SHIELD FOR MURDER (1954)

This United Artist release is a standard film noir and there is hardly a dull moment, starting with an attention-grabbing opening. Directed by Edmond O’Brien and Howard Koch, the latter may have obliged the star to take top credit. The music score by Paul Dunlap is used sparingly and only when effective. Much like an episode of television’s Columbo, there is no surprise who is guilty of murder after the opening scene. What is unknown is how O’Brien, a sixteen-year police detective with a volatile nature, is finally brought to justice. He uses his badge as a shield for murder. Do not be too surprised by O'Brien's occasional overacting. It sometimes reflects badly on an otherwise talented actor.

O'Brien covers up his deed suggesting it was a justified, but errant shooting. No one bothered to check his revolver's chamber. It would have indicated he shot three bullets, not just two heard by passersby. Never bothered to check the distance the fatal bullet entered the deceased, either. But I digress. His false scenario could almost be legit but for his lifting of twenty-five grand from a well-known bookie’s coat. The money hounds him throughout the film. In between the hounding, Hollywood once again portrays a male being tempted to do whatever it takes to make his girl and himself happy. Marla English is the girl. A cigarette girl at a nightclub. A job O'Brien loathes as she's being ogled by male patrons nightly. The loot may be his ticket to “untrue” happiness. In hopes of buying a particular home under construction for the two of them, he buries the bag of cash in his personal “dirt vault” near the foundation.

A seasoned police reporter, Herbert Butterfield, hangs around the squad room in hopes of a Pulitzer on O'Brien. He was quite pessimistic about that opening scene. O’Brien’s young partner, John Agar, refuses to believe it. O’Brien is something of a hero to him, helping turn his own wayward youth in the right direction. However, building a new house on a policeman’s salary sets off an internal siren.

Notorious bookmaker boss, Hugh Sanders wants his twenty-five grand “investment money” back and hires two private detective goons to tail O'Brien. The script gives private detectives some bad press as these two usually beat the truth out of a suspect. O'Brien is one recipient. This police hatred for private investigators was no help to Jim Rockford twenty years later. Their final shootout in a crowded indoor swimming pool set several lap records for some swimmers. Bullets flying between them—both lousy shots—with little regard for the patrons. One swimmer, prostrate on a high dive, hesitates, then decides to dive in between bullets. And they call it a health club!

Though no surprise to the viewer, there was a witness in that opening scene. What is a surprise is that the screenplay cleverly makes the witness unable to hear or speak, demanding he write down what he saw. O’Brien is the first to read the small note. Bummer. Later, he pays the old gentleman a visit to confirm the note's assertions and close a loose end. Unknown to O’Brien, the man left a master copy of his police note in his notebook. Agar finds it and plans to arrest his partner who nearly pulls the trigger on Agar. It is at this point the viewer has confirmation that O’Brien needs serious psychological counseling. O’Brien maniacally attempts to retrieve the cash from his dirt vault after the usual high-speed night chase. He turns around with his bag of loot to face a row of headlights. Losing all reasoning, O’Brien opens fire. What he receives in return is undeniably over-the-top.

Note: As Hollywood's typical lonely woman at a bar counter, Carolyn Jones has a couple of scenes with O’Brien though he is not good company. She could not care less. He is company. After they kiss, he notices an obvious large bruise on her upper right arm. He asks her where she got it. “From somebody, I guess,” she says unconcerned. “Besides, it doesn't hurt.”

DESTINATION MOON (1950)

This colorful, independently made science fiction film by George Pal Productions, distributed by Eagle-Lion Classics, sits near the top of early Fifties science fiction movies. There are no alien creatures in rubber suits arising from the ashes of atomic testing. A typical Hollywood tactic of imagined nuclear doom. Rather, it is an intelligent explanation of space travel, highlighting its assumed and known dangers---filmed in rich Technicolor. Despite a B-movie cast, the competent acting takes the premise seriously and breaks new ground for the genre. The film can be accurately prophetic, but one cannot ignore the implausible sequences. Leith Stevens’ excellent score establishes excitement and mystery right from the opening moon image. His score contributes heavily to the success of this box office winner.

You need not be a rocket scientist to be in this movie. But if you are the Warner Anderson character, it helps. The film opens with the optimistic launching of his latest rocket to send a satellite into orbit. On hand for the assessment is Tom Powers, playing a retired General. Their confidence is shattered when the rocket quickly plummets to the desert floor. With funds and minds exhausted, they abandon the project and move on to an even more fantastic project. Powers turns to John Archer, CEO of his own aircraft manufacturing company. When he first hears Power's argument about going to the moon, he thinks the General may have returned to his heavy drinking. In reality, he persuades Archer to consider the importance of “making the moon great again” by getting there and establishing a missile base for America’s protection before an aggressor gets there first. These opening scenes provide the strongest acting in the movie. The actors are convincingly genuine and the audience is in the room with them.

Archer gathers over a dozen brilliant engineers to hear their proposal. It is quite a convincing presentation thanks to Woody Woodpecker, the very popular cartoon character of the era. With simplicity, Woody explains rocket physics like no human could, except Walter Lantz, Woody’s creator. The four-minute cartoon also helps the audience understand space travel from a non-threatening position.

It is up to these brilliant industrialists, with the guidance of Anderson and Archer, to build an advanced atomic-powered spaceship, harnessing the atom for peaceful purposes. Anti-atomic fear comes into play and the project is soon threatened by fake news which falsely purports to be public opinion. As Archer states prophetically, “Manufactured and organized with money and brains, somebody's out to get us.” The “moonies” simply launch the mission ahead of schedule without any press announcement, previous test flights or a trained crew. This possibly signs their death warrant if not successful. One thing is certain. It is definitely implausible. As if planning a long vacation without enough time to pack, they rush to get the rocket up in a mere seventeen hours. Such was the unlimited thinking in the optimistic, “can do” attitude of post-war America. Powers and Dick Wesson fill out the four-man crew. It was customary during this period for one crew member to provide levity. Preferably from Brooklyn. This responsibility falls on Wesson. A substitute crew member who is squeamish about “spatial” travel or death.

For identification purposes on a gray moonscape, each crew member has their own tertiary-colored space suit for high visibility. A guy could get lost in muted silver. Rather comical today, the suits resemble the Michelin Man after a crash diet with inflated, articulated elbows and knees, topped off by helmets resembling interior lamps borrowed from a Frank Lloyd Wright building. 

The weightless effects are handled pretty well, in general. The g-forces on their faces, not so much, as each actor is assigned a g-force expression. Wesson is the best example. One view of the rocket touching down on the lunar surface looks similar to the real 1969 event and Anderson’s description of the moon’s surface is uncannily similar to Apollo 11’s comments. Not to have the audience too complacent with wonder, problems occur when trying to jettison home. A miscalculation of fuel reserves makes the rocket too heavy for liftoff. Not unlike a typical liquidation sale, everything must go. Especially, weight. One crew member attempts to make the ultimate sacrifice so the remaining crew can return to Earth.

Note: Despite the systematic, perfect pattern of same-sized stars, Pal’s space effects are nicely done. With no studio restricting his budget or making suggestions, it pays off. The pan shots of the moon’s surface are filled with eerie awe. The scale of the rocket and Anderson’s claim of the moon for the good of all mankind are inspired. In many cases outdated, this film could be assessed by nit-picking the mistakes or ideas about space travel, in hindsight. With a little history under your space belt, watch the film in a mid-twentieth-century state of mind.

THE SOUND OF FURY (1950)

“Violence is a disease caused by moral and social breakdown. That is the real problem, and it must be solved by reason, not by emotion. With understanding. Not hate.”

The above quote could apply to the present century. In this case, it is the timeless voice-over warning repeated at the end of the film. A film that will not come to mind when recalling classic films, but this forgotten gem provides, perhaps, the most contrasting opening and closing bookends in film noir history. Produced by Robert Stillman and released through United Artists, this ninety-two-minute crime drama is appropriately supported by a score by Hugo Friedhofer.

Also in contrast are two men drawn together by happenstance. Frank Lovejoy’s performance will leave your emotions in knots. An early standout role that began his first and only full decade of acting. He portrays a loving husband and father who moved to California to seek employment but it has brought nothing more than frustration. His opening scenes are innocent and heartfelt, but with Lovejoy at his lowest point of self-loathing, he is very vulnerable to the slightest motivation for income. His chance meeting at a bowling alley with an arrogant Lloyd Bridges influences the naive and desperate Lovejoy. Call it, imperfect timing. Bridges enjoys the finer things in life like a fancy wardrobe, preening in front of a mirror, and bowling. He is initially kind of likable. A guy with enough confidence to take charge. His subtle persuasion plays on Lovejoy’s hopelessness and it is a masterful class in salesmanship. Both actors are superb with personalities representing a spectrum of opposites.

Appropriately, Bridges professionally steals his scenes. A young, physically fit male in which social standing is everything. He is a cocky, petty thief who thinks he is invincible, believing he should be admired no matter what he is doing. As only his wheelman, Lovejoy’s first robbery experience does not weigh too heavily on his conscience. On the contrary, his new “employment” brings home enough money to encourage his expectant wife and young son and boost his self-esteem. This charade continues for some time. However, with Bridge’s ego expanding blindingly fast, he decides to up his game by kidnapping the young adult son of a wealthy millionaire. Lovejoy is extremely nervous about it. The kidnapping offers up some excellent camera work of Guy Roe. With Lovejoy’s help, the son is bound by ropes then Bridges pushes him down a stone-covered embankment. The son rolls by the ground-based camera as the stones cascade toward the viewer in a blur. There is a surreal sense of depth looking up at the two, extra tall distorted figures. With no masks hiding their identification, Bridges, in all his demented logic, brutally kills the son by smashing his head repeatedly with a huge stone. Pretty obvious he is not familiar with the term, “ransom.” Lovejoy is instantly sickened. His close-up, with eyes tightly closed, personifies disgust and terror. His life's history passes before him.

Enter Richard Carlson, a local newspaper reporter who fuels his report with hate-filled rhetoric. He puts the “sin” in sensationalism and thrusts the locals into a frenzy. Thankfully he had no Twitter account. But after meeting Lovejoy’s wife and reading his sincere letter of confession to her, he realizes his violent words have vastly overstepped the order of the law. Carlson’s close friend, an Italian psychology scholar, Renzo Cesana, confronts him about his lack of discernment and judgment. It is a Cesana quote that opens this film.

The foursome paints the town, spending Bridges unearned cash. Thinking nothing of the murder. His “steady” is the appropriately attired, Adele Jergens. Let us just say she has been around the block more than a few times. The performance of Katherine Locke is worth a mention. She becomes Lovejoy’s awkward and repressed blind date. He seems to take some comfort in Locke’s sensitive manner. His excellent portrayal of a man helplessly numb and detached from his current life or any future life is spot-on. When a nightclub magician repeatedly uses Lovejoy as his comic foil in full public view, we witness Lovejoy’s embarrassment of being in the spotlight knowing his shame. He is the only person not laughing. Sitting at the table, Locke pays him awkward compliments in the hope her small talk might flourish a relationship with another total stranger. However, his turn to heavy drink leaves his mind susceptible to the truth and he blurts out his recent crime. Now terrified, Locke realizes she has picked the wrong guy again.

The agonizing crescendo, one of the most unnerving twenty minutes on film, creates a wallop of an ending. The disturbing imagery is emblazoned long after the moviegoer has left the theater. The calm resolve and hopelessness on Lovejoy’s face behind bars indicate a man coming to terms with his plight, though frightened beyond words. His honest confession led authorities to Bridges. In total contrast, Bridges' excellent mimicry of a raging, caged animal is chilling. He threatens Lovejoy’s life in the adjoining cell, irrationally thinking he will break out. It reveals the true nature of a violent sociopath. Mob violence rules as both prisoners are seen dragged from the jail and beaten. Lovejoy’s horizontal manhandling exit above the heads of the mob, mosh pit style, foretells future “aggressive mobs” at rock concerts some twenty-five years later.

Note: The film is based on events that occurred in 1933 concerning two men arrested for kidnapping and murder. The suspects confessed and were lynched by a mob of locals. The 1936 film “Fury” was inspired by the same incident. Reissued with a title of, “Try and Get Me!,” it was seemingly to promote the singular electrifying performance of Lloyd Bridges.