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Although Elliot Freed is devoted to classic screen comedies, he allows his projectionist, a film student, to hold a private screening of his film, a bloody Western, in his newly renovated New Jersey theatre. Elliot is flabbergasted to observe that the film is a huge success, at least with its target audience. He is even more flabbergasted when the only print of the film disappears and its maker accuses Elliot of taking it. But Freed is seriously cheered when he learns that one of his boyhood idols, half of the comedy duo Harry Lillis and Les Townes, is still alive and well and living in Englewood, New Jersey. Harry Lillis has not allowed being eighty to dilute his carbolic wit, but no matter. From Elliot's point of view, being insulted by Lillis is a signal honour. So he books a showing of one of their comedies, Cracked Ice, and arranges for Lillis to appear as guest of honour. For reasons not altogether clear to this reader, he neglects to inquire about the whereabouts of the other half of the twosome and is properly embarrassed when Les Townes shows up uninvited but welcome, at least to the audience and Freed. Even mildly knowledgeable old-movie enthusiasts will have realized by now that our comic pair bear the actual birth names of Bing Crosby and Bob Hope, a slight insider joke that Freed seems to feel might be missed, as he makes a point of identifying them in the afterword. Otherwise however, they bear very little resemblance to their namesakes, either in style or public personality. Indeed, before the night is out, Lillis accuses Townes of having killed his wife fifty years earlier. Elliot, devastated, decides to find out the truth, though here again, his motive is unclear. Before you know it, Lillis is dead and Townes has disappeared, making him the principle suspect. As Elliot bumbles cheerfully toward a solution, he must cope with continuing suspicions from his staff that he has made off with the student film, with burgeoning hopes that he may re-establish relations with his ex-wife, as well as a volley of insults from the woman who runs his snackbar, a militant feminist who provides Cohen with the opportunity to launch an on-going series of rather offensive jokes. Though the jacket blurbs indicate otherwise, this is not a laff-riot; it isn't even especially funny, though it tries hard. On the whole, it is a quite conventional amateur sleuth novel with a reasonably pleasant protagonist and an undemanding puzzle to be solved.
Reviewed by Yvonne Klein, June 2008
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Contact: Yvonne Klein (ymk@reviewingtheevidence.com)
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