QUIET PLEASE, MURDER (1942)

George Sanders’ character is another prime example of his trademarked, egotistic roles playing a cool, malevolent criminal. He not only steals the film but also a priceless Shakespeare manuscript. Having admired the work for some time, he half-jokingly asks the museum guard if he could take it home. "Over my dead body!" The request is granted. Of note is Sanders’ minuscule twitch of his upper lip as he fires. I imagine this little detail never originated at the director's suggestion. Working in tandem is Gail Patrick, who sells his forged copies to unsuspecting collectors while posing as a legitimate expert. One wonders how long this “partnership” will last. They appear to tolerate each other only for the monetary rewards of deception. An example is when Patrick enters his study and he senses she is in a mood, as he calls it. "Hello, Lady Dracula. How many butterflies have you tortured since lunch hoping one would turn on you?" A criminal psychologist would have a field day studying their askew occupations.

Unknown to Patrick, her latest sale went to a Nazi agent, Sydney Blackmer. She is flippant about this detail, but Sanders is livid knowing his reputation. Blackmer will recognize the forgery and the transaction used Nazi funds. Words get around. Enter Richard Denning, a detective with a witty script. He is dandy in the role. Confident, handsome, and charming, nothing fazes him. It is too bad more roles like this were not part of his resume. He is on his self-evident trail of Patrick, who equally pours on the charm. Denning welcomes that part but also suspects a double standard.

At this point, it gets a bit confusing for everyone involved, including the audience, with its character shell game screenplay. Patrick sets Denning up for a rendezvous with Sanders at a library. Within earshot of Denning, he passes himself off as a homicide detective. Keep in mind Sanders would not recognize Blackmer or Denning if he stumbled over them in the card catalog department. Blackmer gets a tip that Denning is Sanders and demands his money back. Sanders’ henchman, mistakenly assuming Blackmer is Denning, murders him, and the library is locked down on Sanders’ instruction. He is there to steal rare, valuable books, and the wrong murder is not going to waver his plan. Feel free to read this paragraph twice.

Sanders arranged for his operatives to pose as police investigators, and they let no one in or out. He improvises like the conniving pro he is and suggests the priceless books should be sent to “headquarters” for safekeeping, with one librarian offering him a valuable Thomas Jefferson document as well. By all means. Patrick informs Denning of Sanders’s real identity in her self-serving way. In a desperate need to do something, Denning escapes through a library window. He is quickly brought back inside. He supposedly went out to check the correct time. Denning marches down the hall and in mock revelation, “Ah, I’ve been here before!” Both Patrick and Sanders suspect some disloyalty is afoot due to the unraveling events.

An air raid blackout provides a bit of suspense. Still pressing Denning for the whereabouts of the priceless books, Sanders, assuming he and Patrick are an item, will inflict pain on her unless he talks. The arrogant thief then philosophizes about her thriving on pain and the adrenaline rush of possibly getting caught. Denning is more than happy to oblige on the pain front. The blackout is cut short by the detective's double-cross on Sanders, the books are discovered where Patrick hid them, and Denning gives her a verbal lesson about the dangers of ice in her veins. The film wraps with Sanders in handcuffs and Patrick fearing that another of Blackmer’s henchmen will find her.

This Twentieth Century Fox project was first released at the very end of 1942 in New York City, with a nationwide distribution a few months later. It was directed by John Larkin, who also penned the screenplay. The film noir vacillates between serious and humorous, making it a pretty fast seventy minutes, yet do not expect it to escape the clutches of a routine detective mystery. Not routine is that the movie is predominantly confined inside a library. This accounts for the “Agatha Christie” tongue-in-cheek title. The location provides plenty of doors to open and close and dark aisles to go down, creating some bad press for a library’s quiet spookiness, especially alone on the third floor. After sunset. To convince the viewer they are actually in a library, nearly every pistol is equipped with Hollywood’s phony “silencer.” The film holds its own as wartime encouragement. Things might have gone terribly wrong with a less competent lead cast or a different director.

Notes: The character actor, Byron Foulger, in an uncredited role, plays the persnickety library manager with a considerable amount of humorous anxiety. Especially as the air raid warden for the library. He is in total command, and the rules must be followed to the letter. He tells everyone to remain calm and not run as he sprints frantically, arms flailing, into action to retrieve his helmet. Another character of note is the bald mute aide-assassin in Blackmer’s service, played by Kurt Katch, who communicates through sign language and carries a rope that accommodates several neck sizes. Apparently, Peter Lorre did not get a casting call. A special note about Lynne Roberts, the helpful librarian to Denning. She stands out as the most genuine person in the movie, waiting for her guy to return from the war front.

LADY GANGSTER (1942)

I do not know the odds of this happening but the premise of the film has an aspiring actress getting involved with bank robbers at the suggestion of an elderly woman friend with poor character judgment. Expect routine double-crosses, prison gossip, misunderstandings, a climactic car chase, and that distinct, muffled-in-a-box Warner Bros. gunfire. The film was directed by Robert Florey, aka Florian Roberts. Not much new that had not been seen before since the mid-1930s. There is adequate cinematography and music score, and at sixty-two minutes, it rolls by quickly with one’s attention kept intact by the cast’s fine performances. Script credulity, however, is challenged on more than one occasion.

Faye Emerson possessed a photographic flair with expressive eyes. Apparently, not enough to get noticed on B-movie lots. Garnering the moniker of “gangster” is a stretch, yet the film wastes no time launching as Emerson, very lady-like and with an irresistible small terrier in her arms, cons her way into a bank before opening hours. The dog is simply a prop, thrust on her by one of her partners in crime. The gang comes through the bank’s unsecured doors. After all the excitement, she plays it cool with seemingly all the right answers, except that the name she gives the dog does not match the name on the dog tag. She is taken into custody. The DA suspects she is guilty, but with no evidence to convict her, she is released.

Affecting the script’s weaknesses is radio news announcer Frank Wilcox and his long-standing disgust for the “crooked” DA. He surmises he is railroading the lady for political gain. There is no character development or evidence to substantiate this. Fed up with Wilcox’s accusatory broadcasts, the DA wants him to question her. This pseudo-subplot lacks any real substance because the battle between the two men is suddenly dispensed with and never addressed again. It is the script’s device to simply reunite school sweethearts, Wilcox and Emerson. Thinking of the girl he once knew, Wilcox cannot believe she is guilty and vouches for her. Not taking the whole robbery thing too seriously, she wrongly thinks it will not change their relationship if she confesses. He cannot abide by her sudden honesty. Bygones are not bygones. Her deception qualifies her for up to ten years of free room and board. A prison where security and visitation standards are very lax.

Emerson is befriended by one inmate who admires her spunk—she is not ‘all sawdust inside.’ Another inmate knows the pulse of the prison by reading lips, whether from a front or side view. As played by Dorothy Adams, “Deaf Annie” is, however, able to talk, and her wide-eyed craziness and an unearthly command of lip-reading help elevate the prison segment. An annoying performance by Ruth Ford will be remembered as the prison snitch. How she has stayed alive during her tenure is a wonder. But neither can hold a candle to the gang leader, Roland Drew, who visits Emerson as "all-woman" in full makeup. Some pretty sharp prison guards. The whereabouts of the bank’s forty grand are “Madame Drew’s” only interest. He did have the presence of mind to shave off his mustache. Strangely, she is not a bit surprised by his transformation and recognizes him immediately. 

Nearing her early release from prison, she gets duped by the lying snitch about Wilcox’s intentions for her. After learning the truth, Emerson casually escapes prison to prevent his demise at the hands of the gang. She feels pretty bad about this since it was her idea. There is an attempt by the robbers to grab the leather bag full of money, which subsequently involves a three-on-one fistfight with Wilcox. It is a fairly exciting, choreographed climax and only worth mentioning for the “shoddy home construction” in Vera “Ma” Lewis’ apartment house. The entire stairway railing breaks away as if each post is secured by a single thumbtack. The loot gets recovered and returned, with script credibility once again challenged by a final contrived hospital scene with Wilcox and Emerson.

Notes: Perhaps this film’s most noteworthy details, in hindsight, are the coming together of four future television personalities. A couple of them, working together in the medium. After a decade-long film career in films like this one, Emerson became more famous by getting in on the early days of television as the first lady to host a talk and variety series, all fifteen minutes worth, called “The Faye Emerson Show.” This led to “Faye Emerson's Wonderful Town.” She also became a regular panelist on the original "I've Got a Secret" show.

Frank Wilcox had about a ten-year jump in films over Emerson. This would explain their unlikely connection in school. He co-starred in many notable films of the 1940s, going on to become a familiar face to television audiences during the 1960s and beyond with roles on many popular series, including a recurring role on "The Beverly Hillbillies."

This film was an early visible role for William Hopper, playing Wilcox’s assistant. He struggled through many uncredited roles for two decades, four films of which were with Errol Flynn. Hopper and Wilcox started their careers about the same year, with the former ending his career in the iconic role of Paul Drake from the "Perry Mason" series. In several episodes, Wilcox played a judge.

Finally, John Herbert “Jackie” Gleason, for unknown reasons, used the letter “C’ to start his hit-and-miss film career. Perhaps thinking “Jackie C” would catch on as he tried to find his niche in Hollywood. The young Gleason, with a balloon-smooth face, plays the wheelman for the robber’s car. He gained fame on the golf course, with his own orchestra, and from a groundbreaking television sitcom, "The Honeymooners."

THE WRONG ROAD (1937)

The early scenes setting up the premise of this American crime drama may remind you of those old “etiquette films” where there is a life lesson to be learned. Appropriately, the music under the introductory titles can best be described as sappy. There is not much to fault here, however, other than the now-dated script by Gordon Rigby, which will sometimes stretch the believability factor. Yet, his main focus is still relevant. I do credit him with an unpredictable script with an ending that is a well-kept secret. There are sly usages of humor as well, making the film an entertaining fifty-three minutes. Competent acting is evident from the outset, with no one needing to apologize after the premiere. The film was directed by silent film director and actor James Cruze and released by Republic Pictures.

However.

Fresh-faced sweethearts Richard Cromwell and Helen Mack are moping over their dream plans, which never panned out after graduation. The eternity of that first summer out of college really stunk. Mack, born into a wealthy family, had dreams of an easy life as a society girl until her father lost everything during her senior year. She cannot bear the thought of doing manual work. Cromwell, expecting a career in a high-paying engineering job, ended up getting fired a few months in. Now, in his third year as a disgruntled bank teller, he had also expected a promotion by now. They even go so far as to suggest it is their right to have decent jobs. Sounds like they are on the wrong road to Socialism.

Cromwell’s character, with his wide mood swings, might be diagnosed as bipolar in the future. His plan is to gradually steal one hundred grand as Mack “withdraws” quite a stack each time she comes in. Their blinding love leads to greed. They agree to never deny the theft because going to prison is the only way his plan will work. Oh...kay. He figures they will be in prison for a year or two, then once out, retrieve the money hidden in the bottom of an antique music box. Keep in mind, neither are seven-year-olds.

Prior to being arrested, they meet with an insurance detective, Lionel Atwill, who astutely and compassionately explains their predicament. He offers them a pardon if they divulge where they hid the money. He bluntly tells them that a sentence of up to ten years with no chance of parole is likely. He further explains that the money has become something called "hot." They can never spend it. A fact that, unbelievably, Cromwell ignores throughout the film. Mack’s eye-opener is that they cannot get married for ten years. When the sentence is passed down, she nearly collapses under the weight of stupidity. Cromwell belligerently sticks to his plan, finally getting that dream job as a drill press operator in prison. Never really attentive during “prison orientation days,” he starts passing notes to Mack on the advice of a cellmate, the conniving Horace McMahon (above right). Every inmate soon knows of "loverboy," and it costs him eight weeks of good conduct. Despite his short screen time, McMahon is dandy.

Atwill remains optimistic for the two brats...uh... youngins. Giving them parole will likely lead him to where they hid the money. But the thick-headed Cromwell refuses the offer. He insists they have “earned” the stolen money with their two years in prison. Yes, stupid goes back ions. Thanks to some wise advice from Mack, he has a change of heart, and the parolees get sales jobs for a vacuum sweeper business. The manager shows them their sales region with each competitor represented with pins stuck to a wall map. He explains what they are looking at thusly, ‘Every salesman is a pinhead.’ Cromwell even found this amusing.

McMahon is released from prison and sticks to Cromwell like Vitalis hair tonic. The latter continues his idiotic reasoning, ignoring McMahon’s deadly threats. The duo flees with the music box. Be prepared for a ubiquitous studio prop car chase with enough left-and-right steering movement to guide a Mississippi paddle steamer. McMahon puts them in a life-or-death situation, and the two inmates struggle for dominance. With a rock on the head, Mack proves her dominance. In a bit of contrived timing, Atwill arrives on the scene. Mack has had it up to you-know-where with Cromwell’s poor planning skills. She finally gets through to the dullard. The film closes as the two deliver the most unlikely dialogue.

Note: Mack’s uncle, where the music box was sent for safekeeping, has died, and all his effects are now going to the highest bidder. The collegians race to the auction house but are outbid by Rex Evans. Amusingly, he turns out to be quite the wordsmith. In an attempt to buy back the music box, the couple visits him later at his apartment, which is crammed full of items from his unlimited budget. He treats auctions as a sport, like wild game hunting. He has no real use for most of it. In a faint British accent, he excitedly compliments Cromwell on the way he dealt with that “buttinsky” during the auction. He feels absolutely “wonky” with embarrassment for giving the music box to Marjorie Main, a “fabulously ripping old dodo.” His persona, though eccentric, would seem well-reasoned. That might be true until his nurse enters and reminds him of his bedtime. She puts his favorite hat (a flat, feathery item) on his head to which he commands, “Call me Pinky.”

MILLION DOLLAR WEEKEND (1948)

Masque Productions presented this seventy-two-minute romantic adventure with an honorable nod to film noir. Produced by Matty Kemp, it was distributed by the British film production company, Eagle-Lion Films, Inc., one of the most respected B-movie makers on Hollywood's "Poverty Row.” This film is one of their weaker efforts, not in the mold of T-Men, Raw Deal, or He Walked By Night. The director is the star of the film, Gene Raymond, based on his original story. I am happy to report on a commendable job with aircraft/airline continuity—matching in every scene. A couple of times, he got clever with overlapping transition shots. One has the female lead's hand curled over, gripping the airline armrest’s end, and the transitional footage shows the pilot's hand gripping all four prop controls. Later, the flame from Raymond's cigarette lighter transitions to the flame of her lighter. I suspect a lot of congratulatory back-slapping after viewing the rushes.

SPOILER ALERT IF ANYONE CARES

Action leading up to and during a flight to Hawaii is perhaps the most intriguing, as the premise is revealed. We are introduced to the main cast: Raymond is a stockbroker with plans for an unlimited vacation thanks to his million-dollar theft from his employer. How he plans to blow through a million in two days is of no concern. While waiting for an airline ticket, he flips a coin to determine whether he follows his plan. At the same time, Osa Massen—billed here as Stephanie Paull—flips a cardboard coaster on whether to board the [same] plane to Hawaii. She is a recent widow with a substantial death benefit. Francis Lederer, the handsome version of Peter Lorre, is well aware of her late husband's abuse. He attempts to blackmail her for half the benefits because it would be easy to convince the authorities that she murdered him. He was there that evening. She and Lederer are sitting side by side. As the latter heads for the lavatory, she asks Raymond—seated directly across from her—to pretend they are old friends and take Lederer’s seat. Upon his return, Lederer smugly sees through their weak charade—duh! After these initial twenty minutes, the film's intrigue gets grounded on final approach.

While Raymond and Massen share a balmy evening, Lederer breaks into Raymond’s hotel room and takes his million-dollar briefcase. There is a car chase of sorts, with the orchestra feverishly working hard to make it exciting. All three end up back on the same plane. After arriving in San Francisco, Lederer spreads a rumor with customs about Raymond, giving him space to escape. Once released, Raymond has a heart-to-heart talk with Massen about their past as the viewer dozes off. Raymond’s sheepish expressions indicate he is not cut out for a life of crime. Their honesty brings them closer together, but alas, they must part. On Raymond’s suggestion, they optimistically agree to meet back in Hawaii at a designated spot in one month if their individual troubles are put behind them.

Now alone in the bar with a glass full of remorse, Raymond sees a young woman order a bottle of Napoleon brandy. Lederer's drink of choice. He follows her back to the hotel room and then barges in on the charming scoundrel. A bit of a fistfight breaks out with Raymond, the all-American stockbroker, the winner by a knockout. He retrieves his briefcase, returns to Los Angeles, and puts the money back in the company safe on Monday morning. A month later, Raymond awaits Massen's arrival and learns the value of patience. She is over thirty minutes late.

Notes: This was in an era when Hawaii and its music transported one seemingly to another planet. On hand to perform traditional Hawaiian music are “The Royal Hawaiian Serenaders.” Except for one singer in falsetto, the quartet is not far removed from the “Sons of the Pioneers.” Just balmier.

Finally, there is an amusing use of stock film suggesting Raymond has telephoto vision. He gazes admirably from his hotel room at surfers about a half-mile away, but his view is close-up Hawaiian promotional footage from water level. The stockbroker's dreams are dashed, realizing he does not know how to surf anyway.

BIG TOWN SCANDAL (1948)

This fifty-eight-minute Pine-Thomas Production for Medallion Pictures Corporation was released by Paramount Pictures. With three films in 1947, this is the last of four based on the long-running radio drama series, “Big Town,” and garnered a revised title when it premiered on television. All four entries starred Philip Reed and Hillary Brooke as the newspaper’s editor and reporter, respectively. This was not filmed in the early Forties and then held back for release. But it seems like it. It moves along well enough, except on the basketball court. You will also witness some of the most unbelievable back-screen in-car footage since the Keystone Cops. This entry, with its highly improbable ending, addresses juveniles who find themselves on the cul-de-sac of life's road.

Brooke volunteers Reed to take custody of the boys. He balks initially, but an organized team sport might provide needed discipline for the kids. Fortunately, Reed was an avid basketball player, and coaching is his assignment. Volunteers convert the second floor of a dormant building into a gym of sorts. During the initial practice, Brooke provides a surely dated commentary about Reed wearing a sweater. It went beyond my understanding. Maybe it was a major faux pas to wear sweaters without a shirt underneath. Reed is unable to hear Brooke’s off-the-cuff remarks, yet she is within earshot of two colleagues. She teasingly says, “Nothing like a sweater to bring out the ham in a man, is there?” One colleague replies, staring dreamy into space, a pin-up model in mind, “I wouldn’t know. My wife never wears it.”

Twenty-two-year-old Stanley Clements is the "teenager" and the savvy leader of the “wayward five.” The group is arrested for the theft at a sporting goods store with skewed intentions for starting a team sport on their own, figuring no one would notice the brand-new equipment. Some notable actors in the gang are Darryl Hickman, Carl “Alfalfa” Switzer, Tommy Bond—the first Jimmy Olsen from the “Superman” serials—and the lesser-known Roland Dupree. Given any gang's use of slang, Bond's nickname among the other four is “dum-dum.” No cruelty intended. The birth defect was commonly referred to then as “deaf and dumb.” Deaf as in the inability to hear, but not dumb as in stupid. Simply the inability to speak, as in “struck dumb.” I digress. Bond regularly plays basketball using hand signals with the other team members. Hats off to the screenwriter or producer for including such a character and making him a positive character in the film. He provides a benefit after the championship game, too.

Clements has big-town dreams of owning expensive things after his basketball rehab and generally going astray. He has a history with a gangster, played by John Phillips. He entices Clements into stealing furs stored in the garage below the gym. Savvy Clements wants a cut of the profits. After his cut, he wants to part company with Phillips. Not that easy. However, if he throws some games, he will receive kickbacks for his lack of effort.

With the championship game on the line, Clements ignores the gangster’s threats and wins the game in the closing second with a one-handed thrust while falling to the court—after taking a bullet for the team. Somehow. From a seated position and a gun under an overcoat on his lap, one might wonder how the gangster could possibly hit anything smaller than a milk truck. The shot only wounds Clements. Ironically, his team is named the “Big Shots.”

Note: Perhaps no single element dates this film more than when on the basketball court. A faint shadow of today’s fast-paced, aggressive, physical play. These play-actors are not professionals, of course, but it casts a light on the average neighborhood play. Layups are the scoring shots. Free throws are done with both hands in an underhanded “bucket shot” form. No one attempts to block an opponent or attempt to steal the ball, perhaps taking the Seventh Commandment too literally.

MADONNA OF THE DESERT (1948)

This sixty-minute Republic Pictures release will go by harmlessly. Directed by George Blair of Republic's Western fame, the film is a modern tale of the West. Do not expect riveting suspense. Screenwriter Albert DeMond included a few clichés for those expecting them in a story that centers around a mobster and an ivory Madonna statue. Though inanimate objects do not possess any power, man-made creations have become symbols of hope for many. Such is the case for the lead character in the desert of Southern California. Rarely has ivory been so beneficial.

Sheldon “Nick” Leonard learns about a priceless statue from his inside man working as an antique swindler...er...dealer, who is also a master at creating exact replica statues. Leonard is pretty much the bookends of this film, hardly seen in the sentimental middle section. Speaking of clichés, it is pretty funny when Leonard calmly chastises his female operative, Lynne “Legs” Roberts, about the importance of doing a caper well. Standing over her, with quintessential gangster mannerisms, he grabs his shirt sleeve cuffs with his forefinger and thumb under his suit coat and tugs on each sleeve as his shoulders rise up on every poignant word.

Don “Joe” Castle, half Rory Calhoun, half Robert Taylor, is the owner of a Renaissance Madonna statue that has been handed down for generations. He believes it has the power to protect anyone who believes in it. Indeed, the power to heal. It also brings good fortune, sort of like Buddha without the belly rubbing. Helping out on the plantation farm is Paul Hurst, a skeptical, experienced farmhand who quickly sizes up any visitor. He has some of the best lines in the film, usually with spot-on character assessments with humorous results.

Leonard makes the drive up in his Lincoln convertible in hopes of buying the Madonna. Apparently, with no one home, he discovers an unlocked door, so he decides to make off with the statue. Castle and Hurst return to find Leonard standing in the back doorway. The shifty mobster instantly becomes an interested “art collector” who is checking its sparkling jewels in the daylight. Hurst does not believe that one, either. Leonard admires Castle’s faith in the statue. Hurst acerbically fires back at Leonard, 'Joe has the faith. I have a club!' Accepting that the statue is not for sale, Leonard graciously leaves. Castle tells his farmhand that he seems like a nice guy. Hurst responds, 'Eh, that guy could give lessons to an eel.'

If the statue cannot be bought, then Leonard is not above stealing it. After meeting mild-mannered Castle, he thinks it should be an easy operation for Roberts, whose assignment will be to befriend Castle and exchange the real statue with a fake one. Leonard tells her that he is one of those 'corny golden rule guys' who probably have never met a real woman in his life. She arrives at the farm on foot after prearranged car trouble, dressed down compared to her first scene. If she is not successful, Leonard will not let her 'play in his yard anymore.' Which is a lot more menacing than it reads, verbally coming from him.

The Madonna has been loaned to an Italian wedding couple for good luck. Castle takes Roberts there to see the statue and for him to honor the family. When she attempts to make the switch, the candles surrounding the altar to the Madonna catch her sleeve on fire. Despite her screams, she shows no after-effects of being even slightly burned. Those in attendance thank Madonna. Roberts thanks her flame-retardant dress. Yet she wonders about that statue. Castle astutely notices a conflict in Roberts’ behavior after her burn notice. She is, in fact, having second thoughts about stealing the statue. In a bit of misguided script logic, Castle tells her, 'Only good people have conflicts. The bad ones aren’t bothered by anything.' He tells her not to worry, he has a dress back at the farmhouse. Never mind your Twenty-First Century thinking. It was his mother’s dress. So it gets worse for Roberts.

Donald Barry, a recent ex-con who used to work for Leonard, also finds out about the statue. He figures Leonard is responsible for his five-year vacation at San Quentin. Stealing the statue under his nose would be sweet revenge. After a brief script disappearance, he returns as the newly hired hand on Castle’s farm. Roberts, wanting to continue playing in Leonard’s yard, digs a hole in Castle’s yard in about seven seconds—with her bare hands—and buries the Madonna. There is no dirt under her nails. Another miracle. The switch is made, and once inside the house, Barry absconds with the fake. As script luck would have it, Leonard passes him on the road and then forces Barry to stop, demanding the statue. Leonard recognizes the fake, then the Madonna “flies” toward Barry’s head, knocking him down an embankment. Not finding the car keys that Leonard threw over the cliff, Barry grabs his gun and walks back to the farm. It is dark by the time he arrives to witness a fight between Castle and Leonard's stunt doubles. Barry wounds Leonard, then shoots him twice, 'where it hurts.' Amazingly, Leonard gets off one final shot in retaliation. For all its protective powers, Madonna did not help Leonard or Barry. Help thou my unbelief.

Note: Castle mentions returning from the war as a cripple with mental turmoil. He chose to believe the statue healed him. The cross that Christ died on was simply a wooden device of punishment and death. It has no power in and of itself, despite what Hollywood and Bram Stoker would want you to believe. Likewise, in the 1953 movie, “The Robe,” it was Caligula, among many others, who thought Jesus’ robe explained the miracles He performed. Human logic habitually wants to overrule simple truths.

QUICKSAND (1950)

Mickey Rooney's characterization is legitimate as a young auto mechanic—an occupation he returns to four years later in, Drive A Crooked Road—who longs for a lifestyle he cannot afford in somewhat of an ego boost. Throughout the film, he provides his inner thoughts in voice-overs. His innocent borrowing of twenty dollars from the garage's cash register is only the beginning. Though he has every intention of paying it back the next day, his descent into crime pulls him down deeper as each misdeed gets riskier. The twenty dollars is soon forgotten. Rooney improves this film and keeps it from sinking. This film buried Andy Hardy for good.

Not helping is dangerous Jeanne Cagney, who is temptation personified. Saying she is well-known in the neighborhood is an understatement. Peter Lorre, the seedy owner of a penny arcade, could teach a detailed history class on Cagney's past. Barbara Bates plays the wholesome, unappreciated good girl who has taken her relationship with Rooney seriously. She rounds out the quartet of main characters. Like anyone not taking responsibility for their actions, Rooney's audible inner thoughts express his disgust with the “bad luck” that has befallen him since stealing twenty dollars from his employer's cash draw. Soon the twenty bucks are long forgotten. Things get so bad that Rooney ends up robbing a soused bar patron near the arcade and Lorre blackmails him over the robbing and in exchange for his silence, requests a new car. Between a rock and a hard place, the mechanic steals one from his garage. Cagney hatches a plan for Rooney to steal money from Lorre's arcade to pay for the car. She feels entitled to half so she can buy that mink coat she has lusted over. A driving suspense theme kicks in during the theft. A nightwatchman spots someone inside the arcade and fires a shot. Within all the darkness, a light bulb turns on for Rooney who parts company with the female quicksand. He offers what funds are left to his unethical boss who promptly attempts to call the police. The ominous suspense theme returns with good effect as Rooney viciously stops his boss from speed-dialing. He panics and runs.

Bates returns to see Rooney and the film to the end. She is head over heels in love with Rooney no matter what. In a surprising bit of unlikely good fortune, he hijacks a car driven by a sympathetic lawyer. The most unbelievable sequence in the script. After long driving advice, Rooney sends Bates and the lawyer back inland while he tries to sail south until things cool off. He quite literally, misses the boat but does not miss a bullet from one officer. The lawyer's car does a U-turn when its radio reports that Rooney's boss is recovering. The good news. The bad news is that Rooney is off to prison for a few years. All because of a lousy twenty bucks! Life is not fair, man. Bates promises to wait and I believe her. She is determined to get married.

Note: This United Artist release has an unintentionally amusing ending as three extras are seen peering in the car's rear window, jockeying for a better view inside the studio prop car, above. Those extras appear to be the first "photo bombers."

THE SCARLET HOUR (1956)

This ninety-five-minute film's premise is what God meant by His Tenth Commandment. Though the title is a bit of a mystery—no scarlet noted in a black and white film. The suspense is handled pretty well by director Michael Curtiz. The only thing new about this film is the debut of some future television regulars. Paramount's Vista Vision gamble, Carol Ohmart, stars with Tom Tryon, Elaine Stritch, David Lewis, and James Gregory in their first film, along with seasoned actors Ed Binns and E.G. Marshall. In fact, this movie might have played better on the small screen by being shorter. It would have been free, too. Ohmart's successful husband, Gregory, knows his wife will do just about anything behind his back. Straight-arrow Tryon proves to be a real sap by succumbing to the devious female and her plan to have him intercept jewels after thieves steal them from Lewis's house. 

On the night of the theft intercept, the abusive Gregory follows his wife, catches her, and spots Tryon. Obvious to her, he would like to kill her, as he had threatened before. He pulls out his gun and enters her car. They struggle as Ohmart pleads with him. Gregory's gun goes off in the wrong direction, and he is shoved out onto the pavement. Though she despises him, she plunges into hysterics, calling out his name in sorrow. How could her plan possibly have gone this wrong? This segment is hard to fathom as she drives off, arms shaking, with Tryon trying to figure out what happened back there as he was dodging burglar bullets. Surely Gregory was shot with a stray one. 

Ohmart becomes jealous of Tryon, guessing he is secretly seeing her late husband's secretary, played by Jodie Lawrance. She, by the way, had more movies under her waistline before 1956 than the other stars combined. Lawrance wants to protect him for the decent man he is, as she hopes for a future together. Ohmart drops a none-too-subtle suggestion to the police that she might have killed Gregory. When Tryon finds this out, he is...how to put it...livid. He arranges for the police to gather at Ohmart's estate as he gives her a big dose of verbal reality. She stares out a second-story window as Lawrance and Tryon embrace in the courtyard below. As for Ohmart, I am not sure how severe the charges will be, given her husband's accidental death and the theft of fake jewels. Perhaps a series of counseling sessions and a year of community service. She has issues.

Notes: At least for this film, Ohmart is Madame Tussaud's, Barbara Stanwyck. Given her resemblance along with a similar storyline, one might assume it is a re-think of a famous Stanwyck role. But in this case, “Double Dumbidy” might be a better title. Her face is a mash-up of seventy percent Stanwyck and thirty percent Meryl Streep. Even at one hundred percent, it would not have helped Ohmart's movie career, which quickly transitioned to television. Her over-the-top acting quirks come off as if she is trying to steal any scene she is in. Constantly fidgeting some part of her body. None worse than her scene poolside with Lewis, in which her character has all the femininity of Marlon Brando, nervously shakes in between severe drags on a cigarette. She is the weakest link in the movie, and Hollywood noticed.

Hard to believe there would not have been a script change, so I found this amusing. When the police come to the office to question Tryon—portraying E.V. Marshall—he meets the lieutenant, played by E.G. Marshall. I thought I saw E.G. smirk a bit, but only wishful thinking. E.G. seems to have sucked some helium before filming certain scenes.

BEHIND THE HIGH WALL (1956)

You will want to overlook the familiar script in this Universal-International production. Just enjoy the superb acting of the lead actors. It is another prison break story of a good guy gone bad, destroyed by temptation, and a doomed driveway. More about the latter, later.

Accomplices on the outside facilitate a prison escape, kill a guard and kidnap the warden, Tom Tully, and force an inmate, John Gavin, to accompany them. A car crash kills everyone except the aforementioned. Considering their short screen time, the other actors were just happy to be paid scale. Before the police arrive, Tully buries the gang's money with a plan to finally live in financial peace. If that is not dishonest enough, he shamefully attempts to pin the guard’s murder on Gavin by uncomfortably never coming to his defense.

Flawlessly, Tully catapults from supporting to lead actor without a hitch. He is excellent as a prison warden with financial problems, a crippled wife, and decisions that change his life through layers of lies. Tully’s understated and subtle performance―his tender voice when trying to comfort his wife―reflected an actor of great range. Sylvia Sidney's role as the wheelchair-bound wife seems a good choice. An interesting detail is that she is able to drive her car equipped with handicap controls. Sidney's flexibility as an actress attests to her longevity and was never confused with any of her more attractive peers. Even though her wrinkles had multiplied twelve-fold―oddly, still wheelchair-bound―she carried on forty years later as a loopy grandma in Mars Attacks!

John Gavin gives a solid performance, but the handsome actor, with a face fresh from a J.C. Leyendecker's Arrow Shirt illustration, seems out of place in this role of a down-and-out loser. With his snarling upper lip, Elvis Presley would have worked better. If Gavin was ideally cast, then his girlfriend should have been Elizabeth Taylor and not Betty Lynn, playing Tully's daughter. She was attractively cute but not a classic beauty. For the record, I have no idea who the lady in the poster with the red skirt is since she was not in this movie. But her face, if not her hair color, has an uncanny resemblance to Miss Taylor.

The dependable and versatile actor, John Larch, is on hand as a prison inmate who sticks close to Gavin until the end, implausible as it is. In order to flush out both men hiding in Tully's garage, he confesses his sin over a bullhorn―in the formerly quiet neighborhood―and testifies to Gavin's innocence. Larch wants no part in any surrender and blasts through the garage door without opening it, hitting Tully in his escape. How anyone so near the garage―on that driveway of doom―could not hear the engine start and accelerate is beyond reasoning.

20,000 EYES (1961)

This tolerable film—only sixty-one minutes—opens with a driving, big band score by Albert Glasser, the king of B-movie composers. Against automobile headlights cutting through night streets, interesting title designs give one the feeling of a cutting-edge crime drama. Even so, the poster might have you believe by the "Vertigo-inspired" graphic and "horror" eyes, that this is a William Castle horror film. I was relieved, however, that “The Beast With...” is absent from the title. 20,000 was a popular round number during this or the Jules Verne era. The dialogue is well memorized, always on cue, and disappointing.

Singer and hoofer, Gene Nelson, tries again to step out of his musical background with another crime movie. There is little that sets him apart from others, arriving very late to the noir party. Nelson is in the spotlight right from the first scene. Though a legit diamond mine investor, he needs capital to cover a failing mine in Brazil. He swindles rotund John Banner’s investment money to do it. Banner feeds Nelson a knuckle sandwich as his introduction to the movie. Nelson intends to pay him back but he needs time. Much more than the five days Banner gives him. The poor sound quality, Banner’s thick German accent and fading volume make it difficult to understand all of his dialogue. I could have used subtitles.

Merry Anders plays Nelson’s secretary and girlfriend. To help with Nelson’s predicament, they contact Nelson’s old Army buddy and mining partner—Anders’s old flame—James Brown. Brown brings some diamond samples at Nelson’s request as promotional investments. His plan involves stealing valuable diamonds from a museum and returning them after an appropriate appraisal. With a lot of persuading they both help make the theft a success. Nelson (his stunt double) sneaking across rooftops and into the museum before dawn is a nice touch. It has the momentary feeling of a high-quality caper. It continues so dark one cannot see Nelson’s time-consuming detail work he goes through to steal the diamonds from the museum case. Unless one has stolen jewels before from a case with alarms, you will have no idea what he is doing. I think he may have done a super professional job (for his first time) but one will never know for sure. But the director sure devoted a lot of film to it.

It is easy to lose track of which diamonds were samples, switched, stolen, stolen again or returned in Nelson’s shell game. His meeting with diamond appraisers is interrupted by Brown disguised as a robber. In the planned struggle with Brown’s gun, Nelson is supposed to take a bullet in the arm. Also part of the plan is a prior injection of Novocain into Nelson’s forearm so he does not feel the bullet as much. I have never tried that. I assume it stops the bleeding as well.

In the director’s attempt to explain away the logic behind the theft, Robert Shayne is given a useless part as the police lieutenant who tries to piece together Brown’s presence at the bank. The whole scene, filmed with the echo of an area microphone, lasts less than two minutes. Everyone gives contradicting remarks about the bandit’s identity and reasons for him arriving at that precise moment. Shayne is stumped, gives up, and is the last we see of him.

The phony theft of the diamonds means Nelson’s insurance policy will pay off. But it will take six weeks to get the money returned to Banner. Nelson pays Banner a visit poolside with his twenty-two-inch television console nearby. After Nelson’s attempt to explain, Banner threatens Nelson, who pushes Banner backward into the pool, tipping over the console on the way down. Never mix electricity and chlorine.

Note: This B-movie has the qualifying attributes. Dark filters for night scenes. Abrupt editing. Many interior scenes were filmed with an area microphone. Showing Nelson in his 1961 Chrysler pulling curbside a few times at the same location supplements the film’s location action and cements a low budget. The music score, so promising at the beginning, inserts itself in some scenes as if the composer never saw the rushes. Except for the poor lighting, questionable script and directing, it may satisfy an hour, however.

THE MAN IN THE VAULT (1956)

This easily forgotten RKO drama stars William Campbell as an expert but lowly locksmith named Tommy Dancer. Would you trust a locksmith with that underworld name? One cannot judge a book by its cover, but in Campbell’s case, I make an exception. Actually, Campbell comes off well in this one with help from other experienced actors. Anita Ekberg not one of them. Adding authenticity is some location filming, like at Art Linkletter’s La Cienega Lanes bowling alley. Perhaps the only time it was featured in a movie. 

Cute Karen Sharpe, with incredibly bouncy hair, is at the party because she gets want she wants in that crowd. I think that is her occupation. She is spurned by her on-and-off boyfriend/lawyer, played by a Chuck Woolery look-a-like. Pouting, she exits the party. Cocky Campbell has had enough of feeling out of place and also leaves, walking past Sharpe. She offers him a lift in her car but neither seems to have a destination. She asks him if he drives. I guess wondering if he might not have any experience with an automatic transmission or that big round ring on the left side of the dash.

Barry Kroeger, a smirking small-time hoodlum, gets his leg man, Paul Fix, to locate a good locksmith. Kroeger then pressures Campbell to break into a safe deposit box rented by a big-time mobster, James Seay, and make a duplicate key. But Fix double-crosses Kroeger and suggests Campbell take the 200k himself. Temptation is acted upon and Campbell stores the money at the bowling alley for a striking finale.

Fix, after killing Kroeger with an Oldsmobile, goes after the money with Campbell only armed with a bowling pin. Funny? He throws it through a window and sets off the burglar alarm. Smart. Paul is in a fix by then and is quickly apprehended. Campbell’s running is unintentionally comical with arms quickly swinging back and forth, left to right. I burst out laughing. Meanwhile, mob boss Seay is charged with murder and Campbell reunites with Sharpe, the dominant driver. Campbell will have some explaining to do at police headquarters.

Note: The excruciating song, “Let The Chips Fall Where They May” is sung by Vivianne Lloyd in her singing/acting debut and career closer. Why any song was planned for this film is a mystery...like Lloyd’s career. Kroeger throws a party at his home and requests she sing his favorite song. She makes her rounds in the small living room, slinking around chairs and a couch, giving a performance better suited for a nightclub setting. Her high-register crescendos are not very romantic as she blasts Campbell’s eyebrows back, angling them even more, from inches away. It is the most awkward and funny moment in the film. She sings well enough, but the 1950s-era lip-sync is off, coupled with her put-on expressions, made me vault to the kitchen.