COVER UP (1949)

 THE MURDER THAT SAVED CHRISTMAS

This light mystery is hard not to like from its opening scene thanks to the appeal of Dennis O'Keefe and Barbara Britton. In their first clever exchange, Britton pretends to have not noticed O’Keefe on the train even though he sat across from her, facing backward. He is skeptical of her memory and hooks her, "You know I snore pretty badly when I ride backward." “Not true...your eyes were open all the...” His icebreaker is successful. Their delightful dialogue—though not unique—is provided by a screenplay by Jerome Odlum and Jonathan Rix aka O'Keefe. They do a fine job of not revealing the climax in the early stages where one simply has to endure the last thirty minutes or so. Both know how to keep a secret under wraps. United Artists’ released the eighty-three-minute film in February though the story is set at Christmastime. Ignore the poster suggesting this is a hard-hitting murder story.

The leads are heading to a small mid-western town where everyone knows who's who. Britton is coming home for the holiday. She lights up the screen with every smile and may never have looked more appealing. Her teenage sister may be the film's cliched annoyance. She is all ga-ga over O'Keefe, an insurance investigator. He is arriving to confirm an apparent suicide but all clues lead to an obvious murder. He should feel right at home in a role he often played. He certainly knew his strengths. Much to O’Keefe’s disappointment, clues are pointing to Britton's father—the likable Art Baker. His Luger is the assumed murder weapon with his vintage beaver coat figuring into the evidence. However illogical, the small town wants to ignore the past incident.

O’Keefe gets little cooperation from William Bendix, the county sheriff, who also owns a Lugar. Unlike the posters of the period, he is about as violent as Jed Clampet. The two pros have witty chemistry from their first meeting. The sheriff’s cryptic behavior does not endear him to the investigator initially. Bendix tries to change the suicide subject more than once suggesting twice he abandon cigarettes and switch to a pipe, his preferred habitual mode. O’Keefe says it is okay—he owns stock in a cigarette company. The sheriff knows the truth will eventually unravel but he is not keen on helping the investigator.

It is a rapid climax as the incident is revealed by a single witness. The man killed was not liked by anyone. He was bent on destroying the town, the people and their future, with hate and gossip. So whether suicide or murder, the locals considered it good fortune. Children will long remember the murder that brought new joy to Christmas.

Notes: There are three characters with amusing scenes. First up is Bendix’s deputy, Dan White, who has no dialogue, finding it more convenient to simply shrug or point. But we first see him hanging up the phone at the end of a conversation! O’Keefe tells him to tone down his chatter on one visit.

Then there is the theater scene with an inquisitive and savvy youngster, George McDonald. He turns around and stares at O’Keefe and Britton for a while before giving opinions about the lame movie playing and some romantic advice. By then, O’Keefe is trying to buy him off with money for another theater across the street. Except the kid has seen that movie. He finally gets what he wanted all along, money for bowling. He and his buddy duck out of the theater.

But by far the most amusing performance is by Baker’s maid to end all maids, Doro Merande (above right). She is a walking encyclopedia of everything that goes on in the family and in town. Her unique delivery suggests she is completely daffy yet her astute, cutting opinions are delivered like compliments. Her exchanges with O’Keefe are highlights. In their final greeting at the door, he jokingly grabs her at the shoulders, lifts her off her feet, and feigns an attempt to kiss her madly. She is aloof yet not completely against his advances. Later, to help cover for Baker during the investigation, she deliberately sets fire to his old college coat, destroying any evidence of it. She nonchalantly confesses to him before abruptly leaving the scene, "I had a little accident with your beaver coat. I was cleaning it and it caught fire...burned up completely."

BLAST OF SILENCE! (1961)

“You do not have to know a man to live with him. But you have to know a man like a brother to kill him.” So sums up the main character in this oxymoron-titled film, reminiscent of a college-crafted art film project. Primarily known as a director, Allen Baron's oddball approach might be compared to a film student who is allowed artistic freedom to do whatever he wants to get that “A” grade. All his cash and loose change are used for this budgeted film, which accounts for its starkness. Even a big band jazz score is used with restraint. This is not a film to be shot during the rejuvenation of spring. Like the lead character's future, winter is also bleak.

My opening paragraph is not intended to be critical. Baron's project packs a wallop and could be the most expensive-looking film from such a limited budget. He embarrassed all "his fellow film students." I can only imagine a coffee house’s beatnik banter the day after the film's premiere. The film's “artsy” tone is set as the film opens with a shaky white spot in the center of the screen, which is both frustrating and thought-provoking. As the voice-over narration cryptically spells out Baron's backstory, the white spot gets larger and resolves itself into a train tunnel’s opening. Later, a similar effect is used on the streets of Manhattan as we watch Baron walk toward a low camera from a very great distance. In total silence. Ingmar Bergman would be envious. 

Baron plays Frankie Bono, a name surely found in a top ten list of underworld figures. Visually, he is a cross between George C. Scott and Robert De Niro. In fact, the latter could fill this role without anyone knowing the difference. There are no studio sets to be found here. All filming takes us to the actual neighborhoods of New York City as we witness Baron's lonely, emotionally damaged and pessimistic life unravel. Rarely has location shooting looked so expensive―an almost documentary feel―as we follow the detailed workings of a carefully efficient hitman.

Mel Davenport’s narration features the distinctive wood-chipper voice of Lionel Stander. Aside from the myriad of interesting camera positions, his expressive voice-over is another defining element of this film. The long, drawn-out scenes of watching Baron go about his systematic contract procedure would be lifeless without it. The narration reflects Baron’s conscience and inner thoughts. We learn of Baron’s disgust with his contract hit, a mob boss. He is repulsed by his high lifestyle and hates his mustache because it is there only to hide the fact that he has lips like a woman's—so says Stander.

The cinematography will have the viewer reaching for a warm hoodie. Baron seems to be just another shopper as he passes decorated storefronts with real-life pedestrians, unaware they are being filmed, appearing as “extras.” Christmastime provides no happy memories for Baron. He hates it. Under gloomy, overcast skies, the final scenes at Spring Creek in Brooklyn are particularly effective, despite using what sounds like the sound effect for the flying scenes from the old The Adventures of Superman television show, as the relentless wind bends the tall grasses and removes men’s hats. 

All the characters in this film are as ordinary as your own friends might be. Hopefully not this strange. These are people captured in their own world of monotony and self-doubt. Molly McCarthy returns after her underwhelming performance in The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery as a longtime interest of Baron. Once again, McCarthy's acting is tolerable at best. Their relationship has no future, even without her knowing what he does for a living. The slimy and weirdly whispered opening performance by the bearded Larry Tucker is particularly creepy. His lines are delivered as if auditioning for the Don Corleone role. Calm but dangerous. His closest companions are a herd of rats in cages. I believe it was Alfred Hitchcock, referring to his film, Torn Curtain, who imagined how difficult it must be to actually kill a person with your bare hands. Tucker's demise is quite gut-wrenching. To say Baron is not affected by the murder would be unrealistic. Baron takes no pleasure in his lifestyle. Today’s films unrealistically have a psychopathic murderer delighting in torturing someone to death by the most diabolical means.  

Note: One cannot ignore Dean Sheldon's acting as a nightclub singer. Sheldon is perhaps best known for his film career. This movie. His performance is a slippery slope between lounge singer and beatnik. Outside of any murders, these might be the most brutal scenes in the movie. Though one cannot deny his total commitment to selling the songs.