About a third of the way through Robert Siodmak’s Cry of The City, we find small-time thief Martin Rome (Richard Conte) stuck in a prison hospital awaiting the trial which will undoubtedly send him to the electric chair. He’s been badly wounded in a shoot-out that resulted in him killing a cop, which is why he’s going to fry. As if this wasn’t enough, he’s also increasingly worried for the safety of his sweetly innocent (and shockingly young) girlfriend Teena, who the police want to question in relation to another killing which Martin didn’t do. There is also the matter of a bent lawyer who believes Teena could be tortured into confessing this murder, thereby letting his guilty client off the hook.
Martin desperately needs a way out of the prison hospital but for the time being he is stuck arguing about the cost of getting his bed sheets changed with a bullish guard called Ledbetter. As the two men squabble, a third man is seen mopping the floor between them. During the dispute the man flashes a signal to Martin to let him know he can get his sheets changed for a dollar less than Ledbetter is proposing. Martin haggles and gets the price down, but as Ledbetter leaves he walks into the floor-mopper’s bucket, leading the disgruntled guard to unleash a torrent of abuse at the poor guy. Once Leadbetter is out of earshot this put-upon character offloads his woes to Martin about Leadbetter constantly calling him names. Martin tells him not to worry, that Ledbetter is just a “big boob”, the old boy likes this and with a grin repeats the insult then waddles over to Martin and introduces himself proudly as Orvy (Walter Baldwin), a trustee of the prison.
There is a great subtle physicality to Baldwin’s performance which gives it a realism so often missing from the ‘simple soul’ character that he is portraying, keeping the whole thing from slipping into parody. It’s already a memorable performance and he’s only been on screen a minute. But then comes the clincher! Orvy leans in, his demeanour suddenly changes, and a shrewd confidence takes over his face as he asks: “Wanna break out of here Marty?” It’s a great noir moment, as Orvy’s initial semi-comic relief character suddenly become another scheming noir hustler. He lays out his plan of how Rome can escape and how this will inevitably mean the sacking of Leadbetter. Orvy’s out for revenge and he's thought it all out. For a moment he’s suddenly the brains of the operation, seducing Rome into his scheme. It’s a fine bit of acting, the balancing act of the separate aspects of Orvy’s character is handled deftly, one constantly present in the other.
The theme of duplicitous personality is constantly present throughout Cry of The City, from the sudden switch of Niles the lawyer from jokey charmer at the start of one scene to the leering deliverer of repugnant threats by the end of it; to Martin’s kid brother who is all wannabe street hoodlum until things come to a head and the real sweet sensitive kid we’ve suspected was there all along is revealed. The main emblem of this trait though is Martin who, by the end, is only vainly trying to fool himself that he could be the loving partner to his sweet innocent Teena. There are numerous great performances (with Berry Kroeger, who had one of the best sneers in noir, excelling as the vile Niles) but for all his brief time on screen it’s Baldwin and the character of Orvy that stands out. With the other characters you see it coming, the bent lawyer, the tough kid who ain’t so tough, and the crook who thinks he can change are all staple noir types, but to take a loveable child-like character who “writes like a three-year-old” and give him a cold streak of devious intelligence is not something you see too often. And Baldwin is pitch perfect.
Baldwin had been a prolific small parts actor who, after some time in theatre, began a busy film career in his fifties, racking up near a hundred film parts in the 1940s alone. His roles were mostly amenable kindly grandpa types, often in romantic comedies and he was resoundingly not a noir regular, although he does turn up in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946) as an uncharacteristically gruff garage owner. However, with the role of Orvy, Baldwin shows he was an actor capable of memorably nuanced and powerful performances, something it seems he was rarely given the opportunity to explore. There’s a moment just before Richard Conte’s character makes his bid to escape, where he grabs Orvy’s collar and asks him straight if he’s sure his plan will work. When Orvy replies, with sly malevolence, “sure, I’ve been working on it”, the blood runs cold and you wonder what Baldwin could have done with a really nasty role.
Sandy Milroy.
View Movie here: https://archive.org/details/cry-of-the-city-1948_202008
