KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (1952)

 

This is the first and arguably the most well-known of the three films teaming director, Phil Karlson, with John Payne as his career-changer. This film-noir has captivating segments, though one may need to overlook an idealistic screenplay by George Bruce and Harry Essex. With commendable casting choices, great camera work, and an enhancing score, ninety-nine minutes never seemed so short. It was produced by Edward Small with distribution by United Artists and it paved the way for a few "confidential" films in the Fifties. Despite some uniqueness, nearly seventy years have given it some humorous and less-than-believable scenes. Worthy of a more in-depth review than I typically provide.

Robbery mastermind, Preston Foster, with an unimaginative character name of Tim Foster, checks the timing of a floral delivery truck driven by Payne and the all-important armored bank van from his third-story office across the street. Foster puts a lot of stock in the preposterous idea that both vehicles will always arrive at precisely the same time. He checks off the time on a desk-sized stakeout map as confirmation. The large map brings to mind a scaled architectural blueprint yet this map is a simple outline drawing of the section of the street directly in front of the bank. A hand-drawn note on a paper napkin would have sufficed. It would suggest an exciting robbery to come by way of a rudimentary robbery so often used. But the clever setup and robbery are showcased right up front. Uniquely, the bulk of the film concerns the aftermath.

Foster hires three lowlifes for the opportunity of financial freedom if they help pull off the robbery: ironically, three stereotypical villains of the era, Jack Elam, Lee Van Cleef, and Neville Brand. To their amazement, he knows their backstory specifically. Their dialogue is concise and effective. A chain smoker by birth, Elam’s character is a nervous wreck, constantly in hiding from the electric chair. He is the first to meet Foster and it is a dandy scene. The mastermind wears a rather creepy, perhaps leather, mask when he meets with each of the three. Each will be provided a one-size-fits-all mask and cap. First class all the way. At gunpoint, Elam angrily demands the mask be removed. Elam is in no position to make demands. Instead, Foster slaps him back and forth several times in "burst out laughing" choreography by Elam as he jerks his head left and right in a precise metronome fashion. Van Cleef is much cooler during his prospective job interview. Quite the ladies' man—they are entranced by his eye slits—he is told not to be late which means stay away from women. Brand is an emotionless gum-chewing killer who has nothing better to do than look numb. A man of few words.  

Idealistically, Foster (as Foster) has thought of everything, even supplying a matching floral delivery truck that will contain the aforementioned criminals. It seems unfair that the artist who painted the floral company's logo on the side of the truck will get no cut of the loot. As it speeds away, awkwardly amusing is a bank guard, who, without really aiming, fires several times at the van in a crouched position with his gun at knee level. His firing range instructor has repeatedly scolded him about his ineffective stance. Slickly, the van is driven inside a big rig trailer parked at a prearranged loading dock. Once again, director Karlson has Payne, a reformed ex-con, a victim of mistaken identity as his truck is spotted. Without a single shred of evidence, he is assumed to be part of the robbery. One sadistic detective tries to beat Payne into submission. He hates him on pure assumption before gathering any facts. So very 21st century. Foster’s clever plan dictates that everyone keep their masks on to hide their identity from each other. One of the film’s interesting devices. He provides airline tickets for the trio's Mexico rendezvous. After each is separately let go in the middle of nowhere, they are instructed to stay south of the border until the heat is off. Probably about two years! 

After the police find the bogus floral van, Payne is released with the police chief's feeble apology. Not from the violent detective, though. “Thanks for nothin'!” is Payne's seething reply. Payne gets a bead on Elam from an informer. He need only follow the cigarette butts. Elam grabs Payne in another Hollywood “confrontational alley.” He demands to know why he is being followed. He growls, “You’ve been giving me the fisheye all evening!” Apropos coming from Elam. Payne claims innocence and then walks away, later picking up Elam's carcinogenic scent in his hotel room. The first item of business...slap Elam. Payne finds a mask in his suitcase. Elam gets slapped again. Payne’s breathy taunting pre-dates the “Dirty Harry” character by nearly two decades. Payne is on Elam like a bad stink as they await their flight to Mexico. The authorities spot Elam, who reaches for his gun. They cancel his frequent-flyer club membership. But it gives Payne an opportunity to pose as Elam. The viewer knows Payne’s charade as Elam is understandably limited. This is the halfway point in the film and one is still pretty sure Colleen Gray is in this movie.

Since the robbery, Foster (as Foster) has been enjoying his retirement as a pipe-smoking fisher of errant men. A longtime friend and insurance investigator, Howard Negley, shows up by invitation. We learn Foster is a veteran cop, finally explaining his background knowledge of his accomplices. He informs Negley that new “evidence” will help him crack the two-year-old bank robbery with the credit—Foster's double-cross of his three stooges—going on his resumé. It is the first mention of his daughter, Gray, who has been waiting for her cue to enter the film while studying her script and bar exam. Despite her short screen time, being the singular female lead, and her notable work in earlier films, it probably accounts for her star billing—whether negotiated or paid for. She grows fond of Payne during the same southern flight. Purely scripted coincidence. She eventually mentions his “undercover” name to dear old Dad. His eyes suddenly get suspicious knowing full well she could not have been charmed by “Fisheye Elam.” 

Payne is pummeled by the pugilistic team of Cleef and Brand, the latter having met Elam before. There is another usage of the specific violent and painful act as  Cleef’s left and right hands bang hard against Payne’s ears. Cleef repeatedly refers sarcastically to Payne at this point as, “pal-zee,” after being hoodwinked by Payne earlier. As luck would have it, Gray shows up during a pummeling pause, and the two thugs, sweating profusely, cordially leave. Gray assumes a serious “conversation” was taking place. She and Payne have little to say to each other. At this point, every male identity starts to unravel with three burials to be scheduled. Gray is relieved to learn the truth about Payne as Negley sets the record straight. Confidentially, of course.

Note: Elam wants to buy some cigarettes at the airport. I always thought it strange that many of those height-challenged machines had a large mirror, usually round, on the front. Apparently for men to check their fly.

SLIGHTLY SCARLET (1956)

This soap opera slash crime film is loosely based on James Cain's novel “Love's Lovely Counterfeit,” a title the film should have kept for this ninety-nine-minute film. The film falls into the B-movie noir category with few arguments. It was produced by Benedict Bogeaus, distributed by RKO Radio Pictures and directed by Western director, Allan Dwan. The occasionally implausible screenplay is by Robert Blees. There are notable actors in this one and they probably ate up most of the budget. However, its widescreen “Superscope” cinematography by John Alton is the highlight. The interiors are lavishly detailed and colorful. The mobster’s mansion would seem to have experienced a power outage as the only lighting appears to come from the props to highlight a specific interior detail or an actor’s face. The resulting shadows are foreboding, befitting the sinister surroundings. In contrast, the mob boss’s open-concept beach house is a modern-designed gem.

You will be familiar with John Payne’s role as a tough guy with a dark side. Yet those gray crime dramas never had the musically talented actor playing the piano, however briefly, as he does here. Payne always improves a film and his character's intensity is not lessened by color. Adding a ruthless quotient is his boss, the quintessential gangster, Ted de Corsia. Payne is his “public relations” man whom he sarcastically calls, “Genius.” Payne works both sides of the law yet he is tired of his powerless position under the boss’s thumb. In a double-cross, he sets him up de Corsia with a phony front-page headline about a recent murder. Thought to be untouchable, de Corsia angrily buys a one-way airline ticket to Mexico, leaving Payne to take over operations, his beach house, and his Chrysler. Mayoral candidate, Kent Taylor, had come down hard on de Corsia’s manhandling of city officials. Payne’s own manipulation secures the unsuspecting Taylor of an election victory.

What better excuse to use “Superscope” than to feature two Technicolor scarlet starlets, Rhonda “sultry” Fleming and Arlene “klepto” Dahl. Neither could be considered acting powerhouses and their screen time together is a suds-fest. Not entirely their fault. Fleming seems to treat her little sister like a high school graduate though only two years separated them in real life. Fleming comes off okay and her limited alto vocal range is not as monotonous, here.  She is Kent's secretary and girlfriend but Payne temporarily disrupts their future as he and Fleming become attached at the lips on more than one occasion. Give Dahl credit for being a convincing obnoxious adult brat. Naturally, like the average female, they sleep in full makeup and a permanent...permanently.

The film’s opening concerns Dahl's prison release for petty theft. Her lack of awareness, smart-aleck attitude and the fawning over any male assumes she is irresistible. To get an idea of her unconsciousness, later in the film she picks up a speargun at the beach house and pulls the trigger to see what might happen. The spear barely misses Payne’s head, embedding itself in the wall. She thought it funny. He angrily grabs her by the shoulders, whip-lashing her fore and aft, scarlet tresses bobbing every which way, with her enduring airhead smile intact. Payne’s bending the law to suit his personal desires never grows old as he continues to intervene after Dahl is arrested for stealing a necklace. But kleptomania is not her only underlying problem.

News of Payne’s dominance reaches de Corsia and he returns to the beach house for revenge. Dahl is the lone occupant until Fleming arrives. The mob boss knows all about her. She is on his Christmas death list. Drunken Dahl is flippant about the whole standoff. Fleming stumbles onto another loaded speargun on the deck. The mobster gets speared in the shoulder, and then she shoots him twice with his dropped gun. Dahl is one actress very aware that cameras are rolling. Her instant attitude change is so over-the-top as if the director may have told her, “On the count of three, you scream hysterically, okay? You'll need to do it twice.”

The beach house lighting during the closing is an aesthetic and graphically superior element. The wide, shallow stairway creates horizontal dashes of contrast juxtaposed with the square, dark walls and angular ceiling shadows. Payne and the scarlet duo are in an adjoining room when de Corsia manages to call him out. Payne faces de Corsia one last time and growls out several cutting insults before being perforated. Fleming’s future is in doubt, leaving her to speculate whether she can continue as the mayor’s secretary since he has fallen in love with Dahl's mental health. I would not be surprised that the rumors surrounding the mayor's future wife might affect his re-election bid.

Notes: After Payne takes over the mob from de Corsia, he also takes over his car, that Chrysler, above, with no windshield. Standard on the Imperial, the mob boss never realized it was an option on the New Yorker. I suspect there were plans to film from the hood of the prop car or the footage ended up on the cutting room floor. Even funnier is when Payne picks up his old beater at the parking garage where the Chrysler has been cleaned and polished. The young attendant admires the car, being especially proud of the streak-free windshield. The kid asks if he can borrow the Chrysler for a hot date. Imagine her reaction if her false eyelashes end up in the back seat. The lad starts the car and we hear an explosion. What we see is smoke gently rising from the dash and he instantly keels over on his right side in a less-than-convincing special effect. Apparently toxic gas.

99 RIVER STREET (1953)

This time around, John Payne is a tough prizefighter in another film for director Phil Karlson. A familiar tale of a “man against the world.” George Zuckerman's story is pretty far-fetched, certainly not routine. If this Edward Small production falls short of being a great movie, the spot-on performances allow one to overlook any clichés. The budgeted studio sets with perpetually wet city streets were a standard device to give a city life. The painted or rear-projected buildings are present to add depth. There seems to be noticeably odd “processing” during the harbor climax scene, which looks like a stage scrim has been set up in front of cargo ships. 

Though Payne starred in a gritty, career-changing film before, he is believable as a guy beaten down inside and outside the ring. Payne is on a career roll, leaving behind his lighter characters. There is never a dull moment. The boxer's volatile temper, blunt dialogue, and realistic action catapult the film above the average film noir. I found the opening boxing scenes more believable than the over-the-top Rocky Balboa bouts. Though both films seem to use the same sound effect of punching a cardboard box with a throw pillow inside. Because of the potential permanent eye damage during his championship fight, Payne's heavyweight career comes to an end. Three years on, he is now a taxi driver with dreams of owning his own service station. His wife, Peggie Castle, is a nagging, unsympathetic woman who blames him for her lack of social importance and her personal career crusher. Owning a lowly gas station is the "last round" for her. Castle is already two-timing with a jewel thief, Brad Dexter. No secret to Payne. 

Jay Adler moonlights as a backroom jewel fence, incognito as a pet shop owner. He refuses to pay off Dexter for his latest jewel delivery, not only for killing the original owner but primarily because he brings Castle into the mix. Adler tells him there is no deal if a woman is involved. Emotional attachments have a way of altering the end game. Dexter takes his “advice,” and her cold body is found in the back of Payne's cab. Not exactly a typical fare.  

Playing an aspiring actress, Evelyn Keyes has two supporting roles with Payne. Besides being his co-star, she is a frequent taxi fare. When she finds out about his predicament, she wants to help but he is reluctant to get her involved. Keyes' attractiveness lies in her character portrayals more than in being naturally beautiful. It is of no concern whether her face is filmed from one side or the other. Jack Lambert, Adler's muscle, below, has a good turn as well. He has developed a sense of humor despite his line of work. Calls everyone at gunpoint, “kiddies.” His fight scene with Payne is worth noting. Suspecting he is in with Dexter, he slaps Payne around from behind, who is slowly coming to a full boil. Lambert becomes his punching bag. He completely did not anticipate the jackhammers hiding at the end of Payne's arms. Poor Lambert is repeatedly blasted over furniture and becomes wall décor, after a fashion. It is well-choreographed, vicious, and believable. 

Adler and crew are confused about Payne's supposed involvement in a jewel heist. He is picked up on 99 River Street and they need answers to a few questions. After the butt-end of a revolver from a revengeful Lambert, Payne tells Adler about his frame-up, then all bullets have Dexter's name on them. Continuing to hone her acting skills, Keyes' role-playing comes in handy as she lures Dexter out of the diner. Spotting Payne outside, Dexter makes a run for it, with Payne taking a bullet in one arm. One arm is plenty and Dexter is soon down for the count. 

THE CROOKED WAY (1949)

This is a tough film noir set in Los Angeles. The dark shadows and odd camera angles are well recorded by other reviewers, but it is John Payne’s search for his identity that makes it a little out of the ordinary. He plays a WWII veteran whose past is completely wiped away by a piece of shrapnel in his brain. Permanent amnesia. He is treated by Dr. Kemble (without the "i") at the Letterman General Hospital. Not amusing at all in 1949. He leaves the hospital with his correct first name but a new last name. He is immediately recognized and apprehended by police Lieutenant Rhys Williams. Williams assumes Payne is guilty until proven innocent. Payne plays along with no idea where it will lead. His initial meeting with Ellen Drew is an eye-opener—his former wife. Payne reveals his amnesia, but the trust is not there. She knows his past too well.

Crime boss Sonny Tufts had a long working relationship until he took the fall for Payne's crime. Tufts figures it is payback time for being set up. His performance is one to remember, but he rarely gets due credit. He is dangerous and volatile. Payne, not remembering who he is, gets reintroduced to Tufts with a beating. With help from his two goons, Tufts kicks Payne down the outside fire escape stairs. That sort of behavior from a total stranger sends a message, and Payne begins to realize that his past has some kinks to work out. The two encounters between Tufts and Williams are fun. Tufts looks quite calm and content during his self-manicures. Two drops of medicine into a glass of water help his nervous condition. Their cat-and-mouse conversations are gems. Each holding their disdain for the other in check. Seeing Williams “accidentally” knock over a pitcher of water in Tuft’s lap is beautiful.

The rotund, sandpaper-voiced tenor, Percy Helton, has a history with Payne. And pain. A man with no courage and a nagging cough. Or is it a fur ball shared with his cat, Samson? Under duress, he tries to shelter Payne in his War Surplus Store. Near the end of the film, the police have the storefront riddled with bullets to get Tufts’ and Payne’s attention. The latter is half-unconscious after several blows to the head from the former. Tufts drags Payne out the front door using him as a shield. The police demand his surrender. With no such intentions, Tufts’ maniacal rage is captured nicely in tight, sweaty close-ups. Now, in full view of the police, out crawls Helton through the door after being shot by Tufts’ men. He is the only human moving during that scene. How he could go unnoticed is funny. The police do not ask him to stop or why he was crawling through the front door with a gun. Helton manages to get an errant shot off toward Tufts, who returns a couple of accurately placed bullets. As Payne gets dropped to the sidewalk, the police force empties their chambers.

Note: This top-notch crime film was distributed by United Artists and produced by Benedict Bogeaus, and directed by Robert Florey. The screenplay is by Richard H. Landau based on the radio play "No Blade Too Sharp" by Robert Monroe. The cinematography by John Alton is superb.