NIGHTFALL (1956)

This Columbia Pictures B-movie stars Aldo Ray, James Gregory, Anne Bancroft, and Brian Keith. Rudy Bond has a standout role, one of several films he made, three of which starred Marlon Brando. His sister, Jocelyn Brando, plays Gregory’s wife. However, the film may be best remembered for the camera work of cinematographer Burnett Guffey. Directed by Jacques Tourneur, his use of seamless flashbacks provides the most interesting segments of this film. Despite his success with Out of the Past, his directing here can be uneven. One cannot fault the studio art department for pumping up the promotion of this seventy-nine-minute film---note the yellow teaser text in the poster.

I found Stirling Silliphant’s script ponderous at times. Many segments go by slowly with a lot of character development dialogue. The title, as near as I can figure, refers to the opening night scene between Ray and Gregory. It took a while to figure out what was up with Ray's character, whether he was innocent or guilty of something. His incessant, vague comments about the source of his troubles barely squeeze through. The homey scenes with Gregory revealing to his wife how his insurance investigation is progressing ate up a lot of film for a character not in need of so much background. Then, Keith’s extended cat-and-mouse verbal threatening of Ray is also a frame-eater. Thankfully, the flashbacks make sense of why Ray is being hunted, how he, Keith, and Bond collided, and why the latter two cannot find their stolen loot.

I was not buying the World War II veteran, Ray, as a freelance commercial artist. Artistic people exist in all walks of life, but Ray seems better suited as a professional truck driver. Barry Sullivan, one of the original choices, would have been ideal. I could have supported Bancroft as a Montgomery-Ward catalog model, though not a high-fashion model. The novel that the film is based on may be the culprit. Bancroft's first appearance with Ray in a local bar is also a wee cumbersome until thieves and noir-do-wells, Keith and Bond, enter the picture. He thinks his abduction was set up by Bancroft. 

Keith once again seems to be holding himself back from a sudden outburst of violence. A one-dimensional character played well with clamped jaw. But Bond...Rudy Bond, (second from left above) steals the film as the sadist who enjoys killing people by games of (no) chance. His laugh from an individual with a screw loose upstairs. I imagine him watching Wile E. Coyote cartoons endlessly―as an adult―always laughing hysterically at every pratfall, however repetitive. His demise is well worth waiting for. Then, there is a lot of waiting in this film. Waiting for Ray and Bancroft to become an item. Waiting for Gregory to explain himself to Ray. Waiting for Keith and Bond to come to an understanding, and waiting for that snowplow to make itself useful. 

THE VIOLENT ONES (1967)

The first thing of note about this Madison Productions, Inc. production, aside from the production company name itself and a misplaced detail of a steam locomotive whistle in 1967, is a driving score by Marlin Skiles befitting a major military operation with tanks rumbling through the North African desert. Yet what we see is a sheriff’s 2-door Impala Sport Coupe---first-class all the way---being driven within the speed limit through town and country. A lengthy segment that eats up enough film to include all the credits and then some. The film was not expected to be a Golden Globe nominee, but the star and director, Fernando Lamas, managed this drama fairly well despite some unlikely sequences and a clichéd script. Perhaps to ease some directing complications, there is plenty of driving in this film. Used once during a road sequence---perhaps to break the monotony---is a strangely-used, and totally ineffective, vignette. This ninety-five-minute film is about twenty minutes too long.

The low-budget melodrama, set in a New Mexico border town, concerns three apprehended white men: Aldo Ray, Tommy Sands, and David Carradine. One is guilty of rape and the death of a local girl. Lamas, no fan of gringos, is the deputy sheriff who interrogates each individually, starting with a big smile and cordial questions as if he intends to release them once he hears their story. In reality, he is waiting for each one to say something to set him off so he can verbally assault or slap each one around. Also on his conscience is the possible lynching of the three prisoners by the townspeople. The “mob” seems particularly uncommitted to string up anything as they sheepishly gather in small groups around the jail, quietly discussing what to do next.

With a lynching imminent, Lamas and his chained-together prisoners escape out the back as no one covered that exit. I mentioned the mob was not very committed. However, a very committed carload of locals tries to bump Lamas’ two-ton truck off the road. Traveling around twenty-five miles per hour, the sequence is not very believable or plausible. They constantly lay on their horn as if taunting them like high school rivals. The truck moves off-road, and their slow, synchronized chase in the desert is pretty silly. Not being a fair fight, the truck maneuvers to ram the car, flipping it over. The truck soon runs dry, with their subsequent escape through the desert on foot being tedious and time-consuming for them and viewers alike. Seizing an opportunity to overwhelm Lamas, the four-man choreographed fight scene is supported by solo piano and percussion, looking a bit like a halfhearted Keystone Cops routine in slow motion.

All three prisoners eventually feel their lives slipping away from dehydration, and each one's story begins to reveal the murderer through a process of elimination. An injured Lamas gets flanking leg support as he proudly hobbles toward a nearby town. The three now appear to be buddies as if they were successful in their defeat of Rommel.