Fragment of Fear (1970)

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She said no – “over my dead body”. Hence, her dead body. Tim Brett (David Hemmings) is a former drug addict who has written a book about his experience. He has been clean for about a year. He had recently become acquainted with his aunt Lucy (Flora Robson), a philanthropist who expresses interest in helping some of Tim’s former acquaintances. She is found murdered in Pompeii. Tim starts a relationship with Juliet Bristow (Gayle Hunnicutt), the woman who found his aunt’s body, and they are soon engaged. When the police investigation stalls,  Tim begins to ask questions of some of his aunt’s acquaintances who are all in a seaside care home. He then begins to receive warnings from unknown persons to stop his inquiries. He meets an elderly woman on the train. She hands him a note of supposed comfort, asking him to read it at home. The note turns out to be a warning about leaving matters to the police, apparently typed on his own typewriter. There’s also an ominous laugh recorded on Tim’s own tape recorder, indicating that someone was in his flat. Tim is then visited by a police sergeant, Sgt. Matthews (Derek Newark), who informs him that the woman on the train had lodged a complaint against Tim. After the woman is also killed, Tim finds out that there is no sergeant by that name working at the police station. He is then assaulted on the streets at night by two men who leave him lying on the ground with a hypodermic needle. Tim throws the needle down a gutter. He makes contact with a secret government agency which tells him that they are after the people who are threatening him, but all is – again – not what it seems to be and Tim and Juliet’s wedding fast approaches… Paul Dehn’s adaptation of John Bingham’s novel is interesting on a number of levels:  the performances of Hemmings and Hunnicutt, who were married at the time;  and the allusions to the government agency because Bingham was acknowledged as the model for George Smiley. Then there’s Yootha Joyce, forever trapped as Mildred in TV’s George and Mildred, here she’s truly sinister as the nasty proprietress of the old folk’s home where all manner of viciousness is evident. Hemmings is fine as the apparently delusional addict. He was a charismatic actor and such a beautiful icon of the mid-Sixties and the counter culture it’s hard to recall his fading from the scene to production and TV directing with anything other than regret:  this, after all, is the little boy singer who inspired Benjamin Britten to write Miles in The Turn of the Screw and the young man who brought Antonioni to decadent Swinging London for Blow-Up.  This outing is far more conventional genre material, but fascinating nonetheless for the central couple’s interactions and ideas about paranoid conspiracies, soon to be a ‘thing’ in cinema. There’s a terrific supporting cast including Mona Washbourne, Arthur Lowe, Daniel Massey, Adolfo Celi, Roland Culver and Wilfrid Hyde-White. Directed by Richard  C. Sarafian (who had worked with Hunnicutt on the previous year’s Eye of the Cat) who keeps the psychological issues on the boil, this has an astonishing jazz score by Johnny Harris which would be used to advertise Levis in the 90s in a memorable Kung Fu scenario by Jonathan Glazer. Shot by Oswald Morris.

The Leisure Seeker (2017)

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It’s just something I really need to do with your father.  Retired English teacher John Spencer (Donald Sutherland) and wife Ella (Helen Mirren) take off in their RV without telling anyone in order to escape a probable nursing home (him, with Alzheimer’s) and a punishing chemo regime (her, for cancer). They abandon grown up son Will (Christian McKay) who cares for them each day, despite knowing it’s his sister Jane (Janel Moloney) who’s the favoured offspring and college professor a comfortable couple of hours away. The siblings are up the walls about the disappearance. Even neighbour Lillian (Dana Ivey) is out of the loop. The couple negotiate the Seventies vehicle down the east coast via camp sites, diners, the world’s slowest police chase, historical re-enactments, a stint in a home and occasional beaches, to their eventual destination, the home of John’s hero, Ernest Hemingway, in Key West.  En route their journey has revelations, massive doses of forgetfulness, a holdup, a posh hotel, a terrible (unconscious) admission, illness and phonecalls home… Michael Zadoorian’s novel is adapted by Italian director Paolo Virzi, making his English language feature debut, with Stephen Amidon, Francesca Archibugi and Francesco Piccolo, and it bears up considerably better than you might think. This isn’t just down to the playing of the leads, who are brilliant, although Mirren’s Savannah accent slips a lot.  There are lovely moments particularly when Sutherland is regaling waitresses with lines from his favourite books and when one confesses she’s done her thesis on it he’s in hog heaven. Ella prefers the movie adaptations. They are a joy to watch, sparking off one another and falling into old habits and new ideas.  Their life together is recalled in tranquil bouts of watching slides on a sheet outside the RV at night when they’re camping. Their days are about coping and how exhausting it is to be a carer and to be ill but also how genuinely in love they have been and how that materialises in their concern for one another. Sutherland’s recurring obsession with Mirren’s first boyfriend from fifty years earlier has a funny payoff.  How she deals with his husbandly failing is hilarious.  His physical response to one medication is … unexpected! But its success is also to do with the deep understanding of Alzheimer’s which causes bouts of memory loss and bullying all too familiar to anyone with a relative suffering its predations – I laughed aloud with recognition far too many times.  While this is concerned with ageing in a semi-comic context it’s a very pointed narrative about the ways in which older people are made feel lousy about their right to exist, how they are treated when they are beginning to become infirm and the radical element here is how one couple choose how to live and exit gracefully when they take the opportunity (even if one of them doesn’t really know what in hell is going on). Immensely enjoyable.

 

Sleeping With the Enemy (1991)

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Julia Roberts’ stardom really is the touchstone for the Nineties. Here she’s the abused young wife of violent OCD psycho Patrick Bergin, that dashing Irishman who wears a black coat and a great moustache and has his finest cinematic moment to date in Map of the Human Heart, Vincent Ward’s masterpiece. The unloved-up mismatched couple live on the beach in modernist fabulosity while he lines up all the cans so that they face the right way out (just like David Beckham). It really is a shock to see him administer a beating to America’s happiest hooker. A boating accident leads him to believe she’s dead – but she’s in the middle of Cedar Falls, Iowa, donning drag and a nifty moustache with her new and bearded neighbour’s assistance to visit her disabled mom in a nursing home having faked her funeral six months earlier. This is meat and drink to director Joseph Ruben who is working with the Ron Bass/Bruce Joel Rubin adaptation of Nancy Price’s novel. There are no real surprises here if you’ve ever wondered what it might be like if Fatal Attraction were to be reversed with added Berlioz. Just remember:  it’s all about the facial hair.