SHAKEDOWN (1950)

Howard Duff plays an over-confident, womanizing con man with a camera who despises the low income of society, of which he is currently a part. The opening beating he takes sets the tone for his well-known lack of character. Among other things, the love of money is the root of all evil and he will use anyone as a stepping stone for financial gain. A newspaper photo editor, Peggy Dow, falls for Duff's smooth, charming manner and ambition, then vouches for him to the editor-in-chief, Bruce Bennett. With a nose for news, honesty and integrity, he does not like Duff from the outset—something rotten is developing. Nevertheless, due to her persistence, he is hired. In time, his uncanny ability to be in the exact spot to capture a newsworthy happening suspiciously lacks authenticity. Like the time Duff happens upon an apartment fire and spots a lady breaking a third-story window for escape. He tells her to pause then yells, "Now jump." Click! I assume there were firemen to catch her. Not an issue for Duff.

Duff surviving until the end of this film seems highly unlikely. His cocky, yet naivete, gets him involved with organized crime. He is well paid for his darkroom skills, going to work for a racketeer, Brian Donlevy, who provides him with inside information about a rival's activity. Duff just "happens" to be in downtown San Francisco to capture Lawrence Tierney during the bank robbery. Duff later approaches Tierney to offer him a deal—he will keep the negative in safe keeping for a substantial fee. If that is not enough, he later hides in a parking garage to capture him in the act of installing an after-market accessory to Donlevy's limo: a bomb. The unscrupulous shutterbug now has the blackmail image of his dreams. Duff is free to swoop in for Donlevy's widow, Anne Vernon.

During the rapid climax at a high society formal event, Duff's true colors are revealed to Vernon—Tierney suggests he was responsible for her husband's death. But those negatives, hidden within a picture frame at Dow's apartment, will prove otherwise. Duff's frantic call proves fruitless. She is fed up with his fabrications and hangs up on him. Duff is a marked man. After being shot three times, he still manages to squeeze the shutter release cable hanging from his tripod to photograph Tierney firing the fatal bullet.

Duff lived for a “shot” at immortality. His photographic evidence brings the mobsters to justice. Yet the newspaper staff knew he was a "skunk of the first odor" all along.

Note: The eighty-minute film was released by Universal Pictures and directed by Joseph Pevney. It is a better-than-average B-movie noir. Fine performances all around. The powerful scores are from a stock library by several well-known composers. Duff effortlessly delivers numerous sarcastic, witty quips throughout—like a guy who memorized the excellent screenplay by Martin Goldsmith and Alfred Lewis Levitt. Ignore the poster. At no time did Donlevy attempt to punch out Duff. The viewers on the other hand....

There is at least one gullible moment in the film. Duff desperately wants that image few could capture. As a taxi fare, he notices the car in front is weaving left and right and thinks it might lead to something. The erratic car does plunge into shallow water, balanced precipitously on its side—the driver in a panic. Rather than help the driver, Duff tells him to stick his head out the side window and then stretch out his arms in a show of desperation. Why the driver would comply with these commands is difficult to fathom. 

THE WRONG ROAD (1937)

The early scenes setting up the premise of this American crime drama may remind you of those old “etiquette films” where there is a life lesson to be learned. Appropriately, the music under the introductory titles can best be described as sappy. There is not much to fault here, however, other than the now-dated script by Gordon Rigby, which will sometimes stretch the believability factor. Yet, his main focus is still relevant. I do credit him with an unpredictable script with an ending that is a well-kept secret. There are sly usages of humor as well, making the film an entertaining fifty-three minutes. Competent acting is evident from the outset with no one needing to apologize after the premiere. The film was directed by silent film director and actor, James Cruze, and released by Republic Pictures.

Fresh-faced sweethearts, Richard Cromwell and his girl, Helen Mack, are moping over their dream plans which never panned out after graduation. The eternity of that first summer out of college really stunk. Mack, born into a wealthy family, had dreams of an easy life as a society girl until her father lost everything during her senior year. She cannot bear the thought of doing manual work. Cromwell, expecting a career in a high-paying engineering job, ended up getting fired a few months in. Now in his third year as a disgruntled bank teller, he had also expected a promotion by now. They even go so far as to suggest it is their right to have decent jobs. Sounds like they are on the wrong road to Socialism.

Cromwell’s character, with his wide mood swings, might be diagnosed as bipolar in the future. His plan is to gradually steal one hundred grand as Mack “withdraws” quite a stack each time she comes in. Their blinding love leads to greed. They each agree to never deny the theft because going to prison is the only way his plan will work. Oh...kay. He figures they will be in prison for a year or two, then once out they can retrieve the money hidden in the bottom of an antique music box. Keep in mind, neither are seven-year-olds.

Prior to being arrested, they meet with an insurance detective, Lionel Atwill, who astutely and compassionately explains their predicament. He offers them a pardon if they divulge where they hid the money. He bluntly tells them a sentence of up to ten years with no chance of parole is likely. He further explains the money will be something called "hot." They can never spend it. A fact that, unbelievably, Cromwell ignores throughout the film. Mack’s eye-opener is that they cannot get married for ten years. When the sentence is passed down, she nearly collapses under the weight of stupidity. Cromwell belligerently sticks to his plan, finally getting that dream job as a drill press operator in prison. Never really attentive during “prison orientation days,” he starts passing notes to Mack on the advice of a cellmate, the conniving Horace McMahon (above right). Every inmate soon knows of "loverboy" and it costs him eight weeks of good conduct. Despite his short screen time, McMahon is dandy.

Atwill remains optimistic for the two brats...uh... youngins. Giving them parole will likely lead him to where they hid the money. But the thick-headed Cromwell refuses the offer. He insists they have “earned” the stolen money with their two years in prison. Yes, stupid goes back ions. Thanks to some wise advice from Mack, he has a change of heart and the parolees get sales jobs for a vacuum sweeper business. The manager shows them their sales region with each competitor represented with pins stuck to a wall map. He explains what they are looking at thusly, ‘Every salesman is a pinhead.’ Cromwell also found this amusing.

McMahon is released from prison and sticks to Cromwell like Vitalis hair tonic. The latter continues his idiotic reasoning, ignoring McMahon’s deadly threats. The duo flees with the music box. Be prepared for a ubiquitous studio prop car chase with enough left-and-right steering movement to guide a Mississippi paddle steamer. McMahon puts them in a life-or-death situation and the two inmates struggle for dominance. With a rock on the head, Mack proves her dominance. In a bit of contrived timing, Atwill arrives on the scene. Mack has had it up to you-know-where with Cromwell’s poor planning skills. She finally gets through to the dullard. The film closes as the two deliver the most unlikely dialogue.

Note: Mack’s uncle, where the music box was sent for safekeeping, has died and all his effects are now going to the highest bidder. The collegians race to the auction house but are outbid by Rex Evans. Amusingly, he turns out to be quite the wordsmith. In an attempt to buy back the music box, the couple visits him later at his apartment which is crammed full of items by his unlimited budget. He treats auctions as a sport, like wild game hunting. He has no real use for most of it. In a faint British accent, he excitedly compliments Cromwell on the way he dealt with that “buttinsky” during the auction. He feels absolutely “wonky” with embarrassment for giving the music box to Marjorie Main, a “fabulously ripping old dodo.” His persona, though eccentric, would seem well-reasoned. That might be true until his nurse enters and reminds him of his bedtime. She puts his favorite hat (a flat, feathery item) on his head to which he commands, “Call me Pinky.”

THE SCARLET HOUR (1956)

This ninety-five-minute film's premise is what God meant by His Tenth Commandment. Though the title is a bit of a mystery—no scarlet noted in a black and white film. The suspense is handled pretty well by director Michael Curtiz. The only thing new about this film is the debut of some future television regulars. Paramount's Vista Vision gamble, Carol Ohmart, stars with Tom Tryon, Elaine Stritch, David Lewis, and James Gregory in their first film, along with seasoned actors Ed Binns and E.G. Marshall. In fact, this movie might have played better on the small screen by being shorter. It would have been free, too. Ohmart's successful husband, Gregory, knows his wife will do just about anything behind his back. Straight-arrow Tryon proves to be a real sap by succumbing to the devious female and her plan to have him intercept jewels after thieves steal them from Lewis's house. 

On the night of the theft intercept, the abusive Gregory follows his wife, catches her, and spots Tryon. Obvious to her, he would like to kill her, as he had threatened before. He pulls out his gun and enters her car. They struggle as Ohmart pleads with him. Gregory's gun goes off in the wrong direction, and he is shoved out onto the pavement. Though she despises him, she plunges into hysterics, calling out his name in sorrow. How could her plan possibly have gone this wrong? This segment is hard to fathom as she drives off, arms shaking, with Tryon trying to figure out what happened back there as he was dodging burglar bullets. Surely Gregory was shot with a stray one. 

Ohmart becomes jealous of Tryon, guessing he is secretly seeing her late husband's secretary, played by Jodie Lawrance. She, by the way, had more movies under her waistline before 1956 than the other stars combined. Lawrance wants to protect him for the decent man he is, as she hopes for a future together. Ohmart drops a none-too-subtle suggestion to the police that she might have killed Gregory. When Tryon finds this out, he is...how to put it...livid. He arranges for the police to gather at Ohmart's estate as he gives her a big dose of verbal reality. She stares out a second-story window as Lawrance and Tryon embrace in the courtyard below. As for Ohmart, I am not sure how severe the charges will be, given her husband's accidental death and the theft of fake jewels. Perhaps a series of counseling sessions and a year of community service. She has issues.

Notes: At least for this film, Ohmart is Madame Tussaud's, Barbara Stanwyck. Given her resemblance along with a similar storyline, one might assume it is a re-think of a famous Stanwyck role. But in this case, “Double Dumbidy” might be a better title. Her face is a mash-up of seventy percent Stanwyck and thirty percent Meryl Streep. Even at one hundred percent, it would not have helped Ohmart's movie career, which quickly transitioned to television. Her over-the-top acting quirks come off as if she is trying to steal any scene she is in. Constantly fidgeting some part of her body. None worse than her scene poolside with Lewis, in which her character has all the femininity of Marlon Brando, nervously shakes in between severe drags on a cigarette. She is the weakest link in the movie, and Hollywood noticed.

Hard to believe there would not have been a script change, so I found this amusing. When the police come to the office to question Tryon—portraying E.V. Marshall—he meets the lieutenant, played by E.G. Marshall. I thought I saw E.G. smirk a bit, but only wishful thinking. E.G. seems to have sucked some helium before filming certain scenes.

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.