, and relieved, to see that it’s Piggot. How do they all know him?

He wants to talk to Sandy; The Black Parrot is the culprit, he says. “What could be his motive in coming here?” She says, puzzled. Well, he thinks that there’s a diamond in yet another secret drawer in the cabinet; some sort of poison device has killed those whom were getting too warm looking for it.

Shazam! Piggot finds the compartment. Sure enough, a sort of prong that emits poison springs out when the compartment’s opened. He uses an armored glove to safely open it, and removes the vial of poison. Of course, the diamond was ensconced there too. So how did this Sherlock Holmes know all this? Because Piggot IS the Black Parrot!

The cufflink is his, you see (Tripod had some beginner’s luck finding that tidbit). He threatens Sandy with the poison; Jim pops back in, unawares. The offer of a cigarette between the couple is an established sign. Alerted, Jim corrals the Parrot. It’s Armand in disguise–actually someone pretending to be Armand. The end: Tripod has “a date with a straight jacket.”

Not at all bad. In fact, the only real issue is Piggot. We don’t meet him until the very end, yet he’s on everyone’s thoughts for the entire movie. So when he finally shows up (still in disguise physically) he not only explains everything, but is the bad guy into the bargain.

It’s just too contrived; he would’ve been much better used as a red herring, particularly since he’s been too obviously dangled in front of us. Almost everything else works fine, though. The premise is interesting, in that it’s an object creating mayhem, not a person. It’s actually plausible that this sort of device could’ve been booby-trapped as portrayed.

I’m still not very clear on the point of the authentic v. forged versions of the cabinet; the fact that the authentic one is worth a fortune (astronomical in today’s money) seems to be overshadowed by the presence of the diamond. Who cares about a diamond when even the forged cabinet could make one fairly wealthy?

Still, with The Parrot’s role excepted, this is entertaining stuff.

The Lady In Scarlett, 1935

****** 6.0

Fast-paced murder mystery with plenty of snappy dialogue. Patricia Farr, as Reginald Denny’s assistant Ella, really steals the show with wall-to-wall sarcasm.

A bunch of suspects, each with a tangible motive, surround Albert Sayre’s (John Murray’s) murder: his wife, daughter, son-in-law, and assorted business associates. The plot teasingly points to one, then another of them as the murderer. In a rather formal expose, Keith (Denny) leads, through cunning deduction, to the actual culprit. This drawn-out Sherlock Holmes bit has its own convoluted drama.

Some of the characters are slightly nutty, but that works out well because Keith and Ella are by far the most eccentric. Though intricate, the plot makes sense. What doesn’t work so well are some of the characters’ relationships.

The Inspector treats Keith as a colleague, if not his superior. I could buy some easy familiarity between the police and a well-regarded private eye, but Keith’s role is so inflated that the Inspector really has nothing to do.

Others here have dwelt on the disgusting way that Keith treats Ella. The fact that his more than verbally abusive behavior wouldn’t raise as much of a concern eighty years ago is beside the point. It’s so relentless (he calls her “stupid” about a dozen times) that it undercuts the clever camaraderie that’s obviously the focus between these main characters.

Why would she want to work for such a jerk? With some milder put-downs the relationship would lose nothing, and seem more believable. Likewise, it would be better if the Inspector took charge, or at least asserted himself more with Keith.

As it is, The Lady In Scarlet gives us an entertaining mystery with a ton of one-liners.

London By Night, 1937

********+ 8.5

In Which Jones Sniffs Out The Malefactor

A London journalist has to postpone his vacation to follow up on a serial killer (the Umbrella Man) at large in the city. Sure enough, some stock footage of Big Ben and London Bridge, then Micheal talking to his dog in his hotel room. His editor has just called, saying he has to stick around for a big story.

On the street he meets Bill. Michael goes into the neighborhood pub. The barmaid, Bessie tells him about ’The Hatchet Man’. Bill, meeting her outside, talks about their boss, Tim. Meanwhile, The Umbrella Man emerges from the bushes and goes into Casey’s shop. Has that ne’er do well killed Casey? Looks like a false alarm. But look: "Casey, pay or be seen no more" reads an ominous note. Out on the waterfront, a policeman is shot. That turns out to be where the murderer dumped Casey’s body.

Inspector Jefferson shows up at Casey’s, and is shown the note. A man with a German accent comes in. Michael spots the Umbrella Man lurking about. He follows him, and tackles him. Actually, the guy was the Herrick’s butler, Squires. Mike chats up Patricia, Sir Arthur’s daughter. She knows him from his journalism. The police are busy puttering around at Casey’s. Mike takes his leave, still thinking he’s going to be off to Paris in the morning.

At the pub, Bessie is going on about the Umbrella Man. A furtive pips-smoking guy sits at the edge of the bar; Jones, the dog, starts growling at him, and the stranger leave. just then, another message comes crashing through a window: it’s directed at Mike--a warning to stay off the case. In the morning, Mike looks in on the Inspector: no clue about where the note came from, or the whereabouts of Casey’s body. Patricia meets up with Mike. He talks her into going to the pub.

The strange guy from the night before is there, but is again scared away by Jones. The Germanic guy, Von Krantz, comes back to rent a room. He’s in a hurry; all they know about him is that he was a friend of Casey’s (the victim himself is virtually unknown). The next clue is a chalk mark on a shilling found on the pubs garbage can. The tell-tale sign of Umbrella Man, who must therefore be the mysterious stranger, known only as Rabbit Man. That guy had said he’d lost just that amount of money there.

Umbrella Man is prowling around near Casey’s; as Mike peeps through hole in the wall, someone enters the shop: big deal, it’s Patricia. While they’re bickering, a gunshot rings out from the peephole. Mike accosts another umbrella suspect: it’s Squires again. But could he be THE Umbrella Man? The German guy is talking to someone in the rooms above the pub. When Bessie goes to investigate, she’s shot. Then we see umbrella man stomp out, his back to the camera, as usual. So, the plot thickens. Bill finds Bessie’s body. The Inspector thinks the Rabbit Man is the Umbrella Man.

Mike isn’t so sure. Apparently, von Krantz is missing. "I think this is all part of an insane plan" notes Mike. Jones hides in his doghouse. A creepy montage of creeps plays for a few seconds. Sir Arthur seems only worried about how his reputation is impugned by implicating Squires. Sir Arthur gets a call from a blackmailer: £10,000 or Patricia is in danger. The immediate result is that Sid Arthur accepts Mike as a sincere good guy. Cunningly, the drop place is a non-existent address. Meaning that the murderer intends to waylay the pay off person who’s will be stuck on a wild goose chase.

The cops, Mike, and others, take other a mailbox where Sir Arthur drops a decoy package (supposedly the blackmail money). Nothing happens. Aha! Umbrella Man pokes out of the bushes; the cops see the umbrella, and close in. Bit it’s just that, an umbrella. They hear a groan: it’s the postman, who was conked by the Umbrella Man. The decoy package was taken. The Inspector thinks the whistling is the Umbella Man’s, but it’s Mike.

He’s figured out that Casey wasn’t murdered, and von Krantz isn’t missing, because they are all one in the same (including the Rabbit Man). All of a sudden, Mike concludes that Correy, Sir Arthur’s secretary, is the Umbrella Man. He has "dreams of money and power" as he removes a disguise, anxdgrabs Patricia. He gives the good guys the slip,escaping with her as hostage. It’s actually Jones that is the crackerjack detective: he growled at all the of Correy and all his manifestations.

Bill’s shot attempting to stop them. Mike, lying on the ground as though he’s the dead Bill, surprises Correy. After wrestling a bit, Umbrella Man is shot. The end. This is great stuff--much better than I anticipated. The concept of the suspects turning out to be the same person (with Squires as red herring) is very clever. Also, the dog literally coming up with the crucial clue works nicely. Also, the light-hearted touch provided by Mike’s character blends in seamlessly.

Sure, this is typical ’30s mystery/comedy; but it’s done right. The only problem I have with the plot (and the movie generally) is that Correy is virtually invisible until everything’s know. Squires is of course too obvious a suspect, but Correy is really too obscure. What adds up is the notion that the murderer must be connected with the Herrick’s in some way. That’s why we have the otherwise coincidental scene of Mike pursuing the Umbrella Man to Sir Arthur’s early on.

There’s also the strange fact, that, although several people die, some technically never existed (as separate individuals, that is), though they might come back. The nature of identity is up for grabs here. I;m not claiming that th film makers were making an existentialist point on the nature of reality; still, it’s interesting to ponder, apart from the overt need of the Umbrella’s character to cover his tracks with deceptions.

Although perhaps only the opening panorama of the London skyline is authentic, the sets are nonetheless believable, even if they’re all studio material. The overall effect of the foggy environment not only helps a to the atmosphere, it also obscures details that could otherwise give away the pedestrian locale. A very entertaining, fast-paced mystery. Highly recommended.

Blind Adventure, 1933.

******** 8.0

London fog? Yes. Good cast? Check. Might make a nice mystery? We’ll see.

An American in London, Richard (Robert Armstrong) stumbles upon a murder scene; with the help of Rose (Helen Mack) and The Burglar (Roland Young), they investigate, and uncover a blackmail ring. Loaded with funny stuff and nutty characters; by the same director who did King Kong.

In fact, it’s so foggy that we can’t even see out a hotel window. Richard goes to dinner, the others look on him with with heaps of disdain. Walking around carefully (fog, remember?), Richard goes back enters a home, only to find a dead guy in a chair. He goes to get help, but there’s no body; just an ordinary domestic scene.

The owner more or less sizes him up, then Rose (Helen Mack) comes in. So, they gives him a drink and discuss the alleged crime. Rose starts chatting up Richard. He overheard the Major (Henry Stevenson) talk about a body. Then, the ’corpse’, Jim (Ralph Bellamy), who’s indeed injured, pops in. He tells them that he Major isn’t her real uncle--plausible, since she never met him before--and that guy’s actually involved in a criminal gang.

Anyway, Jim gives them an address to look up; so, Richard and Rose are on their way, collecting a Burglar (Roland Young) on the way. They’re really in search of Regan (John Milgan). Meanwhile, back at the Major’s, Jim, who’s an American agent, attempts to blackmail the old man. Apparently, he has dirt on the Major.

Back with the amateur sleuths, they enter a swanky party. It’s Lady Rockingham’s (Laura Hope Crews) place. Cool fish-out-of-water bit as Richard has to pretend to be a servant. And again, in his next conversation, he has to put on. The burglar is waiting on the roof, as Rose retrieves him for an undercover assignment. It’s easy to forget that there’s a purpose behind all of this...really? Finally, all three of them leave. Then there’s the usual problem--no one can find their way.

That whole party scene was a distraction; they still need to find Regan. They almost lose Jim’s cigarette case with the secret message. At Regan’s, they ask him what’s going on, and tell him about what happened to Jim. Turns out that Regan and his guys are crooks too. Now Regan has the letters; he’s a "double-crossing, dirty, blackmailer" that’s because they take Rose away, and tie up Richard. Luckily, the burglar’s just outside.

He frees Richard, but now Rose is tossed in a sack. Conveniently, the unsuspecting Regan goes to look in on Richard, and gets ambushed. The two good guys escape. The crooks make off with the sack, but it’s not Rose. She and Richard skulk about while Regan discovers that it’s the The Burglar in the sack. Now, Richard confronts Jim, who’s just showed up. Then Richard insinuates that Regan’s double-crossing him.

Everyone shows up at Regan’s place. After matching wits with the crooks, Richard gets the only gun. He’s the big man now. Except that we get the old ambush-in-the-dark thing. That alerts two cops. While they attempt to sort things out, the good guys escape to the roof. after the fight scene denouement, all’s well. And so, Richard proposes to Rose. The end.

This is about as face-paced as they come; truly a B-picture, but nicely-done. The tone is very light; nonetheless, there’s actual danger lurking not far away at almost every moment. That gives the snappy dialogue and goofy characters something to play against. so. to the extent that we slide toward the edge of our seats, it’s both because of the mystery as well as the comedy.

This all works because of the good performances from top to bottom. In fact, there’s so much going on, and so quickly, that the ultimate amusement might be that we really don’t know what the criminals are up to, and what everyone’s risking their necks for .

There’s sketchy references to ’government secrets’, but the emphasis lies in unfolding the drama, not explaining it. It’s almost too absurd that the long party scene is completely irrelevant. It does set up the improvisational skills of all three heroes, has some great situations and lines, and helps Rose and Richard get together. But what’s the point? After all, they only ’dropped in’ accidentally.

On the other hand, this might be the best scene in the movie; we might as well say what’s the point of all the business at Regan’s. That stuff is more or less conventional the serial escape from peril and turn the tables on the bad guys action.

A fine way to spend an hour, in what is nearly a sub-genre, the London After Dark mystery.

Circus of Fear, 1966.

******* 7.0

We got Christopher Lee, but, title notwithstanding, not in the halls of horror, instead in a crime mystery. Plus he wears a hood most of the time. A heist movie initially; but with a chaser of a circus setting featuring a serial killer. If that sounds confusing, there is some continuity, in that the criminal mastermind, Barbarini (Anthony Newlands), is the circus proprietor.

The main entertainment in the circus seems to focus more on Gina (Margaret Lee) than on the animals or acts. Anyway, the Inspector (Leo Genn), by posing as a photographer, gets an the inside view of the deal. Then there’s Manfred (Klaus Kinski), fresh from the heist job, showing up, seeking work--actually to stay close to the money.

When Gina is nearly killed by a lion, the inspector gets down to business. Mario has been vying with Carl for Gina’s affections. Meanwhile, a murder at the circus; while the cops are distracted checking that out, Gina’s stabbed nearby. If that’s not enough, there’s a macabre practice beheading with a blood-spewing guillotine. Now Carl is hitting on Natasha, Gregor’s niece. Carl tells a story: Gregor’s brother, Natasha’s father, murdered his father; now the murderer’s escaped.

We got Christopher Lee, but, title notwithstanding, in a crime mystery. Plus he wears a hood most of the time. A heist movie initially; but with a chaser of a circus setting featuring a serial killer. If that sounds confusing, there is some continuity, in that a mastermind, Barbarini (Anthony Newlands), is the circus proprietor. The main entertainment in the circus seems to focus more on Gina (Margaret Lee) than on the animals or acts.

Anyway, the Inspector (Leo Genn), by posing as a photographer, gets an the inside view of the deal. Then there’s Manfred (Klaus Kinski), fresh from the heist job, showing up, seeking work--actually to stay close to the money. When Gina is nearly killed by a lion, the inspector gets down to business. Mario has been vying with Carl for Gina’s affections.

Meanwhile, a murder at the circus; while the cops are distracted checking that out, Gina’s stabbed nearby. If that’s not enough, there’s a macabre practice beheading with a blood-spewing guillotine. Now Carl is hitting on Natasha, Gregor’s niece. Carl tells a story: Gregor’s brother, Natasha’s father, murdered his father; indeed, the murderer’s escaped.

Now the inspector chats up Carl "why should a criminal take refuge in a circus?" Answer: a perfect way for an outsider to blend in. That is, an escaped prisoner, the aforementioned Otto, Gregor’s brother. in any case, the murder weapon appears to be a knife used by an old time circus hand. Skulking about, we see Gregor checking out the heist loot. Then we see that the unmasked Gregor isn’t disfigured at all. he’s huddling with Natasha.

Just then the slimy Manfred is poking around in a store room. He must be looking for the money as well. Shazam! We see a masked hand, a frightened Manfred, and the tell-tale throwing knife stuck in him. After the murder, the assailant, Gregor, sets the place on fire. He escapes with Natasha in a car. Carl goez to the police to offer his services; meanwhile, the getaway car is found. So we see the fugitives hiding in a cave. Dumb Carl stumbles upon them.

The two guys have a lot to talk about. Gregor confesses that he killed Carl’s father, but in a fight over the older man’s cruel treatment of the animals. Splitting with the loot, Gregor loses his footing, and clings to a cliff edge. Carl crushes his hands, causing Gregor to fall to his death. strangely, the police don’t think that the case is solved.

Well, that brings about a wee bit of a test: sweating under Carl’s knife-throwing exhibition, Eddie (Eddi Arentt) confesses. Remember the bit about his famous father? Eddie has been murdering to avenge his fathers death. That’s a twist on the Carl/ Gregor dispute; Gregor is only involved in stealing stolen money (from the heist). Very cool ending. In fact, the ending saves this from being a decent distraction to something worth watching.

Although the segue from the London heist to the circus works okay, there’s nonetheless a slowness settling in with the drama at the circus until the at last ten minutes or so. I’d ditch the entire opening sequence--as well done as it is--and start and end with the circus; maybe have the money show up furtively, as the some of the characters do. As it is, we get the makings of two movies, one too brief, and the other overburdened with a romantic triangle bit (first over Gina, then Natasha).

The atmosphere and tone are is consistently gritty; almost too much so. It’s hard to see what the filmmaker intended with the film quality (or is it unintentional?). It looks so much like a 1920s or1930’s film that was unsuccessfully colorized. sometimes that stuff adds to the mood, mostly it’s a distraction.

There’s no question that the Inspector is correct when he tells Carl that a circus is pretty much a haven for criminals and oddballs (fictionally speaking, anyway). The macabre giant masks that pop up now and, the outlandish persona of the some of the characters--Gregor stands out in this regard, the acts themselves, not to mention that all the performers are actors, gives a sort of otherworldliness to the circus milieu. It’s transient, showy, exotic, works on exaggeration and deception, etc.

So, there’s a lot to work with here, maybe too much. Keep with it--the ending pays off.

Next Chapter: Mystery: Dark, Stormy, and (Perhaps)Haunted