(1960)
The film that sunk Michael Powell's career. It retains a lurid, unsettling quality 50 years on.
Although, much of that is down to the photography and non-moralistic point-of-view adopted by the director, Carl Boehm's lead performance is possibly a greater achievement in his creation of a sympathetic psychopath.
I'm not sure this conviction doesn't work slightly against the rather facile background detail that's used to explain his motivations. Certainly, the much broader strokes of the same year's Psycho seem to fit better with its pulpy source material.
Although, much of that is down to the photography and non-moralistic point-of-view adopted by the director, Carl Boehm's lead performance is possibly a greater achievement in his creation of a sympathetic psychopath.
I'm not sure this conviction doesn't work slightly against the rather facile background detail that's used to explain his motivations. Certainly, the much broader strokes of the same year's Psycho seem to fit better with its pulpy source material.
****