Film Reviews by Steve

Boosted by decent budgets, Alfred Hitchcock's early Hollywood films are objects of polished beauty. The editing acquires a poetic beat, the camera is liberated and penetrating, the perspectives are striking and persuasive but unpretentious. This is a chilling suspense thriller, with a touch of film noir. It was the director's favourite of his own work.

 It's American gothic, based on a real life serial killer and co-written by Thornton Wilder, the laureate of small town America. It is one of those thrillers where some terrible wickedness is visited on an idealised, artless backwater.  This provincial innocence is epitomised by Hume Cronyn and Henry Travers' comic double act as a pair of bickering true crime enthusiasts.

The danger comes from the more sophisticated serial killer (Joseph Cotten) who calls on the family of his sister. He establishes a bond with his teenage niece (Theresa Wright), but brings the horror of the world in his trail.  There's a superb scene at the dinner table when the murderer seeks to dispossess the girl's naivety with a bitter, cruel monologue.

Uncle Charlie wallows in the dark side. He takes her to a lowlife bar where they are served by a careworn waitress (Janet Shaw) who once was Wright's classmate. She is already trapped in a life of poverty, in contrast with the sheltered privilege of the niece's family. It's a brief, empathetic insight into human suffering, of a kind we don't necessarily go to Hitchcock for. 

This is loosely adapted from a couple of Somerset Maugham's Ashenden spy stories; three British operatives in neutral Switzerland are detailed to assassinate a German agent before he leaves to meet contacts in the middle east. While Europe drifts towards another war.

Though it draws from contemporary anxieties, this is chiefly an Alfred Hitchcock comedy thriller, with a sliver of moral deliberation on the themes of war and espionage. There's a classic moment of visual commentary when the wrong man is murdered by Peter Lorre, viewed distantly by a morally passive John Gielgud through a telescope.

The main debit is a disinterested contribution by Gielgud as Richard Ashenden, who mysteriously fails to shine in the reflection of another feisty performance from a stunning Madeleine Carroll. The German double agent played by Robert Young shares far more chemistry.

It's fine entertainment, with many characteristic touches from the Master, inventive use of sound, some invigorating visual flourishes. And a thrilling climax when the train leaves Switzerland to expose the British spies to sudden danger without the protection of neutrality. 

In The Man Who Knew Too Much, 15 year old Nova Pilbeam played a child abducted by an international spy ring. Two years later Alfred Hitchcock cast her once again, as the romantic lead; the young blonde entangled with Derrick De Marney as the innocent man who is wrongly accused of murder.

It's mostly remembered for a set piece near the end when Nova and Edward Rigby are looking for the real murderer in a hotel ballroom, only knowing that his eyes twitch. Hitch's crane shot sweeps the room and then tracks in on the drummer in a minstrel band, until his eyes fill the screen... and then they twitch!

It's my favourite single shot in all of his films. The film has all the hallmarks of a quintessential Hitchcock thriller. There is the wrong man trying to clear his name and the blonde whose initial mistrust gives way to screwball romance. And there's the rural locations typical of his early years; this is the first of a few set in Cornwall.

There are laughs and there is the legendary touch of the Master of Suspense. He made more auspicious films in his British period; while the leads are fine, they were not major stars. There's an impression of a limited budget. But it boasts a good script and is still fine entertainment.

This is one of three films Alfred Hitchcock made in 1931 and my favourite of the oddities he directed between his sound breakthrough with Blackmail in 1929 and his emergence as the Master of Suspense with The Man Who Knew Too Much in 1934. It is unique among his work.

A married couple bored with suburbia and the rat race come into money and take a cruise around the world in search of excitement before concluding... that they are happy to be a boring suburban couple! Joan Barry is quite appealing as the wife, though Henry Kendall is a bit of a disaster as her spouse.

The key moment is the scene where a Chinese sailor gets a foot trapped in a rope and is very slowly lowered into the sea to drown- yet another man in Hitchcock falling to his death- while the rest of the crew passively observe. It is perhaps the most shocking, eerie and bizarre sequence in any of his films.

As with The Ring in 1927, Hitch had more control over story development... and again it flopped! It is strange indeed. Although a talkie, much of it is silent, and features title cards. It evades genre definition, being too desolate for comedy. It has a mood unlike any other film he made; not so much of suspense, but of sadness.

For Alfred Hitchcock's ninth and final silent film he found a female star of charm and exceptional beauty just as she was rendered obsolete by the arrival of sound. She is the blonde Anny Ondra whose strong middle European accent made her suddenly and sadly unsuitable for the talkies.

 Maybe that is an apt misfortune for a story whose theme is the paradox of fate. The key scene relates to bitter irony of a husband (Carl Brisson) celebrating his wife's pregnancy, with the man (Philip Christian) who was the real father. The tangled plot is actually quite engrossing.

 It might be a stretch to describe Anny as a classic Hitchcock blonde, as this is a romantic melodrama rather than a thriller. It's a love triangle which concludes with one of Hitch's few tragic endings. There is relatively little comic relief and it's unrepresentative of the Master's signature work.

This is a curiosity which spotlights that at the end of the silent era, Hitch was still an artist in search of a medium. But for a British silent melodrama, this is still decent enough and helped by the local atmosphere, with Cornwall standing in for the Isle of Man. 

This is a silent screwball comedy about a feckless it-girl  taught a lesson by her rich father who pretends to have lost the lot on the stock exchange, so she has to get a job! Alfred Hitchcock might not quite have the Lubitsch touch, but it is pleasant enough frou-frou with a couple of real laughs.

The English actor Betty Balfour plays the American heiress in France and she is the big weakness. The former revue artist was only 25 but already looks too matronly for the role and lacks the star charisma of Clara Bow who was making this sort of jazz babe comedy in Hollywood.

Gordon Harker takes the acting honours as her crafty dad, a Wall Street high roller. Which was not the sort of part he played after the coming of sound! Hitchcock was seen by British International Pictures as a comedy director and they refused to allow the Master to develop his own ideas.

There is little of his trademark style. The best is  a point of view shot of a pair of tango dancers seen through a glass of... champagne. The film wasn't a success, though it isn't bad by the standards of British silents. But something had to give.

 Alfred Hitchcock signed with British International Pictures in order to develop his own projects, but that lasted just one film. A year after The Ring flopped he was back to adapting stage comedies. The legendary Master of Suspense was dormant.

This is a charming and genuinely funny comedy of manners which doesn't include any trademark point of view shots or much visual style at all. Hitch does a decent job at adapting the play's dialogue into visual humour, though the cast is unremarkable.

A  middle aged farmer and widower (Jameson Thomas) of limited visual appeal decides it's time to remarry and so proposes to each of the similarly alluring spinsters in the village only to find they aren't interested in spending the rest of their lives with the cantankerous blowhard.

Fortunately, his attractive, astute and congenial housekeeper (Lillian Hall-Davies) sees through all his faults and after being overlooked for years, agrees to be his wife (and take over the farm). Gordon Harker steals the film as a rather repellent factotum cum freeloader.

This is Alfred Hitchcock's only sporting drama, though he would stage an extended tennis match in Strangers on a Train. It's a boxing film which doesn't land too many punches, yet is admired by critics. This is the only release for which he has sole writing credit.

But if he signed with British International Pictures in search of greater creative control, he fluffed it. This is his follow up to his breakthrough hit with The Lodger but not a suspense film. It's a love triangle which concludes in the ring with the two rivals literally fighting over the girl (Lillian Hall-Davies).

Former real life boxer Carl Brisson lends his scenes some welcome charisma. Gordon Harker makes yet another appearance in a Hitchcock silent as his trainer. The Australian adversary (Ian Hunter) is a bit unscrupulous, so there is someone to root for. Though there isn't much star quality to lift the drama.

The climactic bout is well edited but the boxing choreography doesn't stand up. We get some impressionistic point of view shots when one of the fighters takes a punch and loses focus. There is some period interest, but it drags all too often and is too long.

This slight, fatalistic film noir was written by Cornell Woolrich who would recycle variations on this plot many times, about an innocent accused of murder, unable to track down the witness who would save his life. Its director Robert Siodmak was one of many Germans to emigrate from the home of expressionism to American noir, and this is the best version of the familiar premise.

Alan Curtis plays a middle class malcontent, stood up by his elegant but selfish wife, who instead spends the evening at a theatre with a stranger on the understanding they won't talk about themselves and never meet again. When Curtis' wife is killed and he needs an alibi, that premise for an evening's diversion proves catastrophic! Curtis' secretary (Ella Raines) must trace the woman and free her boss.

 Odd there is no musical score, but it is still phenomenally suspenseful. Siodmak was a genius at assembling a scene. The way he fits the images together is sensual and artistic. There's an evocation of German silent horror, amplified by the Peter Lorre-esque performance of Franchot Tone as an artist experiencing psychopathic delusions of grandeur.

There's a glorious noir look of the rain soaked streets and train stops crisscrossed by the secretary as she searches for the phantom lady. But everyone mainly remembers this for the scene with Elisha Cook as a jazz drummer and Raines sleuthing undercover as a hepcat. The eroticism implied by Cook's lengthy drum solo is jaw dropping and transcends an already outstanding noir.

This lesser known Billy Wilder comedy is a near remake of his co-script on Ninotchka. Jean Arthur plays a straightarrow Senator from the corn belt who visits the ruins of postwar Berlin to investigate misconduct by the occupying US army. Only she falls for the main culprit (John Lund) who is keeping a mercenary ex-mistress (Marlene Dietrich) of a leading Nazi in soap and coffee.

The Senator is a moralist who goes by the rules. She learns the facts of life soon enough, and discovers her own humanity. The Berliners do what they can to survive, and dignity is the commodity they can least afford.  This is Wilder's second comedy, and begins his signature of attributing a cynical humour to a scenario more typical of melodrama. 

The director fled the Nazis in the '30s and his mother was killed in a concentration camp. Yet he shows pragmatic sympathy for the survivors of defeat, as well as indulgence towards the US soldiers. But the mood gets progressively darker until it eventually feels a bit like watching film noir.

As the ice maiden who thaws, Arthur lacks appeal. Lund is credible, though hasn't much charm. But Marlene Dietrich is a sensation, especially when singing three sardonic cabaret numbers by Friedrich Hollaender. Wilder and Charles Brackett give her some persuasive, poetic editorials to deliver, and she nails them.

A year after Blackmail, Alfred Hitchcock made another suspense film adapted freely from a stage play. But Murder! is more of an English style detective story than a thriller. It stars Herbert Marshall, who was The Master's first really successfully cast leading man.

Marshall lost a leg in WWI, so it's hard to imagine him doing action scenes. Hitch didn't use him again until Foreign Correspondent in 1940. He plays an aristocrat on a jury who begins to question the guilty verdict and decides to investigate. Hitch regular Edward Chapman is enjoyable as his sidekick.

There's a famously innovative scene  when we hear the gentleman detective's interior monologue.  The primitive technology meant a recording was made of Marshall's voice and played back as he shaved, staring mutely into the mirror, while accompanied by a live orchestra!    

There's an exciting climax when the real murderer- a cross dressing trapeze artist- is chased down while performing his act and accidentally hangs himself. Another Hitchcock villain who falls to his death. While the  character's sexuality is accepted, there are dated reflections on him being of mixed race. It's slow, and a bit creaky, but still entertaining.

Britain's first talkie is quite accomplished, using many sound motifs and effects. The most celebrated is the the stabbing, wounding repetition of the word 'knife' emerging from the indistinct murmur of a longwinded busybody as the traumatised east-ender who kills in self defence (Anny Ondra) cuts a slice of bread.

She is blackmailed, while her detective boyfriend investigates... Alfred Hitchcock got around his beautiful star's dense middle European accent by having Joan Barry stand next the the camera and speak as Anny mouths the words. Though Barry's cut glass received pronunciation sounds as much like Cockney as the Czech actor's own voice.

It's based on a play by the Master's ongoing collaborator Charles Bennett, but only once gets mired in a long static scene of dialogue. Most critics prefer the silent version which was released into cinemas not fitted for sound (which is considerably shorter). But I prefer the talkie, which after all is a landmark in UK cinema.

It was the director's most visually accomplished film to date, even with the impediment of sound. Unusually, the story ends with the pursuit of the blackmailer, rather than the killer who walks free. The climax is the first staged by Hitch at a familiar tourist site, the British Museum. And the hunted man wouldn't be the last Hitchcock villain to fall to his death.

This was a change of course for Sidney J. Furie after directing a couple of Cliff Richard vehicles. It's shot in the documentary style of the British new wave. Rita Tushingham plays a working class girl who leaves school at sixteen and gets married to the similarly inexperienced Colin Campbell. They prove incompatible.

The husband finds escape through his love of motorbikes. His gang are the leather boys of the title. It is fertile with images from the world of bikers in the mid-sixties and their hang-outs, particularly the Ace Cafe on the A1 where they start their pivotal race. The visual record of the period is a big part of the attraction.

Campbell meets Dudley Sutton, another young biker, though more worldly, who becomes a role model. But Sutton has an unexpected other life. Tushingham is the nominal star, but Sutton dominates with an irresistible performance. The real draw is his relationship with Campbell. Both still kids, but having to behave like adults, not yet sure what the rules are.

This is more of a low budget reflection on the sixties working class than a UK version of The Wild Ones; more reportage than melodrama. It's a must see for those who enjoy the new realism that reinvigorated British cinema between the war and the permissive society.

This is the final part of Hammer’s Quatermass trilogy adapted from the BBC serials. There is obviously a modest budget- the sets are bare and the effects and models are scarcely state of the art even for the '60s. Though they are still an upgrade from the tv originals. And this one is in colour.

The main attraction is Nigel Kneale's erudite, beguiling concept which reaches back into deep history in search of the horrific origins of man's bloody nature, replete with fascinating ideas of how this origin story manifests itself throughout history in apparitions, witchcraft and occult folklore. 

Excavations for a new underground station uncover a missile or a spaceship, and eventually reveals its huge locust-like occupants . Professor Quatermass (Andrew Kier) leads the scientific exploration of the site, bringing him into conflict with civilian and military Government.

Analysis, and research into parish archives leads to the discovery of... well a thrilling and audacious twist! Kneale had a special imagination and he delivers a knockout story/allegory. Its theory of a fundamentally divided humanity seems more prescient than ever. And gets ripped off all the time.

For many years, Woody Allen's characters fantasised about living in Paris... Owen Wilson plays a successful screenwriter who has just written his debut novel. He loves the city and dreams of the 1920s when it was host to American writers and the great artists of Europe. This is magic realism, and a close companion to The Purple Rose of Cairo.

Estranged from his materialistic fiancée and her rich, conservative parents, the author dreams so intensely of his golden age that he discovers a portal back in time, and meets Hemingway, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald and Picasso. He gives his novel to Gertrude Stein. He explains his predicament to surrealists Dali and Man Ray.  

And he falls in love with Picasso's model/lover (Marion Cotillard), who herself dreams of La Belle Époque and Paul Gaughin and Toulouse-Lautrec, who in turn revere the Renaissance. The legends of the '20s are wonderfully cast, with Corey Stoll a stand out as Hemingway. It's a nostalgic reflection on the nature of nostalgia; an optimistic film which spills over with a love of life.

 And it's a spectacular flight of imagination. The photography of is drop dead gorgeous. The opening scene is a long montage of the landmarks which is more than touristic; it tells us, that this place is enchanted and to prepare for extraordinary things to happen. This is Woody's best film of the century.