BLACK TUESDAY warned 1954 moviegoers in its advertising posters that they were in for “The most ruthless ROBINSON of all time!” Said ruffian would be Edward G. Robinson, 60 and as ready to snarl sarcasm and spray slugs from six-shooters as he’d been a quarter-century earlier in Little Caesar. If Jimmy Cagney, six years his junior, could go mouth-frothing maniacal in White Heat and Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye, then Eddie G could take his bastard ‘Johnny Rocco’ from Key Largo and amp up the vicious quotient for ‘Vincent Canelli’ in this unsparing body counter. Tautly directed by Hugo Fregonese (My Six Convicts, The Raid), sharply written by Sydney Boehm (The Big Heat, Violent Saturday, Seven Thieves), it’s photographed for maximum infliction by Stanley Cortez (The Magnificent Ambersons, The Night Of The Hunter). Duck & cover.

FATHER SLOCUM: “Listen to me, Vincent…you can’t keep on killing and killing.”   VINCE: “No? Just watch me.”

Prison, Death Row. Two killers are set to be electrocuted on the same night. One is fatalistic bank robber ‘Peter Manning’ (Peter Graves) who killed someone during his heist. The other is a shorter guy but a bigger fish, kingpin hood ‘Vincent Canelli’ (Robinson), whose attitude couldn’t be less humane. But associates of Canelli spring a daring escape that frees other convicts including the wounded Manning, who has a $200,000 stash of loot that Vincent wants and needs. Hostages are taken, so are lives, but the plan to ‘take it on the lam’ goes awry when the cops arrive in force at the hideout picked by Cannelli and his crew. Bargaining gives way to a battle.

Atmospheric, well-acted (Robinson dominates as a matter of course), with a hefty amount of pretty rough action.

Released the last day of 1954, it ultimately ranked #127 for the year’s box office listing, grossing $1,800,000. Leanly mean at 80 minutes, with no slack cut from Jean Parker (Vince’s loyal moll, the only person he cares about besides himself), Milburn Stone (offbeat casting as the captive priest), Warren Stevens (cold as Canelli’s chief gunman), Jack Kelly (reporter held hostage), Vic Perrin, Hal Baylor (always welcome, as a captive guard, a lug Cannelli has a special dislike of), James Bell, Russell Johnson (a hood), Frank Ferguson (irate police inspector, one of 323 credits), Thomas Browne Henry, Lee Aaker (10, looking 5, nervy kid who almost gets slapped by Johnson: little Lee was much in demand, six movies in ’54 and starting 154 episodes of The Adventures Of Rin Tin Tin), Stafford Repp, Phillip Pine, James Bacon (as a reporter) and William Schallert (because he was in almost everything).