The knife-grinder tipped over for want of the necessary, who climbs the thing to catch the murderer, lately fond of caviar sandwiches and vodka there.
A spoof of the Deux Magots crowd, you can spot Breton and Sartre in the sweep early on.
“The City of Paris” is credited and deserves it, as the anonymous and otherwise imbecilic New York Times critic observed.
The rich aunt is a good American and, with her maid, dies there for a million.
Laughton is Maigret, superintending the case.
A director of genius handles it all.
The joke is that the CIA are supposedly critics.
A three-piece suit in the Kenyon Review sells out for a living, laugh that off but it’s true.
The Buddha answers all this bullshit out of the jewel in his forehead.
A great literary satire.
Reviewers had no idea of this conversion on the playing field, no wonder.
With James Mason as Y.Y. Go, this is an important variant of Brooks’ Lord Jim, without the slightest doubt.