THE MOB (1951)

This Columbia Pictures release, directed by Robert Parish with an adapted screenplay by William Bowers, is first-rate from beginning to end. A compelling film about corruption, mental delusions, and atonement. Bower’s script bounces humorous quips from one character to another, as one might expect from a film noir of this caliber. Nearly everyone has a turn at them. The cinematography by Joseph Walker is rich with wet streets and dark, danger-filled shadows. The well-versed George Duning provided an effective music score, as well.

Police detective Broderick Crawford is duped by a mob killer carrying an authentic police badge who appears to be coming to the aid of a shooting victim. Crawford discovers too late that the victim was a key witness in an upcoming hearing. The police commissioner is livid and would like to punish Crawford for his halfhearted effort to double-check the true identity of the impostor/gunman. For news headline purposes only, accompanied by a fake picture, he is “suspended.” His real punishment is a death-defying undercover assignment to infiltrate a rough New York waterfront crime organization and bring down its kingpin. 

Needing to redeem his career, Crawford's acting allows him to fit right in as a tough, sarcastic, and unflappable thug from New Orleans. His noir quips are expelled effortlessly through his legendary lightning delivery. Also on the waterfront payroll is Richard Kiley. He and Crawford become pals. It does not take Kiley long, however, to frequently question why Crawford is so interested in what goes on. Crawford drops a few key names that get the attention of a Union thug, Ernest Borgnine. Neville Brand, nearly approaching a typecast level in his career, is again playing a henchman. This time, not the psychotic “Chester” from D.O.A. but a gunman with the wherewithal to also deliver a few great quips of his own at Crawford's expense.

Local bartender Matt Crowley seems to know a lot about what goes on around the waterfront. For a fee. After frequent encounters, he feels Crawford can be trusted enough to set up a meeting with Blackie, the kingpin. The police put a tracking device under Crowley’s car, about the size of a carry-on suitcase. Also installed is an equally sized tank that cleverly drips fluorescent dye on the road so the police can tail the car at night using an infrared spotlight. Cool. Except they did not figure a city street sweeper would turn onto their street a few blocks ahead of them. Just one of the many clever twists in this film you will not expect.

Blackie wants Crawford to do him a favor. Kill the suspended police officer seen in the newspaper. In a twist to end all twists, Crawford is hired to do a hit on himself. Blackie has kidnapped Crawford’s girlfriend, Betty Buehler, to use as a pawn to flesh out her boyfriend, who stands before him. Twisted. When she and Crawford meet, their roles are played as effectively as possible. The detective kicks a lamp over, but in total darkness Blackie escapes with a minor gunshot wound. A hospital setting ends the film, where Buehler and Blackie are recovering. Blackie enters at gunpoint and closes the window curtain. A "nurse" enters to check on Buehler and to open the curtain for more light. From an adjacent building, the police have a clear shot through the window.

Note: From numerous twists, there is a humorous one when Kiley sets up a blind date with Crawford to find out what his game is by using his sister, Lynn Baggett, to pump him for information. Crawford immediately hooks up with Kiley’s wife, played by Jean Alexander, the more attractive of the two. It seems no one wants to be with the sister. Especially Kiley, who protests. He says there is nothing wrong with Doris. “Why can’t he like Doris?!” The sister quickly adds, “Why can’t somebody?” After numerous teasing lines between Baggett and Crawford, the sister turns to her brother, “Well, say something to me.” Kiley hesitates, then awkwardly replies, “Oh...uh..how ya’ been?”

MOHAWK (1956)

There are enough embarrassing movies to do a very long film festival, but this film ranks—in the literal sense—fairly high. The film is often categorized as a Western, but it is really an "Eastern." This eighty-minute film was distributed by 20th Century Fox. Beyond the obvious Hollywood sets foreshadowing television's Bonanza are outdoor sequences from 1939’s Drums Along the Mohawk, which add the only gravitas to the film. The actors mostly justify their salaries, so it is not entirely their fault. Most of my arrows are aimed at the screenwriter, Maurice Geraghty, and director Kurt Neumann. The film is produced by Edward L. Alperson, who also wrote the music, after a fashion. The B-movie casting net was not very wide, relying on the popular Scott Brady, Neville Brand, Ted de Corsia, Allison Hayes, John Hoyt, Rita Gam, and Lori Nelson. All destined for television notoriety. Unintentionally funny can bring the house or teepee down. It is easy to imagine Mel Brooks remaking this film.

Brady plays an 18th-century Casanova painter from Boston looking for subjects and action in early America. Quoting King Richard from The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), after Robin stops a group of horsemen (the gallivanting King's entourage) but does not recognize him, he asks if he is loyal to the King. With tongue-in-cheek, he states, "I love no man better." So it goes for Brady. The local tavern waitress at the military fort is a red-headed Hayes, his favorite model to add "flavor" to his landscapes. Never mind that visiting Nelson is his fiancée. Captain Kirk should be so lucky. Gam had a European facial structure (being born in Pittsburgh), so naturally, she plays a beautiful Native American. Aside from his premixed paints in pig’s bladders, she becomes Brady's main squeeze. The Iroquois appear to be Wall Street businessmen or taxi drivers, and the actor playing de Corsia's teenage son came directly from the set of Rebel Without A Cause. "Hateful Hoyt" deceptively seeks to generate war between the Continental Army and the Indians, ridding the Mohawk Valley of all bad haircuts, leaving the land all to himself. Brand is cast as the only member of the little-known sub-tribe, the "Irritated Iroquois," and is suspicious of the “white paint man.” His tirade against de Corsia's tribe, nearly an hour into the film, is pretty embarrassing. Scenes will have you laughing or groaning.

An excellent print of this film will be sharp and clear with vibrant colors. To an unrealistic level.

The set designers were apparently going through their blue-violet-lavender period. It is overwhelming at times. Case in point: for those familiar with his myriad of gangster and Western villain roles, de Corsia—the "Chief Mohawkster" above—is visually hilarious with his spectacular mohawk and two-week-dead, violet-brown makeup. He looks quite healthy inside his teepee, but once he steps out onto the studio set, aka outdoors, "he goes" very dark.

His monotone Iroquois dialect is not believable, either. One studio set (above, bottom) may remind one of the color palette in a Maxfield Parrish painting. The Indians sitting around the fire, the "Mohawk Singers," are singing a melodic chant in professional mixed four-part harmony. They should tour more often.

Perhaps in an effort to save the film from a total disaster, there is a climactic, rifle-blasting finale battle at the army fort with the Indians. Hoyt finally gets his wish and his due. In the end, we learn little of early American history, or authentic painting, except that oil paints travel well in saddlebags. The flammable turpentine to clean the brushes is totally ignored.

Note: The credits are dealt with uniquely, suggesting a documentary. The red, modern font text on a black background introduces the film as "A Legend of the Iroquois..." and the film ends with the actors' credits, "...and these were the players of the legend," showing a clip of each actor with their character name.