Similar to a Horror movie, except that the chilling and thrilling has psychological, not supernatural causes. The protagonist may suffer from delusions or psychotic episodes, or even be manipulated by their antagonist (’gaslighting’) to think that they are mentally imbalanced.

If intentional, the disturbed person has something--money usually--that their tormentor wants; if the protagonist is truly menacing, they might seek out the one that they believe wronged them in the past--again for a financial or reason of family honor.

There might well be a romance, more particularly, a romantic triangle to sort through; the drama could play out in the Old Dark House atmosphere familiar to both Mystery and Horror. The criminal part usually entails blackmail, murder, or some deadly combination of both.

My Blood Runs Cold, 1965.

********* 9.0

Mystery/Horror/Thriller starring Troy Donahue, Joey Heatherton, and Barry Sullivan. With Donahue and Heatherton we’d expect a cool trendy romance with this swingin’ early ’60s couple.

Joey is Julie, Sullivan is her business tycoon dad, Julian, and then we have Aunt Sarah (Jeanette Nolan). Harry (Nicolaus Coster) is Joey’s attorney boyfriend. Sounds like routine stuff, but it gets weird when Donahue crashes in, literally, as Ben Gunther. When Julie and Harry run into Ben’s motorcycle, a chain of events gets in gear and gets stretched way out.

We learn from Ben that he and Julie have common ancestors, so they’re related; ok, but the interesting bit is that both are reincarnations of those ancestors. Although Julian has a comeuppance in store for him, Ben is the real oddball here. Well, is Ben out to lunch, or what? We’ll see.

We start about a hundred years ago, with a gauzy, haunting scene with Barbara (Julie), hearing her name called. Quick fast forward to the present, Julie speeding along in her ’65 T-Bird with Harry. Ben has to dump his bike into some tree limbs to avoid her. He immediately calls her Barbara.

Next thing we’re at the marina, named for Julie’s mom. Her and Harry show up there to meet her dad and aunt Sarah, Ben’s been released from the hospital; when Sarah hears what his name is, she gives Ben a knowing look. Later, Julian and Sarah discuss Julie’s ’prospects’ that is, her future. Sarah goes on to quiz Ben on his background. Yep, he’s originally a local.

Sarah seems to call all the shots in this family; Ben’s focused on Julie, "Miss Merriday, may I see you again." Enigmatically, he confides in Harry, that, not only does he love Julie, he’s loved her for "a lot longer" than the older guy. At home, the two women talk about Ben. Sarah tells her niece that indeed, there was a Barbara Merriday. Her dad’s contribution is to set up Ben as Harry’s rival.

Julie is dancing (Joey’s forte). Boom, there’s Ben, looking cool; did he let himself in? "I want to know you" yeah, he does. He mentions the dock, which no longer exists. He does trip her out with this ’Barbara’ talk. She should be more creeped. He mentions the ’real’ Barbara, her great-great-grandmother. He turns more casual, and decent, but gives her a locket that he claims she gave to him "a hundred years ago."

She divines that this reincarnation stuff isn’t a line, that he really believes that she’s her 19th century ancestor. It’s refreshing that all the plot points are very clear to this point; we know exactly what everyone’s thinking. So, Ben’s point is that his ancestor loved her ancestor, and, since, she and he are reincarnations--they must love each other too. A line at the same time that it isn’t; that’s cunning.

She stayed so long with Ben at the Spindrift that when she gets home, both her dad and Harry grill her. But Sarah helpfully points out that Barbara was indeed Julian’s great-grandmother. Sarah says Barbara died in childbirth; and that she hadn’t been married. "We’re all descended from a bastard." That would be Ben’s ancestor, that is, the current Ben, as he would have it.

"He scares me, Aunt Sarah" Ben, she means. But she admits that Harry is merely "nice." She tells Sarah about the reincarnation deal, and shows her the locket. Time for an intervention: Julian goes to tell him "to stay away from Julie." No ’legal’ threat, as though that makes it ok. Ben tells him to "bring on the big guns" because he’s in love with her.

Julie drives up, to see Ben, natch. He take her out on his boat. Looking fairly cozy...but, he launches into a sort of new-age explanation for the ancestor thing. He was "lost... unfulfilled" Until he saw her, at Spindrift (as in the first hazy scene), and they made love in a nearby cave, then she gave him the locket. Nevermind the details, after all, it was a hundred years ago.

The cave is now underwater, but that’s where he found the locket--I guess he means in 1965, not 1865. So they go to scope out the mysterious cave. "Afraid? Of me, or the truth?" She’s not sure, but they do emerge into the cave--which is above ground. He shows her a basket in which he claims the locket was hidden c.1865. It’s pretty spooky there, and then, back ashore amongst the rocks, we see a corpse nestled in a bunch of seaweed.

At the Spindrift (what happened to the boat, anyway?) Ben finds a statue that seems to ring a bell. Then he just collapses; grabbing the statue, he shows it to her--she’s supposed to remember it.

Harry objects to Julian’s plan to financially ruin Ben, that "penny-ante Casanova." He goes on to say that he doesn’t want to marry Julie, anyway, as he figures, probably correctly, that Julian will continue to run his daughter’s life. From backstage, so to speak. Meanwhile, Sarah recognizes the statue. It’s the genuine artifact from the ancestors. Julie admits that Ben’s "fascinating."

Julie’s out swimming and viola! She stumbles on the caretaker’s corpse. He’s the wayward caretaker. The sheriff comes to talk to the family; "are you suggesting that he was murdered?" Ben’s name comes up. Julian takes the opportunity to finger Ben, the "gypsy." Again, Harry sticks up for Ben. At the sheriff’s office, Julie gives Ben a pep talk. He does sort of look guilty.

I don’t see why she’s there when the cops talk to him. Now it’s officially a homicide case, the guy was garroted. Ouch. Anyway, Ben’s dumb enough to admit that he’s been hanging around Spindrift for some time. Harry is his attorney, but the lawyer still has a thing for Julie; his motive is to thwart Julian, and not so much to help Ben. Back on his boat, Ben starts thrashing around, another fit like the one he had at Spindrift.

Somewhat naively, he comes calling at Julie’s; dad tosses him out. But Julie just then comes roaring up. They split together in her car. "Can’t we just be together without making it a part of yesterday?" She pleads, wisely. When he replies that "they" won’t let them be, who does he mean, exactly? She wants them to go away together; he’s in.

She says she wants to talk to Harry before they go. She just calls him "I can’t turn back now." Harry, again helpful, agrees to tell Julian and Sarah. In a backhanded way, he lets her know that he’s ok with Ben too. Looks good, until they get to the marina--a storm’s brewing. The other tempest in a teapot is sure to be Julian’s reaction to the elopement.

Harry, not finding Julian at home, tells Sarah the news of the elopement. She’s going nuts; she figures that Julian’s obstinacy has flung Julie into Ben’s arms. True. Here’s Julian. They know that the couple has left on Ben’s boat. And quiet a storm it is. The Coast Guard is looking for them: once again, Harry, such a gentleman, says he thinks Ben is an okay guy, and trusts his boating skills. Sarah drops the last veil away from the romantic ancestry tale: the ’real’ Ben was nuts.

The sheriff has some new intel on Ben--probably concerning his mental state. The predictable Julian v. Sarah fight: it’s Sarah’s fault for imbuing Julie with a taste for "truth and beauty," as opposed to subservience, I suppose. Out at sea, all is calm now, Julie is just sleeping. Finally they’re making out. It’s time for some conventional romance.

"If the wind freshens, we’ll be in Ensenada tomorrow" for the marriage, he means. But, once on deck, he has another fit. In the galley, she finds a bunch of papers; the diary of the historic Ben, from 1874. It’s becoming clear, and even clearer in the next scene, that he is a fraud. The sheriff has all the dope. ’Ben’ assumed that identity when he escaped from an institution. The boat was stolen, the owner murdered.

Back on this boat, Julie confronts him; she knows that he’s faking the whole ancestry thing. He doesn’t come clean, however. Once he found the cave with the heirlooms, he "knew" who he was, etc. More of the same from the previous similar scene. A Coast Guard copter hovers overhead; she gets on the radio, and calls for help. He stops her; affecting a protective role.

They get ashore in a dinghy. The cops are right on their tail; this stuff takes too long, we know that Ben’s not getting away. Anyway, they get cornered in a sand factory (is that where the Sandman is from?). Harry tries to get him to give up. "He’s killed two men." He does let Julie go.

As noted by Dave Sindelar in his blog, Fantastic Movie Musings and Ramblings, Ben ends up very much like Plato (Sal Mineo in Rebel Without a Cause). The cops hunt him down, but then try and get him to give up. He at least lets Julie go.

And, Harry, very much like James Dean’s character in Rebel (though almost gets garroted for his efforts) becomes a big brother or mentor. Thanks to Julie’s pleas, Ben lets Harry go. In a fugue state once again, Ben blacks out, and plunges off a water tower. Ben proves that he’s more disturbed than Plato.

Another motif we see in My Blood Runs Cold is ’gaslighting.’ Ben conjures up a convincing role to fit into the ancestry myth in order to trap Julie/Barbara. The problem with this device here is that there’s no way he could’ve deliberately flung himself into her path in the first place. Clearly, the accident was just that.

I suppose he just could’ve appeared at her place to chat her up: ’I’m Ben, you know, would you take me back? It was just yesterday, err, a hundred years ago and we were at the prom, and...’ That doesn’t seem like it would work. The ’meet cute’ thing had to happen for Ben to worm his way in.

There’s a bit too much Joey walking on the rocks, the ending could’ve been tighter as well, and Ben’s magical entry was a bit of a plot contrivance. Another issue was Heatherton herself. She really didn’t show much range at all. Other than being attractive, it’s hard to see why either guy would go for her.

Balancing that performance are Nolan’s and Donahue’s. She had a bunch of great lines, and pretty much dominated all of her scenes. Donahue was the big surprise for me: that surfer boy look also plays as authentically passive and naive. Ben genuinely seems like he’s beguiled by a spell, and by Julie, for the entire time. He also gives off the sort of sick-puppy look that would attract Julie, as well as earn Harry’s sympathy.

All in all, a pretty decent, entertaining mystery. With a different actress for Julie, say Stephanie Powers, this might’ve really enchanting. Well worth watching anyway.

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 foppish.

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.

Psyche ’59, 1964

******* 7.0

Psychological thriller with a love triangle (actually a quadrangle). Starring Kurt Jurgens, Patricia Neal, and Samantha Eggar, as husband Eric, wife Allison, and her sister Robin, plus mother Mrs. Crawford (Beatrix Lehmann). Making things more interesting is Paul (Ian Bannen), who has an interest in both sisters. The first part of the movie is set in London, then we move to a seaside cottage for the rest.

Allison has been blind since a traumatic event five years before (in 1959), which she doesn’t recall. While she struggles to recover her memory, her eyesight eventually improves. Meanwhile Robin indulges brother-in-law’s sexual appetite. Unsurprisingly, Allison’s disability has psycho-sexual origin.

We start off with Paul tooling around town with Allison in his Jaguar, and then back to the Crawford’s, where Allison’s two young daughters are waiting. Eric comments on Paul’s closeness to Allison. She tells Eric “would you like us to be lovers?” They discuss Robin, who just left her husband. “Waiting for her?” asks Eric of Paul’s interest in Robin. No. “Once bitten, twice shy.”

Eric and Allison get smooching pretty nicely. Then we meet Robin, looking fetching and flirty, obviously making herself at home. “I’ll have my old room back, if you don’t mind.” Eric isn’t so keen on the whole visit, and refers to some mysterious “it” that he doesn’t want to happen again. Although she insists that she loves her sister, Eric thinks “hate” is more appropriate–no room for nuance there.

Next morning, we discover that Paul has spent the night, at Robin’s behest. Robin to Allison: “Eric insists that I’m a bad influence on you.” They discuss Paul. At a clothing store, the difference in their personalities is apparent in a small aside, to a clerk. Allison says to the person “You’re very kind.” Then Robin dismisses the compliment by saying “You’re getting paid, aren’t you?”. Oh, I see.

After admiring herself at great length in a dressing room, Robin gets a slinky dress, on Allison’s dime. At lunch, they talk about Allison’s blindness. Very poignantly, she tells Robin, “One of my children I’ve never seen.” She does know that the condition is psychosomatic. After holding one of her napping children, Eric tells her that her mom is having issues with her place; he suggests that she go down there with the kids.

Just then, Robin pops in wearing her new dress, letting Eric ‘do it up.’ Allison asks Robin if she wants to go the country with them. Well, no, she’d rather hang around with Paul. She starts to flirt openly with Eric; when he tries to get her to bag off, she grazes his hand with scissors.

A bit later, Allison tries to get Robin to talk about the accident. Nothing new about that, but Robin agrees to go to the mom’s after all. The next thing, they’re on their way. Of course, the “cottage” looks more like a mansion, albeit a dilapidated one.

Alone in her old room, Allison’s got the nostalgia going. She wants to talk to Mom about Eric; she has an odd hallucinatory sort of parallel conversation with a menacing, accusatory version of mom. Some intense sibling rivalry stuff. Meanwhile, back in London, guess who Eric and Paul discuss? “These Crawford girls have something, as you know” remarks Paul, conspiratorially, but almost as an accusation.

Eric adds “Don’t talk about women as if they were wine.” Strangely, they agree to go down to “Granny’s.” No surprise that Robin is making sport with two local guys. Nasty conversation in the car with Eric suggesting that Paul beat Robin to straighten her out. Eric confesses he looks on Robin as more of a daughter instead of a sister-in-law (her role is similar to a Lolita). “What really happened?” between them, asks Paul.

Then the two women discuss Eric. Allison almost seems to gloat by teasing her sister that she took Eric away from her. Allison is obviously jealous of Robin. For good reason, as Robin reveals “you never knew how your ravishing sister was ravished–on your wedding night.” Wow, take that, sister.

Back at the cottage, the sisters come back riding two-up on horseback. Robin goes sneaking off in the woods with the kids; actually they’ve been stealing currants. It’s hard to know what this portends, as Robin gets in the old guy’s face. Paul was gonna reimburse him, but she gets snippy nonetheless.

Allison excuses her automatically, insisting that Robin needs them. Back outdoors, Robin and Paul roll around; they discuss love, or, from her point of view, his lack of it. She admits that she “worshiped” Eric. That night, Paul comes out to chat with Allison. He’s afraid the situation with Robin is “hopeless.”

Granny has a great line: when Allison lets on that the guys have gone skin-diving, Robin objects that men shouldn’t do those sorts of things together; Granny says “unless it’s with you.” She doesn’t take the hint, again implying that the guys are gay. As Allison figures, Robin, by impugning both Eric and Paul, is bent on humiliating her sister.

The crux of Robin’s argument is that by faking blindness, her sister got Eric by sympathy, not from love. Hmm. Robin stomps out, the guy’s are back. Eric, realizing she’s miserable, he says they should go away together for their anniversary.

On horseback again, Robin seems to lose it–what’s she up to? Well, knocking down Allison before being thrown from the horse. Robin seems to be ok. For Allison, now it comes back: she’d caught Robin in bed with Eric. But Robin has already told her so–does she have to draw a picture? (Not such a bad joke, as we next learn) Robin comes to, and demands that Eric leave Allison and the kids for her.

Viola! Now Allison can see. She tries to tell Eric, but he either knows, or is just preoccupied. I would think the first thing she’d do is go take a nice look at the younger daughter she says never seen. The kids go off to see their cousins (?). Allison’s very uneasy. Robin then hope on Paul’s knee and announces that they’re going to be married.

Then she sort of snuggles up to an obviously sad Eric. Allison is basically left in no-man’s-land, as are the other two: Eric, because he won’t get Robin, and, ironically, Paul, because he will. At least Allison, perennially miserable, can now see. There’s tons of ways this could’ve ended, most alternatives featuring at least one death. Maybe it’s good that the end is rather quiet, as it suits the suffering that’s been simmering throughout.

This was very promising, but not so satisfying. It was drawn-out like salt water taffy; for a talky movie with a simple plot, that’s almost an unpardonable sin. Eggar is perfect for this vixen role (but not exactly as a teenager). The acidic remarks between the sisters are great. It can’t be said that either guy gets along very well with either of the women. In fact, the only good relationship here is between Eric and Paul.

I’m confused about the chronology: at one point Eric says that Robin’s 17; but that’s impossible, since she was had supposedly been gone for three years, and been married–what, at 14? Maybe she was 17 before she left. What doesn’t help is that Eggar looks to be in her mid-twenties already.

I also don’t get why catching Robin in bed with Eric would be the triggering event for Allison’s blindness; Robin has already told Allison that she also did it with him on their wedding night.

I’d think that would be much deeper of a stab in the back than the incident shown via flashback, when she was pregnant with her youngest daughter (that is, in ’59). It goes without saying that neither moment, or any moment, would be ‘acceptable’.

Psyche 59 looks great, establishes a moody, tense atmosphere right away, and wraps it up with plenty of snippy, nasty, and witty dialogue. Even with all that going for it, the movie sabotages itself with some plot holes and time-consuming readjusting of each person’s angst. I suppose that’s the downside of exploring psychological themes so rigorously.

A Cry In The Night, 1955.

******** 8.0

Surprisingly good psychological crime drama. On the surface a relatively simple story of a teenager’s (Natalie Wood’s Liz) kidnapping by a deranged man (Raymond Burr), A Cry In The Night becomes a complex story of two dysfunctional families.

Burr, as the arrested-development Harold, and Edmund O’Brien as Wood’s father, give strong performances as disparate, but equally intense characters. O’Brien’s role as Capt. Taggart as a bullying hothead is frightening. He acts as though Liz’s boyfriend Owen (Robert Anderson) is as much to blame for her abduction as is the actual perpetrator. In a sense, it doesn’t matter who Owen is or what he’s like, Taggart wouldn’t trust any guy with Liz.

His suspicious nature is reinforced by his sister’s admission that he ran off her last boyfriend.Harold’s mom (Carol Veazie) is also a suffocating presence. Harold has never been allowed to grow up. At least Liz manages to rebel enough to develop a romantic relationship. It’s interesting that, although she’s the one abducted, Liz keeps her cool while Harold never relaxes, alternating between panic and menace. She fights back by pleading, confronting, giving advice, showing sympathy, trying to wriggle away… showing much more capability than a stereotypical ’50s girl-in-distress.

As many others have noted, Harold’s ‘lair’ is suitably creepy. There’s an incongruous assortment of girlie pictures with what looks like paperdolls, not to mention a dead dog. One thing that seemed too coincidental was the fact that police found the brickyard without any clues. Maybe Harold worked there, or his mom knew about it.

The chase scene at the end is loaded with noir traits. Abandoned industrial buildings make a nighttime maze of shadows, walls, ladders, stairs, and lofts for Harold’s eventual capture.

A Cry In The Night features two great actors at their best, and a multi-layered story told with sharp pacing and good dialogue. Burr’s ability to show shifting moods with his eyes and facial gestures is haunting. This movie is worth watching for Burr’s performance alone.

Maniac, 1963.
******+ 6.5

Weird premise for this chiller/thriller. Not so much because a drifter (Kerwin Matthews as Jeff) wants to help an attractive lady (Nadia Gray as Eve) spring her husband Georges from prison. But because of the interesting method to Georges’ madness.

Georges’ daughter (Eve’s stepdaughter Annette, Liliane Brousse) was a victim of a sexual assault; dad killed the perpetrator–with a blowtorch. After figuring out which woman is more available, the plot gets twisty for Jeff as well.

Rounding out the cast are the mysterious prison guard Henri (Donald Huston), Police Inspector Etienne (George Pastel), and Jeff’s cast-off girlfriend Grace (Justine Lord).

We’re introduced to the Camargue region in France, where weirdo-in-the-bushes rapist gives Annette a ride in his truck–to the nearest hideout. A friend gets her dad to drive out to the scene–the creep kidnapper’s brought back to the dad’s lair–and torched.

Scene shift to a river in the Camargue, where Jeff is frustrated because the ferry is inoperable; he gets a drink from the bar that Annette tends. He’s definitely a jerk; Grace pops in, she ain’t so lovely either. At least she has a car. She buzzes off, leaving him stranded in St. Jerome. He announces to the gendarme that he’s a “confirmed misogynist.”

Anyway, when Eve gets back, he rents a room from them. Then he enlists Annette to show him around; Jeff being an artist and all. He’s already had a couple of cognacs, a beer, and a pile of smokes. That night in the bar it’s pretty much smokin’ too. Annette doing the twists with Jeff. As others have noted, the jukebox is better than most sci-fi alien robots, tre chic!

The place really has a country-western feel; obviously the hillbilly area of France. Suddenly, Jeff becomes charming. Probably because of Annette; stepmom, though, has an agenda. From his room, Jeff sees someone suspicious lurking about; what he finds is Annette, slinky dress and all. Time for another cognac. Now they’re playing dice. And close to making out–until Eve sends her off to bed.

Next day, they get their bucolic picnic, but only Eve shows. Nice arid mountain crags and such. “More wine?” No?! What, he passed up a drink? Anyway, they actually talk family history “the acetylene killer,” i.e., dad. He’s in an asylum near Lyon.

Jeff says he’s waiting for inspiration… actually, I think he’s waiting for Annette. Speaking of Grace: “Are we in love, or are we lovers?” He means the latter. Dude, he wants to paint Annette. Not so fast, big boy, stepmom wants to go play horsey with you.

So far, this isn’t a bad romance story. The first scene belongs in a different movie. Down at the beach, Eve can’t keep her clothes on. When they come back, Annette is upset. No wonder, he tells stepmom, “Darling I love you!” What? He’s going soft. Get a couple of cognacs for the old mysogonist. But, because he’s basically thrown in with her, he offers to go with her to visit her husband. Well, to the town anyway.

They check into the Provence Hotel with a plan. To spring Georges, that is. As many have noted, this is where the plot starts to run aground. Jeff’s supposedly in love with a married woman. It can work well, as Georges’ locked up; why would Jeff want him out? If Annette had come up with the idea, it would make sense. That would score Jeff points with both Annette and dad.

“We are breaking the law!” Right. But “He won’t give you up unless we help him escape” No way! What’s the point of getting out only to have a random foreigner take your wife away? Apparently, there’s already a set-up. Annette will go with dad; correctly, though, Annette upbraids Eve and Jeff for carrying on.

Here’s the Bette Davis angle: Eve’s gonna sell their joint and split with Jeff after the asylum job…but…Shazam! While they talk in the car,p here’s Georges in the backseat. He says to go to Marseilles. So, mission accomplished. “Good bye Georges” Not so fast– here’s the Inspector to interview the two plotters about “a dangerous man.” Here’s a tidbit: another guy’s escaped, or gone AWOL. That would be Henri.

They don’t flinch at that news. Then, hey, dude! Jeff gets a surprise when he goes to stuff the farmer’s market loot in the car trunk: dead body. So, that’s our second escapee I guess. They drive off quickly. The roadside viewing doesn’t really explain if it’s indeed Henri, or the ‘real’ Georges. They hustle back to be old workshop of acetylene fame.

That’s where bad stuff gets done in these here parts. A local comes to deliver acetylene! They correctly surmise that Georges might naturally seek revenge on both of them–thus the supply of–dangerous product. Time to dump the body–the river’s nice this time of night.

“This makes us as guilty as he is.” Annette’s awakened by the light and sound of welding. She goes to investigate…the torch is set into a vice, burning into a metal plate. All three look on. Next day, the Inspector is back. (He looks like Telly Savalas).

He thinks Georges is coming back. The three ‘family’ members argue about Annette wanting to leave. Finally, the two women go, Jeff stays to keep the bar. Annette and Eve arrive at a bullring in the middle of the night; to rendevous with…Georges? Back home who’s this setting the torch on again? Georges, of course.

Seems he lured the other two away so it would be easier to ambush Jeff. Luckily Jeff’s just tied up in the shop. Georges “arranges” for his death: by dredging up Henri and planning to torch the place. Jeff and corpse included. “Two men missing from the asylum, and two bodies found here.” Sounds good.

Evil laugh…evil flame…evil corpse burning. Would’ve gotten a lot worse had a local not peeped in. Next thing we know, the place is in flames; cops, and fire crews. The Inspector says enigmatically that one is badly burned but alive; but he doesn’t know which it is.

I don’t get why Eve thinks that Jeff is the injured one. The denouement comes as she tells him that she and Georges plotted to frame Jeff for the escape plot; and then use him as a stand-in for Georges’ ‘death’. It looks as if Annette, feeling guilty, convinces Eve that they’ve got to go to the cops with the escape plan info. Nonetheless, Annette has no qualms at all when Eve instead tells her that they’ll go to Marseilles to find dad.

Not very suprisingly, here’s Jeff, not at all crispy, at the Inspector’s office. We’ve got to assume thatTthathewas rescued from the burning building. discussing Georges’ bungled plan. Aha! It was Jeff, wrapped in bandages in the hospital (but he had escaped, and so isn’t injured). It’s part of the Inspector’s plan to implicate Eve (she’d pulls the blood supply to ‘kill’ Jeff).

Further twist has the very alive Georges threaten to kill Annette, thanks to Eve’s betrayal. “Eve and I had the whole thing planned.” What? She was gonna run off with Henri? Whatever. Pretty spooky noirish entrapment for Annette in a cavernous quarry. Even though she cornered on a cliff, he’s clumsy and falls to his death. The cops arrive; Jeff saves Annette. Good. Didn’t like that conniving stepmom anyway. The end.

We know when a movie attains a a nebulous cult status by the number of wise-cracker bloggers attack the cinematic carcass (e.g., a ‘skin scale’ and a ‘blood scale’ on Brett Gallman’s Oh, the Horror!) with their snarky reviews (on IMDb). After snacking on some of those choice morsels I felt the urge to devour this tantalizing movie wholesale.

Well, the raw materials (ingredients?) of the plot have some rough spots. On the other hand, the romantic triangle isn’t at all bad; I disagree with those who say that Matthews and Gray don’t have chemistry. I do think that he and Brousse make a better couple, though. Nevertheless, the decent subplot is undermined by the criminal/’maniac’ plot.

Huston has no chemistry with anyone, and hardly looks menacing. The problems aren’t so much the performances or roles–but rather it’s the premise doesn’t add up, and so then, the plot gets more illogical. I’m still not clear, for example if Henri is Georges; I guess he has to be, since Annette recognizes him as her father.

But, if that’s the case, who’s the mysterious second asylum escapee? When they find the body in the back of Eve’s car, she certainly gives no sign of recognizing him. I had it sorted out up until the climactic quarry scene: why would Georges want to kill his daughter? After all, he’d been sent to the asylum for defending her.

He’s already married to Eve; so, unlike Jeff, he made his choice already. His only motive for killing Annette would be to prevent her confessing the escape business to the cops. I can see that from his selfish point of view; but that begs the question–why did he kill Henri?

And, so, we’re also expected to grasp that Eve doesn’t care if Georges kills in cold blood? (Absolutely different circumstances than his first ‘job). In any case, the entire plot (after the first scene) starts unraveling quickly. This is entertaining, but gets nuttier than the ‘maniac’ himself.

Hysteria, 1965.

*********+ 9.5

English murder mystery thriller involving that good old device, amnesia. Robert Webber plays unlucky American Chris Smith, a car accident victim who can’t remember who he is. Only a newspaper photo found on him provides a clue. The mystery intensifies, as he finds he has an unknown benefactor; then there’s a murder. Is Chris possibly connected to it? Or has he been set-up/framed? We’ll see.

Filling out the cast are Anthony Webber, Celia Goldoni, Jennifer Jayne, Maurice Denham, and Peter Woodthorpe as, respectively, Dr. Keller, Denise James, Gina McConnell, Hemmings, and Marcus Allan.

For openers, we find Chris talking to his doctor: just to humor him, Chris makes up a story about his past. Now we hear about the “anonymous benefactor” who’s paid his medical bills. He’s discharged; the nurse Gina gets his belongings together, including the magazine photo of an attractive girl.

It’s obvious that Gina thinks she’s his ‘girl.’ He’s off to–find out who the hell he is. First stop is at the detective’s, Hemmings; to find out who the girl in the photo is, and the identity of his benefactor. Chris finds a flat (where he lived before the accident). He’s bound to find out more about himself now.

Awakening, he hears neighbors arguing, and a woman screaming for help. When he investigates, he finds a deserted, but vandalized apartment. In fact, the whole place seems deserted. Back at his place he finds another photo of the mystery woman. It’s got a photographer name on the back.

That would be Marcus Allan [not the former Oakland Raider]. Marcus is busy with a model; but, the girl in question was murdered six months ago. In the messed-up penthouse apartment he just explored, no less. Well, not really, as she just blows by in a TR-4.

Looking for answers, he goes to see Dr. Keller; the doc is skeptical about the reborn girl in a Triumph thing. Chris can’t stop bumping into her though, at his (and hers?) weird apartment building. Guess who he runs into? No, not the girl, but Hemmings. So far, Chris is the only one who’s seen her. Is he going nuts? Gaslighting in Swinging London?

Hemmings says that he agrees with Keller that Chris has had “side-effects” err, “hallucinations.” So, he’s off the case. Strangely, the next night, Chris hears the same couple arguing: this time he finds two clues in the penthouse–running shower, and a bloody knife.

The real shocker is Denise, the undead woman, materializes. Very swank and elegant, she relates that he was a passenger in her husband’s car when it wrecked. Which sort of explains the photo Chris had of her. “You’re supposed to be dead!” Yeah, and she said she’d just that day arrived in London. Maybe Chris isn’t done hallucinating.

Well, she was the benefactor, as she assumed that the accident was her husband fault. And, her presence there? She owns the building. Good time for the straight-arrow Gina shows up. Why doesn’t he encourage her to stay. At any rate, Chris takes Denise out to dinner.

A Hitchcock-type snooper watches them leave the restaurant. Same drill with the spectral arguing couple that night. The good old recurring nightmare device. Like finding a cereal box toy, it’s going to be fun finding the latest clues. Just maybe not this time.

He might’ve made a mistake taking pills that Denise gave him. Maybe the French lady’s apartment, and her bed that he finds himself in, qualifies as both a surprise and a mistake. What I didn’t notice the first time around is that he’s been abducted to France. I missed the boat, as it turns out, on this entire sequence.

Anyway, he’s a scam victim. He lost his wallet and shakes her down for it. A rough looking guy, then a couple of them, try and ambush Chris–an obvious set-up. Pretty good derring-do scene as he jumps out a window into an open car below, and escapes.

Very adventurously, the driver (Sandra Boize) takes him along to her hotel; she plans to fly to England the next day with car (didn’t know they had an Air Ferry). She lands, with Chris in the trunk. All’s well, but who is this woman? Wisely, he ditches her at first opportunity; getting a lift from a guy in a Bentley Continental. That guy is in fact Denise’s husband.

He’s got to scrape together yet another story for this guy. Omninously, they approach a waylaid car and two kids playing by the roadside. Well, they avoid the kid, but in doing so, run off the road, and basically replay the wreck that gave birth to the plot.

Back to the present: Chris’s looking for clues at the crash site. Maybe this is too clever. The way this plays at first seems to imply that Chris hallucinated the entire sequence. Finally, it dawns on me that this is a flashback.

At his place, Chris and Denise argue about his ‘identity crisis.’ A tidbit doesn’t fit: she’s using a cleaver that he’s never seen before. Now the argumentative voices chime in even as he continues talking to Denise. He goes into a sort of trance, then collapses.

He crawls along, brandishing the knife. Denise screams. Has he killed her? The shower’s running, a bad sign. Sure enough, Psycho-style, he finds her stabbed to death in there. That doesn’t mean, of course, that this really happened. In fact, maybe nothing after he left the hospital really happened.

There’s a thickening of suspense, as it’s impossible to tell what will happen next. My cereal box surprise deal… open the box, and…It’s, oh, someone at the door?! Just Gina. He tells her what he did; bet you a hundred quid that there’s no body there. There is! But not Denise, it’s an older woman. She runs to get Keller.

They return together, but no body, no Chris. He calls. Weirdly, Keller says Gina’s not there. She tries to get to the phone, but, out of left field, Keller punches her. Keller is the mastermind, of something. He plans to meet up with Chris at a pub.

Aha! When Keller hangs up, who walks in but sleek, svelte Denise. “What’s gone wrong?” she asks, obviously in cahoots with Keller. Oh, so the older dead woman was Keller’s wife. It’s all about Denise wanting to eliminate Keller’s wife to marry him.

They got to move fast: put Gina in the shower and call the police. That’s to frame Chris. But having arranged Gina’s body, Denise is surprised by Chris. Me too. “Seen a ghost?” he asks. He goads her by saying that he thought he’d killed her. He now claims that he recovered his memory shortly after the accident.

He figured that Keller’s pills were hallucinogenic. The voices at night were tape-recordings. She pulls a gun on him; then on the balcony, she hits him with a bottle. Hemmings appears and saves the day. There’s Keller calling from the pub. He suspects nothing, and returns. Chris fakes death, letting Keller plant a knife on him.

Onto the shower stall; is he going to stab Gina? No, it’s the dead wife he stabs. A revived Chris disarms him, as a revived Gina looks on. Hemmings turns the unhappy couple in to the law. Chris comes out ahead, as Gina’s solidly in his camp. I liked her better than shiftly old Denise anyway.

What an incredible mystery! I’m never been fooled so much by so many sudden shifts, twists, and turns. The last half is especially riveting. The only issue I’ve with the casting is Keller’s character. Who would believe that Denise would be interested in him? I can certainly see that she would have an ability to manipulate him, however.

I’m still struggling to comprehend the segue into the French interlude and its aftermath. Coming as it does immediately after Chris takes the drug Keller had prescribed, we’re tricked into thinking he’s hallucinating this, or that he has flipped into a parallel universe and everyone here is along for the ride.

The hallucination angle makes even more sense given Denise’s complicity with Keller. They both want Chris to get as drugged as possible; that will only serve to increase his hallucinations, which will drive him off the deep end more rapidly.

The plot already plunges us into a game of blind man’s bluff, it’s way too much to expect us to play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. There’s only so much elasticity available to help suspend our disbelief. Despite this rather large reservation, I liked this movie so much that the overall experience wasn’t tainted more than a little.

A must-see for ’60s mystery/thriller fans in particular, and mystery fans generally.

The Screaming Skull, 1958.

*******7.0

Pretty good premise for this psychological thriller. A guy Eric (John Hudson) moves his new wife Jenni (Peggy Webber) into his old place. His first wife died there–‘accidentally’. A creepy groundskeeper, Mickey (played by the director, Alex Nichol) is obsessed with the dead woman, Marianne; since Jenni is wealthy, we soon began to wonder if Mickey and/or Eric is trying to drive her nuts, maybe even set up an ‘accident’ for her.

The fact that Jenni’s recently been in an institution makes her particularly suseptible to gaslighting–she was suicidal at one point. Weird stuff happens around her almost immediately: weird noises, creep-outs by Mickey, and that nasty skull that pops up in the dead of night.

Eric blames Mickey for the skull appearances; hey, isn’t weird stuff supposed to be in a scruffy, inarticulate, somewhat lame guy’s potting shed? Eric steps up by burning the spooky painting of his dead wife. Thing is, along with other haunting notes, the ol skull rests under the ashes.

Eric actually plunges into the deadly pond to cop the skull. Now we know he’s in on the gaslighting deal, as it’s not where he expected it to be. He slaps Mickey around, thinking the batty guy is hiding it; so he is. And Mickey cosets it in a nice Easter basket, just like you’re supposed to (I guess).

Next thing we know, Mickey’s showing the head around to the Snow’s (the minister and his wife, Russ Conway and Tony Johnson). Under the patronizing questioning of Snow, we learn from Mickey that, with one exception, it’s Eric who must’ve been scaring Jenni with the skull. Well, next we actually get a visit from Marianne’s ghost.

Poor Jenni, looking for Eric in the greenhouse, sees and is chased by the diaphranous ghost. Meanwhile, Eric is inside, busy doing some loops and knots in a rope. Jenni is still outside, screaming (isn’t that the skull’s job?). Anyway, she gets inside; Eric waits–then strangles her. Ok, he is the bad guy.

But we’re not quite done. Someone’s knocking…the Snow’s? At this hour? Nope, it’s the ghost! And its head, fittingly, is the skull. He fends it off momentarily, but the detached skull is in his way now. Running outside, with lightning forking suddenly overhead, the skull grows very large as it nears, floating.

And, with an assist from a lightning bolt, Eric falls into the pond. The skull–now normal sized–attaches itself to his neck. The minister finds his body bobbing in the pond. The real surprise, however, is that Jenni’s ok, she’d just passed out when Eric had left her for dead.

I was thoroughly amazed at how successfully done this was. Not to impugn the IMDb user reviewers, but their average 3.8 rating is abysmal. What’s not to like? Well, it’s somewhat predictable. Early on we figure something bad is coming Jenni’s way. It’s how we get there that’s the fun.

Eric’s comeuppance wasn’t completely unanticipated. But, the working out of it was the highlight of the movie. For just a sec, I thought that maybe Jenni had come back from the dead too, so convincing was the strangulation scene. Also Mickey’s role was interesting; his innocence wasn’t exactly an obvious outcome. Some of the skull-duggery(!) was goofy, but, for the most part, the special effects worked well enough.

Though the performances weren’t exactly riveting, Webber showed vulnerability without ranting and raving. Everything else revolved around her character, so the relatively low-key tone let the mayhem stand out even more. A very watchable, entertaining film. 7/10.

*One very cool sidenote: the cawing of the peacocks certainly adds to the chilling atmosphere–for me it’s live action as well–peacocks roam not far from my place at night (as I write this) and chimed in. Almost on cue. As the strangulation scene developed, I really couldn’t tell if the peacock noise was coming from the next field over, or from my TV.

Bunny Lake Is Missing, 1965.

********* 9.0

So, what happened to her? Well, that might be a toughie; you see, it’s problematic that there is a Bunny Lake (there is Suky Appleby playing her, though). Wondering what’s going on are Ann, the girl’s mother (Carol Lynley), Ann’s brother, Steven (Keir Dullea), and Superintendent of Police (Sir Lawrence Olivier). Seems that mom is the only one who believes that she has such a child; is Ann losing it? Or, is this that nefarious gaslighting technique in play?

At Bunny’s school we find some staff: Elvira (Anna Massey) and Dorothy (Adrienee Corri), one of the a school’s founders, Ada (Martita Hunt), who, unaccountably, lives in an attic, and a cook (Lucie Mannheim). Also chiming in as needed are a dollmaker (Finlay Currie), Ann’s landlord Horatio (Noel Coward), a teacher or two, and Sergeant Andrews (Clive Revill). And just to make sure we don’t miss out on the swinging London mod scene, the Zombies--the band of that name, not their ghoulish namesakes. (...)

Great chilling way to reveal the credits. Ripped from the screen, lurking surreptitiously behind it, like clues. Anyway, we open with Steven (Keir Dullea) walking into a nice house; he’s blacked, and leaves. He asks the movers to wait, presumably for his sister. Meanwhile, at the school, Ann goes in search of someone to look after Bunny. She finds the cook. She leaves, as we hear the little kids singing. Apparently, Bunny was with mom, but we haven’t seen her..

Her and Steven are moving into a new place already; the landlord Horatio pokes in, looking like a shabby eccentric. He tells Ann has "bizarre ignorance"; then offers to show her his collection of shrunken heads. Back to the school; Ann tells Dorothy (Adrienne Corri) that she wants to meet Bunny’s teacher; so...she goes to the room. No kid, no teacher. No bunny either. Elvira looks in on her, and doesn’t know her whereabouts. Neither do the kids..."Who’s in charge of this madhouse?" Hmm, that’s a funny question. She calls Steven.

He joins his sister at the school: he’s a fairly commanding presence. He says the logical thing; someone took her. Next thing, they speak to Ada. She’s a little off, calling for Bunny as though it’s a kid’s game. At least she has the plausible suggestion that Bunny might be curled up somewhere napping. Finally Steven decides to call the cops, but Elvira tries to stop him. Anyway, the Superintendent does make it; with police dogs to help in the search. By this time, Ann is very distraught--one telling bit is that she and Steven act more like husband and wife, or lovers, rather than brother and sister.

The Superintendent tells her that the teacher Daphne (she’s real, but doesn’t show up) who supposedly had taken charge of Bunny that morning, doesn’t remember the child. All the Superintendent has to say is that Bunny couldn’t have gone far. It doesn’t help that neither Steve nor Ann has a picture of Bunny. But Ada, who Steven refers to as a "witch", mentions that at least one kid went missing before--but showed up just fine. Ann reveals that Bunny is "illegitimate". The cops do a very thorough search of the building...The Superintendent confers with her in his office.

Back at the new apartment, she can’t find any trace of Bunny: "it’s like a nightmare!" The place had been left unattended, and open. But who would take a little kid’s things? Horatio, the strange landlord? He’s skulking about in any case. Steve tries to comfort her that a killer wouldn’t have taken Bunny’s things too. The logical deduction is that she’s been kidnapped. "You won’t be much help if you go all to pieces" he tells her--well, what’s she supposed to do? Have a kidnapping party? She admits that the Superintendent is beginning to doubt Bunny’s existence. At the school, Ada is a big help; she says that kids disappear all right--because parents take them.

She goes on to say that Ann had an imaginary friend named Bunny when she was little. Even if it’s true, how could she know?; the Lakes have only recently arrived in England. Plus Bunny had no time to accumulate a history at the school, as she’s gone missing on her first day (allegedly). Ada’s explanation is that Steven told her this. Back to the investigation at the school; Steven keeps riding the Superintendent on his lack of progress, and for his skepticism. Steven has records of Bunny’s enrollment--the school doesn’t. "What possible reason would my sister have for lying? (about Bunny)" He threatens to expose the Police’s incompetence, etc.

But the Superintendent wants to know about Ann’s childhood. Horatio turns up at their apartment, also a Bunny-denier. He’s such a pest--obviously hitting on her. Anyway, Steven tells the Superintendent about his mom’s belief in the afterlife; Steven more or less "looked after her (Ann)". There’s a bit of follow-up to Ada’s reveal about the Bunny-as-an-imaginary-child-theory. Steven said he had been using that name hypothetically. Fair enough. Meanwhile the landlord starts going on about Ann’s "buttermilk skin." Even the Superintendent can’t stand him.

That worthy proceeds to show the cops his S&M regalia, topped off by the skull of de Sade--if anything has gone missing, it’s the genuine article of that. Thankfully, we shift to Ann and the Superintendent at a pub, where The Zombies are on TV. He asks her about Bunny’s father, and if she’d considered an abortion (wow, the routine, banal way he asks is about as bad as his daring to ask). She does admit that she did nickname her daughter after her imaginary friend. Weirdly, she’d given the imaginary (friend) Bunny a funeral, and burial. Later, while she looks on as Steven is in the bathtub, he lets on that he’s putting a private detective on the case.

But here’s something: a receipt from a doll repair shop where one of Bunny’s dolls was fixed. By now the Superintendent is thinking that Ann isn’t very real, either. The thing is, the doll itself wouldn’t prove anything: it could’ve been Ann’s doll. The dollmaker sends her down to a spooky basement in search of "the little patient." Almost looks like a mausoleum. She finds the thing, though. Man! Steven meets her there, and while she steps away, he...lights the doll on fire?! Such a weird grimace he has in too. Now it’s plain who is truly nuts.

Then he attacks her, brings her home, and calls the hospital. Then we see how he’s playing this: why his sister had just gone bonkers, talking about having an imaginary child, etc. Needless to say, she ends up in a psych ward. At this point, I see two possibilities, both assuming that Steven is in fact Bunny’s father. He’s trying to neutralize Ann, with this elaborate bit of gaslighting, because he wants to raise the child without her. Why? Well, if he he and Ann are siblings, then Bunny is born of their incestuous relationship. Or, he’s in fact Ann’s lover, but posing as her brother. But to really be Bunny’s dad, he has to stop being her uncle. Well, turns out zi’m mostly wrong, anyway.

She tries to slip out of the hospital. Thanks to a lack of security, she gets away. Sort of. Why are there a bunch of caged animals in the basement? This is another noirish confined space; like the school, very maze-like. In fact, almost the whole movie has interior sets: the school, their apartment, the pub, the police station, and now the hospital. She’s hiding from Steven, who’s burning...what now? Her things? In fact, he’s dug a grave. He chucks the box of her possessions in it. Ok, now we’re getting warmer.

From the trunk of his car he retrieves the sleeping Bunny. Ann comes in and talks in a playful voice about how "Frankie" was such a clever one, fooling everyone about Bunny. But he turns on her: "All you could think of was that boy...and then you let her grow inside of you..." He’s remembering that "make-believe Bunny came between us" and they got rid of her. So, the real Bunny? Yeah, he’s going to strangle Bunny. "Annie" though, is making believe that she’s regressed. She pretends to play hide-and-seek with him. When he closes his eyes, she stats to take off with Bunny.

That works for awhile, but she has to keep thinking of new games to distract him. She’s momentarily able to elude him again. He takes Bunny into a potting she’d, while she goes for help. But Steven got the drop on them by popping up in the shed. He carries Bunny out, in a trance. Now, that grave, you, know, has room for Bunny. He looks the kid in there. She doesn’t give up trying to distract him with more childish games.

Bunny takes the burnt doll from the grave. Ann is swung dizzingly high on the swing. Whee! The Superintendent arrives just in the nick of time to save them both from Steven. It seems that the steamship company turned up a record of Ann and Bunny’s voyage from the States. That unraveled Steven’s entire alibi. Ann and Bunny are ok, big bad brother isn’t. The end.

This is inviting and entertaining from the beginning. Some viewers have felt that Steven shifts gears into regression and psychopathy too abruptly. Well, it is a Jekyll and Hyde transformation. It might’ve been interesting if he’d broken down earlier, or more gradually. But that would’ve probably torpedoed the suspense.

Plus, we can see that there isn’t something odd about him; at the very least, he and Ann have a symbiotic relaionship. And, obviously, Bunny threatens that. What I don’t get is why the school would play along with his game; it’s impossible without the complicity of almost everyone there. Ada is the only loose-cannon amongst the crowd of straight-laced staff.

Speaking of odd ones, Ada has company in Horatio, not to mention the dollmaker. Even the cook is preoccupied with some quirky stuff. Horatio is so over-the-top that he’s just a bore, and he knows it; that’s his reason for being there. A complicated distraction, and a great darkly comic sort of trickster figure.

Some things here--Steven’s huge deception, most notably, are quibbles. But some other things that aren’t explored remain as questions. That is, we have these two siblings essentially act together as a couple; the revelations we get show their past catching up with the present situation. But what if?...

I suppose I was expecting to find out that Steven had killed Bunny’s father out of incestuous jealousy, or that Ann had found him in England or something. We are left with accepting Steven waiting four years to exact revenge, and bothering to set up shop in another country as well.

That gives me a final thought on an alternative plot trajectory: maybe this denouement of regressing to childhood occurs sooner. And (as we see in the actual plot), Ann escapes with Bunny. No one knows but the three of them what happened and whatnot, giving time for Steven to attempt to recover psychologically, but having relapses, and so on.

We could call this: Bunny Plays Possum. That’s too cheeky, as they say. What we’ve got here is the British mystery/chiller in a sort of transitional period. Some stuff is more explicit than in the ’50s, some things still kept under wraps until mores loosened up in the latter ’60s. By the ’70s illegitimacy would be much less of an issue, publicly anyway.

Fascinating psychological drama. Maybe just a bit drawn-out.

Suspicion, 1941.

******** 8.0

Snake-Charming Monkey-Face

Cary Grant is a very convincing manipulator in Suspicion. His superficial dapper, happy-go-lucky demeanor masks an evil personality. Like the best con-men, his character Johnny seems too good to be true.

That’s why Joan Fontaine’s Lina falls for him, and subsequently becomes suspicious of his motives. She is naive; but wises up quickly as John’s schemes seem increasingly unrealistic and eventually dangerous. At first it’s she who thinks that he’s naive.

You can’t blame her for falling in love with him, and then wondering if she really knows him. She doesn’t. Despite his social graces, he’s routinely dismissive and outright rude to her. The "Monkey-Face" nickname would be cute enough if it’s used once or twice, but it’s plain demeaning to call her that almost all the time.

I can see why others would’ve rather seen a Joseph Cotten-type play John. But, whether by design or not, I think Grant actually does a better job than a more naturally shifty-looking guy like Cotten. In order to be duped by John, Beaky (Nigel Bruce) and Lina have to be taken-in. Cotten could easily play a remorseless business partner, but hardly the Adonis (to Fontaine) that Grant can portray.

Unlike many reviewers, I don’t mind the ending. For one thing, it’s suitably ambiguous. Yes, Lina almost fell out of the speeding car, but in what sense is John ’saving’ her? The fact that he’s driving recklessly, and therefore he has total control over her, shows that he wants to scare her, literally giving her a brush with death.

His subsequent alibi for his whereabouts at the time of Beaky’s death might be true. But why should she believe him? The police, at least initially, think he might’ve been the poisoner. His stories are too nonchalant, too easy to hold much water. In any case, it’s hardly a happy ending. Lina buys his line; presumably, she’s doomed to more of the same from John.

His ’concession’ is not to divorce her. John is an evil person who thrives on tormenting his wife. He continually alarms her, then gets defensive when she calls him on it. Finally, she just gives up. His ultimate defensive stroke is an admission that he was going to kill himself. In other words, Lina’s guilty of not letting him victimize her. In a different scenario, in which Lina has inherited the bulk of the family fortune, there’s little doubt that John would’ve let her slip out the door of the car and plunge to her death.

By its nature as a psychological thriller, Suspicion is mostly dialogue, with not much plot. The sparing use of minor characters and settings helps to focus attention on John, Beaky, and Lina. All three of the main characters are engaging and believable. Worth spending some time watching and thinking about this one.

Diabolique, 1955.

********** 10

Superb Thriller

Diabolique twists the convention of a love triangle into something completely different. It might more accurately be described as a hate triangle. Paul Meurisse’s character can’t stand either his wife, Vera Clouzot, nor his mistress, Simone Signoret. And they, in turn, hate him, and, somewhat more naturally, don’t like each other very much.

Having resolved to kill the haughty husband/lover, Clouzot and Signoret bungle the act, or so it seems. They become panicky when an increasingly disturbing series of incidents both seem to point out their guilt and leave doubt that Meurisse is actually dead. The tension between them increases as a result, as Clouzot’s innocent/hypochondriac character seems to physically melt down, whereas Signoret, steely and determined, only becomes more intense.

Essentially, all three characters are unsympathetic. Both husband and mistress are inflexible and domineering, while the wife passive/aggressively wants the other two to feel guilty merely for existing. Admittedly, she is wronged by both the others, and is the only one of the three who seems at home working with the kids they’re all responsible for.

Clouzot’s collapse literally in the face of her ’victim’ is thoroughly convincing, and builds at a dizzying pace to its macabre climax. Having said that, and, as much as I admire Diabolique as a whole, I admit there are a few questionable turns.

It seems odd that the two ’murderesses’ can’t find a more discrete place to dump the body than the pool on the same school property where they all work. The ’murder’ sequence itself is fairly convincing from Clouzot’s point of view, which helps suspend the audience’s disbelief, but Meurisse could’ve survived the Inquisition’s test for witchcraft.

What elevates this movie’s status as one of the best thrillers, despite a few little flaws, is the creepiness lurking in everyday, even dull circumstances, which each of the main characters allows to grow, with truly ’diabolic’ consequences.

Homicidal, 1961.

********8.0

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.

Hangover Square, 1945.

******** 8.0

Very compelling pathological murder story, adapted from a novel by Patrick Hamilton. In Edwardian London, a concert pianist, George Harvey Bone (Laird Cregar) commits two murders, and attempts two more. He has a literal Jekyll and Hyde transformation triggered by sharp, shrill sounds. Similar to the Stevenson story, the protagonist doesn’t remember what his evil nature does.

Unlike the Hyde character, though, once transformed, George’s in a sort of fugue state, and isn’t aware of what he’s doing while under its influence. Other tell-tale bits of the psychosis are hallucinatory vision, choking/stabbing as the means of murder, and an obsession with fire. The other obvious difference with Jekyll/Hyde is the means of the psychological switch; Bone’s trigger is a reaction to his mood and certain stimuli, not artificially induced.

George Sanders plays the sympathetic criminal pathologist Dr. Allan Middleton. Linda Darnell is the flirty singer Netta, who becomes a nemesis for George. Glenn Langan is her smug betrothed, Eddie Carstairs. Faye Marlowe is George’s faithful Barbara, and Allan Napier is her father, Sir Henry.

After disposing of a shady antique dealer, with a dagger and consuming fire, Bone flees. What he knows is that he has blacked out; but it does bother him that he has no idea what’s happened–except that there’s little clues. Most noticeably, his face was messed up as his victim threw stuff at him before succumbing.

So, interestingly, after visiting with Barbara and her dad, he goes to see Middleton, who knows about his condition. Middleton wonders if he had something to do with the antique dealer’s death. But Middleton’s analysis of the blood on the Bone’s coat and dagger comes up negative. Nonetheless, he has officers watch Bone’s place. He does suggest that Bone “get away from his music.” Well, the immediate result is Bone’s patronzing the scruffy pub where Netta performs. But what Middleton had in mind was to “mingle with ordinary people” not become obsessed with them.

Bone’s fascination for the cunning Netta is somewhat reminiscent of Somerset Maugham’s awkward protagonist Philip Carey in Of Human Bondage, who likewise can’t shake the desire for a woman who continues to mistreat him. At first Netta’s drawn to George because he can help her career by writing songs for her. But despite his help, and some rather swanky courting, it soon becomes obvious that she only cares about what he can do for her. She’s really interested in the more confident, suave Eddie. George almost gets over her, but not quite. Meanwhile, just what’s wrong with Barbara? She obviously likes and respects him, and they are much more naturally suited to each other; even her father likes him.

Nonetheless, determined to win Netta at all costs, George professes his love and even proposes to her. Much to his displeasure, he learns the sobering truth; she’s going to marry Eddie, who’s inconveniently standing by. George attacks him, but Netta’s able to distract him enough for Eddie to get away. When George gets fully over to the dark side, he corners Netta and strangles her. For him, that’s not quite enough.

In very macabre fashion, he disposes of Netta’s body on a traditional Guy Fawkes Day bonfire. He even puts a mask on it to fit in with this English Halloween-esque ritual. He had a sort of tune-up by doing away with the cat first. Allan, with other policemen drop in on Bone. “These periods of forgetfulness” aren’t good for alibis. He talks to Barbara about his thoughts for Netta.

Middleton waits for him, discussing how the strangling weapon was prefigured by his article on the subject (a publication he finds in Bone’s place), and proceeds to describe every known bit of Netta’s murder and the manner of destroying her corpse.

At his concert that night he starts to slip into the fugue state. Retiring to a back room, his coworkers try to calm him down. But the police show up intending to arrest him; that naturally ramps up his anxiety, and he hurls a gas lamp at them. Fire quickly spreads in the concert hall. Regardless, George’s returns to the hall and continues playing, with the flames all around. Everyone but him gets out ok. What an ending! Sort of a mash-up of Phantom of the Opera with The Wax Museum. As Sir Henry says, why didn’t they try to get George out?

Also, why did the police allow him to play at the concert anyway? By this time, Middleton is sure that George is the murderer; and they held him earlier. If they’d really intended to release him they wouldn’t show up at the concert to re-arrest him. It would be make sense only if they had released him for lack of evidence or whatnot, and then he just performs as scheduled.

This could have ended in the same fashion, but without the police intervention. Instead of throwing the lamp at the police he could’ve done the same thing to the folks who were trying to calm him down–that is, when the bad stuff started to take over. Agonisingly, the very goal of his career, to earn recognition as a concert pianist, is also inherently devastating psychologically.

It seems that a musical career would never work for someone with this disability; in a concert, with a full range of instruments playing, there’s bound to be the sort of “dissonant noise” that sets him off. It’s not as though he can hide it.

After George’s initial meeting with Dr. Middleton, the focus is only the criminal elements concerning George’s condition, not on any sort of ongoing help or treatment. Middleton’s idea of hanging out with regular folks clearly does work for George, as all the workmen and tradesmen he meets are friendly, kind and respectful, despite sometimes running across him in the throes ofhis altered condition. What he can’t deal with is stress; which, however, is unavoidable.

This is one movie that I wish had been a bit longer; maybe we could’ve had some more background on George to fill in the blanks. I can see that he can’t control when the evil state overtakes him, but his choice of victims seems strange. There’s no indication that he even knows the antique dealer, it appears to be a random killing. Obviously, though, Netta’s killing–and the attempt on Eddie–are acts of revenge; that is, willful. The most bizarre incident was the attempted strangling of Barbara. All of the attacks make some sense in that the first trigger is anger, which, followed by the “dissonant” noise, eventuates in the full-blown fugue state.

Anyway, this is very entertaining, with beautifully arranged sets having complete fidelity to the period. It’s very haunting visually, suggestive and mythic. Farmermouse was scared of the whole deal; but he thought the bonfire was pretty cool, so he gives this eight unfortunate cats.

Fingers At the Window, 1942.

***** 5.0

That’s a heck of a title. An ax murder movie seems unusual as a ’40s premise, but there’s plenty of light touches to put us on more into ’30s crime mystery territory. Edwina Brown (Laraine Day) is an object of Dr. Santelle’s (Basil Rathbone’s) wrath. But she’s helped by actor Oliver Duffy (Lew Ayres).

We open with a fresh murder. Police nab a “gloomy Gus” who looks more confused than dangerous. Dr. Cromwell (Walter Kingsford) is on hand at the police station, expounding about the suspect’s “hallucinations” and an “epidemic” of ax murders. Oliver is seen leaving a closed theater. A pet shop owner is visited by Santelle who more or less orders the guy to murder a woman, and provides the ax, no less.

The target’s Edwina. Oliver sees the guy creep up on her, and intervenes; she thinks Oliver‘s just trying to pick up on her. The would-be murderer makes another try at her; Oliver comes to the rescue again. After inviting him in, she lets on that she’d been a dancer in Paris. That factoid will prove significant. Oliver seems to be ‘in character’ all the time.

He steals her keys. Letting himself onto the fire escape, he sits waiting. She gets a telegram–he’s canceled their date–but then sends a taxi for her; entering from the fire escape, he pulls her in. He’s stalking Edwina; under the guise of protecting her. Actually, though, the murderer does have his ‘fingers at the window’ and enters the bedroom. Thinking that the pile of dolls and pillows under the covers is Edwina, he takes the ax to it, but Oliver catches him in the act, so to speak.

At the police station, Inspector Gallagher (Charles D. Brown) asks very picayunish and bizarre questions, like how she “attracted” the killer. The police get her a hotel room; no sooner does she get there, though, than there’s another mysterious figure lurking about. Oliver chases him, but he gets away. Oliver correctly assumes that she’s being targeted. He asks her about her time in Paris. Something about her ballet teacher…Oliver thinks she’s not telling him enough, not too diplomatically, he just says “all girls are liars.”

The current ax-wielder calls on Santelle; but, as soon as he enters, we hear a shot. Back to the police station, the Inspector gives an impromptu press conference to announce that they’re going to round up ‘the usual suspects.’ But Oliver tells them they should smoke the killer(s) out, and not advertise their intent. The Inspector, for his part, berates Oliver for playing detective (I’d say for being a jerk, too). Since Oliver is good at pretense, he has no trouble faking his way into a hospital that he’s been clued onto “Are there any more schizophrenics out there?” says a doctor.

Once there, Oliver’s able to find all of the murders’ names in their files. He rightly concludes that a psychiatrist is masterminding the whole deal. That night there’s a psychiatric convention; more fakery gets Oliver and Edwina in. The moderator says that Santelle was the featured guest, but won’t be there. Edwina only identifies Dr. Cromwell. Oliver sees the guy that was recently after her, but Edwina doesn’t notice before the guy leaves. At least, from the handbill, they find out about Dr. Santelle.

He refuses to see them at first. Soon, however, he welcomes them; but wants to brush them off with pamplets. Actually, Santelle had someone stand-in for him, so Edwina didn’t really see him anyway. Oliver is pushed into the path of a train, though he isn’t hurt much. Now, Edwina tells her tale: she was engaged to Santelle (known to her as Caesar Ferrari), then he just disappeared, never to be seen…until now. Well, big deal. What’s that got to do with murder? She’s still not spilling the whole sack of beans. Thanks to their mutual interest in the finer shades of superficiality, Oliver proposes to her.

Santelle sneaks into his room and gives him a lethal injection. Come on, he can’t die. His condition is discovered quickly, and a ‘real’ doctor gives him the antidote. Edwards sees Santelle/Ferrari go by on his way out. She leaves the hospital. “She hasn’t got the brains of a bandage!” is Oliver’s tactful response. Now there’s something fairly funny. Dr. Cromwell tells the cops that Oliver must be the murderer mastermind, as his various ruses convince the doctor that he’s schizophrenic. Makes some sense.

Santelle/Ferrari finds Edwina, secreting her into his office. So, actually, there is no Santelle; Ferrari assumed his identity to get his inheritance. The victims are people from Europe who could identify Ferrari in Chicago–Edwina’s the only one left. Luckily for her, the police tail her to Santelle’s, but they’re also looking for Oliver. He gets in, but is immediately apprehended. Edwina leaves a note incriminating Santelle. Cromwell fills in the police. Santelle tries to flee, but he’s shot. Now, she emerges from a closet. The way is clear for the happy couple to get married, after all.

When I’m glad the movie’s ended, I’m pretty sure it means I didn’t think much of it. What Fingers does have is a cool premise, and a good-enough plot. The idea of using mental patients to commit murders is chilling. Most of the scenes take place in noirish night time, and/or cramped spaces, enhancing the atmosphere. The problem is that the two leads are almost completely unsympathetic characters.

Edwina is just not very interesting; she might as well hang out with the murderers for all the discretion she uses with Oliver. Her initial reaction that he’s taking advantage of her seems the correct one. It would’ve been more involving had she put two and two together and gone to the police herself. It would be a huge break in the case if the cops knew they were looking for a recent immigrant from France who knew all the victims, also fellow immigrants.

Oliver didn’t know any of that. Which really begs the question–why didn’t she tell him the whole deal about Ferrari the first time he asked? Her excuse (that Oliver wouldn’t want a lover who’d been jilted) plays directly into the misogynist creed by suggesting that she’s ‘tainted,’ and therefore unworthy.

Frankly, Oliver’s a creepy guy. Even in an era when misogyny was acceptable, he’s out-and-out insulting to Edwina throughout. An angle I’d like to see would make him the murderer; a manipulative narcissist who can’t take rejection. In other words, what’s nowadays a stock Lifetime Movie stalker premise. What’s worse is, he thinks he’s funny and clever. The plot almost eats him up, as he does seem to be the loose cannon.

Rathbone doesn’t get to do a heck of a lot. Also, I’d like to know more about the ax murderers. Because we spend so much time having to watch Ayres’ antics, we’re distracted from everyone and everything else. Comedy can weave into a crime mystery very well, but we’ve got to have something to play it against. In Fingers At The Window we’ve got a movie that never really builds its characters or gets enough momentum to sustain interest.

Farmermouse always likes those old DeSoto taxis, so he’ll give Fingers At The Window five hack stands.

Blood And Black Lace, 1964.

******* 7.0

Models and Mannikins

Be prepared for a great entre, mixed with some mediocre side dishes. The cast for this Italian murder mystery is made up of the female models, the other staff and management associated with the modeling agency, plus a cop or two investigating the murders.

There’s models Nicole, Peggy, Isabelle, Tao-Li, Greta, Clarissa and the countess Christiana (Arianna Gorini, Mary Arden, Francesca Ungaro, Claude Dantes, Lea Lander, Harriet Medlin, and the owner, Eva Bartok).

The others include Franco, Marco, Massimo/Max, Cesare, Marchese, and the Inspector (Dante DiPaulo, Massimo Righi, Cameron Mitchell, Luciano Pigozzi, Franco Ressel, and Thomas Reiner).

I’m of two minds about Blood and Black Lace. On the one hand, the chic setting and the phantasmagoric scenes (even the opening credits) have a sort of lurid but futuristic Edgar Allen Poe touch. The premise of a serial killer of fashion models certainly works for a murder mystery. And smoking out the murderer is no easy thing with this cunning plot.

For much of the time, it seems obvious that it has to be Clarissa; then it must be one of the five guys; but not really. Even when Christiana is revealed as the killer, we think she’s plunged to her death. But, again, not exactly.

On the other hand, even the surreal fashion studio takes on the look of an ordinary work place with this languid pacing. The main snag here is that none of these characters really makes an impression; the guys are a bit more differentiated than the women, but not by much. Though the personal and professional rivalries set the plot in motion, there’s little overt dissension or even gossip. The dubbing doesn’t help, creating a sort of mannikin-like persona for everyone here.

Leaving the cast aside, the motivation for the murders is a bit murky. Blackmail, and drugs, and jewels... maybe some combination of these? Just who has done what to whom is a tough one to sort out. That makes the killer, for all of her sadistic ruthlessness, seem a little absurd. Why doesn’t she just she them, or turn them in? And why especially kill Max, who’s on her side in more than one way.

Looking a bit deeper, there’s more subtlety to delve into. The Roman setting is put to another use: this has the claustrophobic feel of an American film noir. For the most part we’re stuck in the studio and inside a few homes. Then there’s that basement with its hellish furnace--in effect, a gothic dungeon. Another macabre detail is that each of the victims die by different methods; some are just found, and others we have to watch get killed.

This is entertaining, but just a bit disappointing. Worth watching for the visual feast.

Eye Of The Devil, 1966

****** 6.0

Very much into horror territory--but there really isnt anything supernatural, although there ought to be. Maybe the weirdest thing is that the primary victim readily accepts his fate; while his wife, who has some narrow escapes, does all the screaming, tossing and turning.

Well, this is rural creepy done correctly--with an authentic French gothic castle, no less. Deborah Kerr spends most of the time trying to figure out why Sharon Tate and David Hemmings are trying to scare, or even kill her. Kerr’s husband, played by a very low-key David Niven, acts like it’s no big deal. She just doesn’t get that the locals are, you know, traditional. Like pagan, satanist, human-sacrifice sort of traditions.

One supernatural thing is how Niven and Kerr managed to have two very young children; they’re old enough to be the kids’ grandparents. We learn that the drug belladonna "promotes states of trance...religious ecstasy." Kerr certainly has weird experiences: nearly plunging to her death over a castle parapet, and surrounded and tormented by hooded figures in the woods. Donald Pleasance is pretty good as the village priest.

In fact, ths whole village is under a sort of Brigadoon-like enchantment. But in a dark, unsettling way. The presence of the monkish figures, and the witchy Tate and Hemmings, leaves a macabre impression, even on church services. There’s a sense of impending doom that keeps our interest. What we have is a doubling, or convergence of ths sacred and profane: the priest, among others, has a side-job in the pagan stuff. "The earth has to have sacrifice" Niven’s father tells Kerr. Well, a bad crop means someone has to go, or, rather, to pay. That’s how Niven’s family, the Montfalcons, have kept the village appeased since medieval times.

Thats a tidy premise for the horror genre. But it’s hard to see how Kerr’s character could’ve avoided her husband’s dark side all this time--a run of good harvests, I guess. I would’ve been more intrigued to have the Montfalcons in the background, and the de Carays (Tate and Hemmings) as the main characters. Their roles are far more interesting. In a word, the de Carays are more devilish.

As we wind toward the end, the hooded guys trot by with Phillipe (Niven) as their prisoner. Looks like Christian (Hemmings) gets to do the honors by zapping Niven with an arrow from his stout bow. Catherine (Kerr) vows "I shall never come here again." Man, I bet the locals are humbled now. We see the sacrifice has worked: a drenching rain occurs just as Catherine leaves with the kids.

As I’ve hinted, there’s a naturally spooky atmosphere, which is enhanced by the pagan stuff. Nonetheless, Niven and Kerr, for opposite reasons, don’t seem to fit in here. It doesn’t help that the first sequence plays like an ordinary upper-middle-class family drama; then suddenly, we’re in a different movie. Neither of the leads really seemed comfortable or believable traversing this mythic terrain.

I was disappointed, because although there were so many aspects in place here, and a great cast (Niven and Kerr made so many fine movies), the script and plot weren’t quite able to support the visual elements.

The Hour Of 13, 1952.

******** 8.0

In Which The Rake Takes Jane To Lunch, Whilst She Ditches Her Fiancee

Yet another London fog mystery. And channeling the Jack the Ripper story to some extent, The Hour Of 13 uses one criminal (a thief played by Peter Lawford) to catch another (a serial killer of policemen known as The Terror).
Sir Herbert (Michael Horndern) runs Scotland Yard. His daughter Jane (Dawn Addams) is betrothed to Sir Christopher (Derek Boyd). Nicholas (Lawford) gets in Jane’s good graces by clearing her fiancee as a suspect. He then proposes that he has a plan to catch the Terror; is her father interested?

Indeed he is. Nick’s plan "shows a knowledge of the criminal mind." Wonder why that is. Jane supports him, but the cops aren’t biting just yer; Jane basically says she’ll collaborate with him. After all, she’s privy to a loftof police business. Almost seems that Nick is playing another angle with her; that is, he’s probably as interested in her as he us in finding out who the murderer is.
Not being dumb by any means, the cops pretty much figure out his game. Anyway, Jane invites him to meet Sir Christopher. The detective, Conner (Roland Carver) gets the idea of shadowing Nick. Nick tells Christopher of his vague plans. Oh, man here’s another constable bobbing through his beat in the middle of the night: The Terror gets him.

Conner comes calling on Nick for a little "chat." Suddenly, Conner announces that they’re going to implement his plan after all. It sounds like a set-up. On the way to Scotland Yard, Nick fobs off the priceless purloined emerald in the care of his cabbie friend, Ernie (Leslie Dwyer). We find that there’s always a cryptic clue before each murder (we’re up to 13 of those now).

Jane’s still hanging out with Nick. And he’s back to being at least a person of interest to Conner. I can’t figure out how Nick is found more often in Jane’s company than her actual fiancee. He admits to her that he’s "a fraud." He tells Christopher that he’s backing off of her, at any rate. She’s not happy with that; she thinks he’s in love with her, or was. Another warning, that is, another cop might get murdered. The cabbie tells Nick that they’re "done for" as the police have connected both of them to the jewel robbery.

Nick literally connects the dots, and comes up with a cunning plan. The murders’ locations make the shape of a ’T’ geographically (’T’ for The Terror). If Nick can foil the upcoming murder attempt, the police will look the other way on his little heist. Nick, dressed up as a constable, positions himself in the likely area for the murder. How he’s going to deal with The Terror is a different question. So, the police, believing that Nick is the Terror, seek him out.

He relieved the officer who’s actually on that beat: basically putting a target on his back; also, the regular cop doesn’t buy Nick’s story, and reports it. The Terror attacks Nick art right, but a ride let’s Nick avoid getting speared by a sword. Nonetheless, the guy manages to shoot Nick. In a protracted chase and fight, Nick finally overcomes the Terror, who falls to his death. Somehow the emerald is found on the murderer. Nonetheless, Max confessed to his part in the theft; so Nick is still down on that count. The end.

It’s fairly clear that Nick will probably not lose too much sleep from the robbery indictment; but it looks like the game is up with Jane. I kind of wish there was another scene with him and Jane; their would-be romance is a major subplot, although he has tactical reasons for shutting her out, it seems that they’re well-suited to each other. Then he just loses interest.
Having said that, this was much better than I expected.

The premise of criminal chasing criminal is slick; at the same time, Nick is a sort of ’gentleman’ crook, as opposed to the obviously psychotic Terror. The Jane/Christopher/Nick triangle adds another comparison of opposites, as well as its level of drama. Lawford has a role that he’s best at, Addams makes a trusting yet beguiling love interest, and the supporting cast is uniformly up to the task.

The foggy sets provide the authentic atmosphere--never mind that were probably dealing with a studio version of Victorian London. The screenplay, plot, and pacing fit together well (aside from my issue with the romance). A well-conceived and entertaining murder mystery.

Marnie, 1964.

*********+ 9.5

"The idea was to kill myelf, not to feed the sharks"

One of Hitchcock’s more polarizing films--talky, deeply psychological, with sexual and romantic themes. Tippi Hedren has a few of Janet Leigh’s kleptomaniac traits from 1960’s Psycho. Strong choice of Sean Connery to play the executive, Mark, that Marnie (Hedren) steals from, then marries. So, what’s behind the mask of this haunting woman? Marnie flees from the scene of her latest job (meaning both places of employment, and of her theft). The boss confers with the visiting Mark. We flip back to Marnie’s hotel room; she’s got multiple IDs and a load of cash. With a quick washing of her dye job, she’s blond.

She’s hanging out at a swanky stable; advised that her favorite horse is a handful, she tells it "if you have to bite someone, bits me." Returning to her mom’s (Louise Latham’s) house, she starts creeping out at the sight of red gladiolas. Her mom is definitely straight-laced, and something of a hypochondriac. She refers to a "bad accident" having affected her health. Marnie agrees that both of them can do without men. Marnie nonetheless feels a bit piqued that her mom likes a little girl whom she babysits. They discuss acting "decent." The atmosphere is so creepy that this seems like a horror movie; soon enughMarnie’s having a repetitive nightmare.

Anyway, back in Philadelphia, she’s scoping out a job for Mark’s company. We see a large safe in the interviewers office. She makes up a story of being a widower; she gets the job. Now the perky Lil (Diane Baker), Mark’s sister, comes along. Everyone’s at their places with bright shiny faces Monday morning. That is, until she spills some red ink on her sleeve. No big thing--she’ll work overtime, with Mark. He tells her that he’s got an interest in "instinctive behavior"; that is, animal predators, especially females.

Thunder brings another flashback; she calms down, and they end up kissing. They make a date to go to the horse races. Some guy watches them--whats his deal? Oh, a former coworker? Admirer? Ah! Red spots on a jockey’s outfit. a momentsry panic, then back to prim and proper. "What a paragon you are" Mark tells her; he intuits that she’s had a tough upbringing, and now affects a classy demeanor. Well, Mark’s pretty smooth, and gets her to meet his pops (Alan Napier). Lil is in attendance too; she obviously doesn’t like Marnie and calls her brother a "rat fink."

Now, back at work, I feel another touch of red panic coming on. Maybe not, I think this is her going for the safe while everyone else has gone home. Everyone except the cleaning lady, that is. Well, she pulls it off. Mark waits for her at the stables, having figured out what happened. She coughs up some of the money. She admits some things, and lies about others. Finally, she tells almost everything. It’s clear that Mark knew about her, and hired her out of curiosity; meaning, to catch her and then see what he might do. She’s very defensive, but then covered that her motives "were all mixed up."

He agrees to just drop the whole thing, but he can definitely still blackmail her. Now she confesses that she’s never been interested in men, until now. Do, his deal is:marry me, or else. "You’re out of your mind!" "Possibly..." "You don’t love me! You just want to capture me!" Correct. What a dilemma! After the ceremony, Lil gives him a romantic kiss. Well, Marnie’s not the only one with a weird family. According to cousin Bob (Bob Sweeney), Mark’s nuts. In a strange replay of Marnie’s nosy ways, Lil now rifles through Mark’s desk. The name Strutt keeps coming up. On their honeymoon, she’s icy as a glacier. "I can’t I can’t!" Be touched, that is. She starts to explain, without really revealing anything. He more or less admits that he’s a "sexual blackmailer." He agrees to keep things charge for awhile.

But not for long; alternatively brutal and tender he forces himself on her (we don’t see the act, but can easily infer that it’s rape). Awakening, she’s nowhere to be found--has she jumped overboard? Nearly, she tried to drown herself in the pool. They bag the honeymoon and return to the Rutland mansion. Not exactly a happy couple, nor even hardly a couple at all. She upbraids him for paying off Strutt, one of her former victims. Lil, naturally, is hip to every little detail. Oh boy...what’s Marnie going to tell her mom? Mark indulged her by buying the horse she loves. For the very first time, Marnie looks happy. Lil, meanwhile, has figured that Mark’s in some sort of fix; actually, it sounds like he is.

But even he won’t believe that Marnie’s call to her mom was a ruse. Good thing that the old man likes her. He does get the dope on Marnie’s mom; hmm, Marnie killed someone as a child? Mark’s got great intel. That night, the lurid nightmare torments Marnie. "Please don’t hurt my momma!" Even Lil tries to comfort her. Mark now knows that her life had been affected by a childhood trauma. Mark, does his ad-hoc analyst bit, but she mocks him, should she read "frigidity in women" then focus on "men are filthy pigs"? But when they play word association, she starts to panic with several revealing answers.

Next thing up is the elegant party that the old man throws. Mark does a very sincere job of building her up; but the pesky Strutt (Martin Gabel) butts in. Well, they stonewall that guy for the moment. She thinks Strutt is going to turn her in. She’s not so much much worked about a particular job (in the double meaning of that term), but all of them. Mark thinks that they just might be able to pay off everyone, though he doesn’t seem all that convinced himself.

Onto the hunt. She takes off at a gallop, as though to escape the hunt, Mark, everything and everyone. She takes a risky jump, and the horse breaks it legs. She wrestled with Lil for the gun, ultimately, Marnie shoots it. Unfortunately, she still has the gun when she gets back to the house. Looking dazed, she takes a set of keys. For the room with the safe of course. Actually she has the combination too. She struggles with herself; should she take the money of not? Mark’s intervention stops her, but she nearly got ahold of the gun again.

She struggles with him: he wants her to take the money "what’s mine is yours now" which kills her desire for it. I think by now it seems that money, specifically stealing money, represents sex to her. Anyway, they hi-tsil it to Baltimore, to her mom’s. "You made your living from the touch of men" he tells mom. He provokes the nightmare by repeating the telltale signs from that night. We see, in sepia tones, a sailor (Bruce Dern) molesting the child. The girl picks up the poker that her mom hit the sailor with, killing him. The blood became the explains her aversion to the color red. Anyway, everyone relaxes, everything is quiet.

. Although Hedren’s performance is spot-on (in synch with Hitchcocks’s platinum blond stiff lady phase), Connery’s is even more remarkable. It’s telling when he remarks that he might be mentally unbalanced too. Mark’s suave, gentlemanly, protective, tender, then patronizing, arrogant, brutal, and indifferent. Not exactly Jekyll and Hyde, as the moods switch and overlap constantly. In other words he’s both Jekyll and Hyde at the same time.

Many reviewers notice that his Freudian logic is not authentic; that’s true, in fact it’s amateurish. As he tells Marnie early on, studying "instinctive behaviors" is a hobby, a curiosity. That’s Hitchcock’s character saying this, though, not Hitchcock. It helps to look around Marnie, not just focus on her. Lil, for example, is a strange one; there’s more than sisterly protection going on with her attitude towards Marnie. Mark needs Marnie, in effect, to break away from his sister almost as much as Marnie needs Mark to distance herself from her mom.

Marnie’s trauma is indeed horrific. Her way of dealing with it makes sense; which isn’t to say that it helps her. Stealing from men gives a thrill--it’s a taboo--which, ironically, has become a compulsion. She’s violating men, but, in the literal sense that she’s always going to need money, she can’t stop doing so. Well, she could just stop. That’s not possible without the sort of resolution that finally occurs. The strangest thing about Mark is he not only victimizes her, but saves her as well. We could ask, why does he want to marry her?

He would seem to be in an ideal position to find someone compatible. Because he has to have an angle; he’s not what he seems to be. Maybe he thinks he can fix himself by ’fixing’ Marnie. It’s interesting that Hitchcock chose to not make Mark’s character a psychiatrist; that’s the conventional role for the trauma victim’s savior. Since mark is her boss, then her lover and husband, he’s not a sideshow to the drama, he’s creating and responding to it. A more complex role, but much more intriguing than an outsider such as a doctor.

Marnie tells a gruesome story with passion, mystery, and a lurid sense of fear. A bit long and talky, but it doesn’t lag. Thoughtful and frightening.

Psycho, 1960.

*********+ 9.5

It’s Christmas In California, ’cuz Janet Leigh Looted Arizona

After fleeing Phoenix, I almost wish that Janet Leigh had made it to Fairvale, and skipped the Bates Motel. As much as I like Anthony Perkin’s performance, I sort of resent that he steals the show. This had the makings of a pretty good film noir; then, Norman Bates lays on the gothic horror story, very effectively so. Marion seems fairly composed dealing with Norman; he’s the polar opposite of Sean Connery’s Mark from Hitchcock’s Marnie (1964).

Still, Norman’s role, as the blond protagonist’s male counterpart, is similar in that he’s her shadow, her hidden self. No doubt that nerdy Norman is a good deal more wacky than suave Mark. Not just in manner and appearance, but in the danger posed by their mental conditions. Suffice it to say that both guys have strange hobbies. Both Janet Leigh and Tippi Hedren steal from their employers, more or less as a way to be self-sufficient. But Marion wants to get married, whereas Marnie can’t stand men.

I might say that Marnie represents Hitchcock’s attempt to stay with the female leads story, which in Psycho, diverts onto Norman’s track about halfway through. Funny, but macabre bit when Marian’s sister (Vera Miles) and Arbogast (Martin Balsam) come calling at Sam’s (John Gavin’s) hardware store. An elderly lady is considering buying a pesticide, she’s wondering whether it causes suffering to the wee critters. With Norman’s collection of animal artifacts, she may as well be speaking for him. I don’t get how Lila (Miles) knows that Arbogast client isn’t going to prosecute her sister.

Anyway, the pivotal conversation between the cool Arbogast and the wilting Norman is amazing. "Did you spend the night with her?" Maybe the detective should’ve asked if she took a shower. "It isn’t jelling" Norman’s painfully stuttering story, that is. Anyway, Arbogast, intrepid as he is, returns to the Bates motel; geez, he’s going to the old house. He’s going into it...well the old lady (?) stabs the private eye. Considering the lurid nature of both murders, I don’t see why Leigh’s gets way more attention than Balsam’s. The sexual aspect of Leigh’s murder definitely gives it more impact.

Anyway, the good ol’ boy Sheriff (John McIntire) doesn’t appreciate getting rousted in the middle of the night by Lila and Sam. Still, he’s curious about the "old woman" both Sam and Arbogast spoke of in the old house. "You must’ve seen an illusion, Sam" he tells the puzzled guy. Naturally both Sam and Lila look into the Bates motel. Norman must be beside himself having to deal with these pesky folks asking questions.

They theorize that Norman must’ve made off with the purloined loot. They find a tell-tale calculation on a scrap of paper, pointing directly to both Marian and the money. Well, Norman can’t have anyone prowling around the old house, right mom? Right. The denoument is perfectly staged: the skeletal corpse, Norman in her garb, Sam wrestling with him as Lila freaks out nearby, the swinging lamp animating the skeleton; and the music! It’s as tangible as the knife. "Can I bring him his blanket?" Says Norman’s guard.

Although the shrink says in effect that Norman’s become his mother, her voice scolds him, as he sits there listless, ending with a jack o’lantern grin. Pretty much the end. This time around, everything added up for me. Despite my disclaimer about wanting a full-boat film noir, I can see why Hitchcock chose to mix up the noir with horror. In a sense, it’s like a sequel to a good noir; we see what happens after the bad stuff happens--that is, even worse bad stuff.

If there is a resolution, it may be that Sam and Lila, thrown together in this, may, or could become a couple, compensating partly for Marian’s elimination. Although Norman remains the focus even in the last scene, he’s already irrelevent; we’re back to the everyday world of county sheriff’s offices, psychiatrists, Sam, Lila, and the whole rest of normal (not ’Norman’) life.

I might quibble, as some do, with the geographic details of Marian’s trip from Arizona to Fairvale. It takes her an entire evening and into the next evening to drive from Phoenix to the outskirts L.A. (with time out for sleeping at the side of the road). Since Sam has no trouble visiting her from Fairvale when she’s in Phoenix, it’s hardly as far as all that. Then there’s the strange juxtaposition of summer in Phoenix with Christmas time in California; it certainly hadn’t taken Marian six months to drive, what, 400 miles? So there’s some seams showing in the plot logistics.

It’s possible that Hitchcock somehow overlooked these time and distance discrepancies. It’s more likely that he fudged it; either because he didn’t care, or because he implied something else. Maybe the point is establishing, or embellishing the psychological distance between the workaday works of a big city, and the mythic timelessness of the Bates motel. I’m not suggesting that I’ve discovered a hidden subtext here, but that this illogical bridge between the two halves of the movie can be viewed subjectively, and not simply as some mistakes.

Altogether a fantastic, macabre, and creepy movie.

Next Chapter: Coffin City: Nosferatu to Ligeia