Book Review: Film Noir at Twenty Four Frames Per Second

My Classic Movie Blog Association colleague John Greco—in addition to being a writer and photographer—is not an individual content with letting grass grow under his feet.  He’s the author of two Kindle books on classic films including his latest, Lessons in the Dark, and a mystery entitled Murder with a Twist.  In addition to contributing to two e-books of past CMBA blogathon essays—Words, Words, Words! and Planes, Trains and Automobiles—he owns and operates three blogs including a personal one and one devoted to his photography, watching shadows on the walls.  (Me?  I’m lucky I was able to get back into the blogging game without taking time out for a nap.)

Twenty Four Frames is the title of John’s classic movie blog, and an e-book containing essays from that site, Film Noir at Twenty Four Frames Per Second, was published in 2014; the price was right ($2.99) and the topic of the articles within is my particular classic movie meat, as you probably well know.  There are twenty-one in all, covering a lot of familiar “Dark City” territory: Night and the City, Ace in the Hole, Kansas City Confidential, etc.  There’s even a nod to neo-noir with a piece on the 1990 film After Dark, My Sweet.

What I enjoyed most about John’s book is that much of its content covers those films that sometimes get skipped over as film fans are feverishly leafing through the Noir Encyclopedia.  One in particular is Night Editor (1946), which has its antecedents in old-time radio (it aired on various networks and various coasts from 1934 to 1948).  It’s a “bargain basement” effort from Columbia that does feature a laudatory performance from actress Janis Carter—who, according to John, is a “nasty, treacherous, cold hearted man-eater” bringing nothing but bad news for the movie’s hero, luckless William Gargan.  I also read about this movie in a book that will be reviewed on the blog in this space next week, and since it’s available for purchase on the Sony Home Video release Bad Girls of Film Noir, Volume 2 it’s going to be one I track down at the first available opportunity.

John brings new insights to lesser noirs like Roadblock (1951) and Crashout (1955), and like so many of us classic movie nuts, received his education growing up watching old movies on TV (he hails from Brooklyn, and received essential exposure to WNEW’s Channel 5 as a youngster).  He was most taken with The Maltese Falcon (1941), and kudos to him.  “The world of noir evoked a shadowy universe of danger and violence crammed with duplicitous women and dangerous men,” Greco writes in the introduction.  “It didn’t matter what side of the law they were on, and sometimes it was hard to tell.”

Greco’s background in photography is a major plus when appreciating the stylized cinematography that’s the hallmark of good noir movies, and John’s prose is lean, mean, and to the point—no need for lacey artifice here.  To me, the best thing a critic can bring to the table is to make you want to seek out films you haven’t crossed off your list yet…and on the off-chance you have seen it, instill in the reader a new appreciation for the movie—or better still, tempt them into sitting down with it again.

“So, grab a bottle of the hard stuff and settle down in a comfortable chair,” invites John seconds before the first review, the Poverty Row classic Detour (1945), commences.  (I’m already in Count von Comfy Chair, but the hard stuff will have to be Crystal Light Fruit Punch.)  “It’s going to be a perilous journey down those darkly lit mean streets.”  You can’t beat the price, and I think you’ll enjoy what is undeniably a brisk, efficient read.

“And now it’s time for another special feature…”

Hello, Thrilling Days of Yesteryear faithful.  Honest Ivan here again...but not to sell you anything.  When the DISH Austerity Program first went into effect in the House of Yesteryear, I was a little crabby…and I may have even whined a little.  (How do I know this?  Well, when about half a dozen people say to me “Will you stop whining, ferchrissake?” that’s a little hard to ignore.)  I had reached a point where I started to sound like Karl Swenson in The Birds: “It’s the end of the world!”

But a month into our whittled-down package…I’m beginning to think that Nietzsche guy was right.  I speculated that when I first announced the DISH news this experience might be a positive one for TDOY, in that such a removal of this distraction might provide the impetus for more prolific blogging.  At the risk of tooting my own piccolo, I have been en fuego in the month of August.  While the ‘rents search in anxiety for something with which to be entertained (Mom is so sick of Dad’s constant watching of MSNBC that I think she’s on board with Giant Meteor in November), I sit smugly in Count Comfy von Chair with my tablet, composing blog post after blog post.  I’m not going to lie to you.  Occasionally, when I get wind that a movie I wanted desperately to see is playing on The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™, I tear up a little.  But it passes quickly.

This post is going to serve as sort of a guide to the “new” Thrilling Days of Yesteryear—what you can expect in terms of content and such.  Not all of what I write about will appeal to everyone, so if you have an idea of what will appear on the blog on a daily basis you can plan your visits accordingly.  (In a perfect world, of course, you would not only read every utterance you would pledge complete and unwavering fealty to TDOY…but alas, we do not live in such a Utopian existence.)

Mondays – Book reviews.  Again, because I’m under oath—or am I?—I must truthfully admit the few times I reviewed a book here at TDOY in the past is when someone graciously sent me a free copy for the blog.  (No money exchanged hands, I cannot emphasize this enough.  It’s more “quo” than “quid”—if I may indulge in a little pun.)  In most cases, there were books that I paid for myself with TDOY funds simply because it was something I was excited about reading.  Since I invested in the new computer three years ago and it came equipped with Kindle. I have found that it’s relatively inexpensive to build an electronic library if you just keep an eye peeled for book bargains.  (BookBub is a great resource in giving you a heads-up on this.)  So I’m going to make a concerted effort to read more than I have previously (the Kindle allows me to effortlessly sit in Count von Comfy and accomplish this task), and we will see where that takes us.

Tuesdays – It was Todd at Sweet Freedom who first instituted “Overlooked Tuesdays” and in the beginning, I tried my darndest to structure TDOY so that movies that don’t always receive the greatest number of electrons here in the blogosphere would be featured on “Overlooked Films on Tuesdays.”  My track record for participating, sadly, was the very definition of “spotty”; I blame this on the fatigue and ennui I experienced after completing Serial Saturdays and Doris Day(s) on Mondays.  (More on this in a bit.)  Nevertheless, I have seen the light, brother, and am committed to making certain an overlooked motion picture gets its due on Tuesdays, be it an edition of “From the DVR” or “Grey Market Cinema.”

Wednesdays – If you’re going to place a bet in the pool of “Which feature will have the shortest shelf life at TDOY”, this might be the nominee that will pay off big time.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good shoot-‘em-up, it’s just that the number of economically-shot oaters in the Dusty Thrilling Days of Yesteryear Archives has diminished in recent years: many of my B-Westerns were relegated to the trash can (I decided about a year-and-a-half ago that I was going to stop recording movies at anything lower than SP speed) and the others wound up on the eBay runway.  I know I’ve got some on hand; it will just require my digging through a—what I call for lack of a better word—“pile” of DVD-R discs.  Still, B-Western Wednesdays is back with a vengeance, baby—so saddle up for some good ol’ rootin’-tootin’ fun (in memory of my dear departed Facebook compadre Lloyd Fonvielle).

Thursdays – Thursdays will be devoted to “silent cinema”; it can take the form of comedy shorts that I’ve acquired over the years (my recent review of Steve Massa’s Lame Brains and Lunatics no doubt inspired this) …or “On the Grapevine,” which spotlights DVDs purchased from Grapevine Video.  There may also be silent films both unknown and well-known tossed into the mix (discs purchased from Flicker Alley and Milestone Films).  And there may be an occasional “talkie” featured as well (I’ve socked away quite a few Alpha DVDs.).

Fridays – It’s Forgotten Noir Fridays!  (Don’t tell me you’ve relegated yesterday’s post to ancient history already.)  VCI Entertainment and Kit Parker Films’ acclaimed DVD series will be examined on a weekly basis, one movie at a time.  By the way, I made a lulu of a boo-boo yesterday in my review of I’ll Get You: according to friend of TDOY/film historian Richard M. Roberts, the Lippert film library was never “orphaned.”  “Robert Lippert Sr. sold the rights to those films to the Weiss Brothers in the early 60's, where Weiss Global International kept them in perpetual television syndication into the early 80's,” Richard wrote me in an e-mail.  “When Adrian Weiss passed away in the early 00's, the rights and materials to the Lipperts and all other surviving Weiss product was sold to Kit Parker, who has made them available ever since through VCI.”  I am so grateful that Richard is around to keep me honest.

I’ve made the decision that with the exception of an occasional post (like this one) or the announcement of swag to give away, weekends will be kind of quiet here at TDOY.  (Hey, I have book reports to write.)  Which means that Serial Saturdays will be retired (though I had two chapters left in The Black Widow—if I can locate the DVD I’ll try to wrap those up) and as for Doris Day(s)…well, again—a little honesty is in order.  I have to watch these episodes in order to transcribe the dialogue…and then a second time (I generally speed this up if I’m in a hurry) for the screen grabs.  I just don’t have the intestinal fortitude for this anymore (and my recent diabetes diagnosis doesn’t help, either—Doris is awful gooey at times).  Maybe if MeTV decides to add it to its schedule (I’ve seen the traffic for Mayberry Mondays shoot up since they started airing RFD reruns, and I think I thank them for that) I may apply some paddles but for now you’ll just have to settle for memories of Leroy B. Semple Simpson.  (Andrew “Grover” Leal keeps insisting I’ve lost the Doris DVDs…this is simply not true, though I sometimes wish it were.)

So there you have it: the new Thrilling Days of Yesteryear.  (I feel like I just participated in a network upfront.)  Enjoy the rest of your weekend, and meet me back here Monday.

From the DVR: Lured (1947)

It’s a familiar story in classic movies: a talented girl, practiced in the terpsichorean arts, is determined to make it big as part of a show…but the production folds unexpectedly, leaving our would-be star stranded and badly in need of work to keep body and soul together.  This is the case for Sandra Carpenter (Lucille Ball), who has been forced to take a job as a taxi dancer to make ends meet once she’s been left high and dry in the city of London.

One night, a representative for producer Robert Fleming (George Sanders) invites Sandra to audition for a new show that Fleming is producing with partner Julian Wilde (Sir Cedric Hardwicke).  Sandra tries to coax her pal Lucy Barnard (Tanis Chandler) into auditioning as well, but Lucy is determined to quit show business in order to travel with a mysterious individual she’s met through a newspaper personal column.  Not a particular smart move on Lucy’s part; she vanishes from the scene and during a chance meeting with Scotland Yard’s Inspector Harley Temple (Charles Coburn), Sandra and Temple piece together enough suspicion to suggest that Lucy is a victim of a serial killer known only to the gendarmes as “The Poet Killer.”

Sandra is pressed into service to act as bait for the killer—answering various personal ads in an attempt to locate the poet murderer, which brings her into contact with suspects like Charles van Druten (Boris Karloff), a demented dress designer.  As her investigation continues, the finger of suspicion slowly starts to point toward Fleming, with whom Sandra is falling in love.  Qué lástima!

I recorded Lured, a 1947 melodrama directed by future cult director Douglas Sirk and written by Leo Rosten (from a story by Jacques Companéez, Simon Gantillon, and Ernest Neuville), the day The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ scheduled a day of films featuring Thrilling Days of Yesteryear idol Boris Karloff.  I’d never seen the film, and because I had heard a few positive things about the movie I decided to take a peek.  To be frank…other than functioning as a red herring (is Karloff’s character the “Poet Killer”?) Boris isn’t too particularly well-served in this vehicle—which is why I’ve always been curious as to why his presence is as played up as it is (he’s prominently featured on the cover of the DVD release from Kino Lorber).

I didn’t dislike Lured—watching it won’t be a waste of time—but I have to agree with one online reviewer who described the film as “a delicious plum pudding of a cult movie.”  It’s nice if you’re partial to plum pudding…but for those viewers who’d like a little meat to go with their melodrama (after all—how can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?) it’s going to come up a bit short.  For a modest-budgeted independent film (released by United Artists), Lured boasts a sumptuous sheen…and I admire some of director Sirk’s exquisite touches (the faux Victorian look of cobblestone streets and gaslights), particularly the inventive opening credits sequence.  Lured’s raison d'être seems to be to showcase Lucy’s character as a clotheshorse…which I wondered about constantly throughout the film—how does a taxi dancer afford a wardrobe like that?  (Perhaps the tips at the dance hall are better than I thought…)  The clothes in the film come courtesy of designer Elois Jenssen, who was also in charge of the redheaded comedienne’s wardrobe on I Love Lucy until she was unceremoniously pushed out in favor of R-K-O veteran Edward Stevenson, a longtime Ball crony.

The other aspect of Lured that bothered me is that the Sandra Carpenter character is inducted as a member of Scotland Yard’s police force rather quickly; her only qualification appears to be the ability to keenly observe her surroundings (she’s asked by Temple for a description of his office despite not having spent much time in it).  I don’t discount that scrupulous scrutiny is an integral part of police work but I just had trouble buying how easy it was for Sandra to join The Thin Blue Line.  (“You previously worked in a dance hall, eh?  Congratulations—you’ve got the job!  Have a revolver!”) 

I know, I know—it’s nitpicking; Lured is mostly about style than substance.  The strong cast in the film is Lured’s major asset; it’s one of Ball’s best cinematic showcases, and you know I’m up for anything featuring George Sanders (who receives billing over his co-star).  (Sanders, in speaking to one of his girlfriends in the picture, even admits that he’s “an unmitigated cad.”  True dat.)  The list of old pros also includes Coburn, Hardwicke, Karloff, Joseph Calleia, Alan Mowbray, and Alan Napier…but for me, the real joy was having George Zucco on hand as Lucy’s “handler.”  Zucco put the “sin” in “sinister” throughout his film career, so it was a treat to see him in a lighter vein; there’s a running gag throughout Lured in which he asks Lucy for the answer to a crossword puzzle entry…and while claiming she doesn’t know, she inadvertently gives him the solution through a perfectly chance remark.  The duo’s interactions are among the highlights of a movie that midway during its U.S. release became Personal Column because the bluenoses thought Lured sounded too much like “lurid.”

At one time, motion pictures like Lured were known as “women’s pictures” but their dark, melodramatic content has apparently influenced today’s critics to classify them as film noir.  If Lured is noir, it’s a fat-free one; I prefer to watch Lucy in 1946’s The Dark Corner (which might very well be my favorite of her feature films) where she plays a secretary determined to help her private investigator employer (Mark Stevens) beat a murder rap.  (A smart secretary would let her boss fry for criminal blandness…but who am I to judge?)  Be that as it may, Lured is an enjoyable time-passer despite its weaknesses, so I don’t hesitate to give it the TDOY seal of approval.

CMBA 2015 Fall Blogathon – Planes, Trains and Automobiles: The Tall Target (1951)

The following essay is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to the Planes, Trains and Automobiles Blogathon—a Fall 2015 event hosted by the member blogs in the Classic Movie Blog Association.  For a complete list of the participants and the movies/topics discussed, click here.

New York City police sergeant John Kennedy (Dick Powell) is a man on a mission: he has obtained information that Abraham Lincoln, who’s just been elected as the sixteenth President of the United States, is to be assassinated during a speech in Baltimore, MD on his way to his Washington, DC inauguration.  Kennedy has contacted both the Secretary of War and the newly elected Lincoln about what he’s learned…but his superior on the police force, Simon Stroud (Tom Powers), dismisses his concerns.  Unable to persuade either Stroud or militia colonel Caleb Jeffers (Adolphe Menjou) of the danger Honest Abe is facing, Kennedy resigns from the police force, determined to go it alone.

Kennedy’s throwing down of his badge in disgust is probably not the smartest move he could have made in this situation.  Since he’s no longer a cop, he technically has little authority in his intention to arrest the conspirator(s) involved in the plot.  Furthermore, a confederate in the form of Tim Riley (Regis Toomey), who was enlisted to secure Kennedy a ticket on the “Midnight Flyer” to Baltimore, has disappeared.  As the Flyer pulls out of the station toward its destination, Kennedy locates Riley…he’s been murdered.  And when Kennedy returns to his seat on the train, it’s now occupied by a stranger (Leif Erickson) who’s co-opted Kennedy’s identity and credentials.

By the 1950s, director Anthony Mann was starting to embark on his successful career in movie westerns; Mann would borrow elements from the series of gritty film noirs he had previously directed to use in these oaters…but he hadn’t completely abandoned noir at this time.  He helmed 1950’s Side Street, a taut little suspenser that featured the stars of They Live by Night (1948)—Farley Granger and Cathy O’Donnell—and a year later rode herd on an interesting vehicle that introduced elements of noir and suspense in a period piece: The Tall Target (1951).  (Mann had performed the same task two years earlier with Reign of Terror [1949—a.k.a. The Black Book], an offbeat entry that features the background of the French Revolution as a film noir.)

The idea for Target was inspired by an incident known as “the Baltimore Plot”—Allan Pinkerton, the founder of the Pinkerton Detective Agency (“We never sleep”) purportedly learned of an attempt on Lincoln’s life as Abe traveled to D.C. for his first inauguration in 1861.  Scholars to this day argue as to the validity of the plot—and even Lincoln felt sheepish about “sneaking” into the Nation’s capital; his line about attending his inauguration “like a thief in the night” is present in Target—but whether or not the details are true, you can’t deny that it makes for a crackerjack movie plot…particularly in light of that whole unpleasantness at Ford’s Theatre four years later.  (The movie’s title, The Tall Target, comes from a line in the film spoken by one of the conspirators: “Mr. Lincoln’s a tall target…there’ll be another day.”)

The story for Target was concocted by George Worthing Yates and Geoffrey Homes; Homes, who also went by “Daniel Mainwaring,” is famous for writing the quintessential film noir Out of the Past (1947). Yates, who would wind up writing Target’s screenplay with Art Cohn, had a movie resume that included the original 1938 serial of The Lone Ranger and vehicles like Sinbad, the Sailor (1947) and This Woman is Dangerous (1952).  (Both men would gravitate to science fiction-themed flicks as the fifties wore on: Homes wrote the screenplay for Invasion of the Body Snatchers [1956] and Yates’ sci-fi contributions include Them! [1954] and Earth vs. the Flying Saucers [1956].)  The two scribes do an admirable job of embellishing on the details of “the Baltimore Plot,” turning the proceedings into a first-rate thriller.

The star of The Tall Target is Dick Powell, an actor whose fortunes in the movies changed overnight when he was cast as Raymond Chandler’s literary sleuth Philip Marlowe in RKO’s Murder. My Sweet (1944).  In the 1930s, Dick was Warner Brothers’ resident chorus boy, appearing in scads of that studio’s sprightly musicals…usually alongside Ruby Keeler.  Powell eventually tired of doing what he called “the same stupid story” (the Warner musicals also lost a lot of their zip once the Production Code went into effect) but a job change to Paramount by the 1940s didn’t satisfy him, either.  With the Marlowe role in Murder, Powell refashioned himself as a tough guy in movies like Cornered (1945) and Johnny O’Clock (1947); the actor even showed off his new image on radio, headlining series like Rogue’s Gallery and Richard Diamond, Private Detective.

By the 1950s, Powell would starting to cut back on his appearances in front of the camera (I blame The Reformer and the Redhead [1950], which he made with wife June Allyson) to tackle assignments behind the device, directing movies like Split Second (1953) and The Enemy Below (1957).  (Powell also embraced that newfangled upstart called television, joining with three of his other Hollywood pals to form Four Star Productions while later hosting the successful Dick Powell’s Zane Grey Theater.)  So I’ve always thought it interesting that the actor explored the parameters of his tough guy persona in 1951; first by starring in this interesting thriller and later appearing in You Never Can Tell, a fantasy comedy in which Dick is the human form of a dog returned from the Great Beyond to solve the mystery of his murder.

Powell’s role in Target is one of my favorites…and to be honest, I think it’s one of his best.  His John Kennedy (yes, don’t think that hasn’t caused an eye or two to bug out among those who watch the film for the first time) is an intelligent, resourceful cop who’s not above resorting to fisticuffs when his life is threatened.  Modern day moviemakers could learn a lot from Target in that while the protagonist is frequently placed in tight situations they’re never the kind that induce eye-rolling and cries of “Oh, come on!” like any number of Bruce Willis vehicles I won’t sully this blog by naming.  Kennedy is able to extricate himself from peril several times in the film because he manages to stay one step ahead of his adversaries (though admittedly, luck plays a part in one of his escapes—but not of the implausible kind).

Kennedy’s intense interest in protecting the President stems not from politics, but simply a personal one: Kennedy had been appointed as Lincoln’s bodyguard while Abe campaigned in New York, and after only two days of being in Lincoln’s company, Kennedy walked away believing “I was never so taken with a human man.”   One aspect of The Tall Target that fascinates me is that the politics in the film isn’t the usual cut-and-dried “North good, South bad” dichotomy that permeates movies of this type.  There is spirited discussion, pro and con, on the eve of Lincoln’s inauguration and the events that will result in the War Between the States; one of my favorite minor characters in the movie is played by OTR veteran Will Wright, a Hartford, CT building supplies bidnessman named Thomas Ogden who’s no fan of Lincoln because Ogden’s sussed out his company stands to lose a lot of money if there’s a war.

Wright’s character, along with many others, serves as a red herring because as in any good suspense thriller, Kennedy’s adversaries are often difficult to spot.  Throughout Target, individuals believed to be allies will turn on the hero, just as those people who are hostile or indifferent to his plight later come through in the clutch.  At the risk of spoiling any of the events in the movie, the one clear villain is the mysterious stranger (Leif Erickson) who tries to pass himself off as Kennedy by appropriating John’s hat and coat (containing his credentials and other personal effects—like his gun).  The character who gives Kennedy a much-needed assist in his investigation is a slave maid named Rachel, played by the amazing Ruby Dee in one of her earliest film roles.  Rachel is not some uncomfortable Butterfly-McQueen-in-Gone-with-the-Wind stereotype, but a three-dimensional individual who admittedly is torn between helping out Kennedy and her loyalty to the mistress she serves, a Southern belle named Ginny Beaufort (Paula Raymond).  Ginny and Rachel are on their way back to their plantation, “Tall Trees,” with Ginny’s brother Lance (Marshall Thompson)—a West Point grad—in tow.

Moviemakers learned early on (beginning with 1903’s The Great Train Robbery) that setting dramatic conflicts against the background of a moving train was a surefire way to generate suspense and excitement.  In Target, there are many nods to one of the granddaddies (or is it grandmammas?) of the genre, The Lady Vanishes (1938), in that the events in the beginning of Target resemble the missing-person plot of Lady (just where did Riley get to?) and later in Target, a vital clue in the assassination plot is scrawled in the soot residue that’s collected on a train window.  Target also acts as a warm-up for The Narrow Margin, released the following year; the claustrophobic atmosphere of Target (thanks to the striking black-and-white cinematography of Paul C. Vogel) is quite reminiscent of that memorable Chicago-to-L.A. train excursion featuring TDOY faves Charles McGraw and Marie Windsor.

The real reason why you watch The Tall Target: that's noir icon Percy Helton in the bottom-right corner as a minor character named "Beamish."

Save for a snatch of The Battle Hymn of the Republic at the closing credits of The Tall Target, there is no music score in the film—something I’m sure was rather innovative at the time, as the soundtrack features nothing but the sounds of the train and the various bells and whistles that accompany such locomotives.  Target does, however, feature a plethora of beloved character actors that’s become a hallmark of this blog: Florence Bates and Katherine Warren are quite good in their roles, and Will Geer and Victor Kilian provide comic relief as the train conductor and engineer, respectively—they’re not all that concerned about rumors of assassination, they just want to make sure the train runs on time.  That’s future Leave it to Beaver mom Barbara Billingsley as the mother of the little brat who makes himself a nuisance on the train, and you’ll also spot the likes of Robert Easton, Jonathan Hale, Frank Sully, and Emmett Lynn.  (I like how the indestructible Regis Toomey continues the tradition of appearing in his pal Powell’s movies, by the way—in this one, he plays the doomed Riley.)  One actor who’s difficult to spot (he appears in the early scene where Powell’s Kennedy is making his case to investigate the assassination rumors) is Ken Christy—but that unmistakable voice gives him away every time.  And yes, Honest Abe even makes an appearance…in the form of actor Leslie Kimmell.

Guest Review – A Day in the Life of Dennis O’Keefe: Raw Deal (1948), The Fake (1953) and The Diamond Wizard (1954)

By Philip Schweier

Over the Memorial Day weekend, I took the time to watch a trio of crime thrillers, all starring Dennis O’Keefe. O’Keefe was a minor leading man in Hollywood who started out as an extra in the early days of talkies. He climbed through the ranks, also appearing on radio, and transitioned into television in the 1950s and ‘60s.

First of the films that I watched was Raw Deal (1948), in which he co-starred with Claire Trevor. O’Keefe plays Joe Sullivan, serving a stretch in prison on behalf of crime boss Rick Coyle (Raymond Burr). Coyle arranges to bust Joe out, but only in the hope that Joe gets gunned down by the authorities. Joe’s girl, Pat Cameron (Trevor), is waiting with the getaway car ready. With the cops hot on their heels, Joe and Pat head to the apartment of Ann Martin (Marsha Hunt), who works for the law firm working on Joe’s release. It seems Ann has developed a bit of a crush, and Joe intends to use it as leverage for help in getting out of town.

Traveling with two women enables Joe to squeak past the law and head for Crescent City, where he expects to meet up with Coyle, receive $50,000 that he’s owed, and head to South America. But Pat quickly notices Anne’s growing attachment, and begins to wonder how loyal her criminal boyfriend really is.

The film features a number of narrow brushes with the law, as well as a young Whit Bissel as the subject of a separate manhunt. Realizing he’s been betrayed, Joe decides to settle his score with Coyle before leaving the country.

Raymond Burr plays the part of crime boss Coyle to perfection. His sadistic nature slowly gives way to growing paranoia, as he fears Joe come gunning for him. Between Coyle’s growing anxiety, and Pat’s increasing jealousy, the film is an emotional thriller leading the audience to wonder how matters will eventually resolve themselves.

In The Fake (1953), O’Keefe is on the right side of the law, playing insurance investigator Paul Mitchell, who has been assigned to protect a masterpiece of art by da Vinci while it is on loan to London’s Tate Gallery. There, he meets Mary Mason (Coleen Gray), the daughter of an impoverished painter.

The da Vinci is under scrutiny due to the thefts of two other paintings, both of which were replaced by forgeries. Mitchell follows one lead after another as attempts are made to steal the da Vinci, beginning at its arrival in England. Meanwhile, he also continues to pursue Mary Mason. This romantic endeavor that is complicated when it appears her father may be involved in the art thefts.

As capers go, it’s enjoyable without trying too hard to be more than it is. It hardly ranks high on anyone’s list of mysteries, especially when one stunningly obvious clue seems to escape the notice of Mitchell and his cohorts. But it benefits from having been filmed on location in London at the Tate Gallery. Also, segments of Mussorgsky's “Pictures At An Exhibition" are used for the musical score, providing not only irony but a cheap source for music cues.

O’Keefe is once again in jolly old England for The Diamond Wizard (1954), this time as U.S. Treasury Agent Joe Dennison. He’s trailed a gang of thieves who’ve stolen a million dollars from a U.S. Treasury vault. Upon arrival, he discovers his case intersects with that of Scotland Yard Inspector McClaren (Philip Friend), who is investigating the disappearance of Dr. Eric Miller (Paul Hardtmuth), an atomic scientist. They compare notes, and Dennison discovers Miller has secretly been creating bogus diamonds, either willingly or under coercion. Their combined investigation evolves into a police procedural, as Dennison adapts his American methods to British sensibilities, while he and McClaren compete for the affections of Dr. Miller’s daughter, Marline (Margaret Sheridan).

Both The Fake and The Diamond Wizard were produced by British studios (Pax Films and Gibraltar Films, respectively), though perhaps due to its American leads, they have a more American tone. According to the IMDB, O’Keefe is credited as co-director on the Diamond Wizard, and co-authored the script under the pen-name Jonathan Rix.

While none of O’Keefe’s films stand out as exceptional thrillers or film noir, they’re pleasant diversions for those that haven’t seen them before.

Adventures in Netflix

Well, it did not take long for my resolution to be more productive here on the blog in 2015 to blow away into the fierce four blogosphere winds; my inactivity is due to many factors: pure dagnasty laziness, my mother’s crossword puzzle obsession, and a battle currently raging with the alleged competency that is customer service at AT&T U-Verse.  (I will talk about this another time when there aren’t quite as many swear words.)  But if I had to lay the blame for my sloth at the feet of someone, Netflix would be the clear winner.

Here’s the straight dope (from a straight dope): you may recall in 2014 that I revealed my diabolical scheme to purchase a Blu-ray/DVD player for the TV in the living room so that I could watch some of my expanding Blu-ray collection—not to mention offerings from the once-healthy-now-depleted dusty Thrilling Days of Yesteryear archives—in the comfort of Count Comfy von Chair.  The player that I procured with some Amazon gift card largesse (thanks to sister Debbie and company) is also equipped with WiFi, and when the player was delivered by the skilled and proficient USPS (I say that with a heavy dose of sarcasm, by the way) no one was more surprised than I when it proved to be a breeze to set up.  This might be due to the fact that I glanced at the instructions beforehand…but I will neither confirm nor deny this.  (Also, too: the player did not come with a USSB cord…fortunately I had prepared for such emergencies.)

So I have the player…I hook it up…and naturally, I want to test out my new toy, so I decided to sign up for a free month at Netflix.  I’ve been a Netflix customer a couple of times in the past, and I never had any controversial issues other than the fact that I rarely got around to watching some of the rental DVDs, and thusly had difficulty justifying the expense.  With the streaming, there’s no problem: I watch the movies I want, and there’s no envelopes to return or any of that hassle.  I can see why Netflix, Hulu Plus and the other services available on the WiFi portion of the player are an attractive option to folks who are declaring their independence from cable (and good for them, I say).  Los Parentes Yesteryear cannot exercise that option because they enjoy sportsball too much…and if my Dad were to suddenly be separated from his cable news I can’t promise you things wouldn’t get ugly.

So in addition to some Radio Spirits assignments and some ClassicFlix stuff (here’s a review of 1928’s A Lady of Chance that’s just gone up recently) the rest of my time has been spent watching movies on Netflix.  What do I have to report?  Let’s find out.

Fantasia (1940)/Fantasia 2000 (1999) – Previously, I was oh-for-three in attempting to watch what many people consider Walt Disney’s greatest animation achievement: the 1940 classic Fantasia.  I bought the VHS in 1991 and tried to watch it on two separate occasions, falling fast asleep within the first half-hour every time.  The videocassette eventually got sold and I later purchased the 2000 DVD release…only to start snoring a third time, again around the thirty-minute mark.  (That bit o’DVD Sominex later got sold as well.)

I thought it might have just been me; maybe I was just lethargic due to lack of rest.  But, no—while I was successful on the fourth try (though I did nod off a couple of times) to see all of Fantasia, that movie is a sure fire cure for insomnia.  I know it’s heralded for its innovations in animation; I know it made great strides in stereophonic sound; I know it’s an acid trip for some.  But honest to my grandma, I think this film may be one of the most overrated I’ve ever watched.  Maybe it’s the classical music that puts me to sleep, but I’m pretty sure it’s the repetitive nature of the segments in the movie that does the trick.  With the possible exception of the Dance of the Hours ballet (the one with the hippos, gators, etc.), every sequence in Fantasia follows the same pattern: a period of tranquility…then upheaval…then tranquility again.  You could argue that this is due to the nature of music chosen, and I probably wouldn’t offer up too much of a rebuttal except for a yawn.

This is not to say there aren’t entertaining moments in Fantasia: The Sorcerer’s Apprentice with Mickey Mouse (the cartoon that laid the groundwork for the feature) is always fun, and I like the Night on Bald Mountain sequence (though I’ll admit I giggle when I hear the music, knowing it was the theme for radio’s Escape).  But the movie as a whole is way too long for my attention span…and you’re going to think me positively mahd but I actually preferred Fantasia 2000 (1999; which I also watched) more.  (I loved the shorter running time and variety of the segments in that—my favorite is probably the Al Hirschfeld-inspired Rhapsody in Blue number.)

Canon City (1948) – This classic semi-documentary film noir had been on my “must-see” list for a long time: Canon City tells the tale of a daring prison break at the Colorado State Penitentiary in 1947, masterminded in the movie by TDOY fave Jeff Corey (one of his best onscreen turns).  Scott Brady plays the lifer who’s reluctantly dragooned into going along with a dream cast of cons that includes Whit Bissell, Stanley Clements, DeForest Kelley, Henry Brandon and Charles Russell.  Actual Colorado State Pen warden Roy Best plays himself (and was smart to keep his day job), and silver screen Dick Tracy Ralph Byrd plays a screw who’s taken hostage.  If you didn’t know this one was written and directed by Crane Wilbur you’d swear it was an Anthony Mann noir…no doubt due to the superb cinematography that’s the work of the incomparable John Alton.  You can hear Great Gildersleeve announcer John Wald as a radio commentator (the ubiquitous Reed Hadley is the narrator), and City also features appearances by John Doucette, Howard Negley and Mabel Paige as the elderly hostage who waits patiently for Corey to be distracted so that she can introduce him to the business end of a hammer.  Definitely in the running as one of the best “new” classic movies I’ve seen so far this year.

Down Three Dark Streets (1954) – Federal man Zack Stewart (Kenneth Tobey) is working three separate cases: he’s on the trail of a bandit named Joe Walpo (Joe Bassett, who guns down gas station attendant William Schallert in the first few minutes of the movie); investigating a hood (Gene Reynolds) who’s taking the fall for the participants in a stolen car racket; and looking into the matter of a woman (Ruth Roman) who’s being blackmailed by a thug for an insurance settlement of $10,000.  Stewart gets a phone tip from a woman named Brenda Ralles (Suzanne Alexander) about one of the cases…and is gunned down by an assailant when he and supervisor John “Rip” Ripley (Broderick Crawford) pay Brenda a visit.

In order to solve Stewart’s murder, Ripley will have to close each of the cases in this better-than-you’d-think procedural that also features good performances from Martha Hyer, Marisa Pavan, Casey Adams (I swear that guy’s been everywhere lately), Claude Akins and Harlan Warde.  (OTR veteran William Johnstone plays Brod’s boss, and Myra Marsh is also on hand.)  I decided to watch Dark Streets after recently seeing director Arnold Laven’s Without Warning! (1952—hopefully the review will be up on the CF site soon); the killer’s identity is pretty obvious but I liked the movie as a whole (film noir fans should definitely check it out).  (Incidentally, Laven has a bit part as a reporter in the aforementioned Canon City.)

Cop Hater (1958) – I was hoping for a hat trick with this one; I’ll dispense with the details since it was previously reviewed by TDOY cub reporter Philip Schweier on the blog.  I wanted to see it because of its 87th Precinct origins but to be honest I thought Cop Hater was a boring talkfest that only really comes to life in the final few minutes of the film (and even I thought that plot resolution strained credibility).  It was fun to see Jerry Orbach as a teenage hood named “Momzer” (those of you familiar with Yiddish will get the joke) and Vincent Gardenia has a nice role as a gimpy (and sweaty) informer.  Still, I definitely thought the short-lived TV show was better.

Carry On Cleo (1964)/Carry On Cowboy (1966) – Because there are a few movies from Britain’s “Carry On” franchise that I haven’t seen, I’ve been DVR’ing as many as I can when The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ runs them on Saturday mornings.  These two haven’t come up in the Tee Cee Em rotation yet so I gave them a look-see: Carry On Cowboy is one of the weakest I’ve seen, and I think that’s because the jokes that are often featured in these films—some so old they’re collecting pensions—are funnier because they’ve been filtered through a British accent.  Cowboy is supposed to be a Western spoof, and since most of the characters use exaggerated “Western” drawls the threadbare verbal gags just fall flat.  Here’s a quick synopsis: Johnny Finger (Sid James), a.k.a. The Rumpo Kid (which may have been the only thing I laughed at, since it reminded me of “Ramblin’ Syd Rumpo” from the BBC radio comedy Round the Horne), terrorizes the citizens of Stodge City until sanitation engineer Marshal P. Knutt (Jim Dale) comes in to “clean up the town” (yes, he’s mistaken for a lawman).  Cowboy showcases the usual members of the troupe: Kenneth Williams, Charles Hawtrey (funny as a fey Indian), Joan Sims, Angela Douglas, Peter Butterworth and Bernard Bresslaw (it was the first Carry On film for the latter two).

Carry On Cleo is considered by many devotees to be the funniest of the series…but I’m not sure I can agree with that, even though Cleo has its moments.  Sid James plays Marc Antony (“Blimus!”), Kenneth Williams is Julius Caesar, and Amanda Barrie makes a lovely Cleopatra—but the focus is on Hengist Pod (Kenneth Connor) and Horsa (Jim Dale), two Britons captured and taken to Rome to be sold into slavery.  (I did guffaw heartily at some early scenes where Romans Caesar and Marc Antony go on about England’s beastly weather.)  Joan Sims and Charles Hawtrey are also in this one, as are future Doctor Who Jon Pertwee and The Rag Trade’s Sheila Hancock (who exits the movie far too soon) as Hengist’s wife Senna.  (No, the jokes don’t get any better.)

The Panic in Needle Park (1971) – My Facebook compadre Kingo Gondo and I were having a conversation about the DVD inavailability of this second directorial effort from Jerry Schatzberg (TCM had recently run his 1973 film Scarecrow) and even though I recorded it off Fox’s movie channel (back in their pre-commercial interruption days) I’d been remiss in giving it my undivided attention.  Al Pacino (who’s also in Scarecrow) has this one to thank for landing him the plum role of Michael Corleone in The Godfather (1972); in The Panic in Needle Park he plays a drug dealer who falls for a young girl (Kitty Winn) and proceeds to transform her into a heroin addict (and by that token, a prostitute).  It’s controversial, to be sure—though it’s a bit tame today in light of movies that have followed; I found myself fascinated by the film (you can’t help but like the couple even though they walk on the seamy side) and enjoyed seeing future stars Raul Julia (as Winn’s ex-boyfriend) and Paul Sorvino, not to mention The Rockford Files’ Joe Santos and Hill Street Blues’ Kiel Martin.

Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry (1974) – And speaking of seamy couples…this heralded drive-in classic was one I also hadn’t seen (though I remember seeing television ads for it when it was first released): Peter Fonda (he’s the crazy one) and Adam Roarke are a pair of NASCAR hopefuls who rob a grocery store (the manager is an uncredited Roddy McDowall) of $150,000 in order to finance their auto racing ambitions.  They’re unable to shake loose hitchhiker Susan George (the dirty one), and must elude unorthodox cop Vic Morrow—who’s following in hot pursuit with all weaponry and vehicles at his disposal.

Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry features mucho muscle cars and many vehicles running into things and each other; this sort of thing isn’t really my movie preference but its reputation was such I felt obligated to check it out.  Its rep is puzzling; with the exception of Roarke (and even he can be a pill at times), there’s not many sympathetic personages among the main characters…and the chemistry between Fonda’s Larry and George’s Mary is such that I kept hoping he’d run over her with that damn car.  (Any movie with Vic Morrow in it is generally going to feature him as a dirtbag, no question.)  Some folks will find the ending of this one tragic…but I sighed a sigh of relief, knowing it was all over.  (Directed by John Hough, who also did The Legend of Hell House—which might explain why McDowall is in this one.)

Guest Review: The Blue Gardenia (1953)

By Philip Schweier

During a brief respite from the drudgery we call modern life, I had the opportunity to enjoy a few days of The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™, and stumbled across an enjoyable crime drama entitled The Blue Gardenia (1953). I suspect the title may have been inspired by the infamous Black Dahlia murder a few years prior, but having missed the first few minutes, I could be wrong.

Anne Baxter plays Norah Larkin, a young woman in love. Unfortunately, her beau is half a world away, serving in the military. But that doesn’t keep her from preparing a candle-lit dinner and creating an atmosphere of romance to enjoy his latest letter. When two people are in love, distance means nothing.

Or does it? Because no sooner does she open his latest missive than it becomes clear it’s a Dear Jane letter. It seems while serving in Korea he’s met a lovely young nurse and they’re due to be married (“Seoul mates” – there, I said it).

Shattered and emotional, she is vulnerable to a phone call from Harry Prebble (Raymond Burr), whom we later discover is a scoundrel of the first order. In a case of mistaken identity, he invites Norah out. She quickly abandons her dinner and heads off to the Blue Gardenia Club, where she meets Harry who immediately begins wooing her with its trademark corsage and a barrage of Polynesian pearl divers (the drinks, not the actual divers themselves).

This prompts the following exchange between Joe the waiter (Victor Sen Young) and our male lead, Richard Conte. Conte plays newspaper columnist Casey Mayo.

Waiter: He's a fancy man with the ladies, that Mister Prebble.

Mayo: You jealous, Joe?

Joe the Bartender: Oh no, no...I fancy men myself.

WHA-? It’s 1953. At the height of the Red Scare, I suppose certain other segments of society could let their hair down a little.

Performing a bit of fortuitous music is Nat King Cole, singing “Blue Gardenia” at the Blue Gardenia. This song later comes into play (no pun intended), when Prebble puts on the record in an attempt to seduce Norah back at his place. Believe it or don’t, he’s an artist, with plenty of cheesecake art decorating his bachelor pad (because nothing gets a girl’s engine revving like pictures of beautiful women). Prebble makes his new girl one last drink; he may have called it a rum roofie – or not.

Drunk, drugged and dazed, Norah is forced to fend off Prebble’s advances. Her head swimming, she draws the poker from the hearth, steps up to the plate and swings like Babe Ruth, shattering the mirror over the fireplace, only to collapse in a heap on the floor.

She comes to a short time later. Prebble is lying on the floor nearby, an ugly gash in his forehead. “I’m going to need a good defense attorney,” she says to herself. “Better call Perry Ma – Oh, that’s right.” Still confused, she pulls on her coat and heads out the door, leaving her shoes behind. The next day, she wakes in her bed, uncertain how she got home.

Prebble isn’t so lucky. He’s dead, his skull caved in by the fireplace poker. On the scene is newspaperman Casey Mayo and the police. Leading the forces of truth, justice and the American way is none other than George Reeves, with a cheesy mustache to conceal his true identity (Hey, if a pair of glasses will work, why not a mustache?)

Capt. Sam Haynes (Reeves) plays Inspector Henderson to Casey Mayo’s Clark Kent, and together they have only a handful of clues: A pair of women’s shoes, size 8C, a fragment of black taffeta, a blue gardenia corsage, and a record playing over and over. Immediately, they suspect one of his many girlfriends done him in and begin asking questions at his favorite haunts.

When Norah reports to her job as a telephone operator the next morning, she discovers many of her co-workers are being questioned by the police. Apparently Prebble prowled the phone company employees in search of vict – er, models. One inadvertently breaks the mirror in her compact, prompting a dim recollection of the shattered mirror the night before.

When her co-worker returns, Norah is told they’re not supposed to talk about it, and then proceeds to explain that Harry Prebble was murdered and the police are questioning his girls for leads. But she’s not supposed to talk about it. Norah is stunned, and pieces the events of the night before together. Convinced she’s responsible for Prebble’s death, she burns her taffeta dress, flies off the handle at her roommates, and generally acts in crazy fear for her life.

Mayo, meanwhile, takes a bit of sympathetic approach in his column. Even when offered a free pass to cover the next H-bomb test, Mayo wants to stick with the Prebble investigation. Knowing Prebble for the D-bag that he was, he pleads publicly for the Blue Gardenia – as the murderess has been dubbed by the press – to turn herself in. In exchange for her exclusive story, his paper will provide the best legal defense available.

Sticking close to his phone through the night, he fields several phone calls from various nutcases with dreams of notoriety. One the REAL Blue Gardenia can tell him the size shoes found at the scene. Even Capt. Haynes gets in one the act, claiming Mayo is interfering with an investigation. Nevertheless, in a moment of despair, Norah calls and provides that key to her authenticity.

She agrees to meet Mayo at an all-night diner, where she tells all she knows about her “friend” who may have killed Prebble. She completely charms Mayo, who’s so infatuated he can’t see that she’s probably the killer they’ve been looking for. She’s a sweet kid who couldn’t possibly have murdered Prebble.

The next day, greatly relieved after her chat with Mayo, Norah apologizes to her roommate Crystal (Ann Sothern) for her behavior. Crystal is more than understanding. She’s noticed Norah’s black taffeta dress is missing, along with her shoes. She agrees to go with Norah to meet Mayo.

When Mayo meets Crystal back at the diner, his first thought is she’s hard-bitten enough to have whacked Prebble, and is dismayed to see Crystal point him in Norah’s direction. But unfortunately for all concerned it’s a trap. Waiting outside is Capt. Haynes and the rest of the force. It’s only after she’s been escorted to the squad cars outside that we see Haynes credit the diner’s operator as the person who led to her capture.

While Norah suffers in the hoosegow, Mayo is convinced more than ever she’s innocent (plus he wants to convince her he wasn’t the one who ratted her out). He spearheads a fresh investigation, leading to conflicting statements that as to what song was playing when Prebble got his. Norah says it was Nat King Cole’s “Blue Gardenia,” but it was a classical piece that was on his Close ‘n Play when the cleaning lady found him.

Mayo is able to drag Haynes along on following up this flimsy clue, leading them to the music store where Prebble bought his tools of seduction. When the manager tells his shop girl the police want a word, she heads into the bathroom, where she shatters and ashtray and…

Cut to Norah being escorted by the prison matron to the bedside of said shop girl, who is in the midst of confessing that she paid Prebble a visit that night. Thinking she was there for another taste of Harry Prebble, he switched records. But she’s hoping he will help her with “her problem.” Harry loses interest quicker than you can say Roe v. Wade, focusing instead on an unfinished painting. She begins to notice the various clues that he’s not the first female he’s had in his place that night. Red-hot in anger, she uses the poker to bash his brains in.

Norah is next seen leaving police headquarters a free woman, a bouquet of flowers in hand (I don’t recall the bouquet being among her personal effects when she went in stir, but I could be wrong). Mayo is on-hand, clearly hoping to kindle a romance with the former accused murderess. And under her roommate’s tutelage, she is quick to give him the cold shoulder – but not too quick.

It’s a pleasant little piece of crime drama, written by Vera Caspary, so perhaps the female point of view is more legit than most film noirs of the era. More notable is its director, Fritz Lang. Despite Lang’s reputation among film fans, many who worked with him found him abusive and difficult. Because of this, his career in America never reached the critical success of his earlier, more artistic films.

And speaking of Metropolis, it should be noted Blue Gardenia was one of George Reeve’s final film roles before he became perpetually identified as TV’s Man of Steel. The Adventures of Superman was produced independently by Superman Inc., a subsidiary of National Comics (later known as DC Comics). The producers owned the show lock, stock and barrel, and did everything it could to keep the cast under a tight rein. There was a clause in the actors’ contracts that prevented them from taking roles that would last more than 30 days. This was a means of keeping the actors from ever cultivating more promising careers, and thereby denying them any leverage they could use against the show’s producers.

Reeves had an uncredited appearance in 1953’s From Here to Eternity, and a small part in Forever Female the same year. Otherwise, he played Superman almost until the day he died.