I WOULDN'T BE CAUGHT IN YOUR SHOES: Blu-ray (Monogram, 1948) Warner Archive

Part of the success of the Warner Archive is that it has always been interested in mining, not only some of their asset management megahits, but also, intermittently, those hard-to-find, and otherwise all but forgotten little nuggets of wisdom, marketed as disposable programmers back in the day, but well-worth a second – or even, third – glance on home video.  Never having even heard of William Nigh’s I Wouldn’t Be in Your Shoes (1948), and owing to its origins (it was made by chronically cash-strapped, Monogram) my expectations were virtually at ‘zero’. Ah, but what Nigh and his star, Don Castle, do with a good solid screenplay by Steve Fisher (based on Cornell Woolrich’s page-turner of the same name) and some evocative B&W cinematography from Mark Stengler is criminal – literally! Woolrich, a specialist in the ‘am I going insane?’ vein of pulp fiction, unfurls a nasty little tale about a hoofer who chucks his only pair of dancing shoes through an open window, only to have them kindly returned, fresh from a crime scene with somebody else’s blood. Talk about ‘bad karma’.  I Wouldn’t Be in Your Shoes is the sort of movie you would expect to either fail miserably, fail spectacularly, or merely fall on its cliché-riddled keister, except that star, Don Castle is exactly the sort we can believe would fall prey to such an obvious case of innocence turned rancid.

The Beaumont, Texas-born Marion Goodman, rechristened Don Castle, is today, alas, a footnote in movie-land lore – come to prominence, mostly for his uncanny resemblance to Hollywood he-man, Clark Gable; a tragic comparison in hindsight, as it likely prevented his own star from ascending. Nevertheless, Castle possessed a virtuous sex appeal. At age 20, he gave up on a formal education to pursue his dreams of becoming a star and was quickly snatched up by an MGM talent scout, thereafter, to be force-fed through their gristmill as a bottom feeder fill-in with undistinguished bit parts in such high-profile hits as Young Dr. Kildare (1938), Nick Carter, Master Detective (1939), Strike Up the Band (1940), The Ghost Comes Home (1940) and I Take This Woman (1940). The studio did allow Castle to briefly shine in Rich Man, Poor Girl (1938) and gave him the reoccurring role of Dennis Hunt in their wildly popular Andy Hardy series. But shortly thereafter, Castle fell out of favor with the higher-ups. A move to Paramount did little to reignite his opportunities. Indeed, it was his loan-out for Power Dive (1941) that garnered the most praise, followed by a rare plum part in Tombstone: The Town Too Tough to Die (1942).

WWII put a crimp in his aspirations for the duration of the war. As the landscape of B-programmers began to change and eventually disintegrate after the war, Castle found his prospects for immortality grim. Instead, he forged an enduring friendship with ex-child star, Bonita Granville, which led to a fruitful spate of work with the Wrather Production Company, run by Granville’s husband, Jack Wrather. While the work was steady, it was also not terribly rewarding. Hence, the decision to move on to Lippert Productions for a 3-picture deal, of which only 1950’s Motor Patrol was ever made. Afterward, Castle and his second wife opened a bed and breakfast in Palm Springs with Castle dividing the next 7 years of his life between proprietor-duties and a few insignificant parts on television. At this juncture, Don was made president of International Television Corporation; Wrather’s company, overseeing their wildly popular Lassie series from 1960-62. Alas, just as things seemed to be headed in the right direction, Castle was faced with divorce and tragedy. An auto accident left him addicted to pain killers. He died from an overdose in 1966, barely 47-yrs.-old.

Like Castle, co-star, Elyse Knox had much ambition to become a great star but little actual success in achieving those dreams. The Hartford, Connecticut-born Knox ought to have been a sensation. Certainly, she had it in the looks department. And although she outlived Castle by nearly half his life-time, dying at age 94 in 2012, Knox is perhaps best-known today for the six-degrees of separation in her infinitely more famous family bloodline (more on this in a moment). Studying fashion in Manhattan, Knox came to Hollywood via the backdoor, modeling her own creations for Vogue in 1937. This instantly garnered attention from a 2oth Century-Fox talent scout and led to a contract. Alas, at Fox, Knox languished, promoted to the head of the line on a loan-out to Universal for The Mummy’s Tomb (1942) and then, appearing as herself in the war-time programmer, Follow the Boys (1944). A pin-up girl, Knox moved to Monogram in 1945. But after 39 movies, virtually none of merit, she effectively retired a scant 4-years later. A whirlwind romance with Heiserman Trophy winner, Tom Harmon died on the vine at the outset of the war, and Knox instead wed photog, Paul Hesse. But when that ill-fated union ended just 2 years later, Harmon’s return from the battle fray resulted in a rekindling of their love and eventual marriage in 1944. Ironically, Knox would become better known for her close proximity to ‘famous’ people, rather than being one herself. Her dad was Roosevelt’s Secretary of the Navy, William Knox. Knox and Harmon’s first child, Kristin would go on to wed teen heartthrob, Ricky Nelson, and their daughter, Tracy has since become a successful actress. Knox and Harmon’s second child, Kelly became a popular spokesmodel for Tic-Tac, briefly wed to infamous auto-exec, John DeLorean, while the couple’s third and final child, Mark, likely needs no introduction. An ex-footballer come actor, Mark Harmon has appeared on many a hit television series and remains wed to TV sit-com star, Pam Dawber since 1987.

Knox and Castle have some wonderfully adversarial chemistry in I Wouldn’t Be in Your Shoes. As previously mentioned, he plays Thomas J. Quinn, half of a dance act to include his wife Ann (Knox) of the dutiful, but ever-so-slightly doubting sort. The couple have been shoehorned into a small New York tenement and it has worn not only the cuffs and collars in their partnership, but also their patience. Tom just knows the clientele Ann’s been entertaining to make ends meet at the buck-a-dance academy are out for more than a glimpse of her feet. So, tortured and drunk, he hurls his only pair of tap shoes out the window in a fit of rage at some cats in heat. Thinking better of his hasty frustrations, Tom is perplexed when, attempting to retrieve the shoes, he discovers they have vanished into thin air, only to miraculously ‘return’ the next morning, neatly placed outside his door. Good fortune? Hardly, as Tom is almost immediately picked up by the police on a charge of murder. Even if Tom didn’t off the reclusive old miser found dead in their neighborhood, his shoes give every indication to have been at the scene of the crime. And worse, Tom’s wallet is stuffed with old-style bills, just like the one’s hoarded by the victim.

Meanwhile, Ann befriends Police Inspector Clint Judd (Regis Toomey) whom she entertained at the nightclub previously and who has a soft warm spot reserved for her affections. Plying her feminine charms in service of her husband’s innocence, Ann convinces Judd to dig deeper into the investigation. His skulking exposes another tenant with ulterior motives. Regrettably, time is running out for Tom, whose date with the electric chair is fast-approaching. Nevertheless, Judd reopens the case, charging ex-boarder, John L. Kosloff (Robert Lowell) with the crime. Too bad, Kosloff’s airtight alibi easily gets him sprung from the can almost immediately. Now, Ann, begins to suspect Judd as the killer, especially after his obsessive love for her begins to manifest itself in strange and unsettling odes to ‘a life together’ Judd has planned after Tom’s death. Realizing she has mere hours to save her husband, Ann goads Judd into confessing his crime of passion to her, just as police investigators (Rory Mallinson and Bill Kennedy) close in. Judd attempts to flee but is shot by the police. Tom is released from prison to be reunited with the dutiful wife.

I Wouldn’t Be in Your Shoes may have the unfortunate happenstance to possess one of the silliest titles of any noir crime thriller, but setting this aside, what is here is not only highly competent storytelling, but actually rife with excellent performances, also supported by Stengler’s stellar and mood-evoking B&W cinematography. If, indeed, we owe the B-grade trappings to Monogram, then this is, by far, one of the most efficient little programmers of its kind. While not in the same league with other, more renowned noir classics, I Wouldn’t Be in Your Shoes is the sort of subtly plied popcorn pleaser of the ‘little gem’ class that gets noticed in spite of its shortcomings. And that is saying a great deal about the on-screen chemistry between Castle and Knox. They make for an engaging couple. So, the core element – their likeability – is more than serviceable. And the story, while relatively straight forward, is nevertheless compelling and solidly written. At barely 70-mins., there is no time for anything else in William Nigh’s storytelling, though he manages to launch and sustain the mystery and suspense, building steadily on both until the movie’s ‘shocking’ finale. Kudos to Steven Fisher’s economically written screenplay as it never scrimps on character design or subtleties exposed in this darkly-purposed fiction. But perhaps most telling of all: the producer of this scantly-packaged affair is the legendary Walter Mirisch, of impeccable taste in all things cinema-related.

I Wouldn’t Be Caught in Your Shoes arrives on Blu-ray via the Warner Archive (WAC) and yes, this is another fine example of what can be achieved when vintage materials are properly curated and cared for with more than a basic effort put forth to reinvigorate their careworn film elements. Not exactly certain what source WAC is using here, but it gives every indication of being a fine grain with exceptionally nuanced tonality throughout. The B&W greyscale looks tremendous here, and film grain is amply supported, looking indigenous to its source. The DTS 1.0 mono soundtrack is competently rendered but won’t win any awards. It’s basic, flat and serviceable at best. We get 2 shorts, Holiday for Shoestrings, and, The Symphony Murder Mystery. Bottom line: while not a great movie, I Wouldn’t Be Caught in Your Shoes is well worth a second glance. WAC makes for certain this is the very best way to experience yet another long-absence deep catalog release from their bottomless wellspring of goodies. Recommended.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

1