A Luva Negra

Taking advantage of arrangements favoured by the UK's Eady levy (a state film subsidy established after the war) in 1950, American producer Robert Lippert formed a business alliance with Hammer studios. Under the agreement, Lippert would provide American acting talent - frequently shop-worn stars or just supporting actors who fancied a profitable trip out of the country - while Hammer would supply the rest of the cast and the production facilities. Together they would split the profits. Famous for his concern with the bottom line, Lippert produced over 140 films between 1946 and 1955, characteristically genre pieces such as I Shot Jesse James or Rocketship XM. For the British deal, most of the films were noir-ish thrillers. None were entirely of the first rank, but they remain never less than entertaining, and include THE BLACK GLOVE.

The presence of Alex Nichol and the trumpet playing of Kenny Ball somewhat compensate for weaknesses elsewhere in The Black Glove (aka: Face The Music, 1953) a thriller set in a London world of basement jazz clubs, recording studios and dingy flats. The genial Nichol, perhaps best remembered today for his role as the rancher's crazed son in The Man From Laramie (1955), plays hero James Bradley, a musician who picks up a singer after a London concert, only for her to be murdered shortly after. Following the familiar pattern, Bradley has to discover the real killer and clear himself of suspicion. Nichol gives a likable performance as the trumpet player in a film that includes an archetypal noir voice-over as well as Kenny Ball's frequently soulful contribution on brass, which both add a good deal to the atmosphere. The opening, mutual attraction between Bradley and victim Maxine, played out over music, is especially fine. The intensity between kindred spirits recalls the first meeting in Gun Crazy (1950) while their later scenes just after, expressing their growing romance in cynical rhyming couplets ("Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, show me a woman a man can trust," etc), is also memorable. Bradley's continuous, professed lack of sleep adds to the dream-like mood of the piece. Maxine's sister Barbara works in Soho's Underground Club - "the sort of place you live horizontally or not at all" and most of the clues are found in and around the music produced there. The end of the film is more disappointing, a curious throwback to traditional whodunits, with principal suspects and interested police gathered together in a single room, so that the killer can be progressively unmasked. It's a clumsy and unconvincing narrative device. Director Fisher would later be associated with many of Hammer's celebrated Gothic horror releases.

Alex Nicoll is an American jazz trumpeter playing London with his band to happy audiences. After an exhausting show, he begs off a party arranged by his manager, John Salew; he needs sleep. He is distracted from this purpose by gorgeous singer Ann Hanslip. After a spaghetti dinner in her apartment, he heads off to get that sleep, only to be woken by the police. Miss Hanslip is dead, murdered, and he is a person of interest. As is usual in the movie world, he figures he has to clear himself, and starts to investigate.

That movie cliche aside, this is a fine movie. Although I don't have the high opinion of director Terence Fisher that others have, this is a superior movie, thanks in part to DP Walter J. Harvey's crisp lighting, but also a nice handling of the jazz world that Nicoll moves through. Add in a score by Kenny Baker -- the British trumpeter, cornetist, and flugelhorn player -- who also does the trumpet playing doubled by Nicoll, and you have a movie that is an enthralling proof that Fisher was actually a very talented director.

Another film found on Youtube and watched for the "House of Hammer" Podcast, "Face the Music", or "The Black Glove" if you prefer, is yet another murder mystery melodrama dressed up in the trappings of another theme, this time the London Jazz scene.

James Bradley (Alex Neil) is an American Jazz Trumpet virtuoso just starting a residency in London. After a flirty liaison at the house of singer Maxine (Ann Halbard) he heads home, accidentally leaving his trumpet behind. When Maxine is found dead the next day, the evidence points to Bradley. He begins his own investigation into the murder which leads him to a vinyl record that the studio seems to have no record of producing.

I suppose my problem with the film is that somehow the case is both over complicated, but also lacking in actual things happening. The complications aren't exactly red herrings but looking back on the film now (less then 24 hours after I watched it) I still can't quite work out how it all tied all it's pieces together. I'd have preferred the film to be a bit shorter too, than it's 84 minutes. Whilst it's not a musical in the strictest sense - there are several lengthy jazz trumpet scenes, where Neil's music is actually being played by Kenny Baker (not that one), we could have cut those scenes down to choice moments and audience reaction, to show that Bradley is good and not lost too much of the story.

My other problem is Bradley himself. I think Alex Neil crossed over from self-confidence to smugness too often and particularly in the film's conclusion, when he goes around the room like Poirot explaining everyone's part in this story.

I've written quite a bit about the film's failings here, which might suggest that I hated it, which is not quite true. Some of the dialogue is pretty snappy and for once the fight scene seems a little more rough and ready. The only problem I really struggled with was that length, it would have been a much better film at nearer to the hour mark.

There is far too much music and not enough mystery.It means that the film lasts 15 minutes more then need be.Alex Nicol is yet another key lagged American who stumbled unwisely into a situation that leads to murder..He then spends the rest of the film trying to solve who is the murderer between blowing his own trumpet.It really is not particularly exciting.

It's difficult to believe that THE Terrence Fisher directed this slog of a mystery about the folks who inhabit the world of smoky jazz clubs. A scene in which Alex Nicol starts trouble in a tough London club and is able to just stroll out without a group of guys looking like they're auditioning for Reservoir Dogs kicking his head in is ridiculous. Mostly studio bound on cheap sets, the film wastes an opportunity to shoot good location footage. The two detectives investigating the murder of the pretty jazz singer mainly sit on their lardasses for most of the running time. The big reveal is a big nothing.