The look of the film has a certain tawdry gloss, like Moore's ruffled polo neck or an overflowing crystal ashtray and it's well worth a watch to peek at the tail end of 1960s culture and the rise of petroleum addiction. The story is way out there man, but there's something supernatural too about the film in a meta sense, with Moore's character saying early on that 'intrigue is not about James bond and his Majestys secret service' years before he became Bond himself, and another spooky thing is that, according to Winnert, the director died in a crash not long after the film's theatrical release, on a section of the M4, near Brentford, weirdly close to the initial reckless driving scene location. I suppose Basil Dearden is the man who haunted his own movie.
Review of The Man Who Haunted Himself
