Seedy Soho Shenanigans. The Flesh is Weak is directed by Don Chaffey and written by Leigh Vance and Deborah Bedford. It stars John Derek, Milly Vitale, William Franklyn, Martin Benson, Freda Jackson and Norman Wooland. Music is by Tristram Cary and cinematography by Stephen Dade (not Gerry Massy- Collier as listed in some sources). It's a British crime drama with film noir shadings. Plot finds Vitale as the innocent girl who upon visiting London falls in love with the shifty Tony Giani (Derek). Before you can say "vice girls" she finds herself facing up to the harsh realities of the Giani family operations. It's a nasty subject that is still relevant today, but the makers handle the subject well. Obviously clipped somewhat by how far they could push the material at the time, it's still surprisingly frank with the vice girls subject to hand. Strong plot is acted accordingly, with the main characterisations carrying a believable factor that hits home the required impact. The girls are treated with sympathetic hands, steering the story away from exploitation histrionics, and while it's a bit too stage bound to really give it some earthy strength, it's a well constructed production that's further boosted by Dade's moody photography. Interesting low rumbling horror movie type score by Cary as well. 7/10

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John Derek is the seedy "Tony Giani" who promises attractive girls newly arrived in London a good job with prospects. Of course, there is no such thing as a free lunch and pretty soon they discover these promises are pretty hollow - and come at quite a cost. "Marissa" (Milly Vitale) is one such vulnerable, who quickly befriends the beguiling "Giani". He is clever. He allows her to fall for him, then when he claims to need cash to save him from prison, she starts to meet his "friends". Although she is naive and innocent, neither character here is very likeable - indeed as the thing trudges on (the pace is really stodgy), I began to feel that they deserved each other and their respective fates. It's dialogue heavy, and most of the narrative has to be implied rather than defined - and that becomes a bit wearisome after a while. I can readily imagine a fellow at Soho Square with a razor blade, on tenterhooks for much of the 90 minutes this takes to avoid saying what we all know it's saying. It's odd to see Derek cast like this, it is certainly not his normal persona, but sadly that's the only thing I'd say is notable about this depressingly plodding film.

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