The Crimes of Stephen Hawke kicks off with a tune from Flotsam and Jetsam - sadly, not the '80s thrash band (that would be cool!), but rather a musical comedy duo, Mr. Flotsam sat at the piano singing like George Formby, with Mr. Jetsam, a heftier dude with a deeper voice, standing. They're performing as part of the radio show that is the pre-amble to the film's main story. After Flotsam and Jetsam, we get a comedic butcher called Henry Hopkins, who sells cat meat, followed by an interview with actor Tod Slaughter, who talks about the many murders he has committed on screen, playing characters such as the infamous barber Sweeney Todd, and this film's maniac, crazed 'spine-breaker' Stephen Hawke.
Mr. Hawke is a seemingly affable moneylender who secretly makes extra cash on the side by snapping the backs of the wealthy with his bare hands and stealing their valuables. He is aided in his nefarious work by one of the best sidekicks I have seen in an old black and white horror: the guy not only has a hunchback (standard issue for drooling horror henchmen of the day), but he also has only one leg and one eye. Unlucky for him, but great for fans of cheesy B-movies.
When Hawke's friend Joshua Trimble discovers the terrible truth about the evil moneylender, he also has his spine snapped, leaving Trimble's son Matthew (Eric Portman), who is in love with Hawke's adopted daughter Julia (Marjorie Taylor), to take revenge.
After pursuing Hawke across the country with no success, Matthew gives up and returns to London in time to save Julia from scoundrel Miles Archer, who has blackmailed the poor girl into marrying him. Meanwhile, Hawke returns to London, ready for the film's finalé, which, in time-honoured fashion, sees the villain take to the rooftops and fall to his death - right in front of poor Julia's eyes.
Tod Slaughter, Britain's answer to the likes of Boris Karloff and George Zucco, puts in another wonderful theatrical performance - all wild eyes, evil leers, and exaggerated movements - that is perfect for the occasion. He doesn't have a moustache to twirl or a cape to swish, but if he did, he would. It almost feels mandatory to boo and hiss at the screen whenever he makes an entrance. While not the greatest story ever told, The Crimes of Stephen Hawke is still a lot of fun thanks to its star's special brand of ham/cheeze, the likes of which I doubt we will ever see again, and the rather strange wraparound radio broadcast that is just too bizarre not to be entertaining.