Female Jungle

Cinema Monolith: 2/10
IMDb: 5.6/10
Leonard Maltin’s Movie Guide: ** out of 4

Released on June 16, 1956
Not rated
73 minutes

Directed by Bruno Ve Sota

Written by Burt Kaiser and Bruno Ve Sota

Cast: Lawrence Tierney, John Carradine, Burt Kaiser, Jayne Mansfield, Kathleen Crowley, Rex Thorsen, James Kodl, Cornelius Keefe, Connie Cezon, Davis Roberts, Jean Lewis, Bruno Ve Sota

Being such a fan of film noir movies, it’s rare that I don’t find at least a handful of redeeming qualities when I watch one, no matter how simple or poorly-made it may be. But with Female Jungle, a tawdry crime mystery from the fledgling American Releasing Corporation, there was only one such quality…and it occurred during the first forty seconds of the film. After that, everything was strictly routine and almost entirely forgettable, and for a movie labeled by multiple sources as ‘film noir’, it sure didn’t offer much in that regard. In fact, after awhile I began to wonder why this was ever considered noir at all.

An actress is murdered in front of a two-bit nightclub, and the local authorities waste no time adding several names to the suspect list. At the bar was an off-duty police sergeant, who’d had a few too many, and can’t remember anything except he’d been with a blonde…but was it the actress, or someone else? And among the crowd of crime-scene gawkers was a down-on-his-luck artist, who’d earlier sketched the actress inside the club, and whose nervous wife just so happens to work at that same establishment. And who was that well-dressed, sophisticated gent who quietly—and ominously—followed the artist’s wife home after her shift that night?

It’s unfortunate that after that promising pre-credit jolt, there wasn’t much else worth recommending, and taking full responsibility for that would have to be actor Bruno Ve Sota, who not only co-wrote the screenplay, but was making his directorial debut as well…and sadly, it showed. This was pretty much a dud from all angles; besides sub-par direction, lazy storytelling, and uninspired camerawork, the dialogue was clunky and nowhere near as hard-boiled as it should’ve been, the lighting was more murky than low-key, and scenes played out at an odd and clumsy pace, with far too many puzzling cutaways, and needless exposition scenes that dragged on and on and on.

And though actress Kathleen Crowley was first-billed on the poster and in the opening credits (and then fifth-billed in the end credits), I’d say Lawrence Tierney was our film’s lead, albeit in name and stature only; whether it was his character or a reflection of himself, he seemed to be lost and distracted during his scenes, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing there, and was eager to find a way out. This was supposed to be a comeback film of sorts for the hot-headed Tierney, after a series of off-screen scrapes and troubles with the law had tarnished his image, but by this time the barn door had already closed, and after this his career as a leading man was, for the most part, done.

As for the rest of the cast, not only was John Carradine the most compelling—and accomplished—actor of the bunch, playing the sophisticated gent I mentioned above, he was also the least hammy, which took me by surprise, and made me appreciate his efforts even more. And though her part was small, I was still quite impressed with the work of platinum-blonde sexpot Jayne Mansfield, in her first film role. Yes, she’d already been typecast, but at least she delivered on those expectations, and did a decent job doing so. To me, both Carradine and Mansfield were the only aspects of Female Jungle worth wasting seventy-three minutes over, and dare I say, they deserved better than this.

So what exactly does Female Jungle mean? It’s not a women’s prison drama, it’s not an Amazonian princess adventure, and I think we’ve established that it’s certainly not film noir…so with the title offering no clues, I guess we’ll stick with calling it a crime mystery, and be done with it. But what did we learn—if anything—from all of this? Well, I guess it proved that crime doesn’t pay (and neither does being a sketch artist), that life is cheap, and that bartenders can sure as hell be annoying at times. But perhaps the most important message was this: be careful, ladies, it’s a jungle out there. Hey wait, the title…now it makes sense!  (2/10)