LOOPHOLE (1954)

Distributed by Allied Artists Pictures, this eighty-minute film was produced by Lindsley Parsons and directed by Harold Schuster. The movie is a forgotten good one, though the premise by Warren Douglas offers few surprises. Paul Dunlap stepped away from his many westerns to score this movie. The second-tier studio production falls into the noir slot because an ordinary guy attempts to get himself out of a loophole. Once again, the poster is misleading—one could say dishonest—which suggests Barry Sullivan is the film's criminal.

You just want McGraw hit by an iron Buick while jaywalking. 

The kind with the big toothy chrome grille.

Nearly six minutes of voice-over sets up the opening premise and reminds the viewer that this is an ordinary Friday, and the incident that unfolds could happen to you. Assuming you are a bank teller. Sullivan heads up a competent cast with Dorothy Malone, looking quite vibrant and balanced in her natural hair color, Charles McGraw, and Don Haggerty. In another of his apprehensive, swindler roles, Don Beddoe is responsible for said loophole as the phony, second bank examiner, stealing fifty grand while his accomplice, Mary Beth Hughes, distracts Sullivan at his teller window. Sullivan makes a judgment error by not reporting the major shortfall until after the weekend. The bank’s bonding agent sends in their investigator, former police detective “McGruff McGraw,” who assumes everyone is a liar. A guy who hates life in general. He will not consider that Sullivan might be on the level. He tails him everywhere, hoping for a slip-up. Pretty excruciating to sit through his obstinate, condescending character.

Everyone at the Hollywood precinct has Sullivan guilty until proven innocent. They question Sullivan’s wife, Malone, in the hopes she will reveal any tidbit with which they can “hang” her husband. Their barrage of questions is designed to humiliate them, albeit in a private office and not leaked to the press. It is soon confirmed that there is never a second bank examiner during the annual review. A lie detector test provides a ray of hope, and Haggerty believes Sullivan. McGraw growls. He thinks the machine is faulty. A waste of time. Sullivan obviously had an accomplice, probably a girl. The suspect is sent home and then fired the next day at work. McGraw spreads lies about Sullivan’s “embezzlement” to his new bosses to keep him from being hired. Their house has to be put on the market. And this was in the mid-twentieth century. Many things never change. 

Really, you just want McGraw hit by a bus. 

Just a smaller city transit bus.

At about the forty-five-minute mark, things start to rev up for Sullivan, now a taxi driver. His next fare is an irate Hughes with sugar daddy Beddoe. How this age-disparate couple ever got together might be worth a sub-plot. While taking a call from dispatch outside the cab, they recognize Sullivan's photo ID and hightail it. Sullivan suddenly recalls the fare’s voice. It is the first of too many contrived close calls.

At a different bank, Malone approaches the teller window, and on the other side is none other than Beddoe. Returning to the car, she fails to grab her purse, which Sullivan volunteers to retrieve. He and Beddoe lock eyes. Dunlap’s score cranks up the excitement. Beddoe is forced to his apartment and abides by Sullivan's “deal.” The moviegoer is not clear what point Sullivan is trying to make. What is clear, Hughes is the mastermind of the duo. Her constant verbal abuse has beaten the courage out of Beddoe, and he cannot pull the trigger.

The film ends with a “travelogue-style” voice-over as we see Sullivan, now an assistant bank manager, welcoming Haggerty. Outside, peering in, stands granite-faced McGraw, still on “The Sullivan Case.” They both laugh, knowing he has lost all credibility.

Note: Burly Richard Reeves has a couple of good turns as the taxi business owner. The best is nearer the end at Beddoe's apartment. Sullivan asked for Reeves’s help and to meet him there. The ever-present McGraw arrives there first, however, after the “Hughes-Beddoe Gang” escapes. He finds Sullivan waking from a knock on the head. When Reeves and his taxi pal show up, they stop McGraw from pounding on Sullivan, not letting him leave the room to pursue him. Reeves insists. One solid punch and McGraw turns all limp. “Keep forgettin’ my own strength,” he confesses.

THE FAST AND THE FURIOUS (1955)

This seventy-three-minute B-movie is loaded with all the ingredients of a little-known film. But it is not. With a meager budget and a ten-day shooting schedule, it was destined to return a profit. Produced by Roger Corman with a story by the same, this Palo Alto Productions film was the first produced for American International Pictures. He took home the checkered flag for this one. There is no Diesel in this film, however. It stars John Ireland, who also directed, along with Edward Sampson. Corman updated his resumé after seeing Ireland’s good results. Getting few casting calls at this point in her career, Dorothy Malone signed on as the second-billed lead. Despite the necessary dialogue to explain why Ireland is furious, and Malone drives fast, it is full of entertainment value and plenty of Corman trademarks. The two leads seem made for each other, and perhaps a catalyst for moviegoers. Filming at the Pebble Beach racing circuit may have boosted ticket sales—plenty of vintage sports car footage for the automobile fan.

There is a puzzling opening to the film that has the feel of a truncated theatrical trailer. The viewer has to wait about forty minutes to find out what it is all about. 

In another furrowed-brow role, Ireland plays a guy framed for murder. The only means of escaping the rap is to break jail. Minding his own business in a diner, Malone drives up in her Jaguar XK120 V-6 to get a glass of pineapple juice. Try requesting that in North Dakota. A blonde motormouth waitress, Iris Adrian—the physical equivalent of today's social media—is full of opinions and gossip about the recent murder. She is irritating Ireland, as does a rotund male customer who keeps probing him with questions. He pulls a revolver on Ireland; there is a scuffle, and "Lumpy" gets decked. The Jaguar did not go unnoticed. Ireland hustles Malone out of the diner and suspends her driving privileges. She might come in handy as a suggested couple. What she becomes is a nightmare hostage, frustrating him to no end as she tries to escape, throws the ignition key in the weeds, or constantly complains. They dislike each other immediately.

The unconscious music score is the single worst element in the film. A Corman tradition. It is never appropriate for any given scene, as if they randomly chose selections from a music library based on the album's cover art. The first inappropriate use is during Malone’s arrival at the diner with situation comedy music of the era. I half expected a laugh track when she ordered the pineapple juice. An over-the-top theme is used as the two escape motorcycle police. The complicated, raging orchestral music is played at a very low level, so it will be less noticeable. But the scene calls for tension from a sustained note. Some of today’s action thrillers have a fear of silence, like so many people on a picnic who cannot eat outdoors without a sound system making willows weep. I digress. 

The music quietly and mindlessly crescendos as Malone excitedly says, “I’m Hungry!” Later, upon entering a roadblock, Ireland pulls a gun on Malone. “Don’t try anything,” he snarls. Hollywood's idle threat is always stupid. If he fires the gun, the police will be on top of him, plus there is no point in shooting her. Maybe Ireland really is a psycho. No surprise they get through after telling the authorities they are participating in the nearby international race. Suddenly, Malone gets playfully sarcastic as her mood changes. Soon, “humorous” jabs are traded, signifying an upshift in their relationship.

Malone is well-known and respected on the racing circuit. She enters her car in the cross-border race, but Ireland will drive the manly course. Riding as a passenger, she verbally points out the correct driving techniques to be a winner as they take a practice run over the course. Ireland is an implausibly quick learner. She did not coach Ireland on how to appear believable when “driving” the studio prop car, though. His face looks positively numb. Suspicious of Ireland is Malone’s racing friend, Bruce Carlisle, who is given the caution flag for worst acting. The racing sequences, using shaky, rear-facing race footage, add some excitement. Rather humorous, though, is the race announcer calling turns and spotting cars over the long-distance road course despite a thick forest and distant hills obscuring his view. Ireland and Carlisle battle for the win until the latter loses control and crashes. Ireland’s plan for his Mexico exit does not become a reality as he stops to help his fellow racer.

Note: Dorothy Malone’s hit-and-miss career might be compared to that of a contemporary of hers, Marsha Mason. Malone’s most visible role may have been her lead in television’s “Peyton Place.” Originally a brunette, dyeing her hair platinum boosted her career for a short time, as an assumed alternative to Monroe. But there were plenty of those.