The screenplay of this first rate film noir was written by William Bowers (1916-1987), from an original story by Jerome Cady. We must therefore assume that the fantastic number of gags in this script were from Bowers, unless he hired a team of inspired gag-writers to insert them. Bowers was to enjoy a continued association for some time with both Dick Powell, for whom he wrote SPLIT SECOND (1953), and Robert Parrish, whose ostensible first directorial effort this was. Jean Porter, who appears in this film as Darlene, claimed in an interview in later life that this film was really directed by Dick Powell himself, but that he allowed Robert Parrish to take the credit. Parrish was noted as an editor at that time, but he is not credited as Editor of this film. Instead, Bernard W. Burton, a long-established editor, is credited as 'Editorial Supervisor'. So what happened? With Parrish otherwise uncredited, was he first assistant director or, as is more likely, Editor, with Burton lending his name to cover that category so that Powell could give Parrish his first directorial credit? Powell later did become a director, but there may be reasons why he wanted first to try his spurs anonymously in this fashion. The question of the script is also a mystery worthy of a film noir, because I have never seen a film noir with so many outstanding one-liners, all delivered in a droll and hard-boiled manner by the excellent cast. There are so many of these gags that it sometimes seems as if half of the film's dialogue consists of them, or as if the Marx Brothers had been at work in the back room. From that point of view alone, this film is worthy of classic status, as perhaps the wittiest film noir ever made. But was William Bowers alone really capable of this? Well, never mind, on to other things. Here Dick Powell is perfect for his part: dry, never smiling, never sentimental, determined, and he lacks the annoying and surly jowliness he sometimes showed in other films, such as CORNERED (1945, see my review where I criticize this). Despite his evident lack of any visible sense of humour, Powell delivers his gag lines with impeccable aplomb, as if they were ripe plums dropping from a tree, plop plop plop for 80 minutes non-stop. He never gives the slightest flicker of recognition of the fact that he has just made a witticism. He cracks one-liners like cows eat grass, relentlessly and without stopping for breath. The great surprise performance in this fabulous film is by Richard Erdman, who delivers his one-liners with even greater skill, and even more superb drollery. At first one fears that Erdman is not a very good actor, because he appears to be too natural. Then we realize that he is playing a part where he is not what he at first pretends to be, and that by pretending to be natural he is not being natural, but when he finally does become natural it all comes naturally. As Powell says when asked what it was like having just spent five years in prison on a false charge: 'Five years? You could do that just sitting around.' So they are all so laid back they are horizontal, and some of that takes place too, of both kinds, I mean the kind where the broad is a real knock-out, and the kind where you are knocked out. Yes, there are tough guys around, and William Conrad is a really ominous villain named Castro (no, they don't succeed in killing off this Castro either). The glamour puss is the amazing Rhonda Fleming. Watch out! Rhonda is at it again! She starts out sweet, but we begin bit by bit to realize we have a serious femme fatale here, one who covers her arsenic with marshmallows. Try sucking it and see. She is such a sweetie, just so wonderful, just so loving, but then again, is the heart of her so rotten that she doesn't even know that bad is bad, that crime is crime, that betrayal is
well, what's a little betrayal after all when there's real money in it? She's the kind of gal who says 'I love you' in between mental calculations of the share of a robbery, where each kiss is costed out as if by a corporate accountant. Lawyers charge by the hour, but she charges by the second, which sometimes measures just how long people may have to live if they get between her and the dough. But that's film noir!
Review of Cry Danger
