You'll never see the target till the very end!

The Tall Target
1951 / 1:18
Tagline: “You'll never see the target till the very end!”
[internet archive]

Noir master Anthony Mann directed this terrific historical thriller. It tells the story of guarding Abraham Lincoln from assassins while he rode a train to Washington, D.C. via Baltimore (“a nest of secessionists”) for his first inauguration in 1861. Dick Powell plays the dedicated bodyguard whose self-appointed mission is to protect the President-elect.

Movie-making genius went into creating the images for this movie. Steam and smoke coming from the train. The cramped spaces of the train, both inside and out of passenger cars. The jumpy light emitted by swaying lanterns. Fight scenes in half-light; amazing is the scene where Powell is holding the head of a suspect in the path of a train wheel that might start at any moment in order to force information out of the treacherous bastard. The ‘end justifies the means’ violence is very post-World War II.

Which brings us to the noir mindset of the picture. Powell is self-appointed because his superiors, corrupt martinets to a man, have heedlessly disregarded overt threats to Lincoln. The American tendency to be always on the make is parodied by an obnoxious little boy. No matter the situation he asks, “What will you give me if I told you.” The greed for money and power drives a Northern major (Adolphe Menjou, duplicitous as usual) to take up sedition as a business practice. In the noir tradition of misdirection and betrayal, regular working guys (Leif Erickson) don’t look like hired killers and loyal union majors don’t look like traitors. Snappy noir dialogue delivered deadpan is also in place: “You don't need a doctor. Just a long box.”

The writing captures the restlessness of the period just before the Civil War. People are saying for the thousandth time the same tedious things about politics and the future of the country, never listening, hating the other side as if they were rats. Sectional divisions are in comments such as “Must all of you New Yorkers be so insufferably boorish” and “I know you think us Southerners a benighted people.” An Abolitionist (Florence Bates) betrays the activists’ tendency to see only problems and tropes, never people, when she asks an enslaved woman (Ruby Dee) tactless questions. Lincoln as a charismatic leader is captured when the bodyguard Powell observes, “I was only with [Lincoln] 48 hours, but when he left he shook my hand, thanked me, and wished me well. I was never so taken with a human man.”

The movie also examines the motives of would-be assassins. Southerners don’t want their way of life disrupted with free labor and are sure the tyrant Lincoln will start a war. Some fanatics are drawn into conspiracy and plots by the teenage boy’s immature taste for underground leagues with secret passwords and arcane handshakes. Thankfully, fanatics are not organizers and Powell says of an inept extremist “He wouldn't shoot off anything except his mouth.”

This is a marvelous example of film-making. Almost all of it takes place at night, lit by lanterns and lamps. No music adds to the tension. The acting is stellar.

Prize-winning Historical Novel

From The Guardian: Among the 2,000 UK adults surveyed, 85% were unaware that Britain forcibly transported more than 3 million Africans to the Caribbean, 89% did not know that Britain enslaved people in the Caribbean for more than 300 years, 63% support a formal apology to Caribbean nations and descendants of enslaved people – up 4% from 2024, and 40% support financial reparations, also reflecting a 4% increase from the previous year

Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth

This deadly serious novel won the prestigious Booker Prize in 1992. It is not only a historical novel about the 18th-century English slave trade - it is a work of moral excavation. It belongs to that rare class of fiction which attempts to examine the economic and ideological machinery of empire while also probing the psychological and spiritual costs exacted by its relentless operation.

Unsworth’s narrative, set against the backdrop of the triangular trade, is not content to merely dramatize the horrors of race-based chattel slavery. He is concerned with the broader implications: how the trade deformed the societies it touched, not only in West Africa, where it fomented internecine warfare and corrupted indigenous institutions, but also in England, where it infected the very language of commerce and law. The enslaved are not only victims of violence but of a system that rationalizes cruelty through euphemism and legalism.

The novel’s title is no accident. “Sacred hunger” refers not only to the literal hunger of the enslaved, but to the metaphysical hunger of the slavers - their greed, their need to justify their actions, their spiritual emptiness. Unsworth is at his most perceptive when he shows how this hunger is not confined to villains but is diffused across the social spectrum. The captain, the doctor, the investors - they are all implicated, all compromised.

There is a moment, early in the novel, when the captain and the ship’s doctor “touched glasses and drank, but it was the spirit of enmity they imbibed that afternoon, and both of them knew it.” This sentence is characteristic of Unsworth’s style: deceptively simple, yet freighted with irony and foreboding. He has a gift for the kind of prose that appears transparent but is in fact densely layered, drawing on both the rhythms of 18th-century English (Roderick Random) and the moral themes of the post-modern novel (Gravity’s Rainbow).

What distinguishes Sacred Hunger from the more conventional historical novel is its refusal to sentimentalize. The characters are not types but moral agents, often blind to their own motivations. The novel’s scope is epic, but its insights are intimate. Greed, obstinacy, despair - these are enduring elements of the human condition that are the fuel and exhaust of historical forces.

Unsworth’s achievement is to show how the slave trade a logical extension of a society built on profit, obedience and hierarchy. In this sense, Sacred Hunger is not only a novel about the 18th century - it is a novel about us.

Adventure Story

Red Anger – Geoffrey Household

This 1977 story is in the traditions of the British thriller and rural novel.

To escape a sticky situation in which a faithless politician is setting him up, Adrian Gurney takes on the identity of a Romanian defector. He teams up with Alwyn Rory, an MI5 operative on the run who been falsely accused of being in Soviet pay.

With Rory as the hinge, the first-person narrative by Gurney sidesteps the problem of many adventure stories: the me-me-me tone of the self-absorbed narrator. Beautifully evoked in this chase novel are the South Devon coast and Marlborough Downs.

In his 1939 minor masterpiece Rogue Male, Household had the hero lie doggo in an abandoned badger’s den and in this one too he has protagonists hide in a boyish rural refuge. Some scenes are so strange as to be barely plausible but this confusion is balanced by the useful message “Don’t let the ends justify the means.”

The Men who Make Murder Safe

Note: One wonders if Gail Patrick and Otto Kruger were friends because 20 years after they worked together on this movie, as executive producer Gail Patrick Jackson approved him being hired three times to appear on the classic Perry Mason TV series. The director of this movie was Robert Florey, who was proud to be the king of B-pictures at Paramount. Disdaining the slapdash work of Poverty Row, he brought as much creative discrimination and experimentation to directing B-movies as the money-mad pressures of the studio system would allow.

 Disbarred
1939 / 58 minutes
Tagline: “The Men who Make Murder Safe”
[internet archive]

Otto Kruger is a shyster lawyer for gangster Sidney Toler. Kruger is disbarred for being involved in the murder of a reformer. Settling in the natural landing spot for hustlers and charlatans, he then lures small-town lawyer Gail Patrick into the big bad city, dangling a position in a criminal law practice run by his henchman. Will square-shooting Patrick discover that her idealism is being exploited, her talents abused? Will she find her way to the DA’s office to prosecute malefactors with Robert Preston?

It's odd that though third on the billing Kruger is almost every scene. He suavely steals the show in a confident performance supported by a rich voice and snappy suits on his rail-thin build. Gail Patrick gets to wear fancy duds, accessories, and hats. She gamely does her best with bad lines like “I was dazzled by my own success so I didn’t notice what was going on.” A young Robert Preston has a singer’s smooth voice like Kruger. He does a creditable job as a determined prosecutor who “eats nails for breakfast.” Taking on this part just before playing the notorious Chinese detective, Sidney Toler balances an unidentifiable “European” accent with a repressed violence that we expect in an oily mob boss. He arrogantly calls everybody “My little brain trust,” “Boys and girls,” and “Sweetheart.”

On her own smart and fearless Gail Patrick can’t solve the problems of a confused culture that seems unsure if women ought to be allowed out of the house, much less practice criminal law.  “You ought to settle down and raise and family,” hectors her aunt whom she lives with. “Raising a family is pretty exciting.” “Why don’t you give up criminal law,” Robert Preston presses her. “It isn’t for a girl like you!” “Smart enough to ride on her looks,” observes Preston’s cynical boss, “Just like a woman.” The DA team predicts Patrick will do well in front of a jury since they are in a state that does not allow women to sit on a jury. The reference may be to Illinois, the last high-population northern state to modernize its system in - drum roll - 1939.

Some actions don’t make sense. It’s not clear why attention is carefully drawn to Toler taking a secretary’s pencil; is he just asserting power by stealing it or is he superstitious that the pencil retains the incriminating information it wrote? It seems strange for a criminal defense lawyer to express sincere dismay that the prosecutor didn’t seem to “appreciate” her argument and to ask the assistant DA in court “Why do you keep objecting all the time,” given our adversarial system of opposing sides arguing cases in court. As for the assassination, no secretaries, no clerks, no security guards, no cops are stationed in the outer office of the DA of a big city. And instead of throwing the murder weapon in the river, the killer and his cohorts leave the gun lying around where Patrick can find it. Sigh.

The script best serves the secretary to the crooked lawyer, Abbey (Helen MacKellar). She correctly predicts that the corny harmonica playing of a goon will land them in trouble. When a hambone actor instructs her on the story of Pygmalion and Galatea, she throws the more appropriate example Dr. Frankenstein and his monster into his face. When she warns the brain trust that Patrick’s character is no fool, Da Boyz laugh it off as one woman’s dislike and jealousy of a smarter woman.

The movie was directed by film noir pioneer Robert Florey so its look is the reason to spend an hour watching this, should fate permit. Though this is an early example of the style, the elements are in place. The subjective camera on Toler makes him look ominous. Scenes have wonderful interiors like lobbies of small-town hotels and imposing big-city courtrooms with blacks, whites, and grays and curious angles (the print at IA is VG).

Cool beyond my ability to describe is an all too brief scene of a jury room with two round ceiling lamps above the sweaty yelling members (all men).  In offices, background windows (sometimes floor to ceiling) provide striking light, with shadows of slats on the wall. Conversations are artistically framed in front of three different fireplaces. In confrontations pairs of characters move in and out of shadow. Brunette Patrick must have been covered in pounds of powder because her pale skin not only contrasts with her hair, but in a backless gown in a nightclub she seems to pop, like one of Edison’s vacuum bulbs.

Other Gail Patrick Movies: Click on the title to go to the review
·         If I Had a Million
·         The Phantom Broadcast
·         The Murders in the Zoo
·         Death Takes a Holiday
·         The Crime of Helen Stanley
·         Murder at the Vanities
·         The Preview Murder Mystery
·         My Man Godrey
·         Murder by Pictures
·         Artists and Models
·         King of Alcatraz
·         Wives Under Suspicion

The Ides of Perry Mason 99

Note: Contemporary TV dramas often rely on frequent recaps and flashbacks, catering to viewers who are half-distracted by their phones. By contrast, the classic Perry Mason series offers no such concessions: miss a few minutes, and you risk losing track of a crucial relationship or plot twist. The show assumes - and rewards - your full attention.

The Best Episodes of Season 6 (1962-63)

The Case of the Shoplifter's Shoe. Grown up Margaret O’Brien plays an earnest niece who feels compelled to clean up the messes of her batty aunt, played by Lureen Tuttle with her usual ease. O’Brien gets to do her signature crying and semi-hysteria both in a cell and on the stand. James Millhollin plays yet another fussbudget in a brief scene. So much fun. It’s satisfying to see actors playing the parts they are good at. But in a refreshing change, it’s also cool to see Leonard Nimoy playing an obnoxious hood who’s also an abusive husband. The fine acting makes up for unsound plot twists in a feverish episode.

The Case of the Witless Witness. A respected judge accepts the nomination to be Lt. Governor. We viewers must wonder why a gifted man of probity and integrity in an influential position of power would want such a ridiculous job as Lt. Governor. But we are distracted from these skeptical musings when the judge is accused of fraud and poisoning the witness against him. With the intensity of a movie, this is the most sophisticated episode in that it examines scams and corruption in high places during WWII, the spite of unrequited love, and the wages of overweening ambition. Robert Middleton plays the judge with an appealing blend of legal intellect and gravitas but lacking in emotional intelligence. Jackie Coogan plays a naughty fixer. Our buddy Vaughn Taylor has good scenes before he’s ushered from this vale of tears, sloppy drunk and babbling. This one is in my Top Five Fave Episodes.

The Case of the Double-Entry Mind (11/1/62). Clem “Sandy” Sandover is played by Stu Erwin, who used his basset hound face and manner to portray Every Man, from mild-mannered school principal to small town little guy. In this one he plays a conniving worm of a bookkeeper who has looted his company of $201,000. He has done so to win the affections of greedy sly Lita Krail, the office manager of the company. Erwin pulls out the stops in incredible scenes. In the famous in film noir Bradbury Building, his descent of a cool Art Deco staircase while his mini-tape recorder mocks him with his own voice symbolizes his descent into madness and violence. When he realizes that Lita has betrayed him he wails, “And I bought a sport coat!” Oddly enough, his wife is one who ends up defended by Perry. This episode is also in my Top Five Fave Episodes.

Honorable Mention: In TCOT Potted Planter, Constance Ford plays a scheming sister-in-law in a dramatic story of passions and hatreds in a small-town. In TCOT Velvet Claws, Patricia Barry plays a mendacious femme fatale who manages to stick with her bald-faced lies until merciless Perry breaks her down to a sobbing mess on the floor in the most amazing interrogation scene of all 271 episodes.  

Veterans Day 2025

Fortunate Son: The Healing of a Vietnam Vet - Lewis B. Puller, Jr.

In the first part of this autobiography, Puller tells how hard it was to be the son of the most decorated Marine in the in the history of the Corps, Gen. Lewis “Chesty” Puller Sr.  Talk about larger than life! Marines told Chesty stories such as the time Puller was shown the prototype of a flamethrower. He asked, “Where does the bayonet go?”

The second part covers Puller’s combat experience in Vietnam. Puller joined the Marines after graduating from the College of William and Mary in 1967. The following summer he married Linda, nicknamed Toddy. He was sent to Vietnam as a second lieutenant

After two months in the field - every day an eternity - on October 11, 1968 he stepped on a mine booby trap. “I had no idea,” he wrote, “that the pink mist that engulfed me had been caused by the vaporization of most of my right and left legs.” He lost parts of both hands and most of his buttocks and stomach too. Doctors later gave testimony before a pension benefit board that they had rarely seen any survivor who was as gravely wounded and disabled as Puller.

The next part of the book is about his physical therapy and the long road to the point where he could resume his life. As illness memoir, this will fascinate readers who are curious about physical therapy to rehab lower limb amputees. Puller tells funny stories about the antics of fellow patient Bob Kerrey, who was to pull antics of a Senatorial sort during the Clinton years. Puller became the proud father of two children. He earned a law degree at William and Mary in 1974 and went to work for the government in Veterans Affairs.

In 1978 he ran unsuccessfully as a Democrat for an eastern Virginia congressional seat. This section of the book is interesting too because it tells about the grind of a campaign, the chuckle-headedness of some voters and the spite and malice of politicians.

He ran against the canny and skillful Paul S. Trible, who later acted in the usual vindictive fashion of politicians by vetoing Puller for a job he could not have been more qualified to do. The strong appeal of this book is Puller’s willingness to name names.

Besides being a memoir of war, physical therapy, and politics, this is also an addiction memoir. He had bouts with survivor’s guilt, depression, alcoholism, and dependence on painkillers. His experience with a 12-step program - which he oddly does not name - will inspire readers. The memoir ends on a positive note.

This memoir was published to great acclaim in 1991. It won the Pulitzer Prize. Unfortunately, in the next couple of years Puller’s life unraveled because of clinical depression and relapse into alcohol and substance abuse. On May 11, 1994 Puller, at the age of 48, took his own life in his Alexandria, VA house.

Puller was buried in Arlington with full military honors. “He had fought his way out of so many holes,” Bob Kerrey told People magazine at the time. “In the end he couldn't fight his way out of the last one.”

Happy Belated Birthday Philip MacDonald

Classic Whodunnit from the Golden Era. I don’t read mysteries from 1920s often. The writing is too stiff, the plots formulaic, the racism casual, the reveal too protracted. Born November 5 in 1900 was Philip MacDonald, British-born writer of faction and screenplays, best known for thrillers.

 The Rasp - Philip MacDonald

It was in the year of 1924 - a year not without its mystery milestones like Poirot Investigates - that a certain Philip MacDonald, a name now remembered only in the fringes of whodunnit fandom, first introduced to the reading public his series character, Colonel Anthony Gethryn. The tale, slender in length but labyrinthine in design, was the inaugural entry in a series that would, in time, see its protagonist softened and reshaped by the author’s pen. But here, in this first appearance, Gethryn is a creature of arrogance and loftiness, a man of government - though what precise department or duty he serves is left as vague as an ICE agent’s home address.

The plot is a tangled skein. A baronet of wealth and consequence is discovered most brutally murdered in his study - beaten, no less, as if by the hand of some vengeful god. No clue is apparent to the eye of the common man. But enter Gethryn, with his cold logic and sharper instincts, and the mystery begins to uncurl - though not without strain upon the reader’s credulity. The solution, when it comes, is far-fetched, and yet I confess I turned the pages with a kind of skeptical fascination.

In a moment of bravado, Gethryn concocts a tale to ensnare the killer - a tale involving doppelgängers, illegitimate heirs, and the switching of corpses. Alas, this fiction, bordering on parody of the nascent genre, proves more thrilling than the truth, which, when revealed, is disappointingly ordinary. One cannot help but wish the lie had been the reality.

The characters, I regret to say, don’t rise above caricature. Gethryn himself is not a man to inspire liking, and his sudden, unconvincing infatuation with a murder suspect - Miss Lucia, whose whiteness of complexion is described with such obsessive frequency that a hardcore reader begins to suspect the author of a peculiar bee in the bonnet - does little to endear him.

For a moment his eyes closed. Behind the lids there arose a picture of her face – a picture strangely more clear than any given by actual sight.

“You,” said Lucia, “ought to be asleep. Yes, you ought! Not tiring yourself out to make conversation for a hysterical woman that can’t keep her emotions under control.”

“The closing of the eyes,” Anthony said, opening them, “merely indicates that the great detective is what we call thrashing out a knotty problem. He always closes his eyes you know. He couldn’t do anything with ’em open.”

She smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t believe you, you know. I think you’ve simply done so much to-day that you’re simply tired out.”

“Really, I assure you, no. We never sleep until a case is finished. Never.”

Their romance, such as it is, unfolds with all the subtlety of a tightly-lace corset.

Elsewhere, we find Mr. Spencer Hastings, Gethryn’s friend, mooning over his secretary, whom he refers to as “that little white darling” - a phrase that might have passed unnoticed in 1924 but now strikes the post-modern ear with a clang. Indeed, the book is marred by the casual bigotries of its time. Anti-Semitic remarks are made without irony or rebuke, and a Jewish character is portrayed with all the offensive tropes of the era. It is a stain upon the narrative that no amount of literary merit can quite erase.

And yet, MacDonald writes with a certain fluency. His prose is never dull and his pacing is brisk. The country house setting, the locked-room mystery, the parade of suspects - all are handled with competence, if not brilliance, considering how early in the Golden Era of Whodunnits it was released. The final chapter, sad to report, is a ponderous affair: in the Dover edition I read sixty pages of explanation served only to belabor what the reader was told during the reveal.

In sum, this first case of Colonel Gethryn is a curiosity - flawed, dated, and at times distasteful, yet not without its charms. It is a relic of its age, and like many such relics, it is best approached with caution, context, and a generous measure of patience on the part of reading gluttons – me, us – who are interested the development of the whodunnit.