NIGHT TRAIN TO MUNICH (1940)

This British thriller is directed by Sir Carol Reed and distributed by 20th Century Fox, opening in America at the end of 1940. The screenplay was written by Sidney Gilliat and Frank Launder, based briefly on a Gordon Wellesley short story. The film centers on the Nazis in occupied Prague prior to the Second World War. It stars Margaret Lockwood, Rex Harrison in a dual role, and Paul Henreid. Reprising their railway roles from The Lady Vanishes two years prior, are Naunton Wayne and Basil Radford as the same characters, Caldicott and Charters—insatiable cricket fans. The film's comparison to the 1938 Hitchcock film, at nearly the same length, is rather obvious, though Lockwood plays a different character.

The ninety-five-minute film is full of sophisticated British suspense, starting with the kidnapping of Lockwood on her way to join her father, an invaluable industrial designer, for their escape by plane back to England. She befriends a fellow concentration camp prisoner, Henreid. This sets up the first of two twists in the film as they escape to England in darkness while a German officer cuts the power to the prison's searchlight. How convenient. After settling in, Henreid visits an optometrist who asks him to read an eye test chart. He reads the large letters wrong, twice, to confirm their Nazi contact code. They salute and poke each other in the eye.

Lockwood does not know the whereabouts of her father. She receives a call and is told where to meet her contact, Harrison, posing as a side-show vendor trying to sell his songwriting abilities by singing his tunes. With Harrison's introduction, the film not only improves but cranks up the suspense. It rarely subsides. His rapid-fire speech rolls off his tongue effortlessly. He seems delightfully fond of himself. The second twist is that he, thankfully, is not a singer as Lockwood later chides him about, but an undercover British agent who helped arrange her father's return to England. But Lockwood and her father are duped by Henreid and kidnapped aboard a German U-boat. Her opinion of Henreid is forever altered.

Harrison springs into action posing as a German Major, who convinces the German officials that his “past relationship” with Lockwood will convince her to get her father's co-operation. There are some humorous deliveries between them as the "happy couple" appear set for matrimony. Henreid's suspicions during this charade are realized, and arresting Harrison in Munich is his directive. Caldicott & Charters to the rescue.

While inadvertently listening on a party line, Charters discovers Henreid's plan and contacts Harrison, whom Caldicott finally is convinced it is, in fact, his British friend. They become part of Harrison's altered plan, subduing two Nazi officers (off camera), though feeling quite conspicuous in their uniforms. They become Harrison's escorts to get them, Lockwood, and her father to freedom in Switzerland. Though expertly done for the era, there are numerous miniatures used throughout the film, the mountaintop tramway climax being the last. Trust your suspension of disbelief for the endless supply of bullets from the revolvers of Harrison and Henreid. The escape above a deep chasm peaks the film at the right moment and instantly closes the film. In fact, the film fades to black before the characters exit the scene.

Note: The Australian poster above indicates that Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer released the film as well.

ARSON, INC. (1949)

The American production company, Lippert Pictures, had a talent for underwriting low-budget action films that were generally easy to like: they were short, had bits of humor, and typically had an exciting climax. Directed by William Berke and produced by William Stephens from a story by Arthur Caesar, everything is in order for this film about tracking down an arsonist by an undercover fireman, not a police detective. This may seem like old serial episodes edited into a sixty-three-minute film noir. It is not. One might discover this film under the alternate titles, Firebug Squad or Three Alarm Fire.

The film's opening credits are supported by an upstanding military march theme followed by a voice-over that spells out the film's premise. The narrator plays the Deputy Chief of the Los Angeles Fire Department, who smoothly transitions his speech to welcome handsome Robert Lowery (below center) into his office. Chosen because of his special interest and knack for solving "crimes of fire." He is given full rein to find the missing briefcase of evidence from a fellow investigator, deliberately killed during his own arson investigation. Lowery must expose who is behind the killing and the suspicious warehouse fires of recent years.

Perennially slimy bad guy, Doug Fowley (above right), is the insurance claims adjuster whose payouts for property loss in fires seem legitimate. The smug agent delivers his lines—initially in extreme close-ups—as tight-lipped as someone whose jaws are wired shut following reconstructive surgery. On the take is Hollywood's well-known nervous weasel, Byron Foulger, needing money to cover past debts. Fowley tells him to torch his wife's mink coat—something Foulger has probably thought about for years—to be awarded the needed cash. The spineless husband senses he may get burned after Lowery's initial questioning.

With a never-ending supply of matches, the usually harmless comedic actor, Ed Brophy (above left), often delivers reactionary lines in other films as a poor man's Curly of The Three Stooges fame. As Fowley's (fire) man, he is instructed to keep tabs on Lowery. The investigator goes deep cover as a disgruntled firefighter to gain the confidence of Brophy, the latter vouching for him to his boss. Now, good pals, they frequent a bookie's backroom hideout. During a raid, the two are arrested. The following day, a phony newspaper headline indicates Lowery lost his job as a firefighter. Brophy is encouraged that Lowery is a rat just like himself. The duo works with Fowley on his next fire sale.

There are three female costars in this film: Anne Gwynne plays a school teacher and part-time babysitter for Foulger's young son. Lowery is instantly aflame for her upon their first meeting. She initially puts his fire out, but it does not take long to figure out their budding relationship. Gwynne even plays along as part of his undercover work. Brophy sets off a warehouse fire, but cannot resist having Lowery drive him back to see the huge flames. But Lowery tipped off an undercover cop, who was nearby, to put out the potential blaze. This is disappointing to Brophy, and very suspicious to Fowley.

The second female is Marcia Mae Jones (above, lower right), Fowley's secretary, with facial features appearing to be a composite of three females, all put together at odd angles. With too much to drink while dining with Brophy, Lowery, and Gwynne, she lets it slip about the next warehouse fire of mink stoles. Turns out it is Fowley's plan to see if Lowery shows up. No minks are going up in flames with a flummoxed Lowery trying to explain it to the fire captain. Bullets whiz by Lowery as he and Gwynne take cover in the warehouse. The seething Brophy sets off another fire to flesh them out for a clear shot.

Note: The briefly seen third female costar is Maude Eburne as "Grandma," also an occasional babysitter for Foulger. Her elderly face is on the opposite end of the spectrum from Gwynne. As is often the case in a Lippert production, levity plays its part. She and Lowery accidentally bump into each other early in the film—she,  completely in his arms. It becomes the amorous highlight of her day. Eburen wrapped up her thirty-three-year career one picture and two years later.

JOHNNY STOOL PIGEON (1949)

It is safe to say this seventy-five-minute American crime drama, directed by William Castle with a screenplay by Robert L. Richards from a story by Henry Jordan, is essentially unknown. The film was produced by Aaron Rosenberg and is a typical effort from Castle before his more infamous “horror” projects. But thanks to the professional casting of Howard Duff and Dan Duryea, it may satisfy the fans of television's Dragnet. The middle section stays fairly upright thanks to the film's bookends of action. Well-equipped for the role, Duff works for the US Treasury's narcotics bureau. Echoing Dragnet with a no-nonsense, low-key delivery, his periodic voiceovers fill in any gaps for those who might have dozed off. With handgun drawn, peeking around a brick building, the suspense-filled opening sets up an attempt to crack an international drug ring. But he is going to need help.

Duff wants to suspend Duryea's three-year stay in Alcatraz to become the title character. Not surprisingly, the movie perks up with Duryea's first appearance. To convince him he desperately needs his help, Duff wants him to identify a corpse at the morgue. Duryea is sickened to see that it is his estranged wife, a victim of drug pushers. Though still holding out hope of revenge, he agrees to train Duff to become a tough-talking drug dealer with substantial connections.

Shelly Winters has already met Duff and Duryea. During this era, she was ensconced in “high school dropout” roles, here as a helpless pawn to mob boss John McIntire, who could play genial or despicable, but rarely in the same film. One of his operatives is a junior hitman played by Tony Curtis, who appears to be puzzled about something during his scenes. The climax provides the other bookend of “thrills” as Duff's undercover is blown—never saw that coming. In the end, Duryea is deserving of a reduced sentence, and Winters. Duff's final voice-over wraps the film.

SECRET SERVICE INVESTIGATOR (1948)

Directed by R. G. Springsteen and released by Republic Pictures, this sixty-minute American crime film possesses a twisty screenplay and story by John K. Butler. It is filled with concise dialogue and a few quips for the star, Lloyd Bridges, to deliver to Lynne Roberts, who works in the classified advertising department of a local newspaper. Discovering who he is—a World War II hero in the Army Air Force—she gushes over him. With every compliment, Bridges' chest gets puffier. But his assumptions are just that. She will be thrilled to tell her young son that she met his hero. Ouch! This fast-paced outing gives Bridges one of his earliest lead roles, and he is fine with a coolness, a winning smile, and a commanding delivery. He will have another connection with the Secret Service one year later for his film, Trapped, playing a counterfeiter released from prison to help—reluctantly—the Secret Service trap counterfeiters.

Needing work, he cannot believe his good fortune when Roberts shows him an ad requesting his services. The lead takes him to an apartment where two await his arrival. Trevor Bardette and Roy Barcroft introduce themselves, respectively, as an inspector and a detective with the Secret Service. They also introduce Bridges to an unconscious man lying on a bed. He is startled to see that he and the man look more than similar. Bridges also plays the Dan Redfern character. The Secret Service wants Bridges to pose as Redfern to help them retrieve counterfeit plates from evil, condescending George Zucco. The movie takes a twisty route as Bridges is spotted on the train by Redfern's wife, June Storey, and her brother, perennial bad guy, John Kellogg. Storey's amorous reunion with her "husband" quickly goes cold because Bridge's hair color is different. More than that, he is not missing a thumb. Bridges is suddenly all thumbs and is knocked unconscious, with brother and sister taking the plates.

Once back in San Francisco, Bridges discovers Redfern is no longer among the living. The real Secret Service agents arrest Bridges, and his story is so involved that the Inspector believes no one could make it up. Throughout the film, Bridges is the most honest guy in any room. He calmly tells everyone the truth, and it pays off. Sort of. He is asked to be an actual Secret Service Investigator and continue his charade as the dead Redfern. The plates change hands more than once until Zucco identifies them as fake. The double-crossing gangs of Zucco and Bardette are at odds. An intense fistfight between Bridges and Bardette seems to go on forever in the exciting, slightly convoluted climax. Shots ring out, shortening the future of at least two. After the gunpowder dissipates, Bridges and Roberts start planning their wedding.

Note: Bridges was churning out film after film in supporting roles before achieving leading man status. He was about as busy as anyone in Hollywood in the 1940s. He made up for any lack of matinee idol looks with loads of charisma. His career began to accelerate in 1950 with The Sound of Fury. Bridges became a household name for US television viewers. Joining some peers in "Airplane!" helped rejuvenate his long career.

FILM BRAKE: SECURITY INVESTIGATOR

DANGER MAN (1960-61)

This original adventure series centered on the exploits of an internationally famous security investigator whose services are only available to governments or their highly placed officials. The Danger Man aka John Drake strove for realism, dramatizing credible Cold War tensions. Beyond the fast pace, some inventive plots, and exotic locales, the gravitating force of the series was undoubtedly the American television debut of Patrick McGoohan. With his distinct, clipped delivery, intensity, charm, coolness and physicality, he makes this series quite compelling in spite of some scripts that are less so. McGoohan's British stage acting abilities could be quite intimidating to fellow actors, not unlike John Drake's pointed truths to convince someone about saving their life or country. The series did not feature silly gadgets of secret agents yet to come. Rather, Drake utilizes his intelligence and quick thinking. If he used any spycraft tools they were generally credible. The family-oriented McGoohan preferred that Drake carry no firearms. In one episode he confesses, 'I never carry a gun. They're noisy, and they hurt people. Besides, I manage very well without.' He knows how to fire one, though—a gun knocked free from a combatant's hand might provide him leverage. His final demand was no outright seduction of female co-stars. Drake is focused on the business at hand. The punctuated jazz score by Edwin Astley provides another dimension of coolness and would often burst into a scene, half debilitating the dialogue. Expect a Drake-ism once granted a favor or request—the gracious—“I'm obliged.”

After the opening scene teaser, McGoohan provides a voice-over as he leaves a building in Washington, DC. before speeding away in his convertible British sports car:

“Every government has its secret service branch. America, CIA; France, Deuxième Bureau; England, MI5. (The line, "NATO also has its own" is not always used.) A messy job? Well, that's when they usually call on me or someone like me. Oh yes, my name is Drake, John Drake.”

McGoohan never appears to use a stunt double during choreographed fistfights. This is an endearing quality of the thirty-two-year-old Irish-American, proving he is all about credibility. Assuming no visual miscues by me, he is clearly seen as the guy doing the flipping of an assailant in judo fashion, getting knocked across a room, or throwing the most violent, unimaginable haymakers and uppercuts that do send the Drake character to near science-fiction level. He might use a fake identity to infiltrate a Communist regime in Africa, Central America or a small European country. He is not infallible and assignments do not always go as anticipated.

The show did not set CBS on fire—not all of the thirty-nine episodes were above average. Some scripts can be rather complex with a myriad of characters, hopscotching from one country to the next or trying to take in all of McGoohan's rapidly delivered dialogue. The humor is restrained—a flippant hero has no place in this series. A few episodes make one wish there was a bit more, however, as McGoohan could deliver some dandy dry sarcasm. One would like to double the number of episodes with his five-time costar—the ever so British—Richard Wattis, as the bespectacled Mr. Hardy, an intelligence agent requesting [demanding] Drake's services. Though there is no real animosity between them, they initially conflict when discussing an assignment. Their sarcastic banter is a needed delight.

The idea for the Danger Man series originated with Ralph Smart, an associate of Lew Grade, head of ITC Entertainment. It is filmed at MGM British Studios, England, UK and in foreign locations. The series aired in America as a late-spring replacement for the departing Wanted Dead or Alive. American financing for a second season failed to materialize but the show continued in the UK as the hour-long second and third seasons. After a three-year Drake disappearance, the show returned to America as Secret Agent along with a new guitar-leading theme performed by Johnny Rivers.

WALK EAST ON BEACON (1952)

Directed by Alfred Werker with a screenplay inspired by a J. Edgar Hoover article on the case of treason against Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, this ninety-eight-minute Columbia Pictures release uses a pseudo-documentary format like so many low-budget FBI-themed films of the era. It is melodramatically narrated by the then-familiar voice of Westbrook Van Vorhees. Without frequent narration, it might be difficult to keep track of the many characters or procedural shifts in the film. To help sell the authenticity, the narration includes a superimposed “date stamp” as events unfold. Canadian composer Louis Applebaum, known for his documentaries and short films, wrote the score. There are few actors of note here, but three are mentioned below. 

An FBI agent, pre-Senator George Murphy (center above), is assigned to locate the Communist spies behind a plot to infiltrate a secret government project on a high-speed, basement-sized, IBM Selective Sequence Electronic Calculator. Murphy comes off genuine in his last Hollywood role, and he adds credence to the film. The Communists’ plan is to extort information from a top mathematician, played by Finlay Currie, with the added incentive that his son will remain a hostage in East Berlin until he surrenders the information they want. The film highlights cutting-edge investigative work of the FBI, like car spotlights—pre-GoPro days—converted to nifty concealed cameras. After reviewing an undercover film of a suspicious male-to-female exchange in a park, the bureau sends out a police bulletin about a woman who carries a shoulder-strapped purse and has a peculiar walk. This would be Virginia Gilmore (pictured with Currie below). I could never determine the cause for her walking—perhaps only a broken heel—nor did the director provide any clues. Gilmore may be the one actress who could pass as Jane Greer, given the correct angle and hairstyle.

As suspected during this era, Soviet operatives met secretly, hiding under the guise of legitimate businesses. Their operations make up a good chunk of the film. The FBI shows a few frames of silent surveillance film of suspect Communists to members of a Boston school of international lip reading to determine their nationality and conversations. The information gleaned suggests a late-night escape along the Atlantic shoreline. Some fairly tense moments as the Navy and Coast Guard pinpointed the exact location of the cabin cruiser. The end of the film wraps in quick order as Applebaum’s score cranks up the intensity. Currie barely escapes with his life, his son is actually released, and the Moscow mastermind is apprehended for a positive climax.

Note: Noted director, George Roy Hill, in his first of four acting gigs, has the unenviable role as the suggested Julius Rosenberg. Louisa Horton plays his wife. Both have fictitious character names in the film to protect the guilty. Finally, this film is perhaps one of only a handful—if not the only one—that makes reference to J. Edgar Hoover’s first name, John.

TRAPPED (1949)

This seventy-eight-minute film arose from a story written by George Zuckerman and Earl Felton. It was directed by a master of realism, Richard Fleischer, and released by Eagle-Lion Films, the poster child of the semi-documentary. The moody cinematography was by Guy Roe, who would, a year later, film Lloyd Bridges in The Sound of Fury, then later the quintessential B-movie crime noir, Armored Car Robbery. Trapped was produced by the oldest of the "Seven Little Foys," Bryan. Like many low-budget crime films of the era, it uses voice-over narration to inform the audience about the thoroughness of law enforcement. In this case, the United States Treasury Department shut down a counterfeit ring. The score was by the dependable Sol Kaplan, whose opening measures sound like a cross between a weekly television private investigator theme and an old movie serial.

Though there may be familiar faces throughout the film, many of whom became prolific on the small screen, it really centers around the characters of Lloyd Bridges, Barbara Payton, and John Hoyt. As an up-and-coming leading man with a casting agent earning his salary, Bridges gets top billing. He was very busy during 1941-42 with thirty-eight films with mostly uncredited roles, learning the ropes. Leading roles became more common after the war. Not classically handsome, his closely set eyes are offset by a distinctive voice, a winning smile, and an abundance of charisma. The established character actor, Hoyt, has nearly identical screen time, however, and is third-billed. It is a nifty crime tale of treasury agents wanting to enlist the help of a counterfeit operative, Bridges, who is currently a model inmate in an Atlanta prison. With seven more years on his sentence, he could be released much earlier if he cooperates to help find the counterfeit plates and those who are circulating the phony bills. The savvy, arrogant, gum-chewing Bridges essentially tells them what they can do with their offer. 

The screenplay pulls off a couple of clever double twists near the beginning. Nighttime finds Bridges on a bus headed for Kansas City, handcuffed to a Deputy Marshall. A car pulls up alongside the bus in the passing lane, the driver looking for Bridges. They make eye contact, then Bridges grabs the revolver of the dozing detective and commands him to “take the jewelry off” and exits the bus for the sedan, driven by Richard Karnes. The whole “escape” was planned in advance with Bridges, giving legitimacy to a phony AP wire story. The officer’s gun was not loaded, and Karnes is a federal agent. During an overnight stay in a motel, at the opportune moment, Bridges initiates a fist-fight with Karnes. Apparently suspecting as much, Karnes “throws the boxing match” to let Bridges be tracked to Los Angeles.

We first see Hoyt as a frequent Los Angeles nightclub visitor, trying to pour on the charm to the cigarette girl, Payton, Bridges’s girl. She assumes he must own two or three oil wells because of his generous ten-dollar tips. Hoyt is actually an experienced undercover Secret Service agent posing as a racketeer. Bridges vouches for Hoyt and enlists him to help “convert” a real twenty-five grand into a quarter million in fake bills.

Hoyt reports to his superior, Russ Conway. In Conway’s first scene, we see him taking notes over the phone, handwriting gibberish on a notepad. Surely one of the worst executions of fake handwriting in film. Like the undecipherable notes taken in a college class while suspended over a cliff of sleep. Then, a few days later puzzled as to why the exam score was so below average. I digress. Admittedly, play-acting is rarely filmed authentically. In another Conway moment, an oft-used scene showcases the clever and effective undercover work during the phone booth era. In order to touch base on the agency's progress, Conway is seated in a diner as Hoyt strolls in. Conway steps to a booth and places a call to the adjoining booth to get Hoyt’s report. A local call.

The counterfeit exchange is set with “the big guy,” James Todd, who owns the counterfeit plates. Todd is no Ted de Corsia. He is too easy-going, naive, and skittish to be believed as the ruthless boss of operations. Rather humorous that undercover agents are placed in several locations within running distance of the exchange location. I assume the homeowners were notified that a guy would be cleaning their screens, mowing their lawn, or who is hand-lettering words on a grocery store’s front window. Turns out to be Todd’s test run because he was not sure he could trust Hoyt. The fake quarter million is nothing more than authentic cut paper.

To raise the level of excitement, later an old Army buddy recognizes Hoyt in the nightclub and addresses him by his real name. Finally picking up on Hoyt’s persistent denial and knowing his government position, he apologizes, and Hoyt thinks he survived a close call. Except Payton overheard the conversation. She and Bridges then find the microphone in her apartment. Livid Bridges wants the real twenty-five grand as payback for being double-crossed. Hoyt gets the money from the bank, but on route to the spurious hotel, meeting with Todd, Bridges tells him, at gunpoint, to keep driving. They turn off the highway onto an ocean-side cliff. Both cautiously exit the car, then Hoyt kicks the gun from Bridges’ hand, and their stunt doubles take over. Bridges loses the fight, gets booked, and is jailed. Oddly, it is the last time we see the leading man, yet twenty minutes of film remain. All we know for sure is, that no early release is indicated on the warden’s Mobil Oil calendar.

The ending is fairly exciting as Hoyt decided to complete the exchange anyway based on bogus information provided to “Todd the Naive.” Hoyt is compromised again by Payton’s unexpected appearance at the gang’s warehouse. Less exciting is the commonplace chase of multiple agents pursuing Todd between streetcars in a maintenance garage. It is the typical scenario with bullets bouncing off a lot of metal. Todd climbs to the roof of one streetcar but uses its overhead electrified cable to balance himself. The good news, he will not serve any jail time. “What's that smell?”

Note: The only humorous dialogue could get overlooked because of its subtlety. When Bridges is booked at another precinct, Hoyt tells the policeman to keep it secret and book him with a different name. The officer suggests, “How about Briggs? It’s my mother-in-law’s name. I just want to see what it looks like on a police blotter.”

THE MOB (1951)

This Columbia Pictures release, directed by Robert Parish with an adapted screenplay by William Bowers, is first-rate from beginning to end. A compelling film about corruption, mental delusions, and atonement. Bower’s script bounces humorous quips from one character to another, as one might expect from a film noir of this caliber. Nearly everyone has a turn at them. The cinematography by Joseph Walker is rich with wet streets and dark, danger-filled shadows. The well-versed George Duning provided an effective music score, as well.

Police detective Broderick Crawford is duped by a mob killer carrying an authentic police badge who appears to be coming to the aid of a shooting victim. Crawford discovers too late that the victim was a key witness in an upcoming hearing. The police commissioner is livid and would like to punish Crawford for his halfhearted effort to double-check the true identity of the impostor/gunman. For news headline purposes only, accompanied by a fake picture, he is “suspended.” His real punishment is a death-defying undercover assignment to infiltrate a rough New York waterfront crime organization and bring down its kingpin. 

Needing to redeem his career, Crawford's acting allows him to fit right in as a tough, sarcastic, and unflappable thug from New Orleans. His noir quips are expelled effortlessly through his legendary lightning delivery. Also on the waterfront payroll is Richard Kiley. He and Crawford become pals. It does not take Kiley long, however, to frequently question why Crawford is so interested in what goes on. Crawford drops a few key names that get the attention of a Union thug, Ernest Borgnine. Neville Brand, nearly approaching a typecast level in his career, is again playing a henchman. This time, not the psychotic “Chester” from D.O.A. but a gunman with the wherewithal to also deliver a few great quips of his own at Crawford's expense.

Local bartender Matt Crowley seems to know a lot about what goes on around the waterfront. For a fee. After frequent encounters, he feels Crawford can be trusted enough to set up a meeting with Blackie, the kingpin. The police put a tracking device under Crowley’s car, about the size of a carry-on suitcase. Also installed is an equally sized tank that cleverly drips fluorescent dye on the road so the police can tail the car at night using an infrared spotlight. Cool. Except they did not figure a city street sweeper would turn onto their street a few blocks ahead of them. Just one of the many clever twists in this film you will not expect.

Blackie wants Crawford to do him a favor. Kill the suspended police officer seen in the newspaper. In a twist to end all twists, Crawford is hired to do a hit on himself. Blackie has kidnapped Crawford’s girlfriend, Betty Buehler, to use as a pawn to flesh out her boyfriend, who stands before him. Twisted. When she and Crawford meet, their roles are played as effectively as possible. The detective kicks a lamp over, but in total darkness Blackie escapes with a minor gunshot wound. A hospital setting ends the film, where Buehler and Blackie are recovering. Blackie enters at gunpoint and closes the window curtain. A "nurse" enters to check on Buehler and to open the curtain for more light. From an adjacent building, the police have a clear shot through the window.

Note: From numerous twists, there is a humorous one when Kiley sets up a blind date with Crawford to find out what his game is by using his sister, Lynn Baggett, to pump him for information. Crawford immediately hooks up with Kiley’s wife, played by Jean Alexander, the more attractive of the two. It seems no one wants to be with the sister. Especially Kiley, who protests. He says there is nothing wrong with Doris. “Why can’t he like Doris?!” The sister quickly adds, “Why can’t somebody?” After numerous teasing lines between Baggett and Crawford, the sister turns to her brother, “Well, say something to me.” Kiley hesitates, then awkwardly replies, “Oh...uh..how ya’ been?”

PAROLE, INC. (1948)

Equity Pictures presents this uninteresting film about a federal agent's undercover mission. The Orbit Production is split between studio sets and location shooting, with the obligatory train steam whistle soundtrack in the distance. The opening title credits are accompanied by an Alexander Lazlo score, a B-movie composer and music director for NBC Radio at the time. The music has slight documentary angst about it and the opening roll of the introductory text seems to support this. Yet the score could be used for many dramas with a burlap background behind the titles. l cannot imagine many talked about the film after its initial run, although Michael O'Shea was popular. This movie lacks suspense, action, or any surprises, making for a long seventy-five minutes, including the minimum fist-a-cuffs action.

The film opens from O'Shea's hospital bed, and we see him verbally, still gasping for air, transcribe his thoughts over a Dictaphone about his recent investigation. His head appears bandaged by "Miss Winthrop's third-grade class" using masking tape indiscriminately. While his character sets up the film's premise through flashbacks, each time cutting back to his hospital bed, O'Shea's bandages begin to look a tad more medically approved. The nurses got a real chuckle with those third-graders!

As O'Shea recalls, he went undercover to flesh out the gang responsible for buying paroles for convicted criminals. His lackluster voice-over narration has all the raw toughness of Danny Kaye. Evelyn Ankers, the owner of a dinner club, employs several of her “boys” to do her bidding. The film plays out in slow motion as it cuts between informative scenes and the lull of O'Shea's narration. The Police Commissioner, Lyle Talbot, looking particularly oily in a pencil-thin mustache, arranges a fake news headline that reassures the gang about O'Shea's supposed criminal history. Soon enough, we are back in the hospital, and by now, bedsores are probably O'Shea's biggest concern.

Turhan Bey plays the gang's attorney—the hunk of Ankers—who is the kingpin of buying paroles with inside help from two crooked parole board members. In a pinstriped suit and dark Vitalis hair, Bey looks every bit the matinee idol and stands out from all the other average-looking people in the film. Harry Lauter, always on hand for a supporting role, plays a board member whose well-reasoned votes are constantly ignored by the overriding, obstinate committee.

The excitement nearly crescendos, but the ending is the least imaginative as we finally learn how O'Shea ended up in the hospital in the first place. It also supplies the moviegoer with his current status. He is finally out of that “Craftmatic” bed with dreams of going dancing again. 

MISSING WOMAN (1951)

This is a fun way to spend sixty minutes with one of the most abrupt endings in B-moviedom. The story moves along in tidy fashion, leaving much of the 35mm film on the cutting room floor, yet it will task your suspended disbelief sensibilities. Standard night scenes of the era were created with filters along with limited use of studio backdrop driving scenery. There is a fair share of location filming however and one brief chase scene for the auto and highway patrol motorcycle enthusiast.

Penny Edwards plays this title character. We have no background on the character other than she and her husband are on their honeymoon. Their auto is hijacked by two car thieves, James Millican and John Alvin with the former putting a slug in the gallant husband and with a blow to the head, she falls forward on the steering wheel. The depressed horn continues, signaling local officers patrolling the area. Her character then becomes implausibly polished to pull off the potentially deadly scheme she has in mind. Maybe she was a former FBI agent.

While being questioned by the local authorities, Edwards gets the idea to go undercover to locate the killer of her husband and report his location to the police. She is very savvy about this sort of thing and certainly knows how to bamboozle everyone. All we know is she has experience utilizing a fake persona. Five years on Broadway, perhaps. Her assumed photographic memory comes into play as she only briefly reads a prisoner’s rap sheet but has all the details down pat. Apparently, women come in handy as a distraction during a car heist, so she goes from brunette to Edward’s natural blonde hair, nearly a complete reversal of television’s Richard Kimball. She rolls with every conversation like a pro. One is unsure at what point she will feel in over her head with this charade, but you know it is coming.

She gets the honor of meeting Robert Shayne, the boss of the chopshop. In an awkward scene, after she is driven to the shop location to look around and meet all the nice fellows, Alvin bids her goodbye, until later. She walks out the side door and I wonder where she is going. She has no car. She has no place of her own. I imagine her suddenly stopping in the alley and telling herself, "Dumb, dumb, dumb, now I've done it!" The director must have dozed off during the dailies.

As usual, there are more bits of unintentionally funny scenes for twenty-first-century replays. Bureau of Missing Persons officer, James Brown, gets a tip on Edward’s whereabouts but it is so screwy, her being undercover and all, he tells his superior he might as well file it in the trash can. The superior, in a serious reply, “Never file anything in the trash can.” Oh...right chief. And another: Edwards knew one thief by the name of Hans and with that to go on the superior officer writes down “Hands” on the backboard. He spends countless hours trying to make sense of the nickname and make a connection with it. James Brown enters the room and erases the “D” and suddenly the mystery is solved.

Police locate Edwards and she begs to go back and help round up Shayne and Gang. They seem to think it is quite dangerous to return but tell her to try and stay alive. Bolstered with that encouragement, her missing person’s reward poster is spotted by Alvin and her undercover work appears to be coming to an end. What we learn is that everyone in a chop shop carries a gun. The ending shootout with police includes the trademark Republic Pictures gun sound from their many westerns. And then the film ends abruptly. The director looked at his watch and announced we are done here, people. Edwards transitions to television in the 1960s and retires. Abruptly.