THE STREET WITH NO NAME (1948)

This notable and hardly unknown film from Twentieth Century Fox was adapted from actual FBI files. Though you may never notice, some roles were played by the actual personnel involved. It was photographed in the original locale whenever possible, albeit in fictitious “Center City.” The documentary style is typical of the era, with amazing revelations of the highly technical procedures used to catch criminals. An oft-parodied melodramatic narrator keeps us informed in case we cannot fully grasp what we are seeing. Yes, it was a long time ago.

Though Mark Stevens gets top billing, it is Richard Widmark's film. Stevens is excellent and believable, but Widmark extinguishes any flame that might have been erupting from the former. Widmark plays an underworld kingpin with an addiction, of sorts, to nasal inhalers and suspicion of drafts from open windows. Only bad guys have nasal congestion, apparently. Add Lloyd Nolan, John McIntire, and Ed Begley into the mix, and you have a solid acting troupe. The screenplay includes no lulls in the action and the film is satisfying from beginning to end. A ninety-minute lesson on how to do film noir, thanks in big part to William Keighley's direction.

After a holdup at a nightclub ends in a murder, the FBI, headed by Inspector Nolan, meets with the Police Chief, Begley, and Police Commissioner, Howard Smith, to put a stop to the current crime wave. Nolan is introduced to an undercover agent, Stevens, whose assignment is to infiltrate the gang responsible. He is set up in a hotel room across the street from a fellow agent, McIntire, who will be his eyes and ears. Using an alias, Stevens causes enough prearranged trouble to get the attention of Widmark, who subsequently has Stevens' social security card stolen. With the aid of a corrupt official, it is his system to uncover someone's background. Widmark likes what he finds and enlists Stevens for his next big heist. Right before the heist is to take place, however, Widmark gets a call from his informant that the FBI knows all about it. 

It is a pretty exciting ending after fingerprints from Widmark's gun are identified and his FBI informant spills the beans. On Widmark's plan, the police arrive at a prearranged warehouse robbery with instructions to kill the identified Stevens. A case of mistaken identity kills one gang member, and to the kingpin's surprise, all guns are instructed to fire in his direction. The dirty police official feels pretty smug, assuming he has tied up all loose ends. The truth shall not set him free. 

Note: There is a great scene done without a stitch of supporting music. Stevens needs evidence from Widmark's gun to help convict him. Under noir, he returns to the gang's hideout, the basement over Widmark's boxer training gym. Widmark arrives and is suspicious of light in the lower level. In his retreat, Stevens glances against a boxer's punching bag, and the chain creaking is the only sound heard as Widmark silently investigates.

THE DARK CORNER (1946)

It is hard to find flaws in this quintessential film-noir directed by Henry Hathaway. The opening theme may sound familiar. "Manhattan Melody" was used for many New York films of the Forties. Hats off to the sometimes witty and sharp, cutting dialogue by screenwriters Schoenfeld and Dratler, based on a story in Good Housekeeping by Leo Rosten. The cinematography by Joseph MacDonald is a textbook example of film noir. He puts the noir in film noir. A clever example is when we see William Bendix, in a white suit, juxtaposed with Mark Stevens' dark silhouette in an adjoining room, as if in a split-screen or a positive-negative effect. It also suggests that men who wear white are not necessarily the good guys. Not a big success during its first run but it has gained high praise in hindsight.

As a private investigator, Mark Stevens is a falsely accused ex-con trying to run a legitimate private investigator business. His character is on edge most of the film, disgruntled by an undeserved prison term. It is easy to figure out Stevens’ career potential, here billed as "the new tough guy." He is not a fan of compromising when he should be and he delivers a strong performance. He was on everyone’s radar after this film, catapulting him from "under the radar" roles at Warner Bros. Fred MacMurray, originally set to star, would not have pulled off the pint-up anger and edginess of Stevens, also in hindsight. Yet Stevens never made the A-list. Lucille Ball is somewhat the female equivalent in films. She is his newly hired secretary and best ally. They hit it off right from the start. Ball got lost at Twentieth Century Fox during this period competing with similar actresses with not enough uniqueness to draw attention. The new medium of television was around another corner where she will completely obliterate these roles and never look back.

Stevens is being tailed by William Bendix. After a brutal confrontation, Bendix falsely confesses he is working for Kurt Krueger, Stevens’ former partner and corrupt lawyer who set him up for prison. Stevens, with Ball’s help, attempts to uncover what appears to be Krueger setting up Stevens for another fall. But Bendix is in cahoots with Clifton Webb, a wealthy art gallery owner. Webb knows his pretty wife prefers the younger Krueger and his possessive nature will not let him share any of his valuable works of art. Whether inanimate or not.

Webb suggests that Bendix plan an unannounced visit at Stevens' office and also talks Krueger into seeing Stevens the same night. After a brief struggle, Bendix gives Stevens his ether handkerchief, then murders the next person expected through the door, Krueger. The frame is set for the unconscious Stevens. Rather than pay off Bendix, Webb dispenses with him for his screen finale. It would appear Webb has tied up all the loose ends. Stevens starts putting two and three together and confronts Webb at his gallery. The condescending Webb is in for a big surprise.

Note: The film ends on a lighter note. While Stevens is being cleared of any wrongdoing at the gallery, two Brooklyn cops contemplate a Donatello statue. Not a word from either for quite a while until the first officer wonders, “Imagine anyone in their right mind ever buying a piece of junk like that?” His partner, lacking any sophistication replies in a Brooklyn gravel voice, “Shoeuh they do. That is ahht.”

TIMETABLE (1956)

Arguably, this may be the best mid-century film of Mark Stevens’ career. His character is believable and, with only a few of his directorial details going amok, is a highly-rated B-movie. One of those details is the film opening to the relaxing sounds of an acoustic guitar more befitting a Western or foreign film. Yet there is a train's headlight coming at you. Abruptly, there is the sound of a sliding iron door slamming shut with a single music chord as the title graphic explodes on the screen. Then back to the guitar, then a full orchestra. That is editing worth looking into. The train sequences are the strongest part of the film, though, laying out the slick, detailed con. Indicative of the era, the ending chase is too long, especially knowing the errant characters are doomed. There are only so many flights of stairs to nowhere or alleys to run down. 

Wesley Addy, playing a bespectacled doctor without a license to practice, was busy on television with a few movies—Kiss Me Deadly, perhaps his most famous project—is only in two scenes, but his smooth, calming, and authoritarian delivery belies his devious persona. When asked by a steward to check on a sick passenger, his diagnosis is that of a phony case of polio, and the train must stop short of the scheduled destination. Due to the severity of the illness, he must have access to his medical bag in another car. His bag comes equipped with a gun for house calls. At gunpoint, he subdues the baggage personnel with a hypo, opens the safe, and keeps the loot. An ambulance is arranged for the doctor, the patient, and his wife. Everyone who debarks is part of an elaborate heist orchestrated by Stevens.

Stevens’ character, as an insurance investigator, is specifically requested to investigate the crime for the company, throwing a wrench into his timetable. Joining him in the investigation is railroad investigator King Calder, above. Practically unknown to moviegoers yet busy during the early years of television, he is excellent and so genuine that one would think he really is an investigator. He has no awareness of studio cameras right in front of him. He simply inhabits the part. He and Stevens have a long working relationship. Calder is convinced there is no such thing as a perfect crime, and he slowly unravels the crime one blackboard, one eraser, and one person at a time. 

True to Calder’s belief, the mastermind’s perfect timetable is again disrupted when he meets up with his reason for the money, Felicia Farr, Addy’s on-screen wife. The money is now in the husband's possession, and the couple makes their pre-planned Mexican escape. She squeaks by with the money and her life. He escapes with neither. With Steven's murder of a key witness and conspirator, Calder tells him the case appears to be a dead end. He suggests Stevens and his wife finally take that Mexican vacation they have talked so much about. Stevens is thinking, “Wife? Whose wife?!” 

There is a nice twist involving Stevens’ briefcase with the stolen money.  As a surprise joke, his wife has a key made for the case, substituting fishing lines and travel magazines for his “work papers.” His briefcase was a surprise to her as well. Doing the right thing, she sends the loot to his insurance company. Their relationship instantly turns south of the border. While Stevens hyperventilates, he leaves for good. Calder pays the wife a visit and she reluctantly reveals her husband's lack of clock management skills. 

Note: Stevens’ directing is not faultless. One detail that is not even questioned is that Stevens tries to convince Calder that the key witness's murder was a suicide. Except he was shot in the side. A slow suicide at best. Secondly, the script uses aliases for the thieves in the opening heist. With no lines or screen appearance, the fake patient’s name is not mentioned until later as the investigation unravels. When his name is mentioned, one might wonder who they are talking about. Thirdly, Stevens could have shaved minutes by cutting the set of “hot news” segments, interviewing those accosted during the robbery. A single-chord music cue gives each more credence than it deserves. The scenes serve no purpose.

CRY VENGEANCE (1954)

Few films of any era are centered in Ketchikan, Alaska. There is not much noir with the location, one reason the film just does not excite. There are no night scenes and barely a shadow cast, except on the poster. By the mid-fifties film noir was getting stale, often using recycled scripts. This film is a good example.

Mark Stevens stars and directs this familiar story about a vengeful San Francisco ex-cop who loses his wife and daughter in a bomb explosion. Being framed for the deaths and spending three years in prison makes him self-obsessed. His face is disfigured in one of the most startling and poorly executed Hollywood make-up jobs, perhaps better executed by any high school drama production. No, that is not an alien leach on his jaw. I would see a cancer specialist. Right away.

The film also stars Douglas Kennedy, the hoodlum on Steven’s revenge list who he believes is responsible for destroying his life. Kennedy is assuming a new life with his young daughter. When they meet, Kennedy tries to reason with him but Stevens goes a bit psychotic talking about how Kennedy is going to suffer.

Adding a bit of scenery to the gray landscape is Frontier Tavern owner, Martha Hyer, the calm and level-headed equalizer for the disturbed Stevens. In one interior scene, she wears an out-of-place spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress while on duty in the rustic, wooden tavern. Ahh...summer in Ketchikan. She and Kennedy are close but she becomes more attracted to Stevens and soon understands why he is in Alaska.

But the showstopper is the unhinged hitman, Skip Homeier, and his bleached white hair, black, thick-rimmed glasses, and bow tie. Pee-Wee Herman’s evil brother. Three minutes into the film he makes a bad impression on Stevens and the audience. His smart-aleck, condescending tone deserves a fist in the face. Pretty visually funny when he slowly pops up in the backseat of Kennedy’s studio prop car. For his amusement, Homeier "skips" a stone across a lake after killing Kennedy in cold blood.

The dialogue is mundane, and lacks snap, except for one brief scene when Joan Vohs, Homeier’s "lush-friend," shows up at the tavern to warn Stevens. She asks the bartender for a drink unfamiliar to Alaskans. A screwdriver. Puzzled, the bartender asks, “Somethin’ loose?” She replies, “Comedy, yet...you drink it, Hyrum!” "The name’s Rusty." "So’s your sense of humor." She eventually returns to Homeier’s room. Sick of seeing her drunk again, his remedy is for her to take one bullet and not see him in the morning.

Knowing nothing of Kennedy’s demise, Stevens’ plan to kidnap his daughter as payback quickly disintegrates. With child-like acceptance, she is glad to see him again and kisses him on the leach side of his face. She asks Stevens to return the kiss like her daddy does. This nearly crushes him. A rather touching and pivotal scene of surrender.

After a slow, mountain car chase, more dusty than exciting, Stevens finally catches Homeier, his real target, on top of a dam. Homeier oddly points his gun down, and to the right, getting off two shots. Nearly hitting the dam. Some hitman! Stevens’ directing took a more direct hit. Stevens’ aim is truer and Homeier stumbles. Cleared of any wrongdoing, morose Stevens returns to San Francisco but leaves the viewer open to the possibility he might return someday (yawn) to start a new family with Hyer and Kennedy’s little girl.