The film begins with a husband hearing the devastating news that, contrary to what the doctors have promised, his abominable wife is not going to die after all. This rather scuppers the plans of dreary John Marsden (Derek Bond) and his unlikely French mistress (Nicole Maurey) who spends her life in a permanent state of impending hysteria. From here, the film starts at a galloping pace: within minutes, they have decided that the wife must die, minutes later they have hatched the plot, and in no time John is sailing off to France on his yacht to establish his alibi. After the deed is done (via a rather implausible plan), cue Elwyn Brook-Jones, as the Columbo-style detective, who is suspicious from the outset and quietly beavers away with disarming comments, and the dropping of hints, until a piece of nautical rope nails the villains.
You always know where you are with Rogue's Yarn. Marsden is a middle-aged Englishman in the 1950s, so he always wears a suit no matter what activity he is undertaking: the sight of him sailing into Le Havre harbour fully suited is one such reminder of what it means to be British. His mistress is French, so is obviously a bad'un. The action switches between England and France, but we always know where we are because the French scenes have a helpful soundtrack of accordion music in case we haven't noticed the change of accents. You also know it's a B movie, because of some hammy acting, clunky dialogue, and the obligatory, somewhat drippy junior detective (Hugh Latimer), whose only purpose seems to be to have a conversation with the maid about going to see Double Indemnity at the cinema that night (geddit?).
For all that, Rogue's Yarn is not bad compared to other such film of the day, and is noticeably improved by the excellent Brook-Jones as the low-key but persistent detective Walker. Hitchcock would have done better with the 'will he blow himself up?' episode, but he was otherwise engaged.
You always know where you are with Rogue's Yarn. Marsden is a middle-aged Englishman in the 1950s, so he always wears a suit no matter what activity he is undertaking: the sight of him sailing into Le Havre harbour fully suited is one such reminder of what it means to be British. His mistress is French, so is obviously a bad'un. The action switches between England and France, but we always know where we are because the French scenes have a helpful soundtrack of accordion music in case we haven't noticed the change of accents. You also know it's a B movie, because of some hammy acting, clunky dialogue, and the obligatory, somewhat drippy junior detective (Hugh Latimer), whose only purpose seems to be to have a conversation with the maid about going to see Double Indemnity at the cinema that night (geddit?).
For all that, Rogue's Yarn is not bad compared to other such film of the day, and is noticeably improved by the excellent Brook-Jones as the low-key but persistent detective Walker. Hitchcock would have done better with the 'will he blow himself up?' episode, but he was otherwise engaged.