So Sinatra makes this fair-do thriller wherein he plays a would-be Presidential assassin who holes up in sheriff Sterling Hayden’s house to get a pop at El Prez. Sometime in the late ’60s, Francis hears a rumour that a pre-book-depositing Lee Harvey was rather fond of the film. In a fit of Kubrick-style egocentric panic, he has the film banned. Assuming that’s the end of the matter, no-one bothers renewing copyright on the thing. When VHS comes on the market, the lack of a renegotiated rights deal allows anyone with access to a print and a garage full of high-speed dubbing equipment to flood the market with shitty copies. A colourised version even turns up, looking so sludgy as to render Ol’ Blue Eyes’ peepers in richest turdy brown.