BY NICHOLAS ANEZ

Business isn’t exactly booming for private detective Peter Joseph Detweiler, better known as P.J. His makeshift office is in a bar belonging to his only friend Charlie, his sporadic jobs include entrapping cheating wives and he is not above drowning his sorrows in liquor. So when wealthy magnate William Orbison offers him a substantial fee to be a bodyguard for his mistress, Maureen Prebble, he jumps at the chance. What P.J. doesn’t know is that Orbison has already hired someone else to commit a murder. How this murder and the shamus’s new job intersect is the crux of the terrific 1968 neo-noir from Universal, P.J. (U.K. title: New Face in Hell.)

Private detectives were prominent in the late 1960s and included Harper (1966), Tony Rome (1967), Gunn (1967), and Marlowe (1969). P.J. appeared in the midst of this surplus, which may account in part for its box office failure. The movie quickly disappeared, at least in its original form. Due to one extended and bloody sequence in a gay bar as well as to other scenes of violence and sexuality, Universal drastically cut and re-edited the movie for its television network presentation. Since then, it has never been officially released on home video and the original version may be lost forever.

Philip Reisman, Jr.’s screenplay is based on his original story co-written with producer Edward Montagne. The script initially unfolds as a conventional mystery but gets increasingly complicated with each twist and turn. Maureen appears to definitely need a bodyguard, in view of threatening letters as well as a shot fired into her bedroom. And there is no shortage of suspects who would like to see her dead. Orbison’s emotionally fragile wife, Betty, resents the very thought of her husband’s paramour. Betty’s relatives despise Maureen because of her emergence as principle beneficiary in Orbison’s will. Orbison’s Executive Assistant, Jason Grenoble, due to his apparent affluent upbringing, is displeased about being used as a flunky. Making P.J.’s job more difficult is Orbison’s decision to take everyone, including relatives and mistress, to his hideaway in the Caribbean island of St. Crispin’s. And it is in this tropical setting that P.J. is forced to kill a suspect. This seems to be the end of the case. But it is really only the end of the second act. The third act is filled with intrigue, deception, blackmail and three brutal deaths.

John Guillermin is an underappreciated director who created admirable films in many genres, including mystery, adventure, war and western as well as the disaster and monster genres. His success could perhaps be due not only to his skill but to a style that is unobtrusive. He directs P.J. in a straightforward fashion, not allowing any directorial flourishes to interrupt the flow of the story. With cinematographer Loyal Griggs, he cleverly contrasts the seedy sections of New York City with the natural beauty of St. Crispin’s. However, this beauty is soon tainted by the presence of Orbison, whose wealth the island’s economy requires to flourish. Guillermin allows each of the characters within Orbison’s contingent enough screen time to make an impact. Basically, they all appear to be self-centered, greedy and nasty. Orbison is especially sadistic, in addition to being notoriously miserly. Maureen doesn’t apologize for providing sexual favors in exchange for future wealth. Betty is willing to be repeatedly humiliated to obtain her customary allowance. Grenoble continually demeans himself to keep his well-paid position. And then there is butler Shelton Quell, who is not as harmless as his effeminate mannerisms suggest. This is a sordid group of characters that P.J. is involved with but his dire financial state has apparently extinguished his conscience, particularly since he soon becomes intimately involved with the body that he is guarding. P.J.’s essential irony arises from the fact that he is equally greedy, at least initially. He also seems to be morally bankrupt. When he encounters Orbison leaving Maureen’s cottage, it doesn’t faze him that they have just engaged in a quickie. P.J. knows that he has sold his gun to Orbison just as Maureen has sold her body.

In the early 1960s, George Peppard became a major star in expensive films such as The Carpetbaggers and How the West Was Won. In mid-decade, he starred in another big-budget film, The Blue Max, the first of three movies he would make with John Guillermin. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, he starred in several smaller-budgeted movies. While some of them, especially Pendulum and The Groundstar Conspiracy are exceptional, others are unremarkable. The commercial failure of these movies diminished his star status and he was relegated to series television. This was regrettable because he had genuine star quality as well as considerable talent.

As P.J. Detweiler, Peppard creates a unique private eye that puts him apart from his cinematic brethren. P.J. initially appears disillusioned with his life and work. Like many film noir protagonists, he is one of society’s alienated outcasts. He is not just down and out but seems resigned to his dismal situation. When he is offered the lucrative position of bodyguard, he is so destitute that he agrees to a humiliating audition of fisticuffs. As he begins his job, he appears impassive to the decadence of Orbison’s environment. However, after he has been duped and discarded, he asserts himself and becomes a traditional detective who is determined to pursue clues and solve the mystery. But unlike traditional detectives, he doesn’t derive any pleasure from the solution to the crime. The fact that he has been maneuvered into facilitating a murder has emotionally drained him. At the end of the film, he forces a cheerless smile at Charlie but he is unable to sustain it, replacing it quickly with a look of despair. All of these emotions are reflected in Peppard’s superb portrayal.