The Big Bluff

Sibling rivalry can be a dreadful thing; look at Joan Fontaine and Olivia De Havilland. Sometimes, however, it approaches farce. W. Lee Wilder probably should have stayed in New York making purses, but, no, he had to follow his little brother Billy to Hollywood. And in Hollywood, maybe he could have been a passable producer (two early Anthony Mann movies, The Great Flamarion and Strange Impersonation, bear his credit). But, no, he had to direct, showing the world how vast was the disparity between young Billy's talents and his own inadequacies. Billy, long estranged, used to call him `a dull son of a bitch,' and he was being generous: W. Lee isn't merely dull, he's barely competent.

The Big Bluff rehashes a plot that Wilder had used in 1946 for The Glass Alibi. Merry widow Martha Vickers has a bum ticker and only a few months left to live. Off she goes to California with paid companion Eve Miller only to cross paths with slick operator John Bromfield (he brags about business interests in Central America but he's just a gigolo). The prospect of coming into her money at her early death emboldens Bromfield to court and marry her.

But there are obstacles. Her secretary/companion and her physician (Robert Hutton) harbor suspicion of Bromfield's motives. And Bromfield's mistress Rosemarie Stack, half of a sultry nightclub act with her jealous husband Eddie Bee, doesn't cotton to his romancing another woman. But the impatient Bromfield, not content with letting nature take its course, starts tampering with Vickers' pill supply. When, paradoxically, she seems to thrive under his care, he concocts a back-up plan, and the movie jutters along to a twist ending, à la Alfred Hitchcock Presents.

The plot is hand-me-down James M. Cain, done proud by the cheesiness of its direction (it's like a stock-footage festival). Wilder lets his cast get away with the stiffest readings of the literal-minded script (Martha Vickers would never nab many statuettes, but Howard Hawks goaded her into acting as Carmen Sternwood in The Big Sleep). Yet every so often there's a dark glint that keeps one watching: Bromfield and Stack plotting in a shadowy hotel staircase; Bromfield and Vickers toasting with schnapps at Scandia or `lo-balls' at La Rue. Something saves The Big Bluff from sinking to the very bottom of the barrel; it sure wasn't Wilder.

John Bromfield as a two-timing cad and gold-digger in Los Angeles who aggressively woos a wealthy young widow and socialite visiting from New York City (with a bad ticker!). Once she learns she has less than a year to live, the ailing woman and the gigolo get hitched--but he's having an affair with a married dancer and has promised her that his new marriage won't last long. Compact, appropriately overwrought B-grade potboiler (maybe C-grade) has good performances and an ear for melodramatic dialogue. Producer-director W. Lee Wilder keeps the pace moving on a nothing-budget, and sweet-talking Bromfield (with a natty little mustache) amusingly oozes cocky, masculine self-confidence. ** from ****

This is an effective noirish suspense drama. The acting, direction, and cinematography are typical of 1950s low-budget productions but there are plenty of good scenes. After a slow start, the plot evolves into a modern morality tale where a scheming villain gets his payback. The print is inferior (Classic Film Noir, Volume 2) but the soundtrack is satisfactory.

John Bromfield delivers a convincing performance as an unscrupulous gold-digging gigolo who seduces and marries a wealthy widow (Martha Vickers) who is seriously ill with only a few months to live. Much to his dismay, the marriage works wonders for her health and she improves so much that he is forced to hatch a diabolically clever plan to murder her.

Of course, things quickly go wrong and lead to a terrific plot twist and surprise ending. Not classic noir, but a decent little movie with redeeming features.

When scheming fortune hunter and erstwhile Latin lover Ricardo De Villa learns that a wealthy but sickly widow has terminal heart disease, he seduces and marries the vulnerable millionairess.

Playing the part of a faithful and doting husband, he carries on a torrid affair with sexy exotic dancer Fritzi Darvel while avoiding the suspicious eyes of her jealous bongo-playing husband.

When his wife's condition seems to go into remission, the impatient De Villa decides on action that will hasten her seemingly inevitable death.

The plot sounds awfully racy but these are the 50s.

This is sort of a film noir and it's worth a watch, despite the very bad prints that are available.

Good story.

Good acting.

Dastardly cad Ricardo (Bromfield) inveigles his way into rich but ailing heiress Valerie's (Vickers) life, despite those around her trying to protect her from his suspected predations. The oleaginous Ricardo secretly has a hotter, younger (but married) squeeze on the side, Fritzie (Bowe), an exotic dancer, and they plan to elope as soon as he can extract the cash from his mark. Although it is fascinating to see Vickers in one of her last movies, initially, the viewer needs to contend with some wooden acting, poorly-written lines badly delivered, and choppy editing; still, things improve as they go along, and some of the sets are pleasing to the eye, there are some wonderful little cross-dissolves, the pace picks up, the lighting becomes a little more noir-like, and the plotting gets a bit more intricate. Overall, it manages to keep one just about engaged esp. Bromfield's performance as an amoral exploiter of the weak; a man who is madly in love with white-hot Fritzie, and schemes, almost admirably, to do whatever he can to create the fantasy life he wants with her. Bowe sears the screen with heat whenever she appears, and her and Bromfield have some real chemistry, which keeps the engine of the story ticking over. Hard to wholeheartedly recommend but a mildly diverting short flick (which never bores the viewer) for a weekday evening.