|Vintage Pulp||Oct 1 2021|
The final element of our airtight alibi is the naked part, so let's get started on that now.
There's nothing quite like settling in for a b-movie, but being pleasantly surprised because it's a-quality. And then there's Naked Alibi, a not wholly successful crime procedural starring Sterling Hayden as a two-fisted cop who sometimes bends the rules, Gene Barry as the man he wants to put behind bars, and Gloria Grahame as a woman caught between the two. The movie features the oft-used film noir gimmick of a trip to Mexico—or at least close by, to a fictional town with the imaginative name Border City. In crime cinema, these trips into or adjacent to Mexico are supposed to represent descents into lawlessness, because everybody knows life is cheap on the border. Co-star Don Haggerty to Hayden: “Watch yourself, Joe. He spots you down there he can rub you and make it look real good.”
Hayden doesn't get rubbed down there or anywhere, sadly. But the trip is worth it anyway because he runs into local chanteuse Marianna, played by Gloria Grahame. Her musical repertoire consists of an unenthusiastically lip synched number with overly precious lyrics, but of course the feminine song and dance routine is even more of a film noir staple than a trip to Mexico. Sometimes these musical bits are good, but in this case Grahame obviously can't sing, and her dance moves are flat hilarious. Plus, her acting will never be mistaken for virtuosic. What she has, though, is a palpable vulnerability that makes her an excellent hard luck femme fatale, in this case one who's grown tired of her abusive boyfriend and is casting a wandering eye toward Hayden as a possible replacement.
Despite mostly passable performances, Naked Alibi is pure b-noir that shows a lack of top tier talent in all other areas. It was directed by television veteran Jerry Hopper and written by Lawrence Roman, successful enough guys who nonetheless were never household names. The entire film hinges on a conceit that was threadbare even during the 1950s—that a criminal won't simply ditch a gun he used to murder someone, but will instead hide it somewhere he can eventually lead the police to. That's a spoiler, but what the hell. We suspect there's a reason this film lapsed into the public domain. Even its trailer is cheesy. What it does have, though, is unusually nice promo material, so we've uploaded a bunch of production photos below, plus a few publicity shots, and three more posters. They're all great, even if the movie isn't. Naked Alibi premiered in the U.S. today in 1954.
|Vintage Pulp||Sep 30 2020|
Hello? Is this the Screen Writers Guild? We need a script doctor, and fast.
Calling Homicide, which premiered today in 1956, is a little known procedural crime drama about two cops who try to solve a Tinseltown murder and stumble upon other heinous crimes. It starred Bill Elliot, and was one of four movies in which he played the same character—Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department homicide detective Andy Doyle. In true b-movie fashion, these four films hit cinemas in a rush—between December 1955 and April 1957—and as you might guess, when you churn flicks out that quickly things like deep characterization and plot complexity take a back seat. But Calling Homicide isn't bad. It just lacks distinction.
The truth is, we watched this solely because of Kathleen Case, who we think is real purty. But her role, while pivotal, is also minimal, despite her second billing. For an actress with numerous credits there isn't a ton about her online. She's probably best known for an automobile accident. On February 5, 1967, six years after her most recent acting job, she crashed her car into actor Dirk Rambo's, and he burned up in the fire that resulted. She was charged with felony drunk driving and manslaughter, but at trial she was found not at fault. She wasn't at fault in Calling Homicide either. Like her co-stars, she did her best. But you can only overcome so much.
Los AngelesCalling HomicideBill ElliottDon HaggertyKathleen CaseDirk Ramboposter artcinemamovie review