THE BIG CHASE (1954)

The opening score beneath the title credits and Los Angeles highway footage sounds like music for a 1940s Lon Chaney Jr. horror film—ironically a supporting player in this film. The rest of the music would fit an old action serial. Few films are more aptly titled, as about one-third of the movie is a climactic chase sequence that flits from car to rowboat to motorboat to helicopter, and to dress shoes.

Such as it is, the plot concerns a police officer, his expectant wife, and criminals out to steal a payroll truck. Starring again for Lippert Pictures are actors past their career peaks, Glenn Langan, Adele Jergens, and Jim Davis. The opening amateurish dialogue between the police lieutenant, Douglas “B-movie” Kennedy, and reporter Joe Flynn (in a thankless role) is a weak spot, yet the other unknown supporting actors think their own dialogue is not only important but terrific. As recalled by Kennedy to Flynn, it sets up a backstory about Langan and Jergens (in a role against type) back to his graduation from the police academy and the following months on the force. Kennedy is very supportive of the expectant couple and, as a point of encouragement, visits them periodically. Their dialogue is also clichéd. By the way, Kennedy and Flynn wrap up the film in a hokey style.

Aside from some good location filming on land and sea, there are some cheap high school drama sets during the early prison scenes. A potential riot stirs up the acting extras as they pound their tin cups on a table in front of a blank, "cardboard" wall. Making it laughable are extras casually “photo-bombing” in front of the main actors in slow motion in the prison yard. Jim Davis plays a hardened criminal planning a big breakout. This is the last we hear about that (plot hole number one). Instead, he is released from prison and is looking to reconnect with his wife and a couple of prison pals for a payroll robbery. As the chase begins, the trailing police attempt to shoot someone or something in the convertible getaway car while on the freeway. Davis’s wife is assumed to be shot dead, and he takes the wheel to steer the car. Somehow, he manages to bring the car to a stop. In a surprisingly despicable act, more in tune with movies twenty years into the future, the guys push her from the car and over a cliff. Catch you later, babe! 

Then sit back for an “editing festival” as scenes jump from one location or automobile in a matter of seconds. The railroad yard sequence appears to wrap up the chase after Chaney is shot multiple times, and the music fades. I was wrong. The two remaining criminals are now on foot to an awaiting rowboat to Mexico. Amazingly, they trade their rowboat for a motorboat abandoned in open water. In an impressive supporting performance, a Nash Ambassador patrol car comes in hot, skidding at an angle toward the camera next to a waiting police helicopter. Langan misses his child's birth as the chase continues—in Florsheims.

Note: In contrast to this movie's lead, Robert L. Lippert Senior was probably present at his son's birth. It appears Junior picked up some of his father's traits. Number six of seven in his producing career, this film is by no means horrible. The film was directed by Arthur Hilton, and taking full responsibility for the mundane dialogue is the writing team of Fred Freiberger and the uncredited (by request?) Orville Hampton. The 3-D footage will have no relevance today, but it was thrust upon the viewer willy-nilly during the big chase. The producer edited that footage into this film from his film short, Bandit Island (1953). The twenty-five-minute short had no dialogue. Probably a wise choice. The above poster appears to promote Bandit Island with an overlaying poster.

LIPPERT PICTURES SERIES

Robert L. Lippert controlled a successful low-budget American film production and distribution company from 1948 to 1956, producing short, fast-paced westerns and crime films with a penchant for obligatory humor and the occasional jarring edits. This is my fourth of seven Lippert films.

TREASURE OF MONTE CRISTO (1949)

Though the opening narration tries to justify why this movie has "Monte Cristo" in the title, there is no mention of swords or high-waist tights. Well-directed by William Berke and distributed by Screen Guild Productions, it attempts to bring Alexandre Dumas to modern-day San Francisco, complete with a prison escape of sorts. It is another fast-paced Lippert production making a likable film from a constrained budget. And it only removes a mere seventy-eight minutes from your life. It is one of Lippert's better films, centered around a descendant of the Count and his sizable fortune. As expected, some would like to intercept that treasure. The duped descendant tries to unravel reality during one of his most improbable weeks. The location cinematography by Benjamin Kline puts the viewer on the streets. He even uses a "gun cam" behind the gun's barrel of one detective firing bullets. A competent score by Albert "B-movie" Glasser is well-utilized.

Dashing Glenn Langan is the descendant, a Second Mate on the shipping freighter, Pacific Queen. After dropping anchor, he rescues an assumed damsel in distress, Adele Jergens—the real-life wife of Langan. He and Jergens never looked better than in this film. I doubt anyone in the theater believed her backstory about her mental hospital stay, so her guardian could control her wealth. But Langan does. Jergens wants an "arranged" marriage to deflect her pursuers. So it is off to Reno. He becomes the latest Hollywood simpleton completely unglued by a female's lying lips.

In the captivating opening scene, the Cristo fortune liaison is knocked unconscious while recovering in the hospital. Paralyzed, except for the ability to move his eyes, Langan visits him in hopes of discovering his point in the film. It sets up an unintended funny moment. Needing yes or no answers, he suggests the patient move his eyes back and forth, left to right, for the appropriate reply. But it appears he is simply looking at one side of the room, then the other, in terror of the strange noise of an attacker. Blinking would have had a less humorous outcome. While Langan leaves the hospital, the liaison is permanently silenced, with Langan set up to take the fall. The traditional flashing newspaper headlines inform the viewer of his sentencing to die quicker than his marriage ceremony.

It is rare to find Steve Brodie in an educated professional role, yet true to form, he is a crooked underworld lawyer with a studio caterpillar mustache passing himself off as Langan's best defense. But his scheme already included Jergens, and he plans to throw the case, removing Langan from any inheritance. Despite his limited screen time, he provides the only spark in the film. Something he often did.

From a story by Aubrey Wisberg and Jack Pollexfen, the screenplay is intelligent enough, once it gets past Dumas' original intention. In keeping with a number of Lippert productions, a bit of amusing obligatory dialogue is spliced in late in this film. Sid Melton, the weasel working on Brodie's behalf, abducts Jergens, ushering her into a waiting car. Rising above his comical looks, he assumes he might be worthy of her attention. "You know I'm single?" Her deadpan reply is, "I can understand that." She gets shuttled around again by Brodie, and she frightfully asks, "What are you going to do?!" He replies, "Two things, and you're the second."

Note: Langan's character was taken in as a young child by an Italian family. His “Papa” and two sons visit him behind bars on more than one occasion. Papa is played by Michael Vallon “witha-the-worsta” stereotypical Italian accent. In keeping with their criminal heritage, the two sons later spring Langan during a prison transfer, shooting out a tire on the police vehicle and arranging for his change of clothes from a well-planted panel truck.

LIPPERT PICTURES SERIES

Robert L. Lippert controlled a successful low-budget American film production and distribution company from 1948 to 1956, producing short, fast-paced westerns and crime films with a penchant for obligatory humor and the occasional jarring edits. This is my first of seven Lippert films.

RADAR SECRET SERVICE (1950)

Suppressing counterfeit currency was the Secret Service's primary objective in 1865. In future decades, its service expanded to other areas. But few anticipated—nor actually considered—radar. So forget G-men. The R-men are really on to something, cracking down on California crime one telemeter at a time. The opening voice-over excitedly points out that radar's potential is “beyond belief.” For this film, I have to agree. As confirmation, the radar operator back at headquarters tells his boss they located a school of fish by radar that resulted in an unbelievable catch of the day. This potential I could believe, though it has no relevance in this movie. But there were those who could imagine all sorts of useful things it could do in true science fiction fashion—live images in the fashion of a highway webcam. The relayed picture quality is undeniably excellent, as if the movie studio provided the footage. Similarly, how their stationary telemeters could possibly keep pace with a passing vehicle is a total mystery. Merely a minor issue to work out.

One could not be blamed if this sixty-one-minute film was thought to be originally a four-part serial from the Thirties. It possesses a cast of “who knew” B-movie actors, including John Howard as an agent of the Secret Radar Service (RSS) lobbying for more funds to expand the use of telemeters across the United States. That knee-jerk action is similar to suggesting that enough charging stations will make electric vehicles viable for the masses in three years. Tom Neal and Tristram Coffin—known to law enforcement as the mustachioed Mickey & Michael—star as uneasy partners trying to intercept a shipment of Uranium-238 they hope to transport across the Pacific Ocean. Coffin never reveals his master plan, but one can assume he will sell it to the highest bidder and probably double-cross Neal.

Robert “B-movie” Kent is the gang's enforcer. Too bad, he looked like such a nice young man. Returning famously in another devious typecast role is the soft Adele Jergens, girlfriend to Neal or Coffin, whichever works best into her future. Myrna dull—er, Dell—plays a waitress involved with a member of the “U-Gang.” Her boyfriend is recovering in a hospital from a gunshot wound from an earlier RSS raid. Angry because the gang leaders are not willing to help him, she eventually goes under the radar to help the RSS. Adding wacky levity to the gang is Lippert's own Sid Melton with the moniker “Pill Box.” He is convinced his perpetual illness results from blood pressure “at a 140 net” and his “blow pressure is with a hypertension” and his “temperature is by the arrow Fahrenheit.” One wonders who vouched for the hypochondriac.

The headquarters use their radar to find the car carrying the radioactive material. To their dismay, Coffin had the incomprehensible idea of sending out a decoy car. Drat! Their horizontal radar beam has its limitations. A fragile-looking Hiller 360 helicopter is employed to track fleeing criminals from above during a yawning chase with cars “rocketing” down the highway at nearly twenty miles per hour. The helicopter was a marvel during this period, but it would not be long before it would mock radar's usefulness as a crime-fighting resource. The two gangs meet in the California countryside just as the radar patrol arrives. It becomes a trilogy of gunfire. A wounded Neal manages to make it to Coffin's hideout for a final confrontation. More mayhem ensues as the armed waitress also arrives. The film ends with preparations being made for two additional coffins. 

Note: This is probably one of the silliest premises from Lippert Pictures, again directed by Sam Newfield. The “1940” worn-out screenplay was written by Beryl Sachs—his last of five films—but I appreciated his take on Melton's character, though misplaced it may be in this “action-packed thriller.” 

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.

THE SOUND OF FURY (1950)

“Violence is a disease caused by moral and social breakdown. That is the real problem, and it must be solved by reason, not by emotion. With understanding. Not hate.”

The above quote could apply to the present century. In this case, it is the timeless voice-over warning repeated at the end of the film. A film that will not come to mind when recalling classic films, but this forgotten gem provides, perhaps, the most contrasting opening and closing bookends in film noir history. Produced by Robert Stillman and released through United Artists, this ninety-two-minute crime drama is appropriately supported by a score by Hugo Friedhofer. The agonizing crescendo, one of the most unnerving twenty minutes on film, creates a wallop of an ending. The disturbing imagery is emblazoned long after the moviegoer has left the theater. This is not a film to binge-watch.

Also in contrast are two men drawn together by happenstance. Frank Lovejoy’s performance will leave your emotions in knots. An early standout role that began his first and only full decade of acting. He portrays a loving husband and father who moved to California to seek employment, but it has brought nothing more than frustration. His opening scenes are innocent and heartfelt, but with Lovejoy at his lowest point of self-loathing, he is very vulnerable to the slightest motivation for income. His chance meeting at a bowling alley with an arrogant Lloyd Bridges influences the naive and desperate Lovejoy. Call it, imperfect timing. Bridges enjoys the finer things in life, like a fancy wardrobe, preening in front of a mirror, and bowling. He is initially kind of likable. A guy with enough confidence to take charge. His subtle persuasion plays on Lovejoy’s hopelessness, and it is a master class in salesmanship. Both actors are superb, with personalities representing a spectrum of opposites.

Appropriately, Bridges professionally steals his scenes. A young, physically fit male in which social standing is everything. He is a cocky, petty thief who thinks he is invincible, believing he should be admired no matter what he is doing. I have become impressed with Bridges's early work. His charisma burned like magnesium aflame. As only his wheelman, Lovejoy’s first robbery experience does not weigh too heavily on his conscience. On the contrary, his new “employment” brings home enough money to encourage his expectant wife and young son and boost his self-esteem. This charade continues for some time. However, with Bridge’s ego expanding blindingly fast, he decides to up his game by kidnapping the young adult son of a wealthy millionaire. Lovejoy is extremely nervous about it. The kidnapping offers up some excellent camera work by Guy Roe. With Lovejoy’s help, the son is bound by ropes, then Bridges pushes him down a stone-covered embankment. The son rolls by the ground-based camera as the stones cascade toward the viewer in a blur. There is a surreal sense of depth looking up at the two, extra-tall tall distorted figures. With no masks hiding their identification, Bridges, in all his demented logic, brutally kills the son by smashing his head repeatedly with a huge stone. Pretty obvious he is not familiar with the term “ransom.” Lovejoy is instantly sickened. His close-up, with eyes tightly closed, personifies disgust and terror. His life's history passes before him.

Enter Richard Carlson, a local newspaper reporter who fuels his report with hate-filled rhetoric. He puts the “sin” in sensationalism and thrusts the locals into a frenzy. Thankfully, he had no social media account. But after meeting Lovejoy’s wife and reading his sincere letter of confession to her, he realizes his violent words have vastly overstepped the order of the law. Carlson’s close friend, an Italian psychology scholar, Renzo Cesana, confronts him about his lack of discernment and judgment. It is a Cesana quote that opens this film.

The foursome paints the town, spending Bridges' unearned cash. Thinking nothing of the murder. His “steady” is the appropriately attired Adele Jergens. Let us just say she has been around the block more than a few times. The performance of Katherine Locke is worth a mention. She becomes Lovejoy’s awkward and repressed blind date. He seems to take some comfort in Locke’s sensitive manner. His excellent portrayal of a man helplessly numb and detached from his current life or any future life is spot-on. When a nightclub magician repeatedly uses Lovejoy as his comic foil in full public view, we witness Lovejoy’s embarrassment of being in the spotlight, knowing his shame. He is the only person not laughing. Sitting at the table, Locke pays him awkward compliments in the hope that her small talk might foster a relationship with another total stranger. However, his turn to heavy drink leaves his mind susceptible to the truth, and he blurts out his recent crime. Now terrified, Locke realizes she has picked the wrong guy again.

The calm resolve and hopelessness on Lovejoy’s face behind bars indicate a man coming to terms with his short future. Yet he is frightened beyond words. His honest confession led authorities to Bridges. In total contrast, Bridges' excellent mimicry of a raging, caged animal is chilling. He threatens Lovejoy’s life in the adjoining cell, irrationally thinking he will break out. It reveals the true nature of a violent sociopath. Mob violence rules as both prisoners are seen being dragged from the jail and beaten. Lovejoy’s horizontal manhandling exit above the heads of the mob, mosh pit style, foretells future “aggressive mobs” at rock concerts some twenty-five years later.

Note: The film is based on events that occurred in 1933 concerning two men arrested for kidnapping and murder. The suspects confessed and were lynched by a mob of locals. The 1936 film “Fury” was inspired by the same incident. This film, reissued with the title “Try and Get Me!,” was seemingly to promote the singular, electrifying performance of Lloyd Bridges.

THE MIAMI STORY (1954)

Columbia Pictures distributed this Clover Production noir crime film. It is a classic example of cliches and dated technology that is now humorous. Directed by Fred Sears with a story and screenplay by Robert Kent, it features a less-than-convincing introduction by Florida's then-Senator, George Smathers. He assures us that Miami has finally cleaned out the mobsters. With the actual Kefauver Senate hearings as inspiration, these docu-style crime films, with melodramatic narration, typically tell of a crime wave in a big, out-of-control city and how the crime is throttled. There are not many surprises to this oft-told gangster tale, including the unlikely way this “clean-up” actually happens. There is a mix of studio sets and some location filming for automobile buffs. You will need your suspended disbelief seat belt cinched tight, though. Fortunately, the cast saves this film from being a total disappointment. The film perks up with Barry Sullivan's first appearance.

A former Chicago gangster and now widower, Sullivan has spent over a decade under an alias with his young son on a Midwest farm. Sullivan's former attorney, with the help of local businessmen, devises a plan to lure him out of hiding, as he is their only hope of putting the mob boss before a grand jury. Yes. He was quite a gangster. Sullivan is angry that a fake news headline purports he is back in Miami on “business.” He resists all pleas for his help until he learns that it was the mob boss, Luther Adler, who framed him for his prison term for murder. Sullivan is now committed to the plan, live or die, possibly leaving his son to review adoption papers. He is given unlimited resources and authority to do whatever it takes as local law enforcement awaits his every command in a far-fetched scenario. After twelve years of cultivating, he has not lost the gangster touch.

Not wasting any time, Sullivan confronts Adler's authority, threatening to shut him out with his own Cuban-enforced crime “family.” Adler is quite convincing in this role, uncompromising with a Teflon record. A bitter pawn of his and a wee past her prime is Adele Jergens, who looks the clichéd part. Appearing to be carrying an extra fifteen puffy pounds, I think when she is angry—which is most of the time—she eats. Which she loathes. Which in turn makes her eat. John Baer is the handsome, cold-blooded killer and right-hand man to Adler. His opening scene is also far-fetched as he shoots, from a great distance, two rival Cubans exiting an airliner. The gun is hidden inside a piece of carry-on luggage and equipped with a pop-up sight. Suspended disbelief (SD) takes center stage as the crowd never hears the two shots. Some may have assumed it was coming from a grassy knoll. Previously exiting was Beverly Garland, who now fears for her own life. The deceased were friends of hers.

In about the only real noir scene, Sullivan returns late to his apartment to find a seated female, whose face is in the shadows, pointing a gun in his direction. She seems cool. Calculating. Dangerous. How Garland got the gun or access to his apartment, we do not know. But you know what is about to happen. Sullivan overpowers her with an authentic gangster backhand, enhanced by twelve years of doing the same to stray cattle. Garland's subsequent sobbing is a bit much as it drags on. She is not sobbing for the backhand so much as her frustration to find out what is going on and where her dear sister is. They become sort of a team to get Adler, although she is not sure Sullivan is leveling with her. To his advantage, he finds out that her sister is Jergens. When the sisters meet after a long absence, the hugs and kisses are soon replaced by Jergens' self-loathing and vile remarks to her baby sister. She wants something to eat. The dear rotten sister betrays her with Adler's muscle, putting Garland in the hospital after a vicious beating.

Sullivan is about to put the screws to Adler when he spots an actual newspaper headline that his son has been kidnapped. It is Adler's retaliation for the authorities shutting down his illegal gambling house. Sullivan backs off the threats and agrees to reopen the casino. Speaking of far-fetched, he then orders the police to place forty-pound hidden cameras inside the casino before it reopens. The clarity of the feed on the four-inch remote monitors in the nearby bushes is of extraordinary quality. Maybe give another tug on your SD seat belt.

After a slow-motion boat chase, of sorts, in a cove between the police and Adler's yacht, Senator Smathers is pleased with the film's outcome. Miami is finally safe for the whole family. He ain't seen nothin' yet. In a rather abrupt and slightly humorous narrated closing scene, father and son are duck hunting, reminiscent of their first scene. Our narrator wraps up the film like an old travelogue film as Garland is standing by her new stepson, each in a matching plaid coat. Garland came to visit and never left. All part of Sullivan's master plan.