Cry Danger (1951)

Directed by Robert Parrish; produced by W R Frank and Sam Wiesenthal

Rocky Mulloy (Dick Powell) was sentenced to prison for a robbery he didn’t commit. Pardoned on the  belated alibi given by Delong (Richard Erdmann), a disabled U.S. marine just returned from overseas, Mulloy determines to find out who really committed the crime, in the hopes of freeing a friend jailed as an accomplice. Not guilty but not quite innocent, Mulloy is also interested in finding the stolen money, as compensation for the five years he spent behind bars. Those who really pulled off the heist, however, aren’t in the mood to share.

No one accomplished a change of direction in his cinematic career like Dick Powell. Young and boyish, he was a success as a song-and-dance man (eg. 1933’s 42nd Street). But in 1944, he starred as hard-boiled Philip Marlowe in the film noir Murder, My Sweet, and, though he was in a number of subsequent contrasting roles, became principally a tough guy thereafter. (The only actor I can think of who did something similar was Leslie Nielsen, who moved from a moderately successful drama career to the king of absurdist comedy.)

Despite the baby-face, Powell’s new persona fit him well, and it continued to do so in Cry Danger. His performance is strong and he creates a sympathetic character. Even so, the most notable performance is given by Erdmann. His character’s dry humour, delivered in a slow drawl, is the centre of each of his scenes, and Delong’s alcoholism lends a pathos to it. Also good is William Conrad, whose distinctive voice and imposing presence makes an effective villain. Rhonda Fleming is more than just a beautiful leading lady, and Regis Toomey plays a smart detective, letting events happen to his advantage.

The story is fairly straightforward, though there are some twists, some unexpected turns. Even so, the astute viewer should be able to see them coming. Nonetheless, the tale will keep the audience entertained. There is rather more violence in Cry Danger than in some movies of the era, though the climax is one more of tension than action.

The script is a good one, with some amusing lines in the usual film noir dry manner. However, we don’t learn too much about Mulloy; rather, we are told some of his history, which is not the same thing. Of the other characters we learn next to nothing that isn’t necessary to the plot.

Some sources list Powell himself as the film’s uncredited director. Whatever the case, the direction, like the story, is pretty ordinary, though it handles the exciting bits well enough. The Bunker Hill district of Los Angeles, a favourite of film noir, is featured in many scenes, giving the Californian city a look different than what comes to mind today.

While Cry Danger has a title more appropriate to an action-adventure movie, perhaps one about men hauling explosives over mountain roads, it is a good addition to the film noir library, and will hold the viewer’s attention during a night at the movies.

The Good Die Young (1954)

Directed by Lewis Gilbert; produced by Jack Clayton (associate producer)

Four men in London are each facing a crisis in his life: Joe (Richard Basehart) needs to take his pregnant wife away from her manipulative mother; Eddie (John Ireland) is trying to hold on to his unfaithful spouse; Mike (Stanley Baker) is at the end of a boxing career and needs money to start a new life. They fall in with the conniving and dangerous Rave (Laurence Harvey), who proposes a simple solution to their problems - the theft of £90,000 from a post office.

This is a heist movie with a difference, and whether that difference makes or breaks the movie will probably depend on the type of viewer, and what he prefers in his films. There is, in fact, little of the heist in The Good Die Young. What there is, is exciting and tense. Nonetheless, the story focuses on the four men, and why they become involved in crime, when three, at least, have never committed an unlawful act in their lives.

The story is by far the weakest part of the movie. One of its faults lies in providing too little motive for some to become involved in the robbery. Eddie, in particular, is plagued by his love for a wife who has no respect for him, and dislikes him. Why he would think that money would solve his problem, when a simple divorce would suffice, we are not told. He doesn’t seem to have any fondness for wealth or luxury, and has a thriving career in the U.S. Air Force. Joe, too, though he needs some fast cash, has no desire for a share of £90,000; just enough for him and his wife (Joan Collins) to fly to New York from London would do.

More specific than general motive is the question of why three law-abiding men would follow into crime someone whom they casually met at a pub. And the robbery itself appears poorly considered; if everything goes smoothly, then there would be no problem. But when do movie heists go smoothly? There is also the inconsistency of Mike’s wife, who won’t help her worthless brother at one point, but will at another, more critical juncture.

The acting, on the other hand, is very good. Ireland gets to play a sympathetic role, different from most of his later parts. Harvey is suitably despicable as an amoral, villainous man who is probably psychopathic. He is so bad, in fact, that it’s hard to imagine anyone trusting him even in the slightest. Robert Morley has a good small part as Rave’s father, a decent man who knows exactly what his son is, and probably what his son always was. The last shot of the father watching Rave leave their club is telling: a stone face expressing so much. Gloria Grahame is less of a benefit to the movie, as her English accent still sounds American.

The direction is very good. Gilbert was behind the camera for a diverse number of successes, such as Sink the Bismarck!, Alfie and Educating Rita. Here, his work complements the acting, as he makes the most of the emotional scenes and creates a suspenseful climax.

The Good Die Young is a crime film so much more interested in the criminals than their deed that it actually fades to another scene when the gang discuss their plan. But if one likes a character study of desperate men, then this film will entertain and, in the last twenty minutes, even thrill.

Night of the Demon (1957)

Directed by Jacques Tourneur; produced by Frank Bevis and Hal E Chester

American professor John Holden (Dana Andrews) arrives in London to attend a conference on the paranormal and its relation to psychology. He is, to put it mildly, a disbeliever in ghosts, devils, telepathy and the like. But when confronted with the death of a colleague (Maurice Denham) and the strange behaviour of Julian Karswell (Niall MacGinnis), the leader of a cult, he may be forced to change his mind.

Night of the Demon is an atmospheric, well-made film that has a number of advantages, and a couple of disadvantages. On the plus side is the direction. Tourneur was also behind the camera in the movie Cat People, considered a superior b-movie, and went on to direct Out of the Past, one of the most famous films noir. In his movies, lighting plays a great part in their success.

In Night of the Demon also, Tourneur plays with light and shadows, but with settings in general to create a sense of claustrophobia. This is especially effective in the opening scene, featuring a car driving in a dark night, through a sunken road, the trees on either side of which close up almost to make a tunnel. A similarly threatening scene takes place in a hotel corridor.

A decided benefit to Night of the Demon is the casting of MacGinnis as the villain. Karswell is rather charming, and in the disposal of his enemies, seemingly by magic, he appears almost reluctant, almost as though their destruction were something he wished to avoid on moral grounds. MacGinnis’s performance creates a smooth, believable villain.

The script is good, though the dialogue is rather bland. The climactic confrontation on a train is both entertaining and exciting. A scene depicting a séance is amusing and eerie, as those supporting the medium sing a Victorian song (“Cherry Ripe”) in order to facilitate the arrival of spirits; then we hear different voices issue from the medium, rather unnerving in their incongruity.

The problems are both minor and major. There is an attack by a leopard, which is clearly no more than the actor struggling with a stuffed animal. Tourneur should have borrowed a page from his techniques in Cat People, and worked with shadows and implication.

Then there is the demon itself. Its arrival is well-handled, a cloud of smoke seemingly opening a window to Hell. But then the demon is shown quite clearly to audiences; my statement here is hardly a spoiler, since the demon is seen in the movie’s opening sequence. Apparently, there was some discord in the production of the film over whether this should be added to the film. The demon is scary-looking but its presence is not. When observed materialising, half there and half not, it makes for a disturbing moment; when it interacts with the humans, it is little more than a big monster.

Still, Night of the Demon has the atmosphere and direction – and a fine performance – to recommend it: an entertaining if not entirely satisfying thriller.

Razzia sur la chnouf (1955)

Directed by Henri Decoin; produced by Paul Wagner

Henri Ferré (Jean Gabin), alias Henri le Nantais, has been summoned by Paul Liski (Dalio), the head of France’s illegal narcotics-selling operations. Those operations are in a mess: drugs are disappearing, middle-men are raking off profits, unreliable crooks are talking too much… Ferré is given plenary powers to do what needs to be done to clean things up. Complicating his job, though, are two reckless hitmen - Roger le Catalan (Lino Ventura) and Bibi (Albert Rémy) – and a watchful police detective (Pierre-Louis), who seems to know all of Ferré’s moves.

Gabin had just re-established himself in French cinema, after a fifteen year combined hiatus (in Hollywood and fighting in the Second World War) and dry spell (which featured several failed movies). This procedural (a ‘criminal procedural’, if you will, rather than a ‘police procedural’) continued his upward return. It would be wrong to claim that Gabin is the whole movie, since so many things work here, but he is certainly its centre.

Gabin created the French version of ‘middle-aged cool’, a continental equivalent of Humphrey Bogart. A little pudgier than he was in 1937’s highly successful Pépé le Moko (reviewed on this blog in March, 2023), Gabin is not yet a weary, half-resigned anti-hero; his Henri Ferré is vibrant, in charge; it is not unrealistic to see him casually pick up and win the heart of the much younger Lisette (Magali Noël). Gabin makes the character appear detached and seemingly unconcerned with his job, yet not someone anybody would wish to cross.

Other characters are well defined, though their time on the screen is much less. Lino Ventura shows his own screen presence in this, his second film (the first was the year before, also with Gabin). He plays a cop-hating assassin, who is far too ready to kill, for Ferré’s liking. Other characters, such as Léa (Lila Kedrova), a drug-dealer too dependent on her own merchandise; Birot (Armontel), a chemist who synthesizes the ‘white junk’, and Lisette, all come across as three-dimensional.

The depth of the characters, despite the brevity of some of their screen-time, is a tribute not just to the acting, but to the writing. The amorality of Ferré and others in his milieu might be off-putting to some viewers, though, since many of the people of this under-world are actually likeable, it comes across at least as more sympathetic than, for example, that of The Godfather. Interest is maintained not just with the drama, but with the story in which it unfolds: the various stages and departments of a drug organisation are convincingly depicted. There is unexpected black humour, too, for instance in the number of handguns swept out from under a restaurant’s tables after a police raid.

The direction is restrained. Violence is sudden and quick. Viewers may not see it coming, but when they do, the expectation builds suspense. For the most part, the direction gives almost a ‘day-in-the-life-of’ approach to Ferré’s activities, a criminal efficiency expert at work.

Though compared to Bogart, Gabin would probably come closer to James Cagney in American cinema; both were, by this time, hefty, past their physical prime, but compelling to watch, regardless of which side of the law their characters trod. And if viewers like a good Cagney film, they will like Razzia sur la chnouf.

(The full title means ‘Raid on the Dope’. I suspect that ‘chnouf’ is an onomatopoeia for the way powdered drugs sound when inhaled.)

The Burglar (1957)

Directed by Paul Wendkos; produced by  Louis W Kellman

Nat Harbin (Dan Duryea) is a life-long burglar. His latest crime has been the theft of a jeweled necklace from a wealthy evangelical preacher (Phoebe Mackay). Once stolen, however, the necklace becomes the object of strife among his associates, and a mysterious rival (Stewart Bradley). It turns out that stealing the prize was a lot easier than keeping it.

I wanted to like The Burglar very much, principally because I am a fan of Duryea, and he did not have many chances to be the lead, especially the sympathetic lead, in films. Unfortunately, there isn’t much favourable to say about this attempt.

Partly to blame is the script, and how it shows that despite the alleged professionalism of the criminals, they are rather inept. I was surprised when it became clear, immediately following the heist, that their plan did not include anything subsequent to the actual theft. Harbin had been in the robbery business for about twenty years, yet there was no thought as to having a ‘fence’ chosen and ready to accept the hot merchandise.

There was likewise no scheme of physical escape from Philadelphia, the scene of the crime. There was not even any agreement on what to do in general, Harbin favouring staying stationary and out of sight, the others wanting to leave right away. Harbin’s reasoning is to wait until the furor over the theft dies down, but his immobility merely allows the police to put their offensive into operation; he should have known the usual pattern of activity from his experiences. Despite being extensively questioned at the scene by patrolmen, who identified his car thoroughly, the only precaution against being discovered is to change licence plates; no consideration is given to finding or, better yet, already having, another vehicle ready.

As well, female accomplice Gladden (Jayne Mansfield), posing as a poor donor to the victim’s cause, supposedly ‘cased’ the targeted house, and found out where the necklace was kept, because the victim proudly showed her about. But would that really have included showing where jewels were kept in a safe in a private bedroom?

Another problem, related to the story, is Nat’s age. It is given in a police report as 35 years; a character suggests that Nat is that age. Yet Duryea was fifty at the time the film was made, and looks it. He has a used visage, full of personality, convenient for many roles – but not that of a 35 year old. I suspect that Nat had to be 35 (the age he probably was in the sourced novel) so that he would be no more than ten years or so older than Gladden, the orphan he must protect.

Gladden is the daughter of Nat’s old mentor, a very kind burglar who taught him his trade. But after his entire adult life is spent in crime, it seems that little professionalism has been learned, as described in the paragraphs above.

The acting is adequate, though the direction calls for a great deal of angst and anger. There is plenty of shouting, and close-ups of agonised faces. Attempts to generate pathos are misplaced, and come across as simply wastes of time, since we never really care about the  characters, except perhaps for Nat. Mansfield is probably the weakest in the cast, though she is not used here simply for her looks, and tries hard enough. The dialogue she is given doesn’t help.

The finale is not suspenseful, and there really is no question of what will happen at the end. It comes as a fitting climax to the ineptitude shown by the criminals (which was surely not the intent of the writers), especially compared with the dead-on response of the police hunting them.

The Burglar therefore is a wasted opportunity for Duryea, and a wasted time for the viewer.

Wildlike (2014)

Directed and produced by Frank Hall Green; produced by Frank Hall Green, Julie Christeas, Joseph Stephans, Schuyler Weiss

Fourteen year old Mackenzie (Ella Purnell), her father dead and her mother in drug rehabilitation, is sent from her home-town Seattle to live with her uncle (Brian Geraghty) in Juneau. Terrified by his unwanted physical attentions, the girl runs away, latching on to widower René Bartlett (Bruce Greenwood), who intends to hike across Denali National Park, in memoriam to his late wife, with whom he had travelled the route many times. Despite his great reluctance, circumstances force ‘Bart’ to take Mackenzie with him, and soon the childless man and the fatherless child discover truths about each other, themselves and the world.

Wildlike is a movie for those who still appreciate drama without violence or super-heroes. It is a quiet movie that takes full advantage of the setting, the relative isolation of Juneau, and the empty wilderness that surrounds it. There are crises but not much of a climax, though how the film ends is satisfying for those who don’t need finales to be explained to them.

The writing is very good. The dialogue is unexceptional and natural yet manages to convey certain aspects well. Particularly telling is how the uncle talks to (and text-messages with) Mackenzie after she flees his molestation. He speaks of how ‘we screwed up’ and how the girl must be ‘confused’ because of events; refusing to accept what he did. The viewer can understand the fear that prompted Mackenzie’s flight.

Both Mackenzie and Bart are very well defined. The adolescent is not the obnoxious teen that many similarly aged characters are in movies. She is resentful of her situation, but is smart enough to know that she must simply deal with what is happening. Bart, for his part, is even more of a rarity in films today: an ordinary, decent middle-aged man, without hang-ups but grieving in his own private way.

Without the quality of the talent in front of the camera, Wildlike would have died a painful death. Greenwood gives a performance that teeters on the edge of portraying a curmudgeon, which would have been fatal; that would have veered the story toward comedy. Instead, he shows Bart as a good man who finds a girl interfering with what he must consider an almost sacred action, committed in the memory of his wife. He lets down his guard about his loss once, which itself leads to a telling moment. Initially, Mackenzie follows him because she learns he is from Seattle, and thinks he is an easy way back home, but it might be that Bart’s very indifference to her is welcome after her uncle’s behaviour.

Though eighteen at the time of filming, Purnell is very convincing as barely-teenaged Mackenzie, half-child, but trying at times to be a woman, and struggling with the consequences of both qualities. Though English, no viewer would guess it from her performance. (Greenwood is Canadian, perhaps an easier source from which to imitate an American.)

The direction is good without being superb. Green permits the actors to express feelings, rather than speaking them. There is admirable restraint used, as when Mackenzie’s uncle comes into her bedroom; like many cinematic moments, what is not seen can be very frightening. As for the setting, it might be argued that it would be hard to do poorly with such scenery as Alaska, but others have done so. Green uses a number of shots well, such as showing the mild urbanization of Juneau, becoming the touristy outskirts with their undoubtedly pricey retailers, and then the deserted countryside beyond.

A fine movie about relationships, Wildlike shows the dangers of some human interactions, along with the rewards of others, and demonstrates that when we allow them, those rewards can be great.

Sleeping Car to Trieste (1948)

Directed and produced by John Paddy Carstairs; produced by George H Brown

After stealing a diary from an embassy in Paris, spies Valya (Jean Kent) and Zurta (Albert Lieven) are double-crossed by their associate, Poole. They follow him on board the Simplon Orient Express, bound for the Adriatic port of Trieste; other passengers include a couple (Derrick De Marney, Rona Anderson) sneaking away illicitly, a boring civil servant (David Tomlinson), and a pompous author (Finlay Currie). All will somehow be mixed up in the subsequent deadly intrigue.

A curious movie, Sleeping Car to Trieste joins the sub-genre of train-adventure films, and probably hoped to tread the path made by The Lady Vanishes and Night Train to Munich. It doesn’t reach their standard, unfortunately, though it does make for an entertaining story.

While Sleeping Car to Trieste lacks a central character, or leading couple, this is not its principal fault. After all, ensemble casts can create winning films, though even in such pictures there is usually one character who grounds the others, or at least the story. In this case, however, there are few that are likeable. An exception is the French police inspector, Jolif (Paul Depuis), who, while amiable and clearly intelligent, isn’t really instrumental in wrapping up the many story-lines (or the crime that occurs on the train). Otherwise, though, the personalities range from murderous and duplicitous to unfaithful and tedious.

This lack of sympathetic characters isn’t a fatal flaw, since the characters who are presented – however unpleasant – are well defined and come across as multi-dimensional. Even Zurta and Valya generate some interest in their mutual attraction, depending even as it does on their mission’s success. The acting from all the players is very good, and rises above what might be considered a b-movie.

That the viewer really is kept baffled as to the story’s outcome is a result of the writing, which almost matches the acting in quality. Whether the audience will be sustained to the finale is another matter, since the characters may be too off-putting for that. There are problems with the script: there is no explanation as to the explosiveness of the diary in question. If it is published, ‘it will mean revolution’. Alfred Hitchcock called such an item a ‘McGuffin’; it might be a list of enemy agents, or a scientific formula, or, as in this case, a diary. It is simply something that various parties have or want.

Another difficulty is the boring comic relief attempted by the inclusion of an Englishman (David Hutcheson) not placing much effort on learning how to cook railway fare; his father had arranged his tuition on the train. The actor is too old for the rôle, the part is unfunny, and one cannot imagine a chef on the Orient Express tolerating such a buffoon. Less tiresome is the second comic situation in which an American soldier (Bonar Colleano) has to put up with an ornithologist (Michael Ward). Though better than the cooking student, both these sets of characters should have been given some tie to the plot-line. Neither is amusing enough to justify its inclusion apart from the rest of the story.

Despite its troubles, Sleeping Car to Trieste is a minor success, thanks mainly to the good acting and the adequate writing. The viewer probably won’t fall asleep in this sleeping car, but will be nonetheless glad to reach the destination.