Saturday, October 20, 2018

HIGH SCHOOL BIG SHOT (1959)



Distributed by Sparta Productions, this seventy minutes of celluloid was directed and written by television's Joel Rapp, the man responsible for writing some of the most popular shows of the Sixties. Let us not blame him entirely for this film. This was a team effort. MST3000 understood this. Shave about five minutes and this film might have played better through an RCA or Magnavox console. An intelligent, jazzy score by Gerald Fried opens the film in which a third of the lead cast gets killed. Always an acceptable ending for low-budget acting. The executive producer was Roger Corman (uh-oh) and though the twenty-something high school students are not fooling anyone, the acting is mostly above par thanks to those same twenty-somethings and a few television veterans. A film that concerns a depressing group of flawed characters. There is the alcoholic deadbeat father, a renowned safe cracker who subscribes to the “honor among thieves” mantra, a female classmate who puts the “man” in manipulate and three high schoolers who enjoy talking about slapping their dates around or anyone they dislike. Just call them the “three stooges.”


Tom Pittman is good. Moody. Talking directly into the camera, he opens the film, asking the whereabouts of a safe cracker to maybe work out a deal. Though captivating, his cool, adult delivery immediately defeats the point of the shy high school persona we will witness as the story begins. He is routinely threatened by the bully-leader of the “three stooges,” Howard Veit, in his only acting role. Why? Because Pittman is the brightest student in class. In true liberal fashion, if you cannot best someone, then try to destroy them. So Veit seems to be the more logical choice as the "wanna be" big shot, what with his classroom disruptions and smart aleck replies. But he is just not that smart. Pittman is the one student who has a scholarship waiting. Being a big shot is not in his thinking. His downfall is the cute Virginia Aldridge, part-time tart of meathead Veit. With an ulterior motive, she goes sweet on Pittman to get him to write her final exam essay. He thinks they have a future. She thinks she possibly might graduate. Students typically get uncomfortable when held after class. Their teacher, television’s Peter Leeds, knows she did not write it. She cannot even quote it. After denying it, Leeds presses Pittman again for the truth and he confesses. She is outraged he told the truth. Things just never work out for her. Any wonder why. She will not graduate and also cancel Pittman’s college scholarship. Thanks, honey-bunch.


Malcolm Atterbury plays Pittman’s father. He was an old pro and he bolsters the film’s early stages. Their father and son scenes are tender if not heartbreaking. Pittman is devoted to his father and believes he will get another job, even remarry. Dad has reassured his son he has also sworn off drink. Unfortunately, he returns to the bottle after two rejections in a row. Finding his father slumped in a chair, Pittman bends before him and breaks down in tears. He would do anything to remove their financial state of affairs and buy useless stuff for Aldridge. While at work, dockside, Pittman overhears his boss, Bryan Foulger, planning a heroin deal worth a million dollars. I begin wondering if he deserved that scholarship anyway if he is thinking no one would notice his sudden change in lifestyle with that money. The film shifts to a high stakes heist to intercept the money before Foulger can make the transaction.


Pittman wanders the streets looking for the safe cracker. His fake walking in place, head turning left and right, with superimposed city lights, is pretty funny. Stanley Adams, the well-dressed thief is his man. Adams spends his off hours mooching off a liquor store owned by Louis Quinn, his brother-in-law. Quinn arranges for the trio to meet as Pittman transforms into a savvy mastermind. Imagine them not laughing if he were an actual high school senior. If you can imagine it, things do not go as planned for the Pittman trio. Because of a traffic accident delay they miss their first late night auto-ferry connection. Now there is a limited window to crack the safe to be safe.


Self-serving Aldridge tells Veit about Pittman’s plan and suggests, with all her seductive powers, he do a post-intercept, taking the money from Pittman. Up strolls Foulger and his dealer, the “three stooges,” and, how she got dockside I do not know, Aldridge. In the middle of all this, a burglar alarm alerts the police. Note a necessary film flop when a single policeman arrives in his Plymouth patrol car (conveniently unmarked) which is right-hand drive. The logical flip needed to match the next long shot of the car pulling along the dock heading in the proper direction. Except that two officers get out of the car. Meh, close enough. They use the correctly projected footage for a “second” patrol car’s arrival from the “opposite” direction. A visual lesson in how to save production money. After Veit is dropped by a bullet and the briefcase flies opens, Foulger goes berserk looking directly into the camera and twice angrily fumes, “A million bucks!” as he watches it float away from the dock.

The aftermath calls for at least four funeral arrangements and taxpayers to pay room and board for the rest of the lead cast. Unknown to him at the moment, Pittman will never get a single visit from his father.

Note: James Dean made a huge impact (poor choice of words) on Tom Pittman. Both had television experience with that medium being the bulk of Pittman’s work. He had several movies to his credit and this was his last film, released posthumously, along with a previous film, after he died from injuries crashing over a cliff in a Porsche Spyder on Halloween, three years after Dean. Same type of car Dean last drove. It was nearly twenty days later that his body and car were discovered in a ravine.

Saturday, October 6, 2018

THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN (1957)



This was an impressive science fiction film for its day. The main character is not fending off stereotypical invasion of aliens from another planet. Rather, it is a fantastical tale of a man's challenge to retain his very own existence through an imaginative screenplay and thought-provoking story, thanks to Richard Matheson. The miniaturization special effects are handled well though certain props are scaled inconsistently. The effects were produced just as convincingly—perhaps better—seventeen years earlier in, “Dr. Cyclops,” the first film to suggest miniaturization. Directed by Jack Arnold and produced by Albert Zugsmith, this is eighty-one minutes well spent. It was a box office success for Universal Pictures. Though logically pure science fiction, it is reasonable theory in the early going.


While boating with his wife, played by Randy Stuart, Grant Williams is overwhelmed by a gray cloud as it passes over the craft. After returning on deck, she notices he is covered in reflective flakes. The flakes provide a visual effect to convince the audience it exists. As if this was not enough of a strange, once-in-a-lifetime experience, he is later accidentally exposed to large amounts of common insecticide. The radioactive mist and insecticide combination rearrange William's molecular structure, causing his cells to shrink in perfect sync. Of course.

Months roll by with little thought of the misty cloud until Williams notices his clothes seem a tad too big. The subtle changes of his shrinkage are handled believably. Jumping to a conclusion he blames the laundry service, perhaps that mysterious process known as Martinizing. The realization his wife no longer needs to stand on her tip-toes to kiss him gives confirmation to his fear. His physician, William Schallert, dismisses his concerns and reassures him that he is normal. A young man simply does not grow shorter, after all. But Williams is further convinced there is something wrong when his wedding ring falls from his finger. An omen to be sure.


At the suggestion of his “thoughtful” brother, Paul Langton, his story hits the headlines in his hope Williams might provide income as a national, three foot tall, freakazoid. His humiliation is too much to bear, however, and he ventures outside his home. A female neighborhood midget—that does not happen every day either—becomes his encouraging source in accepting his short comings. It does not take him long to notice, however, she is getting taller. His next moving experience is to get comfortable in a new doll house within his 1:1 scale home. By this time, Williams is getting rather cranky. His wife needs a grocery run to pick up a lima bean for his supper. She leaves the front door open just a few seconds and their cat, played by Orangey, gets in. As some cats have probably considered, he attacks his owner. When the wife returns to find a blood-stained piece of cloth, she assumes Orangey has been a vehwy, vehwy bad kitty.


Alive but trapped in the basement by a locked door, Williams has to overcome many obstacles to survive, including a very intimidating spider the size of a sedan and nourishment from cheese retrieved from a set mouse trap. Yuck! These are “fun” scenes as challenges erupt adapting to everyday objects. When the water heater bursts, a minor inconvenience for most people, it becomes a life threatening flood for Williams as the rushing water leads down a drain pipe. After an exhausting final battle with that pesky spider, he awakens to find he is small enough to slip through one square of a window screen. Having survived incredible odds, Williams no longer fears the future as the inspiring music crescendos and he gazes to the heavens. No matter how small he becomes he will still matter in God's universe. "To God, there is no zero." He is immediately devoured by a praying mantis. Perhaps.

Note: Richard Matheson was a superb writer of science fiction and may be best known as the one providing many successful scripts for television's original, “Twilight Zone” and “Alfred Hitchcock Presents.”

Saturday, September 22, 2018

THE MOB (1951)



This Columbia Pictures release, directed by Robert Parish with an adapted screenplay by William Bowers, is first rate from beginning to end. A compelling film about corruption, mental delusions and atonement. Bower’s script bounces humorous quips from one character to another as one might expect from a film noir of this caliber. Nearly everyone has a turn at them. The cinematography by Joseph Walker is rich with wet streets and dark, danger-filled shadows. The well-versed George Duning provided and effective music score, as well.


Police detective, Broderick Crawford, is duped by a mob killer carrying an authentic police badge who appeared to be coming to the aid of a shooting victim. Crawford learns the victim was a key witness in an upcoming hearing and that “attending officer” does not exist. The police commissioner is livid and would like to punish Crawford for his halfhearted effort to double check the true identity of the impostor/gunman. For news headline purposes only, accompanied by a fake picture, he is “suspended.” His real punishment, however, is a commanded death defying undercover assignment to infiltrate a rough New York waterfront crime organization and bring down its kingpin. Needing to redeem his career, Crawford becomes very believable as a tough, sarcastic and unflappable thug from New Orleans. His noir quips are expelled effortlessly through his legendary lightning delivery. Also on the waterfront payroll is Richard Kiley. He and Crawford become pals. It does not take Kiley long, however, to frequently question why Crawford is so interested in what goes on. A relatively unknown Hollywood entity at this point in his career, Kiley is very authentic in this role. Crawford drops a few key names which gets the attention of a union thug, Ernest Borgnine. Neville Brand, nearly at a typecast level in his career, is again playing a henchman. This time not the psychotic “Chester” from, “D.O.A,” but a thug with the wherewithal to also deliver a few quips of his own.


Local bartender, Matt Crowley, seems to know a lot about what goes on around the waterfront. For a fee. After frequent encounters, he feels Crawford can be trusted enough to set up a meeting with Blackie, the kingpin. A local garage mechanic, working with the police, needs to repair a “flat” on Crowley’s car first. In reality, the police put a tracking device under his car about the size of a carry-on suitcase. Also installed is an equally sized tank that cleverly drips fluorescent dye on the road so the police can tail the car at night using an infrared spotlight. Cool. Except they did not figure a city street sweeper would turn onto their street a few blocks ahead of them. Just one of the many clever twists in this film you will not expect.


Blackie wants Crawford to do him a favor. Kill the suspended police officer seen in the newspaper. In another twist, Crawford is hired to do a hit on himself. Not an easy assignment. Blackie has kidnapped Crawford’s girlfriend and nurse, Betty Buehler, to use as a pawn to flesh out her boyfriend, who, unknowingly, stands before him. When she and Crawford meet, each role play as effectively as possible. The scenario becomes potentially too dangerous and Crawford tries to overpower Blackie, who escapes with a minor gunshot wound. A hospital setting ends the film with both Buehler and Blackie recovering. Blackie later enters Buehler’s hospital room at gunpoint while Crawford is visiting. From an adjacent building, the police have a clear shot through the window.

Note: There is a humorous scene when Kiley sets up a date for himself and Crawford in an effort to find out what Crawford’s game is. The women in waiting are Kiley’s wife, Lynn Baggettt, and his sister, Doris, played by Jean Alexander. Crawford immediately hooks up with the more attractive wife. Seems no one wants to be with sister. Especially Kiley, who protests. He says there is nothing wrong with Doris. “Why can’t he like Doris?!” The sister quickly adds, “Why can’t somebody?” After numerous teasing lines between Baggett and Crawford, the sister turns to her brother, “Well, say something to me.” Kiley hesitates then awkwardly replies, “Oh...uh..how ya’ been?”


Saturday, September 8, 2018

CHICAGO SYNDICATE (1955)



There is a crowded Chicago commuter train load of details to sift through during this average B-movie from Clover Productions, distributed by Columbia Pictures. The voice-over details in documentary style plus the added dialogue make it difficult to keep things straight at times. Probably does not matter. I have grown to appreciate Dennis O’Keefe's talents. His character here, through no fault of his own, is probably too amazing to be real. He knocks down the analytical accountant stereotype of a numbers cruncher. A Chicago newspaper editor, civic leaders, along with a detective, the ubiquitous John Zaremba, want him to go undercover to flesh out the syndicate responsible for killing a bookkeeper who had evidence on the syndicate’s boss, Paul Stewart. Feeling they have the wrong guy for the job, O’Keefe is totally against the dangers associated with going undercover. They plan to pay him sixty grand to do it. He gives it try. O'Keefe handles everything like an experienced secret agent. Cool under pressure and light on his feet. Fists of iron. Pencils with no erasers. Stewart is excellent as a seemingly good-natured crime czar whose only love comes from his mother. The suave insurance scammer has little fear but his patience has its limits. He can be vicious. O’Keefe’s plan is to capture assumed microfilm to put Stewart away on tax evasion.


Speaking of hard to believe, Allison Hayes’ role has her going undercover, on her own initiative, using an alias to avenge her bookkeeping father’s death at the hand of Stewart. This is after spending time in a mental institution over the traumatic event and subsequent suicide of her mother. She has recovered very quickly. O’Keefe befriends her to gain access into Stewart’s nightclub. Once he is informed of who she really is, he suggests she stay out of harm’s way. But Hayes comes in handy. O’Keefe’s amazing accounting expertise places him in good favor with Stewart after the police arrange a jewel theft and nifty insurance scam.


Double-billed with O'Keefe is Abby Lane, Stewart’s tolerable girl. She drinks too much when she is not performing with her real life husband, Xavier Cugat. The squinty-eyed, rotund devil had a thing for a woman over thirty years his younger. Cugat was given some lines to say. Yay. With numerous roles already under her strapless gowns, Lane does alright in the part. You may find yourself singing her opening number, “One At a Time,” long after the ending. O'Keefe suggests Hayes cater to Stewart's social weaknesses which makes Lane jealous, who then threatens to reveal Stewart’s “edited” books. His goons do a sixty-second beating in a separate room in full earshot of all the dinner guests. Awkward. Lane comes out of the room instantly bruised by a lot of strategically placed dark, smudgy makeup and tousled hair.


In a bit of a nail biter, Zaremba and police arrive to catch Stewart with his account book on a tip from O'Keefe. To his dismay, Stewart burns the pages in his mommy's wood stove. With the expected knock on the door, O’Keefe volunteers to answer it. To not blow his cover, he decks Zaremba. Now horizontal, he whispers to him that the book has been burned. Both men pull off the charade successfully. As I say, one amazing accountant. Kind of funny when Zaremba tries to enter the room, though, as he does a comical triple take as if confused. What the...hey! Stewart knows Zaremba well but O'Keefe covers the incident by telling him he thought he was a hood.

Lane's hidden bookkeeping microfilm evidence is revealed by the Cugat then Stewart tells O’Keefe to light a match to it. Instead, he pockets the microfilm, and with a punch to Stewart's face, makes a run for it. The pursuing Stewart and his goons offer up a free bullet for O'Keefe. As if expecting her son to come by any moment, from her upstairs window she witnesses Stewart being brought down by the police fire in front of her apartment building. He was such a good boy.

Saturday, August 25, 2018

DANGER LIGHTS (1930)



One could easily assume this RKO film’s cinematographers were supervised by people who love trains. No doubt the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad’s co-operation was a significant force to show their first-class railroad at work. Typical of dramas in this era, there is no distraction or needed help from a music score. This filming of actual freight train operations is singularly unique with an opening landslide expertly done and authentic. The occasional use of miniatures are processed extremely well. No CGI necessary. The acting is more than satisfactory, though it is typical 1930 melodramatic storytelling. Some scenes are treated like a stage play with cued entrances. But first and foremost this is a railroad film which happens to have actors in it. Just the opposite of "Titanic" (1997) about a concocted love story in which the lovers happen to be on a "boat" that sinks. In this regard, "Danger Lights" stands alone. Today's viewer needs to accept this, otherwise it will only play as an outdated, corny film with yucky, polluting trains.


Louis Wolheim, who would die suddenly in the next year, plays the burly rail yard boss in Miles City, Montana. A singular career man who gets things done. Nobody loafs or gets a free ride on his watch. A few boxcar hobos are quickly put to work to help clear the tracks after the landslide. Robert Armstrong, a former railroad engineer, is one of them. Wolheim recognizes Armstrong simply needs to get his self-esteem back and hires him. Jean Arthur, Wolheim's fiancé, knows their love story is far-fetched. Her father has long desired she marry the hard working, honest and polite railroader. But he exudes all the romantic charm of a jack-hammer. As she also surely knows, a couple of steam locomotives are more attractive than he. This is where handsome, energetic Armstrong comes bounding in to fill her void. Once he and Arthur meet it is full steam ahead and Wolheim is uncoupled and placed on a siding.


Few films paint a more accurate picture of steam’s “romantic” era than one scene from inside Arthur’s living room. As curtains flutter in the summer breeze through the open windows, we see a freight train in the distance and hear the engineer’s unique, personal whistle signifying it is Armstrong to Arthur's heartfelt delight. This is authentically true as many engineers had their own recognizable, rhythmic “song.”


The young couple decide to elope on the next train to Chicago. During the rainy night,
Wolheim spots them walking down the tracks and goes into a jealousy rage, pounding toward them with double steel fists. Armstrong steps between two tracks as one switches, getting his shoe caught in between. Suddenly, Wolheim's anger is thwarted by what he sees. Armstrong is in the path of an approaching high speed train. Danger lights! The big-hearted boss yanks him free but he takes a nasty hit by the locomotive’s cylinder. A stuffed dummy is used to show this. Had it been a real person he would have died instantly. Not in Hollywood. Wolheim’s only hope of survival is to get him to specialists in Chicago in record time. Armstrong volunteers as engineer. After returning home, the recovering Wolheim resolutely acknowledges to Arthur his first love will always be the railroad. Though she feels guilty for not honoring his long courtship, inside she is secretly jumping off the walls and ceiling with joy.


There are doses of humor from Wolheim. Armstrong and Arthur have a humorous romantic encounter as he is washing up, singing a jaunty tune. But it is Hugh Herbert who must carry the torch. Herbert doing double duty as the film's dialogue director and a lovable hobo who expects a great deal of respect for his position in life. He sheepishly threatens to report the railroad if he is not treated properly. Wolheim acts tough but the old softy takes it in stride. Herbert hanging on for dear life between two rail cars during the climatic, dusty, record run to Chicago certainly cures him of wanderlust. That race to Chicago, by the way, is an eyeful for locomotive fans and exciting for everyone else. Beautiful pan shots of the train crossing an iron bridge, around curves and top-mounted cameras through towns.

Note: This is one of the most authentic Hollywood railroad movies ever made. A true time capsule of an era that might otherwise remain unknown. As proof the director, George B. Seitz, excelled in action serials, at the halfway point he uses documentary footage—an amazing display—in the Miles City yard of a tug of war contest at night between two facing steam locomotives. The powerful locomotive noise, coal dust and deafening screech of whistles blowing full blast must have been unforgettable. Many lost their hearing that night.

Saturday, August 11, 2018

IMPACT (1949)



The first fifty minutes of this Harry Popkin Productions film are the strongest as it sets up the impact on a husband whose wife hates him beyond his understanding. Brian Donlevy is first rate as a highly paid automotive production manager and loving husband. Helen Walker delivers a convincing performance, too, as many viewers would have wanted to reach out and slap her had the film been released in 3D. In a role before her career shift to television, Ella Raines adds a freshness to the film and more than enough encouragement for Donlevy's character. The musical score by Michel Michelet does a great job of enhancing the mood of most scenes. Charles Coburn plays a police lieutenant with a weak, intermittent Scottish accent whose mounting evidence convinces him that Walker is surely guilty of something.


Walker's New England dialect works best when she is syrupy sweet. It falters when she is angry. She is as devious and fraudulent as they come. She arranges her current male interest—call him “Fling Boy”—to pose as a family cousin and rendezvous with her despised husband. Fling Boy's cryptic conversation along a dark, dangerous and curvy mountain highway is awkward for Donlevy. After a brief stop, the fake cousin manufactures a slow leaking tire, later selecting the worst possible spot to fix a flat. On the narrow curve of a studio set. One passersby parks right in the middle of the road to offer aid. Surprising this is not an accident prone area. Fling Boy makes his move.


Donlevy gets a concussion from a tire iron and a kick down the embankment. A Bekins moving van stops to help him get back on his feet. Speaking of impact, Fling Boy has escaped in a panic with Donlevy's Packard but he is pancaked by a gasoline semi, sending both cascading over a cliff. All done with obvious miniatures. The resulting flames like those from a gas fireplace set on low. The Bekins truck stops again in an effort to put out the flames with a single extinguisher. Perfect for a toy semi. Conveniently, the moving van's rear loading doors had been open. Furniture and carpet hanging on for dear life. The film got no endorsements from Bekins. Donlevy climbed aboard to the next town. His phone call to his wife's relative reveals Fling Boy's alias does not exist. Donlevy's subtle changes in facial expression are perfect. His six-year devotion to his wife has been foolishly wasted. It is a powerful scene as he emotionally breaks down in tears.


The headlines assume Donlevy was the one burned beyond recognition. But where is Fling Boy? For that matter, where are his dental records? Walker cannot figure why he is not at their getaway point. Donlevy becomes a three month resident of a small, rural town, getting hired at the local service station run by Raines, who is taking a hammer to an engine amid his grimaces. She admits she knows jalopies but not very good with the new cars. Too high tech, perhaps. In her second scene, she does her best Princess Leia impression with hair twisted into stereo headphones. His decision to stay does not make a great deal of logic. Donlevy could call the police and the movie would nearly be over. He simply wants to disappear. Raines is cast for a reason, however, to transform Donlevy's thinking and provide a happy ending. As their friendship grows, Raines convinces him to return to San Francisco and tell his story. She is determined to see him through the ordeal.


Husband and wife meet in the squad room as the music comes effectively to a crescendo during a closeup zoom of Walker's face. One can see the wheels turning in her warped mind as her facial expression changes from shock to loathing. Developed to lie, she accuses him of plotting to kill Fling Boy then go into hiding with Raines. Right. Donlevy convinced Fling Boy to deliberately crash into a semi. Donlevy killing his wife would be more logical but there is zero logic in killing Fling Boy. The script's implausibilities are silly but no one noticed. Not even the director. Donlevy's convoluted story is no less hard to believe and he is arrested. Donlevy's long-devoted housekeeper, Anna May Wong, has evidence to convict the wife and Raines convinces her to help with Coburn's support. 


Knowing what the viewer already knows, the closing courtroom scenes provide only a smattering of surprises. Witnesses' testimony are misinterpreted and seem to go against Donlevy. Thankfully, Walker becomes a hypocritical idiot on the stand as she continues to bury herself with uncontrollable, outrageous lies. But it is her handwriting analysis which dooms her. Suggesting it was their fault all along, she plans to sue the Parker pen company.

Sunday, July 29, 2018

ARMORED CAR ROBBERY (1950)



This sixty-seven minute RKO Radio Pictures project is a dandy and hardly unknown to film noir geeks or fans of the lead actors. So I will not single out the entire production staff. Information that is readily available online. Suffice to say it is nearly flawless in execution and Charles McGraw got noticed. Naturally, there are a couple of clichés that may bring a chuckle or two from Twenty-First Century viewers. Directed by Richard Fleischer, it displays his penchant for realism with his early trademarks of location filming and attention to police procedural details. The latter point well displayed when the authorities comb the area for clues where the robbers abandoned their getaway car. That scene is also enhanced by a lean screenplay with no wasted dialog for the excellent cast. The cinematography is outstanding as well. The score is not memorable but at least it does not get in the way of the actors.


You do not want to get on the bad side of detective, Charles McGraw. He makes no compromises with criminals and also appears a tad weary of a daily routine of trying to apprehend them. He is grilling Steve Brodie, above, past the halfway point in the film. The opening, low camera closeup of him on a phone call sets up his persona. Ruggedly handsome with a face chiseled from stone and just about as animated. He plays it exactly how his character should be. His gravel voice help define his film destiny, though. He had no fear of competing against the likes of Danny Kaye for a musical comedy. Today, his voice and maturity would have had him auditioning with the likes of Liam Neeson.

He and his long-time partner, James Flavin, are called to the less famous Wrigley Field. The one in Los Angeles used by the farm team of the Chicago Cubs. Both detectives are miffed it is another waste of their time. A false alarm. In reality it was William “He’s got Bette Davis eyes” Tallman who called in the fake alarm in a pre-robbery timing to discover how long it takes for the police to get there.


Tallman enlists three petty criminals to help him with the armored car robbery when it stops in front of the stadium. Always dependable, Steve Brodie, thinks an armored car robbery will not work. Risky. He says it might work if it were run by Tallman but does not realize he stands before him. Awkward. Doug Fowley is married to Adele Jergens (above, right) who is in love with Tallman. Gene Evans finalizes the four losers in the robbery. The detailed robbery plans of who is where and when are not described in the film. Smartly, we discover the end result as it happens. What mastermind, Tallman, could not foresee is that McGraw was on patrol nearby and responds to the emergency call rather quickly. Evans pulls his sputtering jalopy purposely behind the armored truck and fakes a look under the hood. With all three “brinks-men” set to enter their truck, Evans sets off an explosion of tears gas. In an exchange of bullets, Flavin goes down quickly then Fowley gets seriously wounded. McGraw jumps in his car in hot pursuit of the bandits, but an evasive maneuver damages his tire. McGraw later arrives at the hospital, pulling alongside a vehicle parked in front of a no parking sign. Nary a ticket issued. He solemnly meets with Flavin's widow but realizes his words are inadequate.


Tallman was adept at playing despicable criminals before he turned over a new leaf, went to law school and competed with Perry Mason in the courtroom. He has no sympathy for the mortally wounded Fowley. To help him forget this pain and give them a chance to get through a clichéd roadblock, Tallman angrily slaps his face a few times. After the officers look over their car and give them the go ahead, Brodie cannot get the car started. A tension "device" used countless times in crime movies. Once at their hideout, Fowley, gasping for life, demands a doctor and his share of the loot. Tallman gives him a final parting gift. Three bullets. He later gives Brodie a lesson about who is boss. After punching him in the stomach, he violently takes both hands, clapping them hard against both sides of Brodie’s head, nearly rupturing his eardrums. It is shocking and perhaps the first time the violent act was used on film.


Jergens plays her usual role, though her employment changed for film to film. This time she is a burlesque “queen.” Brodie stops in the burlesque house in hopes of getting his money from her. It would have been the first time they met. McGraw is there with handcuffs and both miss the entire performance. Back at headquarters, there is an effective, tight closeup of them both, nose to nose. With no fear of the murder wrap, the accessory to robbery spills the truth about Tallman. McGraw’s young new partner, Don McQuire, volunteers to take Brodie’s place and meet “the queen.” A solid plan except Tallman knows his partner is locked up. His gun is there to meet McQuire outside the establishment. Jergen's wired car allows the detective to audibly send location points to the tailing patrol car. Tallman is suspicious of these hints and tells him to get out, whose life is then saved by Jergens, preventing Tallman firing a second time. Or third. Or a fourth. Just to be sure.


The lovebirds attempt a getaway via chartered plane. Tallman, not happy the plane has been recalled back to the terminal, threatens the pilot at gunpoint. This is always pretty silly and Hollywood still does it. If he shoots the pilot they are going nowhere. Tallman grabs the suitcase of loot and in his panic does not see a taxiing DC-3. The suggested prop distributes him and divides the cash up in smaller denominations. A happy ending for McGraw. Well, not so much, judging by the grimace on his face. The happy part is when he shares a news article with McQuire, recovering from that gunshot wound. It is all about their success in the robbery. Both officers are mentioned at the bottom of the article and as the young partner starts reading he pretends his name is so minuscule he has to get real close to the page to see it. They both laugh.

Note: For a limited role, Don McQuire (above with McGraw) does a fine job. He and McGraw hit it off by the end. Today, this movie might have had a sequel based on their chemistry if the studio gambled they could make more money. But things were pleasantly different in 1950.