A list of favourite thrillers; for which my only criteria has been personal enjoyment. With gritted teeth I have limited some authors to one title when I could easily have named more, and I have resisted the urge to add in hundreds of titles which fall more easily into the ‘crime’ or ‘mystery’ (or even horror or western) genres.

    This list was inspired by David Vineyard’s survey of thrillers, but is in no way in competition with it.

    If it introduces a new author or title to anyone and they get the same pleasure from reading them that I did, then my work here is done.

THE MAN BEHIND THE GUN. Warner Brothers, 1953. Randolph Scott, Patrice Wymore, Dick Wesson, Philip Carey, Lina Romay, Roy Roberts, Alan Hale Jr. Director: Felix E. Feist.

   This elegantly staged western is busy, stylish and full of pizzazz. That the plot, based on an unknown piece of southern Californian history, makes no sense whatsoever doesn’t seem to make much difference, or at least it didn’t to me.

   Randolph Scott is working undercover in this one, trying to infiltrate a gang of California revolutionists, Southern style, who are intent on capturing all the water rights surrounding the burgeoning burg of Los Angeles.

   Is he a schoolteacher (replacing Patrice Wymore, who is supposed to be marrying army officer Philip Carey), or is he a renegade, wanted for murdering a fellow officer in a duel?

   We (the viewer) know, as if anyone as dedicated to duty as Randolph Scott could be anything but a hero and a gentleman. The action (and the laughs, courtesy Hale & Wesson) is fast and furious, from the opening scene onward — including a modicum of romance (and a rowdy row between the two ladies).

   There is a neat twist in the tale as well, making this movie more than worthy of your attention. (If this is a B-western, it is a better B.)

[UPDATE] 10-20-10.   Do I remember this one? Only vaguely. But my review was positive enough that it convinced that I ought to own a copy of it on DVD.

   Easily done. There’s one available that also contains Thunder Over the Plains (Warner, 1953) and Riding Shotgun (Warner, 1954), both also with Randolph Scott.

   I should have it in my hands in four or five days.

   If it had been anyone but Criterion putting out the DVD of The Friends Of Eddie Coyle, I might not have purchased it. But Criterion has so firmly established itself as the premium purveyor of quality movies onto quality DVDs, that I couldn’t resist.

   When I opened the handsome package, I was a little disappointed to find only one DVD inside. This usually means they didn’t go to too much trouble to put the whole thing together, and they weren’t interested in slipping in a lot of bonus features.

   What is included is a digitally-restored, high-definition version of the film itself, an audio commentary by director Peter Yates, stills, and a 44-page booklet on the film and its star Robert Mitchum.

   When you click “Play Movie,” the film surprisingly begins with only the Criterion logo, followed by the Paramount logo, then scene one. None of that annoying crap about FBI warnings and studio disclaimers. It looks and sounds terrific on my big screen HDTV from beginning to end. The color is crisp and the dialogue, which of course carries the whole story, is clear at all times. David Grusin’s restrained jazz soundtrack is a big plus.

   The commentary was only okay, though. I was expecting a lot more, I guess, from Yates. Something along the lines of what I got from Jules Dassin in Criterion’s outstanding release of his classic 1950 film noir, Night And The City. Dassin, who only did an interview and not the commentary on that DVD, went into the deepest details of that film and its making, while film scholar Glenn Erickson did a very creditable job on the commentary.

   Yates, in his commentary, talked about the things you might expect: shooting in Boston, how great all the actors were, and so on. But apart from his explanations on how they shot the hockey game scene and why George V. Higgins failed to get a screen credit for the script, I didn’t get too aroused. I felt he tended to drift off a little too often into talking about his other films. You know, if I’m watching The Friends Of Eddie Coyle, I don’t want to hear anything about Barbra Streisand movies.

   The booklet, however, is terrific. It begins with an essay by Kent Jones called “They Were Expendable” (no relation to the John Wayne movie), which offers far more insight into the making of the film than Yates’ commentary.

   For example, prior to shooting, Mitchum hung out with Whitey Bulger, notorious Boston gangster and the prototype for Jack Nicholson’s character in The Departed. Mitchum apparently took some heat for consorting with someone like Bulger, but he defended it, according to Jones, by saying that Bulger was himself associating with a “known criminal” in talking to Mitchum.

   The second essay is a profile on Mitchum called “The Last Celluloid Desperado.” Written by Grover Lewis, it includes contributions by co-stars Peter Boyle and Richard Jordan. It’s really all about Mitchum, though, and is a captivating look at his remarkable life, both in and out of films.

   One fact which jumped out at me was that Alex Rocco, who plays Jimmy Scalise, was a former member of the Boston Teamsters, who were continually linked to killings ordered by Bulger and his Winter Hill Gang. In fact, Rocco himself was indicted for murder, only to have the charges dropped through aggressive actions by his attorney, F Lee Bailey. He then made his way to Los Angeles, where he soon landed the role of Moe Greene in 1972’s The Godfather.

   Safe to say the booklet helps to make up for Yates’ lackluster commentary.

   Criterion, which has given us top-shelf DVD releases of seldom-seen films such as Straw Dogs, The Long Good Friday, and Lord Of The Flies, has scored again with The Friends Of Eddie Coyle. And like Yates says in the conclusion of his commentary, I hope this will expose the film to a whole new generation of viewers.

Editorial Comment:   For my review of the film itself, written nearly two years ago, before the DVD came out, you’ll have to go way back here on the blog.

“The Photographer and the Undertaker.” An episode of The Alfred Hitchcock Hour (Season 3, Episode 21). First air date: 15 March 1965. Jack Cassidy, Harry Townes, Alfred Ryder, Jocelyn Lane. Teleplay: Alfred Hayes, based on a story by James Holding (Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, November 1962). Director: Alex March.

   Rudolph (Alfred Ryder) works for The Corporation, otherwise known as the Mob. His job is to give his contract employees their various assignments, all of which inevitably result in somebody getting murdered.

   Arthur Mannix (Jack Cassidy) is a photographer whose much more lucrative sideline is being a hitman for Rudolph. Hiram Price (Harry Townes) is a professional undertaker who also works under contract to Rudolph. Since they’ve never met, neither man knows the whole truth about the other.

   But then the day arrives when The Corporation, in its infinite wisdom, decides to have Rudolph send Arthur after Hiram — and Hiram after Arthur ….

   With three on-screen murders and a finale in which evil triumphs, this episode undoubtedly had the network censors in a lather, I’m sure.

   A cheerful but evil cherub is how I would describe Jack Cassidy’s normal screen persona. His criminous credits include: FBI Code 98 (1963), The Eiger Sanction (1975), and 3 unforgettable appearances on Columbo: “Murder by the Book” (1971), “Publish or Perish” (1974), and “Now You See Him” (1976).

   Harry Townes was another of those all-purpose bit-part actors who seemed to be everywhere in the ’50 and ’60s: Operation Manhunt (1954), 14 appearances on Kraft Television Theatre, eight on Climax!, 10 on Studio One, Cry Tough (1959), five episodes of General Electric Theater, four Kraft Suspense Theatre’s, five Perry Mason’s, five segments of The Fugitive (1963-66), three episodes of Felony Squad (1967), They Call It Murder (1971, TVM), and 4 appearances on Simon & Simon.

   See “The Photographer and the Undertaker” on Hulu here.

THE SECRET OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Author: Jeremy Paul; based on the characters created by Arthur Conan Doyle. First performed at the Wyndham Theatre, London, in the 1988-1989 season for some two hundred performances. Revived: March 2010, with Peter Egan (Holmes) and Philip Franks (Watson) in the two leading roles.

   This was a touring production of a play that had previously been in the West End, a few years back, with Jeremy Brett and Edward Hardwicke as Holmes and Watson. I had seen their performance twice, once in a pre-West End outing in Guildford which was very disappointing since Brett kept stumbling over his lines, and secondly in the West End, near the end of the run, which was much more enjoyable.

   In this present tour Peter Egan was Holmes and Philip Franks was Watson, the same pairing that I had seen a couple of years ago in a tour of The Hound of the Baskervilles. That time I was a little disappointed in the performances but here they seemed much better and were comfortable in their roles.

   In the first part of this two-hander we are treated to the background story with Watson looking for someone to share digs with, meeting Holmes and setting up in 221b. We are taken through certain events, if not the actual cases, so some talk of Irene Adler, Watson’s marriage and eventually Holmes’s clash with Moriarty, and his return as the bookseller. The interval came as Watson collapsed to the floor.

   I enjoyed this part, mainly because writer Jeremy Paul had used the words and phrases from Doyle’s stories, so much of it was very familiar.

   The second part however was rather different. First we had Watson’s recriminations and Holmes’s explanation but then the story branched into something rather different as Holmes appeared to be something of a split personality (if that phrase is stilll used in the psychobabble of today) and eventually confessed to being Moriarty, having invented and portrayed the master criminal to give him some mental stimulation — or maybe he was deluding himself that this was the case. It was not all that clear.

   All in all an enjoyable production but there is no new story and the final fifteen minutes makes little sense.

MAX BYRD – Target of Opportunity. Bantam: hardcover, August 1988; reprint paperback, November 1991.

   The first by this author in hardcover after several paperback private eye tales, starts in Lake Tahoe. There San Francisco homicide inspector Gilman is vacationing with his best friend and brother-in-law, former Washington lawyer, Donald Kerwin.

   They stop for groceries at a 7-11 Store, where a ski-masked man shotguns Kerwin to death and leaves Gilman with an awful case of tinnitus. The Tahoe cops blow the investigation and the killer walks free.

    Kerwin’s widow comes unglued at the news, and follows the killer to his Boston home with her own form of bloody justice in mind. Gilman chases after her, desperately hoping to stop her. Kerwin’s shooting was apparently random, but the scot-free killer comes from a wealthy family, had no apparent reason to be robbing a convenience store, and has an estranged father on the Harvard faculty.

   What could all this possibly have to do with OSS activities in wartime France? It could easily be fatal to Gilman to find out. Fresh if perhaps fanciful plotting, capable storytelling. Interesting detail.

BARTHOLOMEW GILL – Death on a Cold, Wild River. Peter McGarr #10. William Morrow, hardcover, 1993. Avon, reprint paperback, 1994. Macmillan, UK, hardcover, 1993.

   The first thing that struck me about this was a dust jacket that would have been quite appropriate for a fishing novel, but was about as mysterious as a poached trout. Morrow needs a new art director.

   Peter McGarr, head of Ireland’s Murder Squad, is suspended pending completion of a investigation of the circumstances detailed in The Death of Love, in which an Irish politician was assassinated.

   He reads of the death by drowning of Ireland’s foremost lady fisherman, and is devastated; she had been his lover before he met his wife. He goes to console the father and attend the funeral, and is shown evidence that the death may not have been accidental, after all.

   He gingerly — because of his suspension — begins to dig around, and finds that she was both rich and not universally loved. There’s a poacher who thinks she turned him in; a Scottish lady who coveted her lucrative catalog business; and an American who wanted to be her partner; and who knows, maybe others.

   There’s a lot of fishing lore here, particularly salmon fishing, which will interest many (though not me). Gill does his usual competent job of narration, primarily from McGarr’s viewpoint, and the prose and plot were fine.

   This isn’t a bad book at all, you understand, and I enjoyed reading it. It’s just that it doesn’t quite live up to Death of a Joyce Scholar and The Death of Love. The characters don’t seem as sharply etched, and there doesn’t seem to be the same depth of feeling, and the same peculiarly Irish sensibility.

   It’s “just” a decent mystery novel by a good writer. I’m disappointed only because I’ve come to expect a bit more from Gill and McGarr.

Editorial Comment:   Barry wasn’t able to show the cover of this book by Gill in his printed zine back in 1993, but I’m pleased that I’m able to now, some 17 years later. What do you think? Was he right, or was he right?

PAUL HAGGARD [STEPHEN LONGSTREET] – Dead Is the Door-Nail.   J. B. Lippincott, US, hardcover, 1937.

   One of the many problems associated with a lack of a sense of humor by a reviewer is the inability to tell when an author is teasing the reader. What is one to make of this: “The paunch and jowl of raffish apartment houses catapulted their elegant heights above the streets in a pageant of foppish decadence.”

   And yet it is closely followed by: “…to the wise mob of drunks, hop-heads and flamboyant slatterns of both sexes, it was a sanctuary and first-aid station. In Hilton’s electric cabinets, steam baths, needle showers and sun booths, the elect were tried and found wanton.”

   In the first of four novels featuring Mike Warlock, sports reporter for the New York Globe, and his faithful companion and cameraman, Abner Gillaway, they are assigned by the paper to cover the murder of Doris Castle, rich and the World’s Champion Lawn Tennis Player.

   Lots of suspects here, despite a few getting knocked off along the way. Did Castle’s husband, crooner Ira Wells, kill her because the marriage was unconsummated after three months? Or one of Wells’s many lovers? Or the odious Professor Ott, who once peddled a combination cough medicine and dandruff cure? Or Ott’s assistant, a coward and a blackmailer? Or the devilish Dr. Delcro, up to who knows what?

   Considerable action in an amusing hard-boiled novel in which the author just may have had his tongue in cheek. And if he didn’t, it’s still funny.

      Bibliographic Data:    [Expanded from the Revised Crime Fiction IV, by Allen J. Hubin.]

HAGGARD, PAUL. Pseudonym of Stephen Longstreet; other pseudonym: Henri Weiner.
      Dead Is the Door-Nail. Lippincott, 1937. Mike Warlock
      Death Talks Shop. Hillman-Curl, 1938. Mike Warlock.

      Death Walks on Cat Feet. Hillman-Curl, 1938. Also published as: The Case of the Severed Skull, as by Henri Weiner.
      Poison from a Wealthy Widow. Hillman-Curl, 1938. Mike Warlock.

LONGSTREET, STEPHEN. Born Chauncey Weiner; 1907-2002. Pseudonyms: Paul Haggard & Henri Weiner. Also a screenwriter.
      The Crime. Simon & Schuster, 1959.

       -The Pedlock Inheritance. McKay, 1972
       The Ambassador. Avon, pb, 1978.

WEINER, HENRI. Pseudonym of Stephen Longstreet; other pseudonym: Paul Haggard.
      Crime on the Cuff. Morrow, 1936.   “Introduces one-armed sleuth John Brass, former Secret Service man who is also a popular cartoonist, creator of the comic strip, ‘Georgie the G-Man.'”
      The Case of the Severed Skull. Mystery Novel of the Month, pb, 1940. Reprint of Death Walks on Cat Feet, as by Paul Haggard.

DANA STABENOW – A Night Too Dark. St. Martin’s, hardcover, February 2010; paperback reprint: November 2010.

Genre:   Private eye. Leading character: Kate Shugak; 17th in series. Setting:   Alaska.

First Sentence:   Gold.

    Mining has come to Kate’s corner of Alaska and changing her world forever. But death is still there. A truck is found with an apparent suicide note. What remains of a body is later found and identified as one of the workers from the Suulutaq Mine.

    When the man thought dead walks into Kate’s yard, they find someone disappeared at the same time and uncover a case of corporate espionage. But the death of a much-liked mine office worker has Kate determined to find out what is going on.

    Most of the things I love about Dana Stabenow’s writing are here. The dialogue is excellent and filled with delightfully dry humor. The sense of place in her ability to convey Alaska, particularly the profusion of flowers in spring, is visually effective.

   Her references to contemporary music and books contribute to the sense of time and identity of the characters of Kate and Jim. The scenes of sexual foreplay are fun, titillating yet never go too far.

    The characters are empathic and appealing. For everything Kate has survived, which has given her the edge and strength she has, as a character, she is anything but cold. Although she is a bit too good to be true, that is also what bring me back book after book. Chopper Jim, Old Sam, the aunties, Johnny, Mutt and all those around her provide dimension both to Kate and to the setting.

    The plot started off strong but rather wandered away from itself. Ms. Stabenow knows how to build a scene so filled with anticipation and suspense, you nearly forget to breathe. Although there was one such scene, there was only one. For the rest of the story, it rather felt to be “Kate Lite.”

    It reminded me more of her earlier, lighter books. I very much enjoyed those at the time, but her more recent books, those after Hunter’s Moon have developed so far past those, this feels to be a step back.

    I’m not saying the issues raised in the story weren’t interesting, timely or important; they were. Kate’s concerns about the changes happening around her will certainly impact her growth as a character. I’m also not saying I was bored or found the book slow reading; I assuredly was not.

    For all my admitted disappointment, this is still a good read and I am anxious to see where the series goes from here. But would someone please explain to me what the title, with its dark and suspenseful connotation, had to do with the story?

Rating:   Good.

   Dan Stumpf’s recent review of Spin the Glass Web serendipitously uncovered the fact that it was published by Harper in hardcover as a sealed mystery, in which the final chapters were sealed with a paper flap. The gimmick was that if you brought it back to wherever you bought it with the seal still intact, you could get your purchase price fully refunded.

   This was nothing new. Back in the 1920s and 30s the same publisher published a full line of these books, designated as Harper Sealed Mysteries, and Victor Berch recently completed a full checklist of these.

   The official series ended in 1934, but some research on the part of Victor and myself, plus some input from Bill Pronzini, has uncovered a few more books for which Harper used the same promotional idea.

   There may be others, but this list should contain most of them:

JOHN DICKSON CARR Death Turns the Table, 1941.

BILL S. BALLINGER Portrait in Smoke, 1950.

MAX EHRLICH, Spin the Glass Web, 1952.

BILL S. BALLINGER The Tooth and the Nail, 1955.

NICHOLAS BLAKE A Penknife in My Heart, 1958.

NICOLAS FREELING Question of Loyalty, 1963.