Allarme polizia!

Petty criminal Johnny Warjack and his gang hold up the Club Bermuda, a casino nightclub. Club owner Marty Fain (Bruce Bennett) allows them to escape and orders his men to track them down later. Fain is covering all his customers' stolen cash. Not all the claims are believed. Broke socialite Linda Vickers (Virginia Mayo) insists that she lost expensive jewelry. In turn, Fain insists on seeing her insurance policy... at her apartment. On the next morning, Warjack is found murdered and police Lieutenant McReady (Richard Rober) comes to interview Vickers.

It's crime B-drama. It has some limited noir style. Virginia Mayo is doing yeoman's work. I like the premise and how it starts. It could go harder. A modern movie would play up the erotic part and add in more action. The story is not that dramatic. It has an interesting spin but it's nothing outstanding. It's solid work all around.

It's an interesting film and entertaining. The plot keeps moving, and there is an unexpected death. What makes it unusual is that, except for Mayo, it doesn't have any big stars. They have some solid supporting actors like Bruce Bennett and Tom D'Andrea.. But on a bigger budget there would be Cuddles or Jack Carson or Alan Hale. What this does is give lesser known actors bigger roles, like Bennett, who plays a bad guy in contrast to his loyal good-guy husband in Mildred Pierce, and Helen Westcott, who a year later had a marveous moment in the Adventures of Don Juan playing one of Don Juan's previous lovers whom he doesn't remember but she seizes the opportunity to reignite with him. Two years later, she would have the prime role of Gregory Peck's estranged ife in The Gunfighter. There's even Phyliss Coates, the first Lois Lane in The Adventures of Superman TV series, in her first role as a cigarette girl. It is norish and has a romantic ending that does come out of nowhere. But it's worth a look.

Ms. Mayo must have been friends with bit part player Helen Westcott, who had a fine career, because I remember both of them fondly from the film Flaxy Martin. I can't help but wonder if Mayo got Westcott her part in this film. Westcott's performance here is formidable, especially when questioned by the police; but my fondness of her is from Flaxy Martin.

As far as Smart Girls Don't Talk, I think it's the script that truly drags down this potential entry in the noir style. It's difficult to fault the director. Cinematography is good. Lighting not so noir.

I confess I've seen this at least five times, and yet I'm still not sure why. Is it because sometimes subpar is entertaining? Is it because it's Mayo? It's certainly not because it's the talented but lanky Bruce Bennett.

Perhaps I'm truly a junkie for 1940s Hollywood. In all honesty, this one's a toss-up. Heads or tails you'll like it or dislike it.

The one with the brains in Smart Girls Don't Talk is Virginia Mayo, a good-bad girl a little down on her luck who's open to some fudging when it comes to a buck. So when she's gambling in Bruce Bennett's Club Bermuda the night it's knocked over, she claims her paste ear-bobs were real diamonds. Bennett, eager to cover his clients' losses so the police don't come snooping around, sees through her ruse but falls for her anyway. (He drives her off to a ritzy roadhouse where they feast on châteaubriand - and after-dinner martinis.)

When her kid brother (Robert Hutton), just appointed to the surgical staff of a New York hospital, hits town, he meets the club's canary (Helen Westcott, who treats us to `The Stars Will Remember' - twice). But he disapproves of the company Mayo keeps. Deep down, so does she, and breaks off her affair with the casino boss. In a foul temper, Bennett kills a welsher in trying to recoup a bad debt, but takes a bullet himself. He staggers back to his club where Hutton is romancing Westcott; the surgeon is press-ganged into patching Bennett up. Rebuffing a payoff, Hutton raises fears that he, too, will turn canary, and one of Bennett's trigger-happy goons shoots him down. At first, Mayo refuses to believe that Bennett could be involved in the murder. Police detective Richard Rober (`I'm a policeman - I'm paid to have suspicions') tries to change her mind, and the wheels begin to turn....

Smart Girls Don't Talk is a brisk, big-town story with serviceable work from Mayo, Bennett, Rober and Tom D'Andrea (as Bennett's 2iC). Its director, Richard Bare, would work with Mayo again the next year in Flaxy Martin, where she played a duplicitous blonde (of course, she always played a blonde). She fares better here. Mayo lacked the tense skills necessary to project a believable femme fatale, but was quite appealing as a basically decent woman who's been around the block. That's what made her so smart.

This isn't bad but it has a false ring. Virginia Mayo is OK. At the start we hear about her being from a high society family with no money left to back that up. This gets lost.

She gets involved in a gambling house raid. The proprietor kind of likes her and also sees her as someone he could use. Enter her brother, the honest "Doc," just out of medical school. He sets her straight about the bad guys but they kill him.

The settings are believable -- clubs, apartments, streets. But it has no sense of reality. It's very formulaic.

The lower budget studios like PRC and Republic -- where have those all gone? They used to appear on local TV regularly -- did noir well. And surprisingly, MGM did it very well too.

Warner Bothers, which released this, had some very good ones but they were of a distinct kind. They were about detectives often, though "Nora Prentice" has the same leading man and is head and shoulders above this.

In sum, it moves along but it doesn't really work.