Dead Man's Evidence

Conrad Philips plays the secret agent trying to uncover the reason for the murder of a British spy who's been washed up on a beach near Dublin. Phillips is an uninspiring lead, and like the rest of the cast simply goes through the motions without expending too much energy. The film is far too heavily laden with tedious and polite dialogue, accompanied by a prodigious amount of smoking and drinking in hotels and bars. The lack of action and a convincing dramatic narrative means the film wanders aimlessly from scene to scene with one dimensional characters, who seem to drift in and out without rhyme or reason. The only compensations are the picturesque views of the beaches and the coastal surroundings. This is strictly a low grade 'B' film and a time filler before the main feature.

I saw this movie on TV when I was 12 and remembered only the beginning and the end, without even realising that they belonged to the same film. Which tells you all you need to know about the uninvolving hour of talk that separates the two.

The makers apparently went to the expense of location filming in Ireland, but you wouldn't know it, since most of the 'action' comprises the usual uninvolving 'B' movie exchanges in hotel rooms and foyers; with the notable exception of an atmospheric night scene in a mortuary.

As usual the women are the most memorable feature, Veronica Hurst as a girl reporter and the late Jane Griffiths in what appears to be a very bad wig as the lady who found the body in the opening sequence; but despite what we are told doesn't seem particularly fazed by it. And I would have liked to have seen more of publican Maureen Halligan, who unfortunately only has the one scene.

Secret Agent Conrad Phillips is sent to track down turncoat Ryck Rydon, who's rumored to be in Ireland. When he arrives, there's a corpse on the beach, believed to be Rydon, but he's not sure. While he flirts/interrogates Jane Griffiths, a couple of newshound try to find out the story for their paper.

It's a rather dull spy drama from director Francis Searle, although it does include some nice location shooting by Ken Hodges and a nice twist ending. Everyone seems adequate to the rather boringly written roles, and Phillips is overwrought in this pre-Bond world of spy craft without gadgets. As far too often seems the case in 1960s British dramas, the score by Ken Thorne tries to drum up a sense of excitement that the on-screen action rarely justifies.

The best thing about this low rent spy film from cheapie director Francis Searle is that it was filmed on location in Ireland, so we get to see some nice rural locations around Dublin instead of the usual studio-bound settings. Conrad Phillips is the erstwhile hero, a spy who is sent to discover the identity of a fellow agent discovered washed up on the beach in Dublin. He soon uncovers a hotbed of intrigue and must piece together the puzzle in order to finish his mission.

DEAD MAN'S EVIDENCE is very much an average film for the genre, hampered by the cheapness of the budget and a slightly plodding feel to the story. Phillips isn't the most exciting of leading men, although he does have one of the loveliest actresses accompanying him: Jane Griffiths, whose early death at the age of 45 remains one of cinema's forgotten minor tragedies. She's fantastic here, really sparkling in her vibrant part. The one place that DEAD MAN'S EVIDENCE is excels is at the ending, which contains a massive twist I didn't see coming, and is very novel for this genre of film-making.

Mainly filmed on location in Ireland, where one car a day passes the pub, if you're lucky.

Baxter is sent by his bosses to investigate a dead frogman washed up on the beach. It was found by a young girl, Miss Howard (what was she doing there?), and a reporter and photographer just happened to be on the spot. There's a mysterious beardie in a bungalow who's employing the (female) photographer as a fellow spy. Is the dead man a double agent last seen in Berlin? Baxter and Miss Howard stay in the same rather staid hotel in the nearest town as they wait for the inquest. The reporter and photographer hang around, ostensibly on the scent of a story.

1963 wasn't a great year for fashion, and all the women wear frumpy styles, big coats and awful hairdos. Staff at the hotel and airport have very English accents. The only "Oirish" is attempted by a barmaid and the mortuary attendant. Everybody smokes all the time, and drinks all day. Miss Howard becomes a bit giggly after her tenth gin and bitter lemon.

The sound was so bad that I turned on the subtitles. Miss Howard in particular EMphasized one word in every sentence but died away for the rest. The subtitler gave up on an Irish barman in a lonely pub where the last showdown takes place. We shall never know what he was saying. However, we are helpfully told when the soundtrack becomes sinister, menacing or resolutive.

Overall, it is like a substandard Francis Durbridge enacted by the Charles Vance players (the worst amateur troupe I have ever witnessed). The music is the best thing about this dreary movie - with a few genuinely lovely Irish folk tunes at the beginning.