Ace Drummond (1936, 13 episodes)

An attempt to build an international airport and bring air traffic through Inner Mongolia is thwarted by the machinations of a criminal known as “The Dragon”. The point of contention is a mountain of jade discovered nearby by archaeologist Dr Trainor (C. Montague Shaw); wanting this treasure for himself, The Dragon sets about destroying all incoming flights via a device that causes planes to explode when the radio is used. Ace Drummond (John “Dusty” King) – “the singing G-Man of the air” – arrives from Washington to investigate, and to expose the mysterious criminal.... Based upon the comic strip by WWI ace Eddie Rickenbacker, Ace Drummond is another wonderful slice of serial absurdity, with California scrubland standing in for “Inner Mongolia”, poor Jean Rogers wearing the same gleaming white outfit and high heels throughout all 13 episodes, a secret passage that they will not block up, despite the fact that someone is attacked or kidnapped through it in every other episode, and Our Hero walking away unharmed from no less than three plane crashes. Nor does it help that the only character with any brains is the eleven year old son of the airline chief, or that the “Singing G-Man Of The Air” has a repertoire of precisely one – count ’em, one – song. Noah Beery Jr plays Ace’s slow-witted, quick-fisted offsider, Lon Chaney Jr is wasted in another pointless henchman role, and Jackie Morrow gets props as the surprisingly un-annoying Billy Meredith. There’s a certain amount of casual racism here, but it’s certainly less offensive than The New Adventures Of Tarzan; its Asian characters are as likely to be good guys as villains....although don’t hold your breath while looking for any actual Asians amongst the residents of “Inner Mongolia”. Which reminds me:

Things I Learned From Watching This Serial^TM:  being brought up amongst Asians will turn you Asian.

(NB: if you haven’t seen this, avoid its IMDb entry at all cost: it tells you who The Dragon is!!)

Bulldog Drummond Comes Back (1937)

Bulldog Drummond (John Howard) finds his past coming back to haunt him when his fiancée, Phyllis Clavering (Louise Campbell), is abducted by Irena Soldanis (Helen Freeman), the widow of a man who was arrested by Drummond and later executed. With Phyllis as bait, Drummond must follow clue after clue in a sick game of treasure hunt, never certain if he will find his fiancée alive at the next rendezvous point. Although Drummond has made it clear in no uncertain terms that the police must not get involved, his superior, Colonel Nielsen (John Barrymore), who is in pursuit of Mme Soldarnis and her brother and confederate, Mikhail Valdin (J. Carroll Naish), for another crime, has decided that he must take a hand, and calls on the talents of a subordinate who is skilled in the arts of make-up and disguise.... Much ado about nothing might serve as a subtitle for this second 1937 instalment in the Bulldog Drummond series, which sees Drummond running literally in circles for much of its just-over-an-hour length. Even less than the previous entry is the plot important, however. This entry has Ray Milland and Heather Angel replaced by John Howard and Louise Campbell – they gave up trying to keep Hugh and Phyllis “British” pretty early on, didn’t they? – and (without being rude) more importantly, our previous Colonel Nielsen, Guy Standing, replaced by John Barrymore, who gets billing over Howard and steals the show by moving from disguise to disguise, and accent to accent. Even so, Tenny – E.E. Clive still, thankfully – turns out to be the real hero. Generous of him, really, considering that the film opens with him in gloomy anticipation of the marriage of Hugh and Phyllis, happily engaged throughout this one. Meanwhile, poor Algy dashes from place to place in growing certainty that he is going to miss his new baby’s christening....

Bulldog Drummond Escapes (1937)

Speeding through the foggy night, Captain Hugh C. “Bulldog” Drummond (Ray Milland) almost runs down a young woman, who throws herself to the ground and feigns unconsciousness as he pulls up to check on her. Drummond is placing the woman in his car when he hears a shot from the nearby marshland. He goes to investigate, and finds a dead body.... Drummond tracks the girl, Phyllis Clavering (Heather Angel), to Graystone Manor, where he meets a man called Merridew (Porter Hall). He also sees a subdued Phyllis, who seems dashed when he returns the purse she left in his car, but who contrives, after leaving the room, to tuck a note into Drummond’s hat. Merridew explains to the puzzled Drummond that Phyllis has been suffering a persecution complex since the death of her brother, and is under the care of a psychiatrist, Professor Stanton (Walter Kingsford). However, when Drummond has gone, Merridew questions Phyllis angrily and, when she refuses to answer, her “psychiatrist” begins viciously twisting her arm.... There were four Bulldog Drummond films made in 1937, which featured three different Drummonds. Bulldog Drummond Escapes famously stars Ray Milland in the title role, with Heather Angel as an enjoyably feisty Phyllis, who has a real talent for bonking people on the head. (In fact, this is a problem: this Phyllis is smart and feisty enough that you can’t imagine her getting into, or being kept in, the situation she’s in when she and Drummond meet.) For the rest, the screenplay hardly holds together – something about a counterfeiter’s ring and a stolen inheritance....I think. Best not to worry about the plot too much, and instead just enjoy the cast. Hughs and Phyllises may have come and gone over the years – and even months – but the real anchors of the series remained reassuringly constant, in the forms of Reginald Denny as Algy, Drummond’s long-suffering, thick-headed pal, and E.E. Clive as Tenny, his imperturbable manservant. One of the other pleasant aspects of the series was, in spite of the movements in the casting, the film-to-film continuity. Thus, Bulldog Drummond Escapes has Hugh and Phyllis meeting, falling in love, and at the last getting engaged; while its running joke is poor Algy’s unavailing attempt to get in touch with the hospital where his wife is giving birth. (Modern viewers are unlikely to sympathise with Drummond’s cavalier attitude towards Algy and Gwen’s situation.) The next film in the series, Bulldog Drummond Comes Back, gives us....well, we’ll see that in a minute....

Bulldog Drummond’s Revenge (1937)

Colonel Nielsen (John Barrymore) learns that an attempt will be made to kidnap Sir John Huxton (Matthew Boulton), who has invented a new explosive of devastating power. Nielsen goes to Huxton and tries to warn him of the danger, but Huxton insists upon not only going to Paris with his explosive as planned, but flying his own plane with only his secretary, Draven Nogais (Frank Puglia), along, arguing that the explosive is dangerously unpredictable, and that no-one else should be exposed to the danger. Nielsen reluctantly acquiesces and the plane takes off.... As Bulldog Drummond (John Howard), Algy Longworth (Reginald Denny) and Tenny (E.E. Clive) drive through the night, they see a curious sight: a suitcase descending from a small plane via parachute. As the three go to retrieve it, they are almost run down by a passing car. The next moment, at some distance, the plane crashes. Hurrying to investigate, Drummond discovers a severed arm which, curiously, is cold.... The ring, the licence, and Bulldog Drummond (John Howard) and his fiancée, Phyllis Clavering (Louise Campbell), are set to depart for their Switzerland wedding. But of course, it’s not that easy. There’s actually no reason given why the wedding should be in Switzerland, except to get Hugh and Phyllis – and poor Algy, accidentally – aboard the train and boat that are also carrying Draven Nogais and his confederate, Hardcastle (Robert Gleckler). As drama, Bulldog Drummond’s Revenge isn’t too bad, but unfortunately, far too much of its “humour” consists of Phyllis and Gwen Longworth (Nydia Westman) screaming and fainting, which is both irritating as hell, and completely out of character for the brave and level-headed Phyllis we’ve seen up to this point in the series. In compensation, though, we do get to see Draven Nogais evading his pursuers by “disguising” himself as a woman....and Frank Puglia in drag is a sight that has to be seen to be disbelieved. There is also an intriguing subplot involving Miki Morita as, clearly, a Japanese spy in Britain. “You know who and what I am?” he asks. “Of course,” responds Nielsen coolly. Equally worried about Huxton’s explosive, the two men enter into an alliance of convenience, which leads to some very interesting speeches – this is 1937, remember – about “your country” and “my country” and “friendly nations” and “the wrong hands”....

Commandos Strike At Dawn (1942)

For what was certainly intended as a morale-boosting piece of propaganda, this is an incredibly downbeat film. A peaceful Norwegian village suffers through the German occupation, and its inhabitants must decide when and how to make their stand. As you’d expect, there’s a fair amount of heavy-handed speech-making here, but it’s balanced by the film’s refusal to treat war as something that does, or should, come easily to people, and by its unflinching look at the terrible personal toll suffered by those who decide to take up arms: a young bride sees her husband executed for possession of a radio; a woman harbouring the killer of the German commander learns that her own grandson is one of those condemned to be shot in retaliation – and says nothing; a wife discovers that her husband is a collaborator, and hands him over to the men he was planning to betray.... Where this film works best, however, is in its examination of the process of occupation, with initial uncertain compliance turning into fearful obedience, and the question of when resistance becomes not merely an option, but a necessity. Commandos Strike At Dawn is refreshingly free of big-name stars, instead employing a quality ensemble cast headed by Paul Muni as the introverted intellectual turned resistance fighter. (Unusual is the film’s contention that Erik is the most effective fighter because he’s a thinker; the village’s more obvious men of action fall foul of the Nazis fairly quickly.) Anna Lee, Cedric Hardwicke, Alexander Knox, Lillian Gish, Ray Collins, Robert Coote and George Macready also appear.

Dick Tracy (1945)

Although it apparently had Chester Gould’s approval, I can’t say that I ever “got” the casting of Morgan Conway as Dick Tracy; nor do the films that star him have much resemblance to their comic strip model, being instead essentially indistinguishable from any of their low-budget crime movie brethren. A series of vicious murders has the police force baffled, since the victims are both men and women, rich and poor, with no apparent connection. Moreover, each of the victims was also the target of an extortion bid prior to their deaths. The perpetrator is (although invented for this movie) a typical Tracy villain, “Splitface”....or is it? It takes Tracy, of course, to realise that there is a connection between the victims, and that the police are investigating not one crime spree, but two. Dick Tracy is a serviceable enough little thriller bolstered by a solid mystery story and a couple of memorable supporting performances. On the debit side, Anne Jeffreys’ Tess Trueheart is even more unnecessary than usual as the “good girl”, and Tracy’s adopted son “Junior” is along to make us flinch with annoyance. (Although to give the devil his due, the kid does play an important part in the story’s climax.) On the plus, this film has some nice, noir-ish touches – the killings are uncommonly brutal – Jane Greer shows up in a supporting role, and Mike Mazurki gets a lot more screentime than usual as Splitface. The show is thoroughly stolen, however, by Milton Parsons as the world’s creepiest mortician – and yes, I know that’s a big statement; I stand by it – and by Trevor Bardette as Professor Linwood J. Starling, star-gazer, crystal-reader, hypnotist, philosopher, jailbird....and genuine psychic, if only he realised it in time....

Dick Tracy Meets Gruesome (1947)

Criminal “Gruesome” (Boris Karloff) is no sooner out of jail – for “good behaviour”, heh, heh, heh – than he has his pal “Melody” Fiske (Tony Barrett) cut him in on a big deal. The following day, making a phone-call while at the bank, Tess Trueheart (Anne Gwynne) witnesses an astonishing thing: the bank fills with gas from a small bomb, and everyone there becomes completely immobilised. While they are so, Tess, protected by her sealed phone-booth, watches in disbelief as two men – who have not bothered to disguise themselves – rob the bank. Tess manages to call Dick Tracy (Ralph Byrd), but the robbers get away, with Melody killing a guard outside in the process. A police chemist analyses the remains of the bomb and declares its content to be an unknown substance. Tracy suggests taking it to Dr A. Tomic (Milton Parsons), a university physicist who earlier contacted the police seeking protection after what he believed to be two attempts on his life. However, when Tracy reaches the university, he learns that Dr Tomic has disappeared.... Now, this is more like it! Poor Morgan Conway: public opinion was allowed to have its way in 1947, and Conway was replaced as Dick Tracy by Ralph Byrd, who had played him in half a dozen hugely successful serials during the 1930s. Byrd made two Tracy films during the year. The second of them, Dick Tracy Meets Gruesome, features Boris Karloff as the titular criminal, and his mere presence lifts this modest little film to a whole different level of fun; there is something quite irresistible about listening to Boris – in that voice – spit dialogue that sounds like it was written for Bogart about ten years earlier. Ralph Byrd was physically a much better choice for the role of Dick Tracy, and the script makes more of an effort to conjure up the Gould universe....although this time the inevitable downtown dive isn’t “The Dripping Dagger”, it’s “The Hangmans Knot”. (You can tell it’s owned by criminals: no apostrophe!!) There is less comedy than usual, too, and less side-kickery; Tess is useful as the witness, then isn’t seen much more. The fate of several of the characters, and the near fate of Tracy, is also, well, pretty gruesome. But of course, what endears this film to me is the SCIENCE!! Four scientists amongst the major characters – one of them, played by Skelton Knaggs (!!), is “a disgraced doctor of science”, no less – mysterious experimental gases, physicists doing chemistry, guinea-pigs in cages everywhere....oh, be still, my heart! (Actually, I don’t want to say too much about this aspect of the film because, frankly, there is enough wacky science here, and enough wacky scientists, possibly to warrant a full-length review at a later date.) And as usual, the devil is in the details; that is, in the supporting cast. Milton Parsons – yay! – is back again as Dr Tomic. Skelton Knaggs gets promoted into one of his most substantial roles, and actually manages to steal a scene or two from Boris. Those with sharp eyes will also spot Jason Robards Sr as a bank official, future Tarzan Lex Barker as an ambulance driver, and future Hideous Sun Demon Robert Clarke as the police chemist.

Quote: “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we were doing business with Boris Karloff.”

Dick Tracy Vs Cueball (1946)

Gem courier Lester Abbott (Trevor Bardette) is confronted in his liner stateroom by Harry Lake, aka “Cueball” (Dick Wessel), who demands the diamonds Abbott is carrying – and strangles him when he fights back.... Dick Tracy (Morgan Conway) finds on the body a card that leads him to a local jeweller’s business, where he meets proprietor Jules Sparkle (Harry Chesire) and becomes suspicious of Sparkle’s cutter, Simon Little (Byron Foulger), and his secretary, Mona Clyde (Rita Corday). These two are in fact part of a conspiracy with antique dealer Percival Priceless (Douglas Walton). The three are using Cueball to get the diamonds, imagining they can buy him off cheaply. However, Cueball has come to suspect that his collaborators are trying to double-cross him; and when he gets double-crossed, he gets mad; and when he gets mad, well.... This second entry in the Dick Tracy series, which was directed by Gordon Douglas, is not as good a film as Dick Tracy, but it is a better representation of the bizarre Chester Gould universe, with characters like – groan – “Jules Sparkle”, and much of the action taking place at the delightfully named “Dripping Dagger”, a dive owned by one “Filthy Flora” (Esther Howard). Cueball himself is about as sharp as the anatomical feature he’s named for – his idea of a cunning disguise is to put on a hat – but his penchant for solving every difficulty by whipping the leather band off that hat at least ensures that there’s plenty of action. Viewers should be warned, though, that this time around Tracy has no less than four sidekicks: Pat Patton, who gets knocked unconscious about eight times (it isn’t nearly enough); Tess Trueheart, who after spending the entire previous film trying to get Tracy to dinner, spends all of this one trying to get him to attend his own birthday party, ha-ha; Junior, here chiefly so that his buddy from next door can provide Tracy with a vital clue (and what a clue!); and Vitamin Flintheart, who actually does something useful in between popping vitamin pills. (Actually, I was confused by this characterisation. I’m certainly no expert on the Dick Tracy strip, but wasn’t Flintheart a Villain? Or at least, someone of Dubious Character?) To be fair, Tess is a bit less useless here, offering herself as bait for the jewel thieves when Tracy needs “a society dame” and is unable to find a policewoman without a Brooklyn accent. As usual, most of the fun comes via the supporting cast. Someone must have agreed with me about the contributions of Milton Parsons and Trevor Bardette being a highlight of Dick Tracy, because they are both back in action here – however briefly that may be true in the case of the latter. The astonishing Skelton Knaggs is also featured. Finally, those of you for whom the highlight of Plan 9 From Outer Space is the declaration, “Inspector Clay’s dead – murdered – and someone’s responsible!” will probably get a kick out of Tracy’s brilliant detective work upon examining the first corpse: “Well, it’s quite obviously death by strangulation.” Dick Tracy Vs Cueball was included in the Medveds’ “50 Worst Movies Of All Time”, which is patently absurd.

Fantaghirò (1991)

Made in two parts for Italian TV and directed by Lamberto Bava, Fantaghirò is the story of the unwanted third daughter – or should that be third unwanted daughter? – of the ruler of a country (Mario Adorf) that has been at war with its neighbouring realm so long, no-one can remember what the bloody conflict was about in the first place. Growing into womanhood in her father’s stronghold, Fantaghirò lives in a state of constant rebellion against the restrictions imposed upon her sex, and finally runs away to the woods, where she meets a mysterious, shape-shifting being (Angela Molina, in various guises), learns to talk to the animals and trees, and becomes an adept at sword-fighting. Meanwhile, the old king of the neighbouring country dies, and the new King Romualdo (Kim Rossi Stuart) decides to put an end to the war by issuing a challenge to a one-on-one duel, the victor’s country to be declared winner of the war. On his way to the next kingdom, Romualdo catches a fleeting glimpse of Fantaghirò and is instantly smitten, but is convinced by the White Witch (Molina again) that what he has seen is a wood-spirit, not a human girl. Receiving Romualdo’s challenge but lacking a son, the old king finally allows himself to be persuaded to send Fantaghirò to meet it. She, disguised as a knight, rides enthusiastically into battle against Romualdo, who, to his consternation, finds the eyes that have been haunting his dreams in, apparently, the face of a boy....

This Italian fairy-tale is both charming and audacious in its gender games. Poor Romualdo ends up with a serious Victor/Victoria thing going on, as he is unable to determine to his own satisfaction whether the person he is falling in love with is a boy or a girl. (In lieu of spying on Fantaghirò in the bath, Romualdo challenges her to a swimming-match, and there is an extended tease sequence as Fantaghirò must come up with reason after reason not to remove that last layer of clothing....) The lovely Alessandra Martines is a delight as Fantaghirò, who, refreshingly, is rewarded and not punished for her refusal to “behave like a woman”; and who, even when she is at length revealed to be both a girl and in love, is neither tamed nor (you should pardon the expression) emasculated. As Romualdo, Kim Rossi Stuart is perhaps a little too modern-day-pretty-boy, but his character is hearteningly progressive: he is determined to bring the war to an end, even at the cost of his own life; he genuinely doesn’t mind that the girl of his dreams can – and does – kick his ass; and when confronted by the possibility that he might be in love with another man, something he makes no attempt to conceal from his two close friends, his predominant emotion is simple bewilderment. There are plenty of enjoyable special effects on display here, and while none of them are particularly convincing, neither are they meant to be: there’s a deliberate pantomime feel to the whole enterprise. Its war kept as a distant backdrop, the story of Fantaghirò plays out in a never-never land of spirits and monsters and talking animals – most of them created by Sergio Stivaletti, never further from his bloody handiwork for the likes of Dario Argento and Michele Soavi; or, for that matter, from his other efforts for Lamberto Bava (Demoni and Demoni 2).

By the way: if you’ve ever wondered what the Italian for “uvula” is, here’s your chance to find out.

Gold-Diggers Of 1933 (1933)

The New Adventures Of Tarzan (1935, 12 episodes)

Hearing that his good friend D’Arnot (who found him in the jungles of Africa in the first place) is missing after a plane crash in Guatemala, Tarzan (Herman Brix) goes in search of him in company with a British expedition headed by Major Martling (Frank Baker), who is seeking the Green Goddess, a totem worshipped by the natives that (somehow) contains “the most powerful explosive known to mankind”. Also after the Goddess is Raglan (one of the serial’s producers, Ashton Dearholt aka Don Castello, wisely casting himself as the villain), who intends to sell the explosive to munitions manufacturers, while Ula Vale (Ula Holt), searching for her fiancé, who was in the plane with D’Arnot, joins forces with the Martling expedition in order to thwart Raglan. This Edgar Rice Burroughs-produced serial is a real mixed bag. On the plus side, Herman Brix (later Bruce Bennet) probably does the Tarzan/Lord Greystoke transition better than anyone else ever did, being equally at home in loin cloth and evening clothes, while his natural athleticism makes his Tarzan convincing (although his yell is, frankly, a bit of a worry). The serial’s other virtue is its location shooting in Guatemala, which makes a very welcome change from the Californian forests that usually stand in for the “jungle” in these things. As for the rest of it, well, if you’re familiar with 30s serials, you know what to expect. Cheating cliffhangers abound (Annie Wilkes would hate this), as do geographical absurdities (characters travel between Mombasa and Guatemala in a matter of days); and the writers show a distinct tendency to forget their own story as they go along. Heroine Ula Vale starts out searching for her missing fiancé, and ends up all over Tarzan; a blonde – and distinctly hatchet-faced – “jungle goddess” in sub-Flash Gordon outfits turns up for five minutes and is never seen again; and, best of all, when Tarzan leaves Guatemala, he forgets to take his chimp with him!! As for the rest of it, how much entertainment anyone will derive from this serial might depend upon the extent to which they are able to find its racial-imperialist assumptions ludicrous rather than offensive. Personally, I parted company with the story at the point where the Odious Comic Relief – the Odious, Odious Comic Relief – whips a machine-gun from his backpack and slaughters about two hundred natives for having the temerity to object to their temple being plundered.

The Rains Of Ranchipur (1952)

Unhappily married and coldly promiscuous Edwina Esketh (Lana Turner) accompanies her husband, Lord Allen Esketh (Michael Rennie), to the Indian province of Ranchipur. While Allen is buying horses from the Maharani (Eugenie Leontovich), Edwina meets and embarks upon a passionate affair with the local surgeon-saint, Dr Rama Safti (Richard Burton). Obstacles arise first in human form, with violent opposition from the Maharani and Safti’s best friend, Tom Ransome (Fred MacMurray), and later as Acts of God, with flooding rain, a collapsing dam and an earthquake tearing the lovers apart. While The Rains Of Ranchipur probably comes under the general heading of “unnecessary re-make”, it isn’t completely without merit. Where this version scores points is in its refusal to shy away from the fact that Edwina is, in fact, a thoroughly nasty bit of work, a real use-’em-and-dump-’em type who bought her husband for his title and gets her kicks by humiliating him. Where it stumbles is in not spending nearly enough time – as The Rains Came, conversely, intelligently does – on the critical period between the meeting, and instant physical attraction, of Edwina and Safti, and the time when they are “in love”. Consequently, Edwina’s reformation is never really convincing. However, the film’s frankness about the nature of the relationship between the two is very daring considering when it was made: this is the earliest film I know of to depict consensual physical contact between a white woman and an Asian or a Eurasian man. (Even if it is Burton in brownface. As we B-Masters learned during our “So Sorry” Roundtable, the later a piece of racial impersonation comes, the more offensive it seems; and certainly Burton’s character here jars in a way that Tyrone Power’s did not. Perhaps it’s the colour photography? In truth, they don’t darken Burton too much; just enough to make his blue eyes distractingly obvious.) Also startling is Edwina’s admission that, had she succeeded in seducing Safti at the outset, he would have been just one more notch on her belt, a memory of “the one with brown skin”; and that the Maharani’s rage against Edwina, for all that she refers to Safti as “her son”, is obviously provoked by sexual jealousy. The other interesting aspect of this version is that it was a contemporary production, its events therefore taking place after India’s liberation. Thus we learn that Safti has spent time in jail as a follower of Ghandi; while the Maharani is only a figurehead, a relic of earlier days with no real power. Other updatings do not work as well, particularly not the substitution of a post-war-lost-idealist Tom Ransome for the wastrel-younger-son-packed-off-to-India Ransome of The Rains Came. The Rains Of Ranchipur is, finally, less a good film than a film of good moments. I am particularly fond of the reaction of the Christian missionary who has nursed Edwina through a near-fatal illness to the arrival of Safti at her bedside: a beaming smile and a cheerful, “She’ll be all right now that you’re here!” I do like my missionaries broadminded, don’t you? But the highlight, undoubtedly, is when the news of Edwina’s illness reaches Safti via her cuckolded husband. “In his ignorance,” says Esketh with infinite bitterness, “the messenger came to me instead of to you....”

(Speaking of racial impersonation: the white actor smothered in dark make-up and playing the local chief of police is none other than John Banner.)

Ride Lonesome (1959)

A good way to start an argument amongst western buffs is to ask, “Which is the best of the Randolph Scott-Budd Boetticher films?” This tense psychological drama is the one for my money. Bounty hunter Scott is escorting callow killer James Best to Santa Cruz for hanging, knowing that his vengeful elder brother Lee Van Cleef is on their heels. Along the way, Scott enters into an uneasy alliance with former outlaws Pernell Roberts and James Coburn, who can win an amnesty for their crimes if they are the ones to deliver Best. The screenplay (by Burt Kennedy) then proceeds to trap its characters, and the viewer, in a moral quagmire, offering up a villain who has committed one of the vilest acts imaginable....only it was a long time ago, and it kind of slipped his mind; a “hero” who hunts men for a living, and who is so consumed by schemes of revenge that he has lost sight of all ethical considerations; and an honourable outlaw who wants nothing more than to go straight and settle down – and if he has to kill a friend to achieve that goal, well, that’s just too bad.... We know what to anticipate from Scott and Van Cleef; the unexpected pleasure of Ride Lonesome is the work of its supporting cast, with James Coburn (in his debut) a delight as the loyal but thick-headed Wiley, and a remarkably fine and nuanced performance from Pernell Roberts. At only 73 minutes, Ride Lonesome is a masterpiece of efficiency in story-telling, and a perfect riposte to those people who say they dislike westerns because they’re “simplistic”.

Rome Express (1932)

The eponymous train speeds between Paris and Rome with a motley collection of travellers on board, among them the perpetrator of a startling art theft (Donald Calthrop). Unfortunately for him, the two confederates that he is betraying (Conrad Veidt and Hugh Williams) are also on the train....and unfortunately for all three of them, the mild-mannered, fussy, eccentric entomologist down the carriage (Frank Vosper) turns out to be one of the leading detectives from the Sûreté. Drawn into the conflict are a number of the other passengers, all of whom have something to hide, including the movie star with a dark past (Esther Ralston), the adulterous wife who’s having second thoughts (Joan Barry), and the avaricious, cold-blooded “philanthropist” (Cedric Hardwicke) and his worm-may-turn secretary (Eliot Makeham). This is the great grand-daddy of all train thrillers and, for screenwriter Sidney Gilliat, a dry run for The Lady Vanishes six years later, which takes everything but its central situation from this film. (Train-ophile Gilliat also worked on the first version of The Ghost Train and the comedy thriller Seven Sinners.) The film is also important for initiating the British career of Conrad Veidt, who simply exudes menacing charm as the leader of the criminal gang. Great fun.

The Sheriff Of Fractured Jaw (1958)

Here’s an embarrassing confession: I love this film! About equidistant between Destry Rides Again and Blazing Saddles sits this good-natured fish-out-of-water comedy, which sees mild-mannered Englishman Jonathan Tibbs (Kenneth More) venturing into the wild, wild west in order to bolster the sales of his family’s long-founded but failing gunsmiths firm and, in the course of a few eventful days, earning himself a reputation as a deadly shot, being appointed sheriff of a frontier town, settling a range war, making peace with and being adopted into the local Indian tribe, and romancing saloon owner Miss Kate (Jayne Mansfield) – all of it more or less accidentally. Kenneth More is perfectly cast as the unflappable Jonathan Tibbs (these days the film benefits from its numerous, and oddly apt, "Mr Tibbs" references), thoroughly convinced that all the west really needs is a lesson in correct manners; and Jayne Mansfield is---well, Jayne Mansfield. Except for her accent, which is disturbingly reminiscent of Michael Beck's in Megaforce. Good support is given by Robert Morley, Henry Hull, Bruce Cabot, William Campbell and – as More’s “father” – Chief Jonas Applegarth; while the freakazoid romantic pairing of More and Mansfield works far better than it has any right to – much like the film itself. (“I couldn’t fall for a local idiot,” fumes Mansfield at one point. “I had to go for the international kind.”) No doubt director Raoul Walsh had made enough westerns by this stage in his career to thoroughly enjoy skewering their clichés....but there’s no feeling of contempt for such films here, just a sense of fun. And without wanting to spoil things for anyone, I may say that the closing exchange between More and Mansfield has been a running joke in my household for years.

Split Second (1992)

WTF!? “Confusing” barely begins to describe this muddled science fiction outing, which actually challenges The Dark for its sheer inability to make up its mind what it’s about and what its monster is. We know how The Dark got the way it is; Lord knows who was responsible for this mess. It’s “The Future” – and global warming has had its way with the world, resulting in a London that’s flooded, polluted, rat-infested and rife with disease. (This may indeed be one of the earliest examples of the environmental warning sub-genre, but this stuff is only there to look kewl in a distinctly sub-Blade Runner sort of way.) A killer is on the loose, ripping out the hearts of his victims; and apparently in the belief that it takes a psychopath to catch a psychopath, chocolate-munching, caffeine-guzzling, heavy ordnance-toting Harley Stone (Rutger Hauer) is brought back from suspension and teamed up with suit-wearing, university-educated, health food nibbling Dick Durkin (Neil Duncan). They’re the original odd couple! And together, they fight crime! Apparently operating under the delusion that this isn’t quite enough clichés for us to be going on with, the film opens with Stone visiting a strip club. Then we learn that Stone’s partner was killed before his eyes by the same killer. And that Stone was having an affair with his partner’s wife. And that Stone is somehow in psychic contact with the killer. You following all this? Pay attention, I’ll be asking questions. After teasing us with everything from a giant rat to an actual satanic manifestation, the film proceeds to serve up a monster so unabashedly copied from Alien, you almost have to admire its chutzpah. Lost in this mess are Michael J. Pollard, playing exactly the same role after all these years; Pete Postlethwaite; and the late, great Ian Dury. Also, Kim Cattrall shows up in her Undiscovered Country ’do and flashes her boobs in a textbook example of the Gratuitous Shower Scene. Look, I’m not saying that Split Second isn’t entertaining. Just don’t try to make sense of it. Your head might explode.

Click here for Nathan Shumate's full review.

Surviving The Game (1994)

I’m not sure the world really needed yet another riff on “The Most Dangerous Game”, but this one benefits from an absurdly good cast: Rutger Hauer, Gary Busey, F. Murray Abraham, Charles S. Dutton and Ice-T as the “prey”. Taking a cue from the previous year’s Hard Target, Surviving The Game has homeless men being sent into the wilderness on the pretext of being hired as hunting guides, only to learn too late that the job description wasn’t entirely accurate. (Although how anyone could find themselves in the middle of nowhere with Rutger Hauer and Gary Busey and not immediately intuit that they’re in deep doo-doo is beyond me.) There’s nothing here we haven’t seen before, but of all the versions of “The Most Dangerous Game”, this is probably the one where you most want to see the hunters get there’s. Anyway, even if you don’t like it, you can at least enjoy the stunning location photography: this is the rare film that has Washington State played by Washington State, and not by British Columbia. (Understand, this is from someone who watches First Blood for the scenery.) And hey! – Charles S. Dutton dies! Aren’t you astonished? 

The Three Musketeers (1933, 12 episodes)

In the desert of Algiers, a troop of soldiers is under attack by the forces of a mysterious individual known as "El Shaitan", who is leading an Arab revolt against the Foreign Legion. The lives of the last three men, Clancy (Jack Mulhall), Renard (Raymond Hatton) and Schmidt (Francis X. Bushman Jr), are saved when Lt Tom Wayne (John Wayne), from the American embassy in Paris, fires upon the attacking Arabs from his plane. Clancy explains that they were trying to stop a caravan that was running guns. The three grateful soldiers laugh that they are “the Three Musketeers” and Tom their D’Artagnon; the four swear eternal friendship. Tom then travels on to visit his sweetheart, Elaine Corday (Ruth Hall), and her brother, Armand (Creighton Chaney). Armand, however, has a deadly secret: he has been blackmailed into helping El Shaitan, and was with the caravan. El Shaitan declares Tom an enemy, and orders Armand to use him and his embassy connections to bring another shipment of arms into the country. Armand does so, but the ruse is discovered; and Tom, in Paris, finds himself accused as a gun-runner. Escaping back to North Africa, Tom gets the truth out of Armand, who is then killed by El Shaitan. Tom is found standing over the body, and is soon wanted for both gun-running and murder.... The opening credits of this serial insist that it is “a modern version of the famous story”, but any resemblance between this serial and M. Dumas’ novel is, as they say, entirely coincidental. You can also forget anything you ever heard about the iron discipline of the Foreign Legion: when they aren’t either breaking into their CO’s office, or breaking their pal Tom out of military prison, these Three Musketeers spend most of their time in town, eating and drinking and – [*shudder*] – singing in taverns, and brawling in the street; they get positively indignant when asked to perform any actual, you know, duties. The main problem with The Three Musketeers is that is never lives up to its exciting and quite complex first episode, but devolves into repetitive scenes of riding back and forth across the desert, and white people sneaking around dressed up as “Arabs”. Actually, this latter aspect is one of this serial’s more pleasing absurdities, particularly when Tom Wayne, a foot taller than anyone else, and with his military boots and his tie showing, is supposed to be impenetrably disguised, to the point where he can infiltrate the band of Arab rebels without being detected. (Of course, it helps that, although they know Tom is onto them, the rebels never change their password!) At this point in his career, John Wayne is still incredibly awkward, far more at home in his action scenes than in those with dialogue. Ruth Hall is an adequate heroine, mercifully the dashing-across-the-desert kind, rather than the stand-around-screaming kind. (She attempts a French accent for about five minutes during the first episode, then forgets about it.) Lon Chaney Jr, still billed as “Creighton”, gives one of his best early performances as the tormented Armand. Noah Beery Jr also shows up for just long enough to get shot in the back; while that’s legendary stuntman Yakima Canutt under the mask as “El Shaitan” (although it isn’t his voice).

Things I Learned From Watching This Serial^TM:  every single Arab in the world is called El Something-or-other.