THE THREAT (1949)

The film opens dramatically during a night prison break and a constant barrage of machine guns blazing willy-nilly hoping the guards might hit something moving other than the opening credits. It is an attention-grabbing scene often used during this era. All of which is unknown to detective Michael O'Shea, recuperating at home from a broken rib. A phone call from the police inspector, Robert Shayne, informs him about the breakout of a notorious homicidal criminal, who had sworn to kill those who placed him behind bars. O'Shea, being number one. Rather than obey his wife's wishes, he goes into action without a single grimace from that rib injury. But before he can even start his patrol car, he is kidnapped by the cold-blooded killer. Few films start out so compelling. That cannot be said of the ending.

Typical of O'Shea's B-movies, one would never call him truly tough, especially when compared to Charles McGraw, in another evil role. With gasoline prices hovering around thirty cents per gallon, the criminal trio is happy to burn the police car's tank as they make the rounds delivering “death warrants” on a District Attorney and nightclub singer, Virginia Grey, in a familiar role at odds with a man who thinks she squealed on him. Like many in today's films, it is another criminal who does not comprehend why he spent time behind bars in the first place, preferring to blame others for his despicable lifestyle.

Known only by McGraw's alias, an unsuspecting Don McQuire is hired to pick up a load in his moving van at a designated location. He gets a bit suspicious after seeing what is loaded into his van: a police car. This weighs heavily on McGuire's conscience. The van is later abandoned and unloaded, and he tries to beg off and return with his van. But all seven end up at a dilapidated shack in the desert, thus beginning the brief slow down in the film. Suspended disbelief is needed when they enter the dusty, cobweb-infested shack that appears to have not been inhabited for twenty years. McGraw growls out a command for Grey to make some sandwiches. Pretty amazing she could find anything eatable—certainly nothing to spread on or meat to place between two slices of rock-hard, moldy bread. Those “sandwiches” do appear to be simply two slices of bread. Yum. 

Not fully grasping the gravity of the situation, McQuire again demands to be set free, swearing not to rat on the gang as he heads for the door. McGraw, stone-cold, calmly addresses him by name. Knowing he will probably be shot, he angrily takes his seat back inside. McGraw uses O'Shea to send a misleading message to Shayne over the police car's radio. But he uses a “code name” that only his wife will understand. The gang stays put until the arrival of their escape plane, leading to their portion of the loot. The hostages are rightfully concerned that there is only room for three passengers upon takeoff.

This RKO Radio Picture film is a hard-hitting sixty-six-minute crime drama from a screenplay by Dick Irving Hyland and Hugh King from King's own story. Edited by Samuel E. Beetley, it is supported by a music score by Paul Sawtell. Though not the first film-noir that comes to mind associated with Charles McGraw, this obscure film is a good one to finish out the 1940s.

Note: O'Shea's police training seems to get the upper hand on McGraw from the adjoining, locked, hostage room, but the killer starts firing randomly through the door, hitting O'Shea in the leg. Already known for his high threshold for pain, the bullet in the leg nor the broken rib do not phase him in the least when he drops down from the rafters onto McGraw. Welcome to the land of make-believe.