SUDDENLY (1955)

Directed by Lewis Allen, with a screenplay by Richard Sale from his 1943 story, Active Duty, this film was distributed by United Artists. Hardly unknown to anyone with access to the Internet or a Sinatra fan, the crooner capitalizes on his Oscar performance the year before. He is riveting as a big-shot contract killer whose self-imposed bravado in World War II does not quite ring true. My essay goes into more detail than usual to highlight the good aspects and call attention to some gullible moments. Based on today's film buff familiarity, spoiler alerts are unnecessary. The premise falls into the noir slot because of the content. Do not expect dark, shadowy visuals in the sunny California desert.

In his second credited film role, television’s Paul Wexler plays a deputy sheriff who opens the movie with a wooden delivery and bass voice belying such a narrow guy. He gets the film off to a shaky B-movie start with an attempt at local humor about the town's name to a motorist. However, the film quickly gathers momentum as David Raksin’s score fires up. His complex composition during the opening bars features soaring brass and dissonant strings suggesting something is about to happen. The score quickly shifts to represent a bustling small town. In a slice of chaotic realism, the railroad telegraph operator interprets a top-secret message of national significance. Caught off guard by the urgency, he habitually blurts, 'Good. Night. Shirt!' I like his creative use of words. For those under fifty, "nightshirts" were essentially knee-length T-shirts to sleep in.

Co-starring in the film is Sterling Hayden, the chief of police who knows instinctively what to do. Anytime. The Secret Service arrives, headed by the ever-present Willis Bouchey, who coordinates with local officials to make the President's stopover secure. He is surprised to learn that his old boss, James Gleason, lives nearby and would like to see him. Gleason's on-screen daughter and grandson, played by Nancy Gates and Kim Charney respectively, live with him. Her son and Hayden get along quite well. The boy has his eye on a toy gun inside a window display—Gates will have none of it—to pretend he is Hayden or his grandpa, a former Secret Service agent for President Coolidge. A grieving war widow, Gates despises guns and is hesitant to move on with any new relationship. The film's believability is at an all-time high at this point.

FASTEN YOUR SUSPENDED DISBELIEF SEAT BELT

Sinatra, along with his accomplices, Christopher Dark, and actor/voice-over artist, Paul Frees, arrive at Gleason's house ahead of schedule with phony FBI credentials. Gleason wonders what the FBI is doing on this type of assignment. As Hayden and Bouchey approach, the trio hides in an adjoining room. Out pops 'ol Blue Eyes with Bouchey going for his gun, who is the first to go down. Hayden takes a bullet in the arm, breaking a bone, which needs to be reset. He asks the smirking Sinatra to do it but he replies, 'You couldn’t take it.' Hayden insists. Sinatra, sensing a gruesome delight coming his way tells him, 'Hold on brave boy.' One hard yank and a smile erupts. Not a peep out of Hayden. A little man in every sense of the word, Hayden sizes him up pretty quickly. It is interesting to note the size difference between the two when standing toe to toe. Surely a subliminal message.

Perhaps overlooked in editing or simply badly staged, the house, when viewed from the depot, appears to be about an eighth of a mile up a hillside. But viewed from the house, the depot is directly across the tracks! Sinatra was counting on a wooden table to screw to the floor and provide stability for his scoped rifle. Instead, he has to settle on Gleason’s metal table. Considering how close Sinatra is to the depot, a scope will be useless. Lazy Frees whines about the hassle of bolting everything down. He suggests that a “Tommy” gun would work just as well. Here is a guy who knows the distance to the depot. Like Tonto to his Lone Ranger, Frees is told to go into town and see what is happening. He whines. Frees gets questioned by Wexler, loses his cool and the deputy gets wounded. The coward does not get far, groaning and whining as he goes down from, ironically, one of his beloved “Tommy” guns.

Gleason was in the process of fixing his television but ended up calling their local repairman. Using his past field training, he sets up the exciting climax by suggesting the clueless repairman clamp the wires—the 5,000-volt ones—to the metal table for better “reception.” Sinatra seems annoyed by all the background electronic gibberish. Gleason fakes an angina attack with the grandson fetching his pills in the next room. After grabbing the pills, the lad swaps his toy gun for Gleason's real one. The geezer “accidentally” spills his cup of water on the floor near the metal table. The shallow puddle goes unnoticed. Dark, who just prior wanted to call the whole thing off and make a run for it, (suddenly) is excited to view the shot through the gun’s scope. He will get a microscopic view of a Philips head screw in the depot's sign! With his soles sufficiently wet and the rifle gripped, his soul is sent into the afterlife. His involuntary reflexes repeatedly pull the trigger and their location is no longer a secret. Sinatra sees the sparks, yanks off the clamp, pushes dead Dark out of the way, and rapidly steps up to the rifle in fear of missing the shot. Hayden throws a heavy ceramic ashtray at Sinatra’s spine, and then Charney, the little pistol, takes an errant shot. He tosses the revolver across the carpet.

Not phased by all the personal attention from the rear, Sinatra grins, suggesting he is locked in, ready to fire. Except the train does not intend to stop thanks to a stool pigeon's tip about the assassination plot. Had it stopped, all passengers would have been hidden from his view by exiting from the opposite side of the coach! His face goes into shock. The scene sets up beautifully delivered lines for Sinatra. In utter bewilderment, almost to tears realizing his moment of glory is gone, he hesitantly and quietly says, 'It didn’t stop. It. Didn’t. Stop.' He quickly pivots, facing the center of the room, and shouts, 'It didn’t stop!' Gates delivers an accurate second bullet (suddenly) realizing a gun can be a crime deterrent.

Note: Though not flawless as noted, it is seventy-five minutes well spent in Suddenly, California. Visually it is a time capsule of small-town America, the storefronts and their interiors, the vehicles, and the Southern Pacific Railroad. It was an era when a U.S. President made a stop, it was a rare and special event. As a testament to the era, early in the movie, Hayden asks Gates if he can pick her up for church on Sunday. Try suggesting that for any modern action movie. Incidentally, after the television is fixed, it is Paul Frees’ voice-over calling the fake baseball play-by-play.

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.

JOHNNY COOL (1963)

A surprising box office success, this one-hundred-three-minute film, distributed by United Artists, produced by Peter "Rat Pack" Lawford, and directed by William Asher, Miss Montgomery's third husband, has some believability issues, and its mix of tongue and cheek humor with gangster elements simply lessens the impact of contract assassins. It could be argued that Silva did for contract killers what James Coburn did for spies with his Derek Flint character. It is light years away from the wallop two years earlier by Blast of Silence. However, Asher does a fine job with pacing and the authenticity of location shooting. The film’s violence is not visualized, but it gets the point across and may have set a new trend for assassins without a moral conscience. A Billy May jazz score also provides the right amount of kick when needed. Why this popular poster has three people in the crosshairs who are not targeted is at the very least misleading.

Henry Silva carries this film, in the early stages of his typecast career—he was even intimidating as a mobster in the Jerry Lewis comedy, Cinderfella. Silva’s emotionally detached persona advanced the type to a higher violent quotient by the late Twentieth Century. At certain angles or lighting, his facial structure may appear as though he had reconstructive surgery after a serious face plant. His eyes seemingly lack any iris, just giant pupils.

Elizabeth Montgomery is believable in an emotionally difficult, roller-coaster role. Witnessing Silva easily dispense with an obnoxious bar patron in a nightclub, she is instantly attracted to the button-eyed Silva in the worst way. Her boredom is quelled by his mysterious aura. His persona overpowers all her discernment. She is all-in for Silva. Danger is always teasingly attractive to Hollywood. 

Marc Lawrence is riveting during the opening scenes, thanks, in part, to years of portraying movie gangsters. As an exiled American gangster (the original Johnny Cool) living in Sicily, he has bigger plans for Silva than the local mercenary he has become. A look-alike is killed in Silva’s place so Lawrence can reinvent him for the American market as the oxymoron “cultured assassin.” He wants Silva to take out each former associate residing in America. Lawrence has equipped him with a detailed history of all things underworld. Silva 2.0 has memorized it all. He removes his mismatched costume beard and takes the name of Lawrence’s character, eventually gaining the modified moniker, the film’s title. After establishing himself in New York City, his next “take-out order” sends him to Las Vegas.

Silva infiltrates a Vegas crap game with no real relevance to the plot. Sammy Davis, Jr. (as "Educated") wears an eye patch similar to the one he used for a while after his 1954 injury. In real life, long since fitted with a glass eye, he uses the patch here as a subtle comedic prop. Davis has a knack for rolling winning numbers. After a few winning rolls in a row, his nervousness demands he lift his eye patch—since Silva is holding a gun to his head—just to make sure he is still using the same die. Another Vegas heritage connection, comedian Joey Bishop, takes an amusing turn as a fast-talking Los Angeles used car shyster who prevents Montgomery from getting a word in edgewise during her purchase.

Montgomery is seriously abused by two thugs posing as police officers. The originally filmed violent assault ended on the editing floor for 1963 audiences. Sliva crosses their path after they exit their vehicle in town. With their laughter and exchanged words, Silva makes a miraculous assumption that she is the subject of their "fun." After checking on her, he returns to the duo's car and knifes them both. Back to his "to-die list," ruthless casino owner John McGiver, is up next. Also not leaving the room is his confidence man, the then-popular comedic pundit, Mort Saul. He provides an eye-opener for the hitman. He calmly informs Silva that Lawrence is using him like he was used. Murder's delivery boy. Unemotional Saul is aware he faces eternity by the trigger finger of an embarrassed and angry Silva. Jim Backus plays an unethical contractor whose day is permanently cut short with a briefcase mix-up. When off camera, leaving a scene, Backus provides his "Mr. Magoo" laugh. I am not sure why, other than the cartoon was popular at the time. Very silly.

Then there is an amusing “filler” scene involving a Vegas tour bus driver. The local police are looking for a suspicious passenger, one of several lined up outside the bus. Silva, who already “confessed” his religious views against gambling to the driver, is in a flowery tourist shirt with three cameras around his neck. Looking down the line, the police are convinced by the bus driver that Silva could not possibly be wanted for anything. Just look at him. A guy in line with a cowboy hat is bragging to Silva about the money he won, exclaiming, “Boy, I murdered ‘em!” He asks how Silva did, and he blandly replies, “I did all right.” It is the cowboy who gets yanked out of line. 

Silva and Montgomery are off to Los Angeles, where she learns his background, which does not faze her much. She is the getaway driver for Silva’s latest hit on an oil baron, Brad Dexter, treading water in his pool. With her convertible idling atop an overlook, she hears an explosion, and then she and her windshield become spotted with blobs of chlorine water in a rather creepy moment. They drive away, and she attempts to process all of Silva's detailed instructions about doing ordinary things until her time comes to reconnect with him back in New York City. She goes to a hair salon and pulls up curbside. It is clear she has issues with parallel parking. Upon exiting the salon, she noticed a patrol officer looking over her 1962 Ford parked at nearly a fifty-five-degree angle. Guessing “what would Cool do,” she abandons the car. This is a big error. She will never know the officer was only giving her a ticket for an expired parking meter. A second officer hits pay dirt by discovering fragmented pieces in the car's interior, typical of a homemade bomb. 

Silva's killing efficiency may be hard to believe, but JC is also an expert con artist. Posing as a photojournalist on assignment, he uses a motorized outdoor window washing system to inch his way up to the upper-floor skyscraper office of Telly Savalas, a New York mobster kingpin. In what would otherwise be a comedic parody scene, Savalas turns to see Silva’s head slowly rising outside his window. As surprising as this is, the only thing concerning him is the rifle pointed in his direction. Edited out, smartly, is Silva's slow getaway descent.

Joining friends for a Newport Beach yacht party, Montgomery finally has a reality check. Though still disturbingly attracted to Silva, she realizes he is a despicable human. She reveals Silva's location, and the East Coast “brotherhood” puts him in a straitjacket and then explains in very specific detail how his life will slowly and painfully end. Not so cool, Johnny.

Notes: James Van Heusen wrote a nearly incoherent title song as if Sammy Davis Jr.—totally without blame—was making up the song on the spot. A perpetual motion tune with rambling lyrics by, sorry to say, Sammy Cahn, who seems to have written too many words for Van Heusen's given notes. 

Finally, there is a mystery involving an FBI agent, played by Douglas Henderson (above), with only one tinted eyeglass lens. We have already seen Davis with an eye patch. Now this. It would be strange that the director would suggest this. It is not explained. I chalk it up to another quirk of the film.