A shout-out to anyone who owns the latest film noir box set from WB and has yet to check out DECOY (1946). Check it out at once. I guarantee you'll want to check it out twice.
What a lackluster title for such a unique movie. From the world of Monogram Pictures, where life was cheap and craft service budgets cheaper, and a first-time director who would go on to make Barton MacLane squeal like a girly man, comes this compellingly peculiar sci-fi/crime thriller hybrid. Unlike its subgenre mates BLACK FRIDAY, THE MONSTER AND THE GIRL and Mono's own BOWERY AT MIDNIGHT, DECOY is a full-blown noir, with all the classic hardboiled tropes (scheming femme fatale, malleable sap, expressionist camerawork, doom-laden atmosphere) and a weird science plot twist tossed in for daffy measure. Money-grubbing moll Miss Jean Gillie hatches a plot to score four-hundred grand in stolen loot squirreled away by incarcerated boyfriend Robert Armstrong, who is facing exceution in the gas chamber and willing to share the loot with anyone who springs him. To this end, Gillie seduces upstanding prison doctor (and future Black Sleep maven) Herbert Rudley into securing corpus Denham after the execution and raising him from the dead via the miracle drug Methalyne Blue, a chemical that offsets the effects of cyanide gas.
Needless to say, all roads lead to hell.
Debuting director Jack Bernhard (UNKNOWN ISLAND) gives the wackadoo yarn some appropriately baroque touches, especially during the resurrection of Robert Armstrong, where you half expect Dwight Frye to turn up screaming, "The kites! The Kites! Get 'em ready!" Other times, he makes like a poverty row D.W. Griffith, employing swooping crane shots to explore dingy Monogram street sets. And while he's not much of an actor's director (tough cop Sheldon Leonard chews the scenery while lowlife hood Edward Norris displays the emotional range of a zombie), Bernhard gets a remarkable performance from Gillie, a British starlet who was his real-life wife at the time and for whom the picture served as a star vehicle.* And a menacing vehicle it is. This Margot Shelby dame is ruthless, driven and scarily persuasive, and Gillie runs with the role, all the way to a permanent place alongside Phyllis Dietrichson and Kathie Moffat in the pantheon of noir bitch goddesses.
All this, plus Phil Van Zandt as a stiletto-wielding assassin and Bert Roach (the portly intentional comic relief of MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE) as a jittery barkeep.
*Or perhaps as a mirror image of the real Jean Gillie, who wound up dumping Bernhard at the time of the film's release. Soon after, she went on to greener pastures as second female lead in the big-budget THE MACOMBER AFFAIR; two years later, she was dead of pneumonia at age 33.
What a lackluster title for such a unique movie. From the world of Monogram Pictures, where life was cheap and craft service budgets cheaper, and a first-time director who would go on to make Barton MacLane squeal like a girly man, comes this compellingly peculiar sci-fi/crime thriller hybrid. Unlike its subgenre mates BLACK FRIDAY, THE MONSTER AND THE GIRL and Mono's own BOWERY AT MIDNIGHT, DECOY is a full-blown noir, with all the classic hardboiled tropes (scheming femme fatale, malleable sap, expressionist camerawork, doom-laden atmosphere) and a weird science plot twist tossed in for daffy measure. Money-grubbing moll Miss Jean Gillie hatches a plot to score four-hundred grand in stolen loot squirreled away by incarcerated boyfriend Robert Armstrong, who is facing exceution in the gas chamber and willing to share the loot with anyone who springs him. To this end, Gillie seduces upstanding prison doctor (and future Black Sleep maven) Herbert Rudley into securing corpus Denham after the execution and raising him from the dead via the miracle drug Methalyne Blue, a chemical that offsets the effects of cyanide gas.
Needless to say, all roads lead to hell.
Debuting director Jack Bernhard (UNKNOWN ISLAND) gives the wackadoo yarn some appropriately baroque touches, especially during the resurrection of Robert Armstrong, where you half expect Dwight Frye to turn up screaming, "The kites! The Kites! Get 'em ready!" Other times, he makes like a poverty row D.W. Griffith, employing swooping crane shots to explore dingy Monogram street sets. And while he's not much of an actor's director (tough cop Sheldon Leonard chews the scenery while lowlife hood Edward Norris displays the emotional range of a zombie), Bernhard gets a remarkable performance from Gillie, a British starlet who was his real-life wife at the time and for whom the picture served as a star vehicle.* And a menacing vehicle it is. This Margot Shelby dame is ruthless, driven and scarily persuasive, and Gillie runs with the role, all the way to a permanent place alongside Phyllis Dietrichson and Kathie Moffat in the pantheon of noir bitch goddesses.
All this, plus Phil Van Zandt as a stiletto-wielding assassin and Bert Roach (the portly intentional comic relief of MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE) as a jittery barkeep.
*Or perhaps as a mirror image of the real Jean Gillie, who wound up dumping Bernhard at the time of the film's release. Soon after, she went on to greener pastures as second female lead in the big-budget THE MACOMBER AFFAIR; two years later, she was dead of pneumonia at age 33.
