The End of the Line

Alan Baxter or a statue or Alan Baxter? Which would you choose? Which did Charles Saunders actually pick for this rather silly and weak crime drama. He is "Selby" a writer sent over from the US to London to help promote a play being staged by "Bruce" (Charles Clay). As luck would have it, his remote hotel is owned by "Crawford" (Arthur Gomez) and guess what - that man's wife also happens to be an ex-girfriend of "Selby" who absconded with his last few bucks years earlier. She, "Liliane" (Barbara Shelley) and he quickly concoct a plan that will see them rob her wealthy husband and abscond with his collection of expensive jewels. Of course it all goes wrong - and soon poor old "Shelby" is wanted by the police for murder - but frankly, the hugely far-fetched plot had long since lost any lustre by the time we get to this stage. There is no chemistry at all to be had on screen and the writing and pace of the drama are pedestrian and sluggish as the characterisations trip over themselves to keep us guessing who anyone can trust and who is, ultimately, driving the game. It does feature some nice photography of late 1950s London, but that's hardly a reason to watch. Sorry - it's just dull.

I found this to be a reasonably entertaining second feature..It is really a who did my do it rather than a whodunit. Alan Baxter is the parachuted in American lead.Rather interesting to see that he arrives at Victoria on the Golden Arrow London to Paris train.The train used to go on to the ferry at Dover and then go back on the rails at Calais. The problem with Baxter is that he really isn't quite the star needs for the role.The voice over narration is sort of a combination of Phillip Marloweand Sam Spade.However that said it still keeps you guessing and is undeserving of its current low rating. Probably this is due to Baxters rather low key performance and his lack of empathy with his leading lady.

This is just bad - and really low budget. The cheap, undersized sets make it look as though they filmed it in a private residence.

The lead actor is so wooden, so flat, so passionless you almost laugh at his every line.

Barbara Shelley is priceless. Every outfit, ever pose and every camera angle is chosen to accentuate and highlight her big beaudacious derrierre. It isn't the elephant in the room, it is the main feature.

This is free on YouTube so it is worth seeing, just for laughs.

The writing, acting, sets, dialogue doesn't seem so awful if you watch it as a comedy and not a tawdry drama.

Like a good number of British 'B' films made during the 1950s, this one offers a lead role for an imported American actor whose career had seen better days. In this instance Alan Baxter plays Mike Selby, a writer brought to England to give an American slant on a forthcoming play. The producer's daughter (Jennifer Jayne) finds him accommodation in a country hotel but this proves to be fateful. There he sees his former girlfriend Lilaine (Barbara Shelley) who is now married to Crawford, the hotel owner. She had originally run out on Mike to find someone with money but is now bored and apparently wants to rekindle their romance. After some initial resistance, Mike succumbs to her charms and is eventually persuaded to steal the jewellery that Crawford fences as a lucrative sideline. She concocts an elaborate alibi for him but things start to go wrong when Mike believes he has killed Crawford while stealing the jewels. Then he receives blackmail threats but who is blackmailing Mike, was Crawford really dead and what are Lilaine's real motives?

I was quite entertained by this second feature film which moves along nicely and throws in some twists along the way. However the performances of the two leads could not be more diverse. Alan Baxter seemed wooden and uneasy throughout whereas Barbara Shelley is cool and sexy. If fact her delivery at times reminded me of the young Lauren Bacall but sadly Baxter was no Humphrey Bogart. If possible, catch this film if only to see Barbara Shelley – she looks stunning.

This recently viewed feature is almost as bland as the washed out, whiter shade of pale print in which it appeared.

Everyone seems to be pulling out all the stops to give it the noir treatment: Alan Baxter is the obligatory American lead, retrospectively relating his ill fated encounters with siren Barbara Shelley, being needled by the sound of a familiar record, but still capable of a few cool colloquialisms, "The smart little number behind the desk," being a case in point. William Talman lookalike, Geoffrey Hibbert appears as a smarmy shady private dick. An unexpected twist creates faint echoes of Double Indemnity and it's all overlaid with a consciously trendy jazz score.

However, a pervading, quintessential Englishness drains the movie of any real grit or cutting edge. Much of the action takes place around leafy, affluent Marlow, with visits to the Windsor Lad pub and it's promo for Courage Ales. The then protracted process of making a phone call via the operator is conducted with decorum and dignity. Everything is so respectable, that even the chase occurs on attractive, rambling rural roads - Baxter's hot pursuit thwarted by a tractor hauling a cart loaded with hay blocking his path. All that's missing is the local yokel, with straw dangling from his lips observing from a nearby gate.

It is all fairly entertaining, but in an inescapably slight and superficial way. 'The End of the Line' manages to avoid hitting the buffers, but in spite of the rustic settings doesn't exactly pull up any trees either!