Framed (1947)

Framed aka Paula (Dir: Richard Wallis, 1947).

Glenn Ford gets mixed up with a deadly dame and a shady banker in this taut film noir from Columbia Pictures. 

Out of work and out of luck mining engineer Mike Lambert (Ford) lands in a heap of trouble when he crashes his truck into a small mining town on the outskirts of the Arizona desert. Bailed out on a trumped up charge of reckless driving by barroom waitress Paula (Janis Carter), lonely Mike finally thinks he has found an ally in the beautiful blonde. Unbeknownst to Mike, Paula is in cahoots with Vice President of the Empire Trust and Savings Bank, Steve Price (Barry Sullivan). Having embezzled $250,000 of the bank's money, Paula and Steve plan to murder Mike, faking the banker's own death in the process and absconding with the cash. Framed for murder is Mike's only friend and prospective employer Jeff (Edgar Buchanan).

One of many B-movie crime thrillers released by Columbia Pictures in the 1940/50s. What distinguishes Framed from the other second features is a decent production which belies its low budget and some terrific performances from its principle players. 

Ford is great as the taciturn Mike, one of his many portrayals of weak willed, easily manipulated manhood. Janice Carter, as archetypal femme fatale Paula, makes the part of the sultry blonde her own. Whether welding a wrench with or lacing a beverage with poison, she does so with sadistic glee and a malevolent glint in her eye. Carter showed great promise as a leading lady and it is to Columbia's detriment that they kept her in B pictures. Rounding out the decent cast is top character actor Edgar Buchanan. The role of Jeff doesn't exactly stretch his acting talents, but he is a welcome presence who benefits any movie he appears in. 

With its themes of suburban adulatory and felony, Framed is somewhat reminiscent of James M Cain's novel and subsequent movie adaptation Double Indemnity (Billy Wilder, 1944). Richard Wallis directs at a rattling pace; from the opening shot of Mike's truck careening down a mountain path and through busy small town Main Street, the audience is at the heart of the action. The movie then breathlessly races to its climax a brief 80 minutes later. 

Despite its obvious qualities and the presence of Glenn Ford, Columbia seems to have had little faith in the movie, renaming it Paula in an attempt to cash-in on Gilda (Charles Vidor, 1946), the studio's hit from a year earlier which also starred Ford. While the movie isn't quite in the same league as that classic, it is an entertaining, exciting feature in its own right. If you are a fan of film noir you will find much to enjoy in this cracking crime flick.

Broadway Melody of 1940 (1940)

Broadway Melody of 1940 (Dir: Norman Taurog, 1940).

Fred Astaire is in tiptop form in this MGM song and dance spectacular from the golden age of movie musicals. 

The fourth and final entry in the narratively unrelated Broadway Melody series; this one concerns struggling dancer Johnny Brett (Fred Astaire) accidentally passed over in a lead dancing role for his less talented partner King Shaw (George Murphy). The rose between two thorns is Shaw's new partner Clare Bennett (Eleanor Powell) who quickly realises the wrong half of the double act has been engaged as her new collaborator. Hot headed, party loving Shaw is soon spending more time nursing his hangovers than practicing his routines, so Fred steps up and - Okay, no spoilers, although it is pretty obvious in which direction the plot is heading and who is gonna get the girl come curtain call. But with the wonderful stars and a clutch of top songs by Cole Porter, who really cares about the plot? What we are here for is the dancing and in this department Broadway Melody of 1940 doesn't disappoint.

Astaire was rarely more suave, more elegant or more engaging as he is here. His solo number I've Got My Eyes on You is an obvious highlight. But Fred is not the only hoofer present. George Murphy had considerable talent as a song and dance man. He doesn't quite possess the grace and poise of Astaire, but honestly, who else does? As Fred's first onscreen male dancing partner he particularly shines in the opener Please Don't Monkey with Broadway, the first of the film's numerous standout routines. Matching Fred toe to toe is the wonderful Eleanor Powell; possibly Astaire’s most talented dance partner and one of the finest dancers to grace the silver screen. Powell's athletic style - part tap, part gymnastics - is used to great effect in the jaw-dropping All Ashore, a Navy themed number with perhaps the highest high kicks ever filmed! 

There is genuine movie magic in the outstanding finale which finds Powell and Astaire dressed head to toe in white on a black set with a mirrored floor. The pair are the epitome of class as the shimmy across the screen to Porter's classic Begin the Beguine. The routine ranks among the the greatest dance numbers ever committed to celluloid. Little else like it has been seen in Hollywood for 80 years and alone makes the movie worth watching.  

A couple of novelty acts feel a little shoehorned in and while they undoubtedly have a curiosity value, they do nothing to further the plot. Their placement within an otherwise conventional narrative structure seems frankly odd and mean that Broadway Melody of 1940 cannot quite be considered among the top tier of MGM's output. But it comes pretty darned close. 

While it may lack a little polish in the story department, this final Broadway Melody is, nonetheless, a sparking diamond among movie musicals and the best of the popular series. An absolute gem well worth making a song and dance about.

Underground (1928)

Underground (Dir: Anthony Asquith, 1928).

Rightly regarded as a milestone in British cinema, Anthony Asquith's silent romantic drama Underground offers a fascinating view of the London Underground almost a century ago. 

Detailing the lives of four metropolitans whose lives and loves intertwine on the sublevel transportation network; clean-cut porter Bill (Brian Aherne) and creepy power station employee Bert (Cyril McLaglen) are rivals for the affection of shop assistant Nell (Elissa Landi). After their 'meet cute' over a lost pair of gloves on the steps of a station elevator, Nell, of course, succumbs to the charms of Bill rather than the unwanted attentions of brash Burt, and for 20 odd minutes viewers would be forgiven for thinking they were engaging in a lighthearted romcom. However, a marked shift in tone occurs with the introduction of Kate (Norah Baring), a lovelorn seamstress in a dead-end relationships with Burt. Desperate to win the hand of Nell, Burt coerces Kate with the promise of marriage into blackening Bill's reputation. What follows is a dark, yet engrossing thriller of sexual obsession and embittered revenge; culminating in an exciting climax which takes us from the rooftop of the Lots Road power station before descending into the darkness of the Northern Line.

While early experiments in sound cinema are often marred by static camera work, this movie from the tail-end of the silent era has no such limitations. From the opening driver's eye view of a tube train emerging from the dark of the tunnel to a crowded platform - a scene mirrored in the film's closing - Underground has a visceral modernity, thanks to the tight direction of Anthony Asquith and the artful cinematography of Stanley Rodwell. 

Asquith was to become a key figure in British filmmaking, later helming classics such as Pygmalion (A Asquith, 1938) and The Way to the Stars (A Asquith, 1945). Astonishingly, Underground was only his second directorial credit. The movie is expertly crafted, displaying the influence of German Expressionism and Soviet Montage cinema, evidenced vividly in a rapidly edited pub punch-up culminating with the distorted reflection of the perpetrators in the broken barroom mirror. There is palpable sense of the bustling metropolis in scenes of claustrophobic cramped carriages and crowded platforms, familiar to anyone who has ever experienced the Tube at rush hour. 

Silent cinema is often associated with over-expressive performances, yet, as an early example of British cinema's long association with realism, the actors are suitably naturalistic. With only four main characters, the movie is particularly dependent upon the cast and all acquit themselves well, especially Norah Baring, who lends a particularly affecting vulnerability to the role of unlucky in love Kate. 

 

Almost a century after release, Underground the movie is as sleek and stylish as the famed Edward Johnson designed London Underground roundel. The movie is as equally impressive as its more acclaimed contemporary talkie Blackmail (Alfred Hitchcock, 1929), with Asquith proving as adept in his knowledge of the language of cinema as Hitchcock himself. With fascinating footage of the Tube, public transport freaks and British movie geeks alike will find much to enjoy in this hugely entertaining and highly recommended classic.