Bunco, n.: The use of dishonest methods to acquire something of value; a swindle.
They oughtta teach Bunco Squad in film school, it’s that good. A 1950 product of the famed RKO B unit, it’s a first-rate example of narrative economy and overall B picture-making. Now I’m no knucklehead, Bunco Squad isn’t The Narrow Margin. I’m not out to compare those two pictures, because beyond their B status and shared studio they have little in common. The Narrow Margin is an exemplary film noir with an iconic leading man in his greatest part. Bunco Squad doesn’t rate as a film noir and has a far less prestigious or able cast than Margin — the actors in Bunco Squad even mispronounce words, tough ones like occult and Los Angeles. Still, this is a little movie that crackles. It’s contrived, heavy on coincidence, and might even be a bit campy, but in spite of all this it still begs to be watched, and doesn’t disappoint those who do. It’s a gem of a mid-century crime picture; and although it’s not a film noir, it’s one that certainly rates a few days in the spotlight at Noir of the Week.
I included the definition above because “bunco” is hardly a household word; it never registered with me until Ellroy, even though Jack Webb devoted a section The Badge to the LAPD bunco squad way back in 1958. It’s that same unit that’s the subject of our movie, which beyond a rare television airing was nigh on impossible to see until it recently became available through the Warner Archive. The picture opens fast — at only 67 minutes it has to — with star Robert Sterling standing in front of a citizens’ group giving a lecture about all the ways that flimflam artists get over on the squares — he’s even got a home-movie screen with 8mm visual aids. The entire scene takes a mere two minutes, but it’s one of the many moments of narrative economy that sets Bunco Squad apart. Films such as Southside 1-1000, Code Two, Appointment with Danger and The Street with No Name (to name a very few) sport openings with a narrator speaking over some montage of stock footage, telling us about how the treasury boys, the motorbike unit, the postal cops or even the g-men are putting their asses on the line for the sake of law and order. Bunco Squad does the same thing: we get the footage, we get the narrator, we get the same results. But in this case the speaker happens to be our star, and by introducing him here it becomes unnecessary to have a scene establishing his character later. And embedding the sequence in the narrative allows for the interaction of other characters, which pays more dividends: As Sterling’s Detective Steve Johnson gives the skinny on the scammers, we get to see how his audience of concerned citizens reacts — when he mentions how the palm readers and tarot card shams contribute to the $200 million per year bunco haul, a old man in the crowd looks down his nose at his wife who turns away, red in the face. Yet when Johnson adds the wheel of fortune and roulette to the list, it gives the wife a chance to glower right back at the husband. Just as Johnson wraps up his speech his partner rushes up: the captain needs them downtown — a hot tip on a new racket. The scene runs just over two minutes, yet it packs a wallop of important information. We meet our star and his partner; get a fix on the bad guys, what they do, how they do it, and who they do it to.
Detective Johnson is so white bread he probably pisses whole milk. The cops here are one-dimensional, their moral certainty is absolute. At 67 minutes, time can’t be wasted agonizing over moral ambiguities or on overt character development — in fact there’s no character development at all, which is the most damning evidence against any case for Bunco Squad as a film noir. This is a movie that simply ignores the driving forces behind noir heroes and villains: alienation, obsession, and desperation. The characters aren’t characters but cardboard types: the cop, the partner, the victim, the girlfriend, etc. We have to take for granted why the police are compelled to uphold order and why the crooks would choose to do ill. Fate never takes a hand and irony must have been busy elsewhere. These points aren’t offered to disparage Bunco Squad, but to differentiate it from the film noir and show that such a picture can nevertheless succeed by other means. Lest we confuse this with a semi-doc or a procedural, there are few such moments, at least as far as the cops are concerned. If anything Bunco Squad shows us, exposé style, how the con artists organize and carry out their scams — and it does this quite well. The notion makes sense: audiences generally have a sense of how cops do business, but in a movie that deals with crooks who use brains instead of bullets, there’s big upside in showing how they pull the rabbit out of the hat — particularly when it’s a spooky séance scam.
Here are the details: con man Tony Weldon (Ricardo Cortez, Bunco’s lone name star) rolls into L.A. on the heels of Mrs. Royce’s secretary, knowing that if he can get close enough to the old bird he might pry loose her 2.5 million dollar nest egg. When Weldon discovers Mrs. Royce’s boy was killed at Normandy he knows exactly how to run his scam. He builds a crew of professional swindlers, including ex-con crystal ball gazer Princess Liane (Bernadene Hayes, not bad in a role tailor-made for Marie Windsor), professional shill Mrs. Cobb (Vivien Oakland), restaurant swami Drake (Bob Bice), and the smooth-talking Fred Reed (John Kellog). They develop an elaborate shell game in order to convince Mrs. Royce to bequeath her money to the “Rama Society.” There’s a fine sequence that depicts each of them uncovering seemingly banal pieces of information about the dead son’s schoolboy days, that when sewn together and dressed up in an otherworldly séance, take on the look and feel true mysticism. The plan works, and Mrs. Royce amends her will. When the secretary gets suspicious of Weldon her car plummets into a canyon — no brakes! (Weldon cuts brake lines so often in this movie it’s surprising nobody calls him “Snips.”) Meanwhile, the cops are pounding the pavement trying to make a case — they know who’s involved, but aren’t able to prove a crime has been committed. In a spectacular B-movie coincidence, Steve shows up at Rama society headquarters just in time to see Mrs. Royce. When the cops brace her she scoffs and tells them to buzz off — which Detective Johnson does, and how: straight over a cliff with cut brake lines! He lives, barely, and enjoys one moviedom’s briefest convalescent periods. Finally, the cops contrive to beat Weldon at his own game, with the assistance of famous magician Dante (playing himself) and Johnson’s actress girlfriend, posing as a rival medium. When their scheme gains traction with Mrs. Royce, Weldon resorts to violence, setting the stage for Bunco’s finale — and another brakeless car careening through the hills above Malibu.
The fixation on murder by cutting brake lines, though admittedly jeopardizing the movie’s credibility, is another of those expeditious touches that allow a whole lot of story to get crammed into a few reels. In the first instance we are given plenty of detailed information: we see the killer approach and climb under the car, hear the sound of him cutting the lines, and then we see him resurface, brandishing and then stowing his cutters. This takes a modest thirty seconds of screen time, but by the final occurrence it takes only six. The narrative value of this kind of killing is significant. Bullets are difficult to dodge, but the brake line technique generates suspense — and a special sort of suspense at that, considering that the amount of time between the cutting of the lines and the car ride itself can be shortened or lengthened to suit the plot. The car ride itself can be drawn out, or not shown at all — we’re in the car with Detective Johnson, but we only learn of the secretary’s death through a newspaper headline, and we don’t get to see Weldon do the deed at all.
Most B pictures rely on contrivances stacked on top of one another and outrageous coincidences too. Bunco Squad is no different, yet it’s all done so smoothly you’ll hardly notice and surely won’t care. It borrows one of the quintessential devices of the caper picture to great effect: that of the criminal who builds a crew and executes a clever plan; except in this case it’s not a heist but a swindle the crooks have in mind. There’s nothing spectacular about the story or the cast, and its noir credentials are shaky at best — it's not even hard-boiled. But Bunco Squad is a crackerjack crime movie anyway. It’s polished, well constructed, features a ton of on-location L.A. exteriors and surprising special effects. It goes a long way towards reminding us that not all mid-century crimes movies were filmed in the noir style, and that such films shouldn’t be dismissed — or forgotten.