Take One False Step (1949)

Written by Raven

Released by Universal in the summer of 49, Take One False Step at first glance seems to have all the ingredients needed to cook up a winner. The Players, Director, Cinematographer and even Music are handed by a team of top notch professionals.

Heading the cast is the urban and always watchable William Powell who’s teamed up with the Blonde Bombshell Shelly Winters. Support is provided by Marsha Hunt, Dorothy Hart, James Gleason, Sheldon Leonard, Art Baker, and Houseley Stevenson all of them noir fixtures.

Direction is in the hands of Chester Erskine who would have greater success as a writer in the noir genre penning such classics as Witness to Murder, Split Second and Angel Face. Franz Planer, he of such gems as The Chase, Criss Cross, Champion, 711 Ocean Drive, The Scarf, and 99 River Street is the Cinematographer. Music is under the supervision of Walter Scharf whose credits include The Glass Key and This Gun for Hire.

So with so much going for it in the way of cast and crew what went wrong? It’s this writer’s opinion it’s the story itself and the treatment of it.

The whole thing starts to unravel during the opening credits with a wacky number of shots depicting what could befall one if they in fact “Take One False Step.” We see everything from a tightrope walker falling to a person exiting a car and stepping into an open manhole and more. It’s played more for laughs than dramatics and this is a big tip off on what’s to follow.

The story itself it quite a puzzle and concerns the apparent murder of a former girl friend of Powell’s, for which he is of course falsely suspected. It’s made known early on that while in the Army during the war, Powell and Winters had a little thing going on. Since that time he’s moved back east, married and become a well know and respected educator. Winters as also moved on but not in an educated way. Strictly by chance (or fate) Powell’s in LA looking for financial backing for a new college he and his co-educators are trying to establish. He “Takes One False Step” and ends up running into Winters who’s drowning her misery in their prior favorite watering hole.

As is usually the case, one thing leads to another and against his better judgment, Powell agrees to meet Winters later at a party. Turns out the party she set up was just for two and Powell being the gentleman tries to graciously end the evening. Here’s where Shelly turns up the heat, acting wise, and goes into a boozy, bimbo jag that surely must make Powell wonder what he ever saw in her in the first place. While she whines and begs for him to stay with her, out of desperation he just leaves her sitting alone in his car and walks away. A few minutes later he returns and sees her walking back towards her house. Next morning we learn from the newspaper headlines that she’s missing and presumed murdered with a “friend” as the likely suspect.

Added to all this is a double crossing bag man whose planning to skip out on his gambling racket partners with hundred grand of a the rackets dough. Ends up he also just happens to be in cohorts with Shelly’s husband (oh yeah, she’d now married, but oh so unhappily) To add to the confusion, Powell’s who’s only trying to clear himself tracks down the bag man only to be mistaken as a hit man from the east sent out by the racket!

I like Powell probably as much as the next guy and he soldiers his way through here, but he alone is not enough to save this mess. Throw in the comedic spin put on by the cops played by Gleason and Leonard and oh brother. One on hand we’re suppose to be concerned about the jam Powell’s found himself in, yet we’re got a couple LA cops (who sound like they just got off the train for Brooklyn) that are playing for laughs. In addition while Powell is delayed in making a speech to proposed backers of his college, we’re given a fill in speaker on the topic of earth worms, not the usual stuff of noir. Add to all this is the slow pace director Erskine moves the whole thing along that it seems the affair takes much longer than the 94 minute running time and you’re got no recipe for success.

My suggestion is, if you’re a fan of Powell or Winters and like the Mike Shane style of crime film this is right up your alley. If you’re looking for high heels on wet pavement and dames as hot as lead from a smoking 45, this ain’t it.