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!”