The Thursday Murder Club - 2025 film review

Few crime writers have enjoyed such dazzling success as Richard Osman since The Thursday Murder Club first hit the shelves - was it really as recently as 2020? The Covid-19 pandemic fuelled demand for light entertainment and the book delivered very successfully. The title was in itself a nod to Agatha Christie - Miss Marple, you will recall, first came on the scene in a series of stories in the 1920s about a Tuesday Night Club.

Of course, it helped that Richard Osman was already a well-known and very popular television presenter, and that his publishers got behind him with a great deal of marketing investment. But I am sure his books would not have done as well as they have done if they lacked merit. I find them comic rather than cosy and at his best his writing can make me laugh out loud. There are also touches of genuine poignancy. I've had the pleasure of having dinner with him and also of interviewing him and when (as has happened several times) other interviewers ask me if I resent the intrusion of celebrities into the world of crime writing, my honest answer is no. There are celebrities who write well and those who don't (and those who rely on ghost writers, which is a very different story). Richard is one of those who does write genuinely entertaining books, simple as that.

The film is in roughly the same vein as the book, and it's enjoyed a good deal of success. Again, it's benefited from big investment, but again the money has been well spent. What a cast - Helen Mirren, Ben Kingsley, Pierce Brosnan, Celia Imrie, Daniel Mays, Paul Freeman, David Tennant, Jonathan Pryce, Richard E. Grant...

I enjoyed the film. Like the books, it's good, straightforward entertainment that delivers a pleasing story without being glib or patronising. One remarkable point that occurred to me while watching was that a favourite crime film of mine from the past featured Helen Mirren, Paul Freeman, and Pierce Brosnan. This was The Long Good Friday. A very different film, and very different roles for these fine actors. If I'm honest, I'm not convinced by the casting of Brosnan as a retired trade unionist, but he's such an appealing actor that it really didn't matter.

Agatha and Good Company

 

Saturday was a perfect day in many ways. Wonderful weather - especially for northwest England in April - and a very enjoyable mystery-linked event. This was in the church at Cheadle, where Kate Ellis (who lives in Cheadle) and I were in conversation about Agatha Christie, an event moderated very well indeed by Lucy Dusgate. This was a slickly organised affair with well over 200 people present, and it was great to see a number of old friends including Dea Parkin, Matthew Booth, Jean Briggs, Cilla Masters, and Dolores Gordon-Smith.

I also enjoyed chatting with Andy Sykes, whom I hadn't met before. Andy is a local writer and I included a story of his in a recent CWA anthology. He was happy about that, and from an editor's perspective it is really gratifying to have happy contributors and to give a chance to writers who are relatively new to publication in the crime field. I've always been very keen to try to achieve a pleasing mix between established names and fresh voices. Some of the former group may be good friends of mine (Kate is a good example and she's had stories in several of my anthologies) but I'm not a believer in cronyism. For the sake of the reader, the focus has to be on quality and variety.

After the event, a number of us went on a very enjoyable walk to nearby Abney Park and Hall, the former home of Agatha's sister Madge, who was married to a local businessman, James Watt. It was fascinating to walk along paths that Agatha once walked - she made no secret of the fact that she loved Abney. And then we repaired to the James Watt pub (yes! that's its name) in Cheadle, and had a half of Sherlock Holmes ale.

Later, there was a lovely barbecue with Kate and her husband Roger and other friends. It was all very enjoyable, and to top it all, Kate kindly presented me with a copy of her new Joe Plantaganet book, Killing in the Shadows. She really is good at titles, and I'm sure the content will be equally pleasing.  

Forgotten Book - The Cuckoo Line Affair

During my recent trip on the Seabourn Ovation, I had plenty of time for pleasure reading on sea days and on flights to and from the cruise. I took advantage of this to fill in quite a few gaps, and read as many as five books by Andrew Garve, a writer whom I've always liked, but on whose work I've become increasingly keen lately, as the sheer extent of his versatility has become more apparent to me.

The Cuckoo Line Affair, first published in 1953, is a relatively early Garve novel, but it is, like all his books, a fast read and it has the almost mandatory Garve ingredient of small boat sailing (this is one of the reasons I felt his books were very appropriate to a boat trip!) One of the characters, Hugh Latimer, is a writer of crime fiction, and although this aspect of his life is not developed to any great extent, it allows for a very entertaining conversation with his family when he bemoans the way critics review his novels - either because they begin too slowly, or too fast and then tail off - or if they are pacy all the way through, they are dismissed as melodramatic. I bet Garve enjoyed getting that off his chest!

The opening chapter conjures up a rural idyll. Edward Latimer is a jobbing freelance writer of articles who had a brief career as an MP (like Garve's father, who may have been an inspiration for the character in some respects) but has now settled for a quiet life of good works in the English countryside. We meet his unmarried daughter Trudie, his lawyer son Quentin, and Hugh and his delightful future wife Cynthia. The story is almost soporifically pleasant at this point, but drama is injected when Edward goes on a rail journey on the eponymous Cuckoo Line (not the real life one in Sussex/Kent, which fell into disuse but has now been revived, partly, in preserved form, as the Spa Valley Railway, a trip I'd like to make some day). 

Edward meets a pretty girl on the train but disaster occurs when she accuses him of sexual assault. It seems unlikely that this nice chap could be guilty, but witnesses corroborate the claim (there is also a sort of foreshadowing of the crime in the much better-known 4.50 from Paddington, published a few years later: I wonder if Agatha had read this novel, also published in the Collins Crime Club) and Quentin wants Edward to plead guilty in the hope of getting a soft sentence. But Edward has other ideas, not all of them sensible.

The plot quickly thickens and the focus shifts to the attempts of Hugh, Cynthia, and Quentin to help Edward restore his reputation. There are several ingenious twists, although some suspension of disbelief is required (why didn't they talk to the police sooner? for instance). But when Garve does skate on thin ice, he does so cleverly, and there was a plot twist regarding the train incident that I didn't see coming. An enjoyable book.   

Unhinged - 2020 film review

There are plenty of psychopaths about in the world, and all most of us can hope for is not to fall foul of them. Especially not in a road rage incident. One remembers, for instance, the terrible road rage murder of Stephen Cameron, a young man who had the misfortune to cross paths with the most unpleasant antagonist imaginable. In Unhinged, a young single mother encounters someone even more violent.

That someone is Tom Cooper, played by Russell Crowe. Before the credits roll, we're introduced to him, a malevolent figure parked outside a house (which, we will discover, is occupied by his ex-wife). He goes inside, armed with a hammer and a can of gasoline and proceeds to wreak havoc. 

Attention then switches to the difficult life of Rachel Flynn (Caren Pistorius). Her marriage has broken down, although she seems to have got involved with the lawyer handling her divorce (never a great sign of judgment on either side), but her main interest in life is her son Kyle (Gabriel Bateman), who belongs to that currently fashionable group of children in movies who are irritatingly smarter than their admittedly inept parents. She's driving Kyle in a rush, as usual, when she is annoyed by Cooper's failure to move quickly at a green light. When he challenges her and asks her to apologise, she is tense - having just lost a major client - and irritable. Big mistake.

Before you know it, Cooper has launched on a horrible campaign of vengeance. The film moves at a brisk pace. The script is by Carl Ellsworth, whose CV includes Red Eye and Disturbia, and although it was never going to win an Oscar, it's a competent piece of work, sliding over the improbabilities (the limited involvement of the police above all) in a way that - just about - enables the viewer to suspend disbelief. Russell Crowe gives a compelling performance as the madman, and it's his contribution to the film that makes it worth watching.  

Back from the Seabourn Ovation

Last spring, I had my first taste of life as a 'guest conversationalist' on board a Seabourn cruise ship. This was a short but delightful trip, so I was very pleased to be invited back by Seabourn, for a much longer trip. I was asked to become a conversationalist on a trip that involved flying to Barbados, where I stayed for one night, before boarding the luxurious Seabourn Ovation, with over 500 guests, as one of a team of four conversationalists working alongside the talented, highly capable, and incredibly hard-working entertainments team. 

The trip involved nine sea days as we headed for Morocco, with stops at Casablanca and Tangier, both of which I've visited in the past, and then at Portimao, for the Algarve, which was new ground for me. The crossing was, therefore, even longer than that I had on my trips as a speaker on the Queen Mary, but there was never a dull moment. I met some delightful people from all four corners of the world and had a fantastic time.

My brief was to hold six conversations, about different aspects of crime fiction, and also to host three dinners; in addition, I hosted a murder mystery event, the very first time I've done anything like that on board ship. It was a great experience, made all the better by the terrific performances of the cast - cruise director Nick Martland, entertainments manager Caroline Miller, and entertainers Nicole and Matthew. I was very pleased by reaction to the event and felt I learned a lot about how these things can be done to best advantage while on the ocean wave. I also met (for example) someone who had actually known Gladys Mitchell, someone who told me about G.K. Chesterton's old home in Buckinghamshire, and someone who had (by pure coincidence) brought several of my books on board. 

After so long at sea, it was fun to visit the medinas in Casablanca (and to see Rick's Cafe!) and Tangier, where it was fascinating to visit St Andrew's Church, a unique survival with gorgeous gardens. 

On the Algarve, there was a trip to Cape St Vincent, aka 'The End of the World', which is the south westerly most point of Europe and quite special. We also travelled to the historic and delightful town of Lagos. The ship finally docked at Lisbon, and the journey home took rather longer than the original trip to Barbados, thanks to the new ID requirements and the fact that everyone's luggage failed to arrive at Manchester airport. But it finally arrived the next day. All in all, a wonderful trip. I'm hugely grateful to everyone at Seabourn, not only for inviting me, but for making it such a great experience.  

Forgotten Book - Men for Pieces

Thanks to Steve Barge, who blogs as The Puzzle Doctor (and if you don't know his blog, it really is consistently interesting and I recommend it unreservedly) and Dean Street Press, most of Brian Flynn's long-neglected detective novels are available again at modest prices. I've read several of them, and the latest is Men For Pieces, which was the 36th Anthony Bathurst mystery and first hit the shelves in 1949.

The title comes from Omar Khayyam, suggesting that Brian Flynn was keen on literature. However, it has to be said that his own writing was unsophisticated. He was mostly published by John Long, whose main market was the libraries and they don't seem to have bothered much with the tedious task of editing. I could quote innumerable examples of Flynn's clunky prose, but perhaps this simple example will suffice: 'Senora Garcia looked incredulously surprised.' 

But even if Flynn wasn't, in terms of the quality of his prose, a good writer, he was a pretty good storyteller and more specifically he had a real gift for coming up with interesting ideas for mysteries. At the time this book appeared, he had been published for almost a quarter of a century, and there were times when I felt the padded and ornate style suggested a certain loss of energy. 

A young man who works for a bank goes missing unexpectedly, and a young woman who is devoted to him becomes concerned. She involves Bathurst and he discovers the missing man's body - an apparent suicide. There's a lot of inconclusive discussion, and no shortage of red herrings, one of them (an enigmatic note) a bit irritating - but the story really comes alive in the later stages. After a slow start, the puzzle proves to be unexpectedly ingenious. I'm not convinced, mind you, that Flynn plays totally fair with the reader in the way that he presents some information, especially relating to two key characters.

Good editors make a big difference to their authors. For instance, I have no doubt that my own writing has benefited from the work of several very good editors over a long period of time. Brian Flynn's writing gives me the impression of an affable man - in this book, for example, there's a very witty reference to a crime writer called Charles Wogan, which happens to be his own pen-name - and I think he would probably have been receptive had his editor made a serious effort to help him to improve his writing skills. Ruthless editing of the first two-thirds of this book would have improved it, for sure. Nevertheless, in all the books of his that I've read, there has - at the very least - been something of real merit that made me glad that I've overcome my reservations about his style. So I'll be very happy to read more.

Blood on Satan's Claw - 1971 film review

I like horror fiction and films, but there's no point in denying that quite a lot of it is...well, horrible. The title of the film Blood on Satan's Claw didn't exactly incentivise me to watch it, but then I discovered that Mark Gatiss, whose judgments on popular culture I always find interesting, rated it as an important example of 'folk horror'. He even ranked it alongside The Wicker Man, a film I have always admired. So I decided to give it a go.

Was it trashy or terrific? Well, I can see why there are arguments on both sides, but first things first. This is a movie that came out before The Wicker Man, but although the two films have one or two common elements (including the highly effective use of music), I don't think anyone can deny that the Anthony Shaffer film is much more sophisticated. Blood on Satan's Claw was written by a young Cambridge graduate, Robert Wynne-Simmons, and originally it took the form of an anthology film, with three stories in one. The director, Piers Haggard, persuaded him to combine the stories into a single tale, and this was a sensible idea. But the storyline remained somewhat fragmented. As a result, there's something disjointed about the film, a major difference from The Wicker Man. 

The story is set in the early 18th century. A farmer ploughing a field uncovers a deformed skull, which mysteriously vanishes. Shortly afterwards, a young woman (Tamara Ustinov) goes mad as a result of an encounter with a mysterious creature in the attic of a house where a judge (Patrick Wymark, in his last role before his tragically early death) is visiting. In the local village, a young boy is hunted and killed, and then his sister suffers a dreadful fate. It's clear that a girl called Angel (played by Linda Hayden in her customary sexy way) is at the heart of the mischief. But what exactly is going on?

This isn't a film for the squeamish, and it has exploitative elements, as Piers Haggard later acknowledged, which I didn't like. What's more, it's definitely not strong on subtlety. On the other hand, the cinematography has been rightly acclaimed - the visual presentation of the English landscape, lovely yet menacing, is impressive - and the very unevenness of the storyline contributes to the sense that rural life is unpredictable and disturbing. So, very far from a masterpiece, but a cult curiosity at the very least.  

Goldeneye - 1989 film review

Goldeneye is the title of a James Bond film, but before that it was the title of a 1989 biopic, the story of Bond's creator, Ian Fleming. And the first thing to be said is that it has some wonderful ingredients. Fleming's life, the subject of several published biographies, was very interesting. The cast, led by Charles Dance, who is ideally suited to the role of Fleming, is excellent. And the screenwriter, Reg Gadney, who has a cameo role in the film as James Bond, was undoubtedly a good writer.

Gadney is someone I never met, but he was a writer of varied accomplishments, whose career I've followed with some interest for many years. He wrote well-regarded spy novels, was a reputable academic, and also developed an expertise in art and art history. On top of that, he was a capable if occasional screenwriter. I remember The Sculptress, which he adapted from Minette Walters' novel, with particular admiration and indeed I fancy watching it again before long.

The trouble is, this is a slow-moving film, episodic and unsatisfactory. Fleming was, whatever his shortcomings, a gifted storyteller whose novels always moved at pace. So it's weirdly contradictory that a story about his life should plod along as Goldeneye does. Nor do I think that the characterisation of Fleming in the script is particularly compelling. There's too much about his complex love life, but we don't really get under the skin of the man or his motivations.

A shame, because this film brought together a number of talented people. The cast includes the excellent Phyllis Logan and also such interesting actors as Marsha Fitzalan and Richard Griffiths; Adrian Edmondson also features in a tiny part. I really wanted to enjoy this film, but I feel the definitive Fleming movie has yet to be made. Maybe one day... 

Forgotten Book - The Silent Murders

Over the course of just five years, between 1928 and 1933, A.G. Macdonell, the Scottish writer best-known as author of England, Their England, applied his wit and facility for writing entertaining prose to the detective genre. He co-wrote one novel, The Bleston Mystery, with Milward Kennedy, under the name Robert Milward Kennedy, produced six novels as Neil Gordon, and two as John Cameron. And then he moved on to other things. His early death in 1941, at the age of 46, means we'll never know if he would have returned to crime writing. Perhaps not. But his books deserve not to be forgotten.

The Silent Murders, which dates from 1929, is an example. In fact, I'd rank it as outstanding for its time, if it were not for the fact that the clever idea at the heart of the story had been used by another novelist a couple of years earlier. Whether Macdonell simply nicked it, or whether the idea was simply in the zeitgeist, I don't know. Either is possible. But he makes good use of it, and writes his book in such a different and agreeable way that it's definitely worth reading even if you have - as I did - a pretty good idea of where the story is ultimately heading.

The book begins with the murder of a tramp. Tramps were a regular feature of Golden Age detective fiction, and this reflects social issues that aren't so often discussed. For some people down on their luck, it really wasn't a golden age at all. But when someone else is killed and it emerges that there is an inexplicable connection between the two crimes, the story begins to take shape.

The main detective in the story, Inspector Dewar, is an appealing character, and Macdonell hit on a good way of complicating the mystery. The tension builds nicely, although one question (where was the culprit hiding out all the time?) didn't seem to me to be clearly answered, as the book ends rather abruptly, almost as if the author had run out of steam. So, not a masterpiece, and not totally original, but I really enjoyed it. It's a pretty rare book (the illustration comes from the excellent Hadwebutknown website, but that first edition will set you back £225), but deserves rediscovery. 

Guest post - Michael Ridpath and Operation Berlin

I've been a fan of Michael Ridpath's work since before I first met him, which in itself is quite a long time ago. He's a versatile and interesting writer and I'm very glad to feature a guest post from him:

'There comes a point in the middle of my research when it’s time to read The Times. 
I suppose it would be possible to do this online somehow, but that’s not the way I like to do it.  In the basement of the London Library in St James’s Square is The Times Room.  Large red leather-bound copies of The Times, each heavy, each three feet tall, line the shelves in cabinets, one for each month.  There are special lecterns upon which you can open them and browse; the Foreign and Colonial news is usually on about page 8.  I love it down there.

My latest novel, Operation Berlin, takes place in August and September of 1930, and so I read through copies of The Times for each day, taking notes of what the Berlin correspondent had to say.  At that time, he was an old hand named Norman Ebbutt, but he is never identified in the paper itself.  There is usually at least one article – or maybe two – on the goings-on in Germany each day.  But I allow myself to be distracted: by the advertisements on page 1 for domestic servants and enigmatic personal messages in a rudimentary code; by the page-long descriptions of the Belvoir Hunt’s outing a couple of days before; by the minutiae of cricket scores by batsmen with at least three initials and two hyphenated last names.  And the advertisements, of course, for Bovril, Beecham’s Laxatives, Imperial Airways and the Austin Seven.

But back to ‘our Berlin correspondent’.  My eye was caught by a short article on 29 August 1930 about a Frau Amlinger who had thrown herself out of a Lufthansa mail plane flying from Frankfurt to Erfurt.  She was the wife of a Reichswehr cavalry officer, Captain Sepp Amlinger, who served in the air force during the war and who had died in an aeroplane accident in Russia.

Interesting.  Very interesting.

Further investigation on my part paralleled that of The Times’s correspondent.  It turned out that Captain Amlinger was part of a secret contingent of the Reichswehr being trained as fighter pilots at a training facility in the Soviet Union.  Cover-ups ensued, and a nice little subplot was born.  Now, all I need to do is book myself onto an Imperial Airways flying boat to Alexandria for £55.  Not tempted by the Beecham’s Laxatives, though.'

Michael Ridpath’s Operation Berlin is published by Boldwood Books on 12 April