Sort-of likeable ragbag of every thriller cliché imaginable about a serial killer, in which amateur sleuth Paul Temple is called in by the professional cops to more or less tell them how to do their job. It has all the usual ingredients of the type: coincidences, red herrings, witnesses who are bumped off precisely at the moment when they are saying 'the killer is ...' (you can get away with this once, perhaps, but three times??), a villain who is obvious from the start, a laughable hypnosis scene (only the hypnotist can bring the victim out of the trance, except that Temple can do it as well, by using the magic of speech!), and a final, Poirot-style gathering of every suspect still alive in a room, and a fist fight. Temple and his wife Stevie cheerfully brush off the killer's attempts to shoot them, blow them up, and drown them like it's just another day of routine events in the Temple diary. Luckily, they have a vaguely racial stereotype of a servant, complete with funny foreign accent, to assist them.
A couple of plus points - some nice shots of 1940s Canterbury, and a night club song called Lady on the Loose, with a lyric that might have come from an Amy Winehouse song, such as 'I want a man who's true to me to the end of the night,' and 'Ladies, shut your windows, lock your doors, the man I'm after might be yours' I can't trace the song, partly written by Steve Race.
A couple of plus points - some nice shots of 1940s Canterbury, and a night club song called Lady on the Loose, with a lyric that might have come from an Amy Winehouse song, such as 'I want a man who's true to me to the end of the night,' and 'Ladies, shut your windows, lock your doors, the man I'm after might be yours' I can't trace the song, partly written by Steve Race.