My grandparents owned a dry cleaning plant and always had vans that they used for, I'm not sure what (delivering the clean clothes? Did dry cleaners used to do that? Do they still? Maybe I would know this if my work clothes were not jeans and t-shirts on a good day). Point is, they had vans. So, when I saw this antique van, it brought back some memories, which I guess is the whole point of antiques.
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Another of those melodramas ripped from the headlines (with a soft, soughing sound resembling a harried script-writer's exhalation) is the Strand's "Espionage Agent," in which the Warners, Hollywood's most confirmed viewers-with-alarm, are delivering an illustrated lecture on the spy menace in the United Stares. Part documentary, part sermon, and most part Joel McCrea and Brenda Marshall running a two-handed exposé which awakens the government to its need for counter-espionage measures, the film is neither flesh, fowl nor good red melodrama. Its preachment is sound enough and appears fully justified by recent disclosures of the F. B. I., but the McCrea-Marshall high-jinks with the enemy spy ring are so ridiculous that the argument itself loses dignity.
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