Private dick in Los Angeles is hired by the invalid wife of a philandering millionaire to find her absentee spouse, but soon the police become involved once the wealthy man's disappearance turns into a kidnapping case. Ross Macdonald's detective novel "The Moving Target", given a modern-day updating by screenwriter William Goldman, would seem to be prime material for a glossy murder-mystery throwback--and yet Goldman is far too crass in developing this group of decadent suspects, none of whom elicit much genuine interest. Paul Newman's detective is another matter; a smooth, slick player (and gum-chewer!) who uses funny voices on people to pump them for information, Harper (named Archer in the novel) is supposed to be the 1966 equivalent of Bogart's Marlowe from "The Big Sleep", and yet it's clear Newman isn't invested in the creation. This shapeless character is even less intriguing than the "rich bitches", gurus, drunks and junkies he's investigating, although Newman's joshing friendship with attorney Arthur Hill is well-sustained to the end. Johnny Mandel's music is lively, and the lush cinematography by Conrad Hall gives the movie a candy-coated sheen, but the case at hand is rather perfunctory. Followed in 1975 by "The Drowning Pool". **1/2 from ****
Review of Harper
