Three Hours to Kill (1954)

Directed by Alfred Werker; produced by Harry Joe Brown

Three years before, Jim Guthrie (Dana Andrews) was nearly lynched by his friends and neighbours for a murder he didn’t commit. Now, he’s back to prove his innocence and win back Laurie Mastin (Donna Reed), his erstwhile fiancée. But neither task will be easy: the townspeople don’t want the past dredged up - and Laurie is married to one of Guthrie’s suspects.

Andrews made a name for himself in 1942’s The Oxbow Incident, in which he played a victim of a small town’s lynch-mob. Three Hours to Kill is almost as if The Oxbow Incident ended better for the victims, and they were able to come back and demand justice. That stated, the newer film, while not as good, shouldn’t really be compared to the older: there is less of the exploration of morality, and more action. It is, perhaps, typical of the lesser movies that Andrews found himself in after the short-lived burst of his popularity, in the mid- to late 1940s.

The title of Three Hours to Kill refers to the time Guthrie has to find the real culprit in the years-old murder. Why he figures that he will be able to achieve this in the time allotted to him is not explained. Nor is it explained why he chooses this particularly moment to return and find the truth. Another mystery is why an individual allows him to go about his self-appointed task when that individual has the most to lose.

A sub-plot involves the possible re-kindling of a romance between Guthrie and Laurie, though the latter is now a ranch-wife. An unusual aspect, at least for 1954, is the admission, explicit at one point, that Laurie’s son is Guthrie’s; this meant that Laurie, not yet married, was pregnant when Guthrie fled town three years previously, and that she married her current husband to avoid being an unwed mother. However, Laurie is not someone who stirs up much sympathy. For that matter, neither is Guthrie.

The characters in general are not very interesting, though gambling-house owner Marty Lasswell (Laurence Hugo) provides the most intriguing personality; he is not developed enough and remains a subsidiary character. There is little in the way of performances that demands any work above the average from the cast, capable though it is.

The action is adequate, though there is a glaring example of the old shoulder-wound ploy: someone receiving a bullet-wound in what is meant to be a non-serious location. Of course, receiving a .44 calibre slug in the right shoulder should at the least put a person into shock and possibly incapacitate him, never mind the near-certainty of shattered bones and deadly infection. Even so, the character in question is able to brawl and shoot (holding a revolver in the right hand). By the end of the film, there is no trace of the injury, not even a hole in his shirt. Whether bad writing, negligent editing or apathy, this lowers the credibility of the story.

The direction is uninspired. While Werker was a veteran behind the camera at this time, and he had done better (notably in He Walked By Night (1948)), there is nothing to recommend him in Three Hours to Kill. In fact, along with the completely irrelevant shoulder-wound, there is another scene which induces more laughter than suspense: since Guthrie isn’t actually hanged, the need to explain his dramatic hanging-scar (all near-victims of lynching have one, of course) is fulfilled by the loose rope around his neck catching on every conceivable obstacle during his escape. It may strike the viewer as something out of a Buster Keaton comedy, rather than a Dana Andrews drama.

Three Hours to Kill is a lower-grade western and, unfortunately, may make viewers think that it’s running-time – 77 minutes - is actually the time given in the title.