How ironic that Eric Portman's opening volley should be an ill tempered retort to girlfriend, Dulcie Gray for leaving him HANGING about for an hour and a half. Her plausible explanation of a prolonged delay on the Tube failing to quell his ire.
Portman is Victor Colebrooke, a man not so much haunted, as fully immersed and entirely consumed by the spectre of his deceased father, a notorious hangman in the late Victorian era, for whom job satisfaction was off the scale, as he wallowed in the morbid pleasure of the ultra-brief working relationships he forged with his clients and a sadistic smugness at his prolific turnover. His infamy recognized by a waxwork on display at Madame Tussaud's chamber of horrors in his dishonour.
Any expectations of a murder mystery, whodunnit, or a final 'Cor, I never thought it were 'im!' are quickly dispelled and if you think for a moment that amorous, affable bus conductor, Derek Farr isn't quite the ticket, he immediately proves to be a fare minded all-round good guy.
No! 'Wanted for Murder' is a largely grim parable, offset by a couple of surprisingly comic moments, portraying Portman's inherent insanity and morbid passion for killing, targeting young women in London parks after dark, rendering them post dusk no-go areas in the process. Further, he taunts detective Roland Culver with postcards, not of the 'Weather beautiful, wish you were here' variety, but with chilling predictions of where he intends to strike next. Yet, between the lines lurks a cryptic cry for help and a veiled self-loathing.
'Wanted for Murder' plays out as a sombre depiction of a man imprisoned within himself, enduring a meltdown into murderous madness, and the brittle breakability of the 78 R. P. M. Record: Several smashed accidentally by a gramophone shop manageress and one deliberately in a fit of rage, by Portman. Was it on RCA, Victor?
Portman is Victor Colebrooke, a man not so much haunted, as fully immersed and entirely consumed by the spectre of his deceased father, a notorious hangman in the late Victorian era, for whom job satisfaction was off the scale, as he wallowed in the morbid pleasure of the ultra-brief working relationships he forged with his clients and a sadistic smugness at his prolific turnover. His infamy recognized by a waxwork on display at Madame Tussaud's chamber of horrors in his dishonour.
Any expectations of a murder mystery, whodunnit, or a final 'Cor, I never thought it were 'im!' are quickly dispelled and if you think for a moment that amorous, affable bus conductor, Derek Farr isn't quite the ticket, he immediately proves to be a fare minded all-round good guy.
No! 'Wanted for Murder' is a largely grim parable, offset by a couple of surprisingly comic moments, portraying Portman's inherent insanity and morbid passion for killing, targeting young women in London parks after dark, rendering them post dusk no-go areas in the process. Further, he taunts detective Roland Culver with postcards, not of the 'Weather beautiful, wish you were here' variety, but with chilling predictions of where he intends to strike next. Yet, between the lines lurks a cryptic cry for help and a veiled self-loathing.
'Wanted for Murder' plays out as a sombre depiction of a man imprisoned within himself, enduring a meltdown into murderous madness, and the brittle breakability of the 78 R. P. M. Record: Several smashed accidentally by a gramophone shop manageress and one deliberately in a fit of rage, by Portman. Was it on RCA, Victor?
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