Film Reviews by Steve

Lurid shocker which is more vulgar than gory, but still deals out some unexpected horror shocks. A schizoid sicko (Michael Gough) keeps a secret museum of murder weapons. Not only does he hypnotise his personal assistant (Graham Curnow) to kill his enemies with these exhibits, he develops a potion to release the unlucky employee's bestiality.

So that already rips off Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Jekyll and Hyde! Most of the plot is taken from the remains of a dozen other horror films. And Gough's performance is just a decent facsimile of Vincent Price, though there is something disturbingly squalid about his portrayal of an egotistical crime journalist who stages his own exclusives.

But aside from all this cheerful imitation, there are signs someone cared about this. Most obviously, there's the use of Technicolor and CinemaScope which is a real bonus for a fifties B horror. There are the oddball means of execution, including death by binoculars. And there's obviously a coercive homoerotic relationship between the master and servant.  

Stalwart Geoffrey Keen makes a good adversary for the maniac as a waspish detective. The brief cameos of the female victims are cast more for sex appeal than acting pedigree, which is a genre standard. It's just a gimmicky exploitation curiosity, but made with some thought. It's trash, but decent trash.

Stylish suspense thriller filmed on the Costa Brava with an ultra-designed plot which delivers one of those big twisty payoffs which were everywhere in the mid fifties. This one is as improbable as it is satisfying. But, why is a stranger claiming to be the brother of a rich heiress after she has already identified his dead body in a car crash...?

And what happened to the diamonds? Richard Todd lacks charm as the imposter. Anne Baxter is actually pretty good as the vulnerable woman, and extremely chic, but the cute script probably justified bigger stars. As usual, Herbert Lom is good value in support, this time as a skeptical, ambiguous Spanish cop.

Michael Anderson directs the big suspense moments with panache. And the film is beautiful to look at, with Baxter's voguish costumes, the classic sports cars and the gorgeous noir photography of the luxury seaside villa. And also to listen to, with a soundtrack of plaintive Spanish guitar (by Julian Bream). This is a very elegant production.

There's a stand out episode when the rogue brother drives like a maniac around the coast road to unnerve his mark. It's one of those vulnerable woman-in-peril thrillers, like a glossy update of Gaslight. But then the big finale upturns the whole programme. Probably, the twist only really works once, but there's still all that period atmosphere to enjoy. 

This acknowledges the work of the Long Range Desert Group, a squadron of volunteers from other regiments who carried out commando raids in North Africa in WWII. It's a familiar story of an ensemble of soldiers who are detailed to blow up a German fuel dump in the desert, but this is the best of its type.

Once the men have negotiated the minefield and set their detonators, they discover a large number of tanks gathered in preparation for El Alamein and must get this intelligence back to camp, while chased all the way by the Nazis. This is tautly directed by Guy Green who creates great suspense with excellent battle scenes, and impressive explosions.

And if they lay on the heroics towards the climax, then surely that was a part of the reality too. The drama is intensified by the antagonistic relationship between the two officers, with John Gregson playing the by-the-book career soldier at odds with Michael Craig as the thin skinned amateur, and his gang of tough, grubby mavericks.

A big bonus is the artistic desert photography, in stark monochrome. And this is a rare British war film of its period in which the grunts are not just grumbling halfwits. They get to trade some witty backchat. It's a tribute to special operations in the desert war, and their bravery and sacrifice, which blows up the scenery, but digs deeper than most.

Short, nostalgic comedy which honours the long history of local British cinemas, just as many were closing down or being converted into bingo halls. A nice middle class couple inherit and restore a small, dilapidated fleapit and begin to show films again despite many comical and sentimental complications.

The cinema building was adapted from the Victorian theatre and Edwardian music hall, and there is an impression of an evolving cultural tradition in jeopardy. And there is the warmth that comes from people doing work out of the love of things.

Bill Travers and Virginia McKenna don't have much sparkle in the lead roles, despite being married in real life... The heart of the film is the support characters played by Margaret Rutherford, Bernard Miles and a greyed up Peter Sellers, who are the eccentric, long standing staff of the old picture house.

There's a beautiful scene when the old timers watch a silent film on the big screen, transfixed and united by reminiscence and the magic of celluloid. There are no big laughs. It's a wistful, gentle film which laments the local cinema as it slipped out of fashion. 

Powerful polemic aimed at the British war effort leading up to the disaster of Dunkirk. And every aspect of preparation is under fire, whether the dilettante politicians, the generals still rolling out the strategies of WWI, or the public, simultaneously in a state of panic and denial. This is an angry film which creates a potent impression of national jeopardy.

The story charts the coming together of a ragtag mob of British soldiers adrift in France as the Germans sweep north, and a pair of small boat enthusiasts who will eventually cross the Channel to try and rescue them. John Mills is too old and awkward as the lowly Corporal in charge of a few stragglers. Bernard Lee is compelling as a member of the civilian flotilla.

Lee provides a commentary on the state of the nation. He describes the foolish optimism brushed aside by brutal reality. Indecisive politicians and military leaders are perceived from a distance. There's a chilling moment when the navy are ordered to pull out their ships, with the Normandy beach still choked with soldiers, strafed by dive-bombers.

It's impressively shot by Leslie Norman, against the big skies of coastal towns, but slightly disappointing that so much was staged in the studio. This is still the definitive version of events which have become a part of national mythology. Although it acknowleges the extraordinary actions of the small boat crews, it more prominently laments the horror of what put them there.

Shaggy dog World War II tale based on an actual incident of a soldier promoted to impersonate Field Marshall Montgomery in the run up to D Day. The intention was to fool German intelligence about where the landings would occur. The film supposes his imitation was so perfect, the Nazis tried to have him killed, though the events are embellished.

The amazing concept of the production is that Monty's double is played by the real life imitator! Based on his own bestseller. This is ME Clifton James who re-enacts history before our eyes. The drawback is that he is quite a wooden actor, though with an amazing likeness for the leader of British army operations in WWII.

The film is pitched as a comedy, with a more serious climax where the Germans attempt to kidnap the fake general. Which never really happened. It's mostly a two hander between James and John Mills in jovial form as the actor's personal coach from British intelligence. Which in reality was the task of David Niven!

It's a likeable, lightweight caper, with little impression of the real risks that James took when plucked out of the pay corps to lead the deception. It comes towards the end of the cycle of fifties WWII films based on the experiences of those who served, often in very unusual and imaginative ways. None more strange than the story of Lieutenant James.

Chic but dated sex comedy which reunites its all time great stars, Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman, 12 years after Notorious. In 1958, he was 54 and she was 43, so they are middle aged lovers, but still illuminate the screen, and are glamorously photographed in Technicolor. It's based on a play set in New York, but transferred to London.

Bergman plays a famous stage actor who has never met the right man. As soon as Grant (a NATO diplomat!) enters her stylish apartment, it's obvious that he's the one. And there is an instant rapport. Except he's married. Or claims to be, so no woman will ever tie him down. It's very like the Doris Day- Rock Hudson comedies which began the following year.

Including the use of split screen for their telephone conversations. Of course the humour is all about the complications of their illicit relationship, which is ordinary now. But the stars shine bright, and there's a clever and genuinely funny last scene when the provoked thespian uses her legendary acting skills to turn the tables.

It's a glossy production of a luxurious affair, where the rich lovers dine in fine restaurants wearing fashionable clothes, and crisscross the landmarks of London. The rules of fifties film romance now seem arcane. But they do sit on a bed at the same time! It's a period piece which eventually generates some pretty good farce.

Harrowing psychological drama about salvage crews operating in the North Atlantic in WWII, suffering what we now call PTSD. Their task is to rescue convoys which have been hit by u-boats, but with pitiful defences. The preface calls these suicide missions. Performed by men unable to process the horror.

Trevor Howard plays the captain of one of these beat up tugs. He's a fatalistic old boozer, surviving on adrenaline and sleeping pills. He is joined by William Holden, a more proactive skipper who presumes that an enterprising approach may delay the inevitable. They acquire the key to a waterfront room; a kind of allegorical purgatory.

While the action takes a realist approach, the crews who operate on the edge of death find their lives assume a mystical dimension. This is personified by Sophia Loren, a sort of delusional saint who comes with the room. She has cared for so many of these doomed men, that she can hardly tell them apart, numb from an overload of memory and loss.

Loren brings dignity to her difficult, spectral role. Holden is fine, but Howard is a natural in this dark, subliminal zone of fear and despair. After a decade of patriotic WWII memoirs, this is war as hell. Censorship issues muddled the final scenes and the metaphysical themes are inevitably vague, but this is an unusual and haunting war-noir.

Philosophical war drama set in Paris in the run up to D Day, which examines the guilt of combat survivors. Paul Massie plays a naive but studious former bomber pilot who was grounded with mental trauma. But because he is fluent in French, he is sent to Paris to kill a traitor. But what if the intelligence is flawed?

There's a familiar plot, particularly the early scenes as the young volunteer goes to assassins school, to be trained by a watchful, avuncular Eddie Albert. When dropped in France, the agent gets too close to his mark and begins to question his orders. But by leaning on his contact (Irene Worth) he may expose her to the Gestapo.

Aspects of the plot are not plausible. It's not obvious why the Resistance doesn't just put a bullet in the supposed collaborator? What makes the film interesting is the clever dialogue that reflects on the action at every stage. Particularly the interactions between Massie and Worth, which are warmed by unspoken maternal love.

When the victim is shown to be innocent, the conscience of the assassin is not reconciled by the fact he merely followed a chain of command. Presumably these issues were still personal to the survivors of WWII, or subsequent wars. There's a wordy script, but intelligent and full of insight, and well acted by the unstarry cast.

One of the more unusual WWII special operations films, loosely drawn from the memoirs of Ewen Montague, who ran the enterprise. A British naval officer (Clifton Webb) leaves a corpse in uniform off the coast of Spain with misleading documents about a plan by the Allies to invade Greece. The idea is to divert defences from Sicily where the actual landing will take place.

The first part of the story is about the creation of a personality for the dead man which will survive Nazi scrutiny. The body is the lead character. These real events are presented respectfully and leisurely. But the film comes to life in the second half as an Irish spy for the Germans (Stephen Boyd) arrives in London to investigate.

This counterespionage subplot was entirely invented by the screenwriter (Nigel Balchin) and there is an impression of a slender premise padded out to feature length. But there's a realistic and an eye-catching production, shot in Technicolor and CinemaScope, with handsome sets of the gentlemen's clubs and offices of ministry.

Clifton Webb is too antiseptic and peevish to be a likeable lead. The film is stolen by the other imported star, Gloria Grahame, who is all emotion as a wife to be of an RAF pilot. The scene where she narrates a love letter for the fake identity of the corpse is a heartbreaker. And the best part of an uneven but interesting war story.

Intense psychological drama, beautifully shot in Vistavision on the Costa Brava. A divorced minor diplomat (Michael Hordern) indignant at being stranded in a Spanish backwater grows to resent the influence of his charismatic gardener (Dirk Bogarde) over his lonely, browbeaten son (11 year old Jon Whiteley).

Bogarde and Whiteley were reunited after making Hunted, four years earlier.  Hordern has the lead role as a repressed, austere functionary who grinds down everyone to obscure his own inadequacy. And he is most convincing. It seems odd today that the rural Spanish house is staffed by British actors, but Bogarde is a natural for these psychodramas.

And he has never looked more handsome, in sumptuous Technicolor. Director Philip Leacock gets another plausible performance out of Whiteley who he first cast as an eight year old in The Kidnappers. The potential for sexual subtext is avoided in favour of a more family friendly experience, but maybe such an approach in 1956 would now date the film.

The principal weakness is a horrible Hollywood ending which strays far from AJ Cronin's source novel. All conflicts are resolved after a frantic catharsis in a climactic thunderstorm, which feels awkwardly drafted in from gothic melodrama. But what lingers in the memory is the triangle of emotive, but well judged performances, and the rich photography.

Overlooked, ultra-stylish police procedural which is one of the great British crime dramas. Jack Hawkins plays the dedicated, seen-it-all Scotland Yard detective looking into a number of related safe jobs which eventually lead to murder. Director Charles Frend tells the absorbing story brilliantly, with a realist approach and crisp noir visuals.

Hawkins is ideal casting as the dedicated, waspish Superintendent. World weary, but not quite cynical. He's a conspicuously British presence in a wonderful cast of familiar stalwarts, with Ursula Howells a stand-out. The locations and sets are just right and there's a persuasive impression of a bustling London.

There are a few genre staples, like the experienced cop paired with an enthusiastic beginner (John Stratton). The twist here is the new boy is scarily competent. Also, the senior detective is married to his job and neglects his wife and boy and goes off chasing leads in the middle of dinner. But these conventions are made fresh and alive.

It's a late Ealing film which hits all the right notes. The excellent, laconic script is witty without being flashy and unfolds at a knockout pace. Sometimes funny, but then succinctly moving. It's an understated, unpretentious cop flick and a genre masterpiece which should be far better known.

Faithful adaptation of a memoir by Captain Stanley Moss about an audacious special operation exercise on Crete in WWII. British agents imbedded in the island's resistance movement kidnap a General of the occupying Nazi army and smuggle him across the island through a manhunt, before making their escape by sea to Egypt.

Dirk Bogarde plays Patrick Fermer as a most debonaire leader of the enterprise. David Oxley plays Stanley Moss. The Cretan resistance performs a supporting role, with much of the drama focusing on the mind games between the British officers and the General (Marius Goring) as they negotiate the photogenic mountains.

This was the last film directed by Powell and Pressburger together, and Michael Powell later expressed his disappointment in the outcome. The problem today is principally the bucolic Greek resistance is presented in part as comic relief, mostly played by British actors. Though the script is respectful of the Cretan's bravery and sacrifice.

But this is also an exciting and imaginative war film of an astonishingly intrepid operation. The mountain scenery is dramatically photographed in b&w in gorgeous Vistavision, augmented by Cretan folk music. Apparently Fermer loved Bogarde's charismatic portrayal, of a gentleman hero who functions on a regime of adrenaline and ouzo, apparently without fear.

British crime film with a classic noir premise and location. A bankrupt tycoon (Rod Steiger) is chased from New York to Mexico by the law. By chance, he encounters another passenger on a train with a similar look. So he gets his unlucky double comatose on whisky and sleeping pills and dumps the body in the desert.

Of course, the ruthless businessman takes on the identity of his victim, but discovers that down in Mexico, this man is a rebel wanted for an assassination. So the impersonator steps into the shoes of an archetypal noir fall guy. Spain stands in effectively for the Tex-Mex border, mostly populated by British character actors

The first half of the film is a stylish thriller. As the fugitive leaves the train, he finds himself presented with the discarded man's dog which has been tied up in the luggage carriage. And this being an adaptation of Grahame Greene story, it becomes clear that dog moves in mysterious ways. It represents an interventionist god... and the border town is purgatory.

And the frontier bridge is the path to redemption! Burdened by all this symbolism, the later scenes aren't as as successful. But it is still an atmospheric journey through Greene's catholic subtext. Steiger leads effectively in a role which dominates. But the film is ultimately stolen by the dog, which gives one of the great canine performances!

Strange anti-war blockbuster which was taken by many to be a remembrance of the suffering of POWs in Japanese prison camps, but now looks a lot like the counter-culture war spoofs of the sixties. The principal British characters are so exaggerated that they undermine the moments of gravity. And William Holden's constant stream of cynicism sends up the action.

Alec Guinness plays a dogmatic, obsessive British Colonel who builds a railway bridge for the Japanese to demonstrate the proficiency and discipline of his men. Jack Hawkins is the gung-ho special operations officer who is sent into the Burmese jungle to blow it up. Holden is the sardonic Yank who gets tangled up in the madness.. 

Its theme is the absurdity of war. Though the early scenes are grimly realistic while David Lean establishes the Colonel's heroic stupidity, it soon becomes a moral tale, way ahead of its time. And an epic of great length and ambition, with spectacular photographic flourishes and an iconic score.

The main star performances are splendid; subversive while still almost plausible. Some felt that Lean was not respectful to real POWs. But it just isn't that film; this is a black comedy about the pity of war, not a tribute. It engages our sympathy for the men, but because war is futile, not heroic. It was a risky venture, but received a huge box office pay-off.