X Marks the Spot

One thing I would never do, so I could never understand it if someone else did it, is to start whistling just after your father has been shot to death. But that's what happens pretty early on in X, and I'm afraid it proved to be the fly in the ointment, the spanner in the works, or the ice in the rubber for me.

The script is strictly B standard, photography likewise, editing tries to keep motions fluid but the frozen rubber/tyre angle just leaves this vehicle wheel-less, and it comes down with a crash in the indifferent ending, which sees P.I. Delaney leave gorgeous disc jockey Linda Ward behind to go fight in WWII.

Marty Clark and Underwood prove rather weak villains in short roles in a short film. That said, Hamilton is clearly the better actor of the two. Then again, that's no achievement coz Jack La Rue's face and eyes convey no emotion to which you can relate (perhaps if you're a murderer - I'm not, so his constantly mean mug means murder most mind-numbing to me).

O'Flynn rates a forgettable male lead, Purcell an unbelievable police lieutenant who might be on the level - or not, and for the life of me I could not see the point of that uncertainty - so the real saving graces and the reason for the five stars are the eternal elegance and beauty of Helen Parrish, and the film's thankfully short 55 minutes.