Film Noir of the Week

Don’t Bother to Knock (1952)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 19 May 2013 13:44:45 PDT

The film features no guns, and any acts of violence are few and far between. Even Elisha Cook Jr. manages to make it through the entire film without getting offed—a truly rare occurrence. Yet Don’t Bother to Knock (1952), a B film from 20th Century Fox that features Marilyn Monroe in her first starring role, is one of the most unsettling and terrifying noirs ever made. When it was first released, the film most likely made many parents think twice about who they hired to babysit their children.

From 1950 to the beginning of 1952, Monroe’s star power had risen steadily, but she couldn’t break through into leading lady status. She had a small role in John Huston’s The Asphalt Jungle (1950), which led into a series of supporting parts playing second fiddle to stars like Bette Davis in All About Eve (1950), Claudette Colbert in Let’s Make it Legal (1951) and Ginger Rogers in We’re Not Married! (1952). She also scored a key role in Fritz Lang’s noir melodrama Clash by Night (1952), but again, she was slotted into a secondary role, with the lead going to the Queen of Noir, Barbara Stanwyck. That turned out not to matter, because Monroe stole the show, setting her up for the lead role in Don’t Bother to Knock—not only her first starring role, but a chance for her to carry a film with more than just her looks. And she certainly made the most of the opportunity, turning in a tremendous, tour de force performance as a mentally unhinged babysitter.

The film begins by setting up two narratives that don’t take long to get tangled up. Lyn Lesley (Anne Bancroft, in her first film role), the hotel’s lounge singer, has just finished grumbling to the bartender about her lousy love life when who should walk in but her on-again, off-again beau, Jed Towers (Richard Widmark). He wants to rekindle the romance. She does not. When he presses her for a reason, she tells him that he’s a jerk who only thinks about himself—a claim that rings true, as Towers oozes arrogance and selfishness from the moment he first appears. Defeated in his quest, Towers decides to take a room in the hotel for the night before he splits.

Meanwhile, Eddie Forbes (Cook Jr.), the hotel’s longtime hotel operator, has lined up a babysitting gig for his sister, Nell (Monroe). All she has to do is watch a young girl named Bunny (Donna Corcoran) for a few hours while her parents, who are staying at the hotel, head out to a banquet at which Bunny’s father is receiving an award. It’s a simple job—read the kid a story, put her to bed, stay awake until the parents get home—and Eddie assures them both that Nell will have no problem handling it.

Except that, from the moment Monroe first appears on the screen, it’s obvious that something is deeply wrong with Nell. It’s tough—actually, its practically impossible—to pin down exactly what makes her character so unsettling, which makes the first part of the film even more unnerving. There’s just something off about her. We know with absolute certainty that Nell should not be put in charge of a child, even if we don’t know why.

Shortly after Nell reads Bunny a bedtime story and forces her to go to bed, Jed—whose room just happens to be across the courtyard—sees her through his window. It isn’t long before he has figured out her room number, called her up, and invited himself over for a drink. While Nell initially resists, she eventually calls him back and tells him to come over.

That’s when things get complicated. And potentially fatal.

No spoilers here, except to say that the reason for Nell’s strange behavior is eventually revealed, putting a unique and perhaps one-of-a-kind, female-oriented spin on a storyline that is often addressed in film noir—several times in the amnesia subgenre—but almost always from a predominantly male perspective. Given the fact that the plausibility of the entire film’s plot hinges on the believability of Nell’s character, it was necessary for Monroe to turn in an A-level performance. Thankfully, she absolutely nails the role. In all of her scenes, she infuses the proceedings with a sense of dread and impending doom due to her bizarre and unpredictable actions. The film features two of the most frightening scenes in any noir ever made. To describe them would be to rob them of their potency. But don’t worry—you’ll know them when you see them.

Like most B noirs, Don’t Bother to Knock was made with a small budget, and it shows. The entire film takes place within the confines of the hotel, but thankfully, the trimmed-down production costs don’t rob the film of its power. In fact, they elevate it, as the hotel’s tight quarters only heighten the tension due to their claustrophobic feel. The film features a number of firsts—Monroe’s first job as a lead character, Ann Bancroft’s first film role, and Roy Ward Baker’s first Hollywood directing gig. Baker spent several years working in England before 20th Century Fox brought him across the pond. As it turned out, the only Hollywood films Baker ever directed—Don’t Bother to Knock, Night without Sleep (1952) and the 3-D extravaganza Inferno (1953)—were all noir. In this film, Baker puts his skills on display by keeping the plot moving. With the exception of some of the opening scenes between Bancroft and Widmark, the film is tightly plotted and executed, clocking in a brief 76 minutes and using almost all of that time to maximum effect.

Don’t Bother to Knock not only cemented Marilyn Monroe as an actress worthy of serious attention, it also proved that, to make an effective, disturbing noir, you don’t need double-crossing tough guys killing each other in dark alleys. Yes, the darkness of noir certainly thrives in the male-dominated realm of the criminal underworld. But this film proves that that same darkness can just as easily show up at your doorstep in the form of a young, attractive babysitter.

Written by Nighthawk

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The Enforcer (1951)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Mon, 13 May 2013 06:36:15 PDT

Editor's note: This week's NOTW is from Glenn Erickson. Glenn -- in addition to being the DVDSavant -- contributed to the great Film Noir Encyclopedia and two of the Film Noir Reader books.

Who would have thought that at this late date, a top-flight gangster movie starring Humphrey Bogart would emerge, after years of unavailability? Are there any more out there like this gem? 1951's The Enforcer was Bogie's last picture for Warners, and it's a real oddity. The star plays a tough D.A. trying to get the goods on a dangerous killer. He launches and wraps up the picture's action scenes, but the bulk of the gangster drama is carried by a choice selection of class-A villains -- a rogue's gallery that puts the words "hard hitting" back into the crime movie lexicon. There's no room for romance, as the only leading lady types have very small roles and aren't even given on-screen billing.

For the first couple of minutes we're sort of confused. The fast-moving traffic seen behind the titles has to be from around 1930 or so. Having been tipped off that the show's subject is the actual organized crime outfit Murder, Incorporated, we expect a period picture. Bogie and his lawmen are soon driving in up-to-date sedans, so we realize that the setting is contemporary. But then the cops are shocked to hear of an organization that murders for hire. They don't recognize the terms "contract" and "hit man" in that context. Much of the criminals' dialogue has the old-fashioned tough-guy bite we recognize from vintage Warners crime pix. Did writer Martin Rackin adapt The Enforcer from a 1930s screenplay, shelved after the Production Code nixed gangster pix as indecent social pornography?1

More intrigues. The movie is signed by Bretaigne Windust, but we're told that most of it was directed by the great Raoul Walsh. That's an easy claim to believe, as the no-nonsense, visually clean, excitingly staged picture does indeed look like the work of the man that directed White Heat.

The show starts in a state of high tension. D.A. Martin Ferguson (Humphrey Bogart) and Police Captain Frank Nelson (Roy Roberts) are trying to protect hood Joseph Rico (Ted de Corsia) so he can testify against the head of Murder, Inc., Albert Mendoza (Everett Sloane). But Rico is terrified that Mendoza's hit men will get to him before the trial in the morning, and panics. Deprived of his only witness, Martin retraces the case against Mendoza and reviews a chain of confessions from frightened men, assembling a picture of a cold-blooded murder for hire racket. Big Babe Lazick (Zero Mostel) is a hood forced to drive a murder car; Martin gets his testimony by threatening to take away Lazick's child. Duke Malloy (Michael "Lawrence" Tolan) is a hotshot triggerman that goes soft when he falls in love with his intended target, Angela Vetto (Susan Cabot). Although the organization eliminates witnesses, Martin is convinced he can find at least somebody alive and willing to talk. But he only has the night and the morning to put a new case together.

The Enforcer is truly upfront with its violence. A killer is reprimanded for carrying a gun; he's expected to carry out his contract with an ice pick. A nervous hit man becomes a liability, and is eliminated as a safe policy gesture. Revealed in a flashback, the diabolical Albert Mendoza formulates his notion of how Murder Inc., will work -- without a motive, the cops can't connect the killings back to the person who paid for the contract. And the people that hire Mendoza will forever be at his mercy, for future blackmail purposes. Mendoza is the "unseen man who gives the orders". Dialogue bites give him the status of a quasi-superhuman Doctor Mabuse figure.

The flashback structure works quite well, somehow not interrupting the thriller's forward momentum. Second-billed Zero Mostel is sensational as a neurotic, terrorized slob, abused by both the cops and his gangster superiors. Mostel's big-screen career as a noir personality came to an end after only a couple of pictures, as he was blacklisted even as The Enforcer was going into release. He returned to the stage, then to television, but didn't make another film for fifteen years: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Forced to identify the corpse of a young woman in a car pulled from a swamp, Mostel's anguish is completely believable.

Just as good is Ted de Corsia, the muscular villain of Jules Dassin's classic The Naked City. De Corsia's thug Rico is first seen as a whimpering, terrified weasel, convinced that Albert Mendoza isn't human, and can reach out and kill him at will. But in the flashbacks he's Mendoza's hard-bitten second in command, keeping a roomful of goons in line. We see Rico force a barber to help him cut a man's throat with a straight razor. Rico browbeats both Big Babe Lazick and Duke Malloy. The most experienced S.O.B of them all, Rico knows just when to betray his comrades to Mendoza's out-of-town killers. Other notable faces include King Donovan as a maladroit cop and Bob Steele, Don Beddoe, John Kellogg and Jack Lambert as hit men. Young Susan Cabot and Patricia Joiner are witnesses slated for execution in the big finale. The sheer accumulation of violent scenes builds up a strong sense of suspense and jeopardy.

The Enforcer doesn't have everything, but if you want to skip the kissing stuff and cut right to violent gangster thrills, it's perfect. Bogart gives an excellent straight performance, as nothing about the show says 'star vehicle.' And like I said at the top of the review, an opportunity to see a "new" Bogart picture, especially a good one, is a real treat

Written by Glenn Erickson

1. A helpful note from Gerry Reiss, 5.07.13:

{clip}I think you are wrong in speculating that The Enforcer has its genesis in a shelved 1930s screenplay. The script closely follows the events described in the 1951 true crime book "Murder Inc.," written by former Brooklyn assistant district attorney Burton Turkus and co-writer Burt Feder. Whether scriptwriter Martin Rackin had access to the book manuscript before publication or used the news stories about the Brooklyn gang, I don't know. I do know that the movie avoids all mention of the Mafia, even though Louis Lepke, "Murder Inc.'s" real life gang leader, worked for and with Albert Anastastia, Lord High Executioner for the Mafia. The details in the movie about "Murder Inc." were not public knowledge until the early 1940s, when Abe Reles revealed all he knew about the gang to the Brooklyn DA's office as part of a plea deal.{clip}

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DVD Savant Text © Copyright 2013 Glenn Erickson

The Italian poster and new DVD Cover:

The Man Is Armed (1956)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Tue, 07 May 2013 16:11:40 PDT

This is another programmer from that seemingly endless supply produced by Republic Pictures.

Truck driver Dane Clark has just gotten out of prison after serving a one year bit. He is hitching his back way back to LA. Fred Wayne, who works for the same trucking outfit Clark had, picks him up.

When they hit LA, Wayne says he needs to make a stop before hitting the warehouse. Clark says no problem and has Wayne drop him just outside of downtown. They arrange to meet in one hour.

Clark hotfoots it over to a nearby apartment building. He enters and heads upstairs. There he finds Richard Benedict. Clark figures that Benedict had set him up for the Police. The boys in blue had collared Clark with stolen goods in his truck. Clark had been filling in for Benedict on the delivery. Clark has been waiting a year to settle the score.

A quick round of fisticuffs ends with Benedict going for a 6 floor fall off the roof. Clark calmly leaves the apartment and meets his ride Wayne. The two then drive to the trucking depot.

Running the office phones at the depot is the built like a brick ****house, May Wynn. Wynn and Clark had been stepping out before Clark’s trip to the jailhouse. While swapping spit with Wynn, they are interrupted by depot boss, William Talman. He would like a word with Clark in his office.

Talman gives Clark back his job and offers him a chance at a cool 100 grand. Talman wants to make up for being the one who really set the cops on Clark. He had wanted to test Clark’s “character”. A less than amused Clark wants to give Talman a bit of what he gave Benedict in error. But 100 grand is 100 grand. Talman hands Clark a couple of c notes and arranges a meeting for the next day. All will be explained then.

The pair are now interrupted by police detective Barton MacLane. He is here to ask some questions about one of depot’s drivers. The driver is of course, the late Richard Benedict. They need to know if anyone had it in for Benedict. MacLane, just happens to be the cop who had pinched Clark on the stolen goods beef. He asks Clark where he was at the time. “Just getting to town with one of the depot’s drivers” he answers.

Clark wines and dines Wynn that night and tells her he wants to marry her. Wynn is a tad reluctant to answer. She has been enjoying the company of up-and-coming doctor (Robert Horton). She tells Clark she needs some time.

Next day Clark meets up with Talman. Talman has the perfect caper lined up. He has all the inside dope on an armored car warehouse. He knows all about the guards, cash amounts, times etc.

He wants Clark to run the operation with three other men he has hired. Again, 100 large for his end talks big, and Clark agrees. Clark and the men, Richard Reeves, Bob Jordan and Henry Lewis have one week to get ready. They spend the time going over blueprints and getting the plan down pat.

The night of the robbery everything seems to go smooth and by the numbers. They silence the guard and break open the payroll safe. They scoop up the half million and dash for the getaway car. Now a second guard shows. Shots are exchanged with the guard getting plugged for his troubles. The boys then speed off to a second car. Clark takes the cash and heads off in the second car while Reeves, Jordan and Lewis go the other direction.

The Police however are quickly off the mark tonight and have already put roadblocks up. Clark decides to ditch the cash rather than risk a search at a roadblock. He then contacts Talman by phone with the info. Clark says he will retrieve the cash later.

While all this is going on, Maclane has been giving truck driver Fred Wayne a spot of 3rd degree. Wayne breaks and admits he had dropped Clark off near where Benedict had been killed. MacLane puts out an all points for Clark on suspicion of murder.

The next day Clark and Talman meet to retrieve the cash. When Clark hands over the loot, slime-ball Talman, pulls a rod and shots Clark in the chest. He then laughs and drives off to stash the cash at the family farm.

Clark however is not quite as dead as Talman thought. He manages to get to Wynn’s apartment. Wynn is busy with her Doctor, Robert Horton. Clark applies some gun butt to Horton’s head and drags Wynn off. He knows where Talman intends to hide the money. He wants Wynn to drive him to the farm. They are soon on the road with Wynn behind the wheel.

Horton regains his senses and calls the Police. MacLane and the boys in blue quickly show. After a talk with Horton, Maclane radios the make, model and license number of Wynn’s car to all units. They are not to stop the car but follow it. Wynn’s car is soon spotted by a motorcycle cop who calls it in and follows at a distance.

Wynn and Clark have now reached the Talman farm. Clark catches Talman in the act of digging a hole in which to bury the cash. Clark fills the hole with Talman after he puts several slugs into him. He grabs the bag of cash and starts to the car.

MacLane, along with and a dozen or so heavily armed bulls have also made it to the farm. They have Clark surrounded. Clark drags the loot and Wynn into the barn. A thoroughly frightened Wynn tries to talk Clark into surrendering.

Clark throws his piece aside and staggers outside the barn where he drops dead. The blood loss from the wound Talman gave him had caught up with him. Another perfect plan goes amiss.

Not a world-beater by any means, but at only 70 minutes it passes the time quite well.

Noir regular Clark was in The Glass Key, Her Kind of Man, Moonrise, Whiplash, Backfire, Highly Dangerous, Gunman in the Streets, Never Trust a Gambler, Murder By Proxy and Port of Hell.

Also in the cast are Larry Blake, Darlene Fields and Robert’s brother, John Mitchum.

The director here was Franklin Adreon. Adreon started out as a director of serials such as Panther Girl of the Congo, Canadian Mounties vs The Atomic Invaders, and Trader Tom of the China Seas. His noir output includes No Man's Woman and Terror at Midnight.

The screenplay was by Richard Landau and Robert Dennis. Dennis wrote hundreds of tv episodes while Landau did The Crooked Way, FBI Girl, Murder By Proxy and Roadblock.

The D of P was Bud Thackery. His best noir was Unmasked.

There are several snappy lines peppered throughout the film. A good one is Fred Wayne’s response to being questioned by the Police. “ The way you guys want answers you would think I was up for the $64,000 Question.”

Written by Gordonl56

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The Blue Gardenia (1953)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 11:23:40 PDT

After getting a Dear John letter from her boyfriend overseas, a young girl goes out on a blind date with a heel. She blacks out after drinking half-a-dozen mixed drinks but remembers fighting off the man with a poker. She goes into a panic when a police manhunt begins for her. A Los Angeles reporter tracks the mystery woman down before the police can get to her. But is she innocent?

The Blue Gardenia deserves a second look. When I first got into film noir I devoured as many of these dark films as I could -- based on what was available on DVD and on television.

Directed by Fritz Lang, I thought this 50s thriller was a no-brainer -- especially after seeing Scarlet Street and Woman in the Window on TCM. Unfortunately it was one of those "later" Hollywood Lang efforts. The Blue Gardenia had no budget, little style and even a flat 50s TV look. I shelved the DVD after one watch until this week.

Watching it again all of my initial criticisms are still valid. But...

Anne Baxter -- Oscar winner! -- just isn't a convincing actor. Her panicky freakouts are hard to watch. Loretta Young was better at it. See The Stranger or The Accused and you'll see what I mean. I felt the same way about Baxter in I Confess. Fritz Lang and Hitchcock must have been forced to cast the hot property.

I know that Lang didn't have control of his casting at that point. Nor his budgets. After almost 20 years in the Hollywood system Lang couldn't get much -- but obviously he could sometimes turn mush into gold. 1953 also saw the release of Human Desire and in '54 The Big Heat would be released. This one isn't as good as them.

But here's the "But". The film is pretty decent if you watch it from the prospective of the newspaper men and cops chasing the killer. Richard Conte (The Big Combo and The Godfather) and his sidekick Richard Erdman (Cry Danger) are now faces I always like to see in film noir. They're professional newspaper men trying to "nail the killer". Conte, playing a celebrity columnist, chases scoops in a relaxed, cool way. Like the suspect will eventually come to him. And she does! George "Superman" Reeves is good as the frustrated police chief trying to keep Conte out of the story. Raymond Burr is the dead body. Before his head meets a fireplace poker early on he's a playboy sketch artist -- getting enough phone number "to fill a phone book". When he's not on the make he draws woman presumably for Los Angeles publications. All his women are drawn young, eager and with lots of cleavage. Erdman is the sleepy photographer friend of Conte's. Erdman is still going strong, having a reoccurring funny part on NBC's Community.

After the killing in the film is when thing start to get good. Not unlike the recent Boston bombing, the press goes crazy over the story of a killer on the loose. And residents are all suspicious and wonder who the killer is. Like in Boston, the media is used to try and lure in a suspect. Conte writes an open letter to the suspect telling her not to go to the police but rather to him. That of course doesn't sit well with the coppers.

Anne Baxter's roommates -- comic Ann Sothern and Jeff Donnell (Donnell got her nickname Jeff as a child. Based on the Mutt & Jeff comic strip) soak in the story from press reports when not coming and going as switchboard operators at the phone company. The two women are funny and charming -- the female versions of Erdman. One playing slightly older and one slightly younger than Baxter. Sothern --former amateur detective Maisie Ravier in a series of films-- is first to suspect Baxter. Donnell's character is obsessed with pulp Mickey-Spillane-like paperbacks. The actress is good but goes into the noir all of fame for being in In A Lonely Place a few years before.

The story takes place in Los Angeles. It looks like there was no location shooting. But it still has some elements that make films like this worth preserving as a time capsule. It shows LA like it was despite not actually SHOWING it. When Sothern goes on a date it's “drive-in dinner, drive-in movie, and afterwards we go for a drive.” Classic LA. The newspapers are on paper. The diner has those remote juke box controllers at every table. Yards have garbage incinerators (that can only be used during the day!)

As I mentioned before the film is flat without much of a pace. The only truly noir shots are The Chronicle at night with the light flashing through the venetian blinds and THE CHRONICLE superimposed as a shadow on the floor and Burr's death:

But for every interesting shot there's some old chestnuts that may have been ancient even in 1953. Using a handkerchief over the phone to make your voice sound completely different and the spinning whirlpool when Baxter blacks out are bound to draw some guffaws.

Lang does, however, have some interesting things going on in the film -- the broken mirrors, the song (even sung by Nat King Cole in the film) is played again and again. The "Dear John" letter from Baxter's boyfriend in Korea parallels Conte's "Letter To An Unknown Killer." The mundane existence working and living in LA. But, as with Lang's other, better, genre-defining noirs (M, Scarlet Street) it's all about survival and what you'd do to survive.

The poster above is one I just dug up this week. It's so much better than the DVD cover (Baxter timidly peaking out of a closet). It's Baxter's arm shielding her face. Not from her attacker, but from the reporters trying to get a shot of her as she's surprisingly detained. This movie may have been the beginning of the end of noir during the classic era, but it shouldn't be dismissed. It's essential for noir fans, and a decent watch for others.

Written by Steve-O

Berlin Express (1948)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 15:25:16 PDT

Jacques Tourneur's crisp thriller Berlin Express presents occupied Germany in miniature. Every nation associated with Allied-occupied Germany is represented by the film's characters — the United States, France, Germany, England, and Russia.

It's filmed in the semi-documentary style that was popular in the late '40s. Europeans speak to each other in their own languages, with no subtitles (there is a voiceover narrator to explain to the viewer what's transpiring), and much of Berlin Express was filmed on location in Paris, Frankfurt, and Berlin. (According to IMDb.com, it was the first Hollywood production in Europe after World War II.)

Berlin Express has stylistic elements of the German "Trümmerfilm" ("rubble film"), like Die Mörder sind unter uns (The Murderers Are Among Us) (1946). The German rubble films used the war-ravaged backdrops that were plentiful in German cities heavily bombed during the war. Berlin Express doesn't have the same gravitas or overwhelming sense of tragedy as the rubble films, but the location footage gives it a sense of authenticity not found in most run-of-the-mill thrillers.

Compared with Jacques Tourneur's previous film, the film noir masterpiece Out of the Past (1947), Berlin Express is a lesser effort, but Tourneur is a pro, and every one of his films that I've seen has been a work of solid craftsmanship.

The MacGuffin in Berlin Express is a note that falls into the hands of the Deuxième Bureau that reads: "21:45 / D / 9850 / Sulzbach." The first part seems to refer to a time of day (9:45 PM), but there are Sulzbachs in every occupied zone of Germany. What's happening? And where will it happen?

Enter a multinational motley crew of characters traveling aboard the Berlin Express. In compartment A is Robert J. Lindley (Robert Ryan), a United States Government Agricultural Expert. In compartment B is Lucienne Mirbeau (Merle Oberon), a secretary from France. In compartment C is Herr Otto Franzen (Fritz Kortner), once a German industrialist, now a dealer in scrap iron. Compartment D is unoccupied, but is being held for a "person of importance." Compartment E is shared by two men, a former British soldier named James Sterling (Robert Coote), and a military aide for the Russian Occupation Authority, Lt. Maxim Kiroshilov (Roman Toporow). In compartment F is Henri Perrot (Charles Korvin), once a member of the French Underground, now a man of commerce. And finally, in compartment G, is Hans Schmidt (Peter von Zerneck), whose occupation is a mystery to the viewer (the whistle of the train covers what the narrator is saying, which is a cute touch).

Of course, this is an espionage thriller, so it should go without saying that not everyone is what they appear to be, and there will be at least one big reveal or switcheroo before the credits roll.

Berlin Express was made during that curious little space in time when World War II was over but the Cold War had not yet kicked into high gear. Its villains may not seem very plausible or consequential to modern viewers, but for my money, a good thriller is a good thriller. The voiceover narration is a little heavy-handed, but for the most part Berlin Express keeps things tight, fast-paced, and properly thrilling.

Written by Adam Lounsbery

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Boomerang! (1947)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 14 Apr 2013 07:00:56 PDT

Editor's note: This week's NOTW is from the excellent blog Twenty Four Frames: Notes on film from John Greco
Thanks to John for letting us re-print it here

A Priest is shot and killed one evening on the streets of Stamford, Connecticut. Based on a true story in Reader’s Digest, written by Richard Oursler, director Elia Kazan, in this 1947 film focuses on the investigation and accusation of an innocent man, a homeless ex-serviceman trying to get his life together, who is accused of this infamous murder. Filmed mainly in Stamford with mostly non-professional actors except for the leading roles, produced by Louis de Rochemont, and released by 20th Century Fox, the film has a semi-documentary style similar to the previously released “House on 92nd Street” and the then forthcoming “The Street with No Name”, both released by Fox.

The film’s opening statement informs the audience that this is a true story filmed in the actual locations. As with most films even when claiming the story you are about to see is true the facts are at least somewhat distorted. The actual crime took place Bridgeport, Connecticut not Stamford where most of the film was made. Additionally, the real life crime took place more than two decades earlier, in 1924, than it is recorded here. The move to Stamford was due to the reluctance of the town of Bridgeport to allow 20th Century Fox to film in their streets, subsequently Stamford was used as a substitute.

The murder of Father Lambert is quick and sudden right as the film begins. We are barely two minutes into the film proper when a gun is put to the back of the pastor’s head and the trigger is pulled. Even today, it is a shocking beginning. “Witnesses” seem to be everywhere though the camera only shows the murder suspect from the back wearing a dark overcoat and a light hat which in late 1940′s America was just about every man in the street.

Flashbacks, with the assistance of a narrator reveal how beloved the minister was by all. We see him interact with his flock in several situations including, as we will soon discover, one individual who will become the alleged suspect, John Waldron (Arthur Kennedy). We also see a conversation the pastor has with another individual who he demands seeks help for his mental condition. If he refuses, the pastor will make the call himself. The man is plainly upset at what the pastor is attempting to do and as we shall realize provides a hint, and a motive, at whom the real murderer could be.

As the days pass by without an arrest, the police are criticized by the local newspaper for not making any progress in the case stating city hall is running around like chickens without a head. Finally, eighteen days after the crime, the suspect John Waldron is apprehended in Ohio, where he went searching for a job, and is brought back to Connecticut. A harsh police interrogation coerces a confession out of Waldron. Early on, during the interrogation, Waldron had asked for a lawyer and Police Chief Harold Robinson (Lee J. Cobb) tells him there is plenty of time for a lawyer later on. So much for civil rights. The evidence against Waldon seems solid. He is picked out of a lineup by local citizens who witnessed the shooting. The gun that fired the bullet was found in his possession and of course, he confessed, signing with the assistance of the police department’s interrogation techniques.

State’s Attorney Henry Harvey (Dana Andrews) is presenting the case. The local warring politicians want Waldron convicted, whether he is guilty or not does not seem to be an issue. Harvey’s cronies are encouraging him to run for Governor, only he has to win this case. While the evidence at first seems solid against Waldron as Harvey begins to review and test the evidence he finds it is not as sound as originally presented. The “witnesses” are as not as perfect as first thought. When the case goes to court, Harvey goes against the political heavyweights demanding conviction, as his doubts about the guilt of the accused mounts.

In Boomerang! corrupt politicians are purely out for there own gains or protection. The townspeople want justice i.e. revenge for the death of their beloved minister even if the wrong man is convicted. The police department is squeezed in the middle being pressured by both the politicians and the public for “justice.” For Kazan, this was the first time he touched on the subject of corruption, a topic he would revisit in more detail in later films. Here, he seems to be somewhat restrained maybe still believing that most political officials were honest and decent folks with no personal agendas. Kazan was still in the early stages of his film career and “Boomerang!” was pretty much a job for hire. What Boomerang! did do for Kazan was introduce him to the benefits and realism of shooting on location, freeing him of the studio bound restrictions of his first two films. Location shooting would be something he would pursue in his best works, films like “On the Waterfront”, “Panic in the Streets” “Viva Zapata”, “Wild River” and others. Kazan does credit Boomerang!” for setting the tone of his development and style as a filmmaker. In Jeff Young’s interview book “The Master Director Discusses His Films”, Kazan states, In “Boomerang!” I think, is the basis for “Panic in the Streets” and in “Panic in the Streets” is the basis for “On the Waterfront.” If you see these three films together, you’ll see the development.”

The acting highlight is the young Arthur Kennedy as the ex-veteran John Waldron who previously worked with Kazan in the Broadway production of Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman” in the role of Biff Loman. Of course, part of that same cast in that brilliant work was Lee J. Cobb who played Willy Loman. Cobb would lose out to Fredric March in the 1951 film version of “Death of a Salesman”, but would get the chance some 15 years later to put his mark on film in a 1966 TV production for which he won an Emmy. Cobb owns the role of Willy Loman like Brando owns “A Streetcar Named Desire.”

Kazan was comfortable with Cobb and Kennedy, actors from the same theater background as himself, as opposed to Hollywood trained actors like Dana Andrews and Jane Wyatt. This is reflected on screen with Andrews particularly comes off as if his is “acting.” He seems a bit stiff and unnatural as opposed to Cobb and Kennedy’s organic performances. This clash in performing styles is made obvious in scenes where the opposing actors appear together. Sam Levene is the local newspaper reporter who writes hard-hitting articles attacking the police amateur style investigation of the crime. Also, look for another Kazan favorite, an early unbilled appearance by Karl Malden as one of the detectives. Finally, playwright Arthur Miller, has a small role as one of the suspects in the lineup.

As the film ends the narrator announces that the character of States Attorney Henry Harvey was based on that of Homer Cummings who would go on the become Attorney General of the United States under President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

“Boomerang!” is not first class Kazan, here he was still learning his craft. That said, the film is his first that deals with the social issues that would consume most of his future work, issues that would be explored in more detail in films like “Gentlemen’s Agreement”, “On the Waterfront”, “Wild River” and “A Face in the Crowd.” “Boomerang!” remains a solid if not spectacular piece of work.

Textless trailer for Boomerang!

Written by John at Twenty Four Frames

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Flight From Destiny (1941)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 07 Apr 2013 08:46:05 PDT

Thomas Mitchell is a well-respected College professor who has just gotten some bad news. His doctor, James Stephenson, has told Mitchell that he has at best, 5-6 months to live. Mitchell makes his way home to ponder his future.

The next day, Mitchell has a word with the College dean, Thurston Hall, about his fate. Mitchell would like to keep working till the end. Hall, however, can’t bear the thought of Mitchell maybe dropping dead in front of the students. He relieves Mitchell of his teaching duties and tells him to go home. “Write a book, take it easy, whatever, but I need to think of the good name of the College. I can’t have you die here. And lets not tell anyone about this.”

A somewhat disheartened Mitchell tries to relax. But after several days he soon gets tired of doing nothing. He hits the Teachers club for a brandy. He asks some of his fellow teaching types a “hypothetical” question. What would they do if they found out they had only 6 months to live?

He gets answers such as, travel the world, write a book, commit suicide, visit family, friends etc. One fellow says he would commit a murder. Mitchell asks why. Not just a murder, the man replies, but a murder to help society. Kill a criminal or a dictator. A person who the death of, would help society as a whole.

Mitchell thanks all and heads home to mull over the ideas. Later that week, Mitchell is visited by Geraldine Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald is the wife of a former student, Jeffery Lynn, Fitzgerald is worried about Lynn’s recent behavior and thinks he might be stepping out on her. Mitchell agrees to see Lynn and have a talk with him.

Mitchell later finds Lynn, but Lynn is in the company of the sultry Mona Maris. The two are exiting an upscale art gallery. Maybe Fitzgerald was right about Lynn stepping out. Then again, Lynn is a painter. Maybe it was a work related meeting. When Mitchell does catch up with Lynn, Lynn tells him to blow and mind his own business. Mitchell is somewhat taken aback by the response and decides to look deeper into the matter.

He goes to see Miss Maris. Maris it turns out is the owner of the art gallery. He asks Maris if she knows Lynn is married etc. Maris just smiles and tells Mitchell that she is planning on selling some of Lynn’s work. There is nothing else going on. Mitchell pays a return visit to Lynn for another talk. This time Lynn breaks down and tells Mitchell everything. Lynn, it turns out is selling some paintings to Maris. But they are counterfeits done in the style of the masterpieces. Maris is then unloading them as genuine to rich clients.

This is eating away at Lynn who wants to quit the racket.

“I told Maris I would go to the Police or kill her if she made me produce anymore fakes.” Lynn says that Maris had simply laughed and answered, “If I go to jail for selling them, then so do you for making them! Kill me and the outcome is the same. You are finished.”

Mitchell tells Lynn that he will see what he can do about the matter. He digs up all the info he can on Maris. He interviews everyone he can that knows, or knew Maris. And a first rate “rhymes with witch” Maris turns out to be. She had driven her husband to drink and then left him. She had stuck their daughter in an orphanage. Her mother works scrubbing floors while Maris lives the high life.

Mitchell decides that Maris would be the perfect candidate for a “socially helpful” murder. He pockets his revolver and heads out to pay Maris a visit at her apartment. He explains to Maris that she must die to make good all her sins. He then shoots her dead and leaves.

He returns home and turns in for the night. He will turn himself in to the Police along with his full written confession in the morning. This idea however does not go off to plan. The Police have already arrested Lynn. Lynn had been over-heard by Maris’s maid making the threat to kill her.

It takes several days before Mitchell can convince the Police that Lynn had nothing to do with the crime. Mitchell is finally arrested and charged with first-degree murder. During the trial, he explains his well thought out reasons for the murder and how it helped others. Needless to say he gets sentenced to death for the killing, which of course he expected. His life will be shorter by a few weeks.

While Mitchell is waiting in his cell for transfer to death row, the Police bring in a kicking and screaming young man. They toss the man in the next cell. Mitchell asks the jail guard what the fellow had done. The guard tells Mitchell, ”He is a fan of yours.”

A puzzled Mitchell asks the young man what he did. “I killed a man!” “Why?” Asks Mitchell. “Because I wanted to! Just like that professor guy in the papers!”

This is where the film should have ended. But, being 1941, they tack on an ending where Mitchell makes a statement that he was wrong in what he did. He did not think it would inspire “copycat” killings. There is never an excuse for murder.

The rest of the cast includes, William Hopper, Alex Lockwood, Jonathan Hale, John Eldridge and Mary Gordon. Look close and you will catch an early bit with Alexis Smith.

This was the fourth film by director, Vincent Sherman. Sherman helmed films such as Nora Prentiss, The Unfaithful, Backfire, The Damned Don't Cry, Affair in Trinidad and The Garment Jungle.

The d of p was, James Van Trees. He was a long time fixture at Warner Brothers who made his first film in 1916. He does furnish several nice noir touches throughout the film. He is best known for some fine work on some great pre-code films. These include Blood Money, Taxi, Heroes for Sale, and Baby Face.

This early example of film noir beat The Maltese Falcon out of the gate by 3 months.

An interesting bit of trivia is that Mitchell himself was involved in a real art fraud. In real life Mitchell was an avid art collector. He purchased works from the notorious Hollywood "painter to the stars" John Decker. Decker was known for making perfect knock-offs of paintings by the old masters. He would then sell these as originals. Mitchell was one of several victims of Decker..

Written by Gordonl56

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The Dark Mirror (1946)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Tue, 02 Apr 2013 17:14:47 PDT

This week's Noir of the Week looks in The Dark Mirror.

First, let me get this out of the way. The evil twin movie is an old hoary chestnut that is usually just an excuse for an actor to ham it up. Anyone growing up in the 70s and 80s were treated to evil twin twin TV episodes featuring the star playing a long lost brother with a beard or eye patch. The camera effect (a vertical line in the middle of the screen -- with the actor playing both parts never crossing it) is distracting. It's a magic trick that anyone can figure out. Thankfully, technology is better today and (even more reason to be thankful) evil twin movies and TV episodes are few and far between.

TV, of course, got their inspiration from the movies. This use of the double has been a classic film motif since the 1913 horror film Der Student Von Prag. And then done again... and again... and again.

There are only two doppelgänger films that work for me – and they're successful thanks to some deft direction and excellent performances. David Cronenberg's Dead Ringers with Jeremy Irons and Robert Siodmak's The Dark Mirror with Olivia de Havilland. Unlike, say Bette Davis in The Stolen Life, Irons and de Havilland make only subtle difference in the twins behaviors. But it enough for the audience to identify the difference. But of course, the fun is you sometimes shouldn't know--and can't tell --the difference between the two.

Siodmak's direction shows his experience in German Expressionistic film – making The Dark Mirror a satisfying noir to look at. It's all mirrors and dark corners in a contemporary city setting. And his interest is in the disturbed mind more than the murder mystery. You can tell that right from the beginning with the film's titles over Rorschach ink blots. The film itself is kind of a Rorschach test. Watch it once and it's a simplistic murder mystery with a romantic happy ending. Watch it again and you may see something else.

Leading the investigation is a bumbling detective (Thomas Mitchell – the simpleton who ruined Jimmy Stewart's life in It's a Wonderful Life), an unethical doctor (meeting with his patients outside of his office. Immediately becoming romantically involved with one. Sucking on candy like it's an addiction. And played by Lew Ayres – a guy the public didn't exactly have big love affair with. This was the former "Doctor Kildare"s first film back from being blacklisted for being a conscientious objector in World War II.) Honestly, these two men are not to be trusted! But it's 1946 and it's the fairer sex that's causing the trouble.

(I should mention that I don't know much about Ayres. I don't have an issue with his political views one way or another. And watching him drown under the ice in Omen II is a movie moment etched in my brain)

The only smart person (despite all the books lining the doctor's and cop's offices- two lonely men trying to solve a riddle maybe because they have nothing else to occupy their time?) in The Dark Mirror is the evil twin. You could write books on how aggressive,confident woman were the evil ones in so many film noir. The good and not so bright girl is the safe one. Even in these woman-in-distress/film-noir hybrids. But that doesn't bother me much in the context of the film.

A bigger sin is not trusting the performance by the star. Despite Siodmak's ability to show the darker sides of personalities, the twins Terry and Ruth Collins are given large letters or even necklaces with their names on them for the audience to read. Totally unnecessary. It's always clear what twin is what. Except maybe at the end when one twin goes off on a Norman-Bates-like tirade about being the other twin; or when right at the end de Havilland gives this look (and you have to be paying attention to see it) that maybe they either nab the wrong girl or the twins actually did a swich-a-roo. I don't know much about de Havilland (this being her only walk into the back alley of noir) but she's more than excellent in this.

The twin effects are pretty decent too!

Olive Films has released this on on Blu-Ray DVD recently. Prior to that it was only out on VHS. Olive Film is doing some great work with their film noir releases. Get yourself a copy. Watch it, then watch it again. It's better twice.

Written by Steve-O

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Across the Hall (2009)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 09:09:57 PDT

In a seedy, rundown hotel, a hotel porter rides the only working elevator up to the fifth floor. He enters room 508 and tidies it up. As he leaves the room, his eyes land on the crime scene tape that blankets the door across the hall. He hesitates, then cuts it off and enters the room, where a blood-soaked carpet greets him.

This is the opening scene of the 2009 neo-noir Across the Hall, a film that succeeds in replicating both the visual and thematic elements of films from the classic noir cycle. The film, which first appeared as a short film of the same name in 2005, chronicles the actions of three devastatingly flawed people—the mentally unstable Terry (Danny Pino), his unfaithful fiancé June (Brittany Murphy, in her final film role) and Terry’s best friend Julian (Mike Vogel)—on one fatal night at the Riverview Hotel.

Immediately following the opening scene, the plot starts to unfold in a series of flashbacks and flashforwards, creating a deceptive, non-linear chronology of events in which nothing is at it seems. The film begins with a conversation between Julian and Terry. Terry is beside himself with anger and grief over the fact that he’s discovered that June is cheating on him. Julian, who is soaking in the tub after injuring his knee in a pick-up basketball game, tries to talk him down, but it doesn’t take long until he’s just as wound up as Terry—and it’s not hard to see why. After Terry followed June to the Riverview, he went to Julian’s apartment, broke in and took his gun, then returned to the hotel and bribed the porter (Brad Greenquist) into giving him the room—off the books, of course—across the hall from June. As he confesses to a panicked Julian, he’s camped out in room 508, waiting the right moment to confront her.

To disclose any more of the plot would spoil any number of twists that the film contains, but it’s not spoiling anything to reveal that the film takes the best elements of classic film noir and successfully updates them in a contemporary setting. Like many true noirs, all of the characters in the film are deeply self-centered and carry significant problems into their tangled relationships, causing no end of trouble for themselves and each other. Each character is doomed in his or her own way, due to a combination of of their own moral shortcomings and the indifferent hand of fate. They are all locked in a battle of wits, driven by lies and mired in unstable, ever-shifting alliances, resulting in a deadly situation from which no one can escape unscathed.

In addition, the visuals of the film perfectly complement the heavy noir character types. The Riverview Hotel is a masterpiece of set design, giving the film a distinct visual feel that hearkens back to the mood of the best B noirs. The hotel is as much a character as the doomed humans that populate its roach-infested rooms. It’s a massive, decaying structure that never functionally left the 1940s. The guestbook is still an actual book that people fill out by hand, and the rooms have ancient televisions and rotary telephones, the latter of which play a pivotal role in the story. Save for one brief moment, the entire film takes place within its walls, giving the story a claustrophobic feel, and the dark, murky cinematography only adds to the thematically dark atmosphere. (An interesting sidenote: the actual set met quite the noir ending; the exterior façade of the hotel burned to the ground shortly after filming.)

Across the Hall is definitely a B film, but in the best possible ways. It’s a low-budget gem that was released in a handful of theaters before heading straight to blu-ray and DVD—the modern-day equivalent of playing on the second half of a double bill. It features a relatively bare-bones plot, but the non-linear storytelling method keeps things interesting and elevates the material significantly, especially the first time through. While discerning viewers might be able to poke a few holes in the story’s logic, it holds together well on repeat viewings, as it moves along as brisk pace and is bolstered by solid performances from all of the major players. It’s easy to see how, were double features still around, this film would be a natural fit playing after a big-budget A picture. It proudly wears its B noir influences on its sleeve—cheap black and white crime films play on the televisions in the rooms, and just outside the hotel, a movie house advertises a screening of Nightmare Alley (1947) on its marquee. An appropriate choice, because by the end of the film, all of the characters, in one way or another, are trapped in their own personal alley of nightmares.

Written by Nighthawk

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Undertow (1949)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 07:12:07 PDT

William Castle is best remembered as the P.T. Barnum of schlock cinema. Castle was a director, producer, and huckster who sold his flicks to the public with brilliant gimmicks. Anyone who bought a ticket to Macabre (1958) was insured by Lloyd's of London against "death by fright" while watching the picture. People who went to see The Tingler (1959) took a chance that they might be joy-buzzed if they were lucky enough to sit in one of the right seats. And people who bought a ticket to see the Psycho-inspired film Homicidal (1961) were promised their money back if they walked out during the one-minute "Fright Break" before the climax of the film. Provided, that is, they were willing to stand on display in the "Coward's Corner" in the lobby until after the film ended.

What people tend to forget, however, is that before he made Macabre, Castle was a hard-working, dependable director of low-budget studio pictures. He was under contract at Columbia Pictures from 1944 to 1947, where he made several films in the Whistler series and the Crime Doctor series, as well as B noirs like When Strangers Marry (1944), which starred Robert Mitchum and Kim Hunter.

While under contract with Universal in 1949, Castle directed two B noirs, Johnny Stool Pigeon, which starred Howard Duff and Shelley Winters, and Undertow, which starred Lawrence Tierney's little brother, Scott Brady.

Just like his big brother's loony film noir classic Born to Kill (1947), Undertow starts out in "The Biggest Little City in the World" — Reno.

Brady plays a good-natured, average guy named Tony Reagan who's just gotten out of the Army after a seven-year stint (he stayed in for another hitch after the war). All Tony wants to do is help his dead war buddy's dad run the Mile High Lodge, 40 miles north of Reno, and spend the rest of his days hunting and fishing. The only thing he has to do first is fly to Chicago to see his best girl, Sally Lee (Dorothy Hart), and convince her uncle — gambler "Big" Jim Lee — that he's good enough to marry her.

While in Reno, however, Tony runs into his old friend Danny Morgan (John Russell). Danny tries to convince Tony he'd be better off helping him run his casino. His sales pitch to Tony is: "Lots of sunshine, steady supply of suckers. And loads of lovely, lonely, loaded ladies."

As I said, Tony is a good-natured, average guy, and even though he knows his way around a craps table, he'd rather put that part of his life behind him.

If you're a fan of film noirs, however, you know that good-natured average guys who've just rotated out of the service are statistically the most likely people to have a murder rap pinned on them and be forced to flee from both the cops and the bad guys.

Arthur T. Horman and Lee Loeb's screenplay for Undertow is standard stuff. It's fine for what it is, but it's not that different from any number of other B noirs about an innocent man on the run. However, Undertow is worth seeking out for several reasons.

First off, the direction is great. Castle knew how to make an entertaining, fast-moving film, and Undertow is one of his better pictures from the 1940s. Another reason to see Undertow is all of the location shooting in Reno and Chicago, which is rare for a 70-minute programmer.

Castle does more than just throw in a few establishing shots. When Tony Reagan first arrives in Chicago, he heads for the Palmer House hotel, then attempts to lose a police tail while walking down South Wabash Avenue and running up into the elevated train station on the corner.

Two scenes in Undertow take place at Buckingham Fountain, and at one point Tony meets his friend Ann McKnight (Peggy Dow) and his girlfriend Sally at the John G. Shedd Aquarium. The people in the background in the street scenes don't look like Hollywood extras, either.

Another reason to see Undertow is to catch Rock Hudson in a very small role. This was the first credit Hudson received for a motion picture. He previously appeared in one other film, Fighter Squadron (1948), but his name didn't appear in the credits. In Undertow he's credited as "Roc" Hudson. He appears as a Chicago police detective for about one minute toward the end of the film in a scene in which he discusses a case with Det. Chuck Reckling, played by Bruce Bennett.

I've seen a lot of Lawrence Tierney's films, but I've only recently seen films starring his younger brother, Scott Brady (whose real name was Gerard Kenneth Tierney). Brady very closely resembles his older brother. It would probably be difficult for most people who'd never seen either of them before to tell them apart.

But while Lawrence Tierney played nasty, sociopathic characters the way other actors pick up the phone and say, "Hello?," Scott Brady projected a general air of decency. From what I've seen of him so far, his performances aren't as memorable as Tierney's, but he's perfect for this kind of role.

Finally, one last reason to see Undertow is for some truly outstanding bits of noir photography by Castle and his cinematographers, Irving Glassberg and Clifford Stine. The location shooting establishes the world of the film nicely, and is fascinating from a historical perspective, but it's scenes like the climactic chase down a dark hallway that really tie the film together.

Written by Adam Lounsbery

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They Drive By Night (1938)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 10 Mar 2013 09:08:17 PDT

Emlyn Williams is a minor crook who is getting out of Prison after doing an 18 month bit. The warden gives him his, One Pound and 6 pay, and then Williams is shown the Prison gates. Outside, there is a large crowd. There is going to be a hanging in the Prison in just a few minutes. A man, Simon Lack, approaches Williams and asks if he knew the condemned. Williams shakes his head and asks Lack the same question. “He is my brother”. Answers Lack. Just then the 9 0’clock bell starts to toll. The hanging is over.

Williams now heads into London and back to his old stomping grounds. He stops at the cafe of a friend, Ronald Shiner. Williams asks if his girl, Alice, is still around. Shiner says, “yes, still at the same place”. Shiner then ask Williams if he is going to stay clean or get mixed up with the same bunch? Williams just smiles and heads out.

Williams buys a small bunch of flowers and heads for his girl Alice’s flat. He sneaks in to surprise her. A surprise is in order, but it is Williams who gets the buzz. He finds the woman dead in her bed. Williams quickly wipes down any fingerprints he might have left, grabs the flowers and exits.

He beats the feet down the stairs but has the bad luck to run into the landlady. One look at William’s face is enough to tell her something is wrong. Williams flees the building and bolts down the street. The landlady has a quick look upstairs and starts screaming.

Williams parks his rear in an all day cinema to hide and calm down. Should he go to the Police? He just got out of jail! They will never believe him he decides. He will wait here till dark. Then he will split town.

Once it is dark, he exits the theater and grabs a bus to the end of the line. He will then hike to a trucker’s stop and hopefully catch a ride up north. He buys a paper which of course already has his name and description all over the front page.

It is pouring rain when Williams hits the trucker stop. He asks around for a ride. Driver, Alan Jeayes, offers to take him up to Manchester if that will help. One of the other drivers Jack Vyvian, starts to look at the description in the paper, then at Williams. He comes over to Williams and Jeayes, Vyvian shows Jeayes the newspaper and points at Williams.

Thinking fast, Williams decks Vyvian. Williams then accuses him of stepping out with his wife. He calls him Smith. Jeayes breaks up the fight and says to Williams you have the wrong man. Williams apologizes and everyone blows off the incident. Jeayes says it is time to hit the road.

Several miles down the road, Jeayes looks over at Williams and squints. “You are the bloke the Police are looking for, aren’t you?” Williams tries to talk his way out but Jeayes does not buy it. Williams then admits he is the man, but that he is innocent of the murder. He tells the driver his story. Jeayes tells Williams he needs to turn himself in.

At this exact time, the truck hits a slippery patch and skids off the road. Jeayes is knocked unconscious. Williams is about to take off when he decides to help the driver instead. He moves him to the passenger side and takes the wheel. He backs the truck back onto the road. He then starts down the highway. Jeayes comes to and asks why William did not bolt when he had the chance. “You were hurt” is the answer.

They stop at the first roadside café where Williams buys some aspirin for Jeayes. Sitting in the café is Anna Konstam. Konstam just happens to be the room-mate of the dead woman. She recognizes Williams and starts up a talk. She is hitchhiking back to London after a bit of “dancing” up north. Williams says he is going the other way. Another driver offers to take her if she needs a ride. Konstam and the man leave. Williams gets the aspirin and returns to Jeayes truck.

Trucker Jeayes has decided to help Williams if he can. They need to drive a few more hours to reach his wife and house. Just up the road a bit, Konstam runs onto the highway with the driver in pursuit. He had pulled over and tried a bit of clutch and grab with Konstam. She was not amused and had jumped out. The driver had no intention of taking no for an answer.

Jeayes and Williams now come up on the scene and stop. Williams jumps in and flattens the man. Konstam blurts out Williams name in thanks. The driver hears this and says, “you are the murderer the Police are looking for!” He also knows there will be some cash involved in reporting it to the Police. Williams steps up and gives the bounder a right thrashing. He then pushes Konstam into the truck. He then explains to Konstam that he is innocent and retells his tale.

Needless to say the Police have tracked Williams’ movements are only 20 minutes behind.

They reach Jeayes place and all go in for a talk and a drink. A Detective and three constables now show and Williams barely escapes out a window into the driving rain. The Police detective, Joe Cunningham, gives Jeayes the benefit of a doubt but sticks Konstam in his car for further questioning. Williams leads two of the constables on a merry chase through the night and circles back. He knocks down the copper at the car and jumps in. He did not know Konstam was also in the car.

Williams drive a few miles up the highway. He then leaves the car and Komstam for the Police. “Just tell them I took you”. He then beats the feet into the dark.

After the Police retrieve their car, they question Konstam and then let her go. She returns home to London and her job as a shilling a dance girl. She becomes in demand with the crowd once her story is printed in the papers. She is not wanting for dance partners.

Several days later, Konstam is heading home after a night of sore feet. Williams steps out of the dark and grabs her. He needs some food and someplace to stay. Konstam knows of an old boarded up house down the street. “Meet me in the alley while I grab some food from the tea van arcoss the street.” Konstam tells him.

She meets Williams in the alley and they break into the abandoned house. As William’s wolfs down the food, he asks Konstam to check the dance hall for him. Are there any regulars who always danced with Alice? Konstam says she will ask around. She will return tomorrow with more food and any info she gathers.

Now the film cuts to an image of a man pasting stories of the dead woman’s murder in a fat scrap-book. The man, Ernest Thesiger, finishes pasting in the cuttings and closes the book. He then walks it to his bookcase and hides it behind a row of books. The camera then focuses on the book titles. SEX AND MURDER, FAMOUS HUMAN MONSTERS, SEX RELATIONS IN CRIME etc.

The next night we see Thesiger suit up and head out for a night on the town. And where does he go? The very dance hall where Konstam works at.

Konstam has asked the other girls to give her a heads up if they spot any of the dead girl Alice’s regular pick-ups come in. One of the girls nods to Konstam and points at Thesiger. She does a couple of turns about the floor with the man. Thesiger comments that he knows who she is. He adds that he knows that Williams is innocent. They finish the dance and Thesiger leaves. Konstam grabs her coat and rushes to tell Williams about Thesiger.

As the two are talking, they are interrupted by, Thesiger. Thesiger had followed Konstam from the dance hall. He offers to help Williams and invites the pair to his home to discuss the matter. Once there, he offers Williams the use of a bath and a shave. He then takes Konstam to the kitchen for some tea and such.

While Williams is looking around the room he finds the scrapbook full of press clippings. They all concern murders of women. These include a string of killings known as the Silk Stocking Murders.

As Williams is busy reading, Thesiger puts the grip on Konstam’s throat. She manages to momentarily fight him off and screams. Thesiger however soon overpowers her and grabs a “handy” silk stocking to apply to her neck. Williams hearing the racket, runs to the bedroom door which he finds is locked!

Williams furiously kicks at the door till it opens and hurries to Konstam’s aid. He gets to her just in time and flattens Thesiger with several solid punches.

The next scene has Williams and Konstam walking arm and arm past the prison gates as the 9’ O’clock bell tolls. On the front page of the paper is SILK STOCKING KILLER TO DIE TODAY.

An excellent UK suspense film with plenty of noir touches. The night-time scenes are quite frankly, beautiful. Good story as well.

The director was Arthur Woods. Woods was killed in action as a pilot during WW2. Q-Planes with Larry Olivier was his most famous film.

The d of p was Basil Emmott. His work includes Companions in Crime, Track the Man Down, The Green Buddha, Joe MacBeth, Wicked as They Come, The Long Haul, Pit of Darkness, Rag Doll, Strongroom, Tomorrow at Ten, and Blind Corner.

Written by Gordonl56

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Outside the Wall (1950)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Tue, 05 Mar 2013 15:20:49 PST

Larry Nelson gets thirty years in a big boy cell after he accidentally snuffs a reform school guard. But fifteen years later, he’s a rehab poster boy: educated, good-looking, trained in the prison infirmary, the pride of inmates and staff alike. Best of all, his parole just came through. It ain’t all rosy though: Nelson is institutionalized and nervous to leave “home,” never having lived on his own. He’s also never driven a car, had a bank account, or taken a drink. He’s practically a scientist, but knows nothing of the birds and the bees. With the promise of a job at the city hospital, and $600 in the breast pocket of his prison issue suit, he hits the busy streets of Philadelphia, braced for a new life somewhere Outside the Wall.

And he ends up washing dishes at a greasy spoon. The hospital’s job applications and background checks — and candy stripers — scare the hell out of him. At first pots and pans suit Nelson just fine, but when pair of stick-up men crash the diner he decides that big city life is just too much to handle. He hoofs it out of town and into rural Jewel Lake, where he answers a help wanted ad at the local TB sanitarium. The lab job pays little more than room and board, but the boss doesn’t ask too many questions. Nelson settles in with ease, and soon earns the respect of his superiors and the attention of two pretty nurses. Elegant brunette Ann (Dorothy Hart), is the girl next-door type, while Charlotte (Marilyn Maxwell) is an ambitious blonde who only dates men with “nice cars and money to spend.” Hard-to-get Charlotte is everything Nelson ever dreamed of in a skirt, but he needs a ragtop and wad of cash before she’ll give him the time of day.

Back in Philly, ex-cons take down an armored car to the tune of a cool million. Their tuberculosis-stricken leader, Jack Bernard (John Hoyt), needed a big score to bankroll his remaining years. Back in Jewel Lake Nelson couldn’t care less about the headlines — until Bernard checks into the sanitarium. The convalescing crook needs a courier to run weekly payoffs to his scheming ex-wife Celia (Signe Hasso), who he fears might flip on him for the reward. Nelson agrees — tired of getting the cold shoulder from Charlotte. Celia wants the entire million though, and hires thugs Red (Lloyd Gough) and Garth (Henry Morgan) to help her get it. Bernard is the only one who knows where the money is, but Celia and her boys wrongly assume that Nelson was in on the heist and try to torture the information out of him. He escapes and hurries back to the sanitarium, where he sees finally sees Charlotte’s true colors and turns his attention to Ann, confessing his knowledge of the heist as well as his past. She’s elated, but insists that before they can be together he has to come clean with the cops. Meanwhile, Celia and her goons are barreling to the sanitarium for a final reckoning with destiny…

This is a solid crime picture, even if it isn’t a full-bodied film noir. Larry Nelson comes to grips with freedom altogether too quickly and too well. He isn’t plagued by the crushing insecurity, self-loathing, or self-doubt that makes Steve Cochran’s character in Tomorrow is Another Day (1951) infinitely more interesting. (That special movie also manages to capture the bad blonde and the angelic brunette in the same character!) Nor is Nelson the product of the typical noir prison, as in Brute Force, but rather the very real Eastern State Penitentiary — Cherry Hill — where the golden rule was rehabilitation. Instead of cruel treatment and an uncaring bureaucracy, he is carefully educated and highly trained. The system dotes on him. And the everyday folks he bumps into aren’t suspicious or frightened noir regulars. Instead of being shunned, exploited, or ripped off, the people of Outside the Wall try to lend a helping hand: the warden lines up a job, a uniformed cop helps him navigate traffic, and instead of looking for a kickback (remember Heat?), his boss at the diner is ecstatic to have found such a hard worker. Sure, a barfly tries to lift his wallet, but he swats her away with ease.

Speaking of Nelson, his jailbird feathers never get ruffled, even though he’s got zero life experience. He isn’t paranoid or desperate — he’s not even mildly neurotic — and like an ex-con Sam Spade he uses his prison smarts to stay a step ahead everyone else. But even if we don’t have both feet fully in noir territory here, Outside the Wall is plenty worthwhile. Marilyn Maxwell has a lot of fun making like a bad girl, and Harry Morgan is a grotesque (if underutilized) villain even by his lofty standards — like a pint-sized inquisitor he gets people to spill by jamming scalpels underneath their nails. Noir or not, this is unabashedly a crime film, and occasionally a brutal one.

I’m ambivalent about Richard Basehart, even though his early movie career is steeped in noir, and Outside the Wall is one of his best roles. I’ve read much about what a great actor he was, and how he could have been big star if only Hollywood had given him the chance. Rubbish. Basehart was good-looking in a vanilla sort of way and he had some depth, but he lacked above-the-title, big star screen charisma — and said so himself. Rather than compare him to Burt Lancaster, the bland Basehart was a stone’s throw away from being Kent Smith, which, in the end, isn’t a terrible thing. Both enjoyed lengthy careers and appeared in more memorable films than most actors could have dreamed of. Maybe Basehart simmered a bit more than Smith, but that didn't make him Lancaster.

One of the best things about Outside the Wall is writer-director Crane Wilbur’s dialog: “You’re being born all over again kid, except this time you’re a man.” “Where you been all your life?” “I just found out what money can buy.” “I always was a sucker for a dame.” Smart, pulpy stuff that sometimes hints at epigram and always makes me smile. Wilbur had a thing for prison pictures. He penned a bunch of noir screenplays, most dealing with jailbirds and ex-cons. A Hollywood lifer with who began as an actor, he wrote for the ear and punctuated his scenes with good lines, no matter what he was working on — it’s hard to imagine that screenplays as contradictory as The Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima and House of Wax both sprang from his typewriter in the same year (1953). But if Wilbur was a fine writer he was a pedestrian director. Canon City (1948) and Outside the Wall are plenty good enough, but they pale next to He Walked by Night and Crime Wave (1954), Wilbur scripts brought to the screen by more gifted directors. Outside the Wall is cheap, enjoyable, unspectacular, and entertaining. It has too much brotherly love for a bona fide film noir, but it offers a rare glimpse at the mid-century streets of one of America’s great cities, and it serves up plenty of what crime and noir fans get jazzed on: prisons and parolees, bad girls, torturous thugs, and killers who pull heists with hand grenades. Everything about it may have been done better in some other picture, but what’s not to like?

Written by The Professor
His blog is Where Danger Lives

Outside the Wall (1950)
Written and Directed by Crane Wilbur
Starring Richard Basehart, Marilyn Maxwell, Signe Hasso, John Hoyt, and Harry Morgan
Cinematography by Irving Glassberg
Released by Universal International 80 minutes

I Wake Up Screaming (1941)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 24 Feb 2013 11:48:20 PST

I Wake Up Screaming is never mentioned in the same breath as The Maltese Falcon when discussing the birth of film noir. Which would be a mistake.

Both films were made around the same time. I Wake Up Screaming, however, is much closer to being a true film noir. That's thanks to some fantastic stylistic camerawork (low angles, dark shadowy corners, shadows of Venetian blinds, low lit closeups and so on) and a complicated plot made even more twisty with flashbacks. The Maltese Falcon, on the other hand, is shot mostly like a '30s drawing room mystery (true, there are two fantastic shots: Sydney Greenstreet shot from the floor to look like a grotesque giant; and Mary Astor taking the elevator to hell with the shadows of the bars marking her face). But I Wake Up Screaming is loaded with them. It's one of the best looking film noir from the classic era. But it's not just the film's look that makes it noir.

John Huston famously said he used Hammett's book as the Maltese Falcon's script. In other words, he didn't try to change it. Therefore, the film ends up being the truest version of Dashiell Hammett's story.

I Wake Up Screaming came about much differently. It's is based on a novel by one of best (and sadly now forgotten) pulp writers Steve Fisher. It's a Hollywood story about an up-and-coming movie star that dies mysteriously – and the people obsessed with the crime and the beautiful victim. More than likely, because of the film's limited budget the story was moved to New York City. The glamorous – and numerous locations – in southern California from the novel were whittled down to a few. Now instead you had a movie with only a few locations – all that would be shot in sets at Fox in LA --except for a few second unit pickup shots. The limited amount of locations possibly made the film unintentionally claustrophobic. But what the film makers didn't change was the fact the the film was based on hardboiled pulp. A clue that that's true is a shot of Black Mask Magazine displayed in one scene.

Black Mask Magazine makes its only appearance in a film noir.

Black Mask Magazine, for those who don't know, published stories from many of the greats including Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Steve Fisher, Cornell Woorich and Erle Stanley Gardner. Film noir (and clearly this film) was inspired in part by the magazine that was edited in it's prominence by Cap' Joseph Shaw. I Wake Up Screaming's director H. Bruce Humberstone and producer Milton Sperling never made a noir before (obviously, since it was one of the first) but also never made one after this. They did, in fact, mold what was to be film noir with this early noir movie. And they did it, in my opinion, based on hardboiled crime pulps. Extraordinary when you think about it. And when you look at all the sunny movies being released by 20th Century Fox at the time.

I think because it's from 20th Century Fox (not known for their crime films like the WB) you'll see and hear a few things that remind you of the studios normal fare. There are a few light comic moments that should have been excised from the film. The scene at the public pool is also unnecessary. I get it. They had to have show Grable's stems and Mature shirtless. But it's silly. And I'd rather not think of the germs in an all-night New York City public swimming pool. There isn't enough chlorine in the world to clean a pool like that.

The soundtrack is also not quite right. It's is a constant barrage of Somewhere Over the Rainbow and Alfred Newman's Street Scene. It's quite annoying. Street Scene is 20th Century Fox's theme for New York. It was used in a number of noir including: Cry of the City, The Dark Corner, Where the Sidewalk Ends, and Kiss of Death. Somewhere Over the Rainbow should only be in one movie. Street Scene is something I usually like but man, they use it a lot. The rest of the soundtrack is hit and miss.

Some notable changes does make you think that the studio wanted a lighter-toned film. After the film was made, the movie's title was changed to Hot Spot (as in a hot-spot nightclub). Early promotional material and even some reviews (Variety noted: “Hot Spot may suggest a nightclub background, but such scenes are only incidental.”) use the newer, weaker title. The title was changed back from Hot Spot to I Wake Up Screaming just before it's release thanks to the cast demanding they use the film's original moniker. Smart move. I Wake Up Screaming is one of the best titles for a film noir.

The 2006 DVD has a deleted scene showing Grable singing a song at her job selling sheet music at a department store. The clip has no place in the film and it's now where it should be (as an interesting extra, but not part of the film).

Betty Grable hadn't yet become America's top pinup. She's out of place in noir but does a fine job in this. Obviously she'd have much better success at other types of films in the future, but she holds her own.

The rest of the cast does too.

Victor Mature is solid as he always is. Unfortunately, like his other starring roles in film noir, he's overshadowed by the villain.

This time it's Laird Cregar (This Gun for Hire, Hangover Square, The Lodger) who's steals the spotlight from Mature. He's an outstanding film actor despite not yet even 30 years old. Cregar dominates the film and is the most memorable actor in the movie. According to the excellent DVD commentary by Eddie Muller, Steve Fisher named Cregar's character in the book Cornell after fellow pulp writer and friend Cornell Woolrich. Brilliant oddball Woolrich was a skinny ginger. Casting Cregar as Mature's physical equal (they were both big and about the same height) makes the conflict between the two believable. Cregar is kind of a fun house mirror version of Mature. I wish they played up the scene where Mature wakes up to see 300-pound Cragar sitting in his bedroom watching him. It's very creepy and would cause most to scream if they were in the same situation.

Third-billed Carole Landis (teamed with Mature after appearing together before in One Million B.C.) has a key but ultimately forgettable role. Her demise in the film mirrors the actresses limited success and suicide in real life. Landis and Grable do look like sisters, though.

Some key noir faces in supporting roles: Elisha Cook, Jr. He appeared in Stranger on the Third Floor a year before and apparently was shooting his part in The Maltese Falcon at the same time as I Wake Up Screaming! Keen eyes will spot Charles Lane as a florist; Night Editor William Gargan; and gum-snapping working girl Iris Adrian plays Grable's work friend (in the deleted scene on the DVD.)

At The Back Alley, arguments were made not that long ago about the noir-ness of The Maltese Falcon. But those arguments couldn't be made for I Wake Up Screaming. Despite it's sometimes comic tone and strange soundtrack it's a film noir.

The original trailer minus narration and text. From the 20th Century Fox DVD

Written by Steve-O

Comment on I Wake Up Screaming in the comment section below or at The Back Alley.

Shockproof (1949)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 17 Feb 2013 09:23:42 PST

Real-life married couples can have strange chemistry when they appear together in a film. For every Bogie and Bacall there's also a Cruise and Kidman. Just because two actors want to tie the knot and spend the rest of their lives together (or in most cases, several years of their lives together before separating), it doesn't mean their real-life chemistry will translate to the big screen.

When Patricia Knight and Cornel Wilde starred together in Shockproof, they had been married 11 years. It was the only film they made together.

In Shockproof, Knight plays a woman named Jenny Marsh who has been paroled after a five-year stint in prison for murder. She committed the murder to protect her lover, Harry Wesson (John Baragrey). Jenny grew up in poverty, neglected by her parents, and the smooth-talking, wealthy Wesson swept her off her feet. The problem is, he's a criminal through and through.

Jenny's parole officer, Griff Marat (Wilde), believes that all she needs is to spend time with normal, decent people, and she'll straighten out her life. Griff is a "hands-on" parole officer, and he nominates himself (along with his mother and adorable kid brother) as the most suitable decent people for Jenny to spend time with, and his romantic notions carry the force of the law.

As an actor, Wilde's line delivery was never as impressive as his physique, but in his scenes with Knight he still comes off as the more seasoned thespian. Knight's face is lovely in an angular sort of way, but her performance is the stuff of high camp. Whatever sparks existed in their real-life relationship, they're hard to see in Shockproof.

Shockproof was also an intersection for two men whose best work lay ahead of them: Samuel Fuller and Douglas Sirk.

Sirk, the director of Shockproof, was born in Europe and made several films there before immigrating to the U.S. in 1941. He would go on to direct some of the most acclaimed American films of all time — the lush Technicolor melodramas Magnificent Obsession (1954), All That Heaven Allows (1955), Written on the Wind (1956), and Imitation of Life (1959) (which, to be technically nitpicky, was filmed in Eastmancolor, not Technicolor).

At the time he made Shockproof, however, his Hollywood filmography amounted to a number of well-made potboilers that had a gloss of European sophistication; Hitler's Madman (1943), Summer Storm (1944), A Scandal in Paris (1946), The Strange Woman (1946), Lured (1947), and Sleep, My Love (1948).

Editor's note: Yes, The Strange Woman was directed by none other than Edgar G. Ulmer, Sirk is listed as the uncredited director.

Samuel Fuller, the screenwriter of Shockproof, was a newspaperman (he got his start as a copy boy at the age of 12), a pulp novelist, a screenwriter, a ghostwriter, and a veteran of World War II who had served with the 16th Infantry Regiment, 1st Infantry Division. Fuller would go on to become an acclaimed screenwriter and director of cult films like Pickup on South Street (1953), Shock Corridor (1963), and The Naked Kiss (1964).

Shockproof is the only collaboration between Sirk and Fuller. Fuller's screenplay was originally called The Lovers, and it told the story of a man and woman doomed by their love for each other.

Fuller's screenplay for The Lovers was the film Sirk signed on to make, but it wasn't the film that ended up being released into theaters. Co-producer Helen Deutsch rewrote the script and tacked on a ridiculous happy ending. (If you're a connoisseur of trashy cinema, Deutsch's best work also lay ahead of her, since her last film credit was the screenplay for Valley of the Dolls, which she co-wrote with Dorothy Kingsley.)

Deutsch's rewrite makes the entire film feel pointless, since it undercuts all of the ethical lines that Griff crosses because of his love for Jenny. It also neuters any sense of doom or tragedy that was present in Fuller's original script. Even the change of title from The Lovers to Shockproof feels wrong. The term "The Lovers" recurs throughout the film, and it's what Griff and Jenny are dubbed by the tabloid press. What does "Shockproof" even mean in the context of this film?

Even though Sirk and Fuller never met, Shockproof has Fuller's fingerprints all over it. It's a choppy, uneven film, but like everything that Fuller wrote, there's a nasty passion always bubbling beneath the surface. It doesn't matter so much why people are doing things, just that they're doing them and going for broke, pedal to the metal, damned and proud, racing toward oblivion.

Of course, to pull this off successfully a film needs to have actors who are utterly convincing no matter how contrived their actions are, as well as a script that has the courage of its convictions. Unfortunately, Shockproof has neither of these things, and while there is much that's good about it, ultimately it's an interesting failure.

Written by Adam Lounsbery

Sealed Lips (1942)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 07:34:34 PST

This Universal Studios programmer stars William Gargan, June Clyde, Ralf Harolde, Anne Nagel and John Litel in a dual role.

Gargan is a California State G-man who gets a rather strange assignment. He is to check on a NY gangster, John Litel, who is about to be released from a five-year bit. Gargan’s boss, Addison Richards, cannot shake the feeling they have had the wrong man locked up. The guy is just too calm, even after a jailhouse attempt on his life.

Gargan does a fingerprint check and they match. He decides to humor his boss anyway and pays a visit to San Quentin. He finds Litel planting flowers of all things. Gargan quizzes Litel on his lack of aggression etc during his jail stay. “I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’m going straight.” Litel responds.

Litel and his aide, Ralf Harolde, now grab a flight to NY to check some files at the one of the big NY dailies. The paper has extensive files on Litel going back decades. Gargan uses his cover as an insurance man to gain access to the files. Newswoman June Clyde is assigned to help Gargan.

Gargan goes back 12 years and discovers a article about a man from upstate who looked just like the gangster. The police had grabbed the double while looking for Litel on a murder beef. The police had discovered their mistake and released the man with an apology.

Gargan now checks out the name of the double and finds the man has died. He was burned to a crisp in a fire. Smoking in bed was thought to be the cause. The corpse had to be identified by his dental records.

Gargan pays the man’s mother, Mary Gordon, and widow, Anne Nagel, a visit. Again he pretends to be an insurance man checking details on the death. Nagel tells him he was always smoking in bed. Gargan talks Gordon into giving him a book of her sons.

Gargan says thanks and heads back to the station to grab a train back to NY. He meets Clyde just outside and accepts a ride to NY by car instead. Clyde starts to grill him on Nagel and Gargan knows his insurance front had not fooled Clyde.

Gargan agrees to give Clyde a story if she will just hold off a while. Gargan needs to check out a few things first. Using the book he just received, he lifts some fingerprints and checks them against the files.

And whom do they match, the man in San Quentin. Gargan and Harolde grab a flight back to the west coast for another chat with the fellow. A couple hours of third degree and the Litel double folds. “My death was faked. If I did not play ball with Litel, he is going to kill my wife. He told me to do the time and there will be some cash afterwards”.

Gargan and partner hop another flight back to NY. They want a word or two with the dentist, Russell Hicks. He had obviously switched the records of the real Litel with the “double.”

While all this is happening, we find out that gangster Litel (in a beard) is in hiding till his double’s term is up. Litel also knows about Gargan from his prison contacts. He had sent a couple of thugs out to rub him out at the train station, but the hit had misfired .

The next day, Gargan has Harolde wait while he checks out the dentist’s office. Gargan gets a surprise when he discovers Nagel working in the office. Gargan asks to see Hicks. After a short wait, he is shown into Hicks office where several of Litel’s thugs grab him up and render him unconscious.

It seems Hicks is in Litel’s pay and had called Litel when Gargan showed up. The thugs hustle Hicks, Nagel and Gargan out the back to a waiting car and split.

When Gargan recovers, he finds himself face to face with the bearded Litel . “I need you to answer a few questions,” says Litel. After a grilling about what he knows, Litel has Gargan locked in a room under guard. Gargan of course told him nothing.

Litel now sends a couple of his pet gunsels to grab a flight to San Quentin. They are to pick the Litel double up when he gets released in 48 hours. They are to take him for a “ride” and dispose of the body. Litel will follow in his private plane and meet them in California. Then he will make a grand return to NY as a free man. A couple of hours go by and Litel heads off to grab his flight to the coast.

Harolde, who after waiting an hour for Gargan to return, has bulled his way into the dentist’s office. He finds the place empty of course. The building janitor tells him about everyone leaving out the back. Harolde knows Gargan has been grabbed but is not sure what to do about it.

He runs into Clyde who has come up with a phone number that Hicks was always calling. Into a car and off they go to check out the house. Needless to say it is the house where Gargan is being held. Gargan sees Harolde outside and jumps his guard.

Gargan hustles Nagel out and sends her off with reporter Clyde to the Police to be safe.

Gargan and Harolde now rush after Litel whom they catch just before take-off. They then fly Litel back to the west coast.

Litel is handed over to the warden. The warden has him outfitted in prison garb and given a buzz job by the prison barber. The double is put on the phone to NY to talk with his wife, Nagel. Now that he knows she is safe, he agrees to testify against Litel.

The NY D.A. now calls with some bad news, he tells Gargan that because of legal technicalities, Litel cannot be charged in California. The real Litel is brought back to the warden’s office and told he can go. Into his suit and out the prison gates he goes. Waiting out front of course are the two gunmen he had sent earlier.

Though he claims he is the “real” Litel, the heavies take the now beardless Litel for the “ride”.

This is a quite watch-able programmer that zips along in just 62 minutes.

The rest of the cast includes, Edwin Stanley, William Gould and a bit part for Charles Lane as a crooked lawyer.

The director was George Waggner. He also wrote the story and screenplay. He is best known for the Lon Chaney Jr. film, THE WOLF MAN.

The D of P was Stanley Cortez. His work includes The Naked Kiss, Shock Corridor, Night of the Hunter, Black Tuesday, The Underworld Story, Secret Beyond the Door, The Magnificent Ambersons and Faces of Eve.

Written by Gordon

The Forbidden Street (1949) AKA Britannia Mews

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 03 Feb 2013 15:52:38 PST

The Forbidden Street (1949), recently released on DVD from the 20th Century Fox archives, makes the British noir list, and with its gothic overtones this is certainly a film with a very definite set of peculiarities. Some of the film’s notable points are to be found in the fact that the director, Jean Negulesco, and the two main stars, Dana Andrews and Maureen O’Hara, unilaterally rejected the film, and so it remains that The Forbidden Street aka Britannia Mews, based on a novel by Margery Sharp, goes down in film history as a title the major players involved with the project would rather forget. In his autobiography, Things I Did … and Things I Think I Did Director Jean Negulesco called the film “a disaster. Insane casting. The critics murdered us.” Maureen O’Hara wasn’t much more generous. In her autobiography , Tis Herself, she called The Forbidden Street, the “least memorable” film of her career. Britannia Mews was cut by Richard Best in England and The Forbidden Street was cut in Hollywood by Robert L. Simpson, and as a result the two versions are apparently quite different. Maureen O’Hara argued that the only reason anyone would watch the film would be to see Dana Andrews in a dual role and Dame Sybil Thorndyke as a gin-addicted blackmailing old hag. As for Dana Andrews, author James McKay, author of Dana Andrews: The Face of Noir, calls The Forbidden Street, the “most unusual film” of this iconic actor’s career.

The Forbidden Street begins with a voice over from Maureen O’Hara who plays the adult Adelaide Culver. She explains her lifelong obsession with a slum area called Britannia Mews which is an alley located behind her family’s home on Albion Place. There’s a short snippet depicting Adelaide as a charming tiny tot who accepts her cousin Alice’s dare to enter the Mews. The scene establishes Adelaide’s willfulness--a character trait that comes into full force in adulthood.

Then we see Adelaide (Maureen O’Hara) in adulthood and her cousin Alice (Anne Butchart) as the two young women take art lessons from an impoverished Henry Lambert (Dana Andrews) who lives in the Mews and occupies the family’s former coach-house—now empty as the family ‘gave up’ their carriage. There’s a little unseemly man hungriness about Adelaide’s fixation on the drawing master, and for his part, Mr. Lambert engages in no small amount of flattery towards the young, talentless ladies he teaches.

Problems begin when Lambert shows up to teach Adelaide and Alice even though he’s received a note cancelling the lesson. Alice is ill, and so he’s there alone with Adelaide who somewhat incongruously answers the door herself in the unexplained absence of any servants. Lambert has chosen to ignore the note, and pretends he didn’t receive it. He’s there because he needs the money, and a conversation with Adelaide regarding her lack of talent leads her to threaten to tell her father to cancel the drawing lessons. An excellent camera shot of Lambert’s face allows the viewer to register his note of panic at the prospect of the loss of income, and then he smoothly resorts to his old flattery. Adelaide concludes that Lambert purposely came to see her knowing that she would be alone, and Lambert fuels this error. Adelaide, taking charge, rapidly stampedes Lambert into marriage against her parents’ wishes, and Lambert, who’s already exhibited his drunkenness, weakly goes along with Adelaide’s plans after she reveals that she has a hundred pounds a year to live on.

Then we see the newlyweds living in the Mews, a foul, fetid and sordid slum, and Adelaide who views Lambert as a “great artist,” is busy scrubbing floors in the couple’s two rooms above the coachhouse. Lambert’s studio is directly below in the coachhouse itself, and it’s here that he’s supposed to create a masterpiece--a painting fit for submission to The Royal Academy of Arts. In the meantime, he’s stopped teaching, and he spends his adulterous days, surrounded by bottles, in a drunken stupor. Rousted by a nagging, bitter Adelaide, he seeks refuge, and sympathy, from the Red Lion, located oh-so-conveniently right across the street.

An accident places Adelaide into the grasping hands of the poxy, squinty-eyed, rag-and-bone collector, Mrs Munsey, also known as “the sow,” played with delicious esprit by Dame Sybil Thorndyke. Blackmailed into remaining in the Mews and unable to join her family in the glories of the Surrey countryside, Adelaide sinks into coarseness and finds oblivion in cheap gin. She’s hitting the skids, sporting dark rings around her eyes, and stumblingly drunk when a new man enters her life. Enter Gilbert Lauderdale (also played by Dana Andrews)—a married, one-time barrister, actor now homeless clerk turned drunken bum, a “nasty little sponger” who stumbles out of the Red Lion and into Adelaide’s life….

The entrance of Lauderdale marks a bizarre turn in the plot with a 180 degree turn away from the film’s dark tones and noir elements. Here’s Adelaide, morphed into a crude vicious fishwife who falls for the second drunken bum in her life who happens to look identical to her first husband. The woman doesn’t miss a beat and invites Lauderdale to move in. It’s impossible not to predict doom--especially when we see Lauderdale brutishly bitch slap poor old Mrs. Munsey back and forth across the face.

The casting of Dana Andrews in both roles as Henry Lambert and Gilbert Lauderdale, was apparently, a mere cost-cutting measure of the part of 20th century Fox. But given that both men are drunken losers with a shady past, this casting serves to highlight and accentuate Adelaide’s poor judgment. Dana Andrews as Henry Lambert is dubbed and given a British accent, and it also looks as though his face has been darkened with rather severe make-up. The implausibility of the two men in Adelaide’s life looking identical is smooched over by the one-liner given glibly by Gilbert Lauderdale after he’s thrown out of the Red Lion and lands—more or less—on Adelaide’s doorstep:

“I’m always reminding people of someone else.”

On the subject of accents, there’s no explanation given why the child Adelaide is British while the adult Adelaide is Irish or why her Cambridge-bound brother, obviously brought up in the same household sounds like Little Lord Fauntleroy. Then why does Gilbert Lauderdale sound British (dubbed) and exactly like Henry Lambert in his initial scenes before shifting into his own voice without any explanation? But these are just some of the details rather untidily thrown out there by the film for the viewer to deal with. There are also plot gaps thrown out with no explanation: what deep dark secret does Lambert hide from his days in Paris? Why does he look panicked and shifty-eyed when Adelaide mentions Paris or those puppets he’s fussing eternally in the coachhouse? What is an artist doing with puppets anyway? Why are Adelaide’s bustles so exaggerated when compared to the other costumes in the film? Madness, madness, I say.

These questions are never answered, and in his memoir, I’ll Hate Myself in the Morning, scriptwriter Ring Lardner Jr. mentions that he finished the screenplay while in Washington to attend the HUAC hearings, and that upon his return he gave the script to the producer who was in a “hurry” to finish the picture. Perhaps this explains the huge inconsistencies in the details--such as accents, and the vast gaps in plot. The Forbidden Street, incidentally, was the last script Lardner, one of the Hollywood Ten, finished before being fired from his 2,000 dollar a week job at Fox.

By the time the film concludes, we realize that the mysterious puppets that Henry Lambert obsesses about are central to the plot. The film’s very first scene gives a nice slice of foreshadowing as a Punch and Judy booth is carried into Britannia Mews. Later, we see this same, decidedly the worse for wear, booth re-enter the Mews and it’s also parked there in the open at one point. The subject of Punch and Judy even enters an argument between Adelaide and her husband. Since Punch and Judy shows are frequently centered on violent domestic squabbles, it’s easy to extrapolate that Adelaide and Henry’s married life is a living, tawdry embodiment of the violent and now terribly politically incorrect puppet show.

In spite of The Forbidden Street’s many flaws, the splendid cinematography by Georges Périnal is both the film’s defining genius and its most cohesive element. The opening scene which depicts Adelaide as a small child watching the activities of the Mews mirrors a child watching a puppet show with the window framing the Mews distinctly apart and making the squalid alley seems unreal and disconnected from Adelaide’s affluent and cosseted life. There’s also a scene of tiny tot Adelaide facing down her nursemaid as she exits the Mews. Note a handful of immobile, obedient Victorian children who resemble puppets. Also Adelaide’s two room dwelling with its slanted roof forces Henry/Gilbert to stoop, and the cinematography and camera angles of these scenes emphasize that Adelaide and Henry/Gilbert appear to be oversized and living in a miniaturized dollhouse. This amplifies the thought that Adelaide is trapped and her fairy-tale marriage has morphed into a hideous reality, and that these tortured characters are at the mercy of societal elements—mere puppets with no freedom of their own.

Written by Guy Savage

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Danger Signal (1945)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Wed, 30 Jan 2013 14:17:20 PST

By the time Danger Signal was made, in 1945, the merry-go-round had started to break down at Warner Brothers Studios. No one there seemed to notice its malfunction. The studio kept a steady release of breezy, knockabout comedies, dramas and musicals, peppered with their familiar, time-tested roster of stars and character actors.

With one foot in the recent past—the studio’s signature Depression-era blend of snappy, slangy dialogue, bursts of melodrama and physical action, and topical themes—and one nervously edging into the future, the Warner output of 1945-1949 is, at best, awkward.

Great movies were made in their studio system in these years. So were movies like Danger Signal—a mulligatawny of emergent film noir themes, flavored with thematic borrowings from two recent Alfred Hitchcock films, and smothered with a top layer of homey, jus’-plain-folks good cheer, worthy of an Andy Hardy picture.

Danger Signal is, to put it bluntly, a mess. It’s a textbook example of how difficult the noir transition could be for the Hollywood studio system. Elements of Double Indemnity (1944), and Hitchcock’s Suspicion (1941) and Shadow of a Doubt (’43) collide within the standard settings of a WB domestic drama.

The bipolar effect of the movie might be apt as a metaphor for the mental state of its anti-hero, Ronnie Marsh (Zachary Scott, in a vehicle obviously designed to profit from his performances in the studio’s recent noir smash Mildred Pierce, and in Jean Renoir’s The Southerner). Part romantic, part sociopath, Mason is a smooth-talking chameleon with a dark soul.

Ronnie is one of mainstream American movies’ earliest serial killers. His MO is to woo and wed comely young heiresses, with the use of the same wedding ring—and then kill them, with the clever touch of a suicide note, written in the deceased’s hand.

Danger Signal begins in a seedy boarding house room, late at night, as Mason removes that fetish-object ring from the cold, dead finger of his latest ex-wife. As the landlady bangs on the door, demanding entrance, Ronnie takes it on the lam, via a convenient fire escape. He injures a leg as he falls into a dark alley.

He hobbles westward, half a step ahead of the law. En route, he steals a disabled serviceman’s signifying lapel pin. This, combined with his hurt leg, helps him pass for a war-wounded serviceman. Now in Los Angeles, Marsh searches for a place to live—and wait ‘til the heat’s off.

He finds it—plus a heap of enmeshed emotions—in the Fenchurch household. Pouring on the charm, he soon hypnotizes the all-female family: doting mother (Mary Servoss), her tightly-reined workaholic daughter Hilda (Faye Emerson) and, eventually, Hilda’s younger sister Anne (Mona Freeman).

The wounded war-vet routine goes over beautifully, along with Ronnie’s tortured determination to succeed as a writer. Ronnie plays the tortured creative soul to the hilt, and everyone buys it. Mother Fenchurch gives him home, food and constant indulgence/encouragement. It takes Ronnie some actual effort to break through Hilda’s frigid front, but he soon has the prim and proper daughter in the palm of his hand.

In the palm of her hand, Ronnie deposits his well-worn wedding ring, and they symbolically wed. Soon, Anne returns home from an apparent stay in a rest home. “I’ve been camping out on a sleeping porch for three months,” she says (a possible hint that she has some respiratory ailment). She lets it drop that she is a young heiress. Cha-ching! In-between selling pulp novelettes on the sly, while feigning failure to the Fenchurch women, Ronnie’s gauzy gaze hones in on Anne.

By this time, Danger Signal has switched gears from serial-killer suspense to dysfunctional homespun romance. Intrusive secondary characters also rise to its surface.

On top of the awkward Ronnie-Hilda-Anne triangle, both women are persistently courted by harmless light-comedy types. Younger Anne is pestered by goof-next-door Bunkie Taylor (played, by Richard Erdman, like an exile from a minor MGM musical comedy).

Hilda is bashfully pursued by Dr. Andrew Lang (Bruce Bennett), who can barely say hello, or make eye contact. The presence of these two stereotypical 1940s movie figures further detours Danger Signal off its noir route.

1945 was also the year of Alfred Hitchcock’s Spellbound, which combined suspense and psychotherapy with unease. Moss Hart’s Broadway smash Lady in the Dark made pop psychology good box-office for wartime Hollywood. It caused some clumsy moments in 1940s American movies, and it does damage to Danger Signal.

This school of hokey, deadly-serious psycho-babble is personified by Dr. Jane Silla (played, mit accent, by Rosemary DeCamp).

Dr. Silla suspects that Marsh is a bad apple. She lightly analyzes him, and he reveals his abusive childhood—obvious grounds for his present-day status as unguent sociopath.

Silla’s probing also influences Hilda to attempt Ronnie’s murder, in her agitated state of jealousy and confusion. (I won’t spoil this daffy chain of events for those who haven’t yet seen the film).

In one of the nuttiest deus ex machina contrivances in Hollywood history, Ronnie falls to his death off a brooding California sea cliff. Bunkie joins the service, wows Anne with his military duds, and Dr. Lang works up the gumption to mildly demand Hilda’s hand. The movie’s abrupt happy ending, atop all the other ups-and-downs of this schizoid movie, is as jolting as its opening murder sequence. Whew!

You may notice an affectionate tone in this synopsis. It’s impossible not to delight in the zany twists and turns of this well-oiled Hollywood confection. From its mis-leading poster blurbs (High Explosive! HANDS OFF! She loves hard...She hates hard...She lives hard! She's the danger dame the boys couldn't tame!) to its attention-getting but ultimately meaningless title, Danger Signal is a nutty delight. It isn’t much of a film noir, but it’s as entertaining and outrageous as two bona-fide ’45 noirs—Leave Her to Heaven and Fallen Angel.

The film’s invisible star is cinematographer James Wong Howe. With such notables as John Alton, Gregg Toland and Burnett Guffey, Howe helped define the atmospheric noir style. His subtle interjections keep Danger Signal from an outright crash-and-burn.

The film’s opening sequence is its most overt assumption of the noir style, and nails the mood so well that the rest of the film can’t help but disappoint. That said, Howe keeps a visual tension throughout the film’s largely stage-bound interior shots. He finds something in Zachary Scott’s callow face and sharp, dark eyes to inspire a constant sense of unease.

The film’s script does everything possible to shipwreck its noir tendencies. It’s exasperating to wade through its frequent domestic light-comedy moments. This diffidence makes it hard to grok Ronnie Marsh’s character. Mid-film, it’s as if the writers forgot he is a murderous sociopath. When he returns to form, later in the film, it’s more startling than congruent.

Aside from Mildred Pierce (released prior to this movie), the 1945 Warner Brothers studio couldn’t completely shed its rough-house skin, which included as much comedy as drama, and fully embrace the gloomier film noir aesthetic.

By 1947, in such films as Possessed and Dark Passage, Warners was thoroughly in the noir groove. For the more patient noir-o-phile, the clumsy dance of Danger Signal can be fascinating.

The film’s director, Robert Florey, was the film-making equivalent of a Ronnie Marsh. His filmography includes The Cocoanuts, Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Face Behind the Mask and The Beast With Five Fingers. A minor stylist working within the Hollywood system, he, also like Mason, was a chameleon, helming Boston Blackie programmers, wartime morale-boosters, and Martha Raye musicals. He had directed for Warners and First National in their pre-Code glory days of one-hour pot-boilers. On this return visit, he smoothly fit into their schizoid mid-40s studio vibe.

One can’t help but wonder how another director might have interpreted this material. Florey is content to take whatever the script gives him and get it on-screen in a professional manner. A Michael Curtiz or Otto Preminger might’ve made a more noir film from this material, but they would have missed the lighter touches Florey brings to the most staid events.

Destined to disappoint those who seek the guns, gats ‘n gams formula of mid-1940s noir, Danger Signal offers subtle rewards to viewers with a sense of the absurd. Its collision of psycho-jargon, genuine moments of moody unease, and dull domestic comedy-drama may capture the vibe of late wartime life better than many films that consciously tried to do so.

Written by Frank Young

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Stranger on the Third Floor (1940)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 16:18:20 PST

As most fans of the genre know, French film critics first applied the term “film noir” retroactively in the 1960s as they looked back on films from the 40s and 50s and found that many of them contained a unique visual style, often influenced by German Expressionism, that worked in combination with especially dark and frequently fatal thematic materia to create a type of film unique unto itself. These films, such critics argued, could be grouped together into a genre called noir. Over time, the idea of a genre (or cycle) of noir films that contain a set of common markers and were produced exclusively between 1940 and 1958—give or take a few years on the back end—made its way across the Atlantic and is now universally accepted as a valid interpretation of a specific movement within the overarching history of film.

As scholars of the genre have attempted to determine what films quality as noir, they almost always agree that the one-hour RKO B programmer Stranger on the Third Floor (1940) is the first of its kind. (The contrarian position often argues—erroneously—that the 1939 film Blind Alley should hold that distinction.) What seems both remarkable and fitting is that the genre was born from such inauspicious beginnings. The film was directed by Boris Ingster, a first-time filmmaker who only directed three films in his entire career—one of the two others being the 1950 noir Southside 1-1000. Peter Lorre, who would have been best known as the detective Mr. Moto in a series of programmers for 20th Century Fox, received top billing, even though in 1940, he was still very much a mid-level B player; he still had one more year to go until he, Humphrey Bogart and Sydney Greenstreet would all hit pay dirt with John Huston’s first feature, The Maltese Falcon (1941). But for a man who was ostensibly the star, Lorre has less than ten minutes of total screen time in Stranger and doesn’t speak until the final ten minutes of the film. He only took the role because he owed RKO two days of work. That an actor who makes little more than a cameo received the top slot on the marquee shows just how little name recognition the two leads—John McGuire and Margaret Tallichet—carried at the time.

But don’t let the relative anonymity of the talent steer you away. As was the case with many noirs that followed, the low-level players at RKO managed to take a relatively straightforward idea and transcend its perfunctory origins, creating a work of art has endured the test of time. What separates Stranger on the Third Floor from the rest of the field is the fact that Ingster and company were doing something that had never been done before—they were making the first example of what we now call noir.

The film opens with a murder trial. Mike Ward (McGuire), a struggling reporter, has just caught his big break. He saw Joe Briggs (played by the unluckiest guy in film history, Elisha Cook Jr.) standing over a man who had just been murdered. Mike has been struggling to climb the ladder at his newspaper gig, and the front-page story he writes about the murder gets him a $12-a-week raise. He can finally move out of his room at a dilapidated boarding house and get married to his girl, Jane (Tallichet). But there’s just one problem. Briggs swears he didn’t do it. He claims he was going back to the diner where the murder took place to pay off a debt of thirty cents, and he had just stumbled upon the victim when Mike came around the corner and saw him standing over the body. But Mike’s testimony is enough for the jury to convict. Briggs is headed to death row.

The trial’s opening act, with its ethical quandaries for Mike (Did Briggs do it or not? Did he just send an innocent man to an unjust execution?) set the stage for his subsequent spiral into what would later become a noir staple: an intense fear of living in a world that is fundamentally unjust that results in an oppressive, irrational paranoia. Shortly after the jury convicts, Mike starts to be plagued by guilt and fear. What if he did the wrong thing? What if he was a just a pawn in Fate’s unjust plan? The film allows us a window in Mike’s subjective perspective via a voiceover that provides an intense look into the deepest recesses of his unraveling psyche. When Mike gets home that night, he sees a strange-looking man (Lorre) lurking around his apartment building. When Mike confronts him, the man runs and Mike gives chase, losing him once he gets outside. Given Mike’s fragile psychological state, it’s no surprise that he starts to wonder if the man he saw is a murderer. After all, every night, Mike’s neighbor Mr. Meng (Charles Halton) snores loudly enough to wake the entire floor, but Mike can’t hear him tonight. What if he’s dead? What if the stranger did it? What if the police get it wrong and decide that Mike killed him? Through a series of flashbacks, we watch at Mike constructs a case against himself, showing how his temper and his tendency to shoot his mouth off, including an “I’ll kill you!” directed at Meng in a moment of anger, would be more than enough to wrongfully convict him of the crime. Mike tries to escape his paranoid worries by going to bed. But sleep brings no comfort—only a dream sequence that has become one of the most famous sequences in noir history.

The scene, which begins about halfway through the film, gives Ingster free reign to get as stylized as he wants, and he takes full advantage of this freedom. Prior to the dream sequence, the film had already featured extreme lighting, symbolic shadows and off-kilter camera angles that were clearly influenced by German Expressionism, an artistic movement that began in Germany in the early twentieth century and worked its way into early films such as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) and Nosferatu (1922). These films, among others, featured highly stylized and symbolic imagery that created a sense of surreal disorientation, often reflecting the psychological state of the characters. However, the early films that utilized the style of German Expressionism almost always fit into the fantasy-horror genre and don't have much, if any, grounding in a real-life setting. Ingster was the first to adapt this expressionistic style to a story set in the crime-riddled American urban landscape, and his adaptive efforts are never more effective than in Mike's dream sequence. Ingster subjects Mike to a surreal murder trial where the feverish imagery and cockeyed camera angles reflect his worst nightmare—living (and dying) in a world where everything is askew.

When Mike escapes his nightmare and wakes up in the middle of the night, he decides to check on Mr. Meng to put his fears to rest. No such luck. Meng is sleeping the Big Sleep, his throat sliced open, killed the same way as the victim in opening murder trial. Will Mike’s worst fears come true? Will he go from being an unwitting perpetrator in a miscarriage of justice to an unwitting victim? Will the Stranger get away with murder?

It seems unfair that, of all those associated with a film as well made as Stranger on the Third Floor, only Peter Lorre went on to have any kind of successful career. John McGuire would never get another role like Mike Ward. While he continued to act for another dozen years, virtually all of his post-Stranger roles were uncredited bit parts—a bitterly long coda for an actor who showed such promise as a leading man in this film. Margaret Tallichet retired from acting in 1941, a mere five years after she began her career. As previously mentioned, Ingster would only get two more directing gigs, and he went nine years after Stranger before the first of those two was offered to him. The film might cast a long shadow over the hundreds of noirs that came after it, but most of the people involved in its making met career-related fates not dissimilar to the events that befall Lorre’s character at the end of the film.

But despite these unfortunate outcomes, Stranger on the Third Floor deserves its status as the first film noir and as a minor classic. Its unique blend of expressionistic visuals, Mike’s uncertain, paranoid voiceover, and a cast of characters who all fit into a decidedly gray area on the spectrum of morality makes it—with the exception of the brief coda at the end—a true noir, and the first clear-cut case of a film that fits within the belatedly recognized genre. For the first time, viewers saw how highly stylized and deeply symbolic visuals could accurately reflect the dark, ever-shifting morality of the characters that populated the unforgiving American cities of the post-war era. While they may not know his name, fans of the noir genre owe a debt of gratitude to Boris Ingster for taking the risks he took. Not many first-time directors would make such bold choices in an effort to create a film that was truly groundbreaking. Without his efforts, the noir genre might look markedly different today—and not in a good way. So if you’re a film noir fan, make sure to raise your glass to Stranger on the Third Floor. Noir wouldn’t be the same without it.

Written by Nighthawk

Casque d’Or (1952)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 12:23:49 PST

Every love story--even those which include murder--have a beginning and an end, but few are as brief and fraught with blood and betrayal as the story depicted in Jacques Becker’s 1952 exquisite film, set in Belle Époque Paris, Casque d’Or (Golden Helmet). Becker also made other noir favourites Touchez Pas au Grisbi (1954), Le Trou (1960) but it’s in Casque d’Or that Renoir’s influence seems to be so apparent. The film which was a box office failure in France is based on a 1901 murder case and focuses on a gang of petty Belleville based criminals led by self-satisfied, vain, oily wine and spirits dealer, Félix Leca (Claude Dauphin). The film begins with the members of Leca’s gang and their lively girlfriends spending an idyllic day in the Joinville countryside. While three rowboats contain various happy couples, the fourth contains the dandified Roland (William Sabatier) and his buxom blonde girlfriend, Marie (Simone Signoret).This couple’s problems are immediately evident, for while the other couples are having a good time, Roland and Marie are not. She’s rowing while Roland complains.

There’s something about Marie that makes her appear different, superior, to the other girls--perhaps it’s her personality, or those wonderfully expressive eyes caught so frequently in close-up, or perhaps it’s that glorious mane of golden hair. It’s this physical attribute that earns the film’s title: Casque d’Or or The Golden Helmet.

The couples enter a small countryside café which offers dancing and there gang member Raymond (Raymond Bussières) runs into an old friend he hasn’t seen in some time. Raymond and Manda (Serge Reggiani), as he now calls himself, go way back to the days they “spent five years together” in jail. The girls have already been identified as “tarts” by a disgruntled customer, but the fact that these are not ordinary courting couples--let’s say working class shop assistants, for example, is evident when Raymond introduces Manda to the others, and we catch names such as: Guillaume the Ferret, Pretty Boy Roland, and Ponsard the Headache.

The Leca gang is a so-called APACHE band--a term given to low-level street gangs operating in late 18th and early 19th century Paris. This is a close-knit group who live, steal and kill together, and it’s clear that the problems of one member are shared by the others. There’s already some tension due to Roland’s treatment of Marie, and it’s while Marie dances in Roland’s arms that she and Manda lock eyes and their powerful mutual attraction begins. In this scene, outsider Manda steps over the line when he dances with Marie. Roland explodes with jealousy as he watches Marie in the arms of another, but he’s held in check by his fellow Apache gang members.

Since Marie is the source of the trouble in the film, it should not be too surprising that there’s a third man interested in her, and that is Leca, the head of the gang, and the man who splits the spoils and metes out punishment. Drawn into Roland and Marie’s relationship ostensibly to make Marie tow the line, Leca takes advantage of the opportunity to talk to Marie, and he proposes buying her from her current, and presumably unsatisfactory lover, Roland. There’s an unspoken implication here, one that is not directly addressed by the film--that Marie and the other women who consort with the Leca gang members are prostitutes. The women are seen as property rather than free agents--hence Leca’s offer to buy Marie from Roland, for in theory, financial compensation should appease any complaint Roland might have. It’s in the wonderfully suggestive scene between Marie and Leca that Marie makes a fatal mistake. She sits cheekily and confidently on Leca’s table, rather suggestively handling his knife as she slices into a hunk of cheese and considers Leca’s proposition. Instead of refusing Leca’s advances, she demurs, and says that he is free to approach Roland with the offer of purchasing her. There’s the sense that Marie sees one lover pretty much the same as another--although naturally Leca would seem to be infinitely more powerful than Roland. While she does not expresses delight that Leca wants to formalize his relationship with her, neither does she appear adverse to the suggestion, and she saunters away from Leca’s house with a sauciness which indicates she believes she can handle any man that comes her way.

So while Leca assumes that he’s been given the green light to purchase Marie from his underling, Marie nonchalantly sets off to find Manda. Making a somewhat dramatic appearance at the carpentry business where Manda both lives and works, Marie discovers that he is engaged to another woman. There’s a scene between the two competing women, and Marie slaps Manda and leaves. The slap serves to cement Manda’s admiration for this blonde Amazon, and as she storms off, his eyes trace her movements with something akin to worship.

Thus as the film gathers momentum we have three men all on the trail of one woman who’s driven them all to the point of obsession, jealousy and bursting desire: Roland is still smarting from the humiliation he received from Manda’s fists at the outdoor café, and Leca believes he’s about to purchase Marie for himself. The third man, Manda, believes that Marie is the only woman for him and has every reason to think she’ll accept his advances.

This heated situation flips to boiling point that night at the sordid, raucous café, À L’Ange Gabriel, as the three men converge over the issue of who gets Marie. By this point, Roland who’s busy sulking about his loss of control over Marie is dancing with an upper class woman slumming at the café with friends. Leca organizes an Apache knife contest between Manda and Roland, with the winner, in theory, getting the girl as the prize, and also rather conveniently, as far as Leca is concerned, whatever the outcome, there will be one less rival for Marie. Just as Marie’s wrong move comes when she gives Leca the green light to buy her from Roland, Manda’s wrong move comes when he arrives at the Apache gang lair to take Marie from Roland. The night at À L’Ange Gabriel erupts into violence which sets the stage for the tragedy that unfolds.

The dancing that takes place at À L’Ange Gabriel is the second scene which gives a glimpse of Apache dancing style—although the Casque d’Or version is much tamer than the real thing. Apache gangs were notorious for their violent dancing in which partners were thrown around, and we’ve all seen variations of this without reference to its source. There’s a marvelous example of full-blown Apache style dancing in the almost seven hour silent crime serial Les Vampires (1915), a film from director Louis Feuillade that is not about vampires but is the story of an Apache street gang and an intrepid newspaper reporter who doggedly hunts them:

Les Vampires Episode 3: The Red Codebook

Les Vampires Episode 10: The Terrible Wedding

Both of these scenes offer tremendous examples of Apache style dancing, and the clips also show the similarity in costumes between Les Vampires and Casque D’Or. Apache gangs, incidentally, disappeared with WWI.

The curious thing about Casque d’Or is that Manda and Raymond are deeply sympathetic characters in spite of the fact that they are both murderers. Manda, who was trying to go straight before he met Marie, kills for love and revenge. Manda possesses true integrity, and several scenes illustrate his belief that some things are not for sale. Raymond, deeply mired in Leca’s criminal enterprise, kills a snitch on orders from his boss. Yet in spite of the fact that Raymond is willing to do Leca’s dirty work, he too has limits. Raymond rises above the pack and gains our sympathy due to his deep loyalty to Manda, and for both men, their bond of loyalty comes before all else. Leca, incapable of loving anyone but himself, manipulates one killing and orders another carefully keeping his hands clean. Just as Marie and Manda make strategic errors in the film, Raymond’s wrong move comes when he confides in Leca that he won’t shop Manda. While Raymond is being up front with his boss, he inadvertently gives him the weapon he needs to seal Manda’s fate. Clever shots allow the viewer to see Leca’s train of thought as he grasps that Manda and Raymond’s loyalty to each other will allow him to rid himself of a rival. Using his corrupt police contacts, Leca constructs a trap for Manda with Raymond as a pawn. In Leca’s mind, this will wipe the field clear of competition. Manipulation is what Leca does best, and so he manufactures and manipulates the situation to his advantage yet again.

Leca is clearly the film’s villain. He’s violent, merciless, and unrelenting nasty, but there are other elements at play here. There’s something unwholesome about the care he places in his appearance, and underneath the mask of bonhomie he occasionally adopts resides a cold reptilian nature: and this is perhaps Leca’s worst characteristic—he is the enemy of love. Marie ultimately means nothing to him, yet his pride and lust must be satisfied even if everyone else has to die.

While Marie isn’t the most sympathetic character in the film, she is arguably the most intriguing—an unpredictable honeypot who instigates more than one murder. At several points in the film, her reactions reveal a moral ambiguity—and although Marie appears to be unmoved by Roland’s treatment or Leca’s desire, her feelings for Manda seem genuine. Marie’s story could so easily have been different, but a constellation of bad decisions leads to a sticky end for all the men who sought her favours. Marie exudes a fierce sense of independence in spite of the fact that in the eyes of the gang members she’s “owned” by Roland. Along with that independence is a certain nonchalance. Unwilling to discourage Leca, unable to discard Roland, Marie commits to Manda when it is too late. Once again character is fate.

With its marvelously simple symmetry, the film flows with an almost liquid choreography: the purity of the countryside contrasted to the corruption of city life, the two dancing scenes which signify important developments in the courtship ritual between Manda and Marie, the two boat scenes--one which heralds the death of Marie’s relationship with Roland and the other which signals the beginning of an intimate relationship between Marie and Manda. Then there’s the two bedroom scenes with Marie and Manda--each one signifying an important stage in their tragically short love affair. Given Marie’s potent sexuality, it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise that beds focus prominently in the film. There always seems to be a bed handy at the right moment, but watch the rape scene between Leca and Marie and then compare that scene to the final showdown between Manda and Leca. In both scenes we see a power figure looming over a physically weaker human being. The juxtaposition of the scene between Leca and Marie with the scene of an avenging Manda and a cowering Leca against a cellar door with a shape that subtly resembles a bed offers a crime and punishment scenario with the Leca’s role of aggressor upended so that he, finally, becomes the victim.

Written by Guy Savage

Post Office Investigator (1949)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Mon, 31 Dec 2012 08:08:18 PST

Continuing with my string of “Government Men” films, I dug into the box and pulled this one out. It is another quickie from that endless well-spring of programmers, “Republic Studios”.

The setting is an auction being held in a downtown office building. The auction is for a collection of rare stamps. There is a trio of less than savory types among those attending. Audrey Long, in a criminal role for a change, plays the new secretary of the auctioneer. She is the inside contact. Marcel Journet and Richard Benedict are the other two crooks. They pose as buyers. As the bidders examine the goods she slips a $100,000 stamp to Journet. Journet in turn hands off a fake to Long and returns to his seat.

The fake is replaced into the collection. Once Journet reaches his seat, he slips the stamp to confederate, Richard Benedict. Benedict asks the security guard if he could step out to grab a glass of water. Once in the hall, Benedict seals the stolen stamp inside a self- addressed envelope and drops it down the handy mail chute. Benedict then returns to his seat with his drink. The fake is soon discovered and the Police called. They do a search of the room and the patrons. Not finding anything, they release everyone.

Afterwards, Long meets her beau, Danny Morton for a few drinks. They talk about the $5,000 they will get for the job after the goods are fenced. Morton has an idea on how they can cut out Journet and Benedict and keep all the cash. Long, being the “sweet’ thing that she is, is all ears. The next morning Long is waiting beside the pickup box for the mailmen. Enter postmen Warren Douglas and Jimmie Dodd. Long bats her lashes at the boys and tells them she is in a jam. Long explains that she works in a Law office upstairs. Last night she says, “I put the wrong letter in the wrong envelope and dropped it in the mail.” She is sure that her boss will fire her if he finds out.

Would it be possible for her to retrieve said letter before it hits the system? She could fix her mistake and send it off again. Dodd is reluctant to do it but Douglas is a sucker for a dolly in distress. Douglas says he will do it if Long will join Dodd, his girl and himself on a date at 7 that night. She agrees and gives him the address on the letter she wants back. Douglas hands it over and heads back on his run with Dodd. Later that morning, the Police Lt. in charge of the robbery case, Thomas Browne Henry, decides he has the theft figured.

And right he his, a stamp switch and a drop of the swag down the mail chute. He calls on Post Office Inspector Cliff Clark with his theory. Clark calls in Dodd and Douglas and asks for the mailbags from the route. Dodd figures it has something to do with Long, Douglas however says it is just management doing a routine check. Later that night, Douglas, Dodd and his girl, Vera Marshe, swing by the office to pick up Long for the agreed upon foursome. Needless to say there is no sign of Long. Douglas has a quick check of the Lawyer’s office where Long said she worked. No Long, but there is pretty secretary, Jeff Donnell, who is locking up for the night.

Douglas talks Donnell into joining the group for a beer. As they drive past Central Park, Douglas suddenly remembers the address off the letter. It is just a block away. Douglas suggests they stop and see if Long is there. While all this is going on, Long is indeed at said address. She is asking Journet for her end of the stamp money. Journet says the envelope with the stolen stamp has not arrived yet. When it does, Journet will sell the stamp to a fence and Long will get her cut. There is a knock at the door, which is of course Douglas. Long tells Journet that Douglas is her escort for the night and says goodnight. Douglas figures the date is back on and smiles.

Said smile quickly evaporates when Long sticks a large pistol in his ribs and says come with her. Long walks Douglas out of the apartment building, past Dodd, Marshe and Donnell, to a waiting car with Morton sitting inside. She shoves Douglas into the auto and piles in after him. Douglas finally clues in that Long is “not”, Miss Sunshine and Roses. She pokes him with the piece and asks how he found her. “I recalled the address off the letter from when I gave it to you,” replies Douglas. Morton and Long have several quick words after which Morton starts the car. An un-needed trip to the bottom of the East River seems to be in Douglas’s immediate future.

The last thing Long and Morton want is someone blabbing about the double cross they pulled on Journet and Benedict. As he is being led to the dockside, Dodd and crew, who have been following Long’s car, lean on the horn. Douglas gets in a right cross to Morton’s chin and high-tails it to Dodd’s car. Once Douglas is inside, off they roar. They head straight to Investigator Clark’s office and come clean about the whole letter deal. Investigator Clark and Police Detective Henry ask Douglas to go undercover. They want him to go see Journet and Benedict and inform on Long. The two promise Douglas they will be close at hand if there are any problems.

Douglas is to tell Journet and Benedict that Long promised him 5 grand to help with the letter grab and double cross. Douglas is telling Journet about the deal because Long tried to deep six him instead of paying up. The details of the double cross must be worth something to Journet. Journet and Benedict are shall we say, “annoyed” with the info from Douglas. Phone calls are made and a meeting with all parties at the fence’s apartment is arranged. At the fence’s place, Journet and company quietly wait for Long with pistols drawn. Long, with Morton in tow, enters the apartment, sees the guns and Douglas and knows the jig is up. She hands over the stamp and says it was all a mistake. She then whips her piece out of her purse and blasts Journet and Benedict. She grabs up the stamp and the fence’s cash and bolts for the door. She leaves lover-boy Morton to duke it out with Douglas over Benedict’s pistol. As she scrams from the building she is gobbled up by the just arrived P. O. Investigator Clark and Police Detective Henry. Inside, Douglas has disposed of the swine Morton after a well-staged bout of fist-i-cuffs. Douglas is thanked for his help and goes off to meet Miss Donnell.

Excuse the somewhat rambling review here, but they sure packed a lot into the 60 minute runtime of this programmer. A very enjoyable quick paced timewaster!

It was great to see Miss Long as a villainous, double-dealing, knife in the back partner shooting nasty!

There is quite a lot of noir talent on display in this low-renter.

Long had roles in Game of Death, Insurance Investigator, Born To Kill, David Harding - Counterspy, and Desperate.

Douglas was in The Inner Circle, The Trespasser, Incident, Homicide, The Great Jewel Robber, Secrets of Monte Carlo, and Cry Vengeance.

Cliff Clark had bits in Bury Me Dead, Roses are Red, The Scar, Sorry, Wrong Number, Force of Evil, In This Corner, Shockproof, The Sun Sets at Dawn, Southside 1-1000, The Sellout, The Sniper, Scandal Sheet and Try and Get Me!

Richard Benedict was in Somewhere in the Night, Race Street, Smart Girls Don't Talk, Shock Proof, Homicide, Scene of the Crime, The Window, Crossfire and Ace in the Hole.

Pretty Jeff (Jean Marie) Donnell had roles in Power of the Whistler, Night Editor, Mr. District Attorney, Roughshod, Walk Softly Stranger, The Blue Gardenia, Sweet Smell of Success, and In A Lonely Place.

The screenplay was by John K. Butler who also did Out of the Storm, Secret Service Investigator, Hideout, The Blonde Bandit, Secrets of Monte Carlo, When Gangland Strikes, No Man's Woman and I Cover the Underworld.

The D of P was Republic regular John MacBurnie. His work included Out of the Storm, Hideout, Insurance Investigator, Street Bandits, The Red Menace, Missing Women, and Federal Agent at Large.

The director here was the under-rated George Blair. Blair always seemed able to get the most out of his cast and crew despite the low budgets he was saddled with. Examples of his noir include The Trespasser, Exposed, Federal Agent at Large, Secrets of Monte Carlo, Insurance Investigator, Unmasked, and Lonely Heart Bandit.

Written by Gordonl56

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Green for Danger (1946)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Mon, 24 Dec 2012 15:17:14 PST

“Very well, I’ll pause for 30 seconds so you can cook up your alibis.”

Green for Danger (1946) is a delightfully quirky yet important British crime film which must be considered in its historical context. With the exception of an opening glimpse of a countryside scene, the film was made entirely in the Pinewood studio and was the first commercial venture to be made there after WWII. Green for Danger is based on the 1944 novel of the same name written by Christianna Brand. Brand, a prolific writer, whose real name was Mary Christianna Milne, also wrote using a number of other pseudonyms. Her first crime novel, Death in High Heels, motivated by fantasies of murdering a coworker, was written when the author worked as a salesgirl--one of many jobs she held before establishing a successful writing career. At the time Green for Danger was written, Brand was married to a doctor who was posted as a major to a military hospital in Woolwich, and she capitalized on this relationship, plus her wartime experiences when producing the book.

The film Green for Danger deviates from the book in some crucial elements but both are clever variations on the British Country House Mystery--a sub-genre which typically places a number of upper class characters in a bucolic setting. When murder strikes, the suspects are limited to the house guests, and the subsequent investigation reveals a number of underlying motives and previously unknown connections. This sort of formula was terribly popular during the Golden Age of Detective Fiction, and there are plenty of examples to be found in the books of Agatha Christie and Ngaio Marsh. Green for Danger, set in a hospital in the Kent countryside is significant both for its wartime setting and for the means used for the first murder, but the film (and the novel’s) basic frame is clearly cleverly adapted from the traditional British Country House Mystery. Recognizable key ingredients include: the country setting, a limited number of suspects, and even a country mansion (in this case, an Elizabethan manor house requisitioned and converted into a hospital for the war). Rather interestingly, the British Country House Mystery is rarely identified with Green for Danger, and that’s no doubt due to its clever camouflage: the dominant WWII setting in which the characters are under constant threat from “terrible” V1 bombs. The threat from Germany, in this film, is overshadowed by the threat of a murderer who is one of a small group of medical personnel.

The film opens with a voice-over from Inspector Cockrill from Kent County Police as he dictates a typewritten letter to Scotland Yard. He says that he is about to describe the events that took place at Heron’s Park Hospital which began on August 17, 1944, and as he dictates, the scene switches to a middle-aged postman laboriously riding his bicycle to the hospital to deliver the post. Cockrill’s voiceover tells us that this is Higgins (Moore Marriott)-- “the first to die.” Then the scene switches again to an operating room and we are introduced to the main characters, all masked and gowned, who surround a patient about to have an operation:

Dr. Eden (Leo Genn)--a surgeon who once had an affluent Harley Street practice Dr. Barnes (Trevor Howard)--the anesthetist who has an anesthetic death in his past Nurse Bates (Judy Campbell)--in love with Dr. Eden Nurse Woods (Megs Jenkins) Nurse Sanson (Rosamund John) Nurse Linley (Sally Gray) engaged to Dr. Barnes.

Cockrill tells us that “by August 22, 2 of these people would be dead and 1 of them a murderer.” Given that the number of suspects is limited to six people (and this shortly dwindles shortly down to 5), it’s to the film’s credit that while the plot is littered with clues and red herrings, the identity of the murderer is not easily guessed. Multiple viewings generate an appreciation of the film’s complexity.

Shortly after the film begins, Higgins is wounded by a German V-1, otherwise known as a “buzz bomb” or a “doodlebug.” Tended by various nurses and by the two doctors, Higgins does not appear to be badly wounded. After being dug out of the rubble, he’s delirious and has a broken leg--no life threatening injuries here, yet the next day, Higgins dies on the operating table before the operation has even begun. What went wrong?

With an inquest pending, Dr. Barnes is under a great deal of pressure to take a leave of absence from the fussy, pompous administrator (Ronald Adam) until the matter of Higgins’s death is resolved. The anesthetic death of a previous patient of Dr. Barnes is resurrected from his past, and the suspicion of incompetence--rather than murder--lingers over the death of Higgins. In possibly the film’s best scene which takes place at a chaotic yet highly symbolic dance emphasizing ever-changing partners, Nurse Bates, unhinged by jealousy, makes a dramatic announcement that Higgins’s death was murder and she knows who committed the crime….

After this occurrence, Inspector Cockrill arrives at Heron’s Park Hospital to investigate two murders.

When the film begins, the relationships between the characters stationed at Heron’s Park are already determined. Womanizer Dr. Eden, who moves with slow but determined self-confidence has already had an affair with Nurse Bates and is moving onto the much more attractive Nurse Linley. Freddi Linley, however, is engaged to Dr. Barnes, but the suave Dr. Eden, who appears several times wearing a dressing gown rather as he would sport a smoking jacket, doesn’t let Freddi’s engagement stand in his way. Ignoring the impact of his actions on his co-workers, he has boldly asked Freddi to a dance much to Dr. Barnes’s outrage, and Eden’s poaching of Freddi sparks a jealous reaction from both Barnes and Nurse Bates. There’s an atmosphere of tension when poor, soon-to-die, Higgins is wheeled into the operating room for surgery. Higgins, who is aware that Barnes lost a patient under anesthesia, isn’t thrilled to see that Dr. Barnes in the operating room.

The book accentuates Dr. Eden’s predatory nature, and he is shown in relationships with no less than three women: Nurse Bates, Nurse Linley and Nurse Woods. After dumping the neurotic Nurse Bates, Eden casually moves onto his pursuit of both Nurse Woods and Nurse Linley--the fact that the latter woman is engaged to a coworker does not trouble him in the slightest, and neither is Eden concerned with the ramifications of his amorous pursuits upon the close-knit working circle. The image of Eden viewing the nursing staff as his personal harem is distilled for the film version, and while he’s still seen as a womanizer, he’s not quite as disruptive a force as shown in the book.

The film version of Nurse Woods, played by Megs Jenkins, is plump, nurturing, sagacious and not particularly susceptible to Dr. Eden’s Don Juan charm, but the book’s Nurse Woods (Woody) is described as possessing “an enormous bust and astonishingly lovely legs” and is “the wrong side of forty.” Nurse Woods is the only female in the film who is not the recipient of Eden’s attentions on one level or another, and she’s also rather curiously the most stable, and this of course begs the question: does Dr. Eden pursue only emotionally vulnerable women? In the surgery room, Nurse Woods tells Eden that he must miss his former life: “Harley Street, Rolls-Royce, lovely ladies,” and also slams Eden with the dig that women can’t resist that “wounded stag look.” It’s a clever observation by Nurse Woods which wisely inverts the hunter-hunted, predator-prey motif. It’s clear that she both grasps and is immune to Eden’s sexual charisma. So while the book portrays Eden, involved with no less than three out of four nurses, as the dominant male who moves on to the next victim when bored with his femme du jour, the film distills Eden’s satyr nature. The film shows an Eden whose behavior is still reprehensible, especially given the confined circumstances, and it’s still very poor judgment for Eden to precipitously move from neurotic Nurse Bates and poach the far more attractive Nurse Linley.

Rather interestingly Eden shows no sexual attraction whatsoever to Nurse Sanson who is apparently “on the verge of a nervous breakdown” due to the recent death of her mother. It’s with Nurse Sanson that we see another side of Dr. Eden. He shows concern for her and even offers some medical and possibly friendly advice, advising that she should leave the hospital and its continual trauma behind.

The theme of vulnerability is subtly threaded throughout the film. On the bigger scheme of things, there’s the vulnerability of the British to the German V1 bombs, and on a personal level at Heron’s Park, there’s Dr. Eden preying on emotionally vulnerable women and leaving them … well crazed with jealousy--just watch the demented eyes of Nurse Bates during the wonderful dance scene. But she’s not his only victim, there’s Nurse Freddi Linley who once thought she was in love with Dr. Barnes but is now thoroughly confused, and that is partly achieved by Dr. Eden’s behavior which nudges Barnes to ricochet and become threatened and obnoxiously possessive as a result. On yet another level, there’s Death by Anesthesia--surely a particularly heinous crime--a patient murdered when he is at his most vulnerable. After all, we expect doctors and nurses to SAVE people and not run around bumping them off. This then opens the subject of the character of Inspector Cockrill. Just as the doctors and nurses behave far more badly than we expect them to, the Inspector also refuses to fit the mold. He’s having fun at Heron’s Park Hospital, and at one point in the film frankly admits, “I found it all tremendously enjoyable.”

The casting of Alastair Sim in the role of Inspector Cockrill was an inspired move by the filmmakers Sidney Gilliat and Frank Launder, and it’s this film that marked the rise of this brilliant actor’s career. There is some humour in the book, but the film’s black humour is quite different and is largely evident through the character of Cockrill. There are several scenes in which we see the suspects: Eden, Barnes, Linley, Sanson and Woods, all grim, all extremely tense, and then Cockrill enters the scene. Inspector Cockrill has somewhat unorthodox methods, and the comedic, eccentric edge of Sim’s role presents a subversive picture of a police detective by undermining the serious nature of the investigation. There’s one wonderful scene of Cockrill in bed reading a murder mystery, Who Killed Simon Lemaire? He’s just picked up the book and read for a few seconds when Sim’s expression shifts and we sense that Cockrill thinks he has determined the solution to the fictional crime. With a smug expression, he turns to the back page only to discover that his assumptions were incorrect. He failed to solve the fictional crime and this doesn’t bode well for the investigation at Heron’s Park. It’s almost as though Cockrill is in a different film entirely. While the suspects are obviously under a great deal of pressure and tension, the lackadaisical Cockrill injects the dialogue with droll humour which none of the other characters respond to or even appear to hear. He’s clearly having a wonderful time and seems to not take matters quite seriously. Instead of creating a jarring effect, the juxtaposition of the perfectly serious with the comic produces a wonderful result.

Post 1945, WWII was not a popular subject for audiences, and this was largely seen as the cause of the box office failure of the splendid Powell and Pressburger film The Small Back Room (1949). Making Green for Danger was a risky venture for audiences sick of the subject of war, and the film’s co-producers Sidney Gilliat and Frank Launder who formed Individual Pictures Production Company in 1944 after leaving Gainsborough Pictures were well aware of the risks. The book is set in 1941 in a military hospital, and many of its characters are called by their military rank. There are also injured military characters in the book--not so in the film--not only to appeal to the box office but also to appease the censors. British censors were initially very concerned that the story was set in a military hospital and that since wounded soldiers were still being treated, they had actually gone so far as to decide that the book Green for Danger should never be made into a film. Fortunately, scriptwriters Sidney Gilliat and Claud Guerney pre-emptively outmaneuvered the censors by altering the action from the book’s military hospital (with the male doctors called by their military rank) to a civilian hospital in which wounded members of the military are glaringly absent.

Director Sidney Gilliat commented on his decision to film Green for Danger:

"The novel, by Christianna Brand, had not been recommended as film material by the story department of the Rank Organization, and I bought a copy at Victoria Station just to while away a journey. I was attracted not by the detective, Inspector Cockrill, who, though by no means as dull a plodder as Inspector French, did not exhibit very much in the way of elan; nor particularly by the hospital setting, then still held by many distributors and exhibitors to be death at the box office. No, what appealed to me was the anesthetics - the rhythmic ritual, from wheeling the patient out to putting him out and keeping him out (in this case, permanently), with all those crosscutting opportunities offered by flowmeters, hissing gas, cylinders, palpitating rubber bags, and all the other trappings, in the middle of the Blitz, too...The Blitz of the novel we changed into the 1944 V-1 attacks, as being by far the most dramatic of the various assaults on the old folks at home."

(from Launder and Gilliat, by Geoff Brown, 1977)
Inspector Cockrill appeared in no less than 7 Christianna Brand novels, but unfortunately, only Green for Danger made it to the screen. Otto Penzler’s Mysterious Press recently republished several Brand novels.

Written by Guy Savage

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Highway Dragnet (1954)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Mon, 17 Dec 2012 16:29:44 PST

I’ve always had a sneaky suspicion that I enjoy Poverty Row film noirs a little more than other crime film buffs, but I occasionally wish big stars would stay away from them. 1954’s Highway Dragnet is a case in point. Richard Conte is as steady as ever, but Joan Bennett is done a great disservice, and devotees of hers would do well to stay as far away from this film as she should have.

The movie’s “man on the run” premise is a cliché, but it’s the sort of cliché that got that way because it’s such great film fodder. It goes something like this: Conte’s character has just drummed out of the Marine Corps after a rough stint slogging a flamethrower up and down hills in Korea. With a few bucks in his pocket and plenty of time on his hands he heads for the Vegas strip. He plans to connect with an old pal (he never makes it) and do the strip before heading west to renovate his dilapidated fixer-upper on California’s Salton Sea. While waiting on his buddy, Conte gets bored with the penny slots and wanders into the casino bar — wood-paneled like a basement rec-room and chock-full of lounge lizards and greasy pompadours. He settles into an unmanned stool right beside a peroxide blonde, Mary Beth Hughes, dolled up but cheap-looking, two sheets to the wind and working on three. The stage is set for the best sequence in Highway Dragnet — a scene so authentic that it only makes the subsequent letdown all the more painful.

Bars make for a useful narrative setting in cheap filmmaking, and are consequently a B-noir staple. But they also resonate with me, because I spent more than a decade standing at the doors of shitty dives with my arms crossed, trying to make like a tough guy — and occasionally having to be one. I’ve seen my share unpleasant things in the thousands of hours I’ve spent eyeballing barrooms, and I have an understanding of, and undoubtedly some affection for those sad souls who rot away on barstools — perhaps that’s why I’m so drawn to the losers that populate crime films. The bar offers filmmakers a convenient place to aim characters at one another, to set them on a collision course, particularly characters of the opposite sex. What better symbolizes the seediness of the city than the bar? What could be a more emblematic of recklessness, danger, and the allure of easy sex? What better place to be noticed, or to go unnoticed; to conduct nefarious business or a illicit affair? And then there’s the booze itself, any screenwriter’s most expedient gateway to sex, violence, or oblivion — in life, as in art. Bars are often put to such purpose in film noir, so it’s hardly surprising that Highway Dragnet, a 70-minute chase picture, opens with a man and a woman sparring over drinks. The scene is brief, spectacular, and best of all: absolutely authentic — so I’m going to slobber over it. If you are anxious for a summary, just go watch the movie — it’s plenty short enough, and if I know you it’s already in your instant queue.

The scene gets moving after Conte does the polite thing and offers Hughes a drink in exchange for the vacant seat, currently occupied by her handbag. She hungrily accepts, but not before making a floozy’s feint at good-girl morality: “I’m not here for that.” Oh, yes she is. They chit-chat about their pasts, how they each got from there to here, with both actors coming over as only casually interested in one another — or maybe suspiciously disinterested. Here are two performers who understand the way that life-hardened souls interact in a bar, nursing secret little hopes as they rattle the ice in their drinks. Men and women let their guards down over cocktails, sitting side-by-side instead of across from one another. Everything comes so much more easily when looking up doesn’t mean looking at, and lighting a cigarette isn’t necessarily foreplay, it’s just another step in a tried-and-tested ritual. Conte and Hughes intuit all of this, and their performances take on the unexpected air of truth.

He’s good, but she’s great, playing tipsy just right, Hughes’s head not quite steady as she smiles in his direction, her brassiere showing under her dress as she shifts unsteadily on her stool. The pair share the easy banter of those who believe that sex is either impossible or inevitable, and their certainty is what makes this scene so good: Hughes thinks she’s hooked him while Conte is just wasting time. She tells him she’s an ex-fashion model — her glossy is hanging on the wall, just over there, on your right — yet he blunders when he says, “Hey, you were really beautiful then.” There are few creatures more perilous than the woman sitting alone at the bar: her vulnerability makes her dangerous, and Hughes reacts like a classic mad drunk: she gets aggressive. Conte grabs her, pinning her arms behind back, but to his surprise she smiles — she’s finally getting what she wanted the whole time: human contact. Hard or soft, it doesn’t matter. Her body relaxes and she leers into a kiss, just like she planned it that way, and the scene fades out. It’s a moment that reminds me why I love B-pictures: sometimes, because of their meager budgets and lowbrow subject matter, these tawdry movies get it exactly right.

Unfortunately for all concerned, the film continues. In the harsh light of desert mornings and hangovers, we next find Conte at an arid crossroads thumbing his way west. Too bad for him that the first car by is rocking its springs with law enforcement, not surprisingly on the lookout for our boy. A certain peroxide blonde is splayed blue-in-the-face on the floor of her bungalow, and everyone from the bar remembers her and Conte’s fireworks. The uniforms put him in bracelets and haul him to the scene of the crime, where the script contrives to make Conte look guilty as hell. For the sorts of reasons that only make sense on Poverty Row he has a bloody shirt in his suitcase, and when the detectives check his alibi by trying to call the no-show buddy’s hotel, Conte suddenly recalls that his pal is on a “top secret” assignment and isn’t traveling under his real name. Why the film puts us through all of this rubbish is unclear, there’s never a moment where we believe Conte to be guilty — he’s got a Silver Star for Pete’s sake (they’re always war heroes, aren’t they?) — though it’s possible the writers want to keep us guessing. After all this is a picture with four producers and six credited writers (including Roger Corman), so some confusion is inevitable. (We never do get an explanation for the bloody shirt.) With his chances at freedom fading fast, Conte makes with the judo and busts out. He dives into one of the idling prowl cars and skedaddles. Believe it or not, at this point the film is only ten minutes old.

The rest of the picture takes place on the run. Conte dumps his khakis and the police car, and then stumbles upon two women broken down by the side of the highway. Joan Bennett is a magazine photographer; Wanda Hendrix (you might know her from Ride the Pink Horse) is her model. Conte gets their pistons firing and they pay him back with a free lift. The remaining reels are concerned with a series of near misses at various roadblocks and diners — all full of donut chomping cops — and the unfolding group dynamic when the girls finally discover that their passenger is a murder suspect. Eventually he’s compelled to hold them in check at gunpoint, but as the minutes go by the vivacious (and horny!) Hendrix is more and more in his corner, while Bennett has a different idea. There are a few twists and turns along the route, though nothing — not even the film’s payoff — will come as a big surprise. What is surprising, however, is poor Joan Bennett.

Bennett was still a household name in 1954, though she was a decade past the vibrant sexuality of Scarlet Street, and the old-gal stability of Dark Shadows was still miles away. Like Barbara Stanwyck she had transitioned to mature roles, having scored with critics as the determined mother in The Reckless Moment and then successfully partnered Spencer Tracy in the highly commercial Father of the Bride pictures. But in 1951 she veered into career hell. Walter Wanger, Joan’s big-shot producer husband, shot her agent in a Beverly Hills parking lot. Wanger thought the pair were fooling around, and attempted to settle the issue like he’d seen some guys do in the movies. The agent, Jennings Lang, survived the shooting, and rehabilitated while Wanger did a few months at the honor farm. The real victim was a scandalized Joan, suddenly a scarlet woman and the chief subject of Hollywood’s gossip machine. By the time she landed Highway Dragnet her career was in purgatory. She looks — and it’s painful to write this — awful. Severe and shrill, she seems angry to even be in the picture, forced to play second fiddle to someone as unbearably young and perky as Wanda Hendrix. Bennett’s role is important, but Highway Dragnet’s final scene is excruciating. It’s the sort of thing that must have pained her in the years that followed, and were she still with us she’d undoubtedly be upset that this film has become available.

Highway Dragnet is a watchable B-thriller and a legitimate film noir — though one with very little style (cinematographer John Martin only did westerns) and a few cringe-inducing moments. It’s unmistakably Poverty Row — in ways both good and bad. Just remember one thing as you watch it: give the woman in the window a break. She deserves it.

Written by The Professor
his blog is Where Danger Lives!

The House on Telegraph Hill (1951)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Tue, 11 Dec 2012 03:31:04 PST

The House on Telegraph Hill begins with a dark and detailed flashback to a concentration camp during World War II juxtaposed with an image of the infamous house with a For Sale sign. The grief-stricken voice-over of our main character, Victoria Kowelska, details the tragic loss of her family and the relationship that develops with another woman in the camps. Victoria's best friend and sole companion, Karin, is described as someone who "has something to live for", as her infant son Christopher was rescued from war-torn Europe and smuggled to a wealthy aunt in San Francisco. Eventually Karin succumbs to the conditions of the camp and dies. Victoria is overwhelmed by sadness at the loss of her friend, but in a typical noir twist, she also decides that she will assume Karin's identity. When she is asked about why she has two identification cards, she replies "She was my friend. We kept our things together. She will not need this anymore," and rips up her own ID card. We see her relinquishing her past with this symbolic action, and acknowledging the "death" of Victoria Kowelska.

Upon Victoria's arrival in San Francisco, she quickly falls into a romance and subsequent marriage with Christopher's appointed guardian and lawyer, Allan Spender. "I felt Allen was attracted to me and I was prepared to take advantage of it." She is struck by the opulence and splendor of the house on Telegraph Hill, which should rightfully be called a mansion, but also senses the dark atmosphere that seems to surround the house. Upon the viewer's first entrance into the house, we are greeted by an ominous portrait of the deceased aunt Sophie, and her portrait bids us farewell in the final scenes of the film. The house seems to be a character of its own, or is personifying the character of the absent Sophie, watching and judging the occupants.

"Karin" cannot seem to settle into her new comfortable life. She is haunted by anxieties of her past losses. "Sometimes things come back...things that I want to forget. I can't help it." Allan tries to reassure her, "I just have to try harder to make you forget."

Strange events begin to occur that arouse Victoria's suspicions. Tense confrontations with Christopher's nanny Margaret, whose cold demeanor and obsessive devotion to Aunt Sophie bring to mind the character of Mrs Danvers from Rebecca. Christopher shows her his playhouse, which has been deemed dangerous because of a mysterious explosion that has left a treacherous hole with a steep drop to the street below. Victoria has an encounter with Allan in the playhouse, where she gets so intimidated she begins to back away from him and almost falls to her death through the hole. Finally, the most frightening occurrence is a car scene where it is apparent that Victoria's brakes have been disabled, and she is hurled down the hills of San Francisco at breakneck speeds, ending in a non fatal crash. This scene has incredible footage of San Francisco, rivaled only by the excitement of Steve McQueen's car chase scene in Bullitt.

It becomes apparent that Allan is making attempts on both Victoria and Christopher's life in order to inherit the estate for himself. Victoria narrowly avoids his final blow, which comes in the form of a glass of orange juice heavily spiked with sedatives, by switching cups so that Allan ends up meeting the fate he intended for her in a dramatic final scene.

Written by Phantom Lady Vintage

The Las Vegas Story (1952)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 09:55:42 PST

The very first words that appear on the screen during the opening credits of The Las Vegas Story (1952) are “Howard Hughes Presents.” It’s really quite a misleading statement. “Hijacked by Howard Hughes” might be a more accurate assessment. During the late forties and early fifties, Hughes, who was running RKO at the time, would frequently gum up the works by demanding intricate changes to films that were already complete. He was particularly obsessed with all things Jane Russell, including her rather striking physical properties, so any film with her was guaranteed to have his fingerprints all over it. In the case of His Kind of Woman (1951), his meddling still managed to result in a highly entertaining mess of a film. But in The Las Vegas Story, the film’s schizophrenic tone just makes it a mess. It isn’t sure if it wants to be a noir, a musical comedy, a romance, a murder mystery, or an over-the-top action film. It feels like several different films spliced together, not a single, unified story.

The film begins with a beautiful montage of what is now historic Las Vegas, highlighting such landmarks as the still-operational Golden Nugget casino. A man named Happy tinkles the ivories at a joint called The Last Chance while he waxes nostalgic about the good old days when a beautiful dame named Linda (Jane Russell) used to stand by his piano and croon while a soldier named Dave (Victor Mature) watched her adoringly. Linda and Dave used to be sweet on each other, but something went wrong. Linda split town, while Dave clutched bitterly to the past, getting a job as a Sin City police lieutenant. (Casablanca [1942] comparisons are actively encouraged, as the film isn’t exactly subtle in how it rips off the Bogie-Bergman classic.)

Cut to the present, as Linda, with her new, wealthy husband Lloyd Rollins (Vincent Price, fresh off his scene-stealing performance in His Kind of Woman), speeds through the desert on a Pullman on their way to California. Lloyd casually suggests stopping in Vegas for some fun, but Linda wants none of it. Lloyd wins. They’re headed back to the last place Linda wants to revisit—her past.

It isn’t long before they run into Dave, and the film lurches awkwardly from a light adventure into a talky melodrama. During their shouting matches, Dave demands to know about Linda’s new husband and that beautiful diamond necklace she’s always wearing (a necklace that was apparently so important, it got its own line in the credits). Throw in Lloyd’s suddenly mysterious motives for visiting Vegas and his equally sudden compulsory gambling, a too-young-to-be-married couple that Dave pulls out of a wedding chapel and writes up but ends up trying to live vicariously through, the nasty new owner of The Last Chance who is making Happy and the rest of Linda’s old co-workers decidedly unhappy, a few Linda-and-Happy musical numbers, and a shady character that has been following Linda and Dave since they stopped in Vegas and who shows a more-than-casual interest in her necklace, and the film has more subplots than it knows what to do with.

About halfway through the film, another subplot in the form of a dead body shows up, and the story whipsaws into murder-mystery mode. Who did it? Was it Lloyd? Was it Linda? Was it their unwanted follower? Who knows? Who cares? While all three of the film’s principle actors do a solid job with the material they’d been given, they can’t make up for the mess of a plot that Hughes most likely tinkered with until it didn’t even resemble the original source material.

The finale of the film moves into action-movie territory, and to be fair, it actually features a thrilling chase between a car and a helicopter that lasts several minutes and features some intense cinematography that highlights several daring aerial maneuvers—while chasing the car, the chopper actually flies through a building multiple times—that undoubtedly made Hughes, himself a notorious flying daredevil, quite proud. Robert Stevenson, who also directed The Woman on Pier 13 (1949) and Walk Softly, Stranger (1950) during his tenure at RKO, gets a chance in the climax to show off what he can do, and on its own, the scene stands as one of the best action sequences from any film of its era. The only problem is that, like so much of The Las Vegas Story, it feels shoehorned into the film instead of operating as a natural part of the overall narrative.

This was Stevenson’s last film for RKO, and it isn’t hard to see why. He could not have been satisfied with the final product. It’s too piecemeal, too jumbled, and too muddled to be enjoyed in any significant way. Audiences felt the same way. The film lost $600,000, making it just one of the many RKO box-office bombs during the Hughes era. It’s a shame, really, because the pieces are all there. They just belong to about a half-dozen different movies, not one.

Written by Nighthawk

Roses Are Red (1947)

steve.eifert@gmail.com — Sun, 25 Nov 2012 11:40:18 PST

I must admit I was not expecting much when the credits started with, “Sol Wurtzel Presents”. What I got was a surprisingly neat, well-done, doppelganger noir.

Don Castle headlines in a dual role as a crook named Don Carney, and District Attorney, Robert Thorne.

D.A. Castle has just been sworn in on a law and order ticket. Look-a-like Castle has just gotten out of prison after a 2 year bit.

Local mob boss, Edward Keane, is being filled in about the D.A. by bent cop, Joe Sawyer. Sawyer says that Castle will not play ball like the last D.A.

Keane has other problems at the moment. One of his henchmen, Douglas Fowley, is choked at being cut out of a deal. He has hinted that he is going to rat to the Law if his end is not restored. Keane asks his main gunsel, Charles McGraw, to deal with the canary. “He won’t be singing any tune after tonight.” Responds McGraw.

That evening, McGraw’s button man, Paul Guilfoyle, follows Fowley and pumps a pair of rounds into him. So much for Fowley becoming a rat. Guilfoyle though, is a bit of a drunk, and he gets himself pinched for killing a barroom pick-up.

Mob lawyer Charles Lane is sent to see Guilfoyle. Now Guilfoyle is hinting he will talk to the law if the mob does not get him out of jail. This will be his third strike and he does not intend to rot in jail. Boss Keane of course is not amused at all when he hears from Lane what the gunman said.

Meanwhile, Castle the crook, just out of the pen, is in the arms of his wife, Patricia Knight. After a round of couch wrestling, he picks up the newspaper and looks at the photo of the new District Attorney. Castle and Knight are both amazed by the news picture. “This guy is me!” He sees dollar signs as he decides to pay mob boss Keane a visit.

The crook strolls in to talk with Keane. He convinces Keane that he can play the D.A. Keane is all smiles as the old light bulb goes off. He will grab the D.A. and replace him with his man.

Keane has McGraw send Jeff Chandler, a bruno with the nickname, “Knuckles”, out to grab the D.A. Chandler waits in the back seat of D.A. Castle’s car. Then cracks him on the head with a pistol butt when he enters. Chandler drives D.A. Castle out of town to a secluded house where he locks him is a secure room.

The next day, both Castles meet for the first time. The crook needs to study the D.A. in order to get his mannerisms down pat. Chandler is also kept handy in case the D.A. tries any funny business.

The District Attorney’s office reports to the Police that Castle is missing. They are unable to find him. The Police figure he was unable to handle the pressure and has split town. His girl, Peggy Knudsen, a newspaper reporter, however smells a rat. She knows that Castle must be in trouble.

Several days later, while Chandler is out grabbing some food, the crook lets his guard down. The D.A. takes quick advantage of the situation and decks his double. He then changes clothes with the crook and props him up on the bed. And just in time too. Chandler has returned from his outing.

Chandler walks in, pulls his rod, and shoots the “wrong” Castle. He tells the D.A. to come. They are heading back to town. It is time for the mob’s Castle to reappear. Chandler drives Castle to the edge of town. They then push Castle’s car over into a ravine. Chandler gives a couple of solid punches to Castle’s head laying him out. Chandler then uses a pay phone to call the Police about a car wreck he saw.

The next day, while in hospital, Castle explains his disappearance to the press. He was kidnapped, and held by some unknown criminals. He had managed to escape but had crashed due to his weakened state. Castle does not mention the double. He can’t be sure who else is on Keane’s payroll.

Now Sawyer, the crooked cop, shows with orders for Castle from boss Keane. He is to arrange the release of button man, Guilfoyle, from jail. Keane wants Sawyer to pick Guilfoyle up at the jail for a fake trip to the dentist. Sawyer will then phony up an escape attempt by Guilfoyle, which will of course end with Guilfoyle’s death. Problem solved.

Castle gets hold of his girl, reporter Knudsen. He fills her in on what is really going on. She tells him to go to the Police. Castle would rather wait till he can make a rock solid case before he brings in the Police. He says there might be more bent cops besides Sawyer. He has Knudsen bring in her brother, James Arness into the fold. Castle has a plan and needs some help he can trust.

Arness, and a couple of his army buddies, stop Sawyer at the point of a gun after he leaves the jail with Guilfiyle. They relieve Sawyer of his gun, and his passenger. Arness and company, bring Guilfoyle to Knudsen’s apartment where Castle is waiting. Castle fills Guilfoyle in on Keane’s plan to have Sawyer deep six him. Guilfoyle agrees to turn States evidence on McGraw, Sawyer and Keane.

Castle returns to the office where a rattled Sawyer is waiting. “I lost Guilfoyle!” The pair are then interrupted by the dead Castle’s wife, Patricia Knight. She waltzes over and starts swapping spit with Castle. “I’ve missed you honey.”

Quick on his feet, Castle tells Knight she should return home and he will join her there. Castle has Sawyer drive her home. Once outside, Knight asks Sawyer, “what is going on?” “Did you guys pull another switch?” “That guy ain’t my hubby.”

Sawyer’s eyes go wide as he listens to Knight. He shoves her in the car and floors it to boss Keane’s place. Keane is equally surprised by Knight’s information. His empire is starting to crumble. Loose ends need to be cut off. Soon McGraw and Sawyer are both pushing up daisies.

Castle though has more than enough evidence now to pinch Keane. Keane of course does not come quietly and a few pieces of lead are added to his wardrobe.

For a bottom b film, this one is pretty good. It had a decent story, some good acting, better than expected direction and a nice noir look.

Castle’s work includes Lighthouse, The Guilty, High Tide, The Invisible Wall and I Wouldn't Be in Your Shoes. Veteran actor, Joe Sawyer, was in Black Legion, Deadline at Dawn, Big Town After Dark, A Double Life, Deadline USA, Inside Job and The Killing.

The director was James Tinling. He worked on some Charlie Chan and Mr Moto films in the 30’s.

The d of p here is, Benjamin Kline. His resume includes Arson Squad, Strange Journey, Backlash, Shoot to Kill, The Crimson Key, Jewels of Brandenburg, The Invisible Wall, Danger Street, Tough Assignment, No Escape, Rumble On the Docks, Escape from San Quentin, and of course Detour.

Written by Gordon