ARSON, INC. (1949)

The American production company, Lippert Pictures, had a talent for underwriting low-budget action films that were generally easy to like: they were short, had bits of humor, and typically had an exciting climax. Directed by William Berke and produced by William Stephens from a story by Arthur Caesar, everything is in order for this film about tracking down an arsonist by an undercover fireman, not a police detective. This may seem like old serial episodes edited into a sixty-three-minute film noir. It is not. One might discover this film under the alternate titles, Firebug Squad or Three Alarm Fire.

The film's opening credits are supported by an upstanding military march theme followed by a voice-over that spells out the film's premise. The narrator plays the Deputy Chief of the Los Angeles Fire Department, who smoothly transitions his speech to welcome handsome Robert Lowery (below center) into his office. Chosen because of his special interest and knack for solving "crimes of fire." He is given full rein to find the missing briefcase of evidence from a fellow investigator, deliberately killed during his own arson investigation. Lowery must expose who is behind the killing and the suspicious warehouse fires of recent years.

Perennially slimy bad guy, Doug Fowley (above right), is the insurance claims adjuster whose payouts for property loss in fires seem legitimate. The smug agent delivers his lines—initially in extreme close-ups—as tight-lipped as someone whose jaws are wired shut following reconstructive surgery. On the take is Hollywood's well-known nervous weasel, Byron Foulger, needing money to cover past debts. Fowley tells him to torch his wife's mink coat—something Foulger has probably thought about for years—to be awarded the needed cash. The spineless husband senses he may get burned after Lowery's initial questioning.

With a never-ending supply of matches, the usually harmless comedic actor, Ed Brophy (above left), often delivers reactionary lines in other films as a poor man's Curly of The Three Stooges fame. As Fowley's (fire) man, he is instructed to keep tabs on Lowery. The investigator goes deep cover as a disgruntled firefighter to gain the confidence of Brophy, the latter vouching for him to his boss. Now, good pals, they frequent a bookie's backroom hideout. During a raid, the two are arrested. The following day, a phony newspaper headline indicates Lowery lost his job as a firefighter. Brophy is encouraged that Lowery is a rat just like himself. The duo works with Fowley on his next fire sale.

There are three female costars in this film: Anne Gwynne plays a school teacher and part-time babysitter for Foulger's young son. Lowery is instantly aflame for her upon their first meeting. She initially puts his fire out, but it does not take long to figure out their budding relationship. Gwynne even plays along as part of his undercover work. Brophy sets off a warehouse fire, but cannot resist having Lowery drive him back to see the huge flames. But Lowery tipped off an undercover cop, who was nearby, to put out the potential blaze. This is disappointing to Brophy, and very suspicious to Fowley.

The second female is Marcia Mae Jones (above, lower right), Fowley's secretary, with facial features appearing to be a composite of three females, all put together at odd angles. With too much to drink while dining with Brophy, Lowery, and Gwynne, she lets it slip about the next warehouse fire of mink stoles. Turns out it is Fowley's plan to see if Lowery shows up. No minks are going up in flames with a flummoxed Lowery trying to explain it to the fire captain. Bullets whiz by Lowery as he and Gwynne take cover in the warehouse. The seething Brophy sets off another fire to flesh them out for a clear shot.

Note: The briefly seen third female costar is Maude Eburne as "Grandma," also an occasional babysitter for Foulger. Her elderly face is on the opposite end of the spectrum from Gwynne. As is often the case in a Lippert production, levity plays its part. She and Lowery accidentally bump into each other early in the film—she,  completely in his arms. It becomes the amorous highlight of her day. Eburen wrapped up her thirty-three-year career one picture and two years later.

HOT CARS (1956)

This sixty-minute-plus American crime film stars John Bromfield in the best of his four Bel-Air Production films (see below), playing a man out to prove his innocence or regain his self-esteem. The film is fast-paced with a high degree of believability. The acting is not forced, with everyone doing a fine job for a low-budget project. Based on Hot Cars by H. Haile Chace, it is directed by Don McDougall and written by Don Martin and Richard Landau. It was produced by Howard W. Koch. Some wry comments are used by a couple of cast members to good effect. 

The opening jazz band score by Les Baxter sets an action tone while the viewer watches a 1955 Mercedes-Benz 190SL convertible being test-driven. Under superimposed screen credits, we watch Bromfield pull the sports car to the roadside so the potential buyer, and stereotypical bombshell, Joi Lansing, can take the wheel. She provides the only curves—nearly all hairpins—in the film. Building customer relations is foremost in his mind, so they stop at Santa Monica's “Jack's at the Beach” bar for a drink and chat, hoping to close the deal. Before the drive back to the dealership, in the only unintentionally funny moment, he irresponsibly asks her, “What good is one drink without one for the road?” Though the salesman seems to now have a heavy foot on the drive back to the dealership, they return without incident. She drives away in her giant 1956 Chrysler New Yorker convertible.

Bromfield's perpetually irate boss, Robert Osterloh, an auto-shyster of the first order, is savvy enough to know his clientele. He blasts him for wasting time with a high-class dame who has no interest in used cars. Bromfield is straddling the unemployment fence at this point. Enter Ralph Clanton, who appears to be interested in an old MG roadster for only $700. But “Honest John” Bromfield tells him it was used on the racing circuit, has been rolled three times, and will be nothing but trouble. Clanton appreciates his honesty, then drives away. Wanting to unload the dumpster roadster—and on his last nerve—Osterloh fires Bromfield. Clanton re-enters the picture by calling straight-arrow Bromfield about working for his own dealerships. The whole MG thing was just a ruse, as was Lansing's coy attitude. As soon as Bromfield discovers the hot car racket, he walks out.

But the salesman and his devoted wife suddenly have an urgent financial dilemma thrust upon them when their ill son needs surgery. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Clanton accepts Bromfield's decision to return just as the always authentic Dabbs Greer enters the film. The detective asks the salesman to keep an eye out for any suspicious cars. Later that night, a shipment of hot cars is unloaded onto the lot, and in near panic, the semi-driver—a real hep cat—tells Bromfield, “Cut the [dealership] lights, man!” The driver has a habit of ending all his sentences with "man." The next day, Greer returns to look at a Chrysler, one of the hot cars yet to be moved behind the dealership. Bromfield's initial fear is temporarily unfounded because the detective simply wants to buy the car as an anniversary gift for his wife—she always liked Chryslers. Greer and his wife return that night, ready to sign on the dotted line. Bromfield is well aware that the hot car will not remain a secret very long. In hopes of dissuading Greer, he tries a couple of stalling tactics, then suddenly requires a larger down payment. Clanton's "auto muscle" finally shows up with a phony sales receipt for the car. Greer is very suspicious of the last-minute flip-flop. He levels some pointed comments at Bromfield when he returns one last time that night. Oddly, Greer walks away, down the sidewalk, perhaps not realizing he could have just parked at the dealership like he had done before. 

Two police officers want to question Bromfield about the murder of the detective, explaining why he was scripted to walk from the car lot. When he arrives home, his wife pleads with him to tell the whole truth and nothing but. The three men pay Lansing a visit, and not surprisingly, she denies ever meeting Bromfield. He says he can prove he was there, but she had the room “renovated,” and it is not as he describes it from another room. The salesman flees the beach house with the intent of tracking down the assassin. It leads to an exciting and authentic roller coaster climax at Ocean Park Pier in Santa Monica. The two men receive and give punches while being filmed from a coaster car in front of or behind them. Quite a ride for the viewer. Thankfully, no rear-projected screens. Jockeying for position, the henchman is thrown during a high-speed crest, catapulting a limp, stuffed dummy to the pavement below. Justice is served as the car sales team of "Clanton & Lansing" has been on law enforcement's radar for some time. In the end, Bromfield was never really a murder suspect; they just wanted his help. The film abruptly ends with the camera focusing on a "Closed" sign at the amusement park.

Notes: Bel-Air Productions was a joint venture between the director, Koch, and the independent producer Aubrey Schenck. These low-budget productions were all distributed through United Artists. Bel-Air usually offered realism on the cinematography front with its location filming. This movie is an eyeful for the automotive historian as it was filmed at Big John's and Johnny O'Toole's used car dealerships in Culver City, California. The film thanks both for their cooperation with an ending acknowledgment.

Bromfield starred in three other Bel-Air Productions of the period, some unintended amusement, less tidy, and generally inferior to this film. Check out The Big Bluff, Crime Against Joe, and Three Bad Sisters.

KISS ME [atypically] DEADLY (1955)

This one-hundred-six-minute cult classic based on Mickey Spillane's salacious book of the same name is hardly unknown in the Twenty-First Century. What is definitively unknown are my opinions about some strangeness or implausibilities in this late-blooming film noir produced and directed by Robert Aldrich for Parklane Pictures and distributed by United Artists. I take note of numerous atypical elements that set this film apart from earlier film noirs. Years of hindsight have solidified this film's cult status and enshrined Ralph Meeker in the Hollywood history books. The measured score was composed by the versatile Frank De Vol, a four-time Oscar nominee with thirty-six comedy acting roles in his future, mostly in television. The film has become one of the most interesting and unusually imaginative film noirs.

This film's atypical opening involves quirky Cloris Leachman frantically running— appearing to be barefoot—in the middle of a road at night. Meeker/Mike Hammer nearly runs her down with his Jaguar XK120. The captivating opening screenplay by A. I. Bezzerides may give the impression that you just parachuted in. The studio cameras attached to Meeker's cars add realism to the film. No cheap studio prop cars in this one. As one would expect, she is exhausted. Questionably strange, however, is that she continues to heave and moan miles later as his passenger. One would think the director would have stepped in to suggest something else for Leachman to do at this point. It is unnecessarily extended or at least annoying. On a more positive note, first-time viewers were probably eager to know what happens next in this slow-burning journey. Cinematographer Ernest Laszlo should be noted for his lighting, and his Los Angeles location shooting may be interesting to those who grew up or still live there. He and Aldrich seemed to have had an understanding and would work together frequently. 

Not many Los Angeles private detectives have the wherewithal to be choosy about the car they drive. And it usually is not a Jaguar. Atypical. His home is built around a cutting-edge reel-to-reel answering machine embedded in his wall. Atypical. He employs an invaluable secretary slash undercover manipulator, Maxine Cooper. The report by the Kefauver Commission, in strongly-worded comments, said this film was not fit for families to view. The initial intimate embrace between the two leads may have made a few mid-century patrons uncomfortable, with the scene [perhaps] comprising one of the commission's middle paragraphs. Another paragraph may have addressed the atypical Gaby Rodgers—the most quirky female in the film and Leachman's roommate—Quirky 2.0. She, too, is barefoot in her opening scenes with a vocal delivery indicating she may be under some sort of influence. Rodgers' short blonde hair seems to fit the era's formula of a sociopath—the bleached hair of psychos like Raymond Burr, Skip Homeier, or Corey Allen comes to mind.

Adding to the lead cast are supporting roles for Wesley Addy, whose condescending, sarcastic delivery is always spot-on—here as a police lieutenant who knows how to keep a secret—and perennial bad guys, the two Jacks, Elam and Lambert. These two earn respect after Meeker's assumed martial arts training, effortlessly off-screen, debilitates Lambert. Atypical. As if Meeker has supernatural powers. Elam is visibly shaken by what he witnessed. Their mob boss, Paul Stewart, has a brief screen appearance but will not go unnoticed. The deviously smiling gangster and Meeker never resolve their trust issues. But with no hard feelings, Stewart leaves a newly introduced Chevrolet Corvette outside his home. He only sprung for two accessories—bombs wired to double Meeker's chances of exploding. The mustachioed Nick Dennis plays the experienced Italian auto mechanic frequented by Meeker, with an enduring phrase, “Va-Va-Voom,” when referring to fast cars or beautiful girls. After “disarming” the Corvette, it becomes Meeker's new ride of choice. It is atypical to spotlight this car in a feature film. The sound department has taken liberties with the Corvette's six-cylinder standard exhaust note. Maybe suggesting Dennis had something to do with that.

Rodgers is reunited with her superior, Albert Dekker, who warns her to never open “The Box.” It sets up the bazaar and chilling twist that utilizes a horrifying sound effect like mankind's screams from hell when she opens the box. Most atypical. Meeker and Cooper escape the beach house's “atomic” fireball—sans a mushroom cloud—capping an implausible ending as they reach safety in the shore's knee-deep water. Mid-century moviegoers—tossed between bewilderment and fright—may not have been able to describe the film to a friend except to say they had not seen anything quite like it before.

Note: The mystery box, so tempting to Rodgers, contained an atom that had excess nuclear energy of a highly unstable Radionuclide. Its degree of harm would depend on the nature and extent of the radiation produced and the amount and nature of exposure. However, with suitable properties, radionuclides are today used in nuclear medicine for both diagnosis and treatment. The film alludes to it only as atomic, equating it to the currently trendy atomic bomb fear in numerous movies.

WIRETAPPER (1955)

 

Inspired by actual events, this eighty-minute crime biopic highlights the life of an extraordinary Army communications expert, Jim Vaus Jr. The film begins near the end of World War II and ends four years later. His four-year prison sentence for the theft of government electronic equipment is terminated with the war's end. As a citizen, he used his technical skills to install surveillance devices for the LAPD and Mickey Cohen’s syndicate, including a rigged parimutuel betting system invented by Vaus. Off-track betting was illegal back then.

Directed by Dick Ross, with a well-paced screenplay by John O'Dea based on Vaus' autobiography, Why I Quit Syndicated Crime, it was produced by World Wide Pictures, founded in 1951 by the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, and is, essentially, accurate storytelling. Nothing out of the ordinary in cinematography nor for a ubiquitous score composed by Ralph Carmichael, who would set the groundwork in contemporary Christian music during the next decade. His score for the horse-racing segments would better fit the opening of a collegiate football game broadcast.

The film is respectably acted, though no Golden Globe nominations were announced. Here, I use the Vaus name and not the actor who portrays him, Bill Williams. A "criminal casting call" was sent out to snag the usual suspects. B-movie regulars Douglas Kennedy joins the male lead ranks as a wealthy attorney with deep pockets into the mob, specifically Eric Roman, after a Cohen fashion. Paul Picerni is once again in the fold. Even Stanley "Bowery Boy" Clements works his way into the ranks. The least-known, Georgia Lee, as Vaus's wife, is the weaker acting link.  

Though Vaus is released early from prison, it results in a demotion from Captain to Private. His deception begins with letters of lies to his future bride about his combat service. Before arriving home, he buys retired service medals from a pawn shop to pin to his uniform. He is embarrassed by this decision. Soon running his own electronics business with a hit-and-miss profit, his services are requested at the home of Kennedy. While there, he is asked to also fix a lowly doorbell. Vaus accidentally discovers someone has planted a hidden mic in the attorney's home, and receives a “Franklin” to find out who. Vaus's easy money is suspiciously on the rise while his new marriage begins a rapid descent. Roman slides into the picture, placing Vaus under his thumb. During a "mobster roundtable," someone suggests that Vaus rig the track betting so they know the race winner before the results are posted. His wife's pleading starts to sink in, and he wants out of the syndicate; with this financial killing, it would set him up for life. Unknown to Roman or Kennedy, he partners with Clements. This is totally a bad idea. Clements never makes it to the finish line and is gunned down as soon as the gate drops. Even more disheartening is that Vaus is not present for the birth of his child. Another empty promise. 

Vaus is apprehended, knocked around a bit, and Kennedy gives him an ultimatum: one final job in St. Louis. Vaus drives his wife to the safety of her mother's home, where her young daughter awaits. Before his trip to Missouri with the "mobsy twins," Lee spots the Graham revival tent and is led to stop. He is reluctant. Bible passages and Graham's poignant words seem to be directed specifically toward Vaus. He tells his wife it is time to face the [Carmichael] music. At life's turning point, he is spiritually guided to accept Christ into his life, wiping away his criminal burdens to begin a new life. Mustering the courage to face Kennedy and Roman, he refuses to go with them and attempts to explain why. Roman is not convinced and pulls out a revolver where his wallet should be. It would be a tense final scene if you did not know Vaus devotes the rest of his life to Christian ministry. Sans bullet holes.

Note: Vaus went on to tour the country as an inspirational Christian speaker and started a youth ministry. Not comprehending the legitimate change in his life, the moment will likely seem a fantasy. The actual eight-week-long Los Angeles Crusade under a huge tent took place in 1949. During a later crusade, the viewer witnesses a high-energy Billy Graham in this film. The passionate young Graham may appear to be the clichéd “condemning preacher,” but he does not condemn nor judge. He simply understands the realities of eternity as addressed throughout the Bible. 

ROADBLOCK (1951)

RKO Radio Pictures provided a promising opening to this film noir. Character actor, Peter Brocco, witnesses the late-night shooting of Louis Jean Heydt by Charles McGraw. He is abducted by McGraw at gunpoint but swears not to mention it to the police. He cannot. He is on the lame for theft. He makes a deal to split his one hundred grand, kept in his late uncle's cemetery vault. As Brocco removes the floor tile, he first grabs a gun from underneath. McGraw's fist is introduced to Brocco, and to his shock, in walks Heydt. The two insurance investigators have just wrapped up another case. Just like that. Do not expect a lot of action after this. The film is bookended by this intriguing opening and an exciting, though predictable, closing. But you will witness something McGraw rarely gets to do. Smile.

We find McGraw awaiting a plane back to Los Angeles. With an air of sophistication, petite Joan Dixon, unable to afford a full-price single ticket, requests a husband/wife discount ticket. She chooses McGraw as her husband. He does not understand but likes the idea. A lot. The flight has to land short of their destination due to bad weather and both assess each other during the delay. She bluntly tells him they have no future together. Never misquote the Bible: money is not the root of all evil. It is the love of money. Just ask Dixon. Her demeanor suggests a teenager as she dreamily envisions her future, “I’m on a rocket ship to the moon” or “I’m going for the World Series.” McGraw looks puzzled. He cannot afford tickets to the World Series on his salary! This greatly bothers him and we learn his left brain is packed full of stupid. Now settle in for a lot of conversation until well past the halfway point.

The good news is, Dixon now wants to marry McGraw. He needs a lot of money and fast. And so it goes. He proposes a railway mail car robbery to underworld figure and Dixon’s former sugar daddy, Lowell Gilmore. McGraw’s inside knowledge of over a million-dollar cash shipment is the target. He wants Gilmore to stash his take inside a commercial-sized fire extinguisher and mail it to their mountainside honeymoon cabin offered to them by Heydt. I think most have mailed fire extinguishers at some point. To liven up his alibi honeymoon, he confesses his deal with Gilmore. The bad news, money is not as important as her new husband. D'oh! Dixon is ashamed of herself for how low McGraw has descended for her.

The robbery goes well except a railroad employee later dies from the mail car explosion. This, according to a police detective, Milburn Stone. The department tracks down the pilot of the seaplane used for the robbers’ getaway. He identifies one of the robbers. Methodically, the noose gets tighter around McGraw, who arranges to meet Gilmore with a plan to solve their predicament. Gilmore attempts to draw his gun but square-jaw McGraw gets the upper hand. The unconscious Gilmore is placed in his car before it goes over an embankment in flames. Predicament solved.

In a restaurant meeting, Heydt disappointingly explains McGraw’s slip-up. It was the extra fire extinguisher. He had just bought a new one for the cabin. D'oh! A beer bottle on the head temporarily slows Heydt, but soon he and Stone are racing to apprehend husband and wife as they predictably flee to Mexico via the classically famous and frequently used, Los Angeles riverbed, hydro-foiling across the water. It never seems like anything good comes from driving down there, but the low traffic volume made it simpler for a few directors during this era, to say nothing about it being unique. These closing chase scenes are the most memorable moments. The seventy-three-minute film ends with mixed feelings among the remaining cast as Dixon walks away amidst the Los Angeles smog.

Note: For any film buff, this film hardly deserves to be in an unknown category. McGraw's career never skipped a beat because of this film and a jumpstart with RKO's previous dandy, “Armored Car Robbery” or the later “The Narrow Margin.” His co-stars in this film did not burn up the screen, however. Gilmore’s weak character is not memorable. Dixon is rather one-dimensional in this, the most famous role of her short career.

THREE BLONDES IN HIS LIFE (1961)

This apparent single Golden Film Production—this poster is golden—surely struggled at the box office on its second weekend. The score is composed and conducted by Andre Brummer and His Dectet. A jazzy opening title song, written by him and Francis Turner, is performed by The Russo Brothers, giving an impression this is a lighthearted comedy. Tony Randall is not in this movie. Perhaps a fair warning the film should not be taken too seriously. Though overlong at eighty-six minutes, it seems longer.

Famous stuntman, Jock Mahoney, plays an insurance investigator, aka a private detective, who is hired to find out what happened to his company's missing operative in Los Angeles. This is his film, and he adds stability to the production. An airline ticket awaits from New York to Los Angeles aboard an American Airlines 707 Astrojet in classic red-orange lightning bolt livery: black and white film does not do it justice. According to his inner thought voice-overs, the only thing on the investigator's mind is the women he has encountered throughout his travels. Handsome Mahoney goes by the name of Duke. Of course. He is not easily ruffled with the confidence and swagger to take on anything or anyone. He dominates any room he is in. He joins forces with his Los Angeles contact, apple-addicted Jesse White. He is always eating or offering one. By the same token, we learn Mahoney's favorite alcoholic drink, either ordering one or being offered one. There is good chemistry between them, and White's distinct delivery and expressions help a very talkative script. Mahoney has been given the authority to fire White for his incompetence, yet he is still on the job by the film's end.

White picks up Mahoney at the airport in a convertible, which becomes one of the most faked, budget-strained prop cars I have seen in a film. No suggested car, windshield frame, or dashboard. Just two guys sitting in front of a camera with a steering wheel in front of rear-projected highway traffic. While “traveling” on a 4-lane freeway at speed—in between the obligatory horn honks—listen closely for the sparrows chirping as if the two were sitting in a quiet city park. 

There is so much explanatory dialogue by screenwriter and director Leon Chooluck that your auditory senses may shut down completely. Time is spent filming the principal cast members reading lengthy accident reports related to the case. Unless you are taking dictation, you may not keep things straight. Three blondes were involved with the missing investigator. When his cold body turns up, it becomes a murder case. Mahoney's first blonde interview, Elaine Edwards, the wife of the murdered detective, provides a backstory of major proportions. He is only able to stay awake because of her seduction attempts, yet she is "distraught" over her husband's recent demise. His second encounter, Valerie Porter, seems to have borrowed the same script. The silliest by far is Greta Thyssen (below) in an ostentatious, fire-retardant wig. The other identifying trademark is the use of Hollywood's stereotypical sultry saxophone every time she appears. She has a lot of “something more comfortable” to slip into with strategically placed mirrors in her bedroom.

Mahoney and White investigate the mountain cabin where Edward's husband was murdered, with assistance from a drowsy old sheriff and his Jeep. Back in town, adding the first bit of excitement is Mahoney's stunt work as he is "pushed" down a stairway headfirst by actor Anthony Dexter. Their later fight scene has Mahoney knocked to the floor on his back. As Dexter approaches, Mahoney sends him halfway across the room with his legs. Dexter is soon out of his element, and his stand-in takes over. From one stuntman to another, the energetic fight is well-choreographed, and they destroy the apartment. Police are called to the scene in a 1950 Nash traveling so fast in time that it transforms into a 1956 Ford at the scene. The film ends with another “exciting” reading of the official report in an attempt to wrap up the movie. 

Note: This appears to be a television pilot movie that every network rejected. Speaking of television, this film may be the only indirect reference to the then-popular Gerald “Kookie” Kookson, III of “77 Sunset Strip” television fame. With a wry smile, Mahoney questions a young “cool cat” parking attendant if he ever watches television. The hipster's reply indicates he is familiar with the show.

GET OUTTA TOWN! (1960)

There is a 99.99% chance you will not recognize anyone in this very late-to-the-party film noir offering. A cast of total unknowns with more television credits than films. Davis-Wilson Productions (Wilson, as in Doug Wilson) will also be unknown, as well as Sterling World Distributors. Not a problem. Though obviously lean on production values, the leads, especially Wilson, do not embarrass themselves and the dialogue is also lean with some snappy lines. This film is Wilson's baby, a self-produced film lending freedom without studio bigwigs butting in. At about an hour long, this is a decent (albeit 1950s material) film proving that low budgets can do wonders in the right hands. Few movies have a more appropriate title than this one. Everyone wants Wilson outta town. Even his mother.

Nothing like a jazz score and a good beatin’ in the dark to get your attention over the opening credits. With every punch, there is a trumpet blast. All that is missing are the superimposed graphic words, “Pow!” or “Blat!” Wilson’s face is a cross between an older Tim Allen and a younger Richard Boone. He walks like an ordinary guy, at times lazily tilting back and forth, side to side as if one leg is slightly shorter. He does a fine job here and might have made a good Philip Marlowe. Yet this was his last film, after only a few roles to his name. This "been-there-done-that" film hardly disappoints from an entertainment perspective, especially the scenes that may make your shoulders bounce up and down with laughter.

Told with a brief flashback, we find Wilson wondering what led up to his vicious, opening attack. He is back in Los Angeles to bury his crime-punk brother. He first encounters a disgruntled police officer, the prematurely balding Frank Hardy, whose facial expression gives a distinct impression smiling was never his thing. He hates the sight of Wilson and tells him to get outta town as quickly as possible. Wilson tries to explain that his three years in prison changed him, though he quickly realizes it is futile to continue flappin' his lips. Niceties are not exchanged. Hardy does not trust the former hoodlum. As Wilson moves on, he confirms to his partner that Wilson is “As rough as a stucco bathtub.” A great line, and point taken.

Wilson pays a visit to his former girlfriend, Jeanne Braid (above top), who does not believe in his transformation. She wants him outta town. Braid lets it slip his brother was probably murdered. Wilson sets out to avenge his brother's death one door at a time. When he is not knocking on doors, he is leaving a building, pausing to light a cigarette, and thinking about which direction to go next. This repeats a few times, and its frequency is amusing, like scenes that might precede a television commercial break.

Wilson reconnects with “Squirrel,” a nervous stoolie for a local gang. He is thrilled to see Wilson again, but you get the feeling “Squirrel” might rat on him just to keep in good with his boss. He takes Wilson out back to a secret door, loosely painted with a huge black “X.” How the cops have missed this is amazing. Looks like an “Our Gang” clubhouse entrance. He reunites with an old pal, who is also surprised to see Wilson. With another noir quip, he tells Wilson he had him figured for a “concrete kimona.” In the ranks is a guy who does not like Wilson simply because he does not know him. Even he is unfamiliar with the cast. He tries to remove Wilson with a screwdriver. Perhaps a Phillips-head. Wilson throttles the kid with the butt end of a loaded steel beer can then a fist to silence him. “Squirrel” goes nuts. Wilson is back!

After the flashback has expired, there are plenty of doors left to knock on as he reunites with Lee Kross and his wife, played by the blonde Marilyn O'Connor. She and Wilson have a past and he accepts her advances to find out the whole truth about Kross. He agrees to help Wilson find out about his brother, but first, oddly, he says he needs to change his shirt. What he had on looked perfectly acceptable to me. The ending wraps up very suddenly, with rapid-fire verbal exchanges between Wilson and Kross informing the viewer of the latter's backstory. He turns into a sniveling coward when reminded of his slim chance of surviving the syndicate. The police arrive to find Kross attempting to make a run for it. Hardy is not pleased that Wilson is still in town.

For the final time, with saxophone in support, Wilson exits a building, pauses, then decides to go right. By now, Braid has come to terms with his life's turnaround, and she rushes to join him in San Francisco.