From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Out Of The Film Noir Night- “Impact”

 

 

DVD Review

Impact, starring Brain Donlevy, Ella Raines, United Artists, 1949

…some guys, some tough customer guys, who would think nothing, nothing at all of rearranging your face for you, or run an off-hand sword through your heart just to see you bleed in primitive times, or today, today in modern times, what with everything all civilized and sewed up in those more physical fields, maybe cut your throat in the global financial markets, something like that, and laugh, laugh hard, when you come to his door asking for a dollar, but who will melt like butter if some femme fatale dame just whistles, or maybe just thinks about whistling. Go all to putty and so much purr at their beck and call.

Take Walter, yah, let’s take Walter, a big captain of industry in ‘Frisco town, widgets or something,  in the film under review, Impact, a guy who would run you out of business and not look back to keep business up, keep production up, and, incidentally, to keep his ever-loving wife Irene in trinkets and toys. So naturally if she was a little out of sorts on any given day (most days) old Walter was at the ready to chase away her blues. Yah, Mr. Softy (a little inside coo-coo between our pair like a lot of couples but read Mr. Sucker, okay) would drop the daily production schedule, or fly forthwith (nice) out of a board meeting if his femme had the vapors, or the hint of such troubles.        

But our teddy bear Mr. Softy had a problem, a big problem, his ever-loving Irene was two-timing him with some be-bop Jimmy, all hip suited out, a guy who knew all the angles, at least all the angles on how to get out of cheap street by latching on to Irene. Of course, old Irene had Mr. Jimmy on a string too and will have him too jumping through hoops at her first sign of the vapors. Now two-timing women (men too but this is about a woman), two-timing women in film noir anyway, have two choices- grab a divorce Reno-style and slide down to cheap street with fancy Dan Mr. Jimmy or take dear hubby Walter out of the picture permanently, yes, the big sleep, and then just spend her days with Jimmy (or the next best thing) counting up the proceeds from his estate. Guess which option Irene took.   

Now here is something anyone, even a rookie at film noir, can take as wisdom from the ages, murder, murder most foul, is nothing for amateurs to fool around with. Leave such doings to the pros. Naturally Irene’s hare- brain scheme (hare –brain for openers for expecting hep cat Jimmy, maybe high on some goof balls, to stay calm enough to commit a capital crime and survive) breaks down in the execution. This caper was to involve Jimmy, posing as an Irene cousin needing a ride from ‘Frisco town east, to meet Walter in front of a Rexall drugstore in Sausalito, go from there to some convenient isolated spot along the highway after feigning car trouble and bop old Walter over the head hard, real hard. Done, well almost done, except two important factors, Jimmy didn’t hit Walter hard enough and Jimmy, damn those goof balls, wound up dead after colliding with an oil tanker truck during his get-away.           

After Walter woke up (literally and figuratively) he finally figured out the score with Irene and it didn’t work in his favor so he drifted off east, east to Podunk Idaho where he, if you can believe this, started a new life as a lowly but very efficient auto mechanic for a good simple country woman boss, Marsha, and war widow (World War II if you are asking) who also became his new love interest. And Irene? Oh yah she was sitting a little peevishly in pre-trial confinement for the murder of her husband, her Walter. Ironic right, and served her right. Well almost. See Walter (and his country honey, after he tells her the skinny) cannot let even evil Irene step off for the big one since he is very much alive. So he returned to ‘Frisco town to face the music.            

And here is the real beauty of all those evil femme fatales from Mary Astor (The Maltese Falcon) to Jane Greer (Out Of The Past) and their film sisterhood Irene in a fit of hubris (or maybe vapors) switched up on Walter and set him up for Jimmy’s death, Jimmy’s murder in her book. Beautiful. So Walter, as he must as a gallant, had to defend himself against a murder rap. And it really did look like he was going to take the fall.  Not to worry though Irene will get hers, will get her just desserts. And what do you bet old Marsha will have tough guy Walter (or whatever little inside coo-coo name our pair like a lot of couples work out) jumping through hoops for her before things go too far…          

Thoroughly Modern Miss Delysia LaFosse - Reflected

Thoroughly Modern Miss Delysia LaFosse - Reflected

I have spent no little “cyberspace” ink in the recent past swearing off femme fatales in crime noirs, mainly crime noirs from their heyday in the 1940s and 1950s. I had grown tired, very tired, of two-timing dames (to speak nothing of those three, or hell more, timing frails) who saw nothing wrong, nothing in the world wrong, with off-handedly putting a couple of slugs in the likes of a prince valiant like Robert Mitchum as Jane Greer did in Out Of The Past just for trying to help her out of a jam, or seven. And him half-smiling, an ironic smirk really, half-wishing that finally just maybe he would be over her with those sweet embedded slugs. Ya, sure Robert, keep thinking she would ever loosen the claws she had into you. Sweet dreams, and RIP brother.

Or some half-addled, half-smitten, half-snake bitten, free-wheeling, half-mad poet fellow, blood cursed, irish blackie trying to shake off some tainted married woman and getting shook, getting square- framed, framed just for laughs to prove she could do it and slug-filled too. Framed hard right, framed hard left but framed and set up, with an invisible bulls-eye target right in the middle of his head, for the big house and the big tumble jolt without tears, or a look back, by a blond Rita Hayworth to Orson Welles in The Lady From Shang-hai (really not her color, blond, but that is a tale for another day and they don’t have to be blond to get to you in their clutches). And he, even after the mirror glass shattered, and he knew she was dead and gone and good riddance, would still remember, remember into old age remember, that first fragrance, some orchid scent, and that first look, some hidden larcenous look, as he walked along beside her and wonder where he had let her down. Have another shot, irish blackie, have one on me some cold dark night just before dream time.

Or, or, and just one last faint fragrance remembrance, this time maybe some blue dahlia scent or some oriental herbal splash, splashed on stone white-pancake faced killer in skirts who couldn’t play it straight for a minute and who just wanted her damn bird, and gold. And the stuff of dreams. And an off-hand slug in some desire belly on the way and falls, just not her’s. And not averse, not at all, to piling up the corpses high, to high heaven if necessary, to get them, the dreams that is, as Mary Astor did to dear, dear sturdy, worldly Humphrey Bogart, hell she even got to Bogie, in The Maltese Falcon. And he, hard guy, seen it all, done it all, will in fact spend many a long winter evening building a whiskey bottle pyramid to her, or that scent, always wondering if she had only played it straight for one minute what would have happened. But enough.

Fortunately after successful completion of the twelve –step femme fatale withdrawal program I am now cured, cured forever and a day, of those bad femmes. Jane Greer? I don’t believe I know the name. Rita Hayworth? Didn’t she marry some high sheriff over in Africa or something? Mary Astor? Is that some relative of John Jacob Astor? See, cured, fixed, done with all of that.

But what if, just for the sake of argument you understand, I had been on the wrong path, and got waylaid by those bad femmes. What about “good” femme fatales, or wannabes (from Pittsburg no less-pig iron steel provider to a hungry metal-craving world), who maybe are just a little screwy (okay, okay a lot screwy) and don’t even know how to handle a rod, or want to. Just men. And can warble you to tears when called upon. Well then fetchingly, and every other which way desirable, Miss Delysia LaFosse is just the type for you (and for me, especially sans those pistols that my, eh, advisors, have warned me off of ).

Rodded up, or not, Miss LaFosse knew one thing though, and knew it well in her time, in her post jazz- etched time, in her London just before the blitz 1939 time (and would have known it well in 1039 time and would know it well in 3039 time)- a girl has got to do what a girl has got to do. And while she may not have had a devil’s sinister heart she shared that truth with Miss Greer, Miss Hayworth, and Miss Astor. And so more than one man had to pay, pay the freight some way, if not with his life then still some way for that simple truth.

But even smart and wise girls from brawny Pittsburgh trapped in blitz-ready London can’t get things untangled all by their lonesome, especially screwy (if fetchingly so, okay) dames who are trying to work every angle by not working every angle and just letting thing fall where they will. What if all any self-respecting femme fatale, notorious for working the mantrap alone and net-less, really needed to stay away from hard guys, hard liquor, hard grifts, and mean streets was a sort of “fairy godmother” posing as a “social secretary” to work her plans. Especially if that social secretary was a wise and wishful aide, every way wise and wishful way. Then, my friends, you would have the substance of a plot for something of a little romantic comedy/social commentary/ nostalgia piece. And good PR for the femme fatale racket to boot.

And what if that good Miss LaFosse, aided by that help, not only untangled the little romantic triangle she had not worked every angle into with three beautiful young men who came of age after the war, the First World War that is, and who had “designs” on her free-wheeling spirit could sing your blues away. With no off-hand femme fatale gun play to “resolve” her fickle lifestyle dilemmas. Yes, what then. And I would not even be breaking twelve-step. Praise be.

Out In The Two-Timing Femme Fatale 1950s Crime Noir Night- “Armored Car Robbery”- A Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir film Armored Car Robbery.

DVD Review

Armored Car Robbery, starring Charles McGraw, William Talman, Adele Jurgens, RKO Radio Pictures, 1950

Forget what I ever said about the classic two-timing femme fatales. And who knows maybe three-timing, or more. Once you go down that road what is to stop a dame, any dame , and why, at any small number when you are looking, forever looking, to step up in class, to latch onto the big dough guys who will take you out of the dime-a-dance scene you are mired in. So forget frails like Mary Astor in The Maltese Falcon who was ready to make any guy, any two guys for that matter, take the fall as long as she got her damn bird, and the stuff of dreams. With dough enough to keep her in style, and the small-time grifters off her back. Forget Rita Hayworth in The Lady From Shang-hai who had half the male world, the smart guys too, lining up to take the fall, and just ask where to take it until in the end even the smart guys cried “uncle.” Forget Jane Greer in Out Of The Past twisting up every guy in California, some smart guys too, and guys who supposedly knew what was what wound up hiding out until the coast was clear, maybe for about a century hiding out nursing their wounds , once she got done with them. And forget one more, just one more, that no femme list is complete without, Ava Garner trying to get some guy, her everlovin’ husband no less, some supposedly badass guy, to take the fall for her on his deathbed in the film adaptation of Ernest Hemingway’s The Killers. Ya, forget them all as just slightly nervous misunderstood frills that had a couple of bad breaks along the way. Sweet little Yvonne (played by Adele Jurgens. Ya, I know, the name doesn’t exactly ring bells in the fatale world, good or bad)in this sleeper of a crime noir under review, Armored Car Robbery (Ya, I know as well, they seemed to have run out of interesting titles on this one) puts them all to shame. I might be over- touting the thing but hear me out.

Naturally no femme fatale worth her salt is driven by anything but the desire, the very strong desire, to get out from under whatever menial labor she is stuck doing, from serving them off the arm in some hash house to beating drunks for drinks and donuts in some two bit-bar fly scene. Yvonne here is strictly an independent operator working her fanny off (no pun intended) as a stripper ( maybe today the more politically correct term would be a sex worker, or some other more exotic description, although I am willing to stand corrected on that) in a low-rent Chicago burlesque house. Naturally such places, as Damon Runyon, Studs Terkel, and a few other guys have informed us, do not draw serious high-rollers or serious smart guys. So, through this and that, Yvonne winds up married, unhappily married as it turns out, to Benny who is nothing but a small-time grafter down on his uppers as the film opens. Strictly from Jump Street and strictly a guy who takes orders, not gives them.

And that is where this film gets interesting because while Bennie is nothing a but small-time hood he knows a certain smart guy, Dave Purvis (played by William Talman, probably better known as the ever-losing District Attorney in the 1950s Perry Mason television series and not a classic ladies’ man by any means which means he too has to keep grabbing dough), who has a plan, a big heist plan, which the reader can figure out from the title of the film, involves robbing, well, an armored car. Why? As the late old time yegg Willie Sutton has often been quoted as saying in all kinds of contexts –“that’s where the money is.” Big half a million dollar dough (big 1950s dough, now just tip money for the big guys). Bennie (and a couple of his confederates) are in, in to get under from under in the Yvonne department, to keep her in style, some style anyway. But here is the beauty of the thing, and what puts Yvonne right up there with the more well-known fatales, she is running around, married to Benny or not, running around no questions asked, with one Dave Purvis. See Yvonne knows what every true-blue two-timing femme fatale knows-go with the brains of the operation. And so her fate is set.

Of course even a kid wet behind the ears knows that the magic mantra behind every crime noir is that crime, well, crime doesn’t pay. The only difference usually is in what manner it doesn’t pay (and how bad the femme fatale makes some guy, or guys, fall). Here the heist gets blown by a simple call to the police by a witness. The stick-up (at a ball park during baseball season which is probably a separate chargeable crime itself ) is blown but not before a fatal shoot-out of a police officer in pursuit. Benny also gets shot-up in the melee. And that is where Lieutenant Cordell (played by ruggedly handsome, jut-jawed, and straight-as-an-arrow Charles McGraw with the perfect police officer’s face) comes in to see some rough-hewn justice is served. See the officer killed was his longtime partner and as we already know from detective Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon a guy has to do something about the murder of his partner, private or public cop. From there it is only time before Dave and Yvonne, once Benny expires from his wounds, are cornered in a dramatic airfield shoot-out. But here is the clincher- when Dave earlier , dough in hand, told Yvonne that Benny had gone to his just rewards she showed all the emotion of one who heard that a fly had been swatted dead. Didn’t I tell you she was poison? Ya, I did.

Out In The 1950s Crime Noir Night- Robert Mitchum Watch Out For Berserk Femme Fatales, Will You- Angel Face- A Review

Click on the headline to link to Wikipedia entry for the crime noir, Angel Face.

DVD Review

Angel Face, starring Robert Mitchum, Jean Simmons, directed by Otto Preminger, RKO Pictures, 1952

Some guys never learn, never learn to leave well enough alone, and stay away, far away from femme fatales that have that slightly mad look in their eyes and lust in their hearts, as here in the Otto Preminger-directed crime noir, Angel Face, with Robert Mitchum. See, it is not like Brother Robert hadn’t been down that road before and had all the trouble he could handle and then some with femme fatale Jane Greer in Out Of The Past. Ms. Greer “took him for a ride” six ways to Sunday in that one. But you know when a guy gets heated up by a dame, well, lets’ just leave it at you know, okay. Needless to say Brother Robert is set to get “taken for a ride” six ways to Sunday here too, although the femme fatale here is a little younger, and maybe has better manners. Maybe. But that all goes for naught when the heat rises. Yes, we know, we know.

The plot here takes a little something from James M. Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice. The “fair damsel” (played by a young dark-eyed, dark-haired piano-playing Jean Simmons who, before seeing this film I might have taken a run at her myself, in my dreams anyway. But see I know how to take a lesson), after she gets her hooks into Mitchum, furthers her plot to get rid of her dear stepmother so she can have her father to herself (take that anyway you want but you do not have to be a Freudian to know that she is seriously hung up on her novelist father, a probable cause for some of her youthful, ah, monomania). But unlike the femme in Postman she just “forgets” to tell him he is part of the plan. Of course when the foul deed is done (the old "wire cut on the steering wheel of the car and off the cliff you go, dearie" gag that has been around, well, been around since femmes figured out automobiles aren’t just for driving) the pair are the obvious suspects. But with some razzle-dazzle legal work, including marriage to evoke the jury’s sympathy, they get off. (Ya, I know on that one too. But those were more romantic times than ours, I guess. I want the name and e-mail of that lawyer, by the way, just in case.) Of course what guy in his right mind is going to stick around and see, well, what is in store for him and his lovely bride after the court battles are over? Like I said though, this is Robert Mitchum, the guy who can’t learn a lesson.

Note: Naturally with a hunky guy like Robert Mitchum, he of the broad shoulders to fend off the world’s troubles, or at least any women’s troubles, those smoldering eyes, and that glib world-wary cigarette and whiskey manner, the ladies will surely be flocking to his door. And not just femme fatales. In this film, as in Out Of The Past, there is the “good” girl waiting in wings. And Mitchum tries, tries like hell, to stay in that orbit but when those maddened eyes and ruby red lips call that speak to some dark adventure, well, what’s a man to do?

Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night-The Stuff Of Dreams- Humphrey Bogart’s “The Maltese Falcon”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime film noir classic, The Maltese Falcon.

DVD Review

The Maltese Falcon, Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorrie, based on the crime novel by Dashiell Hammett, directed by John Huston, Warner Brothers, 1941

No question I am a film noir, especially a crime film noir, aficionado. Recently I have been on a tear reviewing various crime noir efforts and drawing comparisons between the ones that “speak” to me and those that, perhaps, should have been better left on the cutting room floor. The classics are easy and need no additional comment from me their plot lines stand on their own merits, although I will make some comment here. Others, because they have a fetching, or wicked, for that matter, femme fatale to muddy the waters also get a pass. Some, such as the film under review from the early 1940s, The Maltese Falcon, offer parts of both.

Generously offer parts of both here as an exemplar of the genre with one of the classic detectives of the age, Sam Spade. The plot line works because it is a prima facie, hard-boiled example of the lengths that humankind will go in pursuit of “the stuff of dreams.” As for femme fatale energy, although my personal 1940s favorite is Rita Hayworth, it is provide by the fetchingly wicked Mary Astor. Yes, I can see where old Sam Spade will jump through a few hoops, hell, many hoops, to get next to that one once she starts making her moves. Watch out Sam.

Although every serious crime noir aficionado should know the plot to this one by heart I will give a short summary for those three people in the classic crime noir world who have not seen (or read) this one-yet. It is, frankly, about a bird, and not just any bird but a historically significant gem –ladened statue of a one, and one moreover that will bring a good price on the black market where such things are traded as a matter of course. That is where the “stuff of dreams” gets everyone evolved in trouble. Who has it (or doesn’t have it), for how long, and what they will do in order to get it (and keep it) provides the driving force of this film as it did with classic noir detective writer Dashiell Hammett when he wrote it. The film is fairly true to the spirit of the novel, including much of the dialogue. Of course, along the way certain alliances are made (and unmade) as Sam Spade tries to maneuver among the parties interested in the object, including the aforementioned Mary Astor, a band of high- end brigands led by Sidney Greenstreet, and maybe others who have fallen by the wayside in pursuit.

Dashiell Hammett was known, correctly known, along with Raymond Chandler, for taking the crime detective out of the police procedural/ society amateur detective milieu and permitting their detectives to take a few punches, give a few punches, flirt with the femme fatales, and use the sparse language of the streets to bring some rough justice to this sorry old world. Sam Spade here takes more than his fair share of hits in order to make sense out of the mess that Ms. Astor brings to his door (and initially his partner, the late Miles Archer). And that is the rub. The various characters here are willing, more than willing, to murder and maim to get the damn bird and so Sam has to, on more occasions that he probably wished, weigh what to do about it. See that is where the femme fatale to muddy the waters part comes in, that damn perfume and that dangerous sassy manner that will drive a man, even a rough justice seeking man a little too close to the edge. But in the end the code of honor, or just an idea of it, drives Sam away from the perfume and back on the straight and narrow. Later when he thinks about that perfume he still will be wondering if he did the thing the right way. Ya, dames will do that to you, tough detectives or just regular joes. I know I was ready to throw my lot in with her, share of the bird or not.

Note: This will not be the last time that Humphrey Bogart played the classic noir detective. Or work with Lorrie and Greenstreet. He got his shots at playing Phillip Marlow in Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep. In a sense Bogart as an actor, a strange sense since he was not “beautiful,” defined that kind of detective- the “tilting at windmills” guy not too fragile to take a punch, give a dame the once over, and bring a little of that “rough justice” to the world, especially a world where the stuff of dreams went awry more often than not.

Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night-Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake’s “This Gun For Hire”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for This Gun For Hire.

DVD Review

This Gun For Hire, Alan Ladd, Veronica Lake, based on a novel by Graham Greene, Paramount Pictures, 1942

No question I am a film noir, especially a crime film noir, aficionado. Recently I have been on a tear reviewing various crime noir efforts and drawing comparisons between the ones that “speak” to me and those that, perhaps, should have been better left on the cutting room floor. The classics are easy and need no additional comment from me as their plot lines stand on their own merits. Others, because they have a fetching, or wicked, for that matter, femme fatale to muddy the waters also get a pass. Some, such as the film under review from 1942, This Gun For Hire, offers parts of both. The plot line maybe less so, although because it is set in World War II America and indirectly part of the fight to defeat the nefarious (in this case Japanese) enemy it has a certain intrigue factor. As for femme fatale energy, or rather quasi-femme fatale energy, although I have always considered Veronica Lake (and her classic air over her eye look) fetching here she is cross between that type and the girl next door.

As for the plot. Alan Ladd, a gun for hire to the highest bidder does his job as expected and is paid off for doing so. Unfortunately those that hired Ladd to silence an employee of a chemical company whose president was ready to sell poison gas to the highest bidder (Japan)were not on the level. They tried, might and main, to set Brother Ladd up as the fall guy. But one does not get to be, or rather one does not survive in the hired gun business, by being a chump for some nefarious scheme. Needless to say the plot is partially driven by his well-earned revenge.

However, a second plot line is brought in by Ms. Lake. America was at war and selling poison gas to the bidder, Japan, was, well, not right so she is “hired” to get the goods on the chemical operation through a weak-link, one of the company executives. Naturally in the course of these two plots unwinding the Ladd-Lake combination is brought to a boil, well, almost a boil. Through twists and turns the pair get the bad guys, although Ladd as a bad guy himself, or maybe just misunderstood, has to take a bullet for the cause because as we all know- “crime, especially murder, does not pay.” Not as good a pairing of Ladd and Lake as in The Glass Key but okay. But you can see what I mean about this one being sort of a semi-classic noir, right?

Out In The 1950s Crime Noir Night-Watch Out, Watch Way Out For Two-Timing Dames-“Human Desire”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the Fritz Lang-directed film, Human Desire.

DVD Review

Human Desire, starring Gloria Grahame, Broderick Crawford, based on a novel by Emil Zola, directed by Fritz Lang, Columbia Pictures, 1954

No question I am a film noir, especially a crime film noir, aficionado. Recently I have been on a tear reviewing various crime noir efforts and drawing comparisons between the ones that “speak” to me and those that, perhaps, should have been better left on the cutting room floor. The classics are easy and need no additional comment from me as their plot lines stand on their own merits. Others, because they have a fetching, or wicked, for that matter, as here femme fatale to muddy the waters also get a pass. Some, such as the film under review from 1954, Human Desire, offer both those and, additionally, the pedigree of a story-line based closely on the work of 19th century French writer, Emil Zola (he of Dreyfus case fame), and directed by German expressionist film director, Fritz Lang, with his flare for great and dramatic use of black and white cinematography. This film while not right up there with the top of the line Out Of The Past, Gilda and The Big Sleep, partially for chemistry factors between the lead characters and heaviness of plot line in places, is just a notch below. In other words you had better take an hour and a half and watch this thing.

A little summary of the plot line is in order to set the stage. Obviously Zola’s work was set in 19th century emerging bourgeois society France rather than 1950s post- World War II red scare America. But the tale he had to tell of thwarted love. love gone wrong, love never on the right track, and in the end, a cautionary tale of how far certain people will go, dare I say even to murder, sums up the range of human conditions, when the human body heat is up. And the body heat rising here is nothing less than sexual desire. Of course. Simply said a certain femme fatale, a certain speedy femme fatale as it turns out, played by 1950s B-movie fixture, Gloria Grahame, tired of trying to make do behind a cigarette counter does what any girl would do in the situation, marries a "big lug," a railroad middle-level management big lug guy who loves his booze, played by Broderick Crawford (he of All The King’s Men fame), in order to get out from under. But speedy femme fatales are not built for the slow, big lug life, especially when they have a little past, a little past as they always do, here as a former, maybe former, mistress of a Mayfair swell. Needless to say he, as the plot unrolls and big lug Crawford proves to be less a catch than anticipated, gets jealous when he finds out that said wifey has two-timed him. And big lugs know only one way, or seem to know only one way too deal with their two-timing wives, kill the lover, naturally, kill him here right in front of wifey and make her complicit in the murder, holding a certain piece of evidence to put the frame on her, put the frame on her big time, if she crosses him.

All of that is so much lead-up to the real story though. Two-timing femme fatales, whether they got their start behind a candy counter, a hat-check counter or cigarette counter, do not survive in this wicked old world without being primo man-traps. Man-traps that can wrap a guy, wrap a guy tight, very tight, and get him to do anything, anything at all, including, dare I say it, murder. Enter one returning Korean War GI, played by Glenn Ford, who on returning home to small-town Anytown, U.S.A. just wants to wash the grit of that experience off and continue his prior work as a railroad engineer moving goods and passengers along the quickly declining rails of 1950s America. And dream the dream of finding a good woman and grabbing a slice of the little white house with a picket fence, 2.2 kids and a dog, named Rover, probably. And, of course, she is there in the background.

But enter one two-timing femme fatale trying to get out from under a possible murder rap, out from under a loser husband, and who, well, looks like she might be a very nice little adventure, a very nice little adventure, indeed, especially once Glenn gets a whiff of that perfume, lights that cigarette, and takes dead aim at those ruby red lips (I assume they are ruby red, this is after all a black and white noir). Ya, she has him hook, line and sinker. Has him that is until “crunch time.” Then we shall see.

Naturally, in these crime noir melodramatic plots the need to put a big gap between good and evil is usually served up by there being a “good girl” counterposed to the femme fatale. That is the case here and is, in the end what stops old Glenn from going over the edge. But still I blame Glenn for most of the problems here. Yes, sure I wouldn’t have minded taking dead aim at those Grahame lips, who could blame a guy, a small town America guy, especially once she put on the full-court press with that cooing voice. Whee! But see Glenn has already been down this road before. He played Johnny to Rita Hayworth’s Gilda in the 1946 movie of the same name so he knows, or should be presumed to know, what happens when you take dead aim at those femme fatale lips. Here’s the “skinny” though- average joes, very average train engineer joes included, should keep fifty yards, no fifty miles, away from blonde (although they are not always blondes) femme fatales when they get that “come hither” look in their eyes. You have been warned.

Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night-Brother, Build Them Gallows High - Robert Mitchum’s “Out of the Past”

Click on the headline to link to Wikipedia entry for the crime noir classic Out Of The Past.

DVD Review

Out Of the Past, Robert Mitchum, Jane Greer, Kirk Douglas, 1947

No question I am a film noir, especially a crime noir aficionado. Recently I have been on a tear reviewing various crime noir efforts and drawing comparisons between the ones that “speak” to me and those that, perhaps, should have been better left on the cutting room floor. The classics are easy and usually need no additional comment from me as their plot lines stand on their own merits. Others, because they have a fetching, or wicked, for that matter, femme fatale to muddy the waters also get a pass. Some, such as the film under review from 1947, Out Of The Past, get a double pass for the plot and for the femme fatale. And what a femme fatale.


A little summary of the plot line is in order to make my point. A young Robert Mitchum plays a not too choosey, just south of the shady-side but street smart, well street smart for a while, detective Jeff Markham (along with his gumshoe partner Fisher who enters into the scheme of things just a little, just like Miles Archer in The Maltese Falcon ) hired by mobster Whit (played by a young Kirk Douglas) to find his mistress, Kathy, (enter drop-dead beautiful Jane Greer) after she off-handedly shots him (and takes his dough, a lot of dough, although the amount to him is not the issue it is the fact of the taking that hurts his pride, hurts his pride big time). That mix, that flammable mix, of a malleable gumshoe, a touchy mobster, and drop-dead femme fatale who has the morals of an alley cat, maybe fewer, is what drives this one, especially the doings of that femme fatale. Well, a girl has to take care of herself in this wicked old world and the boys, well, the boys, can figure the angles for themselves, if they can ever think straight for a minute when she is within fifty yards of them.

Now no question if one had to think, and not think hard, of a 1940s movie star to play a detective who had to get his hands dirty, had to move his heft around, and take a few punches, if necessary, Robert Mitchum (along with Humphrey Bogart) would head the list. But he is strictly in over his head here, like all guys when it comes to tackling a dame. So naturally Jeff, while off-handedly chasing Kathy around Mexico on Whit’s dime, falls, falls hard for Kathy. Once he smells the perfume, eyes her shape, well let’s call a thing by its right name, once she gets under his skin he is a goner. And nobody could blame him really, life is short and how many times are you going to get a chance at a drop-dead beauty that, for the minute, is on the loose. Not me.

The problem is that Whit has his own sense of honor, or revenge, take your pick. And the fact of the matter is that Kathy has her tentacles into him as well, whatever mischief she may have done, whatever off-hand shot he might have to take when she is within fifty yards. So Whit will move might and main to get Kathy back, no questions asked, no quarter given. And Jeff, poor sap Jeff, will wind up behind the eight- ball. See, after another off-hand shooting by Kathy (this should have warned the boys off, a dame with a quick trigger finger should be given a wide berth, but what are you going to do when that perfume smell starts coming your way. Besides it’s a dangerous world anyway), this time fatal, against Jeff’s old detective partner Fisher who was now in the employ of Whit, Kathy winds up back under Whit’s wing.

Whit, with Kathy back in tow and no stranger to intrigue, plots to frame Jeff, plots hard, and frames him big time, while getting out from under some blackmail from an accountant that has the goods on him. That frame drives the last half of the movie, but what really drives the thing is the now “reformed” Jeff’s lingering taste for wildcat Kathy, although he has another honey, a non femme fatale honey, Ann, waiting for him in the wings. So like a moth to the flame when Kathy beckons Jeff is half-way there already.

And, no question, under ordinary circumstances, Jeff would have been able to get out from under but as he said in the course of trying to get out from under Kathy had “built those gallows high.” So the lesson is clear, stay clear of femme fatales, especially wicked ones. Unless of course you think you are smart enough to keep up with them. If you think so though, build those gallows high, brother, build them high. See this beauty, see it several times, I have.

Out In The 1950s Crime Noir Night-The Doctor Is Out- Robert Mitchum’s“Where Danger Lives”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Where Danger Lives.

DVD Review

Where Danger Lives, starring Robert Mitchum, Faith Domergue, Claude Rains, Paramount Pictures, 1950

No question I am a film noir, especially a crime film noir, aficionado. Recently I have been on a tear reviewing various crime noir efforts and drawing comparisons between the ones that “speak” to me and those that, perhaps, should have been left on the cutting room floor. The classics are easy: films like Out Of the Past, Gilda, The Lady From Shang-hai, and The Big Sleep need no additional comment from me as their plot lines stand on their own merits. Others, because they have a fetching, or wicked, for that matter, femme fatale to muddy the waters also get a pass, or as in Gilda a double nod for the plot and for the femme fatale. (Be still my heart, at the thought of Rita Hayworth, ah, dancing and singing, okay lip synching, and looking, well, fetching while doing those difficult tasks.). Having just mentioned the classic Out Of The Past allows me to segue into this 1950 crime noir vehicle, Where Danger Lives, another film starring Robert Mitchum.

No question jut-jawed, slightly hazy lazy-eyed, made for heavy-lifting, Robert Mitchum would make the top of any crime noir aficionados idea of guy that fits the bill in this genre. And he proved it out of box in Out Of The Past where he was “smitten” by classic bad girl, no, rotten, low-down femme fatale, Jane Greer, who, unfortunately, unfortunately for Mitchum was “owned” by a mobster (Kirk Douglas) a little further up the food chain. And paid the price for that indiscretion, paid big time. So we know two things about Robert Mitchum. He likes the lively ladies, the ones that come with bells and whistles and plenty of baggage, usually distressful baggage, and he can take care of himself in the clinches. Well almost. Actually we know three things about Brother Mitchum. He does not have enough sense to come in out of the rain, or any place else where danger lurks for that matter. Why? Well in this film he is at it again, back up against a two-timing femme fatale, although as they come in all sizes and shapes a dark-haired one this time (Faith Domegue).

A quick run through the plot line will bring us up to date on Brother Mitchum’s problem. Seems that in this one Mitchum plays a young doctor, a very good young doctor as such doctors go, but he makes the number one cardinal mistake in medical practice (he must have skipped that class in med school, the one about proper bedside manner, minus the bed)- don’t get involved personally with the patients. Especially drop-dead beautiful, alluring, capricious (yes, capricious), calculating ones who show up in the emergency room after attempted suicides. Yes, a big red flag should have been flying in Doc’s head

But see he is young, and she is drop-dead beautiful. Put those two together, and well, what is a man to do. Only problem is said drop-dead beauty is one, married, very married, to a wealthy, older, hell, ancient man, and maybe, tad bit jealous and protective (Claude Rains) and, two, is under some mental distress, hell, she is cuckoo, bonkers, crazy, okay, murderously crazy, if you really want to know. Well for me that would take a certain edge off that drop-dead beauty part but for Doc, no way, no way at all as he is well, let’s just call it smitten.

Of course the price of smitten, smitten to a crazy (sorry), married, very married woman can be very high and here is no exception. After a little bout/confrontation with hubby in which Doc got the worst of it, it seems that when Doc came to said hubby was dead, very dead. See here is where smitten gets you in trouble though. Doc is not going to be the fall guy, and he is not letting his paramour take the fall either. So they decide to high-tail it to Mexico, and freedom, or so they think like a million other people in a tight spot, although not all that crowd decide to high-tail it to Mexico. The trials and tribulations of this now on-the-run couple is what drives the rest of the film, even though Doc is pretty hazy about why he is running (except she is running), given his own medical condition. The rest you can figure out for yourself, just like, in the end Doc, had to figure things out. The hard way.

So you can see that I was not kidding about Brother Mitchum’s little femme fatale problem. But I blame the whole thing on Claude Rains. See there is no way an old guy, a wealthy old guy, or poor for that matter, is suppose to be hanging out with young, drop-dead beautiful women, crazy or not. And see worldly Claude Rains should know such stuff from back in the days when he was running around grabbing dough at Rick’s Place in Casablanca. So the next time you see a crime noir film like this one you will know what’s what.

Out In The 1950s Crime Noir Night- When Alan Ladd Held Forth-“Appointment With Danger”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir film Appointment With Danger.

DVD Review

Appointment with Danger, starring Alan Ladd, Jack Webb, Jan Sterling, Paramount Picture, 1951

No question I am a film noir aficionado. Recently I have been on a tear reviewing various film noir efforts and drawing comparisons between the ones that “speak” to me and those that, perhaps, should have been left on the cutting room floor. The classics are easy; films like Out Of the Past, Gilda, The Lady From Shang-hai, and The Big Sleep need no additional comment from me as they stand on their own merits. I would add here a couple of earlier Alan Ladd vehicles, the film adaptation of Dashiell Hammett’s The Glass Key and This Gun For Hire both also starring classic femme fatale Veronica Lake (be still my heart, sorry Rita Hayworth). Others, because they have a fetching, or wicked, for that matter, femme fatale to muddy the waters also get a pass, or as in Gilda a double nod for the plot and for the femme fatale, Rita Hayworth. Be still my heart, am I forgiven, Rita Hayworth? I have even tried to salvage some by touting their plot lines, and others by there use of shadowy black and white cinematography to overcome plot problems. Like The Third Man (and, in that case, the edgy musical score, with all the zither music you could want or need, as well). And that brings us to those, like this film under review, 1951's Appointment With Danger, starring the above-mentioned Alan Ladd that have no redeeming film noir qualities.

Now as I mentioned in a recent review of another lesser crime noir, William Holden in Union Station, it is not like Alan Ladd did not know how to play hard-boiled crime noir on either side of the crime line as he did in The Glass Key and This Gun For Hire (as well as the Raymond Chandler-scripted The Blue Dahlia) so it is not the acting capabilities, although Brother Ladd may have been a little tired from holding Veronica Lake's hand (or playing playfully with that big wavy hair falling over her right eye). What is missing here in the film under review, Appointment With Danger, is any spark to get interested in actors or plot.

The plot line in any case is rather conventional. Ladd plays a hard-nosed postal inspector (what? yes a postal inspector, and hard-nosed to boot) who is sent out to crime-ridden Indiana to seek the killer, or killers, of a fellow postal inspector (what?, again a postal inspector-who would have known it was such a dangerous life) and the only clue that he has to go on is via a sister, no not a dame, a nun who can identify (and be identified by) one of the men last seen with said postal inspector. Between the pair hard-boiled, obviously Protestant, postal inspector with a narrow sense of his job, and narrower regard for the human species and Catholic nun good who sees only good, Ladd tumbles into a big time heist, a million dollar heist (that was big dough ten, if only pocket change now) involving the postal service. Is nothing sacred?

Part of the tumbling by Ladd is that he gets inside the job through wit, wiliness, and an occasional drawing of the gun, although this is the weakest part of a weak plot. If one assumes a certain amount of finesse by Earl, a hotel owner looking for, well, looking for “easy street” and an end to changing towels for the masses, then Ladd’s working his way into the scheme should have put out signals big time. Moreover some of Earl’s confederates have more than a few problems, especially the combination that later in the decade would do yeomen’s service as detectives in Dragnet (Jack Webb and Harry Morgan). Of course in this one the message was telegraphed from the very beginning, crime doesn’t pay, especially if you go after the big boys, the postal service. Or people who walk around with guardian angels to protect them.

Note: As is usual with crime-addled guys they need their molls, sometimes gun molls, but sometimes just for company in the sometimes long wait between jobs. Here the moll, a blonde one as well, although blondeness is not required for the job, just the craven desire for a share of the ”easy street” dough is played by the same moll from Union Station, Jan Sterling. Ms. Sterling actually “steals” the show here as the hard-boiled but smart “be-bop” moll with the quick answer who also has enough sense to come in out of the rain. In short, to know when the deal goes down that her man, Earl, ain’t going nowhere fast and so she blows town, just in time. Nice work. But this is where my interest was perked; she also was into the 1950s be-bop jazz night and brought tin-eared Ladd up to her digs to listen to some platters. If Brother Ladd had had any sense he would have followed her out of town. Willingly.

Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night-“The Dark Corner”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir, The Dark Corner.

DVD Review

The Dark Corner, Clifton Webb, Lucille Ball, William Bendix, Mark Stevens, directed by Henry Hathaway, 1946

As I have mentioned before at the start of other reviews in this crime noir genre I am an aficionado, especially of those 1940s detective epics like the film adaptations of Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon and Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe in The Big Sleep. Nothing like that gritty black and white film, ominous musical background and shadowy moments to stir the imagination. Others in the genre like Gilda, The Lady From Shang-hai, and Out Of The Past rate a nod because in addition to those attributes mentioned above they have classic femme fatales to add a little off-hand spice to the plot line, and, oh ya, they look nice too. Beyond those classics this period (say, roughly from the mid-1940s to mid-1950s produced many black and white film noir set pieces, some good some not so good. For plot line, and plot interest, the film under review, The Dark Corner, is under that former category.

And here is why. The dialogue, even though the film itself was under the direction of Henry Hathaway a more than competent noir director, if not of the first order, is, well, way too smaltzy for a good crime noir. First off the love interest between the framed-up detective, Brad Galt (played by Mark Stevens), and his girl Friday secretary (played by Lucille Ball) is played up front and without subtly and lacks the dramatic cat and mouse build-up of classic noirs. In any case whatever Ms. Ball’s later recognized talents as a screw-ball comic, and they were considerable, here as a lower-class "good girl" with all the right morals, all the right world-wiseness for her joe, and all the right instincts to stand by her man set my teeth on edge. That lack of tension between two such leading characters spills over into the rest of the doings. This one does not even have the cutesy “Oh, you devil Sam” of Sam Spade and his girl Friday secretary, Gladys, in The Maltese Falcon.

A little summary of the plot line is in order to demonstrate that lack of tension. Said detective is being framed again in New York (and had already been framed before, although not in New York but San Francisco) by, he believes, his SF ex-detective agency partner. That, however, is merely a blind ruse used by a certain high-powered high society art dealer (played, naturally, by Clifton Webb, a central casting fit for such a role if there every were one), an art dealer with a young wife. After all the other misdirection this one was telegraphed the minute that we see the “divine” pair together, and that fact is cemented when we see said ex-partner and lovely trophy wife ready to take off right under the nose of Mr. High Society. But a high society art dealer, with a young wife or not, does not get where he is without a strong possessive desire and so the frame is on and our detective is made to fit the frame, and fit it very easily until our real culprit is discovered and dealt with. And dealt with forthrightly, as all overwrought, possessive older husbands are dealt with in noir. By the pent-up hatred of that trophy wife, after she finds out that dear hubby has killed her man. You don’t need to know much more to know what that will mean, or that the framed guy and his good girl Friday will eventually walk down the aisle together. Doesn’t this sound a little too familiar? Like, maybe a low-rent Laura in spots? Hmm.

Note: Clifton Webb, as mentioned above, seems to have been a gold-plated central casting stereotype for the repressed, possessive, and, well, psychopathic high-powered high society swell with an eye (or maybe two eyes) for lovely young women. As seen here, and more famously, in the classic crime noir, Laura. Apparently Mr. Webb never learned that those 1940s lovelies may be wily enough to latch on to a rich man for fame and fortune but are a little headstrong about being roped in, roped in completely by, well, an old lecher, high class or not. It doesn’t take a Mayfair swell to know this is not a country for old men. Any young joe could have told him that.