The Black Glove

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.