Der grüne Mann

The Green Man is one of those movies that used to get a good deal of play on PBS stations but now seems to have disappeared. Too bad. It's a very funny example of wicked British black humor. The always excellent Alastair Sim plays an assassin attempting to blow up a fatuous politician who has found a hide-away for a tryst with his timid secretary. Raymond Huntley (perhaps best known as the family lawyer in "Upstairs, Downstairs") delivers the most hilarious soliloquy ever heard on the practices of English gastronomy in general and chopped toad as a delicacy in particular. Colin Gordon, familiar as one of the few actors to appear twice as Number Two in The Prisoner, does a send up of a rather precious poet who resembles T. S. Eliot. Wish this would appear on DVD.

Mr Sim is ideally cast as a seemingly mild but actually ruthless assassin. His perfect comic timing, expressive features and ability to switch on a sense of genuine menace are well used in this sprightly farce. George Cole is admirable as the well meaning young hero while Jill Adams is a radiantly beautiful and desirable heroine. As indisputably English as Wimbledon but much more fun!

A murder, a deliberate mix-up with house numbers, a vacuum-cleaner salesman and a young bride-to-be in a compromising position. Oh, and a pompous politician about to be blown up by an assassin with a bomb in a wireless. It gets even better when these people are played by George Cole, Jill Adams, Raymond Huntley and of course the great Alastair Sim. This is a farce in the true British sense, with lots of running about, hiding of bodies and misunderstandings. Add to the mix Terry-Thomas making the most of his modest role and the much underrated Colin Gordon playing a stiff BBC announcer on the edge of a nervous breakdown and we have the recipe for a wonderful Sunday afternoon film. Britain made this type of film with great aplomb in the 50's, perhaps because our National Character was so 'send-upable' at the time and we didn't mind laughing at ourselves. We don't make them now, which is why we go out and buy DVD's of 50-year-old comedies that have no equal. Superb.

This little gem ranks with MONSIEUR VERDOUX and THE LADYKILLERS as the best black comedies.

The hilarious Alastair Sim stars as Hawkins, a freelance assassin who merrily goes round the world blowing up pompous twits. He runs into trouble, however, when he writes some notes on his girl friend's (Avril Angers) desk, not knowing there is carbon paper underneath. His notes about her boss' (Raymond Huntley) stay at an inn called The Green Man arouse her suspicions.

She investigates but goes to the wrong (and vacant) house runs gets bumped off by Hawkins' associate who then and runs into a pushy vacuum cleaner salesman (George Cole). When the new owner (Jill Adams) suddenly appears, the two begin a hilarious chase to tracks down Hawkins at The Green Man and stop the assassination.

Of course they have no idea who Hawkins is and Huntley registers under an assumed name. They assume that a guest (Terry-Thomas) is the intended victim and turn the inn into a mad house.

Sim, Cole, and Thomas are hilarious, each playing his patented British eccentric. Adams is very pretty. Good support from Angers and Huntley. Also good are the inn keepers (Arthur Brough and Dora Bryan), the associate (John Chandos), Colin Gordon as the fiancé, and the boozy music trio (Marie Burke, Lucy Griffiths, and Vivien Wood).

Interesting to see Brough (Mr. Granger on ARE YOU BEING SERVED?) years before his television stardom.

A top cast starting with Alastir Sim, George Cole and Terry Thomas. Sim plays the pretty evil hitman, Harry Hawkins who is foiled in his quest to blow up a politician by vacuum cleaner salesman William Blake (George Cole). The plot twists and turns to such an extent that it's quite hard to follow, but brilliant all the same. Terry Thomas appears for only about 20 minutes, but adds a hint of magic to the whole film. As always Sim and Cole work together brilliantly on screen and it's just a funny, quite creepy, good film.