Armadilha Fatal

Impoverished debutante Virginia Mayo and gambling house owner Bruce Bennett start an affair. Miss Mayo calls it off on the advice of her brother, Doctor Robert Hutton. Then Bennett gets shot dealing with one of his welshing customers. Hutton treats him. Fearful he will report the gunshot wound to the police, Bennett's henchmen kill him.

Richard L. Bare's first feature has a good script, fine camerawork by Ted McCord, and Tom D'andrea giving good advice while looking like he's been eating persimmons. Bennett's dry, lecturing style of speaking works well to indicate he's careful about what he says, but Miss Mayo isn't quite up to the requirements of a leading lady on an emotional roller coaster. Keep an eye open for Phyllis Coates as a cigarette girl. I imagine she's working undercover for her paper.

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.

A romantic relationship between a charming, erudite gambler/hood and a wayward rich gal. Sounds like it could be promising, especially when the girl is played by Virginia Mayo with whom it is almost always worthwhile spending time. Unfortunately, the clunky screenplay by William Sackheim resolves the central conflict between these two halfway through the friggin picture so that the second half lacks any dramatic tension whatsoever. Plus, Sackheim's dialogue is, with the exception of a few Tom D'Andrea zingers (the future Gillis on "Life Of Riley" is here playing the Eve Arden role), humorless and stiff with lines like: "We are two trains meeting in a depot and now going separate ways". Oh, lordy. Also not helping matters is overscoring from David Buttolph (a poor man's Bronislau Kaper) and undistinguished cinematography from the usually good Ted McCord that gives the film a most generic back lot look. Give it a generous C plus, mostly for Mayo.

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.

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.