It's Los Angeles 1946, and a money courier for a shady nightclub owner is killed en route to his destination; meanwhile, a blonde "tomato" has hired beaten-down gumshoe Francis Hogan (and his "small fellow" sidekick) to find her boyfriend, who's been missing for four days. TV-made noir, an early effort from talented writer-director Peter Hyams, has everything a slim budget can afford: period costumes and cars, faux-Art Deco decor, seedy racetrack types and bookie joints. Unfortunately, Richard Boone, while amiable, isn't exactly Humphrey Bogart; looking out-of-place in tatty suits and hats, it's rather disconcerting to see Boone playing the good guy (with his molten lava complexion and steely eyes, he looks more like one of the gorillas hired on by the heavy). Victor Buono's performance as the piggy-eyed villain (who amusingly uses words like 'semi-literate') is the stand-out here, and Barbara Bain is also very good as the damsel-in-distress (she's likened to a Veronica Lake type, but she's much more from the Lauren Bacall school). Hyams' plot turns out to be a shaggy dog mystery--much of which takes place off-screen--and the character relationships suffer as a result. There's a little snooping, a little shooting, some scuffles, a few dead bodies, but nothing intrinsically exciting happening at the movie's core. Hyams obviously has a love for Bogie mysteries and Raymond Chandler stories (the title alone is pretty much a riff on "Farewell, My Lovely"), and his affection is translated here with aplomb. What he's missing is the sharp sting of a good story. Those '40s-era pulp-detective dramas worked on a much bigger scale than their visual accouterments and smart talk alone--they had cutting wit, a tangible mystery, and three-dimensional good guys and bad guys (you knew exactly where you stood with them). There's no time on the clock to expand on this reedy plot, and not enough money in the budget to expound on the virtues therein.
Review of Goodnight, My Love
