Eye of the Devil (1966)

 ☆ ☆ ☆

Eye of the Devil (1966) – J. Lee Thompson

I thought I had possibly stumbled upon an unheralded horror film from the mid-60s, starring David Niven and Deborah Kerr (with Sharon Tate and David Hemmings in minor roles) – and I had but despite its promise, the film suffers from poorly managed pacing that somehow undercuts any shocks or horror.  There is still some ominous and spooky ambience here and some echoes and previews of other better known horror films.  For one, having Deborah Kerr in the lead and sometimes in peril but always very anxious really does evoke the classic (and better) film The Innocents (1961) based on Henry James’ Turn of the Screw. For another, the plot that finds David Niven returning to his ancestral castle because the grapes have died on the vine for a third year in a row and he must perform a certain pagan rite to salvage things really does foreshadow The Wicker Man (1973 version please), also a much better film.  Although Hemmings also seems to have a role in the rite in question (along with a bunch of eerie hooded men and Donald Pleasance as the head priest), it isn’t quite so clear how Tate is involved (although she may be a witch). The black and white cinematography on location at Chateau de Hautefort in Dordogne, France is pretty fab and the proceedings are thereby provided with a suitably gothic flair. But all in all, this is a missed opportunity because somehow the suspense and forboding that should have been there in spades have somehow dissipated with the loose plotting and somnambulant pacing.

 

Last Night in Soho (2021)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Last Night in Soho (2021) – E. Wright

Although there are clearly aspects of his work that would fit with auteur theory, it seems easier to view Edgar Wright’s films as purely commercial endeavours. They aim to be crowd-pleasing and cater to the audience’s surface needs. His collaborations with Simon Pegg and Nick Frost (Shaun of the Dead, 2004; Hot Fuzz, 2007) were funny enough and Scott Pilgrim (2010) was certainly camp enough, playing to the hip crowd, but I wasn’t sure what to make of Baby Driver (2017), considering it more style than substance, a slick piece of genre work that again strove to signify its hipness rather than doing more than that.  Last Night in Soho (filmed in 2019 but released in 2021) is similarly slick and commercial, teasing the audience with the sexiness of its leads (Thomasin McKenzie and Anya Taylor-Joy) and a Swingin’ London vibe but instead careening into psychological thriller territory with a Me Too-styled critique of the Sixties. McKenzie plays a “country mouse” (Eloise) who comes to the Big Smoke to study fashion design (present day) but when she lets a bedsit from aged Ms. Collins (Diana Rigg) she begins having visions/nightmares of Taylor-Joy as a wanna-be singer (Sandie) who is instead forced into prostitution and potentially murdered.  For all intents and purposes, it seems that Eloise is going crazy for most of the film, a concerning and downbeat narrative that is nevertheless filmed with colour/style/flash. The plot does rescue itself from this dead end but never quite manages to deal with all of the issues it raises in a satisfying way.  It seems content enough to mention the terrible treatment of women (and to show it) rather than necessarily to digest things fully (Should we have sympathy for the murderer, that is?). At the same time, Wright the stylist has a lot of fun with the Sixties soundtrack and the casting of Rita Tushingham, Terence Stamp, Margaret Nolan, and of course Rigg, all British stars from those (possibly not so good) old days. To conclude, I’m ambivalent about this film which I enjoyed for its shiny surfaces but disliked for its unwillingness to dig too much beneath them.

 

The Bureau (2017; Season 3)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Bureau (2017; Season 3) – E. Rochant

Season 2 ended with the shock capture of Guillaume Debailly a.k.a. Malotru a.k.a. Paul Lefevbre (Mathieu Kassovitz) by ISIS/Daesh in Syria/Iraq.  Most of the third series observes his isolation/torture/attempts to escape and also DGSE’s attempts to rescue him (led by Raymond Sisteron (Jonathan Zaccaï)), even if only to prosecute him for being a traitor.  We also follow Marina Loiseau (Sara Giraudeau) who has returned to France from Iran (after very nearly being assassinated), traumatised and perhaps unfit for another mission. Team leader Henri Duflot (Jean-Pierre Darroussin) supports her and Marie-Jeanne (Florence Loiret Caille) is promoted to be his assistant. The series does contain a few shocks but there is a slight feeling of desperation here, as the plot-lines lead some characters to take uncharacteristic actions (in my view). Sure, there is intrigue a-plenty, but for the first time in The Bureau this can feel a little forced. The ending of the last episode, a noir-existential reverie, for sure, feels as though it was anticipated to be the finale for the entire show (reinforced by the fact that nearly all of the plot lines have been wrapped up).  Yet, somehow there is a fourth season…

 

The Wrong Box (1966)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Wrong Box (1966) – B. Forbes

British black comedy that finds John Mills and Ralph Richardson as brothers who are the last surviving members of a “tontine” in the 1880s that will award a generous pay-out to the sole survivor. Richardson is an insufferable bore while Mills is a crazy old coot; they haven’t spoken in 40 years. Naturally, their respective (adopted) children are keen to get their hands on the boodle. Richardson’s kids include Peter Cook and Dudley Moore as well as Nanette Newman. Mills is supported by Michael Caine (and “king of the dramatic pause” butler Wilfrid Lawson). The plot is convoluted as both Richardson and Mills are suspected dead from time to time and their offspring hope to conceal this secret (if true) from the other family. Cook goes so far as to secure a blank death certificate (from dissolute doctor Peter Sellers) for use if Richardson goes first (and the date can therefore be amended). It gets pretty wacky and, of course, might be taken the wrong way by those who see funerals as a sacred rite. Not always laugh out-loud funny but it has its charms in that sly and droll British way.