Out In The Two-Timing Femme Fatale 1950s Crime Noir Night- “Armored Car Robbery”- A Review

Out In The Two-Timing Femme Fatale 1950s Crime Noir Night- “Armored Car Robbery”- A Review

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armored_Car_Robbery

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir film Armored Car Robbery.

DVD Review

Armored Car Robbery, starring Charles McGraw, William Talman, Adele Jurgens, RKO Radio Pictures, 1950

Forget what I ever said about the classic two-timing femme fatales. And who knows maybe three-timing, or more. Once you go down that road what is to stop a dame, any dame , and why, at any small number when you are looking, forever looking, to step up in class, to latch onto the big dough guys who will take you out of the dime-a-dance scene you are mired in. So forget frails like Mary Astor in The Maltese Falcon who was ready to make any guy, any two guys for that matter, take the fall as long as she got her damn bird, and the stuff of dreams. With dough enough to keep her in style, and the small-time grifters off her back. Forget Rita Hayworth in The Lady From Shang-hai who had half the male world, the smart guys too, lining up to take the fall, and just ask where to take it until in the end even the smart guys cried “uncle.” Forget Jane Greer in Out Of The Past twisting up every guy in California, some smart guys too, and guys who supposedly knew what was what wound up hiding out until the coast was clear, maybe for about a century hiding out nursing their wounds , once she got done with them. And forget one more, just one more, that no femme list is complete without, Ava Garner trying to get some guy, her everlovin’ husband no less, some supposedly badass guy, to take the fall for her on his deathbed in the film adaptation of Ernest Hemingway’s The Killers. Ya, forget them all as just slightly nervous misunderstood frills that had a couple of bad breaks along the way. Sweet little Yvonne (played by Adele Jurgens. Ya, I know, the name doesn’t exactly ring bells in the fatale world, good or bad)in this sleeper of a crime noir under review, Armored Car Robbery (Ya, I know as well, they seemed to have run out of interesting titles on this one) puts them all to shame. I might be over- touting the thing but hear me out.

Naturally no femme fatale worth her salt is driven by anything but the desire, the very strong desire, to get out from under whatever menial labor she is stuck doing, from serving them off the arm in some hash house to beating drunks for drinks and donuts in some two bit-bar fly scene. Yvonne here is strictly an independent operator working her fanny off (no pun intended) as a stripper ( maybe today the more politically correct term would be a sex worker, or some other more exotic description, although I am willing to stand corrected on that) in a low-rent Chicago burlesque house. Naturally such places, as Damon Runyon, Studs Terkel, and a few other guys have informed us, do not draw serious high-rollers or serious smart guys. So, through this and that, Yvonne winds up married, unhappily married as it turns out, to Benny who is nothing but a small-time grafter down on his uppers as the film opens. Strictly from Jump Street and strictly a guy who takes orders, not gives them.

And that is where this film gets interesting because while Bennie is nothing a but small-time hood he knows a certain smart guy, Dave Purvis (played by William Talman, probably better known as the ever-losing District Attorney in the 1950s Perry Mason television series and not a classic ladies’ man by any means which means he too has to keep grabbing dough), who has a plan, a big heist plan, which the reader can figure out from the title of the film, involves robbing, well, an armored car. Why? As the late old time yegg Willie Sutton has often been quoted as saying in all kinds of contexts –“that’s where the money is.” Big half a million dollar dough (big 1950s dough, now just tip money for the big guys). Bennie (and a couple of his confederates) are in, in to get under from under in the Yvonne department, to keep her in style, some style anyway. But here is the beauty of the thing, and what puts Yvonne right up there with the more well-known fatales, she is running around, married to Benny or not, running around no questions asked, with one Dave Purvis. See Yvonne knows what every true-blue two-timing femme fatale knows-go with the brains of the operation. And so her fate is set.

Of course even a kid wet behind the ears knows that the magic mantra behind every crime noir is that crime, well, crime doesn’t pay. The only difference usually is in what manner it doesn’t pay (and how bad the femme fatale makes some guy, or guys, fall). Here the heist gets blown by a simple call to the police by a witness. The stick-up (at a ball park during baseball season which is probably a separate chargeable crime itself ) is blown but not before a fatal shoot-out of a police officer in pursuit. Benny also gets shot-up in the melee. And that is where Lieutenant Cordell (played by ruggedly handsome, jut-jawed, and straight-as-an-arrow Charles McGraw with the perfect police officer’s face) comes in to see some rough-hewn justice is served. See the officer killed was his longtime partner and as we already know from detective Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon a guy has to do something about the murder of his partner, private or public cop. From there it is only time before Dave and Yvonne, once Benny expires from his wounds, are cornered in a dramatic airfield shoot-out. But here is the clincher- when Dave earlier , dough in hand, told Yvonne that Benny had gone to his just rewards she showed all the emotion of one who heard that a fly had been swatted dead. Didn’t I tell you she was poison? Ya, I did.

Out In The1950s Low-Down Be-Bop Crime Noir Night- Lizabeth Scott’s “Two Of A Kind”

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the 1950s crime noir Two Of A Kind.

DVD Review

Two Of A Kind, starring Edmond O’Brien, Lizabeth Scott, Columbia Pictures,1950

One of the unspoken premises of the crime noir (other than the by now obvious one that crime doesn’t pay, or at least not pay for those at the bottom of the crime chain) is that there is a “code of honor” among thieves. Code there may be, although that premise is open to serious question as the film under review, Two Of A Kind, explores but it has been honored more in the breech than the observance. That said, this is a rather nifty little B-side film that can’t quite decide whether it is a light-hearted, flirty camping on the crime noir genre or wants to go full bore in the low-rent be-bop crime noir night.

Why? Well the plotline certainly promises a “big score” on the crime front even though guns and rough stuff are, mostly, in the background. No nasty armed robberies or off-hand murders here. This one is about a scam, a beautiful everybody gets plenty of dough and can retire to Rio scam. On paper. And for a while it seems to be getting up a full head of steam toward that goal. But like all scams, or almost all scams, a little what the hell happened reality sets in.

Here husky-throated and fetching, 1950s-style blond fetching, Elizabeth Scott as Brandy, a girl who has to look out for herself in any way a 1950s girl can, and a wealthy man’s lawyer, Vincent, have cooked up a scheme to grab ten million in dough by stealth. But what they need, desperately need, is a third party to play the role of this wealthy man and his wife’s long lost son. Enter small time grafter, Lefty (played by crime noir stand-by Edmond O’Brien) who is down on his uppers and whose “resume” fits the bill as the son, except he needs a little work to flush out the role- he needs to get his finger smashed to smithereen to look authentic. (Ouch, even fifty years later.)

And he goes for it, smashed finger and all. And goes, by the romantic interest way, for Lizabeth Scott (who like I said before is a girl who had to look out for herself and has already pinned herself to that lawyer so there will be some trouble, no question). And she, off-handedly, goes for him along the way. So the plan is unfolding beautifully, including working on a dizzy young dame who has entre to the wealthy man’s home, when all of a sudden the tables are turned. The old guy doesn’t tumble for the scam and all bets are off. But see nobody goes to the slammer on this one. Nobody gets shot up, or even ruffled up (except said lawyer has to get out of town) so the big build-up turns this one into a comedic crime noir. Is there such an animal, or is it against nature? Still this one was one of the better B-film noirs based on the dialogue and the little twists around the scam. Oh ya, in case you forgot, crime doesn’t pay.

Out In The Low-End Be-Bop 1950s Crime Noir Night- “The Killer That Stalked New York”- A Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia for the low-rent crime noir, The Killer Who Stalked New York.

DVD Review

The Killer Who Stalked New York, starring Evelyn Keynes, Charles Korvin, Columbia Pictures, 1950

I want my money back. And I want it now. Sure I know that this film had to have been the crumb-bum first feature, the B-film, on a Saturday afternoon double-feature but I still want my money back or at least the dough I spent on popcorn. I have reviewed many crime noir/film noir efforts in this space over the last couple of years but this one under review, The Killer Who Stalked New York, really hits the bottom. Poor acting overall, poor dialogue, poor plot line and, well, just poor. The only socially redeeming feature about this one is the black and white cinematography but that is hardly enough to float this one.

So what has my dander up? Well, for starters, just look at the movie title. Wouldn’t it make you think that some serious desperado was on the loose, some one of a half dozen 1950s bad guys who the likes of Robert Mitchum or Humphrey Bogart would have to set straight (or maybe somebody else has to straighten out). No the killer here is none other than a small pox epidemic, or threatened one anyway. Ya, I thought that would get your attention. There is a crime here but just a garden variety “hot jewels” scheme that would be a yawner on most days. But see one Sheila Bennet (played by Evelyn Keynes) is not only acting as a “mule” for some New York City low-life, her two-timing husband (played by Charles Korvin), but has contacted small pox down in pre-revolution Cuba. And it goes downhill from there

Naturally Sheila as a carrier is going to infect everybody that she comes in close contact with and so this one turns from a nickel and dime low-rent crime flick to a national (or at least big city) emergency thing with everybody getting vaccinated while the medical and police authorities are frantically hunting her down. But here is the coup de grace Sheila has been two-timed by her two-timing husband by her ever-loving younger sister so to add “spice” to this one and to drag it out for more than its five minutes of real energy she is the woman scorned who seeks “justice” by hunting down her hide-and-seek getaway husband (and thereby potentially spreading her disease all over the Big Apple). Hey, let’s call this a medical noir. And you can see now, see as clear as day, why I want my money back. At least my popcorn money and not in 1950 coin either.

Out Of The 1940s Crime Noir Night- American Psycho 101- “Born To Kill”- A Review

Out Of The 1940s Crime Noir Night- American Psycho 101- “Born To Kill”- A Review

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Born_to_Kill_(1947_film)

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the 1940s crime noir Born To Kill.

DVD Review

Born To Kill, starring Claire Trevor, Lawrence Tierney, Warner Brothers 1948

No question the possible combinations of criminal conspiracies and conspirators in any crime noir are almost infinite. Here stone-cold killer meets stone-cold femme fatale (well mostly stone cold that is) in one of those crime noir efforts that you can’t really root for anybody to break out of the trap- the crime doesn’t pay trap that is a signature message of these vehicles. That is the plight of the ”inmates” of the film under review, Born To Kill, that despite its title is not a relentless slice and dice at every clip crime noir out of the 1940s. But neither is it one that will have you bursting out crying at the end.

Here’s why. One very stone-cold killer (played frankly, a little woodenly given later pyscho killers that the movies have produced, by Lawrence Tierney) with a very short, make that a very,very short fuse, gets offended by some guy in Reno trying to “make time” with some frail that he is interested in and in a fit of pique beats him senseless, and dead. A familiar crime theme although not usually is Reno. The frail comes in and observes the foul deed and she too must fall. On advice of a friend, who should have fled from this guy on day one and counted himself lucky, our American pyscho is told to scram until things cool down. So he beat it to the coast, ‘Frisco, of course. And through that set of circumstances he meets our stone-cold femme fatale (played more convincingly by Claire Trevor). Nothing good can come of this combination and nothing does.

Why? Well our pyscho has post –World War II American-sized dreams of riches and power and he expects to gather it in through his association with our dear femme fatale’s sister who controls a media empire (newspapers back in the day, okay). Except, well, of course, an except Ms. Femme Fatale has gotten under his skin and he under hers. Remember now our boy has a short fuse so you know that nothing but murder and mayhem are going to come out of all this if he gets a little bit miffed. And he does by of all people the guy who was trying to help him scram back in Reno (played by perennial bad boy Elisha Cook,Jr.) Go figure. As for the rest, see the film and learn yet again that even pyschos get their just desserts-if only in the movies.

Out In The Be-Bop 1940s Night- Bonnie And Clyde For Innocents-Farley Granger’s “They Lived By Night”

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the 1940s film noir, The Live By Night

DVD Review

They Live By Night, starring Farley Granger, Catherine O’Donnell, Warner Brothers, 1948

Usually crime noir does not have an overriding social message, well, except the old chestnut that crime doesn’t pay, although for the rich a little maybe. Otherwise the genre back in the days, especially in the 1940s be-bop heyday of the genre, was pretty much police procedural stuff, and get the handcuffs out. Or maybe, every once in a while a stray femme fatale came carrying her scent and her sway across the room and turned some otherwise rational guy a little screwy. And anyone, any guy anyway, except maybe that screwy guy, will tell you that is just par for the course. And then get the handcuffs out. A film like the one under review, They Live By Night (a little over the top title by the way, bringing out visions of weird aliens, the space kind, or all night sex and drug romps), however, perhaps a little more melodramatically than necessary, tries to break some moral ground as well. And that proposition as presented in the film was none too pretty, then or now. Basically that once one runs down the criminal road, alone or with help, young or old, maybe even guilty or not guilty, the doors to salvation (read: rehabilitation in penal lingo) are closed. Ouch!

And the plot line and unfolding characterizations as the story proceeds go a long way toward driving that hard, if perhaps questionable, premise home. Bowie (played with a studied unworldly naiveté and socially immature confusion by a young Farley Granger) is a young lifer, the details of his imprisonment, except that he came from a broken home and was on his own early in life, do not concern us except to form the underlying basis for his eternal damnation. Wrong step number one. He broke, and was consciously broken, out of the big house along with and by a couple of very nasty career criminals. Wrong step number two. In gratitude, and frankly because he had developed a certain criminal panache while in stir, he aided the pair as the driver of the getaway cars when they went, naturally since they were not going to work in some diner for dimes and doughnuts, on a robbery spree to keep them in clover. And he got his share of the take, no questions asked. Not much to be sympathetic about. So far.

Here is where things get dicey. During the getaway part of the great jail break-out the trio was helped by one the career banditos’ brother (said bandito played by Howard DaSilva, a guy you do not want to cross, ever, especially if unarmed. Yes, especially if unarmed). And the brother, of course, had a daughter, Kee Kee (played just a little too naively and dreamily by Catherine O’Donnell), a young daughter a little unworldly in the world of fringe lumpen crime. Alone with a two-bit drunken father (and long gone mom) Naturally a young, good-looking and spirited criminal guy (who does those bank jobs just to get some dough to get himself straight with the law as he tells it to her later) and a young naïve, kind of tomboyish girl (although through the magic of cinema she gets to be pretty fetching by the end of the film), both socially immature and both desperate to find their place, some place, some small happy place in a world that they did not make, are “made” for each other. And that is where the moral part of the story comes.

By a process of elimination by the middle of the film Bowie and Kee Kee are trying, trying fitfully but trying, to break out of the old crime wave pattern and have little white picket fence existence, if not here maybe down Mexico way where the living is cheap, once Bowie gets straight with the law. But that fantasy was not to be. Bowie was forced (remember what I said about Howard DaSilva) to do that one hold-up job too many and the pair had to go on the lam. Wrong step number three. You already know what that means. They had dough, and each other, but the cards were stacked against them as no one will help them slip down Sonora way.

In the end, the lonely end, one of the banditos’ kin (on the other bandito’s side) “dimes” on him. There is more background to it like the kids getting off-handedly married, a no bells and whistles ceremony by the way, learning about sex enough in their wanderings to conceive a child, and desperately try to hang onto their cardboard dreams of a normal life. But the fate sisters were not kind, not this trip. Like I said, a little on the melodramatic pledging eternal love every other minute high side but a story that I could relate to having come within about two minutes of such a fate myself. Actually make that about one minute.

Out In The Be-Bop 1950s Crime Noir Night- Fred MacMurray’s “Pushover”-A Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir Pushover

DVD Review

Pushover, starring Fred MacMurray, Kim Novak, Columbia Pictures, 1954

Okay, once again, here is the drill, the crime noir drill anyway, crime does not pay. Got it. Ya, but what they didn’t tell you, not that it would have helped, what about when some stray femme fatale, all blond and curvy, not Marilyn Monroe blond and curvy but still a nice package, comes at a guy with her one hundred dollar an ounce perfume scent, in 1950s dollars scent, and her come hither smile. And gets a guy, guys, usually rationale and business-like stick-em-up bank robber guys or guardian of law-and-order guys, kind of screwy and dreaming funny dreams. And have , in the end, the latter doing screwy stuff with enough moxie to face the chair, or face a stray bullet or two, with kind of an ironic smile just for another whiff of that expensive perfume. Ya, they don’t tell you about that part. But I will, because in that just mentioned end, the film under review, Pushover, is all about that crazy stuff a good-looking dame can make a guy, maybe any guy, do. And even Karl Marx, and his kindred, haven’t figured a way around that one.

I might as well start at the beginning. Harry, like a lot of guys, didn’t like nine-to- five work, although such guys, like the rest of us, needed dough for this and that, so he did what came natural to such guys-rob a bank (with a confederate of course). He got the dough okay, a couple of hundred thousand (not much today but serious money in the 1950s, serious easy street money until it ran out and you needed to plan another caper), but the heist got fouled up, as usual, when some bank guard (seemingly unaware that the bank was probably insured and, in any case, that it wasn’t his dough) decided to play hero. Harry threw a couple of bullets his way and that was that.

Except in 1950s law and order America, and now too, killing bank guards sets the citizenry aflame and so the cops have to press hard on this one to stop the bad press. And here is where the fatal perfume scent comes in. See, Harry, like many a guy has a woman, a “kept” woman in the parlance of the day, Lona (played by Kim Novak), who he keeps coming back to for one more whiff of that scent that he has paid for. (And other stuff too but remember this is a 1950s movie so we won’t mention s-x.) And that is where the law gets a break. Somehow they find out about Lona and have her followed. Why? You know why just as well as you know the cat will go after catnip.

Lona is followed by a kind of cynical, hard-bitten, seen it all career cop, Paul (played by Fred MacMurray), whose “job” is to get close to her. Well he does, but he doesn’t figure on that scent. The scent that will lead him, and gladly, down a crooked road. See Lona had her own agenda.
Her own agenda being to get Harry’s dough and run off, maybe to Mexico, where the living is cheap and nobody, nobody with any sense, asks questions. But in any case somewhere far away, some white picket fence cottage for two far away. Paul resisted the idea for a while but you know it would be a very short film if he didn’t succumb. And if you saw Lona, and the whole package, you would know why too.

Of course the best laid plans of mice or men go awry, real awry. The plan is to set up Harry, bump him off under the usual “trying to escape” police gag, grab the dough and scram to that little dream cottage future. No problem, easy as pie, just like clockwork and all the other clichés. Not. The thing unravels by the minute and every improvisation by Paul only gets turned around against him. As his fellow cops finally get around to figuring out he has gone “rogue” he has gotten into such frenzy about the dough that he kind of fatalistically pushes on. And in the end takes those stray cop bullets that have his name on them kind of smiling, an ironic smile. See what a dame will do to a guy, a rationale guy. But what are you going to do.

Note: Fred MacMurray should have seen this coming. It is not like he hasn’t been down that blond femme fatale road before. He took a couple of stray bullets for a smile from Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity so he was forewarned. He had better stay away from those blonde dames with big crooked plans. I suggest a brunette.

Out In The Be-Bop 1950s Crime Noir Night- Dana Andrew’s “Where The Sidewalk Ends”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir Where The Sidewalk Ends.

DVD Review

Where The Sidewalk Ends, staring Dana Andrews, Gene Tierney, Gary Merrill, directed by Otto Preminger, 20th Century Fox, 1950

I guess if you get into a crime noir crazed mode as I have been over the past several months then nothing should surprise you as far as plot line, photography (black and white of course), or actors are concerned. No way, no way in hell, would when I started out this jail break-out reviewing process of the old time films from the mid-1940s to the mid-1950s mostly would I have believed that I would be reviewing a film like the one under review, good, bad, or indifferent, with the title Where The Sidewalk Ends. And no way, no way in hell, would I have believed that I would be, seemingly endlessly now, on a Dana Andrews run. Bogie, no question, Robert Mitchum sure, even Dick Powell in a pinch but Dana Andrews? Oh well, at least he has classic good girl (no femme fatale here even though she is a model) Gene Tierney to keep his eyes on once he gets control of his anger.

With all that build-up you may thing that this one is one for the ages like The Big Sleep or Out Of The Past. No way. First of all it is just a police procedural with a little twist, a bad copper/good copper little twist. See “real” crime noir gumshoes are strictly private, not messing up on the public payroll. And certainly not messing up like Detective Mark Dixon, the role played by Brother Andrews. See he is a cop, a big city cop naturally, whose father was a big-time city crook and he is trying to live that idea down. Live it down by busting up the bad guys, literally and physically, in some cases. And most definitely with no concern, no pre-Miranda concern at least, for the niceties of constitutional law.

One thing will lead to another when you try to cut the corners on edge city and so our boy takes a tumble. Seems a “mark” in a big city gambling operation won too much dough and wanted to go home with it. Well the hard boys, or what passes for hard boys in this one, said no go, no go way. And so the mark is taken care of in the way the hard boys do, although they need a fall guy and he just happens to be the “roper.” Needless to say when Brother Andrews come to investigate the roper’s role in the killing his way-his two-fisted, no knock, no guff from hard boys way, he just happened to get a little carried away. And so mark and roper are joined together, R.I.P.

But wait a minute what about Brother Andrews’ pension and his delight with his job. Here is where the tale gets just a little too weird. He decides to use his little problem as a way to get the hard boys, especially their leader played by Gary Merrill, to take a tumble. The problem is when you start down that road, that cover-up the fix is in road, though you don’t know where things are going to fall. And who is going to take the fall. And who takes the fall, or at least the prime candidate, is none other than the taxi-driving father-in-law of that very dead roper. Now I don’t, personally, care if this or that average cab driver takes a fall for some off-hand murder, those guys charge too much anyway and they always want a tip, even the quiet ones. But this particular cab-driver has a, well, fetching model daughter played by Gene Tierney, who would be very upset, very upset indeed, if papa wound up in stir for a long time.

Also needless to say Brother Andrews is starting to go for said daughter in a big way. So he has to clean up the mess with the father, the mess with the mob, and his own misbegotten mess before the film ends. Tough work, very tough work indeed. But here is where it gets really weird, especially if you have read any newspaper from 1940 to this very day, this cop who gets the bad guys, straight up no questions asks, gets dear cabby papa off from the caboose, and throws an off-hand wink toward darling daughter, decides that he has to take the fall for his improper police procedure. Gone is that pretty little pension, and gone, long gone is the suspicion of disbelief on this one. Where are Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe when you need them.

Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night- A Pre-Miranda Nightmare- Dana Andrew’s “Boomerang”- A Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir Boomerang.

DVD Review

Boomerang, starring Dana Andrews, Jane Wyatt, Lee J. Cobb, Ed Begley, directed by Elia Kazan, 1947

Most crime noir is NOT a lesson in plebeian civil virtue, good republican police procedure, or wavy grey area moral dilemmas. The best crime noir is where, sure, the bad guys has it coming and by fair means or foul the good guys, cops, privates dicks, or just guys and gals caught in the middle of something, made sure they got it, got in spades, right up to the chair. No quarter given, none taken and we, the audience we, were happy with the result, or at least were not going waste good mother-washed and ironed handkerchiefs over their fate. Or, alternatively, alternatively, best crime noir, that is, occurred when some femme fatale, good or bad, and, we, the male part of the we audience anyway, were not all that choosey which as long as she was fetching, wrapped up a guy so bad he couldn’t think straight, and led him, maybe led him right up to that aforementioned chair. Gladly, or half gladly anyway.

In the film under review, Boomerang, neither of these conditions exists yet this is still an interesting crime noir despite its sometimes cloying moral certitudes and raw virtuous civics lesson overhang. Moreover, watching this thing in a post-Miranda (1964) world made this reviewer finally realize what the fuss was all about when the Warren Court brought the wild west boys cop justice under a little control. A little I said, so don’t make too much of it. Let’s just get to the plot and you can figure out why, okay.

As the film opens a man of the cloth, a padre, gets dead-aim stone-cold killer shot out in the mean 1940s Middle America Connecticut streets by a someone, some guy. Back then, and maybe today too, this gangster-style or psycho-driven execution rated big 24/7 news and howls of protest, especially since the padre was on the way to neighborhood sainthood. So like any high profile murder case the cops and the DA are pressing, and being pressed, and pressed hard to find this killer who is still walking free to maybe do murder and mayhem again.

And here is where the Miranda part comes in. The cops, the newly anointed town reform civil leaders, the recently thrown-out corrupt city leaders, the newspapers, and the DA’s office are all crying for vengeance and a quick solution to the murder (and their PR problems). The cops, the pre-Miranda cops, led by Lee J. Cobb, are more than happy to oblige them when after a massive manhunt they turn up one drifter, grifter, down at the heels guy, played by Arthur Kennedy, as the fall guy. The frame is on, on big time. Of course, he is the fall guy after a little off-hand by the book, the unwritten book, rough stuff down sans lawyer at the precinct house and some very tricky footwork around the evidence bin, the human witness and murder weapon evidence bin. They have poor Brother Kennedy screaming “uncle” before long and he is tailor-made for the big house, and the chair. Open and shut.

But hold on a minute, a very long minute, the DA, played by Dana Andrews, has second thought qualms about this railroad job and despite every possible corrupt effort to derail him from the compliant judge, to the cops, to some newspaper guys, to those virtuous civic-minded city fathers, he is after all a truth-seeker. He plods on supported only by wifey, played by Jane Wyatt, who knowing her man, sticks by him through thick and thin. Natch. But, jesus, justice in this case was a close thing, and only came off because our DA boy actually listened up that day they had the ethics class in law school. So you see what I mean about this being an okay film even with no drop-dead bad guys, or drop-dead beautiful femme fatales.

Note behind the camera: Looking at the credits here you will note at least two names that deserve special mention, the director Elia Kazan and the actor Lee J. Cobb. No, not for their well-known cinematic efforts then, or later (films such as On The Waterfront, Viva Zapata, Death Of A Salesman, etc. between them), but for their less that stellar (I am being kind here considering we are dealing with classic “finks” and stoolies.”) performances before various congressional committees in high 1950s cold war, red scare times “dropping dimes, (hell, quarters and half dollars)” on their communist fellows (mostly one-time pinkish fellow-travelers but the effect was the same) in the entertainment industry. Obviously these two guys didn’t “get” the point in Boomerang after all. The hell with them.

Out Of The 1940s Crime Noir Night-Have Gun Will Travel- “Gun Crazy”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir Gun Crazy.

DVD Review

Gun Crazy, starring Peggy Cummins, John Dall, screenplay by Dalton Trumbo and MacKinlay Kantor, 1949

Personally I like my crime noir femme fatales on the kind of good side, not too good but maybe good like Lauren Bacall in To Have or Have Not or The Big Sleep. Or Rita Hayworth when the dust settled in Gilda. No way do I want a dame that I have to watch out over my shoulder on like the same Rita Hayworth in The Lady From Shang-hia or Jane Greer in Out Of The Past. That company is just a little too fast for me. And, no I ain’t no Walter Mitty, or no fading, wilting flower but a guy has enough troubles in this world without some frail turning him over, turning him over bad. And no way, no way in hell, do I want some femme fatale, good, bad, or indifference who is kind of trigger-happy. Jesus, no way. So needless to say I am staying far, far away from Ms. Laurie (played by Peggy Cummins), the twist that has our guy Bart (played by John Dall) all wired up in the film under review, Gun Crazy.

And this is a good place to run the plot line in this little 1949 sleeper of a film. While the dialogue gets thin in spots and it’s just a little too didactic in the "don’t play with guns" department the adventures of this pair and the fast pace they need to travel at makes this an enjoyable one and one half hour see. As you can tell from the film’s title and as I have already tipped you to this is about guns, or rather about a pair of young, post-World War II modern alienated youth who have a yearning, a lust, for guns. And each other, make of that what you will. As for Bart the gun thing is more a fascination, a feel good thing . And as for Laurie, well let’s just say she has problems, serious problems every time she gets within two feet of a gun, and the slightest smell of danger.

What hold this thing together is that Bart is dizzy, dizzier that he is about guns, for the dame, unlike sensible guys like you and me. Laurie wants to live the high life and in order to do so she needs a guy who can step with her. And shooting the stars out of the rubes in a two-bit back road carnival where she meets up with Bart is not going to do it. So they run away, off-handedly get married (this is 1949 after all), and try their luck at this and that. But like many young footloose couples then, and now, this and that didn’t work out. So a little career change was in order, say armed robbery to get a stake together and then on to easy street down in some south of the border lamster village.

But, see, here is where the “moral” that drives all of these crime noirs, crime doesn’t pay, kicks in, kicks in big time. Crime and guns don’t pay for good guys, or bad, or even young footloose couples trying to make a stake, especially when wifey has that loose trigger-finger. So you know without me telling you that this pair, out of luck, on the lam, and friendless can’t ever, ever see that white picket fence day just ahead. No way.

Note: Of course 1949 was the heart of the cold war, red scare, commie under every bed, and behind every film, Hollywood Ten before congressional subpoena committees, dark cultural blizzard night. So don’t be fooled by the screenplay writer credits. This joint effort had one red scare Hollywood Ten writer, Dalton Trumbo, using that old time devise, the front. Hollywood, this country, and future generations should remember that black time, that dark night when some vaunted cultural freedoms got short shrift. And remember too a guy name Kirk Douglas who said the hell with all that later and gave Hollywood Ten-types like Trumbo and John Howard Lawson screen credit when he made Spartacus.

Out In The Be-Bop Crime Noir 1940s Night- “Dark Passage”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film Dark Passage.

DVD Review

Dark Passage, starring Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Warner Brothers, 1947

No question that grizzled beaten-up Humphrey Bogart and a young coyly beautiful Lauren Bacall heated up the 1940s screen, heated it up as much as two people could and keep their clothes on, in their first film pairing, William Faulkner’s screenplay adaptation of Ernest Hemingway’s To Have Or Have Not (only loosely based on that short novel by the way). They also played together in the Raymond Chandler Phillip Marlowe detective noir classic, The Big Sleep and in Key Largo. In this Dark Passage pairing though, while still in thrall with each other off-screen, the steam is fading, fading fast. But not, perhaps, because of their familiarity to movie-goers as much as the plot line they had to perform under.

Let me explain a little. Vincent Parry (played by Bogart) is in stir up at Quentin for the foul murder of his wife. But, see, like they all say, he didn’t do it so he lams out of Q on his own to see if he can get out from under the life sentence he has received. So naturally when the cops are on his trail up shows come hither Irene Jansen (played by Bacall) to help him out. Seems that, for reasons of her own, she followed Vincent’s trial closely and is convinced that he might be innocent. So she hid him out at her place for a while until things got too hot. But getting out from under this life sentence is going to be harder than you would think. So while riding in a cab to another hide-out he is picked up by a friendly, very friendly cabbie who just happens to know a back alley plastic surgeon who will change Vincent’s face enough so that he can work without notoriety. Simple right.

Well the long and short of it is that while the facelift might have seemed like the answer to his problems everybody and their brother is on to him in the end. And as to finding the real murderer. Well she inconveniently falls out the window of her high rise apartment. While Vincent is there trying to talk sense into her. So, knowing he can’t win, new face and all, he lams it for parts south, way south.

You can see what I mean by the awkwardness of the main plot line. And what makes said plot lines even worst is that Irene has a big crush on Vincent, under either old or new face. Except, and here is the real crime, we do not see either face until fairly late in the film and by then any sense of the magic of To Have Or Have Not or The Big Sleep has dissolved into the be-bop 1940s crime noir night. Too bad.

Out In The Be-Bop 1940s Crime Noir Night- Ya, Crime Doesn’t Pay-So What- James M. Cain’s “The Postman Always Rings Twice”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the early film adaptation of James M. Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice.

DVD Review

The Postman Always Rings Twice, starring John Garfield and Lana Turner, MGM, 1946

Ya, sometimes, and maybe more than sometimes, a frail, a frill, a twist, a dame, oh hell, let’s cut out the goofy stuff and just call her a woman and be done with it, will tie a guy’s insides up in knots so bad he doesn’t know what is what. Tie up a guy so bad he goes to the chair kind of smiling, okay maybe just half-smiling. Yes, our boy, our never let your feet stand still for a minute on the road boy Frank (played by John Garfield) in the 1940s film adaptation of James M. Cain’s classic masterpiece crime noir, The Postman Always Rings Twice, had it bad, bad as a man could have it. Bad a man could have from the minute Ms. Cora (played by a very, very blonde Lana Turner) walked through the Twin Oaks café door in her white summer blouse, shorts, and then de rigueur bandana holding back her hair. She may have been just another blonde, very blonde frail serving them off the arm in some seaside hash joint but from second one she is nothing but, well nothing but, a femme fatale. I swear, I swear on seven sealed bibles that I yelled at the screen for Frank to get the hell out of there at that moment. But do you think he would listen, no not our boy Frank. He had to play with fire, and play with it to the end.

See not only is Ms. Cora a Ms. but a real live 1940s Mrs. married to Nick, the owner of Twin Oaks. And Nick is nothing but an old guy, an old penny-pinching guy with small dreams getting smaller, whom Cora married on the rebound from, well, from something, something bad from the look of Nick. Yes, Nick is definitely nothing but a third party “has been” once the chemistry starts between Frank and Cora, starts to really get going as will often happen once you take those midnight swims in the white-flecked, our homeland the sea, pacific, Pacific Ocean just above slumming Los Angeles before the criss-cross roads took away many of the scenes. If Nick was smart he would watch his back very carefully because I smell murder in the air, hellish highway murder, once our sweet go-getter Cora coos to Frank that it is, and I quote, “the only way.” The only way to that white picket fence heaven old Nick is too cheap to buy her.

Needless to say, if you have read any of James M. Cain’s crime novels or short stories, there have to be a few twists and turns in the plot before the inevitable, and I mean inevitable in its fullest sense, road to perdition narrows and there is no escape from the grim fate that those who play with fate usually have to suffer. Here the inflamed lovers botch the first attempted murder of Nick but arouse so much suspicion from a very conveniently located neighboring District Attorney that they will not just get to go about their merry ways.

Moreover, have you been paying attention? Cora’s got her hooks in Frank so bad that you know there will be another attempt. And there was, and it was “successful.” And they got away with it after some nifty legal maneuvering that would do any modern defense attorney proud. Except you know as well as I do, and if you have ever read any previous crime noir review of mine, you damn well know that it can’t just be left like that. Crime, brothers and sisters, does not pay even for the mere legally not guilty. And that is where Frank’s smile, or half-smile, comes in. Because in the end he faces the chair not for Nick’s death, but for her’s. And all he cared about by then was whether she would in death forgive him. Ya, our boy Frank had it bad, real bad and that is what makes this a classic crime noir, no question. But Frank don’t feel bad there are about three billion guys who have gone through those same hoops for a dame, including this writer, although I personally tend to sultry brunettes not blondes.

Out In The 1940s Be-Bop Crime Noir Night, Sort Of-“The Woman In The Window”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir The Woman In The Window.

DVD Review

The Woman In The Window, starring Edward G. Robinson, Joan Bennett, Dan Duryea, directed by Fritz Lang, 1944

Okay, okay I know this one is a crime noir by Fritz Lang and I will bow down, bow down profusely, over his use of interesting cinematic techniques, his photography, and his attention to detail that were his hallmark traits. That done though what is there to yell about in this noir? Sure there is a femme fatale, sort of, played here by Joan Bennett who whatever her ruby red-lipped, bedazzled charms for 1940s male audiences, or female audiences for that matter, does not compare, compare at all, to such femmes as Lauren Bacall, Rita Hayworth, or Jane Greer.

And sure there is a murder, sort of, committed by a learned New York professor of psychology, no less, played by, well played by, Edward G. Robinson, better known for his great 1930s gangsta movies. And there is a blackmailer, sort of, to complicate the plot, played by Dan Duryea. And there is a circling around the wagons to find the murderer by law enforcement, headed by clever, sneaky clever Raymond Massey. That is natural for this genre. But didn’t I already, sort of, review this film before under the name Scarlet Street with this same cast of characters. Fritz Lang directed that one as well and provided us with his hallmark traits. And the crimes were real there, if not rightly solved.

Maybe I had better give a little plot to show what I mean. The good professor, the good middle-aged professor, (Edward G. Robinson) is having something like a mid-life crisis as his wife and kids leave town, New York town, to get away from the bustle of the city. On the way to his Mayfair swell club (on a 1940s professor’s salary?) he is entranced by a portrait of a beautiful woman in an art gallery window (hence the title of the film). Well one thing leads to another and while he is a little drunk after dinner he has what turns out to be an adventure, a theoretical adventure, which will have him facing the gallows before dawn. Seems our lady of the window (Ms. Bennett) appears in “real” life, is in distress due to some caddish lover, and is in need of our professor’s services as her gallant knight. In short, he kills, kills in self-defense really, the cad.

Of course, under the circumstances, they have try to commit the perfect crime by covering up, covering up as it turns out in such a poor way that any school boy could sent them to the electric chair on day one of the investigation and have time for lunch. To add to their cover-up distress woes, a blackmailer (Brother Duryea), a worldly-wise (at least in comparison to their amateurish antics) wants dough for his silence. Ya, I know, the suspension of disbelief part associated with any movie just doesn’t quite make it. And it doesn’t have to because at the end the good professor merely had just too much to drink. So back to the drawing board on this one, except now we get our noses rubbed into the theme song of this genre. Crime doesn’t pay, awake or asleep. Sorry Fritz, but you will always have Metropolis as your immortal work.

Out In The Be-Bop 1940s Crime Noir Night-Fatal Attraction- “The Strange Love Of Martha Ivers- A Film Review

Out In The Be-Bop 1940s Crime Noir Night-Fatal Attraction- “The Strange Love Of Martha Ivers"- A Film Review

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Strange_Love_of_Martha_Ivers

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir, The Strange Love Of Martha Ivers

DVD Review

The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, Barbara Stanwyck, Van Heflin, Kirk Douglas, Lizabeth Scott, Paramount Pictures, 1946

Ya, a woman can get under your skin, no question, no question at all, in 1940 or 2010 makes no difference. Now two guys tugging away is an even tougher story, especially when the dame is a heartless femme fatale like Barbara Stanwyck who plays the woman under their skins in the title of this crime noir, The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Now Barbara Stanwyck was never my beaux ideal of a femme fatale, I run more to the Rita Hayworth hot-blooded Gilda-types (with that strand of hair over the eyes) but I could see where guys, normally sensible guys, would be running through hoops in order to win her favors. And she would give them the "kiss of death," that hard-hearted kiss of death mentioned above. Take no prisoners, none.

A little plot line of the story goes a long way to figuring out those charms, those decidedly not girlish, not 1940s girlish anyway, charms. Rebellious Martha, an orphan being brought up to be a lady by an old-school rich aunt wants none of it and keeps running away, aided and abetted by ragamuffin, wrong side of the tracks Sam, played by Van Heflin. As the film opens she is being brought back after one such caper, scolded by her aunt assisted by Kirk Douglas’s father, Martha’s tutor (Douglas plays Walter, the other love interest in this dance of death combination). When dear cruel auntie (played by Judith Andersen, who knew how to play that kind of role to a tee) tries to confront Martha just as she is getting ready to fly the coop again with Sam, with Walter swore to secrecy, she just happens to fall down the long flight of stairs. After less than one shed tear the trio (Martha, Walter, and his dear old money-grubbing dad) work up a story and stick to it, stick to it to well because to make it stick ultimately they have some unnamed vagabond lug eventually go the chair for their misdeed. Meanwhile Sam, figuring that Martha has gotten cold feet, blows town on the next train out, a circus train.

Fast forward eighteen years. Sam, passing through town, decides to see what has happened since he blew town. Well Martha and Walter have gotten loveless married (loveless on her part, naturally) to seal their part of the pact with death, Walter for crazed-out love, Martha to keep him on a leash. Martha who turns out to be a pretty good businesswoman basically runs the town now. But here is the kicker, guilt-ridden about how they obtained their ill-gotten gains our blessed married couple think Sam is here for a shake-down thinking he saw what happened that long ago night when auntie went crashing down the stairs. Of course Sam had no idea of the sort until things start to unravel around his new-found girlfriend, sweet, husky voiced Lizabeth Scott who has her own troubles with the law. The long and short of it is that Martha is still carrying the torch for Sam, Walter is getting more drunken crazy for Martha and sweet hard-luck Liz looks to be holding an empty bag when Martha puts her whammy on Sam.

There can be no happy ending here, right? Well, right but only part right. This murder most foul has put a death grip on Martha and Walter, a death grip that is triggered by Sam's reappearance but also that nasty little deal of creating a fall guy for their misdeeds. So you know, know just as well as I do that the fates are against them. As for Sam and Liz, well they get out with the skin of their teeth but they get out. Once again, you know the routine; crime doesn’t pay, one way of the other it eats away at you. Got it.

Out In The Be-Bop 1940s Crime Noir Night- “Black Angel”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir Black Angel.

DVD Review

Black Angel, starring Dan Duryea, June Vincent, Peter Lorre, directed by Roy William Neil, Universal Pictures, 1946

Here is the skinny. Not all crime noirs are equal. The proof? Now over a score of reviews in this space on the genre. Some speak for themselves, some are unspeakable, and some like the one under review here, Black Angel, need a little prodding. In this case the prodding is in paying kudos to the director, Roy William Neil, for great photography in service of a lukewarm plot and so-so performances by the lead performers, very so-so in the case of veteran actor Peter Lorre as a night club owner with a past to hide.

Here is the story. Martin Blair (played by Dan Duryea) had a wayward wife as some men will, a frill songstress who liked jewels and lots of them from any source willing to provide them. Catherine Bennett (played by June Vincent) had a wayward husband, as some women will, who found his way to Martin’s wayward wife. Said wife along the way is foully murdered and Ms. Bennett’s husband fits the bill. Fits the frame neat, very neat, almost all the way to the electric chair. Except that Mr. Blair, a talented drunken piano player and Ms. Bennett a stay at home chanteuse team up as a song and, ah, piano duo, to figure out who really did commit the murder. All the portents point to Marko (played somewhat stiffly by Peter Lorre, no stranger to this type of role). But that is just a ruse. The real killer is well, see the film.

You can see where the problems are just by this rough outline of the plot. A plot that suspense disbelief- not- with anyone who has taken a glance at a newspaper and the likelihood that such a pairing would ring true. But such is Hollywood. The only thing that keep this one from the "has been" bin is the directing/ photography by Neil. Some of the shots just jump out, crime noir jump out at you. Too bad the plot line (which was based on a novel by the great crime story writer, Cornell Woolrich) didn’t add to those fine shots.

crime noir, black and white film, femme fatale, be bop nights,

Out In The Be-Bop 1940s Crime Noir Night- The Rich Really Are Different –“ Fear In The Night”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir Fear In The Night.

DVD Review

Fear In The Night, DeForest Kelley, Paul Kelly, directed by Maxwell Shane, Paramount Pictures, 1947

Okay here is the familiar rote. Not all crime noir is top shelf, top shelf like Out Of The Past or The Maltese Falcon. By now that proposition has been pretty well established after more than a score of crime noir reviews in this space. Still some of these things can be sleepers, of a sort. Take the film under review, Fear In The Night. On the face of it looking at the unfamiliar cast, the no-name director and the B-movie quality of the production one would throw this one in the has been bin. And mainly that would be right, except that the story line possibilities, never fully exploited, save it for the justly deserved extinction of many of the films in this genre.

Let me show you. A bank clerk (played by Deforest Kelley), an average just trying to get ahead in this wicked old world 1940s marble building bank clerk, has a terrible dream, a nightmare really and cannot figure it out, cannot figure out why he would have, dream or not, murdered an unknown stranger. Moreover in the fresh light of day he cannot figure it out when many parts, too many parts, of the dream wind up being reality. So said clerk takes his problem to a very convenient brother-in-law who just happens to be a homicide detective (played by Paul Kelly). After a ton and one half of skepticism the detective finally sees that this is one bank clerk who is in serious trouble. And solving this riddle is what makes this thing kind of twist and turn a little before the real bad guy is caught.

And the real bad guy, or rather his maniacal plan of operation, is what could have made this thing jump better than it did. Seems a Mayfair swell, a very jealous Mayfair swell, with a young wandering wife finds out she has been keeping company with someone else on his time. So he, the Mayfair swell Mr. Belknap by name, sees red but knowing that crime doesn’t pay or rather that he doesn’t want to pay for the crime sets our bank clerk up, sets him up big-time, through hypnosis. That little off-beat technique makes all the difference in the world. And the theme that could have better explored the social tensions in this film as we know all too well as of late- the rich don’t want o pay for nothing from taxes to their crimes-never gets it full workout. Why? Well, easy on that one. Something that also has become a mantra in this space. Crime, well crime in crime noir, doesn’t pay. Just ask our Mayfair swell.

Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night- A Twisted Sister- “Possessed”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film noir, Possessed.

DVD Review

Possessed, starring Joan Crawford, Van Heflin, Raymond Massey, Warner Brothers, 1947

Most of the time film noir, especially crime noir out of the 1940s-1950s be-bop night, will get heavily involved in plot, and twists in plots and leave the question of motivation, deep motivation for the “shrinks.” After all if the medium is the message as the communications guru of a long-gone era, Marshall McLuhan, used to argue then the message in these things is nothing but the old saw that crime does not pay, does not pay for anyone if you watch enough of these noirs. So it was kind of refreshing, if somewhat odd, to see a film like the film under review, Possessed, where a deep look at the motivation for a crime, the mental anguish over the act, and the clash over good and evil inside the individual get a work out.

But wait a minute. Don’t get too immersed in the prospects for a deep study of the human psyche under duress because the motivation for a crime here, murder, is nothing other than the reaction of a lovesick, thwarted woman, a woman scorned if you like. This is Hollywood after all. So you can almost see, even before the act, the gun rising steadily in her hand. And that is what the plot-line here revolves around. How that gun got steadily into her hand to kill her blasé ex-lover.

See Louise (played here in a half- glamorous, half-maniacal way via flash backs by Joan Crawford) was hopelessly in love with a returning upwardly-mobile ex- GI, David (played here by a caddish Van Heflin), who was driven more by the prospects of an engineering career than by romance. When he called the whole affair off Louise fell to pieces. Well kind of fell to pieces because in reaction she had only one thing on her mind-get her man back, come hell or high water.

That hell or high water involved marrying the boss, the well-off boss (played by Raymond Massey), once his wife (who Louise had been acting as a nurse for) committed suicide although it was clear from the start that she still carried the torch for David. When David, who in the meantime had been working for her newly-minted husband, fell for his young daughter and planned to marry her Louise went over the edge. And over the edge, as I have already telegraphed, meant that sweet little equalizer, the revolver.

The way that the story unfolds as flash-backs while Louise is in a state of mental deterioration in the psycho ward of a mental hospital is how we get that deep look, using the now crude but then state-of-the-art 1940s psychiatric understanding of mental illness. That is what makes this one a cut above the- run-of-the-mill melodramatic 1940s noir (although there are more that enough melodramatic moments, especially between the relentlessly unhinged Louise and relentlessly heartless David). But when you think about it, even though Louise winds up in a psycho ward rather than the chair, crime still doesn’t pay. Right?

***Out Of The 1940s Crime Noir Night- Put The Lame Blame Frame On Frankie-I Wake Up Screaming- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir film, I Wake up Screaming.

DVD Review

I Wake Up Screaming, starring Victor Mature, Betty Grable, Carol Landis,

I have at this point reviewed a fair number of the crime noir films from the 1940s and 1950s. Some are classics like Out Of The Past, some are filled with simple crime doesn’t pay messages, some have femmes fatales that you would gladly commit armed robbery unarmed for just to get a whiff of their perfume. Others you would still be removing the bullets from your body, their bullets. Most, frankly, are just kind of run-of-the-mill like the film under review here, I Wake Up Screaming. Nothing exceptional here but the fact that the film has two, count ‘em two, femme fatales, well kind of, kind of femme fatales. And neither is bad, just misunderstood, but hell you would still give something to catch a whiff of that perfume mentioned above. Although maybe you would think twice about robbing banks unarmed for either.

Here’s the skinny. One wanna-be femme fatale starts out like many another country girl hitting the big city serving them off the arm in some hash house. Ms. Waitress (oops, waitperson, played by Carol Landis) is just waiting around to be “discovered” and plucked away from the eggs over easy. As luck would have it three, although only one counts, Frankie Christopher (played by ruggedly handsome, up-front-the dregs Victor Mature), men-about-town camp on her station and Frankie, a promoter of, well, let’s leave it as promoter, decides to take Ms. Waitperson from rags to riches, on the quick. He can see a meal ticket a mile away. And his preparations for the big strike work, work well, for a while.

What fouls things up is that one fine afternoon Ms. Waitperson is found by Frankie dead, very dead, in her apartment. And who fit the bill for the frame by his various actions toward the deceased is none other than Frankie. In a series of flash-backs the motives, actions, and responses of most of those involved are uncovered. And that is where Sis, femme fatale number two comes in; Ms. Waitperson’s sis (played by World War II soldier boys calendar heartthrob Betty Grable) who is her roommate, her confidante and her scolding younger sister is also in love with our boy Frankie (go figure, right) but is confused by the evidence against him. And Frankie is smitten by Sis as well so no fear things will get worked out. Hovering over the whole scene though are the bizarre actions of a relentless big- city cop trying to send Frankie to the chair for his own motives. Uncovering the cop’s motives is what drives the second half of the film. And that is all you need to know about this one. Oh, except as always the message is crime doesn’t pay, doesn’t pay even for bloody coppers. Got it.

Out Of The 1940s Crime Noir Night- Drifter’s Farewell- “Moontide”- A

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film Moontide.

DVD Review

Moontide, starring Jean Gabon, Ida Lupino, Thomas Mitchell, Claude Rains, 20th Century-Fox, 1942

There are a million ways, a million ways cinematically and maybe in life too, that boy meets girl, crime noir or not. Even if that “boy” is a not so young drifter sailor, Bobo (played by Jean Gabin last seen by this reviewer in the incredible French film, Max Ophuls' Children of Paradise), whose been around, and thinks he wants to stay been around. Except fastened to the California waterfront like glue by his profession he is called upon to save a damsel in distress. A young woman, Anna, who serves them off the arm in some hash house (played here by Ida Lupino last seen by this reviewer in High Sierra with Humphrey Bogart and Pard) who was, at wits end for some unknown reason, sets out to drown herself. Naturally sea-worthy Gabin saves her, and the romance is on.

But wait a minute this is a crime noir as well as a boy meets girl story. And Bobo is set up to fit the frame while he was drunk by his friend Tiny, a serious ne’er do well and slightly psycho, after Tiny has killed a denizen of the waterfront over some trivial matter. So the boy meets girls setting up house (on a barge of course out on the breakwater) part keeps on getting set back by the Bobo frame-up part. All, by the way, done in high 1940s melodramatic style.

But there is more. This film’s script is filled with little philosophical reflections by one and all, Bobo most of all. For Bobo about leaving the high seas adventure life and its down time waterfront dive existence and settling down. By Anna about whether she is “worthy” to be Bobo bride and find happiness in their cozy little barge by the breakwater. And by other charactersas well like Doc (a boat owner) and the night watchman, Nutsy (played by Claude Rains). Hell, even Tiny makes a pitch that he just needs a new life up north to break out of his psycho ways. Like I said very melodramatic but as always with Gabin you get some incredibly expressive acting and Ms. Lupino does her misspent working class unworthiness existence whine to a tee.

Out In the 1950s Crime Noir Night- A Grifter’s Farewell- “Dark City- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir, Dark City.

DVD Review

Dark City, starring Charleston Heston, Lizabeth Scott, Dean Jagger, Jack Webb, Harry Morgan, Paramount Pictures, 1950

No question after running through a seemingly endless run of crime noir films that not all the films in the genre are equal. The classics like The Big Sleep, Maltese Falcon, Gilda, and Out Of The Past speak for themselves with fine plot lines and slightly awry femme fatales to brighten things up. The film under review, although not in that category, could have been better had it not gotten caught up in some melodramatic flim-flam and stayed the hard-boiled, gritty classic grifter story that it set out to be. The outlines of the plot surely gave more promise that was delivered.

Down in those post-World War II means streets out West a lot of war-weary, war-tousled, war-scarred guys tried to do, well, the best they could. And the best they could usually was some grifter scheme to make a score off some bozo mark and hit the road, hit the road fast, and leave no forwarding address. That is the substance of the plot here. Ex-soldier (World War II just in case you might have forgotten, or were not sure what war I was talking about since there are many to choose from these days) Dan Healy (played in an understated, post-war alienated, existential man kind of way by Charleston Heston before he became Moses or Ben Hur or whatever big screen techno-color champ he became later) make his downwardly mobile way to grifter-dom in some seedy skid row town.

Dan's thing is gambling and, of course, for such an endeavor you need suckers with dough, easily parted with dough. And, as well, some confederates in on the scam. That is the case here as Dan and two fellow grifters (one played by Jack Webb before he got “religion” and became Sergeant Friday on the 1950s television show, Dragnet) rope in the sucker, a guy holding a five thousand dollar check (serious money, serious money down on mean street then) although the money is not actually his. Needless to say a fool and his dough are soon parted.

And that is where things start to go wrong with this film (as well as in the lives of our three gamblers). Filled with remorse the mark (played by Don DeFore) can’t face the horror of going back and confessing to his employers that he blew the dough on gambling, and instead hanged himself in his lonely room. Not for him the easy road of blowing town and changing his name, toughing it out, or even filing a court claim against the miscreant gamblers. In short, nobody, nobody this side of Hollywood takes the rope on the facts presented here. And then it gets worst. See the mark has an older dominating brother who watches out for him. Now this suicide business once he finds out the cause gets him a little exercised. See the brother is a stone-cold psycho and he is out to even the score-three dead, very dead gamblers.

Well, if you have been paying attention you know that Charleston Heston, the star and therefore kill-proof, is one of those marked for extinction so the other two get their just desserts and old Heston squeaks by after some close moments. The problem is when we see finally see who the killer-brother is there is no way that anyone could believe, or at least I could believe, that this gorilla was anybody’s brother. Come on.

The other place where the film goes wrong is on the inevitable love interest angle. Now Danny boy, who spends a good part of the film moodily cutting up old torches from back in the day, has a sort of girlfriend. A very fetching smoky-voiced chanteuse, Fran, (played by Lizabeth Scott) girlfriend who wears her heart on her sleeve for him, although he is mostly indifferent to her. No femme fatale here-just a what you see is what you get gal who can sing the blues, while having them over her man who done her wrong. The problem is that the chemistry between Danny and Fran is all wrong, all wrong alls ways. Fran is the girl next door and Danny, is well Danny, a grifter and the two don’t mix. And the plot gets further muddied when Dan, trying to get a lead of where the mark’s brother is, starts to play footsie with the dead mark's non-grieving widow. So you see now what I mean when I say that not all crime noirs are created equal.

Out In The 1950s Crime Noir Night, Kind Of- Beauty Is Only Skin Deep, Right, “Stolen Face” –A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film Stolen Face.

DVD Review

Stolen Face, starring Paul Henreid, Lizabeth Scott, Hammer Film Productions, 1952


Love, as almost everybody knows from personal experience, will make you do crazy thing sometimes. It will drive a seemingly rational calm and thoughtful man or woman over edge every once in while. Make “evil” in the world without missing a beat. That, my friends, is the premise behind the film under review, Stolen Face, one of a long line of films that portray the bad results of fooling around with Mother Nature too much, and with getting fogged up in that love embrace.

A British doctor, a plastic surgeon, (played Paul Henreid last seen leading the anti-fascist resistance as Victor Lazlo in early World War II in the film Casablanca) in post-World War II London working apparently for the National Health Service, and working very hard and diligently, thank you, takes a little vacation to the wilds of coastal England. He winds up in an inn along the way, an inn which also is hosting a beautiful American pianist ready to go on a European tour (played by smoky-voiced Lizabeth Scott) with a cold. Well, naturally, Doc comes to the rescue, and as part of the "cure" they fall head over heels in love. However, Lizabeth is already “spoken for,” leaving Doc very unhappy. So back to work he goes with a vengeance.

And that vengeance, as previously, entailed working on the faces of criminal types to give them a chance to change their ways (okay, Doc, if you say so). As part of that work he runs up against a disfigured dregs of the working-class young woman (okay, lumpenproletarian), Lily, whom he thinks that he can help by use of the surgeon’s scalpel. After much ado he gives her a new beautiful face, a face that is strangely very, very, very similar to his lost love’s. On top of that he goes off and marries her. But here is where things get dicey and the scriptwriter proves to be no Marxist or other believer in the ever upward rise of human progress. Lily, skin beautiful or not, goes back to her old ways “proving” that you cannot teach an old dog new tricks. Worst Lizabeth comes back; ready to get back into Doc’s arms. Fortunately Lily, drunk as a skunk riding on the train with hubby Doc, falls out of the train door (or was she pushed) just as Lizabeth shows up. Very convenient, very convenient indeed although no one is looking to make a court case out of it. Yes I guess beauty is really only skin deep, but no question love can drive you screwy. No question.