THE THREAT (1949)

The film opens dramatically during a night prison break and a constant barrage of machine guns blazing willy-nilly hoping the guards might hit something moving other than the opening credits. It is an attention-grabbing scene often used during this era. All of which is unknown to detective Michael O'Shea, recuperating at home from a broken rib. A phone call from the police inspector, Robert Shayne, informs him about the breakout of a notorious homicidal criminal, who had sworn to kill those who placed him behind bars. O'Shea, being number one. Rather than obey his wife's wishes, he goes into action without a single grimace from that rib injury. But before he can even start his patrol car, he is kidnapped by the cold-blooded killer. Few films start out so compelling. That cannot be said of the ending.

Typical of O'Shea's B-movies, one would never call him truly tough, especially when compared to Charles McGraw, in another evil role. With gasoline prices hovering around thirty cents per gallon, the criminal trio is happy to burn the police car's tank as they make the rounds delivering “death warrants” on a District Attorney and nightclub singer, Virginia Grey, in a familiar role at odds with a man who thinks she squealed on him. Like many in today's films, it is another criminal who does not comprehend why he spent time behind bars in the first place, preferring to blame others for his despicable lifestyle.

Known only by McGraw's alias, an unsuspecting Don McQuire is hired to pick up a load in his moving van at a designated location. He gets a bit suspicious after seeing what is loaded into his van: a police car. This weighs heavily on McGuire's conscience. The van is later abandoned and unloaded, and he tries to beg off and return with his van. But all seven end up at a dilapidated shack in the desert, thus beginning the brief slow down in the film. Suspended disbelief is needed when they enter the dusty, cobweb-infested shack that appears to have not been inhabited for twenty years. McGraw growls out a command for Grey to make some sandwiches. Pretty amazing she could find anything eatable—certainly nothing to spread on or meat to place between two slices of rock-hard, moldy bread. Those “sandwiches” do appear to be simply two slices of bread. Yum. 

Not fully grasping the gravity of the situation, McQuire again demands to be set free, swearing not to rat on the gang as he heads for the door. McGraw, stone-cold, calmly addresses him by name. Knowing he will probably be shot, he angrily takes his seat back inside. McGraw uses O'Shea to send a misleading message to Shayne over the police car's radio. But he uses a “code name” that only his wife will understand. The gang stays put until the arrival of their escape plane, leading to their portion of the loot. The hostages are rightfully concerned that there is only room for three passengers upon takeoff.

This RKO Radio Picture film is a hard-hitting sixty-six-minute crime drama from a screenplay by Dick Irving Hyland and Hugh King from King's own story. Edited by Samuel E. Beetley, it is supported by a music score by Paul Sawtell. Though not the first film-noir that comes to mind associated with Charles McGraw, this obscure film is a good one to finish out the 1940s.

Note: O'Shea's police training seems to get the upper hand on McGraw from the adjoining, locked, hostage room, but the killer starts firing randomly through the door, hitting O'Shea in the leg. Already known for his high threshold for pain, the bullet in the leg nor the broken rib do not phase him in the least when he drops down from the rafters onto McGraw. Welcome to the land of make-believe.

LOOPHOLE (1954)

Distributed by Allied Artists Pictures, this eighty-minute film was produced by Lindsley Parsons and directed by Harold Schuster. The movie is a forgotten good one, though the premise by Warren Douglas offers few surprises. Paul Dunlap stepped away from his many westerns to score this movie. The second-tier studio production falls into the noir slot because an ordinary guy attempts to get himself out of a loophole. Once again, the poster is misleading—one could say dishonest—which suggests Barry Sullivan is the film's criminal.

You just want McGraw hit by an iron Buick while jaywalking. 

The kind with the big toothy chrome grille.

Nearly six minutes of voice-over sets up the opening premise and reminds the viewer that this is an ordinary Friday, and the incident that unfolds could happen to you. Assuming you are a bank teller. Sullivan heads up a competent cast with Dorothy Malone, looking quite vibrant and balanced in her natural hair color, Charles McGraw, and Don Haggerty. In another of his apprehensive, swindler roles, Don Beddoe is responsible for said loophole as the phony, second bank examiner, stealing fifty grand while his accomplice, Mary Beth Hughes, distracts Sullivan at his teller window. Sullivan makes a judgment error by not reporting the major shortfall until after the weekend. The bank’s bonding agent sends in their investigator, former police detective “McGruff McGraw,” who assumes everyone is a liar. A guy who hates life in general. He will not consider Sullivan might be on the level. He tails him everywhere, hoping for a slip-up. Pretty excruciating to sit through his obstinate, condescending character.

Everyone at the Hollywood precinct has Sullivan guilty until proven innocent. And this was mid-twentieth century. Many things never change. They question Sullivan’s wife, Malone, in the hopes she will reveal any tidbit with which they can “hang” her husband. Their barrage of questions is designed to humiliate them, albeit in a private office and not leaked to the press. It is soon confirmed that there is never a second bank examiner during the annual review. A lie detector test provides a ray of hope, and Haggerty believes Sullivan. McGraw growls. He thinks the machine is faulty. A waste of time. Sullivan obviously had an accomplice, probably a girl. The suspect is sent home and then fired the next day at work. McGraw spreads lies about Sullivan’s “embezzlement” to his new bosses to keep him from being hired. Their house has to be put on the market.

Really, you just want McGraw hit by a bus. 

Just a smaller city transit bus.

At about the forty-five-minute mark, things start to rev up for Sullivan, now a taxi driver. His next fare is an irate Hughes with sugar daddy Beddoe. How this age-disparate couple ever got together might be worth a sub-plot. While taking a call from dispatch outside the cab, they recognize Sullivan's photo ID and hightail it. Sullivan suddenly recalls the fare’s voice. It is the first of too many contrived close calls.

At a different bank, Malone approaches the teller window, and on the other side is none other than Beddoe. Returning to the car, she fails to grab her purse, which Sullivan volunteers to retrieve. He and Beddoe lock eyes. Dunlap’s score cranks up the excitement. Beddoe is forced to his apartment and abides by Sullivan's “deal.” The moviegoer is not clear what point Sullivan is trying to make. What is clear, Hughes is the mastermind of the duo. Her constant verbal abuse has beaten the courage out of Beddoe, and he cannot pull the trigger.

The film ends with a “travelogue-style” voice-over as we see Sullivan, now an assistant bank manager, welcoming Haggerty. Outside, peering in, stands granite-faced McGraw, still on “The Sullivan Case.” They both laugh, knowing he has lost all credibility.

Note: Burly Richard Reeves has a couple of good turns as the taxi business owner. The best is nearer the end at the apartment of Beddoe. Sullivan asked for Reeves’s help and to meet him there. The ever-present McGraw arrives there first, however, after the “Hughes-Beddoe Gang” escapes. He finds Sullivan waking from a knock on the head. When Reeves and his taxi pal show up, they stop McGraw from pounding on Sullivan, not letting him leave the room to pursue him. Reeves insists. One solid punch and McGraw turns all limp. “Keep forgettin’ my own strength,” he confesses.

ROADBLOCK (1951)

RKO Radio Pictures provided a promising opening to this film noir. Character actor, Peter Brocco, witnesses the late-night shooting of Louis Jean Heydt by Charles McGraw. He is abducted by McGraw at gunpoint but swears not to mention it to the police. He cannot. He is on the lame for theft. He makes a deal to split his one hundred grand, kept in his late uncle's cemetery vault. As Brocco removes the floor tile, he first grabs a gun from underneath. McGraw's fist is introduced to Brocco, and to his shock, in walks Heydt. The two insurance investigators have just wrapped up another case. Just like that. Do not expect a lot of action after this. The film is bookended by this intriguing opening and an exciting, though predictable, closing. But you will witness something McGraw rarely gets to do. Smile.

We find McGraw awaiting a plane back to Los Angeles. With an air of sophistication, petite Joan Dixon, unable to afford a full-price single ticket, requests a husband/wife discount ticket. She chooses McGraw as her husband. He does not understand but likes the idea. A lot. The flight has to land short of their destination due to bad weather and both assess each other during the delay. She bluntly tells him they have no future together. Never misquote the Bible: money is not the root of all evil. It is the love of money. Just ask Dixon. Her demeanor suggests a teenager as she dreamily envisions her future, “I’m on a rocket ship to the moon” or “I’m going for the World Series.” McGraw looks puzzled. He cannot afford tickets to the World Series on his salary! This greatly bothers him and we learn his left brain is packed full of stupid. Now settle in for a lot of conversation until well past the halfway point.

The good news is, Dixon now wants to marry McGraw. He needs a lot of money and fast. And so it goes. He proposes a railway mail car robbery to underworld figure and Dixon’s former sugar daddy, Lowell Gilmore. McGraw’s inside knowledge of over a million-dollar cash shipment is the target. He wants Gilmore to stash his take inside a commercial-sized fire extinguisher and mail it to their mountainside honeymoon cabin offered to them by Heydt. I think most have mailed fire extinguishers at some point. To liven up his alibi honeymoon, he confesses his deal with Gilmore. The bad news, money is not as important as her new husband. D'oh! Dixon is ashamed of herself for how low McGraw has descended for her.

The robbery goes well except a railroad employee later dies from the mail car explosion. This, according to a police detective, Milburn Stone. The department tracks down the pilot of the seaplane used for the robbers’ getaway. He identifies one of the robbers. Methodically, the noose gets tighter around McGraw, who arranges to meet Gilmore with a plan to solve their predicament. Gilmore attempts to draw his gun but square-jawed McGraw gets the upper hand. The unconscious Gilmore is placed in his car before it goes over an embankment in flames. Predicament solved.

In a restaurant meeting, Heydt disappointingly explains McGraw’s slip-up. It was the extra fire extinguisher. He had just bought a new one for the cabin. D'oh! A beer bottle on the head temporarily slows Heydt but soon he and Stone are racing to apprehend husband and wife as they predictably flee to Mexico via the classically famous and frequently used, Los Angeles riverbed, hydro-foiling across the water. It never seems like anything good comes from driving down there, but the low traffic volume made it simpler for a few directors during this era, to say nothing about it being unique. These closing chase scenes are the most memorable moments. The seventy-three-minute film ends with mixed feelings among the remaining cast as Dixon walks away amidst the Los Angeles smog.

Note: For any film buff, this film hardly deserves to be in an unknown category. McGraw's career never skipped a beat because of this film and a jumpstart with RKO's previous dandy, “Armored Car Robbery” or the later “The Narrow Margin.” His co-stars in this film did not burn up the screen, however. Gilmore’s weak character is not memorable. Dixon is rather one-dimensional in this, the most famous role of her short career.

ARMORED CAR ROBBERY (1950)

This sixty-seven-minute RKO Radio Pictures project is a dandy and hardly unknown to film noir geeks or fans of the lead actors. Suffice to say it is nearly flawless in execution and Charles McGraw got noticed. Naturally, there are a couple of clichés that may bring a chuckle or two from Twenty-First Century viewers. Directed by Richard Fleischer, it displays his penchant for realism with his early trademarks of location filming and attention to police procedural details. The latter point is well displayed when the authorities comb the area for clues as to where the robbers abandoned their getaway car. That scene is also enhanced by a lean screenplay with no wasted dialogue. The cinematography is outstanding as well. The score is not memorable, but at least it does not get in the way of the actors.

You do not want to get on the bad side of Detective Charles McGraw. He makes no compromises with criminals and also appears a tad weary of a daily routine of trying to apprehend them. The opening, low camera close-up of him on a phone call sets up his persona. Ruggedly handsome with a face chiseled from stone and just about as animated. He plays it exactly how his character should be. His gravelly voice helped define his film destiny, though. He had no fear of competing against the likes of Danny Kaye for a musical comedy. Today, his voice and maturity may have had him auditioning with the likes of Liam Neeson.

He and fellow partner, James Flavin, are called to the less famous Wrigley Field. The one in Los Angeles used by the farm team of the Chicago Cubs. Both detectives are miffed it is another false alarm. In reality, it was William “He’s got Bette Davis eyes” Tallman who called in the fake alarm in a pre-robbery timing to discover how long it takes for the police to get there. Assuming they left on time and there was no heavy traffic to delay them, I guess.

Tallman enlists three petty criminals to help him with the armored car robbery when it stops in front of the stadium. Steve Brodie thinks an armored car robbery will not work. Risky. He says it might work if it were run by Tallman, yet he only knows him by reputation. Awkward. Doug Fowley is married to Adele Jergens (above) who is in love with Tallman. Gene Evans finalizes the four losers in the robbery. The detailed robbery plans of who is where and when are not described in the film. Smartly, we discover the end result as it happens. What mastermind Tallman could not foresee is that McGraw was on patrol nearby and responded to the emergency call rather quickly. Evans pulls his sputtering jalopy purposely behind the men unloading the armored truck and fakes a look under the hood. He sets off an explosion of tear gas. In an exchange of bullets, Flavin succumbs, then Fowley gets seriously wounded. McGraw jumps in his car in hot pursuit of the bandits, but an evasive maneuver damages his tire. 

Tallman was adept at playing despicable criminals before he turned over a new leaf, went to law school, and met Perry Mason. He has no sympathy for the mortally wounded Fowley. To help him forget this pain and give them a chance to get through a clichéd roadblock, Tallman angrily slaps his face a few times. After the officers look over their car and give them the go-ahead, Brodie cannot get the car started. A tension "device" used countless times in crime movies. Once at their hideout, Fowley, gasping for life, demands a doctor and his share of the loot. Tallman gives him a final parting gift. Three bullets. He later gives Brodie a lesson about who is boss. After punching him in the stomach, he violently takes both hands, clapping them hard against both sides of Brodie’s head, potentially rupturing his eardrums. It is shocking and perhaps the first time this violent act was used on film. It was used again by the director in a John Payne crime story.

Jergens plays her usual role, though her employment changed from film to film. This time, she is a burlesque queen. Brodie stops in the burlesque house in hopes of getting his money from her. McGraw is there with handcuffs, and both men miss the entire performance. With no fear of the murder wrap, Brodie spills the truth about Tallman. McGraw’s young new partner, Don McQuire, volunteers to take Brodie’s place and meet “the queen.” A solid plan, except Tallman knows his partner is locked up. His gun is there to meet McQuire outside the establishment. Jergen's wired car allows the detective to audibly send location points to the tailing patrol car. Tallman is suspicious of these hints and tells him to get out, whose life is then saved by Jergens, preventing Tallman from firing a second time. Or third. Or a fourth, just to be sure.

The lovebirds attempt a getaway via a chartered plane. Tallman, not happy the plane has been recalled to the terminal, threatens the pilot at gunpoint. This is always pretty silly, and Hollywood still does it. If he shoots the pilot, they are going nowhere. Tallman grabs the suitcase of loot and, in his panic, does not see (or apparently hear) a taxiing DC-3. The suggested prop divides the cash and him in small denominations. A happy ending for McGraw. Well, not so much, judging by the grimace on his face. The happy part is when he shares a news article with McQuire, recovering from that gunshot wound. It is all about their success in the robbery. Both officers are mentioned at the bottom of the article, and as the young partner starts reading, he pretends his name is so minuscule he has to get really close to the page to see it. They both laugh.

Note: For a limited role, Don McQuire (above) does a fine job. He and McGraw hit it off by the end. Today, this movie might have had a sequel based on their chemistry if the studio gambled to make more money. But things were pleasantly different in 1950.

TOWARD THE UNKNOWN (1956)

This is Warner Bros.' first attempt to cash in on Paramount’s superior Strategic Air Command, released the previous year. The film takes a serious look at the unknowns of supersonic flight research. Warner Color was back at it again the next year with a sudsier air force story, Bombers B-52, which was primarily a project for the rising star, Natalie Wood. Director Mervyn Leroy weaves this film dangerously close to a soap opera, where long-term personal commitments are harder to come by with someone in a very dangerous occupation. Assuming you like aircraft of this era, this film works well thanks to an intelligent script by Beirne Lay, Jr., who also penned the Paramount film as well as Above and Beyond, and Twelve O'Clock High. The accuracy of the Air Force lingo, flight gear, and location filming is spot on. Yet despite the famous lead actor, the casting mix places the film in the B-movie barracks. With the possible exception of Lloyd Nolan, the balance of the cast is a flight line of “Bs” from Virginia Leith, Charles McGraw, Paul Fix, Karen Steele, and a brief appearance by the ever-present Bartlett Robinson. William Holden's own production company, Toluca Productions, may have been responsible for a tight casting budget. Though viewers did not know it then, James Garner’s brief film debut would catapult him into a Hollywood "A-lister." Considering Holden's overall body of work, this film falls nearer the bottom...toward the unknown part.

With an enviable name for a legendary aviator or NFL quarterback, Holden is  Lincoln Bond. The Major's charm and self-deprecating wit make him quite likable. But he has psychological issues. Holden returns to Edwards Air Force Base in hopes of being selected for the test pilot program. The story takes a while to unfold, but we eventually learn Holden was a Korean prisoner of war. Holden has an impressive early scene when he enters the headquarters building. He walks over to a wall full of some real test pilot handprints. Among the likes of Chuck Yeager and Glenn Edwards, we see Bond’s handprint. Holden presses his hand firmly over the inked impression as a supporting musical chord solidifies the scene. It also reveals wrist scars from his attempted suicide under those unimaginable atrocities. His cracking under those conditions does not bode well for a living-on-the-edge test pilot. 

Nolan (with Holden below) is always ideally cast when carrying a good deal of authority. Here, as a commanding officer who is so wrapped up in first-hand test piloting, he does not know when to move on. McGraw is Holden's good friend and biggest supporter, and pleads with Nolan to give him a second chance. A second chance is needed with Leith, also. I have mentioned the occasionally strange vocal quality of this attractive actress before. Considering the era, one might think the studio would have provided voice training to eliminate her dark, goofy vocal moments. Today, this training would never be considered: the stranger, the better. She is feminine enough in a soft voice. But her voice placement retreats to the back of her throat when emoting or speaking while smiling. A distracting sound, even on an Air Force base. But I digress. She seems to be attached, off-hours, with her boss, Nolan, whose age gap could pass him off as her uncle. She and Holden were an item before the war—speaking of niece and uncle—but she is reluctant to make any commitment. Her character is a bit puzzling. She would seem to be happy enough with Nolan unless Holden is around. Maybe any dependable guy. 

Given a number of second thoughts, Nolan cautiously eases Holden in on some testing. He gets his chance at the Martin XB-51, masquerading in this film as the Gilbert X-120. It is featured in an impressive flying sequence in a unique head-on takeoff view alongside its chase plane. Taken from a third plane already in the air, we watch both planes accelerate upward toward the unknown, zooming over the camera aircraft. Character actor Ralph Moody plays H.G. Gilbert, who assumes his plane is perfect and is arrogantly opposed to Holden's blunt assessment of a specific design flaw. When Garner loses his life because of this flaw, Moody is sheepishly humbled. Off-camera. In private. We assume. 

Nolan expects to pilot a research rocket plane, the real-life Bell X-2. It is his baby. But unknown to Nolan, Holden witnessed his dizzy spell after an earlier test flight. Holden, being about a decade too old himself for this kind of thing, bluntly tells him, off the record, that he would risk his life if he goes through with it. Reluctantly, he lets Holden pilot the flight. It becomes a troubled test with a necessary bailout. Holden's role during these scenes is based on the actual testing by Lieutenant Colonel Frank Kendall in the Bell X-1D. Holden met Kendall during filming, who gave an account of his experiences. The hard parachute landing bangs Holden up with needed physical therapy. Reporting on Holden's progress, the base doctor also informs Nolan that he would not have survived that high-altitude bailout. Nolan gallantly takes a position in Washington, DC, with McGraw filling the base commander’s shoes.

Notes: Paul Baron provided an appropriately sensitive background score. He also weaves in the opening bars of “The U.S. Air Force” song with interesting arrangements. There are two instances, though, when he or the studio creates a slightly humorous and startling “electronic” sound during two scenes of aircraft soaring high in the sky. A sound not unlike a Hawaiian slide guitar whose pitch gradually gets higher during take-off. It is more appropriate for a Warner Bros. cartoon than a dangerous saga about test pilots.

For aviation historians, the Martin XB-51 and the other aircraft or stock footage are the main draw of this movie. Never chosen for production, there were only two XB-51s built, both destroyed in crashes. The last XB-51 featured in this film crashed shortly after the filming was completed. Lincoln Bond mentioned its design flaw.

ROSES ARE RED (1947)

Twentieth Century Fox agreed to distribute this tidy sixty-seven-minute noir with a lead cast of temporary popularity. Giving the viewer some common ground is a supporting cast of more familiar faces whose careers were gaining momentum, Jeff Chandler, James Aurness (Arness), Joe Sawyer, and Charles McGraw. The title refers to a murder case where the victim is found with a single rose in her hand. It does not make up the crux of the film, however. Sawyer is first seen smelling the rose at the crime scene. He sniffs up the aroma with great nostalgia as he recalls, as a child, his mother's rose garden. Lovely. 

The ridiculous premise of identical twins from different mothers is the most confusing element. I am spending more time on the storyline to perhaps help with this. Don Castle, at times looking like a cross between Rory Calhoun and Robert Taylor, plays the dual role of the latest D.A. and a criminal with the exact same appearance. Establishing both characters with matching mustaches, hair color, and style makes for one gullible audience. If that is not confusing enough, pretty Peggy Knudsen and Patricia Knight play, respectively, the good guy's fiance and the bad guy's wife. Of similar height, hairstyle, clothes, and hooked up—in reality—with the same guy, it may take a few minutes to sort things out. Knudsen, a crack newspaper reporter, appears to be wearing wax lips when not talking. The ladies have no trouble identifying their man, however, as each has a kiss that is more distinct than fingerprints.

A wheelchair-bound mob boss is filled in about the new D.A. by the crooked cop and rose-smeller, Sawyer. He informs him that the new D.A. will not “cooperate” like the last D.A., who was apparently voted out for that very reason. After bad Castle is released from prison, he spots a photo of the new D.A. in the newspaper and recognizes himself. Posing as the real D.A., he visits the mob boss in the hope of convincing him he could play the new D.A. since he is the same person. However, the boss is not fooled. He recognizes bad Castle from a program cover for his performance in Othello by The Prison Players with a talented supporting cast! Obviously, bad Castle has the acting chops to pull it off. They initiate a prison revolving door plan and manipulate the judicial system.

A mob goon, Chandler, abducts the real D.A., taking him to a secluded location for a few days until the fake D.A. is ready to roll. Good and bad Castle finally meet, typically with a blank wall or door jamb between them in the background. When the opportunity arises, good Castle jumps corrupt Castle, knocks him out, and places him in an upright position as Chandler's automobile pulls into the drive. The D.A. exchanges clothes with the unconscious twin. How timely. How ridiculous, dressing a limp body in less than a minute. It is called "Suspension of Disbelief." Through his own initiative and maybe just for fun, the goon unknowingly shoots the corrupt Castle. After pushing the real D.A.'s car over a roadside embankment, Chandler knocks good Castle down the embankment to make it all appear as though he was thrown clear of his car. While recovering in the hospital the real D.A. keeps his kidnapping and bad driving skills vague to the authorities and his girl while a smug Sawyer looks on.

Knudsen, however, smells something rotten in this Castle. Later at gunpoint, he reminds her of their first kiss. As they kiss again, she knows he is the real deal. Well, he is at least alive. The real D.A. assumes the persona of the dead D.A. for Sawyer's sake. Oh, brother! Knight unexpectedly drops by his office and expects a familiar kiss from her husband. Upon leaving, she lets Sawyer in on what a kiss means to her as they motor away. A little too personal for Sawyer. His face turns red as a rose. I imagine. The real D.A. is now her fake husband. Or something. She disappears from the film for a while. The audience is not too concerned since they are way ahead of the script.

The jailbird accused of the murder agrees to turn state’s evidence on his crime family. Meanwhile, the mob boss will pay Sawyer to get out of the country but he turns the table and threatens the boss at gunpoint in his own plan to come out smelling like a rose. With an armed wheelchair Ernst Blofeld would envy, the mob boss mortally wounds Sawyer. Police arrive to haul off the dead and charge one with the illegal use of a wheelchair. Knight is called in to sign papers and divest herself from her dead husband. As she goes out the door, she reminds Knudsen that Castle's kissing needs some practice. Well, of all the nerve!

T-MEN (1947)

Never a dull moment as Anthony Mann directs this story about U.S. Treasury men attempting to break up a counterfeiting ring. An excellent film noir with outstanding cinematography by John Alton and an appropriate score by Paul Sawtell. Amazing what could be done with a five-hundred-grand budget. Within the same year and budget, Railroaded is nearly forgotten. Mann certainly redeemed himself for that earlier effort. Distributed by Eagle-Lion Films, this production cleaned up at the box office. The film is not flawless, but close. One script fumble is when a federal agent, Frank Ferguson, comes down hard on a shop owner for not noticing counterfeit bills. This is after the film established that it takes an expert, under a magnifying glass, to know the difference between real bills.

Navigating through background detail is a narrator, the definitive and commanding, Reed Hadley. After an informer is murdered, the Treasury Department chooses Dennis O’Keefe and Alfred Ryder to go deep undercover. Each has a myriad of details to memorize so they can blend into the crime world without suspicion. O’Keefe is first-rate in a standout role, leaving his earlier music or comedy films behind. Both are vouched for and all goes according to plan. For a while. The creepy steam room scenes are a little unsettling. Or maybe it is just the thought of Wallace Ford sweating under a towel. O'Keefe visits several in a row, trying to track him down. In the end, he is so zapped of strength he can barely stand, noting he lost several pounds by the end of the hunt.

There are edge-of-your-seat moments: in transit with Ford, Ryder is spotted by a friend who uses his real name. To make matters more intense, she is with Ryder's wife. The two meet face to face. Covering for his undercover work, she says, "You are mistaken. My husband is taller and more handsome." Ryder is saved. Ford is suspicious. But none more intense than when O’Keefe witnesses his partner's murder and cannot do anything about it without blowing his own cover. Few were as heartless in film noirs than hitman, Charles McGraw. Always on the edge of violence with a voice that could, if one got close enough, leave abrasions on your face.

Note: This is one of ten films for the unknown Mary Meade, four of which are uncredited. She plays the nightclub photographer/counterfeit contact, Evangeline, during this peak period of her career. Much more success came to June Lockhart, here in her sixth post-World War II film as the wife of Alfred Ryder's character.