I LOVE TROUBLE (1948)

I did not love the trouble of trying to follow the complicated, overlapping female characters in this B-movie film noir. One lady is responsible for all the confusion by assuming three different names. Not helping are three actresses who look similar. One female ends up dead, but it is not either of the other two. But it looks like one of them. I have made the screenplay less confusing by not including everyone who enters a scene and concentrating only on the females. With only a single viewing, your brain may still hurt. There are brief roles for the well-known John Ireland, Raymond Burr, and Eduardo Ciannelli. Leaving them out in this assessment simply provides more clarity.

Produced and directed by S. Sylvan Simon with a comedic and maybe too sophisticated screenplay by Roy Huggins, based on his novel, The Double Take. This ninety-five-minute Columbia Pictures release starts off light, breezy, and intriguing, but it is a long way to the end. I had to do a double-take with his twisty maze of characters. Huggins' typical mix of humor, action, and suspense was appreciated, however. I was so focused on the lead actor and the intertwined characters that I completely blocked out the innocuous score by George Duning.

With his novel, Huggins creates the character of Stuart Bailey, made famous later on the hit television show, 77 Sunset Strip. Ephrem Zimbalist Jr. played the character on the small screen, while Franchot Tone launched the private detective here. If this film is underappreciated, it is not Tone's fault. He excels in the Huggins tradition with a laconic behavior that would rather avoid a fistfight, yet cannot entirely escape it when abducted and knocked around during questioning. He is likable with an easy charm and ready smile. His glib remarks and tongue-in-cheek teasing give Dick Powell's Richard Diamond a run for the money. In a more serious film, Tone played an equally cool assistant D.A. in Jigsaw a year later. A huge benefit here is his savvy girl Friday, Glenda Farrell, who delivers a number of rapid-fire verbal zingers and astute observations. In the early going, there is a brief, effective car chase that indicates the Bailey character knows the capability of his Ford sedan, yanking on the rear parking brake to do a ninety-degree slide. This evasive maneuver allows him to switch places with the convertible following him.

Tom Powers hires Tone to locate his wife of seven years, played by Lynn Merrick. The detective's two brief encounters in the early part of the film are the last time he sees her alive. Merrick adopted the identity of another dancer at a nightclub, actress Janis Carter, and stole forty grand from a nightclub run by husband number one. Her complex web of deception is the crux of the film.

Enter Janet Blair (above), who seeks the detective's help in finding another missing person, her sister. As he approaches his office, her eyes follow him. He notices. He turns to face her from a distance, scrunches up one cheek, and sends her a hilariously obvious wink. I imagine she blushed at his “advancement.” This guy has a sense of humor. After she courageously enters his office, he quickly spots evidence that she is not telling the whole truth. After they exchange barbs, then clear the air, she invites him to dinner at her apartment. He places a photographic print of Merrick on an end table. He thinks it might be her sister. She does not recognize the person. The two grow romantically involved while his investigation turns up two murders, culminating in the revelation that the self-centered Powers planned the elaborate scheme to frame the detective. Merrick's multiple identities shock Powers and surprise everyone else. Carter drops her fake foreign accent once Tone figures out she really is the lost sister. Whew!

Note: One scene in the film is the funniest, and it concerns a cafe waitress, played brilliantly by the consistently uncredited 1940s actress Roseanne Murray, in her last film. Her Bronx accent is nearly incoherent, and she strangely (expertly) expels a puff of air before certain words. Murray's delivery is an art form. Tone's potential questions are delayed due to her personal affronts about her name. She is using the uniform of a former waitress, Millie. Tone addresses her by that name, and he is abruptly corrected. Her friends call her Fannie, but she hates it when people call her that. Setting him straight, her friends call her “Jee-ackie.” Then he addresses her by that name, and she curtly makes herself clear that he is not a friend. To him, she is Miss Phipps. She suggests he should learn how to “gita lawng” with people.

THE LINEUP (1958)

The Lineup was an American police drama airing on CBS television from 1954 to 1960. The top 20 Nielsen ratings hit was first on CBS radio (1950-1953). Warner Anderson plays Detective Lieutenant Ben Guthrie, with Tom Tully as Inspector Matt Grebb. The show was produced with the cooperation of the San Francisco Police Department. The popularity hinged on the realism of location shooting, hard-hitting content, and the dogged determination of Guthrie. Near its peak, it was decided to adapt the winning formula into a feature film. If one recalls the series, this B-movie will seem quite familiar, like a two-part episode edited into a longer one. It is perhaps the main thing keeping it from being a classic. Doing the film before the series may have helped garner more than “been there, done that” admonishment. The wonder of speculation.

Directed by Don Siegel with a screenplay by Stirling Silliphant, the eighty-seven-minute film was distributed by Columbia Pictures in 1958. The cinematography by Hal Mohr excels. This is a well-executed film for Siegel, who returns to the “City by the Bay” famously in 1971. Away from the small screen, the film relies on the versatile Eli Wallach as a theater draw and the assumed star. For those who have a history with San Francisco, there are famous historical locations that may bring back a memory. On more general terms, the vehicles in the film will satisfy the historical transportation buff.

Anderson is teamed this time with Emile Meyer (at the wheel, above). Tom Tully does not reprise his role. I suspect he was filming Ten North Frederick, released a month before this film in 1958. The serious countenance of Anderson and his one-dimensional speech indicate he is unfamiliar with smiling. Somewhat expected, considering a few of his other serious roles. He is disgusted by criminals. The extended procedural filming was better received on the intimacy of television, including the obligatory lineup from the series.

The film starts with a bang as a speeding taxi screeches curbside near a shipping dock, and a guy throws a suitcase through its open window. The cab driver speeds away before slamming into a semi truck. No expensive plastic parts to be replaced. Just bang out the bends in the steel. He reverses and speeds away. But a policeman's bullet permanently stops the driver, and the car crashes into a barrier. Quickly arriving on the scene are Anderson and Meyer in a black 1957 Dodge with white wall tires. Not a city beat's ride. The film takes a turn after discovering the cab driver was a heroin addict, which might also explain his poor driving skills. His connection leads to an international heroin-smuggling racket. Entering the film on a United Airlines DC-4 are Wallach and his mentor, Robert Keith, whose assignment is to collect the contraband from several tourists arriving from Asia. Meeting them at a rental house, Richard Jaeckel (pronounced “Yekal”) offers his services as an expert driver with a “souped up” 1957 Plymouth. Keith is not amused by the cocky young pup. He is not aware he even needed a car.

The drug duo's contact, radio's most famous “Johnny Dollar,” is Robert Bailey. Not to be confused with Raymond Bailey, also in this film. But I digress. He informs Wallach they must make the drop for "The Man," played chillingly by Vaughn Taylor (above, bottom), at an exact time. Two tourists—a mother and her young daughter—had unknowingly disposed of the heroin by white-coating a Japanese doll's face. The ever-calm Keith is extremely agitated. Because of two other botched retrievals, the duo is already coming up short for the heroin delivery. The mother and daughter are in for the ride of their lives as kidnapped passengers. The inexperienced, short-fused Wallach decides it best to meet face-to-face with Taylor to explain the shortage. Taylor wonders why he is talking, but remains silent through his babbling. His mistake was that no one ever lays eyes on “The Man.” Seething, he tells him, “You're dead.” Taylor then slaps Wallach across the face with the lighter-than-expected satchel of heroin. Enraged, Wallach pushes Taylor in his wheelchair off a second-story balcony.

The stunt driving goes all-out (and drawn out) during the exciting climax. The late Fifties Mopars are oozing around corners at high speeds, tires folding under the strain. Jaeckel has a knack for evading the pursuing police until the script tells him to turn onto the incomplete Embarcadero Freeway (above). Unfinished freeways are often used in car chases to allow creative freedom and no traffic to corden off. This crew seemed to have every police car going in the same direction despite ramps for driving in the opposite direction. Jaeckel comes to a screeching halt, unable to proceed. Wallach's maniacal killing spree continues after exiting the sedan. The police are trained to shoot murderers, and he becomes a stuffed, stunt Wallach bouncing off freeway overpasses below.

Note: Jaeckel's Plymouth comes to a stop by a curving vanishing point between steel traffic barriers. It is quite bizarre to allow traffic to access this section of engineering ineptitude. At any rate, from a different camera perspective (above), the “single file” ramp-to-nowhere appears only for motorcycles. 

PORTLAND EXPOSÉ (1957)

Allied Artists released this low-budget crime film. It was directed by Harold Schuster from a screenplay by Jack DeWitt. The jazz combo blast is Paul Dunlap's opening. The film was inspired by crime boss Jim Elkins and the McClellan Committee's investigation into Portland's underground criminal ventures for a decade after 1940. The "travelogue" opening narration encapsulates the city's beauty and surrounding scenery. A great place to call home. But the town has unseen problems: mobsters running amok. The film is pretty routine outside some hard-hitting and sleazy operatives taking over businesses, specifically the tavern, soon to be opened by Edward Binns and his wife, Virginia Gregg. A teenage daughter and younger son complete the family. A salesman pressures Binns into installing a pinball vending machine, arguing that it will make more money than a jukebox. Expect soap opera moments with Binns and Gregg as they wonder what they are getting into, using dull dialogue fit for a television episode.

A syndicate boss, Russ Conway, wants to infiltrate the labor unions. It will be no surprise to see the ever-present and versatile Lawrence Dobkin (sans toupee below) as Conway's right-hand man. Binns' tavern is targeted as it is near some blue-collar industrial plants. Conway enlists thugs, the unknown Joe Marr and up and up-and-coming star Frank Gorshin to convince Binns to install their machines. The multiple "sinball" machines end up making the tavern not exactly Cracker Barrel-friendly. Marr is just awful (maybe an actual thug) while Gorshin makes an impression here, near the beginning of his career, often cast in gangster or hoodlum parts. Speaking of impressions, for those old enough to remember his stellar caricature impersonations of famous actors, it is pretty funny watching Gorshin "method-act" his way through.

Binns catches the pedophilic Gorshin assaulting his daughter, and he is left horizontal and bloodied. Co-captain of the pinball team, actor Rusty Lane, arrives late that night in Conway's late model Thunderbird to meet Marr at a railroad warehouse. It is always a warehouse. Gorshin, still half unconscious in the back of Marr's sedan, is a skinny squealer by nature. Lane is not taking that chance. Gorshin's demise is—by all accounts—gruesome. And it is not even the halfway point of the film.

With assistance from the police, Binns is able to go undercover wearing a wiretap that doubles as a "hearing aid." The recorder is the size of a DVR under his suit. Conway and a skeptical Dobkin accept Binns into his racketeering business, with the former spilling the beans about his bigger operations. The pinball wizard handles everything like an experienced private detective—taking a beating and keeps on ticking. At one point, Jeanne Carmen (above) thrust herself on him. Her acting is so obvious, running neck-and-neck with Mr. Marr in the acting accolades. Note the sarcastic dialogue between Dobkin and Carmen, however. The prostitute is suspicious of Binns' hearing loss and informs her boss.

Knowing Binns has suddenly regained his hearing, he is transported to the obligatory warehouse where he is (naturally) beaten to a pulp. Binns is smirking most of the time until they threaten to blind his daughter with acid. He reveals where he has hidden the tapes. The thugs untie Binns from the "torture chair," but he springs to action, dispensing with some heavies, after hiding his daughter behind some crates. He strangely disappears from the film, leaving his daughter and the audience to wonder if he is still alive. A bit of strange directing. An arriving taxi—with no paying fares—leads two cars full of a rival union. They all casually step from the car as if it were movie night and appear rather reluctant to enter the warehouse with only their fists. A very brief, highly staged, and humorous rumble ensues. An upbeat closing narration closes the film to issue an "all clear" message. The citizens can breathe easy. 

Note: Many who lived near or in Portland, Oregon in the 1940s and 1950s knew or their children have found out the history of the veritable cesspool it was. Still a high-crime area today in the city's center, it has nothing to do with pinball machines. 

SLEEPERS WEST (1941)

Distributed by Twentieth Century Fox, this seventy-four-minute mystery sets a brisk pace with an energetic, Irish-tinted opening theme by Cyril Mockridge. It is adapted from the novel, Sleepers East (1933), and the 1934 film, about a ten-hour train trip from the Midwest to New York, not to be confused with Sleepers, Awake, a Lutheran hymn by Philipp Nicolai, made famous by Johann Sebastian Bach in 1731. But I digress. The screenplay is full of dialogue: suspenseful, sometimes tedious, and amusing. Although the climax speeds things up, there is only an attempt at action for this entry.

Lloyd Nolan plays Michael Shayne, the fictional private detective created in the late 1930s by Brett Halliday. He rolls along as a cool, confident detective with a witty delivery in his occasional New England accent. Nolan is certainly likeable in the role. A character who would prefer to calm things down before things get violent. This is the second of seven Shayne mysteries for Nolan and perhaps the most enjoyable.

Before boarding The Comanche from Denver to San Francisco, Nolan bumps into his ex-fiancė, Denver newspaper reporter Lynn Bari. Their repartee and zingers are fun. Discovering that she will be on the same train, he gets excited, "It'll be like old times, travelling around together!" "Oh no," says Bari, "Travelling with you, I always wound up alone." The fun ends when both recall who left who at the altar. His assignment is to protect a surprise trial witness, Mary Beth Hughes, who sneaks aboard as a medical patient and serves as his cue to reestablish contact.

Hughes' testimony will free an innocent man accused of murder and throttle the chances of an unethical politician's advancement. The screenplay initiates an inconsequential subplot between her and Jean Louis Heydt. Hughes eventually feels comfortable enough to share her slow, detailed backstory of why she is on the train. After dozing, I discover he is abandoning his family to "find himself" by himself in South America. He proposes they get away together so she will not need to testify. 

Bari's unethical fiancė, a lawyer and associate of the crooked politician, suggests she might have a big scoop if she locates the witness by using Nolan. Under his cabin door, Bari slips a note suggesting Hughes needs to see him immediately. Noting the distinct handwriting, he knows who wrote it. He leads Bari on. She finds him in the train's drawing room, where he is assumed to be hiding Hughes. He says she may be looking for a woman he saw with "fuller brush eyelashes." Their clichéd 

Banter does provide Nolan with some zingers, but Bari tries to make the scene funnier than written. 

Known for his comedic chops, Edward Brophy (above with cup) adds periodic comic relief as a railroad detective, dashing at the last moment to get on board. Self-conscious, he does his classic puzzled double-takes with a wrinkled brow when he feels his appearance or character is subtly being insulted. He is having difficulty discovering who he is assigned to follow. To add embarrassment, he receives a telegram near the end of the film stating that the agency accidentally booked him on the wrong train. 

In a shocking, unexpected scene, the passenger train hits a scale model fuel truck, igniting its fuel inside the cab, killing the engineer, and disabling the locomotive. Nolan needs a vehicle or someone to take him to Ogden. Character actor George Chandler is your man. He brags about his Ford Model-T, open-air automobile, in great mechanical detail. But Nolan just needs to get going. Bari overhears their conversation. Nolan momentarily steps away, and she, Hughes, and Heydt are now Chandler's passengers, leaving Nolan to fend for himself. By himself. The home of a kindly Eastern European lady provides the trio with shelter because Chandler's beloved car has stalled. He cannot understand how this could happen. Nolan arrives in time to tell the whole truth about Hughes, and Bari's underhanded kindness is just for headlines. Hughes convinces Heydt to return to his family, and they "forever-do-part."

The film ends on a happy note at a diner where Hughes is now a waitress. Bari broke her engagement with her duplicitous, self-serving fiancė somewhere through Nevada. Nolan wants to rekindle his romance with Bari and vows to put a ring on her finger again. Putting him at bay, she orders a sandwich with lots of onions, and he protests multiple times. Relenting, she changes the order. Garlic instead. The sandwich killed their future. She never reprised her role in the series. Hughes, on the other hand, returned, each time as a different character.

Note: Ben Carter provides laughs as a porter welcoming Heydt aboard the train. Carter mathematically explains how long it will take to arrive at the next town, with eyes looking upward in thought and a confusing mixture of addition and subtraction. Heydt had transferred his cash to his suitcase. Carter later enters his cabin to straighten things, but he accidentally drops the suitcase to reveal the contents. He is dazzled by the nine or ten thousand dollars, then quickly says, "Get behind me, Satan, and tie my hands!" He embellishes the amount to another porter, Mantan Moreland, who then raises the amount. In the end, the last porter raises the amount to five hundred grand!

DANGER ON WHEELS (1940)

Though low on production qualities, this super-quick, sixty-one-minute (thankfully) Universal Pictures release begins on the fictional Atlas Motors Proving Grounds. The stock footage is said to be actual Studebaker's testing grounds, causing somewhat of a stir, as it was being used without their permission. Over the opening credits, the music department decided on “can-can, circus music” from a stock library. A full list of credits is available online. The film has a full tank of studio prop cars being “driven” by actors. Real-life stunt footage is used as the cars are put through their paces on some very rough off-road courses to test the car's integrity and the driver's ability to stay in the car without a seat belt. One in-car camera is used during a head-on collision test with exciting 1940 results.

Richard Arlen had chalked up many miles in the air in the first film to win the Academy Award for Best Picture, Wings (1927). He returned to terra firma after running out of gas by the Forties. Arlen plays a stunt driver known as “Lucky” Taylor, well known for his county fair stunt shows with a hidden talent for oval track racing. He and his co-star, Andy Devine, turned out more than a dozen action-packed short films from 1939 to 1941. Devine provides the comic relief, something he typically succeeded in doing with his high pockets, and a high-register cracking voice that suggests he is still going through puberty. Here, his quiet, high-pitched “Hee-Hee-Hee” after a teasing is a frequent gimmick.

After Arlen unintentionally offends the daughter of a veteran race car magnate, Peggy Moran waves him off with a caution flag. It is no surprise they will share the checkered version by the film's ending. Her ailing father, in collaboration with Devine, has developed a new motor that will far outpace other competitors.

The oval track vintage racing cars are open-cockpit cars with a rollover potentially deadly to the driver. One had to have nerves of steel and fearlessness to race during this dangerous era. An exposed spring in Arlen's driver's seat is fellow race driver, played arrogantly by Vinton Hayworth, who thinks Arlen cannot do much more than crash old vehicles. If you cannot win, eliminate the opposition. The climactic final race has Arlen blocked in by Hayworth's team, knowing full well his engine is faster than theirs. Arlen takes an opportunity to break free, then ignores the race track official's command to enter the pits. They have discovered his engine is illegal—and the fastest car on the track.

Notes: Vinton Hayworth became a frequent player on television, with many smarmy roles. He may best be remembered as General Winfield Schaeffer on the series, I Dream of Jeannie.

The “Lucky” Taylor character is loosely based on the real-life stunt driver, showman and entrepreneur from Indiana, Earl "Lucky" Teter (1901-1942). He pioneered and popularized the touring stunt driving show, performing across the country. His luck ran out during an Indiana State Fair performance in his attempt to jump 150 feet over a transport truck in his 1938 Plymouth. He came up several feet short. After his death, his widow sold the show to Joie Chitwood, a seven-time Indianapolis 500 driver who became famous with his “Thrill Show” until his retirement in 1950. His two sons carried on the tradition for over thirty more years.

CRASH LANDING (1958)

Here is another disaster film about the fear of ever flying again. The double-billed film is based on the 1956 crash landing at sea of a Pan American Airlines Boeing Stratocruiser. The production team failed to garner any technical insights from that event, so the audience might better understand why an emergency landing on water was the best and only option. After an airliner loses numbers one and four engines during a flight from Lisbon—one prop cannot be feathered, causing drag to make New York risky—the infamous, overbearing flight commander flashes back before take off for the answer. He questions how this could ever happen to his plane and who or what is to blame. He learns little. The pilot is too busy preparing to crash land.

This film is consumed about preparations for a belly landing on water, and the flight is also my focus, not on the ticket-holders. The miscellaneous mix of passengers is B-movie and unknown television actors, representing a small cross-section of humanity with their own problems, guilts, and fears. Standard fare for nearly every flight disaster film before and since. One passenger, however, literally stands out at 6' 7”. The Orthodox priest with the foot-long beard is played by Frederick Ledebur. He was indelibly etched in viewer's minds as the spooky, heavily tattooed chief harpooner, Queequeg, in Moby Dick (1956).

Gary Merrill is equally in command of the film. Everyone is pale by comparison. Merrill was somewhat of a master at portraying stiff upper lip, hard-lined characters. A by-the-book guy where compromise is not an option. These are good qualities for a seasoned aircraft commander, but not the best for a flexible home environment. Notable co-stars are brief appearances by Nancy (Reagan) Davis, in her last film, as the wife, and an uncredited Kim Charney (Suddenly 1955), as the son who walks on eggshells around “Mr. Father.” Roger Smith gained fame in the cast of television's 77 Sunset Strip. He plays the co-pilot who locks eyes and lips with a stewardess.

Though I am not qualified to address the myriad of expected technical errors in this film about actual flying, I do know that when an engine fails in flight, it does not shake the plane so violently it would remove a crewmember's dentures. These scenes are hilarious. In addition, passengers moving to one side of the plane will not cause the plane to "tip over" as if in a rowboat. Nor would there be anything left of the airframe at the suggested high airspeed at the point of impact. The model bouncing on the water is obviously a different aircraft, the US Navy's proposed Lockheed Constitution. These flaws are characteristic of a cheap, quick production where accuracy takes a back seat to terror (such as it is). Finally, though the tail on the Douglas airliner is painted to represent a DC-7, the plane is actually a DC-6 series.

Merrill's instant transformation during the rapid closing indicates his life was forever altered by the harrowing experience. With over 15,000 flight hours, his first ditching at sea. A ship returns him to his family in Lisbon as a “Softer Father.” He wants his son to drop the “Sir” and just call him “Your Majesty.” Wait. That is no transformation. Just call him dad.

Note: The seventy-six-minute film was distributed by Columbia Pictures Corporation and directed by Fred F. Sears, well known for his rapid style, churning out countless tiny budgeted films. His opening narration is effective, however, in setting the film's premise. Filming was "in the can" in ten days. Crash Landing was written by Fred Freiberger and produced by Sam Katzman, who had a knack for turning a profit out of nothing. This film was to be released one year earlier, but was delayed because of Sears' sudden death.

GIDEON OF SCOTLAND YARD (1958)

This fast-paced procedural crime film is based on the book, Gideon's Day, by John Creasey, the title used for the British release. When retitled for the US, the film was shown in black and white, not in Eastman Color. It details one day in the life of Detective Chief Inspector George Gideon of the Metropolitan Police, played convincingly by Jack Hawkins. He is in command of every situation, with a blend of explosive temper and measured calmness. Though this is the first film to feature the George Gideon character, Hawkins played a similar role in the less fun British film, The Long Arm (US: The Third Key) two years earlier.

His day begins when he receives a traffic ticket from a dedicated young police officer without regard to the driver's standing. Gideon could only produce his Scotland Yard I.D. Laws are laws, after all. This recurring character provides the best bits of levity for viewers and raises the ire of the Inspector. Gideon is indignant but a series of challenges ahead—one phone call at a time—puts the incident behind him. Temporarily. Adding to his hectic morning, his wife reminds him of his daughter's evening violin recital. He is also reminded to bring home a salmon for dinner. Work becomes his nemesis throughout the film, making it difficult for a timely return home. And so it goes.

One of Scotland Yard's officers is discovered to be taking bribes in the sale of dope, aka marijuana. With plenty of evidence as ammunition, Gideon lays into the officer harshly and is immediately suspended. The officer becomes a fatal victim of a hit-and-run accident. Gideon visits his wife, a rattled and shaking alcoholic chain smoker, not willing to accept his death and the realization of his suspected mistress. Her performance made me uncomfortable, perhaps due to the stark contrast with the other players. Her brief appearance nevertheless stands out. Scotland Yard has evidence the car is the same used in a daring payroll robbery, based on the tire tread pattern. There is no respite for Gideon.

An escaped mental patient commits a murder. Later spotted and arrested. Gideon wants to personally congratulate the officer. It is the constable who wrote a summons earlier that morning! Awkward. The young officer sheepishly accepts his thanks. It is barely midday. Scotland Yard believes they have the mastermind behind the payroll robbery, a struggling painter, played by Ronald Howard. Gideon visits his home but only finds his wife/accomplice, the only American in the cast, Dianne Foster, who, not very convincingly, tries to cover for her deceptive life. A second visit is more revealing as Howard descends the stairs with a gun. He frantically explains his motive for the needed “painting money,” then tells Foster to take the gun. Gideon explains that “Coward Howard” has left her behind. Foster provides another over-the-top performance as she hysterically falls apart emotionally and relinquishes the gun to the inspector.

After seemingly putting a wrap on the day, the phone rings. A safety deposit firm has been robbed by a gang of socialites, but they have no escape. After that is wrapped up, Gideon nearly forgets the wrapped fish, still in the newspaper inside his file cabinet. Hardly something one could forget. His wife politely tells him he bought a halibut, not a salmon, and his daughter met a polite young man at her recital—something Gideon regretfully missed. It turns out to be the same wet-behind-the-ears constable! Before the four can sit down to dinner, the phone rings once again. “Howard the Coward” is spotted at the airport, and the young constable has to drive Gideon there in his thirty-year-old jalopy. He is stopped en route by a policeman for running a red light. The constable attempts to explain the situation and who sits in the passenger seat. But laws are laws. In an ironic conclusion, the young driver is unable to produce his driving license! On their way to the airport, Mrs. Gideon had advised her daughter to never marry a policeman.

Note: In addition to Hawkin's genuine acting skills, John Ford's directing helps make this ninety-one-minute film watchable from a screenplay by T. E. B. Clarke. The film was distributed by Columbia Pictures and was filmed on location in and around London, with interiors used at the MGM-British Studios, Borehamwood in Hertfordshire, England.

HOODLUM EMPIRE (1952)

This ninety-eight-minute “noirette” is directed by Joseph Kane and produced by Herbert J. Yates, founder of Republic Pictures, known for his many Westerns. There is an opening score by Nathan Scott—father of legendary saxophonist and composer Tom Scott—that sets a dramatic tone for the film. The word “hoodlum” is in the title, but this is not an action film. It is another entry inspired by the Kefauver Committee, a special committee of the United States Senate (1950-51) that investigated organized crime with Senate hearings, displayed as usual in a semi-documentary style. Overall, there is nothing new here and much of it clichéd. A strong performance by Luther Adler elevates the film.

Flashbacks can be appropriate or annoying, seen as a crutch to help a weak script's flow. But the frequent flashbacks here are imperative with the obvious benefit of shortening a boring Senate hearing. Though the first one may stretch your patience, each establishes facts about the past from first-hand knowledge. Facts that run contrary to two gangsters' testimonies. Giving a near-over-the-top performance during the hearings is one Senator, played by the bulldog-faced Gene Lockhart, whose angry response to the evasive answers received from the mob boss even made my face red.

The other positives are respectable performances by the central cast of John Russell, Brian Donlevy, Claire Trevor, and Forrest Tucker, with Vera Ralston, the real-life Mrs. Yates, holding her own away from the ice rink. After his uncredited roles in the 1940s, Russell somewhat split his early screen time between bad and good guy roles. His dangerously handsome looks—eyes as slits and the occasional angry furrowed V-brow—worked well for shady characters. He handles this role well, with a diverse range of restrained emotions. Trevor is once again a wisecracking third wheel in a losing romantic triangle between her former gangster boyfriend, Russell, and Ralston, a French woman he fell for overseas. Russell had his life's priorities immeasurably altered by his combat experiences. He is now engaged to be married and wants nothing more to do with the gambling racket.

Adler is accustomed to playing underworld figures and flawlessly sells the character of an iron-fisted mob boss who thinks he is invincible. He is also the uncle who raised Russell, putting the "hood" in childhood—the best uncle you could imagine as long as he gets his way. His mood swings can be sudden and violent. Just as ruthless is the tall Tucker, his gunman with zero sanctity for life. Unknown to Adler, Trevor secretly records his meetings from another office. That does not go over so well during the violent climax. In an underhanded move to keep Russell on the payroll, Adler forges Russell's name to every racketeering operation, clouding efforts to clear himself. Also not letting go is Donley, Russell's former commanding officer, now the lead Senator of the hearings. Wounded and under anesthesia, Russell deliriously blurts out some associated crime tidbits which is overheard by Donlevy in the Army's medical tent in the first flashback. His assumptions plague Russell throughout the film.

Time flies when not being flashbacked: Russell and his wife now have two children and his gas station business is thriving. But the mob attempts to force two one-arm-bandit machines inside the station's waiting room. Russell's old Army buddy and station partner, Phillip Pine, refuses the “offer” then takes a beating before Russell and two other vets return. One fist at a time, they dispense with the mob goons and throw the machines to the pavement. Adler is not pleased and later visits Russell at his home. The reunion niceties are short-lived. He quietly, almost sweetly, threatens Russell's entire family while standing over their newborn's crib. Ralston's flashback confirms his visit, which he denied under oath. The truth wins out and Donlevy's public apology for his mistreatment and skepticism about Russell rapidly ends the film with an elevated camera view of the Senate room.

TEEN AGE THUNDER (1957)

This seventy-eight-minute film—with night scenes lit by a 40-watt bulb—is another HOWCO International film specializing in low-budget double feature movies. Lost, Lonely and Vicious was another of their films that I have skewered. That film is so bad, I thought it should have been released as HOWCOME International. Directed, written and produced by guys who knew enough to get things rolling, this particular film is a couple of rungs above on the professional ladder. It is added to a long line of misunderstood hot rod teen films in the attempt to cash in on the original, Rebel Without A Cause, from two years prior. According to the movie's opening narration, hot rod racing is the nation's fastest-growing sport and it is pronounced, "drag-RACING" not today's "DRAG-racing."

The casting budget for this film did not make a dent in production costs. The twenty-seven-year-old Western supporting actor Chuck Courtney plays an eighteen-year-old. His “method acting” captures a lonely, unhappy high school senior. Down the professional scale is the monotonous, singsong delivery of Melinda Byron, Courtney's girl and waitress at the local diner. Doing much better with leading man stature is Robert Fuller, who plays a braggart with an ego larger than his flat-head V-8. He and Courtney have a thing: they hate each other. In real life, Fuller is three years younger than Courtney, too young for a driver's license! Yet the assumption is that he is older, perhaps dropping out of school two years sooner. He does have a letter jacket, but no achievement letters sewn on. Playing a pivotal part is Paul Bryar. With a long career as a supporting player, he is the most genuine actor in this film. As he was often cast, he played a policeman in the aforementioned Dean classic.

Courtney's widowed father is a hard-lined disciplinarian showing little affection for his non-commital son. The boy slouches at the dinner table and wears a T-shirt during supper. It could not possibly get much worse. Well, jail time would figure in. Living under the same roof is the father's sister, who tries to reason with her narrow-minded brother when sparks fly. In the end, the adults teach errant teenagers little about taking responsibility for their actions.

God's gift to hot rodders shifts his charm into high gear for the affections of Miss Byron during a lunch with Courtney. Not liking the company, she persuades Courtney to drive her home in her brother's old car. The subsequent filming nearly suggests Guy Ritchie's hand-held camerawork to create the shaky sensation of speed as Fuller blasts past them. Courtney's attempt to keep up shows the speedometer's needle also blasting from 50 to 80 mph in about two seconds—2025 Corvette ZR-1 territory, buddy!

There is a listing for a job opening at a Mobil gas station owned by Bryar, currently building a hot rod. The high schooler now has a father figure who understands burning rubber off tires and wasting fuel a quarter mile at a time. Later, the even-tempered mechanic gives some valuable advice to Courtney's father on how to be one. With some inner confessions, Dad turns the corner at Reality and Shame. He learns his son got clobbered by Fuller, and Dad wants to teach him how to defend himself. Turns out, 'ol dad was a middle-weight boxing champion in college. Dad's lesson with boxing gloves has him feeling like a champion again. Knocking his son to the grass a few times feels pretty good. A second lesson is not happening.

Fuller challenges the introvert to a drag race for Byron's honor—what to do, what to do?! Courtney lies about his age to a used car salesman, Bing Russell, and lies about just going around the block for a test drive. I am beginning to side with his father. Courtney calls to inform him that he will return the car the next morning. Russell is irate. He had a big date. He is the antithesis of a stereotypical used car salesman and no charges are filed. Ahh...to live in the early twentieth century when common sense overruled suing. The law offices of "Fuller & Courtney" meet with the former, suggesting they drive towards each other at top speed in near cave darkness. Cool. Showing more courage than either driver, Byron intervenes by standing in the middle of the road, causing both idiots to do the “Byron Swerve.” She promptly faints.

Courtney steals the hot rod from the gas station. The Mobil owner planned to drive it in the upcoming drag race in place of his son, afflicted with Polio. Putting wisdom forefront, Bryar has faith the man/boy took the rod to put Fuller in his place. Never mind about zero drag strip experience. It is a no-brainer who beats whom, which is edited as if it were a mile-long track. Full-of-it Fuller falsely accuses his competitor of trying to wreck him, the excuse for losing. Both actors were trained stuntmen, so they pull off a pretty realistic fistfight. Courtney's single boxing lesson pays off as he pictures Fuller as his dad. Pop buys the hot rod for his favorite son and drives it home. To Courtney's delight, Dad gets the speeding ticket instead.

Notes: The title song is performed well by David Houston (1935-1993). The song is also used during the first trip to the Front Page diner, where teens seem to think it is a tune you could possibly dance to. He is credited as the star of RCA Victor records in the fashion of a Frankie Avalon or Bobby Rydell of the period. But Houston's mark was on the country music charts, finding huge success in the 1960s.

Chuck Courtney gained a splash of notoriety initially by playing the visiting nephew of the Lone Ranger for several episodes before this film. With a couple of exceptions, he is best known for his supporting roles in countless Westerns. Another actor getting his start in the Western was popular television leading man Robert Fuller. He gained stardom for television's Laramie, Wagon Train, and Emergency!.

ABANDONED (1949)

When I began my selected movie reviews in 2015, I never imagined I would comment on eight films starring the same actor. A record. Dennis O'Keefe had an authentic acting style and a knack for delivering charm and witty quips like few others. Using a few pseudonyms, he was also an under-the-radar screenwriter. From my perspective, O'Keefe hits all the right buttons in my B-movie world.

Distributed by Universal Pictures, this seventy-nine-minute film is a police versus crime melodrama like many others. But the subject matter sets this film apart. William Daniels' cinematography raises the bar, as does Joseph Newman's rapid pace directing. As per the era, camera filters transform daylight into nighttime. The film stars Dennis O'Keefe, Gale Storm and Jeff Chandler. O'Keefe appears to extend his character from the film Cover Up, of the same year, with his oft-used charming, witty characters. I would have liked more of a balance between this and his previous T-Men role. One of my earliest posts. Storm restrains her typical bubbly light performances, while Chandler's periodic appearance as a no-nonsense police chief fits him. He also provides opening and periodic voice-over narration for a pseudo-documentary style as if ripped from actual cases. 

Storm inquires about her lost sister at the missing person's bureau at the city hall. Happening upon the scene is crack news reporter, O'Keefe, who overhears the conversation and charmingly offers his services to help her locate her sister, sensing a headline story or maybe hoping for a date. William Bowers' snappy dialogue has several characters delivering witty quips, but none more often or naturally than O'Keefe. He and Storm team up—after a fashion—and he is compelled to test some witty quips out on her. Expect an eventual "get to know each other" moment with small talk as they stake out a residence inside his sedan. Oh yeah...they like each other. 

Someone is tracking them and it sets up another set of clever dialogue. Raymond Burr is yanked from behind and the reporter lifts a revolver from Burr's coat and sarcastically states, "I know. You couldn't sleep so you just decided to take your gun out for a walk." The private eye's client has him also trying to find the sister's whereabouts. The three head for the city morgue and discover the sister is no longer missing, an assumed suicide victim. The sister's out-of-wedlock baby establishes the controversial crux of the film, a baby black market of illegal adoptions. Burr's client is society matron, Marjorie Rambeau, the despicable ring leader of a criminal crew, led by the menacing Will Kuluva. 

Under assumed names as a married couple, O'Keefe and Storm arrange the adoption of her niece with the two-faced Rambeau—suddenly all sweetness. She spends her off-hours distributing Bibles as cover for her operation. The anticipation of leaving the racket and a large payoff, Burr intercepts the transfer and Storm is given the baby and instructed to wait at the house until further notice. Burr is now up to his neck in Kuluva. Not being a very stealthy private detective, he is apprehended by the gangster and undergoes matchbook armpit torture to extract facts. A first (and last?) in film torture to my knowledge. Burr quickly becomes useless to Rambeau. With a knock at the room's door, Storm just opens it without asking who it is, assuming it is O'Keefe. Thus begins the climax, the only tense action in the film, with an implausible car crash and Universal International's gunshot sound effects. Narration closes the story with, "...This did happen in the city which may be your home."

Note: Some who discover this film more recently tend to be cynical about the production, impatiently finding it boring. Interestingly, the reviews closer to the release date are generally more favorable. Though mid-century film aspects are dated today, the acting and character development can stand the test of time. One should understand the historical era to give a fair assessment.