Perhaps my expectations for any “official” DVD set called BAD GIRLS OF FILM NOIR was way too high. Don’t get me wrong – these are eight neat examples of 1950s sleazy fun, and the babes are, well…babes; but the main problem with these titles is that with one or two magnificent exceptions, the bad girls in these flicks aren’t really all that bad. Insult to injury is that there are enough examples in the Sony-Columbia library to justify the enticing lure. As is, without being disparaging to the ladies, these two volumes are a mixed bag of tricks.
Let me say at the start that from the moment I anxiously ripped open the package, my sage wife informed me that she refused to watch any of these movies unless the “Queen” was paid due homage. As we are both die-hard noiristas, the “Queen” refers to Gloria Grahame – and, indeed, she is featured in Volume One’s interesting 1953 drama, THE GLASS WALL. It must be underlined again that in this tale of a displaced person illegally in New York City, Grahame isn’t that nasty – in fact, she’s rather helpful, sheltering the former Holocaust survivor (an excellent Vittorio Gassman in one of the handful of American pics he did over here for cigar-chomping suits hell bent to make him a star) in her hovel, and even doing the lucky bastard. Now, granted, 1950s-world was far more prudish than our current society, but having sex isn’t necessarily a bad thing; au contraire, it’s pretty good, and must have been practiced with some regularity, as witness the abundance of today’s idiot results. The movie is a Maxwell Shane written and directed vehicle. Shane specialized in bizarre twisty thrillers, usually with a jazz background. Yet, this is more of a drama with noir overtones that an out-an-out mean streets extravaganza; nevertheless viewers should revel in the fine Joe Biroc cinematography (albeit some of it undoubtedly soft-focused bootlegged on the sly due to uncooperative authorities), and enjoy the plentiful location views of Times Square in the Fifties. For true displaced person noir, one needs to check out Robert Wise’s House on Telegraph Hill. As for Grahame addicts - who at Sony was at the switch when choosing THE GLASSS WALL over Human Desire, Columbia’s Big Heat re-teaming of Fritz Lang/Glenn Ford/Gloria Grahame in an Americanized version of La Bete Humaine)? Now THERE’S a bad girl!
Biroc’s camera work is also on dazzling display in THE KILLER THAT STALKED NEW YORK, another 1953 entry about illegal alien schmuckiopath Charles Korvin, infected with a deadly virus - causing Big Apple residents to start dropping like flies. As one of the combo victims/carriers, unwitting Evelyn Keyes is a walking Typhoid Mary death squad…but out-and-out bad girl?…Naw! Like THE GLASS WALL, this tight suspenser owes much to another earlier Fox triumph, in this case Elia Kazan’s superior 1951 Panic in the Streets.
The remaining two items in the first 2-disc installment comprise a little nod to authentic bad girl, Lizabeth Scott. True to form, she is relentless in 1951’s TWO OF A KIND – teamed with Edmond O’Brien and Alexander Knox to scam an elderly millionaire couple out of their sheckles (I guess Three of a Kind would have suggested a coupling then unthinkable). As inventively directed by Henry Levin (more on him later), this is certainly the most interesting of the four movies in this bunch, and, while
Scott’s character is probably one of the greediest skanks ever unspooled in noirdom – both she and O’Brien seem to suggest reform by the fade-out. This is very disturbing – especially since so much of the movie’s build-up effectively demonstrates how thoroughly rotten they both are. Perhaps the most disturbing element is the supplemental recent interview with co-star Terry Moore, whose incoherent nut job ramblings about her film career contradict itself within a matter of seconds (sporting a decisively unflattering Morlock do, she tells two completely different stories about the first time she met Columbia boss Harry Cohn).
In 1953’s BAD FOR EACH OTHER, Liz plays an unhealthy influence in idealistic military doctor Charlton Heston’s life. The title truly lives up to its cast, as Scott and Heston spark nil chemistry. Heston, a do-gooder, back from Korea, gets corrupted by big money medicine – but realizes the error of his ways before dumping Scott and embracing the underprivileged uninsured non-health caring arms of boring po’nurse Dianne Foster. Like THE GLASS WALL, this is less of a noir than a drama with chinks of dark sprinkled in its path. The director is Irving Rapper, best known for classic Warners soaps like Now, Voyager. The plot actually plays like one of that studio’s early Thirties melodramas – the kind of which Paul Muni used to make before stricken by bio-syndrome. And, again, Scott does the unthinkable – she virtually apologizes to Heston for her “evil” ways, and sacrifices him to a better way of life. Jeez, Liz – didn’t you learn ANYTHING from Dead Reckoning or Easy Money? In noir, a bitch is a bitch. You never show remorse; you either go on to your next john or get iced! Damn!
Ironically, the most rewarding aspect of Volume One is THE PAYOFF, an episode of Screen Gems’ ALL STAR THEATRE 1950s TV series. As a weary rumpled private eye, Howard Duff gets the feces kicked out of him for most the half hour show’s running time. It almost all takes place at night – and on rain-swept streets. Here the bad girl (gorgeous underrated actress Janet Blair) again ain’t so bad – just mysterious. The fascinating thing about this piece is the story and script by Blake Edwards – whose teaming Duff with his Jewish detective pal Michael Fox is an absolute run through for the Craig Stevens/Herschel Bernardi Peter Gunn pairing still a few years away.
The authentic noir gold is mined in Volume Two – key being a celebration of the zaftig charms of starlet/genre legend Cleo Moore (1928-1973), who appears in no less than three of the four big screen offerings, as well as in a supplemental ALL STAR THEATRE episode. Louisiana-born platinum blonde Cleo Moore was tailor-made for both noir and the 1950s - the personification of the quintessential hottie-tramp look. The way she moved, the way she dressed…you could practically smell the sex off her – a very a good thing for the nostrils of producers, who took notice of the raincoat brigade filling “hardtops” in droves to partake of her assets. Suffice to say, Cleo was shamelessly promoted during her brief reign as a bottom-of-the-bill nabe attraction. One thinks of Fox’s hyping Nancy Guild in the Mankiewicz post-war noir delight, Somewhere in the Night: “Guild – Rhymes With Wild.” Regarding Cleo, the studios came about as close to “Moore – Rhymes With…” well, you get it.
In 1953’s ONE GIRL’S CONFESSION, Moore is used, abused, imprisoned and hell-bent for vengeance…She looks great, talks great and slings it around like an Amsterdam pro…but, once again, she’s not bad (minus a little thievery and bludgeoning). The low-rent appeal of ONE GIRL’S CONFESSION is owed entirely to its auteur, co-star/writer/director/producer Hugo Haas. Haas pretty much became Cleo’s mentor – starring her in a series of shameless exploitation perv Hall of Famers, as inept as they are entertaining. Haas himself had an interesting career. A European émigré, he excelled in portraying disgusting degenerate character parts that, by comparison, made Akim Tamiroff look like Ronald Colman. That Haas “blossomed” into a full-fledged cinematic one-man band is the stuff Tinsel Town dreams are made of – even if, in this case, the hosannas of achievement were more at home on the covers of Confidential Magazine than Variety or The Hollywood Reporter. In actuality, Haas was a genuinely good actor – and had a certain panache with dialogue. That said, thematically, as a writer and technically as a director – he’s firmly entrenched in Ed Wood territory, albeit on a slightly higher budget. This train-wreck talent combined with his questionable subject matter only makes his “art” more watch able in that irresistible Mel Brooks/Producers audience reaction shot sort of way.
Moore is but one of a gaggle of hard-boiled “Oh, yeah?!” female inmates in 1955’s WOMEN’S PRISON. With bunk pals like Jan Sterling and Audrey Totter, you know you’re in for a rollicking time. As tough as these dames are, the true bad girl of this epic – which spreads its legs somewhere between Caged and Prisoner: Cell Block H – is psycho-sadistic (and possible lesbian) warden Ida Lupino, whose genius at stealing scenes from these formidable babes should land her in the slammer alongside them for grand theft. Like all the movies in both volumes, WOMEN’S PRISON looks B&W terrific, and coming after the big widescreen boom, is lovingly presented in its original 1.85 aspect ratio.
Moore glows like the rhinestones on a stripper’s bustier in 1956’s OVER-EXPOSED. Despite a dynamite credit sequence and a fantastic opening scene where she and fellow hookers are busted in a raid, the movie sadly and rapidly deteriorates – promising far more than it can deliver. I won’t describe the plot – as it sounds too good and you’ll be disappointed – but, suffice to say, she does excel as a tabloid photographer, not averse to blackmail…See – even this little plot point sounds cool, right? It could have and should have been, but, once more, Cleo’s character becomes redemptive which, in pure noir terms, equals a one-way ticket to Dullardsville. On screen, the most interesting part of this picture is her love interest – a ridiculously young Richard Crenna, looking about 12. Crenna, while a fine thesp, cannot compete physically with Moore’s overpowering presence. She looks like she can mop up the floor with him – which would have added considerably to the narrative. OVER-EXPOSED (damn, that’s a great title too!) comes to DVD is a beautiful 1.85 transfer, and may have originally been greenlighted as a favor to its star since, at least according to Columbia hype, Moore was herself an amateur photographer. By all accounts, she was a sweet, intelligent person (she unsuccessfully tried a run for Louisiana governor), who laughed off her movie stardom – causing a much-publicized feud with Anita Ekberg, who, in contrast, took herself very seriously. Too bad there’s no Cleo Moore book – unfortunately due to the fact that few folk in 2010 remember her.
Moore finally does get a chance to go full truck-stop mode in the aforementioned ALL STAR THEATRE extra, REMEMBER TO LIVE. It stars Dane Clark, who seemingly created a personal cottage industry portraying returned WWII vets. Since this is the Fifties, he’s a returned Korean G.I. – psychologically damaged, and thus, easy prey for Cleo’s ho next-door neighbor, who sexually and financially drains him before moving on to an adulterous fling with a dumpy town honcho. That Clark ends up with an uninteresting former student (he’s a “brilliant” painter), and, that they adopt an obnoxious orphaned girl will probably have most sympathetic viewers wishing he had met his fate on Pork Chop Hill. Aside from Moore, the little girl, blonde and pigtailed does ignite a quickly diminished glimmer of hope. Looking (and, eventually, behaving) like Patty McCormack in The Bad Seed, she actually plots to murder Moore – and nearly does so, arranging a potentially fatal fall down a staircase. Too bad she and Moore didn’t pool their resources and serial kill their entire community. Now THERE’S a picture!
As much as I worship the ground Cleo Moore slinks upon (and I do!), the major reason for purchasing this set in the inclusion the collection’s bona fide jewel in the crown – director Henry Levin’s rarely-seen 1946 ‘B’ stunner, NIGHT EDITOR. Levin, who had a successful prolific career, is mostly known today for the 1959 classic sci-fi Journey to the Center of the Earth, as well as various 1960s light romantic comedies (Honeymoon Hotel, Come Fly With Me). What isn’t widely known is that he began helming hard-hitting mini-noirs and horror movies at Columbia, including Cry of the Werewolf and the superb short-lived I Love a Mystery series –the studio’s answer to Universal’s successful Inner Sanctum flicks. Levin eventually graduated to the ‘A’ unit – atmospherically directing such hits as the noirish western Man From Colorado and Convicted (both starring Glenn Ford) and Volume One’s TWO OF A KIND. It’s highly probable that his deserved rise was due to the remarkable little title that headlines this set - quite possibly his masterpiece. NIGHT EDITOR is a pulse-pounding exploration of the mind of a female psychotic. It’s bold stuff for a ‘B’ movie – or for any movie. I can’t think of a single American noir that portrays a woman as evil or sexually predatory as depicted in this nightmarish exercise (the frequently rude dialogue smacks of Jim Thompson). While the title suggests a factory-made assembly-line pic about a newspaper, NIGHT EDITOR really concerns the mutual adulterous obsession a punchy lowlife middle-aged detective (William Gargan) shares with an aberrant high society nympho head case (ravishing Columbia actress Janis Carter in the role of a lifetime). Clearly they have nothing in common except sex. He’s hot for her young upscale beauty, and she’s into slumming. Feeling guilty, he continuously tries to break it off – but she honestly tells him that he can’t – because, as she frankly reveals, he’ll never get it like he does with her. It’s a real sick anything-goes freak-a-thon. Determined to end it, he takes her to a remote private beach cove. There they witness another couple in a convertible. Within moments their voyeuristic lust erupts into a violent murder scene. Gargan jumps out of the car – instinctively eager to apprehend the perp, but can’t because it would reveal his own infidelity. He staggers back to the car, and explains to his lover what he’s seen – how the dead woman has been mutilated beyond recognition. This leads to the movie’s most amazing moment: Carter, in frenzied heavy breathing orgasmic longing, screaming out, “I wanna see her! I wanna see her!” And that’s just the beginning! While a lame framing story appears to have been tacked on after the movie wrapped, it really doesn’t hurt the center core. It’s so removed from the guts of this story that it virtually cancels itself out. Despite the by-the-numbers title, NIGHT EDITOR packs a wallop like a sledgehammer. It astounds me that hack crap like Blonde Ice gets all the juice, but this movie gets bupkis. Until now, that is. Don’t wait – go on-line, break into your local video emporium (or, hell, get some bad girl to do it for you!). Hey, with a Cleo Moore festival as a runner-up – it’s a win/win situation! Just wrest your mitts on this box today – or, better yet, tonight! And pardon my vulgarity!
- Mel Neuhaus
BAD GIRLS OF FILM NOIR, VOLUME 1: all B&W/full frame); dual layer.
BAD GIRLS OF FILM NOIR, VOLUME 2: all B&W; full frame (with the exception of WOMEN’S PRISON and OVER-EXPOSED, which are letterboxed to 1.85:1; anamorphic); dual layer. Sony Pictures Home Entertainment
