The Nones of William Talman: City that Never Sleeps

Note: Growing up in Detroit’s exclusive Indian Village, William Talman was exposed to the theater and acting when he was only about ten years old in the mid-Twenties in his father’s Players Club. Talman and his brothers attended the elite Cranbrook academy in Bloomfield Hills and joined the drama club. His brother said “Bill had the most brilliant mind in the family. He could read a page once, turn it over, and recite every word by heart.” This ability probably helped him digest all the legal mumbo-jumbo he needed in his role as the district attorney Hamilton Burger on the classic TV series Perry Mason.

City that Never Sleeps
1953 / 1:30
Tagline: “… from the Honky Tonks to the penthouses … the creeps, the hoods, the killers come out to war with the city!”
[internet archive]

Republic Pictures pulls a fast one with this moody little crime drama, opening on Chicago in foggy greys like it’s auditioning for noir status. Don’t be fooled, however, the film flirts with noir but never quite gets there. It’s more about the ache of frustrated ambition than overheated emotion and light through venetian blinds.

Everyone here wants out of their life. Policeman Johnny (Gig Young) dreams of fishing boats on the Pacific, but mostly he’s stuck delivering babies once a month and grinding through the job. His wife Kathy earns more than he does, which gnaws at his pride. Enter Sally (Mala Powers), a nightclub dancer who once aimed for ballet and now hoofs it with poodles. Her despair is so thick she’s considering a comedy act with a mime called The Mechanical Man - performance art as existential shouting into the abyss.

Hovering above is Penrod Biddel (Edward Arnold), a mob lawyer who collects people like stamps. He “rescues” Lydia (Marie Windsor) from a lunch counter and remakes her as a trophy wife. He “reforms” Hayes Stewart (William Talman), a pickpocket turned magician. Both protégés rebel, because living someone else’s script feels like slow death. That’s the film’s pulse: autonomy versus control.

Talman's Hayes slinks through boiler rooms and catwalks like a reptile, all cold audacity and sleight‑of‑hand menace. When the stakes spike, he turns vicious without blinking. His snarl - “I’ve stolen lots of things in my life but never someone’s wife” - lands like a smack. Later, blaming Marie Windsor for his downfall, he lies with chilling conviction.

The supporting cast does its job. Gig Young sells Johnny’s weary decency. Powers, cast against perky type, sometimes strains at hard‑boiled bitterness but nails the bewildered anger. Arnold brings sadistic polish; Windsor channels her inner Maria Ouspenskaya (her acting teacher) with gusto.

Visually, a few close‑ups scream early television, but the nightclub scenes hum with tension. Showgirls wear smiles like masks. The safe‑cracking sequence is tight as a drum, and the climactic chase along commuter tracks is pure Republic adrenaline.

This isn’t just a B‑movie time‑killer. It’s a sharp, stylish riff on identity and ambition, totally unexpected by this viewer at least. Watch it for Talman - he’s the real deal.

As for the connection with the classic TV series Perry Mason, Marie Windsor was great it all four of her appearances: TCOT Daring Decoy (cheated on wife), TCOT Madcap Modiste (victim killed in error), TCOT Tarnished Trademark (noble woman who suffers) and TCOT Wednesday Woman (monstrous perp).