IRON MAN (1951)

This eighty-two-minute film noir, directed by Joseph Pevney, is helped by a strong cast starring Jeff Chandler, Evelyn Keyes, and Stephen McNally. Produced by Aaron Rosenberg and distributed by Universal Pictures, it is a few notches below the likes of the previously released The Set-up or Champion, and despite the title, it is not a marvel. It will help to have an affinity for boxing, Hollywood style. Even so, this is simply another one from an extremely long list. Just enjoy watching these professionals perform.

The film is told in flashback through the eyes of Keyes, who gets effectively watery by the end. Agonizingly watching her husband, Chandler, in the ring for perhaps the last time, the film transitions to a “romantic” Pennsylvania coal town where we are introduced to the main cast. Among the hearty group of coal miners is James Arness in a small role. He is always bad-mouthing Chandler in the hopes of picking a fight. He apparently hates him because he seems smarter than himself. Not surprisingly, a cave-in occurs, but Chandler recovers. The other men trapped have an unknown future, as we never see them again. Due to the speculative encouragement by the older brother, McNally, Chandler never returns to the "miner leagues." McNally has always envisioned a future boxing career for his kid brother.

McNally is a thick-headed deal-maker, gambler, and manipulator out to make a buck, ignoring any knowledgeable advice. He remembers Chandler's explosive temper as kids would laugh at him because of his towering height. That killer instinct signifies a champion to McNally. However, after a few practice matches, his face becomes quite intimate with the mat. Fans start laughing at him for a different reason. But Chandler goes into a rage, ripping into his opponent in a savage display of anger. A smiling McNally blurts out, “There it is!” Unfortunately, McNally knows no more about what makes a boxer than Jack Benny.

Winning his bouts with unsportsmanlike conduct has earned him a reputation as a lousy fighter, and sportswriter Jim Backus says as much in his columns. He has no business being in the ring, and the crowds agree. McNally still thinks his brother will eventually gain his undeserved respect. In somewhat of a surprise, Backus turns out to be an understanding mentor of sorts as he learns of Chandler’s backstory. Oddly, Keyes feels totally responsible for Chandler’s fighting fate, when it is clearly McNally's fault.

Rock Hudson, who desperately wants to be called “Speed” when his time comes to get into the ring, sounds as though he inhaled a slight dose of helium. He comes across well as a golly-gee-whiz naive kid who thinks Chandler is the epitome of a champion. It does not take long, however, before Chandler’s lousy attitude alienates everyone in his circle. At the badgering of McNally, Backus informs the trainer to let Chandler fight the young upstart, now “Mister Speed.” The title bout is pretty exciting with the best boxing choreography of the film, though it all looks familiar. To everyone’s surprise, Chandler fights legit and gets the tar beaten out of him near the end of the match. The crowd’s boos turn to cheers out of respect and to the delight of the facially dented, nearly blind Chandler. He has used his face as a metaphor for obliterating his past.

SPLIT SECOND (1953)

This film marks Dick Powell’s directorial debut, and he should have felt good about the final project. Roy Webb's powerful opening score adds a real sense of danger. Accompanied by a custom title font symbolizing electric voltage, it sets the movie up as, literally, an explosive tale of prisoners and hostages about five to ten miles away from a Nevada atomic test site. Interspersed with stock footage of an actual test, it is the film's unique element. Beyond this, it is another RKO crime thriller. The film does not get any more “B” than this, with actors Stephen McNally, Jan Sterling, Alexis Smith, Robert Paige, Richard Egan and Keith Andes, all trying to stay alive in Arthur Hunnicutt's neighborhood. The atomic test site premise was done with a modicum of laughs a year later in The Atomic Kid starring Mickey Rooney. Sterling handles Dick Powell's trademark glib humor for this tale.

McNally is typecast again as a ruthless criminal and recent prison escapee, with a heart as small as an atom. His two cohorts, a badly wounded Paul Kelly and Frank de Kova, as “Dummy,” are along for the ride of their lives. During their gas station stop, Smith and her affair, Paige, are taken hostage by McNally. At the same time, Andes is on his way to interview McNally for his paper, picking up Sterling along the way. One may wonder why the interview. Send the state troopers to “interview” him! Fortuitous script timing as Smith's car runs out of gas, with Andes stopping to help.  McNally hijacks Andes' station wagon. At this point, the entire cast, minus Hunnicutt, is in this vehicle with barely enough room for dialogue. All are positioned like a seasonal office portrait so that everyone can be seen. They arrive at an abandoned resort near the epicenter of the atomic test site. For the obvious reason, it is now a ghost town. But in McNally's mind, it is the perfect hiding place.

Hunnicutt plays his usual rural character, this time as a prospector, an old-timer who remembers seminal moments from 1901. Hunnicutt’s real age and suspension of disbelief collide. After the cast has settled into a dusty building, he stumbles onto the entourage. All the characters are now intertwined into talkative, character-developing scenes. Knowing he is irresistible, McNally makes a pass at both women. First, Sterling appears to have rented a Shelly Winters wig for her role—a wound-tight platinum wig about to break a spring. Contrast this with her dark eyebrows, which symbolize her lifelong pent-up anger. It is a harsh look. The street-smart Sterling seems to have her head screwed on right, however. A more trustworthy person than the self-centered socialite and cowardly Smith, who begs McNally to take her with him, caring little for anyone else, even though Paige is standing right beside her. Paige is disgusted with the whole thing (outside of his affair with Smith). He is always loudly threatening McNally, who warns him several times to shut up. Paige ends up on the pointy end of two bullets. 

McNally’s best bud is Kelly, who has a normal-sized heart, though barely beating. McNally found out that Smith’s husband is a doctor, Richard Egan, once again cast as one half of a shaky relationship. McNally calls him from a phone booth in a nearby town and threatens to shoot Smith's head off if he does not come and save Kelly. After a lengthy pause...he decides to come. The operating scenes and the attempt to overpower McNally are tense and handled well by Powell.

Perhaps for their own amusement, those in command move the atomic test up one hour with actor Clark Howat, calling the excruciatingly slow countdown. McNally makes a split-second decision. Smith throws herself into the car with Kelly sandwiched in between. In their escape, they go the wrong way, heading straight toward the detonating tower. Smith lets out a blood-curdling scream and Kelly loses his hearing. The bouncing miniature car backing up is pretty humorous. Naturally, their car gets stuck in the sand. Hunnicutt and the three remaining cast members find protection from the fallout in an abandoned mine. 

Note: RKO had planned to team Victor Mature and Jane Russell as leads, coming off their roles in The Las Vegas Story one year earlier. The pairing might have brought in a few more moviegoers initially. McNally makes a much more disgusting human than Mature could have ever projected. Assuming Russell was cast in Sterling's role, that might have worked. Along with Egan, McNally and Mature would co-star two years later in a more diverse crime story, Violent Saturday. Also set in desert climes, it has its own unique angle: an Amish family that has settled in arid Arizona.

VIOLENT SATURDAY (1955)

The early, low-budget Richard Fleischer movies were noted for realism through location shooting and in-car cameras, giving credence to the scripts. Violent Saturday has the realism front covered, but this time with a larger budget worthy of the then-popular CinemaScope. Hiring Hugo Friedhofer to do the score settles the issue. From the pivotal opening scene of the obligatory bus arrival, Fleischer does not let your attention wander. Cameras weave in, out, up, and down, setting up scenes and characters with no loss of continuity. Ideal for CinemaScope. It is not without its faults, as a few sequences may generate a few chuckles in the truest soap opera sense. There is at least one illogical scene that tests the suspension of disbelief in you. The script involves a myriad of character subplots, not unlike many of today's television dramas. But the film is first-rate.

Speaking of first-rate, Victor Mature gets top billing. An obvious assumption based on his leading roles over the past decade. His supporting cast is equally strong, including up-and-comers Lee Marvin and Ernest Borgnine. Along with stalwarts J. Carrol Naish and Stephen McNally are Sylvia Sidney and Virginia Leith. They even managed to work in Brad Dexter as his smarmy self. Richard Egan has a major role as the mining company CEO and is in charge of the soap opera element. He and his wife, Margaret Hayes, have the usual Hollywood marital problems, and their extended scene together may try your patience. The scene becomes very poignant after the bank robbery.

Tommy Noonan has a creepy subplot as the awkward and emotionally challenged bank manager who moonlights as a voyeur of a nurse, Leith. From a distance, he peeks into her window at night. He follows her around town to get closer to her. He nearly faints at the drugstore, finding himself in a tight spot exiting, brushing between her and a display rack. It was not meant to be funny in 1955. His character is also married, which makes one wonder how that is going. He is wounded on this violent Saturday, and Leith is the nurse monitoring him. With a sense of manliness, he confesses his weird behavior to her.

Known for her somewhat wooden acting and with one of the most unfortunate female voices since the silent era, Virginia Leith never made it into the big time. She was attractive, but it is hard to describe her occasional goofy voice. When she keeps her volume low, it disguises the real danger when she smiles and talks. Her throat tightens up, and all her feminine qualities vanish. Her first greeting to Egan in the drugstore is a prime example. One would think the studio might have provided vocal training if they thought her career was skyrocketing. It is not offered today, as actors and actresses are not associated with studio demands. Plus, no one cares anymore.

That obligatory bus lets off McNally, the self-proclaimed “traveling salesman.” He is soon joined by two “junior salesmen,” the sadistic nasal inhaler, Marvin, and Naish, who appears to be everyone’s favorite uncle. Naish has been through this routine before and has the presence of mind to keep candy in his suit pocket in case an unruly child in the bank needs to be distracted.

There is a somewhat humorous scene for Marvin. It is a great scene that captures his character. He is restless. He cannot sleep. McNally is not yet in dreamland, and Marvin wants to talk about all the women who have messed up his life. He always went for “skinny broads.” Just skin and bones. One wife, in particular, was a record holder for getting colds. Then he would get a cold. Maybe fifty times. That is how he got addicted to nasal inhalers. She left him for a two-bit undertaker. Another character revelation comes earlier in the film when a local boy accidentally bumps into Marvin, knocking his inhaler to the sidewalk. Uh-oh. As the boy apologizes and attempts to retrieve the inhaler, Marvin grinds the boy’s hand into the concrete with his shoe. He enjoyed it.

McNally fakes a visit to an Amish farm outside town in which Borgnine is the head of the household. Borgnine calls any stranger “neighbor” and says “thee” and “wouldst thou.” It will be the perfect hideout. McNally later describes him to his partners as “a religious screwball.” McNally is given the customary glass of buttermilk. Nothing more refreshing in the desert! Set in the fictitious town of Bradenville, the southwest Arizona desert seems an unrealistic location for the Amish, given their expertise and dependence on growing and harvesting crops in fertile soil. The Amish DIY houses are made from wood, making one wonder where they got the bricks for this two-story home. But it is Borgnine’s pitchfork that may explain why the Amish were scripted in.

Mature’s Mercury is what the robbers need, and at gunpoint, he is ordered to drive to the Amish farm. Fleischer’s in-car camera goes to work, and Friedhofer’s score cranks up the excitement. The final stand-off scene was controversial at the time as the bandits tie up Mature and the Amish family in the barn’s hayloft. Seeing the family lined up with white tape covering their faces is still a bit unsettling, as they look less than human. Mature manages to cut the ropes around his wrists and then sets the Amish free—in a nod to Abraham Lincoln. The bandits then position the Mercury in front of the barn doors, and with a huge stone over the accelerator, the high-revving engine is remotely shifted into gear with a rake, and the car rams through. They set the car’s gas tank on fire to level the barn. Mature and Borgnine push it back into the open and Mature crawls underneath with little fear that the car might explode. His shotgun eliminates another robber. After shooting Mature in the leg, Borgnine notices he is reloading. Marvin kicks his inhaler habit with Borgnine's magic pitchfork thrust into his back, in a shocking moment.

Mature's young son could not explain why his friends called his dad a coward—a classic example of attacking someone before knowing the facts. Mature was more useful at home in the copper mines during World War II. After his recovery of the stolen money, blowing away two criminals with a shotgun and getting wounded himself, he becomes a hero to his son and his friends.

Note: The jury may still be out on how deeply "thy pitchfork" could be driven into the upper back to kill a person instantly, as suggested in this film. A lot of bones to pick through. It would "take thee" one monumental thrust into the spinal column. Based on the effect in the film, passing out would be logical, and with medical attention, perhaps survivable.