CRIME AGAINST JOE (1956)

Handsome John Bromfield plays the title character from a neighborhood where everyone has known him since childhood. It is a familiar story of guilt until proven innocent. In a nod to the twenty-first century, the nearly thirty-year-old Korean War vet still lives with mom. The neighborhood sees him as an out-of-work artist bum and a frequent heavy drinker. He is so disgusted with his talent that he tells his mother he is going to get drunk. Like his late father. She is very understanding.

His car ends up at a burger joint where his high school alum, Julie London, works as a carhop. Obviously drunk, she suggests he call a taxi from there. He requests his cabbie pal, Henry Calvin, to come and get him. Calvin keeps addressing London as his girl. That may be the first hard-to-believe moment: that London and rotund Calvin are an item. The second might be Bromfield as a drunk. It is a borderline comedy routine. Stumbling home in the early morning hours, he encounters Patricia Blair sleepwalking and kindly sees her home, her father answering the door in total embarrassment. 

Not being depressed enough about his artistic talents, a girl is murdered who happens to have in her possession a high school class pin. Like the one Bromfield cannot locate. Blair’s father is called in as Bromfield’s time alibi. He is so embarrassed over his daughter’s sleep disorder he denies ever seeing him. Bromfield’s past sessions for “battle fatigue” also go against him as does his frequency of destroying his unsuccessful female portrait paintings. Painting is hard. With no solid evidence but he being their only suspect, the condescending district attorney thinks they have their man. He does not understand art either. The final, hard-to-believe moment is that the whole neighborhood thinks Bromfield should be run out of town on hearsay like so many other opinionated movie extras. London provides a bogus alibi to free Bromfield. The DA is incensed. The high school pin suspects are narrowed down. The film’s closing moments offer up a rapid twist, revealing the murderer.

Note: Bromfield is always solid in his Bel-Air Production projects. He had bills to pay like everyone else. This film benefits from location shooting, adding a historical look back for Los Angeles natives. London is not as polished. She just does not seem that interested in the role while posters try to sell the movie on her sultry figure.

MILLION DOLLAR PURSUIT (1951)

At sixty minutes, it is the perfect length for a B-movie. This Republic Pictures vehicle sets a good pace and has all the cliché elements you would expect. The virtually unknown British actor, Norman Budd, plays a small-time crook whose ego is bigger than his brains, doing his best American tough-guy routine. The mob has shut him out but he still thinks he can rise to the top again. Being the dreamer he is, Budd also thinks he has a girlfriend in Penny Edwards, a nightclub singer at the club he used to own with Grant Withers. Though without a spotless record, Withers is the current sole owner and has taken Edwards under his wing. This is the same girl who was previously engaged to the police lieutenant, actor Steve Flagg, who wants her out of the mob and into his life again. She cannot commit to his second engagement proposal until she finds out who framed her for the resulting short prison term.

A department store executive drops a set of keys one night and Budd picks them up. After a scuffle at the club, he is thrown out, leaving the keys at the bar. His buddy bartender, Denver Pyle, returns them the next day. The wheels start turning in Budd's brain and he contacts locksmith, Rhys Williams. He explains that it is a special key used for vaults and the like. Williams makes a duplicate key with plans to easily steal a million and Pyle wants in on it. The group grows to five but the robbery does not go well. A murder charge awaits one gang member. Plus, their take comes up 500K short and the bills are all marked. 

Panic sets in and Williams hopes Budd can get Withers to fence the useless bills for them. Withers arranges a meeting but Williams shows instead. Their location is overheard by the pretty singer who tells the handsome lieutenant. In typical fashion, gunshots buzz by automobile fenders and hoods, killing two human hoods in the process. Withers and his bodyguard also go down. Back at the hideout, a radio bulletin informs Pyle the other gang members were killed and thinks Budd had it planned all along. After Budd arrives, Pyle unsuccessfully tries to bow out. 

Figuring out who tipped off the police, Budd returns to Edward’s apartment and in his anger tells her he is gifted at framing. She manages to escape then he catches up with her in a warehouse. Imagine that? Now, this rarely happens in crime films but the helpless female is held at gunpoint. The lieutenant disarms the crook and they duke it out to a definitive end.

Note: The acting is competent throughout with perhaps the exception of a melodramatic performance by Penny Edwards near the end is a bit overblown. Those scenes are played out more like a stage play. Denver Pyle is quite smooth and inhabits his character. Norman Budd’s short stature works pretty well as he tries to verbally cut everyone down to his size with tough talk. He comes on strong but not over the top. His career was short as well, and his last role was just two years later.

TRAIN TO ALCATRAZ (1948)

Republic Pictures offers up a rather typical crime story in the fact that you can expect a shootout with people getting at least injured, if not killed, in the process. What is not typical is that it takes place entirely on a train transferring criminals to Alcatraz. They are all under guard, in leg irons, and in a separate coach. The plan to break out from the train is masterminded by the worst of the lot, Don Barry. There are no lapses in the script. It is a slow-burn film and worth a ticket.

William Phipps is the other central character. He is studied at the train depot by a young woman. She is surprised to see him handcuffed to a detective because he does not fit her idea of a criminal. He looked guilty to me. They make eye contact and board the same train. As he is led through the prison coach, one officer gives a brief bio of the dozen, sounding like a tour guide at a museum. It reminded me of an early thirties drama when everything had to be explained to the viewers. The scene is a bit tedious but it does have an effect on Phipps if not the audience. He recognizes the last man as the one who framed him for murder, Milburn Stone. Barry’s planned escape is aided by Stone’s girl in the passenger coach. She manages to get the key that will unlock their leg irons.

Barry is ruthless even by current standards. During the standoff with the guards, he holds one hostage, threatening to kill him if the sheriff does not stop the train ten miles ahead. The sheriff refuses to compromise and Barry keeps his word. Upping the ante, he vows to kill another in the next ten miles. Stone’s girl, with unknowingly perfect timing, pulls a derringer on the conductor and commands him to stop the train. His pull of the emergency brake throws everyone about and Barry makes a run for it, getting “spiked” about five ties down the tracks by two sharp-shooting hunters on board, anxious to hone their accuracy. In the meantime, the murderer is identified, apprehended, and confessed. Phipps flashes his only smile in the film as he reunites with the girl who believed in him.

Note: At just two ticks over an hour, this is a fairly gritty crime drama despite an old premise. When Barry slaps Stone hard across the face it looks and sounds authentic. Perhaps was. And the cold-blooded murder of the guard is startling, though we only hear the gunshot. There are a couple of unintentionally funny moments as two convicts are shot, both letting out loud falsetto screams. Then there is Iron Eyes Cody, letting out war whoops as he starts the fight that initiates the escape. Old habits are hard to break, I guess.

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.

THE BIG BLUFF (1955)

The big bluff is John Bromfield, looking dashingly untrustworthy with his rare pencil mustache and nearing the high point of his career. He loves a nightclub entertainer. They are both being pursued by her estranged husband. Untrustworthy is exactly how he sees Bromfield. Thankful that this is only seventy minutes, it is still an intriguing, if implausible, noir. The last ten minutes are the reason to see the film through with a slick double-twist. The film was produced by Planet Filmplays and distributed by United Artists. One word of caution, it is directed by W. Lee Wilder, the less-talented brother of Billy. On the brighter side, Fred Freiberger wrote the screenplay and cinematography by Gordon Avil. Freiberger gained notice about a decade later as a writer or producer for several popular television series.

The black and white film opens at the bedside of a rich widow, played by Martha Vickers, terminally ill with a heart condition. Her secretary and doctor think it best not to tell her, feeling a positive outlook would be best for her. The doctor also suggests a move to a more remote part of Los Angeles for peace and quiet. The views from her window are spectacular if the smog ever clears. Robert Hutton gives a rather comatose performance as the doctor.

While dining out the secretary meets Bromfield who learns about Vickers and her health, aka wealth. He wines and dines the rich widow, then marries. He does his best to wear her down with late-night parties and physical activity. But to his disappointment, all this exercise improves her health. Diabolically, the financially restrained con man speeds up the process by replacing her medication with sodium bicarbonate in a second pill container. The real medicine is his backup to his vow, "I'll take care of her" (for as long as he can stand it). Vickers is annoying, acting like a schoolgirl, constantly gushing over Bromfield, unable to see through his over-the-top behavior. But her secretary has no doubts after noticing two identical pillboxes. The doctor, along with a detective, tests the pills and confirms something is truly wrong with Bromfield. 

Bromfield suddenly becomes nasty to his wife, ranting and raving. It is simply a cover to storm off and arrange a future with his girlfriend, and then return to confess his intimate indiscretions. He puts the "sin" in sincerity. With some carefully planted evidence, the fix is in. And there is that estranged husband.

LOST, LONELY AND VICIOUS (1958)

Starting out as a pseudo-documentary, the narration by an authoritarian figure informs us that life can be troubling for young Hollywood thespians. He makes it a point to mention these are only actors portraying real people. These “actors” are a cast of wannabes who truly qualify as ordinary people because they lack acting ability. Each hoping for their own break in show business. This film is not going to help. Unlike the poster's promotion, they are not "the brightest stars of tomorrow." The main focus of this thin-budgeted film concerns confused youth with Rebel Without a Cause, fresh in Hollywood’s memory. Their dialogue is perfectly memorized, each ready for that one word, “Action!”

Ken Clayton plays the financially spoiled and troubled main character. His very first casting role becomes an overnight success indicating his fellow actors and actresses only have dreams of talent. They regularly meet around one area microphone for that realistic soda shop sound. One, a lumpy guy with a plaid driver’s cap, always standing around eating popcorn and staring. If that is not funny enough, old “Toots” fakes playing the Harmonetta with a bouncy rhythm unrelated to the tune that is playing. Yes. These teens are confused.

Decent location filming is used for a car chase, of sorts. Despite the phony automobile sound effects, it is the only “real” element in the film. But the rising star seems fixated on death, alternating between violence and kindness. Bipolar. He angers a jealous actor with his T-Bird convertible, trying to make him crash on a highway. He nearly hits a girl crossing the street and the script brings them together later in the library. After reconsidering that she might have been crippled for life, she makes googly eyes at this rich, cute guy. She becomes interested in his odd thinking and helps him consider other things besides death—like driving lessons. They even share two Cokes to seal their friendship.

His drama coach and life guide is the notable French actress, Lilyan Chauvin, who seeks counsel from a mental health expert, asking why this talented boy is consumed with death. Could be this picture. In another amateur scene, she tries to break through to him, hoping he will appreciate the talent he has to offer. They have a very close relationship but they never share a Coke. Their long conversations are excruciating to sit through which explains my own thoughts about death.

One dark and stormy night. Okay. It was not stormy. He drives his T-Bird at high speed seemingly ready to meet his Maker. In his possession is his self-portrait painting. He stops at the lake where he first fell in love with the library girl and realizes his life does have a future. His real intention was to toss the painting into the lake and symbolically drown his past. One look at his painting talent indicates it was a good plan. The film ends with some final wisdom from the adult narrator.  

Note: With a budget that would raise no eyebrows and a high school-level interior set, this HOWCO International production would have been more appropriately produced by HOWCOME International. As for the girl in the negligee featured in the above poster, she is not in this film.

CRY VENGEANCE (1954)

Few films of any era are centered in Ketchikan, Alaska. There is not much noir with the location, one reason the film just does not excite. There are no night scenes and barely a shadow cast, except on the poster. By the mid-fifties film noir was getting stale, often using recycled scripts. This film is a good example.

Mark Stevens stars and directs this familiar story about a vengeful San Francisco ex-cop who loses his wife and daughter in a bomb explosion. Being framed for the deaths and spending three years in prison makes him self-obsessed. His face is disfigured in one of the most startling and poorly executed Hollywood make-up jobs, perhaps better executed by any high school drama production. No, that is not an alien leach on his jaw. I would see a cancer specialist. Right away.

The film also stars Douglas Kennedy, the hoodlum on Steven’s revenge list who he believes is responsible for destroying his life. Kennedy is assuming a new life with his young daughter. When they meet, Kennedy tries to reason with him but Stevens goes a bit psychotic talking about how Kennedy is going to suffer.

Adding a bit of scenery to the gray landscape is Frontier Tavern owner, Martha Hyer, the calm and level-headed equalizer for the disturbed Stevens. In one interior scene, she wears an out-of-place spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress while on duty in the rustic, wooden tavern. Ahh...summer in Ketchikan. She and Kennedy are close but she becomes more attracted to Stevens and soon understands why he is in Alaska.

But the showstopper is the unhinged hitman, Skip Homeier, and his bleached white hair, black, thick-rimmed glasses, and bow tie. Pee-Wee Herman’s evil brother. Three minutes into the film he makes a bad impression on Stevens and the audience. His smart-aleck, condescending tone deserves a fist in the face. Pretty visually funny when he slowly pops up in the backseat of Kennedy’s studio prop car. For his amusement, Homeier "skips" a stone across a lake after killing Kennedy in cold blood.

The dialogue is mundane, and lacks snap, except for one brief scene when Joan Vohs, Homeier’s "lush-friend," shows up at the tavern to warn Stevens. She asks the bartender for a drink unfamiliar to Alaskans. A screwdriver. Puzzled, the bartender asks, “Somethin’ loose?” She replies, “Comedy, yet...you drink it, Hyrum!” "The name’s Rusty." "So’s your sense of humor." She eventually returns to Homeier’s room. Sick of seeing her drunk again, his remedy is for her to take one bullet and not see him in the morning.

Knowing nothing of Kennedy’s demise, Stevens’ plan to kidnap his daughter as payback quickly disintegrates. With child-like acceptance, she is glad to see him again and kisses him on the leach side of his face. She asks Stevens to return the kiss like her daddy does. This nearly crushes him. A rather touching and pivotal scene of surrender.

After a slow, mountain car chase, more dusty than exciting, Stevens finally catches Homeier, his real target, on top of a dam. Homeier oddly points his gun down, and to the right, getting off two shots. Nearly hitting the dam. Some hitman! Stevens’ directing took a more direct hit. Stevens’ aim is truer and Homeier stumbles. Cleared of any wrongdoing, morose Stevens returns to San Francisco but leaves the viewer open to the possibility he might return someday (yawn) to start a new family with Hyer and Kennedy’s little girl.