BY HANK REINEKE
It would be inaccurate to dismiss Peter Cheyney’s “Lemmy
Caution†as just one more James Bond knock-off. Caution was, from the outset, more of a hardboiled gumshoe than super
spy. The character also pre-dates the
creation of Ian Fleming’s James Bond, with Cheney having churned out ten Lemmy
Caution thrillers from 1936 to 1945. James Bond’s creator was certainly conversant with Cheyney’s work in the
spy/thriller canon. Fleming’s friend and
biographer John Pearson would recount Fleming’s excitement when his first James
Bond novel, Casino Royale (1953), was
described by one critic as a “sort of Peter Cheyney de luxe.†One review enthusiastically
anointed first-time novelist Fleming as “the Peter Cheyney of the carriage
trade.â€
Such favorable comparisons stoked Fleming’s confidence in
his craft. Cheyney’s novels were great
sellers in their days, reportedly selling some 1,500,000 copies at peak. Today, with the passing of time, his books are
at best-dimly remembered. Much like the
novels of Sax Rohmer, they are recalled mostly by bookish types interested in
the time-capsule pulp mysteries of the 1930s and 40s. Cheyney’s novels – similarly to unfortunate
passages and caricatures present in several of Fleming’s own aging works, to be
fair – would be considered too politically incorrect in this day to appeal to most
readers of contemporary mysteries.
Following the success of the publication of From Russia with Love - and the
attendant hosanna’s of critical acclaim - Fleming would distance himself from
the Cheyney comparisons. In a letter to
his publisher Jonathan Cape, Fleming expressed a degree of wariness to the
interest of the Daily Express in
developing James Bond as a character in a proposed comic-strip series. While acknowledging the potential
exploitative and financial windfalls of the venture, Fleming argued his
champagne enterprise might somehow be devalued by his creation’s appearance in a
series of cartoon strips: “A certain
cachet attaches to the present operation and there is a danger that if stripped
we shall descend into the Peter Cheyney class.†Fleming wasn’t alone in his newly found disapproval of Cheyney’s déclassé
novels. Famed mystery writer Raymond
Chandler too would dismiss Cheyney as an author having written only “one good
book.â€
The film adaptations of Cheyney’s “Lemmy Caution†featuring
American actor Eddie Constantine would also pre-date EON’s James Bond series by
nine years. The first Lemmy Caution film
La môme vert-de-gris was
released in France in May of 1953, one month following the publication of
Fleming’s first James Bond novel that April. If Sean Connery’s tenure as James Bond was
occasionally fractious and mostly disowned by the actor, Constantine was more
accepting of his typecast as Lemmy Caution. It was a character of whom the American actor was rarely dismissive of.
Constantine, a craggy, rough-appearing singer and actor,
was a favorite of French film audiences of the 1950s. It’s easy to see why he was a popular
pop-culture figure in France. He’s
certainly a likable sort. He’s not a
particularly handsome guy – usually a pre-requisite for this sort of super-spy
adventure story. He’s more of a
rough-hewn Raymond Chandler-type in appearance. He’s part Humphrey Bogart and Paul Muni, hardly a debonair, sophisticate
of the James Bond mold.
This is, I suppose, a windy, too-long and winding back
story to Jesus Franco’s Euro-Spy thriller Attack
of the Robots, recently issued on Blu-ray in the U.S. by Redemption
Films. Though not an official “Lemmy Caution†thriller at
all, Constantine plays Interpol agent Al Pereira, essentially, in the same
manner as his most famous character. There is a noticeable emphasis on light-hearted humor throughout
Franco’s film, the writer-director obviously exploiting the droll humor on
display in Goldfinger (1964). We’re introduced to Pereira, as one might
expect, in a similar manner to which we were introduced to Connery’s James Bond
in Dr. No. The tuxedoed and recently retired agent is
sitting alongside an attractive brunette at a casino gaming table. For reasons unknown to me, the well-groomed pair
is sipping at glass bottles of Coca-Cola rather than a more adult beverage.
Attack
of the Robots (French title Cartes sur Table) commences in October of 1965, and takes no time
in getting down to business. Authorities
are forced to deal with a rash of brazen daylight assassinations when, in short
order, a number of diplomats, ambassadors, archbishops, and cabinet ministers
are taken out by a team of black-clad automats. Regardless of this film’s Anglicized title promising robots, these
sunglass-wearing “automats†are not mechanical in origin. They are “pod people†of a sort, unwillingly
shanghaied into service through a form of mind control. The one common element between the assassin automats
is that they’re all of “Rhesus Zero†blood-type. This biologic peculiarity has somehow made
them susceptible to this fiendish takeover.
As in the early James Bond films, this movie boasts
several villains and villainesses. There’s Lee Wee (Vicente Roca), a sadistic Chinese national who operates
from the back room of an opium den. Much
in the style of Joseph Wiseman’s Dr. No, Wee operates his criminal enterprise
in an allegiance-free, non-discriminatory manner: his conscience sees no
contradiction in serving as a double agent for both the North and South
Vietnamese intelligence services. There’s
also a mysterious and beautiful female agent (Francoise Brion) popping up every
now and then. Both she and Wee serve as
instruments of the secretive “Upper Circle.†This organization is a
super-criminal enterprise (commanded by Fernando Rey) that, naturally, operates
from a subterranean Spectre-style
operations base.
The film has its pluses and minuses. There are a number of unconvincingly
choreographed hand-to-hand combat sequences that border on the laughable. The one exception is a more tough, tense and
believably-executed sequence in a Spanish boathouse. That’s a hand-to-hand battle almost worthy of
a Bob Simmons, the legendary stunt co-ordinator, staging. There’s also the obligatory “Q Branchâ€
sequence, when agent Pereira is outfitted with outlandish gadgets. There’s a cigar that emits a stream of lethal
gas (though, I suppose, technically, even legit cigars do this). He’s also gifted a Bic pen that doubles as a
flute and expels a neutralizing gas, a pair of “electrocution gloves,†and an
exploding umbrella. Of the latter item, Pereira
is grimly advised by his superiors that the device – while of some use in the
field as a weapon - is not practical for the manner in which it was designed…
as a rain protector.
The best (and occasionally worst) moments are the humor-inflected
scenes. Constantine excels in the
“flippant comment†department (besting, perhaps, even Roger Moore). His remarks are always delivered deliciously dry
and in an offhand fashion. When an
information-seeking female enemy agent tries to suspiciously engage him at a
nightclub, he makes several attempts to be unresponsive to her obvious advances. He finally rids himself of her in this
wonderful exchange:
“Do you dance?â€
“Yes.â€
“Go ahead. It
doesn’t bother me.â€
When, under the guise of being unable to sleep, the
comely Brion tries her damndest to get herself invited into his hotel suite for
an amorous romp and a bit of espionage. Anxious to rid himself of the intrusion, agent Pereira suggests she instead
read a bit from the books of a then contemporary best-selling French author. “You’ll be asleep in no time,†he assures
her.
There are a number of groaning jokes sprinkled
throughout, and the more unfortunate of these date the film rather
unkindly. The corpse of one fallen
automat is described as “mulatto†in appearance by one inspector, a description
– to be fair - in general usage of the time. Less forgiving is a scene where agent Pereira teases one Chinese member
of his own team that he’s looking “a bit yellowish.†We also must suffer through the re-occurring
appearances of a bellicose and buffoonish Mexican tourist – this film’s J.W.
Pepper, I suppose. While this character
was obviously added to provide moments of comic relief, the caricature is
mostly embarrassing to sit through in 2019.
A French/Spanish co-production, Cartes sur Table (which translates as “Cards on the Tableâ€), is
just one of a rash of spy films rushed out following the phenomenal success of Goldfinger in 1964. There’s even a not-so-veiled reference to that
film: agent Pereira’s continental alias is “Frank Fröbe,†an obvious homage to
Gert Fröbe’s titular and iconic villain.
Early in his career as a director, Jesus (Jess) Franco
was still cranking out low-budget films in a workman-like, traditional
manner. Attack of the Robots certainly falls into this category, though
elements of Franco’s mod visual design motifs are already beginning to creep
into the proceedings. Often described as
a combination Euro-Spy and Sci-fi flick, the film certainly displays elements
of both and is a fun ride for those into vintage Spy Vibe type of films. The fact that this 1966 film was shot in
monochrome black and white certainly doesn’t help propel its reputation as a challenger
to the splashy and colorful James Bond franchise. Despite a few contemporary ‘60s trimmings and
the sci-fi angle, this could very well have worked as a grade-B detective film
of the late 1940s/1950s.
Redemption’s Blu-Ray edition of Attack of the Robots is offered here in its original black and
white presentation with an aspect ratio of 1:66:1. Special features include the original French
language soundtrack with English subtitles, as well as the option of choosing
an English language soundtrack. There is
also an authoritative and insightful audio commentary courtesy of author Tim
Lucas of Video Watchdog… an
unapologetic Jess Franco enthusiast, to say the least. The set also includes the original theatrical
trailer.
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