The music, the cars, and the size of Pamela Tiffin's bikini (not to mention her hair) are the big giveaways that this is a Sixties flick - but one without the usual camera trickery of the era. Instead, director Jack Smight goes for a straighforward private eye approach, although the colour and California sunshine rule out the look of a latter day film noir. Paul Newman is the title character, a seedy and cynical private eye investigating the disappearance of a singularly unloved millionaire. That Harper is seedy is amply illustrated under the opening credits. His cynicism is repeatedly demonstrated in William Goldman's terse and cutting dialogue, which Newman clearly enjoys delivering. The plot frequently takes a back seat to the parade of offbeat characters portrayed by a cast of equally offbeat co-stars. Their performances range from very good (Lauren Bacall, Arthur Hill) down to barely adequate (Robert Wagner, the aforementioned Ms Tiffin) with one (Janet Leigh) seeming to have wandered in from another film altogether. But the film belongs to Newman, clearly in his prime and in the midst of a remarkable run of films with titles beginning with "H" (Hud, The Hustler, Hombre). If some elements of the film have dated, Newman's performance has not. A terrific film for anyone who enjoys Newman, private eyes, or just good solid movie-making.