THE RESTLESS BREED (1957)

This is the final Western from director Allan Dwan, known for many "oaters." It is also my first Western added to this blog after a decade considering a pre-1960 Western that is not typical fare. My "first draw" to this particular Western was Scott Brady. With a long career as a famous leading and supporting player, he can usually elevate B-movies. Unlike most Westerns of the era, the film opens oddly (uniquely?) with a black background behind a glowing red modern font of credits accompanied by a contemporary music score by Edward L. Alperson Jr. The result creates an impression more attuned to a low-budget horror film by William Castle. The opening music somewhat foretells Brady's own television Western, Shotgun Slade, with its atypical jazz score. 

The Restless Breed is distributed by 20th Century Fox. The Pathécolor tinting is of questionable quality in a film that utilizes bluish (night) studio sets along with location filming. Set in 1865, the story is written by Steve Fisher. The film's main stars are Scott Brady, Anne Bancroft, and Rhys Williams, along with a few familiar B-movie character actors. Fine performances all around. Be prepared for some unnecessary and disruptive two-second edits that return the viewer to another location during a break in the conversation. There is an overabundance of character eavesdropping, too, but it is not intended to be humorous.

A lawyer with a temper, Brady opens the film as it confirms his father, a Secret Service Agent, has been murdered. The incident is told in a brief flashback that has true spoiler-alert credentials. He accepts his father's revolver but not the badge. Bent on revenge, he goes to the town where the murder took place, a Texas-Mexico border town overrun by the typical gang of outlaws. After a self-defensive shooting of two town bullies, everyone thinks he is their latest gunslinger.

There appears to be a significant role for Scott Marlowe yet he is irrelevant until near the movie's end. The young Marlowe pops up throughout the film lurking nervously against storefront posts, in alleys, or peeping through a broken section of a saloon window. His every appearance proves he does not have the nerve to shoot down Brady. This eavesdropper reports to Leo Gordon, one in the gang of gun-runners, whose boss is Jim Davis.

Williams is quite the eavesdropper, himself. These "advanced notifications" make him wise beyond his understanding. He is perceived as the only sensibility factor in town, benefitted by dressing in black like a minister. When pressed by Brady, however, he admits to the impersonation. Only his word should be taken as gospel. The tunnel-visioned Williams deems his good intentions are best for the whole town. His soft-spoken demeanor always wins out. It is hard to argue with a man who initiated a children's shelter of unwanted half-breeds. The oldest being Bancroft. Williams becomes much more "hard-spoken" when she becomes enamored with Brady. Always ready to make demands, she must stay away from that no good gunslinging [though handsome] criminal.

All the town's previous sheriffs have been murdered soon after taking office. Brady himself survives numerous assassination attempts but the gang's numbers only dwindle. Beware of a hot-headed lawyer with a gun. Williams finally gets the facts about Brady and nearly apologizes. The murderer arrives back in town with a few of his henchmen. We learn of Marlowe's small part in the murder, then he disappears from the film. We can only assume he still lurks. Everyone supposed to be dead is now dead and Williams supports the Brady-Bancroft union.

Note: I could not pinpoint the restless breed. It could be Brady, out for revenge. The contraband gang is quite restless. Perhaps it is Bancroft, wanting to break out of a children's shelter. Perhaps it is all three or the town itself. It could be the four producers of the film.

THE THREAT (1949)

The film opens dramatically during a night prison break and a constant barrage of machine guns blazing willy-nilly hoping the guards might hit something moving other than the opening credits. It is an attention-grabbing scene often used during this era. All of which is unknown to detective Michael O'Shea, recuperating at home from a broken rib. A phone call from the police inspector, Robert Shayne, informs him about the breakout of a notorious homicidal criminal, who had sworn to kill those who placed him behind bars. O'Shea, being number one. Rather than obey his wife's wishes, he goes into action without a single grimace from that rib injury. But before he can even start his patrol car, he is kidnapped by the cold-blooded killer. Few films start out so compelling. That cannot be said of the ending.

Typical of O'Shea's B-movies, one would never call him truly tough, especially when compared to Charles McGraw, in another evil role. With gasoline prices hovering around thirty cents per gallon, the criminal trio is happy to burn the police car's tank as they make the rounds delivering “death warrants” on a District Attorney and nightclub singer, Virginia Grey, in a familiar role at odds with a man who thinks she squealed on him. Like many in today's films, it is another criminal who does not comprehend why he spent time behind bars in the first place, preferring to blame others for his despicable lifestyle.

Known only by McGraw's alias, an unsuspecting Don McQuire is hired to pick up a load in his moving van at a designated location. He gets a bit suspicious after seeing what is loaded into his van: a police car. This weighs heavily on McGuire's conscience. The van is later abandoned and unloaded, and he tries to beg off and return with his van. But all seven end up at a dilapidated shack in the desert, thus beginning the brief slow down in the film. Suspended disbelief is needed when they enter the dusty, cobweb-infested shack that appears to have not been inhabited for twenty years. McGraw growls out a command for Grey to make some sandwiches. Pretty amazing she could find anything eatable—certainly nothing to spread on or meat to place between two slices of rock-hard, moldy bread. Those “sandwiches” do appear to be simply two slices of bread. Yum. 

Not fully grasping the gravity of the situation, McQuire again demands to be set free, swearing not to rat on the gang as he heads for the door. McGraw, stone-cold, calmly addresses him by name. Knowing he will probably be shot, he angrily takes his seat back inside. McGraw uses O'Shea to send a misleading message to Shayne over the police car's radio. But he uses a “code name” that only his wife will understand. The gang stays put until the arrival of their escape plane, leading to their portion of the loot. The hostages are rightfully concerned that there is only room for three passengers upon takeoff.

This RKO Radio Picture film is a hard-hitting sixty-six-minute crime drama from a screenplay by Dick Irving Hyland and Hugh King from King's own story. Edited by Samuel E. Beetley, it is supported by a music score by Paul Sawtell. Though not the first film-noir that comes to mind associated with Charles McGraw, this obscure film is a good one to finish out the 1940s.

Note: O'Shea's police training seems to get the upper hand on McGraw from the adjoining, locked, hostage room, but the killer starts firing randomly through the door, hitting O'Shea in the leg. Already known for his high threshold for pain, the bullet in the leg nor the broken rib do not phase him in the least when he drops down from the rafters onto McGraw. Welcome to the land of make-believe.

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. 

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.