Riffraff

Riffraff finds Pat O'Brien as Dan Hammer, hardboiled private eye, operating in the Canal Zone which when the USA was operating the Panama Canal had a kind of hybrid sovereignty between America and Panama. Of course other than an aerial shot at the beginning of the film, no one got closer to Panama than the backlot of RKO Studios.

I'm not sure if Mickey Spillane had already created his character of Mike Hammer, but O'Brien's portrayal sure could have been the model for it.

O'Brien is hired by someone to locate a missing map of some undiscovered South American oil fields. His client is later murdered and that starts the ball rolling.

A lot of the plot elements of Riffraff are found in that other private eye classic Murder, My Sweet and though Riffraff is entertaining, it doesn't hold a candle to that classic noir.

Anne Jeffreys does well as the singer/moll who actually proves to be quite a bit of help to him in that last encounter with the bad guys. Walter Slezak is as always one charming, but dangerous villain. Jerome Cowan does well as the feckless and luckless oil executive and the best performance in the supporting cast is that of Percy Kilbride as a laconic cabdriver.

In fact Percy's the one who gets the best of Slezak. You should see Riffraff just to see how he does it.

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.

Who does not love a good suspense/mystery? I for one really enjoy a good film noir especially when the opening sequence captures an audience's attention within the first five minutes without even uttering a single word. This is a film that you cannot leave the room for even a minute because if you do, you will certainly miss a key piece of this films centerpiece, which is a map containing the location of dozens of untapped oil fields worth millions of dollars.

There are plenty of evil doers trying to pull a fast one on each other in the hopes of netting themselves the one map that holds the locations of dozens of oil fields. But as tough guy detective Dan Hammer (Pat O-Brien) soon finds out while trying to protect a client of his named Hasso (Marc Krah) who happens to be a murderer himself from his other enemies one of which named Walter Gredson (Jerome Cowan) also pays Hammer to locate the map before anyone else can get their hands on it.

This is a cat and mouse game that also includes a gorgeous cabaret singer named Maxine (Anne Jeffreys) who is working incognito for her so called fiance Walter Gredson, but soon falls head over heels for the smooth talking, hard swinging detective Dan Hammer.

Besides the cat and mouse game I was impressed by Hammer's guard dog who always laid directly in front of Hammer's office doorway but yet the bad guys were neither intimidated by Hammer's dog, nor was Hammer ever forewarned by either a growl, bark or nary a whimper that there is trouble approaching Hammer's doorway. Some guard dog eh? He was adorable and this picture with its mystery and cinematography that reminded me of the next years more successful film (1948) Key Largo is well worth watching.

I give Riff Raff seven (7) woofs-woofs, its "howling" good action and mystery to keep you entertained

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.

One of the many felicities of Ted Tetzlaff's top-notch Riffraff, the cinematography of George Diskant can be best seen, unencumbered by dialogue, in the first few dazzling minutes. Torrential storms darken an airfield in Peru, where in the dead of night a cargo plane bearing two passengers departs for Panama; only one of them arrives. The opening previews Tetzlaff's pure-cinema approach; he lets the story unfold through images (and occasionally sounds) with a casual adroitness that remains striking more than half a century later.

At the center of the story is Pat O'Brien, a Canal Zone operative-for-hire. The surviving passenger engages him for protection, but doesn't survive for long. Then an oil company hires him to find a map, supposedly with the vanished man, of unclaimed oil fields in Peru. Walter Slezak wants it, too, but through strong-arm tactics. O'Brien, with the help of his driver Percy Kilbride and nightclub singer Anne Jeffreys, sets out in pursuit of the elusive document (which we know from almost the get-go hangs pinned to a screen in his room).

In retrospectives of film noir, Riffraff usually gets overlooked. While its genre is international intrigue and its touch on the light side, its conventions and, especially, its look, bring it to the fringes of the noir cycle. (And it's a better movie than two noirs released the same year which mine similar veins: Calcutta and Singapore.)

Bigger stars like Humphrey Bogart and Alan Ladd monopolized this tough-guy-in-ports-of-call genre, but O'Brien acquits himself honorably. Unfortunately, he was nearing 50 at the time, and his early-middle-age looks probably weren't what post-war audiences were looking for (Bogart, however, was exactly the same age). No matter: the real heroes of Riffraff are Tetzlaff and Diskant, who collaborated to make what Judith Crist used to call a `movie movie.'