Deadlier Than the Male (1967) – Review

During the height of the 1960s spy craze, fueled by the success of James Bond, many films tried to capture the same blend of action, intrigue, and suave sophistication. Deadlier Than the Male was one of the better efforts, delivering a slick, entertaining thriller filled with beautiful assassins, exotic locations, and a hero who embodies old-school British charm.

Meet Hugh “Bulldog” Drummond (Richard Johnson), a suave insurance investigator with the charm of a secret agent and the unfortunate habit of stumbling into murder plots, but he is as sharp with a gun as he is with a quip. Unlike the bumbling amateur detectives of old, this version of Drummond is every bit as smooth as 007—minus the gadgets but just as handy with his fists. His latest case? A string of suspicious deaths involving powerful businessmen and executives, all of whom have had the unfortunate habit of dropping dead under “accidental” circumstances. 

“What is your opinion on suicide?”

The catch? The accidents aren’t so accidental. These men have been eliminated by a pair of stunningly beautiful and ruthlessly efficient assassins: Irma Eckman (Elke Sommer) and her light-fingered partner Penelope (Sylva Koscina). These ladies don’t just kill—they make it an art form. Whether it’s a harpoon through the chest or an exploding cigar, they dispatch their targets with a stylish flair that’s equal parts lethal and fashionable. Drummond, suspicious of the convenient deaths, begins investigating and finds himself entangled in a web of danger that leads to the sinister mastermind behind it all: Carl Petersen (Nigel Green), a megalomaniacal villain with a plan to take control of major industries using a combination of corporate sabotage and good old-fashioned murder via his collection of international killer beauties. Petersen, naturally, has a lair fit for a supervillain and the resources to make Drummond’s life very complicated.

“I wanted a volcano lair, but this is all that was available.”

Enter Robert Drummond (Steve Carlson), Hugh’s young and naïve nephew, who tags along for the ride. He’s book-smart but inexperienced, which makes him both an asset and a liability in the grand scheme of things. When the assassins set their sights on him, Drummond has no choice but to act fast before his nephew ends up as their next victim. As Drummond follows the trail of bodies and bullets, he squares off against Irma and Penelope in a series of confrontations that involve high-stakes gambling, deception, and plenty of flirtation. The ladies may be gorgeous, but they’re also deadly, and Drummond will have to outwit them before he ends up another notch on their belt.

Being the hero’s nephew has its ups and downs.

Stray Observations:

• Disguised as an air stewardess, Miss Eckman kills an oil tycoon with a booby-trapped cigar aboard his private jet, and then sets a bomb to blow up the plane before parachuting to safety. But if you are going to plant a bomb on a plane, what is the point of killing the dude with an exploding cigar first?
• A man is found on the beach with a fishing spear in his chest, and it is quickly ruled as an “accidental death” by the authorities. I have to wonder if this world has heard of forensics or even common sense.
• Nigel Green and Elke Somers would later appear in the Wrecking Crew, which was another spy comedy attempting to capture Bond fans.
• Malcolm Lockyer’s score works a little too hard to sound like a James Bond film. It’s not bad, just a little too derivative.
• Peterson’s lair is outfitted with a giant computer-controlled chess set that can be rather lethal if used properly, and if that doesn’t sell you on this movie, I don’t know what will.

You have to respect a villain with good gamesmanship.

Directed by Ralph Thomas, Deadlier Than the Male captures the essence of the spy genre while embracing the era’s campy charm. And sure, this movie is technically a reboot of the old-school Bulldog Drummond detective stories, but let’s be real—it’s riding that Bond wave harder than a villain escaping in a speedboat. There are exotic locations, over-the-top villains, an absurdly convoluted assassination plot, and, of course, two stunning assassins who prove the title true. These ladies don’t just kill—they do it with style, whether it’s a spear gun, explosives, or simply wrapping men around their perfectly manicured fingers.

There are worse ways to die than at their hands.

It should be noted that the character of Hugh “Bulldog” Drummond was created by H. C. McNeile back in the 1920s. He was a First World War veteran who had become fed up with his sedate lifestyle and was looking for excitement, so he decided to become a gentleman adventurer. Who knew that was a career opportunity? Drummond’s wartime experience had given him a series of abilities akin to those of a hunter, allowing him the ability to move over ground without a single blade of grass rustling and to kill a man with his bare hands in a second. This film version updates Drummond to be a Korean War veteran, and instead of being a “gentleman adventurer,” he’s an insurance investigator. That’s a bit of a downgrade if you ask me.

“What is your liability clause, Mister Drummond?”

Richard Johnson does his best as the leading man, bringing a certain cool, collected demeanour to the role of Drummond. He’s certainly no Sean Connery, but his performance is more than competent, and he manages to anchor the film with a subtle charm. The real stars, however, are Elke Sommer and Sylva Koscina, who embody their roles as sophisticated and deadly femme fatales. Their performances, filled with both elegance and menace, provide much of the film’s appeal. It’s their ability to manipulate, seduce, and kill without remorse that makes them a pair of the most memorable villains of the genre and Nigel Green, as the main antagonist Carl Petersen, chews the scenery with glee, delivering a performance that leans into the film’s pulpy tone. 

Carl Peterson also has a man for the rare odd job.

This is a film that delights in its visual flair. The cinematography is full of vibrant colours, and the locations—spanning from luxury hotels to exotic foreign settings—play up the extravagant nature of the 60s spy genre. The costumes, of course, are a standout, featuring mod fashion that feels both timeless and indicative of the period’s style. And while Deadlier Than the Male may not have the high-tech gadgets of its Bond counterparts, it doesn’t skimp on the action. There’s also a good dose of chase sequences, fights, and those classic Bond-style confrontations that don’t get old.

To be fair, the chase sequences are a little tepid.

In conclusion, Deadlier Than the Male is one of those delightful hidden gems from the spy boom of the ’60s—slick, stylish, and just cheesy enough to be irresistible. It’s got all the hallmarks of the genre: exotic locations, sharply tailored suits, dangerous women, and a plot dripping with intrigue. The assassins steal the show with their effortless blend of charm and menace, making them some of the best femme fatales of the era. And while Richard Johnson isn’t a true rival to Bond – he hasn’t the charisma of either Connery or Moore – the film itself has enough wit, danger, and glamour to stand on its own.