HOODLUM EMPIRE (1952)

This ninety-eight-minute “noirette” is directed by Joseph Kane and produced by Herbert J. Yates, founder of Republic Pictures, known for his many Westerns. There is an opening score by Nathan Scott—father of legendary saxophonist and composer Tom Scott—that sets a dramatic tone for the film. The word “hoodlum” is in the title, but this is not an action film. It is another entry inspired by the Kefauver Committee, a special committee of the United States Senate (1950-51) that investigated organized crime with Senate hearings, displayed as usual in a semi-documentary style. Overall, there is nothing new here and much of it clichéd. A strong performance by Luther Adler elevates the film.

Flashbacks can be appropriate or annoying, seen as a crutch to help a weak script's flow. But the frequent flashbacks here are imperative with the obvious benefit of shortening a boring Senate hearing. Though the first one may stretch your patience, each establishes facts about the past from first-hand knowledge. Facts that run contrary to two gangsters' testimonies. Giving a near-over-the-top performance during the hearings is one Senator, played by the bulldog-faced Gene Lockhart, whose angry response to the evasive answers received from the mob boss even made my face red.

The other positives are respectable performances by the central cast of John Russell, Brian Donlevy, Claire Trevor, and Forrest Tucker, with Vera Ralston, the real-life Mrs. Yates, holding her own away from the ice rink. After his uncredited roles in the 1940s, Russell somewhat split his early screen time between bad and good guy roles. His dangerously handsome looks—eyes as slits and the occasional angry furrowed V-brow—worked well for shady characters. He handles this role well, with a diverse range of restrained emotions. Trevor is once again a wisecracking third wheel in a losing romantic triangle between her former gangster boyfriend, Russell, and Ralston, a French woman he fell for overseas. Russell had his life's priorities immeasurably altered by his combat experiences. He is now engaged to be married and wants nothing more to do with the gambling racket.

Adler is accustomed to playing underworld figures and flawlessly sells the character of an iron-fisted mob boss who thinks he is invincible. He is also the uncle who raised Russell, putting the "hood" in childhood—the best uncle you could imagine as long as he gets his way. His mood swings can be sudden and violent. Just as ruthless is the tall Tucker, his gunman with zero sanctity for life. Unknown to Adler, Trevor secretly records his meetings from another office. That does not go over so well during the violent climax. In an underhanded move to keep Russell on the payroll, Adler forges Russell's name to every racketeering operation, clouding efforts to clear himself. Also not letting go is Donley, Russell's former commanding officer, now the lead Senator of the hearings. Wounded and under anesthesia, Russell deliriously blurts out some associated crime tidbits which is overheard by Donlevy in the Army's medical tent in the first flashback. His assumptions plague Russell throughout the film.

Time flies when not being flashbacked: Russell and his wife now have two children and his gas station business is thriving. But the mob attempts to force two one-arm-bandit machines inside the station's waiting room. Russell's old Army buddy and station partner, Phillip Pine, refuses the “offer” then takes a beating before Russell and two other vets return. One fist at a time, they dispense with the mob goons and throw the machines to the pavement. Adler is not pleased and later visits Russell at his home. The reunion niceties are short-lived. He quietly, almost sweetly, threatens Russell's entire family while standing over their newborn's crib. Ralston's flashback confirms his visit, which he denied under oath. The truth wins out and Donlevy's public apology for his mistreatment and skepticism about Russell rapidly ends the film with an elevated camera view of the Senate room.

THE MIAMI STORY (1954)

Columbia Pictures distributed this Clover Production noir crime film. It is a classic example of cliches and dated technology that is now humorous. Directed by Fred Sears with a story and screenplay by Robert Kent, it features a less-than-convincing introduction by Florida's then-Senator, George Smathers. He assures us that Miami has finally cleaned out the mobsters. With the actual Kefauver Senate hearings as inspiration, these docu-style crime films, with melodramatic narration, typically tell of a crime wave in a big, out-of-control city and how the crime is throttled. There are not many surprises to this oft-told gangster tale, including the unlikely way this “clean-up” actually happens. There is a mix of studio sets and some location filming for automobile buffs. You will need your suspended disbelief seat belt cinched tight, though. Fortunately, the cast saves this film from being a total disappointment. The film perks up with Barry Sullivan's first appearance.

A former Chicago gangster and now widower, Sullivan, has spent over a decade under an alias with his young son on a Midwest farm. Sullivan's former attorney, with the help of local businessmen, devises a plan to lure him out of hiding, as he is their only hope of putting the mob boss before a grand jury. Yes. He was quite a gangster. Sullivan is angry that a fake news headline purports he is back in Miami on “business.” He resists all pleas for his help until he learns that it was the mob boss, Luther Adler, who framed him for his prison term for murder. Sullivan is now committed to the plan, live or die, possibly leaving his son to review adoption papers. He is given unlimited resources and authority to do whatever it takes as local law enforcement awaits his every command in a far-fetched scenario. After twelve years of cultivating, he has not lost the gangster touch.

Not wasting any time, Sullivan confronts Adler's authority, threatening to shut him out with his own Cuban-enforced crime “family.” Adler is quite convincing in this role, uncompromising with a Teflon record. A bitter pawn of his and a wee past her prime is Adele Jergens, who looks the clichéd part. Appearing to be carrying an extra fifteen puffy pounds, I think when she is angry—which is most of the time—she eats. Which she loathes. Which in turn makes her eat. John Baer is the handsome, cold-blooded killer and right-hand man to Adler. His opening scene is also far-fetched as he shoots, from a great distance, two rival Cubans exiting an airliner. The gun is hidden inside a piece of carry-on luggage and equipped with a pop-up sight. Suspended disbelief (SD) takes center stage as the crowd never hears the two shots. Some may have assumed it was coming from a grassy knoll. Previously exiting was Beverly Garland, who now fears for her own life. The deceased were friends of hers.

In about the only real noir scene, Sullivan returns late to his apartment to find a seated female, whose face is in the shadows, pointing a gun in his direction. She seems cool. Calculating. Dangerous. How Garland got the gun or access to his apartment, we do not know. But you know what is about to happen. Sullivan overpowers her with an authentic gangster backhand, enhanced by twelve years of doing the same to a stray cow. Garland's subsequent sobbing is a bit much as it drags on. She is not sobbing for the backhand so much as her frustration to find out what is going on and where her dear sister is. They become sort of a team to get Adler, although she is not sure Sullivan is leveling with her. To his advantage, he finds out her sister is Jergens. When the sisters meet after a long absence, the hugs and kisses are soon replaced by Jergens' self-loathing and vile remarks to her baby sister. She wants something to eat. The dear rotten sister betrays her with Adler's muscle, putting Garland in the hospital after a vicious beating.

Sullivan is about to put the screws to Adler when he spots an actual newspaper headline that his son has been kidnapped. It is Adler's retaliation for the authorities shutting down his illegal gambling house. Sullivan backs off the threats in order to save his son and agrees to reopen the casino. Speaking of far-fetched, he then orders the police to place forty-pound hidden cameras inside the casino before it reopens. Ironically, hidden in the exact location of the film's studio cameras. Exactly where the action will take place. The clarity of the feed on the four-inch remote monitors in the nearby bushes is of extraordinary quality. Maybe give another tug on your SD seat belt.

After a slow-motion boat chase, of sorts, in a cove between the police and Adler's yacht, Senator Smathers is pleased with the film's outcome. Miami is finally safe for the whole family. He ain't seen nothin' yet. In a rather abrupt and slightly humorous narrated closing scene, father and son are duck hunting, reminiscent of their first scene. Our narrator wraps up the film like an old travelogue film as Garland is standing by her new stepson, each in matching plaid coats. Garland came to visit and never left. All part of Sullivan's master plan.