A man working for an ad agency discovers he's just promised the enthusiastic collaboration of a female model unknown to him. Since his job depends on the success of the proposed publicity campaign, he crosses the city trying to find her. Other people are trying to find her, too...
"Crossplot" is a mix of action/adventure and comedy. It provides proof positive of the fact that not every director wanting to become another Hitchcock is capable of doing so. In the hands of Hitchcock himself the movie might have soared to the dizzying heights of, say, a "North by Northwest". As it now stands, it isn't particularly good, although it does contain a few successful jokes. Like a recalcitrant air balloon, it fails to lift off and climb.
Many of the characters are two-dimensional cyphers whose underlying reasons and convictions never become clear. One of the characters, for instance, turns out to be a genuine aristocrat, heir to a splendid mansion. He is also politically active as a protester for peace. Sounds interesting, so tell us more, you think ; but you don't get to know the man, either as a person or as a political activist. His Lordship shows up just long enough to explain part of the intrigue and to participate in an action sequence, before receiving a bullet through the chest. Exit on a stretcher... Moreover, Roger Moore (as the ad man) and Claudie Lange (as his elusive Hungarian model) show a considerable lack of chemistry. Although both of them are remarkably handsome, they exude about as much mutual attraction as two random strangers queuing at a rainy bus stop.
You'll notice that our two protagonists aren't all that nice, either. In one scene, they find themselves in a church where a wedding is being celebrated. Wanting to escape a clutch of killers, they interrupt the proceedings by accusing the prospective groom of cheating or even bigamy. Unsurprisingly, this leads to a giant meltdown. Couldn't they have hit upon a different solution, rather than ruin the happiness of two inoffensive humans ? It seems to me that clutching one's belly and shouting "The pain, the pain ! Quick, a doctor ! I must be having an appendicitis !" might have done the trick.
Or perhaps this little episode means something different, perhaps it is a pernicious judgment delivered by the various makers of the movie : if you're beautiful you are deserving of love and companionship, if you're plain you deserve to die alone. In which case, a loud "TARARA !", like they say in my part of the world.
"Crossplot" is a mix of action/adventure and comedy. It provides proof positive of the fact that not every director wanting to become another Hitchcock is capable of doing so. In the hands of Hitchcock himself the movie might have soared to the dizzying heights of, say, a "North by Northwest". As it now stands, it isn't particularly good, although it does contain a few successful jokes. Like a recalcitrant air balloon, it fails to lift off and climb.
Many of the characters are two-dimensional cyphers whose underlying reasons and convictions never become clear. One of the characters, for instance, turns out to be a genuine aristocrat, heir to a splendid mansion. He is also politically active as a protester for peace. Sounds interesting, so tell us more, you think ; but you don't get to know the man, either as a person or as a political activist. His Lordship shows up just long enough to explain part of the intrigue and to participate in an action sequence, before receiving a bullet through the chest. Exit on a stretcher... Moreover, Roger Moore (as the ad man) and Claudie Lange (as his elusive Hungarian model) show a considerable lack of chemistry. Although both of them are remarkably handsome, they exude about as much mutual attraction as two random strangers queuing at a rainy bus stop.
You'll notice that our two protagonists aren't all that nice, either. In one scene, they find themselves in a church where a wedding is being celebrated. Wanting to escape a clutch of killers, they interrupt the proceedings by accusing the prospective groom of cheating or even bigamy. Unsurprisingly, this leads to a giant meltdown. Couldn't they have hit upon a different solution, rather than ruin the happiness of two inoffensive humans ? It seems to me that clutching one's belly and shouting "The pain, the pain ! Quick, a doctor ! I must be having an appendicitis !" might have done the trick.
Or perhaps this little episode means something different, perhaps it is a pernicious judgment delivered by the various makers of the movie : if you're beautiful you are deserving of love and companionship, if you're plain you deserve to die alone. In which case, a loud "TARARA !", like they say in my part of the world.