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Overrated

It's an amazing and heartbreaking story.

Although I seem to have had higher expectations than I thought, the movie is super entertaining.

If the truth be known -- and the truth, as ever, is pretty murky in this Raymond Chandler rip off -- Raymond St. Ives, the writer who is hired out of nowhere as a private eye, is merely a nom de plume. The character's real name, well, almost real, is Charles Bronson. He's the taciturn, muscular guy who can be thrown into an empty elevator shaft by three hoods, save himself after falling down a few floors by grabbing a cable and sliding to a halt, haul himself up to a doorway into an empty warehouse, and deck the three armed goons who still pursue him. The thugs include Robert Englund, later to surpass himself as Freddie Kruger, the mad killer of the "Friday the Thirteenth" slasher movies, and Jeff Goldblum, ditto, as neurotic scientists.Bronson is hired by the immensely wealthy John Houseman to recover some stolen journals. Houseman's mistress, Jacqueline Bisset, is thrown into the mix so she can pop into bed at one point with the protagonist.Why -- you ask? -- did Houseman hire Bronson, a not-too-successful novelist and ex crime reporter -- to act as a go-between who delivers the forty million dollars in exchange for the purloined letters? I don't know.But the plot, such as it is, follows Raymond Chandler rather closely otherwise. It's as complicated as a Rubik's cube. I admit I was lost now and then. A couple of cops are corrupt. People double cross each other all the time. Bronson keeps stumbling across dead bodies, a habit that doesn't endear him to the police.Bronson also knows a lot of louche people and bounces from one to the other in his search for the solution to the various mysteries. Bronson asks one of his friends: "Do you know a guy named Parisi?" The friend replies: "You'll have to see Boykins about that." Bronson goes to Boykins, who tells him: "I didn't do the job but I know Finley wasn't in on it, but Pedo can tell you more than I can." I have the names mixed up but I don't care any more than the writers cared.I think one of the biggest turn offs is the production design. Bronson is described as living in "a cheap hotel." I found the apartment rather charming, a hell of an improvement over this abandoned railway car that I live in.And wardrobe and make up have done their best to turn every character into a simulacrum of a rich Hollywood actor. The rich Hollywood screenwriters who assembled this kaleidoscope of mysterioso doings have no idea of what it's like to be less than rich. The grease monkey under the car has four precisely applied and somewhat becoming oil marks applies to his face and forehead. Everyone dresses in suits and ties except the goons who wear tatters and wool caps so you'll know they're goons. Bronson, the down-on-his-luck writer, drives a Jaguar. Everyone else drives a boxy-looking American car at least forty feet long.A gimcrack job, and a disappointment considering who was in front of the camera and behind it, many of them seasoned professionals like J. Lee Thompson, Lalo Schifrin, Lucien Ballard. Why does it look so much like a cheap television movie set in Los Angeles?

Ross Thomas was one of America's great thriller/mystery/political skullduggery writers. He wrote 20 books under his own name and five as Oliver Bleeck. One would think he'd have been fertile ground for Hollywood to till. In fact, only one of his books made it to the screen, The Procane Chronicle under the Bleeck name. The movie St. Ives, directed by J. Lee Thompson and starring Charles Bronson, is the result. We can see why Hollywood never tried again. It's not that St. Ives is a poor movie. With Thomas' clever, twisty plot largely in tact, the last half of the movie moves briskly along. However, Ross Thomas and Charles Bronson make highly unlikely partners. Bronson's stoic, strong, silent guy-who-can-take-care-of-himself is not a good fit for what remains of Philip St. Ives' (now renamed, for some reason, Raymond). The second and more important drawback is that a movie of reasonable length will have a hard time coherently taking us through the twists and corners, the under-handed dealings, the false leads and the intelligent style in a Ross Thomas plot. Ray St. Ives used to be a big-time crime reporter. Now he's trying to be a novelist. He lives in the cheap Hotel Lido and brews chicory coffee in an old Bunn coffee maker. St. Ives gets an offer. The eccentric, wealthy, 65-year-old Abner Procane (John Houseman) had five brown, leather-bound ledgers stolen. The thieves want $100,000. For acting as a go-between, St. Ives will be paid $10,000. All Ray has to do is be at a certain laundromat at 2 a.m., give the money and get the ledgers. When St. Ives shows up, however, the only thing he finds, crammed into one of the dryers and slowly turning on the spin cycle, is a man with a broken neck. So after he leaves the police station, he reports back to Procane with the money but with no ledgers. He meets once more Procane's zaftig assistant, Janet Whistler (Jacqueline Bisset), and Procane's friend and psychiatrist, Dr John Constable (Maximilian Schell). By the time St. Ives goes through this one more time with the switch in a men's restroom, he's been Bronson-beaten and Bronson-victorious in an abandoned warehouse, gotten on poor terms with two cops, found another cop dead with an ice pick in the chest and finally returned those ledgers to Procane. St. Ives has also learned that Procane is not just an eccentric old gentleman who loves to watch The Big Parade. He is an elegant and supremely talented big-time thief. And one of the returned ledgers has had four pages torn out, the meticulous plans Procane developed to relieve some very wealthy business interests of $4 million. No spoilers here; this is just set-up for the main event. It all starts to come together in a drive-in theater one evening where the $4 million will be exchanged, where the ones who stole Procane's plans will act on them, and where Procane, St. Ives and Janet Whistler will be waiting to interfere as much as possible. With the exception of a few deaths, a couple of betrayals and a lit pool with one person oozing blood and life, it all works out as planned. Ross Thomas' books are such a pleasure to read because they are well and pungently written, we can savor the plot twists and we can enjoy the personalities of the characters that Thomas builds for us. Thomas also had a knack for coming up with memorable names. Some I enjoy are Otherguy Overby, Morgan Citron, Anna Maude Singe, Ben Dill and Velveeta Keats. His people are usually a bit cynical -- or at least supremely realistic -- about what they might encounter. The plots almost glow with the hypocritical nature of some of the people we meet. But try capturing that in a Hollywood movie without losing the intelligent style. The movie St. Ives proves it is just about impossible. For those interested in value, The Procane Chronicle sold for $5.95 hardback when William Morrow & Company issued it in 1973. You can find, sometimes, a first edition in fine condition with dust jacket equally fine for about $280. If you collect first editions of Ross Thomas, the $280 is not bad.

Bronson fans may appreciate this (as noted throughout the comments), but Ross Thomas/Oliver Bleek aficionados will be disappointed. None of the superb dialog, efficient language, or 'wisdom' of Thomas' work cuts through the movie. This is especially true if you know the book from which it is based ('The Procane Chronicles').One of the things that makes Thomas an excellent read is his ability to not spell out the motivations of every character. Often, the reader is left to piece things together. In the context of the movie, however, it just doesn't work...Bronson's motivation never really makes sense (in the books, his reluctance to participate is interesting, for example).I was compelled to finish watching it, however. I had hoped for more. I suspect I will enjoy other Bronson films quite a bit more, as my expectations will differ.

My first experience with the films of director J. Lee Thompson and Charles Bronson came during the mid-90s when I watched a heavily-cut version of '10 to Midnight' on basic cable. Since then, I have viewed these several films in almost reverse order, eventually jumping back to 'St. Ives,' their first pairing in 1976.'St. Ives,' while being the first Thompson/Bronson film, was also one of the last major studio productions involving these two men. Eventually, they were turning out cheap but effective potboilers for the Cannon Group, including '10 to Midnight' and 'Murphy's Law.' And this is probably why 'St. Ives' can produce unfair expectations; while on a fairly large budget, the film is just one of many high-crime thrillers that were released in its day and sells itself as little more than that.Bronson stars as Raymond St. Ives, a former Los Angeles crime reporter who is lackadaisically trying to earn his way as a novelist. Having recently divorced his wife and taken up residence at a cheap hotel, St. Ives is under demand to pay $1,000 a month in alimony. Raymond has a thirst for high living and gambles non-stop, habits that have left him short of cash; to pay the bills, he takes advice from his lawyer Myron (Michael Lerner) to act as a go-between for millionaire Abner Procane (John Houseman) and his assistant Janet Whistler (Jacqueline Bisset), who need to exchange ransom money for stolen journals that contain unsavory business dealings. While trying to complete the transaction, St. Ives stumbles upon one dead body after another and requires the help of his police lieutenant friend Charlie Blunt (Dana Elcar) to bail him out each time. Intrigued as a former journalist and in need of 'writing material,' St. Ives stays employed to Procane while trying to account for the murders.While the cast of 'St. Ives' acquits itself under Thompson's straightforward direction, the film suffers from an erratic plot line and a script by Barry Beckerman that loses energy as it progresses. The first half of 'St. Ives' is quite engaging, as it tracks Raymond's activities as a go-between and his investigations of Procane. But out of nowhere, St. Ives decides to become a member of Procane's illegal operations while hoping to uncover the truth. The whodunit theme becomes one of mini-espionage as a result, with Bronson looking far too passive. By the film's conclusion, Bronson seems almost a marginal character, no longer the main person of focus. Barry Beckerman's script (based upon a novel by Ross Thomas) also has a comic tone so predominant that it's nearly impossible for any true conflict to develop. The film gathers no momentum and becomes pedestrian.A large part of why 'St. Ives' fails in its second half is the growing presence of Jacqueline Bisset, who was terribly miscast as Janet. Bisset's role as the henchwoman requires a character actress who mixes cold-heartedness with just enough good looks to attract Raymond. Whether it's because Bisset looks taller than everyone else, has a pleasant voice, or is just plain gorgeous, she has such a wonderfully feminine presence that you could never really buy into the idea of Janet killing people. To make matters worse, Bisset is so dominant as an actress that she steals our attention while not having very much to do. John Houseman is very balanced as Procane, but supporting roles by Maximilian Schell as Dr. Constable and Dana Elcar (who never removes his hat) as Charlie Blunt are flat and undemanding.With regards to technical work and production vales, 'St. Ives' eclipses all of the later Thompson/Bronson films that lasted until 'Kinjite: Forbidden Subjects' in 1989. But for all of the excellent cinematography by Lucien Ballard and wonderfully-styled music by Lalo Schifrin, there are laughable moments such as a dead body whose eyes move and a drive-in movie screen that repeats the same footage at least three times. The few 'action' scenes involving Bronson aren't necessary and do little to generate tension. The concluding shootout is also disorienting, a bungle to follow.While 'St. Ives' is not a bad film, it is hopelessly mediocre. Still, fans of Bronson and Jacqueline Bisset should find portions of the film enjoyable. At best, it is a charming time-killer that deserves an occasional broadcast on television. Its DVD is available from Warner Home Video and nicely presented in widescreen with Dolby enhancement of the original mono track; French 'dubbing' and three-language subtitles are provided. This disc includes a brief featurette on the making of 'St. Ives,' with the rare occurrence of Bronson discussing his craft. The original theatrical trailer is also supplied.** out of 4