She’d jump his bones if she could.
Perhaps the worst facet of The Detective (1954) is the overly bland title, which gives little to munch on until the movie is underway and you realize the detective is a certain Father Brown, Catholic priest, which is significant for those who watch the later TV series. This is the introduction, wherein we learn Father Brown is humble yet overly-confident, charming yet exceptionally shy, eccentric and yet a priest.
The attentive audience members will swiftly recognize the genre as being the British comedy-mystery. The details of the plot may mystify and even delight, as when Father Brown slips a man’s cigarette box from a man’s hand into his own (voluminous) sleeve, the victim none the wiser, but it’s clear the end point of this movie will be the recovery of the stolen cross, and, more importantly, the guidance of the soul engaged in high crimes back to the path of … well, whatever it is. It’s difficult to argue with the moral & teaching of the story, but the mouth of wisdom is, to the modern ear, accustomed more to accusations and acknowledgements of various crimes perpetrated by clerics, somewhat untrustworthy; and for those who do trust clerics, there is the urge to advise them to be more circumspect in their selection of authority figure.
The acting is the usual British competent to excellent, the staging is fun, and, overall, it’s an enjoyable movie.
Oh, and I lied. Really, the stage combat was, at best, unconvincing.
