The Girl in Black Stockings

With such shapely feminine types as Anne Bancroft, Marie Windsor, Mamie Van Doren, and Diana VanderVlis, The Girl In Black Stockings surely boasts one of the sexiest casts of women ever in the same film. If you're a leg or a breast man, you can't go wrong with this film.

As for the story it's your average B picture whodunit. All of these people are at a resort lodge in Utah when a whole lot of murders start to happen. Lex Barker while on a date with Bancroft discovers the body of the first victim. Two more murders follow and one accidental death of a presumed suspect occurs when sheriff John Dehner and deputies go to question him.

Marie Windsor has an interesting part her. A veteran of many a noir film, Windsor is the sister of her quadriplegic brother Ron Randell who owns the lodge. Many years ago Randell developed a psychosomatic quadriplegia when he could not save a woman from drowning. Windsor then dedicates her life to serving her brother. Usually Windsor played sex pots in films, this represents a change of pace for her. But don't kid yourself, she holds her own in beauty with the rest of the pulchritude.

As for Randell, he laces his part with appropriate bitterness and he'll be the one you remember if you can take your eyes off the feminine beauty for a bit.

In smaller roles are such future stars as Stuart Whitman who arrives at the lodge looking for his runaway bride and Dan Blocker seen briefly as a bartender.

The Girl In Black Stockings despite a cheap production and lurid title is a competent enough mystery. And frankly I did not see who the murderer was.

"The Girl in Black Stockings" is an unusual murder mystery, mostly because of where it was filmed. The Parry Lodge (which is still operating) in Kanab, Utah, hosted this movie shoot. It's not far from Zion National Park and is a lovely part of the country. Too bad you didn't get to see more of the countryside in this film.

The story begins with the body of a woman found at the resort. She'd been stabbed repeatedly and the filmmakers were not timid about applying blood to the 'corpse' in this scene. Because the policeman investigating (John Dehner) assumes a guest of the hotel did it, he orders everyone to stay there. And, soon, bodies start piling up! The identity of the killer is, of course, revealed at the end and it's a bit of a surprise.

Aside from the locale, I never found this film all that exciting. Now I am not saying it's bad in any way, but more of a time-passer. And, by the way, on the poster currently on IMDB, you see mostly Mamie Van Doren on it...but she's not a major character in the film. I think they were just trying to capitalize on her...um....assets.

Unbelievable murder-mystery centering around an upscale lodge in Utah, wherein sheriff John Dehner (in a cowboy hat) investigates the gruesome slaying of a blonde actress, a "man-hating witch" who had plenty of enemies. Soon, more bodies start popping up, the main suspects being: Lex Barker as the local he-man (with his navel judiciously covered at the pool), Ron Randell as an anti-social quadriplegic, Anne Bancroft as his wet-nurse, Mamie Van Doren as a model, and Larry Chance as Indian Joe (Chance appears to believe his character is a Wooden Indian instead of a Drunken Indian). Low-budget adaptation of Peter Godfrey's short story "Wanton Murder", this B-flick might have been a hoot had it been directed with some flair. Unfortunately, Howard W. Koch (who later became a famous producer) sets up this whodunit like a plodding amateur, and most of the acting is atrocious (including La Bancroft). Van Doren has an oddly surreal tipsy scene that rates as pure camp and Dan Blocker is fun as a leering bartender (how come he isn't a suspect?), but the poor writing defeats Dehner and Randell. The title is mysteriously irrelevant, however the setting is unusual and the black-and-white cinematography isn't bad. Les Baxter's melodramatic score heightens the ridiculousness, but serious movie-lovers will only scoff. ** from ****

This late fifties whodunit has some interesting credits. It was directed by the able and eclectic Howard Koch, and features three quite different actresses in major roles,--Mamie Van Doren, Anne Bancroft and Marie Windsor. Suave character man John Dehner is cast as the local lawman; ex-Tarzan Lex Barker is the male lead; Stuart Whitman and Dan Blocker have small roles; and Barker wrote the music score. This is the only movie I have ever seen that features a murder suspect who is a bitter, woman-hating man, psychosomatically paralyzed from the neck down, who can't even pour his own drinks or light his own cigarettes. Ron Randell plays him marvelously, and had the film been directed by Ingmar Bergman would surely have won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar. I wouldn't quite call this movie trashy, but it has a trashy feel to it, as it comes across in some ways as a sort of Southwest version of Peyton Place crossed maybe with Anatomy Of a Murder, the small-town black and white mood of which it strangely anticipates. Everyone in this movie has a secret. The question is, whose secret is murder? The pacing isn't strong here, and the dialog is variable. William Margulies' photography is excellent, however; and the settings,--the motel resort and small desert town--are perfectly realized. There is a nice feeling for people whose lives have fallen just short of the big time, and who are angry about it. As a result, more than in most movies, everyone seems more than capable of being a killer. I especially like the sense of isolation in the film, and with it the edge of danger. As with so many crime pictures of its era, it seems to be trying to say something about American life, and how materialism and ambition are destroying it. With its acerbic invalid in one corner, and its muslceman in the other, and all the beautiful women gallivanting about and making life miserable for everyone, this one, with sharper writing and a sense of the absurd, might really have risen and become an Antonioni-like commentary on the American Dream. As it stands, it doesn't come close, though some of its characters and images linger in the mind long after its over.

A lot of talent is wasted in this turgid misfire. At this point in his career, director Howard W. Koch had proved himself an efficient overseer of crime dramas-- Big House USA; Shield for Murder et al. Here however his usual expert pacing dissolves into a number of static, uninvolving scenes with way too much dialogue for a slasher film.

Then too, note the lack of reaction when suspect Frankie backs into a log-cutting machine. The sheriff (John Dehner) and his deputy merely stand there expressionless, with no help from the director, after observing what is presumably a very gory accident. My guess is that Koch took one look at the script and decided to walk through the rest.

In fact, the real problem is the script, which is about as confusing as a whodunit gets. Note the five-minute explanation Dehner has to deliver in order to tie-up loose ends in the movie's last scene. Not only is his solution as complicated as a problem in higher math, but I suspect the audience has long since lost interest, anyway. Not helping either is Ron Randell's teeth-clenching attempt to play the role of a mordantly depressed cripple. But then, who could bring off all that goofy sarcasm that the script sticks in his mouth.

The real crime is not using such ace performers as Marie Windsor and Anne Bancroft to better effect, especially Windsor whose role could have been filled by a dozen lesser actresses. Note also how sexpot Mamie Van Doren's one big high-cleavage scene is highlighted. No doubt that one showed up on all the promotion posters during the age of the busty blonde. Also wasted is the spectacularly scenic landscape around Kanab, Utah, where the movie was filmed. Instead, the action only leaves the nondescript resort grounds once, to go to the lumber mill.

In fact the whole production seems a curious affair-- almost like a bunch of Hollywood types suddenly found themselves at the same Southwestern resort and decided to shoot a movie, typing up the script each night after a heavy cocktail hour. Anyhow, whatever the backstory, the resulting film amounts to a plodding and talky misfire that likely never got closer than the farthest drive-in from town.