I, THE JURY

New Zealand Listener, Volume 31, Issue 782, 16 July 1954, Page 16

I, THE JURY

(Victor. Saville-United Artists) So this doll in the ticket box she tells me there’s only seats in the two front rows, ya need to book for this

pitcher. So I book, and there’s a house full sign out, and the doll with the torch says my seat’s sold twice. (I'm the sucker, see.) But she goes into a huddle with the ticket box and in the end I’m sardined in, feelin’ like I’m bein’ stood over by the screen and knowin’ now this is box office socko. And bang! Jack’s crawlin’ over the floor with a hunka lead from a .45 in him before they even ‘say who’s in this pitcher. So this Mike Hammer comes in, he’s a private eyes and a one-man equalisin’ service, and a noospaper man hardly opens his trap and Mike’s pushed him into a cupboard of dishes and am I scared. (Well, am I?) So there’s this woman, see, Dot he calls her, she’s a mind doctor though ya mightn’t think it, and Mike’s voice seems like it’s breakin’ at last, and fair go, I wanta laugh when he hands her a legga chicken he’d been walkin’ out with all unknowin’. So this pitcher doesn’t improve any, the bashin’s and shootin’s seem a sorta bad habit, and even the Spillane dolls don’t make a nerve end twitch, but not even one. So in the end even Dot gets hers and Mike pouches his .45 and orders a basket for her and says sorta husky that all he’s got’s his memories. So I go home sorta thoughtful and I say to myself, Kid (I say), Mickey must have somethin’ to sell all those books and make that socko pitcher. But it looks to me (I say) a bit like Mr. Homo Sap might be buyin’ his" own basket at the pitchers,