Mystery at the Burlesque

When a man is killed at the Windmill Theatre during a performance, the police have to discover which of the actors and stagehands is a murderer.

Murder at the Windmill is bad. Apparently someone thought the film would be better with musical numbers, so there's a couple randomly shoehorned in at various intervals. The numbers are horribly staged, and the songs are terrible. You also get to suffer through a terrible comedy routine by Jimmy Edwards and some guy doing a Jimmy Stewart impression.

Jon Pertwee is the only good actor in the bunch, giving a fun comedic performance as one of the policemen. The rest of the cast is pretty unmemorable, with the exception of Diana Decker, who is horrendously annoying. Peter Butterworth has a bit part as a policeman.

Unless you're a diehard Jon Pertwee fan, I'd avoid this one.

The actual Windmill theatre is London had a racy reputation. As this movie was made in 1949, the censorship laws meant it could only touch upon this with one fan dance.

The movie begins with an audience member found dead at the end of the show.

The police are called in which includes the unassuming Detective Sergeant (Jon Pertwee) anda blustering Detective Inspector. It seems the dead man was shot.

So the entire's night performances is recreated to smoke the murderer out. This includes dancers, singers and a very long, dragged out an unfunny comic routine by Jimmy Edwards. He should had been caned by someone!

Basically this contrived movie is a way to recreate a sanitised revue of the Windmill. I guess people were easily pleased in the old days.

The murder mystery itself is an afterthought. Even with the vintage theatrical performances this was a poor movie.

I believe this is the single worst movie I have ever seen. I kept hoping something would improve. Cant believe I sat through the whole thing. The acting was astonishingly horrible. The script ridiculous. The conclusion was improbable and not worth having suffered through all the previous minutes.

In order to find out who fired the fatal shot during a performance the windmill theatre cast each have to go through their entire routine - in front of a police inspector.

This film is actually just an excuse for us to sit back and watch an entire Windmill theatre performance. The cast in the film are the actual girls who worked there and the routines are what they really did - week in week out.

The Windmill (now sadly long closed,) was in Soho, London - just off Piccadilly circus and a whole generation of actors and comedians got their first break there. The formulae was simple, strippers and erotic dancers would perform on the stage and a comedian would come on in between each act. So, to get the attention of a crowd of sleazy men who had snuck in for a glimpse of flesh you had to be good. And a glimpse was all they ever got - the British censorship laws prohibited anything else. There used to be a plaque of names outside the door with a list of who had played there with names like David Niven, Harry Seacom and a host of others (Norman Wisdom failed the audition). The plaque also boasted that during WW2 `We never closed'.

A lot of countries would think that a slice of history like this would be worth preserving but not us British. As with the Liverpool Cavern club (now replaced with a silly replica,) The Bronte museum (full of phoney replaced artefacts,) and other places where the short term profit from a slice of land or property was more important than any heritage.

So, if you can get a copy this film it is a (slightly sanitised) snapshot of a world long gone. When Piccadilly circus had a real round about with the Eros statue in its centre and every building in the circus had a huge fantastic neon advert. A very enjoyable old film with the subject matter not quite as sleazy as it really was.

A man is killed at that most dangerous place in the world: a theater. Movie stalwart Detective Inspector Garry Marsh shows up with comic-relief sergeant Jon Pertwee to investigate. This involves recreating the show, during which the front-row victim was offed.

The Windmill, for those of you who haven't seen MRS HENDERSON PRESENTS, was the London music hall that included tableaux vivantes to get around British law that forbade nudity on the stage -- unless the performer didn't move. Alas, the film producers never offer much more than the sort of semi-revealing costumes that I saw at Radio City Music Hall as a child. Neither was I terribly impressed by the mystery aspect. I spotted the killer early on, but found no clue leading to the detection until the final revelation.

Still, there are some good, if not particularly memorable revue numbers, and the performers are pretty young women. There is also one particularly funny bit in which a comic, used to a large, appreciative audience, is forced to go through his routine for two tired, stony-faced detectives. Although it's strictly a B movie, it's a very pleasant, bright time-waster.