Gumshoe (Stephen Frears, 1971)

Is it any wonder that a man (so marvelously portrayed by Albert Finney), living in a drab flat emboldened by the green and white spines of Penguin crime, would leave one life, where the smell of the greasepaint barely covers over the stench of the docks, where the chortling of the crowd fitfully fight the dying skiffle bleating from the stage of the workingman’s club, where psychologists seem to miss (or misdiagnose) schizophrenia, where girls marry into ill-gotten gains, and dabble in another, where dames are quick-witted objects of awe, where dirty favors are exchanged like brown paper parcels and folded into stained raincoats, and where the brotherhood of broke shamuses drink cups of tea?

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