Even people who have never seen a black and white film have likely heard of Bogart or Cagney. Unfortunately, few people today would recognize the name Broderick Crawford, though this actor of surprising range turned in great performances in many noirs.
One of those was in 1951’s The Mob, where he is a beat cop tasked with going undercover to expose a syndicate working the docks. The police send him on an extensive, immersive operation, establishing an entire history for his new persona and having the man work his way back to NYC from New Orleans on boats. Crawford “earned” this opportunity because he failed to realize a mafia hit man was only posing as a cop when he gunned down a man in the street. The assassin was even using the badge and gun of a cop he had killed earlier in the evening. As Crawford’s superiors explain, in lieu of a suspension, “We’re going to give you the opportunity to get yourself killed.” I am glad such generosity has never been extended to me in the wake of any of my screwups while on the job.
What makes all of this even more frustrating is our hero had quickly established himself as a likeable guy in the first minutes of the runtime. He wants to marry nurse Betty Buehler, but finds it difficult to buy a decent engagement ring from a pawn shop, given his limited funds as an honest beat cop. In the haggling, he jokingly tells the proprietor, ”I thought you might like to try to bribe me.”
Crawford throws himself into his undercover work, which largely involves throwing himself at others. When he disembarks a vessel in New York, an officer is glad to see the back of the troublemaker, though he is going to be keeping an eye out for Crawford’s face. Crawford’s retort: “And I’m going to try to forget yours.”
On the dock, he’ll find all the jobs are locked down and only given to those who are in good with the organization. Using intel he’s gathered, Crawford will drop the name of a high-ranking figure in the racket and land a plum job. He’ll also land in hot water with the person whose name he’s been throwing around, and that will turn out to be Ernest Borgnine in a menacing role.
Crawford seems to appease Borgnine in their first meeting, little realizing Neville Brand, as the boss’s chosen muscle, has set up a frame to make it appear our protagonist has shot a man with whom he was in a fight earlier that day. When Brand returns from an errand to supposedly buy beer, his boss tasks the man with repairing the hole he had earlier shot in a wall when intimidating Crawford. I found it odd Borgnine insists a wall be repaired in a condemned building. Maybe that is part of the reason why Brand, as terrifying as he is in a great many movies of this kind, has it out for Crawford.
First, our hero has to figure out how to get himself out of a jam when he is apprehended by a corrupt detective on murder charges. In an odd form of torture I haven’t seen before, Crawford is made to lean against a wall, supporting himself on only one finger of each hand. This may not break him, but he somehow has to find a way to extricate himself from these false charges without blowing his cover.
This is an exciting film, and packed with dialogue which shows these are people using their brains as much as their fists. There is a recurring bit of interesting banter between Crawford and the manager of the fleabag hotel in which he’s staying under his ruse as a lowly dockworker. Consider this between our hero and the hotel owner: “i’m going to get a drink. That should give you enough to put back the stuff you probably stole from the room.” “There was nothin’ there worth stealin’,” “Put it back, anyway.”
Many of the best lines are delivered by a suspicious character played by Richard Kiley as a fellow dockworker. He seems to exist solely to provide wry commentary upon Crawford’s endeavors, such as this: “There’s something funny about a guy breaking his neck for work where he’d be breaking his back.” Or this: “New Orleans is a great town. Knew a girl. Used to play the piano with her teeth.” Then there’s this bon mot, regarding Crawford’s reluctance in letting Kiley set him up with a date: “If hooking you up with a beautiful girl is beating you up, then I’ve been taking a beating since I was thirteen.” I’m still scratching my head over something he says when Crawford asks if he needs any help: “If I do, I’ll have to go back to jerking sodas.” Now that sounds like a euphemism.
He even has this to say about an allegedly popular combination of beverages in the Big Easy, that being a glass of white wine followed by a beer chaser: “I used to know a guy who drank vodka and goat milk.” Neither of those sound palatable, and there is some other weirdness around the margins of this picture. I liked the glimpse we get of a cigarette dispenser which uses a “dunking bird” mechanism. There’s an impossibly young Charles Bronson in a fleeting moment. The climax of the film involves a hilariously large tracking device hidden a car, as well as a machine that will drip fluorescent paint behind it. That setup is so complicated as to make that cigarette dispenser look remarkably straight-forward in comparison.
The Mob is thoroughly enjoyable, even if elements are preposterous. The script gives a solid cast some great lines, even if most of those scan as a hair too clever. It has plenty of action, even if some of the elements of those scenes are excessively convoluted. It has some genuine surprises, even if the nature of many of those involve coincidences which beggar belief. All said, there is something satisfying a movie which has exchanges such as this between Crawford and Borgnine: “Is that gun loaded?” “You want to find out?” “No, I’m happy just guessing.”
Dir: Robert Parrish
Starring Broderick Crawford, Betty Buehler, Richard Kiley, Ernest Borgnine
Watched as part of the Powerhouse/Indictor UK (region B) blu-ray box set Columbia Noir #2