Stander (2003)

Directed by Bronwen Hughes; produced by Chris Roland and Julia Verdin

In Apartheid-era South Africa, André Stander (Thomas Jane) was the youngest captain in the police service. One day, along with most of his colleagues at his station, he is called to riot-control duty, at which he shoots and kills a protester. Deeply affected by the incident which seems to trigger a latent dissatisfaction with his life and country, Stander decides on the spur of the moment to rob a bank. Successful, he robs more, until he is caught and sent to prison. But that is just the beginning of his criminal adventures.

A very good movie about the true and extraordinary activities of an unusual man, Stander is as much a social commentary and a character study as a crime film. The first two aspects are closely related. Stander’s motivation may seem to be vague but in fact it is implied in a number of clues.

His first robbery is committed soon after he asks to be removed from riot-control work. Walking into his station, he finds only a couple of clerks: everyone else is off fighting protestors. Realising that riot-duty is disrupting every other element of police work, Stander scoffs that “ a white man can get away with anything in this country.” On his lunch-break, he robs a bank, without disguise and with his service pistol. He then returns an hour later as one of the investigators, his colleagues having a laugh over the teller explaining that the thief looked a lot like Captain Stander.

The killing of the protestor weighs upon Stander’s mind and is inextricably linked to his growing disgust with the Apartheid regime. This is manifested in other ways: his relationship with his wife is loving but highly flawed (the movie opens with their re-marriage after an earlier divorce); he has great affection for his father, a high-ranking official in the prison service, but hates the government for which they work. The script makes it clear that Stander is filled with loathing and self-loathing, but can’t express it, except by rebellion. His rebellion takes the form of robbing banks, having little other point; he does nothing with the money he steals but buy houses, cars and clothes - to be used as hide-outs, get-aways and disguises.

Even so, Stander is a crime film, as well as a study of the setting and the characters. If the events portrayed were not true, they would be incredible. The shoot-outs, the car chases, the hair-breadth escapes, are all elements of a good caper flick, but actually happened. For example, fleeing from prison, Stander and an accomplice then return to free a friend - as they had promised to do.

Whether or not André Stander was genuinely motivated by social rebellion or by the thrill of crime or both, we cannot determine. In the context of the film, the character works. As a piece of history, the script also works, showing an aspect of Apartheid rarely considered: the corrosive effect on whites of the harsh segregation policy; intended to elevate the ruling élite, it eventually corrupts and degrades it, and ruins white lives as well as black.

However it is viewed, Stander is successful and makes for an exciting, entertaining film, as thoughtful as one wants it to be.

Armored Car Robbery (1950)

Directed by Richard Fleischer; produced by Herman Schlom

A cold but intelligent criminal (William Talman) plans the heist of half a million dollars from an armoured car but, during the robbery, the coincidental proximity of a police detective (Charles McGraw) upsets all his precautions. Though the thieves make their get-away, the little things that always go wrong to well-laid schemes bring the cops ever closer to their quarry.

A straightforward heist film, Armored Car Robbery’s title says it all. And, like the title, the plot is quite unadorned. There are a few double crosses, and it’s interesting that the police investigation is driven more by the criminals’ bad luck than by anything else. But the movie is pretty standard fare.

The acting is competent. William Talman seemed to make a career of playing villains (eg. in the enjoyable City That Never Sleeps, reviewed a few weeks ago, and the excellent The Hitch-Hiker) before taking on the role of the hapless but well-intentioned prosecutor in the television series Perry Mason. His villains are usually cold-hearted killers who nonetheless have attractive girlfriends tucked away somewhere. He plays the part well. McGraw also was often on the wrong side of the law in his movies (witness The Killers) but now and then would be chasing the bad guys (as in The Narrow Margin, also directed by Fleischer). His low, growly voice and the roles he played reminds me of a later generation’s Robert Loggia. Unfortunately, in this film, there is little for McGraw to do but act gruff, though he has a good scene following a fellow policeman’s murder.

The direction is good, but Fleischer would do better. The script has some moments: as mentioned above, in a scene between McGraw and a cop’s widow, the latter seems to have to comfort the former more than the other way around. This, though, may be indicative of the era more than the characters.

The trouble with Armored Car Robbery may be its leanness. This sometimes serves a movie well. A simple story, shorn of unnecessary embellishments, a short running time, curt direction, all may be ingredients in a nearly perfect movie. Here, though, they give the impression of inconsequence, of something over and done with, without much left behind to prove it was there. Certainly, at 67 minutes, the film won’t take up much of your time. Even so, there are many better films – or parts of better films – a viewer can see with that hour and a bit.

Toy Story 4 (2019)

Directed by Josh Cooley; produced by Mark Nielsen and Jonas Rivera

Woody the cowboy toy (voice of Tom Hanks) and his pals, including Buzz Lightyear (voice of Tim Allen), accompany their owner, Bonnie (voice of Madeleine McGraw) and her parents on a short road-trip before the little girl begins kindergarten. They take along their new friend, Forky (voice of Tony Hale), whose unusual personality leads everyone to adventures with old friends and new dangers.

The Toy Story series is, I think, one of the most consistently enjoyable sequence of movies extant. Each of the previous sequels nearly equalled the first in imagination and provided decent tales worthy of their animation. This claim, I think, can continue with the latest installment, Toy Story 4, though it is the least of the quartet.

As with the other sequels, the story really begins when one or more characters are lost; in this case, at a tourist-town, where an antiques shop figures prominently. The script benefits from Forky, a plaything made from a disposable plastic kitchen utensil, who spends his time trying to fulfill his destiny of being thrown into the trash, and from the ‘villain’: Gabby Gabby (voice of Christina Hendricks) a soft-speaking little girl’s doll who thinks replacing her defective voice-box with Woody’s will win her a child’s affection.

Also effective is Duke Caboom (voice of Keanu Reeves), a Canadian stunt-rider toy. The script has plenty of amusement and a few laugh-aloud moments. (I chuckled at the sly inclusion of Duke pronouncing route the proper way (“root”) and another character pronouncing it, seconds later, the American way (“rowt”).) There is some genuine creepiness, as well, in Gabby’s henchmen, four silent ventriloquist’s dummies, one, or all, of whom is (are?) named Benson. And the ending is a bit of a tear-jerker.

The writing, however, despite the quality, has problems. Buzz confuses Woody's description of one's 'inner voice' with his factory-recorded lines; this is undeniably a funny joke, but by this point in the films, Buzz should be much smarter than that. Bo Peep (voice of Annie Potts) is depicted, after years as a ‘lost toy’, as having turned into a semi-commando, speeding about in a skunk-shaped toy car and performing feats of physical prowess that G.I. Joe would envy. This is more a concession to current political correctness than it is true to the character.

But the real trouble is that the story gives the toys a reason for their existence dramatically different to that declared in other Toy Story movies. Some toys are no longer interested in living to be played with, or to bring happiness to children, and some seem quite indifferent to children all together. While this may be a logical development in sentient toys, it alters the charm of the Toy Story universe, and makes it almost mundane.

There are a large number of pointless voice-cameos that one recognises only in the closing credits (eg. Betty White, Carl Reiner, Mel Brooks, Timothy Dalton, Carl Weathers, Carol Burnett). However, a good Toy Story movie is still better than most other animated (and many live-action) films. The animation is very detailed and rich, there is talent in the script (even if its direction is faulty), and the viewer will be entertained. And the last fact, in this genre, and most others, is what counts.

Shadow on the Wall (1950)

Directed by Pat Jackson; produced by Robert Sisk

An architect (Zachary Scott) has an enviable life: marriage to a beautiful woman (Kristine Miller), a loving relationship with his little daughter (Gigi Perreau), a successful career. Then he discovers that his wife is having an affair with her sister’s fiancé. During a confrontation one evening, she knocks him unconscious just as her sister (Ann Sothern) walks in. The sister, filled with pent-up rage and resentment, kills the wife and flees. As she learns only afterward, her murderous act was witnessed by the little girl.

A literally psychological crime drama, Shadow on the Wall successfully combines a moderately scientific detective story with suspense. The tale centres largely on the efforts of a psychiatrist (Nancy Davis, better known in later life as Nancy Reagan) to penetrate the mental defences Perreau has erected against the terrifying event she observed, and the counter-efforts by Sothern to keep her secret.

The script works well, and creates effective suspense, especially at the climax. I liked how it took time to show how good a father Scott is, and how he enjoys parenthood. This is clear not only in scenes with his daughter but in an amusing shaving lesson given to a neighbour-boy. Scott’s character is a world away from the man he portrayed in his cinematic debut (The Mask of Dimitrios) and, though, despite second billing, his screen-time is limited, he is effective. Sothern as well gives a good performance, though her change from sympathetic under-dog to hateful murderess is a bit rushed. That, I feel, is the biggest problem with Shadow on the Wall: not the detail of the characters, but their depth. Sothern’s transformation is almost but not quite credible. Even Davis’s farewell at the end is rather casually dismissive, considering the tension and events in which she had participated.

Perreau is as believable as Scott in her role, and the two have good chemistry together. The film would have improved if the father-daughter pair had been the main characters, though this of course would have resulted in a different film.

Other aspects of the movie are good but not outstanding. The direction makes adequate use of the ‘shadow’ motif, but could have been better in the hands of someone more capable. The production values are those of a decent ‘B’ picture, neither cheap nor lavish.

For the story and the actors, then, Shadow on the Wall is worth a look. It will keep the viewer entertained to the end, and that, after all, is what we want in a movie on a chilly Saturday night.

City That Never Sleeps (1953)

Directed by John H Auer (also created as associate producer)

Patrolman John Kelly Jr (Gig Young), a youthful but nonetheless veteran member of the Chicago Police Department, has had enough. Feeling suffocated at home with a loving wife - whose job pays more than his - and a nagging mother-in-law, he is also fed up with the ungrateful, often foolish people he must protect. Given a new, albeit temporary, partner (Chill Wills), Kelly starts his last shift, a night-shift that will be more eventful than he could imagine - or want.

A more interesting film than it starts out being, City That Never Sleeps is the only one I know that is narrated by Chicago (the city, not the music group). That, and the circumstances of Kelly’s new partner, are a bit odd, but the rest of the movie is down to earth and, though overly dramatic at times, entertaining.

Young is the centre of the story, not in every scene but the figure that connects all the others. His character is well-written: though he complains and ridicules the residents of the city, he reveals his true feelings in his actions, subtly, as when he complains that a colleague isn’t holding an infant - whom Kelly just helped birth in a vacant lot - in the correct way, or when he arrests a con-man whose habits he knows very well. The viewer is given a real sense that Kelly has patrolled the district for a long time and is very familiar with its occupants and topography.

Also giving a good performance is Wills, as Kelly’s new partner, someone who nowadays would be called ‘laid-back’, insightful but easy-going. Edward Arnold creates a character who, while clearly criminal is some ways, is also rather sympathetic, even likeable. He had a history of filling such roles. The minor actors who play the other policemen are very natural in their parts. Tom Poston, credited here as “Thomas” Poston, has a small role as a detective.

The script is good, and interesting, giving a picture of police work in a major American city of the early 1950s. Along with the shockingly slack procedures (at least to modern sensibilities), there is much to learn incidentally. (Several policemen call someone a ‘hood’ but pronounce it with a long “oo” sound, to rhyme with food.) The writing ties everything up satisfactorily at the end.

An involving story - with a rare focus on a uniformed patrolman performing his routine duties, rather than the usual plainclothes detective - and capable performances make City That Never Sleeps an above average addition to the category of crime movies worth watching.

Whispering Smith (1948)

Directed by Leslie Fenton; produced by Mel Epstein (associate producer)

Luke Smith (Alan Ladd), the Nebraska and Pacific Railroad’s champion investigator, is on the trail of a trio of murderous brothers. Quiet and diffident - hence his nickname - Smith’s inquiries lead him to a conspiracy of train wreckers, and he fears his old friend (Robert Preston) may be involved. It will take more than one shoot-out to rid the railroad of the villains Smith finds at work.

If there is one actor who fit the role of someone nicknamed ‘Whispering’, it’s Alan Ladd. The character is noted for his low and quiet manner of speech, and his diffidence; I don’t think I’ve ever seen a film in which Ladd raised his voice, and his manner was always self-effacing, despite the fact that his handsome looks made him stand out. He does a good job here, though the performance is not exceptional.

The same may be said for most of the actors, all of whom give competent performances. One I found rather annoying was the female lead (Brenda Marshall); her character is at one point called ‘mopey’, which is a good description of her. True, her circumstances are rather disheartening, but they are not enhanced by the gloomy characterisation.

The story was initially interesting. Despite how large the railway loomed in the settlement of the American west - and here in Canada, it was one of the principal elements of unification - there have not been too many westerns that revolved around trains and their technical aspects. The first half of Whispering Smith deals centres on the railway, its management and the handling of wrecks. The salvaging scene is especially involving. But then, that aspect of the film is left behind; it’s true that the second half is about a gang of saboteurs, but it’s little different than many other stories featuring a lawman after an outlaw gang.

Another feature of the first half is the potential of a particularly wicked, squint-eyed villain (Frank Faylen, very different from his role as Ernie the taxi-driver in It’s a Wonderful Life). I expected an exciting duel of some sort between him and Ladd, but it never materialized, and Faylen’s conclusion is almost anti-climactic.

Though in attractive and relatively early colour, Whispering Smith does not take sustained advantage of its better elements and, though from 1948, has more in common with some of Ladd’s lesser efforts from the next decade.

The Runaround (1946)

Directed by Charles Lamont; produced by Joseph Gershenson

The Continental Detective Agency’s star investigator, Eddie Kildane (Rod Cameron), has had enough of his thoughtless, heartless, dictatorial chief, Prentiss (Broderick Crawford), so he and partner, Wally Quayle (Frank McHugh) quit and establish their own business. Clients are hard to come by when you’re starting out, though, so they steal one from their old boss. The assignment: find the client’s run-away daughter. It won’t be easy, with the woman in question (Ella Raines) doing her best to evade capture, and a rival trying to steal his case back.

The enjoyable aspect of how I choose movies to watch - usually based on a one- or two-sentence synopsis of the plot and a few viewer reviews – is that I sometimes find rarely-seen gems, small-scale epics or under-rated entertainments, such as The Runaround. The plot is more than a little reminiscent of It Happened One Night, with a determined man trying to deliver an escaped daughter to her parents. But The Runaround stands well on its own merits, one of the chief advantages being the sub-plot (or, rather, co-plot) of Broderick constantly on Cameron’s trail, one step behind here, one step ahead there. This is while Cameron has his hands full with Raines’s attempts to elude him.

The dialogue is good, though the script is better when it comes to action, both in terms of dramatic action and of physical movement. Cameron’s character is quick-witted and clever, with a hundred tricks up his sleeve: stealing cars, framing competitors, planting decoys and get-aways in the night are all part of the story. The protagonist can also handle himself in a fist-fight, of which there are several, though he is no super-hero; he takes more than one beating.

Rod Cameron had to have been one of the busiest actors in the 1940s and ‘50s (eleven movies released in 1941; five in 1955, while also filming a television series). A Canadian (born just two hours away from where I live), he has a casual and easy manner about him in The Runaround, and he and Raines have an excellent chemistry. Raines herself manages comedy and light drama well. McHugh was often a film’s comic relief, usually of the clownish or broad type. Here, his character provides the common sense against Cameron’s adventurous, though not reckless, impetuosity.

Like It Happened One Night, filmed twelve years previously, The Runaround provides a series of vignettes of the United States of the time, with uniformed moving-men, roadside hamburger stalls and airports where security didn’t need to be considered. Though these elements were hardly included as a conscious acknowledgement of future nostalgia, they are entertaining nonetheless. Added to the cast, the writing and the acting, The Runaround is a movie worth seeing.