Glenn Ford, a middle-class sort of guy, causes an accidental death and is sent up for one to five because his lawyer bungles the case criminally. Broderick Crawford is the DA who convicted him, but believes Ford got a bum bounce. Crawford becomes the prison warden and brings his daughter, Dorothy Malone, along. She and Ford meet briefly and it's love at first sight. There are more sights when Crawford deliberately makes Ford his chauffeur.
Malone leaves for a few weeks and when she comes back she meets Ford again in the warden's office. By an unfortunate juxtaposition of circumstances, Ford has suffered mightily in her absence, and when he leaves the office, Malone says to her Dad, "He doesn't seem like the same man." The problem is that Ford actually DOES seem like the same man -- sullen, taciturn, full of resentment. The first time we SEE him, he's glum and he stays that way throughout, as if he were playing a musical instrument that had only one note on it. He's a decent actor with some considerable range -- from melodrama ("The Big Heat") to comedy ("The Teahouse of the August Moon) -- but not here.
Dorothy Malone was never much of an actress. Every word sounds like a memorized line from a script. But she's never looked better than she does here. Really, she's very attractive, though not nearly as sexy as she was allowed to be in "Battle Cry." Broderick Crawford had TWO notes on his instrument -- gruff, factual, sneaky, and happy, gullible, and dumb. Here he's in Role Number One. He's -- how you say? -- stern but fair. But his job as warden leaves him towards the end with his huevos in a vice, just like Ford. Crawford's code is the law. Ford's is not squealing on a friend. The two don't mesh.
It's an inexpensive production. There are plenty of extras but few outdoor scenes and no panoramas. We see only a few indoor sets. (It was a play before it was a movie.) It's amazing how much difference location shooting can make. Compare the prison scenes in "Call Northside 777." Prison movies are generally kind of depressing. The entire milieu is so drab. And Harry Levin certainly gives us a sense of the tedium involved in working in the laundry, a place full of clattering machinery and steam.
I don't know what prison life was like in 1950, probably more brutal than it is today, which is saying a lot. I doubt Ford would get through Day One without being sodomized by two or three big, bald, tattooed goons with names like T-Bone and Ripper. According to my sources, one of whom claims to be a penologist although he seems to know next to nothing about sex, the film only hints at the atmosphere. Ford is loyal to his friends because they happen to be his cell mates. Modern allegiances extend to a much larger group, often based on race, and survival depends on that membership.
In his book, Randall Adams, who spent twelve years in the slams after being unjustly convicted of murder, describes an incident in a Texas prison. He and another inmate are sitting at a table playing cards. Another inmate trips on a steel staircase, perhaps in an epileptic seizure, and tumbles to the bottom. Adams and friend continue playing cards. After a few minutes, one of them saunters to the phone and reports the unconscious body at the foot of the staircase. You have your clique, your clique has enemies, and everyone else is treated with complete indifference.
Malone leaves for a few weeks and when she comes back she meets Ford again in the warden's office. By an unfortunate juxtaposition of circumstances, Ford has suffered mightily in her absence, and when he leaves the office, Malone says to her Dad, "He doesn't seem like the same man." The problem is that Ford actually DOES seem like the same man -- sullen, taciturn, full of resentment. The first time we SEE him, he's glum and he stays that way throughout, as if he were playing a musical instrument that had only one note on it. He's a decent actor with some considerable range -- from melodrama ("The Big Heat") to comedy ("The Teahouse of the August Moon) -- but not here.
Dorothy Malone was never much of an actress. Every word sounds like a memorized line from a script. But she's never looked better than she does here. Really, she's very attractive, though not nearly as sexy as she was allowed to be in "Battle Cry." Broderick Crawford had TWO notes on his instrument -- gruff, factual, sneaky, and happy, gullible, and dumb. Here he's in Role Number One. He's -- how you say? -- stern but fair. But his job as warden leaves him towards the end with his huevos in a vice, just like Ford. Crawford's code is the law. Ford's is not squealing on a friend. The two don't mesh.
It's an inexpensive production. There are plenty of extras but few outdoor scenes and no panoramas. We see only a few indoor sets. (It was a play before it was a movie.) It's amazing how much difference location shooting can make. Compare the prison scenes in "Call Northside 777." Prison movies are generally kind of depressing. The entire milieu is so drab. And Harry Levin certainly gives us a sense of the tedium involved in working in the laundry, a place full of clattering machinery and steam.
I don't know what prison life was like in 1950, probably more brutal than it is today, which is saying a lot. I doubt Ford would get through Day One without being sodomized by two or three big, bald, tattooed goons with names like T-Bone and Ripper. According to my sources, one of whom claims to be a penologist although he seems to know next to nothing about sex, the film only hints at the atmosphere. Ford is loyal to his friends because they happen to be his cell mates. Modern allegiances extend to a much larger group, often based on race, and survival depends on that membership.
In his book, Randall Adams, who spent twelve years in the slams after being unjustly convicted of murder, describes an incident in a Texas prison. He and another inmate are sitting at a table playing cards. Another inmate trips on a steel staircase, perhaps in an epileptic seizure, and tumbles to the bottom. Adams and friend continue playing cards. After a few minutes, one of them saunters to the phone and reports the unconscious body at the foot of the staircase. You have your clique, your clique has enemies, and everyone else is treated with complete indifference.