THE BIG CAPER (1957)

With film camera secured, the viewer rides along with Rory Calhoun's 1956 Chrysler convertible as he motors his way to convince crime kingpin James Gregory, to help organize another heist. Lounging poolside at his estate, appearing a legit businessman, Gregory angrily tells his former operative—in no uncertain terms—he is not interested and to take a hike. Calhoun reemphasizes it involves a bank that regularly holds a million dollars before distribution to nearby Camp Pendleton. In the very next scene, Gregory and his girl, Mary Costa, are passengers in the convertible to case the bank. A salivating Gregory has Calhoun abandon his fancy New Yorker for a mid-forties beater, sets him up as a gas station owner, and buys a large house where he and Costa can establish themselves as a married couple. The big house simply to hide the heist team. However, after four months, Costa starts liking her domestic role and the fact that Calhoun knows how to make pancakes without them sticking to the griddle. Their neighbors establish Scrabble night, and their young son now refers to Calhoun as "uncle." With every vacuuming, Costa thinks less and less of dirtbag Gregory.

This eighty-five-minute American film noir crime film was directed by Robert Stevens from a screenplay by Martin Berkeley based on the novel of the same name by Lionel White. United Artists released a dandy, yet oft-told story about another well-financed and planned robbery. Filmed beneath opening titles and an Albert Glasser score, that automotive opening is a good setup for a heist film, and it is worth going into some detail about it.

Everyone is first-rate in this crime film. Calhoun is his cool self in one of his better crime films of the Fifties. Costa is also quite good in only her second film, possessing an intelligent vocal delivery and on-screen composure—not playing to the camera. Gregory is excellent in a role familiar to him. He mentions serving five years for a robbery as a young kid. He may not have been incarcerated since, but he has been slippery enough to avoid any more downtime. The guy has deep pockets. Gregory's booming, foghorn voice—his trademarked mumbling through some lines as if it is an aside—and sarcastic comments toward the suspected “happy couple” clearly reveal his ruthless side.

Making the film much more memorable, however, are two psychopaths (above). Robert Harris' entrance at the Calhoun house—squinting, sweating, with an untidy appearance—is the first standout. Harris had a knack for convincing performances as an overheated, demented, near-sighted weasel. An expert in explosives—his “bang juice”—he also has a gin problem. His thought processing is seemingly incoherent; he settles into his room, and Calhoun tells him the gin is off-limits until after the robbery. Approaching another meltdown, he lights a match to calm himself. He is mesmerized by the flame. The normally dark-haired Corey Allen is also hard to forget as a short-cropped, bleached blonde in glistening dark suntan makeup. Cold-blooded murder seems to be his most enjoyable pastime. That, and listening to Glasser's jazz score via a record player prop. Hollywood thought there was some sort of connection between a jazz freak and a white-haired murderer with a bow tie. To say he is on edge is an understatement. His role seems to follow up on his previous 1957 film, The Shadow on the Window.

The customary review of the caper's details is to be expected. Gregory is pretty ecstatic to go over the crude map and everyone's role to play. Filming of the successful robbery is effectively not drawn out with a redundant set of visuals. A tense moment occurs when the neighbor pays a visit to the house. Tagging along is his son with an armful of lost dog. The dog bolts up the stairway where the gang is hiding, nearly going to dog heaven by an Allen knife. Glasser's score ramps up the intensity.

Harris's two diversionary explosions will create chaos—one at a high school on Saturday night, assuming no one will be there. He nearly soils himself talking about his assignment. There will be a power outage, thanks to another Paul Picerni criminal role with Allen elected as the wheelman. The exciting, rapid climax includes a believable, choreographed fight scene between Calhoun and Gregory when the latter tries to escape with the loot. Wisely, it was all shot in shadows. Now a genuine couple, the last seconds of the film have “The Calhouns” making a decision that will more than likely reduce their jail time.

Notes: A couple of amusing bits come after Calhoun signs the papers for the gas station. The elderly gas station owner quickly calls his wife about the sale, "Get the trailer fixed. The suckers fell for it!" Another chuckling scene is when Harris, angered over his gin restrictions, knocks Calhoun out and dumps his body from the car on the night of the heist. The camera then has a distant shot of the car parked behind a “No Dumping” sign.

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.

NIGHTFALL (1956)

This Columbia Pictures B-movie stars Aldo Ray, James Gregory, Anne Bancroft, and Brian Keith. Rudy Bond has a standout role, one of several films he made, three of which starred Marlon Brando. His sister, Jocelyn Brando, plays Gregory’s wife. However, the film may be best remembered for the camera work of cinematographer Burnett Guffey. Directed by Jacques Tourneur, his use of seamless flashbacks provides the most interesting segments of this film. Despite his success with Out of the Past, his directing here can be uneven. One cannot fault the studio art department for pumping up the promotion of this seventy-nine-minute film---note the yellow teaser text in the poster.

I found Stirling Silliphant’s script ponderous at times. Many segments go by slowly with a lot of character development dialogue. The title, as near as I can figure, refers to the opening night scene between Ray and Gregory. It took a while to figure out what was up with Ray's character, whether he was innocent or guilty of something. His incessant, vague comments about the source of his troubles barely squeeze through. The homey scenes with Gregory revealing to his wife how his insurance investigation is progressing ate up a lot of film for a character not in need of so much background. Then, Keith’s extended cat-and-mouse verbal threatening of Ray is also a frame-eater. Thankfully, the flashbacks make sense of why Ray is being hunted, how he, Keith, and Bond collided, and why the latter two cannot find their stolen loot.

I was not buying the World War II veteran, Ray, as a freelance commercial artist. Artistic people exist in all walks of life, but Ray seems better suited as a professional truck driver. Barry Sullivan, one of the original choices, would have been ideal. I could have supported Bancroft as a Montgomery-Ward catalog model, though not a high-fashion model. The novel that the film is based on may be the culprit. Bancroft's first appearance with Ray in a local bar is also a wee cumbersome until thieves and noir-do-wells, Keith and Bond, enter the picture. He thinks his abduction was set up by Bancroft. 

Keith once again seems to be holding himself back from a sudden outburst of violence. A one-dimensional character played well with clamped jaw. But Bond...Rudy Bond, (second from left above) steals the film as the sadist who enjoys killing people by games of (no) chance. His laugh from an individual with a screw loose upstairs. I imagine him watching Wile E. Coyote cartoons endlessly―as an adult―always laughing hysterically at every pratfall, however repetitive. His demise is well worth waiting for. Then, there is a lot of waiting in this film. Waiting for Ray and Bancroft to become an item. Waiting for Gregory to explain himself to Ray. Waiting for Keith and Bond to come to an understanding, and waiting for that snowplow to make itself useful.