The Steel Trap (1952)

Directed by Andrew L Stone; produced by Bert E Friedlob

Jim Osborne (Joseph Cotten) has a good job in a bank, a loving wife (Teresa Wright), a happy child and a comfortable home. It is all nice and routine; has been for eleven years, and probably will be for eleven more. But within his grasp are millions of dollars, and the opportunity to take it. The possibility becomes an obsession to Osborne, until he decides to act on it. He has one weekend to whisk his family and a fortune off to Brazil - will he make it?

This is a suspense film that depends almost exclusively on the star for its success. Cotten gives an excellent performance as a man who has his plan all figured out but is swiftly confronted with the fact that the margins that he has allowed for his actions are too narrow. The story-line that follows a well-laid plot gone awry is a familiar one in caper movies, but in The Steel Trap, Osborne’s plan looks viable - if he has enough time. It is Cotten’s frantic attempts to fit his scheme into its necessary chronology that creates tension.

Cotten does not play Osborne as a cool mastermind. He is nervous, becomes agitated, loses his temper; he is clearly not cut out for a life of crime. Yet seeing an ordinary and decent man try to be a criminal makes the character realistic and identifiable, if not quite sympathetic. This is to the actor’s credit.

Admirable support is given by Wright, as Laurie Osborne. She and Cotten worked together as the leads in Shadow of a Doubt (1943) and established that they had fine chemistry together. Playing husband and wife in The Steel Trap, they show that they still have that working relationship, and give the impression that their characters are, if rather mundanely settled in their lives, still full of love and affection for each other. Laurie’s growing concern over her spouse’s unusual behaviour leads to the movie’s climax.

The writing - by the director - is less laudable. For one thing, Osborne’s plan depends on the bank closing at a certain time. In the next week, it turns to its ‘winter’ schedule and adjusts its hours, rendering his opportunities for larceny very slim. He must compress his efforts into a few days. It would have been more plausible for Osborne to wait half a year until the schedule provides him once more with the necessary time-table, as well as with the requisite time to accomplish all that needs to be done, such as secure visas, arrange cover stories, buy aeroplane tickets, etc. It might be argued that Osborne’s obsession with the plan drives him to immediate action, but there is a sense of contrivance to it.

Also, much of what he does leaves a trail of evidence behind him which, while it might not lead to his arrest, would certainly warrant investigation and, considering the resolution of the story, might cause him trouble in the future. Other aspects are more obviously questionable. A customs inspector (Walter Sande) finds a million dollars in cash in Osborne’s suitcase and, though greatly suspicious, releases him after finding that Osborne’s superior at the bank can’t be reached for comment. Luck plays a part in every successful venture, but it is less feasible in fiction than in fact.

The direction, surprisingly, does not contribute much to the suspense. Stone is a competent director, but, if at all, creates tension pretty much through his star, as stated above. There is good use of location, but the action is less than it should be.

The Steel Trap is about a greatly imperfect heist committed by an ordinary man. Thanks to its star, the movie itself is lifted rather above the level of imperfection.

They Made Me a Fugitive (1947)

Directed by Cavalcanti; produced by N A Bronsten

Young Clem Morgan (Trevor Howard) just out of both the Royal Air Force and a German prisoner-of-war camp has energy to burn and nothing to set fire to. His chance for excitement comes when he joins a black-market gang, led by the smooth and deceptively comradely Narcy (Griffith Jones). When Morgan rejects the chance to smuggle drugs, Narcy turns on him, and frames him for the death of a policeman. Fifteen years in prison for manslaughter is more than Morgan can stand, and he escapes - but to what end?

A violent and tough British film noir, They Made Me a Fugitive features a good story, equally good performances and a very strong and despicable villain. Though the story is interesting - including an odd character who is as chilling as the principal villain - it is missing one vital element. It is never made clear as to why Morgan escapes from prison. He makes his way back to London - to the man who betrayed him - but it is never explicitly stated what his intentions are.

Aside from this, however, They Made Me a Fugitive is a gripping and entertaining thriller. Howard makes an intriguing lead. I have never found him very sympathetic, even when he is obviously meant to be. Many of his characters seemingly are already wearing chips on their shoulders before they arrive on screen. Despite his aristocratic bearing and refined way of talking, his rôles are often those of someone with a touch of anti-hero. In whatever way that may translate in other films, here it gives the right dash of bitterness to the character.

The other performers do very well, including Jones as a man with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Vida Hope very effectively plays a strange woman Morgan encounters, while Sally Gray is the love-interest. Minor rôles are well filled, and bit parts go to Sebastian Cabot (pre-beard) as the owner of a slummy night-club and Peter Bull as a casual police informant.

The direction is impressive. Shadows and distortions of images are prominent; a startling scene is caused by Narcy’s weird reflection in a mirror - a kind of Dorian Gray moment - and the visit with Mrs Fenshaw is suitably surrealistic. Cavalcanti utilises the limitations of censorship in his era to good effect: a scene in which shotgun pellets must be picked out of Morgan’s shoulder makes one flinch without showing anything but characters’ reactions.

The overall atmosphere of They Made Me a Fugitive is purposefully run-down and shabby, from the gaudy night-club where we first see Morgan, to the funeral parlour out which Narcy runs his operations, to the crumbling hotel where a character hides. Even the the Fenshaws’ home, a comfortable middle-class house, is false and misleading. The settings are perfect for the events and personalities in them.

They Made Me a Fugitive is one of the leading British crime thrillers of the 1940s - and there were a good many to choose from - and can hold its own against any American entry in the genre. Added to this is the bleak atmosphere of post-war austerity and the audaciously unconventional ending, making this picture a must-see for any film noir fan.

The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951)

Directed by Robert Wise; Julian Blaustein

A spacecraft from another planet lands in the middle of Washington D.C. The occupant, Klaatu (Michael Rennie), seeks a meeting with all of Earth’s leaders, stating that the world’s future depends upon it. Refused this meeting, Klaatu takes on the guise of a human, to learn more about Earth’s people. He is not ignorant, however, that many, especially those in power, view him as a threat, and may silence him before he can deliver his important message.

One of the earliest of science fiction movies remains one of the best. The Day the Earth Stood Still is not about invasion, wholesale destruction and incomprehensible aliens (1953’s The War of the Worlds admirably handles that aspect of the genre), but about the menace that we humans bring to the universe and how it may rebound on us. It is less about how aliens dislike us and more about how we’ve shown ourselves unworthy of their trust.

Rennie was perfectly cast. The role calls for him to be both superior and understanding, which is not easy to accomplish, but also to be annoyed when humans try his patience too far. He tries reasoning with people at first, and ends in warning them like a parent with children who are a danger to themselves. This is a wide range of personality to convey, but Rennie does it.

Sam Jaffe adequately plays a leading scientist who, when confronted with the alien responds with fascination and curiosity. Patricia Neal has a major part but without much meat to it. Billy Gray, who plays her son, handles his significant contribution very well.

The writing seems unimpressive, only because the story is a quiet, unassuming tale, rather than one laden with big scenes and self-consciously memorable dialogue. What Rennie demonstrates in the character of Klaatu is given him by the writers. Perhaps the most effective part of the script is the growth of menace - not of the alien to Earth but of Earth to the alien.

Robert Wise, who directed such diverse works as The Haunting, The Sound of Music and Run Silent, Run Deep shows his talents here. Whether depicting Klaatu diffidently interacting with ordinary humans in a boarding house, or laying down the law to important dignitaries; demonstrating the unspoken curiosity and fear in a little boy, or conveying the impassive threat of a faceless robot, each scene tells the viewer exactly what Wise wants him to know.

Other aspects of The Day the Earth Stood Still stand out. Some have noted the analogy in the story to Jesus Christ (the otherworldly emissary preaching peace and co-operation - or the alternative; the all-powerful being behind him; death and resurrection). The movie is the earliest instance I have seen of the long-faced, tall actor being cast as someone spiritual; further examples are Robert Powell’s title rôle in Jesus of Nazareth, and the actors who were cast as elves in The Lord of The Rings. And the set inside Klaatu’s spaceship should not be discounted: using only lights, it conveys both a futuristic and an alien technology that doesn’t date as do many examples of imaginary technology in later science fiction films.

If one is looking for the fantasy of Star Wars or the horror of Alien, the viewer will be disappointed here. If one wants a thoughtful movie with a decent script, fine acting and excellent directing, The Day the Earth Stood Still would be the choice to make.

Best Seller (1987)

Directed by Joe Flynn; produced by Carter De Haven

Dennis Meechum (Brian Dennehy) is a veteran Los Angelos police officer and writer. His latter career has hit a snag with writer’s block. He’s offered a way out when a man named Cleeve (James Woods) contacts him. Cleeve claims to be a professional hitman; he wants his life story written, and has chosen Meechum to do it. In particular, Cleeve wants his treacherous association with a powerful businessman and politician (Paul Shenar) exposed, a goal that forces Meechum to know Cleeve more than he would like, and puts both their lives in peril.

Though infused with 1980s violence and language, Best Seller is, in spirit, a version of a 1940s film noir. The story is not very complicated: Cleeve wants both revenge and recognition: the former, in particular, due to feeling slighted by his former boss. To prevent publication of Meechum’s book, various attempts are made on the lives of both the author and the killer, which the prospective victims must dodge while tracking down sources of information from Cleeve’s past. It leads to an satisfying but fairly predictable conclusion.

The story tries to make a connection between the two main characters and what they do: Cleeve states that he and Meechum are two sides of the same coin. This isn’t supported by their actions or personalities. While the script has the cop having to back up Cleeve during shoot-outs, and Meechum never seems very upset at the possibility of innocent people being hurt during their adventures - nor about questions as to his presence at various incidents - the writing doesn’t translate this into a conscious comparison of the two.

The most involving element of Best Seller is the performance of the two leads. Dennehy plays a tough but moderately sensitive policeman, the sort he would play numerous times in his career; it is not a stretch for him. Woods very effectively portrays the sociopathic Cleeve; like his co-star’s, his performance is not greatly different from others that he has given. The fact that the two do so well in their roles in Best Seller should not be negated by their doing playing similar rôles elsewhere.

Furthermore, Woods adds an aspect to Cleeve that makes the man simultaneously more sympathetic and more menacing. He is so childishly frantic for respect and friendship that one is never sure what he will do to attain those ends. He tries to connect with Meechum repeatedly in ways that the latter finds repulsive, and simply pushes his desired friend farther away. He cannot escape his amorality; when he attempts something genial, it comes across as an imitation of something he’d heard of decent people doing. Woods rightly received top billing in the movie for his unsettling performance.

Other actors are competent, with Allison Balson playing Meechum’s daughter, and Victoria Tennant his publisher’s representative. From the stills I have seen taken from the movie, it seems that Tennant’s part was intended to be larger, and provide a love-interest for Meechum. Some of her performance was evidently edited out.

The film is good but not outstanding. Flynn directed about sixteen pictures over 33 years, mostly routine action films. He does adequate work here, but provides nothing extraordinary. Best Seller is driven less by its writing and direction than by its acting, with Dennehy and, especially, Woods making memorable characters in an otherwise average movie.

The Verdict (1946)

Directed by Don Siegel; produced by William Jacobs

Detective Superintendent Grodman (Sydney Greenstreet) returns to Scotland Yard after reluctantly attending the hanging of a man he had arrested for murder. He almost immediately learns that the prisoner was, in fact, innocent, as proven by new evidence. Goodman is sacked, and his hated rival, Buckley (George Coulouris), replaces him. But soon, Buckley is facing criticism over an unsolved homicide, and turns to Grodman for help.

What seems at first to be an intriguing and atmospheric mystery degenerates quickly - once one applies some thought to the components. The story could have devoted more consideration to the the case over which Grodman is fired. After all, as soon as he returns to his office after the hanging, he is confronted by the police commissioner (Holmes Herbert), who berates him over the circumstantial evidence that led to the execution - though surely the commissioner should have intervened before this, if he thought the case faulty. Grodman later - also without much proof - uncovers the original murder’s real perpetrator, though common sense should have led to the killer in the first place.

Further, Buckley’s character is more incompetent than any official detective Conan Doyle devised; Lestrade was at least a workman-like plodder. A good writer would have made such an unsympathetic character as Buckley a better policeman without abdicating his wrong-headedness. Such a stupid man might be found in broad farces, but has no place in more realistic mysteries. And the motive to the crimes in the film would have been almost clever if it hadn’t been polluted by several unnecessary red herrings.

The story was adapted from a novel by Israel Zangwill, an Englishman born in 1864, so he would have been familiar with Victorian Britain as a matter of course. Yet, there is something inauthentic about the setting (London, 1890) that suggests whatever innate atmosphere the original had was diluted by Peter Milne’s screenplay. The depiction of a music hall is entirely a 1940s night-club in earlier garb, and the notion that a police superintendent would live in the same street as a member of Parliament, and belong to the same club, is quite a stretch.

Interestingly, the costumer (Travilla, the man who put Marilyn Monroe in a potato sack) seemed to know more about the era and place than anyone else. The police sergeant Grodman speaks with outside Newgate Prison has the crested helmet of the City of London Police (distinct from the Metropolitan Police (Scotland Yard)), since the prison was in the City. Later, a constable is seen outside Scotland Yard, wearing an i.d. number beginning with ‘A’, the letter of the division that did indeed police the immediate vicinity of the famous headquarters. It’s too bad the film’s scriptwriter didn’t follow Travilla’s example in research.

It is always fun to see Greenstreet and Peter Lorre working in the same movie; I believe they were in nine pictures together. But they don’t have the verve created by a fine script to work from, and neither seems entirely thrilled with his work, though it in fact is good. Mediocre Greenstreet is more entertaining than most other actors’ best.

The Verdict is a movie that has promise in its opening, but quickly loses its potential in its execution. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the movie is that it is the first feature directed by Don Siegel, and quite different from the work for which he is famous.

Undertow (1949)

Directed by William Castle; produced by Ralph Dietrich

Tony Reagan (Scott Brady) was a small-time member of the Chicago Mob until he joined the army for seven years, much of it spent in combat. The experience turned him away from any thoughts of crime, and onto a ‘little piece of Heaven’: a hotel in the Nevada mountains. Coming back to Chicago to whisk his girlfriend (Dorothy Hart) off to join him, however, proves to be a mistake: his former boss is killed and Reagan’s framed for the deed. Now, both the cops and the gangsters are after him - and he’s after the real killer.

Before he became infamous for low-budget ‘horror’ films, William Castle was directing enjoyable B-movie winners like Undertow. This is the third film of his in this genre I have seen, and the third I’ve liked. Castle makes good use of location, starting with Reno (I’m always surprised when gambling or resort cities have districts that look ‘normal’, like New York or Los Angeles) and ending with Chicago. There are some tense moments that are effective.

Brady, somewhat resembling a later generation’s Ray Liotta, is a sympathetic hero, giving his character a suitably light-hearted optimism at the beginning, and a confusion just as fitting later on. The other actors are largely unknown but, as can be the case with the many forgotten small-timers, give good performances.

Peggy Dow plays the perhaps obligatory woman to whom the hunted protagonist turns for help. Interestingly, she was in nine films in three years, then retired upon marrying an Oklahoma oil tycoon, and devoted much of her life thereafter to philanthropy. The only other familiar name is Rock Hudson’s, though here it’s spelled ‘Roc’ (like the mythical bird; he was wise to change it). He has a bit part, though it’s his first credited role.

What is particularly attractive is the story and the script. It’s rare that clever detective work comes into play in lower-grade film noir, but the sharp wits of Reagan’s childhood pal turned cop (Bruce Bennett) are impressive. This leads to an exciting conclusion with a satisfying climax. As well, it’s good to see that the effects of a beating and a bullet wound cannot be shrugged off by every hero in an old movie.

Undertow is not excellent by any means but is nonetheless a fine little film noir with good pacing, direction, acting and writing. (Even so, a rewarding field of study by film-buffs might be the number of crime movies or thrillers that have titles with nothing to do with the story. The closest this one comes to any kind of under-tow is showing Lake Michigan.)