His Kind of Woman (1951)

Directed by John Farrow; produced by Robert Sparks

Dan Milner (Robert Mitchum) is a quiet, low-level professional gambler who is trying to stay out of trouble. He is offered by strangers a deal for what appears to be some easy money: he simply has to fly to a resort in Mexico and stay there for a few days. He may be uncomfortable with the vagueness of the arrangement, but he needs the money. On the way there, he meets Lenore Brent (Jane Russell), who says she’s a wayward daughter of a millionaire, going to meet her boyfriend, married movie star Mark Cardigan (Vincent Price). Needless to say, Milner finds his arrangement more than stated, involving a fugitive gangster (Raymond Burr), a sadistic plastic surgeon (John Mylong), a U.S. government agent (Tim Holt) and plenty of danger.

This is a strange movie, and a good example of what happens when a studio boss fancies himself a movie-maker. When that boss is Howard Hughes, who owned RKO Pictures at the time, employees, even high-powered directors, usually follow orders.

His Kind of Woman is not a bad movie, but one that seems to be three movies put together by someone who thought crossing genres was a key to success. The Mitchum/Russell plot-line is an adventure/romance story. Burr’s character is brutally menacing and straight out of the darkest film noir. Price is added for light comedy. None of these elements really go together, and credit has to go to Mitchum, in particular, as the actor manages to keep a straight face and a professional demeanour while travelling between dimensions.

The acting is good; there is no fault in that. In each of their compartments, the players do very well. Mitchum and Russell have good screen chemistry together, but not the sexual sizzle that Hughes and others over the years appear to have seen. Burr is at his goggle-eyed best as the thoroughly ruthless gangster. But it is, surprisingly, Price whom, I feel, upstages them all.

His performance has been called campy, but I find that it is his character’s acting - not his own - that is campy. We see a snippet of Cardigan’s latest movie, and clearly Price is acting the part up, in the movie within a movie. And in turn, while Cardigan may be thought over the top, that is but a public persona. There is a scene in which we see him and other guests at the resort viewing his new film, and Cardigan looks about, a big smile on his face, to gauge how others are reacting. But it is not egotism, it is delight. Cardigan clearly enjoys what he does and wants others to enjoy it, too: child-like joy versus adult arrogance. We understand what he is really made of when he wonders if he has the courage for real fighting, as opposed to Hollywood playing.

The story is bland for the most part. It takes place at an exclusive but isolated resort, and much of the time is spent waiting for things to happen. We know something will, or expect it to, but it takes forever to occur. That’s not to claim that it is boring; it’s not. The dialogue is good, the actors are interesting, but the film is three quarters over before the writers or producer realise that something should be happening. Then there are shoot-outs, fist-fights, sadistic torture and more waiting. The comedy thrown in with the arrival of a squad of Mexican police is, unlike Price’s, out of place. And the reason for Mitchum’s adventure - Burr’s need for a new face, literally - makes the viewer wonder why Mitchum was chosen, and not some random stranger.

The direction does what it can with the script. It isn’t helped by the fact that the credited directed was replaced on Hughes’s orders, and most of the film was re-shot. Farrow was a very good director who was behind The Big Clock, Hondo and the remarkable and, perhaps unexpectedly involving, The Hitler Gang. His uncredited replacement, Richard Fleischer, was no amateur, responsible for The Narrow Margin and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. But here the story drags out the characters’ stay at the resort like an reasonably enjoyable but sleepy afternoon in the sun, and the climax is too complicated for its own good.

His Kind of Woman’s convoluted production history, wandering script and, most of all, its disparate parts, make for a movie that will have most viewers shaking their heads, not in derision, but in a kind of astonishment.

Railroaded! (1947)

Directed by Anthony Mann; produced by Charles Reiner

An illegal bookie joint hidden in a beauty salon is robbed at gunpoint. An inside job, vicious criminal Duke Martin (John Ireland) and his pal Kowalski (Keefe Brasselle) are aided by Clara Calhoun (Jane Randolph), who runs the establishment. Their plan is to blame everything on innocent Steve Ryan (Ed Kelly), Kowalski’s co-worker. The plan goes well, with Ryan on course for the gas chamber, when Clara starts feeling her conscience, and Detective Sergeant Mickey Ferguson (Hugh Beaumont) gets a bad feeling about the case.

A competently done crime thriller, Railroaded! benefits from decent writing and a good performance by John Ireland. Though he plays a villain, as he often did in his long career, and was a character actor, not one of Hollywood’s top draws, Ireland receives prime billing on screen. This is an indication of his significance in the film, and the lack of ‘names’ in the cast. Railroaded! is strictly a B movie.

Nonetheless, the cast does a good job. Though B movies were populated with actors who, if they made it to better productions, never rose above supporting level - many of them never rose above that in B movies, either - it does not mean that they didn’t give competent performances in lesser works. Kelly, Beaumont, and Charles D Brown as a police captain (he seemed often to be cast as high-ranking officers of the law), all provide good results.

As noted above, Ireland plays the chief villain; he has a strong sense of menace about him, and even when he portrayed good guys (as in All the King’s Men, and Spartacus), he gave the impression that it was best not to turn one’s back on him.

The direction by Mann is very good, as might be expected. In his early day, Mann gave good value for the budgets he had to work with. He brings natural performances from his actors, and puts them in settings that help the story. The production values are predictably ordinary, with standard sets used.

The writing is above par for the type of story, combining with the direction to make for some compelling and informative scenes, even without the use of words. Nonetheless, the script aids the actors, such as when the police captain is annoyed with Ferguson, with whom he is on a first-name basis, and pointedly calls him ‘sergeant’, to which Ferguson, equally annoyed, responds with an equally pointed ‘captain’.

While not really memorable, Railroaded! is a quickly-paced, typically short (72 minutes) crime drama entry worth the time put in to watch it. (Note: though the posters for the movie omit the exclamation mark in the title, it is clearly present in the opening credits.)

Nightfall (1956)

Directed by Jacques Tourneur; produced by Ted Richmond

Jim Vanning (Aldo Ray) keeps low while living in Los Angeles, his eyes watching for police, and staying away from bright lights that could show him up to others. He is being watched by an amiable but persistent man (James Gregory), but the two (Brian Keith, Rudy Bond) who eventually make contact with him are not so friendly. They are bank robbers, after money they think Vanning took from them, and despite his insistence that he doesn’t know where it is, they don’t believe him, and are determined to find it, no matter what the cost to Vanning.

A decent crime story, Nightfall benefits from some tense situations despite being low-key over all. Both the quiet approach and the tension come from the direction. Tourneur was at the helm of Cat People and Night of the Demon, two supernatural thrillers, and the highly acclaimed Out of the Past, so he knew his work. Nightfall makes much less of a splash than these others. It is not a dark movie - literally or metaphorically. Tourneur does make a mistake in using camera filters, popular at the time, to film night-scenes during the day. The results are not convincing, and take away from what should be lonelier, more claustrophobic moments.

Ray, a muscular leading man, is rather contemplative here, and he does a good job of creating the isolation of a man on the run. He lives in a tiny apartment and does little with his time. Though built for contact-sports or hard labour, Vanning is a commercial artist, and Ray gives the impression that his character likes his work in the quiet, thoughtful way he reacts to everything else. Anne Bancroft plays a woman initially used by the villains for their ends, but who comes to help Vanning.

Gregory, perhaps most familiar to audiences now from either his smugly compliant The Manchurian Candidate politician, or Inspector Luger, from tv’s Barney Miller, plays a nice guy, a sympathetic and clever investigator, with a pleasant and pleasing home life. Bond as the sadistic half of the villainous pair, does a good job, but doesn’t create anything special, while Keith is his usual sensible and convincing tough guy, though here, he turns those qualities to crime.

The script is adequate. There are inconsistencies, such as Keith initially having no problem with murder, then later preferring to have a witness merely tied up. While neither of the bad guys likes the other, no reason is given for how they came to be partners or why they remained together for so long. The climax is good but no more than that. Even Tourneur can’t wring much excitement from it.

Not really memorable, Nightfall is a mildly entertaining crime story, benefitting most from the confident direction and the likeable and persuasive performance of the leading man.

The Accused (1949)

Directed by William Dieterle; produced by Hal B Wallis

Wilma Tuttle (Loretta Young) is a psychology professor in a California university. Without meaning to, she interests one of her students, Bill Perry (Douglas Dick), who fancies himself a ladies’ man. After an ill-advised trip to dinner with him, in order both to discourage his advances and encourage his undeniable academic potential, Wilma is attacked by Bill and, in defending herself, kills him. Fearing the publicity that a scandal would bring, she tries to disguise his death as an accident. This brings complications when both Bill’s guardian, Warren Ford (Bob Cummings), and the investigating police detective, Dorgan (Wendell Corey), suspect murder.

This is an interesting movie, but not for the right reasons. It starts off well, with Young giving a good portrayal of a career woman, taken seriously by her peers and taking her work seriously in turn. The lead up to the assault is good - even if a viewer might think Wilma foolish for going out with Bill at all - and the fear and panic conveyed by Young during and immediately after the homicidal event are convincing. It is the story thereafter that misdirects the viewer.

The ‘misdirection’ cited here isn’t a reference to red herrings or hidden clues. Rather, the audience, while maintaining its emotional sympathy for Wilma, finds its dramatic sympathy transferred. At some point, her reaction to the police investigation becomes more entitled than victimized. She becomes disdainful of Dorgan and his inquiries, implying that he should know better than to suggest she did something wrong.

Corey, for his part, makes Dorgan more and more likeable as the movie progresses. He is shown to be less a seemingly misogynistic cop and more someone who doesn’t really like having to put people in prison. His approach to his work is intelligent and conciliatory. Cummings, playing a lawyer and love-interest for Wilma, on the other hand, becomes increasingly self-righteous the more he realises that Wilma not only killed a man, but then tried to hide it. His argument near the end is so outraged that he appears to be daring anyone to think Wilma guilty.

This is the fault of the writing, which, in terms of dialogue, is quite good. Nonetheless, such tedious arrogance from people who should know better alienates much of the sympathy for Wilma, who is both perpetrator and victim, and gives it instead to the detective. The love affair between Ford and Wilma, as well, comes across as unrealistic. The vagaries of human affection are perfectly legitimate catalysts in real-life love, but in a work of fiction, we need a bit more to go on.

The story seems rather flawed as well in that even if the truth were revealed and Wilma was acknowledged as the killer, there is no evidence of a deliberate murder, and more than a reasonable doubt as to anything other than self-defence. The viewer might feel that a knowledgeable prosecutor would not allow the matter to come to trial.

There is some good acting in The Accused, though it is in the supporting roles. In particular, Dick gives his villain a mixture of charm and smarm important to the part. Corey’s work as the soft-spoken and increasingly demoralised detective has been mentioned. Unfortunately, the two leads either don’t imbue their characters with enough credibility - in particular, it’s hard to believe the bland and uninteresting Wilma Tuttle could so strongly attract three men - or the writing isn’t up to providing them with the material for it.

The Accused is a good story let down by indifferent writing and characters the audience eventually comes to disregard.

Strangers on a Train (1951)

Directed and produced by Alfred Hitchcock

Guy Haines (Farley Granger) is an amateur tennis champion travelling to his home-town to persuade his unfaithful wife (Laura Elliott) to divorce him. He wants to marry Anne Morton (Ruth Roman), the daughter of a wealthy senator, who will sponsor Guy’s planned career in politics. On the train home, Guy meets the odd Bruno Antony (Robert Walker), who, among other schemes, has evolved a ‘perfect murder’ plan. He and someone he has just met would ‘swap’ murders. As an example, Bruno suggests to Guy that Guy kill Bruno’s hated father, while Bruno will rid Guy of his troublesome wife. Guys dismisses Bruno as a tedious crackpot - until Bruno confronts Guy with evidence that he has fulfilled his half of ‘their’ plan.

I saw and reviewed Shadow of a Doubt in early September, and found that Hitchcock movie wanting in a few aspects, principally in the story. Eight years after that production, the same director came out with a much better thriller in Strangers on a Train. In this film, the writing - the story, in particular - is better, the actions of the characters, including the police investigators, are better shaped.

The initial meeting of Guy and Bruno is particularly well-handled. Guy is a fairly ordinary man in his attempts to humour the fan who pushes himself on Guy, and in an environment from which the latter cannot escape. But giving Bruno an inch just leads to him taking miles. Many viewers will have been in a similar situation - though without the results seen in Strangers on a Train.

Bruno’s character is sharply drawn. Even though we never know what exactly his psychological problem is, we can see almost from the start that this is a disturbed individual. Like mold that slowly spreads across a slice of bead, Bruno’s unnerving effects grow as the audience comes to know him. His dialogue is especially good, revealing a man who is apparently sympathetic - sycophantic at worst -  but is actually resentful and filled with hate. He speaks of admiring people who “do things”, yet insinuates that Guy, at least, achieved those things because of money or position. Even innate talent appears resented by Bruno.

The character is portrayed with a knock-out performance by Walker, in his penultimate role. He deserved at least to be nominated for an Oscar. Granger has the less showy role but also gives fine work. He provides Guy with a sense of growing desperation, even claustrophobia, as metaphoric walls start to close in on him. Patricia Hitchcock, the director’s daughter, plays Anne’s sister, and does a very good job. She certainly didn’t need her father’s name to make her own.

In smaller parts, Elliott makes Guy’s wife the sort audiences dislike, though she manages in her few scenes to give a bit of depth to her character. (As an aside, Elliott, under the name Kasey Rogers, had a recurring role on the tv series Bewitched, as did Marion Lorne, who plays Bruno’s pampering and protective mother.)

Hitchcock’s direction seems more lively in Strangers on a Train than in Shadow of a Doubt, though the latter’s setting did require a gentler approach. Bruno’s psychopathy stands out more than did Charles Oakley’s, which also gives greater scope for direction. The climax, featuring an out-of-control carousel at a fair-ground, is very exciting, and a worthy ending to an engrossing film.

Strangers on a Train was not Hitchcock’s first film of the 1950s, but it helped usher in what may have been the best decade of the director’s career, and stands alone as one of his most entertaining creations.

I Married a Witch (1942)

Directed and produced by René Clair

Before she is burned as a witch in the seventeenth century, Jennifer (Veronica Lake) lays a curse on her denouncer, proclaiming that the marriages of all his male descendants will be torments to them. Eons later, the spirits of Jennifer and her father, a warlock, are accidentally released, and, seeing the latest descendant of her old enemy, politician Wallace Woolley (Frederic March), she determines to marry him and cause his turmoil personally. But soon, she realises that love can be just as strong and magical as her own powers.

A screwball comedy that might be farce, I Married a Witch reminded me rather a lot of a Preston Sturges comedy, one reason perhaps being Lake, who was in his excellent Sullivan’s Travels. It came as only a moderate surprise, then, when I learned that Sturges was easily on associated with the film, as was writer Dalton Trumbo. The latter had troubles with Sturges and left the production. Sturges had troubles in turn with Clair and left the production. March and Lake disliked each other throughout filming. It may be a wonder that I Married a Witch was made at all, and that it is a good movie.

Granted, it is not up to the standard of Sullivan’s Travels or The Palm Beach Story, but the writing creates some memorably funny scenes. The election night sequence is top-notch, and the first meeting of Jennifer and Wallace is also fun. The acceptance of Jennifer’s nature by Wallace and his best friend, Dudley (Robert Benchley) was a good idea, as it adds to their incredulity and exasperation at events. As well, moments that might have been considered risqué in 1942 give credibility to Jennifer’s character, such as when she pursues March by showing up in his bed wearing his pyjamas.

The story implies that witches are a breed apart - Jennifer is alleged to be about 200,000 years old - and inherently evil. The latter quality is manifested in Jennifer’s father, Daniel (Cecil Kellaway), who is a truly malevolent character without much motivation except to cause problems, not excluding death. His cruelty is rather off-putting. There is no insight into the why and wherefore of their race, or an explanation of their powers or their extent. They are, apparently, able to affect the judgement of millions of people, yet are unable to prevent being burned alive.

Lake’s personal troubles and difficulties with her co-stars led to her having rather few good movies to her credit. Nonetheless, she was a capable actress and, as may be seen here and in other films, she had a talent for comedy. March, one of the great actors of the era, was less favoured for laughs. Originally, Joel McCrea was sought for March’s role, but begged off as he did not fancy working with Lake again. He, or Cary Grant, would have had the better knack for such a part. On the other hand, they may have over-shadowed Lake, which probably would not have benefitted the movie.

Benchley handles his side-kick role very well, though he could have received more to do, while Susan Hayward has a smallish - considering her resumé to date - and uncharacteristic role.

The direction is good, Clair electing to go for the laughs in people’s reactions, rather than their actions. There is nothing particularly innovative about the direction, but that likely would not have been the way to go in a light comedy anyway. Strangely, the production values strike me as being on the cheap side. It may be the spartan furnishings and décor of the Wooley home, but it does not look like much was spent on the sets.

I Married a Witch is a good, amusing, if not hilarious, comedy, profiting from Lake’s performance and a slightly restrained though observant direction.