jaibo St Ives was the first fruit of what turned out to be a fecund collaboration between tough-guy actor Charles Bronson and veteran British filmmaker J Lee Thompson. Based on a novel by Ross Thomas (The Procane Chronicle), St Ives is clearly a contribution to the 1970s neo-noir cycle, the Watergate-era revival of the hard-boiled detective story. It's not a major contribution to the genre – it pales beside The Long Goodbye, Chinatown or Night Moves – but it's an entertaining watch, well cast (including a cameo by genre veteran Elisha Cook) and it leaves a subtly bitter taste in the mouth.Raymond St Ives (Bronson) is a retired sports writer and wannabe Great American Novelist who agrees to act as a go-between for a rich old villain Abner Procane (John Houseman channelling Sydney Greenstreet) who has had his memoirs stolen. St Ives is dragged into a world of swank mansions, sordid downtown locations, corrupt cops, petty criminals who meet nasty ends and, of course, a femme-fatale (Jacqueline Bissett) who is looking out for herself. This last character doesn't subvert the genre expectation in the post-feminist way of Chinatown, nor are the Bogart/Bacall exchanges between Bissett and Bronson entirely convincing (there is an air of pastiche here).The film is set in Los Angeles and it is no coincidence that Procane spends his time watching old silent epics as a form of (American) dream therapy, an escape from his neuroses; even his criminal scheme takes place at a drive-in cinema. There's a subtext involving old Hollywood being used as a screen which hides the sordid realities of contemporary American life – the climax involves the rich old man's screen being rolled back to reveal his friend and psychiatric as the prime mover of a plot against him, a plot motivated by envy, greed and Oedipal hatred. The final has Bronson refusing four million dollars ("it's expensive being honest") and handing over the cash and the femme-fatale, leaving both in the hands of an 'honest' cop, his honesty held in the balance as sex and filthy lucre present themselves as temptations to climb into the 'bucket of faeces', as the cop had previously described the world of criminality. The ending presents us not with the happy denouement we first saw Procane lulling himself with in front of a silent film but an ambiguous moment of ever-present inducement to dirty one's hands with ill-gotten gains, the truth of the American dream.

Terrell-4 Ross Thomas was one of America's great thriller/mystery/political skullduggery writers. He wrote 20 books under his own name and five as Oliver Bleeck. One would think he'd have been fertile ground for Hollywood to till. In fact, only one of his books made it to the screen, The Procane Chronicle under the Bleeck name. The movie St. Ives, directed by J. Lee Thompson and starring Charles Bronson, is the result. We can see why Hollywood never tried again. It's not that St. Ives is a poor movie. With Thomas' clever, twisty plot largely in tact, the last half of the movie moves briskly along. However, Ross Thomas and Charles Bronson make highly unlikely partners. Bronson's stoic, strong, silent guy-who-can-take-care-of-himself is not a good fit for what remains of Philip St. Ives' (now renamed, for some reason, Raymond). The second and more important drawback is that a movie of reasonable length will have a hard time coherently taking us through the twists and corners, the under-handed dealings, the false leads and the intelligent style in a Ross Thomas plot. Ray St. Ives used to be a big-time crime reporter. Now he's trying to be a novelist. He lives in the cheap Hotel Lido and brews chicory coffee in an old Bunn coffee maker. St. Ives gets an offer. The eccentric, wealthy, 65-year-old Abner Procane (John Houseman) had five brown, leather-bound ledgers stolen. The thieves want $100,000. For acting as a go-between, St. Ives will be paid $10,000. All Ray has to do is be at a certain laundromat at 2 a.m., give the money and get the ledgers. When St. Ives shows up, however, the only thing he finds, crammed into one of the dryers and slowly turning on the spin cycle, is a man with a broken neck. So after he leaves the police station, he reports back to Procane with the money but with no ledgers. He meets once more Procane's zaftig assistant, Janet Whistler (Jacqueline Bisset), and Procane's friend and psychiatrist, Dr John Constable (Maximilian Schell). By the time St. Ives goes through this one more time with the switch in a men's restroom, he's been Bronson-beaten and Bronson-victorious in an abandoned warehouse, gotten on poor terms with two cops, found another cop dead with an ice pick in the chest and finally returned those ledgers to Procane. St. Ives has also learned that Procane is not just an eccentric old gentleman who loves to watch The Big Parade. He is an elegant and supremely talented big-time thief. And one of the returned ledgers has had four pages torn out, the meticulous plans Procane developed to relieve some very wealthy business interests of $4 million. No spoilers here; this is just set-up for the main event. It all starts to come together in a drive-in theater one evening where the $4 million will be exchanged, where the ones who stole Procane's plans will act on them, and where Procane, St. Ives and Janet Whistler will be waiting to interfere as much as possible. With the exception of a few deaths, a couple of betrayals and a lit pool with one person oozing blood and life, it all works out as planned. Ross Thomas' books are such a pleasure to read because they are well and pungently written, we can savor the plot twists and we can enjoy the personalities of the characters that Thomas builds for us. Thomas also had a knack for coming up with memorable names. Some I enjoy are Otherguy Overby, Morgan Citron, Anna Maude Singe, Ben Dill and Velveeta Keats. His people are usually a bit cynical -- or at least supremely realistic -- about what they might encounter. The plots almost glow with the hypocritical nature of some of the people we meet. But try capturing that in a Hollywood movie without losing the intelligent style. The movie St. Ives proves it is just about impossible. For those interested in value, The Procane Chronicle sold for $5.95 hardback when William Morrow & Company issued it in 1973. You can find, sometimes, a first edition in fine condition with dust jacket equally fine for about $280. If you collect first editions of Ross Thomas, the $280 is not bad.

chip-84 Bronson fans may appreciate this (as noted throughout the comments), but Ross Thomas/Oliver Bleek aficionados will be disappointed. None of the superb dialog, efficient language, or 'wisdom' of Thomas' work cuts through the movie. This is especially true if you know the book from which it is based ('The Procane Chronicles').One of the things that makes Thomas an excellent read is his ability to not spell out the motivations of every character. Often, the reader is left to piece things together. In the context of the movie, however, it just doesn't work...Bronson's motivation never really makes sense (in the books, his reluctance to participate is interesting, for example).I was compelled to finish watching it, however. I had hoped for more. I suspect I will enjoy other Bronson films quite a bit more, as my expectations will differ.

sol- An interesting visual side, with some well composed shots by J. Lee Thompson and expert cinematographer Lucien Ballard, is by far the best part of the film, and it is almost enough to atone for a rather lame screenplay. The story is at times difficult to follow, but it is not very original or out of the ordinary either, so there is not all that much reason to care. This is one of those films that you watch more so for a good amount of action and thrills. It just does not have the characters and plot that a brilliant film of its type would have. It is not helped out by poor music choices either, nor by wasting veteran film noir actor Elisha Cook Jr. in an insignificant supporting role. Still, it is okay viewing overall. It seems a little silly how Bronson runs into trouble everywhere, but that is the way that the plot of the film is made up, so be it. At least it is not annoying to view, and it is at times reasonably amusing.