November (Noirvember) has arrived.

The Green Cockatoo (1937), directed by William Cameron Menzies. Here is a little gem from a story by Graham Greene. Menzies brings an expressionistic sensibility to the film, especially in the scene inside a derelict building. The story has something of a film noir turn when young country girl Eileen (Rene Ray) arrives in London late one night to find herself embroiled in gangster goings-on, and then on the run from the police who think she has murdered someone. This someone is Dave (Robert Newton), a bad egg who has double crossed three thugs who now want him rubbed out. Rubbed out he is, but not before he runs into young innocent Eileen. Before cashing in his chips, Dave asks Eileen to take a message to his brother, Jim Connor (John Mills), a song and dance man who works in the nightclub known as The Green Cockatoo. Eileen and Jim go on the run trying to avoid both cops and criminals. What distinguishes the film are the small performances (e.g. the elderly bearded man Eileen meets on the train who rails against the evils of the city, and who leaves Eileen in the station with these parting words: “I cannot give advice; I am a philosopher”), and the expressive lighting and camera work. The fellow who plays Prothero the Butler (Frank Atkinson) delivers a memorable performance. This film looks forward to the more famous Graham Greene scripted film, The Third Man (1949).

Witness to Murder (1954), directed by Roy Rowland. This is a small, no-frills thriller in which career woman, Cheryl Draper (Barbara Stanwyck), finds herself witnessing a murder. She calls the police. They investigate. The alleged murderer is one Albert Richter (George Sanders), a writer and former Nazi. The film’s most startling scene occurs when Richter launches into a diatribe against weak muling and puking humans, a diatribe he speaks loudly and in German! Anyway, the police think the single woman is just being hysterical. Richter sets out to prove that she is nuts. Things get dicey and Cheryl even ends up in a mental institution. Her stay there is traumatic, but short. Mostly, the film is noteworthy for John Alton’s noirish cinematography and the performances of Sanders and Stanwyck. Sanders is at his creepy best, and Stanwyck manages to invest her character with a strength that belies the usual attitude (the attitude manifested in the various reactions to the hysterical female by the police and medical people) toward weak women. Cheryl sticks to her conviction that what she saw, she actually saw. She is not about to be detoured, waylaid, or patronized. All in all, a nifty little gem that was made to compete with another film, Hitchcock’s Rear Window.

 

Where the Sidewalk Ends (1950), directed by Otto Preminger. This tension-filled noir features Gene Tierney and Dana Andrews who previously starred together in Preminger’s Laura (1944). Andrews plays detective Mark Dixon who has a mean streak; he likes to knock bad guys about, a trait that threatens to get him into trouble, a trait he apparently inherited from his criminal father. And get into trouble he does. He accidentally kills a guy named Ken Paine (Craig Stvens), and instead of just calling in the incident, he concocts an elaborate plan to cover up Paine’s murder. This plan manages to implicate Paine’s father-in-law, the innocent Jiggs Taylor (Tom Tully). And, of course, Dixon finds himself attracted to Jigg’s daughter Morgan (Tierney). We have the familiar noir situation with our hero caught in a tangled web. Dixon’s fear is that he takes after his father who was a criminal who set another criminal, Tommy Scalise (Gary Merrill) up in business. Scalise is now in Dixon’s cross hairs. Scalise has a habit of sniffing from a nasal drop. He comes across as sexually ambiguous. All this, Dixon’s conflicted personality, Morgan’s trust, Jigg’s innocence, Scalise’s henchmen (lead by Steve, an uncredited Neville Brand), tight close-ups, dark rooms and streets, make for a memorable noir. The film ends on a subtle note as a door closes on Dixon.

 

The Second Woman (1950), directed by James V. Kern. The 1940s and 50s saw Hollywood take an interest in psychoanalysis, and The Second Woman is definitely a film that takes interest in the mental state of the protagonist, Jeff Cohalan (Robert Young). Cohalan is an architect who lives in a modern house on the rocky coast of California. His fiancé has died in a car crash about a year before the main action of the film takes place. He meets a young woman who is a certified financial accountant. This is Ellen Foster (Ellen Drake) who is visiting her aunt. Once Cohalan meets Foster strange things begin to happen: an expensive piece of china is broken, Cohalan’s rose bush dies, his horse breaks a leg in his stall, his dog dies, and a painting somehow fades. Why is all this happening, and who is behind the strange goings-on? Meanwhile Cohalan and Foster begin a romance, Foster also begins detective work to find what’s behind the mysterious happenings, and Cohalan finds discomfort and disappointment in his work. A local doctor takes an interest in Cohalan and asserts that he suffers from paranoia. Things look pretty bad when someone tries to kill Foster. Cohalan will have to take things into his own hands to find out what is happening. Foster, however, is not about to cease trying to help. We have shades of Hitchcock’s Rebecca here in the location and the psychological machinations. Not a bad little noir.

 

Cage of Evil (1960) directed by Edward L. Cahn. This low-budget noir is predictable, a voice-over telling us at the outset that detective Scott Harper (Ron Foster) will go over to the dark side. Harper is a seven-year veteran of the police force hoping for promotion. His hot head, however, is a liability and he fails to achieve promotion despite doing well on the examination. Finding himself investigating a jewel robbery and murder, Harper begins a romance with the bad guy’s moll, Holly Taylor (Patricia Blair). She proves to be a femme fatale, and Harper finds himself drawn into the nefarious deeds of the baddies. You know things are not going to end well. The film has the elements of film noir: femme fatale, man caught in a web from which he cannot escape, gangsters, crooked police, and downbeat ending. Strangely, its daylight scenes in Los Angeles do not feel like noir. Conclusion: this is a noir and yet not a noir. Odd. And, as I say, the plot is predictable. All the players are earnest, and the 70-minute running time goes by briskly. I watched it while riding a stationary bike, and it was diverting enough.

 

The Young Savages (1961), directed by John Frankenheimer. A social drama from a time when such films were popular. Think non-musical West Side Story. If there is a problem with this film, it is earnestness. It tries to be hard-hitting, and for the most part, it is. The cinematography is gritty and has expressionistic flourishes; the location shooting in New York works well. Burt Lancaster is Hank Bell, a prosecutor with the D.A.’s office who finds himself prosecuting three thugs from the Italian street gang, the Thunderbirds. One of the kids is the son of Bell’s one-time girlfriend, Mary diPace (Shelley Winters). This kid, along with two others, murder a blind Puerto Rican boy in the film’s startling opening scene. Things appear cut and dried: these thugs murder the boy because he is Puerto Rican. Of course, the truth is more complicated, and it is the truth that Hank Bell wants to discover. The Puerto Ricans have their gang, the Horsemen. When we do learn the full context of the boys’ actions, we can see that life in the slums is a tangle of hate and fear and poverty and desperation. Such emotions are best communicated in the leader of the Thunderbirds, Arthur Reardon (convincingly played by John Davis Chandler). To complicate matters even farther, we have a minor plot dealing with the District Attorney’s campaign for Governor. The courtroom part of the film is dramatic and powerful. The plot moves to a satisfying, yet troubling conclusion.