As a classic noir, CRY DANGER is 100% legit. Its mingling of typical noir signifiers with refined sitcom humor is unique to the genre. Many noirs have witty banter galore (Murder My Sweet, Nocturne, The Big Sleep, Ace in the Hole). An acerbic wit is part of the arsenal of the school-of-Chandler gumshoe. Seldom has broad comedy so thoroughly mingled with the darker themes of film noir than in Cry Danger.
In the wake of MURDER, MY SWEET (1944), Dick Powell reinvented his screen persona as a deadpan, world-weary, acid-tongued noir denizen. He was more likely to deliver a devastating put-down than a gun-butt or uppercut. It was enough to make the post-war movie audience forget his Depression-era ingénue roles, and Powell doggedly stuck to this new persona.
In CRY DANGER, Powell pushes things to their reasonable limits. As ex-convict Rocky Mulloy, he seems more like a displaced stand-up comedian than an underworld kingpin. Rocky quips, sneers and word-slaps his way through the film’s 79 minutes. Whether he’s addressing cops, ukulele-toting landlords, slatternly hotel clerks, passive-aggressive bookies, amiable barkeeps or Neanderthal paperboys, Mulloy has a snappy, sour word for everyone.
Sent up for a heist he didn’t commit, and sprung from prison after five years, on the testimony of Delong, a one-legged ex-Marine (played with very dry comedy by Richard Erdman), Mulloy attempts to collect a cash settlement from sweat-soaked racketeer and nightclub-owner Castro (played with anxious, petty flair by noir stalwart William Conrad).
Tailed 24/7 by LA cops, including Detective Lt. Gus Cobb (a cynical, seen-it-all Regis Toomey), Mulloy is expected to uncover the loot from this crime he didn’t commit. Even Delong, the false witness who freed him, stitches himself to Mulloy’s side, just in case that heist money pops up.
Thus Mulloy is understandably ill-tempered. Although never explicitly stated, it’s hinted that he once held a high rank in L.A.’s underworld. What a come-down, then, to shack up in the filthiest Air-Stream trailer on Bunker Hill with the boozy chatterbox Delong.
Mulloy has chosen this miserable locale due to the presence of neighbor Nancy Morgan (Rhonda Fleming). The wife of his best friend, also wrongly sent up for the heist, Nancy is a link to Mulloy’s better days. They obviously carry torches for each other, although they keep one another at arm’s length.
Mulloy is determined to find out who framed him--and why. His first, most logical suspect is the slimy Castro. Mulloy is hoodwinked by the crafty Castro into accepting some marked money from a payroll robbery. Castro erases all evidence of his treachery. Rocky seems destined to return to prison, one day after his release.
He's cleared by Lt. Cobb, due to a sloppy oversight of Castro’s. Mulloy then does what most noir anti-heroes would, in such a situation: he beats the crap out of Castro. While satisfying, this revenge angle doesn’t clear things up for him.
As a result, Mulloy is now a moving target for Castro’s on-call henchmen (part of that un-discussed 40%!). When Delong is nearly killed by gunmen, who think the lush is Mulloy, the feces hit the fan blades. Rocky uncovers who’s behind this double-cross. It’s enough to make him a permanent cynic, but he walks away exonerated--and alone, to somehow pick up the pieces of his life and make them fit again.
Dick Powell’s Rocky Mulloy is among the biggest sourpusses in film noir. He’s got a right to be sore. Five years in stir have taught him the fine art of tongue-lashing. He is, perhaps, too good at it. He drops verbal bombs left and right, not caring about their half-life--or their threat to his social standing.
Only Powell--and Robert Mitchum--could make such a jaundiced male Cassandra work in the classic films noir. Powell digs into Rocky Mulloy: he plays him flat as pavement...and twice as hard.
William Bowers’ screenplay (one of at least a dozen in the noir genre) contains more wisecracks than a Marx Brothers picture, and has many farcical characters. Richard Erdman, a familiar face from his many TV roles, gives a strong taste of gallows humor to his role as ex-Marine (and full-time alky) Delong.
Jay Adler also mines comedic gold from his role as the oblivious trailer park manager Williams. He’s like a character from an early ‘30s W. C. Fields comedy.
Jean Porter’s turn, as kleptomaniac sex kitten Darlene LaVonne, brings the film’s comedy into more modern context. Her character is almost as big as Erdman’s. Their scenes together threaten to turn the film into a screwball comedy with gunplay.
This odd mix shouldn’t work. But CRY DANGER is a rare example of a film in which every element is balanced just right. A pinch more comedy, a touch less drama, and the whole shooting match would collapse.
Director Parrish was blessed with writer Bowers, cinematographer Joseph Biroc, and dialogue director Rod Amateau. The latter’s lively touch accentuates CRY DANGER's verbal fireworks. He obviously helped the film’s performances achieve a sprightly sitcom polish that should be (but isn’t) perilously at odds with its more serious themes of betrayal and corruption.
Amateau moved over to TV, where he directed scores of sitcoms. Another sitcom habitué, Hy Averback, makes a strong, brief turn here as a grousing, self-pitying bookie who operates from the curtained back room of a dismal corner grocery.
Joseph Biroc’s cinematography, with its stunning verité shots of Bunker Hill and other Los Angeles environs, helps balance the felicities of Amateau and Bowers’ noir-com. Although there are many obvious process shots in the film, it contains some beautiful moody views of LA. The opening sequence, in Union Station, gives us a haunting tour of its shadowy tunnels. Striking shots occur in day and night locales.
CRY DANGER is cut from familiar noir fabric: LA’s criminal underworld, world-weary cops, allegiances that can be bought and sold for a shot of rye, complex female characters, betrayal, deception, gunplay, murder and fisticuffs. When the going gets tough, the film never shies away from it. This potentially jarring juggle of dark and light is thrilling and riveting.
Again, Bowers’ acid dialogue speaks for itself. Consider this terse exchange between Powell’s Mulloy and noir stalwart William Conrad’s crooked Castro:
Castro: (cowering at gunpoint) W-would you kill me, Rocky?
Rocky Mulloy: (without a hint of emotion) Wouldn't you?
This dialogue double-clouts the viewer. It’s as tough as film noir dialogue gets...yet it’s also laugh-out-loud funny.
At its best, Bowers’ screenwriting has a novelistic quality. His dialogue and characterizations offer more complexity and texture than most of his peers. (Daniel Mainwaring and Jonathan Latimer could also blend comedy and hard-boiled drama--Latimer’s script for 1946’s NOCTURNE is a superb example of his wit and skill). But no one did it better than Bowers.
CRY DANGER is a fascinating and successful example of how the film noir format sought to grow beyond its generic constraints as it moved into its second decade. Via Joseph Biroc’s visuals, this film also bridges the expressionistic shadows of ‘40s noir and the flat docudrama of the 1950s.
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