THE INSIDE STORY (1948)

This eight-seven-minute comedy begins in 1948 with a voice-over about a small town's Uncle Ed, played by Charles Winninger, who suggests every town has one—a lovable but absent-minded inn clerk possessed by “knock-knock” jokes. He has a habit of wearing his eyeglasses on the top of his head, with consistent reminders of where to locate them. The live-action has Winninger entering a bank to place government bonds into his safe deposit box. Accessing funds is a friend. Both men have different views about hoarding or spending money. Winninger tries to persuade him to invest in government bonds and circulate his money. The balance of the film flashes back to 1933 in the midst of the Great Depression as Winninger recalls the "inside story" about one confusing day due to his error handling a thousand dollars.

The story is by Ernest Lehman and Geza Herczeg and the snappy screenplay by the team of Mary Loos and Richard Sale. It is a Depression-era story written when President Roosevelt declared an eight-day "bank holiday" (closings) with the Emergency Banking Act of 1933 to avoid customer withdrawals. In the case of this film, however, it involves the circulation of a thousand dollars that solves and creates problems.

William Lundigan plays a struggling artist (cliché intended). He is stressed about a decent living for supporting his fiancée, Marsha Hunt. He owes a thousand dollars to her father, Gene Lockhart, owner of a local inn. Lockhart loathes the artist's feast-or-famine career pursuit. It initiates his overstepping the bounds of character exaggeration. The frequency becomes a bit out of place in a film of subtle humor, not in keeping with a screwball comedy.

While attending to an inn guest, Roscoe Karns, Winninger mindlessly puts his thousand dollars in the wrong envelope—addressed to Lundigan—into the safe. Karn's insurance money is meant for a local farmer, Tom Fadden, when he arrives. Karns uses his typical rapid-fire delivery as a wisecracking womanizer with a trademark double-take after a verbal smackdown. He is frightened by the mere mention of conflict. Lockhart later finds the money in the safe and mistakenly thinks it was payment for Lundigan's paintings. He quickly changes his tune toward Lundigan in absurd fashion. He claims the cash to pay off his debt to local merchant, Will Wright, who in turn pays what he owes the building's owner, Florence Bates. The head-strong Bates in turn gives the money to an attorney, Robert Shayne, to cover waning legal fees. 

Speaking of over-the-top, Shayne is so distraught over not being able to make a living for his wife, Gail Patrick, he considers suicide. Bates prevents this with her visit to his office. Suddenly Shayne is beside himself with joy. I suspect he is bipolar. Patrick then uses the money to pay Lundigan for her portrait she's gifting her husband. So, amusingly, the money goes full circle, ending up with the artist, who then pays Lockhart, who gives it to Winninger to place in the safe. Perfect timing for Karns to pay farmer Fadden. Into the mix is are bootleggers, Allen Jenkins, and his dim-witted partner, William Haad, was tempted to steal the dough in the safe. But unknown to them, the safe is empty!

Note: The film has its implausibilities with the aforementioned over-the-top emotional swings and the fact that all six people owe or are paid exactly one thousand dollars. Winninger is the spark of the film. In true form is both lovable and exasperating. Hunt, Lundigan, and Shayne never looked better.

THE THREE MUSKETEERS (1948)

 

I have never read Alexander Dumas' classic, but have seen a few film adaptions. This movie may explain the reasoning behind most versions only taking it as far as the jewel theft plot. By trying to cover all the characters and subplots—even with 125 minutes—there is not enough time to develop either. The story lacks a strong central focus and it is all over the place. Just when one thinks it will be wrapped up, it goes "back around" for a second or third time introducing irrelevant characters or repeated sequencing. What follows are my takes on a beautifully filmed costumed extravaganza that is not exactly perfect—but great movie-making.

THE DANCING FOIL

The film starts out as a pseudo-slapstick comedy with the over-eager reactions of Gene Kelly (D'Artagnan) closely resembling a cartoon figure. If Kelly could possibly keep this up, I would have likened his character to Danny Kaye's later perfection in the hilarious film, The Court Jester. One might expect (wish) this to set the tone of the film. Kelley's fencing scenes are excellent and possess enough believability to give a pass on any repetitions. The well-choreographed, opening swordplay—filmed at Busch Gardens in Pasadena—is hilariously explosive and done with great acrobatic skills by Kelly. It is easy to see that he enjoyed the role. This amusing sequence opens the door for an undying friendship with the film's title characters. Kelly broke his ankle about a year before the film's release, and these scenes were some of the last filmed to give him maximum recovery time. So there is physicality better left to professional stuntmen like effortlessly climbing up a trellis to a second story, jumping from great heights or onto a horse. Then again, I doubt Kelly's agent wanted him leaping off rooftops. The humor is in short supply as the film progresses.

CASTING A LOT

Lana Turner gets top billing yet is arguably the least talented of the big-name actresses of her era. Like many Hollywood discoveries, her appeal was strictly physical and her youthful glow which was so magical at the beginning of the decade began to fade. One male equivalent might be Errol Flynn within his first decade. A hint in this film is when she is imprisoned and lacks makeup. I do not know when those scenes were shot, but after casting her in the role, the director wanted her to lose weight. Her face seems squarish and perhaps heavier. Of course, lighting or camera angle has a great effect on visual perception, perhaps as the director envisioned someone imprisoned in a dark cell. Turner still looked astonishing in other close-ups. She simply did possess a strong ability to pull off a self-serving villain. She was reluctant to take the supporting role, not fully understanding it was actually a lead character.

Angela Lansbury campaigned for the Turner role but MGM said no. Turner was the bigger star at the time—Lansbury had no clout. Lansbury seems wasted (now) in her brief appearance as Queen Anne. Quite astutely, June Allyson did not think a period piece was right for her, but her opening scene with Kelly works well. If you blink at the wrong time you will miss Marie Windsor's two brief glimpses. Fans probably expected her to develop into someone, but she is never seen a third time. Very strange. Along the same lines, Patricia Medina—on a career upswing—appears out of nowhere as Turner's maid. The airhead character could have been left on the cutting room floor. Van Heflin brought a heavy-drinking flair to his role with Gig Young and Richard Coote as adequate comrades. Speaking of old coots, Frank Morgan was too much of the Wizard as the king of France. Long-time MGM contract player, Lewis Stone, might have been a better—perhaps the only choice within the studio. In face-altering disguise, it may take a bit of time to recognize Keenan Wynn—until his first sentence—as d'Artagnan's right-hand man.

FLAMBOYANT COSTUMES

The wardrobe department pulled out all the stops (for you pipe organ enthusiasts) with costuming, though some today might take exception to their authenticity. One of Turner's hats, the green feathered black hat pops off the screen and adds about three feet to her height. Vincent Price looked authentic enough—accented in red—and I loved his angled gray/white stripes across his torso for one costume. The musketeers looked as one would expect—like on the candy bar wrapper of the day—in capes, wide-brimmed feathery hats, and vibrant colors.

Despite some questionable casting for a period piece, the film was an entertaining hit with the full MGM splash without singing and magnificent cinematography in dazzling Technicolor. The film's credits can be found on numerous websites as well as a Dumas synopsis if you choose to explore.

SECRET SERVICE INVESTIGATOR (1948)

Directed by R. G. Springsteen and released by Republic Pictures, this sixty-minute American crime film possesses a twisty screenplay and story by John K. Butler with some concise dialogue and a few quips for the star, Lloyd Bridges, to deliver to Lynne Roberts, who works in the classified advertising department of a local newspaper. Discovering who he is—a World War II hero in the Army Air Force—she gushes over him. With every compliment Bridges' chest gets puffier. But his assumptions are just that. She will be thrilled to tell her young son that she met his hero. Ouch! This fast-paced outing gives Bridges one of his earliest lead roles and he is fine with a coolness, a winning smile, and a commanding voice. He will have another connection with the Secret Service one year later for his film, Trapped, playing a counterfeiter released from prison to help—reluctantly—the Secret Service trap counterfeiters.

Bridges needs work. He cannot believe his good luck when Roberts shows him an ad requesting his service. The lead takes him to an apartment where two await his arrival. Trevor Bardette and Roy Barcroft introduce themselves, respectively, as an inspector and detective with the Secret Service. They also introduce Bridges to an unconscious man lying on a bed. He is startled to see that he and the man look more than similar. Bridges also plays the Dan Redfern character. The Secret Service wants Bridges to pose as Redfern to help them retrieve counterfeit plates from evil, condescending, George Zucco. The movie takes a twisty route as Bridges is spotted on the train by Redfern's wife, June Storey, and her brother, perennial bad guy, John Kellogg. Storey's amorous reuniting with her husband quickly goes cold because Bridge's hair color is different. More than that, he is not missing a thumb. Bridges is suddenly all thumbs and is knocked unconscious with brother and sister taking the plates.

Once back in San Francisco, Bridges discovers Redfern is no longer among the living. The real Secret Service agents arrest Bridges and his story is so involved the Inspector believes no one could make it up. Throughout the film, Bridges is the most honest guy in any room. He calmly tells everyone the truth and it pays off. Sort of. He is asked to be an actual Secret Service Investigator and continue his charade as the dead Redfern. The plates change hands more than once until Zucco identifies them as fake. The double-crossing gangs of Zucco and Bardette are at odds. An intense fistfight between Bridges and Bardette seems to go on forever in the exciting, slightly convoluted, climax. Shots ring out, shortening the future of at least two. After the gunpowder dissipates, Bridges and Roberts start planning their wedding.

Note: Bridges was churning out film after film in supporting roles before leading man status. He was about as busy as anyone in Hollywood in the 1940s. He made up for any lack of matinee idol looks with loads of charisma. His career began to accelerate by 1950 with The Sound of Fury. Bridges became a household name for US television viewers and, joining some peers, 1980's "Airplane!" helped redefine his long career.

MILLION DOLLAR WEEKEND (1948)

Masque Productions presented this seventy-two-minute romantic adventure with an honorable nod to film noir. Produced by Matty Kemp, it was distributed by the British film production company, Eagle-Lion Films, Inc., one of the most respected B-movie makers on Hollywood's "Poverty Row.” This film is one of their weaker efforts, not in the mold of, T-Men, Raw Deal or He Walked By Night. The director is the star of the film, Gene Raymond, based on his original story. I am happy to report on a commendable job with aircraft/airline continuity—matching in every scene. A couple of times he got clever with overlapping transition shots. One has the female lead's hand curled over, gripping the airline armrest’s end and the transitional footage shows the pilot's hand gripping all four prop controls. Later, the flame from Raymond's cigarette lighter transitions to the flame of her lighter. I suspect a lot of congratulatory back-slapping after viewing the rushes.

Action leading up to and during a flight to Hawaii is perhaps the most intriguing as the premise is revealed. We are introduced to the main cast: Raymond is a stockbroker with plans for an unlimited vacation thanks to his million-dollar theft from his employer. While waiting for an airline ticket, he flips a coin to determine whether he follows his plan. At the same time, Osa Massen—billed here as Stephanie Paull—flips a cardboard coaster on whether to board the [same] plane to Hawaii. She is a recent widow with a substantial death benefit. Francis Lederer, the handsome version of Peter Lorre, is well aware of her late husband's abuse. He attempts to blackmail her for half the benefits because it would be easy to convince the authorities she murdered him. He was there that evening. She and Lederer are sitting side by side. As the latter heads for the lavatory, she asks Raymond—seated directly across from her—to pretend they are old friends and take Lederer’s seat. Upon his return, Lederer smugly sees through their weak charade—duh! After these initial twenty minutes, the film's intrigue gets grounded on final approach.

While Raymond and Massen share a balmy evening, Lederer breaks into Raymond’s hotel room and takes his million-dollar briefcase. There is a car chase of sorts with the orchestra feverishly working hard to make it exciting. All three end up back on the same plane. After arriving in San Francisco, Lederer spreads a rumor with customs about Raymond, giving him space to escape. Once released, Raymond has a heart-to-heart talk with Massen about their past as the viewer dozes off. Raymond’s sheepish expressions indicate he is not cut out for a life of crime. Their honesty brings them closer together but alas, they must part. On Raymond’s suggestion, they optimistically agree to meet back in Hawaii at a designated spot in one month if their individual troubles are put behind them.

Now alone in the bar with a glass full of remorse, Raymond sees a young woman order a bottle of Napoleon brandy. Lederer's drink of choice. He follows her back to the hotel room and then barges in on the charming scoundrel. A bit of a fistfight breaks out with Raymond, the all-American stockbroker, the winner by a knockout. He retrieves his briefcase, returns to Los Angeles, and puts the money back in the company safe Monday morning. A month later Raymond awaits Massen's arrival and learns the value of patience. She is over thirty minutes late.

Notes: This was in an era when Hawaii and its music transported one seemingly to another planet. On hand to perform traditional Hawaiian music are “The Royal Hawaiian Serenaders.” Except for one singer in falsetto, the quartet is not far removed from the “Sons of The Pioneers.” Just balmier.

Finally, there is an amusing use of stock film suggesting Raymond has telephoto vision. He gazes admirably from his hotel room at surfers about a half-mile away but his view is close-up Hawaiian promotional footage from water level. The stock- broker's dreams are dashed knowing he cannot surf anyway.

WALK A CROOKED MILE (1948)

This ninety-one-minute crime film noir pseudo-documentary was directed by Gordon Douglas for Edward Small Productions and released by Columbia Pictures. It is full of shadowy goodness by cinematographers Edward Colman and George Robinson with enough on-location shooting to put the viewer on the streets with the FBI. The film is enhanced by a fine screenplay by George Bruce from a story by Bertram Millhauser. The dependable Paul Sawtell provided the score. Be patient, as any real action does not arise until an hour has elapsed. The authoritative voice of actor, Reed Hadley, melodramatically barks out narration with all the seriousness he can muster throughout the film as if it were an exposé ripped from the headlines. There is a red menace but they are not from the planet Mars. The director is determined to keep the audience guessing a traitor’s identity.

This film makes it three in a row for Dennis O'Keefe, who was on a noir high, coming off two superior efforts, T-Men and Raw Deal. Here, he picks up from his T-man role but as an FBI special agent assigned to a top-secret project fleshing out a Communist spy ring that has infiltrated an atomic research plant. The plant's tight security is somewhat of a prison-inspired process where every worker passes by what is referred to as an “electronic eye” which can detect the minutia on a worker’s uniform. The same year of this film’s release, the first group of enormous Convair B-36 intercontinental bombers were delivered to the USAF as a “peace through strength” deterrent to Communist aggression. America’s threat was as real as it was imagined.

Scotland Yard sends over detective, Louis Hayward, to help the investigation and monitor a fellow countryman—not above suspicion—involved in the California project. O'Keefe and Hayward walk through their roles genuinely, effortlessly, as one would expect from professionals. The British have intel on a suspected spy who spends much of his time painting landscapes with stolen codes printed underneath the oils, only visible with ultraviolet light. It is London’s duty to confiscate them before they go any further. 

The FBI has set up an agent in an adjacent building to monitor the traitor’s tapped phone line. With cutting-edge technology, the agent makes an on-location recording of each conversation as the needle cuts a vinyl disk for later playback. O’Keefe likes what he hears and a delightful snippet of dialogue arises:

O’Keefe: Can you trace that call?

Agent: Eh, dialed telephone calls are tough.

O’Keefe: How long will it take?

Agent: The miraculous we do immediately. The impossible takes a few minutes longer.

O’Keefe: Good boy!

Alluding to the unthinkable, O’Keefe and Hayward suggest during a thoughtful repose, the real possibility that the person sitting next to another might be a Communist. Indeed, Communists were spying on America during the Eisenhower administration. O’Keefe makes a disheartening comment that the apparent dead-end investigation might not even “come out in the laundry” and Hayward, in a real eye-opener, links his comment to a local laundry service used by one research facility employee. Hayward becomes an undercover employee and soon spots Raymond Burr picking up a suspect package. Waiting in a darkened alley, O’Keefe knocks out Burr, taking the package back to the lab. The embroidered handkerchief reveals, after the correct chemical tests, another hidden code. Unfortunately, Hayward’s laundry cover is blown and Burr gives him a serious “Martinizing” at his apartment. Burr also returns a beating on O’Keefe when he arrives, then before departing, instructs two comrades to eliminate both of them. Hayward’s landlady, a Soviet defector, grabs at the revolver of one spy but is mortally wounded. Sawtell’s score kicks in big time as the four men duke it out. The scene ends quietly with the landlady at peace knowing she did her part in protecting America’s freedom.

What follows is an over-detailed consensus as the search narrows, all of which is a bit tedious. The viewer is provided license plate suspense with no relevance to the climax. The heroic duo centers their speculations around Louise Allbritton, the secretary to the head scientific doctor for the research center. She is grilled pretty hard based on their visual observation at the aforementioned laundry. She vehemently denies every accusation. In a bit of contrived staging, the FBI finally catch their Twentieth Century “Benedict Arnold” with humble apologies awaiting Allbritton. Hadley closes the film, assuring Americans they have an ally in Great Britain. That two countries together are better than one alone. That the FBI is better with Scotland Yard. That two actors are better...uh...you get the idea.

Note: Producers or screenplay writers of crime dramas were not shy about using the word "crooked" during this period. John Payne’s, “The Crooked Way” followed the next year with Mickey Rooney’s, “Drive a Crooked Road” coming just six years later. Crooked has found its way into a number of film titles since then.

HOLLOW TRIUMPH (1948)

THE QUADRUPLE DO'H!

Based on Murray Forbes’ novel of the same title, this film is better known by its reissued title in the United States, “The Scar.” A title that best clarifies the film’s pivotal detail. This film noir crime drama is supported by a top-notch cast but do not expect gripping action. Still, few faults here. It was directed by Steve Sekely and released by Eagle-Lion Films. The oldest of seven little Foys, Bryan, was the executive producer while its dual-role star, Paul Henreid served as producer. A dynamic score by Sol Kaplan enhances the film. Riveting at times. The cinematography by John Alton is also noteworthy with some interesting camera positions, lighting and point-of-view perspectives.

The film opens promising as the viewer discovers that the soon-to-be-released prisoner, Henreid, is an intelligent, well-educated man and med school dropout with a tendency toward violence. Lacking zero prison reformation, he wastes no time picking up where he left off. He gathers a team for a big heist at a gambling casino, run by mobster, Thomas Browne Henry, the actor with an eagle profile. The robbery goes badly with Henry eliminating half of Henreid’s team, then placing a hit on each remaining thief.

Henreid escapes by train to another town where his brother, Eduard Franz, has arranged a desk job for him. However temporary. But the manager’s condescending attitude deliberately causes tension and after repeated badgering, Henreid sends the manager to the office floor with a single right cross. Upset at his brother’s firing, Franz is more upset that Henry’s men have tracked him to his current location. Henreid seeks a foolproof cover and a chance encounter with a dentist, John Qualen, who mistakes him for his friend and psychoanalyst working in the same building. To Henreid's amazement, he has an identical twin from another mother. The doctor and Henreid also share the same accent and vocal range. What luck! Except the real doctor has a scar on his left cheek. Maybe the right?

Illegally searching the twin’s office after hours, Henreid is surprised from behind by the office secretary, Joan Bennett, who kisses her preferred physician. She instantly realizes her mistake and I assume is quite puzzled by her suspended disbelief. On the other hand, as much as she likes the doctor, his scar always bothered her a wee bit. Henreid charms his way into her life. They seem to have a future together until Henreid suavely calls off their “unfortunate timing.” The story of her life. He needs to “disappear.” Joining Bennett in the suspended disbelief ward is the audience who witnesses a contrived identity swap.

Weeks pass and Henreid gets a job at an automotive service garage. It is from here that the doctor’s car will be returned after servicing and Henreid takes the service call as a favor to a fellow employee. Confusingly, he has grown a mustache of a useless purpose, perhaps to further distance himself from…himself. Henreid uses a photographic print of the doctor to copy the scar reflected in a mirror. His med school studies were not totally wasted, he performs a bit of surgery on his own left cheek. Zero grimacing. A few scenes later the scar looks like a decades-old scar, skipping the logical progression of a healing scab. For all his smug cleverness, he was unaware he was looking at a flopped image due to incompetent photo processing. DO'H! He first discovers this upon disposing of the doctor’s body. DO'H! In too deep to turn back, he masters the doctor’s handwriting and his med school studies in psychology continue by using the doctor’s library. All the while, Kaplan’s powerful score intensifies these vignettes.

Henreid now has the perfect cover by tuning out his patient’s chattering while under the guise of a calm demeanor offering incompetent advice. In quintessential form, gentle Qualen returns for a charming scene in the doctor’s office, unknowingly relaying to the impostor doctor of his past encounter with the twin. He is a wee bit flummoxed, as well. He apologizes for not realizing the doctor’s scar is on the opposite cheek he thought it was.

In a rather slick scene, Henreid takes a phone call while in his fake office and is enlightened to learn the dead doctor had his own girlfriend. Deftly, Henreid covers his identity over the phone and goes with the flow. To make sure he identifies her, he not only chooses the location to meet but suggests, out of pure devotion, of course, that she select an orchid to wear and charge it to his account. He smoothly fakes his way through the evening at a frequented casino yet he mistakenly calls the ever-present dealer by the wrong name. He is corrected with a blunt reply. 

Aware of Henreid’s studies in psychology, Franz reenters the picture to seek help in finding his brother...from his brother. Oh, brother. Franz is skeptical of his accused “mistaken identity” and apologizes. He informs him that Henry and his men have been arrested, so there is no reason for his brother to keep hiding. DO'H!

Bennett’s suspicions deepen after overhearing a patient say that her recent sessions seem different. Knowing now that the real doctor has not been in the office for days, she suspects what Henreid has done. Finally. It is a well-acted, powerful scene when they confront each other before she boards a ship, torn between reality and what might have been. Yet still holding out hope the imposter might join her. He does rush to the dock but two thugs corner him thinking he is the real doctor, who owes a casino a lot of money and is further in debt up to his clipboard. DO'H! It is a tough sale for Henreid to convince them that the doctor they seek has a scar on the opposite cheek.

Note: The automotive service garage provides a humorous scene for Henreid’s fellow, unassuming employee, Alvin Hammer, who shares his passion for a career as a professional ballroom dancer in spite of his short stature. With hand gestures as proof, he believes this disadvantage can be masked by projecting an illusion of height. Henreid could care less what he aspires to as he glances around the garage, purposely distracted by the inventions in his mind.

BIG TOWN SCANDAL (1948)

This fifty-eight-minute Pine-Thomas Production for Medallion Pictures Corporation was released by Paramount Pictures. With three films in 1947, this is the last of four based on the long-running radio drama series, “Big Town,” and garnered a revised title when premiered on television. All four entries starred Philip Reed and Hillary Brooke, as the newspaper’s editor and reporter, respectively. This was not filmed in the early Forties and then held back for release. But it seems like it. It moves along well enough but it is an outdated view of juveniles and how basketball was played. You will also witness some of the most unbelievable back-screen in-car footage since the Keystone Cops. This entry, with its highly improbable ending, addresses juveniles who find themselves on the cul-de-sac of life's road.

Brooke volunteers Reed to take custody of the boys. He balks initially but an organized team sport might provide needed discipline for the kids. Fortunately, Reed is an avid basketball player and coaching is his assignment. Volunteers convert the second floor of a dormant building into a gym of sorts. During the initial practice, Brooke provides a surely dated commentary about Reed wearing a sweater. It went beyond my understanding. Maybe men did not typically wear a sweater without a shirt underneath. Perhaps a crew neck sweater was a major faux pas when coaching or a sweater was only meant for female pinups. Reed is unable to hear Brooke’s off-the-cuff remarks yet she is within earshot of two colleagues. She teasingly says, “Nothing like a sweater to bring out the ham in a man, is there?” One colleague replies, staring into space, all dreamy-like, “I wouldn’t know. My wife never wears it.”

Twenty-two-year-old Stanley Clements is some sort of a teenager and the savvy leader of the “wayward five.” The group is arrested for the theft at a sporting goods store with skewered intentions for starting a team sport on their own, figuring no one would notice the brand-new equipment. Some notable actors in the gang are Darryl Hickman, Carl “Alfalfa” Switzer, Tommy Bond—the first Jimmy Olsen from the “Superman” serials—and the lesser-known Roland Dupree. Given any gang's use of slang, Bond's nickname among the other four is “dum-dum.” No cruelty intended. The birth defect was commonly referred to then as “deaf and dumb.” Deaf as in the inability to hear but not dumb as in stupid. Simply the inability to speak, as in “struck dumb.” Bond regularly plays basketball using hand signals with the other team members. Hats off to the screenwriter or producer for including such a character and making him a positive character in the film. He provides a benefit after the championship game, too.

Clements has big-town dreams of owning expensive things after his basketball rehab and generally going astray. He has a history with a gangster, played by John Phillips. He entices Clements into stealing furs stored in the garage below the gym. Savvy Clements wants a cut of the profits. After his cut is actually cut, he wants to part company with Phillips. Not that easy. However, if he throws some games, he will receive kickbacks for his lack of effort.

With the championship game on the line, Clements ignores the gangster’s threats and wins the game in the closing second with a one-handed thrust while falling to the court—after taking a bullet for the team. Somehow. From a seated position and a gun under an overcoat on his lap, one might wonder how the gangster could possibly hit anything smaller than a milk truck. The shot only wounds Clements. Ironically, his team is named the “Big Shots.”

Note: Perhaps no single element dates this film more than when on the basketball court. A faint shadow of today’s fast-paced, aggressive play. These play-actors are not professionals, of course, but it casts a light on the average neighborhood play. Layups are the scoring shots. Free throws are done with both hands in an underhanded “bucket shot” form. No one attempts to block an opponent or attempt to steal the ball, perhaps taking the Seventh Commandment too literally.

MADONNA OF THE DESERT (1948)

This sixty-minute Republic Pictures release will go by harmlessly. Directed by George Blair of Republic's Western fame, the film is a modern tale of the West. Do not expect a riveting film. Screenwriter, Albert DeMond included a few clichés for those expecting them in a story that centers around a mobster and an ivory Madonna statue. Though inanimate objects do not possess any power, man-made creations have become symbols of hope for many. Such is the case for the lead character in the desert of Southern California. Rarely has ivory been so beneficial.

Sheldon “Nick” Leonard learns about a priceless statue from his inside man working as an antique swindler...er...dealer, who is also a master at creating exact replica statues. Leonard is pretty much the bookends of this film, hardly seen in the sentimental middle section. Speaking of clichés, it is pretty funny when Leonard calmly chastises his female operative, Lynne “Legs” Roberts, about the importance of doing a caper well. Standing over her, with quintessential gangster mannerisms he grabs his shirt sleeve cuffs with his forefinger and thumb under his suit coat and tugs on each sleeve as his shoulders rise up on every poignant word.

Don “Joe” Castle, half Rory Calhoun, half Robert Taylor, is the owner of a Renaissance Madonna statue that has been handed down for generations. He believes it has the power to protect anyone who believes in it. Indeed, the power to heal. It also brings good fortune, sort of like Buddha without the belly rubbing. Helping out on the plantation farm is Paul Hurst, a skeptical, experienced farmhand who quickly sizes up any visitor. He has some of the best lines in the film, usually with spot-on character assessments with humorous results.

Leonard makes the drive up in his Lincoln convertible in hopes of buying the Madonna. Apparently, with no one home, he discovers an unlocked door so he decides to make off with the statue. Castle and Hurst return to find Leonard standing in the back doorway. The shifty mobster instantly becomes an interested “art collector” who is checking its sparkingly jewels in the daylight. Hurst does not believe that one, either. Leonard admires Castle’s faith in the statue. Hurst acerbically fires back at Leonard, 'Joe has the faith. I have a club!' Accepting that the statue is not for sale, Leonard graciously leaves. Castle tells his farm hand he seems like a nice guy. Hurst responds, 'Eh, that guy could give lessons to an eel.'

If the statue cannot be bought, then Leonard is not above stealing it. After meeting mild-mannered Castle, he thinks it should be an easy operation for Roberts, whose assignment will be to befriend Castle and exchange the real statue with a fake one. Leonard tells her that he is one of those 'corny golden rule guys' who probably have never met a real woman in his life. She arrives at the farm on foot after prearranged car trouble, dressed down compared to her first scene. If she is not successful, Leonard will not let her 'play in his yard anymore.' Which is a lot more menacing than it reads, verbally coming from him.

The Madonna has been loaned to an Italian wedding couple for good luck. Castle takes Roberts there to see the statue and for him to honor the family. When she attempts to make the switch, the candles surrounding the altar to the Madonna catch her sleeve on fire. Despite her screams, she shows no after-effects of being even slightly burned. Those in attendance thank Madonna. Roberts thanks her flame-retardant dress. Yet she wonders about that statue. Castle astutely notices a conflict in Roberts’ behavior after her burn notice. She is, in fact, having second thoughts about stealing the statue. In a bit of misguided script logic, Castle tells her, 'Only good people have conflicts. The bad ones aren’t bothered by anything.' He tells her not to worry, he has a dress back at the farmhouse. Never mind your Twenty-First Century thinking. It was his mother’s dress. So it gets worse for Roberts.

Donald Barry, a recent ex-con who used to work for Leonard, also finds out about the statue. He figures Leonard is responsible for his five-year vacation at San Quentin. Stealing the statue under his nose would be sweet revenge. After a brief script disappearance, he returns as the newly hired hand on Castle’s farm. Roberts, wanting to continue playing in Leonard’s yard, digs a hole in Castle’s yard in about seven seconds—with her bare hands—and buries the Madonna. There is no dirt under her nails. Another miracle. The switch is made and once inside the house, Barry absconds with the fake. As script luck would have it, Leonard passes him on the road and then forces Barry to stop, demanding the statue. Leonard recognizes the fake, then the Madonna “flies” toward Barry’s head, knocking him down an embankment. Not finding the car keys that Leonard threw over the cliff, Barry grabs his gun and walks back to the farm. It is dark by the time he arrives to witness a fight between Castle and Leonard's stunt doubles. Barry wounds Leonard, then shoots him twice, 'where it hurts.' Amazingly, Leonard gets off one final shot in retaliation. For all its protective powers, Madonna did not help Leonard or Barry. Help thou my unbelief.

Note: Castle mentions returning from the war as a cripple with mental turmoil. He chose to believe the statue healed him. The cross that Christ died on was simply a wooden device of punishment and death. It has no power in and of itself despite what Hollywood and Bram Stoker would want you to believe. Likewise, in the 1953 movie, “The Robe,” it was Caligula, among many others, who thought Jesus’ robe explained the miracles he performed. But human logic habitually wants to overrule simple truths.

BEHIND LOCKED DOORS (1948)

Budd Boetticher directed this sixty-two-minute film noir for Aro Productions. It was distributed by Eagle-Lion Films from a story by Malvin Wald—the only Malvin I have run across—responsible for this hypothetical look into a mental institution where suspense takes precedence over realism. There are some nice touches from cinematographer, Guy Roe, with suspenseful opening scenes. It quickly jumps right into the plot. Add to this the humorous “audience icebreaker” between the two main stars and one will want to see this one through. Yet it has not held up over the decades, in part due to its view of mental institutions. So what we are left with are trained professionals who made a movie together. The most famous name in the cast is Richard Carlson, not to be confused with Hugh Marlowe. But he is surrounded by the competent work of Lucille Bremer, Thomas B. Henry, with a brow and nose the envy of eagles worldwide, and Douglas Fowley. On the other hand, at about mid-career, the unique Tor Johnson (bottom) is also cast. He adds a distinct bit of scary anticipation to the film. 

A well-known and unethical judge, Herbert Heyes, is a fugitive from justice. Henry is the independent sanitarium’s chief of staff, the one sheltering him for a monetary agreement. Fowley is a piece of work as the “Director of Abuse.” A guy with zero empathy for patients, coming off as a violent prison warden. Spineless Henry repeatedly disciplines him verbally yet he is still employed. His favorite moments are with Tor, a former (very) heavyweight boxer known as, “The Champ,” whose head may have hit the mat too many times. Fowley is amused by banging on the fire extinguisher outside Tor’s cell with a cell key. Hearing the “bell,” Tor stands up and starts shadowboxing.  

A savvy reporter, Bremer, has been tracking the judge’s girlfriend who makes regular visits to a sanitarium. She seeks out a flirting private investigator, Carlson, and asks him to go undercover as a mental patient. To make it appear legit, he will pretend to be her husband. Something he is hoping will become a reality when he gets out. They pick a mental disease to their liking and seemingly with no testing, Carlson is recommended for an institution. Though the script establishes there are multiple moods of manic-depressives, whenever Carlson is in the presence of doctors, he only looks sadly aloof. He befriends an understanding staff member, Ralf Harolde, who fears repercussions if he speaks out about the abuse. Carlson is interested in a locked ward, off-limits to everyone. One patient is a giddy arsonist. He manages to set fire to the curtains in the judge's office. Carlson volunteers to put out the fire and then recognizes the judge. For a depressed guy, Carlson asks too many probing questions and his cover is blown. He is locked in the cell with Tor and we hear the clink, clink from Fowley’s keyring. Carlson becomes Tor's tiny training partner. 

Meanwhile, the resourceful reporter intercepts the judge’s girl en route for a visit. Bremer ends up in the girlfriend’s attire and gets access to the judge’s chambers. At gunpoint, she demands the judge free Carlson. Fowley fails to lock the Tor door upon leaving and "The Champ" has no trouble identifying the key torture guy. While this is transpiring, cowardly Harolde actually called the police with the judge’s objections being overruled. Carlson and Bremer kiss and Harolde, looking at the two lovebirds, closes the movie with, 'I never did think he was crazy.'

OPEN SECRET (1948)

There is a strong film noir atmosphere established in this film even before the opening credits roll. The cryptic dialogue among a masquerading band of patriotic poker players is both intriguing and confusing. Some great camera work by George Robinson in this opening scene. Among them is second-tier actor, King Donovan, in his first movie role. The viewer is probably hooked at this point. This is another film of the era about antisemitism coming after World War II and it has its place. Distributed by Eagle-Lion Films for Marathon Pictures, the entire cast accounts for themselves quite well. Inevitably compared to other major studios' expensively produced antisemitic films, this portrays hate from within a low-income, less-educated crowd. There is not much to fault during its sixty-seven minutes with John Ireland about to hit Hollywood star status for his role in Red River the same year.

Newlyweds Ireland and Jane Randolph, acting on an invitation, travel for a stay with Ireland's World War II buddy, now working as a photographer. But he cannot be found. His apartment has been ransacked—a frequent occurrence—but Ireland suspects something more sinister than mere robbery. Anne O’Neal stands out as the busy-body, yet gracious, landlady of Ireland's friend. The actress who may be the most frequently misidentified as Margaret Hamilton of Wicked Witch fame. While Ireland goes off in search of his buddy, he asks if he would have dinner with his wife to keep her company. O’Neal says that is awfully nice but she is on a diet. Apparently, she only eats once a week.

After shooting a few rolls of film, Ireland gets them developed and printed. He is unaware there is an extra film role included by Randolph. Frames were taken by his buddy with incriminating evidence of an antisemitic murder. George Tyne has a pivotal role as a Jewish camera shop owner who is regularly harassed. The thugs want that film and track down Ireland’s buddy to get it. The couple soon realizes the problem as they encounter uneducated, myopic thinkers. Randolph does not understand how people can behave this way. Ireland tries to explain in a foretelling bit of scriptwriting about Twenty-First Century liberals. 'I guess some people can't live without hating. The only way they can feel superior. Some people hate because they're stupid. Some hate because they're told to.'

Though initially skeptical of Ireland's theory, Sheldon Leonard agrees to look into finding the missing buddy. Leonard is one laid-back detective, totally in control and unflappable. Also a guy with empathy for local delinquents. It would have been fun to have him reprise his role in a film series based around his character, though he was more often associated with the opposite side of the law given his trademarked gangster vocal delivery. One thing is for sure, Leonard is a great marksman. He casually nails a fleeing bigot more than once while he is escaping down an alley. All at a sizable distance leaning out Ireland’s apartment window. The cinematography stands out again during a cemetery gravesite scene for Ireland's buddy, killed for getting too close to the opinionated. All the standing attendees are in dark silhouettes against a contrasting light sky, giving off an eerie vibe.

Ireland infiltrates the bigotry boys club led by the sometimes lovable, but not here, Arthur O'Connell. Ireland's identity is soon discovered and a closing fistfight in near-total darkness. With the film’s budget on the producer’s mind, that darkness may have hidden the need for any re-shooting. The ending has a confident Leonard walking the urban neighborhood at night knowing they are safer than when the film began.

Note: Herschel Burke Gilbert was a monumental force in early television music scores. He was the first to provide an original score for a television series, the popular western, “The Rifleman,” where lead characters had their own cues for funny, sad, or dangerous scenes. This soundtrack was reworked in 1952 into a library of music cues for several shows of the era, the most obvious may be, “The Adventures of Superman.”

MONEY MADNESS (1948)

This bargain-basement, seventy-three-minute film noir, distributed by Film Classics, opens with one of the most poorly executed flashbacks I have seen...um...not seen. We witness young Frances Rafferty standing before the judge as he passes out her ten-year sentence for being an accessory to robbery and murder. A reporter makes a call, telling the person on the line you never know who will get off the next bus. There are no wavy, ghostly transition film frames to suggest a time shift. What the viewer actually sees is a bus coming to a stop. Out steps the movie’s lead, Hugh Beaumont, against type with an out-of-balance personality. One might logically assume it is ten years later, after Rafferty’s release. Essentially, the movie begins after the end. Overall, for the mad money spent, the film is not half bad. More like one-third bad. But do not blame the cast.

The music underlying the opening scenes with Beaumont, who is convincing in this role, is just too whimsical. Its use is totally mindless for his character and for what is about to unfold. The viewer suspects he is up to no good yet he seems so Cleaverish. After he gets a job as a taxi driver, his charm flows directly, by pure happenstance, in Rafferty’s direction. She is burdened by the care for her selfish, bitter aunt who always moans or fakes an attack of some sort when her niece attempts to go out. Beaumont wins them both over with Rafferty becoming his bride in whirlwind fashion. She likes that he seems different. Not like the others. At about the twenty-five-minute mark she discovers her husband is psychotic. Absolutely nothing like the others. He needs a place to hide his unearned cash—two hundred grand—temporarily held in a bank’s safe deposit box. An old suitcase in the aunt’s attic is the perfect location for the money transfer. Thanks to bipolar Beaumont, the aunt comes down with a bout of death, leaving the estate and an attic surprise in Rafferty’s inheritance.

When Rafferty meets with her attorney concerning the will, he senses she is distracted by something. Still using her maiden name, he unknowingly asks her for dinner. Every male in town is hitting on this attractive female. Naturally, Beaumont might take a cleaver to her if he finds out, so she declines, missing her first chance to escape her torture. As Beaumont has already reminded her, she cannot testify against her husband anyway. The attorney later meets with an elderly citizen who speculates about that taxi driver. This bit of gossip and the newspaper headline photos of the three robbers have the attorney wondering if one might be Beaumont, who obviously has had an extreme makeover since that photo was taken. In suspended disbelief, the photo is taken to a photo lab and he asks them to remove the mustache, clean up the pockmarked face, do the eyebrows this way, and take all the shadows out. This they do. They also changed his lips to give him a more amused expression and rotated his head slightly. No extra charge. It all happens in a matter of seconds as the original photo transforms right before our very eyes in a blurry “flash-forward” transition. Exactly how a flashback should be done. Only in reverse.

Beaumont is there to greet one of the robbers with a revolver. Long before Al Pacino, Beaumont refers to his gun as, “My little friend, here." Before releasing a bullet from the chamber he has the wife turn up the radio’s volume, apparently with the belief all three of them will not hear the gunshot inside the house. Like a young child closing his or her eyes believing they cannot be seen. Beaumont tells his wife to get rid of the dead man’s car and hands her the keys. Logically, this might be a great opportunity for her to get out of this nightmare. She could just keep on driving or go to the police with her story. But not in any dim-witted Hollywood script. Escape number two is obliterated.

Our mental patient gets all melancholy after that murder and insists, above all else, he really loves Rafferty. Sure. When the attorney arrives at the house of the “happy” couple, Beaumont once again asks his wife to turn up the volume on the radio ‘cause he’s in a shootin’ mood. Fortunately, a patrol car happens by and hears the raucous party with Artie Shaw music. The good news, Beaumont will not have to serve any time in prison. The bad news, Rafferty is about to start the beginning of the film.