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, 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. A huge benefit to Tone 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.

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 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.