The Golden Age Of The
B-Film Noir- Alex Nichol And Hillary Brooke’s “Heat Wave” (1954)
DVD Review
By Film Critic Emeritus
Sam Lowell
Heat Wave (released in
Britain as The House Across The Lake, starring Alex Nicol, Hillary Brooke,
Hammer Productions, 1954
Apparently I have lost a
step or two (some like the guy who has taken my place as senior film critic my
old friend and colleague Sandy Salmon would up those numbers by a few) in the
reviewing department. I have long been known to regular readers of this space
(and previously at the hard copy edition of American
Film Gazette where I first worked with Sandy) as an aficionado of film noir
and that is still true. I have also been known in general when I find something
of interest which has other material of interest along with it to go on a
“run,” to grab every possible combination and write about those things as well.
That has been the case with the series that I have been presenting in this
space (and on-line at the Gazette)
with the headline The Golden Age Of The B-Film
Noir. This series of ten films from 1950 to 1955 (a long time of
collaboration in the film industry on any project) was the collective endeavor
of American producer Robert Lippert and the Hammer Production Company in
England to produce a bunch of noirs on the cheap using “has-been” Hollywood
actors. Guys like Alex Nichol who stars in the film under review here Heat Wave (that juicy and come on title
the way the film was released in America bringing images of sex and violence
and in England, Great Britain, the British Isles, the Commonwealth or whatever
they are calling themselves these post-Brexit days as the understated The House Across The Lake which seems
more appropriate since the serious action, well, takes place across the lake
from star Alex’s abode). Other faded stars such as Dan Duryea and Dane Clark
have also been enlisted in these efforts along with British character actors
filling out the roster. Like I say on the cheap to fill up that craving for
noir on both sides of the Atlantic without heavy expenses.
Getting back to the
reason why I believe I have lost a step or two is that as this series has
progressed some readers have commented that I have “mailed in” the reviews.
“Mailed in” here meaning that I have used a basic format for each review which
contained a general appraisal of the series and then a short summary of the
plot line.
I have done this on many
occasions when I am on a “run.” In this series I have emphasized why these ten
films are B-films contrasting them with the Hollywood-produced classics where
you can remember a ton of lines, and remember the lessons learned about crime
not paying and such. Had run through for examples a few classics for instance
the sadder but wiser Sam Spade after Mary Astor had run him a merry chase and
he had to send her over once the bodies stared piling up over a freaking
black-etched bird in The Maltese Falcon. Ditto when Jane Greer got
seriously trigger-happy and took down Robert Mitchum (and Kirk Douglas) with
her once she saw that he had doubled-crossed her in Out Of The Past. Ditto Phillip Marlowe trying to salvage an old
man’s illusions that he had not begotten Satan’s two daughters in The Big Sleep. And so on.
One reader had actually
if you can believe this, accused me of padding these reviews because and I
quote “I must get paid by the word.” Oh the woes of film review-dom. Worse
though was that these comments got back to the “boss,” to Pete Markin, the site
administrator who actually sided with those readers (although except for a
chuckle not the “paid by the word” comment reader since the reader obviously didn’t
know that penny-a-word went out with dime-store novels and that nowadays you
submit on “spec” and are either taken or don’t get even a penny for your efforts.).
Now I have been asked to just give the “skinny” and forget the rest. Here goes.
As I have noted the
quality of these Hammer film while purely B-film stuff have a range from almost
A to much worse including one, Wings of
Danger, which I did not review because it never got to even B-level. The
film under review Heat Wave (as noted
above released in Great Britain as more accurately The House Across The Lake) almost makes it to A-level mostly
because of the acting and not the plotline which has been used in noir almost
as much as the boy-girl meet-up thing in
romantic comedies and the like. Mark, played by Alex Nichol, is a pulp fiction
writer on the skids, getting ready to go down in the mud was the epitome of
1950s “cool”-detached, street smart, wiseacre, and with a gift of gab (when he
wants to). Something out of a Mickey Spillane crime novel if he was a private
detective. And a lady’s man as they used to say in the old days. The latter as
usual with such guys will get him up to his neck, hell, maybe over his head in
trouble. That “trouble” coming from across that fatal English lake is one dishy
busty blonde (just the way he likes them), Carol, very married Carol, played by
Hillary Brooke. She the epitome of 1950s femme duplicity and so the acting works
the film to a higher level.
Not so the plotline
which is pretty conventional. Mark eyes high –style wealthy party-girl, very
married party girl, Carol having, well, a party, from his rented digs across
the lake. They meet via that very party amid a drink and some banter. Mark,
like I said a lady’s man, was smitten from the first by this dishy, busty
blonde who was free with her favors, sexual or otherwise. The problem though is
her husband who Mark likes, likes and befriends. That didn’t stop his downy
billow thoughts of milady Carol. This husband, Beverly, was the second time
around married very liberal toward Carol’s philandering-up to a point. He was
ready to foot the bill, her very expensive bill as his trophy wife but was
going to cut her off once he passed on. Which according to the doctors was not
long if he kept up his frantic life-style.
Enter the evil
plan-Carol’s plan. Good old Beverly had a serious accident at sea while he,
Mark and Carol were on board. Carol saw her chance and tried to convince Mark
to give him the old heave-ho to the briny bottom, No go. So our brave Carol
does the nasty deed. Here’s where our boy Mark went off the skids. Carol
convinced him to tell the tale that the whole thing was an accident and he and
she could live happily ever after. He buys into the deal and expects to get the
pay-off soon. That was the story he told the coppers when they figured out
something was wrong with whole setup and let sucker Mark find out that Carol
had secretly married and fled that sinkhole house across the lake leaving him
holding the bag. He confronted Carol who laughed at him and his stupid American
gullibility. Mark got the last laugh of sorts, he like Sam Spade and a million
guys before him sent her over, let her, despite his own culpability take the
fall, take the big step-off. A hard way to learn to stay away, way away from
dishy, busty blondes.
I hope this short
bare-bones “skinny” will appease that reader who claimed that I was getting
paid by the word. Enough said.
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