THE STEEL LADY (1953)

Directed by Ewald André Dupont with a screenplay by Richard Schayer, one might suspect Aubrey Wisberg's story was the inspiration for Elleston Trevor's 1964 novel, The Flight of The Phoenix, and the 1965 box office failure. Both films center around crash-landing in the Sahara desert with at least one dissenter in the group and the customary limited food, water, no radio, and any rescue attempt taking too long for their survival. Something has to be improvised. Wisely, the Yuma desert filming got underway at the very end of the previous year. The similarities between this B-movie cast and the 1965 big-budget cast separate the two but it is sometimes difficult to determine how much. Released by United Artists, it is a concise eighty-four minutes of adventure, produced and edited by Grant Whytock. Concise is not a word used to describe the extra hour added to the more implausible “Phoenix” film. The incredibly prolific Edward Small Productions again provides a movie without a dull moment. What Small did with limited budgets has rarely been equaled.

Heading up the four-man crew of American oil company employees in this film is Rod Cameron and Tab Hunter in his fourth film. Like today's many films or television series with a socially askew computer genius who saves everyone's bacon, Hunter nearly fits that role as sort of an electronics expert. John Dehner is the pessimistic “glass half empty” dissenter in the film. He and Cameron are at odds throughout the film, in no small part due to the former's alcohol addiction. Always available for a few quips is Richard Erdman, the dependable guy with an eye in the opposite (sex) direction. His countenance before crash landing, below, is both one of inevitable doom and acceptance.

Perhaps given the naive acceptance of the era's movie patrons—who were less critical about such things—one will need to ignore a few filming and editing shortcomings when viewed today, like the era's painted sandhills or studio backdrop screens. Perhaps most confusing here is the gear-up plane crash, burying the nose in a sandbank according to the pilot, Cameron. By the next morning, there is a mound of sand piled around the main landing gear, which clearly depicts the twin-engine Cessna T-50 in its tail-dragger stance. Then there is the bullet's cartoon ricochet effect that sounds more like a metal spring has broken loose from its anchor. But I digress. Nearly every film made—no matter the budget—has something amiss in one detail or the other.

Cameron sets out over a ridge and spots an antenna flag poking above the sand that is connected to a buried World War II Nazi tank. Thinking it may provide them a way out of a dire situation, the crew digs out the sunken tank. They notice German wording on the side roughly translating into the film's title. After burying the mummified German duo, Hunter repairs their radio with parts from the tank's radio but it only works long enough to tell their contact in Casablanca that they are alive.

All work together—even Dehner, for the most part—to get the tank mobile using the remaining gasoline from the plane. With zero options, Cameron must also use their remaining water for its radiator, a decision Dehner tries to thwart at gunpoint. Never get into a fistfight with square-jawed Cameron. Adding another element to the story is a satchel of jewels in a hidden storage compartment, a discovery that Dehner keeps to himself. Although there is more to the story than this, it is the same bejeweled tank Bedouin leaders have been trying to find since 1944—implausibly never spotting the flag or tank among the constantly shifting sands. The Bedouin leader, the Hersey chocolate-faced John Abbott, offers Cameron horses, pack camels and water in exchange for the tank. “We love tank!” Amazingly, the foursome agrees to the exchange with none wondering what the desert dwellers could possibly do with a tank unless they fill it with water. Smelling an infestation of desert rats, Cameron and the team reclaim the tank the following day in an intense battle.

BENEATH THE 12-MILE REEF (1953)

20th Century Fox distributed this one-hundred-two-minute, big-budget film, the third motion picture made in CinemaScope. This fad was a stand-out element of the film. It alone may account for its box office success, though its two young co-stars might have contributed. The widescreen format enhances some nice underwater sequences by the film's cinematographer, Edward Cronjagerand, and his occasional sunset or sunrise near Tarpon Springs, Florida. But on terra firma, it is a routine romantic drama centered around family heritage amid ‘the most dangerous of all occupations, sponge diving.’ Not firefighters. Not police officers. Not bomb disposal personnel. Intertwined is an ethnic war between Greek culture and sponge pirates, the Conch fishermen. 

As the credits open, the composer of the film may stump you, but the music becomes unmistakably Bernard Herrmann. The harp played a role in a number of his scores and it is used appropriately during some underwater sequences. There is one scene, however, where the score is nearly overkill as symbols crash and French horns soar as we watch two lowly fishing boats creep out into the gulf during a calm sunrise. But without a doubt, Herrmann’s score enhances the film.

Swashbuckling Gilbert Roland, with shirt unbuttoned forming a vee, is in command of the film in its early going, making it more fun. His swagger and confidence are indelibly imprinted on his son, Robert Wagner, who, oddly, along with his on-screen sister, are the only Greeks in the film without a hint of an accent. But Wagner’s curly studio permanent is pure family lineage. Completing the trio of spongers is heavily accented, J. Carrol Naish.

The twenty-three-year-old Wagner catapulted to fame during these years and got first billing with Roland and Terry Moore. Noting the opening credits, then, there is little doubt the two young stars have a destiny. One could rightfully assume they anchored off-screen as well. Moore had a ten-year advance on Wagner’s career though only a year separated their births. Eventually, Wagner’s popularity overwhelmed Moore’s, but both were celebrities rather than acting powerhouses. Wagner does alright in this role, especially in the first half. Moore initially acts like an early teenager, nervously giggling as Wagner chases her around a tree. Like a number of others in Hollywood, she seems aware the cameras are rolling and works hard to make a screen impression after hearing the words, “Action!” from the director, Robert Webb. I am sure their equally young fans were not aware of their occasional shallow performances.

Richard Boone, looking vibrant and fit, plays Moore’s father and the “Conch Master” over his crew. They do not want any Greeks diving in “their waters.” After Roland gathered his day’s worth of sponges, Boone’s crew, on Peter Graves’ lead, intercepts and steals their take. Roland laughs off the theft knowing he will get revenge on Boone in due course. They later come to an understanding. Graves is navigating to marry Moore but becomes a squeaky third wheel beside the cocky Wagner. Graves is jealous of the young punk and gives him a beating as a warning shot over his brow.

On his final pre-scuba gear dive, Roland succumbs to a deadly case of the bends. Wagner confidently soldiers on. During another Graves sponging, Roland’s family boat unintentionally goes up in flames. Graves tries to put the fire out with no success. Angry Wagner then steals the Conch boat and with the help of Moore, adapts it for more sponge baths...uh...diving. They are a bit giddy, like in an Andy Hardy film where Rooney and Garland pull together a neighborhood show as a fundraiser.

The climactic diving scene has Wagner encountering a large octopus. Posters of the day over-emphasize this as the central theme. It is a very believable effect, however, with Wagner surviving with only a couple of hickeys. Moving in on their stolen boat for another sponge robbery is Boone and crew. This leads to an ending with sudden character turnabouts. Boone, previously level-headed and showing sympathy for Roland’s short script now wants nothing to do with his daughter and a future Greek-in-law, Wagner. Once alongside, Graves jumps on board, going at it with Wagner again as they go overboard. A lot of splashing later the young punk ends up saving Graves from drowning in a seaweed entanglement. Back on deck, Boone is hesitant to accept Wagner but Graves reminds him he just saved his life. Oh. The Greek-Conch hatred dissolves into laughter and acceptance. Sponge Conch, LLC is formed.

Note: Harry Carey, Jr., a frequent co-star on Boone’s popular television western series, plays his son, here. Boone’s show, on more than one occasion, also featured two other characters from this film, Jay Novello and Jacques Aubuchon. The studio assigned the brief, uncredited opening narration to the unknown, Roy Harold Scherer, Jr., aka Rock Hudson.

MAN IN THE DARK (1953)

Edmond O’Brien is offered (under duress) immediate parole if he is willing to undergo experimental brain surgery in the hope it will remove his criminal impulses. It will also remove his memory. After moving up the surgery a few days, O’Brien is impulsively set on punching the male nurse in the jaw before a sedation injection.  After surgery, the angry criminal finds serendipity in hedge-trimming and painting, though ballet could not be worked into his rehab schedule. An insurance investigator, needing to recover the stolen money from a robbery, thinks O’Brien is faking and tracks his every move. Likewise, Ted de Corsia is not buying his former partner's amnesia story. Stereo-typically, under his angled fedora, he is his usual gangster self, grumbling and angrily threatening to beat the truth out of him or burn an eye out with the lit end of a cigar. The latter used as a gruesome 3D stinger, one of several 3D moments.

Later, trying to refresh O'Brien's memory in the first of three flashbacks, gang member Nick Dennis retells exactly, second by second, what happened during the robbery. If it were possible, one could accept this if it were O’Brien’s flashback. How Dennis knew O’Brien’s every step, including an attempted call at a phone booth without being present, is positively clairvoyant. What follows is a pursuit by two officers because O’Brien looks pretty guilty running down the sidewalk. In his early films, O'Brien was quite the runner. Really laying those dress shoes down. His stunt double climbs up a three-story fire escape, followed by a silly implausibility: O’Brien drops a potted plant down in the officer’s vicinity in Merry Melodies cartoon fashion. A big clue as to his location. A clichéd chase on rooftops ensues as the frantic music score backs up the action. O’Brien is not only exhausted but also arrested on a painter’s scaffolding.

Audrey Totter is O’Brien’s girl, but he does not know it. However, his two dreams, aka flashbacks, suggest she may be more than a stranger. One dream concerns a Santa Monica amusement park with a creepy seven-foot-tall laughing animatronic charwoman that is hard for O'Brien to forget. Me too. The following may answer why it is laughing so hard. The most unintentionally humorous scene, and no doubt a highlight of the 3D processing, has O’Brien getting on The Whip ride, where individual pods rotate around an oval hub. The cars never stay in one position for any length of time, yet five police officers slip into their own car and “chase” O’Brien around the oval, never getting any closer. The officers shoot at him as their pod randomly twirls around. It is lucky a fellow officer was not wounded, or a patron failed to dodge the stray bullets at the popcorn stand. The officer’s training never included this! Understandably, they cannot hit the broadside of a barn. The ride stops, and all six orderly get out of their pods. 

O’Brien’s dreams come to life as he and Totter return to the amusement park. He knows where the money is hidden and, with a dose of returning greed, stuffs the cash inside his suit coat pockets. Perhaps that brain surgery did not work. Her disappointment shows, and she assumes he has reverted to his old ways. They go their separate ways. Later, the oft-used rear projection roller coaster ride is used with actors pretending their necks are being snapped back and forth. I imagine a real buzz in 3D. O’Brien gets off the coaster as it creeps to the top and climbs down the wooden structure, only to encounter de Corsia, who stands up at the wrong end of the speeding coaster. Dennis takes a final bow off the scaffolding after an officer’s bullet rings true. Give the officer a stuffed animal! Never far away, the insurance investigator arrives after bodies stop hitting the pavement and gets back the company’s one hundred thirty grand from O’Brien. He and Totter kiss as their roller-coaster relationship levels out.

Note: Directed by Lew Landers and produced by Wallace MacDonald, this was the first Columbia Pictures film released in 3D, all in glorious black and white. It is a remake of the 1936 film, The Man Who Lived Twice, with a premise that has been overused since. This seventy-minute B-movie offers up good pacing, but the amnesia angle is pretty stale aside from the brain surgery concept. Decidedly more fantastic than John Payne’s war injury in the 1949 film, The Crooked Way.

PICKUP ON SOUTH STREET (1953)

This Cold War spy film, co-written and directed by Samuel Fuller for 20th Century Fox, earned modest success at the box office from a tight budget. With great pacing and solid performances, the film is nicely supported by a score that is, at times, elaborately arranged by the significant film composer, Leigh Harline. In a general sense, the film can be distasteful and made it controversial in its day. Over the years, reading between the screenplay lines, many Twenty-First Century critics have placed the film on a pedestal for those very same reasons. In contrast, moviegoers of the era were able to quickly categorize the film upon exiting the theater. And their reviews were mixed. Reviews were decidedly one-sided for Fuller's remake in 1967. A full-color disaster starring a dull James Brolin and a miscast Jacqueline Bisset made the original screenplay a talk-fest of major proportions, lacking any style or intrigue. 

The film opens on a crowded New York City subway train as Government agent, Willis Bouchey, has his eyes trained on Jean Peters, whose dark lipstick, false eyelashes, and dress convey her persona. Also sandwiched between them is a professional pickpocket, Richard Widmark, who deftly steals Peters' wallet during the jostling ride. Neither knows the vital contents inside. Widmark just hopes to inherit some cash or jewels. Peters' ex-boyfriend, Richard Kiley, has told her the wallet contains stolen business secrets, unaware that she has naively gotten herself wrapped up in a Communist plot. Widmark persistently denies he stole any microfilm, but the detectives, sensing he is not on the level, offer him a deal to clear his record if he hands it over.

A scoundrel living in a wooden shack along the New York harbor, Widmark is not exactly living on easy street in his one-room “clubhouse.” He does have a nifty winch system he can raise and lower to retrieve his chilled beer. Cleverly hidden in the false bottom of his “beer box” is his plastic-wrapped safe for his “take-home pay.” Always nicely attired with plenty of confidence, surely he lives elsewhere. He ends up being somewhat of a likable chap despite his cocky, aberrant behavior. He soon discovers the microfilm's national significance. 

For most of her roles, seemingly in the same wardrobe, I can only take Thelma Ritter in small doses. Here she again plays the savvy, wiseacre informant to the police. A knowledge she has accrued since childhood, I gather, as a school's classroom was either not available or school was just not her thing. She knows the crime underbelly better than the police. She is called in to identify the pickpocket's style based on Bouchey's observations. A mugshot quickly pinpoints Widmark. Her value to the police department has deadly consequences, however.

Kiley demands Peters get the microfilm from Widmark as only she can. Thinking he has an ace up his sleeve, Widmark plans to seek a huge cash reward for the film. But Kiley's plan goes awry as Peters takes his place. Upon her return, Kiley finds a key frame missing. He takes his anger out on her. Time being critical, Communist agents order Kiley to deliver the film as is. Recognizing Kiley from his earlier attempted visit, Widmark tails him onto the subway train where he pickpockets his handgun. The film exchange is witnessed in a subway station restroom, then Widmark chases Kiley through the subway for the film's climax.

Note: Jean Peters sells this performance of a woman who has lived off the streets most of her life, earning a “living” as needed. Like Ritter, she has connections. Unlike Ritter, she is on the opposite end of the visual spectrum. She has never known real respect or unconditional love, but Widmark makes an attempt. In the early scenes, with an airy dress more suited for the beach, it is not exactly what June Cleaver would ever consider. I cannot imagine another actress who could fill this part as well. If ten years younger, perhaps Ida Lupino. The other female options of the era would either have been too sophisticated or too overt.

SPLIT SECOND (1953)

This film marks Dick Powell’s directorial debut, and he should have felt good about the final project. Roy Webb's powerful opening score adds a real sense of danger. Accompanied by a custom title font symbolizing electric voltage, it sets the movie up as, literally, an explosive tale of prisoners and hostages about five to ten miles away from a Nevada atomic test site. Interspersed with stock footage of an actual test, it is the film's unique element. Beyond this, it is another RKO crime thriller. The film does not get any more “B” than this, with actors Stephen McNally, Jan Sterling, Alexis Smith, Robert Paige, Richard Egan and Keith Andes, all trying to stay alive in Arthur Hunnicutt's neighborhood. The atomic test site premise was done with a modicum of laughs a year later in The Atomic Kid starring Mickey Rooney. Sterling handles Dick Powell's trademark glib humor for this tale.

McNally is typecast again as a ruthless criminal and recent prison escapee, with a heart as small as an atom. His two cohorts, a badly wounded Paul Kelly and Frank de Kova, as “Dummy,” are along for the ride of their lives. During their gas station stop, Smith and her affair, Paige, are taken hostage by McNally. At the same time, Andes is on his way to interview McNally for his paper, picking up Sterling along the way. One may wonder why the interview. Send the state troopers to “interview” him! Fortuitous script timing as Smith's car runs out of gas, with Andes stopping to help.  McNally hijacks Andes' station wagon. At this point, the entire cast, minus Hunnicutt, is in this vehicle with barely enough room for dialogue. All are positioned like a seasonal office portrait so that everyone can be seen. They arrive at an abandoned resort near the epicenter of the atomic test site. For the obvious reason, it is now a ghost town. But in McNally's mind, it is the perfect hiding place.

Hunnicutt plays his usual rural character, this time as a prospector, an old-timer who remembers seminal moments from 1901. Hunnicutt’s real age and suspension of disbelief collide. After the cast has settled into a dusty building, he stumbles onto the entourage. All the characters are now intertwined into talkative, character-developing scenes. Knowing he is irresistible, McNally makes a pass at both women. First, Sterling appears to have rented a Shelly Winters wig for her role—a wound-tight platinum wig about to break a spring. Contrast this with her dark eyebrows, which symbolize her lifelong pent-up anger. It is a harsh look. The street-smart Sterling seems to have her head screwed on right, however. A more trustworthy person than the self-centered socialite and cowardly Smith, who begs McNally to take her with him, caring little for anyone else, even though Paige is standing right beside her. Paige is disgusted with the whole thing (outside of his affair with Smith). He is always loudly threatening McNally, who warns him several times to shut up. Paige ends up on the pointy end of two bullets. 

McNally’s best bud is Kelly, who has a normal-sized heart, though barely beating. McNally found out that Smith’s husband is a doctor, Richard Egan, once again cast as one half of a shaky relationship. McNally calls him from a phone booth in a nearby town and threatens to shoot Smith's head off if he does not come and save Kelly. After a lengthy pause...he decides to come. The operating scenes and the attempt to overpower McNally are tense and handled well by Powell.

Perhaps for their own amusement, those in command move the atomic test up one hour with actor Clark Howat, calling the excruciatingly slow countdown. McNally makes a split-second decision. Smith throws herself into the car with Kelly sandwiched in between. In their escape, they go the wrong way, heading straight toward the detonating tower. Smith lets out a blood-curdling scream and Kelly loses his hearing. The bouncing miniature car backing up is pretty humorous. Naturally, their car gets stuck in the sand. Hunnicutt and the three remaining cast members find protection from the fallout in an abandoned mine. 

Note: RKO had planned to team Victor Mature and Jane Russell as leads, coming off their roles in The Las Vegas Story one year earlier. The pairing might have brought in a few more moviegoers initially. McNally makes a much more disgusting human than Mature could have ever projected. Assuming Russell was cast in Sterling's role, that might have worked. Along with Egan, McNally and Mature would co-star two years later in a more diverse crime story, Violent Saturday. Also set in desert climes, it has its own unique angle: an Amish family that has settled in arid Arizona.

VICE SQUAD (1953)

United Artists distributed this Gramercy Pictures (II) production. Not a great film on the whole, but the script elicits a fast pace. Judging by the dynamic, dangerous opening score by Hershel Burke Gilbert, one could get the idea that one is about to watch a hardened crime story. But it is as lighthearted as it is gritty. And it is not gritty. Sterling Hayden is not in the cast. It portrays a busy day in the life of the police department with enough characters and sub-plots to suit a typical episodic television drama show, some fifty years later. Five years later, Jack Hawkins played Gideon of Scotland Yard in a similar premise.

The principal characters revealed in the film are related to one another in some way. The film lays all this out to resolve the main plot of the film, the murder of a police officer. Playing the police captain is Hollywood stalwart Edward G. Robinson. It is a joy to watch him juggle the script's characters in and out of his precinct. The captain has experience on his side. Calm and compassionate, he can be tough if necessary, breaking with police protocol to ensure justice is served. He deftly prioritizes the cases that arise and handles each with appropriate timing. Some encounters are rather humorous, especially the scenes with Percy Helton (see note below).

Known for his befuddled, confounded characters, Porter Hall (above) is simply exasperating here as a “respected” community businessman with no spine. His credentials usually can mask his illicit female encounters. He is not funny, but his predicament is. He witnessed the murder of the police officer. His attorney, Barry Kelly, assures him of an early release from custody. Both get a few slick runarounds by Robinson with Kelly at his wits' end. Robinson is not letting Hall go until he gets the truth.

Jay Adler is perfect as the quintessential, nervous weasel with a season pass to the vice squad's interrogation room. Adler has relevant information, but his memory is foggy due to fear for his own life. Robinson lets him sweat it out until his “fog” clears. With great reluctance, he lets it slip about an upcoming bank robbery. Gilbert's pounding score is effective as the robbery is set to take place. Officers are positioned throughout the bank thanks to the Adler tip. This scene is fairly tense and exciting, leading up to the attempted robbery. 

Christine White portrays a daughter concerned that her elderly, gullible mother is being taken by a two-timer who calls himself a Count. Robinson explains that falling in love is no crime, but will look into the matter. The Captain is concerned enough to have the charming Count brought in for questioning. Robinson relies on a psychologist to assess whether is is telling the truth. While the doctor is of Italian heritage, the Count's fake dialect puts him far from Italy. Indeed, he is an American citizen, more than likely from a midwestern state. It is a delightfully slick procedure.

Paulette Goddard gets second billing here. I got the feeling she relished the part. The police captain and Goddard's character have a long mutual understanding. She runs a lady's "escort bureau” and has provided Robinson with valuable information. Robinson gets the lead he needs to track down the laid-back lady's man, Adam Williams, the young buck in the gang with a thing for one of Goddard's ladies, and who skips out before the robbery. This cool, quiet guy suddenly becomes a blue ribbon champion at a state fair's “Angry Yelling” contest once apprehended and questioned about who may have committed the policeman's murder. Perhaps he was bipolar all along.

A clichéd bank hostage gives Ed Binns a safer exit from the bank than his partners. There is wasted footage of him peering out his hideout window with a camera cut to the female hostage, each staring back at the other. No dialogue. The only suspense is when she comes up with a plan to escape, and thanks to a good bit of script timing, he leaves the warehouse silently horizontal after Robinson shows up.

Note: Percy Helton turns in a brief, memorably humorous performance as one who is followed by shadows. Television pictures all over him. Especially on Wednesdays. Because of more pressing issues, Robinson keeps Helton patiently waiting. He is aware of Helton's condition and compassionately states he simply needs a “witness” to legally have the police look into the matter. Helton sincerely has no clue how to find one. Robinson suggests someone, a local doctor of psychology. Helton is highly encouraged.

FLIGHT TO TANGIER (1953)

I was not sure what to make of this Paramount Pictures film with the established and respected Joan Fontaine co-starring with newcomer, Jack Palance. How could this possibly work? Thanks to a sleep-inducing, confusing screenplay, it does not. The audience may have been disappointed with Palance's 180-degree pivot from his signature role in Shane. Paul Sawtell's score, periodically, is grounded in adventure, but I think even he was not that inspired. Not too relevant to mention, but the film was produced in Dynoptic 3D. You will not miss it or figure out where it was used. Just enjoy the thespians doing their thing and the thick Technicolor. 

Joining Fontaine and Palance are Robert Douglas and Corinne Calvet. We have little clue as to their relationship, yet they all seem to know each other. It made me wonder if I missed the opening. Like the cast, the audience is on their own self-discovery adventure. Fontaine first appears distracted, wondering how to get out of this project or why she signed those papers at the studio. Calvet, with her legit, yet sounding clichéd French accent, may never have looked better than in light green. Douglas has the condescending tone of a scoundrel, so one can gather his intent in this movie. We find them all looking skyward from the Tangier airport for a DC-3's arrival. Though a plane can fly on autopilot, it cannot land with it. To their surprise, authorities find no one in or around the crashed plane. Missing in action is a courier, a briefcase with contents worth $3 million, and the pilot.

Everywhere Fontaine, Palance, and Calvet go in search of the plot...er...pilot and the courier, Douglas and his unethical entourage follow. In fact, more often than not, within eyesight of each other. There is a lot of camera crew action at times, though the film goes nowhere. Pretty funny when it is obvious they are on the same set, or the studio camera only needs to pan to find either party. This “action” repeats itself with hardly a hint of excitement or any chase defining the word. Sooner or later, you are back with two groups devising their next plan. If you miss seeing the first half, just make sure you are there for the last fifteen minutes. The script allows Fontaine to reunite with the pilot, the courier and the millions for a sudden ending. None of which explains why the film is ninety minutes long.

99 RIVER STREET (1953)

This time around, John Payne is a tough prizefighter in another film for director Phil Karlson. A familiar tale of a “man against the world.” George Zuckerman's story is pretty far-fetched, certainly not routine. If this Edward Small production falls short of being a great movie, the spot-on performances allow one to overlook any clichés. The budgeted studio sets with perpetually wet city streets were a standard device to give a city life. The painted or rear-projected buildings are present to add depth. There seems to be noticeably odd “processing” during the harbor climax scene, which looks like a stage scrim has been set up in front of cargo ships. 

Though Payne starred in a gritty, career-changing film before, he is believable as a guy beaten down inside and outside the ring. Payne is on a career roll, leaving behind his lighter characters. There is never a dull moment. The boxer's volatile temper, blunt dialogue, and realistic action catapult the film above the average film noir. I found the opening boxing scenes more believable than the over-the-top Rocky Balboa bouts. Though both films seem to use the same sound effect of punching a cardboard box with a throw pillow inside. Because of the potential permanent eye damage during his championship fight, Payne's heavyweight career comes to an end. Three years on, he is now a taxi driver with dreams of owning his own service station. His wife, Peggie Castle, is a nagging, unsympathetic woman who blames him for her lack of social importance and her personal career crusher. Owning a lowly gas station is the "last round" for her. Castle is already two-timing with a jewel thief, Brad Dexter. No secret to Payne. 

Jay Adler moonlights as a backroom jewel fence, incognito as a pet shop owner. He refuses to pay off Dexter for his latest jewel delivery, not only for killing the original owner but primarily because he brings Castle into the mix. Adler tells him there is no deal if a woman is involved. Emotional attachments have a way of altering the end game. Dexter takes his “advice,” and her cold body is found in the back of Payne's cab. Not exactly a typical fare.  

Playing an aspiring actress, Evelyn Keyes has two supporting roles with Payne. Besides being his co-star, she is a frequent taxi fare. When she finds out about his predicament, she wants to help but he is reluctant to get her involved. Keyes' attractiveness lies in her character portrayals more than in being naturally beautiful. It is of no concern whether her face is filmed from one side or the other. Jack Lambert, Adler's muscle, below, has a good turn as well. He has developed a sense of humor despite his line of work. Calls everyone at gunpoint, “kiddies.” His fight scene with Payne is worth noting. Suspecting he is in with Dexter, he slaps Payne around from behind, who is slowly coming to a full boil. Lambert becomes his punching bag. He completely did not anticipate the jackhammers hiding at the end of Payne's arms. Poor Lambert is repeatedly blasted over furniture and becomes wall décor, after a fashion. It is well-choreographed, vicious, and believable. 

Adler and crew are confused about Payne's supposed involvement in a jewel heist. He is picked up on 99 River Street and they need answers to a few questions. After the butt-end of a revolver from a revengeful Lambert, Payne tells Adler about his frame-up, then all bullets have Dexter's name on them. Continuing to hone her acting skills, Keyes' role-playing comes in handy as she lures Dexter out of the diner. Spotting Payne outside, Dexter makes a run for it, with Payne taking a bullet in one arm. One arm is plenty and Dexter is soon down for the count. 

CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS (1953)

The slow-motion dissolving opening credits of a shimmering font seem to establish a whimsical tone. The orchestral music crescendos gently as each main credit slowly appears, then decrescendos as credits fade. Then the cycle repeats. With a complicated lead character, this movie needs to be watched more than once to catch all the nuances that make this low-budget film work. The film's pacing in the first thirty minutes was a bit frustrating, however. The cinematography by John Russell is certainly a highlight. The exception is the "Keystone Cops" rear projection of 1930s traffic as seen from a speeding (studio) police car's windscreen. The wacky, blurred footage embarrasses an otherwise solid, yet slightly quirky, film. The sets nicely masquerade for location filming, yet according to the film, all businesses apparently close after dusk. The insomniac city is Chicago, and Chill Wills gives it voice during one day in the Windy City. 

Young is strangely nonchalant with his unhappy lot in life, thinking it will be his last day as a policeman. He has grown weary of his job and restless with his marriage of an interminable three years. Few could play nonchalantly better, though. It took me a while to realize the early references to “Pops” was more than everyone's affectionate term for a senior policeman. Young plays his son, carrying the family torch in the line of duty. Young's brother, on the other hand, is tempted to a wilder side by local magician turned hoodlum, William Talman. Rather odd since the magician angle is irrelevant to the movie unless he prepared those title credits. Talman has indelibly etched himself into another film, this time as a smooth and calculating criminal mind. Edward Arnold, the powerful crooked attorney, is a "maker of men." Talman is one, and he hopes Young, being unhappy as a lowly policeman, will be his next success. The attorney will pay Young handsomely if he transports Talman to Indiana for protection. In reality, it would get him out of Arnold's hair. What there is of it. Arnold's wife, Marie Windsor, has her own scheme.

In the mix is an “exotic” dancer, Mala Powers, to whom Young is not that committed either. He would like to be, but it is complicated. She plays an aspiring ballerina whose bit of bad fortune placed her in the company of Tutu-less dancers. Also in love with Powers is perhaps the film's most unusual character. Wally Cassell plays the club's unique entertainer, whose job behind an elevated glass case outside the nightclub is to fool the public into believing he is actually a mechanical man. With his face painted silver, under a top hat and black tuxedo, he performs in shifts for the equivalent length of this movie---ninety minutes---with fifteen-minute breaks in between. This quirky character is the only witness to a murder by Talman outside the club. And Cassell's single tear exposes the truth.

There is a nice ending twist of confusion for Talman. The father takes the police radio call in place of his son. Talman is stunned to learn that father is there not to take him to the Hoosier state but to handcuff and arrest him. With the devastating realization of Talman's heartless action, Young's career commitment and life purpose hit new heights, no thanks to Wills. The ending is the typical gunfire exchange while running to total exhaustion. Chicago's electrified elevated commuter rail system is a big concern as both men sidestep around it in the shadows. 

Spoiler Alert: When Chill Wills pops up out of nowhere to be Gig Young's substitute patrol partner, the viewer and Young wonder where he came from. It is a good bet this film is the only fantasy noir released by Republic Pictures or any other studio. It is another quirky element, and I am not sure it even has a point. Young does not seem to be affected by any of Will's angelic, wise counsel. Nearing the film's end, once he is confident, Young has his life on course, he vanishes just as mysteriously as he appeared.

Notes: A couple of officers refer to Talman as a “who’d.” It was an era when "hoodlum" was truncated to "hood" as slang. Other movies of the era may use the same term. Finally, Wally Cassell may be best known as the soldier with constant amorous intentions in the notable 1945 film, Story of G.I. Joe.

NO ESCAPE (1953)

A limited-budget movie with opening narration is sometimes a clear signal the film is going to stall out somewhere along the way, not sustaining its “docudrama” setup. There is no escaping that reality here, where escape has a double meaning. One, of having all roads out of the city blocked by police for any fleeing fugitive, and the other, trying to escape a homicide rap. This is a rare crime B-movie where none of the principals die. There is a lot of faking in this film, from dubbed singing to a rooftop escape that looks particularly manufactured. One might relish the scenes of vintage San Francisco, but only if you grew up there.

The film starts off fairly optimistically thanks to Lew Ayres with a likable performance well suited to some five years later for a young Jack Lemmon, perhaps. He appears to be a flippant, carefree songwriter who is eking out a living playing piano at a nightclub. Actually, he cannot get his composing mojo back and wallows in self-doubt and drink. His dubbed vocals are way off the believability chart, to say nothing of the piano “playing,” once, before his hands hit keys.

Marjorie Steele, the girlfriend of Sonny Tufts, is adequate in her role. Her trumpeted, curling upper lip when talking is annoying, as is her lisp. But I digress. While chatting with Ayres in the nightclub, she is whisked away by a wealthy James Griffith, in possibly his briefest role ever. A quarrel later ensues with a lamp base going to Griffith's head. All of which is assumed but never filmed. Learning of his death, she fears she killed him and then becomes an over-the-top bundle of nerves, jumping a foot whenever a phone rings. Ayres later stumbles into Griffith's apartment to return the “pity cash” he received from Griffith in the nightclub. He leaves enough fingerprints to incriminate himself. It eventually occurs to Ayres that she only knocked out Griffith with someone else returning for the kill.

Tufts as a policeman seems a stretch, as one gets the feeling he will go into a jealous, maniacal rage at any moment. Which he does by the end. Slightly unstable roles like this seemed to be more the norm for him in the Fifties as his career self-destructed. But I digress again. Tufts would prefer to pin the crime on Ayres, but Steele feels the guilt. She helps Ayres escape—without leaving town—but there is no escaping the mundane sections throughout this film, which are not integral to the plot and make the film seem a lot longer than seventy-six minutes. There are a few clever close calls or two, but hardly worth mentioning. In a moment to catch their breath, after the correct arrest has been made, Steele pointedly challenges Ayres to snap out of it and return to being the composer he once was. In the end, he sees a fresh horizon with a newly written song and encouragement from his new girl.

WICKED WOMAN (1953)

Any mid-century film buff should have enough time for a Beverly Michaels film festival. One evening should do it. This lead role is one of her more popular as she uses her self-serving curves to fire up the male ego. The film opens with  “Larry Lounge-Singer” performing the title song for this sordid tale of a deceitful woman who is near the last rung of life’s ladder. Traveling by commercial bus is not exactly first-class so the opening scenes set the tone for the title character. Her reputation is on display as soon as she steps off the bus.

Michaels, with her occasionally obvious overbite or no childhood dental counseling, checks into “Hotel Carcinogen.” A tenant across the hall is that handsome Percy Helton. A lady magnet. A creepy weasel lady magnet. All the chairs in his apartment have been stolen from a first-grade classroom. With legs crossed, Michaels' knees are high enough to get Helton's attention. He hits on her as only he could in his trademarked, suspendered, hunched fashion. She entices him because there is something she needs. He is a seamstress. Michaels certainly puts the "man" in manipulative.

In her early shopping scenes, the 5' 9" Michaels is filmed in slow motion, looking like those old silent Blackhawk 8mm movies. A weird director’s idea perhaps. She even exhales tobacco smoke in slow motion when trying to seduce Richard Egan. Yeah. That will do it. He and his wife are owners of the local bar where Michaels is hired as a waitress. In slow motion, she is very popular with the gents. On the cusp of stupidity, Egan, looking quite beefy in a white T-shirt, falls for her and she immediately suggests he sell the bar, take the money and both of them head for Mexico. She is apparently on a tight schedule. Egan’s wife is the financial boss of the bar and that causes concern. Since the buyer has never met the wife, Michaels fills in. What seems like an editor’s miscue, because nothing is revealed from the close-up of Michaels's hand not wearing a wedding ring, a tight shot of Egan’s face suggests there may be trouble ahead. 

Helton eavesdrops on Egan’s visits to the hotel. He threatens to blackmail Michaels unless he gets his way with her. Helton is a very lonely man. A man of sewability. Egan barges in, catching him caressing her, and goes ballistic. He realizes his stupidity and turns his anger on Michaels. She takes the brunt of some seriously effective shoving by Egan. The audience cheers. It is Egan and the Tramp. Michaels plays out the scene on her bed, sobbing and beating her pillow into submission.

The film closes with Michaels buying a new bus ticket to any town, hoping for a few more men who are attracted by a bleached blonde who could have used braces when she was a kid. She flashes a big “one-off” grin at a male traveler but he has no dental fear. He is hooked. Larry Lounge appropriately ends this ugly, and quite amusing, story with a shortened title song.

Note: This screenplay was written by Michaels' real-life husband, Russell Rouse, whose diverse work spanned nearly five decades. The two were married from 1955 until his death in 1987.