THE CLAY PIGEON (1949)

 

This American film may not be included in anyone's top ten film noirs but there is little to fault here. There is never a dull moment. Starring in the B-movie is Bill Williams' rather bland performance due to his vocal tone and delivery. Barbara Hale holds her own, however. The real-life husband and wife were in their third year of marriage when this film was released by RKO Radio Pictures. It is a tidy sixty-three minutes of suspense competently directed by Richard Fleischer with a screenplay and story by Carl Foreman based on a true story. The cinematography of Robert De Grasse should be noted, specifically his positive-negative effects during one flashback.

An intriguing opening scene has a former World War II prisoner-of-war patient, Williams, awakening from a coma at a naval hospital. He overhears the doctor and nurse mention his court-martial for treason and he shoots straight up in bed—face in the camera. He is accused of informing on fellow inmates in a Japanese prison camp. His amnesia makes for a foggy past and a perfect candidate for deception—hence the film's title. Not convinced of his guilt, he escapes from the hospital and contacts two people he hopes will help him re-capture the truth.

Williams' first stop is the widow of one of his POW buddies he greatly admired. Hale knows who he is and the newspaper headlines fuel her dislike of him. There is an intense physical struggle [fight] between the two that is well-played and believable. Though somewhat implausibly—after confessing to being a nice guy—he gets tough with her making the audience wonder if he should receive some sort of punishment. He gags and threatens her at gunpoint, while he calls his best friend, Richard Quine, another ex-POW. I will just say he is pretty irate to get the call as if he has something else planned. Overhearing Williams's sincere conversation, Hale starts to change her opinion. Her gag order is lifted. Expect the obligatory roadblock out of town with Williams—not yet sure she can be trusted—pointing a gun and saying something silly like, “Don't try anything.” This is never believable. Those flashbacks help clarify his past for him and the audience. Williams needs to be eliminated before he recovers his memory. Leave this to thugs Richard Loo and Robert Bray.

Note: Williams and Hale hide out in a trailer park while he fully recovers from another black-out caused by the initial hit on the head during the Japanese prison camp. The scene is filmed at the Paradise Cove location where Jim Rockford will eventually park his own trailer for the popular detective series, The Rockford Files.

KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (1952)

 

This is the first and arguably the most well-known of the three films teaming director, Phil Karlson, with John Payne as his career-changer. This film-noir has captivating segments, though one may need to overlook an idealistic screenplay by George Bruce and Harry Essex. With commendable casting choices, great camera work, and an enhancing score, ninety-nine minutes never seemed so short. It was produced by Edward Small with distribution by United Artists and it paved the way for a few "confidential" films in the Fifties. Despite some uniqueness, nearly seventy years have given it some humorous and less-than-believable scenes. Worthy of a more in-depth review than I typically provide.

Robbery mastermind, Preston Foster, with an unimaginative character name of Tim Foster, checks the timing of a floral delivery truck driven by Payne and the all-important armored bank van from his third-story office across the street. Foster puts a lot of stock in the preposterous idea that both vehicles will always arrive at precisely the same time. He checks off the time on a desk-sized stakeout map as confirmation. The large map brings to mind a scaled architectural blueprint yet this map is a simple outline drawing of the section of the street directly in front of the bank. A hand-drawn note on a paper napkin would have sufficed. It would suggest an exciting robbery to come by way of a rudimentary robbery so often used. But the clever setup and robbery are showcased right up front. Uniquely, the bulk of the film concerns the aftermath.

Foster hires three lowlifes for the opportunity of financial freedom if they help pull off the robbery: ironically, three stereotypical villains of the era, Jack Elam, Lee Van Cleef, and Neville Brand. To their amazement, he knows their backstory specifically. Their dialogue is concise and effective. A chain smoker by birth, Elam’s character is a nervous wreck, constantly in hiding from the electric chair. He is the first to meet Foster and it is a dandy scene. The mastermind wears a rather creepy, perhaps leather, mask when he meets with each of the three. Each will be provided a one-size-fits-all mask and cap. First class all the way. At gunpoint, Elam angrily demands the mask be removed. Elam is in no position to make demands. Instead, Foster slaps him back and forth several times in "burst out laughing" choreography by Elam as he jerks his head left and right in a precise metronome fashion. Van Cleef is much cooler during his prospective job interview. Quite the ladies' man—they are entranced by his eye slits—he is told not to be late which means stay away from women. Brand is an emotionless gum-chewing killer who has nothing better to do than look numb. A man of few words.  

Idealistically, Foster (as Foster) has thought of everything, even supplying a matching floral delivery truck that will contain the aforementioned criminals. It seems unfair that the artist who painted the floral company's logo on the side of the truck will get no cut of the loot. As it speeds away, awkwardly amusing is a bank guard, who, without really aiming, fires several times at the van in a crouched position with his gun at knee level. His firing range instructor has repeatedly scolded him about his ineffective stance. Slickly, the van is driven inside a big rig trailer parked at a prearranged loading dock. Once again, director Karlson has Payne, a reformed ex-con, a victim of mistaken identity as his truck is spotted. Without a single shred of evidence, he is assumed to be part of the robbery. One sadistic detective tries to beat Payne into submission. He hates him on pure assumption before gathering any facts. So very 21st century. Foster’s clever plan dictates that everyone keep their masks on to hide their identity from each other. One of the film’s interesting devices. He provides airline tickets for the trio's Mexico rendezvous. After each is separately let go in the middle of nowhere, they are instructed to stay south of the border until the heat is off. Probably about two years! 

After the police find the bogus floral van, Payne is released with the police chief's feeble apology. Not from the violent detective, though. “Thanks for nothin'!” is Payne's seething reply. Payne gets a bead on Elam from an informer. He need only follow the cigarette butts. Elam grabs Payne in another Hollywood “confrontational alley.” He demands to know why he is being followed. He growls, “You’ve been giving me the fisheye all evening!” Apropos coming from Elam. Payne claims innocence and then walks away, later picking up Elam's carcinogenic scent in his hotel room. The first item of business...slap Elam. Payne finds a mask in his suitcase. Elam gets slapped again. Payne’s breathy taunting pre-dates the “Dirty Harry” character by nearly two decades. Payne is on Elam like a bad stink as they await their flight to Mexico. The authorities spot Elam, who reaches for his gun. They cancel his frequent-flyer club membership. But it gives Payne an opportunity to pose as Elam. The viewer knows Payne’s charade as Elam is understandably limited. This is the halfway point in the film and one is still pretty sure Colleen Gray is in this movie.

Since the robbery, Foster (as Foster) has been enjoying his retirement as a pipe-smoking fisher of errant men. A longtime friend and insurance investigator, Howard Negley, shows up by invitation. We learn Foster is a veteran cop, finally explaining his background knowledge of his accomplices. He informs Negley that new “evidence” will help him crack the two-year-old bank robbery with the credit—Foster's double-cross of his three stooges—going on his resumé. It is the first mention of his daughter, Gray, who has been waiting for her cue to enter the film while studying her script and bar exam. Despite her short screen time, being the singular female lead, and her notable work in earlier films, it probably accounts for her star billing—whether negotiated or paid for. She grows fond of Payne during the same southern flight. Purely scripted coincidence. She eventually mentions his “undercover” name to dear old Dad. His eyes suddenly get suspicious knowing full well she could not have been charmed by “Fisheye Elam.” 

Payne is pummeled by the pugilistic team of Cleef and Brand, the latter having met Elam before. There is another usage of the specific violent and painful act as  Cleef’s left and right hands bang hard against Payne’s ears. Cleef repeatedly refers sarcastically to Payne at this point as, “pal-zee,” after being hoodwinked by Payne earlier. As luck would have it, Gray shows up during a pummeling pause, and the two thugs, sweating profusely, cordially leave. Gray assumes a serious “conversation” was taking place. She and Payne have little to say to each other. At this point, every male identity starts to unravel with three burials to be scheduled. Gray is relieved to learn the truth about Payne as Negley sets the record straight. Confidentially, of course.

Note: Elam wants to buy some cigarettes at the airport. I always thought it strange that many of those height-challenged machines had a large mirror, usually round, on the front. Apparently for men to check their fly.

THE PRETENDER (1947)

Billy’s slightly older brother, W. Lee Wilder, directed this sixty-nine minute B-movie noir for Republic Pictures, which may be best remembered as one of the earliest Hollywood films to use a theremin, by Dr. Samuel J. Hoffman, to good effect and for John Alton's wonderfully dark, moody cinematography. The screenplay was written by Don Martin and Doris Miller who also provided additional dialogue. I found the script lacking clarity with some characters confusingly intertwined. It is quite possible I dozed off. Somewhat cleverly adding to the confusion, a key character changes his name after the halfway point. Quite perplexing for the leading man, Albert Dekker. For the era, I imagine this was a good suspenseful drama. Had it been released years later, it would have been more efficient—and free—as an episode of, The Alfred Hitchcock Hour.

Dekker had an inherent vocal ability to softly signify an unstable mind. At first, suggesting a reserved man, his real character here eventually comes to a breaking point. This role works for him. He plays a crooked investor, desperately embezzling money from a large estate bequeathed to the young Catherine Craig after her father’s death. Dekker is losing his shirt in the stock market and acting as a Robin Hood broker has been stealing from the rich and giving to himself. He is fortunate to have a secretary with zero scruples. She witnesses all his dishonest fund transfers without so much as a blink.

Typical of Hollywood's Golden Era, Dekker is old enough to be Craig’s uncle but he pours on the charm in his effort to woo her into marriage, giving him the ability to cover his debts with her inheritance. He even peels off his studio mustache to look younger. To himself. He has been a faithful and trusted friend regarding the estate, but she loves another in her age group. Dekker is not sure who that is but wants him killed, paying a nightclub owner/mobster, Alan Carney, to arrange an “accident” after their engagement picture appears in the newspaper. The lucky guy is Charles Drake, a neurosurgeon and doctor of psychology, whose responsibilities have left little time for Craig. They mutually call off their engagement. To Dekker’s surprise and queasiness, she decides to accept “Uncle Albert’s” earlier proposal and wants to elope. And the local paper knows about it.

In the meantime, Carney is killed and his right-hand man, Tom “Fingers” Kennedy, takes over the boss’s chair and decides to go upscale and use, I assume, his given character name. A name Dekker does not recognize but his paranoia tells him that anyone named “Fingers” would carry out the prepaid deed on him. Making it more difficult to trace, Carney, for anonymity, had bestowed upon Dekker’s character an alias, unknown to Kennedy. Throughout the balance of the film, the doomed groom is trying to make connections with Kennedy to cancel his prearranged funeral.

Dekker’s mental state is personified by the theremin. As the camera closes in on his face, now with a full mustache, he audibly shares his inner thoughts. Until the science fiction community confiscated the instrument, it was the perfect instrument to signify someone with psychological issues. His constant excuses and lies only go so far. He is afraid to eat for fear of poisoning. He does not trust their butler. Nor their second one. His paranoia increases to a ridiculous level while Craig becomes the most understanding woman on the planet. She gets Drake's free analysis and finds Dekker riddled with guilt and fear. They also find he has been dining alone in his room, eating canned food all along. Pretty creepy in the Dekker tradition. He dons sunglasses, even at night, for fear of being recognized. All his paranoia may be hard to sit through. Turns out, Carney left a note for Kennedy about canceling the groom’s elimination. One doubts that Dekker’s secretary will ever come forward about Craig’s monetary shortfall.

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!' 

WOMAN ON THE RUN (1950)

Directed by Norman Foster with a coherent screenplay by Foster and Alan Campbell, along with sarcastically witty dialogue by Ross Hunter, this Universal Pictures release is a winner thanks to solid performances by the main cast. A more accurate title might have been, “Husband on the Run,” that being the character actually running throughout most of the film. The hugely respected, top-billed actress probably predestined the title. The limited budget is pretty well hidden, sending this film into the unknown B+ movie category.

Husband and enigmatic starving artist, Ross Elliot, is walking his dog late at night and witnesses, what he will soon learn, is a gangland murder. The gunman spots him and fires in Elliot’s direction with precise accuracy. However, in the dark, the murderer shoots Elliot’s backlit shadow in the head instead. That is Elliot’s good news. The bad news is that he is now the prime witness to the murder. He bolts in fear, leaving the police, his wife, and his dog trying to locate him.

Robert Keith is the quintessential police detective in a trench coat and fedora, topping off a face full of weary. Keith is frustrated with Ann Sheridan, as she seems unconcerned about her vanishing husband. He wants to provide protection for her husband, but she is anything but helpful. They sarcastically exchange humorous lines back and forth. He is confounded that there is not a single photo of Elliot in Sheridan’s possession. Her husband, being a painter, he asks if he ever did a self-portrait. Sheridan says no, he never liked himself that much. He returns later with more news, telling her he went to see her husband’s doctor. She asks, “Why, aren’t you feeling well?” His point is, her husband has a serious heart problem. A shocking detail of which she was unaware. Elliot now has two reasons to be found. How times have changed, Elliot's doctor is stumped by something called hypertension.

Enter Dennis O’Keefe as a wisecracking newspaper reporter. O’Keefe was a pro at playing charmingly persistent characters. He wants to help Sheridan find her husband for an exclusive story. Their banter is fun and natural. After helping her evade a policewoman tailing her in a taxi, he treats Sheridan to breakfast, where they serve the best waffles. “Butter in every little square,” he tells her. Perhaps the only flaw in the screenplay is a revealing detail during this scene that shifts the plot about fifteen minutes too soon. The middle section is somewhat ponderous and less intriguing. Through a series of obscure clues left by her husband, she is able to piece them together and locate him. All the while, Keith has been gluing clues together and suspects the killer.

Note: The speeding roller coaster scene at night with screaming riders and laughing animatronic figures in carnival booths can be spooky enough. Often repeated in films. The climax of Sheridan's terrifying ride on the coaster, though done in a studio with a back screen, is a nail-biter thanks to excellent editing and Sheridan making it appear authentic. 

BEHIND THE HIGH WALL (1956)

You will want to overlook the familiar script in this Universal-International production. Just enjoy the superb acting of the lead actors. It is another prison break story of a good guy gone bad, destroyed by temptation, and a doomed driveway. More about the latter, later.

Accomplices on the outside facilitate a prison escape, kill a guard and kidnap the warden, Tom Tully, and force an inmate, John Gavin, to accompany them. A car crash kills everyone except the aforementioned. Considering their short screen time, the other actors were just happy to be paid scale. Before the police arrive, Tully buries the gang's money with a plan to finally live in financial peace. If that is not dishonest enough, he shamefully attempts to pin the guard’s murder on Gavin by uncomfortably never coming to his defense.

Flawlessly, Tully catapults from supporting to lead actor without a hitch. He is excellent as a prison warden with financial problems, a crippled wife, and decisions that change his life through layers of lies. Tully’s understated and subtle performance―his tender voice when trying to comfort his wife―reflected an actor of great range. Sylvia Sidney's role as the wheelchair-bound wife seems a good choice. An interesting detail is that she is able to drive her car equipped with handicap controls. Sidney's flexibility as an actress attests to her longevity and was never confused with any of her more attractive peers. Even though her wrinkles had multiplied twelve-fold―oddly, still wheelchair-bound―she carried on forty years later as a loopy grandma in Mars Attacks!

John Gavin gives a solid performance, but the handsome actor, with a face fresh from a J.C. Leyendecker's Arrow Shirt illustration, seems out of place in this role of a down-and-out loser. With his snarling upper lip, Elvis Presley would have worked better. If Gavin was ideally cast, then his girlfriend should have been Elizabeth Taylor and not Betty Lynn, playing Tully's daughter. She was attractively cute but not a classic beauty. For the record, I have no idea who the lady in the poster with the red skirt is since she was not in this movie. But her face, if not her hair color, has an uncanny resemblance to Miss Taylor.

The dependable and versatile actor, John Larch, is on hand as a prison inmate who sticks close to Gavin until the end, implausible as it is. In order to flush out both men hiding in Tully's garage, he confesses his sin over a bullhorn―in the formerly quiet neighborhood―and testifies to Gavin's innocence. Larch wants no part in any surrender and blasts through the garage door without opening it, hitting Tully in his escape. How anyone so near the garage―on that driveway of doom―could not hear the engine start and accelerate is beyond reasoning.

THE PROWLER (1951)

Louis B. Mayer once looked at Van Heflin and said, “You will never get the girl in the end.” This movie supports Mayer’s assessment. Heflin takes another turn playing a scoundrel, a deceiver in a policeman’s uniform. His past has been a series of disappointments that led to his career as a disgruntled cop. The viewer is not sure who the prowler is in this ninety-minute film and the authorities never find the prowler by the end. Helfin is not likable from his first scene to his last. His co-star is the lithe Evelyn Keyes. Her marriage is rocky due to a possessive, jealous husband, nearly twice her age. Keyes's timid, hesitant performance makes Heflin seem even more controlling. This is an oft-told story of greed, seduction, and a web of deceit. But with only a few implausible moments, the two stars make this obscure film quite watchable.

Heflin and his squad car companion, John Maxwell, arrive to investigate a prowler. Keyes is typically alone most nights because her husband is an overnight radio personality. By the way, he is voiced on the radio by screenwriter, Dalton Trumbo. Instantly, Heflin starts wondering what her “game” is as if she is just wanting attention. He becomes completely obsessed with her. The

In the guise of a follow-up call to check on Keyes's safety the next evening, Heflin comes right into her home and immediately gets comfy on the couch. She is very uncomfortable with his intrusion, not understanding why he keeps showing up. Heflin apologizes with all the fake sincerity he can muster. On another return visit, he needs a smoke but they are locked in a cabinet for her husband’s use. Heflin simply picks the lock in front of her with her hairpin, then snoops around the cabinet to discover an insurance policy on the husband's life.

She feels guilty about the possible affair and decides to call it off. As days pass she gets lonely. Every time she calls he lets the phone ring extra long before answering. He tells her she is right. Nothing he can do. It will never work out between them. And hangs up with regrets. Heflin falls back into his bed and a high-placed camera catches him with a huge smile. She is hooked.

In an official police uniform, Heflin concocts a late-night scheme at Keyes’ home. He makes it appear their screen door has been compromised, then repeatedly bangs the fence gate to arouse the husband. When Heflin sees him he shouts, “Halt!” as he opens fire. The murder becomes “a tragic accident” with Heflin resigning from the police force, never wanting to see a gun again. His deceit convinces Keyes that he may be a nice guy after all. They happily marry then the honeymoon surprise. She is four months pregnant. The date of the child's conception would prove the two had lied under oath. The final turning point for her is when he blurts out in anger about the life insurance policy he is counting on. Oops. Having the baby in a hospital would establish a record so they hide out for an astonishing five months in a desert ghost town. A town Maxwell always talked to Heflin about during his gem collecting.

Keyes goes into premature labor and Heflin seeks a doctor in a nearby town. Keyes discovers Heflin’s "disavowed" gun in his suitcase. She warns the doctor who returns to town with the newborn. Realizing the doctor will send the police, Heflin drives away in panic leaving his beloved to fend for herself. The gravel road is blocked at a narrow passage by his former partner, Maxwell, who was coming to pay a visit. After a five-month disappearing act, he guesses Heflin might be there!? Heflin bolts from the car and attempts to run up a one-hundred-foot mound of steep, loose stone. Not sure where he was planning to go but in that closing metaphor of his life, the harder he tries running up the hill the more futile it becomes. He is as stationary as a statue. It makes for an easy target.

Note: Moviegoers may have talked about this film in the office break room for a week or so. Some modern assessments of this film view it from a twenty-first-century interpretation, leaving behind the milder mid-twentieth-century production restrictions. The film leaves no doubt about its lurid subject matter and today's "enlightened" language is not a necessity.