MURRAY SINCLAIR – Tough Luck L.A. Ben Crandel #1. Pinnacle, paperback original, 1980. Black Lizard Books, paperback, 1988.

   It’s been a while since I read this one. If it weren’t for the notes I made while reading it, l don’t think I’d remember any of it at all. What makes this so surprising, to me at least, is that I’ve always been partial to novels about hack Hollywood writers and rundown private eyes, and I was really looking forward to this one.

   Anyway. Ben Crandel is the hack writer , making do with cheap porno novels (are there any other kind?) as his movie-writing career seems to be going nowhere fast. Then a friend of his, an ex-prostitute named Vicky, is found murdered, and he’s forced to pick up a new sideline, that of amateur detective. Crandel talks snotty to some ultrasensitive cops, however , and he’s immediately tossed into jail for a while.

   There is also some business about a tontine. I thought they’d been written off as a plot device long ago. Complications are provided by a complex set of family relationships which I admit I never did figure out, and the whole affair is about as crazy as any pulp novel that’s ever been published.

   Which, for those of us who dote on such stuff, might have worked out as a huge plus. Dashed with the appropriate amounts of cynicism, there’d have been hopes for this story yet. The cynicism is contrived and phony, however, and the pace, which starts out slow and then becomes even slower, never manages to pick up any traction at all.

   According to my notes, this is how I felt about it a couple of weeks ago: “Except for one unbelievably imaginative sex scene, the book fairly crackles with boredom.”

   In retrospect, I don’t think it was that bad, but what you could say is that it certainly didn’t match my expectations.

         Rating: D

      The Ben Crandel series —

Tough Luck L.A. Pinnacle 1980
Only in L.A. A&W 1982
Goodbye, L.A. Black Lizard 1988

   Here’s a short time out from regular blogging to tell you my latest vintage mystery hardcover list, all from the 1970s and before, is ready for viewing. These books are priced as they are on Amazon, but if you buy from me directly, take 30 percent off:

         Vintage Hardcovers

   Thanks for looking!

EXILE EXPRESS. Grand National, 1939. Anna Sten, Alan Marshal, Jerome Cowan, Walter Catlett, Leonid Kinskey, Irving Pichel, Harry Davenport, Feodor Chaliapin, Byron Foulger, Vince Barnett, and George Chandler. Written by Ethel La Blanche and Edwin Justus Mayer. Directed by Otis Garrett.  Currently available on YouTube here.

   A star on her way down, a studio on its way out, a movie that ain’t bad.

   Anna Sten was imported to this country by Sam Goldwyn, who saw her as another Garbo. Problem was, we already had one, and after three flops, Ms Sten was cast loose in the film industry, where she continued to work at fitful intervals into the 1960s. Exile Express was her first film in three years and a far cry from the lush work of Goldwyn.

   Grand National was a scrappy little “B” outfit with an eye out for novelty. They snagged James Cagney at the height of his popularity (and in the middle of a contract spat with Warners) for two films, but lost him when they passed up Angels with Dirty Faces for a limp musical that was nothing to sing about. Undaunted, Grand National went for the ready-made publicity of Heavyweight Champ Joe Louis (Spirit of Youth) Lamont Cranston (The Shadow, with silent star Rod LaRocque) and Doctor Robert E Cornish’s home-movie footage showing him supposedly restoring a dead dog to life (Life Returns) which left the lovely Anna Sten literally following a dog act on the bill.

   Withall, nevertheless, and notwithstanding, Exile Express is pretty good: mostly light and inconsequential, but a few moments stick in the critical conscience like venial sins. Ms Sten plays a refugee, and when she speaks of her plans to become a US citizen, she conveys real feeling. Then, of course, the plot rears its banal head; she’s working for a scientist engaged in top-secret research, and when he’s killed and his notes stolen, she falls under suspicion. Acquitted of any crime, he is ordered deported on general principles and put aboard a train from San Francisco to Ellis Island — hence the title Exile Express.

   The rest is mostly sub-Hitchcock, with the train hurtling across the Land of the Free while Enemy Agents try to sneak her off — it seems they need her to fill in the gaps in those stolen notes — and a handsome young reporter takes a bemused interest in the whole thing. We get the usual complement of colorful characters and comic interludes, well-played by reliables with faces you never forget and names you never remember, but there’s also a quiet moment on the train when a gangster being kicked out of the country brags about how big he’ll be back in the Old Country, then falls sadly silent as he looks out the window and sees America passing by.

   I should also put in a word for George Chandler as a gawky near-bridegroom replaced at the last minute by the handsome hero. Chandler had a pivotal part in what is undoubtedly and beyond debate the greatest film ever made (The Fatal Glass of Beer) and he uses his typecast sincerity to here to excellent comic effect.

   This was the last film from Grand National, and if it didn’t go out with a bang, it was at least more swan song than whimper.

      Played by the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra:

ALAN E. NOURSE – The Universe Between. Paperback Library 52-462, paperback, 1967. Prior hardcover edition: David McKay, 1965. Expansion of stories “High Threshold” and “The Universe Between” (Astounding SF, March 1951 and September 1951, respectively.) Ace, paperback, 1987. Cover of PL edition probably by Jack Gaughan.

   This novel consists of two major parts, probably corresponding to the two stories indicated above. The first concerns the attempt to construct a transmatter, necessary for the economic survival of the world. Somehow a model under construction bridges the gap to a parallel world, through the fourth dimension, and threatens it with destruction.

   Agreement with the inhabitants of the Other Side brings the galaxy within reach, but in the second art of the book, complete communication with them is needed to solve problems arising from he existence of infinitely many parallel worlds.

   Nourse is quite clearly familiar with engineering methods, as well as science in general, which probably explains the many outstanding reviews by libraries and school journals found on the covers. As is to be expected, attempts to describe the fourth dimension fall short, but they make interesting reading. The value of the switch ending is debatable, but there is no doubt it is valid.

Rating: 3 stars

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA. “Saga of a Star World.” ABC, 17 September 1978. Pilot episode; three hours. Richard Hatch (Captain Apollo), Dirk Benedict (Lieutenant Starbuck), Lorne Greene (Commander Adama), Herbert Jefferson Jr. (Lieutenant Boomer), Tony Swartz (Flight Sergeant Jolly), Maren Jensen (Lieutenant Athena). Others: John Colicos, Ray Milland, Lew Ayres. Writer: Glen A. Larson. Director: Richard A. Colla.

   If you asked a random person about Battlestar Galactica, they likely would either think of the late 1970s television series or the highly successful reboot from the early 2000s. That is, of course, if they had ever heard of the show at all. But few probably remember that Battlestar Galactica started neither as a tv show, nor as a franchise. Rather, the saga began as a lengthy made for television movie meant to capitalize on the Star Wars craze.

   Aired on ABC on September 17, 1978, the production was interrupted mid-broadcast with news of the signing of the Israeli-Egyptian peace accords. Later released both as a theatrical film and as a three-part TV series entitled “Saga of a Star World,” the movie piggybacked on the success of George Lucas’s Star Wars (1977) and likewise combined mystical fantasy with hard science fiction.

   For those unfamiliar with the basic plot, it suffices to say that it’s a story about a group of humans living in distant space who must outrun a hostile robotic enemy (the Cylons) on their way to Earth. Commanded by the stern but fair Adama (Lorne Greene), the Battlestar Galactica is itself a ship (a battle starship). Among its best fighter pilots are Adama’s son Captain Apollo (Richard Hatch) and the maverick Starbuck (Dirk Benedict). Their chief enemies, at least in the pilot, are two human traitors. The scheming and sleazy Count Baltar (John Colicos) and the decadent Sire Uri (Ray Milland). Lew Ayres also appears as the president.

   I am not sure if I ever watched the three-part pilot before. Some of it seemed deeply familiar to me. Other parts less so. As much as I enjoyed the nostalgia value of the show, I couldn’t help but notice how slow-moving a lot of the pilot was. While there was certainly some excitement at the beginning, the movie bogs down into a rather talky meandering affair. That said, it certainly perks up again in the last forty minutes or so with a fun and exciting tale of wicked aliens seducing humanity into a gambling den slumber. The special effects, for the time, were quite good. And the music, conducted by Stu Phillips of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, is iconic. I’m just fairly sure no one who watched it in 1978 would have thought it would be rebooted two decades later for a new generation.
   

ELLIS PETERS – Black Is the Color of My True-Love’s Heart. Felse family # 7. Collins, UK, hardcover, 1967. Morrow, US, hardcover, 1967. Mysterious Press, US, paperback, 1992.

   Dominic Felse, son of Detective Inspector George Felse, and his girl fiend Tossa Barbar, are attending a folk music seminar at a neo-Gothic mansion called Follymead. Its director is Edward Arundale, who lives there with his wife. Arundale, however, plans to be away the weekend of the folkmusic seminar.

   Among the music stars attending is the popular Lucian Galt, but an unexpected guest is female folk singer Uri Palmer, who recently split up with Lucien. On the first night she sings a variation on the old folk song that is the novel’s title. The next afternoon, Uri and Lucien (as well as Dominic and Tossa) elect to remain at Follymead rather then go on one of the guided tours of the area.

   Walking around the grounds, Dominic and Tossa come to the area near the river where Felicity, Arundale’s niece who had a crush on Lucien, had left him. They discover signs of a struggle and decide to contact Dominic’s father, who comes down to do a quiet investigation. The next day a body is pulled from the water but it isn’t Lucien’s; it’s Arundale’s.

   I’ve never had the urge to read any of the Medieval mysteries that raised Ms. Peters to the top rung of mystery writers. However, I’ve read a couple of the early Felse novels, and enjoyed them. This one was fun, even though I figured out the solution well before the end.

HOLD THAT WOMAN! PRC, 1940. James Dunn (skiptracer Jimmy Parker), Frances Gifford, George Douglas, Rita La Roy. Director: Sam Newfield. Currently available on YouTube.

   Yes, I know that skiptracers (guys who track down people who have not kept up payments on their purchases) are not exactly private investigators, but it does take a certain amount of detective work on their part combined with enough finesse to get the unpaid for goods out of the non-payers’ hands without causing a major incident.

   This is exactly where Jimmy Parker slips up. Trying to repossess a radio set from a woman’s apartment, she defies him and calls in the cops, who (straining credulity) take her side of it. It turns out, though, that she has a very good reason for wanting to hold onto the radio, and it has to do with a small cache of jewels stolen from a famous movie star.

   Or in other words, the two cases are connected. The movie is only just over an hour long, and not a minute of it is wasted. It’s non-stop action mixed with a strong swallop of comedy from beginning to end, as you’d probably guess from the presence of James Dunn, his usual jovial unruffled self, as the aforementioned skiptracer. He was married at the time to Frances Gifford, who is both beautiful and exceptionally efficient as his fiancee and (eventually) his wife, that latter event totally against the wishes of her father, a crusty old cop who sees Jimmy as a good-for-nothing lightweight.

   If you’ve read this review all the way down to here, lots of fun awaits you with this one.
   

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE “Wheels.” CBS, 29 October 1966 (Season 1, Episode 7 (of 171)). Cast: Mark Lenard (Mora), Percy Rodriguez (police captain), Martin Landau (Rollin Hand/Miguel Cordova), Peter Lupus (Willy Armitage), Greg Morris (Barney Collier), Barbara Bain (Cinnamon Carter), Steven Hill (Dan Briggs), Perry Lopez (the priest, uncredited), Bob Johnson (voice on tape, uncredited), and Jonathan Kidd (registrar). Producers: Barry Crane, Joseph Gantman, and Bruce Geller, executive producer and series creator. Writer: Laurence Heath. Director: Tom Gries. Series available on DVD and is currently streaming on CBS All Access.

   Things are really rotten in Valeria, a small Latin American country on the verge of becoming, as the voice on the tape informs Dan Briggs, “a terrorist dictatorship” thanks to the jefe’s rigged voting machines. Briggs and his dauntless Impossible Missions Force are tasked by “the Secretary” (of State? Defense? Who knows?) with unfixing the election in a way that “will honestly reflect the vote of the people.” As always, cautions the voice, “should you or any of your IM Force be caught or killed, he will disavow any knowledge of your actions.” Piece of cake.

   The plan Briggs comes up with is going along smoothly until their electronics expert, Barney Collier, is badly wounded in a jailbreak, creating grave doubt as to whether or not the mission can be completed. Leave it to the plucky Barney, however, to come through in the end . . . .

   The first season of any show is usually a bumpy ride and this one was no exception (e.g., Cinnamon breaking into unwarranted tears), but this episode of Mission: Impossible pretty much follows the format the series adhered to in all seven of its seasons. (The thing about “format” is that it can and often does degenerate into “formula.”)

   In this particular series the easiest way to create suspense is to have some problem arise that threatens to blow the team’s cover; here it’s Barney’s wound and the unwanted interest by the secret police that force the team members to “improvise.”

   Overcoming unexpected setbacks poses a real challenge to screenwriters and not all of them are up to it. Two writers who were very good at it were William Read Woodfield teamed with Allan Balter, the Levinson and Link of the series; together they were responsible for the most engaging stories in Mission: Impossible, but not this one.

   “Wheels” was writer Laurence Heath’s first script for Mission: Impossible; he would be responsible for twenty-three altogether.

   You’ve probably seen director Tom Gries’s name on TV or movie productions; he did good work on Breakheart Pass (1975), the film adaptation of Alistair Maclean’s novel and screenplay. This was his only Mission: Impossible story.

   Several years ago Jonathan Lewis contributed a Mystery*File article about producer/creator Bruce Geller’s directorial involvement with Harry in Your Pocket (1973), an offbeat crime film, and you can read that here.

THE BROKER’S MAN. BBC One, 17 June 1997 (Series 1, Episodes 1 and 2). Kevin Whately as James ‘Jimmy’ Griffin, ex-detective now a PI working cases of fraud for insurance companies; Annette Ekblom as Sally Griffin, his ex-wife, Danny Worters as Dominic Griffin, his son, Holly Davidson as Jodie Griffin, his daughter, Al Hunter Ashton as Vinnie Stanley, his assistant; Sarah-Jane Potts/Charlotte Bellamy as Harriet Potter, his secretary; Michelle Fairley as Gabby Rodwell, his one-time lover (and maybe still). Written by Al Hunter Ashton & Tim O’Mara. Director: Bob Blagden. Available on DVD and streaming on Amazon Prime.

   Nearly as much time is spent in these first two episodes with PI Jimmy Griffin’s domestic problems as it is in solving the case he’s hired to solve, that of a huge batch of digital tapes that have been stolen straight from the shipping company’s warehouse. Ordinarily that would be a huge problem, but not in this case, nearly coming in as an afterthought in terms of what Griffin is up against.

   He’s separated now from his wife, who is hounding him for months’ worth of back child support, and he’s able to see his two children only on specified days and times. The problem with this, of course, is that his investigative work takes him to both France and the Netherlands, and if he doesn’t crack the case, he won’t earn the money for what his wife is on his back for. The continual business-oriented presence of the woman that caused the breakup between Jimmy and his wife in the first place does not help either.

   Getting back to the case itself, I did not find it particularly interesting. The financial dealing and wheeling I found largely over my head (you may or may not have this same problem), and the identity of the gang and their inside enablers are not at all hidden from the viewer, nor does Griffin have much difficulty sussing them out himself.

   No, it’s the character of Jimmy Griffin and his rough and tumble ways that will have you coming back for more, or not. There were only two seasons, the first consisting of three double-part stories, and the second of six individual episodes. I’m planning on watching the next two-part story of season one, and then see where I might go from there.