GIDEON OF SCOTLAND YARD (1958)

This fast-paced procedural crime film is based on the book, Gideon's Day, by John Creasey, the title used for the British release. When retitled for the US, the film was shown in black and white, not in Eastman Color. It details one day in the life of Detective Chief Inspector George Gideon of the Metropolitan Police, played convincingly by Jack Hawkins. He is in command of every situation, with a blend of explosive temper and measured calmness. Though this is the first film to feature the George Gideon character, Hawkins played a similar role in the less fun British film, The Long Arm (US: The Third Key) two years earlier.

His day begins when he receives a traffic ticket from a dedicated young police officer without regard to the driver's standing. Gideon could only produce his Scotland Yard I.D. Laws are laws, after all. This recurring character provides the best bits of levity for viewers and raises the ire of the Inspector. Gideon is indignant but a series of challenges ahead—one phone call at a time—puts the incident behind him. Temporarily. Adding to his hectic morning, his wife reminds him of his daughter's evening violin recital. He is also reminded to bring home a salmon for dinner. Work becomes his nemesis throughout the film, making it difficult for a timely return home. And so it goes.

One of Scotland Yard's officers is discovered to be taking bribes in the sale of dope, aka marijuana. With plenty of evidence as ammunition, Gideon lays into the officer harshly and is immediately suspended. The officer becomes a fatal victim of a hit-and-run accident. Gideon visits his wife, a rattled and shaking alcoholic chain smoker, not willing to accept his death and the realization of his suspected mistress. Her performance made me uncomfortable, perhaps due to the stark contrast with the other players. Her brief appearance nevertheless stands out. Scotland Yard has evidence the car is the same used in a daring payroll robbery, based on the tire tread pattern. There is no respite for Gideon.

An escaped mental patient commits a murder. Later spotted and arrested. Gideon wants to personally congratulate the officer. It is the constable who wrote a summons earlier that morning! Awkward. The young officer sheepishly accepts his thanks. It is barely midday. Scotland Yard believes they have the mastermind behind the payroll robbery, a struggling painter, played by Ronald Howard. Gideon visits his home but only finds his wife/accomplice, the only American in the cast, Dianne Foster, who, not very convincingly, tries to cover for her deceptive life. A second visit is more revealing as Howard descends the stairs with a gun. He frantically explains his motive for the needed “painting money,” then tells Foster to take the gun. Gideon explains that “Coward Howard” has left her behind. Foster provides another over-the-top performance as she hysterically falls apart emotionally and relinquishes the gun to the inspector.

After seemingly putting a wrap on the day, the phone rings. A safety deposit firm has been robbed by a gang of socialites, but they have no escape. After that is wrapped up, Gideon nearly forgets the wrapped fish, still in the newspaper inside his file cabinet. Hardly something one could forget. His wife politely tells him he bought a halibut, not a salmon, and his daughter met a polite young man at her recital—something Gideon regretfully missed. It turns out to be the same wet-behind-the-ears constable! Before the four can sit down to dinner, the phone rings once again. “Howard the Coward” is spotted at the airport, and the young constable has to drive Gideon there in his thirty-year-old jalopy. He is stopped en route by a policeman for running a red light. The constable attempts to explain the situation and who sits in the passenger seat. But laws are laws. In an ironic conclusion, the young driver is unable to produce his driving license! On their way to the airport, Mrs. Gideon had advised her daughter to never marry a policeman.

Note: In addition to Hawkin's genuine acting skills, John Ford's directing helps make this ninety-one-minute film watchable from a screenplay by T. E. B. Clarke. The film was distributed by Columbia Pictures and was filmed on location in and around London, with interiors used at the MGM-British Studios, Borehamwood in Hertfordshire, England.

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 minutiae on a worker’s uniform. The same year of this film’s release, the first group of enormous Convair B-36 intercontinental bombers was 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 catches 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. The word has found its way into a number of film titles since then.

THE DIAMOND WIZARD (1954)

Dennis O’Keefe’s character in this obscure film may seem familiar. His excellent performance in the gritty T-Men seven years before was a much tougher portrayal of a U.S Treasury agent, however. Perhaps that role gave him the insight to write this film’s story as well as share in directorial duties. This eighty-three-minute film was produced by Gibraltar Productions and released through United Artists. The film is another procedural account of the Treasury trying to track down who is profiteering from the sale of synthetic diamonds. The film was Britain's first in 3D. Unfortunately, moviegoers really never got their 3D money’s worth with limited opportunities to use the process. This B-movie has humor and competent performances in a routine investigation. It is nonetheless an entertaining effort. Hang on for a worthwhile, explosive ending. 

There is very little to fault here from an acting standpoint. O'Keefe again displays his ability to be a real charmer. Especially when it comes to a stewardess, Margaret Sheridan, whom he has met on previous flights. It is not hard to imagine that his character would be fun to be around or that he rarely has a totally bad day. He is always trying to lighten the moment with a quip. Or persistently trying to get a date. A running gag concerns chewing gum. He is trying to quit smoking and has taken up gum to quell his habit. If he is offered a cigarette, he catches himself and reaches into his pocket for the gum instead. Ironic, in that O'Keefe was a chain smoker from an early age. And it shortened his life.

 

O’Keefe travels to London and teams with Philip Friend, a British detective with Scotland Yard. They hit it off right out of the arrival gate. They are always on the same page, each having an eye on Sheridan. She transferred to a London hub to be with her father, a renowned atomic scientist, busy making synthetic diamonds for industrial research into the medical and military fields. The spooky mountaintop castle appears to be a rental from Victor Frankenstein. The process is a dangerous mix of towering flames, giant dials, lights, and switches. These laboratory scenes are in stark contrast to the mundane search by O’Keefe and Friend. A few abrupt edits back and forth between the scenes can be jolting or irritating. O’Keefe’s accumulating evidence suggests the scientist’s integrity may be in doubt. Sheridan refuses to believe it.

Note: A couple of scenes to mention. One, reminiscent of The French Connection (1971), O'Keefe is at the top of an escalator, returning fire at a criminal holding a drawstring bag full of fake diamonds. Mortally wounded, the thief first falls backward, but the escalator slowly brings him back to the top as the diamonds spill out of his bag and roll to O’Keefe’s feet. Another is the filming of a ship's funnel as her steam whistle blows. Clever if not original, the camera then pans backward to reveal simply a model on the bridge of the real ship they are on.