The Flying Scot (a.k.a. Mailbag Robbery) (1957)

Directed and produced by Compton Bennett

A hitherto small-time thief (Lee Patterson) has a plan for a big-time robbery: he and three accomplices (Kay Callard, Alan Gifford, Mark Baker) will steal half a million pounds in old currency being brought from Scotland to London for destruction. In his description to his friends, the crimes passes off without a hitch. Reality, of course, is never the same as imagination.

Despite its obvious small budget, The Flying Scot has the ingredients of a good caper film. A low budget in and of itself is never an effective bar against quality. Plenty of first-rate films have been made with third-rate money. The Flying Scot did not need a lot of cash, considering how it is set; the cramped scenes in fact add a little claustrophobia to the story.

 

The cast, the principals of which are all Canadians or Americans, is good, if not exceptional, Gifford being the stand-out among them, while Patterson overacts a tad. His character is never likeable, unlike the others’, and contributes to the viewers’ indifference as to the criminals’ success.

The story is capable, though hardly complex, and the script is adequate. The latter has its best moments in the inclusion of other passengers, various of whom intrude on Patterson’s scheme in ways he had not anticipated. It did have a flaw that seemed almost artificial. Gifford’s character suffers an attack from a perforated ulcer during the heist, one of the plan’s many unforeseen difficulties. With no foreshadowing, this could have been added as an afterthought, half-way through the writing of the story, though I don’t think that is the case. In fact, once an element of Patterson’s original scheme is changed, Gifford doesn’t really need to have been included.

The real problem is the direction, which never raises the tension enough to make the movie the thriller it was clearly meant to be. The characters display stress plausibly enough, but the viewer doesn’t feel it. There is the anxiety of the small arena in which the action is played out – in the train’s compartments (called carriages, for some reason) and corridors – but the ending simply does not seem to be in doubt.

With an atmosphere that generates more apathy than tension, and a lead character whom one would not mind seeing fail, The Flying Scot becomes an excellent effort – with middling results.

(The title refers not to a Caledonian airman hidden somewhere in the film, but to the express train that travels from Edinburgh to London; in real-life it is called the Flying Scotsman. The fact that the name of the train is never mentioned in the movie, though it would have been well-known to Britons, may have been why a different title was used in the United States, though even this is in error: the bags robbed are not mail, but money.)

The Phantom of Chinatown (1940)

Directed by Phil Rosen; produced by Paul Malvern

An archaeological expedition to Mongolia brings back information pertaining to the fabled Eternal Fire, information to which the head of the expedition alludes during a lecture. He doesn’t tell much, however, as he dies during his talk - poisoned, as it is discovered. The death piques the interest of criminologist James Lee Wong (Keye Luke), who, aided by Captain Street (Grant Withers) of the San Francisco Police, hunts the killer, dodging knives, red herrings and suspicious dames along the way.

The last of the Wong series of low-budget mystery movies, The Phantom of Chinatown was the only one to feature Luke in the lead role, the others having starred Boris Karloff. Luke was younger than Karloff, which may have been the reason this entry in the series was a ‘prequel’: Wong meets his police partner, Street, for the first time, while they are already acquainted in the earlier films. Luke does very well here, showing that he was lead actor material, though I don’t believe he filled that role in any other movie. The other actors are capable, but don’t rise above the level required for such a film.

The story is simple, and simplistic. A chase after a hidden scroll, a couple of murders, the motive of one not really explained, tepid romance: none of this is very interesting, and expert knowledge in, well, anything, is lacking. Proper police procedure is of course ignored and the behaviour of the archaeologists would leave real scientists gasping in horror: when the lost tomb of a Chinese emperor is discovered, the team rush in, pulling away debris, prying open coffins and picking up artefacts without the slightest attempt to document anything. A film-maker is present, recording events on his movie-camera, but how he manages it in a cave-like mausoleum without lights is beyond me.

The script is a bit better than the over-all story. The characters of Luke and Withers are the most interesting but even the former is not well defined. We gather that Wong is educated; he is certainly intelligent and well-mannered, suave and affluent. But holes in his past and personality may have been due to the nature of the movie-series of those days. They were the equivalent of television series of decades later, and could not be expected to describe even the main character in every entry. The series would have benefitted from more episodes with Luke.

The treatment of Chinese and Chinese-Americans is almost completely modern. No one treats Wong as an inferior and, if his cook (Lee Tung Foo) is a comic foil, he is no more so than a thousand Caucasian characters in films of the time - and more capable than the idiotic police detective he captures. In a brawl, Wong uses traditional Chinese fighting methods, but is not invincible. The worst stereotype is a flowery use of (possibly pseudo-) Oriental phrases, over which even Wong smiles. There is even an acknowledgement of the Chinese point of view when, in referring to the archaeological journey, Wong mentions a ‘Chinese expedition to uncover the tomb of George Washington’; when this tongue-in-cheek statement is questioned, Wong mutters, “Well, you get the idea,” a jab that the police captain finds amusing.

Unfortunately, bright spots such as Luke, his character and the interplay with Street, are not nearly enough to float a movie with a routine plot, a merely adequate script, low-level acting and an almost child-like knowledge of its subject. The Phantom of Chinatown is for only the most undiscriminating of viewers. (And there’s no reference to or implication of a phantom; the film takes place only now and then in Chinatown…)

The Big Knife (1955)

Directed and produced by Robert Aldrich

A Hollywood actor (Jack Palance) has reached a crisis in his career. At the height of his popularity, he has sacrificed his professional integrity for fame and fortune, and now wants out. His wife (Ida Lupino) supports this decision, and will leave him if he doesn’t quit. His powerful studio boss (Rod Steiger) is pressuring him to sign a new contract, and will ruin him if he refuses. Will he stand up to one, or both, or will he crack under the strain?

This very rare example of Palance in a leading role shows both that he was competent, and that he was probably best in a supporting role. He gives a creditable performance, and is really the best thing in an otherwise sorry melodrama. It is based on a play by Clifford Odets and, despite Odets being one of the most prominent American playwrights of the twentieth century, reminded me of a university or high school work.

The script is filled with improbable lines and dialogue that would be found only on the stage. Almost every line could be spoken with half as many words and twice as much clarity. The characters were well-defined but without much subtlety.

The direction picks up where the script leaves off, and simply magnifies its problems. The comparison to a high school production becomes stronger, with yelling and crying taking the place of acting. Histrionics vie with overdone earnestness. Considering the fame and skill of the director, the placement and blocking of the actors is amateurish, Palance more than once facing away from the camera or even behind lampshades while talking.

As stated above, Palance did well, though he was badly miscast as a matinée idol. (John Garfield had filled the role during the play’s Broadway run, and would have been more credible.) The other actors are adequate in their roles, with the exception of Steiger, who gives an early example of the extreme over-acting for which he became infamous. It was like watching William Shatner on steroids. Everett Sloane, as Palance’s agent, was, in his own way, as hammy as Steiger. Lupino reacted rather than acted, though Wendell Corey, as Steiger’s henchman, did a good job.

The problem with The Big Knife stems, I think, from it being too personal. It appears, given Odets’s past, to be autobiographical in some ways. Odets had been a darling of the New York theatre crowd, the new talent, but had gone to Hollywood to write movie scripts. He imagined that he had sold out; Palance represented him in the film. Steiger was the studio boss for whom Odets worked, likely Louis B Mayer. Lupino was the wife who was almost Odets’s agent in dealings with the studio. The manifest emotions of the play may have been how Odets saw his relationship with Hollywood, or how he would have wanted it to be. He may have been too close to the subject to write a convincing, realistic depiction of the situation, and instead created a nightmarish interpretation.

Whether or not this view is accurate, The Big Knife is at different moments tiresome, annoying and unbelievable, but always unsatisfying.

The Killers (1946)

Directed by Robert Siodmak; produced by Mark Hellinger

Two strangers (Willian Conrad, Charles McGraw) come to a small town and take the staff and patron of a diner prisoner with the expressed intention of ambushing and killing a resident of the town. When the man (Burt Lancaster) doesn’t show up, they go to find him. Despite being warned, the victim neither flees nor defends himself, and accepts his fate. The insurance investigator (Edmund O’Brien) on the case can’t fathom the dead man’s apathy and, digging further, finds an intricate web of robbery, deceit, obsession and betrayal.

One of the best crime movies from an era that produced the best of that genre, The Killers has everything going for it. Inspired by (rather than based on) the Hemingway story of the same name, the tale is largely told in flashback, the plot laid out for the viewer as O’Brien and Sam Levene, as a police officer interested in the case, uncover it. It is a complex plot, with twists and surprises, and a conclusion rooted in both reason and emotion, as film noir often is. Caper film, mystery, psychological drama; The Killers  works in every way.

The characters are key to the story, especially Lancaster’s; his psyche is important to the story. But everyone’s role is strong and rewarding. O’Brien’s cocksure investigator becomes more likeable as he delves deeper into the mystery, and his team-work with Levene is smooth and enjoyable. Ava Gardner, as the female lead, is fittingly enigmatic, and Albert Dekker is almost sympathetic as the soft-talking villain. Stand-outs, in small roles, are the assassins themselves, Conrad and McGraw: two men who would murder from annoyance as much as for money, and whose frightfulness comes from being so creepily casual in their evil.

The direction is dead on and the cinematography is superb. Check out the opening sequence as the gunmen converge on the diner, arriving at two entrances simultaneously, anonymous (but uncaring if they may be identified to the police). The lighting and pacing is so well conceived that merely walking becomes a sinister premonition of violence and death. The movie demonstrates why film noir worked best in black-and-white.

The acting could of course have ruined everything else, but The Killers excels in this category, as well. It’s hard to believe that this film was Lancaster’s first. He is not on the screen as much as is O’Brien or even Levene, but he dominates every scene he is in. His acceptance of his imminent demise is not unmitigated; the tension and fear he feels, mixed with his motivation, had to be conveyed right; the rest of the movie depended on it. But no one in the cast is unconvincing.

The Killers starts off on a high note and doesn’t drop in quality appreciably at any point during its 103 minutes. Whether a student of the cinema, amateur movie buff, or just someone who likes an excellent time watching film, The Killers will not disappoint.

Murphy's Romance (1985)

Directed by Martin Ritt; produced by Laura Ziskin

Emma Moriarty (Sally Field) moves with her son, Jake (Corey Haim), to a small town in Arizona, hoping a different location and her own business venture - horse-boarding - will give them the fresh start they need. Soon, she begins to meet the locals, one of whom is the older, thoughful and forthright pharmacist, Murphy Jones (James Garner). As they come to know each other, interest grows between them that is more than friendship and less than love - but that soon changes.

While it is accurate to categorise this film as a romantic comedy, the inference some may draw from that term would not be quite right. Though I like the genre, most romantic comedies are rather silly affairs, filled with contrivance and forced situations, not to mention forced laughs. Murphy’s Romance is different. It is an adult romantic comedy. By that, I do not mean there is sex, violence and profanity. There is no nudity and though an obscenity is uttered, Murphy makes it plain that he doesn’t care for the word or its use.

No, this is an adult movie because the principals behave like adults and have a grown-up approach to falling in love. Emma and Murphy are mature people who have experienced easy times and tough times, as have we all, and act like they’ve learned from them. It’s clear that Murphy’s feelings for Emma are clearer to him than Emma’s feelings for Murphy are clear to her, and they are clearer sooner. But he is cautious, neither foolish nor timid, while she is gun-shy about love.

The leads’ age difference is a good example of the script’s maturity. Though Murphy’s lengthy collection of years is mentioned, usually as the butt of a good-natured joke, its place in any relationship is not a concern. The age difference is treated as if Emma and Murphy have taken it into account as part of their over-all personalities; they weigh its effect as they would any other aspect of their characters. This lack of hand-wringing angst over something that isn’t much of a problem in the first place makes for a realistic but easy-going movie

Despite the title, Field is rightly given top billing. She is very winning as a woman who is both strong and vulnerable, and her good relationship with her son is as refreshing as is her romantic maturity. Garner is a very watchable but not versatile actor; most of his parts are similar: a steady, dependable, likeable man, tolerant of foibles but hard on folly. Here, the characterization is perfect. He is sensible and funny, the sort of man any woman would want as a partner and any man would want as a friend.

The script wisely avoids populating the film with ‘quirky’ townspeople, the artificial bane of many a comedy. The closest the movie comes is with the community’s oldest resident (Charles Lane), a curmudgeon whose appearance is used to illustrate Garner’s character more than his own.

Murphy’s Romance has been described as a ‘chick flick’ that men would enjoy. I agree with this, but it may be considered a film for women really only because the main character is female. This enjoyable and entertaining movie is for both genders and most ages simply because…it’s an enjoyable and entertaining movie.

For Them That Trespass (1949)

Directed by Cavalcanti; produced by Victor Skutezky

A young man (Stephen Murray), hoping to be a writer, takes to heart the criticism that he has not lived enough to write properly. To correct that flaw, he visits a working-class district of London – in the time-honoured belief that only the poor actually live – and becomes involved with a likeable but promiscuous girl (Rosalyn Boulter). She has a couple of other boyfriends, including a happy-go-lucky thief (Richard Todd) and a brutal railway fireman (Michael Laurence). When the latter thinks his girl has been unfaithful, a crime is committed, and while the would-be author is the cause, it’s the innocent thief who suffers.

Part crime story and part character study, For Them That Trespass (I am still pondering the grammar of that title) is not strong enough in its two forms to succeed entirely as either. It also switches its point of view about a third of the way through, abandoning the effete and bland Murray as protagonist for the more interesting and hearty Todd. This does improve matters, though it also alters the direction of the story. Instead of a tale about a man mired in trouble because of his intrusion in an alien world, it becomes a search for justice, of a man seeking to right the wrongs done him. These are the two forms of ‘trespass’ mentioned in the title.

Undoubtedly the writers intended the change in direction and tone, wanting Murray’s character to cause the difficulties, however inadvertently, and then depart, the effects of his misadventures forgotten in his rise to fame. Todd’s character, meanwhile, is shown suffering the consequences of another man’s actions. This gives the impression, though, of a preamble half as long as the body of the story. That story, moreover, while keeping the viewer’s attention, is not particularly original.

The acting is uneven. It is clearly seen why Murray, given top billing, became largely forgotten, despite his radio and theatre work, while Todd went on to become a very popular movie performer. This was the latter’s first credited role (“Introducing Richard Todd”). I have seen several films lately with actors “introduced” in the credits, and this is the first from which the actor in question went on to bigger and better things. The supporting players are a mixed lot; for example Laurence is wooden, while Patricia Plunkett, as the woman who stands by Todd, is lively and believable. Kenneth More has a very small part as a prison warder.

For Them That Trespass, therefore, is a jumble of good, bad and indifferent. The good items are certainly there to be found, but are too few and widely scattered to make the movie a good bargain.

How to Train Your Dragon: the Hidden World (2019)

Directed by Dean DeBlois; produced by Bonnie Arnold and Bradford Lewis

The third and likely last movie in the How to Train Your Dragon series finds the Viking village of Berk once more beset by dragons. This time, the hundreds of flying reptiles are all friendly, rescued by the young chieftain Hiccup (voice of Jay Baruchel) and his friends from would-be dragon-slayers. Their activities are so successful, however, that they become a threat to dragon-trappers, who hire the devilishly clever, and just plain devilish, Grimmel (voice of F. Murray Abraham), a famous and immensely successful hunter.

What often occurs with trilogies that are not planned out fully in advance, is that the original chapter is the best, the second is much less imaginative, while the third is in between. This movie unfortunately doesn’t fit entirely into that pattern. The look is brilliant and, at times, breath-taking. But these very characteristics work against the film. Many scenes are so busy and active that they become overwhelming, the colour, the movement, the images confusing, rather than impressive. In too many instances, the eyes are dazzled.

The story is adequate but also follows a pattern that has just recently emerged in animated works. It used to be that stories’ themes were quite simple. They would be straightforward tales of good against evil (eg. Snow White (1937)) or a personal message, such as redemption or appearance versus substance (eg. Beauty and the Beast (1991)). Now, however, it seems that the morality must reflect the current issues in socio-political affairs. In How to Train Your Dragon: the Hidden World, co-existence of different races is at the heart of the movie, Hiccup arguing for it, of course, and Grimmel demanding a separation of the races for the benefit of both. The trouble with such earnestness is that it can become heavy-handed quite easily, and turn to sermonising, which is never good for any film, never mind an animated cartoon.

There is also the sub-plot of Hiccup and Toothless, his dragon, reaching a point at which their paths must diverge, and the young human thinking that he amounts to little without his companion. This theme is only weakly developed, especially since the climax features both man and beast working together once more.

The most successful aspect is the depiction of detail in the animation. As may be seen from some of the accompanying pictures, an immense amount of thought and work went into the smallest items. Some of this care for detail may be found in the script. For instance, in one brief image, we see the giant ‘villainous’ dragon from the second movie, having found a home and fellowship (which I found gratifying, since I thought his fate in part two to be undeserved.) And I was very impressed with the female dragon. The gender was convincingly depicted without the usual traits of the feminine cartoon character (bow on the head, long eyelashes, heeled shoes.) It was done almost entirely by gesture and facial expression. But, as stated above, most of the exquisite detail, in the amounts provided, is like receiving a tidal wave when an exhilaratingly swift river is all that is needed.

While How to Train Your Dragon: the Hidden World is a spectacle in a visual sense, its ordinary story, unimaginatively wicked villain, preachy premise and mesmerising visual effects make it too top-heavy, while not providing it with a strong enough base.

(And am I the only one who thinks How to Drain Your Flagon: a Guide to Re-enacting the Medieval Banquet would make a great title for an instructional video?)