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.'
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.'