The Sun Sets at Dawn

The dialogue in this film is so dreadful, that after 20 minutes of the film, you are rooting for the execution to take place, despite the obvious innocence of the protagonist. Hackneyed writing will always get that kind of result. The script here is terrible. However, believe it or not, the lead actor and actress are even worse than the script. The protagonist, the intended innocent victim of the execution, gives one mundane line after another about his failures in life. After twenty minutes of this, one roots for the execution to take place. The female lead is even worse; bouncing from comatose to hysterical every ten minutes or so. I wish I could find something nice to say about this film, but when you start rooting for an innocent man to be fried, you know you are watching the wrong film. Avoid this turkey.

If there's an object lesson in the gap between expectation and reality, The Sun Sets At Dawn may be it. A product of the Holiday Pictures division of Eagle-Lion Films (which is sort of like saying Starvation Alley off Poverty Row), and the work of a director, Paul Sloane, whose career began in the First World War and who hadn't worked for 11 years (and who had one more – Japanese – movie left in him), it doesn't inspire much confidence. But it has an imaginative narrative structure and a mood and, so much as its pitiful resources would allow, even something of a look.

Patrick Waltz (here billed as Philip Shawn) is a young man awaiting execution on death row. Though of course he protests his innocence, there's not much news there. But it so happens that he'll be the first consumer of the anonymous state's newly-installed electric chair (replacing the old-fashioned, and possibly more humane, garrotte). This shift of lethal mediums has the warden and the executioner and the staff all a-twitter, leaving them little time or empathy for the human side of the story – which also involves the condemned man's girlfriend (Sally Parr), who has been brought to the prison but whom he refuses to see.

The newfangled hot seat has drawn a large cadre of newspaper reporters (Percy Helton is but one of the many noir stalwarts among them), gathered at Pops' Place. This is a last-ditch bus depot/greasy spoon/post office/truck stop and motel out in the sticks, where they wait for a jitney to transport them to the prison. And here's where the movie takes its most arresting turn. In dialogue that might almost have been lifted from a Eugene O'Neill reject, the ink-stained wretches start reminiscing and speculating, cumulatively telling the story of the convict whose death they're shortly to witness – and other stories which start to intersect with it.

The plot moves slowly, as piece after piece drops into place. Sloane (who also wrote the script) intercuts between the terrified young man awaiting his quietus and these old hacks who think they've seen it all (they haven't). Meanwhile, a trusty from the prison comes to collect the mail, and spots a wanted poster on the bulletin board which sets him to thinking, too....

Basically, The Sun Sets At Dawn remains little more than another death-row beat-the-clock thriller. The plot, which accommodates more than a twist or two in a 71-minute running time, is admittedly contrived, but Sloane has the decency (and wit) to justify his every contrivance. And even if its turnings leave you unimpressed, you'll have to admit that the movie's dialogue-free opening, at night at Pops' Place, is as bleak and transfixing as just about anything in the noir cycle (shoestring-budget division). The Sun Sets At Dawn proves itself a keeper, and a fitting memorial to the unsung Sloane.

Offbeat dark drama concerning the hours before the execution of a young man protesting his innocence. Walter Reed gives a fine performance as the chaplain ministering to the man to be executed who gradually believes in his innocence. There is some unusual direction as the story moves back and forth from the young man protesting his situation in the cell to the newsmen holed up in a greasy spoon trying to substantiate his guilt. Noir regulars Percy Helton, King Donovan and Charles Arnt make up some of he newsmen. No doubt this is somewhat of a protest film against capital punishment but it never overplays this angle. There are some good plot twists that makes the movie more interesting. The acting is uniformly good and the film is a worthwhile viewing if you can wade through the depressing subject matter.

Okay I'm a big sap but I liked this!

A young man (Patrick Waltz) awaits his execution, the first in the state to use the electric chair, even as he proclaims his innocence. A Chaplain (Walter Reed) prays with him and attempts to help him meet his fate.

Meanwhile his girlfriend (Sally Parr) is inconsolable as they ready the chair, which isn't working correctly yet.

At a bar/roadhouse a mile away, reporters wait for a bus to take them to the execution; they are told the bus will be late. They play cards and talk, one noticing an old wanted poster on the wall, that of a murderous dead convict famous for emptying his gun into a victim, similar to what the young man did.

I'm not born again or anything like that but I loved the spiritual messages the Chaplain imparts, and how he tries to convince him that he didn't live in vain.

The director, Paul Sloane, was a silent film director who assembled former silent actors (Houseley Stevenson, Charles Meredith, Percy Helton) for the production. This actually comes off as a silent film the way it was done.

As one of the reporters, King Donovan was delightful, very relaxed and natural. Helton's distinctive voice was instantly recognizable.

This is an unusual film in many ways, but most striking to me is that the director, Paul Sloane, a silent film auteur who had made the transition to sound and then inexplicably vanished from the industry for more than a decade, suddenly reappeared to write and direct what is essentially a silent movie (with conventional 1950-era sound), starring quite a cast of silent era actors.

Almost everything in this movie is antique -- the large cast of older men as reporters, the elderly "Pops" who runs the diner, the frozen-in-amber look of the sets for the warden's home and his office in the prison -- and this elegiac effect is heightened by the continual references to times gone by and the display of worn-out and bypassed items, such as the out-of-date Post Office "Wanted" posters that Pops has learned to love. Even the direction of the unknown young "Girl" is reminiscent of Murnau's direction of Janet Gaynor in 1927's "Sunrise."

If you look up the bios of the actors, you will see that at least half of them were over 50 and some were in their late 60s. Did Paul Sloane just come out of hibernation, hire all of his old colleagues and have one last go at it? I don' think we will ever know -- but for whatever reason he did it, the film is very satisfying if you think of it as a "silent film with sound."

I rated it an 8, which i rarely do for "B" films, because although it was filmed with minimal sets and although i tend to downgrade films that feature boyishly handsome priests called "Padre," (sorry, just a quirk of mine), this movie is unique, like a carton of mint-condition New-Old-Stock porcelain dolls found in the sealed-off back room of a diner on a sound stage somewhere in Post-War Los Angeles.

Don't be afraid to try it. Just love it for what it is.