ABANDONED (1949)

When I began my selected movie reviews in 2015, I never imagined I would comment on eight films starring the same actor. A record. Dennis O'Keefe had an authentic acting style and a knack for delivering charm and witty quips like few others. Using a few pseudonyms, he was also an under-the-radar screenwriter. From my perspective, O'Keefe hits all the right buttons in my B-movie world.

Distributed by Universal Pictures, this seventy-nine-minute film is a police versus crime melodrama like many others. But the subject matter sets this film apart. William Daniels' cinematography raises the bar, as does Joseph Newman's rapid pace directing. As per the era, camera filters transform daylight into nighttime. The film stars Dennis O'Keefe, Gale Storm and Jeff Chandler. O'Keefe appears to extend his character from the film Cover Up, of the same year, with his oft-used charming, witty characters. I would have liked more of a balance between this and his previous T-Men role. Storm restrains her typical bubbly light performances, while Chandler's periodic appearance as a no-nonsense police chief fits him. He also provides opening and periodic voice-over narration for a pseudo-documentary style as if ripped from actual cases. 

Storm inquires about her lost sister at the missing person's bureau at the city hall. Happening upon the scene is crack news reporter, O'Keefe, who overhears the conversation and charmingly offers his services to help her locate her sister, sensing a headline story or maybe hoping for a date. William Bowers' snappy dialogue has several characters delivering witty quips, but none more often or naturally than O'Keefe. He and Storm team up—after a fashion—and he is compelled to test some witty quips out on her. Expect an eventual "get to know each other" moment with small talk as they stake out a residence inside his sedan. Oh yeah...they like each other. 

Someone is tracking them and it sets up another set of clever dialogue. Raymond Burr is yanked from behind and the reporter lifts a revolver from Burr's coat and sarcastically states, "I know. You couldn't sleep so you just decided to take your gun out for a walk." The private eye's client has him also trying to find the sister's whereabouts. The three head for the city morgue and discover the sister is no longer missing, an assumed suicide victim. The sister's out-of-wedlock baby establishes the controversial crux of the film, a baby black market of illegal adoptions. Burr's client is society matron, Marjorie Rambeau, the despicable ring leader of a criminal crew, led by the menacing Will Kuluva. 

Under assumed names as a married couple, O'Keefe and Storm arrange the adoption of her niece with the two-faced Rambeau—suddenly all sweetness. She spends her off-hours distributing Bibles as cover for her operation. The anticipation of leaving the racket and a large payoff, Burr intercepts the transfer and Storm is given the baby and instructed to wait at the house until further notice. Burr is now up to his neck in Kuluva. Not being a very stealthy private detective, he is apprehended by the gangster and undergoes matchbook armpit torture to extract facts. A first (and last?) in film torture to my knowledge. Burr quickly becomes useless to Rambeau. With a knock at the room's door, Storm just opens it without asking who it is, assuming it is O'Keefe. Thus begins the climax, the only tense action in the film, with an implausible car crash and Universal International's gunshot sound effects. Narration closes the story with, "...This did happen in the city which may be your home."

Note: Some who discover this film more recently tend to be cynical about the production, impatiently finding it boring. Interestingly, the reviews closer to the release date are generally more favorable. Though mid-century film aspects are dated today, the acting and character development can stand the test of time. One should understand the historical era to give a fair assessment. 

RED LIGHT (1949)

George Raft is the successful owner of a large trucking firm. His bookkeeper, Raymond Burr, is sent packing on embezzlement accusations. The scene shifts to Burr and his fellow inmates watching a newsreel which includes highlights of Raft welcoming his young brother home from the war. Raft would seem to be more mayor than businessman to rate a newsreel feature. As the film's “reel of revenge” turns in Burr's mind, the projectionist, Henry (Harry) Morgan, is in the same frame of mind. The clipped, monotone dialogue between them is an unintended humorous exchange of two vengeful guys. Morgan was adept at playing disturbed, simple-minded individuals. Again, he is downright scary, here. Also typical of his early film career, Burr is cold-blooded. Embezzlement was nothing. Expect another hanging lamp over his shoulder in otherwise darkness. With nearly four years behind him, Morgan is due for prison release—on good behavior—and follows through with Burr's request. Kill a minister of the Gospel. Raft's brother.

This is a good example of a forgotten film noir in the waning months of a challenging decade. It is a solid endeavor with a flashback or two, unexpected twists at the end, and more than its share of assumptions. The cast is a no-fault affair of respected actors with a familiar Raft in a fedora pursuing personal justice. The film is based on the story by actor, Don "Red Ryder" Barry, "This Guy Gideon," with an underlying Biblical lesson about vengeance and who will ultimately administer it. The misleading change of title is understandable as few would buy a ticket if Raft was a Gideon Bible salesman. But not much thought seemed to go into it. The film is not about traffic violators in San Francisco, though the opening credits over a dark background are revealed to be the tunnel approaching the Golden Gate Bridge. I sort of get it. Red means stop. The eighty-three Minutes is competently directed and produced by Roy Del Ruth and distributed by United Artists. It possesses the quintessential harsh shadows and engaging camera angles of cinematographer Bert Glennon. Still, the film would lack a great deal of depth without the rolling thunder score by Dimitri Tiomkin. His pounding rhythm elevates the film several notches. His repeated motifs—some from an earlier composition—are appropriately applied with a subtle recurring adaption of Schubert's “Ave Maria.”

The final cryptic words to Raft from his brother, Arthur Franz, mention a Bible. Raft's assumed lead is to search the scriptures for a clue to the murderer's name. Rifling through the pages is a time-consuming waste of time for him. He prefers pounding the pavement in search of the Gideon Bible stolen from a particular hotel room. Burr, now also out from behind bars, wants bygones-be-bygones and seeks work with his previous employer. While there he overhears Raft's recounting his brother's last moments to his trusted employee, Gene Lockhart. Burr assumes he needs that book first. The middle of the film has Raft seeking his own revenge, interacting with an assortment of characters who had stayed in that particular room. The most fortuitous is Virginia Mayo, who agrees to help in his search though she soon tires of his lack of forthrightness. It is a pretty strong role for her and appropriately not ostentatious.

Raft's next lead takes him to Reno and is soon aware Morgan has tailed him. He sets up a sting with what looks like an indexed Bible and purposely leaves it unattended on a counter. Morgan takes the bait. At gunpoint, Raft ushers him off to the hotel room he shares with Burr. The murderer discovers it is nothing more than a cookbook. A brief tussle before Morgan escapes out the window, taking a bullet with him. Later on the train back to San Francisco, he tells Burr he is through with getting shot at. Burr understands. An uppercut knocks Morgan from the speeding train.

Mayo has found the specific Bible and points out to the myopic Raft that his brother simply wanted him to read what he had circled, Romans 12:19—his plea to not seek revenge along with a personal handwritten scribble for Raft. Cue the Ave Maria melody. It is the start of Raft's transformation. Burr, the elephant in the room, shows relief in his soft, boxy face. Imagine his surprise when face to face with the smoldering, bleeding Morgan, whose revenge is unsuccessful but proves that one may survive a header off a speeding train. Raft's rooftop neon company sign is the next staging area for the usual Hollywood chase upwards to nowhere. The viewer expects the obligatory death plunge by Burr, only bouncing a couple of times after hitting the pavement. But it becomes a science lesson that rain and electricity should not simultaneously come together. Fried Burr-ito.

Note: A particularly cruel and startling segment involves Raft's trusted employee, Lockhart, his trucking dispatch officer. It is a dark evening when he makes his way to his car. It will not start. The distributor wires have been cut. Burr is hiding in the shadows waiting for his moment. Lockhart is spooked and stumbles backward under a truck's trailer. Burr calmly approaches and kicks the jack away which is suspending the trailer. 

WALK A CROOKED MILE (1948)

This ninety-one-minute crime film noir pseudo-documentary was directed by Gordon Douglas for Edward Small Productions and released by Columbia Pictures. It is full of shadowy goodness by cinematographers Edward Colman and George Robinson with enough on-location shooting to put the viewer on the streets with the FBI. The film is enhanced by a fine screenplay by George Bruce from a story by Bertram Millhauser. The dependable Paul Sawtell provided the score. Be patient, as any real action does not arise until an hour has elapsed. The authoritative voice of actor, Reed Hadley, melodramatically barks out narration with all the seriousness he can muster throughout the film as if it were an exposé ripped from the headlines. There is a red menace but they are not from the planet Mars. The director is determined to keep the audience guessing a traitor’s identity.

This film makes it three in a row for Dennis O'Keefe, who was on a noir high, coming off two superior efforts, T-Men and Raw Deal. Here, he picks up from his T-man role but as an FBI special agent assigned to a top-secret project fleshing out a Communist spy ring that has infiltrated an atomic research plant. The plant's tight security is somewhat of a prison-inspired process where every worker passes by what is referred to as an “electronic eye” which can detect the minutia on a worker’s uniform. The same year of this film’s release, the first group of enormous Convair B-36 intercontinental bombers were delivered to the USAF as a “peace through strength” deterrent to Communist aggression. America’s threat was as real as it was imagined.

Scotland Yard sends over detective, Louis Hayward, to help the investigation and monitor a fellow countryman—not above suspicion—involved in the California project. O'Keefe and Hayward walk through their roles genuinely, effortlessly, as one would expect from professionals. The British have intel on a suspected spy who spends much of his time painting landscapes with stolen codes printed underneath the oils, only visible with ultraviolet light. It is London’s duty to confiscate them before they go any further. 

The FBI has set up an agent in an adjacent building to monitor the traitor’s tapped phone line. With cutting-edge technology, the agent makes an on-location recording of each conversation as the needle cuts a vinyl disk for later playback. O’Keefe likes what he hears and a delightful snippet of dialogue arises:

O’Keefe: Can you trace that call?

Agent: Eh, dialed telephone calls are tough.

O’Keefe: How long will it take?

Agent: The miraculous we do immediately. The impossible takes a few minutes longer.

O’Keefe: Good boy!

Alluding to the unthinkable, O’Keefe and Hayward suggest during a thoughtful repose, the real possibility that the person sitting next to another might be a Communist. Indeed, Communists were spying on America during the Eisenhower administration. O’Keefe makes a disheartening comment that the apparent dead-end investigation might not even “come out in the laundry” and Hayward, in a real eye-opener, links his comment to a local laundry service used by one research facility employee. Hayward becomes an undercover employee and soon spots Raymond Burr picking up a suspect package. Waiting in a darkened alley, O’Keefe knocks out Burr, taking the package back to the lab. The embroidered handkerchief reveals, after the correct chemical tests, another hidden code. Unfortunately, Hayward’s laundry cover is blown and Burr gives him a serious “Martinizing” at his apartment. Burr also returns a beating on O’Keefe when he arrives, then before departing, instructs two comrades to eliminate both of them. Hayward’s landlady, a Soviet defector, grabs at the revolver of one spy but is mortally wounded. Sawtell’s score kicks in big time as the four men duke it out. The scene ends quietly with the landlady at peace knowing she did her part in protecting America’s freedom.

What follows is an over-detailed consensus as the search narrows, all of which is a bit tedious. The viewer is provided license plate suspense with no relevance to the climax. The heroic duo centers their speculations around Louise Allbritton, the secretary to the head scientific doctor for the research center. She is grilled pretty hard based on their visual observation at the aforementioned laundry. She vehemently denies every accusation. In a bit of contrived staging, the FBI finally catch their Twentieth Century “Benedict Arnold” with humble apologies awaiting Allbritton. Hadley closes the film, assuring Americans they have an ally in Great Britain. That two countries together are better than one alone. That the FBI is better with Scotland Yard. That two actors are better...uh...you get the idea.

Note: Producers or screenplay writers of crime dramas were not shy about using the word "crooked" during this period. John Payne’s, “The Crooked Way” followed the next year with Mickey Rooney’s, “Drive a Crooked Road” coming just six years later. Crooked has found its way into a number of film titles since then.

BORDERLINE (1950)

There is not much of anything hard-hitting in this eighty-eight-minute crime noir-ette about narcotics smuggling. Directed by William Seiter with a decent screenplay by Devery Freeman, this Universal International-released B-movie eventually slipped between theater seats rather quickly. Fans of Claire Trevor or Fred MacMurray may be pleased, however. Fans of Raymond Burr, not so much, as his screen time carries less weight than he appears, playing a ruthless drug dealer in a widescreen suit. A music score by Hans Salter supports the film.

The opening establishes this extra-light comedy with Trevor slightly daft as per Madeline Kahn some twenty years later. Trevor’s character is “Madeleine” by the way. Policewoman Trevor is being ignored as the right undercover officer to infiltrate the drug-dealing gang. With her face framed in a “V” between two male sleeves, their superior thinks she is not tawdry enough. Glancing her direction, one guy thinks she would probably pass. Two seconds later, Trevor's expression reacts to the remark. Another makes it a point to mention she was in the OSS during the war and speaks “Mexican”---training she never uses throughout the film.

The film cuts to Mexico as Salter’s score decidedly adds a theme seemingly pulled from a music library shelf labeled, “Mexican.” Trevor arrives by dusty bus, walks into a cantina and in the very next frame, she is dancing in a chorus line! Their second assumed purposely humorous number, has all six girls displaying their training from the Lucy Ricardo School of Music and Dance. A number that could have used at least one run-through backstage. None are in sync with the melody nor the difficult lyrics of, 'la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la.' Sounding uncomfortably like barnyard chickens. Trevor seems especially out of her element. It is a funny scene. She tries, in a not-so-subtle fashion, to get Burr to make eye contact. After making several passes, at one point she kicks her left, then her right leg high on both sides of him. I imagine the breeze felt good in the stuffy nightclub.

Trevor is making inroads into Burr’s circle of noir-do-wells but all is interrupted when MacMurray enters the film with gun in hand, confronting Burr about a shipment of narcotics. He wants credit for the sale. There is a tussle, some gunpowder, and MacMurray absconds with Trevor, assuming she is part of Burr’s inner circle. Narcotics boss, Roy Roberts, arranges for them to pose as husband and wife as they head toward the borderline of a studio set. 

I could not accept Fred MacMurray as a hardened criminal as his first screen appearance might suggest. He does wear a frown most of the way, but I expected dry quips at any moment. The script lightens up and not surprisingly, so does MacMurray. Really no secret, thanks to the comedic music score. Avoiding the Mexican authorities, they ditch their strategically muddied car. Now on foot, there are shades of It Happened One Night or It's A Wonderful World as both share their phony background to hide their true identity. There are a lot of assumptions between them. The last ten minutes are worth the wait as big surprises await the leads. Other than the early tussle with the big Burr, the only real excitement comes in the last two minutes.

Note: This is purely an innocuous drama/comedy movie that happens to have respected leads. A film that starts promising and ends pleasant enough. Trevor had a flair for subtle comedy. MacMurray was no stranger to comedy, either. But as a memorable film noir crime saga, it is borderline at best. 

PITFALL (1948)

Opening in the suburbs of Los Angeles, Dick Powell is an insurance agent who is weary of his predictable life template. He and his wife, Jane Wyatt, trade humorous quips and verbal jabs in the early going as many couples might do. A son completes the family album. When he begins investigating an embezzlement case, this typical family man soon changes to a life of secrets and danger, and all humor is gradually abandoned. The plot of this B-movie suggests that the average family is not immune to a disruption of marital bliss. Powell flows through the film with ease.

Powell is to recover some expensive gifts given to Lizabeth Scott by her boyfriend embezzler who's serving time in prison. With no particular place to go, they end up spending the day on her studio prop speedboat gift, which becomes the catalyst for Hank Panky. Powell, in a business suit with a fedora that stays put without chin straps—the miracle of projected backscreen scenery. Scott falls into the Lauren Bacall category of actresses who are not classic beauties but have a niche appeal. I am not in that niche. Not sure if it was a speech impediment, an overbite from bad dental development, but her lip snarls on her right side and her pronounced “esses” are especially annoying when whispering. It does not strike me as attractive or sultry.

Raymond Burr is cast this time as a private detective working for Powell and the insurance company. True to form, however, one soon learns he is once again a bit psychotic with his obsession over Scott. In probably the largest suit in show business at the time, he tails Powell and pummels him good. Scott, wanting to help and knowing Powell’s home address, spots Wyatt at the door from curbside and yells, "I must have the wrong address." Awkward.

As the day of her jailbird lover's release from prison approaches, Scott fears for her safety. Powell is beginning to see the errors of his ways and longs for the days before he got involved with her. He has had enough of Burr as well and gives him a bit of his own medicine. Burr tells the jealous jailbird about him and he attempts to kill Powell in his darkened study. However, Powell permanently removes any chance of him ever serving additional prison time. Confident all competition has been eliminated, Burr expects Scott to go away with him. Instead, she puts him in the hospital.

Powell gives a full confession to the police department, but a tougher confession is forthcoming for Wyatt. She reluctantly gives him a second chance but is not sure their relationship will survive. No definitive outcomes are revealed, leaving it to the viewer’s speculation. At best, a shaky happy ending.

RAW DEAL (1948)

Anthony Mann directs another tough crime noir starring Dennis O’Keefe, a prisoner soon to break out unscathed. Claire Trevor is his contact once back on the streets. Her character is full of angst and self-obsession. She voices her inner thoughts throughout the film accompanied by the mental instability sound of a Theremin instrument. It gets more amusing with each use, finding it easy to substitute Madeline Kahn in the role. Front and center is O'Keefe's prison caseworker, Marsha Hunt. Aside from today's perceived unintentional humor, this film is hardly forgotten for the obvious first-rate production and one of the best crime roles of O'Keefe's career. It is another successful film noir from Edward Small Productions.

In the course of his late-night escape, O’Keefe stops at Hunt’s home. His break-out is not what she recommended and she attempts to call the police for his own protection. But he abducts her and, along with Trevor, the trio swaps cars and escapes a roadblock as expected. Trevor, insecurity personified, is jealous of Hunt and wants her removed however possible. At least not have her sit in the middle of the front seat.

Turns out, the escape was set up by mobster, Raymond Burr, and facilitated by Trevor. He figured O’Keefe would not escape successfully given the odds. Once again Burr plays a sadistic psycho, a despicable bully who is also terrified when told of the successful escape. He wants him taken-out so he does not part with the 50k due him. Burr decides to send his hired gun, John Ireland, in his place to finish him at the designated payoff location. The ensuing intense and believable fistfight does not go down in Ireland’s favor. Though Hunt carries a torch for O’Keefe, he knows his life is more suited with Trevor. Dang it. To keep Hunt safe from harm he sends her back to Los Angeles. But she is recognized by Ireland en route and brings her back to Burr as leverage. O’Keefe seems as ruthless as Burr in the beginning but Hunt’s persuasive nature softens him a bit as the film progresses.

Meanwhile, waiting for their ship to set sail for Mexico, Trevor answers a call from Burr’s mouthpiece who says that Hunt is in grave danger unless O’Keefe makes an appearance. Trevor, in another self-centered decision, lies about the call. O’Keefe is resigned to spending an “eternity” with Trevor, mumbling about what might have been. Her face silhouetted in shadows, "Miss Theremin" reminds us that he will always be thinking of Hunt and her inner thought audibly blurts out her name for O’Keefe to hear. Quicker than he can say “What is wrong with you, lady?!” he slices through a thick fog of thugs and bullets to confront "Big Burr." Burr is cordial. Sweating. In the darkness, after saying he is unarmed, shoots O’Keefe, who returns fire. A stumbling O’Keefe locates Hunt before Trevor arrives to finish out the film.

Note: This is an essential B-movie noir. Many in-depth reviews single out all the excellent work in this production. Here is a couple I have noted. Shots of Burr from a low vantage in his enormous suit present a good case for widescreen. The cinematography by John Alton, like in the image above, is very artistically done, and full of underlying meaning. The low budget is obvious at times with matte paintings or projection backgrounds, but it is balanced by more important location shoots. The film is not that predictable but several standard devices are used once again. I never understood the logic of holding a loaded gun on a driver when going through a police roadblock. The criminal is not going to attract attention by shooting. It is pure silliness.

DESPERATE (1947)

This strong film is another Anthony Mann early noir effort that includes great camera angles and lighting by cinematographer George E. Diskant. It arises from a story by Mann and Dorothy Atlas. It is a dandy display of characters with an intelligent screenplay by Harry Essex. This seventy-three-minute RKO Radio Pictures release was produced by Michael Kraike with the ever-present Paul Sawtell composing the score.

Steve “B-movie” Brodie, not his usual bad guy here, and Audrey Long play newlyweds, expecting their first child after four months of marriage. Brodie is an independent trucker who unexpectedly reconnects with a svelte Raymond Burr. He puts the "hood" in childhood friend. Burr is now a mobster with plans to smuggle illegal merchandise using Brodie and his truck but he wants no part of it even after taking a beating. The swinging overhead lamp, back and forth over Burr’s face will be memorable. Believable makeup for Brodie’s beating and swollen cheek should also be noted. Burr threatens the wife if he does not go through with it. This hardly ever happens in films. Burr’s kid brother was captured during the film's opening heist and is set to be executed for killing a cop. Burr turns a bit psycho because of it and wants Brodie to confess to the shooting. His life for his brother’s. Brodie manages to escape on his second attempt. The only thing on his mind is his wife’s safety.

Perhaps because of the film’s fast pace, script logic takes a back seat. The elusive couple quickly takes the next train out of town. Switches to a bus then steal a car. They are not sure where they are going nor does the audience have any idea where they are coming from. I could not figure where the story opens but guess Chicago. Maybe I missed something. Never mind the couple’s increasing back rent and their inability to stop mail delivery. The couple decides to head for Long’s aunt & uncle's Minnesota farm.

Meanwhile, the police attempt to apprehend Burr and his gang. Burr escapes with a gunshot wound that puts him out of circulation for two months. However, the hole in Burr’s stomach is smaller than any hole in this script. The trail seems impossibly cold then Burr’s cop-on-the-take checks Brodie’s unopened apartment mail. Specifically the one with a Minnesota return address. Burr is roughly a twelve-hour drive away, perhaps confirming his Chicago location. The farm no longer a safe haven, Brodie puts his wife on a bus for California while he deals with Burr. Guessing the climax time frame, Long may have only made it as far as Kansas City before being sent back to Chicago.

Note: The brief performance by Jason Robards, Sr. should not go unnoticed. He plays the laid-back, wise detective who is more often than not filing his nails nonchalantly when in conversation. His unflappable performance is fun to watch. When Brodie attempts to turn himself in, Robards sees his confession as just convenient lies. But he lets him go simply to track him and capture the entire gang. I would think it not an easy task judging by Brodie’s earlier elusive transportation behavior. But Robards pops up at every turn. He soon discovers Brodie is on the level and both want to end Burr's criminal career.