NEW ORLEANS AFTER DARK (1958)

Poor Stacy Harris, the stalwart B-movie and television actor, tries to hold this shoestring-budgeted film together while being surrounded by a production full of amateurs. Few films are more forgotten or unknown than this one. Perhaps to give a jolt to realism, a few “actors” are actual police officers. The police captain, Louis Sirgo, is for real but no acting experience. He holds his own pretty well but his family scenes are shaky, mostly due to poor directing and a cliched script. The first family scene awkwardly plays out similar to those teenage etiquette films of the era.

The film opens on a sleazy section of Bourbon Street as an “exotic” dancer is called into the lounge owner’s office. He is angry at all the needle marks on her arm and arranges to have her stowed away in a motel to detox. It is a short night for her. Finding the murderer is a job for professionals. Detective Harris and Captain Sirgo will have to do. Sirgo, being the proper spouse and parent, dutifully calls home frequently to apologize for the constant developments in the case and postpone the family fishing trip. It does not get any more real than that.

To continue the film’s awkwardness, the motel manager, helping describe a visitor that night, with eyes looking up in deep thought, says he can still hear those heels clicking. "Cowboy boots...pant legs rolled down over them." That is some kind of hearing! He should be a spy or something. They find cowboy boots but attached to the wrong man.

We are taken to another nightclub where Dixieland music is playing. The people around the bar are unaware of this because most are tapping their fingers on the bar counter to the rhythm from a different club. In the same scene, one camera has a sharp focus on Harris, while the actor he is interrogating is filmed with a soft focus—looking more like old stock footage. Most interior scenes are covered by a single area microphone.

The lounge owner, known affectionately as “The Boss,” is fronting his heroin business as a tobacco exporter. Destroying hundreds of clients, one way or the other. By now, we discover the late cow-booted killer was simply a hired gun. Harris and Sirgo, as well-known local cops, go “undercover” as dishonest sailors. Everyone recognizes them immediately. Even Clark Kent wore spectacles and we know how effective those were. But thanks to their training, they turn the tables on the thugs, eventually tailing the boss to his warehouse where the policemen arrest him after bullets are exchanged. No shots fired...they just exchanged bullets. This movie makes a good case for never creating “reality” television shows.

Note: This film is based on the 1955 television series "N.O.P.D." starring Stacy Harris. The "documentary" movie takes the sleaze level to a new low. One of only two films produced by Eric Sayers, it probably accounts for the awful presentation. His credentials are as thin as the cinematography work by Willis Winford or the direction by John Sledge.

PLUNDER ROAD (1957)

This gripping tale of an elaborate nighttime scheme to heist ten million in gold from a special government train opens with effective title credits as the highway centerline weaves back and forth across the screen. The first fifteen minutes will have you glued, what with the driving rain, the pounding score, and the character’s voice-over inner doubts about their meticulous plan's success. The seventy-two-minute film is concise, with little wasted footage. Transportation buffs will enjoy the realism of location shooting. The only flaw is the ending.

Directed by Hubert Cornfield with a screenplay by Steven Ritch (above left) from his and Jack Charney's story, this crime gem was produced by Regal Films and distributed by 20th Century Fox. Gene Raymond (above) is the mastermind. He has never pulled off anything like this before. But Raymond is the only one with a college degree, making him the most highly qualified "heister" among the gang. The other four men are from mixed backgrounds, with Wayne Morris and Elisha Cook Jr. as the only seasoned criminals (below). The crooks divert the approaching freight train to a siding with the train detonating an explosive cap set on the rail. The engineer knows this is a signal of something amiss ahead. The train operators are gassed or knocked out. The tediously clever long-distance detonation, by tuning the truck's radio, spectacularly blows the boxcar open, carrying the gold.

Their story then unfolds over nine hundred miles, with Raymond not confident everyone will make it. The gold is divided among three trucks, each going different routes, leaving at precise intervals, as devised by the college graduate. The guys patiently wait for their departure time, just as the viewer has to patiently wait for what comes next. An effective director’s device or not, it works. The single driver, then the duo, eventually gets apprehended in simple low-key fashion compared to the film’s complex opening. It realistically captures how mundane the capture of these infallible men can be. A brief, coded phone call to Raymond’s girlfriend, Jeanne Cooper, tells her to expect them in Los Angeles. She has the fake delivery papers and passports for their south-of-the-border trek.

Raymond, Cooper, and Ritch—in a time-consuming, implausible feat—melt down their remaining gold bars into bumpers and wheel covers to fancy up their air-suspended Cadillac. Apparently no concern about the tires blowing out. They are feeling pretty smug. After a strong beginning and middle section, the ending is certainly the film's weak point. And a bit laughable. Making a getaway on a Los Angeles freeway at rush hour was not as well planned as the train robbery. Then a simple bumper bender brings over the police who notice a most unusual Cadillac accessory—solid gold bumpers. The three, in typical fashion of the era, run for it. From the overpass, Raymond decides to jump onto an oncoming truck trailer on the highway below—something else he had not done before. His parkour skills not well polished, set up one of those “whoa” moments. Desperation, thy name in Raymond.

ON DANGEROUS GROUND (1951)

This RKO film, directed by Nicholas Ray and produced by John Houseman with a distinctly Bernard Herrmann opening score, effectively uses a "hammer against an anvil" (or muted chime) giving one note a definitively sharp, steely ring, like a migraine headache. However, there are CDs on the market that better define the audio of Herrmann's score. City night scenes set a thick film-noir look with great point-of-view camera positioning. Even a rare-for-its-day hand-held camera for at least one chase scene. It is a slow-burn opening about an eleven-year detective who thinks he is more garbage collector than law officer. There is never a moment wasted. Considering the final third's stark contrast with the gritty dreariness of the city, it is nearly two movies in one.

Robert Ryan plays the embittered detective dealing with urban low-life. A guy who has a penchant for beating suspects into a confession. After repeated warnings from the police chief, Ryan is reprimanded and sent to a remote, snow-covered part of the state to solve a young girl's murder. He is paired with the victim's father, Ward Bond, who only wants to shoot the killer himself. He grows impatient with Ryan, wasting time with his methodical “big city” protocols. Their search provides testy interaction with Ryan, showing great restraint for not socking Bond in the jaw. Seemingly a pairing of contrasts, they both have something in common.

After trekking through deep snow, the two men eventually come upon a cabin occupied by a nearly blind Ida Lupino, the killer’s sister. At this point, the film shifts to two characters consumed with loneliness: one alone in solitude, and one alone in crowds. It is the start of Ryan’s personal transformation. His past behavior identifies with Bond’s single-minded rage and his subtle transformation is moving. His pride remains intact, but his face indicates we are witnessing a new man. It is a subtle, standout performance by Ryan. In a startling scene, Bond, who thinks Lupino is faking her blindness, attempts to strike her across the face. Ryan grabs his arm in time. He is later remorseful for his own blinding rage. Two men are transformed.

Things do not turn out exactly as hoped after the murderer is located. Lupino resigns herself to be alone despite Ryan's offer to help be her eyes. Reluctantly, he drives back to the city only to return the next day because "garbage detail" does not outweigh his need to be with Lupino. And until the day Lupino spills hot coffee in his lap, one expects a long future for them.

Note: While no masterpiece of filmmaking, it is noteworthy for its direction, cinematography, and Ryan's performance. One may wonder how Ryan and Lupino might survive with little or no income in that secluded, mountain cabin. So the ending is left in limbo. That can be frustrating to any viewer who cannot logically conjure up one.

THE SHADOW ON THE WINDOW (1957)

Jerry Mathers hears screams while playing outside the home where his mother, Betty Garrett, is temporarily employed. Running to the window, he sees her being thrown violently to the floor. Coupled with his witness of the homeowner’s murder, the boy goes into a state of shock as he wanders off, never blinking, down a road until two truck drivers help him to safety. Enter police detective Philip Carey, with the most envious character named Tony Atlas. It is his boy who is rescued, and Mrs. Atlas is being held hostage. He is told of the boy’s condition and then proceeds to find out what happened. Maybe a hug first would have uplifted the boy. Carey’s stoic, low-key performance does not always fit the compassionate father role. Not until they track down the truck driver hours later are they able to locate the secluded farmhouse.

This B-movie includes the usual tense moments as Garrett tries and fails to befriend Corey Allen, one of the three miscreants. This must have been the era to have psychos with bleached blonde hair. From Raymond Burr to Skip Homeier and now Allen. None in the gang have their head screwed on right. We know the three losers are not going to make it, but we do not know how. Seeing their Sociopathic leader, John Drew Barrymore, break down his bravado into a sniveling coward when seriously challenged is...uh...expected. Though the hostage premise is not unique, and the hoods are typical of the era, it is not a total embarrassment.

Location filming adds realism, yet it plays out more like a television episode. Directed by William Asher with a screenplay by Leo Townsend and David Harmon, this seventy-six-minute film was released by Columbia Pictures. The music score was by the five-time Oscar-nominated George Duning.

MOHAWK (1956)

There are enough embarrassing movies to do a very long film festival, but this film ranks—in the literal sense—fairly high. The film is often categorized as a Western, but it is really an "Eastern." This eighty-minute film was distributed by 20th Century Fox. Beyond the obvious Hollywood sets foreshadowing television's Bonanza are outdoor sequences from 1939’s Drums Along the Mohawk, which add the only gravitas to the film. The actors mostly justify their salaries, so it is not entirely their fault. Most of my arrows are aimed at the screenwriter, Maurice Geraghty, and director Kurt Neumann. The film is produced by Edward L. Alperson, who also wrote the music, after a fashion. The B-movie casting net was not very wide, relying on the popular Scott Brady, Neville Brand, Ted de Corsia, Allison Hayes, John Hoyt, Rita Gam, and Lori Nelson. All destined for television notoriety. Unintentionally funny can bring the house or teepee down. It is easy to imagine Mel Brooks remaking this film.

Brady plays an 18th-century Casanova painter from Boston looking for subjects and action in early America. Quoting King Richard from The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), after Robin stops a group of horsemen (the gallivanting King's entourage) but does not recognize him, he asks if he is loyal to the King. With tongue-in-cheek, he states, "I love no man better." So it goes for Brady. The local tavern waitress at the military fort is a red-headed Hayes, his favorite model to add "flavor" to his landscapes. Never mind that visiting Nelson is his fiancée. Captain Kirk should be so lucky. Gam had a European facial structure (being born in Pittsburgh), so naturally, she plays a beautiful Native American. Aside from his premixed paints in pig’s bladders, she becomes Brady's main squeeze. The Iroquois appear to be Wall Street businessmen or taxi drivers, and the actor playing de Corsia's teenage son came directly from the set of Rebel Without A Cause. "Hateful Hoyt" deceptively seeks to generate war between the Continental Army and the Indians, ridding the Mohawk Valley of all bad haircuts, leaving the land all to himself. Brand is cast as the only member of the little-known sub-tribe, the "Irritated Iroquois," and is suspicious of the “white paint man.” His tirade against de Corsia's tribe, nearly an hour into the film, is pretty embarrassing. Scenes will have you laughing or groaning.

An excellent print of this film will be sharp and clear with vibrant colors. To an unrealistic level.

The set designers were apparently going through their blue-violet-lavender period. It is overwhelming at times. Case in point: for those familiar with his myriad of gangster and Western villain roles, de Corsia—the "Chief Mohawkster" above—is visually hilarious with his spectacular mohawk and two-week-dead, violet-brown makeup. He looks quite healthy inside his teepee, but once he steps out onto the studio set, aka outdoors, "he goes" very dark.

His monotone Iroquois dialect is not believable, either. One studio set (above, bottom) may remind one of the color palette in a Maxfield Parrish painting. The Indians sitting around the fire, the "Mohawk Singers," are singing a melodic chant in professional mixed four-part harmony. They should tour more often.

Perhaps in an effort to save the film from a total disaster, there is a climactic, rifle-blasting finale battle at the army fort with the Indians. Hoyt finally gets his wish and his due. In the end, we learn little of early American history, or authentic painting, except that oil paints travel well in saddlebags. The flammable turpentine to clean the brushes is totally ignored.

Note: The credits are dealt with uniquely, suggesting a documentary. The red, modern font text on a black background introduces the film as "A Legend of the Iroquois..." and the film ends with the actors' credits, "...and these were the players of the legend," showing a clip of each actor with their character name.