SHACK OUT ON 101 (1955)

This movie surely got lost on its opening weekend, but no need to apologize for their efforts. You will enjoy this rather unconventionally titled film. One might think this is a filmed stage play as ninety-five percent of the film takes place in a diner [set] along California's Highway 101. The viewer gets hooked in the first five minutes and past this point, the plot slowly unfolds. A story not about the life of Pie, but centering around a common theme during this period: national security. This slow-burn film has an interesting mix of humor and mystery during the “who do you trust” era. Condense this down to under sixty minutes and you would have one of the better Alfred Hitchcock Hour episodes.

All the diner's patrons interact with numerous one-on-one conversations. There is Lee Marvin, a character who swings from lecherous slob to comical buddy. Everyone's cliched short-order cook. If Marvin seemed to be under-appreciated mid-century he did not go unnoticed. He is quite versatile here, handling a pivotal dual role. He has a lot cooking but it is not chili. Keenan Wynn, the sarcastic eatery owner, does not like Marvin's attitude and apparently his cooking. Their verbal jabs is the daily routine. He and Marvin have the funniest scene during their weight-lifting challenge. It is full of sarcastic insults as each tries to out manly the other. Lean and lanky, Marvin is hilarious.

Throw in smokey-voiced tenor, Frank Lovejoy, with a few secrets; throw in a naive waitress, Terry Moore, and you have a reason to show up at the diner. Despite her top billing, this is Marvin's film. If you are expecting Whit Bissell to show up then you will not be disappointed. He plays the D-Day buddy of Wynn’s character. Len Lesser (Seinfeld’s Uncle Leo) and Marvin seem to have a long-standing relationship. Their odd mock "boxing match" at arm's length with opposite ends of a towel between their teeth would seem to have a childhood history.

Note: This eighty-minute suspense drama was directed by Edward Dein with a twisty screenplay by him and Mildred Dein. It was produced by William F. Broidy Productions and released by United Artists Pictures. The ever-present Paul Dunlap offered up the music score, starting off with a jazzy jukebox number.

FILM BRAKE : ZIV TELEVISION

 

The Ziv Television Programs was founded in 1948. By 1955, Frederick Ziv churned out more than 250 half-hour shows until first-run syndicated programming dwindled in the early1960s. Despite starring some noted actors, the vast majority only ran for one season. Ziv's longer-running shows were The Cisco Kid, Sea Hunt, and Highway Patrol, which I have elected for this entry.

HIGHWAY PATROL (1955-1959)

This 156-episode crime drama action series famously stars Broderick Crawford as the dedicated Dan Matthews, a gruff, yet empathetic head of a police force. Clad in a suit and fedora, Crawford's signature rapid-fire delivery served him well as he barked into a patrol car's microphone any number of police codes while leaning against the open door of his Buick patrol car. The show was created in response to the California Highway Patrol wanting to be featured in a series. However, Ziv thought the show needed a broader police scope so the state name was dropped. In its early run, the show received technical assistance from the California Highway Patrol, using actual patrol vehicles. Apparently unhappy with the show's direction, they dropped their support and the producers had to use unofficial vehicles with their own subdued markings. The show opened with aerials from a helicopter as it buzzed over a highway roadblock. David Rose's military march theme song then set a noble tone.

Ziv has stated that the small budget show moved at a fast pace to match Crawford's rapid delivery. He claimed the show introduced "quick cutting" to television, starting a new trend. The opening narration by the unmistakable voice-over artist, Art Glimore, gave the sense that the story unfolding was pulled from actual police files. Not exactly, but the show was noted for realism and its famous location shooting around the formerly rural San Fernando Valley and Simi Valley. Common pursuit locations included the curb-sided Griffith Park Drive and nearby Bronson Canyon. The show centered on crime-fighting rather than issuing traffic tickets, though during its formative years, the episodes ended with Crawford himself delivering pithy traffic safety advice—sometimes humorous—aimed at the television viewer.

Note: The show featured many actors who went on to become successful stars in their own right, among them was Stuart Whitman as Sgt. Walters, Guy Williams appeared occasionally as Matthew's partner, Clint Eastwood, Robert Conrad, Larry Hagman, Barbara Eden, Paul Burke, and Leonard Nimoy. 

KISS ME [atypically] DEADLY (1955)

This one-hundred-six-minute cult classic based on Mickey Spillane's salacious book of the same name is hardly unknown in the Twenty-First Century. What is definitively unknown are my opinions about some strangeness or implausibilities in this late-blooming film noir produced and directed by Robert Aldrich for Parklane Pictures and distributed by United Artists. I take note of numerous atypical elements that set this film apart from earlier film noirs. Years of hindsight have solidified this film's cult status and emblazoned Ralph Meeker in the Hollywood history books. The measured score was composed by the versatile Frank De Vol, a four-time Oscar nominee with thirty-six comedy acting roles in his future—mostly in television. 

This film's atypical opening involves quirky Cloris Leachman frantically running— appearing to be barefoot—in the middle of a road at night. Meeker/Mike Hammer nearly runs her down with his Jaguar XK120. The captivating opening screenplay by A. I. Bezzerides may give the impression you just parachuted in. The studio cameras attached to Meeker's cars add realism to the film. No cheap studio prop cars in this one. As one would expect, she is exhausted. Questionably strange, however, is that she continues to heave and moan miles later as his passenger. One would think the director would have stepped in to suggest something else for Leachman to do at this point. It is unnecessarily extended or at least annoying. On a more positive note, first-time viewers were probably eager to know what happens next in this slow-burn journey which ends outrageously like a science-fiction horror film. Cinematographer, Ernest Laszlo, should be noted for his lighting, and his Los Angeles location shooting may be interesting to those who grew up or still live there. He and Aldrich seemed to have had an understanding and would work together frequently. 

Not many Los Angeles private detectives have the wherewithal to be choosy about the car they drive. And it usually is not a Jaguar. Atypical. His home is built around a cutting-edge reel-to-reel answering machine embedded in his wall. Atypical. He employs an invaluable secretary slash undercover manipulator, Maxine Cooper. The report by the Kefauver Commission, in strongly-worded comments, said this film was not fit for families to view. The initial intimate embrace between the two leads may have made a few mid-century patrons uncomfortable, with the scene [perhaps] comprising one of the commission's middle paragraphs. Another paragraph may have addressed the atypical Gaby Rodgers—the most quirky female in the film as Leachman's roommate—Quirky 2.0. She too is barefoot in her opening scenes with a vocal delivery indicating she may be under some sort of influence. Rodgers' short blonde hair seems to fit the era's formula of a sociopath—the bleached hair of psychos like Raymond Burr, Skip Homeier or Corey Allen comes to mind.

Adding to the lead cast are supporting roles for Wesley Addy, whose condescending, sarcastic delivery is always spot-on—here as a police lieutenant who knows how to keep a secret—and perennial bad guys, the two Jacks, Elam and Lambert. These two earn respect after Meeker's—assumed martial arts—effortless off-screen debilitation of Lambert. Atypical. As if Meeker has supernatural powers. Elam is visibly shaken by what he witnessed. Their mob boss, Paul Stewart has a brief screen appearance but will not go unnoticed. The deviously smiling gangster and Meeker never resolve their trust issues. But with no hard feelings, Stewart leaves a new Chevrolet Corvette curbside outside his home. He only sprung for two accessories—bombs wired to double Meeker's chances of exploding. The mustachioed Nick Dennis plays the experienced Italian auto mechanic frequented by Meeker, with an enduring phrase, “Va-Va-Voom,” when referring to fast cars or beautiful girls. After “disarming” the Corvette it becomes Meeker's new ride of choice. Though brand new on the automotive scene, it seems atypical to spotlight this car in a film. The sound department may have taken liberties with the Corvette's exhaust note. 

Rodgers is reunited with her superior, Albert Dekker, who warns her to never open “The Box.” It sets up the bazaar and chilling twist that utilizes a horrifying sound effect like mankind's screams from hell when she opens the box. Most atypical. Meeker and Cooper escape the beach house's “atomic” fireball—sans a mushroom cloud—capping an implausible ending as they reach safety in the shore's knee-deep water. Mid-century moviegoers—tossed between bewilderment and fright—may not have been able to describe the film to a friend except to say they had not seen anything quite like the disturbing ending.

Note: The mystery box so tempting to Rodgers contained an atom that has excess nuclear energy of highly unstable Radionuclide. Its degree of harm would depend on the nature and extent of the radiation produced and the amount and nature of exposure. However, with suitable properties, Radionuclide is today used in nuclear medicine for both diagnosis and treatment. The film eludes to it only as atomic, equating it to the atomic bombs that ended World War II.

NEW YORK CONFIDENTIAL (1955)

Based on the novel of the same name by Jack Lait and Lee Mortimer, this eighty-eight-minute film stays several stories above ground thanks to a superior cast. Richard Conte is a standout. He plays the always smiling, polite, confident hitman for a Chicago mob, tarnishing an otherwise likable guy. Key to the film is Broderick Crawford as the knee-jerk, hot-headed mob kingpin who has worked his way to the top by intimidation and not necessarily brains. Crawford was blessed—or cursed—with the ability to speed-talk faster than your average Millennial, something that belies his facial appearance. His script alone is half as thick as the rest of the cast because he crams five pages into one.

Edward Small Productions, along with Clarence Greene, produced this “confidential” film—Small's second—centering on a crime syndicate's control of big-city movers and shakers obsessed with rising to the top by any means. It is directed by Russell Rouse, who along with Greene, wrote the screenplay. Though not a particularly busy career, Rouse wrote screenplays and/or directed a wide variety of films, spanning such diverse films as, Wicked Woman starring his wife, Beverly Michaels, and Doris Day's classic, Pillow Talk. Small's earlier Kansas City Confidential offered some uniqueness that this film lacks. Those Midwest folk were way more creative with their crime. This film is never exciting nor intense—a basic rehash of how a cartel can pressure ordinary businessmen with an offer each cannot refuse. As was common, opening narration sets up the premise by radio and television actor Marvin Miller.

Conte is on a relaxing East Coast assassination vacation when Crawford calls him into his office. He makes an immediate impression and the boss hires him at twice his Windy City salary to be his business “equalizer.” From the start, one gets the feeling these two devoted friends will face off one way or the other. Syndicate friendships can be fleeting. Strictly business. Nothing personal. Anne Bancroft plays Crawford's daughter who rebels against her dictated life and is embarrassed by her father's career. She is socially unacceptable. Her casting seems to be fortuitous timing being the right age and a relative newcomer.

A plan to cut the head off the syndicate is initiated by the governor's crime commission. Crawford sends three men to eliminate the primary target but they botch the assignment and leave behind too many clues. This will not be tolerated. The syndicate becomes smaller by three. Conte is sent out to finish the house cleaning. All the while Crawford is being pressured to turn state's evidence, relinquishing his hold on the cartel. The syndicate realizes they will all be implicated if he cooperates. Conte is given the heartless assignment. Later that night as he parks near his apartment—in a momentary lack of judgment—Conte exits down the middle of the dark street. What goes around comes around.

Note: New York Confidential was generally well-received, in part due to the familiar cast. J. Carrol Naish plays Crawford's right-hand man. A character whose inside knowledge of the syndicate becomes a liability. The widowed Crawford has attracted a new girlfriend, Marilyn Maxwell, who finds herself in the wrong place and time. She and Bancroft both have designs on Conte but he has learned to stay in his own neighborhood. Then there is the actor one would expect to be associated with gangsters, Mike Mazurki. As a life-saving measure, he actively pursues a plea bargain. Finally, Barry Kelly, in somewhat of his typecast character, plays the unethical syndicate attorney trying to work both sides of the legal fence.

THE FAST AND THE FURIOUS (1955)

This seventy-three-minute B-movie is loaded with all the ingredients of a little-known film. But it is not. Despite its meager budget and a ten-day shooting schedule, it garnered a huge box office return. The two leads seem made for each other and perhaps that was a catalyst for moviegoers. Filming at the Pebble Beach racing circuit may have also boosted ticket sales—plenty of vintage sports car footage for the automobile fan. Produced by Roger Corman with a story by the same, this Palo Alto Productions was the first film produced for American International Pictures. There is a puzzling opening to the film that has the feel of a truncated theatrical trailer. The viewer has to wait about forty minutes to find out what it is all about. The film stars John Ireland, who also directed along with Edward Sampson. Corman updated his resumé after seeing Ireland’s good results. Getting few casting calls at this point in her career, Dorothy Malone signed on as the second-billed lead. Despite the necessary dialogue to explain why Ireland is furious and Malone drives fast, it is full of entertainment value and plenty of Corman trademarks.

Ireland, in another furrowed brow role, is framed for murder but breaks jail—the only means of escaping the rap. Minding his own business in a diner, Malone drives up in her Jaguar XK120 to get a glass of pineapple juice. Try requesting that in Minnesota. A blonde motormouth waitress, Iris Adrian—the physical equivalent of today's social media—is full of opinions and gossip about the recent murder. She is irritating Ireland as does a rotund male customer who keeps probing him with questions. He pulls a revolver on Ireland, there is a scuffle and "Lumpy" gets decked. The Jaguar did not go unnoticed. Ireland hustles Malone out of the diner and suspends her driving privileges. She might come in handy as a suggested couple. What she becomes is a nightmare hostage, frustrating him to no end as she tries to escape, throws the ignition key in the weeds, or constantly complains. They dislike each other immediately.

The unconscious music score is the single worst element in the film. A Corman tradition. It is never appropriate for any given scene as if they randomly chose selections from a music library based on the album's cover art. The first inappropriate use is during Malone’s arrival at the diner over sitcom music of the era. I half expected a laugh track when she ordered the pineapple juice. An over-the-top theme is used as the two escape motorcycle police facing the opposite direction down a switchback from them. Ireland decides to coast the Jaguar down the mountain, thus passing behind them. The complicated, raging orchestral music is played at a very low level so it will be less noticeable. But the scene calls for tension from a sustained note. Some of today’s action thrillers have a fear of silence like so many people on a picnic who cannot eat outdoors without a sound system making willows weep. The music quietly and mindlessly crescendos as Malone excitedly says, “I’m Hungry!”

Ireland pulls a gun on Malone as they enter a clichéd roadblock. “Don’t try anything,” he snarls. Hollywood's idle threat is always stupid. If he fires the gun, the police will be on top of him and there is no point in killing her. Maybe Ireland really is a psycho. No surprise they get through the roadblock after telling the authorities they are participating in the nearby international race. Suddenly, Malone gets playfully sarcastic as her mood changes. Soon, “humorous” jabs are traded, signifying an upshift in their relationship.

Malone is well-known and respected on the racing circuit. She enters her car in the cross-border race but Ireland will drive the manly course. Riding as a passenger, she verbally points out the correct driving techniques to be a winner as they take a practice run over the course. Ireland is implausibly a quick learner. She did not coach Ireland on how to appear believable when “driving” the studio prop car, though. His face looks positively numb. Suspicious of Ireland is Malone’s racing friend, Bruce Carlisle, who is given the caution flag for worst acting. The racing sequences, using shaky, rear-facing race footage, add some excitement. Rather humorous, though, is the race announcer calling turns and spotting cars over the long-distance road course despite a thick forest and distant hills obscuring his view. Ireland and Carlisle battle for the win until the latter loses control and crashes. Ireland’s plan for his Mexico escape does not become a reality as he stops to help his fellow racer.

Note: Dorothy Malone’s hit-and-miss career might be compared to a contemporary of hers, Marsha Mason. Malone’s most visible role may have been her lead in television’s “Peyton Place.” Originally a brunette, dyeing her hair platinum boosted her career for a short time—an assumed alternative to Monroe. But there were plenty of those.

CRASHOUT (1955)

This eighty-nine-minute film—about ten minutes too long—is an unnecessary offering about a commonplace Hollywood theme, a clichéd prison break. Perhaps six convicts are too many characters involved to be a legit noir. Three is manageable and the film mostly centers around the three main leads. Regardless of the number, convicts rarely escape successfully in a standard formula like this. I might have enjoyed this more if the cast were mostly unknown actors. These six are well-known respected actors, all of whom had their turn as crooks or murderers with their membership in the “Criminal Actors Union.” Their polished performances seem a waste for such a routine B-movie. The film has a couple of gritty moments but even those are tame when compared to some scenes from Armored Car Robbery, done five years earlier.

The film was directed by Lewis Foster who also helped pen the screenplay with his writing partner, Hal Chester. It was produced by Chester for Standard Productions. I think any blame falls directly on these two. The dialogue is not scintillating or original. One example is when the tough leader commands diner patrons, “Everybody stay where you are and keep quiet.” An anonymous jazz score with blaring trumpets is by Leith Stevens.

William Bendix plays the self-centered, heartless leader at odds with life. If the others want their share of the loot he has hidden in the mountains, everyone will do it his way. Though a versatile actor, with his gnome-like stature, tiny mouth, and definitive nose, he seems better suited for a film’s levity. Nevertheless, the film gravitates around his capable performance as one unhappy individual. The balance of the cast follows his lead. William Talman may have been expected as the ruthless leader—speaking of Armored Car Robbery. Close. He is a mentally unbalanced reverend. A convict with knife-throwing expertise and the ability to use a Mercury as a lethal weapon. The third main character is Arthur Kennedy. Unlike the other two, he was sent to prison for non-lethal embezzlement. He is an astute judge of character and his least favorite person is Bendix. Rounding out the cast is Marshall Thompson, the youngest convict with redeemable qualities. Gene Evans, with several loathsome character roles under his belt, is always hungry and Luther Adler is a scoundrel, moocher, and deviant. The gang takes over a roadside diner, hides when motorcycle cops arrive by swapping clothes with the male patrons, steals a car, abandons the car, and argues a lot.

The convicts invade Beverly Michaels' country home. Kennedy, being that good judge of character, provides her protection from the remaining miscreants. Coupled with Michaels is Adam Williams' singular performance. He nearly steals the film as a naive young man—a friend of the family. One could imagine his late appearance in the film to be accompanied by canned laughter. Polite to a fault, he is an all-around nice guy arriving to help Michaels in any way he can—perhaps with chores or save her from preparing dinner. He is not leaving anytime soon. He would like to say hello to her mother. Unavailable. In an attempt to have him move on, Michaels tells him Kennedy is her visiting cousin. He immediately spots the family resemblance. He offers him chewing gum, even suggesting all three take in a picture show. Not able to take a hint, the hidden convicts have had enough of his persistence and come downstairs to make things perfectly clear. It begins to sink in. Kennedy wraps up the film during a highly fake snowstorm, walking past the camera for an interpretative ending.

Note: I will never understand how gullible Hollywood thinks the average moviegoer must be when someone just stands in one place like a possum caught in headlights while a vehicle accelerates toward them. Most times it can be improved with better film editing. In this case, not having the victim turn too soon and stare at the approaching car. I would think the instinctive thing to do, especially as a trained police officer with good hearing and common sense, is to jump out of the way. No amount of suspended disbelief could help this scene.

5 AGAINST THE HOUSE (1955)

Directed by Phil Karlson, this production helped establish the heist film. It was produced by Stirling Silliphant and John Barnwell for Columbia Pictures with a screenplay based on Jack Finney's 1954 novel of the same name. George Duning's score adds the right amount of heft when needed. For the most part, the eighty-three minutes play out logically until the nonsensical ending. Karlson's realism is evident right from the opening night scene in Reno, Nevada as a campus foursome arrive and have their car parked on an upper level by a nifty hydraulic parking garage system. There is plenty of genuine comic dialogue but the script's humorous quips wear a bit thin, in part due to the film eventually taking a darker turn. Enrolled to further their matrimonial studies are Brian Keith, Guy Madison, Kerwin Mathews, and Alvy Moore, appearing to be the only age-appropriate student—at thirty-four!—judging by his mannerisms, physique, and crew cut. He is enrolled as the film's levity. If you can get past the age absurdity, you are nearly halfway there. 

Returning to campus after their Korean War duty, pre-law students, Madison and Keith, are somewhat the "fathers" to the other two collegians. Madison is the straight arrow of the two. Capitalizing on some early roles, Keith's script dictates a volatile nature due to battle shock and a metal plate in his head yet refuses further treatments in the VA's psych ward. During this era, a metal plate worked its way into a number of post-war actor heads. But there are five against the house. Enter Madison's girlfriend, Kim Novak, now reunited. To his astonishment, she has become a singer at a Glendale nightclub. He had no idea she could sing and never suspected her voice would be dubbed. The chosen studio singer matches Novak's vocal range accurately enough, but it is no longer believable. Thankfully there is only one number to sit through.

Due to a sizable inheritance, the wealthy Matthews—perhaps paying cash for each semester—is obsessed with a plan to rob Harold's Club in Reno. Just for the exhilaration. All the money would be quickly returned—how is never addressed—ensuring that no one involved would be guilty of a crime. Right. Matthews purchases a used trailer and car to pull it and then fabricates a cash cart—entirely from memory—identical to the ones used at the club. The complex operation depends on Madison's participation—and a gullible audience—if it is to succeed, however. Throwing a curve into the plan is Madison's intention to marry Novak in Reno. The entire “wedding party” takes the seven hundred twenty-mile drive to Reno. Before long, Madison realizes something is up and forces the trio's hand. The happy couple want no part in it. That will not do, according to the unbalanced Keith, who now has no plan of returning the money or sharing it. Losing all sense of reason he threatens to bring them all down for their part if he gets caught.

They pull off the ideally-timed theft with the help of a nervous William Conrad, in charge of the club's cash cart, during Western costume days. Matthews has a reel-to-reel tape recorder hidden inside the duplicate cart that plays a threatening recording on his command, psychologically making Conrad think “the guy in there” will shoot him if he does not play along. How Matthews turns the recorder on and off or how Conrad could not be aware of the cart's lack of weight is purely suspended disbelief. Madison catches up with the fleeing Keith and their special bond results in a tearful, emotional collapse of the latter in the same garage where the film opened. The police are there to arrest Keith and everyone else is preposterously ignored for their part in the scheme. The viewer assumes Keith will not squeal on the other four and his metal...er...mental condition will result in a light sentence. Apparently, Conrad will keep silent when asked about his traumatic quarter-hour experience.

Note: This is certainly an entertaining film and generally got positive reviews at the time. But as time tends to enhance old films, this unknown noir has been raised to a higher level by some. The acting is commendable but Keith is the only standout performer, eliciting a wide range of emotions. Novak's early film role seems well-suited for the fairly one-dimensional Madison. However, the posters defy any thought of her in a supporting role. It is more like four against one.

DOUBLE JEOPARDY (1955)

 

Stoically stiff, yet charmingly handsome, Rod Cameron plays a criminal attorney nearly engaged to Allison Hayes, whose father, a wealthy businessman played by John Litel, thinks highly of Cameron, personally and professionally. Perhaps the director suggested the brunette Hayes lighten her hair. The problem is that she and her equal-billed co-star, Gale Robbins, look similar in their opening scenes, sharing a hairstyle, facial structure, and figure. What separates the two is Robbin’s annoying character, an extremely deceptive and smart-aleck tart. Money is her only interest, not her former wealthy husband, Robert Armstrong. He has not worked in years since serving a prison term for a shady business deal with his former business partner, the aforementioned Litel. He now spends his idle hours consuming alcohol by the quart. That, and blackmailing Litel to keep their secret sealed. Enter problem child, Jack Kelly.

Kelly and Robbins are in a deceptive lust affair. They deserve each other. Kelly is a salesman for “Happy Harry’s” used car dealership. Kelly is as greedy and unethical as they come. Portly Dick Elliott plays Harry, some years away from being a one-term Mayor of Mayberry. At Kelly’s suggestion, Robbins sweet-talks Armstrong into pressuring Litel for a second big payoff. Another dreaded phone call and Litel meets Armstrong on their usual mountain overlook. But Litel has not brought any money, only rendezvousing with the extortionist to say he has had enough. Slime bag Kelly has been watching from afar and after Litel drives away he confronts Armstrong, demanding the assumed money. They argue, then Armstrong gets behind the wheel and attempts to drive off. Outside the passenger side of the car, Kelly appears to impossibly pull Armstrong away from the driver's side in a questionable bit of editing. Suddenly Armstrong's right arm dangles out the passenger side window. The car slowly rolls backward over a cliff. 'Twas the crash that killed the drunken beast.

Based on the specific tire tread pattern of his Rolls-Royce leading to the spot, Litel looks good for the murder. He finally admits his past with Armstrong and their financial deal for new housing development. Investigating on his own, Cameron puts the idea into Robbins' head that Kelly planned to double-cross her and keep the money himself. The two “love doves” drive to the scene of Armstrong’s demise to get the invisible money. Kelly's only plan is to silence loose lips.

This drama was produced by Rudy Ralston and written by Don Martin for Republic Pictures. The veteran of many Republic westerns, R. G. Springsteen, directed this seventy-minute crime film. Thanks to a competent cast, this well-played B-movie is a familiar theme of extortion with lying characters—two Hollywood favorites. Thick, night cinematography adds atmosphere to this "mystery" film. It holds up well enough for a very unknown film with an oft-used title.

Note: Late in the film, Cameron begins suspecting Kelly is surely guilty of something and poses a few questions to Elliot. Covering for Kelly, the attorney gets the run-around. Fed up and realizing there will be no straight answers, Cameron sarcastically deadpans, "Well, are you happy, Harry?"

A FILM BRAKE: TELEVISION'S INTEGRAL CHARACTER

CHEYENNE (1955-1963)

Out of the unknown came Clint Walker to play the soft-spoken, handsome television cowboy, Cheyenne Bodie, who—for a man of impressive stature—possessed sensitivity, compassion, and uncompromising ethics to uphold the truth. He was not to be lied to and could defend himself with a lightning-quick draw. Cheyenne may save a town from self-destruction by calmly reasoning and presenting facts that both sides can accept—those still alive—by the episode’s end. He will end up getting whacked on the back of the head almost weekly with the butt of a revolver. It is a wonder he could remember how to ride a horse, let alone shoot straight. Some scripts called for the well-built Walker to lose his shirt. I am not referring to money lost in a poker game, either. The hero always escapes the clutches of hateful people or defends someone in a similar predicament. Truth overrules lies. In today’s Hollywood, one cannot always recognize the good guy or that evil characters have become the central focus.

Though standard fare for the era, television budgets made it obvious when stock Warner Bros footage was inserted. The studio was not happy with the first few episodes in which Cheyenne traveled with a comical sidekick, L.Q. Jones. Roy Huggins was asked to better develop the title character, distancing him from a Saturday morning cardboard figure. There is a commonality between Cheyenne and his later Richard Kimble character. Each could make a positive change in people’s lives. Both characters moved from town to town being hired for a variety of jobs. Each had no ties but often had admiring females. The two shows were a timeless account of an individual correcting the wrongs within his circle of influence. One person making a difference.

There were few experiences Cheyenne was not equipped to handle, whether defending or fighting the American Indian, acting as trail boss for a cattle drive or a scout for the U.S. Cavalry. By far, he was most often confronted by crooked, single-minded sheriffs or townspeople, judges, or cattle-rustling outlaws who hate him because he throws a wrench in their devious plans. It is a coordinated effort by a deceptive leader in which he or she rules by coercive behavior. The show can be frustrating week after week because these blind individuals lack any sense, common or otherwise. In their self-serving behavior, they accuse without allowing facts to be presented. Truth is irrelevant. Jail him, run him out of town or their favorite option, hang him before the mob changes their mind. It is a timeless illustration of narrow-minded individuals intimidating the innocent. These people will not agree to disagree, respect each opinion, and remain friends. The person is simply an enemy.

The ABC series was the first sixty-minute western and the grand-pappy of the “adult” western, premiering a week before the thirty-minute Gunsmoke. When watched today, most Cheyenne episodes are engaging enough—thanks to Clint Walker's straight-arrow charm—to help the hour go by quickly. At least, via DVR. Eventually, the sun set on the prime time show, but it continued to be a role model for many youngsters in reruns. Walker has humbly stated that his autograph line was the longest of other television western peers during classic western hero conventions. Cheyenne remains an integral character to admire when truth, justice and common sense prevailed.

FINGER MAN (1955)

There are few surprises in this eighty-two-minute Lindsley Parsons Productions project. Distributed by Allied Artists and directed by Harold Schuster, there were numerous films patterned in the same manner mid-century. Hats off, though, to William Sickner for his photography and Paul Dunlap for providing a solid score that fits the various moods nicely. The talky script is slow at times with a fair share of clichéd staging. It is an average effort and subsequent viewings will probably not be high on your list of priorities. As is so often the case, without an experienced cast, this film noir would not be nearly as watchable.

How unfortunate that Frank Lovejoy's short, thirteen-year career did not allow viewers to witness future projects. It seemed he was Hollywood’s go-to man when needing an average guy dealing with challenging situations. He possessed an intense, underplayed acting style that, more often than not, was effective. He could be a bit lackluster, too. Lovejoy does the voice-over narration reminiscent of his earlier radio program, Night Beat. Rather unusual to have someone at odds with the law tell his story in voice-overs. Most criminals end up dead in a routine film noir. 

Lovejoy is a petty criminal who has served time in the big house. He is also a talented “piano player” after a fashion. Probably the accompanist for the prison choir. To clarify, we never see the full keyboard of the upright piano he tickles at a nightclub. Not quite sure if he had a job at the club or if they just let me play when he shows up. Brought in for hijacking a truck, he is given a choice to either return to prison or help the U.S. Treasury Department take down a crime boss, the less-than-believable, Forrest Tucker. The studios or perhaps his agent may have struggled to find a niche for Tucker. This role does not seem the right one. If Lovejoy is successful in putting the finger on Tucker, his record will be washed clean. The worst that could happen is that he gets killed. Understandably, this factors heavily in his decision. After discovering his sister has become a drug addict thanks to Tucker, he is committed to the assignment.

The acting is believable with the possible exception of Timothy Carey (above), Tucker’s lunatic partner and sociopath. Carey could be the levity in this movie as his scenes elicit laughs. Yet nothing amusing about his disturbing desire to scar females’ faces before, during, or after killing them. Opposite a laid-back Lovejoy, he provides an over-the-top contrast. Discovering a past despicable deed, Lovejoy wants to attack him savagely. But before a blow can be landed, Carey immediately starts whimpering like a little child until he finishes his outrageous scene. An odd, one-dimensional character that has become classic Carey.

Lovejoy’s love interest, formerly employed by Tucker to pad his income, is Peggie Castle. Castle seems a bit too refined for the role. A “Jan Sterling type” would have been a more expected choice. She wants to turn her life around and Lovejoy demands the Treasury also clear her record if he is successful. He needs her help to get on good terms with Tucker. Things do not end well for Castle. Often noted is her final scene crossing a darkened intersection while Lovejoy watches her for the last time from his second-story apartment. The best noir element in the film or several other films.

Tucker initially likes the short-fused Lovejoy but his opinion changes rather quickly after an undercover detective, assigned to keep tabs on Lovejoy, is fleshed out. There is no escape for the panicky Tucker. Just a reservation at the San Quentin “motor lodge” where the yearly rate is the best value. Lovejoy’s final voice-over, walking away from the camera down a darkened sidewalk, indicates he hopes to start a new life. Help people like his sister or Castle. If he lives long enough.

CHICAGO SYNDICATE (1955)

There is a crowded Chicago commuter trainload of details to sift through during this average B-movie from Clover Productions, distributed by Columbia Pictures. The voice-over details in documentary style, plus the added dialogue, make it difficult to keep things straight at times. Probably does not matter. I have grown to appreciate Dennis O’Keefe's talents. His character here, through no fault of his own, is probably too amazing to be real. He knocks down the analytical accountant stereotype of a numbers cruncher. A Chicago newspaper editor, civic leaders, along with a detective, the ubiquitous John Zaremba, want him to go undercover to flesh out the syndicate responsible for killing a bookkeeper who had evidence on the syndicate’s boss, Paul Stewart. Feeling they have the wrong guy for the job, O’Keefe is totally against the dangers associated with the idea. They plan to pay him sixty grand to do it. He gives it a try. O'Keefe handles everything like an experienced secret agent. Cool under pressure and light on his feet. Fists of iron. Pencils with no erasers. Stewart is excellent as a seemingly good-natured crime czar whose only love comes from his mother. The suave insurance scammer has little fear, but his patience has its limits. He can be vicious. O’Keefe’s plan is to capture assumed microfilm to put Stewart away on tax evasion.

Speaking of hard to believe, Allison Hayes’ role has her going undercover, on her own initiative, using an alias to avenge her bookkeeping father’s death at the hands of Stewart. This is after spending time in a mental institution over the traumatic event and the subsequent suicide of her mother. She has recovered very quickly. O’Keefe befriends her to gain access to Stewart’s nightclub. Once he is informed of who she really is, he suggests she stay out of harm’s way. But Hayes comes in handy. O’Keefe’s amazing accounting expertise places him in good favor with Stewart after the police arrange a jewel theft and a nifty insurance scam.

Double-billed with O'Keefe is Abby Lane, Stewart’s tolerable girl. She drinks too much when she is not performing with her real-life husband, Xavier Cugat. The squinty-eyed, rotund devil had a thing for a woman over thirty years his younger. Cugat was given some lines to say. Yay. With numerous roles already under her strapless gowns, Lane does alright in the part. You may find yourself singing her opening number, “One At a Time,” long after the ending. O'Keefe suggests Hayes cater to Stewart's social weaknesses, which makes Lane jealous, who then threatens to reveal Stewart’s edited books. His goons do a sixty-second beating in a separate room in full earshot of all the dinner guests. Awkward. Lane comes out of the room instantly bruised by a lot of strategically placed dark, smudgy makeup and tousled hair.

In a bit of a nail-biter, Zaremba and the police arrive to catch Stewart with his account book on a tip from O'Keefe. To his dismay, Stewart burns the pages in his mommy's wood stove. With the expected knock on the door, O’Keefe volunteers to answer it. To not blow his cover, he decks Zaremba. Now horizontal, he whispers to him that the book has been burned. Both men pull off the charade. As I say, one amazing accountant. Kind of funny when Zaremba tries to enter the room, though, as he does a comical triple-take as if confused. What the...hey! Stewart knows Zaremba well, but O'Keefe covers the incident by telling him he thought he was trouble. Lane's hidden microfilm evidence is revealed, and Stewart tells O’Keefe to light a match to it. Instead, he pockets the microfilm, gives Stewart a knuckle sandwich, and makes a run for it. As if expecting her son to come by any moment, from her upstairs apartment window, Mom witnesses Stewart being brought down by police gunfire. He was such a good boy.

A BULLET FOR JOEY (1955)

Even the dependable Edward G. Robinson cannot keep this sleepy production awake for extended periods. His role is that of a Canadian Inspector. As usual, Robinson is genuine as he calmly, methodically tightens the net on criminals thanks to his undercover officers posted everywhere in Montreal. Sometimes I picked up the demeanor of the future Inspector Columbo and his quips. Other times, the role is closer to his tracking in The Stranger. This film sinks into a balance of crime scenes, police lab work, and consultation with Robinson. As the music score plays underneath, we are witness to amazing images of enlarged fingerprints, a Teletype machine, the FBI, and the Washington D.C. architecture.

George Raft garnered fame about twenty years before this film. His character's name is in the title. This movie is stifled by his wooden, one-dimensional characterization in a role that made him infamous. Ex-con Raft calls everyone Buster or Joker. Words that roll off his tongue with experience. Audrey Totter is another memorable face, but that may be because she appears in this film to be one-third Gloria Graham. She is Raft's former girl and is happy to be rid of him. With all his short-statured charm, he cannot believe it. Today, few could name the balance of the cast.

The film opens with an encounter between a hurdy-gurdy man and his money monkey. For purposes of identifying him, Raft is later shown this exact footage, but as a supposedly personally shot 8mm movie. It is obviously the same footage from the opening by United Artists' film crew. A weak moment in the editing room. Common to the era, it is a story of the Communist Party's main function. Spying and cheating. A brilliant nuclear scientist, George Dolenz, whose knowledge makes him a kidnapper's go-to man, is their target. Peter Van Eyck, smirking through the entire movie, offers Raft big money to get himself out of Spain to do the deed. Raft rounds up his old gang from around the globe, each with their own brief music theme befitting their geographic location. Against the plan, Totter is nonetheless pressured into befriending Dolenz to gain information.

While staking out a ship bound for Europe, Robinson is spotted and taken prisoner aboard the same ship. Robinson suggests that All-American Raft "do the right thing" by helping stop the plot. He ends up needing more than a raft to get back to dry land. God bless America. Totter and Dolenz get to continue their growing relationship, and judging by the wearisome countenance on Robinson's face, he will probably retire.

Note: As with most posters, this one suggests two famous cinema gangsters at odds with each other as the big draw for audiences. But Robinson was able to move on from his early signature roles, whereas Raft never strayed that far from his roots.