THIEVES' HIGHWAY (1949)

This film is based on A. I. Bezzerides novel, Thieves' Market. Who better to write the screenplay. Directed by Jules Dassin and distributed by 20th Century Fox, it includes stunning cinematography by Norbert Brodine in and around San Francisco. Without a doubt, the most enduring element of the film is Dassin's directing, capturing the wholesale produce world. I had no idea fruit delivery could be so cut-throat. He also subjects the viewer to the realism of an unreliable delivery truck with a drive-train held together by sweat and blood from the owner's knuckles. Not far behind on the enduring scale is the cast of Richard Conte, Millard Mitchell, Lee J. Cobb, Valentina Cortese, and Barbara Lawrence.

Fans could not get enough of Conte, yet he is nearly typecast as another optimistic WWII veteran returning home to disappointment. The role is tailor-made for him as he seeks justice and revenge—not necessarily in that order—for his father's debilitating trucking accident. Conte spends the film trying to settle the score with Lee J. Cobb in a "plastic toupée." He is a swindling produce racketeer responsible for the “accident” and stealing his father's shipment. His trademarked angry frown is enough to sell his character. He is the classic bully who lacks any real courage and is ultimately downsized by Conte's tenacious pursuit—speaking of bleeding knuckles.

The aforementioned rickety, decades-old delivery truck owned by Conte's father is now in the greasy hands of his partner, Millard Mitchell, who consistently comes across as the most average soul one could encounter. The viewer is never aware he is acting. A character not loaded with book learning but is in command of an abundance of common sense. He is so genuine here, that one believes he really can repair the heap of abuse he is driving. On Conte's first meeting with him, they bump heads about money owed his father but Mitchell stands his ground on principle. This appeals to Conte's ethics. Mitchell is all too familiar with Cobb's tactics, and after their verbal sparring, they agree to exact revenge on him.

The partners cross paths with two wholesale scavengers competing for a profit, a rotund Jack Oakie—aka Slob—and his driver. Oakie provides subtle comic relief with a jolly nature but a shady approach whose primary purpose is to finagle a way to deliver produce with as little work as possible. Noting the heap Mitchell is piloting, it becomes routine to follow the truck in the hope it will die a quick death, inherit his load, then split the profits. But Oakie's underlying good nature grows on his competition.

Cobb's deeds continue by crippling a tire on Conte's truck. After the blowout, he pulls over onto the roadside bank of sand or loose dirt, his truck listing to one side. Why anyone would try to jack up a truck under these dangerous conditions makes little sense, nor is it a surprise something bad will probably happen. When the ancient jack collapses under the sandy soil, it provides the film with its first tense moment. But you cannot crush a lead actor at this point in a movie. Following not far behind is his lifesaver, Mitchell, who later discovers way too late about his cut brake lines during a clichéd downhill mountainous route. The scavengers witnessed the crash and the sabotage is all too familiar to Conte. To keep him at a distance, Cobb arranges a “girl for hire,” Valentina Cortese, to distract him. Her sensitive performance relaxes the film's middle and she is wise beyond his understanding, even suggesting his fiancée, Barbara Lawrence, is not as true to him as he thinks.

Thieves' Highway is a film noir that has plenty of content to pace it yet its ninety minutes plus seems a tad long. It is a satisfying film for the most part, yet not the first film noir that comes to mind about truck drivers. Except for the fruit angle, this melodrama seems all too familiar. Still, given the competent cast with Conte in another signature role, I imagine moviegoers were not disappointed.

Note: Considering Conte's cool projection of warmth, it is difficult to picture either Dana Andrews or Victor Mature in the lead role. Both were bandied around as the lead during the film's development. Mature had his own decent trucking film eight years later, The Long Haul.

NEW YORK CONFIDENTIAL (1955)

Based on the novel of the same name by Jack Lait and Lee Mortimer, this eighty-eight-minute film stays several stories above ground thanks to a superior cast. Richard Conte is a standout. He plays the always smiling, polite, confident hitman for a Chicago mob, tarnishing an otherwise likable guy. Key to the film is Broderick Crawford as the knee-jerk, hot-headed mob kingpin who has worked his way to the top by intimidation and not necessarily brains. Crawford was blessed—or cursed—with the ability to speed-talk faster than your average Millennial, something that belies his facial appearance. His script alone is half as thick as the rest of the cast because he crams five pages into one.

Edward Small Productions, along with Clarence Greene, produced this “confidential” film—Small's second—centering on a crime syndicate's control of big-city movers and shakers obsessed with rising to the top by any means. It is directed by Russell Rouse, who along with Greene, wrote the screenplay. Though not a particularly busy career, Rouse wrote screenplays and/or directed a wide variety of films, spanning such diverse films as, Wicked Woman starring his wife, Beverly Michaels, and Doris Day's classic, Pillow Talk. Small's earlier Kansas City Confidential offered some uniqueness that this film lacks. Those Midwest folk were way more creative with their crime. This film is never exciting nor intense—a basic rehash of how a cartel can pressure ordinary businessmen with an offer each cannot refuse. As was common, opening narration sets up the premise by radio and television actor Marvin Miller.

Conte is on a relaxing East Coast assassination vacation when Crawford calls him into his office. He makes an immediate impression and the boss hires him at twice his Windy City salary to be his business “equalizer.” From the start, one gets the feeling these two devoted friends will face off one way or the other. Syndicate friendships can be fleeting. Strictly business. Nothing personal. Anne Bancroft plays Crawford's daughter who rebels against her dictated life and is embarrassed by her father's career. She is socially unacceptable. Her casting seems to be fortuitous timing being the right age and a relative newcomer.

A plan to cut the head off the syndicate is initiated by the governor's crime commission. Crawford sends three men to eliminate the primary target but they botch the assignment and leave behind too many clues. This will not be tolerated. The syndicate becomes smaller by three. Conte is sent out to finish the house cleaning. All the while Crawford is being pressured to turn state's evidence, relinquishing his hold on the cartel. The syndicate realizes they will all be implicated if he cooperates. Conte is given the heartless assignment. Later that night as he parks near his apartment—in a momentary lack of judgment—Conte exits down the middle of the dark street. What goes around comes around.

Note: New York Confidential was generally well-received, in part due to the familiar cast. J. Carrol Naish plays Crawford's right-hand man. A character whose inside knowledge of the syndicate becomes a liability. The widowed Crawford has attracted a new girlfriend, Marilyn Maxwell, who finds herself in the wrong place and time. She and Bancroft both have designs on Conte but he has learned to stay in his own neighborhood. Then there is the actor one would expect to be associated with gangsters, Mike Mazurki. As a life-saving measure, he actively pursues a plea bargain. Finally, Barry Kelly, in somewhat of his typecast character, plays the unethical syndicate attorney trying to work both sides of the legal fence.

THE BROTHERS RICO (1957)

This well-acted American crime film noir was directed by Phil Karlson, who stepped away from another John Payne project to helm this fine one. The ninety-two-minute film was produced by William Goetz and distributed by Columbia Pictures. It is all accompanied by a solid, if not unique music score by George Duning. Cinematographer, Burnett Guffey, creates some dramatic visual effects. Karlson's trademark realism of location shooting places the viewer in the action. For the transportation historian, it is an eyeful.

Richard Conte plays the eldest of two younger brothers, Paul Picerni and James Darren, the latter two possessing a slight family resemblance. Without flaw, Conte excels again in a role in which he is well acquainted as a guy caught in the middle of a serious life dilemma. In the old days, he was an accountant for the syndicate but has used his financial expertise to become owner of a legit and prosperous laundry company. No one launders money there. Picerni's monetary greed will have him outfitted with the latest in concrete footwear by the mob if caught. He confesses to a shocked Conte his responsibility for a recent hit. Baby brother Darren was the driver. Added in the turmoil is Conte's wife, played by Dianne Foster. Their opening scenes can be an uncomfortable ten minutes. The viewer may feel they are watching through a hidden camera. In a later scene together, she is unreasonably irate because Conte suddenly must catch a flight to Miami for a face-to-face with the syndicate boss, Larry Gates. The couple was supposed to sign adoption papers, instead.

Gates has been somewhat of an uncle to Conte. The cordial Gates hides his ability to turn up the heat if double-crossed. This becomes painfully obvious to Picerni in the adjoining room. Hitman, William Phipps, is giving him a serious “Martinizing.” Gates highly suggests Conte find his missing little brother as the bulk of the film takes flight to New York, Phoenix, and El Camino, California. Everywhere he goes, guys in fedoras are there before his arrival. Darren and his expectant wife, Katherine Grant, are not universally thrilled with Conte's surprise appearance. Darren does a good job. His final scenes are first-rate as it quickly becomes apparent Conte was not actually the first to discover his whereabouts.

Conte is alone in thinking “Uncle Larry” is sincere. Even “Mama Rico” no longer trusts him. Ending up back in Miami, the lone Rico has learned the truth about Gates and their final confrontation is an exciting—a life-altering experience for the latter. Conte testifies against the syndicate, successfully shutting it down in one of the most rapid film closings of the decade. A letter from the DA vouches for him, assuring the Ricos a successful adoption from the Bayshore Children's Home. Conte will have more dirty laundry to clean.

Notes: In addition to William Phipps, there are other genuine performances by the “theatrical mob members” Harry Bellaver, local crime boss, and Rudy Bond as Bellaver's “secretary” henchman. Cast as another underworld informant is Richard Bakalyan, with two brief appearances. Both Dianne Foster and Katherine Grant have little to do in the film, yet both are second and third billed respectively. An “Italian moment” between Conte, his mother, and his grandmother is loaded with authenticity.

HIGHWAY DRAGNET (1954)

One cannot assess vintage movies with a Twenty-First Century mindset. Understanding the era in which the film was made is only fair. Otherwise, a review could mostly be negative simply because it is "old-fashioned." Truthfully, many B-movies illicit some implausibilities and unintentional humor from when audiences were more gullible. Likewise, some modern movies still utilize an implausible script despite any perceived realism on screen. Allied Artists signed off on this slightly above-average production. There are numerous tell-tale clichés that indicate Roger Corman co-wrote the script. The whole premise is predictable with little singled out that might be construed as creative. However, thanks to adequate casting and the authenticity of being filmed on location, it should hold your attention. The ominous opening notes of the theme music by Edward Kay resemble numerous crime dramas of the era. The opening bars of the melody are sort of a minor key macabre version of the “Laura” movie theme's first notes, turned inside-out. Naturally, Richard Conte is commendable. A fine actor who may have simply needed a better agent. He plays a recently released Korean War veteran who visits Las Vegas, where whatever happens in Vegas stays with Conte.

Conte meets Mary Beth Hughes, whose character used to be somebody. Half drunk, she misinterprets Conte's badly versed compliment and loudly demands an apology because he hurt her feelings. It happens all the time today. While hitchhiking his way out of town, he is arrested and brought back for questioning by Reed “Joe White Eagle” Hadley. Hughes has been murdered and there were plenty of witnesses who jumped to conclusions about what may have happened. Conte can take refuge in the fact that there is no social media yet. He is hot under the collar and, after a few probing questions, stereotypically slugs Hadley, holds his deputies at gunpoint, shoots one patrol car tire flat, then steals the other Nash patrol car. These self-inflicted bits rack up a lot of violations.

He helps two stranded motorists get their car started and expects to get a ride as thanks. As a professional photographer, Joan Bennett is cool to the idea, but her young assistant, Wanda Hendrix, would like to have a hunk along. Bennett's expression while riding in the convertible looks like she smells roadkill. Perhaps her upper lip is overloaded with lipstick or she is just disgusted by life in general. Her esses and “r” pronunciations are Barbara Walters-lite. I digress. Conte tries to fake his persona, but the ladies are suspicious. They try to leave him behind at a diner, except the car keys are dangling from Conte's hand. He is not much for small talk after this.

Much of the “excitement” is typically resolved with clichéd staging. These scenes make up the bulk of the film. Getting through a sweat-inducing roadblock or stealing a car that happens to have the keys in the visor, to name only two. Perhaps the most preposterous is when Conte commands a delivery driver at gunpoint to move his ice cream truck across the highway to block the chasing police. Not a fan of round tires, he shoots them flat. Not as flat as the surrounding desert terrain, yet Joe White Eagle cannot go around the truck. Apparently, because of a dust danger. He is completely bamboozled. If you have not laughed or cringed by now, the ending should do it.

Conte has inherited from his family a house on coastal waters that is dry when the tide is out and when the tide is in, every room has its own wading pool. A family heirloom. It is his final hope to connect with a fellow veteran, his only alibi on the night of Hughes' murder. Hadley—he finally had the courage to go around that truck—arrives to take a Bennett bullet in the shoulder, yet he treats it like a mere BB gun hit, rubbing the wound with his fingers. “Gee Willikers, that stings.” Conte chasing Bennett in apparent slow motion through knee-deep water is...well...not as funny as Bennett, in a near panic of drowning in waist-deep water, with her arms held up as if preparing to signal an NFL field goal. It makes for a silly but revealing ending befitting this effort to produce a film that has not stood the test of time.

Note: Once again, ignore the poster's enticing content. The Art Director must have gotten an earful about selling a dull film. Conte is not a “thrill-killer,” nor do we witness any female attempting to be strangled. The cast never drove a Kaiser Manhattan, either, about to burst through a roadblock.