More Than a Gunsel: Elisha Cook Jr. Played Wobbly Tough Guys, Inept Would-Be Heroes and Dyed in the Wool Victims Often Displaying Raw Emotion and Unexpected Vulnerabilities

Humphrey Bogart, Elisha Cook Jr., "The Maltese Falcon" (1941).
Just a cheap gunman hanging around hotel lobbies.

When he died in 1995 at the age of 91, Elisha Cook Jr. was the last surviving cast member of John Huston's 1941 film noir classic “The Maltese Falcon,” whose players included Humphrey Bogart, Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre and Mary Astor. While his was a supporting role, Cook left an indelible impression that remains intact more than eight decades later.

Many say that “The Maltese Falcon” was the first ever film noir while others insist that “Stranger on the Third Floor” (1940) was the genre’s opening salvo. One thing is for certain: Having acted in both films, Cook’s film noir street cred is rock solid.

He appeared in more than 100 films, including comedies, westerns and war pictures, working with some of Hollywood’s most esteemed directors, a virtual who’s who of Hollywood heavy hitters, including Stanley Kubrick, Howard Hawks, Robert Wise, Sam Peckinpah, Andre DeToth, Mervyn LeRoy, Otto Preminger, Robert Siodmak, and Jules Dassin, among others. Cook would be the first to admit that not every film in which he appeared rose to the level of the 1941 Huston-directed spellbinder. He once claimed that he was in more "B-for-bomb turkeys" than any other actor.

Frequently performing beside the likes of Bogart, Greenstreet, Gary Cooper, Allan Ladd and Marilyn Monroe, to name a few, Cook had an emotional presence that put him on equal footing with the stars even in his relatively minor roles. Whether he was playing a sniveling informant, sinister henchman or a flawed protagonist, his most complex characters put on a rugged facade that belied a spate of vulnerabilities that occasionally bobbed to the surface. At times his characters were lovestruck weaklings easily manipulated by scheming jezebels. He often played average joes who were pawns of the ruthless and were pushed around by low-life hoodlums and gangsters’ errand boys. He was Jonesy, the broken-hearted informant forced to drink poison in "The Big Sleep" (1946). As Cliff, the cuckolded husband who throws a monkey wrench into a racetrack holdup in Stanley Kubrick’s "The Killing" (1956), he drowns in pathos and inadvertently helps take his partners in crime down with him.

But the role most deeply etched into our pop culture collective consciousness is undoubtedly Wilmer the gunsel, the inept, brutally callous and cowardly bodyguard to Sydney Greenstreet in "The Maltese Falcon.” Part of what makes that film pure viewing pleasure is its cheeky dialogue and biting repartee lifted directly from Dashiell Hammett’s novel. Amid many ironic asides and withering retorts, Cook scores a zinger or two. 

”Keep on riding me," he tells Bogart’s Sam Spade. "They're gonna be pickin' iron out of your liver."

As Wilmer — humiliation and tears of rage.

But apart from some poisonous retorts, his characters’ emotional complexities leave a lasting impression on us. We see humiliation and hatefulness in his expression after Bogie swipes both of his pistols and mortifies him as his boss, Kaspar Gutman (Greenstreet), looks on with muted amusement.

"If you look at the scene closely," Cook said, "the tears are streaming down my face I'm so angry."

With more than a touch of self-deprecating humor, Cook liked to point out that he got the part of Wilmer simply because he had the same agent as Huston and Bogart. But it’s hard to imagine any other actor standing in Wilmer’s shoes.

"I played rats, pimps, informers, hopheads and communists," he said, although that wasn’t necessarily by choice. He had to take whatever happened to be on the studio’s schedule. "I didn't have the privilege of reading scripts. Guys called me up and said, 'You're going to work tomorrow.' "

A Career Spanning Over Six Decades

A native of San Francisco who grew up in Chicago, Cook was a traveling actor in the East and Midwest before going to New York, where Eugene O'Neill picked him to play the juvenile lead in "Ah Wilderness!," which ran on Broadway for two years.

His first screen roles were in the silent era — he made his film debut with “Her Unborn Child” (1930). The early roles were often uncredited, but he showed a knack for performing in front of the camera. By the time that the talkies arrived his career began picking up steam. 

He could handle a remarkable range of characters, from timid and neurotic to sinister and cunning. As a performer who could radiate vulnerability as well as menace he became a sought after character actor. He continued to make his mark in films-noir and gangster films with roles in “Born to Kill” (1947), “Dillinger” (1945) and “Phantom Lady” (1944). 

In “Phantom Lady,” Cook is a hophead jazz drummer who becomes the prime suspect in a murder case. He encounters Carol "Kansas" Richman (Ella Raines) and is knocked out by her slinky allure. In one of the most frequently cited scenes in noir, Cook pounds out a frenzied drum-solo with erotic overtones as Kansas looks on.

Cook as George Peatty — bamboozled by his wandering wife.

His work in noir extended into the 1950s with roles in such films as “Don’t Bother to Knock”  (1952), playing Eddie Forbes, whose attempt to help his unemployed niece, Nell (Marilyn Monroe), brings about disastrous results, and George Peatty, a hapless cashier involved in a racetrack heist in Stanley Kubrick’s “The Killing.” Peatty’s loveless marriage ends up being his undoing and his fate is sealed in a tragic twist.

Other notable performances include that of Watson Pritchard in William Castle's horror film “House on Haunted Hill” (1959).

In the 1960s and 1970s he appeared in a wide range of television shows, including “The Twilight Zone,” “Perry Mason.,” “I Spy,” “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” “The Wild Wild West” and “Gunsmoke.” He also played a recurring role on “Magnum, P.I.” in the 1980s.

His late career work includes such high profile films as “Rosemary's Baby” (1968), “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid” (1973) and “The Outfit” (1973). 

Cook, never one to mix in Hollywood’s social circles, resided for many years in Bishop, Calif., and often summered at Lake Sabrina in the Sierra Nevada. He died of a stroke in 1995 at a nursing home in Big Pine, Calif. 

Here’s a list of some of Elisha Cook Jr. most memorable crime film performances and the characters he played:

“The Devil is Driving” (1932) Tony Stevens

Scion of a wealthy businessman is charged with drunken-driving and causing an accident that kills a woman and cripples her child. A low-budget cautionary tale.

“They Won’t Forget” (1937) Joe Turner

A small-time hood is suspected of murder. Political ambition and tensions between the North and the South lurk in the background This is one of Cook’s earliest crime film roles.

“Stranger on the Third Floor” (1940) Joe Briggs

An aspiring reporter is the key witness at the murder trial of a young man accused of cutting a café owner's throat and is soon accused of a similar crime himself.

“The Maltese Falcon” (1941) Wilmer Cook

San Francisco private detective Sam Spade takes on a case that involves him with three eccentric criminals, a gorgeous liar and their quest for a priceless statuette.

“I Wake Up Screaming” (1941) Harry Williams

Inspector Ed Cornell tries to railroad Frankie Christopher into a murder rap for the killing of model Vicky Lynn. 

Keeping the tempo, in "Phantom Lady" (1944).

“Phantom Lady” (1944) Cliff Milburn

A devoted secretary risks her life to try to find the elusive woman who may prove her boss didn't murder his selfish wife.

“Dillinger” (1944) Kirk Otto

John Dillinger begins his life of crime as a petty thief and meets his future gang in prison, eventually masterminding a series of daring robberies.

“Blonde Alibi” (1946) Sam Collins

Soon after a young woman breaks off her engagement to a doctor, the doctor is found murdered. Suspicion falls on his ex-fiancé and a pilot with a checkered past.

“The Falcon’s Alibi” (1946) Nick

A wealthy woman's secretary, fearing that she will be blamed if her employer's jewelry is stolen, hires the Falcon as guardian. The Falcon is blamed when the jewels are stolen and murders ensue.

“Two Smart People” (1946) Fly Feletti

A fugitive negotiates a five-year sentence for the theft of a half-million dollar worth of bonds while suspecting that a con-woman, a cop and a former crime-partner are after his hidden bonds.

“The Big Sleep” (1946) Harry Jones

Private detective Philip Marlowe is hired by a wealthy family. Before the complex case is over, he's seen murder, blackmail and what might be love.

“Fall Guy” (1947) Joe

Tom Cochrane (Leo Penn'), full of cocaine and covered with blood, is picked up by the police. Soon, he’s a prime suspect for murder.

“Born to Kill” (1947) Marty

Marty Waterman (Cook), a henchman of the murderous Sam Wilde (Lawrence Tierney), finds out the hard way that it’s risky doing business with a hot-tempered paranoid such as Sam.

“The Long Night” (1947) Frank Dunlap

Police surround the apartment of apparent murderer Joe Adams, who refuses to surrender although escape appears impossible. During the siege, Joe reflects on the circumstances that led him to this situation.

“The Gangster” (1947) Oval

Cynical gangster Shubunka (Barry Sullivan) controls the Neptune Beach waterfront. He runs a numbers racket with the local soda shop owner. The police are in his pocket and the local hoods are on his payroll.

“Flaxy Martin” (1949) Roper

Mob attorney Walter Colby is manipulated by showgirl Flaxy Martin into taking the rap for a murder committed by mobster Hap Richie's goons, but he escapes and is out for revenge.

“Don’t Bother to Knock” (1952) Eddie Forbes

A married couple staying at a swank hotel need a babysitter for their young daughter while they attend a function. Elevator operator Eddie Forbes recommends his niece, Nell (Marilyn Monroe), for the job — big mistake.

“I, the Jury” (1953) Bobo

Detective Mike Hammer is determined to catch and kill the person who killed his close friend, and the clues lead to a beautiful, seductive woman.

“Trial” (1955) Finn

A courtroom drama set in 1947 deals with post-World War II problems facing the United States such as stormy race relations and the growing threat of communism.

“The Killing” (1956) George Peatty

Career criminal Johnny Clay (Sterling Hayden) assembles a five-man team to plan and execute a daring racetrack robbery.

“Accused of Murder” (1956) Whitey Pollock

Nightclub singer Ilona Vance (Vera Ralston) is accused of murder and Lt. Roy Hargis (David Brian) attempts to prove her innocence.

“Chicago Confidential” (1957) Candymouth Duggan

In Chicago, a crime syndicate tries to take over a labor union by killing its whistle blower treasurer and framing the honest union boss for the murder.

“Plunder Road” (1957) Skeets Jonas 

Five men rob a train in Utah of 10 million dollars in gold and head to Los Angeles in three trucks hoping to meet up with their beautiful accomplice and leave the country.

“Baby Face Nelson” (1957) Homer van Meter

George "Babyface" Nelson (Mickey Rooney) became one of the most important gangsters of 1930s Chicago. To compete with Al Capone, he allies himself with John Dillinger.

“The Outfit” (1973) Carl

Earl Macklin (Robert Duvall) robs a bank owned by the mob, serves his prison time and is released, only to start a private war against the crime outfit that owned the bank.

“Hammett” (1982) Eli the Taxi Driver

A fictional account of real-life mystery writer Dashiell Hammett and his involvement in the investigation of a beautiful Chinese cabaret actress's mysterious disappearance in San Francisco.

How a Real-Life Prison Sentence Added Another Dimension to Mitchum's Performance as a Woozy Doctor on the Run in a Nightmarish Flight From Justice

Robert Mitchum, "Where Danger Lives" (1950).

By Paul Parcellin

This article contains spoilers

A lot of red flags should go up when Dr. Jeff Cameron (Robert Mitchum) meets Margo Lannington (Faith Domergue). But she’s a real dish and this is noir, so naturally he ignores the many warning signposts screaming at him that he’s about to drive over a cliff.

Margo is an emergency room case whom Jeff treats after a suicide attempt. There’s an instant attraction between the two and she persuades him to meet with her outside of the hospital. 

He ditches his steady girl, nurse Julie Dorn (Maureen O’Sullivan, wife of the film’s director John Farrow), for the more exciting, emotionally scarred rich one. As bad decisions go, this is a whopper and it’s all but impossible to stop watching the impending train wreck take shape. 

In the first part of the movie Jeff is smitten with Margo, and he at least still has his wits about him. A little later he’s smitten again — this time literally. He suffers a concussion and it doesn’t improve his judgment, but it explains why the level-headed physician would fail to see that his newfound love is an erratic maniac. 

She lives with her rich dad (Claude Rains) — that’s what she tells him, at least — and is financially dependent on the infirm old geezer. She and pop reside in a swell mansion and when Jeff stops by for a visit he’s surprised by the opulence but isn’t impressed with it. Money isn’t so important to him, and it’s evident that his infatuation with Margo is taking up a lot of real estate is his brain. 

But things start going sour. He gets into a scuffle, gets clocked on the head with a fireplace poker that puts him in a fitful stupor, his judgment deteriorating — clearly something he doesn’t need. Soon, he’s in the kind of trouble that only femmes fatale can get a fellow into and he and his new lady friend go on the run as fugitives from justice.

Mitchum, Faith Domergue, dazed and confused.

The nightmarish scenario in which he’s trapped is a classic noir trope. He’s the average guy who unexpectedly plunges into a hellish abyss. Mitchum brings his every-man persona to this doctor who’s torn between the straight life and the rush of staying one step ahead of the law. 

Maybe the same could be said about Mitchum, although living strictly on the straight and narrow didn’t much appeal to him. In 1948 he was busted for possession of marijuana, a pretty big deal back then, and he served prison time not so long before shooting this film. The ex-jailbird at first thought that his career was over. But his boss at RKO, Howard Hughes, stuck by him and ignored the voices wanting to cancel the controversial actor. It turns out the publicity actually enhanced his career and this role is but one example of why a pot bust turned into a plus for bad boy Mitchum.

Audiences in 1950 must have sensed that Mitchum brings an essential element of danger to a character who might have otherwise come across as too straitlaced. He did that before the pot bust, too, but by the time the film came out that image was fresh in the public’s mind. It’s not hard to believe that, given the opportunity, Jeff is the kind of guy who just might take up with a dangerous woman like Margo. Maybe his attraction to her is due in part to his doctorly instincts to heal the afflicted. But with his guard down he morphs into a moth drawn to the flame — and his distorted powers of reasoning aren’t helping him see the follies of his ways, either.

Once on the road together, both he and she suffer from bouts of paranoia. Every cop they see is out to get them; people everywhere have them pegged as fugitives from justice. They stumble upon police at the airport, get spooked and hot foot it back to the highway. When they come upon a roadblock they assume it’s a dragnet set to capture them, so they make a U-turn and barrel off in another direction.

Typical of their muddled way of thinking, they opt to dump her expensive auto to a cliche of a used car dealer, as if that would throw the police off their trail. The used car jockey wears a houndstooth sport jacket with mis-matched patterned shirt and tie that are fighting a bloody war against each other. He gets a twinkle in his eye, seeing that the two are desperate and will make easy pickings for a chiseler such as himself, and he promptly fleeces the two pigeons.

They move onward, but try as they might it becomes apparent that they’re playing a losing game. Despite his injuries, Jeff is still thinking clearly enough to realize that his condition is deteriorating, so their mission turns into a dash for the Mexican border in hope of making it before he expires. 

For her part in this fiasco, Margo plays it cool, but a few stunning revelations about her eventually come to light. Like most noir anti-heroes, Jeff comes to the hard, cold facts a bit too late to slow down his inevitable trudge toward the gates of hell. 

We’re left to ponder whether Jeff’s misadventures are due to fate simply paying him back for callously leaving his girl back home. As paybacks go, that one exacts a rather high price. Something like prison time for smoking a reefer.

 

Riding an Express Train to Hell: In Noir and Thrillers, Passengers Embark on Dark Journeys Aboard Shadowy Railroad Cars Hurtling Toward Uncertain Destinations

Charles McGraw, Don Haggerty, Marie Windsor, Don Beddoe,
“The Narrow Margin” (1952).

This article contains spoilers

By Paul Parcellin

Rail travel is a throwback to the days of neckties, breast pocket handkerchiefs and fedoras, so naturally it pops up often in films noir. It’s safe to say that if you’re watching a black and white film with a handcuffed criminal being shuffled aboard a pullman car, you just might be watching noir.

Trains are not only the popular mode of transportation in noir, they’re often a stage where dramatic scenes play out. They’re a location where solo travelers can meld into the crowd or escape to a sealed overnight compartment. Night trains are often dimly lit, even shadowy. It’s the kind of environment where transgressive behavior can take place undetected. People hop a train to run away from danger or the law, or to find a missing person or purloined object. They’re an escape vehicle, a sanctuary and sometimes they’re the perfect setting to perpetrate a crime.

Theft, kidnapping and murder are all possible under the murky illumination inside a railroad car as it speeds through sparsely populated territories and cityscapes. Passengers, lost in reverie, are oblivious to disturbing events unfolding around them. 

Ditto for railroad stations, which are often packed with anonymous faces, many of whom are too distracted to pay close attention to their surroundings. Train stations are a transitional area for travelers, a place that passengers would prefer to leave as soon as possible. They’re fertile ground for pickpockets, petty thieves and conmen preying on distracted, weary travelers whose thoughts are fixed on where they’re bound for as they endure the tedium of getting there. They’re a place where cigar stand cashiers mutter inside info to cops and hoods alike, and fugitives grab a tabloid from the newsstand to find out what’s what.

Rail travel echos many of film noir’s tenets, including loneliness and isolation. Trains are inherently claustrophobic, with their narrow corridors, compartments, dining cars and baggage areas. In short, they’re perfect fodder for the movies. Try to imagine how hard it would be to stage a credible chase scene aboard a plane or a bus, but a train is tailor made for it. 

Trains are more than mere staging areas for action sequences. The sense of confinement one feels mirrors the moral and emotional entrapment characters are experiencing. The train becomes a microcosm of the noir world, where people are trapped in a place that mirrors their internal conflicts.

Film noir is notorious for its dimly lit streets and alleys that create an atmosphere of uncertainty and danger. Train travel often occurs at night, emphasizing the characters’ descent into darkness and their moral ambiguity. The rhythmic clatter of the train’s wheels amplifies the tension, intensifying the noir experience. In short, the confined interiors of train cars provide an ideal spot for things to happen, the kinds of things that happen in noir.


Here a handful of films noir, crime films and thrillers in which trains play a critical role:

Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, “Double Indemnity” (1944).

“Double Indemnity” (1944)

A train can be part of a murder plot as well as a tool of deception. In “Double Indemnity,” insurance salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray), cooks up a murder plot that includes train travel and a sophisticated maneuver that makes it look like an accident. He and Phyllis Dietrichson plan to bump off her husband to collect his accident insurance payout — she and Neff have recently begun an affair and they plan to go away together with the spoils of their deadly scheme. 

With some sleight of hand Neff gets the unsuspecting hubby to sign off on a fat policy with Phyllis as the beneficiary. The corker is that if Mr. Dietrichson dies aboard a train the payout is double the face amount of the policy — double indemnity. It takes a fair amount of maneuvering and creative planning to set the wheels of deception in motion, but they do it. 

Neff strangles the husband and, dressing like Mr. Dietrichson, boards the train pretending to be the unfortunate chap. At a given location, Neff will hop off the rear car and he and Phyllis will place the body at the spot where he jumped. People will think that Dietrichson accidentally fell off, putting Phyllis in line for a big payday. 

Aboard the train, Neff makes his way to the observation platform at the rear of the last car. He steps into the open compartment, the darkness serves as a metaphoric backdrop for the morally corrupt acts he’s carrying out. But lo’ and behold, he’s not alone. Another passenger, the chatty Mr. Jackson (Porter Hall), is enjoying the night air amid the clatter of steel wheels on tracks. Neff did not anticipate this and it could be disastrous for him and Phyllis since there’s only a brief window of opportunity for him to take the leap. Neff makes up an excuse to get Jackson to leave the observation car and go fetch cigars Neff claims he left in his compartment. 

It’s a close call, but he’s is able to jump off the train at the precise point where Phyllis waits in the family car with the still warm body of her husband. Director Billy Wilder is masterful in his creation of tense moments on film, and he doubles down on the pressure once the body is planted on the tracks. 

Neff and Phyllis are about to make a clean getaway — then the car won’t start. Such are the problems of a murderous pair who seek to defraud an insurance company and get rid of a husband who’s overstayed his usefulness. 

Farley Granger, Robert Walker, “Strangers on a Train” (1951).

“Strangers on a Train” (1951)

When you board a train you never know who you might sit across from. Clean-cut tennis pro Guy Haines (Farley Granger) has the misfortune of planting himself opposite unhinged gadabout Bruno Antony (Robert Walker). Bruno recognizes Guy from seeing his picture on the sports page, and knows far too much about the tennis player’s personal life. Guy is mildly annoyed, but soon the two of them are lunching in Bruno’s compartment, although clearly Guy would prefer to lose the eccentric busybody.

Bruno rambles on about some harebrained schemes he’s been thinking about and Guy humors him. But then Bruno’s conversation turns perversely dark. He’s dreamed up a way to commit the perfect murder: two people who each want someone dead would commit each other’s murders. Guy laughs off the suggestion, although he’s got a troublesome wife who won’t give him a divorce. Bruno has a father who understandably threatens to have him committed. 

Guy never gives the wacky scheme a second thought, but Bruno is deadly serious and he mistakenly thinks that Guy is on board with him. It’s a great setup for a thriller and in Alfred Hitchcock’s hands the film is a tantalizing melange of dark humor and tense moments. 

Here, train travel is the catalyst for a chance meeting that sets the story in motion and reminds us that random events can trigger unsavory actions. The journey brings about the entwined destinies of two very different characters. As we eavesdrop on their conversation we get an inkling of the deep moral complexities that Guy will soon face. 

Bruno’s scheme requires two people with no discernible connection between them who share a common interest. Unfortunately for Bruno, Guy has no intention of being anyone’s partner in crime, but he didn’t make that sufficiently clear to Bruno. Much to Guy’s horror, Bruno goes ahead with his side of the imagined bargain and kills Guy’s wife. Guy is, of course, a suspect. 

His alibi, that he was on a train at the time of the murder, won’t hold water. He spoke with a soused college professor who happened to be sitting across from him on the train, but the now sober educator cannot remember a thing from the night before. Guy is once again an anonymous person on a train, and this is one time that he wishes someone would have recognized him.

Charles McGraw, Jacqueline White, Peter Virgo, “The Narrow Margin” (1952). 

“The Narrow Margin” (1952)

L.A. Police Det. Walter Brown (Charles McGraw) must escort a key witness for the state, Mrs. Frankie Neall (Marie Windsor), from Chicago to Los Angeles. She’s the widow of crime boss Neall and has critical information the authorities want, but the mob is determined to stop her from talking. She narrowly escapes death when a gunman pays her a home visit, but instead Brown’s partner takes a fatal bullet.  

Brown is less than thrilled to be assigned to this dangerous mission, and the lady is annoyed about the long train journey ahead. Before long she and Brown get on each other’s nerves, but that’s the least of their worries — a group of thugs who are out to kill her have boarded the train. 

Most of the movie takes place in the compartments, corridors and dining car, and it’s the perfect claustrophobic setting for this drama of paranoia and frayed nerves. Brown is the one taking it the hardest. He feels responsible for his partner’s death and the guilt weighs heavily on him. 

He’s restless, has trouble sleeping and can’t eat, but Mrs. Neall remains calm and has to be reminded to hide herself from the marauding killers. 

Her one advantage is that the bad guys don’t know what she looks like. But they know Brown, and they lie in wait until the detective tips his hand and leads them to her. The train’s narrow corridors make it almost impossible prevent Brown from crossing paths with the hitmen as they glare at each other, waiting to see who makes the first move. 

When violence finally erupts the confined space makes for intense chases and dramatic struggles over firearms. A side note: Given the danger Brown and the lady face, it’s a wonder that he doesn’t wire ahead for reinforcements and simply get off the train. But then there wouldn’t be a movie.

William Holden, Nancy Olson, “Union Station” (1950). 

“Union Station” (1950)

Train travel is part of the “Union Station” plot, but the station itself is where the action takes place. Sharp eyed passenger Joyce Willecombe (Nancy Olson) spots a couple of shady characters on her trip to Chicago. Police Lt. Bill Calhoun (William Holden) tails the pair, who turn out to be gun-toting bad guys.

He watches as they stash a suitcase in a locker at the station. The suitcase is retrieved and Joyce identifies the contents as the belongings of Lorna Murchison (Allene Roberts), the blind daughter of wealthy Henry Murchison (Herbert Heyes ), who coincidentally happens to be Joyce’s boss. Lorna has been kidnapped but Mr. Murchison doesn’t want police interference which might endanger Lorna’s life. But he does agree to let Calhoun do some low-profile investigating. 

A ransom drop off at the station is arranged, and a small army of plain clothes detectives swarm the area. The upshot is a handful of petty criminals plying their trade in the crowded station get scooped up — a suitcase thief here, a con man there — business as usual at this Midwestern crossroads. The station itself — Los Angeles’s Union Station standing in for Union Station Chicago — is like a character in the story. Long corridors, waiting area and various crannies are useful to both cops and crooks who want to blend into the background. 

More intimidating is the tunnels beneath the station where the action eventually moves. There are small service cars for workers that run on tracks and are electrically powered, kind of a mini railroad beneath the railroad. 

That makes the tunnels all the more treacherous. One false step and you might land on a live power line. It’s an awful place, especially for a blind girl scared out of her wits.

Wesley Addy, “Time Table” (1956). 

"Time Table” (1956)

The distinguished Dr. Paul Brucker (Wesley Addy) responds to an urgent call for aid. A man aboard the train on which he’s traveling is having a medical emergency. The doctor examines the patient and concludes the stricken man suffers from polio. He directs the train crew to make an unscheduled stop so that the ailing man can be transferred to a hospital. 

An ambulance meets the doctor and patient at an otherwise deserted train depot and the afflicted individual is taken away. But that’s hardly the most unusual event occurring on the train this night. 

While the medical emergency is under way, unbeknownst to the crew a lone robber breaches the train’s locked baggage compartment where a large quantity of cash is secured in a safe. This has the trademark a well-trained band of robbers with lots of insider information and a knack for misdirection. 

Although the train seems as secure as an armored car, investigators later realize that the perfectly timed scheme was planned specifically for a train running on this route. What would otherwise be a daunting mission with many drawbacks — the confined space, the well guarded baggage car — are instead advantages that the robbers exploit. 

They’re able to direct attention away from themselves and prevent passengers from catching on to what they’re up to. The train crew is also in the dark — most of them, anyway. Instead of being trapped like lab rats, the thieves get away without a hitch, making this a tough case for insurance investigator Charlie Norman (Mark Stevens) to solve. But, as we might expect, the robbers’ seemingly bullet-proof scheme begins to unravel.

Here are more films that include scenes at Union Station in Los Angeles:

“The Ladykillers" (1955), "5 Against the House" (1955), “Mildred Pierce" (1945). The Driver" (1978), "The Bigamist" (1953), "Criss Cross" (1949), "Too Late for Tears" (1949), "Cry Danger" (1951).

These films feature scenes at Grand Central Station in New York:

“North By Northwest" (1959), "Seconds" (1966), "Midnight Run" (1988), "Spellbound" (1945), "The House on Carroll Street" (1988), "Carlito’s Way" (1993), "Grand Central Murder" (1942).

 

Noir After World War II: Damaged Vets Strain to Re-enter Civilian Life as America Stares Down Fascist Conspiracies and a Seething Nuclear Nightmare

Gaby Rodgers, "Kiss Me Deadly" (1955).

This Post Contains Spoilers

By Paul Parcellin

American films noir changed a lot after the end of World War II. The standard setups — a guy, a girl, a gun, a pile of cash, gave way to new storylines and different kinds of characters. We began to see G.I.s returning home from the war with debilitating physical and psychological wounds that made adjustment to civilian life difficult. Films such as “Crossfire” (1947), “Act of Violence” (1948), “High Wall” (1947) and “The Chase” (1946)  focus on returning servicemen and their tortuous reentry into everyday American life. 

In “The Blue Dahlia” (1946) ex-bomber pilot Johnny Morrison (Alan Ladd) returns from the war to a less than stellar reception. His wife, Helen (Doris Dowling), has been partying and carrying on with another man in Johnny’s absence. In fact, it seems that a significant portion of the civilian population has been on a bender and has little appreciation for the sacrifices service people made to preserve their freedom. 

But the cruelest blow Helen dishes out to him comes when Johnny learns about the death of their child. It wasn’t due to illness as Helen had written him, but as the result of an accident she had while driving drunk. Stunned, Johnny picks up his bag and leaves. Later, Helen is found murdered and Johnny is the prime suspect. But suspicion turns to his service pal Buzz (William Bendix), who has bouts of uncontrollable rage and seizures as the result of a wartime head injury. Early versions of the script had Buzz as the killer, but the U.S. Navy forbid it, saying that portraying a wounded veteran as a psychotic killer was unacceptable, so the script was rewritten. Still, the film conveys a sense of discomfort and outright fear the civilian population experiences with war scarred veterans.

While films along this theme continued to make moving statements in post-war America, particularly William Wyler’s “The Best Years of Our Lives” (1946), the plight of ex-servicemen was overshadowed by events on Aug. 29, 1949, when the Soviet Union detonated its first atomic bomb. Noirs began to reflect the growing hysteria over the prospects of nuclear war. 

In 1950 the country entered the Korean War and the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) investigated alleged disloyalty and subversive activities on the part of private citizens, public employees, and those organizations suspected of having fascist and communist ties.

Some citizens, it was supposed, including war veterans, posed an existential threat to the American way of life. Government censors would paper over any suggestion that a returning veteran might be a deranged killer, but if he was perceived as a communist sympathizer the hammer of justice would strike swiftly. The threat of nuclear war seemed to justify any action deemed necessary.

Here are some films noir made during the Cold War that reflect the mood of the times:

 Janis Carter, John Agar, Thomas Gomez,
"The Woman on Pier 13" (1949).

“The Woman on Pier 13” a.k.a. “I Married a Communist” (1949)

“The Woman on Pier 13” previewed in 1949 with the straightforward but unintentionally silly title, “I Married a Communist.” RKO Pictures changed it after test audiences gave the thumbs down. Even with its new title, “Pier 13” is every bit the melodramatic tabloidesque B-picture that the original title suggests. But it reveals a lot about the country’s mood in that most unsettling era.

While the Soviet Union conducted its first successful atomic test in 1949, the film came together a bit too early to press the nuclear annihilation panic button. Instead, it envisions a conspiracy of homegrown communists driving a wedge between labor and shipping industry management. “Pier 13” uses the communist threat in place of more typical forces of evil we see in noir — organized crime, corrupt politicians, police on the take and the like. 

As the film opens we meet San Francisco shipping executive Brad Collins (Robert Ryan), once, a card-carrying commie who labored as a stevedore in New York during the Depression. Later, he changed his name and fled to the West Coast. A communist no more, he fits comfortably within capitalist society. Brad’s ex-flame, Christine Norman (Janis Carter), who’s secretly working for communist cell leader Vanning (Thomas Gomez), shows up unexpectedly and causes tense moments with Brad and his new bride, Nan (Laraine Day).

Christine’s arrival isn’t a coincidence, she’s helping to put the squeeze on Brad. The local communists hold evidence that could send him to the gas chamber, and they want Brad’s cooperation. These days, “Pier 13” may seem like low comedy or self-parody, but it neatly maps out the hot-button issues still before us, including home-grown and foreign conspirators, infiltration of government institutions, shadow governments seeking to undermine our way of life, while dishing out hefty portions of paranoia-inducing melodrama. The film ends on an optimistic note while serving as a cautionary tale of what might befall us if we aren’t more vigilant. That probably soothed frayed nerves back in 1949. 

Frank Gerstle, Edmond O'Brien, "D.O.A." (1949).


“D.O.A.” (1949)

Above all else, “D.O.A.” is a sobering, paranoid meditation on nuclear radiation’s deadly effects on the human race and the pitfalls of self-absorption and hedonism. Small-town accountant Frank Bigelow (Edmond O’Brien) comes to the big city and by chance meets a bunch of traveling salesmen and their lady companions who are all staying at his hotel. They persuade his to come to a bar, and it turns out to be a hipster scene. Frank, a bit of a square, came to San Francisco to let his hair down before making up his mind whether or not to propose to his sweetheart back home. So he’s tantalized to check out this pre-beatnik era hangout for the bohemian set. 

He mingles with a lady at the bar and makes a date to meet her later that night. All the while a jazz combo is blowing up a storm on the bandstand. The excitement builds until the musicians and the crowd are in a frenzied state. The nightclub practically levitates as both the band and club patrons get caught up in the frenzied beat to the point of madness. 

The bartender, inured to the cacophony, shrugs it off. They’re “jive crazy. That means they go for this stuff.”

Frank doesn’t much understand the hipster crowd, but it looks like he’s gotten lucky, and that plus the booze are clouding his better judgment. He’s too distracted to pay much attention to the man slipping something into his drink. He takes a big sip of his tainted cocktail and things start to go sideways. It turns out that Frank has been poisoned with a "luminous toxin” and only has a short while to live. He goes on a mad scramble in an effort to find out who slipped him the deadly mickey and why they did it. 

The poison is a radio active substance whose delayed effect turns Frank into a walking zombie of sorts. He finally tracks down his killer, but the story is almost too convoluted to understand. The short explanation is that Frank just had a stroke of extraordinarily rotten luck. But the message is simple: the nuclear threat is all around us and can be unleashed at any time.


Lee Marvin, Terry Moore, Keenan Wynn,
"Shack Out on 101" (1955).

“Shack Out on 101” (1955)

A humble diner along the Pacific Coast is a hotbed for post war espionage and the proprietor, George (Keenan Wynn), is clueless about the drama that is percolating in his hash house.

Short order cook Leo (Lee Marvin), whom George has sarcastically nicknamed “Slob,” is a rude, obnoxious masher — his sobriquet fits him well. In a rare moment when Slob and George aren’t bickering, they lift weights together and debate who has the mightier physique. In this, a parable of spies and atomic bomb secrets it’s easy take their muscle flexing contest as a sly comment on the arms race. The two together are pure comic relief.

Frequent customer Prof. Sam Bastion (Frank Lovejoy) teaches at the local university and works on top secret defense projects. Slob and George both have eyes for waitress  Kotty (Terry Moore), who the professor is romancing. Odds are that the three Romeos are on a collision course.

In what seems to be an unconventional pairing, Slob and the professor allegedly have a common interest in seashells, and the professor collects ones that Slob, a part-time beachcomber, retrieves. But their hobby is a coverup for darker matters. We don’t begin to see Slob’s true character until he admits to the professor that he wants do something that will make people look up to him. The professor chides him about being a burger flipper and Slob’s comeback is arresting. “Hitler was a paperhanger,” he mutters, suddenly sounding determined and not the dolt he’s been pretending to be. “A man makes his own destiny,” he says. It seems a shadowy figure, Mr. Gregory, has buying nuclear secrets from the professor with Slob as the middle man. 

But there’s more to this underground operation that what first meets the eye. It turns out that the professor is not onboard with Slob’s covert operation after all, and he sums up the burgeoning conspiracy that’s afoot while summarizing the country’s worst fears. “The apes have taken over,” he says. “While we were filling our freezers and watching television they’ve moved in. And what’s worse is they’ve begun to dress like us and pretend to think like us.”

Ruth Roman, "5 Steps to Danger" (1956).

“5 Steps to Danger” (1956)

We know almost nothing about John Emmett’s (Sterling Hayden) background except that he’s driving from California to Texas when his car breaks down. The first time we see him he’s sitting in his car’s driver’s seat, ambling down the highway. As the frame widens it turns out that the car is being pulled be a tow truck. It’s just a preview of the surprising developments that are in store as this road movie picks up speed. His car is in need of heavy repairs so he accepts a lift from Ann Nicholson (Ruth Roman), a woman he meets by chance at the repair shop. Soon, he’s swept up into a web of espionage intrigue. 

We learn about Emmett through his actions, not from anything the taciturn every-man has to say about himself. He isn’t wealthy but won’t accept money as payment for his selfless deeds and insists on sharing travel expenses with Ann. Her life, on the other hand, is fraught with danger and adventure. She’s escaped from Germany with nuclear secrets etched into a pocket mirror. What’s more, at a roadside stop a woman claiming to be Ann’s nurse tells John that Ann is a former mental patient who is still healing from emotional trauma. Emmett sticks with Ann even when she vigorously tries to persuade him to go his own way. 

A mysterious Dr. Simmons (Werner Klemperer), purportedly Ann’s psychiatrist, lurks in the background, and so do CIA and other government agents. The air of high stakes international conspiracies hang in the Southwest desert’s air like buzzards circling a carcass. Ann’s destination is New Mexico where she intends to deliver the nuclear secrets to a Dr. Kissel (Karl Ludwig Lindt) but, as with each new development in this Cold War tale of paranoia, something is off — much like the mood of the country in the dawning days of the nuclear age.  

Willis Bouchey, Murvyn Vye, Thelma Ritter,
"Pickup on South Street" (1953).

“Pickup on South Street” (1953)

In "Pickup on South Street" (1953), pickpocket Skip McCoy (Richard Widmark) swipes microfilm from a spy ring courier. Street peddler Moe (Thelma Ritter) can help G-Men recover top-secret information after she figures out that Skip is their man. But her info ain't free. Moe is savvy enough to cut a better deal when she realizes she’s got insider’s knowledge that the police desperately want. Unfortunately, once involved in this high stakes game she’s in over her head, and the bad guys are a lot less forgiving than the street urchins she’s used to dealing with.

McCoy is the story’s keystone. His smart-talking self-assuredness is at once galling and irresistible. He knows where he stands, living from one purloined wallet to the next, and he’s got no interest in anything beyond the meager living he makes combing through subway strap hangers’ valuables. His world is limited to the city’s street and the shack he inhabits on the waterfront. He’s an unlikely player in this drama that has put the fate of western civilization in his grimy hands.

FBI Agent Zara (Willis Bouchey), who has been trailing him, tries to pressure him into turning over the microfilm he boosted, saying “If you refuse to cooperate you'll be as guilty as the traitors who gave Stalin the A-bomb.”

McCoy smugly retorts, “Are you waving the flag at me?”

The fast-talking pickpocket sums up his ethics when at another point he blurts out, “So you're a Red, who cares? Your money's as good as anybody else’s."

Despite his bluster, McCoy begins to see the light. Strangely enough, he becomes emotionally involved with Candy, the courier from whom he stole the microfilm. Her thuggish boyfriend means to do her in, and against all odds McCoy is then ready to stand up and do the right thing.

Maxine Cooper, Ralph Meeker,
"Kiss Me Deadly" (1955).

“Kiss Me Deadly” (1955)

In "Kiss Me Deadly," Mike Hammer (Ralph Meeker), the private detective hero of Mickey Spillane's pulpy novels, is on the trail of a suitcase full of hot nuclear soup. He's not quite sure what it is, and neither are we, but he knows it packs a bad-ass wallop.

Like"Pickup On South Street," with Richard Widmark as a pickpocket who unknowingly harvests some national security secrets from a mark's handbag, “Kiss Me Deadly” is a mad scramble for some H-bomb secrets that could help decimate the entire country and possibly the world. Director Robert Aldrich effectively conveys the tensions and uncertainty that existed in the Cold War era. Hammer uses bullying tactics — he’s always ready to slap around uncooperative witnesses who have critical information — to get to the bottom of the nuclear "whatsit" he's after. And he must, because the future of the planet is at stake.

The setting is transported from New York, Hammer’s stomping ground in Spillane novels, to the sunny climes of Los Angeles. This is a story without heroes — nearly every character we meet is sleazier than the last, and Hammer himself is far from squeaky clean.

Hammer’s search for Velda, his secretary, who is being held captive at a beach house — the briefcase full of nuclear lava is there, too — brings him face to face with Gabrielle (Gaby Rodgers), who wrests control of the hot stuff. This sets the stage for the film’s most famous scene, when Gabrielle, in a Pandora-like gesture, opens the briefcase despite warnings to the contrary. 

As Hammer and Velda escape, both Gabrielle and the beach house are consumed by flames. Hammer and Velda, who seem in remarkably good health for two who have just experienced a nuclear disaster up close, make their getaway. The rest of us should be so lucky.

Here are some noirs saturated in Cold War paranoia that deserve honorable mention:

“Hangmen Also Die” (1943)

Dr. Frantisek Svoboda (Brian Donlevy) assassinates the notorious "Hangman of Europe" and hides from the Nazis in the home of a history professor and his daughter. But the enemy has a deadly plan aimed at flushing him out to face the consequences.

“Walk a Crooked Mile” (1948)

G-Man Dan O'Hara (Dennis O'Keefe) and Scotland Yard Det. Philip Grayson (Louis Hayward) team up to smash a spy ring infiltrating a So. California atomic research center. Smart money says a scientist at the lab has turned commie fink. 

“The Red Menace” (1949)

A former soldier joins the American Communist party, but soon learns that he’s made a mistake. When he and his lady friend try to leave the party is out for blood.

“The Whip Hand” (1951)

A vacationing journalist stumbles upon a Minnesota lake filled with dead fish. A band of Nazis-turned-Communists have purchased a lodge on the lake and have set up a laboratory there.

“I Was a Communist for the F.B.I.” (1951)

An F.B.I. agent works to bring down the Communist party. Unfortunately, his brothers and his teenage son think he’s a dyed-in-the-wool Red.

“Captain Scarface” (1953)

The Soviets have ship containing an atomic device and they plan to sail it to the locks of the Panama Canal and detonate the bomb.

“A Bullet For Joey” (1955)

A police inspector discovers a plot to kidnap a nuclear physicist. Mobsters, foreign spies, and a blonde seductress, all play a role in the drama.


“I’ll Get You” (1951)

After leading nuclear scientists are kidnapped and smuggled behind the Iron Curtain, an FBI man and a British agent are assigned to catch the kidnappers.




Knockout Punch Noir: The Runyonesque, Raw-Boned World of Prizefighting Inspires Tales of Corruption, Violence and Redemption

Humphrey Bogart, “The Harder They Fall” (1956). 

By Paul Parcellin

This post contains spoilers, so you may want to see the films before reading the article.

You’d be hard pressed to find a sport more noir-like than professional boxing. It’s got all of the elements of noir rolled into a savage athletic competition whose object is to knock an opponent unconscious and perhaps spill his blood.

Boxing brings with it the stench of mobsters, illegal gambling, fixed fights, disabling violence and sometimes death. Boxing noirs focus on the exploitation of the powerless, the corrupting influence of fast cash and man’s indifference to the suffering of others. Fighters outstay their viability in the ring and are left broken in spirit and usually penniless. 

The boxing establishment reflects the unjust society from which boxers emerge. They see the fight game as a way out of the maelstrom that is their lives, but it turns into a prison much worse than the place they left.

Like Richard Conte in “Thieves’ Highway,” hauling a load of Golden Delicious apples to a fruit wholesaler in San Francisco, fighters eventually learn that the game is rigged. The average man will never get an even break and will be worse off if he tries to stand up to his tormentors.

Aside from corrupt individuals who run the system, boxers often struggle with their inner strife in their quest to reach the top. They wrestle with self doubt, conflicting loyalties and the threat of annihilation. Their personal lives are typically in turmoil. Pride is often a chief motivator that allows them to make unwise choices. Fans savor sweat drenched, blood spattered competition. They idolize a champ and denigrate an other’s failure. 

The best boxing noirs are pure drama peopled by desperate characters struggling to stay alive in an indifferent world. Like the marathon dancers in “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?” (1969), fighters risk injury and death just to stay alive — the prize is another day or two of a desolate existence.

Here’s a sampling of some films that display the exhilaration, desperation and ultimate downfall of fighters on their way up:

John Indrisano, John Garfield, Canada Lee,
"Body and Soul" (1947).

"Body and Soul" (1947)

Corruption stands in the way of a young fighter making good in “Body and Soul.” Promising amateur Charlie Davis (John Garfield) reluctantly goes pro despite his mother’s wish that he get an education. The fresh-faced boxer has dynamite in his fists but sags under the guilt he feels over the unfulfilled expectations his mother holds for him. 

When we first encounter Charlie his life has hit the rocks. He’s a pariah to the ones who once cared the most for him. We flashback to his days as an amateur, when some rough breaks force him to make choices about his future. Living on the edge of poverty in Depression era New York, Charlie decides to get into the fight game. He doesn’t want to end up running a candy store like his father. But it’s his dad who supports the young man’s boxing dreams over mom’s objections. 

Once in the world of pro boxing, Charlie encounters numerous promotors and racketeers who have a hand in his pocket. The question is, will the business corrupt Charlie. 

Fights are rigged to accommodate crooked betting. Charlie is ordered to go 15 rounds and let the preordained winner take the contest by a decision. But wounded pride and arrogance can make a fighter go against the bosses, and that’s more dangerous than any combination of punches a prizefighter could face. 

"Champion" (1949)

Ambitious boxer Midge Kelly (Kirk Douglas) will sacrifice everything for success. He has no qualms about the damage he does in and out of the ring in this tale based on a Ring Lardner story. “Champion” is a competent, expertly photographed take on the fight game in the early part of the last century. 

But it has a coat of big studio gloss that softens its edge; Dimitri Tiomkin's mischievous score wants to add comic touches that make the tough stuff more palatable. It doesn’t cop out with a happy ending, but sticks with its tough, uncompromising view of the fight game. 

Unlike the scrappy boxers in other films who lurk in the lowest tier of the sport, Midge enjoys the spoils of his championship. He’s hardly a sympathetic character, save for his hardscrabble upbringing, and like the rising star in a gangster movie, it’s sometimes hard to stay in his corner. As his success in the rings ebbs and flows, Midge is clearly in for a comedown — and that he gets in spades.


Robert Ryan, ”The Set-Up" (1949). 

"The Set-Up" (1949)

“The Set-Up” doesn’t have a complex plot. It focuses on character and packs a lot of movie into it’s 72-minute running time. Fighter Stoker Thompson (Robert Ryan) is in the twilight of a disappointing career. He’s 35, ancient by boxing standards, and fighting in crummy arena’s in backwater towns. He’s in the low-rent district of fictional Paradise City and set to face a young up-and-coming fighter. 

His shifty manager, Tiny (George Tobias), takes a bribe from the gangster fight promotor who arranged the bout. The trouble is, Tiny fails to tell Stoker that he’s supposed to lay down. He figures that the young wild man will make fast work of the old timer, so why cut the sure to lose fighter in on the action? 

Stoker’s girl, Julie (Audrey Totter), wants the aging pugilist to leave the fight game. Delusional as he is, Stoker insists he could be just one punch away from a championship. More likely still, he’s one sock on the forehead away from permanent brain damage. Unable to bear the sight of yet another bout, she’s a no-show at the fight. Stoker is left wondering if she’s left him and this weighs heavily on the fighter’s mind as he faces a worrisome opponent. 

Much of the film’s first part takes place in an appropriately dingy locker room crowded with young and not so young hopefuls waiting for their fight. Some are punch drunk, some not, and each harbors a fantasy of making into the big time. Whether or not they succeed, each is destined to be double crossed and fleeced by promoters and managers, whose corruption knows no limits. 

Stoker finally enters the ring and the fight is emotionally wrenching and dramatically paced. There’s a lot at stake in this match, and Stoker may be in for his last competition on the canvas.

"The Harder They Fall" (1956) 

Former sports columnist Eddie Willis (Humphrey Bogart) is broke and unemployed after his paper shuts down. He reluctantly joins forces with boxing promotor Nick Benko (Rod Steiger) as a PR man for Benko’s crooked enterprises. He’s hired to promote towering Argentinian fighter Toro Moreno (Mike Lane) — “promote” is used loosely here. The ex-newspaperman must create a smokescreen of lies, finessing the tough questions his former colleagues lob about the shaky colossus fighter. 

Moreno looks menacing but is meek in personality, has a glass jaw and possesses no discernible boxing skills. Benko’s plan is to pay Moreno’s opponents to take a dive, allowing the grossly untalented Moreno to get an unearned reputation as a contender. It’s a cinch that once the over-hyped fighter meets a real boxer, the oily Benko will bet on the opponent and let the unprepared Moreno face a virtual buzzsaw blade of physical punishment. 

Steiger, as the villainous boxing promotor, is riveting each time he appears on screen. The hyper rat-a-tat  cadence of his speech is hypnotically persuasive while conveying an unspoken threat of physical harm to anyone who gets in his way. 

This was Bogart’s last film and he looks fatigued, but that fits Willis, who’s exhausted by the charade he’s allowed himself to get involved in. He’s trying to keep his mind on the promise of a large cash payout, not on the poor schlump who will face a beating in the ring. Who wouldn't feel a bit weary with all of that on his shoulders?

Dane Clark, Douglas Kennedy, "Whiplash" (1948). 

“Whiplash” (1948)

Artist Michael Gordon (Dane Clark) falls for a woman, Laurie Rogers (Alexis Smith), who buys one of his paintings. They spend a romantic evening together, but she disappears. He follows her to Manhattan, learns that she’s the wife of a thuggish fight promoter Rex Durant (Zachary Scott). 

Gordon decks one of the Durant’s prizefighters and gets recruited to box. They rechristen him Mike Angelo, as in Michelangelo, because he’s a painter. Still angered by Laurie’s deception, Michael directs his rage toward his opponents and becomes a title contender. 

Michael eventually learns the reason why Laurie stays married to the icy, sadistic Rex. Laurie’s brother, hard-drinking Dr. Arnold Vincent (Jeffrey Lynn), who looks after the fighters under Rex’s employ, plays a role in the mystery that is Laurie and Rex’s relationship. 

Mike is finally given a shot at the title, but he’s at great risk when he enters the ring for his big fight. Odds are he won’t survive. 

Here are some honorable mentions:

“The Big Punch” (1948)

A boxer turned minister offers shelter to a fighter framed for killing a policeman.

“The Fighter” (1952)

In Mexico, a young boxer uses his winnings to buy guns to avenge his family's murder.

“Iron Man” (1951)

An ambitious coal miner is talked into becoming a boxer by his gambler brother.

“The Crooked Circle” (1957)

A young prizefighter finds himself being squeezed on all sides to throw a fight.

Femmes Fatale Are Deceptively Charming, Dangerous and Often Lethal; But One Among Them Tips the Scales When It Comes to Evil Doings — And She’s Probably Not The One You’re Thinking Of

Elisha Cook Jr., Marie Windsor, “The Killing” (1956).

By Paul Parcellin

Be forewarned: Many spoilers are included throughout the text below.

Sure, Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck), the husband liquidating murderess of “Double Indemnity” (1944) might be your go-to gal whenever the term “femme fatale” is mentioned. She’s as coolly detached and methodical as a hangman, and wily enough to nudge her fall-guy, insurance salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray), into killing her husband, and she even makes him think that the whole thing was his idea.

Cunning shapeshifter Brigid O’Shaughnessy (Mary Astor), who almost puts one over on private eye Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) in “The Maltese Falcon” (1941), is skilled at stitching together tissues of lies that disarm and misdirect the circle of men who orbit her. She’s after a prized jewel-encrusted falcon statue and will use lethal means to get it. We’re not sure until the very end of the film whether or not Spade, the role model for filmdom’s hard boiled shamuses, is buying her act. Anyone would be well advised to do so at his or her own risk. 

Speaking of trench-coated private dicks, in “Out of the Past” (1947) Jeff Bailey (Robert Mitchum) tries to leave behind his checkered past. He used to snoop for crime kingpin Whit Sterling (Kirk Douglas). The mobster’s henchman drags him back into the life he’s tried to shake off. Jeff’s former lady friend, who happens to be Whit’s current squeeze, Kathie Moffat (Jane Greer), is expert in playing both men as pawns, even as Whit tries to frame Jeff for a murder. It doesn’t occur to the erstwhile detective exactly how deadly Kathie can be until he finally sees he at her worst. And by then it’s too late.

In “The Killing” (1956), George Peatty (Elisha Cook Jr.) makes the costly error of telling his unfaithful wife Sherry (Marie Windsor) about a big score he’s in on. George is supposed to keep his lips zipped, but he tries to impress the drifting Sherry in a futile attempt to keep her from wandering. Trouble is, she’s got a boyfriend, and the two of them decide to grab a piece of the loot George and his partners aim to snatch in a racetrack stickup. George, the milquetoast racetrack cashier, is unaware of the evil steps Sherry will take to stuff her pockets with greenbacks and blow this crummy town — the femme fatale’s credo if there ever was one.

Gloria Grahame, “The Big Heat” (1953).

Many others deserve honorable mention for their underhanded onscreen efforts. This is hardly an exhaustive list, just a few of my favorites, including Peggy Cummins, the bank robbing sharpshooter of “Gun Crazy” (1950); Lana Turner, who, with John Garfield, deep-sixes her husband in “The Postman Always Rings Twice” (1946); Gloria Grahame enters a tempestuous romance with Bogie in “In a Lonely Place” (1950), and was gangster Vince Stone’s (Lee Marvin) moll in “The Big Heat” (1953) — it has the scene where Vince serves her a faceful of scalding coffee. Grahame’s other noir performances include “Crossfire” (1947), “Macao” (1952), “Sudden Fear” (1952), “Human Desire” (1954) and “Odds Against Tomorrow” (1959); Joan Bennett tormented Edward G. Robinson in two Fritz Lang films, “The Woman in the Window” (1944) and “Scarlet Street” (1945). In both, she conspires with Dan Duryea to fleece him for all that he’s worth. Other noirs she also appeared in include “The Scar” (1948) and “The Reckless Moment” (1949).

I’d be remiss to leave out Lizabeth Scott, Joan Crawford, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, Gene Tierney, and especially Ann Savage, the spitfire hitchhiker in “Detour” (1945) whom Tom Neal wishes he never met. (For an in-depth look at the women of noir, check out an excellent book, “Femme Noir: Bad Girls of Film Noir,” by Karen Burroughs Hannsberry.)

But among the high priestesses of noir there must be one who reigns supreme. She may not be portrayed by the most accomplished actress, yet she makes others pale in comparison. The top femme fatale — my personal favorite — displays breathtaking wickedness. She has no redeeming qualities — none. Her maniacal quest for dirty loot and her Arctic-cold acts of pure mayhem are so over the top I laughed out loud the first time I saw her American screen debut. 

The worst of the worst femmes fatale simply must be Margot Shelby (Jean Gillie), the cold-blooded double crosser of “Decoy” (1946). Other murderous dames offer stiff competition, but for sheer cruelty and her outsized zest for sadism, Margot stands out among noir’s most treacherous females. Others may leave a greater number of stiffs in their wake. Some even look their paramour, boyfriend or husband in the eye and coolly pull the trigger. 

Edward Norris, Jean Gillie, Herbert Rudley, “Decoy” (1946).

But there are three reasons why the others cannot hold a candle to the “Decoy” star:

1) She pulls off a murder that is as hideous as any committed by woman or man onscreen at the time. In her crazed pursuit of a $400,000 stash of loot, she disposes of an accomplice in a most chilling of manners. Motoring toward the site where the money is allegedly hidden, their car gets a flat. One of the two men riding with her changes the tire. As he lowers the jack beneath the front bumper, Margot slams the car into forward gear and runs over the unsuspecting sap, who happens to be a cold-blooded killer, himself. She hops out, rifles through the dead man’s pockets, grabs the tire changing tools and gets back behind the wheel …

2) Once she's in the driver’s seat, Dr. Craig (Herbert Rudley), who has been hoodwinked into aiding in Margot’s scheme, sits shell-shocked in the passenger seat. He mutters to her, “I’d like to kill you.” Without hesitation, she hands him a loaded revolver. He points the weapon at her — Hippocratic Oath be damned — but can’t summon the moxie to pull the trigger. She takes back the gun and they drive off. Margot knows that Craig is a broken man and likely would not shoot. But she wants to demonstrate her dominance over the hapless physician. It’s a sizable gamble on her part, but she willingly risks her life just to rub his nose in the dirt, which leads us to …

3) The last and perhaps most badass gesture on Margot’s part, assuring her top placement in the Legion of Film Noir Femmes Fatale: She’s been shot and is on her death bed. Police Sgt. Portugal (Sheldon Leonard), who has been trailing Margot and her hoodlum associates for a while, stands over her. She asks him to come down to her level. It’s an odd request, but he crouches down to oblige, bringing his face closer to her’s. We expect an intimate, soul-baring moment. She’s about to unburden herself and express regret for all she has done, we think. But the mood is abruptly dashed. With her dying breath she cackles hysterically in his face. A ring of police officers looks on as Portugal blushes, realizing he’s been had. She uses her last gasp to con a policeman and leave him humiliated in front of his peers. She can now leave this mortal coil, warmed by the fact that she’s had the last laugh at another in a long line of suckers. With her rotten-to-the core exit, Margot is the very model of a film noir femme fatale.

Ripped From the Headlines, Part III: True Stories About Dangerous Characters, Corrupt Officials and Gangs of Criminals Who Hold the Public at Bay

John Dall, Peggy Cummins, “Gun Crazy” (1950).

By Paul Parcellin

It only takes a couple of desperate, determined outsiders with a gun to start a crime wave. At times, a single perpetrator can do the work of two — or more. That’s what happens in several of the films based on true stories that make up this, the third and final part of the True Crime Noir series. Many more films could have been added to the roundup, and we may look at some of those at a later date. 

Included here, among bonafide noir fare, is a neo-noir. Some might say that the neo-noir movement/genre/style (or what have you) begins in the 1970s — to that sort of hair splitting I say, “Balderdash!” A film’s mood, story and message are the determining factors that tell us if it’s a noir, neo-noir, or something else. Therefore, the last film mentioned in this essay is decidedly noir despite its 1960s pedigree. Besides, it was shot in glorious black and white.

So, here is another handful of films based on true crimes. Some show how politics, corruption and unbridled malevolence conspire to unleash a wave of terror upon an unsuspecting public. And they often leave us with a picture that is unsettling, to say the least.

Some spoilers are scattered throughout, so you might want to see the films before reading the article. 

Peggy Cummins, John Dall, “Gun Crazy.”

“Gun Crazy” (1950)

The film “Gun Crazy” (1950) is not based on a single specific true story, but it is inspired by a number of real-life cases of couples who went on crime sprees.

One of the most famous cases is that of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, who were active in the 1930s. The young couple robbed banks and other businesses, and became folk heroes to some. Director Arthur Penn made “Bonnie and Clyde” (1967), a hugely successful adaptation of the larcenous pair’s story that helped open the door to Hollywood’s golden age of the 1970s.

The case of Raymond Fernandez and Martha Beck, known as the "Lonely Hearts Killers" also inspired “Gun Crazy.” The pair met through a lonely hearts club, began a relationship and went on a crime spree, killing several victims. Their story was later made into the film, The Honeymoon Killers (1970).

“Gun Crazy” also draws inspiration from the life of George "Machine Gun" Kelly, a notorious gangster who was active in the 1930s. Kelly was known for his love of guns, and he was eventually arrested and convicted of murder. 

A cautionary tale, “Gun Crazy” warns against the dangers of all-consuming obsession. The trigger-happy Bart Tare (John Dall) and sideshow sharpshooter Annie Laurie Starr (Peggy Cummins) are both obsessed with firearms and are willing to do anything to get their hands on them. The doomed couple’s string of armed robberies leads them to commit murder, and finally, they come to a violent end.

The film is seen by some as a critique of American culture and the glorification of violence and guns. “Gun Crazy” is highly appreciated for the cinematic craft employed to make such an impressive and durable cinematic work that was shot for comparatively little money. One of the standout scenes is that of a holdup. Director Joseph H. Lewis positioned a camera in the back seat of the getaway car and shot a long take of the robbers making their escape. The creative camera placement influenced many directors. Quentin Tarantino has said that “Gun Crazy” is one of his favorite films and has cited it as an influence on his films “Reservoir Dogs” (1992) and “Pulp Fiction” (1994). Martin Scorsese has also cited “Gun Crazy” as an influence, and has said that he was inspired by the film's stylish cinematography and its depiction of violence.

Dana Andrews, “Boomerang!”

“Boomerang!” (1947)

“Boomerang!” is based on the true story of Harold Israel, a 20-year-old army veteran who was accused of the 1924 murder of a priest in Bridgeport, Conn. In the film, Assistant District Attorney Thomas B. Wade (Dana Andrews) is assigned to prosecute Israel, renamed John Waldron (Arthur Kennedy) in the film.

The real case began on the night of Feb. 25, 1924, when the Rev. Hubert Dahme, a popular parish priest, was shot and killed on a busy street corner in downtown Bridgeport. The police quickly arrested Israel, 22, who had a history of petty crime. He confessed to the murder, but later recanted, claiming that he had been coerced by the police.

The prosecution's case against Israel was circumstantial. There were no eyewitnesses to the murder, and the only physical evidence linking Israel to the crime was a gun that was found near the scene of the crime. However, the gun had not been fired, and there was no way to prove that it was the murder weapon. Israel’s confession came after a long police interview. The accused said he confessed because he wanted the grueling interrogation to end.

The defense argued that Israel was innocent and that he had been framed by the police. They pointed out that Israel had no motive for the murder, and that he had no history of violence.

Homer Cummings, state attorney for Fairfield County, said that the case against Israel looked perfect. But on May 27, 1924, just 15 weeks after authorities charged Israel, Cummings walked into a Bridgeport courtroom and shocked everyone present by declaring the murder charges against Israel would be dropped. Cummings, after meticulously reviewing the case against Israel, found it seriously flawed.

In the film, we see the machinations of corruption taking place behind the scenes. Those with political ambitions vigorously sought a conviction. One well-placed official involved in a crooked land deal is desperate to cover that up. A guilty verdict would ensure that the right people stay in power and shield him from prosecution.

Wishing to avoid negative publicity, Bridgeport, Conn., officials refused to let director Elia Kazan film in that city, where the crime took place. Instead, Stamford, Conn., stood in for Bridgeport. The film won two Academy Awards: Best Writing (Original Screenplay) for Richard Murphy and Best Supporting Actor for Karl Malden. 

Frank Lovejoy, William Talman, Edmond O'Brien, “The Hitch-Hiker.”

“The Hitch-Hiker” (1953)

In 1950, Billy Cook murdered a family of five and a traveling salesman, then kidnapped Deputy Sheriff Homer Waldrip from Blythe, Calif. Cook ordered his captive to drive deep into the desert, where he bound him with blanket strips and took his police cruiser, leaving Waldrip to die. Waldrip got loose, however, walked to the main road, and got a ride back to Blythe. Cook also took hostage two men who were on a hunting trip.

“The Hitch-Hiker” is based on that real-life murder spree. The film follows the story of two friends, Roy Collins (Edmond O'Brien) and Gilbert Bowen (Frank Lovejoy), who are on their way to Mexico for a fishing trip. They pick up a hitchhiker, Emmett Myers (William Talman), who turns out to be a dangerous psychopath. Myers forces the men to drive him to Mexico, and along the way, he murders a gas station attendant and a police officer.

The film, a suspenseful thriller, explores themes such as fear, paranoia, and the dark side of human nature. Ida Lupino, one of the few female directors working in Hollywood at the time, helmed this film and co-wrote the screenplay. She brought a unique perspective to the film, exploring the characters’ psychology and the dynamics of the relationship between the two friends.

“The Hitch-Hiker” was a critical and commercial success and it is considered one of the more thrilling and well-crafted noirs. Solid performances by O'Brien, Lovejoy, and Talman, as well as Lupino’s hard-hitting direction make it stand out in the pantheon of American noir.

The film is also notable for its realistic depiction of violence — the murders are graphic and disturbing, and they reflect the brutality of Cook's real-life crimes.

John Larch, Edward Andrews, “The Phenix City Story.”

"The Phenix City Story” (1955) 

True events surrounding the rampant corruption and organized crime that plagued Phenix City, Alabama, during the mid-20th century were inspiration for “The Phenix City Story.”

Set in the 1950s, the film paints a disquieting picture of a town beset by illegal gambling, prostitution, and political corruption. The story follows courageous local attorney Albert Patterson (John McIntire), who stands up to the powerful criminal syndicate that holds Phenix City in a hammerlock. Patterson's resolve to clean up the city and bring justice to the community drives the suspenseful narrative forward.

The real Phenix City was a den of corruption during this era. The town had earned a notorious reputation as a haven for criminal enterprises, attracting a range of illicit activities that were openly operated by the underworld. The film accurately captures the climate of fear and intimidation that pervaded the city, with citizens and officials alike living in constant danger.

The turning point in the true story, as depicted in the film, came with the assassination of Albert Patterson in 1954. His murder shocked the nation and galvanized public opinion against the criminal elements controlling Phenix City. Patterson's tragic death led to a massive outcry for reform and an end to the corruption that had plagued the town for years.

The subsequent events that unfolded closely mirror the events depicted in the film. The Alabama National Guard was brought in to restore order, and a determined effort was made to rout out and prosecute those responsible for the criminal activities. A series of trials resulted in numerous convictions, dealing a significant blow to the criminal syndicate.

Robert Blake, Scott Wilson, “In Cold Blood.”

“In Cold Blood” (1967)

“In Cold Blood” is a fictionalized account of the true story of the Clutter family murders, which took place in Holcomb, Kansas, in 1959. 

The film stars Robert Blake as Perry Smith and Scott Wilson as Richard "Dick" Hickock, two ex-convicts who rob and murder the Clutter family.

The real-life events that inspired the film began on Nov. 15, 1959, when Herb and Bonnie Clutter, their teenage daughter Nancy and their 15-year-old son Kenyon were found brutally murdered in their home. The Clutters had been shot and stabbed to death, and their bodies had been mutilated.

Hickock and Smith had been planning the robbery for months. They believed that the Clutters kept a large amount of cash in their home, and thought that the robbery would be easy. However, murder was not part of the plan. Hickock and Smith killed the Clutters in a fit of rage after they discovered that the family did not have as much money as they had thought.

The murderous duo were eventually arrested and convicted of the homicides. They were both sentenced to death and were executed in 1965.

The film's protagonist, Perry Smith, is a complex and troubled character who is struggling with his own demons. Although he comes off as a sympathetic character, he’s also capable of great violence. In time, we see what circumstances in their younger lives brought the two killers to their fate. We may not sympathize with them, but we understand how they came to follow such a destructive path. In the end, Smith says he wants to apologize for his crimes. Tragically, the victims are all deceased and there’s no one left to hear his words of contrition. 

“In Cold Blood” was praised for its realism and its psychological insights. It also helped raise awareness of issues surrounding crime and violence in America.

The Clutter family murders, one of the most notorious crimes in American history, were the subject of a best-selling non-fiction book by Truman Capote, who spent several years researching the case.

The Richard Brooks directed film was praised for its realism and insight into the killers’ psychological motivations. It serves as a disturbing reminder that those who are driven by their inner demons may be capable of committing acts of unspeakable horror.

You can also read Ripped From the Headlines Part I and Part II.