LADY LUCK (1946)

Directed by the very busy Edwin Marin, this light comedy will probably not elicit a second viewing, especially at a whopping ninety-seven minutes. The film has an unremarkable music score by Leigh Harline to back up an original story by the nearly unknown Herbert Clyde Lewis. Released by RKO Radio Pictures, this low-budget movie does have its humorous moments, thanks to those with comedic chops. The individually brief opening segments are fun, suggesting a screwball comedy. These historical flashbacks concern the ancestors of Frank Morgan, each with their own bad gambling decisions from the eighteenth to the early twentieth centuries. His granddaughter, in all three historical settings, is Barbara Hale. She and Robert Young are good here, but neither is funny by nature. At times, their dialogue only includes potentially funny quips. With all the clichéd anger over misunderstandings between these two, the supporting cast is the film’s saving grace on the comedy front.

It all starts with third-billed Morgan, playing a soft-hearted, gambling-distracted grandfather, a persona not far removed from the great Oz. Further down the cast is James Gleason, again playing a savvy character doling out wisdom or deadpan quips with barely a lip moving. Others help carry the comedic load like rotund Lloyd Corrigan, Don Rice, Harry Davenport and the man with the electric performance, Teddy Hart. Once again, he nearly steals another movie as a two-dollar bettor—and winning—to the slow agony of the room. Hart’s first scene sets up the tedious bulk of the movie, and this is how it happened. 

Young is a professional gambler who has done well, here and there. On the other hand, Morgan gambles habitually. The lovable old coot will bet on anything. Hale hates the odds against his “investments.” Her desire is to keep “Gramps” preoccupied before temptation is acted upon. Young places a horse racing bet with Morgan, which in turn introduces him to Hale. She gambles on him upon their first encounter. Smitten by one moonlit night, Young vows to stop gambling to Hale’s delight and skepticism. Quickly married after only their second screen appearance together, he awaits her return from shopping. Something he will have to get used to. To pass the time, he watches Hart’s timid bets, and to speed things along, volunteers to roll the dice multiple times on his behalf. As if he can control how the dice bounce. He loses Hart’s money. Young continues to gamble only to repay Hart’s deficit. Which he does. Then walks away. Hale sees Young at the table and immaturely jumps to a conclusion. Surely, only Hollywood screenwriters think like this. She refuses to hear Young’s explanation, rather than listen to reason, and takes the easy way out. Divorce. Thus begins the middle of the film, which is a bit too predictable and seems to take a fortnight to get through. By the end of the film, Hale, now a gambling whiz, has a totally new perspective on gambling to Young’s displeasure. But the ending is a positive one, thanks to Morgan and the supporting cast. For a final chuckle, Teddy “beside himself” Hart shows up at the end as a wealthy, “patron saint of gambling.” 

Note: Apparently, Hollywood thinks everyone gambles. I am always lost in gambling—dice or cards—movies. Ironically, both stars did their own personal gambling. Young was nearing his film peak here. He was always well-prepared but never possessed the charisma of some of his film colleagues. Still, he did well despite never having a contract with any studio! His perfect fame came in the form of a very successful career on television, however. The very pretty Hale also gambled on television, which paid off nicely, opposite Raymond Burr.

UNDERTOW (1949)

Distributed by Universal Pictures, produced by Ralph Dietrich, and directed by William Castle, this film is not ground-breaking, but it does fly by thanks to a screenplay by Arthur T. Horman and Lee Loeb. Unfortunately, they offer an assumed outcome in the first ten minutes of this seventy-one-minute film. How it plays out is well handled with a couple of (obvious) surprises. The filming in Chicago may bring back memories if you lived there during this era. It is yet another B-movie noir with little to fault or remember. Paul Sawtell took the reins as the composer, but none of the themes in this movie will be hummed after the ending.

Scott Brady, doing a great job here as a handsome I-take-care-of-myself former Chicago mobster, ex-con, and war veteran, turning over a new leaf as manager of a lodge in Reno. Before leaving on a quick trip back home to Chicago and “mend a fence” or two, he spots his old friend and colleague from the Windy City, John Russell, a fellow casino owner. As both get up to speed on their seven-year separation, each is excited to share a glimpse of their engagement rings for their respective girl. Strolling through the casino, Brady accidentally bumps into vacationing Peggy Dow. Pardons are accepted, but they stumble upon each other a second time, laughing at the coincidence. 

He and Dow are so comfortable together that there is little surprise they will have a future together within the hour. She is an unassuming elementary teacher from Chicago with zero gambling experience, but has won twice with only two dice rolls. After seeing the handler change the dice after a nod from Russell, Brady makes an astute gambling decision on her behalf so she can win again. Russell is not amused and feigns his disappointment that Brady has to leave so soon. This is that ten-minute point. Based on Russell’s early film roles with his angular face and “dangerous” arching eyebrows, there is no surprise, either, that he has ulterior motives. It will be no surprise, as well, that Dow and Brady are on the same plane back to Chicago. Good odds. She may not be any good at it, but she is willing to gamble on a relationship.

No sooner than hitting the pavement from the airliner steps, Brady is met by a childhood friend, now detective, Bruce Bennett, above, with the nearly invisible Roc (Rock) Hudson in his fifty-second stint as a police detective. Bennett has orders to bring Brady in for questioning. The police captain is especially hard on Brady, accusing him of returning just to kill mob kingpin, Big Jim. The police tail him with little success. Brady reunites with his girl, Dorothy Hart, Big Jim’s niece, at Buckingham Fountain along Lake Shore Drive. Brady wants to make peace with him so they can get married. Later that night, Brady is attacked, shot in the forearm, and placed in a car across the road from a diner—a revolver placed beside him. Gadzooks! Then, perhaps the only surprise in the film, the character actor with the over-the-top Southern drawl, Robert Easton, shows up as a parking valet of sorts for the country diner. Cars are parked willy-nilly in the gravel lot, and he offers to park Brady’s car. Spotting a parked police car, Brady makes a quick exit and finds out Big Jim is suddenly not available for any future scenes, and a clichéd frame is afoot. Dow goes the extra “magnificent mile” to protect Brady, while Bennett, unfairly suspended by the captain for supporting an innocent man, has evidence to help clear Brady.

Unsurprisingly, Russell shows up in Chicago with Hart in the mansion she inherited from “Big Dead Jim.” Brady expects help from both, but she is pretty icy about it. He then notices the chunk of “ice” around her finger that Russell had shown him in Reno. Again, no surprise who orchestrated the murder and frame-up. A rapid, happy ending evolves for Brady and Dow, at least.

NOTE: Some suggest Peggy Dow was bland in this outing. Perhaps hard to argue with, casting her did seem appropriate. She is sweet in this role. Probably best she ended her three-year acting career after marrying an oil baron. Otherwise, she might have been lost in guest-starring roles after her television transition. Dorothy Hart never set a film frame on fire, either, but she should have. She is pretty one-dimensional as a devious female with hardly more than a smirk or smile. Smoki Whitfield has three brief and effective scenes as Big Jim's long-time aide, out to get whoever killed his boss. Perhaps the most memorable takeaway from the movie other than Robert Easton's obligatory performance.

DOUBLE DEAL (1950)

This is the first picture produced by Bel-Air Productions, a studio known for B-movies and location shooting to retain a low budget. There is nothing unique here. Even the film's title was used before and since. There is the usual frame-up, someone getting beat up, yet nothing ever heats up. Richard Denning is easy to like and adds the only spark to this clichèd drama. Marie Windsor receives top billing in a role against type as a decent soul. Still, it is a pretty enjoyable romp thanks to a talented cast including a smarty-hurdy-gurdy monkey.

Out-of-work engineer Denning is looking for a job in Oklahoma oil country. Thinking he might at least triple his nine dollars, he joins a backroom gambling table after meeting hostess, Windsor. James Griffith wins most of the time because his dice are loaded. After losing, Denning calmly walks over and removes his nine bucks from Griffith's pile of cash. Windsor and her boss take notice of his bold move and learning of his engineering background, they hope to persuade him to help her boss's oil well turn a profit before it defaults to his sister, and Griffith's girl, Fay Baker, as per their father's will. Baker is a manipulator by profession, and there is no love lost between her and her brother. Using all her feminine wiles, she tries to get Denning to change sides. Griffith and Baker stoop low enough to make her will a reality, setting up Denning to take a murder rap. 

No sooner than Baker can say, "My will be done," she is shot and killed by, apparently, the cameraman, as the audience is left to guess who pulled the trigger. Thanks to the monkey's ninja move, Windsor's life is spared from any remaining bullets. The instantly sober attorney was planning to eliminate all family members, claiming the well for himself. Never trust a fake drunk. Windsor gushes over Denning as their oil well strikes a pose.

Note: Taylor Holmes plays the attorney who represented the father before he died. He lives with a talented, unemployed organ grinder monkey. His character is annoying because of his perpetual drunk routine. Since the beginning of Hollywood's double standards, stumbling drunks have been either harmless, lovable creatures or used for comic relief. In reality, alcoholics are pathetically in need of help. Even television's Otis Campbell.