Cutting an imposing figure in the formal frock coat and wing collar of a thirties arch criminal while masterminding a gang of latter day zoot-suited spivs against a then contemporary backdrop of drab little offices and bombed out postwar London, the years have not diminished Todd Slaughter in the title role as he personally kills a couple of people and abducts and tries to dissolve feisty heroine Tucker McGuire in a bath of nitric acid.
In pursuit detective Patrick Barr occasionally stops fiddling with his pipe and providing a running commentary long enough to adopt a couple of rather good disguises. Yet most of the more interesting stuff seems to be happening offscreen, with the result that none of what we actually see proves remotely as interesting to watch as a description of it makes its sound. Maybe if Slaughter had been occasionally permitted to laugh diabolically...
In pursuit detective Patrick Barr occasionally stops fiddling with his pipe and providing a running commentary long enough to adopt a couple of rather good disguises. Yet most of the more interesting stuff seems to be happening offscreen, with the result that none of what we actually see proves remotely as interesting to watch as a description of it makes its sound. Maybe if Slaughter had been occasionally permitted to laugh diabolically...