MISSING WOMAN (1951)

This is a fun way to spend sixty minutes with one of the most abrupt endings in B-moviedom. The story moves along in tidy fashion, leaving much of the 35mm film on the cutting room floor, yet it will task your suspended disbelief sensibilities. Standard night scenes of the era were created with filters along with limited use of studio backdrop driving scenery. There is a fair share of location filming however and one brief chase scene for the auto and highway patrol motorcycle enthusiast.

Penny Edwards plays this title character. We have no background on the character other than she and her husband are on their honeymoon. Their auto is hijacked by two car thieves, James Millican and John Alvin with the former putting a slug in the gallant husband and with a blow to the head, she falls forward on the steering wheel. The depressed horn continues, signaling local officers patrolling the area. Her character then becomes implausibly polished to pull off the potentially deadly scheme she has in mind. Maybe she was a former FBI agent.

While being questioned by the local authorities, Edwards gets the idea to go undercover to locate the killer of her husband and report his location to the police. She is very savvy about this sort of thing and certainly knows how to bamboozle everyone. All we know is she has experience utilizing a fake persona. Five years on Broadway, perhaps. Her assumed photographic memory comes into play as she only briefly reads a prisoner’s rap sheet but has all the details down pat. Apparently, women come in handy as a distraction during a car heist, so she goes from brunette to Edward’s natural blonde hair, nearly a complete reversal of television’s Richard Kimball. She rolls with every conversation like a pro. One is unsure at what point she will feel in over her head with this charade, but you know it is coming.

She gets the honor of meeting Robert Shayne, the boss of the chopshop. In an awkward scene, after she is driven to the shop location to look around and meet all the nice fellows, Alvin bids her goodbye, until later. She walks out the side door and I wonder where she is going. She has no car. She has no place of her own. I imagine her suddenly stopping in the alley and telling herself, "Dumb, dumb, dumb, now I've done it!" The director must have dozed off during the dailies.

As usual, there are more bits of unintentionally funny scenes for twenty-first-century replays. Bureau of Missing Persons officer, James Brown, gets a tip on Edward’s whereabouts but it is so screwy, her being undercover and all, he tells his superior he might as well file it in the trash can. The superior, in a serious reply, “Never file anything in the trash can.” Oh...right chief. And another: Edwards knew one thief by the name of Hans and with that to go on the superior officer writes down “Hands” on the backboard. He spends countless hours trying to make sense of the nickname and make a connection with it. James Brown enters the room and erases the “D” and suddenly the mystery is solved.

Police locate Edwards and she begs to go back and help round up Shayne and Gang. They seem to think it is quite dangerous to return but tell her to try and stay alive. Bolstered with that encouragement, her missing person’s reward poster is spotted by Alvin and her undercover work appears to be coming to an end. What we learn is that everyone in a chop shop carries a gun. The ending shootout with police includes the trademark Republic Pictures gun sound from their many westerns. And then the film ends abruptly. The director looked at his watch and announced we are done here, people. Edwards transitions to television in the 1960s and retires. Abruptly.

INTENT TO KILL (1958)

This is a pretty effective, yet unbelievable melodrama/thriller directed by Jack Cardiff, the famed cinematographer—more effective than the paid assassins in the film. Shot during a cold, snowy season in Montreal, the movie opens with a climactic score (over a blaring ambulance siren) yet it is only the first two minutes of the film. Perhaps not that particular as it anticipates what is ahead. One expects something drastic to happen at any moment but the only “excitement” is the quiet and careful deboarding of a South American president, Herbert Lom, who has been transported to Montreal for personal safety and special surgery on his potentially fatal cranial blood clot. Having previously survived an assassination attempt, the fire escape outside his window makes him nervous and requests a move to another room. A nice touch in the film’s early going as who knows what goes up or down those steps all hours of the day or night. To help comfort him, he asks a nurse to bring him his statue of the "patron saint of assassination."

Lom’s political opponents have hired hitmen, Warren Stevens, John Crawford and Peter Arne to kill Lom for good. They are taking orders from Lom’s personal aide, a detail unknown to him. Crawford and Arne do not get along. Stevens has to bring the hammer down on Crawford for his attitude and his absences for drinking and womanizing. Arne, a former doctor, is to administer a needle full of air into Lom’s vein. Stevens’ scouting made him aware of Lom’s move to another room but Arne knows nothing of the move until he is informed after killing the wrong patient.

Mixed into this assassination plot are surgeon, Richard Todd, and his nagging, self-centered wife, Catherine Boyle, who has arranged for him to take a high-paying position back in London. The high-paying part is of special interest to her. Todd has no interest except in fellow doctor, Betsy Drake, once again with near comatose acting. Judging by Boyle’s effective, irritating performance, most viewers might feel Todd deserves better. Meanwhile, the personal aide is hoping for a future with Lom’s beautiful wife once he has been dispatched.

As Lom recovers, he comes to the conclusion that the two may be romantically involved or plotting to kill him. The hitmen, determined not to lose their payoff, become even more incompetent leading to confrontations in the hospital. Arne tries once again to needle Lom but a detective asks him to identify himself. Arne loses his cool but never has any from the start. Todd volunteers as a lookout at the stairway entrance and Drake joins him. Crawford shows and threatens Drake at gunpoint to vouch for Arne. She stumbles over a question from the detective answering, “He...he is...doctor...watch out!” The detective falls from Arne’s bullet. What is funny are the gunshots which sound like cap pistols. The film takes a nosedive after the bad sound effects and never recovers. Unlike Lom. Arne gets a bullet in return and when Crawford enters the hall, he sends Arne to "an emergency room in the sky" by shooting him a few times. Nice knowin’ ya, bub.

Todd tangles with Crawford, who leaps down a flight of stairs in swashbuckling form as Dr. Peter Blood might do. Their struggle crashes both through a window and they fall to the pavement below. Crawford is spared spinal surgery but is arrested. Todd has surgery to remove a Crawford bullet.

As confusion and chaos rage in the hospital, Stevens assumes the role of an authoritarian figure, ordering nurses and orderlies around. Very official. It gets him access to Lom's unguarded room to perform a quick hit. Barely inside the room, he discovers Lom knows how to use that statue in a manner he could never have anticipated.

Note: It is a decent enough, if forgettable film, with competent performances. I can forgive Lom’s dull performance owing to his brain surgery. Alexander Knox possesses his role as the chief surgeon and wise counsel. Stevens stays cool and calm despite being a failure at the boss level. In an odd Todd closing prior to his surgery, Drake leans over next to his face and quietly whispers, 'Breathe Deeply,' as if referencing an alternate British title. One could spend some time debating why that line ends the film.

THE GREAT ST. LOUIS BANK ROBBERY (1959)

Not yet hitting stardom, even early in Steve McQueen's career he gets top billing here which tells you something about the other actors in the film. With the exception of supporting actor, Crahan Denton, they are virtual unknowns. This is a solid docu-drama based on the actual 1953 robbery. The eighty-nine-minute film was shot on location in 1958, and for the historical transportation geek, it is an eyeful. It is directed and produced by Charles Guggenheim, written by Richard Heffron, and distributed by United Artists. The opening score has a brief solo piano segment—more than likely played by the composer and concert pianist Bernardo Segall—giving the film a macabre aura, befitting the gloomy, frosty autumn. Not many would choose to meet under a park shelter in this weather so one could assume the meeting is a desperate measure. It looks suspicious. The sound department’s inclusion of a crow’s “caw-caw” adds to the stark scene.

McQueen walks into this first scene like his feet hurt. Soft-spoken, nervous, with a jacket not adequate for the temperature. He is hired as the getaway driver. He just wants to drive. This meant nothing until 1968. Denton looks the part of a worn out criminal and the heist’s mastermind in a dark overcoat and fedora hat. He plans on this being his last haul. His facial features and a permanent frown are a dead giveaway of his troubled past, his distrust of women in general, and a guy you do not want to cross. The number two man, David Clarke, is a loose cannon, claustrophobic from a prison term and seems to take the seriousness of the heist rather flippantly. He vouches for McQueen because his sister, Molly McCarthy, dated McQueen in college. She agrees to meet McQueen in a tavern where the most out-of-tune piano in St. Louis is plunking away. Despite his denials, she suspects he is going down the wrong road—thanks to her loser brother—and tries to reason with him. Her acting is a weak point. None worse than later, almost hysterically, between a laugh and a cry, drunk and sober, she writes on the bank window with lipstick that it will be robbed. Her male companion thinks she is loony as she keeps repeating, “But it’s funny. Isn’t it funny?! Don’t you think it’s funny?!” He does not. Neither did I. Her acting is very forced, lacking any believability. Her sing-song voice is also annoying. Number four crime partner, the bespectacled James Dukas, is jealous of McQueen because he wants to drive the escape vehicle. Like a child throwing a tantrum, through his smart-aleck smile and taunting, does everything he can to discredit the inexperienced McQueen.

When Denton finds out about the lipstick tip-off at the bank, thanks to Dukas’ spying, he is livid with McQueen, who has been denying he ever saw McCarthy in the first place. Dukas's "tantrum" pays off and he becomes the driver. Denton threatens to call off the whole thing. Alone in his room, under the pressure and real fear the robbery will fail miserably, he momentarily breaks down emotionally. It is a powerful scene.

Clarke suggests his sister return to Chicago, leaving her in the care of Denton. Along the way, down the outdoor fire escape, Denton goes a bit nuts with mental flashbacks of the women who have ruined his life, including his mother. He becomes mesmerized by the long flight of stairs and they compel him to shove McCarthy down them. During the failed robbery, McQueen asks Denton what happened to her. In evil disgust, Denton growls, “What do think, punk!” It is a tough scene illustrating the futility of these criminals. The shootout is relentless by any standard and a cloud of doom covers the robbers. One, in total despair, commits suicide (off camera). A scene that probably shocked moviegoers to close out the Fifties. McQueen predicted Dufus Dukas would chicken out behind the wheel. True to form, he panics and drives away leaving his “pals” to fend for themselves.

There is an unintended humorous early scene. As a test, Denton wants McQueen to find an out-of-state license plate in the supermarket parking lot where they are parked. He does not want to do it but Denton insists. Adding sensory perception to the scene is the sound department’s obligatory horn honks echoing in the distance. McQueen finds a vehicle and bends down quickly behind the car. He hears an engine roar and wonders where it is and if he has been spotted. He is shocked when the car he is crouched behind accelerates away, leaving McQueen puzzled and Denton nervous watching from a distance. On to car number two.

A McQueen trademark was improvising little details of his character. Reacting to the script but not scene-stealing. In the process of unscrewing that license plate, his hand “slips” and he acts like he cut his finger, sucking on the “wound.” Another is when he places his hand briefly on McCarthy’s martini glass just before leaving, in an awkward, “what do I do now” moment. Later, when she discovers him with Clarke, who is supposed to be in Chicago, McQueen’s temperature rises from embarrassment. He wipes “sweat” from his forehead, giving authentication to his character. What is somewhat less believable is his apparent total mental breakdown after the robbery is foiled. Given the amount of gunfire and chaos during the robbery, perhaps it is not unexpected from a kid with no prior criminal indoctrination.

Note: A nice stylistic touch from the director is worth noting. When McQueen makes a call from a phone booth we do not hear his voice, only his expressions while "talking" to McCarthy. Her voice is the one we hear, replying to McQueen. And as a testament to how patient people used to be, she asks the customers to hold while she takes his brief call. Not one customer threw a hissy fit.

ONE WAY STREET (1950)

For the first twenty-five minutes, this film would appear to have potential as a noir with its dark shadows and moody, waiting game atmosphere of poker. The film starts strong with a wounded criminal, a girl who belongs somewhere, and the whine of Dan Duryea’s voice. But it all falls short during the vast middle, becoming a predictable romantic melodrama. As if you changed channels and stopped on another movie before returning for the final ten minutes of noir. Even with a couple of A-list actors, this disappointing film goes nowhere but south. The opening music theme is befitting a soap opera which should have been my clue.

Perennial double-crosser, Duryea, plays the gangster mastermind of a recent bank job. His partners are William Conrad, King Donovan, and Jack Elam. The latter's brief role is irrelevant, though momentarily (stay with me here) resembles David Letterman after a horrible face plant and botched plastic surgery. Not many mobsters travel with their own doctor, James Mason, who immediately attends to Conrad’s flesh wound. In the mix is Marta Toren, who is supposed to be Duryea’s girl but she has a fondness for medical males. He does not trust the group. Toren in general. Duryea specifically. The slickest setup in the film has Mason giving Duryea something for his headache. A standard procedure after an intense heist. Mason is not exactly a model citizen, either. He closes his medical bag but also the matching bag with the 200 grand. He intends to walk out with both. Guns are drawn on Mason, but with his calm, understated delivery, he tells Duryea the “aspirin” he took will actually put him into convulsions in under two hours. Without the antidote, he will die. All three watch Mason and Toren leave. Donovan is particularly out of sorts over his disappearing share of the loot and in a rage attempts to shoot Mason from their second-story apartment. Duryea, literally, calls the shots in the gang and a bullet releases Donovan’s share. The King is dead. Sweating, Duryea hopes Mason’s long-distance call with the antidote will come true.

The nervous couple is off to Mexico as quickly as possible because the pill Mason gave Duryea was a placebo. The next forty-five minutes is a completely different film. Oddly, it stars both leads from that earlier film. You will have plenty of time to fix that sandwich or wash your car. To be fair, it is not a poorly executed segment and Mason reluctantly uses his medical practice for the locals and livestock. Warming to Toren’s advances, both appear to be living happily ever after. A highlight during the Mexico bits is a priest, played by Basil Ruysdael. He is loved by the locals and becomes a trusted friend to the assumed married couple. His rich bass voice, rye sense of humor and wisdom are endearing. One wonders if Duryea and Conrad have already started work on their next picture because it does not appear as though we will see them again in this one. Thankfully, Mason and Toren want to be free of their past and both think it best to return the money and end this film "noir-like." Many tears are shed by the locals. Understandably, they preferred being part of this film over the bookended parts.

Mason arrives on "a dark and stormy night" to find that Conrad has double-crossed Duryea, mortally wounding him. Conrad demands Mason take the stack of bills out of the leather bag. Stack after stack, Mason complies. But a surprise awaits Conrad with a bullet through the bottom of the bag. Toren rushes to meet Mason in the pouring rain and they embrace. With great relief, he confesses, “I really thought my number was up today.” Never say that at the end of a film noir. Let us just say he should have looked in both directions when crossing that one-way street.