The urban heart of Film Noir lies in these immediate post-war years. 1946 is a special case--as some titles were made during wartime, but not released until the following year.

Usually we’re in big city U.S.A., that is New York City or L.A. Most of the iconic noirs, with the attributes of the genre boldly punctuating the scripts and filling out the roles and settings, fall into this era.

Desperate guys and women find themselves in a jam, with hoods, the cops, the mob, or all of them. spouses, siblings, friends, buddies, lovers, and family often get dragged into the protagonist’s dilemma. Sometimes those allies help the victim, sometimes they turn on him or her.

The pace is quick, the sets stark, the choices don’t seem very good. Like a nightmare, our guy/girl is stick until the denouement resolves their trouble, one way or the other.

Los Angeles is the logical place to start our immersion in noir.

The Blue Gardenia, 1953.

******** 8.0

"There’s Always Sauerkraut Juice...or Milk And Bourbon"

Really nice crime drama. Early ’50s, black & white, murder mystery, lots of rainy nights, plumes of cigarette smoke, creepy Raymond Burr...what else is needed to make great entertainment?. The Blue Gardenia motif gives this a haunting, romantic background. Anne Baxter, as the vulnerable Norah, plays Burr’s (Harry’s) victim and antagonist. Interestingly, though she’s apparently killed him in self-defense, she doesn’t know it--at least not right away. Even though there’s a lot of doubt that this is film noir, Norah certainly seems to fit that genre’s type of heroine. She’s stuck in psychological turmoil, trying to cover her tracks, spiraling downward until she’s ultimately cleared.

What makes The Blue Gardenia more than just snappy crime melodrama are the performances. The tone’s consistent; but operates on two levels. We see how Norah’s out of touch with the nonchalant everyday world of her roommates and coworkers. Richard Conte as the journalist Casey Mayo, and George Reeves as Capt. Haynes hold up their ends of the plot--though Reeves is a bit smug. The fact that Reeve’s character betrays Conte’s deal with Norah shows how much the odds are stacked against her. It’s good that Harry’s ex gets cornered and confesses; by the end we’re completely in Norah’s corner.

Nonetheless, why doesn’t the real killer try to bug out?--I fully expected her to escape via the restroom. I suppose that, unlike Norah, her character’s not developed enough to work in any complications. Might’ve been worth another few scenes though; as it is the ending seems abrupt.

Other than a few missteps, this is well-worth checking out for the ambience, acting, and fast-paced plotting.

Dead Reckoning, 1947.

****** 6.0

Reckoning for Coral, Dusty, Mike, and Mrs. Chandler

Top billing for film-noir regulars Humphrey Bogart and Lizabeth Scott (as Rip and Coral/Dusty/Mike/ex-Mrs. Chandler) who team up to find out what’s happened to Johnny Drake (William Prince), Rip’s wartime buddy and Dusty’s former lover. Johnny allegedly killed Dusty’s elderly husband (Chandler), then turns up dead himself (rather, a burned corpse presumed to be him).

Skulking nearby in clubs are hoods Krause (Marvin Miller) and Martinelli (Morris Carnovsky). This movie is known for period-typical snappy dialogue, and despite all its complications, a fairly obvious plot solution. Also, we get a long flashback sequence, a priest, and a femme fatale with four names.

Both the cops and some "tough customers" are after Rip. In a bit of foreshadowing, as the flashback begins, the Colonel characterizes Rip and Johnny as acting like they were still "behind enemy lines." Pretty apt statement for film noir protagonists. In Gulf City, Johnny’s home town, Rip gets a cryptic message, possibly from Johnny. Scoping out Johnny’s background, he pieces together the Coral/Johnny/Chandler connection. It’s clear that he enlisted under a pseudonym to escape prosecution, which explains him ’taking a powder’. Rip finds a burnt "slab of bacon" corpse in the morgue. Is it Johnny?

Next stop--the club, to check out a guy with some murder evidence, Louis Ord (George Chandler). Sounds like Johnny might still be around...The club features Coral/Dusty "Cinderella with a husky voice" is Rip’s take. She seems an awfully frosty Cinderella. Martinelli cajoles Rip and Dusty into the gaming room, as the slimy Krause presides over mischievous dice.

Louis tries to warn Rip that his drink is spiked, but Rip goes under anyway; he figures he can take care of himself, but refusing the drink would give up Louis. Nonetheless, he wakes up in his hotel room and finds Louis next to him, dead. Meaning, he’s lost a path to Johnny, and gained murder-suspect status.

Sure enough, Lieutenant Kincaid (Charles Cane) shows up at Rip’s room, but finds nothing. Rip finds a local safecracker, McGee (Wallace Ford), to help got into Martinelli’s safe. Rip figures that Johnny’s bombshell encoded letter has to be there. Shrewdly, he and Dusty manage to dump Ord’s body in Martinelli’s beach house’s garage; then call the police to report the body. That’s double bonus points--as he knows Martinelli will zip right over there--giving Rip time to rifle through the safe. Voila! the letter.

But, a trap. Not only does he not fool Martinelli, but Rip finds himself coming around after being black-jacked with Martinelli and Krause in his face, literally. He thinks very fast, and draws them in with a story. Off into the night. Soon Rip and Krause bump into Kinkaid; Krause panics. In the melee Krause gets away, but so does Rip. The "whiff of jasmine" that precedes all the bad stuff clues Rip in that Dusty is behind the mobsters’ plot. Because she’s covering up the fact that she’s Chandler’s murderer. Martinelli had been blackmailing her, thus Rip represented a threat to both of them by digging into the past.

Nobly, but irrationally, Rip prevents her from turning herself in. She’s complicit in a plot to kill him, and he saves her?! Oh, well, she loves him now. Rip plans a full-scale assault on Martinelli--he’s got the gun Dusty used on her husband. Plus Martinelli admits he killed Johnny. "You’re a sharp boy on the angles" Rip tells him. The grenades McGee gave him come in handy to highlight the gathering. Krause leaps out a window, Rip leads Martinelli out the front door. Dusty, lurking in the bushes, blasts Martinelli as he tries to flee. Problem is, Rip figures she meant to kill him.

Since he’s driving her away, telling her he’s onto her, she shoots him, but he wrecks the car. There’s yet another coming-out-of-a-coma deal, but this time it’s Dusty zonked out. And she doesn’t come out of it for very long. Kincaid has nice bedside manner, he’s apparently forgotten his stint exploring the closet; so all’s well for Rip.

But not so much for me. Just on the face of it, Coral, other than looking like something, has no redeeming qualities. Why would Rip fall for her in the first place, let alone not give up on her until about the third time she’s either tried to kill him, or set him up for killers? The "scent of jasmine" thing is lifted straight up from Double Indemnity’s honeysuckle clue.

A detail that hints at someone’s presence, especially in a romantic context, is a very good device. But it’s just too specific to use a fragrance again, after only three years, and in the same type of movie. Why not try something else--like the sound of her steps when she’s wearing a particular pair of shoes, or the way she knocks on a door, or the tap of her purse as she sets it down on a table?

Another sore point is the narration, which is a consequence of the flashback. Come to think of it, Double Indemnity dealt us those cards too. But in that movie the beginning contains the crisis that the flashback leads up to; in Dead Reckoning, the frame story is sort of a nullity. Who cares that Rip tells the story to a priest? He’s didn’t even kill the gangsters; he comes away clean. Might as well start with Johnny and Rip on the train, and just go from there; no flashback, no narrator needed.

If the story had been from Coral’s point of view, then flashbacks would make sense--especially since the murder happened before the movie’s time frame. She’s the one we don’t know much about; and she’s the one behind the whole story. maybe have her husband as a character and give a glimpse of the murder scene. Anyway, it would be easy to forget about the frame story, but the voice-over hovers there gratuitously. It’s like an attempt to sabotage the suspense or parody film-noir.

I did kind of like the bit where Martinelli, basically pleading for his life, tells Rip that Coral is actually married to him; and that she scammed Chandler just as she will Rip, if he stays with her. That explanation had possibilities, bit Rip doesn’t believe him, and we don’t hear anything more about it. Think, though, if it were true, it means that Martinelli is something of a wronged-man, and even has a semi-decent motive for killing Johnny.

Nothing’s better in film noir than moral complexity. But there’s none here. Rip is all good; Martinelli is all bad. So is Coral, but, I guess, because Rip is so good, he has to wait until he runs a gauntlet of misfortunes before he admits that she’s not so great after all.

The Big Heat, 1953.

********** 10

"You’re On a Hate Binge!"

The Big Heat dips into all the bottomless noir pools. It’s a masterful, fast-paced, engrossing crime drama. As bodies begin falling all over town, a detective for a corrupt police department takes on a crime syndicate that has murdered his wife. The apparent suicide of the policeman Duncan sets the plot in motion; there’s no comic sidekicks or flashback tricks to derail the action.

Glenn Ford and Gloria Graham join forces to take down Alexander Scourby’s Lagana and Lee Marvin’s Stone. The police come around belatedly; but Bannion’s (Ford’s) army buddies provide the most timely help. Graham’s Debby becomes a surrogate wife for Dave Bannion; she endearingly keeps asking about her, in effect, wanting to be her.

That gives Bannion a short-lived redemption. She ends up a victim, along with about half of the cast. That she exacts revenge on Stone, and exposes the city’s corruption by killing Mrs. Duncan, makes Debby a tragic, if flawed figure. Bannion preserves his innocence throughout by refusing to kill. The climactic scene at Marvin’s apartment is well-played; there’s a lot of mayhem, but no superman invincibility.

Nothing’s out of place in The Big Heat. The alienated hero theme is set up Bannion’s seemingly insurmountable travails. Both his wife and Debby are good people torn apart by the underworld. The criminals are more two-dimensional, but they span the field from the smug and smarmy Lagana to the out-and-out psychopathic Stone. There’s a lurid atmosphere almost everywhere: the scene at the junkyard is as haunting as the barroom scenes are edgy.

One of the best film noirs: especially due to Ford and Graham’s performances. Can’t beat The Big Heat.

The Locket, 1946.

********** 10

Next Time, Nancy, Just Take the Birthday Cake and Pass on the Party Favor...

The Locket couldn’t be a better deal for film noir fans. Laraine Day is an enigma as Nancy, a dangerous woman, seeking revenge for an unjust accusation of theft as a child. Robert Mitchum, Brian Ahern, and Gene Raymond play a succession of Nancy’s love interests.

Everyone and everything fits together seamlessly in The Locket. Usually I think that flashbacks are an overused gimmick in this genre, but here it blends three stories, and three deaths, into a continuous unfolding mystery. Despite having (probably) killed one man, let another man die in her place, committed another guy (Ahern’s Dr. Blaine) to a nuthouse, and provoked a suicide, Nancy does get her comeuppance. The hallucinatory wedding scene, as she literally relives the childhood scene of the alleged theft with her would-be mother-in-law, resolves the story with unique impact.

We’re told she has regressed to the age she was at the first traumatic event. From her perspective, then, nothing has changed; she’s frozen in time with the music box and locket, shunned and humiliated. On the other hand, she could hardly have caused more mayhem, affecting so many lives, if several generations had passed, instead of just one.

This is one of the most psychological of film noirs. There’s little action, but actually, thanks to the deft flashbacks, a lot happens. The only bit that I felt was a bit much was Mitchum’s character’s suicide. I could see why he can’t get over Nancy dodging Bonner’s (Ricardo Cortez’s) murder, but he’s hardly an unstable character. Might’ve been more interesting if he had lost it more gradually...

That’s a small quibble against such a magnificent viewing experience. The Locket is one of those movies that makes you think--then makes you want to watch it again. 10/10

Where The Sidewalk Ends, 1950.

********** 10

"Get Your Head Cleaned Up, Inside and Out!"

Excellent film noir. Great performances, good plotting and pacing, an even tone, and an appropriately gritty atmosphere. Dana Andrews and Gene Tierney have nice chemistry, making his transition to decency from brutality plausible.

Andrew’s Detective Dixon plays both sides of the law, having to cover his tracks after accidentally killing Craig Steven’s gangster character Paine. Disguising himself as Paine to create a false trail makes sense, as well as touching on his ambivalent identity.

Though the plot is rather simple, it intertwines all the main characters. Dixon gets mixed up with Paine, and then with Scalise by killing Paine. Scalise was a protege of Dixon’s dad. The cab driver who gets accused of killing Paine is Morgan’s dad, who is Paine’s estranged wife, then Dixon’s girlfriend. When at its best, noir has a way of throwing people together until they drive each nuts, fall in love, or kill each other.

Andrews looks so cagey for most of the movie that his outbursts almost seem normal. Then he’s got that granite-faced look, even when he’s with Tierney. He spends the entire movie in psychological turmoil.

Tierney’s Morgan is romantic, loyal, and, though not naive, believes that bad things shouldn’t happen to good people. Though her brighter outlook ultimately wins out, she has to bear the strain of her dad’s frame-up and Dixon’s dilemma.

The atmosphere is palpable, a three-dimensional crust. We rarely leave seedy bars and hotel rooms, the police station, gangster hang-outs, parking lots, cabs, and all the hours of nighttime. Scalise getting trapped in the elevator was an effective denouement. The sense of confinement in that scene is overwhelming.

Dixon’s rehabilitation with the Department is marred by his confession that he killed Paine. If Where the Sidewalk Ends had ten happy endings it would still be dark and foreboding. Great immersion in a classic film noir.

More East Coast, more Hitchcock

Strangers On A Train, 1951.

********* 9.0

Not Strangers in Noir Land

An excellent Hitchcock classic; and much commented-on down through the years. I do want to dwell on a crucial aspect of the plot, and comment on a few bits of Strangers on a Train. The suspension of disbelief is hard to maintain throughout.

Why doesn’t Guy go to the police immediately after he learns that Miriam has been killed? Sure, the ’trading murders’ scheme sounds nuts; but since he knows he’ll be under suspicion anyway, he has nothing to lose. Bruno, with his fixation on Guy and their alleged ’deal,’ would show his hand, drawing the cops’ attention away from Guy.

Imagine the guests at the senator’s party recounting to the cops Bruno’s absurd ranting about a new source of energy, or, even more damning, his choke hold on the elderly lady. Of course, without Bruno free to slither around, then there would be little mystery, and no movie.

After just watching it again, it’s fascinating how Hitchcock uses the glasses motif to tie in the murder victim with Ann’s sister. Bruno focuses on Barbara as a haunting surrogate for Miriam. In a sense, she avenges the victim by helping to entrap Bruno. Her glasses point to the noir emphasis on reflections as a literal mirror held to the criminal side of life.

Maybe I can answer the question I began with: Guy won’t give up Bruno, because they have a bizarre bond. They’re reflections of each other, Bruno the noir Hyde to Guy’s everyday Jekyll. Tennis couldn’t be a more fitting metaphor for the sunny side of life portrayed by Guy, as opposed to Bruno’s mostly nocturnal or interior habitats.

Maybe Hitchcock’s most noir movie, and one of the better noirs made.

Panic In the Streets, 1950.

********** 9.0
"An Idiot Could Figure It Out!" "YOU Did..."

Great film noir. Jack Palance is incredibly creepy as the hood Blackie. His antagonist, Richard Widmark, as the Navy doctor, is a stoic contrast. The supporting cast fills in well, with Barbara Bel Geddes as the doctor’s wife, and Paul Douglas as his police counterpart. The action shoots along nicely in the claustrophobic and irredeemably sordid New Orleans. What’s really unusual in Panic In The Streets is the dual theme: a crime drama and an quasi-horror story of an epidemic.

The two themes are convincingly joined. Recalling the vampire from Nosferatu, Blackie moves rodent-like in the frantic chase scene after tossing the infected Poldi off the stairs in an iconic act of criminal evil. The doctor has been busy trying to convince city officials of the plague’s danger; much like the scientist-type confronting the similarly skeptical authorities in horror/sci-fi films when there’s a monster or alien on the loose. Noir is after all about monsters of the human variety. Others have noted the logical disconnect in that what is obviously a potential national problem that’s nonetheless kept local. That problem, too, is common in many low-budget sci-fi movies of the era. At least the doctor does point out the big picture.

The chase scene is itself a sort of concentrated hell of desperation. Somewhat amusingly, the stereotypical fruit cart becomes an active part of the chase, as the screen-side truck Blackie hijacks spews bananas in its wake. Like all good chases, the escape route gets chancier, narrower, and more precarious as it winds up. The weird thing is, Blackie would be better off being caught.

He does have a few murders to answer for; but at least he won’t die of the plague if he gives up. It’s good that we’re spared a lot of clinical talk and guys looking at germs through microscopes. The plague theme, though superficially authentic, clearly also has a larger metaphorical context. Whether it’s Cold War fear or a more elemental fear of the unknown isn’t necessarily important. It’s the effects of fear (like the effects of space aliens, monsters, or mutants) on the community.

The happy ending works because it restores the domestic cheeriness that was inaccessible once the doctor embarked on his hazardous underworld journey. There’s only a point to fighting criminals and plagues if there’s something to survive for. Panic In The Streets has a palpable sense of immersion that’s thrilling yet nightmarish. Essential for noir fans.

Side Street, 1950.

**********10

"Everything Else is For The Meatwagon"

Great stuff. Farley Granger’s Joe spends almost the entire movie running from both hoods and cops. Not just running--but frantically dodging set-ups, getting ambushed, lying and being lied to--as the bodies pile up in his wake.

Meanwhile, his angelic wife Ellen (Cathy O’Donnell) is having a baby. Though she represents the ordinary world that Joe has been cut off from, even her hospital becomes a noir setting. Joe finds himself breaking into its shadowy depths at night to tell her what he’s gotten into.

All the creepy noir devices appear in Joe’s quest to ’square’ himself: dingy motels, streets, alleys, taxis, nightclubs, bars, and the police station. And nearly always at night, or inside in the dark. Fittingly, he has to go to a funeral parlor to locate the friendly bartender.

His initial mistake conceals a greater risk; stealing $30,000 is a lot different than the $200 he thought he had taken. Amplifying the danger by this clever device shows that the noir world, once entered, can easily overwhelm the average man.

Granger is just the right actor for his role. He unwillingly becomes a man of action, all the more desperate because of his essentially passive demeanor. The casting is uniformly good; even the small roles of the bartenders and cab drivers are interesting figures.

Although the dialogue is well-written, this is very much a visual experience. The menacing atmosphere suffocates like Garsell’s murder technique. To cap off all this relentless mayhem, we get a long, very authentic car chase.

Joe gets through it all, but ends up injured, lying helpless in the ambulance. He’s on the road back to the ordinary world, just in time to join his newborn.

Woman On The Run, 1950.

********** 10

"This Thing’s Beginning To Boil!"

Incredible film noir. Everything fits together smoothly: the pacing builds suspense, tension pulls together the interlocking plots, and the performances give us characters to think about and care for. Like the best noirs, Woman On The Run has its hero Frank (Ross Elliot) unwillingly thrust into a dangerous maze, dodging criminals, police, and his own emotional and physical hang-ups. His redemption, coming so late, is nonetheless complete, as he regains his wife, his confidence, and his safety. Among other ironies, his wife Eleanor (Anne Sheridan), while gradually realizing that she still loves Frank, is shadowed constantly by the murderer Dan (Dennis O’Keefe), whom she thinks is a friendly reporter.

For most of the movie she’s at odds with the nosy police Inspector Ferris (Robert Keith), and pretty much leads Dan to his prey, Frank. Ferris definitely sets himself up as the bad guy by denying Frank the heart medicine he needs unless he turns himself in. The fact that Frank is only wanted as a witness to a murder--committed by the superficially nice guy Dan, is an apt noir twist of fate. Dan isn’t revealed as the bad guy until the end--during the long, lurid amusement park scene. Until the restaurant owner provides the incriminating clues, we don’t know about Dan’s almost successful ruse.

Fortunately, Frank makes use of a buddy--another noir device--to throw Dan off his trail long enough for the police to intervene. Not before the very disorienting piers and pilings find Frank ambushed by Dan. Meanwhile, in the nightmare mode of noir, Eleanor can only look on helplessly, trapped on the careering roller coaster as the hideous funhouse figure cackles in the night.

Slotted into this menacing atmosphere is some of the best comic relief in this or any genre. The dog, in its cute way, does plenty to advance the plot--providing an emotional link between Frank and Eleanor, amusing the Inspector, distracting him, then helping him--Rembrandt generally keeps our disbelief suspended. His role is naive, of course, but therefore it’s completely authentic.

The overall impression, however, is of a very dark movie. Things seems to get more complicated, more intense; Eleanor’s wise-cracking is so well-thrown together that the delivery masks its very negative content. But after her ironic mis-identification of the corpse, she lets up considerably. About the only facet of this gem that seemed a bit obscure was Maibus’s (John Qualen’s) role. Like the seaman, Maibus is a buddy/helper figure, contributing somewhat to Eleanor’s quest to find her husband. His revelations about Frank’s travel stories don’t seem to have any purpose, however. The Chinese restaurant owner and staff are more directly helpful.

In addition to the superb entertainment value this excellent noir movie, a bit of philosophical value emerges in Woman On The Run. Frank and Eleanor face confusing, disorienting, unfair, and downright dangerous situations, but they come out of it ok; they’ve found out that they must be a pretty good couple after all.

Mystery Street, 1950.

********** 10

"You’re Pretty Good At Everything Except Paying Off, Aren’t You?"

Very gripping film noir. Ricardo Montalban stands out in an unusually serious role as Lt. Morales. Meanwhile, Elsa Lanchester, as the murder victim’s landlady Mrs. Smerrling, is a thick stew of smarmy, nosy, domineering, mendacious, and mercenary traits. The victim, Vivian (Jan Sterling), plays a convincing floozy, reduced to blackmailing her rich boyfriend Harkley (Edmond Ryan ). In fact, Mystery Street is full of good performances, from the birdwatcher to the undertaker.

An otherwise innocent couple, Henry and Grace (Marshall Thompson and Sally Forrest) are caught up in the crime; Henry sort of frames himself by hanging out with Vivian. He tries to cover up his carousing because he’s abandoned his hospitalized wife. So, the tension comes not from a murder mystery, but rather from how Henry will get exonerated, and when Harkley will get found out. To guide us through all of these characters we get quick pacing and multiple points of view. Even though Harkley has actually killed someone, Mrs. Smerrling seems almost worse for exploiting Vivien’s murder for personal gain. She revels her opportunity so much that it’s hard to empathize when Harkley kills her.

Among the atmospheric noir devices we’ve got sleazy clubs, shadowy stairways and rooms, plenty of night (including with a night-time car chase), and a denouement inside a vacant rail car, in a maze-like train yard. Morales seems reckless as he nonchalantly approaches the cornered Harkley. Both we and Harkley are surprised to discover Morales’ secret: presumably Vivien’s friend has given Morales the gun’s clip--so he can safely taunt Harkley with it. The drama in Mystery Street is governed, to a great extent, by Montalban’s adroit shifts among several personas: inquisitive, frustrated, brooding, easy-going, suave, and snappy, hard-boiled.

’Skeleton Girl’ would’ve been a much better title; not only does the movie deserve something catchier, but that phrase is used as an effective tag-line throughout. Other than that tid-bit, there’s really nothing to fault here. Highly recommended for film noir fans.

The Breaking Point, 1950.

********* 9.0

"Trust Me...Our Interests Are Identical"

This is great stuff. The Breaking Point has the best kind of noir hero: an ordinary guy whose desperation gets him mixed up in the sordid underworld. John Garfield’s Harry is literally a fish out of water; his fishing boat business failing, he throws in with increasingly dangerous lot of characters. Patricia Neal plays the semi-femme fatale Leona, while Harry’s steady but bedraggled wife, Lucy (Phyllis Thaxter), has the kids, Harry, and Leona to worry about. Both women give superb performances; very nuanced and three-dimensional. Juana Hernandez, as Harry’s partner Wesley, is a sort of counterpart to Lucy, tremendously loyal, yet knowingly critical of Harry.

Harry does often seem insufferable. He’s angry, moody, and terse most of the time. Of course, he hardly spends a scene without pressure. Strangely, Leona, though she really has nothing to do with the criminal elements, seems to insinuate herself more into Harry’s life the deeper he falls into crime. She’s a sort of emotional distraction from Harry and Lucy’s otherwise comfortable domesticity; the underworld stuff is Harry’s physical distraction. As others have noted, the bar scene with both women is unique.

They size each other up, coming away with a touch of mutual respect. They’re probably a bit envious of each other, but for different reasons. Even the kids act with subtlety; they have fun, but complain, plead, and whine just as kids do. No ideal family, no ideal relationships, but reassuringly decency. Just when you think Harry’s ready to junk everything for Leona, he backs out; ultimately, she just sort of fades away.

Harry’s not the greatest guy, but his stubborn streak is understandable. Why should he give up what he’s good at, and likes to do, for something (the in-law’s) lettuce business, that he knows nothing about? Equally, it makes sense to change, as Lucy points out. There’s choices, but nothing is a sure thing. Like all good noir movies, the stakes only increase in danger until there’s a literal breaking point.

The pacing moves us quickly from Harry’s financial jam to the scam that results in Leona’s attachment to Harry, then to the smuggling episode, and finally the lethal heist. Ironically, the boat, which ought to represent freedom and adventure, becomes a vehicle for each tawdry subplot.

Despite plenty of violence, and a fairly high body-count, I found The Breaking Point oddly uplifting. Stubborn to the end, Harry gives in to Lucy’s pleading that amputating his arm beats dying. You feel the domestic world restored, with all of its unpredictability. The opposite consequence falls on Wesley’s son, as he’s left all alone, seemingly unnoticed on the dock, his father dead. That’s an incredibly poignant scene. Nothing good comes out of the criminal experiences; the point may simply be that not all is lost, either.

Everything’s of a piece here. Visually, the scene with dusk silhouetting Harry as he’s lost in thought before the heist sequence is captivating, as is the dark room in Duncan’s office with the gangsters looming in and out of the lamplight. Definitely worth watching more than once.

Scandal Sheet, 1952.

********** 10

"...Some Interesting Meetings With Jelly-Brained Screwballs"

It doesn’t get much better than this. What’s remarkable about Scandal Sheet is how it ends up so far from where it started; a short movie that successfully transforms itself from a glib, snappy celebration of hype to the extreme psychological tension of film noir entrapment. Broderick Crawford as the editor Chapman can’t possibly have more unscrupulous underlings than the front-running Steve (John Derek) and Biddle (Harry Morgan). Donna Reed, as Julie, anchors these jerks with her steady conscience, while Henry O’Neill’s Charlie is a down-and-out shadow of Chapman’s success. Ironically, it’s Charlie who exposed Chapman’s/Grant’s secret past, and not-so-secret present.

The trigger, so to speak, for the movie’s switch is the appearance of Rosemary De Camp, as Chapman’s very estranged wife Charlotte. As in the best noir set-ups, the past intrudes with a vengeance. Chapman’s life changes suddenly and irrevocably in the scene where Chapman assaults and accidentally kills Charlotte. From then on, Chapman may as well be in hell. By the crude paradox that he’s built his name and fortune on--his tabloid newspaper--he finds himself at the epicenter of Charlotte’s (then Charlie’s) murder. His stalwart star employees are voraciously, but unwittingly investigating him. It’s a great device that the audience knows more than any of the characters; the mystery is how it’s all going to play out.

As another reviewer said, Chapman is a bad person, but not completely evil. He doesn’t want to kill anybody, but he never thinks before he acts. He does hesitate when he could kill Steve--he admits he likes Steve too much. This small bit of redemption, as honorable as it is, comes much to late. Steve, on the other hand, is flexible and honest enough to believe Julie’s suspicions about the murders, and he also feels guilty about leaving Charlie vulnerable.

In a counterpoint to Chapman’s recklessness, Steve becomes his own man through thoughtful action. The denouement in Chapman’s office keeps the temperature steaming until the very end. It’s a bit reminiscent of the ending in Double Indemnity. in that case, it’s the employee Fred McMurray who confesses to his boss, Edward G. Robinson. Both scenes take time, as the details of how the murderers’ jobs baited them with greed is the meat of these stories.

I can’t think of any significant way that Scandal Sheet misses its mark. The dialogue produces plenty of notable quotes; the first part of this drama is as free-wheeling and breezy as the rest is smoldering and intense. Highly recommended for fans of film noir.

Quicksand, 1950.

********* 8.0

"No, I Don’t Like To Take A Jump Off The Pier..."

A really nice noir thriller. The pacing and tension work great, as Mickey Rooney’s Dan slips and slides his way from one nightmare to another. Vera (Jeanne Cagney) does a sultry femme fatale, and Peter Lorre creeps about in his convincing manner as the low-rent proprietor/hood Nick. Even performances from most of the supporting cast really help Quicksand stand out. I admit that Barbara Bates’ Helen is too doggedly loyal. The attorney is way to accommodating, and there’s enough coincidences in the plot to almost wreck things.

Mickey Rooney would be about the last actor I would buy as a noir anti-hero. Even given that conceit, I usually can’t stand narration. I’ve got to admit that Rooney does surprisingly well; maybe his underdog, innocent look amplifies instead of undercuts the radical transformation that overwhelms his character. And his narration fits in quite well, actually allowing the pace to keep moving by skipping more exposition. Of course, given Helen’s devotional attitude to Dan, not too mention her attractiveness, we’ve got to wonder why he takes Vera seriously.

All of the principle characters are flawed: Dan’s impulsive, not satisfied with himself, Vera is out-and-out mercenary, Nick uses people, and the fine Helen is completely gullible. It just takes one of them (Dan) to step out of their niche, and the whole bunch of them gets messed up pretty good. Even Dan’s boss and Vera’s landlady seem shady after awhile. The landlady shooing Dan away from Vera’s room makes sense; but why wouldn’t he take ten more seconds and grab the money first? He shouldn’t even have gone up there in the first place: give Vera some of it, then get lost. That wasn’t a coincidence--it was a choice. Maybe we’re to understand that he has misread Vera from the beginning; sort of Helen-like, he just implicitly trusts Vera.

I don’t really mind the truckload of coincidences. After all, film noir posits a world in which fate or chance interferes, usually determining outcomes. Things happen, but not for a reason. Of course, all the stuff that happens to Dan is incredible: a machine-gun burst of events. But it’s all contingent on something he initiated; he got stuck in debt because he got stuck on Vera. Suspending our disbelief becomes difficult in Quicksand.

I can accept what happens because reality here is foreshortened; it creates plausibility by assuming that we’re seeing events at a heightened, dreamlike pace. With the exception of the attorney’s paternalism and Dan letting his guard down with Vera, the movie’s tone and style relentlessly draw the viewer in. Lorre’s seedy presence contaminates everything around him. Very entertaining.

Undercurrent, 1946.

****** 6.0

"Some Of My Friends Are People"

Top shelf cast for this psychological film-noir/mystery. Robert Taylor is Alan, a big wheel, courting Katherine Hepburn’s Ann. She’s already got an admirer in Professor Joe Bangs (Dan Tobin) a colleague of her dad, Prof. David Hamilton (Edmund Gwenn). Although Alan has gotten rich off of Government contracts for his aeronautical inventions, his brother Michael (Robert Mitchum) has dirt on him.

She takes an obvious shine to Alan. He’s all charm "Do you see the spark?" he hints, as they experience some static electricity. She’s pretty much overwhelmed, feeling frumpy and undesirable. Nonetheless, we leap ahead at a lurch: she’s married to him. She feels out-of-place in his crowd; more or less treated like a kid or poor relation.

When she vows to fit in better with his friends, he responds, chillingly, "If you do, I’ll kill you" Sort of condescending misdirection. Next, from a sort of motherly aunt type, Mrs. Foster (Kathryn Card), she hears about Michael. Alan goes on about Michael, accusing him of embezzling from their company. Anyway, more or less fortified by a new wardrobe and Alan’s confidence (his mother was an invalid for years before her death), they’re planning a dinner party.

She’s pretty much comfortable now, the gracious host. To Judge Putnam (Charles Trowbridge) she goes on about a book of poetry that she didn’t realize belonged to Michael. Alan knows that however, and goes nuts, instantly jealous. That’s weird, as she hasn’t even met Michael yet. They go down to the family home, near Mrs. Foster’s.

There’s some quizzical looks from the caretaker George (Leigh Whipper) and even the dog. In the stables, a horse rears, and a disturbed guy is going on. When Alan gets back he berates her for playing a piano tune that his mother was playing when she died. Another gaslighting moment, as George tells her that Alan’s mother never played the piano.

She figures out (with George’s help) that it was Michael who played that piano tune. She tells George they have to ’help’ Alan. But out on the West Coast, they run into Sylvia (Jayne Meadows) an old flame of Michael’s. She’s got some angle on him, but she’s kind of secretive. While Alan’s on a side-trip, she visits his office; but, like everyone else, the assistant there is guarded about Michael.

There’s more subterfuge about him--but this time from Michael himself. She finally runs into him at a family beach front house around the Bay Area, and mistakes him for a caretaker. He points out that it’s dangerous to swim nearby, because there’s a bad "undercurrent." Suddenly, Alan shows up; berating her once again for snooping into the past. A lot of shadows on the wall, tumbled furniture. Michael remains incognito.

Meanwhile, she surmises from gossip that Alan’s intentionally trying to make her look bad. More than that, his motive for marrying her was to have a ’replacement’ for someone who got away--and that he was going to ’create’ a wife to suit his fancy. She goes to see Sylvia to find out the straight dope on Michael.

She finds out that it’s Michael who’s been wronged by Alan. Sylvia thinks that Alan has killed him. Alan wants Ann to go back East. She ruminates on what Sylvia told her. As usual, George knows something. We know Michael is around; even the dog knows. The Alan/Michael reunion scene at last. Michael accuses Alan of killing a former employee who invented the aircraft control device that Alan took credit for. Aha!

Alan admits he’d rather have Anne than his reputation and fortune. It’s an atmospheric, almost gothic scene in the stables, with them arguing while the wind is whipping around, the horse rearing, leaves scattering, the lantern swaying...But Anne never stops apologizing for suspecting Alan of misdeeds. At least she finally gathers that Michael is around. Alan thinks she’s in love with Michael.

Maybe so. More threats from Alan "I said I’d never let you go!" He literally stops her at the gate. "Don’t be afraid, Anne" She just can’t get away from him. Alan stupidly takes the cantankerous horse as they ride with Mrs. Foster to her place. Alan’s apparently thrown by the horse, but--he’s faking it. With Mrs. Foster gone, he tries to push Ann off the path and over a cliff. He almost succeeds, but, interestingly, the horse saves her by trampling Alan.

At long last, she has Michael available. The movie, already a bit long, lingers on this final scene as they tell each other what we already know. Undercurrent has good performances from most of the cast, captivating settings with appropriate atmosphere, and has many good scenes--especially the first scene with Mitchum, and the stable scenes. But the plot never really adds up.

It’s hardly to buy the premise that Ann’s character could fall in love with someone she doesn’t know she’s met until almost the very end. If Michael’s character had a larger role it might’ve been more believable; for example, have Michael reveal his identity to Ann in the California beach house sequence. He really gains nothing by waiting; as it is, he only comes clean with Ann after Alan has tried to kill her.

Which leads to a bigger problem: why would Alan want to kill her anyway? If she was going to throw a wrench in his plans, why would he want to marry her? Her theory that she reminds him of a lost love is a more plausible reason for his love/hate relationship with her. The idea that Alan’s past will catch up with him because of Ann doesn’t necessarily follow. She remained loyal to him most of the way, until his domineering behavior became overtly dangerous.

That would all make for a good straight psychological thriller premise, as he clearly tries to drive her over the edge (in all possible ways, as we see). But what triggering event or cause could their be for his psychotic behavior towards her? In a nutshell, the wartime invention element has nothing to do with Alan’s personal life; Ann’s a complete outsider to all that. I see three possible plots here: a revenge plot between the brothers, possibly with Alan’s delusions complicating things, a love triangle, with Ann coveted by Alan and Michael, and a straight Gaslight psychodrama, with the focus on Alan’s obsession with Ann.

What Undercurrent does is combine elements of all three of these plots. The result is a lot of underdeveloped and incomplete aspects that don’t fit well together. In addition to expanding Michael’s role, it might also have been interesting to give Slyvia more scenes. It seems weird that she has simply accepted the rumor that Michael’s dead--why can’t she drive out to the beach house and find him skulking about? After all, she’s apparently been living nearby the entire time that he’s off the grid.

With Slyvia and Michael more prominent throughout, there would be another shot at a triangle once Ann shows up. It’s just too automatic that Michael falls for Ann just because she’s there, and Alan’s gone.

Undercurrent is worth a look, literally, as there’s plenty of good cinematography here. Just not a lot of drama.

He Walked By Night, 1948.

********* 9.0

"A Shadow Of A Man, Mysterious, Elusive, Deadly"

Very compelling film noir. Definitely a precursor to the Dragnet TV series; meaning it’s a little too rat-a-tat-tat with the dialogue and narration, but very dark and atmospheric nonetheless. This documentary style comes close to mocking itself; the killer Roy Martin (Richard Basehart) has a wry moment--hearing the endless broadcast of his description--the first thing he does is shave off his tell-tale "pencil moustache". Then we get the same police dispatcher later adding "cancel the cancellation" to some suspect info. The exactness of the step-by-step detail isn’t all dead-pan stuff though; the rolling out of police cars and motorcycles is impressive and very realistic. And there’s a lot more going on in He Walked By Night below the surface.

Roy’s character is given some nuance. His racket is stealing electronic equipment to fence with a rental company. Ironically, the proprietor (Whit Bissell’s Reeves) figures that Roy is creative and skillful to have apparently made or modified the products; Roy doesn’t let on that he’s merely stolen it all. It’s clear that his crimes have no motive; he’s sociopathic, seeming to enjoy taking advantage of people. Like most noir criminals, he’s a loner, cut off from relationships--he doesn’t even get mail. Still, there’s some sympathetic moments; his first victim said he looked like a "nice guy"; later we see him in an agonizing scene, operating on himself after he’s shot.

The main focus though is on the very expressionist sets and backgrounds: there’s more creepy atmosphere than in many horror movies. Venetian blinds segment the night, shadows fracture the streets, flashlights pierce the sewer tunnels, looming like so many monstrous eyes. Although the police--and police procedure--are central to the plot, only Roy and Reeves are distinct characters. That device gives the cityscapes even more emphasis. It’s incredible that both the psychological and the gritty aspects of film noir are put together so well in the same film.

Highly recommended as an entertaining and well-arranged crime drama.

Pitfall, 1948.

******* 7.0

"This Is A Set-Up, Johnny"

Pretty good crime mystery, a sort of ’suburban’ noir. Raymond Burr is great as Mac, a loose-cannon blowing things up amid Mona (Lizabeth Scott), Bill (Byron Barr), Sue (Jane Wyman), and John (Dick Powell). Mac and Mona are dominant presences in Pitfall, quickly building the plot’s tension. John, though nominally the protagonist, spends most all of his scenes with the same gruff persona, spiced with some flip, laconic comments here and there.

Mona is much more interesting: as others have said, she’s as much a victim as anyone. What seems a cut-and-dry melodrama of veering from the suburban tranquillity exemplified by John and Sue, can also be seen as an implicit critique of the dominant culture, intolerant of Mona’s less respectable lifestyle. It is unfair that Mona is castigated for doing what John is absolved of: killing. The fact that the District Attorney says as much shows what the film’s thematic intent. You could split hairs by saying that Bill Smiley’s intent to do harm was more immediate than Mac’s, but either antagonist would’ve killed his prey if they weren’t stopped.

The other set of lapses, John’s unwillingness to ’square’ things by calling the police to take care of Mac (more than one opportunity is passed up), also points to John’s character flaw. The D.A. reams him out for not alerting them; instead John’s single-mindedness leads indirectly to all the mayhem. John is hardly a sympathetic character. He treats his wife as though she were room service, and, although the scenes with his son are slightly less impersonal, he acts vaguely bored whenever he’s with his family. The ending, as has been said, restores his domestic lifestyle; not only is he off the hook legally, but also morally.

John unreliable, literally unfaithful to his own values, while expecting to get away with his walk-on-the-wild-side. By opening the Pandora’s Box of the underworld, however, jokers like Mac emerge, and Bill, a sort of dark alter-ego of John. Again, it’s Mona who suffers; she inhabits a sort of Twilight Zone between the decent and ugly worlds. It’s as though the more she tries to help (by pleading with both John and Bill to get their acts together) the further she sinks back into misfortune.

Pitfall is more character-driven than a film-noir, but succeeds by giving us some strong performances. Mona complex and tragic, Mac and John are relentless and two-dimensional, but in intriguingly divergent ways. Sue is steady, projecting warmth and security. What makes it all work is the interplay of betrayal and loyalty shown by the characters’ actions and personalities.

Crack-Up, 1946.

********** 10

"Everyone’s Nuts Around Here But Me!"
Great film noir and a suspenseful mystery. Who would think that an art gallery would make a good noir setting? But it’s a labyrinthine maze of shadow in Crack-Up. George (Pat O’Brien) is the quintessential noir hero--an unsuspecting victim of a criminal plot. The story traces his quest to ’square’ himself. With rapid intensity, the plot adds dream-like sequences to highlight George’s psychological terror and palpable fears.

The art forgery scheme that George discovers is only verified near the end, leaving his various antagonists plenty of room to entrap him, and leaving the viewer wondering if George knows what he’s about. The repetitive horror of the train wreck imagery consumes George like a drug; he can barely function. Like someone who’s seen a ghost, no one believes him. Diabolically, the doctor (Ray Collins) who should help him with the nightmares, is actually causing them. And Mary (Mary Ware), an apparently innocent helper, also betrays him. Ironically, it’s the untrustworthy Claire Trevor (as Terry) that he has to rely on.

Retrieving the painting from the ship’s hold lands George in the ultimate noir trap: locked in a burning compartment. Escaping all that, he has to escape again, and only finally escapes thanks to the police. Before that deliverance, however, he’s drugged yet again, the ’L’ train conveniently stirring up his nightmare...at gun point as well. After the denouement, it’s satisfying to have the humorous final scene. He’s right, everyone else is nuts. He’s been the victim of all the mayhem. With the noir hero’s combination of risk and cunning he’s survived, and won back his self-respect, as well as his place in society.

Everything works here. The performances are even and convincing. No time is wasted. The most harmless of settings--the penny-arcade--quickly becomes a claustrophobic, menacing trap. Life in Crack-Up is inherently off-key, discordant, and the hero is on his own, desperately trying to make sense out of it all. The best aspect is the interplay between the psychological and the physical; the nightmare that seems real, and the reality that seems nightmarish.

We’re not told what we should see with intrusive narration; this noir vision is painted for us to experience. In an early scene, George’s casual dismissal of the surreal painting (and the appreciative cackling of the audience) comes back to haunt him, as he’s about to experience more reality than he ever wanted or expected.

Desperate, 1947.

******** 8.0

"You Must’ve Studied To Get That Stupid!"

A cool premise: Walt Radak (Raymond Burr) will kill Steve (Steve Brodie) at his brother’s midnight execution time. The gang leader Walt blames Steve for a bungled heist that resulted in Walt’s brother’s arrest as a cop killer. Steve and his angelic wife Anne (Audrey Long) spend almost all of the movie fleeing Walt’s grasp. They’re always within his reach. since Steve is mistakenly implicated in the heist, the police are after him too. So, to keep moving, Steve ends up stealing two cars, one of which belongs to the local sheriff.

The tension between the gang and Steve is compounded by his run-ins with the jaded police lieutenant Ferrari (Jason Robards). Walter and Ferrari drive the plot and action in Desperate, with Steve and Anne caught in between. This is one noir in which there’s definite good and bad guys. Steve and Anne are mostly reacting to what the gangsters or cops are up to; they’re not very interesting on their own. I suppose the lighter moments fit their characters best: the beginning anniversary scene, the wedding scene in the middle, and Anne’s safe escape near the end.

It’s ok to touch base with the everyday world and its fun moments in noir films, but the characters should be able to show more than disbelief when their ordinary life is interrupted. Anne in particular is often reduced to incredulous babbling when she ought to stop and think . The relentless pace of their escape scenes masks these tone lapses with action.

There’s some memorable scenes in Desperate. What’s got a lot of attention on this forum is the great backroom scene with the swinging lamp as Steve’s being worked over by Walt’s muscle guys. Their monster-like faces loom out of the darkness; sort of a precursor to the macabre carnival costumes that Steve and Anne use to hide in the back of a truck. Another notable scene shows the looping stair case at the end where the climactic shoot-out takes place.

That scene, however, points to a couple of issues with the plot. Since Ferrari lies unhurt outside the building, having been shoved out of the line-of-fire by Steve, why did the other officer wait so long to enter the building and help get Walt? Instead Steve is on his own.

Steve is cleared by Ferrari, as one of the captured gangsters admits that Steve hadn’t willingly participated in the heist. Also, the first car ’theft’ is justifiable, as Steve actually paid for the car. But would the sheriff really not bring charges against Steve for stealing his car, and leaving him injured at the side of the road? Another odd thing happens near the beginning. Since Steve successfully overwhelms the gangster the second time he’s ’escorted’, why didn’t he even try to mess with the guy sticking to him right after the heist scene?

The simple plot leaves enough room for lingering on the most creepy noir scenes; the small cast also helps to keep the focus on Steve and Anne’s escape. Without Robards and Burr, however, this wouldn’t have been nearly as entertaining. Worth watching for the expressionist scenes and a couple of strong performances.

Whiplash, 1948.

********* 9.0

This haunting film has a great noir premise, and relentlessly builds suspense until it literally comes crashing down in the street. Dane Clark and Alexis Smith, even though they quickly fall in love, spend most of the movie angry with each other and with the world. Zachary Scott’s gangster character has the his goony hooks into his wife, Smith, as well as her brother, and Clark, her lover.

The three of them ultimately bring Scott down; with the brother sacrificed, and Clark nearly killed in the boxing ring. Despite the gritty tone, rough dialogue, and enough violence for a few films, there’s an innocent, civilized world, hinted at with the supporting characters’ scenes, that never quite goes away; and that finally replaces the noir atmosphere at the very end.

Scott, though clearly an evil presence, had his humanity blunted by the aftermath of his car accident, which Smith’s brother may or may not been responsible for. The only thing keeping them bound to each other is Scott’s emotional blackmail. His death, though obviously the result of his own murderous intent, is pathetically accidental.

Of the main characters, there is just enough goodness to rescue Clark and Smith, but no one else. A very well-written script, smoothly acted all the way around.

Sudden Fear, 1952.

******** 8.0

Toy Dogs and Nosy Dictaphones

A unique use of sound creates a haunting atmosphere in Sudden Fear. Joan Crawford, Jack Palance, and Gloria Graham give smooth performances as corners in a love triangle. The last part of Sudden Fear launches us deep into the noir pit of betrayal, revenge, chases on streets and alleys at night, and accidental death.

It’s hard to figure Lester’s (Palance’s) interest in Crawford’s Myra. She rejects him professionally; why does he subsequently pursue her? He’s after her money, with his girlfriend/mistress Irene (Gloria Graham) in tow. But that makes him a two-dimensional character.

Palance has a built-in smirk, sort of a tweaked Vincent Price visage. That serves him well in bad guy roles, but it’s hardly subtle. We’re expected to believe that Myra would fall so suddenly for him, as though she were half her age.

Things get more interesting when Irene shows up. Her and Lester have to act fast to get rid of Myra before she changes her will. That sets up the long end-game; Myra plots her revenge, then discovers she can’t go through with it. But along the way she’s tormented by every mundane sound in the environment: a music box, the dictaphone, the telephone, clicks, even a vacuum cleaner and the creepy toy dog. The fact that she says almost nothing for this entire sequence amplifies the dissonance. There’s also cool visual effects of Myra’s thoughts and nightmares.

The extended chase scene works great. It seems inevitable that Lester will catch up with Myra; but he ends up running down Irene by mistake. In the best noir moments, the unexpected happens when the irrational takes over.

The irony is that Myra intends to change her will to Lester’s advantage; she hears (thanks to the nosy dictaphone) Lester and Irene discussing her attorney’s version of the will, which isn’t the correct one. It’s irrational fear that impels Lester and Irene’s revenge plot.

Up until the San Francisco portion of the movie there’s a bit too much suspension of disbelief needed; but the latter part of Sudden Fear is almost perfect.

Impact, 1949.

********** 9.0

Noir with a Tune-Up

Impact delivers a noir story of betrayal, entrapment, and fear. The ambivalence of the San Francisco cityscape, with its majestic white- roofed buildings, crowned by Coit Tower, set against the claustrophobic alleys of Chinatown, mirrors the chasm between Donlevy’s outwardly bright, sophisticated world, and his domestic turmoil, stirred up by the scheming Helen Walker as his unfaithful wife.

Her plot to kill her husband backfires when her lover, Tony Barrett, thinking he has killed Donlevy, panics, and winds up dead himself. I agree with those who think that Donlevy should’ve gone to the police as soon as possible, instead of escaping to Idaho. I could see why he’d need some time to recover and figure out what to do; but why literally walk away from his magnificent career to become a drifter?

Allowing for all that, why, when he does return to San Francisco, does he make up such an implausible cover story? There’s no point in coming back unless he wants to clear himself from suspicion that he had anything to do with Barrett’s death, but he momentarily succeeds only in creating more suspicion about himself.

Finding the fetching Ella Raines, and her idyllic small town life, was definitely worth it, though. Even though the Larkspur interlude seems on another planet from the unresolved crime in S.F., Donlevy is never really free from the city’s noir grasp. Impact loses its edge only at the very end. Once legally exonerated, Donlevy is free to marry Raines, magic dust and all.

Hollow Triumph, 1948.

********* 9.0

Nonstop Noir

An excellent noir thriller. Great acting, plotting, and, especially, great atmosphere. Everything seems to happen at night; in alleys with trucks hurtling inches away like blind monsters, in seedy hotel rooms furnished with mirrors and shadows, and up and down stairways, fire escapes, and tramways.

Heinreid plays the flinty criminal who seems just a half step ahead of his pursuers throughout the film, which, tragically, is not quite enough to save him. As in the best noir films, fate toys with the protagonist. The murder of the doctor, Heinreid’s doppelganger, backfires--far from insulating him from retribution, it proves unnecessary, multiplying the danger facing him. The murder scene sets up with a montage of haunting images flashing through Heinreid’s mind as he drives the doctor to a remote bridge to ditch his body.

Joan Bennett, with her droll, world-weary manner, ably reflects the cynical noir tone. Nonetheless, she also represents a redemptive quality which Heinreid eventually realizes he needs. The last scene shows his quest for her love derailed, as the underworld goons finally catch up with him. She was able to escape his world because she never quite let it overcome her.

99 River Street, 1953.

********* 9.0

"Spill Punk, Or I’ll Scatter Your Brains Out!"

This not only hits all of the noir motifs and uses all of its devices--it even adds a faked story to thicken the plot. John Payne’s Ernie Driscoll is set up by his cheating wife Pauline (Peggie Castle), only to get blamed for her murder because she’s been set up by her gangster boyfriend Rawlings (Brad Dexter). Meanwhile, Ernie’s girlfriend Linda (Evelyn Keyes), uses him by pretending she’s murdered someone to create a scene of dramatic tension for an audition. Fittingly, the made-up theatrical problems become real as they put the police on Ernie’s trail.

At least Linda actually feels bad about duping him. With her and his loyal boss’s assistance, Ernie hurtles along relentlessly in the dark streets and sleazy joints in a race to find Rawlings and clear himself before Rawlings can leave the country.. The ending sequence is a masterpiece. The dingy waterfront, a car wreck, Ernie getting shot, having flashbacks as he fights Rawlings, and a very last-second rescue.

Almost everyone is squabbling and fighting with just about anyone: Pauline with Ernie and then with Rawlings, the gangsters with each other, the police with Ernie, and, finally, Ernie with Rawlings. Not a happy world; Ernie’s redemption comes at the price of losing his wife, getting beat up and almost killed. Usually a happily-wrapped ending diminishes a film noir, but in 99 River Street it’s a welcome relief from the gloom and doom. Plus Ernie does more than merely survive.

Too Late For Tears, 1949.

********* 9.0

"It’s Too Bad You Can’t Wake the Dead"

The only downside of Too Late For Tears is the title. Sounds like we’re going to have soap opera instead of tightly-drawn film noir. Lizabeth Scott is suitably reptilian as the conniving Jane; Dan Duryea is her in-over-his-head accomplice.

Like other good noirs, there’s a decent couple, Don LaFore (Don) and Kristine Miller (Kathy, Scott’s sister-in-law), to balance the moral travesty of Jane’s murder of her husband Alan (Arthur Kennedy). Strangely, Duryea’s Danny, a career criminal, is out of his depth with Jane.

She doesn’t think twice about killing; he won’t go that far. Still, they’re more or less inseparable. They don’t trust each other, and excite each other without any real affection "I don’t think I’d like you with a heart" Duryea admits. It’s very hard, then, to see what Alan saw in her.

The Kathy and Don relationship, on the other hand, starts out very tentatively, but grows steadily better. That’s despite the fact that he poses as Alan’s war buddy; but his motives turn out to be justifiable. Danny also poses to insinuate himself into Jane’s life. Obviously, though, he’s only interested in the money that Alan and Jane lucked into.

All the attention focused on the claim check seems overplayed, but it definitely adds tension and keeps the pacing brisk. Another bit of chance is more ominous: the accidental poisoning of Danny could only have happened with Jane’s plan to poison Kathy. Things unravel for Jane from then on.

The premise is based on another chance act; nothing at all would’ve happened without the initial mistaken toss of the money into Alan and Jane’s car. Chance seems to play two roles. There’s things that happen for no reason, like the money drop, and the things that happen as unintended consequences of a bad decision, that is, Danny poisoned because of Jane’s murder plans.

She can’t understand that Don really doesn’t care about the money; his "vendetta" results from his brother’s (her ex-husband’s) death. Like other opportunistic noir villains, she uses people like they were money.Because Alan certainly wasn’t flashy, he’s worthless to Jane.

Most of the performances here were convincing, and most scenes had appropriately snappy dialogue. No low points in Too Late For Tears. A wild bumper car ride.

Suddenly, 1954.

******* 7.0

"You’re Kidding? Hmm...No, You’re Not Kidding"

Very suspenseful crime drama. Frank Sinatra gives a tightly-wound performance as the presidential assassin John Baron. Stirling Hayden, as the local sheriff, makes a good antagonist. The sheriff, along with his love interest Ellen (Nancy Gates) and her family, become Baron’s hostages. Hayden’s character comes to life by taunting Baron over the gangster’s seedy past. There’s plenty of tension both among the hostages and the gangsters; the pacing swiftly moves us into an action-packed denouement.

The premise is unusual--rarely do crime dramas aim higher than at a local level, even if they’re set in big cities. Here, there’s the intriguing combination of the President in danger in an otherwise nondescript small town. Suspension of disbelief is unevenly achieved, however. The surprise that the local authorities feel having to improvise for the Presidential visit, and the subsequent arrangements with state and Federal officials seems smooth and authentic. On the other hand, as others have noted, once the hostage situation develops, a bunch of unlikely stuff intrudes.

Baron leaves too many loose ends. He doesn’t seem to mind the family and sheriff looking over their shoulders; on the other hand, the police seem to wait forever to become suspicious of the sheriff’s disappearance. It’s plausible that the bad guys were able to bluff their way into the house in the first place, but they never cut the phone, or think to ask if there’s weapons in the house. Ellen has a chance to at least threaten Baron with a knife; but she waits too long. Even the Secret Service guys are easily brushed off by Ellen’s nervous attempt to tell them that she’s home alone and everything’s ok. Although the hidden gun just sits there for most of the time, it does lead to a clever sequence. The kid is able to substitute his familiar toy gun for the real one without attracting notice. But then, he can’t make use of it right away, further increasing the tension.

The electrocution set-up is also ingenious, even if a little junky on the science. These ploys point out the constant threat hanging over the gangsters, not only from without, but, despite their plan, from within as well. Both sides are unsure of themselves. It’s a good thing that Hayden’s character has so much verbal sparring with Baron; he’s pretty much a stiff with Ellen. It’s frighteningly watching Baron strut around, repeating many times his claim to have killed 27 of the enemy in the war. This boast continues after the sheriff has de-bunked Baron’s story. "You’d rather kill a man than love a woman!" he concludes.

The anti-violence message, as has been said, is selective. The forces of civilization, represented by citizens and law enforcement (the townspeople, family, sheriff, and other authorities), legitimately use violence to fight un-checked violence. Baron and his guys have no identity without the power that their guns represent. All of this is implicit in the movie’s dialogue and drama. Yet they’re not presented as completely evil; basically, the assassination is an impersonal ’job’; at one point the idea of taking the money and running seems attractive.

Baron is ultimately frustrated by what seems like a classic film noir concept--chance can destroy anything--so the President is after all not even on the targeted train. Baron’s assassination plot self-destructs. But it’s not so clean as all that; it’s obvious and logical that the train would be rerouted, since the authorities were forewarned of the plot. That calls into question the premise itself. It might’ve been better had there not been a warning after all, but the train by-passes the town for an unrelated reason, of which there could be many plausible ones.

Suddenly works well to keep our interest level humming along. It could’ve been great with some of the plot holes patched up.

Dial 1119, 1950.

********* 9.0

An escaped mental patient kills a bus driver and holes up in a dive. Taking the bartender and five customers hostage, he tries to outlast the cops; meanwhile there’s a sort of media frenzy, a huge mob of onlookers, and even food vendors working the crowd. Sort of an Ace In The Hole (1951) spectacle. Strangely, our murderer, Gunther (Marshall Thompson), is a feckless non-entity. But that makes him all the creepier. By contrast, the five hostages are an animated group (the bartender Chuckles--William Conrad at his smug and dour best--gets plugged early on).

There’s the classy Helen (Andrea King), the older goon that hits on her, Earl (Leon Ames), a barfly, Freddy (Virginia Field), a reporter, Harry (James Bell), and a decent guy, Skip (Keefe Brasselle), who’s doubly anxious, as his wife’s in the hospital. Some have said the amazingly large TV in the bar (this is 1950, after all) gets so much attention it may as well be a character. And, to a lesser degree, the same with the drug store, the unofficial headquarters for the cops, as it has a phone, and thus the only link with the bar and Wykoff.

Captain Keiver (Richard Rober) has a sort of secret weapon in psychiatrist Dr. Faron (Sam Levene), who has treated Gunther. But the Captain won’t let the doc go into the bar, and Faron’s phone calls to Gunther aren’t productive.

The Doc pleads of Gunther, "He’s trying to overcome his insecurity by proving to a hostile world that he’s a hero." So, he’s already killed two people, because...? Well, back in the bar, Gunther recalls his horrific wartime experience. All that stuff provides clues into his warped thinking. But these are excuses, not reasons. Rather ingeniously, the cops, thanks to the building’s blueprints, send a guy through the ventilator shaft into the thick of the action. But Gunther hears the would-be avenger, and blasts him before he gets off a shot.

The TV provides a distraction: of, ironically, a TV interview of a man in the street. Then we see, again through the TV, Faron and the Captain talking by the drug store. Meanwhile, Harry has a pretty good idea. He’ll have his paper put pressure on the police to allow Faron in to deal with Gunther. Absurdly, his editor, unaware of the situation, blows him off. The cops now decide to blow the door off the place. When no one’s looking, Faron walks up to the bar on his own volition. He knocks at the door, Gunther lets him in.

"We’re friends" he implores of Gunther. No dice. Then: "unless you let me help you, you’ll die." That’s true. Gunther starts to get manic; surprisingly, it’s revealed that Gunther was never in the war. He’d been rejected for service for his homicidal tendencies. He loses it, and shoots Faron. The cops plant the plastic explosive; one of the hostages sees a gun that’s partially hidden behind the bar. The phone rings--nice bit of suspense creeping up to the denouement.

As the door blows off its hinges, Skip lunges at Gunther, and Freddy retrieves the other gun. She shoots Gunther: "you had no right to shoot me..." He stumbles out of the bar, only to get riddled with bullets from the waiting cops. Time to tie up loose ends. Helen leaves, Skip finds out about his wife and their newborn. Earl shifts his attentions to Freddy. The crowd disperses, life’s back to normar. The end.

This was well-played from start to finish. The generic nature of the urban environment is apt (the fictitious town, the iconic place names for the bar and drug store--Oasis, Rialto--,and the fairly stock characters). The intention is that this could be anywhere; the story is universal to early post-war Ametica, and not a one-off aberration. At the same time, the thorough abstractness gives it a nightmarish feel. It’s like something, read, remembered, or...seen on TV.

The beginning sequence is eerie in a different way than what comes later. After literally walking away from killing the bus driver, Gunther looks up Fallon. Because Fallon’s a criminal psychiatrist, his office is in the criminal court building--strange place for a murderer, but since it’s after hours, all he sees is an ominous industrial vacuum cleaner. Up to the point where Gunther kills Chuckles, this oddly silent world, punctuated only by the sounds of machines and bar small-talk, seems like a Twilight Zone episode.

The bus honks and honks until the impatient driver discovers the dead man; then, at the bar, the phone rings and rings, initially for Skip. This weird dissonance is at once annoying but impersonal, perhaps mirroring Gunther’s disconnect from reality. The intentionally banal bar crowd, the low-brow fare on TV (wrestling, of all things) further contributes to Gunther’s sense of alienation. Not only is he cut off from society, it certainly doesn’t look like he’s missing much.

This is decidedly a grim worldview: Gunther is estranged from a world that seems deterministic and hypocritical. Only Skip seems to have a more promising life. Faron takes a broader view of things too, but it’s hardly helpful in this case. The Captain makes sense when he says that none of this would’ve happened if Gunther had been executed. Yes, that’s a harsh judgement, but the consequence is a killing spree. Faron has the role of the intellectual who, in sci-fi movies, tries to ’understand’ the alien creature, to no avail. True to form, he gets it for his troubles. "This is not an ordinary criminal trying to make a deal" says Faron at one point; yeah, but does that matter to the victims?

This is strange territory even for film noir: it’s very psychological, obviously. Although the focus isn’t entirely on Gunther, his perspective skews what we see. Dial 1119 does have a stagey feel overall, but, as mentioned, that’s probably the best way to show a distorted reality. A very different sort of noir, well-worth watching. 9/10

Cry of the City, 1948.

*********1/2 9.5

Victor Mature and Richard Conte are the leads in this well-regarded noir about two guys who grew up together, but ended up on opposite sides of the law. In supporting roles there’s Fred Clark (as Lt. Collins), Shelley Winters (Brenda, who helps Conte’s character), Hope Emerson (a bizarre masseuse, Rose), Barry Kroeger (as sleazy attorney Niles), and Tommy Cook (Marty’s brother, Tony).

Naturally, Lt. Candella (Mature) has to investigate his friend Marty (Conte) for one murder, and try and stop him before he commits another. Part of Martin’s problem is protecting his girlfriend Teena (Debra Paget). Mixed in with all this is a jewel heist. Initially, though, Marty nearly dies, in the prison hospital’s intimate confines.

First thing we have is Teena coming to visit Marty in the hospital. She’s distraught, probably figuring he’s going to die. Candella, Niles, and Collins want to see him too. Niles looks as phony and slimy as a carload of con-men. He tries to prompt Marty to go down this or that path. Marty just says “go fry.” Somewhat unexpectedly, Marty recovers.

Candella and Collins see him. “You murdering rat” Collins can’t help exclaiming. They show some jewelry recovered from the heist; he denies involvement altogether–in the theft, and the subsequent murder. He does admits killing a cop along the way.

Niles is hovering around him now–he gets a little too personal–Marty almost strangles him. Switch to Candella popping in at Marty’s parent’s place. The news is that Marty is being transferred from the hospital to the prison. Not an upgrade. Kind of a wasted trip for he Lieutenant, other than hearing the parent’s hopes and wishes.

At the prison there’s some good-natured bartering among Marty, a trustee, and the jailer. The trustee shows him how he can use a spoon as a key. Anyway, Candella comes by with Mama’s goodies. Candella tries to use Marty’s brother as leverage; then he tells the “hot shot” to “get hip…[and get]… square.” That’s a lot to deal with.

Actually, Candella wants to find Teena, an alleged accomplice. When Candella leaves, Marty ‘squares’ his escape plan with the trustee. Obviously, Marty needs to bust out to get to Teena before the cops do. The spoon-key does the trick, and with cunning timing, he bluffs his way to the outside.

This is a tense sequence; not the type of scene we usually see. (Prison breakouts, yes, but not a guy literally walking out of jail). Somehow, Candella figures it all out, and spots his brother leaving their folks’ place. Needless to say, Tony gets rousted; he’s unlucky enough to go into the deli where the cops have been huddling.

But he’s smart enough to only talk to his brother in Italian. Still, he does have a partial phone number. Meanwhile, Marty makes a surprise visit to Niles. Basically, Niles has blackmailed him; he wants a refund, as the legal angle is up in the air anyway. A tense scene–with Niles trying to hide money from him; viola! No cash, but the jewelry from the heist. Then he and Niles scuffle, Niles ends up dead.

Niles has had to give up the jewelry accomplice’s name: Rose. Then Marty heads back to the old homestead. He argues with his mom; he justifies what he has done by saying that he loves Teena. That doesn’t wash. Ok, he loves her, but what’s that got to do with two murders? Tony has found Rose. And, Candella has found Marty.

As the Lieutenant gives Tony a speech, former girlfriend Brenda looks up Rose’s picture. Once again, Marty seems to be dying. Brenda’s also got a doctor on board, literally, in her car. She dives into a ‘dive’ to score some liquor for Marty. Somehow, he revives. “You’re not going to fold up again are you?”

Once he meets Rose, he probably wishes he had folded up. “I think we can do business” he tells her. “I’m glad you killed him, Martin [meaning Niles].” The deal is: money, a car, and out of the country–for the jewels. Ok? Ok. Except she can pretty much crush him in her hands. She would but he doesn’t have the key to the hiding place on him.

Ok, the detectives are back on the job. Back at Rose’s, Marty passes up a mountain of flapjacks at breakfast. They plan to meet up later and do the swap. Now the cops have dope on Marty’s “dames.” Back at police HQ, Candella finds the doct who fixed up Marty; our antagonist has four bullet wounds!

The cops are discussing Brenda and Teena; then, Shazam! Marty calls Candella to finger Rose. This could work. As expected, Rose turns the table on the bullet riddled-fugitive. Still, if the cops time it right…they do! Rose is arrested, Marty escapes. But she manages to shoot Candella.

He’ll “be alright” says the nurse. Better than that; like his nemesis, Candella escapes from the confinement. He makes it to Teena’s; he finds out from her family the info on his old buddy. Candella goes to see Marty, who’s hiding out in a church.

Sure enough, he’s there with Teena, trying to convince her to leave town with her. She’s very wary. Not to mention that Candella has something to say about it; as in a lecture. She figures the cop’s right. But that makes it a standoff, as both guys are armed.

Finally, Marty gives it up. But it’s a ruse. Marty slugs the already injured Candella, and escapes. But he doesn’t even get down the block before Candella manages to blast him. Marty’s brother walks away slowly; kind of giving a eulogy to Candella. They embrace in a cab. The end.

This is noir at its best. All the icons are used: immigrant families, good buddy/bad buddy, nutty lady/angelic lady, cops, cons, murders, creeps, loyal relatives, etc. Even some funny bits. And wrapped with a curtain of urban darkness: shabby tenements, hospitals, jails, police stations, etc.

Mature and Conte are cast perfectly; though slightly against type. Conte seems like a suave, even debonaire leading man, with a continental sort of machismo. On the other hand, Mature is more commonly seen as a bad guy, kind of shifty and menacing. But, perhaps because of this paradox, their characters seem more authentic.

The supporting cast does a nice job of adding a lot of flavor and contrast to these two steady, serious guys. Rose is an out-and-out oddball; unique, with a sort of absurd malevolence about her. Niles, in a different way, exudes a similar lurking sense of danger. Teena’s role is excellently cast; in fact, she should have more scenes.

Brenda is superfluous; nothing she does wouldn’t fall more likely into Teena’s lap. The trustee is great even in such a minor role; Collins, however, doesn’t have much personality.

This is one noir that carefully balances plot with character. Earlier noirs tended to be plot heavy (Maltese Falcon, Laura), later ones more psychological. Here we have a plot we can navigate without a map, and leads who suffer existential dilemmas without calling on Freud to get them out of bed.

Not to be missed for film noir fans.

The Long Night, 1947.

******** 8.0

Interesting film noir with a major cast: Henry Fonda, Barabara Bel Geddes, Vincent Price, and Anne Dvorak. Fonda tells the story in flashback. His character, Joe, starts off in a shoot-out with police after apparently killing a magician, Maxmillian (Price). Bell Geddes is Joe’s girlfriend Jo Ann. Charlene (Dvorak) was tied in with Maxmillian, but befriends Joe just as he discovers that Jo Ann is hanging out with Max. A love quadrangle?

Things take a while to gather steam, as Joe first narrates about his background; then Frank (Elisha Cook Jr.) stumbles upon the shooting. There’s a considerably drawn-out stake-out (which we return to a few times, and also atvthe end). So, it’s half an hour before we meet Charlene and Max. By this time Joe has already as much as proposed to Jo Ann, but she goes off to catch Max’s act anyway. I can’t see how she would give two shakes for ‘The Great Maxmillian.’

Charlene is interesting. She cynical, but essentially positive; very capable and very perceptive.”Yeah, I know, the joke’s on me” as she aptly sums herself up. At her place with Joe, Max intrudes, blathering about “tete-a-tetes,” that is, Joe hanging out with both Jo Ann and Charlene. Then Max drops a bomb by telling Joe that Jo Ann is his daughter. If that’s so, why wouldn’t she have told Joe?

Joe could care less about ‘dad.’ He tells Max that he’s going to marry her anyway. She quickly sets Joe straight about Max–they have a history, but he’s no dad. So we get Jo Ann’s flashback within Joe’s flashback. He’s plenty creepy, through and through, a quality that most of Price’s characters manage very well. He tries to take advantage of her, but she fends him off–for a bit.

Then she lets him back into her life. “In a strange way I’m honest, even about my lies” is his revealing comment. Back into Joe’s original flashback, Jo Ann tries to guilt him about Charlene. But Joe reiterates his love for Jo Ann, which she reciprocates–they talk about the future, etc. What could go wrong? Even Charlene takes it in stride “Don’t you cry for me, I’m not buried yet!”

They definitely agree about Max “He ought to be locked up in a wack ward!” But, then they discover that the doodad Jo Ann told Joe was an artifact from Mexico was really a cheap trinket from Max. Out of his flashback, that thingie is shot up along with everything else around the trapped Joe. The cops find Jo Ann to see if they can get her to coax him out. He’s taunting the crowd and the police, as Jo Ann shows up. I just wish he wouldn’t give a speech.

Now, it’s Jo Ann’s turn. Weirdly, the crowd instantly changes its mood from macabre curiosity to support and sympathy. Mini-flashback: back to the crucial Max shooting. “Stop squirming around like a nervous eel!” Joe screams at him. They scuffle. Unsurprisingly, Max has a gun; also unsurprisingly, he makes a game of the situation. In effect, he’s taunting Joe to shoot him. He does.

It’s strange that he doesn’t give up yet, even as Jo Ann manages to sneak her way up to his door. He even shoots at her. Great noir look down the long, dark staircase loaded with cops. Finally he does give up, carrying her down. At the very end, he actually isn’t feeling too bad, getting a light from an onlooker he knows and then going off with the police.

This is very good–but not great. Price is outstanding–Bel Geddes, Dvorak, and Fonda are all quite good too. The dialogue is just right; and not just clever, but tuned in to each of the main characters’ personalities. The minor characters work in well too. As I’ve hinted, the movie’s too long–particularly the standoff, which is essentially a frame story. And, as good as the chatter is, there’s too much; especially Joe’s monologue to the crowd.

I could see Dvorak’s character getting mixed up with Price, but not Bel Geddes’. She’s young enough to pass for his daughter. As far as his allure, Joe nails it when he says that Max’s type can always be found at “creep joints.” There’s nothing even half-decent about him. To make her choice more plausible, either Max has to be less of a cynical opportunist, or Joe should be more ambiguous. In fact, like other Fonda protagonists, Joe is too passive to be all that interesting.

Tension, 1949.

********* 9.0

One of the better film noirs. Great performances from all the principles: Audrey Totter, Richard Basehart, Cyd Charisse, and Barry Sullivan. Unlike some noir thrillers that get too clever to make sense, Tension is well-plotted. The pacing keeps Basehart and Totter twisting until the end.

We’ve got the girl-next-door Mary (Charisse) and the tramp Claire (Totter) in and out of Warren’s (Basehart’s) respectable life. Warren and Deager (Lloyd Gough) are rivals, but the innocent Mary and the evil Claire are complete opposites. Deager is certainly a jerk, but he recognizes that Warren is a “nice little guy.” Warren, on the other hand, planned to murder Deager; he pulls back at the last second, realizing that Deager has also been manipulated by Claire. They’re in the same boat.

In typical noir fashion, Warren outsmarts himself. His alter ego ‘Paul’ has the unintended side effect of attracting Mary’s attention. That their relationship is great leads, nonetheless, to some agonizing scenes–especially when the lieutenant throws them together in the drug store. They have to pretend to be strangers to fool him. The lieutenant already knows that Paul is Warren; but he has to act as though he doesn’t know in hopes that one of them will snap.

The lieutenant’s role is very aptly played by Sullivan. He drives the plot after Deager’s murder. Both Claire and Warren give shaky statements when he first interviews them, and Mary mucks things up for ‘Paul.’ But as soon as the Lieutenant sidles up to Claire she becomes vulnerable; she’s shown that she can’t resist men. His subsequent pretense that the case has gone nowhere, that Warren is free, and the murder weapon is the only red flag, simultaneously serves to relieve Claire and force her hand.

The denouement in Paul/Warren’s apartment is perfect. Yet another of the Lieutenant’s deceptions reveals Claire’s attempt to incriminate Warren. The mystery lies in how Claire will be caught; we know Warren’s innocent. But we also know that he’s set himself up by his history with Deager, especially with the elaborate revenge plan.

Only a couple of bits in Tension ring false. Why would Claire kill Deager anyway? If she gets tired of him, why not just leave him? She has nothing to gain from killing him. For a while I thought that the killer might turn out to be someone else, but there weren’t really any other characters crawling around waiting to murder anyone.

Also, since the Lieutenant has such a commanding role; do we really need him narrating too? Still, Tension worked extremely well. I can’t think of another noir of this caliber that maintained dramatic ‘tension’ with no car crashes, not much on-screen violence, no back alleys, gangsters, no strained rat-a-tat-tat dialogue, and not all that much time in the dark. Well-worth checking out a few times.

Roadblock, 1951.

********* 8.0

Very entertaining film noir. After the staged ‘murder’ at the beginning to introduce the protagonist, we get something of a romantic comedy interlude. Then Roadblock deftly switches tracks to a deadly crime drama, thanks to the quick-kindling relationship between Joan Dixon’s Diane and Charle’s McGraw’s Joe.

Joe’s determination to win Diane at any cost–ethically, morally, and legally, by proposing the heist to Webb–and her realization that she wants him just as he is, shows great plotting and pacing. And plenty of irony. Like other reviewers, I would have liked a bit of backstory on Joe and Diane; their simultaneous value reorientations involve too much suspension of disbelief.

It is fascinating to see “Honest Joe” skulking around after the heist, his dream of easy money quickly churning into a noir nightmare. His future narrows down to a hopeless attempt to flee, literally walled in by the river bed’s concrete embankments. His love for Diane, which propelled him into the underworld, becomes a crude gesture of raw survival, as he tosses her from his targeted car.

Webb’s an enigma, an interesting, rational, even perceptive character, who just happens to be a sociopathic criminal. It’s a measure of the film’s dramatic intensity that we can feel disappointed that Joe ends up being used by Webb, after Joe throws away his initial moral superiority.

It’s one thing to deal with Joe and Diane’s sudden transformations, but some of the plot’s logic is suspect as well. It should be obvious to Joe that he’s going to be under a spotlight after the railroad heist, as Webb couldn’t possibly have come up with the plan without insider help. It might’ve made more sense for Joe, instead of ignoring Diane’s plea to call it off, confesses before it takes place. Then he’s guilty of plotting a crime, but nothing happens as Webb and his guys are arrested.

Still, Roadblock delivers a slick crime story with strong performances from McGraw and Dixon. A cool, long car chase to finish things up; not to mention the earlier scene as Webb’s limo approaches the rendevous with Joe in one car, pulls up in another, and wrecks in a third. And that crash isn’t in the mountains where the scene starts, but in the desert. Well, the point is that Webb’s toast, in fine low-budget B movie style.

The Threat, 1949

****** 6.0

This is a fast-paced noir with a gritty, tense atmosphere, and a commanding performance by Charles McGraw as the escaped con Kluger. In fact, Kluger’s character has a lot in common with some of the sci-fi/horror monsters of the era. He’s a relentless beast, pouncing on anyone who tries to hinder his goal of leaving the country with a pile of stolen money. His character helps make The Threat interesting, but overshadows all of the other performances.

Kluger’s strategy involves kidnapping the two law enforcement personnel (Michael O’Shea and Frank Conroy) who were mostly responsible for his incarceration. A revenge plot is used effectively in other crime dramas, but here it doesn’t make a lot of sense. O’Shea’s Ray and Conroy’s McDonald are rather too easily abducted; they spend most of the rest of the movie in the background, along with a completely hapless truck driver (Don McGuire).

The fact that the two cops come out on top has more to do with Carol’s (Virginia Gray’s) intervention than their ineffectual actions. Carol has some knowledge of the original caper, so it’s reasonable that Kluger would keep pumping her for information.

Everything that Ray and ‘Mac’ (MacDonald) knows that could help Kluger he sweated out of them fairly quickly. They can’t possibly help him anymore; Kluger never threatens their families, which would’ve added another dimension to the drama.

So why doesn’t he just kill the two guys? Since Kluger clearly doesn’t even trust his own muscle guys, it might’ve worked better to have him just face off with them, with the money as the bone of contention. Once Ray and Mac subdue the two goons they have a shot at ambushing Kluger; but, strangely, Mac stays put, leaving Ray to take on Kluger by himself. Carol, for all of her hysterical scenes, is ultimately a better antagonist.

The main problem with the plot, though, is Joe’s character. He’s inexplicably passive. He has at least three decent chances to surprise Kluger with his hidden gun, but waits instead. When he actually does get the gun out he again hesitates, allowing Kluger to overwhelm him. Joe even has a chance to simply walk away, but gives that up too. It’s more interesting watching Ray’s wife Ann (Julie Bishop) agonize over his disappearance than to watch Ray and the other hostages.

A good device are the phony calls Ray makes to headquarters when he’s under duress; those scenes add tension, as we wonder if the cops and Ann will see the incongruity in what he says versus what they know. It’s sort of like the monster controlling a human who has fallen into its grasp. Another nice touch are the circling planes–Kluger is visibly shaken, he has to wonder if it’s his accomplice Tony, or the police.

The solid revenge premise could’ve made The Threat an outstanding noir, but the plot suffered from using its characters awkwardly, and counting on the lead to carry the movie. I would’ve liked to have seen Carol, Lefty, and Nick more developed, with less Ray and Mac. And forget Joe. Overall, The Threat starts and ends well, but there’s too many dead ends along the way for it to keep our suspension of disbelief intact.

Beware My Lovely, 1952.

********* 9.0

Much better than I thought it would be. Beware, My Lovely is a chilling ‘domestic noir.’ Robert Ryan (as Howard) portrays a mentally disturbed person with incredible nuance. His interaction with Ida Lupino’s Helen become a gripping blend of sympathy and fear. Ryan’s ability to convey mood with facial expressions is something to see. He flickers between despondency, suspicion, and menace, again and again, forcing Helen to continually adjust her persona to survive.

Although most of the film takes place in daylight, there’s plenty of the noir motif of reflections. Howard confronts his image in pails, mirrors, and photos; the creepiest of his reflections are in the Christmas ornaments that taunt Helen. The cheeriness of the bright day, and the Christmas season, with the pesky but well-wishing children, plays ironically against the sudden descent into the unknown that Howard embodies.

We’re reduced to hoping that if only Howard would just go away, if only Helen could get help…The fact that she comes agonizingly close to deliverance a couple of times makes it all the more uncomfortable. It’s something like a nightmare; things are seemingly familiar, but at the same time not quite right.Helen’s dilemma is two-fold: will Howard calm down and be ok to deal with? If not, how does she get rid of him? He gets progressively worse, building tension, making it less likely that she’ll find a way out. It’s hard to believe that things started out in a very ordinary way.

For a short while they seem to be in the same lonely boat “I haven’t any friends” he confesses. She lets on that she could be his friend, but he soon finds himself incapable of trusting even such a sympathetic person. When he says that he sometimes “can’t find my way home” it’s pitiable, but also enigmatic. Does he mean that, due to his memory lapses, he literally doesn’t remember where he lives, or is it that he hasn’t any home to go to? The bit where he opens the music box shows how he craves ordinary life, perhaps with a recollection of innocence.Some reviewers don’t like the ending, but I think it works well.

Presumably, due to both Helen’s and the telephone repairman’s ability to identity him, he could be apprehended. If he does simply disappear, then it’s likely he’ll move on to victimize someone else. Beware, My Lovely, therefore, ends the nightmare for Helen–normal life is restored to her and her neighborhood–but there’s still evil out there, somewhere. Another thread that’s been mentioned by others echoes of the Ryan/Lupino film noir On Dangerous Ground.

The mentally disturbed character in that movie is also presented sympathetically, despite his murderous impulses. His fate is definite, unlike Howard’s. Although Ryan’s character, the focus in both movies, does seek redemption of a sort in Dangerous Ground, he’s not the outcast criminal character that he is in Beware.

I wonder why this is set in 1918. Apparently, it was a radio play, a short story, and a stage play before it was a movie; but the first of these was in 1945. The bicycles the kids have look very much like they’re from the 40s or 50s, and I question whether there were electric Christmas tree lights before the 30s.

But if those are mistakes, they aren’t big deals. The vehicles, and everything else here could work for 1918. Very captivating drama; this has something for fans of Robert Ryan, thrillers, and film noir.

Kansas City Confidential, 1952.

******** 8.0

Very tense film noir. The pacing pushes the action along, highlighted by snappy dialogue and scene changes. The premise is a simple heist, with some clever complications. Joe (John Payne) is a typical noir hero: wrongfully connected with a crime; an ex-con, veteran and war hero, on a quest to ‘square’ himself. That things wrap up tidily at the end doesn’t diminish the film’s impact.Foster’s (Preston Fister) assembles a nice lot of crooks in Boyd (Neville Brand), Tony (Lee Van Cleef), and, especially, Pete (Jack Elam).

Other reviewers are correct that there must be a fourth guy; Foster and all three of the hoods are riding in the back of the van, which presumably doesn’t drive itself. Anyway, Pete is really off-the-chain, so watchable yet so repulsive. One of the more successful devices is Joe assuming Pete’s identity after Pete’s dispatched at the airport. Joe got some good leads on Pete’s whereabouts in Tijuana, but how does he know which hotel he’s staying at? A bunch of questions pop up once everyone reaches ‘Barados.’

Wouldn’t Foster know immediately that Joe isn’t Pete? After all, why would Foster recruit these guys if he didn’t know them? The whole mask thing is kind of ludicrous: Pete figures out in their initial meeting who Foster is, regardless of the mask. More importantly, in Barados, no one uses the masks, which would look slightly inappropriate anyway. So what’s the point of continuing to pretend that the guys don’t know each other?

It might make sense if there were tons of people at the resort, but the only other folks are obviously tourists.On the other hand, Helen’s (Colleen Gray’s) presence does add up; her function is to protect Joe. It’s interesting so see Boyd and Tony sneak around trying to figure out Joe; they play a see-saw battle with him up to the end. Meanwhile, Foster slowly emerges as another wronged-man. In effect, the heist is a set-up, but not quite a hoax: it’s his ploy to ‘square’ himself.

This partly explains why he’s ultimately sympathetic to Joe: not only is Joe innocent, he’s been in Foster’s shoes. Still, it more than a little unsavory not only to plan a crime, but to carry it out as well. Foster.can hardly claim the reward for a crime that he masterminded.Unlike quite a few others, I thought the ending was good. After all the manuvering by the principle characters, they finally get together and have it out.

It makes sense that Joe would try to talk Tony into cutting-out Boyd; which makes Tony eager to kill Boyd etc. It’s just this sort of greed and betrayal theme that’s central to noir. The ride down to the boat is the most tense scene of all: none of them knows what’s going to happen, and neither do we. And, just to twist things up a bit, Tony and Boyd realize that it’s Foster who’s betraying them, not Joe/Pete.

Despite the plot holes, Kansas City Confidential is very entertaining. Worth a viewing or two for the noir fan; and pretty good as a straight mystery as well.

Backfire, 1950

******* 7.0

Pretty good film noir, let down somewhat by a confusing structure. The performances are even and nuanced. Gordon MacRae’s Bob undertakes a quest to find a war buddy who has gotten mixed up with gangsters; strangely enough, another war buddy turns out to be the head gangster. By the time Bob has rescued Steve (Edmund O’Brien) there’s a pile of bodies left along the way.

The premise is fine, right up noir-alley. Although I’m not convinced that the rather long opening sequence (showing Bob’s convalescence) helps the pacing or the tone. It has a lighter romantic motif. Virginia Mayo, as MacRae’s love interest Julie, is the angelic counterpart to the sultry dark-haired Viveca Lindfors’ Lysa. Maybe the movie should’ve begun with Bob meeting Bonnie (memorably played by MacRaes’s actual wife) and Lysa in the first nightclub scene.

It’s difficult to unpack the plot due to a quicksand of flashbacks. That device works better when it’s sort of a ‘one-way ticket’. If a movie has a frame story, with the bulk of the plot unfolding as a continuous flashback, that’s guiding the viewer one way. Or, if the movie starts near the denouement, then goes back, leading up to and beyond the opening, that also points one way.

But in Backfire, flashbacks pop us back, forward, every which way, to the point that we’re having to guess when something ‘really’ happens. The effect isn’t only disorienting, it subordinates all the other, more interesting aspects of character, motivation, and atmosphere, to the technical plot puzzle.

The dialogue, especially Sheila MacRae’s, was well-written and delivered. Ed Begley’s Captain Garcia manages a nice balance between world-weariness and toughness. Lindfors makes a great noir kept woman, and Dane Clark’s businessman/hood character(s) shows the superficial charm needed to aptly fill both roles. MacRae doggedly plays the ordinary guy in over his head in noir territory.

Definitely watchable, Backfire suffers from overly-slick plotting that obscures a genuinely good film noir.

The Underworld Story, 1950

*******+ 7.5

Dan Duryea stars in this small-town flavored noir. In a role somewhat similar to Kirk Douglas’s from 1951’s Ace In The Hole, he’s a new reporter in town, eager to get in on a big story. A murder story, in this case.

Mike Reese (Duryea) teams up with Cathy (Gale Storm) and ‘Parkey’ (George Parker, played by Harry Shannon) to run the local paper. Mike’s got to stay square with the big-city mob boss Carl Durham (Howard Da Silva). Having named one of Carl’s guys as an informer on a mob hit, Mike’s instantly unemployable in the city, and still under Durham’s thumb.

Reese’s chance for jump-starting his career comes when big-shot E.J. Stanton’s (Herbert Marshall’s) daughter-in-law Diane is killed. The housemaid Molly (Mary Anderson) is suspected, but Stanton’s neer-do-well son Clark (Gar Moore) seems to have a better motive.

We begin in the all-consuming urban jungle. A limo pulls up to an official building: three guys emerge; one is dropped by a gunman from the big Buick, one’s just nicked (that’s D.A. Munsey, played by Michael O’Shea). Myers, the main victim, was set to testify against Durham.

Munsey wants to get Mike for obstructing justice. Mike’s toast, in this city. What I don’t get is why he goes to the small town that Stanton basically owns. “You know what’s under ivy? Little crawly things.” Right up Mike’s alley. Anyway, his best–and only–play is to hit up Durham; sure the big guy will stake him $5000 to buy the little old quaint town paper.

If Durham doesn’t play ball, Mike, if he lives long enough, could surely finger the guy for the hit on Myers. Blackmail seems to be the exquisite motif in this movie–it’s everywhere, under that ivy, I suppose. Why are mobsters always involved in trucking? And their guys are forever playing cards too. Mike wishes he had been dealt a better hand: “I’m black-listed, and I’m broke.” Interestingly, they have a bit of mutual admiration for each other’s negotiating skills.

Upon arrival in ye olde Lakeville, Cathy’s not exactly thrilled with Mike (he’s a little forward: “we’ll make a great team, baby!”), but she needs his money. He lays on a story about he and her dad were buddies, so he wrangles a better deal. Before she can back out of the deal, they hear of Diane’s murder.

Diane was her best friend; oh, but to Mike she’s merely, and exclusively, a “story.” He’s almost funny with Cathy, but about two shades too bossy and imposing. He’s so nervy that he even gets the cops to pose at the crime scene. The following quiz of the servants reveals little at present.

Clark blurts out to dad that he killed his wife–she was going to leave him–even dad preferred her to him. In fact, he accuses pops of seducing her, right under his nose. Hmm, maybe Clark should’ve killed him instead. Clark rightly figures that dad will do anything to save face for the family.

That’s not hard to do, as the cops give due deference to E.J. and Clark. Meanwhile, Molly has disappeared; she was last seen with Diane–and also the Diane’s jewelry is missing. Clark actually took it to cover gambling debts. In an case, Molly is fingered for the murder.

To add a layer on the cake, dad offers a $25k reward for the info leading to apprehension of the suspect. “Molly Rankin suspected of murder!” Mike’s juiced up. No way Cathy will agree that Molly could’ve done it. “Did you ever rob graves” she tells him. “No future in it.” Ohh, that’s good. But Parker throws him a bone, calling him “boss.”

Who’s this knocking, knocking on our office door? Molly! She admits that no one will buy her story (as she’s a servant, and a black woman). She mentions pawning the jewelry at Diane’s behest, and picking some flowers before taking the bus to visit her aunt. Mike thinks she should give herself up. Partly because he knows Munsey, she and Cathy believe that he can “fix everything.”

He calls the D.A. This way, he gets the reward money. Man, does Duryea have that perfectly-tuned condescending line “I’m the guy who can make you a big mannnhn.” (He’s used that tone just as smarmily in other movies). But, he’s not done. Conducting what amounts to a press conference, he holds forth like a professor.

Very cleverly, though, the script hangs him out to dry. First, he’s a bit rattled, as Molly realizes that he’s only interested in the reward. His grandstanding messed that up. Then, Munsey tells him off, “pretty soon a man won’t be able to sell his own mother.” The nail in the guilt coffin is some sensible (and some insensitive) people chatting outside. It’s now a case of Molly’s “persecution.”

“Like a weather vane” Cathy complains of Mike’s sudden awakening that if Molly’s innocent, it’s a great human interest story. And a windfall; Mike makes a deal with her attorney to split the defense’s fund (raised by the paper, of course). Since there’s no guarantee that Molly will walk, it’s a win-win. Becker (Roland Winter’s) comments, with intended irony “you shoulda been a lawyer.”

Nonetheless, the Stantons try to send Mike packing with a city job offer. A post-Diane funeral meeting at the Stanton’s leads to a cunning plan “I think we should insist that this Reese should be driven, literally, out of town” says the Major (Melville Cooper). The squeeze is on, the town closes ranks around the Stantons “Lakeview deserts Molly” shrieks the headlines.

Here’s the deal: Molly can get the charge down to manslaughter. Meeting at the jail with Mike and her attormey, they tell her she has to plead guilty. “You lost your head and killed her [Diane].” Well, naturally, she won’t go for it. Meanwhile, the crackback is on: the newspaper office is trashed; Mike is at a loss, but has a new lead in the case.

A witness can give Molly an alibi. Mike’s found a conscience and a heart. We’ve got to remember, he’s got the paper, and therefore his livelihood and pride at stake too. Anyway, Clark is chilling at home when Mike comes calling. He puts on a helpful role, making an appointment for Mike with his dad.

Now he’s off to blackmail Durham–the only guy who can out-talk Mike proves he’s a tougher cookie than the young whippersnapper. So, Durham counters by in effect threatening to take over the Stanton business. Mike goes to plead his case with old man Stanton. No deal. Poor Mike “I’m not asking for you to trust me. I’m asking for you to be fair!”

Uh–oh, Some goons accost Mike, he’s ‘going for a ride’ with Durham. “What’s the score, Durham? Who am I crossin’?!” I don’t quite get it either. “Having you to put the finger on…is a kind of insurance.” Back at the Stanton’s, dad’s having a little talk with sonny. “Don’t worry about Durham, I’ll work something out.”

But guess who’s calling? Mike. I don’t see why Durham is in the murder cover-up. But, nonetheless, he gives Mike a “direct hit” on the blackmail target. Now Mike’s selling Munsey the dope on Derham. Cathy and Mike don’t have long to sweat it; soon the goon square is breaking in. That is, head goon Schaefer.

It comes down to Molly leaving flowers on the (alibi) bus. Munsey won’t listen to Cathy at first, but then he calls Captain Jenkins. Durham, meanwhile, is closeted with Stanton. Man, this guy has a sarcastic laugh broad to put on a billboard.

But Munsey has Stanton staked out. “The guy’s dumb, he won’t talk!” That’s Mike, having been worked over, and over. Now, the hoods are blackjacking (not just blackmailing, like normal guys do). The cops are closing in on the scene. Incredibly, Stanton shoots his son–after all, Clark had agreed to off Mike.

But it’s over now. Munsey asks Mike what would’ve happened had Stanton paid off. I think Mike woulda taken the dough. Well, Mike gets Cathy, and Molly goes free–the end.

Unlike the simple disaster-exploitation premise of Ace In The Hole, this movie has a full load of plot. It seems a noir trait for the protagonist to have a past that looms over him; in this case though, Duryea’s character has no role in the murder (Diane’s) per se. He simply uses it for his own ends. Douglas’s reporter in Ace is not only more cynical, he himself is morally culpable of what is in effect murder. Both protagonists show ethical shortcomings, to say the least. And, however disingenously, both undergo a sea change.

Had the movie begun in Lakewood this might’ve been a bit tighter, less confusing, and not quite as long. Da Silva really amps up all of his scenes, but the big-city connection seems unnecessary to the main plot. Maybe give him the elder Stanton’s role, and just have Mike’s past rendered in a flashback or two.

As it is, Da Silva, by the time he reappears, is a distant memory, almost from a different movie. He, along with Duryea, sets the drama on fire. The other performances are fine enough, although Clark is a question mark. Diane isn’t really available, except as an abstraction.

Duryea has got to be my favorite noir hero. His character’s always hard to figure out; that enigmatic quality is interesting in itself, and helps us buy into his chameleon-like personality. He’s slick, but vulnerable.

This is entertaining for these two memorable star performances alone. With some tweaking, it might’ve been an outstanding film noir.

Force Of Evil, 1948.

********** 10

Corrupt lawyer Joe Morse (John Garfield) draws his brother Leo (Thomas Gomez) into his numbers racket. A!ready there’s no good guys. Well, Doris, Leo’s/Joe’s secretary, is a straight-shooter anyway. Joe does have a decent idea--to turn the racket into a legal lottery.

But first, business; he meets with Ben, his associate, to discuss Leo. Let’s figure out an angle for him, says Joe. There’s a lot unsaid in this conversation; maybe mutual distrust. So, we meet Leo. His "bank" is a sort of warehouse for the numbers racket. Money tumbles out of the books and crannies. Nonetheless, Joe tries to sell Leo on a proposal--along with the suggestion that his set-up is failing. Well, the deal is a glorified bit of blackmail--join Ben’s combine, or go out of business.

Every conversation in this seems to be an argument. Leo blows off the deal emphatically. Which means that Joe sets in motion a plan to ruin Leo’s business. Perhaps spooked by Joe’s visit, Doris quits. Back at Leo’s racket headquarters, there’s a police raid. Leo tries to shield Doris and a fearful janitor, but they’re all arrested. The big boys, including Joe, figure what their next move should be; plus a way to rig their numbers game. Joe take is that "tomorrow night every bank in the city is broken." Edna (Maria Windsor) emerges; she looks to be Joe’s girlfriend, but is actually Ben’s wife.

Joe’s plan includes helping Leo with his fine. "All that Cain did to Able was murder him" comments Leo, bitterly. Again, Leo tries to intervene for Doris. Which is actually an opportunity for Joe. Slick and amoral as he seems to be, he’s obviously smitten with her. She comments "Now my name’s in a book, and my fingerprints are in a file." Still, she warms up to him. Keeping her poise, she likens him to a "magician."

Joe decides to descend on his brother’s. In a weird way, he probably thinks that he’s really helping Leo--that is, while thinking that the ends justify the means. On his way out hs bumps into Doris. Their banter is very clever: he’s trying to impress her; he knows that she doesn’t believe him, but also that she finds him amusing.

Back to business; the new racket recruits are pulled in (presumably from those "banks" that had the squeeze put on), and are set straight on the new order. They can’t quit. Bauer (Howland Chamberlain) is the squeekiest wheel; he calls the police and says they should’ve said the joint. Then he’s approached by a guy with another angle.

Joe goes straight from a chat with Doris to one with Edna. What does she want of him? To find out "What kind of man you are." Well, he’s not showing his cards this hand. He meets Doris in a park "I think she’d made up her mind to fall in love with me." He explains how he got into the numbers racket. Then he makes up his mind to fall in love with her; suddenly, he seems like a regular guy, in pretty good shape just now.

There’s another raid at the "combination" syndicate. Tucker isn’t worried about paying the fines, but he wants to know who fingered them. Interestingly, Joe stands up for Leo--he wants him out of the racket. Doris has lost all her illusions; she realizes that Leo won’t have a moment’s peace in the racket. Strangely, Leo brushes off his brother’s help. Thanks to a detective, Leo figures out that Bauer was the snitch.

A classic noir stark mysterious shadow and light scene ensues as Joe skulks around the office building. He raids the safe to bail out both himself and Leo. His narration states that he’s done with the whole business. Meanwhile, Leo thinks Bauer is setting up Joe; since Bauer can’t quit, his way best out is to engineer his suicide by telling Joe show he betrayed everyone. Leo seems to have talked him out of it.

But Ficco (Paul Fix) and a bunch of goons burst in: Leo has a heart attack, and is kidnapped; Bauer’s shot. At a nightclub, Joe and Doris are having an awkward tine! Joe figures he’s going to get it too; remember he just made off with a bunch of loot. He tells her he’s as good as dead. She’s really torn up; she loves him but knows he’s reckless and self destructive. Ficco has a mob boss meeting with Tucker. They both want to avoid a gang war, and agree to join forces.

Ficco would just as soon get rid of Joe; but Tucker talks him out of it. Just then Joe shows up, pounding on the door. He’s frantic to find Leo. Joe punches Ficco, but Ficco tells him that his brother’s dead. Dumped by the bridge. Joe let’s them know "I’m not gonna end up on the rocks by the river!" Another tussle, the room goes dark; Joe has a gun.

Great shadow play again. It’s hard to tell what’s going on, but Joe gets the drop on the other hoods, and kills them both. He calls the the cops. Literally descending, as if to an underworld, he ends up at the site where Leo’s body was "thrown away... like a old dirty rag". Doris goes with him. His voiceover says he’s going to turn himself in. The end.

This is not only an excellent film noir, it’s a fine drama by any measure. As others have said, the last part throws us into a turbulent noir city-scape of violence, apprehension, and fear. That’s after a great crime drama plot unfolds very quick, and very dirty. Nonetheless, it’s on a fine emotional plans as well. Truly tragic, Joe loses all of his bravado, and realizes that, even though he’s survived, he’s doomed. But that awakening was brought about by a redemptive surge of love. Fraternal love; and romantic love.

Perhaps showing a way out of the trap that the movie sets for Joe, Doris escapes intact. She’s such an interesting character: both very strong, and yet vulnerable, she represents what Joe longs for, but never quite makes it to that safer world. Edna is her complete opposite; seemingly formidable, she’s just another player in the racket. Doris seems weak because she’s genuine; unlike Edna, and almost everyone else in Force of Evil, she’ll make up her own mind about everything.

The only quibble I might have is the narration--generally that sort of thing is intrusive--but since it’s the main characters thoughts that we hear, it doesn’t distract much. The dialogue itself is another notable feature; witty and hard-boiled when it needs to be, and reflective, even poetic when it can be. "I feel like midnight, and I don’t know what the morning will be like." That comment of Joe’s pretty much sums up the theme of noir. Very literate and yet so gritty. The best.

Suddenly, 1954.

******* 7.0

"You’re Kidding? Hmm...No, You’re Not Kidding"

Very suspenseful crime drama. Frank Sinatra gives a tightly-wound performance as the presidential assassin John Baron. Stirling Hayden, as the local sheriff, makes a good antagonist. The sheriff, along with his love interest Ellen (Nancy Gates) and her family, become Baron’s hostages. Hayden’s character comes to life by taunting Baron over the gangster’s seedy past. There’s plenty of tension both among the hostages and the gangsters; the pacing swiftly moves us into an action-packed denouement.

The premise is unusual--rarely do crime dramas aim higher than at a local level, even if they’re set in big cities. Here, there’s the intriguing combination of the President in danger in an otherwise nondescript small town. Suspension of disbelief is unevenly achieved, however. The surprise that the local authorities feel having to improvise for the Presidential visit, and the subsequent arrangements with state and Federal officials seems smooth and authentic. On the other hand, as others have noted, once the hostage situation develops, a bunch of unlikely stuff intrudes.

Baron leaves too many loose ends. He doesn’t seem to mind the family and sheriff looking over their shoulders; on the other hand, the police seem to wait forever to become suspicious of the sheriff’s disappearance. It’s plausible that the bad guys were able to bluff their way into the house in the first place, but they never cut the phone, or think to ask if there’s weapons in the house. Ellen has a chance to at least threaten Baron with a knife; but she waits too long.

Even the Secret Service guys are easily brushed off by Ellen’s nervous attempt to tell them that she’s home alone and everything’s ok. Although the hidden gun just sits there for most of the time, it does lead to a clever sequence. The kid is able to substitute his familiar toy gun for the real one without attracting notice. But then, he can’t make use of it right away, further increasing the tension.

The electrocution set-up is also ingenious, even if a little junky on the science. These ploys point out the constant threat hanging over the gangsters, not only from without, but, despite their plan, from within as well. Both sides are unsure of themselves. It’s a good thing that Hayden’s character has so much verbal sparring with Baron; he’s pretty much a stiff with Ellen. It’s frighteningly watching Baron strut around, repeating many times his claim to have killed 27 of the enemy in the war. This boast continues after the sheriff has de-bunked Baron’s story. "You’d rather kill a man than love a woman!" he concludes.

The anti-violence message, as has been said, is selective. The forces of civilization, represented by citizens and law enforcement (the townspeople, family, sheriff, and other authorities), legitimately use violence to fight un-checked violence. Baron and his guys have no identity without the power that their guns represent. All of this is implicit in the movie’s dialogue and drama. Yet they’re not presented as completely evil; basically, the assassination is an impersonal ’job’; at one point the idea of taking the money and running seems attractive.

Baron is ultimately frustrated by what seems like a classic film noir concept--chance can destroy anything--so the President is after all not even on the targeted train. Baron’s assassination plot self-destructs. But it’s not so clean as all that; it’s obvious and logical that the train would be rerouted, since the authorities were forewarned of the plot. That calls into question the premise itself. It might’ve been better had there not been a warning after all, but the train by-passes the town for an unrelated reason, of which there could be many plausible ones.

Suddenly works well to keep our interest level humming along. It could’ve been great with some of the plot holes patched up.

Act Of Violence,

********** 10

Noir Escape From the Past
Incredibly thrilling noir film. Well-cast and acted, atmospheric, with a classic noir plot. From the very first scene in Robert Ryan’s dingy apartment as he retrieves his pistol, to the final scene in the railyard that finds Van Heflin mistakenly killed by the hood he never wanted to hire, neither of the protagonists can escape the web of the past.

The fact that Ryan and Heflin’s feud goes back to a dilemma from the war ensures that there’s nothing they can do to change their collision course. From the bright new suburbs and mountain lake, the characters stumble through the dank, windy sleaze of in the dingy corners of nightime L.A.

Both characters are tragically flawed, yet both are sympathetic. We can see why Ryan seeks revenge for Heflin’s wartime collaboration, while Heflin felt forced to make the best deal he could with their duplicitous Nazi captors. Just when Heflin leaves himself open to the vengeful Ryan, another mistake aborts their reconciliation.

We are left with Ryan assuming or at least acknowledging responsibility for his part in the feud, by telling the assembled crowd at Heflin’s heroic death that he will tell his wife. We can imagine that, even in her rage against Ryan for accelerating the feud, she at least will know that her husband was shot trying to warn his enemy about the hired killer, and died trying to ’square’ things by confronting the killer.

His past misdeed that allowed his fellow prisoners to die, is in a sense redeemed by killing the Nazi-like gangster. Johnny is an especially slimy hood; when he smells money by offering to kill Ryan, and Heflin hesitates to commit himself, Johnny remarks that it’s best to "get rid of this guy, and be sorry later."

Both Ryan and Heflin appear sickened by their ordeal, enduring a nightmarish slugfest with an underworld of bars, cheap hotel rooms, alleys, tunnels, and the iconic trainyard that seems to bind them to a world without nature or emotion.

One of the best, if not the best film noir.

Impact, 1949

Noir with a Tune-Up

********* 9.0

Impact delivers a noir story of betrayal, entrapment, and fear. The ambivalence of the San Francisco cityscape, with its majestic white- roofed buildings, crowned by Coit Tower, set against the claustrophobic alleys of Chinatown, mirrors the chasm between Donlevy’s outwardly bright, sophisticated world, and his domestic turmoil, stirred up by the scheming Helen Walker as his unfaithful wife.

Her plot to kill her husband backfires when her lover, Tony Barrett, thinking he has killed Donlevy, panics, and winds up dead himself. I agree with those who think that Donlevy should’ve gone to the police as soon as possible, instead of escaping to Idaho. I could see why he’d need some time to recover and figure out what to do; but why literally walk away from his magnificent career to become a drifter?

Allowing for all that, why, when he does return to San Francisco, does he make up such an implausible cover story? There’s no point in coming back unless he wants to clear himself from suspicion that he had anything to do with Barrett’s death, but he momentarily succeeds only in creating more suspicion about himself.

Finding the fetching Ella Raines, and her idyllic small town life, was definitely worth it, though. Even though the Larkspur interlude seems on another planet from the unresolved crime in S.F., Donlevy is never really free from the city’s noir grasp. Impact loses its edge only at the very end. Once legally exonerated, Donlevy is free to marry Raines, magic dust and all.

Man In The Dark, 1953

******** 8.0

A good noir thriller with a neat gimmick. Edmund O’Brien’s Steve, part of an armored car robbery gang, gets caught, but he’s paroled to a hospital for experimental surgery. He subsequently loses his memory. This cleverly sets up the archetypal noir hero’s sense of alienation from society.

For once in her noir career, Audrey Totter’s character is sympathetic. As Steve’s girlfriend, she starts out unconcerned about his fate, but, as she realizes what happened to him, her love for him outpaces her greed for the missing loot.

The pacing keeps the plot moving at a pretty good clip. At first I thought the bumper car chase was silly, the cops gliding around in formation--as if on parade. And, from such close range, they should’ve been able to nail Steve. But then I remembered that Steve was having a nightmare. The mixing of memories and dreams with the main plot adds more and more, building into the palpably grotesque atmosphere of the amusement park. This long sequence is coolly spun into a quick finish. Steve ’squares’ himself with the police, and he and Peg can finally have each other.

The 3-D effects would probably look pretty cool in a theater. They happen quickly and don’t detract much. But the trio of bad guys with goofy nicknames could’ve used more than the two-dimensional treatment that they’re given. As a result, the middle of the movie does drag a bit, as they try to sweat out the whereabouts of the money from Steve.

They can’t be so dumb not to realize that he really doesn’t know much about the past; why else would he have been on parole to have a mysterious operation as well as a new identity?

Aside from dangling those chumps into the plot, Man In the Dark works relentlessly to keep our attention, and ultimately to bring O’Brien and Totter together. Along the way, the viewer’s treated to a sort of noir Christmas.

Destination Murder, 1950.

********* 8.0

"He doesn’t bother me; that’s what bothers me"

A woman’s father is murdered. Not waiting for the police to solve the crime, she infiltrates the gangster’s club by hiring on as a waitress. She manages to figure out who did what, and ends up in a relationships with the manager and staff, while the police belatedly close in. Seems that her father had been involved in a racket-busting campaign; the murder was revenge from the mob guys.

We’ve got Laura (Joyce Mackenzie), Jack (Stanley Clements), Stretch (Hurd Hatfield), Armitage (Albert Dekker), Alice (Myrna Dell), Lieutenant Brewster (James Flavin), and Frank (John Dehner), and Arthur Mansfield (Franklyn Farnum), Laura’s murdered father.

Jackie ducks out of a movie theatre at intermission. He’s not just going out for a smoke; he’s off to deliver mayhem. To Arthur Mansfield. His package is a gunshot. His daughter Laura calls an ambulance, but its too late. At police HQ, Frank is quizzed by the Lieutenant. The problem for Frank is that he and his car were seen in Mansfield’s neighborhood. Seems that Frank was Mansfield’s business rival. Laura comes in to confirm that Frank’s car was identical was the murderer’s.

Laura gets a ride home from Jackie, one of the delivery guys in the police line-up. For some reason she doesn’t identify him. More surprisingly, she starts dating him. Very quickly, Jackie gets in deep gambling. Next stop, a swanky club, the Vogue. He looks up Armitage there, but Stretch intervenes. Finally, Armitage let’s him in.

Now we see that that it was Armitage that drove the getaway car for the hit on Mansfield. Instead of giving in to blackmail, he beats up Frank. With her new boyfriend broke, Laura hits up Stretch for a job. She’s beguiling enough; even hanger-on Alice agrees. Laura’s the new cigarette girl. Armitage says that he’s marrying Alice.

More importantly, Stretch and Armitage cook up a cunning plan to finger Jackie as Frank’s hit man. Now it’s Alice’s turn to try blackmail; that is, in cahoots with Jackie. I don’t get why they think a confession will accomplish anything. Who cares if Armitage is nailed if it means Jackie’s confession is really an accusation. We’ll see about that. Alice confides in Laura. The plot works--Armitage pays off.

Weirdly, Laura knows nothing about this arrangement; even stranger, Alice is enlisted by Armitage to find the so-called confession. Only now does Jackie reveal who Laura is; we have to figure that Laura knows Jackie is her nemesis, otherwise she wouldn’t play this elaborate game. Now, just to make it interesting, Stretch plots with Alice against Armitage. With the confession, he urges Stretch to take care of the boss man.

But, of course, Stretch is playing yet a different game; he’s in cahoots with Armitage against Alice, Jackie, and Laura. Looks like Jackie is dead; bizarrely, the lieutenant tells Laura that they’re really after Armitage. Oh, yeah, he’s a bad guy. But what about her dad’s killer? Meanwhile Alice has turned up dead too. Next thing we know, the two bad guys huddle up. We discover that Stretch is the mastermind.

Well, since Alice is dead, Stretch figures it’s time to marry Laura. She gives up the ghost with Stretch; say, you know that guy one of you hoods had killed? Just so you know, he was my dad. The confession wasn’t burned up after all; not only that, it really is the truth. Armitage set up the hit, Jackie carried it out. Stretch puts Laura in a back room while he welcomes Armitage in, allegedly for some business.

Aha! Artimage has been drugged; Stretch arranged a gun in his partner’s unwilling hand and fires it into the wall. When Laura comes out of the room, Stretch raises his hands, as though he’s being held at gun point. Laura sees Armitage holding a gun in their general direction. She fires her gun and kills him. Justifiable homicide? Yes. A wee problem, though, is that Stretch’s gun was the one that killed Laura’s father, and his prints are all over Jackie’s confession. Who wrote it, then?

So, the police want to use Laura and Frank to incriminate Stretch. Stretch is indeed caught out by Frank. With the cops listening in, Stretch boasts that he was the crime boss. Dumb move. Frank pulls a gun on him; the cops burst in, and a general melee results. Finally, Stretch is shot. "He was a homicidal maniac" notes the Lieutenant. The end.

What a noir feast! It’s not really a put-down to say that Destination Murder plays like a feature-length serial. The non-stop action, snappy dialogue, convoluted plot, and limited variey of sets and characters fit that compact genre perfectly. Most of these attributes are found in noir as well. Plus, the characters are fairly well-delineated.

That is, except for the main character, Laura. To the extent that the premise works --that the police are looking the other way for much of the time, so that Laura single-handedly has to play detective--only points out what’s wrong with it. The police bypass a murder suspect to find someone who...might also be a murder suspect? That’s just not plausible. If we can swallow that, then there’s Laura, schmoozing these three hoods like she was working undercover for the FBI. I could see the ploy of getting close to one of them, maybe to get some intel on these guys. but all of them?

And to cap it all off, she is all set to marry Stretch--the mastermind of the murder plot. Ok, she doesn’t know that he’s top banana, but he’s obviously from the same bunch. And, going back to the murder scene itself, how is it that she doesn’t recognize Jackie? We might say that she didn’t get a good look at him--but he makes her. Possibly she knew all along. She’s just too chameleon-like to be believable: even a pro wouldn’t act so love-lorn and nonchalant with the only three suspects in her father’s murder.

The staged murder of Armitage is pretty clever; as is the letter. Who really wrote it? And it may or may not say what Jackie said it did; he changed his tune on what it said anyway. Good to keep some things mysterious.

This was highly entertaining, but it’s impossible to suspend disbelief without superglue. Very hard to rate; with a different Laura or some more nuance to the script, this could’ve been great. It’s still very good.

Red Light, 1948.

****** 6.0

A typical noir plot: in San Francisco, a guy’s murdered, and his brother sets out to nail the perpetrator. There’s more of course; another guy, Nick (Raymond Burr) was sent up for embezzling from John’s (George Raft’s) trucking company. When Nick gets out, it looks like John’s brother, Jess (Arthur Franz) makes a convenient target for the vengeful embezzler. Although ’going it alone’ is fairly common trait of this genre, John sets about sleuthing like a one-man wrecking crew.

Raft’s suave but paper-thin personality increases the impact of his character. Nonetheless, Nick actually comes to John, hat in hand, begging to get rehired. Of course, Nick probably just wants to keep an eye on John. John busies himself by tracking down all the folks that rented his brother’s hotel room just prior to the killing. On his dying lips, Jess had told John some cryptic stuff about the bible in the room. The bible has conveniently gone missing--therefore the search.

He more or less enlists one of the former roomers, Carla (Virginia Mayo) to help out. Her brother has also just died; Jess was chaplain for his unit. Do we need that coincidence? No, but it gives Carla more of a reason to drop everything on John’s say-so. When they follow the trail all the way to Reno, Nick’s con buddy Rocky (Harry Morgan) tails them. John basically abducts Rocky; not so brilliant, as Nick lurks out in the hallway when the other two reach Rocky’s room. Rocky slinks away. Johnny shoots the door three times, hoping that he can clip Rocky.

There’s a choo-choo ride for Nick and Rocky. Now we learn that the Bible definitely incriminates both of them. A great light and shadow noir scene, as Nick throws Rocky off the train. Back in the City. Another dark scene, with Warni leaving the office into some of the blackest places imaginable; he’s stranded--the plug wires on his car cut. He senses, or partly sees an approaching figure. Banging his leg on the edge of a trailer, he’s stuck under it. The other man keeps coming--its Nick. He loosens the jack on the trailer’s front, which sends it slamming down on Warni. The old guy’s dead.

At John’s, he meets up with Carla. Another guy to hunt down from the list. Only now does Carla wonder what it’s all about: "that’s a job for the police!" Indeed. Seems weird that she must of though this whole scavenger hunt deal was fun, but with these guns and bad guys, y’know, hey...whatever. So she splits. The cops actually show up; the shots in the Reno hotel got the attention of the police there. Now another big-shot manuver--he had one of his rigs block the police car, frustrating their attempt to tail him.

Finally, in Monterey, he finds a blind ex-GI who actually took the bible. We see his flashback. He’d meant to kill himself in that hotel room, but a good samaritan intervened to talk him out of it. They both notice the Bible’s pages fluttering beside an open window. His benefactor reads some verses to give him courage. But the bible? It’s gone, of course. Sounds like Carla’s heist. Well, back in the City, at the cathedral, John lights s votive candle and prays. Suddenly, he had an inspiration; but he argues with priest about the role of God "what I want is 24-hour service!" To emphasize his displeasure, he breaks a stained-glass window.

Oh, well, he sends them a check. He gets a clue on Carla’s whereabouts. But Nick interrupts him. Strangely, the hood agrees to do the flunky job of finding Carla. He doe. She has the Bible. The detective rolls in to witness the revealing passage from the book. "Vengeance IS mine..." Yeah, and what we think John’s been up to the whole movie? Playing God. But, thankfully there’s more "thou shall not kill". Hmm, ok, but the detective says that the murder weapon was John’s. Even now John’s making like a vigilante. Just as this gets overtly preachy, we see Nick about ready to leave.

But the ghoulish sight of a half-dead Rocky blocking the stairway exit sends us back to the underworld. In classic noir style they both shoot at each other. Rocky’s dying words finger Nick. Another short blast, and Nick’s shot. He gets away to the rainy roof. Against the lurid company sign, Nick and John shoot it out. John passes up an opportunity to kill him, but, just as the cops arrive on the roof, Nick’s electrocuted by the signs wiring. He lights up like Frankenstein’s monster before calling to his death. Brilliant scene. The end.

The pacing is suitably snappy (though the the religious aspect creates pauses), there’s definite moral ambiguities, the premise is sound, and some of the scenes among the best in film noir. But the plot sabotages the film to a great extent. As mentioned, Raft’s character, a guy with no standing in law enforcement--he’s not even a P.I., runs amok trying to nab his brother’s murderer. The cops are not exactly thrilled to have John taking on their job, but they never really get in his way.

Plus, since John’s pretty much convinced that Nick is the one he wants, why mess with the mysterious Bible? Had he had stood aside from the beginning--some grumbling would be fine--the cops would’ve gotten Nick without wasting time hunting down this or that tell-tale verse. In fact, the bible had nothing to do with the crime per se; as John himself laments, it’s doesn’t name anyone. The point of course, is that the verse on vengeance, and Jess’s handwritten note, dissuade John from killing Nick.

Thus, his conscience is sparked; just as the votive candle he lights might represent his return to grace. Accomplishing all of this takes a lot of wind out of the plot. It’s important to show the redemptive quality of faith, but a flashback or foreshadowing might’ve had the same result without distracting us from the fairly hard-hitting noir atmosphere. Speaking of the queasy noir elements, Burr and Morgan almost save the day with truly menacing performances.

I’ve never liked Morgan’s style--until seeing Red Light. In particular, his virtual return from the grave--when he confronts Burr at the end--reminds me of a similar scene from 1955’s The Killing, in which Elisha Cook, Jr. staggers home after being shot up. The spectacle of a dying man, grotesquely injured, but able to patch together some devastating final words, has more impact than a horde of healthy hoodlums. On the other hand, and unlike Cook’s scene where we can imagine that he survives long enough to get home, Morgan’s character is thrown off a train--I’d estimate from the bit of background that we see, that he’s hitting the ground at 40-50 mph--how does he not at least break a few limbs?

I’d even say, that no matter how Jess’s murder plays out, Nick out the wrong guy. Jess had nothing to do with Nick going down for the embezzlement--why not kill John? Of course, not having a family of own, Jess is about the best way to get at Nick. it’s almost as though Nick doesn’t want to mess up his chance to get his job back. As goofy as that sounds, Nick seems to ingratiate himself with John more than once.

I’m left with the feeling that Red Light is like a bunch of mis-matched puzzle pieces that will never add up to an overall picture--but some of the pieces are works of art.

Next Chapter: Late and Retro-Noir, 1955-1966, and Late ’60s Onward