HOODLUM EMPIRE (1952)

This ninety-eight-minute “noirette” is directed by Joseph Kane and produced by Herbert J. Yates, founder of Republic Pictures, known for his many Westerns. There is an opening score by Nathan Scott—father of legendary saxophonist and composer Tom Scott—that sets a dramatic tone for the film. The word “hoodlum” is in the title, but this is not an action film. It is another entry inspired by the Kefauver Committee, a special committee of the United States Senate (1950-51) that investigated organized crime with Senate hearings, displayed as usual in a semi-documentary style. Overall, there is nothing new here and much of it clichéd. A strong performance by Luther Adler elevates the film.

Flashbacks can be appropriate or annoying, seen as a crutch to help a weak script's flow. But the frequent flashbacks here are imperative with the obvious benefit of shortening a boring Senate hearing. Though the first one may stretch your patience, each establishes facts about the past from first-hand knowledge. Facts that run contrary to two gangsters' testimonies. Giving a near-over-the-top performance during the hearings is one Senator, played by the bulldog-faced Gene Lockhart, whose angry response to the evasive answers received from the mob boss even made my face red.

The other positives are respectable performances by the central cast of John Russell, Brian Donlevy, Claire Trevor, and Forrest Tucker, with Vera Ralston, the real-life Mrs. Yates, holding her own away from the ice rink. After his uncredited roles in the 1940s, Russell somewhat split his early screen time between bad and good guy roles. His dangerously handsome looks—eyes as slits and the occasional angry furrowed V-brow—worked well for shady characters. He handles this role well, with a diverse range of restrained emotions. Trevor is once again a wisecracking third wheel in a losing romantic triangle between her former gangster boyfriend, Russell, and Ralston, a French woman he fell for overseas. Russell had his life's priorities immeasurably altered by his combat experiences. He is now engaged to be married and wants nothing more to do with the gambling racket.

Adler is accustomed to playing underworld figures and flawlessly sells the character of an iron-fisted mob boss who thinks he is invincible. He is also the uncle who raised Russell, putting the "hood" in childhood—the best uncle you could imagine as long as he gets his way. His mood swings can be sudden and violent. Just as ruthless is the tall Tucker, his gunman with zero sanctity for life. Unknown to Adler, Trevor secretly records his meetings from another office. That does not go over so well during the violent climax. In an underhanded move to keep Russell on the payroll, Adler forges Russell's name to every racketeering operation, clouding efforts to clear himself. Also not letting go is Donley, Russell's former commanding officer, now the lead Senator of the hearings. Wounded and under anesthesia, Russell deliriously blurts out some associated crime tidbits which is overheard by Donlevy in the Army's medical tent in the first flashback. His assumptions plague Russell throughout the film.

Time flies when not being flashbacked: Russell and his wife now have two children and his gas station business is thriving. But the mob attempts to force two one-arm-bandit machines inside the station's waiting room. Russell's old Army buddy and station partner, Phillip Pine, refuses the “offer” then takes a beating before Russell and two other vets return. One fist at a time, they dispense with the mob goons and throw the machines to the pavement. Adler is not pleased and later visits Russell at his home. The reunion niceties are short-lived. He quietly, almost sweetly, threatens Russell's entire family while standing over their newborn's crib. Ralston's flashback confirms his visit, which he denied under oath. The truth wins out and Donlevy's public apology for his mistreatment and skepticism about Russell rapidly ends the film with an elevated camera view of the Senate room.

SHAKEDOWN (1950)

Howard Duff plays an over-confident, womanizing con man with a camera who despises the low income of society, of which he is currently a part. The opening beating he takes sets the tone for his well-known lack of character. Among other things, the love of money is the root of all evil and he will use anyone as a stepping stone for financial gain. A newspaper photo editor, Peggy Dow, falls for Duff's smooth, charming manner and ambition, then vouches for him to the editor-in-chief, Bruce Bennett. With a nose for news, honesty and integrity, he does not like Duff from the outset—something rotten is developing. Nevertheless, due to her persistence, he is hired. In time, his uncanny ability to be in the exact spot to capture a newsworthy happening suspiciously lacks authenticity. Like the time Duff happens upon an apartment fire and spots a lady breaking a third-story window for escape. He tells her to pause then yells, "Now jump." Click! I assume there were firemen to catch her. Not an issue for Duff.

Duff surviving until the end of this film seems highly unlikely. His cocky, yet naivete, gets him involved with organized crime. He is well paid for his darkroom skills, going to work for a racketeer, Brian Donlevy, who provides him with inside information about a rival's activity. Duff just "happens" to be in downtown San Francisco to capture Lawrence Tierney during the bank robbery. Duff later approaches Tierney to offer him a deal—he will keep the negative in safe keeping for a substantial fee. If that is not enough, he later hides in a parking garage to capture him in the act of installing an after-market accessory to Donlevy's limo: a bomb. The unscrupulous shutterbug now has the blackmail image of his dreams. Duff is free to swoop in for Donlevy's widow, Anne Vernon.

During the rapid climax at a high society formal event, Duff's true colors are revealed to Vernon—Tierney suggests he was responsible for her husband's death. But those negatives, hidden within a picture frame at Dow's apartment, will prove otherwise. Duff's frantic call proves fruitless. She is fed up with his fabrications and hangs up on him. Duff is a marked man. After being shot three times, he still manages to squeeze the shutter release cable hanging from his tripod to photograph Tierney firing the fatal bullet.

Duff lived for a “shot” at immortality. His photographic evidence brings the mobsters to justice. Yet the newspaper staff knew he was a "skunk of the first odor" all along.

Note: The eighty-minute film was released by Universal Pictures and directed by Joseph Pevney. It is a better-than-average B-movie noir. Fine performances all around. The powerful scores are from a stock library by several well-known composers. Duff effortlessly delivers numerous sarcastic, witty quips throughout—like a guy who memorized the excellent screenplay by Martin Goldsmith and Alfred Lewis Levitt. Ignore the poster. At no time did Donlevy attempt to punch out Duff. The viewers on the other hand....

There is at least one gullible moment in the film. Duff desperately wants that image few could capture. As a taxi fare, he notices the car in front is weaving left and right and thinks it might lead to something. The erratic car does plunge into shallow water, balanced precipitously on its side—the driver in a panic. Rather than help the driver, Duff tells him to stick his head out the side window and then stretch out his arms in a show of desperation. Why the driver would comply with these commands is difficult to fathom. 

IMPACT (1949)

The first fifty minutes of this Harry Popkin Productions film are the strongest. The implausible premise prevents keeps it from being an A-list picture. The pacing is more encouraging, however, as it sets up the impact on a husband whose wife hates him beyond his understanding. In this twisty script, Brian Donlevy is first-rate as a highly paid automotive production manager and loving husband. Helen Walker delivers a convincing performance, too, as many viewers would have wanted to reach out and slap her had the film been released in 3D. In a role before her career shift to television, Ella Raines adds a freshness to the film and more than enough encouragement for Donlevy's character. The musical score by Michel Michelet does a great job of enhancing the mood of most scenes with a restrained theremin when appropriate. Charles Coburn plays a police lieutenant with an intermittent, debatable Scottish accent whose mounting evidence convinces him that Walker is surely guilty of something. 

Walker's New England dialect works best when she is syrupy-sweet. It falters when she is angry. She is as devious and fraudulent as they come. She arranges her current male interest—call him “Fling Boy”—to pose as a family cousin and rendezvous with her husband. Fling Boy's cryptic conversation along a dark, dangerous and curvy mountain highway is awkward for Donlevy. Before a brief stop, the fake cousin had manufactured a slow leaking tire, later selecting the worst possible spot to fix a flat—on the narrow curve of a studio set. One passerby parks right in the middle of the road to offer aid. Surprising that this is not an accident-prone area. Fling Boy makes his move. Donlevy gets a concussion from a tire iron and rolls down the embankment.

Speaking of impact, Fling Boy escapes in a panic with Donlevy's Packard but he is pancaked by a gasoline semi, sending both cascading over a cliff. All done with obvious miniatures with resulting flames like those from a small gas fireplace. A Bekins moving van stops to put out the flames with a single extinguisher. Perfect for a toy semi. Conveniently, the moving van's rear loading doors had been open. Furniture and carpet hanging on for dear life. The film got no endorsements from Bekins. Donlevy climbs aboard to the next town. His phone call to his wife's relative reveals dear old cousin does not exist. Donlevy's subtle changes in facial expression are perfect. His six-year devotion to his wife has been foolishly wasted. It is a powerful scene as he emotionally breaks down in tears.

The headlines assume Donlevy is dead. But Walker cannot figure out why Fling Boy is not at their rendezvous point. Coburn uncovers her affair with Mr. Boy. Donlevy becomes a three-month resident of the small, rural town while Walker becomes a resident in a prison ward. Raines runs the town's service station and is taking a hammer to an engine amid Donlevy's grimaces. His impressive quick work as a mechanic gets Donley hired on the spot. In her second scene with Donlevy, she does her best Princess Leia with her hair twisted into stereo headphones. His decision to stay in tiny Larkspur, Wherever, may not make a great deal of logic, but he simply wants to disappear and his "death" made it easier. Raines is cast for a reason: to help transform his thinking and provide a happy ending. As their friendship grows, Raines convinces him to return to San Francisco and tell his story. It does not go as she expected.

After discovering who was burnt to a crisp in that Packard, husband and wife meet in the squad room as the music comes effectively to a crescendo during a close-up zoom of Walker's face. One can see the wheels turning in her warped mind as her facial expression changes from shock to loathing. Having developed into a liar, she accuses him of plotting to kill Fling Boy and then go into hiding with Raines. Right,  Donlevy convinced Fling Boy to deliberately crash into a semi. There is zero logic in killing the fake cousin as Donlevy knew nothing of the affair until he arrived in Larkspur. Walker's script of implausibilities is silly but no one noticed. Not even the director. Donlevy's convoluted story is no less hard to believe and he is arrested while Walker is released. Even knowing what the viewer already knows, the closing courtroom scenes still provide a few twists. Thankfully, Walker becomes a hypocritical idiot on the stand as she continues to bury herself with uncontrollable, outrageous denials. But it is her handwriting analysis that dooms her. Diverting blame, she plans to sue the Parker pen company, believing it was their fault all along.