Film Reviews by Steve

Long political thriller adapted from Frederick Forsyth's huge bestseller. It is a fictional account locked onto the many real assassination attempts by right wing terrorists on French President Charles de Gaulle after he accepted the independence of Algeria in 1962. Edward Fox plays a lone assassin who operates under the code name of the Jackal.

It's extraordinary that Fred Zinnemann was able to direct such a compelling film with so little human factor. Not just that the Jackal is a cypher, but so are all the other lesser characters. They have no histories. The support cast can only reveal character through the sparse, narrative driven dialogue. The best of these is Cyril Cusack as a sinister gunsmith.

But it's mostly Edward Fox all the way, and he's quite credible as the imperious, but emotionally numb killer. The story grows into a remote, intense conflict between the hitman, and the lawman, played by Michael Lonsdale. They only connect in the final scene. It's a supremely well made film with a sophisticated sound mix, Oscar nominated editing and stunning location photography.

And so suspenseful, even though it is understated and ultra-realistic. It is a political thriller which conveys no ideology but suggests the conflict reflects the methods, interests and beliefs of old, powerful men, rather than any ethical intent. It is fascinating to see through the eyes of the assassin, but it's a cold, pessimistic experience.

Joe Orton's sex comedy was a landmark on stage in 1964 for its brash, unambiguous representation of male homosexuality. By the time it was adapted into a film, its themes weren't as unconventional, and now it's a period piece which reflects long ago values. And this is its principle interest today. And the bouncy theme song by Georgie Fame.

Peter McEnery is Sloane, a serial killer who lodges with a sexually predatory older woman (Beryl Reid) and attracts the interest of her closeted gay brother (Harry Andrews). Their decrepit father (Alan Webb) reckons he can link the newcomer with the murder of a local man...

Well... there's no incest! The set up is cursory, it's a background which allows Orton to take aim at sixties social conventions just as they were being shrugged off. This is an extremely unwholesome black comedy. Not just because the characters are so disinterested in ethical consequences, but because of how ugly and grimy is their environment.

This must have been an interesting role for Harry Andrew, who was gay, which was only decriminalised in 1967. Douglas Hickox normally worked on tv, but he directs for the big screen with psychedelic exuberance. It runs out of energy in the second half, and it's not particularly funny. It's a dark, amoral portrait of another side of the sixties.

Maybe Alexander Korda intended a charming interpretation of Oscar Wilde's satirical play which would emphasise Cecil Beaton's elaborate costumes and Vincent Korda's chintzy set decorations in Technicolor. But that not what this actually is. This version emphasises the themes of hypocrisy and deception in upper class Victorian society. But applies to any period.

And in this context, the designs look grotesque. A tasteless expression of inner sanctimony. Hugh Williams and Diana Wynyard are a turn of the century power couple. He has a seat in the cabinet and she is... the perfect wife. When he is blackmailed by a professional adventurer (Paulette Goddard) it falls to Michael Wilding's shiftless aphorist to restore appearances.

It is Williams' performance as the mendacious MP which sets the balance of the drama. He plays the aristocrat as a villain and so poisons the whole of his class who are superficial and careless. It's tempting to suppose that Wilde, as a gay man who presumably knew people who were blackmailed for their sexuality, was showing us the real monsters.

There's a fine cast. In this period, British actors were well attuned to social comedy, but the most subtle performance is by the American Paulette Goddard as an insidious smoke bomb thrown at the perpetual tea party of the entitled wealthy. It's Oscar, so there is polished drollery and counterintuative insights. But this is also quite subversive.

Rudyard Kipling's satire on the epic folly of empire makes for a rousing, red blooded adventure story and a splendid star vehicle for Sean Connery and Michael Caine. They are a pair of demobbed soldiers in India who blunder into the wild mountains of Afghanistan intent on becoming mercenary warlords while looting a fortune.

Of course, they are destroyed by their hubris and their greed. Kipling's story is an allegory for the British expansion into the Indian continent, and the egomaniacal hypocrisy of their mission. But it seems likely that writer/director John Huston was more interested in making a ripping yarn about the agents of free enterprise exploiting uncharted lands.

And he presents the indigenous people as foolish archetypes, or witless savages. The film mainly centres on the two stars, who deliver boisterous, flamboyant performances. And they are very funny. The ironic script is literate and poetic and the recreation of late nineteenth century India is delightfully vivacious.

There is a spectacular adventure tale to be found here, if you can set aside what now could be considered offensive. It's a thrilling pageant of virtuoso film making. Connery and Caine run amok. Yet it is also carelessly cruel. And Huston clearly relishes his duo of bogus empire builders. Most viewers will probably find themselves on either end of this spectrum.

This is the kind of Hammer horror that defined their image in the early seventies, with a sensational supernatural tale set in a colourful period setting... plus tasteful female nudity. It's inspired by the legend of Elizabeth Báthory, a real Hungarian aristocrat born in 1560, who allegedly bathed in the blood of virgins to restore her youthfulness.

Though the truth was probably embellished! As Ingrid Pitt's Elizabeth actually does get younger, she gives us two performances. She is the ancient, wizened baroness and also masquerades as her voluptuous, sexually liberated daughter, while her own chaste little darling (Lesley Anne-Down) is imprisoned by a crazy-mute woodsman.

Ingrid is fine and her sexy portrayal is crucial, but it's the support cast which brings the grotesquery, particularly Maurice Denham as a venerable, rat-like scholar. Some of the events are obviously disturbing, but most of the violence takes place off camera. There is one graphic skewering. But there is more nudity than gore.

As usual, Hammer squeeze decent production values out of a small budget. The set was left over from Anne of the Thousand Days (for which it was nominated for an Oscar). Perhaps the slight premise is stretched too thin but the history is interesting, if distorted, and it is well directed. With The Vampire Lovers (1970), it's a key entry in the cult of its star.

Complex science fiction epic which became a key film for the sixties counterculture and eventually acclaimed by critics as a masterpiece. There are two linked stories: a mythic, arcane mystery triggered by the discovery of a black obelisk buried on the Earth's moon; and an ill-fated voyage to Jupiter undermined by the spaceship's computer, Hal.

And it's this allusion to artificial intelligence that most makes the sixties futurism feel relevant now. Otherwise Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke's vision of the near future doesn't seem all that intuitive. It was made in a year of social revolution and there is a sense of optimistic change. In the present cycle of history dominated by global heating, our destiny seems more dystopian.

So it feels like a film of its time, now past. The long psychedelic finish was innovative in the period, especially if enjoyed with hallucinogens. It is an audacious endeavour of imagination and craft, an immersive synthesis of theory, set design, effects and its famous score. But for long periods, Kubrick is just showing off the work of his designers while the story drifts through space.

The acting is deliberately understated. The most vivid and memorable performance is the impassive computer, Hal (voiced by Douglas Rain). It's a head movie and its themes of mind expansion and evolutionary leaps made it pertinent to the hippie generation. Now it feels likely to be more of interest to the sci-fi hardcore and effects nerds.

Delicious late career performance from Bette Davis in an uncharacteristically muted production from Hammer studios. Bette isn't understated, but there is a contrast with her gothic horror roles of the sixties. She may be a dependable old school nanny unforgivably persecuted by a maladjusted ten year boy (William Dix) fresh out of rehab...

Or she could be the passive-aggressive psycho-nanny who drowned the little sister of this vulnerable youngster who now fears for his own life! Presumably everyone knows where this is headed but it is tempting to fear the worst for little Billy Dix, so convincing is his portrayal of a pouting, spoiled... little darling.

This is an eerie, dark thriller dominated by the Hollywood star. It's artfully directed by Seth Holt, mostly within the single space of an upmarket London apartment, and stylishly photographed in black and white. It's as close as Hammer ever got to a straight drama.

But Davis does still get to expose the faithful retainer's suppressed psychosis in the later scenes. The tone is playful without becoming comical. It's intriguing to contemplate if this may disturb the buried experiences of those who actually had a nanny! It is a curious British addition to the cult of Bette Davis.

This is generally thought of as a lesser Ealing comedy. And it is insubstantial, but the plot is the ultimate example of the values this series of films represents. After the war the studio developed projects in support of the Attlee government. By the fifties, this enthusiasm had burned out. The Titfield Thunderbolt is a conservative film, with a small 'c'.

When British Rail plans to close down a branch line, local enthusiasts unite to keep the railway going, led by the parish vicar (George Relph) There is the usual parochial ragbag of eccentrics, rascals and dreamers. The road lobby, represented by the owner of a regional bus company, sabotages this ramshackle operation, just as the man from the ministry arrives for an audit.

So the underdogs steal the ancient Victorian puffer from a museum to make the crucial journey. This is gentle whimsy. The characters are paper thin and there are no major stars. And there isn't much of an impression of the local community. But whenever a later film maker evokes the magic of the Ealing comedies, it is most particularly this they are drawing on.

It would be another ten years before most of these local lines were closed down after the Beeching Report. The film is a light comedy which has acquired a lustre of nostalgic regret on the loss of a much loved national resource. A film which once seemed ephemeral fluff, now feels more complex; a nation offering resistance in a time of immutable change.

After World War 2 there was a movement of social realist films years before the British New Wave made this approach fashionable. This is also one of many women in prison films made in the UK in the fifties. There are three interwoven stories each about a convict released at the same time, into their first few hours of freedom.

As usual in British films back then, the characters are defined by their social status. Yvonne Mitchell plays an upper middle class woman who got stiffed by her crooked boyfriend. Joan Collins is a working class good girl who can be tempted to do tricks for the nicer things in life. Kathleen Harrison generates an excess of pathos as a lonely, elderly, uneducated shoplifter.

Mitchell is always worth watching and she's the best on show here and gets the most screen time. Terence Morgan as her upmarket criminal lover is so creepy he's hard to watch. The last part of the film involves him being chased over the rooftops of the west end after a safe job, which is quite exciting, but strays a long way from the premise of the film.

Kathleen Harrison as the threadbare repeat offender caught the attention of the critics in the most sentimental and tragic of the three tales. Though she is patronised in a way that would have been avoided by the New Wave directors. There are few political points being made about the experiences of released prisoners. It's just an entertaining insight into the lives of others.

This adaptation by James Goldman of his own stage play imagines a power struggle between Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine as they plot for succession between their three sons in 1183. What it most resembles is a medieval variation on Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? And the history is fictionalised into a star vehicle for Peter O'Toole and Katherine Hepburn.

Both actors give big, boisterous performances as the battling Plantagenets, as they manoeuvre for control. Hepburn creates one of her signature roles and won a deserved Oscar. While it's more of a comedy than a serious historical document, the locations, sets and costumes make the period feel unusually authentic and lived in.

The three sons each represent a key characteristic of the King. Anthony Hopkins as Richard (the Lionheart), is a warrior. John Castle as Geoffrey, is a schemer. And Nigel Terry as John, is a grotesque. Though the constant internecine intrigue is elaborate, it's easy to follow, and entertaining.

O'Toole gives a more irreverent interpretation of Henry than he does in Becket. Though he's palpably the same man, but older. The dialogue is intentionally anachronistic and stacked with great lines and memorable insults. Everything is exaggerated. Maybe it struggles to sustain the pantomime all the way to the fade out, but it's still a lot of fun.

This spectacular historical epic from AEW Mason's popular Victorian novel arguably trumps golden age Hollywood on its own terms. This is among the great action adventures of the thirties. The attitudes to the empire and class are dated, and probably misguided, but purely as an example of cinematic storytelling, it is a masterpiece.

John Clements plays a young officer from an aristocratic family with a tradition in the British military. He brings shame upon the ancestral name when he resigns his commission just as his unit leaves to join Kitchener's army in Sudan. Three of his comrades send him the white feather of cowardice. The deepest cut is when his beloved fiancée (June Duprez) does the same.

 So the maligned civilian travels to Africa to heroically save his friends in the war against the Dervishes. Much of this now provokes memories of Ripping Yarns, and is unintentionally comical, especially when Ralph Richardson, suddenly entirely blind in the desert from sunstroke, still leads the charge against the anti-British uprising.

Yet, it will take a hard heart not to be roused by all this ill-advised bravery and sacrifice. The action was actually shot in Sudan in splendid Technicolor. There's a huge, elaborate production with a fine score. Clements and Duprez lack personality, but the cast is spirited. This premiered the day after Britain declared war on Germany. Its impact must have been immense.

This low budget naval drama about the War in the Atlantic covers similar territory to The Cruel Sea, which was released the following year. It's not as good, but it does capture a particular point about WWII better than any other film; the impoverished unpreparedness of the British in the first days of the conflict.

The Gift Horse is a name given to the donation by the US government of battleships left over from the Great War. So the British were forced to face up to the German Kriegsmarine with a fleet of surplus destroyers. The film is based on the Campbeltown and actually shot on another gift horse, the Leamington.

The narrative is divided between action at sea and events on the home front. Most of these are standard situations. The crew are divided and have no respect for the captain who is trying to impose discipline. In time they develop an unshakable bond which sees them through many hazards, including the raid on the German dock at St Nazaire.

The film's strength is the realistic portrayal of conditions on the Atlantic. The understated performances are all excellent, particularly Trevor Howard as the complex, burdened skipper. And it's an interesting, little told story from before the US joined the fight, when the British forces had little else to fall back on but audacity and excessive risk taking.

Low budget reboot of the eternal literary legend. With the previous year's The Curse of Frankenstein, this revived the horror film across the world and made genre stars of Peter Cushing as Dr. van Helsing, and Christopher Lee in the title role. This is a long way from the rodent-like Max Schreck in the original Nosferatu (1922).

This Dracula is an erotic figure. When a repressed suburban housewife (Melissa Stribling) comes home to her husband (Michael Gough) with bite marks in her neck, she is glowingly post-coital. She never knew it could be like this! These women leave their windows open for the Prince of Darkness. So he is a threat to christianity and suburban values...

The film begins with the open pages of Bram Stoker's novel and a narrative voice. But this isn't remotely faithful, especially compared with FW Murnau's classic. Though it doesn't take the liberties of some of Hammer's sequels. Most of the changes are to accommodate the budget, but many of the most famous episodes are lost.

Apart from the schlock of the flesh and the Technicolor blood, this is a film about addiction. Dracula's desire is always described as a drug. There is actually quite a lot of exposition, describing the rules of the vampire film, which everyone now already knows. It's a stripped down sexy romp, and while not the definitive version, still a landmark in UK cinema.

Hugely ambitious and influential biopic based on Seven Pillars of Wisdom by Thomas Edward Lawrence about his experiences in co-ordinating nomadic Bedouin Arabs to fight the Turkish empire during WWI. With its Super-Panavision, extensive cast of stars and extras, big orchestral score and massive production logistics, this is the ultimate example of the cinematic epic.

Its extreme length presents a challenge, spread out over nearly four hours. There is an abundance of unhurried photography of the desert. But the narrative drive rarely falters and even the slightest interest in the history is amply rewarded. The politics strikes a balance. The Arab fight for self determination is portrayed as fanciful, but the British motives are avaricious and mendacious.

The characters all express an opinion on Lawrence, but it's Peter O'Toole's phenomenal portrayal which most impacts how we appraise him; a strong willed fantasist with a god-complex. While the photography and the production design are magnificent, it's the star who makes the exotic feel real. Freddie Francis' camera establishes Lawrence as a mythic figure.

There were ten Oscar nominations and seven wins including for best picture and director. It looks astonishing. There is nuance, but mainly this is a spectacular realisation of a broad sweep of political history. It is overwhelming both in terms of its enterprise, and the demands it makes of the viewer. It's also among the greatest and most imposing historical epics ever made.

This made news on release as Boris Karloff's first role back in UK after his success in Universal monster films. So a supernatural subplot was inserted into a crime story about assorted crooks in pursuit of a priceless diamond. Karloff plays a dying Egyptologist who seeks eternal life by being buried with the enchanted jewel.

So he is the ghoul who returns from his crypt to track down the robber who steals it. There are the usual archetypes of early horror films, with the gaunt solicitor who reads the will, a bickering but intrepid couple who fall in love, the ominous Egyptian collector, the idiotic comic relief and, in his screen debut, Ralph Richardson as the imposter.

Best of all is Ernest Thesiger as the sinister, faithful servant. Boris is only in the film for the opening 15 minutes and briefly at the climax, but he does give the film stature. This is a much more interesting story than The Mummy which Karloff starred in a year earlier. And the production holds up well too. It's splendidly photographed with excellent sets.

This is a kind of horror-pantomime; an old dark house story in which the actors give broad, melodramatic performances. It's quite spooky, and creaky, and not at all scary. It was presumed lost for many years. Often those films turn out to be not much when rediscovered, but this is great fun and a significant entry in the Karloff legend.