GIDEON OF SCOTLAND YARD (1958)

This fast-paced procedural crime film is based on the book, Gideon's Day, by John Creasey, the title used for the British release. When retitled for the US, the film was shown in black and white, not in Eastman Color. It details one day in the life of Detective Chief Inspector George Gideon of the Metropolitan Police, played convincingly by Jack Hawkins. He is in command of every situation, with a blend of explosive temper and measured calmness. Though this is the first film to feature the George Gideon character, Hawkins played a similar role in the less fun British film, The Long Arm (US: The Third Key) two years earlier.

His day begins when he receives a traffic ticket from a dedicated young police officer without regard to the driver's standing. Gideon could only produce his Scotland Yard I.D. Laws are laws, after all. This recurring character provides the best bits of levity for viewers and raises the ire of the Inspector. Gideon is indignant but a series of challenges ahead—one phone call at a time—puts the incident behind him. Temporarily. Adding to his hectic morning, his wife reminds him of his daughter's evening violin recital. He is also reminded to bring home a salmon for dinner. Work becomes his nemesis throughout the film, making it difficult for a timely return home. And so it goes.

One of Scotland Yard's officers is discovered to be taking bribes in the sale of dope, aka marijuana. With plenty of evidence as ammunition, Gideon lays into the officer harshly and is immediately suspended. The officer becomes a fatal victim of a hit-and-run accident. Gideon visits his wife, a rattled and shaking alcoholic chain smoker, not willing to accept his death and the realization of his suspected mistress. Her performance made me uncomfortable, perhaps due to the stark contrast with the other players. Her brief appearance nevertheless stands out. Scotland Yard has evidence the car is the same used in a daring payroll robbery, based on the tire tread pattern. There is no respite for Gideon.

An escaped mental patient commits a murder. Later spotted and arrested. Gideon wants to personally congratulate the officer. It is the constable who wrote a summons earlier that morning! Awkward. The young officer sheepishly accepts his thanks. It is barely midday. Scotland Yard believes they have the mastermind behind the payroll robbery, a struggling painter, played by Ronald Howard. Gideon visits his home but only finds his wife/accomplice, the only American in the cast, Dianne Foster, who, not very convincingly, tries to cover for her deceptive life. A second visit is more revealing as Howard descends the stairs with a gun. He frantically explains his motive for the needed “painting money,” then tells Foster to take the gun. Gideon explains that “Coward Howard” has left her behind. Foster provides another over-the-top performance as she hysterically falls apart emotionally and relinquishes the gun to the inspector.

After seemingly putting a wrap on the day, the phone rings. A safety deposit firm has been robbed by a gang of socialites, but they have no escape. After that is wrapped up, Gideon nearly forgets the wrapped fish, still in the newspaper inside his file cabinet. Hardly something one could forget. His wife politely tells him he bought a halibut, not a salmon, and his daughter met a polite young man at her recital—something Gideon regretfully missed. It turns out to be the same wet-behind-the-ears constable! Before the four can sit down to dinner, the phone rings once again. “Howard the Coward” is spotted at the airport, and the young constable has to drive Gideon there in his thirty-year-old jalopy. He is stopped en route by a policeman for running a red light. The constable attempts to explain the situation and who sits in the passenger seat. But laws are laws. In an ironic conclusion, the young driver is unable to produce his driving license! On their way to the airport, Mrs. Gideon had advised her daughter to never marry a policeman.

Note: In addition to Hawkin's genuine acting skills, John Ford's directing helps make this ninety-one-minute film watchable from a screenplay by T. E. B. Clarke. The film was distributed by Columbia Pictures and was filmed on location in and around London, with interiors used at the MGM-British Studios, Borehamwood in Hertfordshire, England.

BLUEPRINT FOR ROBBERY (1961)

Jerry Hopper directed a couple of notable films including The Atomic City, Naked Alibi, and one notable for not being any better than the original, Never Say Goodbye. His talents were better served for the smaller medium where he kept very, very busy. Sandwiched in between his work on many popular shows was this film, a low-budget crime film where the heist's dry run to test the theft's feasibility is tediously slow. Seeing the British-born senior, J. Pat O'Malley—the film's legendary thief—scooting under electronic sensors on his stomach or back confirms this. Yet the film's focus on this tension is fairly captivating and the music score by Van Cleave pays off throughout the film. The acting is first-rate and I imagine the film garnered some talk over hot dogs after its premiere. In hindsight, this film remains unknown because of all the myriad of more exciting heist movies to follow. But those films owe a lot to this film—what with its smattering of humor and detailed-to-the-minute robbery plans. The robber's masks are creepy if not startling and the robbery goes without a hitch. But the aftermath proves crime—during this era—does not pay.

There are no big-name film stars in this one as if Hopper flipped through his Rolodex for some of his television connections. O'Malley is perhaps the most well-known for his numerous television roles. In-kind, many Boomers would recognize Robert Wilke. What they may not recognize is that he is not a despicable Western outlaw, but a detective. Robert Gist, a frequent player in television westerns as well—particularly Have Gun - Will Travel—adds the only spark to the film outside Jay Barney. Barney spent an innocuous career on the tube. Another key player in the big heist is television actor, the furrow-browed Sherwood Price. Finishing out the television casting call is Robert Carricart, Joe Conley—later snagging a recurring role as Ike on The Waltons—and Henry Corden, more often than not in sitcoms with his trademark black, thick-framed glasses. Unseen, he carried on the voice of Fred Flintstone after Allen Reed's death. 

There is a brief humorous spot for television's future “Mrs. Cunningham,” Marion Ross (below), which initiates a bit of levity early in the film. Barney comes to the prison dressed as a priest simply to convince O'Malley—scheduled for release—to help in the robbery. Ross sets down beside him—both staring straight ahead—and she slowly inches closer as she tearfully confides in the man underneath the rental cloth about her marital “faux-pax” before visiting her incarcerated husband. Father Barney, taken aback, calmly musters up his best advice which she takes to heart. Overhearing his assumed heartfelt consultation, the guard also puts his faith in the cloth on the man and unlocks the main door to the cells.

Counting up their tally after the getaway, they stole far less than anticipated with some useless bonds and newly printed marked bills which simply have to be burned. So be it. With Gist's nerves at bay and the loot under his watch, he suggests Barney and Price lay low by taking a vacation. It is the turning point in the film. Not using his brain's full potential, Price decides to go into a sporting goods store after Barney tells him to stay in the car. He selects some fishing and hunting gear with no intention of paying. The greedy crook knocks out the salesman and heads back to the car as a policeman happens by and tries to convince the two about a great spot for camping. Out crawls the moaning salesman. The vacation (below) ends behind bars though being only an accessory, Barney would seem to be railroaded. Gist is unconcerned as he had figured they would be out in a few months, not the three-year sentence handed down.

O'Malley rents a clerical robe to visit Barney. The scene follows through with an earlier established premise, that the old mentor and the “son he never had” confide in each other. The old codger is soon questioned about his parole violation and his ill-fitting clerical collar. No one will ever call him a stool pigeon and it looks like life behind bars. With good intentions, Barney does something unforgivable. Their falling out comprises the sensitive climax.

Note: The film's screenplay was written by Irwin Winehouse and A. Sanford Wolf, based on the 1950 Brinks' express office robbery in Boston. The eighty-seven-minute film was produced by Bryan Foy with Paramount Pictures releasing this film with opening and closing “exposé” narration. 

COVER UP (1949)

 THE MURDER THAT SAVED CHRISTMAS

This light mystery is hard not to like from its opening scene thanks to the appeal of Dennis O'Keefe and Barbara Britton. In their first clever exchange, Britton pretends to have not noticed O’Keefe on the train even though he sat across from her, facing backward. He is skeptical of her memory and hooks her, "You know I snore pretty badly when I ride backward." “Not true...your eyes were open all the...” His icebreaker is successful. Their delightful dialogue—though not unique—is provided by a screenplay by Jerome Odlum and Jonathan Rix aka O'Keefe. They do a fine job of not revealing the climax in the early stages where one simply has to endure the last thirty minutes or so. Both know how to keep a secret under wraps. United Artists’ released the eighty-three-minute film in February though the story is set at Christmastime. Ignore the poster suggesting this is a hard-hitting murder story.

The leads are heading to a small mid-western town where everyone knows who's who. Britton is coming home for the holiday. She lights up the screen with every smile and may never have looked more appealing. Her teenage sister may be the film's cliched annoyance. She is all ga-ga over O'Keefe, an insurance investigator. He is arriving to confirm an apparent suicide but all clues lead to an obvious murder. He should feel right at home in a role he often played. He certainly knew his strengths. Much to O’Keefe’s disappointment, clues are pointing to Britton's father—the likable Art Baker. His Luger is the assumed murder weapon with his vintage beaver coat figuring into the evidence. However illogical, the small town wants to ignore the past incident.

O’Keefe gets little cooperation from William Bendix, the county sheriff, who also owns a Lugar. Unlike the posters of the period, he is about as violent as Jed Clampet. The two pros have witty chemistry from their first meeting. The sheriff’s cryptic behavior does not endear him to the investigator initially. Bendix tries to change the suicide subject more than once suggesting twice he abandon cigarettes and switch to a pipe, his preferred habitual mode. O’Keefe says it is okay—he owns stock in a cigarette company. The sheriff knows the truth will eventually unravel but he is not keen on helping the investigator.

It is a rapid climax as the incident is revealed by a single witness. The man killed was not liked by anyone. He was bent on destroying the town, the people and their future, with hate and gossip. So whether suicide or murder, the locals considered it good fortune. Children will long remember the murder that brought new joy to Christmas.

Notes: There are three characters with amusing scenes. First up is Bendix’s deputy, Dan White, who has no dialogue, finding it more convenient to simply shrug or point. But we first see him hanging up the phone at the end of a conversation! O’Keefe tells him to tone down his chatter on one visit.

Then there is the theater scene with an inquisitive and savvy youngster, George McDonald. He turns around and stares at O’Keefe and Britton for a while before giving opinions about the lame movie playing and some romantic advice. By then, O’Keefe is trying to buy him off with money for another theater across the street. Except the kid has seen that movie. He finally gets what he wanted all along, money for bowling. He and his buddy duck out of the theater.

But by far the most amusing performance is by Baker’s maid to end all maids, Doro Merande (above right). She is a walking encyclopedia of everything that goes on in the family and in town. Her unique delivery suggests she is completely daffy yet her astute, cutting opinions are delivered like compliments. Her exchanges with O’Keefe are highlights. In their final greeting at the door, he jokingly grabs her at the shoulders, lifts her off her feet, and feigns an attempt to kiss her madly. She is aloof yet not completely against his advances. Later, to help cover for Baker during the investigation, she deliberately sets fire to his old college coat, destroying any evidence of it. She nonchalantly confesses to him before abruptly leaving the scene, "I had a little accident with your beaver coat. I was cleaning it and it caught fire...burned up completely."

SIX FROM THE SIXTIES

6 FROM THE ‘60s BLOGATHON

https://www.classicfilmtvcafe.com/2020/03/6-from-60s-blogathon.html

My selected films all have lasting appeal. My main justification for including them. One may be compelled to watch any of these films to its completion, despite where one enters. Admittedly, the lone low-budget film, “Blast of Silence,” will play much better if one starts at the beginning. My thanks to Classic Film and TV Café (linked above) for hosting this blogathon. There is no bigger cheerleader of the movie genre than “Rick’s Café,” the one not in Casablanca. In sequential order by release date:

Blast of Silence (1961)

This quirky film, in all its stark simplicity, is singularly in its own category. Even the title is a dichotomy. Allen Baron produced, directed and stars in this dark film about a contract killer. It packs a wallop unlike the other five. His oddball approach suggests a university student allowed the artistic freedom to do whatever he wants. Baron blows his classmates away and gets that "A" grade. With essentially no budget. Filmed during a frigid Christmastime in New York City, Baron stares straight ahead, not aware of any decorated storefronts as real-life pedestrians—unaware they are being filmed—appear as “extras.” The periodic low camera positioning or the shadowy goodness may remind one of an expressive art film. Rarely has location shooting looked so expensive. The viewer follows a lonely, emotionally damaged and disgusted hitman by way of Mel Davenport’s narration, done distinctively by the wood-chipper voice of Lionel Stander. The voice-over is the defining element of this film, serving as an assessment of Baron’s pessimistic life. This is probably the cheapest, most expensive-looking film to begin the Sixties.

The Great Escape (1963)

This famous American war film produced and directed by John Sturges, is perhaps the quintessential “buddy movie” with a cast so popular, the entertainment value belies its nearly three-hour length. Unforgettable is Elmer Bernstein’s score with a rather quirky opening theme with dominant tubas that seems to contradict the seriousness of war. Casting American actors as prisoners is perhaps its only flaw—deviating from the historical account in Paul Brickhill’s novel. But considering their charisma—many nearing the peak of international stardom—the entertainment value is undeniably high and accounts for its endearment. Filmed in Panavision, it is embedded with characters that were long-remembered after leaving the theater. Few could forget the likes of The Cooler King, The Scrounger, Big-X, The Tunnel King, The Forger, and The Manufacturer. The viewer is instantly rooting for them. A conglomeration of several nationalities—all likable chaps—work in concert for a common cause. The humor is measured and appropriate as an escape is planned almost immediately. Enjoy Garner scrounging up material, McQueen swashbuckling on a motorcycle with Bernstein’s driving score, the claustrophobic Bronson digging the tunnels or Coburn escaping simply by bicycle.

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963)

Nostalgia can enhance a film. While favorite moments may change with subsequent viewings, this epic still affects the funny bone thanks to Stanley Kramer’s fast-paced, action-filled direction, a good script, wacky automobile chases, a slap-stick ending with a comedy troupe of historic proportions. The all-star cast is only rivaled by a non-stop list of cameos by seasoned actors and actresses. The film re-appropriated the term epic, previously defined in “Spartacus.” It also required an intermission. But funny it was not. The sheer scope of this frenetic, silly romp will have your senses worn to a frazzle by the end. One must mention Mickey Rooney and Buddy Hackett trying to fly a chartered plane after their alcoholic pilot knocks himself out. Through panic attacks and pulling enough “Gs” to render them unconscious, they remain cautiously optimistic. Then there is this. After double-crossing Jonathan Winters, Phil Silvers is also interested in that buried cash under the big “W.” He puts his trust in a local boy who suggests a shortcut over the steepest, rockiest terrain imaginable for a 1948 Ford only to end up in a river that submerges his convertible.

Charade (1963)

What a Christmas present for anyone with tickets to this film’s premiere. They certainly got their money's worth, what with a suspense thriller, romance and comedy all rolled exquisitely into one. This film will have one smiling for nearly all of its hour and thirteen minutes. Henry Mancini's theme song accompanied by Maurice Binder’s animated titles opens the film. If one is not enchanted by then, the first scene at the ski lodge will certainly do it. The repartee between Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn sets the stage for a non-stop who-done-it that is indelibly linked to them. The latter has serious trust issues. One might fantasize that their screen time together was shot in one take. This globetrotting caper will have the senses immersed in the stylish Paris cinematography, interesting characters, moody lighting, plot twists and humorous one-liners. Foretelling his future trademark sardonic delivery, Walter Matthau’s introductory scenes are perfect and he is deceptively likable. There are two FBI agents with questionable tactics, George Kennedy with his metal hand providing some menacing humor and James Coburn as the terrifically named Tex Panthollow. A timeless classic.

The Train (1964)

In contrast to the likes of “The Longest Day,” this American war film centers on a small faction during the late stages of World War Two. The top-notch screenplay about looted French art treasures by the Germans, pits two single-focused individuals, one trying to run a train, the other trying to stop it. Directed by John Frankenheimer, an early master of complicated continuous scenes, it is superbly filmed in black and white, accompanied by an unobtrusive score. The unique camera work, location filming and the realism of actual railroad operations make for a captivating story. It is another tour-de-force for Burt Lancaster, despite his lack of a French accent. His character’s commitment to stopping a German train with its unrelenting dangers and obstacles embodies the term “hero.” It also provides an opportunity for Lancaster to showcase his athleticism. This astonishingly well-crafted film also stars Paul Scofield as a German officer determined to possess the ill-gotten artwork. The arrogant Colonel’s self-obsession blinds him from inevitable defeat. Finally, Jeanne Moreau has a pivotal role as a French sympathizer, initially surmising Lancaster’s “personal vendetta” would endanger her countrymen. Enthralling throughout.

Bullitt (1968)

Appropriate praise has been placed on the ground-breaking chase scene within this film. Amazing considering its brief screen time, but the film seems made up of gravitating brief moments. Lalo Schifrin’s jazzy “cat and mouse” score to set up the chase—as well as his main theme—carries just as much impact. Beyond this presumed “car guy film,” Steve McQueen is at his apex in a role perfectly suited for his subtleties. One particular scene has Bullitt returning to the hotel where a contract killing took place. There is no dialogue. No music. Only the sound of highway traffic coming through an open window. Contemplating how the murder could have happened, his minute expressions, eye movements and body language make this seemingly dull scene very powerful. Another defining element concerns his co-star, Robert Vaughn, in a hospital communication station. Foretelling the tension coming in the famous chase, the two characters come to terms. They do not like each other. Bullitt’s tolerance reaches its peak with the self-aggrandizing Chalmers. “You work your side of the street, I’ll work mine.” It is a beautiful “un-acted” scene, making it overwhelmingly realistic. A quality that sums up the entire film.

BORDERLINE (1950)

There is not much of anything hard-hitting in this eighty-eight-minute crime noir-ette about narcotics smuggling. Directed by William Seiter with a decent screenplay by Devery Freeman, this Universal International-released B-movie eventually slipped between theater seats rather quickly. Fans of Claire Trevor or Fred MacMurray may be pleased, however. Fans of Raymond Burr, not so much, as his screen time carries less weight than he appears, playing a ruthless drug dealer in a widescreen suit. A music score by Hans Salter supports the film.

The opening establishes this extra-light comedy with Trevor slightly daft as per Madeline Kahn some twenty years later. Trevor’s character is “Madeleine” by the way. Policewoman Trevor is being ignored as the right undercover officer to infiltrate the drug-dealing gang. With her face framed in a “V” between two male sleeves, their superior thinks she is not tawdry enough. Glancing her direction, one guy thinks she would probably pass. Two seconds later, Trevor's expression reacts to the remark. Another makes it a point to mention she was in the OSS during the war and speaks “Mexican”---training she never uses throughout the film.

The film cuts to Mexico as Salter’s score decidedly adds a theme seemingly pulled from a music library shelf labeled, “Mexican.” Trevor arrives by dusty bus, walks into a cantina and in the very next frame, she is dancing in a chorus line! Their second assumed purposely humorous number, has all six girls displaying their training from the Lucy Ricardo School of Music and Dance. A number that could have used at least one run-through backstage. None are in sync with the melody nor the difficult lyrics of, 'la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la.' Sounding uncomfortably like barnyard chickens. Trevor seems especially out of her element. It is a funny scene. She tries, in a not-so-subtle fashion, to get Burr to make eye contact. After making several passes, at one point she kicks her left, then her right leg high on both sides of him. I imagine the breeze felt good in the stuffy nightclub.

Trevor is making inroads into Burr’s circle of noir-do-wells but all is interrupted when MacMurray enters the film with gun in hand, confronting Burr about a shipment of narcotics. He wants credit for the sale. There is a tussle, some gunpowder, and MacMurray absconds with Trevor, assuming she is part of Burr’s inner circle. Narcotics boss, Roy Roberts, arranges for them to pose as husband and wife as they head toward the borderline of a studio set. 

I could not accept Fred MacMurray as a hardened criminal as his first screen appearance might suggest. He does wear a frown most of the way, but I expected dry quips at any moment. The script lightens up and not surprisingly, so does MacMurray. Really no secret, thanks to the comedic music score. Avoiding the Mexican authorities, they ditch their strategically muddied car. Now on foot, there are shades of It Happened One Night or It's A Wonderful World as both share their phony background to hide their true identity. There are a lot of assumptions between them. The last ten minutes are worth the wait as big surprises await the leads. Other than the early tussle with the big Burr, the only real excitement comes in the last two minutes.

Note: This is purely an innocuous drama/comedy movie that happens to have respected leads. A film that starts promising and ends pleasant enough. Trevor had a flair for subtle comedy. MacMurray was no stranger to comedy, either. But as a memorable film noir crime saga, it is borderline at best.