Le dernier de la liste

The handful of top-notch films directed by John Huston, from The Maltese Falcon in 1941 to Prizzi's Honor in 1986, has always been evened out by more than his share of clunkers -- mediocre material half-heartedly helmed (The Bible, In This Our Life, Judge Roy Bean, Annie). But what was his thinking behind The List of Adrian Messenger? A modestly entertaining murder mystery of the fusty old English school, it's trumped up with foolish gimmickry that's irrelevant to the movie but was vital to its marketing. A starry cast -- Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, Robert Mitchum, Tony Curtis, Frank Sinatra -- wanders around under false-faces for, with one exception, no discernible reason (they all end up looking like late Sean Connery). So sitting through it is to join the celebrity hunt (preferable, at any rate, to the fox hunts which eat up the film footage).

The plot proper concerns a series of fatal "accidents" that leads George C. Scott, sans mask and makeup, to uncover a betrayal in wartime Burma and the scion of an aristocratic family long vanished into the Canadian west. But Huston loses interest in the puzzle with unseemly haste -- as do we. Stifling yawns, we wait for the "stars" -- most of whom contribute little more than walk-ons -- to peel off their disguises, winking and smirking insufferably at the camera.

Because of that gimmick with Curtis, Mitchum, Sinatra and Lancaster people seem to regard this film as a sort of spot-the-star contest. But it is much more than that. Excellent acting (especially Douglas in what must be his best role since Paths of Glory), superb music (Jerry Goldsmith) and brilliant direction of John Huston more than make up for occasional lapses in the story.

The story is quite simple, but the less said the better. The 'list' in question is a list of 10 names of people from all over the UK, who seem to have nothing in common except...well just see the movie.

And spotting the stars is quite fun too.

for the actors in cameo roles. for Kirk Douglas and George Scott. for the story and its old fashion flavor. for the details and for the levels of way to the truth who reflects a manner to build a film noir who could be almost fascinating. a film of keys, crimes and theories. and not only a good script but splendid performances for define events, meetings, plots, errors. the similarities with Sherlock Holmes' stories is one of pillars of this seductive film about a rich family and the danger around it. and it is only the beginning. the mark of John Huston is basis for a dark film who remains memorable for the status of game with masks, for the ambiguity and for the great job of Kirk Douglas .

John Huston displays an indiscreet lack of subtlety, taxing our tolerance with a somewhat modern English whodunit with an extra publicity stunt: Numerous major Hollywood actors are announced to appear in the film, but are all thickly concealed in John Chambers' make-up design: Kirk Douglas, Robert Mitchum, Tony Curtis as an organ-grinder, Burt Lancaster as an old woman, Frank Sinatra as a gypsy horse-trader. Their identities are exposed to the audience at the very end of the film, when each star strips off his masquerade. Actually, only Douglas (by far the most interesting performance) and Mitchum do any real acting beneath their heaps of collodion and crepe hair. The others just walk on to shoot their brief, tacked-on unveilings at a salary of $75,000 each, while being doubled in the film itself. The film even further cheats by often dubbing their voices with that of voice-over actor Paul Frees!

The vehicle for this cash-in is a plot wherein the eponymous writer believes a succession of ostensibly isolated "accidental" deaths are really related murders. He asks his friend George C. Scott, just retired from MI5, to help resolve the obscurity, but Messenger's plane is sabotaged while he's on the way to gather data to corroborate his fears and, with his last lungful of air, he struggles to impart to a fellow passenger a crucial clue. What do you know, the passenger just so happens to be the sole survivor and…just so happens to be Scott's old WWII Resistance comrade. They collaborate to probe Messenger's inventory of names, and decipher his puzzling last gasps. Aside from the ones that insult us, more than a few story aspects in the film are akin to The Hound of the Baskervilles, like hounds, the intentions of the killer, the allusions to Canada, and the exposure of the killer using a hoax.

While we discover rather soon who the killer is, the obscurity of his intentions and the anticipation of his capture are enough to keep going, even if not gripped by genuine tension or suspense. Burdened with a rasping, implausible plot, maybe this lockstep adventure should've been set in Victorian times to oblige its villain with an infatuation with costumes, its Edwardian-style consulting sleuth in a bowler hat, and its foul play in a misty Thames Path.

There is something I quite liked, maybe because it took the edge off, made me relax and enjoy the kitsch. Before the haunting trumpet solos of Chinatown, the strange and threatening cues of Alien or the atmospheric strings of Basic Instinct, a comparatively green-horned Jerry Goldsmith shaped an evocative, and purely '60s-kitsch, ambiance out of an instrumental jumble incorporating saxophone, electric guitar, tuba, harp and the definitive eerie UFO-suggestive electronic whistle that creates nostalgic vibes as when we hear it in The Lost Weekend, Spellbound and BBC's Midsomer Murders.

An annoyingly smug mystery which isn't a tenth as clever as it seems to think it is. A "master of disguise" (who always looks exactly like the famous star portraying him no matter how much makeup he's under) is killing persons whose names appear on a secret list. It's up to dapper detective George C. Scott to solve the case, a task made relatively easy by a script filled with shameless contrivance and jaw dropping leaps of logic reminiscent of the way Adam West used to solve the Riddler's clues on Batman. In an attempt to lure audiences to this artificial, parlor-game excrement, the film-makers included the gimmick of having 4 other famous stars appear in cameos under heavy makeup and daring the viewer to identify them. The only one who speaks in his own voice is instantly recognizable, while two others cheat by being dubbed and one simply keeps his mouth shut. When the whole mess has come to a merciful end, the stars rip off their bad latex Halloween mask makeup and wink at the camera as if to say, "Wasn't that clever?" If you're still awake, your answer will be, "No."

When you take into account the enormous amount of talent involved on both sides of the camera, this is surely one of the most inexcusably bad films of all time.