Film Reviews by Steve

Obscure, no-budget hostage drama which carries the MGM logo but looks like the sort of crime film soon to be a regular on television. There's one principal set and a minor cast. It begins with studio propaganda about the low quality of entertainment on the small screen, so it is ironic that everyone in this would become more famous on the box...

William Conrad (Cannon) plays the glum bartender who has just installed the tv set in his struggling hostelry. Marshall Thompson (Daktari) is the escaped psychopathic killer who murders him in cold blood and holds his regulars at gunpoint. The story is told in real time as the cops seek to relieve the siege, while they discuss the merits of the death penalty.

There isn't a progressive message. This is pro-capital punishment, though its arguments are not sophisticated. Its a decent thriller which doesn't fluff the naturally suspenseful scenario. There's engaging sad/funny dialogue, sympathetic archetypes, and director Gerald Mayer (nephew of studio boss Louis B. Mayer) tells the slim story with some skill.

It's a shame Conrad is gunned down so early. But Virginia Field is appealing as the sassy B-girl and the actors work well as an ensemble. Crucially, though the the psycho-killer is daunting, he isn't so creepy the film is actually hard to look at. And about that title... apparently there wasn't a unified emergency number in the US in 1950, so they made one up. 

If this cold war comedy thriller feels like a reboot of those pre-war adventures about political intrigue in the Balkans, then that's what it is. Eric Ambler updates his 1936 debut novel to make the Communists the unnamed enemy. Margaret Lockwood is the unmarried, middle aged entomologist enlisted to investigate the use of bugs in chemical warfare.

So Lockwood is back in the Balkans, 12 years after The Lady Vanishes. She had planned on Torquay. Everything about this espionage caper is familiar, but still fun. When the bookish spinster gets pumped full of truth drug, she starts to imagine she is a spy superhero and breaks into the Reds' research centre to steal some enemy insects...

So it gets a bit silly. And the idiotic propaganda in the later scenes is disappointing. Dane Clark as the token American doesn't have much to offer and there is zero romantic chemistry. But Lockwood reliably carries the slender plot. This was developed as a vehicle for her- she has a new look- but her big screen career was winding down.

It's the sort of story that years earlier would have featured Charters and Caldicott, so it's a nice touch when Naunton Wayne turns up in a small part. Sure, it's all been done better before, especially by Eric Ambler, but it's a resilient genre and the formula works again, and the theme of germ warfare had some topicality. 

This comes toward the end of Hammer's cycle of '60s psychological thrillers and while the formula must have been getting familiar at the time, seen in isolation this is still an entertaining suspense picture. Though characteristically implausible. Robert Webber is an American travelling through Europe who loses his memory in a car crash.

He discovers that someone is trying to manipulate his loss of identity and fit him up as the fall guy on a murder rap. These films all owe a debt to Alfred Hitchcock, as do most thrillers of the period. There's even a shower scene. And the credits are a tacky rip off of Saul Bass' for Vertigo. Though it most obviously takes its premise from Gaslight (1940).

Until... the customary big final twist. Webber is more of a tv actor, but carries off the hokum pretty well. The support cast is underwhelming, apart from Maurice Denham who is most enjoyable as an enigmatic, cranky private detective.

There's a sleazy/sexy jazz soundtrack, some swanky high life interiors and, as standard with Hammer psycho-thrillers, a gallery of arresting b&w images. It is expertly made. The story is slight so there is some padding. It won't change your life, but this is a lively, lowbrow escapism. 

Routine comedy-drama which is of interest today for the pre-fame appearances of the two big Columbia stars of the '40s, Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford. Brian Aherne is actually the lead, as a bumptious family man called to do jury service, who employs the murder suspect (Rita) when she is acquitted.

And then she falls for his teenage son (Ford). It's a sitcom with much of the comedy derived from the pompous old dad falling out with his wife (Irene Rich) and long suffering adolescent children. As a bonus we get a young, exuberant Evelyn Keyes as the scatterbrained daughter.

Hayworth is the closest to arrival as a star. She has that low voice and passive demeanour which she would employ in her noir roles. But there is no spark yet. Ford is just a skinny, puppyish kid with a lopsided grin. When the US joined WWII he volunteered for the Marines.

After his return, Charles Vidor directed them again in Gilda, and made Hollywood history. Ford, and Hayworth- who was the biggest name in pictures by then- burned up the set with their sexy innuendo. And Keyes? Well she married Vidor, for a year! This though, is just a slight diversion kept buoyant by its energetic cast. 

One of Lon Chaney’s last films before his death in 1930. He’s mainly remembered now for horror roles, but was versatile and this wild romantic melodrama is quintessential. He plays a popular clown who raises a foundling that grows up to be Loretta Young; and a tightrope walker in his stage act.

And he tenderly, wretchedly falls in love with her. But she is attracted to a handsome aristocrat (Nils Asther). So will it end in tragedy for the sad clown? This is not the sort of picture which can be made now. It exists within the sentimental and mysterious principles of silent melodrama.

The casting of a 15 year old female romantic lead wasn’t unusual in its time. Loretta is indeed very young to be the love interest of two older men. She plays an archetype of the Victorian stage, a virtuous waif. But she has a luminous star quality on screen and is persuasively, dreamily melancholic.

This is the kind of film where a doctor will prescribe true love because the Count has a sickness which makes him neurotically laugh… And the same cure for the clown’s tears. There is no realism; it’s a vehicle for Lon’s harlequin makeup and the pathos of his unrequited infatuation. But for fans of silent melodrama, this is a knockout. 

Fascinating political comedy, from a James Thurber play, which exposes the deep divide between US academics... and the capitalists who disguise their motives in patriotism. Henry Fonda is a literature professor at a midwest university who wants to read out a composition by so-called anarchist Bartolomeo Vanzetti.

He is opposed by the head of the trustees (Eugene Palette) who raises cash for athletic facilities. Any academic theory at variance with corporate interest is labelled communism and suppressed. This predicts the communist witch-hunt of the ’50s, and articulates a defence of liberalism which it would attempt to shut down.

It was released in 1942 with fascism ascendant in Europe. And it presents a polarised society quick to form into mobs. It all plays out against a college football game which brings an all American great (Jack Carson) back to campus, the ex-flame of former cheerleader (Olivia de Havilland) now married to… Fonda.

This is a witty, funny film which never gets choked by its political themes. Carson is a joy as his usual amiable klutz. Fonda is a likeable hero. Hattie McDaniel gets laughs as… the sassy maid... It's a comedy about the need to fight for free speech, which is what the world was doing in ’42, but invites the US to look inside its own conflicts. 

Lesser known Ernst Lubitsch musical-comedy set in his beloved France. But, naturally, shot in the Paramount studios. Jeanette MacDonald stars as a penniless aristocrat attracted to the rich Count (Jack Buchanan) who poses as a hairdresser to get close to her. Though she can't fall in love because of his- apparent- lower social class...

And much farce ensues. It's funny, and the inimitable Lubitsch touch lends a frisson of worldly sophistication. It's rated the first film musical which uses the songs to advance the plot. They are all duets which function as dialogues between the would-be lovers. The melodies are standard, but the lyrics are witty.

There are impediments. The Countess is an unlovable snob and Jeanette hasn't the charm to make that ok. Buchanan lacks panache and virility and- crucially- can't sing. He's no stand-in for Maurice Chevalier. It's precode so there's a lot of innuendo and lingerie. But it feels odd that audiences sat still for all this continental privilege during the depression.

British actor Claud Allister stands out among the support cast. He devoted a career to playing upper class halfwits; who were known as the 'silly arse'. The comedy of manners would soon be absorbed into the more egalitarian screwball genre, set in a less elitist US. But for a few years, they offered a cosmopolitan alternative to the slapstick of the silent comedians.

Slight, low budget police noir which reprises the classic genre scenario of the guilty police inspector who must make inquiries into his own crime. That's Lee J. Cobb as the rugged, cynical homicide cop who covers up for his upmarket squeeze (Jane Wyatt) when she guns down her surplus husband.

The hangdog Lieutenant investigates with his newly appointed brother (John Dall). Who turns out to be far too precocious for comfort. Setting aside the improbability of making partners out of actual brothers, the actors make the familiar expert/novice dynamic engaging with their natural rapport.

The film gets criticised for casting Wyatt as the wealthy femme fatale, who may have set up her cop boyfriend to protect her from the murder rap. She usually played good-girl roles. But it works because it makes the privilege which camouflages her real intentions more convincing. Besides, she really was from that background.

Frank Feist was the quintessential journeyman director who inevitably ended up doing huge amounts of tv. This is his best film. The plot is farfetched but he keeps the story moving forward and makes a virtue of the meagre budget. And he gives his actors room. It's a minor B-noir, yet the formula succeeds again. 

Harold talks! Though he’s still playing a small town boy living with mum and dad. He leaves for Hollywood to make it big as a dramatic star, but is so accident prone he eventually gets a chance as a comedian. Lloyd isn't a great sound actor. He behaves and speaks surprisingly like Elisha Cook, Jr.

But his physical comedy remains out of this world. Like when he goes to a party of high-rollers but gets his jacket mixed up with the magic act… And there is still an extended climactic set piece, when he gets into a mighty punch up on set with his rival for the sassy female actor he falls for (Constance Cummings).

This is a very funny picture. And if the friction between the silent comedy and early screwball is so easy to overlook, then credit to Cummings, who is sensational (and beautiful) playing both a Hollywood star and the Spanish character which is her role in the film within a film. Both of whom Harold tries to romance. She steals every scene.

This was Lloyd’s last big hit. The sophisticated charm, artifice and verbal wit exemplified by his female co-star would swallow Hollywood comedy. Now we’re all waiting for Cary Grant to turn up. But this is a welcome late success by a great interloper from the silents. Hooray for Harold Lloyd! 

Delirious precode melodrama which stitches a student nurse comedy to quite a nasty crime story. Barbara Stanwyck plays a tough broad who blags her way into nursing school, and gets to hang out on the wards with Joan Blondell's cynical, gum chewing finagler. Edit in a shower scene and you've got a Russ Meyer exploitation picture.

After the girls graduate they get posted to a house of dipsomaniacs hell bent on starving to death a couple of moppets to get their trust fund. The scheme is led by pre-stardom Clark Gable as a sort of chauffeur/gangster who actually knocks out Stanwyck’s night nurse stone cold when she turns whistleblower to shut down the corrupt doctor charged with their care.

It's an unpolished but zesty performance from the star, matched by Blondell's perky, sassy insolence. It's got all the merits of '30s Warner Brothers, with proletarian scenarios and punchy dialogue spoken by wise guys. Nursing demands a pragmatic approach in this city of mobsters and if the students aren't drinking in speakeasies, they're patching up bullet wounds.

It takes some longueurs to get the scanty material to stretch to the (brief) running time but mostly this is crisply directed by William Wellman. More importantly, he gets the laconic script to crackle. Really it's just a weird potboiler, but it delivers that characteristic precode thrill of the utterly unexpected. 

Offbeat thriller which loads its noir atmospherics with a lot of psychological jargon but is ultimately just a provocative, compelling murder story. Loretta Young stars as psychology professor who kills a student in self defence during an attempted rape. She is investigated by Wendell Corey while she romances the dead man's lawyer/social worker (Robert Cummings).

Obviously this is sensitive material for postwar Hollywood, and there is evidence of the Production Code all over this. The narrative focuses on the fragile and unravelling mental state of the academic. Which may seem like the victim of a sexual assault is judged guilty of the crime of being desired by a sociopath...

And some of the attitudes are dated, but the narrative argues in her favour and is sympathetic to her cause. William Dieterle creates considerable suspense with plenty of style. It looks wonderful with a nice feel for '40s coastal California. There's a nuanced script and fine performances, particularly from Young in a demanding role.

The early scenes with the narcissistic undergraduate (Douglas Dick) manipulating his victim, are difficult to watch. He's such an odious creep. Once he's out of the picture, there's a murder mystery with illustrations of realistic police procedures and insights into the criminal mind. This unusual thriller seems to have vanished, but it's worth seeking out. 

Minor but engaging noir thriller which brings together a cast of emerging Warner Brothers' contract players. Most surprising is Broadway musical star Gordon MacRae as a WWII veteran who leaves hospital following a serious spinal injury. Though, looking at the positives, he is dating his nurse and she's Virginia Mayo!

His army buddy (Edmond O'Brien) has gone missing, accused of murder. Dane Clark is another from the old platoon, who might not be all he seems. MacRae is the lead and he's fine (and doesn't sing) but a further new name Viveca Lindfors- the latest next Garbo- makes more of an impact as the mysterious femme fatale.

And she does sing a sultry number in a nightclub. It feels like Mayo's role has been pointlessly inflated because she had a breakout hit with White Heat the previous year. Except this was made earlier and the studio sat on it until after that success. There's nothing new here and the final twist won't rock anyone's world.

But it's still a fine diversion for fan of the genre. Vincent Sherman is remembered for directing melodramas for Warners' big female stars, yet he handles the noir atmospherics well and creates suspense out of the familiar scenarios. And makes perfect sense out of the seven flashbacks! 

This hostage thriller now gets called film noir, but feels more like gothic melodrama with its woman in peril, deranged male oppressor, old dark house and period setting. It's 1918 and Ida Lupino is a war widow who finds casual work for an itinerant handyman (Robert Ryan) who turns out to be a psychopathic serial killer...

Director Harry Horner was usually a production designer, which is apparent in the increasingly menacing guest house that entraps the vulnerable woman. There's also a touch of expressionism to enhance the atmosphere of threat. And though it starts slowly, the encounter builds to a nerve shredding climax.

Ida Lupino's production company usually focused on thrillers with controversial social themes. Maybe this treats mental illness with more sensitivity than most gaslight melodramas, but its purpose is to create the most intimidating antagonist possible. It's not a case study, but Ryan does build a powerful sense of jeopardy.

The origin as a stage play is evident (also a short story and radio drama- with Frank Sinatra!) but this intensifies the mood of claustrophobic confinement. It's the sort of scenario which became a mainstay of television, but there is a superior imaginative quality here, despite the small budget. And there are better stars. 

This gets closest of any adaptation of a David Goodis story to his preoccupation with the aspiration crushing negativity of poverty. Maybe because the author wrote the screenplay himself. A child runs away from home and is adopted by a burglar who teaches him the business. And he grows up to be played by Dan Duryea.

The stand-in father has a daughter (Jayne Mansfield) tormented by the sexual love she endures for Duryea, contaminated by a feeling of incest. After a jewel robbery, the two stars are tracked by a corrupt cop to Atlantic City. When they enter an amusement park house of horror, a mannequin robotically announces 'we the dead welcome you' to everyone who buys a ticket!

They are ruined by bad luck. In Goodis’ world, criminals never succeed because they either get busted, or destroy each other. It's interesting to see Jayne without her glamour-girl make up and gowns. It would be an exaggeration to claim she delivers a good performance, but it was surely her best.

It's great to see Martha Vickers as the moll of the crooked copper whose own misery connects instantly and intimately with the burglar’s. Duryea is superb in a film which has little plot but dwells on his internal pain. He is destroyed by loyalty. His achilles heel is his sense of honour, so inverted are the values of his world. 

Imagine if in 1973, Mike Leigh and not Terrence Malick directed Badlands. That gets close to the spirit of this low-key British black comedy. And like Leigh's films, this has the effect of dividing its audience. Some may find its casual violence offensive... 

A dull, contemptuous caravanner (Steve Oram) dispenses sudden, brutal justice against the trivial thoughtlessness he routinely encounters, while his lonely, pliant girlfriend (Alice Lowe) colludes in a desire to be whatever it takes to stay together. And then goes even further...

This captures something intuitive about the UK; it travels close to the parochialism and anger and bitter humour at the heart of the nation. And the gentle beauty of its countryside. It's the fusion of banal normality and fanatical intolerance which makes this unsettling, yet familiar.

It's not so much un film de Ben Wheatley, though the soundtrack of psychedelic folk makes this borderline horror. This was developed by the writer/actors. It's a small British picture, which feels almost homemade. But this is- for me- the best comedy of its decade.