BY LEE PFEIFFER

The most memorable aspect of "Who is Harry Kellerman and Why Is He Saying Those Terrible Things About Me?" is its title, which still resonates with people of a certain age even though most probably never saw the film itself.  "Harry" was a speed bump in Dustin Hoffman's meteoric rise to success that began with "The Graduate" in 1967 and continued with such diverse hits as "Midnight Cowboy", "Little Big Man" and "Straw Dogs" (which would be released a few months after "Harry"). Directed by Ulu Grosbard, who would direct Hoffman in the acclaimed drama "Straight Time" seven years later, "Harry" is a bizarre comedy with an anti-Establishment social message. Hoffman, almost unrecognizable behind a mustache and curly hair, plays Georgie Soloway, a "Boy Wonder" in the music business for his ability to almost instantly write hit rock and folk songs, along with memorable advertising jingos. He has fame and fortune and resides in luxurious penthouse apartment in Manhattan that is a virtual museum to his own accomplishments. However, the affable Georgie is desperately lacking something in his life: genuine friendships and a loving, significant other. The film doesn't follow a linear path and bounces around between various stages of Georgie's life. We see him growing up in Brooklyn, the only child of two stereotypical, overbearing Jewish parents. As a teenager, Georgie goes through the customary stages of trying to deal with raging hormones. He and a friendly but air-headed girl become lovers but he cruelly ditches her when she becomes pregnant. Later we see he had married when he impregnated another woman who bore him two children. Georgie ended up deserting them as well because he couldn't deal with the adult responsibilities that fatherhood demands. We see present-day Georgie having no problems finding bedmates but he realizes he only attracts women because of his fame and fortune. Every time he seems to enter a promising relationship it is compromised when the woman is contacted by a mysterious man who calls himself Harry Kellerman and who seems to know all the intimate aspects of Georgie's life. Kellerman routinely unveils to these women the sordid ways Georgie has treated previous lovers and inevitably, his new relationships fail. When we first see Georgie, he is a psychological basket case. He fantasizes about suicide as though it will be a charming and pleasant experience. He also desperately tries to forge genuine friendships with those in his life. For years he has been paying a psychiatrist (Jack Warden) to hear his problems and act as a surrogate father figure to him but it becomes clear the man only sees Georgie as another client. Similarly, Georgie's outreach to his business manager (Gabriel Dell) and his harried accountant (Dom DeLuise) fails to result in establishing anything but business relationships. Georgie is the ultimate poor little rich boy. Much of the story line finds Georgie increasingly infuriated by Kellerman's interference in his love life and becoming obsessed with finding out who he is and how he knows so much about him. 

The film was written by Herb Gardner, best known for his play "A Thousand Clowns", which was also about a dysfunctional New York man, who- like Georgie- was superficially charming but not very admirable. Gardner's screenplay drifts back and forth through time at a dizzying pace and sometimes it's hard to know whether we are viewing Georgie in the past or present. He also includes sequences that are genuinely bizarre but are later revealed to be dreams or fantasies. The end result is a rather unsatisfying mix of comedy and pathos despite fine performances by everyone involved. Director Grosbard makes scant use of the New York locations, other than some earlier scenes representing Coney Island in the 1950s and one fantasy scene that finds Georgie inside either the Holland or Lincoln Tunnel, which is totally deserted (trying filming that today).  There are also some wonderful aerial shots of the city as we watch the bored Georgie pilot his personal jet for joy rides. But Grosbard never captures the flavor of New York and film could just have easily been set in any major city. The movie is primarily shot in dark interiors with grim lighting, making for a suitably depressing experience. The message of the movie seems to be that money can't buy happiness and that personal virtues are more important than a large bank account. This may be true but it wasn't exactly a unique theory even in 1971. The film comes alive mostly in its final phase when Georgie meets an untalented aspiring singer (Barbara Harris, superb in an Oscar-nominated performance) who is ditzy but lovable. She brings out the kind of genuine human emotion that Georgie had been suppressing for most of his life- but is it too late to save him from his own demons? The final scene of the movie sees Georgie finally seeming to find happiness as he soars above the boroughs of New York City in a wonderfully-filmed sequence that comes to an unexpected conclusion, even as it provides an answer to the question "Who is Harry Kellerman?" 

Kino Lorber has released the film on Blu-ray sans any special features other than a trailer for Ulu Grosbard's 1981 drama "True Confessions". The transfer is very good indeed but can't overcome the deficiencies in the film itself. "Harry Kellerman" isn't a bad film and it does provide the joy of seeing another fine performance by young Dustin Hoffman. But it is a movie that falls far short of its aspirations and at times comes across as merely pretentious.

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By Hank Reineke

In case you were wondering, the answer is “yes.” That is Christopher Lee’s visage featured on the slipcase of Kino Lorber’s Blu ray issue of Vernon Sewell’s The Blood Beast Terror. Now, ordinarily, displaying Sir Christopher’s image on a Gothic horror film release wouldn’t make for bad marketing. The problem is that Lee doesn’t actually appear in The Blood Beast Terror. The team at Kino curiously chose to use the poster art of Distribuzione Italiana Films Internazionali, the distributor readying the film for European release as the Mostro di Sangue.

The artwork procured by D.I.F.I. for The Blood Beast Terror was, at the very least, familiar: a reverse-image lifted from the Italian poster of 1958’s Horror of Dracula (Dracula il Vampiro). Kino is taking a fair battering on fan sites for their packaging of this 2022 issue. But let’s be fair. Kino’s decision to forego the original British poster art for the imagery of the Italian campaign might be a bit odd but not technically incorrect. Moviegoers in Italy had, in fact, been lured into visiting their local cinema with such eye-catching - if misleading - artwork.

Though Tigon’s The Blood Beast Terror has a core of supporters – perhaps defenders is a better term - I find the film a mild amusement at best. Which is a shame as I really want to like it. In a sense, it’s a film conceived from a time out of mind. Some critics suggest that’s exactly the film’s failing. Upon UK release in the early spring of 1968, stately Gothic horrors were seemingly growing stale amongst horror film fans. Critics argued a new era of more edgy, sadistic and blood-letting horrors was in the ascendant, old costume-drama gothics now too tame to frighten. While that’s not necessarily untrue, there’s no denying The Blood Beast Terror is of middling interest simply due to it not being terribly involving.

While it’s true goth-horror had lost some of its courtly appeal with a large sect of cinemagoers, the sub-genre was hardly dead. A case in point: upon original release The Blood Beast Terror was paired as the undercard to Michael Reeve’s brilliant Witchfinder General, a film set circa 1645. This too was a Tigon release of Tony Tenser’s, a Vincent Price vehicle far superior to The Blood Beast Terror on every conceivable level. I might be wrong, but I suspect if not for the presence of Peter Cushing in The Blood Beast Terror, Sewell’s more modest film would have far fewer champions than it enjoys today.

So what’s wrong with it? I admit to moments of melancholia when watching The Blood Beast Terror. For starters, it’s difficult to watch old pros Cushing and Robert Flemyng (known best to horror film fans as the titular necrophagic M.D. The Horrible Dr. Hichcock) try their best to rise above the mediocre material they’ve been given to work with. The film’s Director of Photography, Stanley Long, recalled Flemyng complaining “how shit the script was, how shit the effects were.” Even director Sewell wasn’t spared the castigations of an unhappy cast member. He recalled the famously gentlemanly Cushing mildly offering only a couple of days into the shoot, “Vernon, I think this is perhaps the worst film I have ever made.” Sadly, in a few years’ time there would be new challengers to Cushing’s lament. Such clunkers as Tendre Dracula (1974) and Blood Suckers (1971) would prove short term contenders to that particular title.

I won’t give away anything important about the film’s flimsy plot – just in case you’ve yet to see the film and still wish to after reading this review. I’ll just say the trail of mutilated bodies scattering the English countryside are – as ever – the result of bad science gone horribly wrong. In this case entomological science. As transformative feminine-insect monsters go, Wanda Ventham’s fetching “Clare” in The Blood Beast Terror is, IMHO, a far less interesting or menacing creature than Susan Cabot’s “Janice Starlin” in Roger Corman’s low-budget The Wasp Woman (1959). But, again, the fault here lies not with Ventham or Cushing or Flemyng, but with a script riddled with excessive verbiage and slow-moving, sluggish plotting.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

"Gun the Man Down" is yet another Poverty Row low-budget Western shot during an era in which seemingly every other feature film released was a horse opera. Supposedly shot in nine days, the film is primarily notable for being the big screen directing debut of Andrew V. McLaglen, who would go on to be a very respected director who specialized in Westerns and action films. The movie also marked the final feature film for James Arness before he took on the role of Marshall Matt Dillon in TV's long-running and iconic "Gunsmoke" series. After failing to achieve stardom on the big screen, Arness found fame and fortune in "Gunsmoke" when John Wayne recommended him for the part. Wayne had been championing Arness for years and provided him with roles in some of his films. Following "Gunsmoke"'s phenomenal run, Arness seemed content to stay with TV and had another successful series, "How the West Was Won".  John Wayne was one of the first actors to successfully launch his own production company, Batjac, which produced this film and Wayne's influence is felt in the project. Andrew V. McLaglen was the son of Wayne's good friend and occasional co-star Victor McLaglen. The screenplay was written by Burt Kennedy, who Wayne would later hire to direct several of his own films. The movie provided young Angie Dickinson with her first role of substance and she would reunite with Wayne years later on Howard Hawks' "Rio Bravo". Speaking of which, another Wayne favorite, character actor Pedro Gonzalez Gonzalez appears in both films. Also in the cast is Harry Carey Jr. , son of Wayne's idol and and personal friend, Harry Carey. The cinematography is by William Clothier, who would lens many of Wayne's later movies and the film was produced by Duke's brother, Robert Morrison. "Gun the Man Down" is very much a Wayne family affair. 

The film opens with three fleeing bank robbers: Rem Anderson (James Arness), Matt Rankin (Robert J. Wilke) and Ralph Farley (Don MeGowan), who arrive at their hide-a-way cabin with the law in hot pursuit. Rem has been seriously wounded and Rankin makes the decision to leave him behind. Rem's girl, Jan (Angie Dickinson), objects at first but Rankin convinces her to go with them in part because they have $40,000 in loot from the local bank. The law arrives at the cabin and arrests Rem. He is nursed back to health and is offered a deal for a light sentence if he helps track down his confederates. Rem refuses and does his time in prison. Upon release, he begins his mission vengeance and tracks Rankin, Ralph and Jan to a one-horse town where Rankin has used his ill-gotten gains to open a profitable saloon. Upon discovering Rem is in town, Rankin hires a notorious gunslinger, Billy Deal (Michael Emmet), to assassinate him. Jan has a tense reunion with Rem and seeks his forgiveness but her pleas fall on deaf ears. Rem emerges victorious over Billy Deal and Rankin, Ralph and Jan flee town with Rem in pursuit. Their final confrontation takes place in a remote canyon with tragic consequences.  

Given the film's meager production budget, "Gun the Man Down" is a surprisingly mature and engrossing Western with intelligent dialogue and interesting characters. (In addition to those mentioned, there is a fine performance by Emile Meyer as the town sheriff). Arness projects the kind of macho star power that Wayne had and Dickinson acquits herself very well as the stereotypical saloon girl with a heart of gold. The film, ably directed by McLaglen,  runs a scant 76 minutes and was obviously designed for a quick playoff and fast profit. It has largely been lost to time but the film is currently streaming on Screenpix, which is available through Amazon Prime, Roku, Apple TV and Fire TV for an additional monthly fee of $2.99 The movie is also available on Blu-ray through Olive Films.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

A decade before the release of the teenage vampire sensation "Twilight" in 2008, there was another film with the same title that couldn't be more different in tone and style. While the horror flick helped launch the careers of up-and-coming actors, the 1998 film was gently acknowledging that its already legendary stars were coming to the end of theirs. This is evidenced by the title, which has a dual meaning: the time of day as well as the stage of life its central characters find themselves in. "Twilight" was written and directed by Robert Benton and stars Paul Newman, Susan Sarandon, Gene Hackman and James Garner. Benton and Newman had found considerable acclaim and success with their previous collaboration, "Nobody's Fool", but "Twilight" received mixed reviews and performed poorly at the boxoffice. Therefore, there's probably a good chance you never saw it. The failure of movie is puzzling, given the public's affection for the film noir genre. Purists may argue that true film noir requires that a movie be made on a modest budget and shot in black and white. "Twilight" doesn't apply to either of these rules. It has a high-priced cast and gorgeous color cinematography by Piotr Sobocinski, but in many ways it evokes the very best of the noir genre, in a way that director Dick Richards' 1975 detective flick "Farewell My Lovely" also succeeded in doing. It has all the central elements: the protagonist is a down-and-out  private eye (are there any other kind in noir films?), a deceptive man who sends him out on a mission to make some fast money, a sultry femme fatale and an abundance of supporting characters who are as eccentric as they are threatening. Oh, and most of the action takes place in the dead of night.

The film is set in contemporary L.A. Newman plays Harry Ross, a one-time cop who was fired for alcoholism, an affliction that saw his career as a private dick also fail. In the process, he lost his wife and kids and remains alienated from them. Harry survives due to the generosity of his benefactors, old friend Jack Ames (Gene Hackman) and his wife Catherine (Susan Sarandon), both of whom were once prominent and popular actors whose careers and finances are on a downward trend. Harry is allowed to live rent-free at their lavish home, where he earns a few bucks here and there by acting as a Man Friday for Jack, running errands for him that often involve people of dubious backgrounds. Jack has just learned that his cancer has been determined to be terminal and he's given about six months to live. He takes it in stride but resents having to spend much of his time in bed. Catherine seems to be devoted to him but even Jack knows that she and Harry have long had eyes for each other. Also sharing the residence is Jack and Catherine's precocious teenage daughter Mel (Reese Witherspoon), who Harry had to to fly to Mexico to retrieve from the arms of an older paramour, Jeff Willis (Liev Schrieiber), who accidentally shot Harry in the leg during an altercation. Now Jack has another mission for Harry; a seemingly easy one: deliver an envelope stuffed with money to a man named Lester Ivar (M. Emmett Walsh) with no questions asked. Needless to say, things go awry from the start and Harry finds himself being shot at, beaten up and framed for murder, all due to a blackmail plot against Jack and Catherine, who were long suspected of murdering her first husband so they could be together. As with any noir or noir-like film, it doesn't pay to go into much detail about the plot, as it would compromise all the twists and turns in Robert Benton's screenplay, which, in true genre form, is complex but thoroughly compelling.

"Twilight" is the kind of film that celebrates the kinds of characters that existed in crime movies of the 1940s and 1950s. Everyone speaks the same lingo, dishing out insults and wisecracks with abandon. It's also the kind of film where a cuckolded husband learns his best friend has been sleeping with his wife and deals with it by simply telling him to knock it off. In today's increasingly sanitized world of filmmaking, it's refreshing to revisit an era in which hard-bitten characters are unapologetic about drinking and smoking without restraint. The performances are uniformly excellent, with Newman at age 73 displaying the same cynical wit that made "Harper" such a pleasure to watch. He's also still drop-dead handsome, even though his character acknowledges his advanced years. (A running gag in the film is that Harry is unaware that the rumor mill has it that his "pecker had been shot off" in the incident in Mexico.) Sarandon burns up the screen as the diva-like object of both Harry and Jack's affections and Reese Witherspoon displays the talents that would see her rise to stardom. Hackman is very good, but his screen time is limited, though the dialogue he shares with Newman is terrific. There's also a standout turn in a supporting role by James Garner, as a friend of both men who is a retired cop who serves as a "Mr. Fix-It" on the L.A. crime scene. There is also an excellent performance by Stockard Channing as a tough-as-nails LAPD lieutenant and former flame of Harry's. Liev Schrieber and Margo Martindale fill out the ranks as a team of murderous blackmailers who are as eccentric as any characters to be found in an old John Huston movie and there is an amusing turn by Giancarlo Esposito as an aspiring private eye who idolizes Harry. The film is also complimented by an impressive score by the legendary Elmer Bernstein. The critical and boxoffice failure of "Twilight" shouldn't distract from the fact that this is a first-rate detective film well worth checking out.

After being out-of-print on home video in the U.S. for a number of years, Kino Lorber has released an impressive new Blu-ray edition with a marvelous transfer. Best of all is the commentary track by film noir experts Alain Silver and James Ursini. If you were ignorant about the genre before listening to them, you won't be by the time the track is over. According to them, "Twilight" technically qualifies as a "neo-noir" film because it is set in the modern era. However, Silver argues that the movie possesses so many traditional elements of the genre that it should probably be regarded as an example of classic noir. Indeed, director Benton seems to realize that shooting anything in L.A. at night gives a film a noirish element and Benton doesn't need obvious gimmicks to remind the viewer of this fact. In all, the KL edition is a "must-have" if you appreciate films of this type. As an additional bonus, there are original trailers and TV spots for this movie along with other titles available through KL. Highly recommended. 

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By Lee Pfeiffer

If you asked anyone who is a fan of Sixties spy movies "In what film did Donald Pleasence play a rich, brilliant international criminal mastermind?", the answer would be obvious: "You Only Live Twice", in which Pleasence portrayed the evil Spectre mastermind Ernst Stavro Blofeld. However, there is another answer that would be equally correct: "Matchless", an unheralded long-forgotten spy spoof made by Italians and shot in such diverse locations as Germany, America and England. Pleasence plays Gregori Andreanu, the main villain of the piece, but he doesn't appear until well into the running time. The film opens with American journalist Perry Liston being creatively tortured by Communist Chinese soldiers who suspect he is a spy. In reality, Liston writes a popular newspaper column under the nom de plume "Matchless", the significance of which is never explained- along with other key plot points. For example, I don't recall if Liston ever does explain to anyone why he is China, but in this fast-moving comedy-adventure, plot points come and go with such rapidity that they may well be regarded as dispensable. While in jail, Liston shows pity on a fellow prisoner, an elderly Chinese man who, before dying, bequeaths to him a magic ring that will allow the wearer to become invisible. There are only two catches: the invisibility only lasts for 20 minutes and can only be utilized once every ten hours. (The team of five screenwriters must have been under the influence of something drinkable to come up with this zany concept.) Much to Liston's surprise, the device works and he escapes from prison, conveniently hiding in a nearby house that happens to belong to a single, gorgeous, horny young woman who even more conveniently happens to be taking a shower. She is startled by Liston's ability to be invisible but not for long. Once he appears in the flesh, it's under the covers for both of them. 

The scene then switches to the United States where high level military personnel are subjecting Liston to the same torture applied by the Chinese, which involves tying the victim to a large canister that revolves at lightning speed in much the same way you get a paint can mixed at Home Depot. Again, I can't recall if it's explained how Liston ended up in the U.S. and why he is being tortured, but he is quickly enlisted by two members of the top Army brass, General Shapiro (Howard St. John) and his fawning sidekick Colonel Coolpepper (Sorel Brooke) to undertake a dangerous mission to Europe where he is to ingratiate himself with Andreanu, secure his confidence and somehow steal of case of chemical vials in his possession (though it's never explained what they are or why they are dangerous to the world.) Liston agrees and sets off to London, where somehow he is stalked for assassination by Hank Norris (Henry Silva), an American who was in the Chinese prison. How did he get out and become an assassin? Who knows. Just go with the flow. From there, the unflappable and capable Liston encounters deceitful, beautiful women and numerous villains in between making a series of narrow escapes thanks to his ability to temporarily become invisible. (One downside to the ability is that his clothes remain visible, so each time he wants to disappear, he has to ditch his clothing and often reemerge naked, a running gag used throughout the film.) When Liston finally meets Andreanu, they both pretend they like each other while following the old spy movie tradition of having each man obviously know that the other is his mortal enemy. 

"Matchless" is an off-the-charts weird movie in every sense but it's also a lot of fun. Patrick O'Neal, who rarely scored a leading role in his career as a popular supporting actor, is well cast here. He seems to be having a ball playing a hero who is more Derek Flint than Bond. He's handsome, debonair and has the ability to toss out bon mots even when staring at deadly threats. Donald Pleasence gets an equally rare chance to show his comedic abilities and he's delightful playing an eccentric and ruthless megalomaniac. As with most of these lower-grade Bond-inspired spy flicks of the era, this one makes up for its shortcomings by supplying an endless bevy scantily clad women including Ira von Furstenberg (a real life princess), Nicoletta Machiavelli and Elisabeth Wu, who between them expose heaving bosoms and plenty of flesh, all the while dolled up in those marvelous mod fashions of the era. There are cheesy attempts to emulate Maurice Binder's trademark James Bond opening credits and an equally cheesy Bond-style title song ( future legend Ennio Morricone was one of the three credited composers). But the production values are better than you might imagine and the stunts and action scenes work quite well. (Liston utilizes an amphibious car a full decade before Bond did in "The Spy Who Loved Me"). Director Alberto Lattuada keeps the action going non-stop and makes the most of the Continental appeal of the European locations. One of the funniest aspects of the film is unintentional: the dubbing is terrible to the point of being of laugh-out-loud caliber. It appears that everyone other than O'Neal and Pleasence has been dubbed, including (inexplicably) Henry Silva, who was an American actor of repute. Silva gives a maniacal and very funny performance and, as with Pleasence, he seems to be relishing the opportunity to play a comedic role. 

It should be noted that the deceitful American marketing campaign disguised the fact that "Matchless" is a comedy and presented it as straight spy thriller. One can only imagine the reaction of the gobsmacked viewers who were expecting a tense Cold War thriller and instead were treated to a film that was more akin to a Jerry Lewis production. I don't want to overstate the attributes of "Matchless" but it is an unexpectedly enjoyable romp. If you're idea of good viewing is "Operation Kid Brother", then this one is for you.

(The film is currently streaming on Screenpix, a subscription service available through Amazon Prime, Roku, YouTube and Apple TV for $2.99 a month.)

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Those who have a weakness for British spy movies will find plenty to like in "The Whistle Blower", a largely unheralded 1986 production that boasts a fine performance by Michael Caine. He plays Frank Jones, a nondescript middle-aged Brit with a somewhat convoluted background. He was a fighter pilot in the  military but his career came to an end when he struck a superior officer. It's then implied that he went on to work for British Intelligence in some capacity, though in reality his act of military insubordination would probably have excluded him from that position. When we are introduced to Frank he is a widower and owner of a small office supply business who is paying a visit to his 28 year-old son Bob (Nigel Havers, very good) for a low key celebration of his offspring's birthday. It turns out that Bob is employed by Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ), which is a branch of the intelligence community. Frank finds Bob to be dealing with a good deal of pressure, both personally and professionally. He's in a romantic relationship with a woman, Cynthia Goodburn (Felicity Dean), who has a young daughter. Felicity is also currently married, though the film doesn't explore her motivations for carrying on an affair with the love-smitten Bob. Frank likes Cynthia personally but is disapproving of the relationship. But he discovers Bob has even bigger problems. For years he has been a Russian linguist in the agency, providing valuable service in translating information concerning Soviet activities and agents. He tells his father that he has uncovered some disheartening information that ties in with revelations regarding a recent scandal that caused embarrassment for the GCHQ when a Soviet agent had been revealed to have been working in the agency for a decade before being caught. Bob is alarmed by an atmosphere of paranoia at the agency in the wake of the scandal. All employees are being encouraged to keep track of their colleagues' activities and to report any suspicions regarding anyone whose allegiance might be questionable. Bob, an idealist, rejects this and has come to the conclusion that, based on other information he has uncovered, that British Intelligence and their American allies are every bit as brutal as the KGB. Frank dismisses the concerns and encourages Bob to stay on the job rather than resign in protest. 

Nigel Havers and Michael Caine.

Things get murky when Bob is reported to have died in a tragic home accident. Frank immediately suspects that Bob was killed by his own agency to prevent him from revealing some information that might compromise the GCHQ's already tarnished reputation. He begins his own investigation and, as these things generally play out in conspiracy-themed movies, finds that he can trust no one, even old colleagues and friends. As Frank doggedly pursues the truth, he finds his own life in danger as well as those of Cynthia and her daughter. Director Simon Langton (his only feature film) keeps Julian Bond's talky but interesting script moving at a brisk pace. Refreshingly, the character of Frank is never miraculously transformed into an action hero. In fact, there is very little action or violence in the entire film. Caine gives a terrific, understated performance. His trademark wit doesn't get much opportunity to be displayed in this somber story but he does provide a healthy dose of his character's Harry Palmer-like cynicism in regard all aspects of the spy game. He gets able support from a fine cast that includes esteemed veteran actors like James Fox, Gordon Jackson (his final film), John Gielgud (in a pivotal cameo) and Barry Foster (superb as an old military service crony of Frank's who may or may not be involved in deception.)

The film is currently streaming on Amazon Prime. There is also a Kino Lorber Blu-ray and the transfer is right up to the company's usual excellent standards. The only bonus feature is a nice gallery of trailers for other KL releases starring Caine, although, curiously, "The Whistle Blower" trailer is not among them.

By Hank Reineke

In the autumn of 1963 the Macmillan Co. published Rohan O’ Grady’s third suspense novel Let’s Kill Uncle. The book’s appearance was certain to command some critical and public notice: the dust jacket and title page was adorned with the idiosyncratic illustrations of Edward Gorey. The cover blurb offered a small glimpse of what awaited readers: “In an idyllic, peaceful island setting two charming children on summer holiday conspire to execute the perfect murder – and get away with it.” Though a macabre premise, the book was well-received, the Baltimore Sun, Boston Globe, Pittsburgh Press, New York Newsday and Chicago Tribune singing its praises. Toronto’s Globe and Mail crowed Let’s Kill Uncle was “the jolliest thriller of any year.”

One fan of the novel was the producer-director William Castle, the undisputed grifting King of Ballyhoo. Castle optioned the property shortly after its appearance with no immediate plans for production set. After scoring handsomely with his 1959 indie House on Haunted Hill with Vincent Price, Castle had signed on with Columbia Pictures for a four-film deal in March of 1959 (later extended beyond the original four pics). Between 1959 and 1964 Castle delivered such popcorn-munching guilty-pleasures as The Tingler, 13 Ghosts, Mr. Sardonicus, and Strait-Jacket, amongst others. Then, in October 1963, Universal Picture’s Vice-President of Production, Edward Muhl, signed Castle to a three-picture deal for a series of “cost-control” films.

Castle’s trio of films for Uni were less celebrated and money-spinning than his earlier efforts. His second and most recent effort for the studio, I Saw What You Did (1965) did little to buffer his reputation as a filmmaker nor cash-cow guarantor. As one critic from the Los Angeles Times sulked, “I Saw What You Did, William Castle, and as usual I am not impressed.” Castle’s final film in his three-pic contract would be Let’s Kill Uncle. By all indicators, the production of Let’s Kill Uncle would be a rushed affair. One Hollywood correspondent – having already visited director Brian G. Hutton rehearsing his cast on the set of The Pad – chose to drop by the adjourning soundstage where first-day shooting of Let’s Kill Uncle was in process. The columnist was quick to note the film’s “rough edges” were already showing. The writer noted the fast and frugal Castle had already shot more film during his brief visit than Hutton would shoot in an entire day.

Castle had reason to work quickly. In October of 1965, Variety reported the director/producer was soon to again jump ship, having just inked a multi-picture deal with Paramount. That contract called for Castle to report to his new bosses on New Year’s Day 1966. Though Castle was scheduled to begin work on Let’s Kill Uncle on December 10, 1965, actual production evidently would not commence until December 20. The clock was ticking.

One reason for the delay was Castle’s decision to wait on the availability of “moppet Mary Badham,” the child actress cast as “Chrissie” in the film. The thirteen-year old was not yet finished completing work on Sydney Pollack’s drama This Property is Condemned with Natalie Wood, Robert Redford and Charles Bronson. Another thirteen-year-old, Pat Cardi, was to join the cast as Barnaby Harrison, the principal target of his black-hearted Uncle, Major Kevin Harrison (Nigel Green). Though Cardi’s name was a mostly unfamiliar one, his face certainly was. The child actor was frequently seen on television screens in a cavalcade of small roles. Linda Lawson, cast to play Chrissie’s aunt Justine, was a virtual novice looking for a break. Castle had met Lawson four years earlier when she delivered mail to him at his Columbia Pictures office.

It’s unclear if Nigel Green was originally sought out by Castle to play the “Uncle” role. There were reports as late as December that Leslie Nielsen “had worked out his shooting schedule on Beau Geste so he can accept a role in Uncle.” If indeed Nelson was Castle’s first choice to play the Major, the resulting film - as it stands - might have benefited from the actor’s gift for light-comedy. Whatever the case, Green – just recently seen as another “Major” in the Len Deighton/Sidney J. Furie production of the spy-thriller The Ipcress File (1965) – was brought on. Green’s comedic skills were not his strong suit, and it wasn’t the best bit of casting. But then everything about Let’s Kill Uncle seems a bit askew.

The shortcomings of this film weighed heavily on the scripting. Castle’s schedule 1963-1965 was a particularly busy one, so it’s not surprising his optioning of Let’s Kill Uncle was not exercised immediately. In April of 1965 things started moving, Variety reporting the playwright Robert L. Joseph had been conscripted to adapt O’ Grady’s book as a film treatment, with tentative plans to start production sometime “next summer.” Whatever the circumstances, Joseph’s treatment – if submitted at all – was found not up-to-snuff. The responsibility of delivering a workable adaptation fell to Mark Rodgers, a writer almost exclusively known for his work on television.

It was, to be fair, a tough work to adapt, as the grim humor and dark whimsy of O’ Grady’s novel was seamlessly embroidered into a textual tapestry – a bit of psychological chess-game plotting not easy to convey visually. Castle chose to dispense and/or modify many of the novels’ original elements. The setting of the novel is an island off of the Canadian Pacific coast, there are Mounties trooping about, the treacherous Uncle” is named “Sylvester,” and there’s even a “soliloquizing” talking cougar named “One-Eye.” The filmmakers of Let’s Kill Uncle chose to move the action to an un-named sub-tropical location of palm trees and bananas, there’s no Mounties or (worse yet!) a talking cougar. The killer Uncle’s moniker was changed from Sylvester to “Kevin Harrison.” (As has “Chrissie’s.” She’s “Christie” in the novel).

While these small name changes don’t really figure in or matter to the final product, the absence of “One-Eye” is unforgivable. As is the lack of suspense one might have expected. The only good thing about moving the locale from the Canadian coast to the tropics is the welcome – if brief - appearance of Nestor Paiva as the Steward of the steamer bringing Barnaby and Chrissie to their new island homes. Paiva, one might recall, was the captain of the Rita, the ship slow-trolling the wilds of the Amazon in search of The Creature from the Black Lagoon. It’s Nestor who informs young Barnaby that the island is cursed, which isn’t too far off the mark, at least for him.

The film never really catches fire. I was hoping to glean Castle’s thoughts on Let’s Kill Uncle in his memoir Step Right Up! I’m Gonna Scare the Pants Off America, but the director/producer makes no mention of the film’s production nor reception in the book. The slight filmography in his book’s back pages gives Let’s Kill Uncle only the briefest of notice: “Technicolor murder movie starring kids and Nigel Green.” (It should be noted Director of Photography Harold Lipstein delivers a film of eye-popping color saturation, the film’s singular saving grace).

The film was mostly dismissed by critics upon its release – but there were a few actually enjoyed it. One critic from Box Office mulled the film’s failure was due to the “scene-chewing and downright brattish character traits” of Cardi and Badham, that the “homicidal plans” of Uncle Kevin might have proved “a blessing in disguise” had they been carried out. I generally like William Castle’s shoestring 1960’s psycho-horrors as much as the next guy (assuming that “next guy” also has lowbrow tastes in cinema), but I found the ninety-two minutes of Let’s Kill Uncle a slow torture. Castle’s fans will at least enjoy the bonus featurette Mr. Castle and Me: An Interview with Actor Pat Cardi, which offer a small peek behind the curtain.

This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray edition of Let’s Kill Uncle is presented in 1920 x 1080p, with a ratio of 1.85:1, dts sound, and removable English sub-titles. The film looks absolutely brilliant, Kino having struck the print from a “Brand New 2K Master.” The set rounds off with two theatrical trailers of the film as well as the commentaries of film historians Kat Ellinger (Diabolique magazine) and the (now sadly recently deceased) author of Teen Movie Hell, Mike McPadden.

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By Lee Pfeiffer

Quite a few years ago, my Cinema Retro publishing partner Dave Worrall, a fellow enthusiast of 1960s spy flicks, warned me to avoid "Danger Route", a 1967 espionage concoction that he deemed to be "awful". Worrall had seen a TV broadcast of the film on British TV.  Complying with his advice wasn't a problem since the film has never been released on home video in America. However, I noticed it was streaming through the Screenpix app, which is available through Amazon Prime, Roku and Apple TV for a paltry $2.99 additional charge per month. I decided to ignore my esteemed colleague's advice and take the plunge largely because of the impressive cast in "Danger Route": Richard Johnson, Carol Lynley, Harry Andrews, Sylvia Sims, Diana Dors, Sam Wanamaker, Gordon Jackson and the "go-to" girl for low-budget Sixties spy movies, Barbara Bouchet.  

The film was a rare non-horror production for Amicus, the company that was the main rival to the legendary Hammer Films. The movie was based on Andrew York's well-received novel "The Eliminator" and adapted for the screen by Meade Roberts, who had some estimable credits before and after this film. There were two types of spy movies during this period: those that spoofed or imitated the James Bond films and those that sought to provide a more realistic depiction of espionage work, seemingly inspired by the success of director Martin Ritt's brilliant screen version of "The Spy Who Came in From the Cold". "Danger Route" is squarely in the latter camp. Richard Johnson plays Jonas Wilde, a top assassin for British Intelligence, who dispenses his victims through a couple of well-placed karate chops. He is partnered with fellow agent Brian Stern (Gordon Jackson) and the two travel widely through Europe to carry out missions on the guise of being yachtsmen. When we first meet Jonas, he's exhausted from having carried out a recent mission on the continent. He comes back to his girlfriend Jocelyn (Carol Lynley in a small but pivotal role that bookends the story). She's a hipster who associates with the mod crowd, clearly to Jonas's dismay. He tells her that even though he is only 37 years-old, he wants to retire and get out of the spy game. They make plans to travel the world living off their wits and working odd jobs. However, reality comes calling when Jonas's boss Canning (Harry Andrews) browbeats him into accepting one more mission- and we all know what happens when the protagonist decides to take on one more mission. Canning informs Jonas that the Americans have a Soviet scientist in their possession who has defected. MI6 thinks he's a Soviet double agent but the Americans don't agree. Thus, they want Jonas to kill him before he is transported to the U.S. It's at this point that the main plot becomes almost incidental, as quirky characters of dubious allegiances interact with our hero, all to the detriment of of a coherent story.

Richard Johnson told this writer that he took himself out of the running to be the screen's first James Bond because he didn't see the potential in the series. Ironically, like every other working actor of the 1960s, he would find himself playing the role of Bond imitators in several low-budget espionage flicks. Johnson gives a very fine performance and makes Jonas an interesting and complex character: a man with a conscience working as a paid assassin. He's a also a vulnerable hero. Though quick on his feet to extract himself from jams without the aid of gadgets, he makes miscalculations in terms of who to trust, with important consequences. Jonas has another vulnerability: he's a borderline alcoholic who is always pouring from a bottle. He finds himself in bizarre situations and death traps, captured by enemy agents and even the C.I.A. There is an extended scene played for some comical effect in which Jonas uses a ditzy, sex-starved housekeeper as a pawn to gain entrance into a mansion house where the bad guys convene. The object of his deceit is winningly played by Diana Dors and she affords the film the few brief moments of humor seen onscreen. On the opposite end of the spectrum, when Canning disappears, Jonas teams for a while with his glamorous wife played by Sylvia Sims. 

The film is ably directed by Seth Holt, but he is guilty of bungling a couple of shots. In one scene, Jonas has his hands bound behind his back by heavy rope. He gains access to a small razor and - presto!- he is free in a matter of seconds, when, in fact, such a feat would take hours to accomplish even if it were possible. In a climactic scene aboard a yacht that is in the midst of a dangerous pea soup-like fog near some dangerous reefs, Jonas simply dives overboard with no explanation as to how he survived and made it back to some finely-tailored clothing. A bit more judicious editing would have helped in these scenes.

The plot of "Danger Route" becomes almost incomprehensible and the film, which was largely shot at Shepperton Studios, didn't ignite much interest and was a casualty of the spy movie tidal wave of the era. Thus, a planned sequel never materialized. However, with all due respect to Dave Worrall, I found the film to be enjoyable fun largely due to the inspired cast, especially since I can't resist any movie featuring Harry Andrews.

By Fred Blosser

There are two types of people in the world, and I don’t refer to young and old, rich and poor, or me and everybody else. The divide I have in mind is wider and deeper. On one side are those who would rather chew broken glass than watch Hollywood’s old costume dramas about noble knights, evil viziers, and beautiful Tahitian princesses. On the other side are those like me who enjoy such fare in the same way we gravitate to Mac ’n Cheese and other comfort food. It’s a soothing callback to our childhoods when we devoured such movies on TV and the big screen, in less strident and less cynical times—at least, they were less strident and less cynical if you were ten years old. In the 1940s, two of the reigning luminaries of the genre were Maria Montez and Jon Hall, who starred together in six Technicolor productions for Universal Pictures, 1942-45. Three of the films have been released by Kino Lorber Studio Classics on one disc, the “Maria Montez and Jon Hall Collection.” If you haven’t had occasion to discover what movie escapism looked like in the era before today’s Middle Earth, planet Tatooine, and Wakanda, the Montez/Hall triple feature provides a good introduction.

In “White Savage” (1943) directed by Arthur Lubin from an early script by future Academy Award winning writer-director Richard Brooks, commercial fisherman Kaloe (Hall) wants to harvest sharks off mysterious Temple Island. Health enthusiasts will pay well for shark liver, “a great source of Vitamin A,” he says, sounding like today’s late-nite pitchmen for dubious dietary supplements. After a meet-cute scene that wouldn’t be out of place in a 2022 romantic comedy, the island’s ruler, Princess Tahia (Montez), falls for the handsome adventurer and grants him access to the waters, only to turn against him later when she’s duped by Sam Miller (Thomas Gomez), the sleazy owner of a gambling den in nearby Port Coral. Miller has learned that the titular temple on Temple Island includes a golden pool inlaid with jewels. To plunder the treasure, he first has to get Kaloe out of the way. Given Kaloe’s name, we assume that the shark hunter is Polynesian (Hall, born Charles Felix Locher, was said to have had a Tahitian mother in real life), but he wears a generic charter-captain outfit and skipper’s cap, not a sarong. Montez, born Maria Gracia Vidal in a well to do Colombian family, doesn’t look any more Polynesian than Hall. But old movies like this are more notable for oddball charm than authenticity. This becomes even more apparent when you think about a golden, gem-encrusted pool in the South Seas. Where did the gold and the jewels come from? It’s further underlined when Kaloe, framed by Miller for murder, is imprisoned on a platform guarded below by African lions. Why not polar bears? Not that audiences in 1943 would have cared, as long as dad could ogle Maria Montez in vivid Technicolor, mom could dream about Jon Hall, and the kids could identify with third-billed Sabu as Kaloe’s mischievous younger sidekick, Orano.

“Gypsy Wildcat” (1944) shifts locale to medieval Europe, exactly the kind of setting and story parodied by Rob Reiner’s beloved 1987 comedy “The Princess Bride,” minus Billy Crystal and Andre the Giant. When a traveler is murdered near the castle of ruthless Baron Tovar (Douglas Dumbrille), Tovar imprisons a band of Gypsies camped nearby. The Gypsies harbor another stranger, Michael (Hall), who witnessed the murder and holds an important item of evidence sought by the baron. The caravan’s dancing girl, Carla (Montez), an orphan who was adopted by the Gypsies at infancy, falls in love with Michael, to the displeasure of the Gypsy chief’s son, Tonio (Peter Coe), who had hoped to marry her. Tovar, in turn, is smitten with Carla, who looks uncannily like a woman in an old portrait that hangs in his private quarters. Well toward the end of the movie, the characters in the story find out why; you’ll probably put two and two together long before then. Of the three movies on the Blu-ray disc, “Gypsy Wildcat” may be the purest example of Universal’s genius in recycling and repurposing its contract actors, directors, and sets from one film to the next across different genres in its movie-factory heyday. The director, Roy William Neill, was borrowed from the studio’s popular Sherlock Holmes series, as were Nigel Bruce and Gale Sondergaard. Bruce plays Tovar’s bumbling lackey in much the same spirit as he portrayed Dr. Watson to Basil Rathbone’s Holmes. Sondergaard, here the wife of the Gypsy king, is better remembered as “The Spider Woman” in Neill’s 1943 Holmes mystery of the same name. Neill and producer George Waggner were also associated with Universal’s iconic Wolf Man horror series, and the wagons driven by the Gypsies were probably the same ones used for Maria Ouspenskaya’s Gypsy caravan in “The Wolf Man.” Leo Carrillo, from Universal’s B-Westerns, plays Anube, the Gypsy chief; he, Sondergaard, Coe, and the rest of the troupe reflect producers’ venerable tradition of choosing ethnic-looking but non-Romani actors to play Gypsies. The script was written by James M. Cain, a surprise if you know Cain strictly as a giant of classic noir fiction with “The Postman Always Rings Twice” and “Double Indemnity.” However, it isn’t so startling when you remember that Cain was one of many celebrated novelists who made good money on the side, writing or doctoring Hollywood scripts. I met the late James M. Cain in passing in the early 1970s, when he was guest speaker one night at a public library in the Washington, D.C., suburbs, near where he lived in retirement at the time. At eighty-one, he was formidably tall, burly, bushy-haired, and bespectacled. When he amiably chatted with members of the audience, he answered several questions I asked about his career—none of which dealt with “Gypsy Wildcat,” I should note.

“Sudan” (1945), Montez’s and Hall’s final film together, is set in ancient Egypt, where the benevolent king of Khemis is murdered. The crime appears to be the work of an elusive rebel leader, Herua, who has eluded all attempts to catch him through the usual means. The grieving Princess Naila (Montez) has a better (or worse) idea. She will disguise herself as a commoner, find Herua at a fair in Sudan where he customarily buys horses for his band, and have him arrested. Here, Sudan is a colourful whirl of dancing girls and camels, not the grim wasteland of starving children we now see on the TV news. Naila doesn’t realise that her grand vizier, Horadef, who schemes to seize power, was the actual murderer. That fact is disclosed ten minutes into the story, although most of us will already have caught on, given that a) grand viziers in movies like this are always secretly masterminding palace coups, and b) Horadef is played by the great George Zucco, who filled similar roles in Universal’s horror series about the Mummy. Horadef pays slavers to kidnap Naila when she goes undercover. Two horse thieves, Merat and Nebka, come to her rescue. Merat is played by Hall, and Nebka by Andy Devine. Devine provides the same nasal-voiced comedy relief that he did in countless Westerns, only wearing robes this time instead of suspenders. When a handsome stranger shows up (Turhan Bey), he and Naila fall in love with each other, before the princess discovers that the stranger is Herua. Ably written by Edmund L. Hartmann and directed by John Rawlins, the film could almost serve as a G-rated modern sequel to “Disney’s Aladdin,” except for a scene where Naila is branded on the arm by the slavers, and another where she and Herua retire to his tent for a night of passion. The Egyptian sets were ported over from two earlier Middle Eastern fantasies starring Montez and Hall, “Arabian Nights” (1942) and “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves” (1944). It hardly mattered that the Egypt of the Pharaohs and the Baghdad of Ali Baba were two separate historical periods a thousand years apart, since audiences’ apathy to such details “made little practical difference where the story was set,” as critic Ian Cameron noted in his 1973 book, Adventure in the Movies. 1945 was a pivotal moment in Universal Pictures’ history as the year it dropped the Montez and Hall series, along with its B-horror films and Sherlock Holmes pictures. When the studio returned to the genre in the early 1950s as Universal-International, it did so with a new generation of young contract players like Rock Hudson and Yvonne de Carlo. Montez appeared in a few more pictures and died in 1951 at 39. Hall had a long career of Westerns, period adventures, and TV guest appearances through the early 1960s, including baby-boomer fame as television’s “Ramar of the Jungle” in the ‘50s.

Although the Montez and Hall movies ran widely on TV during the same era as “Ramar of the Jungle,” they were broadcast in grainy black-and-white, robbing them of their lustrous big screen Technicolor. The Kino Lorber Blu-ray restores their original sharpness and rich palette, supplemented by engaging audio commentary from Phillipa Berry for “White Savage” and “Sudan,” and David Del Valle for “Gypsy Wildcat.” Theatrical trailers and subtitles for the deaf and hearing-impaired are also included.

“Maria Montez and Jon Hall Collection” can be ordered from Amazon HERE.

Fred Blosser is the author of "Sons of Ringo: The Great Spaghetti Western Heroes". Click here to order from Amazon)

"RETRO-ACTIVE: THE BEST FROM THE CINEMA RETRO ARCHIVES"

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Olive Films has released a Blu-ray edition of the little-remembered and rarely seen 1979 film "The Outsider", a powerful drama directed by Tony Luraschi , who seemingly had a bright career but who, instead seems to have fallen into obscurity.  This seems to be one of only two films he was ever credited with. The reasons for this remain unclear, given the fact that "The Outsider" is a powerful film that has retained its bite over the decades. One can only wonder why a work of such passion could not have inspired its director to continue to direct movies, although perhaps fate prevented him from doing so. (If any readers has any information to share about this, please let us know.)  The film is set in Northern Ireland during the height of "The Troubles", that seemingly endless period of time when nation was torn apart by state of virtual civil was. The IRA routinely battled British forces on the streets of major cities, turning urban centers into  war zones at times. There were also loyalist paramilitary groups that did not want independence for Northern Ireland and who wanted to stay loyal to the Crown. The end result was a series of bombings, gun battles and kidnappings that ultimately took thousands of lives and left the civilian population in grave danger. The Good Friday peace agreement, brokered by Prime Minister Tony Blair with enthusiastic backing of President Bill Clinton, finally brought about an end to most of the violence but this didn't take place until 1998 and until then, the bloody legacy of Irish fighting Irish forever seared the nation's history. 

In "The Outsider", Craig Wasson plays Michael Flaherty, a disillusioned Vietnam War veteran of Irish descent who grew up under the spell of his grandfather (Sterling Hayden), who continues to relate stories about his glory days serving in the IRA and carrying out dangerous missions against the British. Michael decides to make his grandfather proud by leaving the family home in Detroit to join up with the IRA. He manages to make the proper contacts and when he gets to Ireland, he is promptly met by members of an IRA group located in the Catholic dominated Republic of Ireland. Here his new comrades greet him politely but warily and with good reason: traitors are not uncommon in the movement and there is suspicion Michael might be a British plant. Finally convinced he is sincere, they move him from safe house to safe house, much to his frustration. Michael is eager to see action against the British but all he gets are delays. After griping that he feels he is wasting his time, the IRA commander sends him and another agent on a mission that requires them to cross the border into Northern Ireland,  the geographical area where most of the acts of violence are carried out in the quest to have both the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland reunited as one country, independent of British rule. When Michael arrives in Belfast, he finds the city resembling a war zone with bombed-out buildings and an occupying force of machine gun-carrying British forces on seemingly every corner. While he awaits his orders for the mission, he meets and strikes up a romantic relationship with Siobahn (Patricia Quinn), a firebrand of a young woman who hates the British for killing her younger brother. Although she is not officially with the IRA, she is trusted by them and provides cover for their actions. As Michael impatiently awaits making himself useful, a cruel deception is under way. The local IRA commander has come to the conclusion that Michael could be more valuable dead than alive. He theorizes that if the IRA murders him and frames the British, the result will outrage Irish American sympathizers in the USA who would then increase their monetary donations to the group. Simultaneously, the local British commander (Geoffrey Palmer) has had Michael under surveillance and has also concluded that he could be quite valuable dead- especially if the blame could be placed on his IRA comrades. Meanwhile, Michael is oblivious to all this and is finally given orders to proceed on a mission- but it's one that is intended to be his last. The film ends with a shocking revelation relating to Michael's family that sets up an emotional last scene. 

"The Outsider" is a highly accomplished work and is superbly directed by the aforementioned Tony Luraschi. It's a pity that, for whatever reason, he never chose or perhaps had the opportunity to continue making films. The movie is also outstanding in terms of casting with even minor roles played so convincingly that at times you would be forgiven for thinking you were watching a documentary. The story does manage to deftly tip-toe through the tulips when it comes to passing judgment on the political implications of the events depicted. Both the British military and the IRA members are presented in an unflattering light. How you react to the film probably depends on your personal view of the politics involved. After all, one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter. If there is a criticism of the film, it's related to the script, which is unrelentingly downbeat. Surely even IRA members managed to have a laugh and a joke occasionally in a pub but in "The Outsider", everyone is downbeat, depressed and paranoid. Still, the Olive Films Blu-ray is most welcome and very highly recommended. There is only one disappointment: the presentation is bare bones.  With a film associated  with this much controversy, there should have been a commentary track with scholars who can discuss Ireland's infamous "Troubles" so that the script can be discussed in context. Highly Recommended.

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By Hank Reineke

I’m going to begin this review by cribbing a couple of sentences from my review of Blue Underground’s double-feature Blu-ray of The Blood of Fu Manchu and The Castle of Fu Manchu: Sax Rohmer’s Fu Manchu novels were wildly popular pulps but unapologetically racist in construction, reflective of many western attitudes of the day. His Fu Manchu series, the first novel having been published in 1912, were written as blowback in the decade following the long simmering anti-colonialist, anti-imperialist, anti-Christian, and decidedly anti-British Boxer Rebellion of 1899-1901. OK, just needed to get that out of the way before moving on… but we’ll return to examine this subject a bit later.

I suppose it’s fitting the fireworks of the Boxer Rebellion serve as the starting point of Paramount’s The Mysterious Dr. Fu Manchu (1929). The film flashes with scenes of Chinese fighters in Peking battling colonizing Brits (and other western allies) in dramatic style. To make the uprising more authentic in its stage dressing, the trades reported (March 16, 1929) the filmmakers were planning to comb LA’s Chinatown in search of as many as “500 oriental actors and extras.” They apparently fell short of this ambitious goal. Reporting four days later, the Los Angeles Evening Express derided, “Los Angeles’s Chinatown has fallen down on the job,” causing the studio to widen their search to “surrounding cities for reinforcements.”

It was only a few weeks earlier (March 3, 1929) that Paramount announced Rowland V. Lee was chosen to direct The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu (the true title of Rohmer’s first novel featuring the fiendish villain). The film’s title was soon amended to the easier-to-market The Mysterious Dr. Fu Manchu, with “rehearsals” set to commence immediately on the first week of March. Lee, who would go on to more famously direct such Universal features as Son of Frankenstein and Tower of London (both 1939), was short-listed having recently helmed two pictures for Paramount in 1929: Wolf of Wall Street and The Women Who Needed Killing. Even as the Boxer Rebellion battle scenes were being staged, it appears full casting for the film was still not finalized: several of film’s players were not brought on until mid-April 1929. The film was given a tight shooting schedule, one wag noting “all night sessions will be the order of things.”

There were other hurdles to surmount. Hollywood was still making its earliest steps in their exploration of sound-filmmaking. In April of 1929, the Los Angeles dailies made note of the challenges of writing for the screen in this new “sound era.” Filmmakers now needed to pointedly write and cast to address the vagaries of “foreign” speech patterns and regional dialects. This challenge fell particularly heavy on the screenwriters. “The dialogue voiced by Fu Manchu and the other Chinese characters had to be “couched in this peculiar, flowery oriental style,” according to the Los Angeles Times. “To once digress from it would have been to possibly ruin the effect of the entire production.”

There were other issues. There’s more than a bit of stilted over-acting present in The Mysterious Dr. Fu Manchu: lots of theatrical over-emoting throughout, several actor’s - understandably - not yet conversant with the new realities of sound-recording. This is most obvious in the performance of actress Jean Arthur cast as the beleaguered Lia Eltham, the mink-lined imprisoned daughter of the man Fu Manchu holds responsible for the death of his wife and child. Arthur is a great actress – she enjoyed a long career lasting from the early 1920s through the mid-1960s – but her exaggerated silent-era gesturing and doleful sways present in this first Fu film are a noticeable throwback to days passed. I suppose Warner Oland’s Fu Manchu fares better than most as his character is of course, written as inscrutable: reserved, reticent, cunning and seemingly less susceptible to theatrical outbursts.

As the title character, Orland of course stands dead center of the ensuing mayhem. The actor, soon to command greater fame as the Chinese sleuth Charlie Chan in the Monogram series, was – famously (or perhaps infamously) - not of Asian descent. He was Swedish. Of course neither the previous of succeeding Fu Manchus were of Chinese heritage. Oland’s predecessor Harry Agar Lyons (in a series of silent-era shorts (1923-1924) was British as were two of Oland’s successors, Boris Karloff and Christopher Lee. It’s fair to say Orland was the most convincing non-Asian actor to play the role. Having worked in silent films from 1912 through 1926, Oland’s “exotic” (by early Hollywood standards) appearance allowed him to play an assortment of characters of physical non-western heritage.

Oland wasn’t bothered with such typecasting. The amount of work offered was profitable and playing outside his own culture allowed him the chance to test his abilities. “I like to play the Chinese roles because most of them give me the opportunity to do some real acting,” he told the Scripps New Service. “In fact, I like all the roles that give me a chance for difficult characterizations. I believe character actors are the real backbone of most pictures. They are the ones who give the production its atmosphere. And, incidentally, the character actors are the ones who live the longest in the business.”

Obviously, one can’t look at these Fu Manchu movies in this 21^st Century without groaning at the stereotypes, the insensitive dialogue, and – of course - the casting of a non-Asian in the title role. To be fair, Caucasians are damned and thrown under the bus as well. “The white men are kind and generous,” Fu Manchu soothes his frightened daughter as he finds his home in the crossfire between British snipers and Boxer rebels. But his opinion soon changes when his wife and daughter find themselves collateral damage of Britain’s superior firepower. Now, with the “white men” having failed in their promise to protect his family and home, Fu has an awakening. “I’ve been blind,” Fu Manchu rages. “These whites are barbarians, devils, fiends!” Which sets him off to exact revenge on the offspring of the westerners he holds responsible.

That’s essentially the plot device of both films in this new set from Kino Lorber. The two film’s play out much as movie serials of the 1940s do. Lots of villainy, lots of episodic action, a distressed gal, and a heroic paramour (in this case, the handsome Neil Hamilton, “Commissioner Gordon” of TV’s Batman (1966). It’s not great art, but it was – in its time, no doubt – a suspenseful and fun thrill-ride. Paramount offered previews of The Mysterious Dr. Fu Manchu in late spring/early summer of ’29 at the Westlake Theatre. Initial critical reaction was muted: the earliest previews of the original cut ran the gamut from “overlong” to “somewhat sketchy.” Regardless, upon national release, the film did well enough that by late January of 1930, the trades announced both director Lee and Oland (and indeed the entire primary cast of the original) were to return for a rousing sequel The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu.

In his promotion of this second coming, Lee – again, tapped to direct - pointed out the sinister Fu Manchu was intriguing as he was no ordinary gangster. He was a super-villain, a worthy adversary to Inspector Nayland Smith (O.P. Heggie). Their rivalry and brinksmanship was much in the tradition of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Holmes vs. Moriarty. “Dangerous criminals make fascinating prey,” Lee contended. “Such a man is the fictitious Dr. Fu Manchu. His mentality, although diverted into wrong channels, is as keen as that of those who pursue him. He knows what to expect.”

Oland’s Fu is far more loquacious than inscrutable in this second film. There’s a lot of bantering dialogue and threats tossed. Perhaps too many. As one critic noted in his review of The Return of Fu Manchu, “Where is this oriental laconicism they talk about? Dr. Fu is one of the most garrulous individuals on record.” Though decrying the film’s excessive verbiage, the reviewer conceded the film did possess “the virtues of movement… events tumbling over each other in endless succession from start to finish.” Which sounds, more than a little, of what critics thought of the crazy but entertaining James Bond opus Moonraker a half-century later. Not great art, again. But great fun… for some.

I suspect the audience for this particular Fu Manchu set will be split somewhat evenly between aficionados of early sound-films and Cinema Study students examining Race and Ethnicity Depictions of Early Hollywood. There’s a lot to uncomfortableness to mine through here, no shortage of political and cultural tripwire hazards in this “woke” era. Are the Fu Manchu pulps and films racist? Well, of course they are. The question is whether or not the films are still viable. In his intriguing book Charlie Chan: The Untold Story of the Honorable Detective and His Rendezvous with American History, Professor Yunte Huang accepts that many will always view Oland’s Chan as a “Yellow Uncle Tom,” his impersonations akin to that of a blackface minstrel. But he also notes that upon Oland’s visit to Shanghai in 1933, local audiences celebrated the actor for “bringing to life the first positive [Chinese] character in American film.”

So it’s all complicated. As an amateur historian, I personally think artifacts of days ancient and not-so-ancient should be preserved for study and education. Such storytelling shines light on our past and the best (and worst) aspects of our world and ourselves. In terms of simple film-collecting, perhaps the appearance of these two rare-ish Fu Manchu films might pique the interest of fans of Oland’s far better known Charlie Chan series. In 2009 20^th Century Fox issued an essential five box DVD collection of the actor’s Chan oeuvre, so there’s evidently interest in Oland’s filmography even some ninety-years on.

It might be somewhat disappointing to those more knowledgeable collectors that Kino chose not to (or perhaps were unable?) to include the third and final film of the Oland Fu Manchu series on this set. In 1931 Paramount released The Daughter of Fu Manchu, the last (and, arguably, least) of the series, but one featuring Anna May Wong as the featured character. To my knowledge The Daughter of Fu Manchu has never been given a proper official release on home video, though copies of the film have long been found on the grey-market. (In 1984 the Video Marquee label issued a clamshell VHS edition of the film as part of their “Joe Franklin’s Collectibles” series – but I’m not certain this release had any official sanction). In any case, a two-disc Blu-ray set of this triumvirate would have surely satiated the desires of the sad Completists amongst us. I’m not complaining, mind you. While some might wish such dated fare be removed from circulation as not to offend anyone’s sensibilities, I’m grateful Kino Lorber continues to shine light on such obscure and mostly forgotten films from Hollywood’s Golden Age.

This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray edition of The Mysterious Dr. Fu Manchu/The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu is presented here in 1920x1080p, dts sound and with an attractive slipcase cover. The film looks very good considering its age, though neither print is pristine: there are occasional flashes of white and black emulsion scratches present throughout, and some shots appear a bit soft. The set rounds off with several theatrical trailers of period films as well as welcome commentaries courtesy of novelist and critic Tim Lucas of Video Watchdog fame.

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