HIGHWAY DRAGNET (1954)

One cannot assess vintage movies with a Twenty-First Century mindset. Understanding the era in which the film was made is only fair. Otherwise, a review could mostly be negative simply because it is "old-fashioned." Truthfully, many B-movies illicit some implausibilities and unintentional humor from when audiences were more gullible. Likewise, some modern movies still utilize an implausible script despite any perceived realism on screen. Allied Artists signed off on this slightly above-average production. There are numerous tell-tale clichés that indicate Roger Corman co-wrote the script. The whole premise is predictable with little singled out that might be construed as creative. However, thanks to adequate casting and the authenticity of being filmed on location, it should hold your attention. The ominous opening notes of the theme music by Edward Kay resemble numerous crime dramas of the era. The opening bars of the melody are sort of a minor key macabre version of the “Laura” movie theme's first notes, turned inside-out. Naturally, Richard Conte is commendable. A fine actor who may have simply needed a better agent. He plays a recently released Korean War veteran who visits Las Vegas, where whatever happens in Vegas stays with Conte.

Conte meets Mary Beth Hughes, whose character used to be somebody. Half drunk, she misinterprets Conte's badly versed compliment and loudly demands an apology because he hurt her feelings. It happens all the time today. While hitchhiking his way out of town, he is arrested and brought back for questioning by Reed “Joe White Eagle” Hadley. Hughes has been murdered and there were plenty of witnesses who jumped to conclusions about what may have happened. Conte can take refuge in the fact that there is no social media yet. He is hot under the collar and, after a few probing questions, stereotypically slugs Hadley, holds his deputies at gunpoint, shoots one patrol car tire flat, then steals the other Nash patrol car. These self-inflicted bits rack up a lot of violations.

He helps two stranded motorists get their car started and expects to get a ride as thanks. As a professional photographer, Joan Bennett is cool to the idea, but her young assistant, Wanda Hendrix, would like to have a hunk along. Bennett's expression while riding in the convertible looks like she smells roadkill. Perhaps her upper lip is overloaded with lipstick or she is just disgusted by life in general. Her esses and “r” pronunciations are Barbara Walters-lite. I digress. Conte tries to fake his persona, but the ladies are suspicious. They try to leave him behind at a diner, except the car keys are dangling from Conte's hand. He is not much for small talk after this.

Much of the “excitement” is typically resolved with clichéd staging. These scenes make up the bulk of the film. Getting through a sweat-inducing roadblock or stealing a car that happens to have the keys in the visor, to name only two. Perhaps the most preposterous is when Conte commands a delivery driver at gunpoint to move his ice cream truck across the highway to block the chasing police. Not a fan of round tires, he shoots them flat. Not as flat as the surrounding desert terrain, yet Joe White Eagle cannot go around the truck. Apparently, because of a dust danger. He is completely bamboozled. If you have not laughed or cringed by now, the ending should do it.

Conte has inherited from his family a house on coastal waters that is dry when the tide is out and when the tide is in, every room has its own wading pool. A family heirloom. It is his final hope to connect with a fellow veteran, his only alibi on the night of Hughes' murder. Hadley—he finally had the courage to go around that truck—arrives to take a Bennett bullet in the shoulder, yet he treats it like a mere BB gun hit, rubbing the wound with his fingers. “Gee Willikers, that stings.” Conte chasing Bennett in apparent slow motion through knee-deep water is...well...not as funny as Bennett, in a near panic of drowning in waist-deep water, with her arms held up as if preparing to signal an NFL field goal. It makes for a silly but revealing ending befitting this effort to produce a film that has not stood the test of time.

Note: Once again, ignore the poster's enticing content. The Art Director must have gotten an earful about selling a dull film. Conte is not a “thrill-killer,” nor do we witness any female attempting to be strangled. The cast never drove a Kaiser Manhattan, either, about to burst through a roadblock.

99 RIVER STREET (1953)

This time around, John Payne is a tough prizefighter in another film for director Phil Karlson. A familiar tale of a “man against the world.” George Zuckerman's story is pretty far-fetched, certainly not routine. If this Edward Small production falls short of being a great movie, the spot-on performances allow one to overlook any clichés. The budgeted studio sets with perpetually wet city streets were a standard device to give a city life. The painted or rear-projected buildings are present to add depth. There is a noticeably odd “processing” near the climactic harbor scene, perhaps a sliced-in partial rear projection in front of a cargo ship. In fact, the cargo ship also looks suspicious.

Though Payne starred in a gritty, career-changing film before, he is believable as a guy beaten down inside and outside the ring. Payne is on a career roll, leaving behind his lighter characters. There is never a dull moment. The boxer's volatile temper, blunt dialogue, and realistic action catapult the film above the average film noir. I found the opening boxing scenes more believable than the over-the-top Rocky Balboa bouts. Though both films seem to use the same sound effect of punching a cardboard box with a pillow inside. Because of the potential loss of sight in one eye during his championship fight, Payne's heavyweight career comes to an end. Three years on, he is now a taxi driver with dreams of owning his own service station. His wife, Peggie Castle, is a nagging, unsympathetic woman who blames him for her lack of social importance and her personal career crusher. Owning a lowly gas station is the "last round" for her. Castle is already two-timing with a jewel thief and murderer, Brad Dexter. No secret to Payne after witnessing their passionate embrace.

Jay Adler moonlights as a backroom jewel fence, incognito as a pet shop owner. He refuses to pay off Dexter for his latest jewel delivery, not only for killing the original owner but primarily because he brings Castle into the mix. Adler tells him there is no deal if a woman is involved. Emotional attachments have a way of altering the endgame. Dexter takes his “advice,” and her cold body is found in the back seat of Payne's cab. Not exactly a typical fare. The cab company's manager is Frank Faylen, a longtime loyal friend of Payne. He is instrumental in helping Payne elude the police with a taxi shell game. 

Playing an aspiring actress, Evelyn Keyes has two supporting roles with Payne. Besides being his co-star, she is a frequent taxi fare. When she finds out about his predicament, she wants to help, but he is reluctant. Keyes' attractiveness lies in her character portrayals more than in being naturally beautiful. It is of no concern whether her face is filmed from one side or the other. She also desperately wants a Broadway part and reels Payne in on her accidental  "killing" of the play's producer. He becomes a sucker, she gets the part. He is so angry over the live "audition," he punches out nearly the entire production staff out of embarrassment. He hopes to never see Keyes again, too.

Jack Lambert, Adler's muscle, below, has a good turn as well. He has developed a sense of humor despite his line of work. Calls everyone at gunpoint, “kiddies.” His fight scene with Payne is worth noting. Suspecting he is in with Dexter, he slaps Payne around from behind, who is slowly coming to a full boil. Lambert becomes his punching bag. He completely did not anticipate the jackhammers hiding at the end of Payne's arms. Poor Lambert is repeatedly blasted over furniture and becomes wall décor, after a fashion. It is well-choreographed, vicious, and believable. 

Adler and crew are 

Payne is picked up after the butt-end of a revolver from a revengeful Lambert, forcing him into Adler's vehicle and taken to 99 River Street. They all wait for Dexter to exit a diner. Adler wants his fifty grand back. Payne explains to the confused mob about his frame-up, then all bullets have Dexter's name on them. Continuing to hone her acting skills, it is Keyes's role-playing that lures Dexter out of the diner. Dexter makes a run for it, with Payne taking a bullet in one arm. Nearly passing out when in pursuit, his inner voice recalls his trainer's advice: never give up. One arm is plenty, and Dexter is soon down for the count. 

Note: The film closes a year later with Payne and Keyes married. He finally owns his gas station, with Faylen as his right-hand man again, arranging for the cab company to buy all their gas from the station.

DRIVE A CROOKED ROAD (1954)

This lower-budget Columbia Pictures drama succeeds thanks to its excellent cast and screenplay. A better-than-average B-movie centering around an automotive theme. The screenplay was written by Blake Edwards from a story by James Benson Nablo and adapted by Richard Quine. The eighty-three-minute film starts off in realistic fashion, hiding the plot initially with racing sequences filmed on location in California. Outside of these scenes, a studio Jaguar XK120 prop car is being hounded by rear-projected cars as an introduction to the film's star. There are cameras also at an actual automotive specialty shop, which is a real eye-ful for foreign car fans. Under echoes of the garage's concrete interior, each vehicle is lined up in its stall as its tune-up awaits. Master mechanic Mickey Rooney is one of the repair shop's best. He had left Andy Hardy in the dust with Quicksand four years earlier, also playing an auto mechanic. Rooney would use another Edwards screenplay, The Atomic Kid, the same year.

The film takes its time to establish Rooney's character, but it is never dull. The entire cast is more than competent. Rooney is first-rate as an unassuming mechanic and part-time racer of the aforementioned Jaguar. He lives and breathes automobiles, leaving little time for socializing. His dream is to race in the famous circuits in Europe. Throwing a wrench into his garage is Dianne Foster, who brings in her British Hillman, asking specifically for Rooney to work on it. The very next day, Foster again has “car trouble.” It will not start―probably expected―but this time, Rooney has to drive to her apartment building. Being the perfect gentleman, he gets her car started with only a thank you expected. She quickly gets him started, twisting him tightly around her finger. He is nervously smitten by the Amazon female. She is a woman with interior...uh...ulterior motives. 

Kevin McCarthy and Jack Kelly finish out the deceitful trio. McCarthy has been scouting local race tracks for a fast driver. They single out Rooney as their ideal chump. Like diesel fuel in sub-zero weather, the plot thickens. Witty script lines perfectly befit Kelly's condescending sarcasm, usually at Rooney's expense. McCarthy wants Rooney to drive a crooked, dangerous road in twenty minutes that would safely take forty. In mock fascination, he pumps up Rooney's ego on what it would take to do this. Accurately, he explains the different driving dynamics of a European car compared to a heavy American sedan. The lighter European models corner better, have stiffer suspension, and exude more confidence on a racing circuit. One would need to highly modify an old sedan to make it work. But Rooney is puzzled about the importance of twenty minutes. And his payment of fifteen grand just to drive. He immediately punches the emergency brake on their robbery getaway plan. 

By this stage, Foster is showing sincere remorse for towing the sweet little guy along. The trio is at McCarthy's beach house when Rooney shows up, hoping to find Foster. Something he was told not to do. Still sufficiently naive, McCarthy tells him he has not seen her. Foster enters from another room to bluntly spill her guts about her involvement, much to McCarthy's ire. Rooney knows a bit too much at this point. It is Kelly's job to eliminate him along the coastal roadway. As an excellent driver, Rooney knows how to handle sudden emergencies. He also knows how best to roll a car. Rooney survives and stumbles back about a mile to McCarthy's with Kelly's gun. The one in the poster that suggests Rooney is a hired killer or something. The ending minute leaves the story unresolved, but it does not take a certified master mechanic to figure it out.

Note: The studio prop car's “driving” sequences are pretty funny during their shortcut's dusty escape. The studio's stunt driver and sound department put on an impressive show, however. Rooney's faking of the prop car steering wheel suggests he understands and respects the car's limits. He supposedly hits 100 mph at one point with Kelly hanging on for dear life in the back seat as the rear-projected scenery shifts abruptly left to right, tires squealing in the dirt. Not as wacky as W.C. Fields' climactic driving in The Bank Dick, but nonetheless, amusing.

DOUBLE DEAL (1950)

This is the first picture produced by Bel-Air Productions, a studio known for B-movies and location shooting to retain a low budget. There is nothing unique here. Even the film's title was used before and since. There is the usual frame-up, someone getting beat up, yet nothing ever heats up. Richard Denning is easy to like and adds the only spark to this clichèd drama. Marie Windsor receives top billing in a role against type as a decent soul. Still, it is a pretty enjoyable romp thanks to a talented cast including a smarty-hurdy-gurdy monkey.

Out-of-work engineer Denning is looking for a job in Oklahoma oil country. Thinking he might at least triple his nine dollars, he joins a backroom gambling table after meeting hostess, Windsor. James Griffith wins most of the time because his dice are loaded. After losing, Denning calmly walks over and removes his nine bucks from Griffith's pile of cash. Windsor and her boss take notice of his bold move and learning of his engineering background, they hope to persuade him to help her boss's oil well turn a profit before it defaults to his sister, and Griffith's girl, Fay Baker, as per their father's will. Baker is a manipulator by profession, and there is no love lost between her and her brother. Using all her feminine wiles, she tries to get Denning to change sides. Griffith and Baker stoop low enough to make her will a reality, setting up Denning to take a murder rap. 

No sooner than Baker can say, "My will be done," she is shot and killed by, apparently, the cameraman, as the audience is left to guess who pulled the trigger. Thanks to the monkey's ninja move, Windsor's life is spared from any remaining bullets. The instantly sober attorney was planning to eliminate all family members, claiming the well for himself. Never trust a fake drunk. Windsor gushes over Denning as their oil well strikes a pose.

Note: Taylor Holmes plays the attorney who represented the father before he died. He lives with a talented, unemployed organ grinder monkey. His character is annoying because of his perpetual drunk routine. Since the beginning of Hollywood's double standards, stumbling drunks have been either harmless, lovable creatures or used for comic relief. In reality, alcoholics are pathetically in need of help. Even television's Otis Campbell. 

THE LAS VEGAS STORY (1952)

Howard Hughes puts his trademarks on this eighty-eight-minute RKO Radio Pictures film, what with the flying sequences and microscopic closeups of his leading lady. A hardly unknown film, it lost money at the box office. However, with the pairing of Victor Mature and Jane Russell, it is hard to ignore. Despite some inferior projects, Mature never embarrassed himself. He is his usual flawless self, yet his co-star, Vincent Price, takes a back seat to no one. Throw in Hoagy Carmichael and you have the potential for fine entertainment. It was directed by Robert Stevenson and required the trio of Robert Sparks, Howard Hughes, and Samuel Bischoff to produce it.

With similar “dangerous” facial features, testy pout, and a noteworthy sneer, Russell may remind one of the female Elvis. She could hardly be called flat except for her adequate acting and one-dimensional delivery here. Her eyes are generally expressionless and her potentially witty comebacks are not as pointed as in the superior, His Kind of Woman, a year earlier, with Robert Mitchum. Nonetheless, she had one of the most beautiful smiles in Hollywood. But lately, those smiles only happen when she is around Happy, played by Carmichael, the casino pianist. Thanks to his delivery, he lightens the film considerably, if not frequently. His opening narration sets up the background for the film's stars. Hoagy's folksy tone of a “country cool cat” is endearing. He performs an early “rap” song, “The Monkey Song.” The difference with his rap is that he uses an actual melody. The 1938 song, “I Get Along Without You Very Well” is reused for this film. Russell is filmed only from the waist up while singing, providing another comparison to Elvis. But with Hughe's opposite intentions.

Russell's husband, Price, insists on vacationing in Las Vegas, determined to play the tables in hopes of winning enough to pay his debts. He is decidedly a character with selfish motives. Russell preferred a flight anywhere else from fears of running into her old flame, Mature, now a lieutenant with the Sheriff's Department. Throughout most of the film, he and Russell get along without each other very well due to their parting years before, the result of poor communication skills. Russell's 100 grand necklace becomes Price's gambling collateral with the casino owner attempting to secure it. Getting off the same flight as the newlyweds is "Mr. Smarmy" himself, Brad Dexter. He has been assigned by his insurance company to watch Price and Russell's neckli...uh...necklace. Dexter slimes into the dark side about halfway through the film.

The climax, filmed at the former Tonopah Army Airfield, was the first car and helicopter chase sequence in a movie. Flying twice through an open hanger was a groundbreaking sequence and I imagine amazed the audience. Dexter's useless driving around in circles in his attempt to evade the helicopter is pretty silly. The foot chase between him and Mature is a high-wind final confrontation yet typical of the era. Price is no longer a murder suspect but is found guilty of embezzlement to please the audience. An appropriate wrap to the film. But wait. It is not quite over. After two murders, theft, and an extended chase scene, one might not expect to have another song thrown in. Written for this film and Mature's character, “My Resistance Is Low” is an okay Carmichael song but hard to sit through because of Russell's syrupy delivery and slurred esses. I digress. There will be divorce papers to sign and assuming they can keep their personal blowups restrained, Russell and Mature may roll the dice one more time. Viva Las Vegas!

WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS (1950)

This film hardly falls into the unknown category for any film noir fan. It is generally highly regarded despite a familiar B-movie path. Directed and produced by Otto Preminger with a screenplay by the typically great Ben Hecht, it follows the story of another cynical detective who hates criminals to the core. Subconsciously, because his late father was a gangster in his own time. His methods of getting a criminal to talk are not by the book and the Inspector, Robert Simon, in his first film role, repeatedly calls him on the carpet for it.

Dana Andrews plays the aforementioned detective, where violence seems to be around every corner. Murder suspect and gambler, Craig Stevens, who is particularly soused, strikes Andrews across the jaw, then he is decked, hitting his head on the floor. Andrews tries to wake him, but he is out. Permanently. Andrews turns white with fear. He will surely lose that parking spot in front of headquarters! When he finds out Stevens was a war hero and the silver plate in his head is what killed him, he feels even worse. Things get dicier after Andrews discovers that Gene Tierney was his wife. Andrews' web of deceit plunges him deeper into self-loathing. Andrews devises a plan to detour the manslaughter rap.

Gary Merrill is Andrew's gangster nemesis. It was Andrew's father who set Merrill up in the mob. His character is somewhat in the mold of Richard Widmark's screen debut role, though not mentally unstable. Cool, calm, and polite with nice threads, Merrill's quirk is his apparent addiction to nasal inhalers. A medicinal gimmick that seems to only afflict the underworld. Hiring Neville Brand as a heavy, here doing double duty as a massage therapist, was also a customary gimmick during this period.

Tierney was another actress of the era with a slight overbite. This physical “feature” is noticeable only when she speaks. Which is her every scene. I guess they cannot all be Grace Kelly. I digress. Her father, Tom Tully, is a cabbie who has been understandably angry with his good-for-nothing son-in-law, Stevens. Because of this and his whereabouts near the time of Stevens' demise, he is inadvertently accused of homicide. Newly promoted Lieutenant, Karl Malden, is convinced Tully is the killer despite Andrews' attempt to throw the killing in Merrill's direction.

At his personal sidewalk ends, Andrews is abducted and driven to the gangsters' hideout. There is a creepiness of being helplessly trapped inside a car as it is hydraulically lifted to the upper level of a parking garage. No dialogue. No music. Just the sound of the lift's mechanics. Feeling more despondent and no better than his father, he hopes to be killed so the authorities can at least pin one murder on Merrill, who is not taking the bait. The gangsters hightail it when the sirens get louder and they lock Andrews in the garage. In their hasty retreat, the gang forgot about an unlocked rooftop door, and out pops Andrews. He stops the elevator's descent between floors, with Merrill and his gang being arrested.

Andrews had written a confession letter to be opened in the event of his death. Simon, now all smiles and grateful to Andrews for bringing down the mob, indicates there is no reason, thankfully, to open it. Awkward. He wants the letter to be read anyway in front of Tierney. The Inspector's smile is turned upside down. Andrews will have time to contemplate his future career move. Perhaps security detail at a Woolworth's. 

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."