In some respects it resembles Hitchcock's "39 Steps." Recently released from prison, Emlyn Williams is mistakenly blamed for the murder of an old girl friend. Knowing he will be accused because of his record, he takes off from London to Manchester and back again. Along the way he meets diverse types of people, some suspicious, some affable. Half the pursuit takes place at night in an effectively conveyed torrent of wind and rain. Very atmospheric.
Williams enlists the help of a dance hostess (what is a dance hostess?) whom he has known for years. Together they try to find out who the murderer might be. The young lady is Anna Konstam, a friend of the victim. They worked together at the Palais de Dance.
It lacks the minor humorous touches that Hitchcock would have given it, the embedded short stories like the cheap farmer and his wife in "The 39 Steps." It's all suspenseful and grim.
Enter the murderer, Ernest Thesiger, or, if you prefer, Doctor Septimus Praetorius from "The Bride of Frankenstein." Thesiger was quite a character. He was from an aristocratic family and mostly gay. There is a charcoal sketch of him as a young man by John Singer Sargent.
He brings light to a dark movie. The guy looks like he's made of sticks and the shape of his skull is that of a football. He should leave his skeleton to the Royal Anthropological Society. Thesinger's performance can't accurately be called over the top. He reaches for the moon.
An ex teacher of psychology, he insinuates his way effortlessly into the conundrum of the loving couple. His speech rings with eloquence. When he describes the reason for his involvement in the case, "Let us say it is because of my interest in the crepuscular recesses of the human mind." I love that phrase. I'm going to write it down and use it myself. What the hell, why not? Williams, the soi-disant ex-con and bum, speaks the ordinary middle-class dialect of southern England but with a fake underground touch to it. He said "ain't" and "who done it," but he says it in a way that doesn't suggest it comes naturally to him.
It's an engaging flick, full of suspense and, after Thesinger's entrance, oddities. It's no masterpiece but it's an enjoyable diversion.
Williams enlists the help of a dance hostess (what is a dance hostess?) whom he has known for years. Together they try to find out who the murderer might be. The young lady is Anna Konstam, a friend of the victim. They worked together at the Palais de Dance.
It lacks the minor humorous touches that Hitchcock would have given it, the embedded short stories like the cheap farmer and his wife in "The 39 Steps." It's all suspenseful and grim.
Enter the murderer, Ernest Thesiger, or, if you prefer, Doctor Septimus Praetorius from "The Bride of Frankenstein." Thesiger was quite a character. He was from an aristocratic family and mostly gay. There is a charcoal sketch of him as a young man by John Singer Sargent.
He brings light to a dark movie. The guy looks like he's made of sticks and the shape of his skull is that of a football. He should leave his skeleton to the Royal Anthropological Society. Thesinger's performance can't accurately be called over the top. He reaches for the moon.
An ex teacher of psychology, he insinuates his way effortlessly into the conundrum of the loving couple. His speech rings with eloquence. When he describes the reason for his involvement in the case, "Let us say it is because of my interest in the crepuscular recesses of the human mind." I love that phrase. I'm going to write it down and use it myself. What the hell, why not? Williams, the soi-disant ex-con and bum, speaks the ordinary middle-class dialect of southern England but with a fake underground touch to it. He said "ain't" and "who done it," but he says it in a way that doesn't suggest it comes naturally to him.
It's an engaging flick, full of suspense and, after Thesinger's entrance, oddities. It's no masterpiece but it's an enjoyable diversion.