Trapped (1949), directed by Richard Fleischer. Streaming on Kanopy, Monday, April 3.

Trapped is a “B movie”, an Eagle-Lion production, that company being one of the great “poverty row” studios that pumped out some decent noirs. And it’s exactly why I like noir. This was a quickie, an attempt at recouping a small amount of money (by movie standards), a product responding to a need, that need being pictures to fill out the early slots of programming at movie houses, the stuff people sit through while waiting for the big studio film. But someone at Eagle-Lion got the bright idea that maybe they should try to make this thing actually exciting, actually fascinating, and this was a bug that seemed to infect everyone: director, cinematographer, the hungry writers, the actors. Even if they’re Lloyd Bridges and Barbara Payton.

What does the plot matter? It’s just one of those MacGuffins meant to get us in with a bunch of lowlifes and dull cops, and that’s perfect. It’s one of those “documentary” style noirs, where a square reads off of a card information about a certain branch of law enforcement, with either footage of actual arrests or busts, or reenactments. Then we get into the fictionalized plot (though ostensibly based on a true story), here something about counterfeiting and the U. S. Treasury and plates for 20 dollar bills. Low budgets and studio that didn’t own great big sets meant some incredible location shots in Los Angeles, including a stunning conclusion at the L.A. streetcar depot, including a shootout amongst those streetcars. Holy shit, the fist fights in this one look like the punches were actually landing. The script is really tight, and so committed to the story (which turns out to be pretty good), that a significant character is whisked away because they don’t matter anymore. Bridges and Payton are seedy enough to look as though they’re using this movie to pick up pointers on how to actually commit robbery when the shooting ends. Director Fleischer made some pretty solid movies (20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, The Narrow Margin, and I’ll defend Mandigo along with the Brits) and some of the worst movies of all-time (Doctor Doolittle, The Jazz Singer–those two should’ve wrecked his career) and here his camerawork is perfect for this sharp little movie. It’s edited well, lit well, well acted, has good music. It’s the whole package. To me, noir’s got the best chance of finding little flawed gems, short, powerful, maybe not great, but effective thrillers that will stay with you.