Riffraff

Anne Jeffreys, Pat OBrien, and Walter Slezak star in the search for a missing passenger. The passenger had a map of valuable oil reserves, but didn't land with the plane in Panama. Of course they question the only other passenger, who claims he knows nothing about it. Then they bring in the private eye (OBrien) to figure out what's going on. Expert viewers will recognize Percy Kilbride as "Pop", the taxi driver, who knows more than he should. He was Pa Kettle for MANY years. It's a decent plot, but everyone keeps getting knocked off, and now Dan, the P.I. is running out of clues. The rest of the story is very typical noir... private eye against thugs, private eye against the authorities. Keeps getting into trouble, keeps getting out of it. Obrien pretty much carries the show.

Riffraff (AKA: erm, Riff-Raff) is directed by Ted Tetzlaff and written by Martin Rackin. It stars Pat O'Brien, Anne Jeffreys, Walter Slezak and Percy Kilbride. Music is by Roy Webb and cinematography by George Diskant.

Something of a little cracker is this one, a pic for those with a discernible palate of Private Investigator based film noir. Don't be misled into believing others when they write that it's minor noir, or borderline of such, it quite simply is a noir pic from what was a stellar year for that film making style.

Story is based in Panama and finds P.I. Dan Hammer (O'Brien) involved in the search for a map that shows priceless oil concessions. Sure enough there's others who desperately want the map, so in comes murder, beatings and a sultry babe.

Pic opens with the shot of a reptile at nighttime, sitting on a rock in the pouring rain, it probably would have been better to use a snake in the shot, but it certainly is a most appealing and appropriate film opening. From there the piece is a veritable feast of super photography and punchy dialogue. OK, so the plot story is standard fare, but the makers never let it drag things down, there's always a quip or a punch thrown to keep things perky.

Tetzlaff was himself a fine cinematographer (see the previous year's Notorious), and here armed with Diskant (They Live By Night/On Dangerous Ground/The Narrow Margin) in his corner the director makes hay. The plot set-up sequences in an aeroplane are moody visual supreme, and often when a scene calls for it - such as when Hammer is getting tortured in his office by Sleazak and his thugs - the noir style comes to the fore. There's wooden slats everywhere in this, wonderful!

Initially one can be forgiven for being sceptical at a portly 48 year old O'Brien playing a tough P.I., but he pulls it off, sharp of tongue and he throws a good punch does Pat. Jeffreys (Dillinger) slinks in for some initial sultry suspicion, and does well, even getting involved in the key fight scene, Kilbride is wonderfully wry as Hammer's unofficial aide, and Sleazak does what he does best, Weasle time!

Capping it off is the MacGuffin map, whose whereabouts at reveal is cheeky and something Hitch would have been proud of. Riffraff is a winner and well worth seeking out. 7/10

In Panama, a private detective is hired to find a missing oil well map.

I expect this little gem got lost in the 1947 crowd. Too bad, because the opening scene is a wordless tour-de-force. Catch that ominous looking lizard in the first shot, indicating the sinister events to follow. Then there's the rainstorm that sounds like the sky is exploding around the airfield. And finally, scope out the open cargo hatch at 20,000 feet, where you see three people but no parachutes. It's a tough act to follow, and truth be told, the story then settles into an entertaining, if unremarkable, private-eye adventure.

Nonetheless, there are so many nice touches lifting the narrative—the lazy guard dog, the down-and-outers needing help, Pop's belching old cab. But most of all, there's the stylish visuals, courtesy director Tetzlaff and cameraman Diskant. The compositions are especially impressive since they're artistic without being showy. And, of course, there's the great RKO team of D'Agostino and Silvera collaborating on the noirish sets.

I also like O'Brien in the lead. He sure doesn't look like the standard Hollywood dick. He's about 20-years too old, 20-pounds too heavy, and more than a little balding. Still and all, he can fire off the tough-guy banter with the best and make you believe it. Of course, having the lovely Maxine (Jeffries) fall headlong for him remains something of a stretch, but that's just Hollywood being Hollywood.

Talk about hiding in plain sight-- the map trick has stayed with me over the years. Speaking of the unusual, catch that brawl at movie's end. One thing for sure, I want Jeffries in my corner from now on. She doesn't just stand around while the hero gets bashed, even when a tricky bookcase bounces back at her.

Anyhow, it's a really good little RKO programmer and a good reason to keep prospecting these unheralded oldies for their hidden gold.

I was never taken much by Pat O'Brien, even though he appeared in many good movies since 1930. This is another good one, but not because of Pat O'Brien...

This was the first time I saw Anne Jeffreys, and for her alone it's worth seeing this film: without doubt, Jeffreys is a head-turner and heart-stopper. In reviewing her acting career, it's now clear to me why I have missed seeing her: soon after the early 1950s, she moved into TV for most of her career. And, as I have mostly avoided TV, well, there you go...

Anyway, to the movie...

I guess I'd call this type of story an adventure, a treasure hunt for black gold in the form of a missing map of oil wells in Peru, and a map that various nasty people are all trying to find. The reason for that lost map is finely drawn – on a dark and stormy night (okay, there are a few clichés along the way in this narrative) - with an exquisitely done sequence at the start, as the camera pulls back from a lizard at the edge of airfield in deepest Peru to reveal a waiting DC-3 and a small group of people trying to hear themselves think while the rain pours down on the tin roof of the terminal. Not a word is spoken, natch. Eventually, a passenger arrives to board the plane with another who'd been waiting. The plane leaves, clawing its way into the storm with the passengers sitting with the cargo. During the voyage, however, one of the passengers either jumps or is pushed from the plane – but the other passenger, Hasso (Mark Krah), now has the map...

From that point, you know there's more dirty dealings coming and, after telling his story to the cops, Hasso hires PI Dan Hammer (Pat O'Brien) to act as a bodyguard. Leaving Hasso at the hotel, Hammer visits Gredson (Jerome Cowan) who hires Hammer to find the map that Hasso now has, unbeknown to both. Hasso, being devious, hides the map in plain sight – a delightful ironic touch that's used to good effect throughout the movie, but would have been better, in my opinion, if the viewer had been kept in the dark also.

However...the plot thickens when Molinar (Walter Slezak), another treasure seeker, starts putting the squeeze on Hammer to get the map, and who roughs up Maxine (Anne Jeffreys) while trying to find it in Hammer's office where Maxine had been waiting. Maxine, you see, had wormed her way into Hammer's sight at the club where she sings – not only for herself as a singer, but as a spy for Gredson with whom she is romantically involved. Or is she? That's for Hammer to find out, along the way. Got the picture?

The denouement, of course, is fairly predictable but enlivened by Percy Kilbride as Pop, the taxi driver who shows how easy it is to run circles around unwary and over-confident crooks on the run. The whole movie is further enhanced by the dark/light cinematography that captures the Panama City scene so well (even though it's a Hollywood back-lot); indeed, the highly inventive chase at night between Hammer, on foot, and Molinar in the taxi with Pop, almost leaves you...well, breathless; and wondering whether Carol Reed chose to use the same techniques of dark shadows, narrow streets and running footsteps in The Third Man (1949) when Holly Martins (Joseph Cotton) chases Harry Lime (Orson Welles) in post-war Vienna. The similarity is quite distinctive, even down to some of the skewed close-ups and sharp camera angles.

And, finally, the dialog throughout is just right: sharp, full of innuendo, devious, and witty - and every bit as good as others you've heard in great thrillers and intrigues.

Pat O'Brien does a credible job – as always – but his attempt as a hard-boiled PI and fixer doesn't quite match Robert Mitchum in Out of the Past (1947) or the great Bogie in any one of his fine works from the 1940s or 1950s. However, I was looking at Anne Jeffreys most of the time anyway...

If you get the chance, see this one, for an enjoyable eighty minutes. Recommended for all.

An almost completely forgotten Film-Noirish adventure, set in Panama and made by no-one famous, but at moments up there with just about the very best. The long wordless opening scene with the plane is as good a beginning as Touch of Evil or The Letter or any other film for that matter, and I think it likely to have been an inspiration for the first 20 minutes of Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom as well.

The dialogue is a delight throughout: so many great, succinct, telling lines, all pregnant with further meaning, and the camera communicates so much to us too. It's the kind of quality script that just isn't being written anymore today, and yet it's in what appears to be a cheap, throwaway B-movie: although all the bit parts are charming and likeable, the only face in Riff-Raff I've seen before is the lead, Pat O'Brien (though I can't remember where), and he's excellent as a cool, crooked, out of shape and morally questionable private eye - a gone-to-seed Humphrey Bogart - and the film is very much cut from a similar (if markedly cheaper) cloth to Casablanca or The Maltese Falcon, So if you like those, I see no reason you won't find something to enjoy in this one too.

The central macguffin of the map everyone's looking for being in plain sight all the time is a little far fetched, and there's no real emotional depth or dramatic urgency on display, which would have knocked it up into the big league of the classics, but even as it stands it might be one of the most enjoyable and best-realized B-movies ever made, so it's a crime it somehow fell through the cracks of history and is so forgotten today: existing copies are of poor quality, and it would be lovely to see it restored and rediscovered.