The Killers (1946)

If saying The Killers is a happy accident sounds like a backhanded compliment, it isn't meant to be. It's just that the reputation Mark Hellinger's 1946 film enjoys among film noir enthusiasts far exceeds the expectations most people would have had for the project at the time.

Little about the picture screamed "classic," instant or otherwise. It was independently produced at Universal International by Hellinger, a former Warner Brothers and Twentieth-Century Fox employee. It was the film debut for a strapping former acrobat named Burt Lancaster. Co-star Ava Gardner had been in two dozen or so previous films, but mostly in uncredited bit parts.

Of course, Ernest Hemingway was associated with the project — the title card, in fact, reads "Ernest Hemingway's The Killers" — because he wrote the short story from which the movie originates, but that eponyomous yarn was nearly two decades old by the time The Killers reached theatres.

Simply put, The Killers is well regarded because it's flat-out good, not because it was carefully calculated and manufactured to be a hit. A good number of film noirs, even some of the masterpieces of the genre, are a triumph of style over substance. While The Killers looks great and definitely has that cool factor — that's apparent from the opening scene when hitmen Al and Max (Charles McGraw and William Conrad) make a memorable arrival in shadowy Brentwood, N.J. — there's actually a pretty good story that accompanies the violence and moral angst.

It's all set up by that whiz-bang beginning as Al and Max enter a diner and torment counter man George (Harry Hayden) and the eatery's only customer, Nick Adams (Phil Brown). Nick is ordered into the kitchen and he and Sam the cook (Bill Walker) are bound and gagged. George demands an explanation and is told that the hitmen are in town to knock off a fellow nicknamed the Swede (Lancaster), who in Brentwood is known as Pete Lunn. When Al and Max realize their target isn't showing up at the diner, they leave and head across the street to get the Swede's home address from the service station where he's employed. That gives Adams a chance to run to the Swede's boardinghouse and warn Lunn — his co-worker at the service station — about the assassins. Adams is flabbergasted when Lunn has virtually no reaction to the announcement, refuses to contact the police or to try to make his escape and casually thanks Adams for coming.

"There's nothin' I can do about it . . . I'm through with all that runnin' around . . . I did something wrong once. Thanks for comin'," are three of the resigned reponses from the Swede to Adams' urgent pleas.

A befuddled Adams leaves, and minutes later the hitmen arrive. Lunn sits up in anticipation of their arrival but makes no effort to hide. The murder scene consists of a two-shot of Al and Max, whose faces light up from the flashes of the gun as they pump multiple bullets into their victim.

This was essentially as far as Hemingway's story went, leaving to the reader's imagination the events that would have led the killers to hunt down the Swede. This is where the movie jumps in, providing the backstory of the execution. The tale is told in non-sequential flashbacks, with insurance investigator Jim Reardon (Edmond O'Brien) learning strange and wondrous things about the Swede, a policyholder whose real name is Ole Anderson. Through Reardon's investigation and interviews, we learn about a colourful assortment of characters such as gangster Big Jim Colfax (Albert Dekker), henchmen Dum-Dum and Blinky (Jack Lambert and Jeff Corey), a simpleminded old jailbird (Vince Barnett) and a moll named Kitty Collins (Gardner).

One of the reasons the movie works so well is that while the major interest lies in the flashback events, the investigator's dogged pursuit of the truth is a worthwhile story in its own right. O'Brien can't be allowed to steal the stars' thunder, but his end of the story has to stand up and hols the viewers' interest. It's the clever way in which Reardon and the audience gather pieces of the puzzle throughout the course of the movie, in addition to the dark events that lead to the Swede's death, that make the film entertaining. Double-crossing and triple-crossing Kitty Collins is one of film noir's great femme fatales and it's not hard to understand why Gardner went on to a terrific career after this juicy role.

The best scene in the film is the flashback to the hat factory payroll heist pulled off by Colfax and his gang. In a single shot, we see the crooks enter the factory grounds with a group of workers, climb the stairs to the payroll office, collect the loot and make their shoot-'em-up escape. Great stuff by director Robert Siodmak and his crew. The robbery is also the action that touches off the fatal consequences for the Swede.

Who’d like it: Anyone who likes noirs and good mystery crime stories. Fans of Lancaster and Gardner owe it to themselves to see the actors in their breakthrough roles.

Who should stay away: Those who dislike movie violence and crime tales, but presumably the title alone would have already scared those folks off.

Spy Train (1943)

Before going any further, let's get this out of the way. Spy Train is a B movie and comes to us from Monogram, one of the Big Three studios of Poverty Row. In other words, "the sets look shoddy" or "I don't know any of these actors" aren't valid criticisms.

Having said that, this movie isn't particularly memorable even when applying the more forgiving standards that should be utilized to review this kind of fare.

The basis premise of the plot — there's a time bomb on a train — is simple enough. Less straightforward is the sequence of events that results in the bag carrying the bomb winding up on the train in the first place. Then again, logic is often a casualty of the fast-moving B films. The idea is to shut up, not think too hard and just enjoy the fun and action on the most superficial level.

Here, more or less, is how the suspense is set up:

* A woman named Jane Thornwall (Catherine Craig) is on her way to visit her newspaper publisher father Max (Herbery Heyes). She's accompanied by her maid Millie (Thelma White).

* Writer Bruce Grant (Richard Travis) cozies up to Jane under false pretenses. What he really wants to do is get an audience with Mr. Thornwall and find out why the boss killed Grant's series of articles exposing Nazi spies. Grant is accompanied by photographer/jokester sidekick Stew (Chick Chandler).

* There's a bunch of Nazis (Paul McVey, Evelyn Brent, Warren Hymer, Steve Roberts and Forrest Taylor) who are responsible for the bomb and are desperate to recover incriminating documents in a similar bag. Well, we're told their Nazis, in any event. This being 1943, Germans make convenient villains but the plot, such as it is, could have worked just as well if the bad guys were counterfeiters or gangster hitmen. In fact, they look and sound more like run of the mill U.S. crooks than disciples of the Third Reich. We take it on faith that they're Nazis because they say so and they act in a humourless manner, disparage Americans and toss out the occasional "dumbkopf" or "schweinhund."

* There's also a moustachioed, bushy-eyebrowed character — what '40 film-makers would have considered "a foreign type" — who lurks in plain sight and makes every effort to look shady. We find out later he's an Italian who doubled-crossed the Germans. Ah, ripped from the headlines.

The German spies have figured out a way to destroy the bag containing the incriminating documents, which is being held at a train station baggage check. The heat is on, so they don't want to risk checking out the bag and getting caught redhanded. Instead, they check in a similar bag containing the bomb, with the idea of blowing up the evidence. In the most far-fetched contrivance of the plot, the Germans suddenly change their mind and decide to trick the maid into bringing the bag containing the documents on the train. All the easier to retrieve the problematic papers, you understand (never mind that the documents would have been blown to smithereens if they would have just left well enough alone). Naturally, the whole thing gets botched and Millie unwittingly lugs the tick-tick-ticking bag aboard.

Having said all that, train films have a certain charm. The closed environment and the constant chugga-chugga-chugga and ding-ding-ding background noise enhance the viewing experience for some. And B movies zoom along at the pace of a speeding locomotive, so there's rarely a chance to dwell on the plot holes or iffy acting.

And the movie is not without its moments. The script is somehwat amusing, with the photographer sidekick providing most of the yuks. Forced to make nice with Millie while Bruce works on Jane, Stew makes no effort to hide his comtempt. Like the time he orders a cyanide highball for the lady, for instance. There's also a funny exchange when Jane discovers Bruce's true identity when she sees his photo on the jacket cover of one of his books.

Jane: "Pretty good book — who wrote it for you?"

Bruce: "I'm glad you liked it — who read it to you?"

Then there's immortal line when the lurking Italian is found in a heap in the women's compartment and Stew initially thinks the guy's had a few too many belts.

Bruce sets him straight: "He's not drunk, he's deader than a hammer."

The whole thing gets wrapped up in short order — the running time is just a shade over an hour — and no one is really any better or worse off for the experience.

Who’d like it: There's a slight historical value in that the film gives you a glimpse into the wartime sensibilities and the propaganda that was worked into much of the entertainment of the period. The protagonists continually refer to the Germans as "Heinies" and a poisoned drink is called a "Hitler coacktail." If you had an hour to kill and wanted to keep your brain in low gear, you could do worse.

Who should stay away: Most folks, really. While it's not impossible a viewer will be hooked by the story, no one in good conscience could recommend this picture with any conviction.

Made for Each Other (1939)

The melodrama threatens to bubble over the edge of the pot on a couple of occasions and the change in tone in the final act won’t be to everyone’s taste, but the overall product in this comedy-drama is quite satisfying thanks to the elevating performances of the stars and supporting cast.

James Stewart, who is eminently likable in pretty much everything he appears, plays Johnny Mason, a struggling lawyer who’s at the bottom of the food chain at a stodgy New York partnership. The radiant Carole Lombard is Jane, a woman he meets on a business trip to Boston. Shortly after that chance encounter, they impulsively get married.

It should be noted this all happens before the film actually begins. For some time, Jane is known to us only by the framed photograph Johnny is carrying as he walks the streets of Manhattan. The first we see of Johnny, he’s entering the office after returning from a business trip in Boston, at which time co-workers dump confetti on his head and offer their congratulations on the nuptials. Well, everyone but Carter (Donald Briggs) a fellow lawyer who takes great delight in reminding Mason that the firm’s senior partner Judge Doolittle (the dependable Charles Coburn) was under the impression Mason would marry the judge’s daughter Eunice (Ruth Weston).

Indeed, the judge is wholly unimpressed by Mason’s announcement, makes a pointed remark about the high number of divorces and only begrudgingly agrees to give the newlyweds two weeks for a honeymoon to Europe. But wait, Mason can’t go after all because a big case that only he is familiar with is coming up. Doolittle sends the smirking Carter to fetch Mason and his bride right off the boat. It’s the first of a string of disappointments for the young couple.

There’s more trouble on the home front, where Mason’s mother (Lucile Watson) disapproves of the marriage and undermines and belittles Jane at every opportunity.

Toss in the arrival of a baby boy, mounting bills, a disastrous dinner party, a string of unhelpful cook-servant-maids and a promotion that goes to the wrong man and things get tougher and tougher for the lovebirds.

Really, what carries the picture through the soapy plot and the occasional lulls is the work of the stellar cast. Lombard in particular is earnest in her portrayal of a woman doing her best to savour the watermelon and “spit out the seeds” — a bit of charming advice that Jane receives from a sunny-dispositioned cook named Lily (Louise Beavers) who finally snaps the run of bad hires by the Masons. To the modern-day viewer, there are unfortunate racial overtones to the use of a watermelon analogy, but in reality Beavers' performance is as strong a portrayal of a black woman one could hope to find in this period. Jane treats Lily as a friend and confidante.

Making a late but important appearance in the film is Eddie Quillan as a pilot who undertakes an important mission tied to the denouement of the story. The unmistakable Ward Bond makes a cameo appearance in the going.

One account of the movie says that producer David O. Selznick, inspired by a real-life incident involving his brother Myron, tacked on the ending about medicine having to be rushed to the hospital after the original cut of the film fared poorly with test audiences. The twist is certainly jarring and some critics will have to be forgiving about this abrupt detour if they want to enjoy other elements of the movie.

The director is John Cromwell, who was also in the chair for Algiers (1938) and the 1937 version of The Prisoner of Zenda.

While there are many lighthearted moments, especially in the first half, this is not a screwball comedy. The hard times in the Masons’ marriage are not depicted with cartoon arguments and one-liners all around. The character changes from the beginning of the movie to the end are fairly honest.

Who’d like it: Fans of weepies, lovers of the aw-shucks Jimmy Stewart persona, folks who like a little of everything — comedy, drama, action — in their movies.

Who should stay away: Anyone who can’t stand any hint of melodrama, mushy romance or sentimentality.

Nocturne (1946)

George Raft is Joe Warne, a Los Angeles police lieutenant who isn't ready to accept the death of songwriter Keith Vincent (Edward Ashley) as a suicide, even though the medical examiner says so and his superiors (Walter Sande, Robert Malcolm) on the homicide squad readily accept that verdict. Warne's biggest clue that things are not as they seem is an unfinished tune found in the expired musician's home. The song is called "Nocturne" and a notation in the margin indicates the number is dedicated to Dolores. Problem is, the killed lady-killer calls all of his gal pals Dolores.

The movie opens with a tight shot of city traffic. Then we pull back for a panoramic view of Los Angeles, and then there's a gradual zoom on Vincent's home, with the camera (and the viewers) entering through the patio glass door. It's one of several neat cinematography tricks in the film, which also features some neat cuts and dissolves.

Once inside the home, we see Vincent is playing the piano. Sitting on the couch is a leggy woman whose face is hidden in shadows. The love-'em-and-leave-'em musician is casually throwing the mystery woman over but hey, it ain't all bad, honey — I've written this song for you. He plays Nocturne on the piano while speaking the lyrics that confirm to the latest Dolores she is being dumped. The wolf melody-maker is just filling in a few more notes when — Bang! — he meets his end.

When the police and the medical examiner arrive, all the evidence — fingerprints, powder burns — points to a suicide. Warne isn't convinced, however and later, when explaining to his mother (Mabel Paige) why he can't buy the suicide angle, he utters a line of that typically snappy film-noir dialogue: "He had money, Dolores, a nice house. Only he apparently decided he needed a little more ventilation so he put a hole through his head."

Raft, who portrayed tough guys of various shades on both sides of the law throughout his career, plays his Joe Warne as a bit of a bull terrier. He’s politely defiant of authority and won’t take no for an answer when he’s on the case. Even when he’s booted off the force, he keeps sniffing around.

Of course, he’s highly intrigued by one of the Doloreses in the investigation — a small-time actress named Frances Ransom (Lynn Bari). Raft, who was 50 when Nocturne was filmed, comes across better as a dogged investigator than as a romantic figure. That said, the scenes with Raft and Bari are filled with peppy banter and are quite watchable, even if the sexual chemistry is more or less non-existent.

There’s a lot of fun scenes in this one, many of which feature Warne’s smart-as-a-whip mom. It’s a hoot to hear Ma Warne nonchalantly discuss murder with bingo buddy Mrs. O’Rourke (Virginia Edwards). At one point, when Warne realizes he’s falling for the prime suspect, he asks his mother how she’d feel if he married a murderess. Without batting an eye, Ma said it’d be A-OK with her so long as she was “a nice girl.”

When Ma Warne inadvertently stumbles across the solution to the mystery, her son immediately and triumphantly makes the announcement to Frances.

"I think you've been reading too many detective stories," suggests the lady.

"No, I've been talking to mom," replies Warne.

Joseph Pevney, in what the Internet Movie Database lists as his film debut, is great as Ned “Fingers” Ford, a pianist with a quick but melancholy smile who seems to know more than he’s letting on. Pevney only did a handful of films and wound up earning most of his paycheques as a film and TV (Bonanza, Star Trek, Trapper John, M.D.) director.

He tickles the ivories at a nightclub where the house singer, Carol Page (Virginia Huston), just happens to be Frances's sister.

And how about a lean John Banner (looking nothing like the Sergeant Schultz character he would play two decades later on the TV series Hogan's Heroes) as a comically swishy photographer?

There’s also a by-the-books brassy blonde (Myrna Dell), Vincent’s maid who was in the house when her boss died but never heard a thing. Why? She wears earplugs because she can’t stand Vincent’s music. “It's icky,” she says.

Mood and lighting are suitably noirish and the crash-and-bang scenes consist mainly of Warne’s run-ins with oafish Erik Torp (Bernard Hoffman), an omnipresent bodyguard/enforcer/bully who’s connected with three other characters — Frances, Fingers and Carol.

Edwin L. Marin, whose best known films include the 1938 version of A Christmas Carol and the 1944 John Wayne oater Tall in the Saddle, directed. The year before Nocturne, he and George Raft collaborated on another crime noir for RKO, the very good Johnny Angel. Joan Harrison, who started out in the business as a secretary for Alfred Hitchcock, both produced and co-wrote Nocturne.

Who’d like it: Noir fans. The film is true to the principles of the genre, there’s shadows all over the L.A. cityscape (kudos to cinematographer Harry J. Wild) and the script is brisk and smart.

Who should stay away: Those who criticize Raft for being stiff won’t be convinced otherwise by this outing. If piano music ain’t your thing or if you absolutely hate getting a tune stuck in your head, beware of this one. The title tune (penned by Leigh Harline) is a key component of the plot and gets lots and lots of play.