D.O.A. (1950)

 

This film is hardly unknown to any film-noir or B-movie fan so I have focused on some memorable elements that stand out. Few movies ever opened with this level of intrigue. First up is the captivating opening sequence. The innovative behind-the-back view of Edmond O'Brien—under a driving Dimitri Tiompkin score—as the viewer follows his brisk walking down a sidewalk then down the hallway of a police station—Tiompkin always on pace with O'Brien's gate. If a director is saddled with a routine script, just hire Tiompkin to better the film. To his surprise, the police have been trying to locate him. To their surprise, O'Brien is there to report his murder. If there was ever a film needing a big flashback, this is it.

The story and screenplay, written by Russell Rouse and Clarence Greene, of intertwining characters, need the moviegoer's full attention. Additionally, it seems inconceivable that one person could be singled out for murder by mere circumstances. Probably a tad long at eighty-four minutes, it is directed by Rudolph Maté and produced by Leo C. Popkin. The cinematography by Ernest Laszlo is as powerful as Tiompkin's score. This "mystery murder" has indeed become a classic.

O'Brien's performances are rarely subtle. Here, he possesses all the pent-up rage of an accountant and notary public who is not dead yet. His backstory ramps up while on vacation. The director includes a laughable and silly slide whistle sound effect numerous times whenever O'Brien spots a female, which would seem to indicate his main reason for a vacation. A noisy sales convention party in the adjoining suite gets his attention. The salesman and their locally acquired female companions want to paint the town and the accountant is invited. It is a bad omen for O'Brien whose drink is unknowingly switched at a bar. Later feeling ill, he visits a hospital that sets up a second powerful sequence concerning the physicality of O'Brien. After getting the doctor's diagnosis from swallowing a deadly luminous toxin, he bolts from the office in wide-eyed panic.

I have always been impressed with actors of this era running full bore in Florsheim dress shoes on pavement. Forrest Gump nor Nike have nothing on Frank Bigelow. The thirty-five-year-old fluidly descends down the hospital's long set of steps—feet are two blurs. I assume this was done in one take. He sprints down crowded sidewalks and across mid-town traffic, setting a new notary record until his momentary pause at the point of exhaustion—pedestrians unaware a film is in progress. He then begins a slow walk, gradually picking up steam with Tiompkin's score accelerating with O'Brien's pace. His anger propels him to solve his murder. The film then settles into a rather routine crime mystery.

O'Brien's girlfriend slash secretary, Pamela Britton, provides an early lead about a bill of sale for the toxin, something he notarized. In the pursuit of truth, he discovers another person poisoned, a couple of possible suicide leads, and continually intersects with several flip-flopping characters under police investigation. All of which filters back to the guy who knows too much, O'Brien. The final confrontation between the murdered and the murderer ends the flashback. O'Brien, in one final laugh-out-loud moment, leans over to speak Paula's name to the police officer then quickly pushes himself backward and instantly collapses horizontally, disappearing behind the desk.

Note: There is an indelible performance by Neville “Chester” Brand, the ever so psychopathic henchman hired to kill O'Brien in a more rapid manner. Before ushering him into a waiting sedan, Brand pokes his gun hard into O'Brien's stomach, who doubles over in pain. Delighted by the pain inflicted, the smirking Brand informs him, “You're soft in the belly!”

FEAR NO MORE (1961)

Personal secretary, Mala Powers, boards a train with an assignment from her boss, John Harding, to deliver an important letter. She is instantly accosted in her compartment by a man with a gun, then knocked unconscious. She is awakened by an assumed police officer who accuses her of murder, part of the weakest frame-up ever. It is going to be that kind of movie. There are many secrets in this film. In general, if you are gullible enough, they are revealed by the very end—assuming one can hold out for the full eighty minutes. This is strictly television fare—perhaps suspenseful—like a low-grade attempt to copy a less successful Hitchcock film. Some lavish praise on Powers' acting in this nightmare of improbable characters. I thought she was much better eight years earlier in City That Never Sleeps. I will say, I never doubted her character's six months in a mental hospital due to a nervous breakdown. Powers' repetitious, wide-eyed hysteria would seem to indicate she has issues. I find her over-acting captivating. Keeping tabs on who is or who should be a mental patient may be a task.

She appears to escape the clutches of the officer after the train stops and in total panic, is nearly run over by a 1960 Ford driven by Jacques Bergerac—Hollywood's worst fake French accent from an actual Frenchman. Michael Palin was just as good in that Holy Grail movie. His character is not well defined except we know he is divorced and has a young son who cannot stop crying from bumping his head on the dashboard after the panic stop. We do know this: he wants Powers to level with him. Something she has difficulty doing throughout the first hour.

When Powers returns to Harding's home, his habitual lies are dispensed flawlessly. It is an old premise where he denies the train incident or that the letter ever existed. The remaining players are in kind, also denying her reality. Appearing totally perplexed by it all, it is a highly improbable conspiracy that includes the chauffeur who drove her to the station, the lady she was accused of killing, and the officer who arrested her. It is all a bit much and I found it very silly with an assumed climax, barring one twist. Harding's condescending explanations for what never actually happened are hard to sit through. Bergerac seems to be along as Powers' defense attorney or hostage negotiator. The movie-goer's frustration all leads up to a hilarious ending of bad acting with a detailed—albeit confusing—explanation of what the first fifty-eight minutes were about. The only twist worth mentioning is that Powers and Bergerac are the only ones who do not belong in a sanatorium.

Notes: Based on the 1946 novel of the same name by Leslie Edgley, this pseudo-thriller was directed by Bernard Wiesen. It was produced by Wiesen, Earl Durham, and Julie Gibson for Scaramouche Productions and distributed by Astor Pictures, a poverty row film distributor from the Thirties through the Fifties.

The studio prop car that Bergerac "drives" in traffic is typical of low-budget films. Not long after they first meet, he is so exasperated by Powers' secrets it appears he stops in the middle lane (at night) and asks her to get out. Yet the projected screen traffic is still moving behind him. Indeed, her reality is that she will more than likely be struck by a vehicle if she exits. Every driver behind him is courteous without a single horn honk.

Lippert Pictures Series

Robert L. Lippert controlled a successful low-budget American film production and distribution company from 1948 to 1956, producing short, fast-paced westerns and crime films with a penchant for obligatory humor, and the occasional jarring edits. This is my final review of eight Lippert films.

MOTOR PATROL (1950)

This hour-long film opens in obviously low-budget fashion yet as an honorable tribute to the motorcycle patrol officers of Los Angeles. I felt like standing to salute during the opening score by Ozzie Caswell—reminiscent of a college marching band or a football newsreel—as motorcycles leave the station in parade fashion. This main theme returns to close out the film. Later, during overlapping scenes of night patrols, he uses a couple of bars of situational comedy music. Certainly worthy of issuing a ticket. There is some location shooting but expect a lot of back-screen projected scenery during the studio motorcycle “chase” segments. The speedy, climactic cycle chase is especially funny as the hero's fedora is surely stapled to his forehead. Motor Patrol is produced by Robert L. Lippert and Barney A. Sarecky for Lippert Pictures and directed again by Sam Newfield. Fast-pacing was a Lippert signature yet this movie definitely played better in mid-twentieth century. Other Lippert signatures are the occasional abrupt editing.

As each motorcycle peels off from the "parade" to its intended patrol area, the film quickly shifts to the Los Angeles Police Academy's firing range. First up are the female traffic cops aiming at parking meter silhouettes. You can believe that if you want. The male officers only get a tiny dot on cardboard. The location provides the perfect opportunity for Newfield to introduce the main cast, Officers William Henry and Don Castle, plus Detective Reed Hadley. Richard Travis innocuously appears later as another detective. Yes, Lippert regular, Sid Melton, does his shtick as a bar owner where everyone knows his name: Omar. The leads work well enough in this dialogue-heavy screenplay by Maurice Tombragel and Orville Hampton, but expect some amateurs in the supporting cast.

Once Officer Henry's character is established, one gets the distinct feeling his days on the force are numbered. The apparent hit-and-run accident he was investigating was simply a cover for an automobile theft racket. Henry pays the price for getting too well-informed. Castle, engaged to Henry's sister, is asked to infiltrate the gang of pre-owned vehicles. The gang employs a tow truck driver—a familiar face from his Warner Bros. days—Frank Jenks, who is suspicious of the new guy. Things really heat up during the final aforementioned motorcycle pursuit. 

HOT CARS (1956)

This sixty-minute American crime film stars John Bromfield in the best of his four Bel-Air Production films (see below) in a modern-day setting, again playing a man out to prove his innocence or regain his self-esteem. The film is fast-paced with a high degree of believability. The acting is not forced with everyone doing a fine job without [hardly] a single unintended laugh-out-loud moment. Based on “Hot Cars” by H. Haile Chace, it is directed by Don McDougall, and written by Don Martin and Richard Landau. It was produced by Howard W. Koch. Uncharacteristically, I spend more time discussing this storyline because of the twists and characters in the film. 

The opening jazz band score by Les Baxter sets the tone for the film while the viewer watches a 1955 Mercedes-Benz 190SL convertible being test driven. Under superimposed screen credits, we watch Bromfield pull the sportscar to the roadside so the potential buyer, and stereotypical bombshell, Joi Lansing, can take the wheel. She provides the only curves—nearly all hairpins—in the film. Building customer relations is foremost in his mind so they stop at Santa Monica's “Jack's at the Beach” bar for a drink and chat, hoping to close the deal. Before the drive back to the dealership, he irresponsibly—an unintentionally funny moment—asks her, “What good is one drink without one for the road?” Though the salesman seems to now have a heavy foot, they safely return to the dealer lot. But she drives away in her own 1956 Chrysler New Yorker convertible.

Bromfield's perpetually irate boss, Robert Osterloh, an auto-shyster of the first order, is savvy enough to know his clientele. He blasts him for wasting time with a high-class dame who has no interest in used cars. Bromfield is straddling the unemployment fence at this point. Enter Ralph Clanton, who appears to be interested in an old MG roadster for only $700. But “Honest John” Bromfield tells him it was used on the racing circuit, has been rolled three times and will be nothing but trouble, in the hopes of getting him into a more expensive car. Clanton appreciates his honesty but drives away. Wanting to unload the dumpster roadster—and on his last nerve—Osterloh fires Bromfield. Clanton re-enters the picture by calling straight-arrow Bromfield about working for his own dealerships. The whole MG thing was just a test as was Lansing's coy attitude to open the film. As soon as Bromfield discovers the hot car racket, he walks out.

But the salesman and his devoted wife suddenly have an urgent financial dilemma thrust upon them when their ill son needs surgery. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Clanton accepts Bromfield's decision to return just as the always authentic Dabbs Greer enters the film. The detective asks the salesman to keep an eye out for any suspicious cars. Later that night, a shipment of hot cars is unloaded onto the lot and in near panic, the semi-driver—a real hep cat—tells Bromfield, “Cut the [dealership] lights, man!” The next day, Greer returns to look at a Chrysler, one of the hot cars yet to be moved behind the dealership. Bromfield's initial fear is unfounded because the detective simply wants to buy the car as an anniversary gift for his wife—she always liked Chryslers. Greer and his wife return, ready to sign on the dotted line. Bromfield is well aware the hot car will not remain a secret very long. In hopes of dissuading Greer, he tries a couple of stalling tactics then suddenly requires a larger down payment. Clanton's operative finally shows up with a pre-arranged sales receipt for the car. Greer is very suspicious and unhappy with the last-minute flip-flop with pointed comments leveled at Bromfield. The detective is too intimidating for the hot car henchman, who shortens Greer's script.

Two police officers want to question Bromfield about the murder but he cannot be found at home. When he does return, his wife pleads with him to tell the truth. The three men pay Lansing a visit and she denies ever meeting Bromfield yet he can prove they met. While in another room, he describes her bedroom furnishings—ahem—which have suddenly been “renovated.” Now a legit suspect, the salesman has an easy escape with the intent of tracking down the assassin. It leads to an exciting and authentic roller coaster climax at Ocean Park Pier in Santa Monica. The two men receive and give punches while being filmed from a coaster car in front of them. Quite a ride for the viewer. Jockeying for position, the henchman is thrown during a high-speed loop. Also thrown for a loop are Clanton and Lansing, who have been on law enforcement's radar for some time.

Notes: Bel-Air Productions was a joint venture between the director, Koch, and the independent producer Aubrey Schenck. These low-budget productions were all distributed through United Artists. Bel-Air usually offered realism on the cinematography front with its location filming. This movie is an eyeful for the automotive historian as it was filmed at Big John's and Johnny O'Toole's used car dealerships in Culver City, California. The film thanks both for their cooperation with an ending acknowledgment.

Bromfield starred in three other Bel-Air Productions of the period, more amusing, less tidy, and generally inferior to this film. Check out The Big Bluff, Crime Against Joe, and Three Bad Sisters.