Hidden Homicide

"Cornforth" (Griffiths Jones) wakes up, fully clothed, in a strange house in the middle of nowhere. He has no idea how he got there, nor why he has a gun in his hand and why... wait for it... there is a corpse in the kitchen. To add to his confusion, he is joined by two rain-soaked backpackers - "Jean" (Patricia Laffan) and "Marian" (Maya Koumani). When they discover his secret they try to skedaddle only to be prevented from doing so by their befuddled host. What now ensues is really a rather daft murder mystery that involves him and the now somewhat miraculously convinced "Jean" returning to London where they try to get to the bottom of this increasingly far-fetched conundrum. It is pretty obvious - once we are back in civilisation and amongst a cast that includes the usually reliable Bruce Seton and the plummy, easy on the eye, James Kenney - who is behind the crime, even though the motive remains curiously elusive right until the last few scenes. It's not the worst, it's clearly just a job of work for all concerned with an unremarkable script and some equally forgettable performances that passes an hour or so, but not in any way remotely memorable.

Confessing immediately that I have never heard of Director Anthony Young, I have to admit that HIDDEN HOMICIDE has left me rather underwhelmed.

The best things about this B noir are: pretty, elegant, leggy Patricia Laffan; the lovely cars of the 1950s, including the shrill police vehicles; Charles Farrell as the slippery Mungo Peddy, unfortunately in a very small part; and the sudden emergence of the villain, concealed from sight for most of the film's 68'.

Griffith Jones never rises above the mediocrity of his role (he does not even convey any witty or sharp one-liners that reflect some intelligence), and his running is too slow to elude police cars, forcing the viewer to suspend his disbelief to considerable extents.

James Kenney steals the show as knife thrower and impersonator but it is Laffan's breath-taking beauty and willingness to trust the male despite appearances that I take away from this noir.

The script suffers from serious and illogical holes: it is difficult to see how the murderer could impersonate the first deceased's wife for four years, and the rescue of Laffan at the end shows what appear to be some scenes in daylight and others at night.

The soundtrack does not help, either. Some wonky drumming, like a poor recording, persists even during the car chases, and I found it unnerving.

Thankfully, it's all done in 68'', and, as indicated above, the big plus is that you get to see some truly wonderful cars.

Hitchcock would have loved this plot and would surely have made something great of it, with all its kinky sexy problems, with all this double play, with all this ghost parade of the past with an unresolved murder four years ago, and a very innocent man in the middle of it, being tucked into it and drowned in murders around him, a typical Hitchcock hero of an ordinary man being forced into intrigues which he can't understand the slightest detail of. And who would in his place? If you some time have woken up somewhere without an inkling of an idea where you are or why or how or whatever got you into this position, you will understand the case of the poor Griffith Jones and his awful predicament. Fortunately there is a rather matter-of-fact lady with a stiff upper lip to make an effort of helping him out, while his great aid in this inextricable situation is his old friend Bill Seton, a crime reporter, who seems to know exactly how to deal with a hopeless business. The plot is intricate, far-fetched, hopelessly bizarre but actually makes sense in all its crooked ways, and at least the three searchers will be relieved to finally find out that they were chasing too many ghosts while only one was real. 70 minutes is too little for a complex intrigue like this, you easily drop out and miss important details, it is too compressed for a great thriller, while more space would have provided the audience with better possibilities of reflection and understanding.

What would you do if you woke up in a strange house, not knowing how you got there, with a pistol in your hand and your cousin's body stuffed into a cupboard? If you're Griffith Jones, you talk Patricia Laffan, who knocks on your door, and your reporter friend, Bruce Seton, into helping you hunt for the killer without informing the authorities. They get wind of it soon enough anyway, when Charles Farrell, the antiques restorer and forger across the way also turns up dead.

It's a decently directed and telegraphically plotted murder mystery directed by Terrence Young. It's an efficiently produced second feature, with everyone running around London and the exurban areas, with a nice twist ending, and decent actors. Even so, it works out to be little more than a decent time-waster, although cinematographer Ernest Palmer -- the British one, just as it's the British Farrell in the cast -- gets some good night shooting at the end. It was the end of Palmer's career; he would light one more movie (the appropriately named THE CROWNING TOUCH) and retire. He died in 1964, age 63.

This film starts with a good if unoriginal premise of a man waking up in a strange house with a gun in his hand and a dead body in the next room.Then there is that old chestnut of the girl knowningredients that whilst there is a dead body in the kitchen Griffiths Jones can't be the murderer.There is subsequently a plot device which is so obvious it partly gives the game away.In the last quarter of the film there is a lot of dialogue explaining the plot.Everything about this film is second rate.Released by Rank,so no surprise there then