Riff-Raff - L'avventuriero di Panama

Anne Jeffreys, Pat OBrien, and Walter Slezak star in the search for a missing passenger. The passenger had a map of valuable oil reserves, but didn't land with the plane in Panama. Of course they question the only other passenger, who claims he knows nothing about it. Then they bring in the private eye (OBrien) to figure out what's going on. Expert viewers will recognize Percy Kilbride as "Pop", the taxi driver, who knows more than he should. He was Pa Kettle for MANY years. It's a decent plot, but everyone keeps getting knocked off, and now Dan, the P.I. is running out of clues. The rest of the story is very typical noir... private eye against thugs, private eye against the authorities. Keeps getting into trouble, keeps getting out of it. Obrien pretty much carries the show.

It seems that everyone in Panama has their eyes out for a missing map worth a fortune and P.I./con-man/fixer Dan Hammer (Pat O'Brien) is at the center of everything. Caught between the police, hoodlums, and gorgeous dame, Hammer's got his work cut out for him. But like everyone else, he has no idea where to find the map - even though it's hidden in plain sight.

What a nice surprise! Going in, I had no idea what to expect from Riffraff (or Riff-Raff or Riff Raff or however you want to spell it), but it's truly a wonderful little film. It's got a lot going for it. Frist, the cinematography is fantastic. Riffraff looks way better than its modest budget would suggest. Second, the acting is very strong. Overall, I'm not much of a Pat O'Brien fan, but here, he does a nice job. Anne Jefferys is more than his equal as the blonde love interest. Walter Slezak makes for the perfect heavy. And Percy Kilbride (of Ma and Pa Kettle fame) shines as the comic relief. Third, the direction is spot on. Director Ted Tetzlaff does a remarkable job with the film's nifty pacing. There are very few dull moments to slow things down. And that opening - wow! It must have been a gamble to film the first 10 or so minutes in silence, but it paid off. Finally, the writing is first rate. Riffraff has all that cool, fast-talking dialogue I've come to love in a film noir.

7/10

In Panama, a private detective is hired to find a missing oil well map.

I expect this little gem got lost in the 1947 crowd. Too bad, because the opening scene is a wordless tour-de-force. Catch that ominous looking lizard in the first shot, indicating the sinister events to follow. Then there's the rainstorm that sounds like the sky is exploding around the airfield. And finally, scope out the open cargo hatch at 20,000 feet, where you see three people but no parachutes. It's a tough act to follow, and truth be told, the story then settles into an entertaining, if unremarkable, private-eye adventure.

Nonetheless, there are so many nice touches lifting the narrative—the lazy guard dog, the down-and-outers needing help, Pop's belching old cab. But most of all, there's the stylish visuals, courtesy director Tetzlaff and cameraman Diskant. The compositions are especially impressive since they're artistic without being showy. And, of course, there's the great RKO team of D'Agostino and Silvera collaborating on the noirish sets.

I also like O'Brien in the lead. He sure doesn't look like the standard Hollywood dick. He's about 20-years too old, 20-pounds too heavy, and more than a little balding. Still and all, he can fire off the tough-guy banter with the best and make you believe it. Of course, having the lovely Maxine (Jeffries) fall headlong for him remains something of a stretch, but that's just Hollywood being Hollywood.

Talk about hiding in plain sight-- the map trick has stayed with me over the years. Speaking of the unusual, catch that brawl at movie's end. One thing for sure, I want Jeffries in my corner from now on. She doesn't just stand around while the hero gets bashed, even when a tricky bookcase bounces back at her.

Anyhow, it's a really good little RKO programmer and a good reason to keep prospecting these unheralded oldies for their hidden gold.

Riffraff (AKA: erm, Riff-Raff) is directed by Ted Tetzlaff and written by Martin Rackin. It stars Pat O'Brien, Anne Jeffreys, Walter Slezak and Percy Kilbride. Music is by Roy Webb and cinematography by George Diskant.

Something of a little cracker is this one, a pic for those with a discernible palate of Private Investigator based film noir. Don't be misled into believing others when they write that it's minor noir, or borderline of such, it quite simply is a noir pic from what was a stellar year for that film making style.

Story is based in Panama and finds P.I. Dan Hammer (O'Brien) involved in the search for a map that shows priceless oil concessions. Sure enough there's others who desperately want the map, so in comes murder, beatings and a sultry babe.

Pic opens with the shot of a reptile at nighttime, sitting on a rock in the pouring rain, it probably would have been better to use a snake in the shot, but it certainly is a most appealing and appropriate film opening. From there the piece is a veritable feast of super photography and punchy dialogue. OK, so the plot story is standard fare, but the makers never let it drag things down, there's always a quip or a punch thrown to keep things perky.

Tetzlaff was himself a fine cinematographer (see the previous year's Notorious), and here armed with Diskant (They Live By Night/On Dangerous Ground/The Narrow Margin) in his corner the director makes hay. The plot set-up sequences in an aeroplane are moody visual supreme, and often when a scene calls for it - such as when Hammer is getting tortured in his office by Sleazak and his thugs - the noir style comes to the fore. There's wooden slats everywhere in this, wonderful!

Initially one can be forgiven for being sceptical at a portly 48 year old O'Brien playing a tough P.I., but he pulls it off, sharp of tongue and he throws a good punch does Pat. Jeffreys (Dillinger) slinks in for some initial sultry suspicion, and does well, even getting involved in the key fight scene, Kilbride is wonderfully wry as Hammer's unofficial aide, and Sleazak does what he does best, Weasle time!

Capping it off is the MacGuffin map, whose whereabouts at reveal is cheeky and something Hitch would have been proud of. Riffraff is a winner and well worth seeking out. 7/10

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.'