WALK A CROOKED MILE (1948)

This ninety-one-minute crime film noir pseudo-documentary was directed by Gordon Douglas for Edward Small Productions and released by Columbia Pictures. It is full of shadowy goodness by cinematographers Edward Colman and George Robinson with enough on-location shooting to put the viewer on the streets with the FBI. The film is enhanced by a fine screenplay by George Bruce from a story by Bertram Millhauser. The dependable Paul Sawtell provided the score. Be patient, as any real action does not arise until an hour has elapsed. The authoritative voice of actor, Reed Hadley, melodramatically barks out narration with all the seriousness he can muster throughout the film as if it were an exposé ripped from the headlines. There is a red menace but they are not from the planet Mars. The director is determined to keep the audience guessing a traitor’s identity.

This film makes it three in a row for Dennis O'Keefe, who was on a noir high, coming off two superior efforts, T-Men and Raw Deal. Here, he picks up from his T-man role but as an FBI special agent assigned to a top-secret project fleshing out a Communist spy ring that has infiltrated an atomic research plant. The plant's tight security is somewhat of a prison-inspired process where every worker passes by what is referred to as an “electronic eye” which can detect the minutia on a worker’s uniform. The same year of this film’s release, the first group of enormous Convair B-36 intercontinental bombers were delivered to the USAF as a “peace through strength” deterrent to Communist aggression. America’s threat was as real as it was imagined.

Scotland Yard sends over detective, Louis Hayward, to help the investigation and monitor a fellow countryman—not above suspicion—involved in the California project. O'Keefe and Hayward walk through their roles genuinely, effortlessly, as one would expect from professionals. The British have intel on a suspected spy who spends much of his time painting landscapes with stolen codes printed underneath the oils, only visible with ultraviolet light. It is London’s duty to confiscate them before they go any further. 

The FBI has set up an agent in an adjacent building to monitor the traitor’s tapped phone line. With cutting-edge technology, the agent makes an on-location recording of each conversation as the needle cuts a vinyl disk for later playback. O’Keefe likes what he hears and a delightful snippet of dialogue arises:

O’Keefe: Can you trace that call?

Agent: Eh, dialed telephone calls are tough.

O’Keefe: How long will it take?

Agent: The miraculous we do immediately. The impossible takes a few minutes longer.

O’Keefe: Good boy!

Alluding to the unthinkable, O’Keefe and Hayward suggest during a thoughtful repose, the real possibility that the person sitting next to another might be a Communist. Indeed, Communists were spying on America during the Eisenhower administration. O’Keefe makes a disheartening comment that the apparent dead-end investigation might not even “come out in the laundry” and Hayward, in a real eye-opener, links his comment to a local laundry service used by one research facility employee. Hayward becomes an undercover employee and soon spots Raymond Burr picking up a suspect package. Waiting in a darkened alley, O’Keefe knocks out Burr, taking the package back to the lab. The embroidered handkerchief reveals, after the correct chemical tests, another hidden code. Unfortunately, Hayward’s laundry cover is blown and Burr gives him a serious “Martinizing” at his apartment. Burr also returns a beating on O’Keefe when he arrives, then before departing, instructs two comrades to eliminate both of them. Hayward’s landlady, a Soviet defector, grabs at the revolver of one spy but is mortally wounded. Sawtell’s score kicks in big time as the four men duke it out. The scene ends quietly with the landlady at peace knowing she did her part in protecting America’s freedom.

What follows is an over-detailed consensus as the search narrows, all of which is a bit tedious. The viewer is provided license plate suspense with no relevance to the climax. The heroic duo centers their speculations around Louise Allbritton, the secretary to the head scientific doctor for the research center. She is grilled pretty hard based on their visual observation at the aforementioned laundry. She vehemently denies every accusation. In a bit of contrived staging, the FBI finally catch their Twentieth Century “Benedict Arnold” with humble apologies awaiting Allbritton. Hadley closes the film, assuring Americans they have an ally in Great Britain. That two countries together are better than one alone. That the FBI is better with Scotland Yard. That two actors are better...uh...you get the idea.

Note: Producers or screenplay writers of crime dramas were not shy about using the word "crooked" during this period. John Payne’s, “The Crooked Way” followed the next year with Mickey Rooney’s, “Drive a Crooked Road” coming just six years later. Crooked has found its way into a number of film titles since then.

THE RED MENACE (1949)

Directed by R.G. Springsteen, most associated with television westerns, this Republic Production release may suck—eighty-one minutes from your life—yet it offers a few timeless observations. The film’s opening credits have a male chorus singing wordless music of a slight Russian flavor. The composer is Nathan Scott, father of Grammy Award-winning saxophonist and composer, Tom Scott. The narration by Lloyd G. Davies, a Los Angeles City Council Member returns periodically throughout the film with prescient comments. He also garners a role as Inspector O’Toole. Republic’s own, Robert “B-movie” Rockwell, and co-star, Hannelore (Hanne) Axman are in the midst of a late-night automobile escape with Axman in a particular state of panic. Davies steps in to explain the necessary flashback of what led to the climactic scene.

Rockwell, in his second film role, gets hoodwinked into joining the Communist Party in America simply because of his disillusionment with governmental procedures as a returning war veteran. His selfish anger provides a ripe mind for the red menace. He is befriended by an undercover comrade who takes him to “Club Domino.” Maybe a subliminal message behind that name as America will fall like dominoes under a Communist takeover. Across the alley is their underground newspaper, subliminally titled, “The Toilers.” All the patrons at this alley bar have orders to recruit saps like Rockwell. Cute Barbara Fuller is first to soften him up. A young convert who later begins to question the organization's intentions.

Sensing Rockwell is a bit green around the red menace, he is later saved from arrest by Axman, a Communist instructor from Europe. He thinks Communism is where everyone shares things equally. Golly, that sounds keen. She tells him that it is a naive American opinion. In Communism, there are no internal principles of right and wrong. The basic doctrine is Atheism which is sugar-coated with high brow terms. Lying is second nature. If you disagree with them you are silenced. As an example, a man stands up in protest at a secret meeting. Betty Lou Gerson, in her first movie role, berates him and identifies him with an ethnic slur. It is shockingly accurate to describe radicals or liberal social media in the twenty-first century. She looks and acts the part here. Devoid of any outward femininity, she is a bit jealous of Fuller and Axman. In the end, immigration officials bring her in for questioning. They are tired of her loud-mouth disloyalty to the United States and also uncover she is a murderer. Bingo! She ends her role in an angry, over-the-top tirade indicative of an unhinged person. Gerson was still a popular radio character and voice artist. Her final scene would have been less amusing on the radio. You may roll your eyes during her final laughing exit.

Davies returns with closing comments. Rockwell and Axman end their escape with a tall, baritone-voiced Texas sheriff who doles out wisdom after listening to their three-hour backstory. The ending is too simplistic to be believed. Before leaving on an assignment, he says they have nothing to fear in America and they should get married. The couple did not get the sheriff’s name but a little boy walking by in a cowboy outfit helps a bit. Scratching his head, 'Oh him? It’s some kind of a long name but us kids just call him Uncle Sam.' The closing moments have the male chorus singing “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” over images of the Statue of Liberty. Try that today.

Notes: This film is too idealistic but perhaps makes a point. Many protesters are hired to pit social classes against one another. These are the same people today who set fire to buildings or parked cars because they disagree with someone's viewpoint, existence or judicial verdict. Totally out of control, ignorant people. Stalin said it best: 'Dictatorship means unlimited power, resting solely on violence, and not on law.' 

In another scene, a man confronts his comrades. He has had enough of the party and tears up his card. I quote: 'All the years in the party I thought I could be an American Democrat and a Communist at the same time. You pretend to fight racial discrimination but you keep reminding me I’m a Jewish-American. Molly, over there, is an Irish-American. We are not hyphens! We’re just plain Americans!' 

TOKYO FILE 212 (1951)

This American-Japanese double-billed film, distributed by RKO Radio Pictures, could not get any more “B.” From the start of filming to it being put "in the can" took about two months. The acting is okay but any innovative dialogue was left in a manila folder, perhaps File 207. The bland dialogue may be an effort to suggest the film was “shot as it happened” using the everyday people involved. I am being kind. Except for some actual military personnel, it is simply a cast of unknown actors in a speculative story filmed entirely in Tokyo, a Hollywood first. It is an innovative take on the Korean War, suggesting Communist spies were working from Japan to sabotage American operations. Certainly not a preposterous premise. Despite the film’s average packaging, the pacing is good and the Tokyo settings add realism and mystery. Albert Glasser’s rousing opening score certainly gets your attention. The eighty-four-minute movie was not a success with mixed reviews from critics and ticket buyers alike.

The story is told with voice-overs by a U.S. Government Agent, the sometimes billed, Robert Peyton. His voice and mannerisms seem too intimate for the big screen and better suited for television where one can get small but perceived big. The bulk of the movie is told in flashback after a briefcase bomb explodes near his chins. Since he is telling the story, we know he survives the blast but we do not know what miracle befell him. The climax does have a logical, eye-opening resolution. Officially, he was not a body double for Fred MacMurray but one might disagree, below.

After checking in at the front desk, Peyton finds Francis Marly, a mature Euro-tart making herself at home in his room. Perhaps the funniest thing in the movie is that she talks seductively in the third person. Being a debonair geek, he is attracted to her fits of flirts. We are never sure if she can tell the truth. They become an odd team even though he suspects her of being a Communist sympathizer.

Peyton came to Japan to find an old college classmate, Katsuhiko Haida, who is suspected of joining the Communists. Haida’s father tells Peyton of his son’s backstory in a World War II Kamikaze 101 class where they use scale models for practice. One student is slapped by the tough instructor for timidly and repeatedly not zooming his plane in the right area of a carrier model, thanks to an improper grip on the model. No successful Kamikaze 101 student gets a typical diploma. They get funeral rites. But the war comes to an end and Haida is crushed that he will never be able to go on frequent Kamikaze missions. He is despondent and vulnerable to Communist propaganda.

The leader of the Communist ring, Tetsu Nakamura, is all very honorable when in Peyton’s presence. Just a sweetheart. Peyton’s informer, however, tells him to be wary of his secret ingredient when he dines with him. Poison. Peyton makes an attempt to add a bit of suspenseful humor to this scene. 

The girlfriend of Haida is played by the exceptionally cute, Reiko Otani. She is abducted by the Commies, then dumped on the road without so much as an apology. While in the critical care unit, Haida secretly visits and they express their undying love for each other. Never use any form of the word “dying” in her presence at this point. Haida has an epiphany and is no longer on the dark red side, using all his kamikaze skills to defeat Nakamura. For Peyton, it is File 213.

Note: The film provides the moviegoer with good exposure to mid-century Japanese culture. If the film has any assets, it would be this. Many of these scenes carry no dialogue as we follow Peyton through the streets and bars of Tokyo. This in itself saved a ton of production money. There is a scene in a sleazy Japanese-only bar where rowdy, drunk tattooed men are doing what they would not do unless in a crowd. There is a fully clothed female dancer, after a fashion, on a table. When Peyton and Marly enter in search of Haida, the place becomes dead silent. Like two Jews entering a Nazi bar. The U.S. Military Police tell them that the bar is off limits and suggest, for their own safety, they leave.