The Lady Gambles

Synopsis: When Joan Boothe accompanies husband-reporter David to Las Vegas, she begins gambling to pass the time while he is doing a story. Encouraged by the casino manager, she gets hooked on gambling, to the point where she "borrows" David's expense money to pursue her addiction. This finally breaks up their marriage, but David continues trying to help her.
Genre: Drama, Film-Noir
Director(s): Michael Gordon
Production: Universal
 
IMDB:
6.7
Year:
1949
99 min
47 Views


Ah, dice.

Kiss 'em, baby. Kiss

'em for me. Come on, now.

A report came into the

precinct. A girl named Phillips.

Oh, how are ya, Boothe?

Joan Phillips. They found

her slugged in an alley.

Here's everything

that come in tonight.

What you got there?

They pay me to push 'em. I

don't have to read about 'em.

What'll I do about that lush in 731, Doc?

Oh, I don't know. Tell

Jacobson to handle it.

My coffee's getting cold.

Yes, sir.

Roll her along to the room.

I'll be down later.

Yeah.

Hey, wait a minute. Aren't you

going to do something for her?

Who are you?

Boothe.

Morning Herald.

Yeah?

Well, I got news

for you, Boothe.

I'm gonna

finish my lunch.

Now, just a minute, Doc.

What gives?

You've gotta do

something for that girl.

She'll keep.

But you can't just shove her into a room

and let it go at that!

You gonna get out of here or

you want to get thrown out?

But, Doc...

Hey, Murph!

Now, just a minute, Doc...

What're you in such

a sweat about?

Anything wrong?

She's my wife.

Never mind, Murph.

Who slugged her? You?

I haven't seen her

in over a year.

How soon can I

take her home?

Hard to say.

There's a hold on her.

Soon as she's patched up, we'll

have to turn her back to the police.

The police? What for?

"Vagrancy, disorderly conduct,

disturbing the peace, suspicion of... "

Look, Boothe,

this isn't my department.

Why don't you go

talk to the lieutenant?

Let me see that.

Are they kidding?

Why, she'll be sent up

for a couple of years.

Oh, I don't think so. Few

months, maybe, that's all.

That's all? Why, that'll

kill her. That girl's sick.

By tomorrow

she won't be so sick.

That isn't what I mean.

I mean... I mean, sick.

She needs help.

Not... Not punishment.

Sure, I know. Every tramp that's

brought in here is a psycho.

She's not a tramp.

She's a clean, warm,

intelligent human being.

At least, she was.

Meat-ax Mary

was probably a blue-eyed,

rosy-cheeked youngster

too, once.

I mean, just two years ago.

Last year.

Have you ever been

in Las Vegas?

Where?

Right in the middle

of the Nevada desert,

you bump into this

cockeyed oasis.

It's a wide-open, 24-hour-a-day

carnival that lives off three things,

quick marriages, quick divorces,

quick money. Won and lost.

$3 billion changed hands

across the gambling tables

in Nevada last year.

3 billion.

Those are the state's

official figures.

And why not? Everybody likes to

gamble. It's fun for most people.

But for some people,

it's a trap.

It grabs down deep

and won't let go.

But when you're there,

you don't notice that.

You see everybody

having a fine time.

That's the

kind of place it is.

But it was just about the worst

place in the world for Joan to be.

Only who could have

known that to look at her?

A package of

cigarettes, please.

Well, what brand?

Oh, it doesn't matter.

Any kind.

Thank you.

Madam, if you're not playing, would you

step back and make room for someone else?

Oh, I'm sorry.

May I have some chips?

Yes, ma'am.

I'll take...

Can I have a dollar's worth? Certainly.

Twenty-two, black.

Single 0.

Wait, I had chips on...

Well, I thought it had

to be either red or black.

The number is zero, madam.

It's green.

Excuse me, lady. There's

a telephone call for you.

For me?

How could there be?

In the office.

It's probably a long-distance

call or something.

From Chicago?

Hmm. Great town, Chicago. "Hog butcher

of the world," like the poet says.

It's a snap lock.

Why don't you come up?

What's this all about?

Hmm. I'm not sure

I know myself...

...yet. Sit down.

Yes. Yes. This is that flat-faced

number that showed you in.

His name is Barky.

He rounds up undesirables

and deports aliens.

Yeah. No.

Which of your friend's

categories do I fall into?

Well, you don't sound

like an alien,

and I'll have to admit you

don't look undesirable.

Well, in that case,

if you don't mind...

Barky's from Detroit, and he just

can't seem to get it through his head

that gambling's legal

in Nevada.

It seems you

made him nervous.

I can't think how.

He said you were playing

black and red at the same time.

Is that some system?

Is that illegal

in Nevada?

Oh, no. We love people with systems.

But people with cameras,

we wonder about them.

Hey, that's a tricky

little number.

Don't! Don't open it.

You'll ruin the film!

Well, exactly.

I've a funny feeling about people

sneaking pictures of my patrons.

It might so easily

turn into blackmail.

What?

Or hadn't that

occurred to you?

It so happens I'm a tourist.

I like to take pictures.

Hmm.

Now, me, I like to take tourists,

but strictly on the up and up.

Without any camouflage.

All right. I used

to work for a magazine.

I thought that

while I was out here,

I could work up some sort

of a feature they'd buy.

Candid shots of this

sink of iniquity.

Well, why

didn't you say so?

I like the idea fine. Just be sure

you spell our name right, Miss, uh...

Mrs. Boothe. Now, may

I have my camera back?

My apologies,

Mrs. Boothe.

Thank you.

Incidentally,

just for the record,

we don't force people

to gamble here.

You can use these.

Oh, no, thank you.

I couldn't possibly...

Go ahead. They're house chips.

They're not worth anything.

You don't win and you don't

lose. But keep it under your hat.

It doesn't look nice in front

of the paying customers.

This makes me feel

like a real conspirator.

The professional word is

"shill," Mrs. Boothe.

This is very

kind of you, Mr...

Mr. Corrigan.

Mr. Corrigan.

If you're here for the cure, maybe you

and I could get together for dinner.

If I'm here for the what?

The cure.

Six weeks

in the Nevada sunshine

and you rid yourself

of whatever ails you.

You know, lumbago,

matrimony, the common cold.

Your kindness

overwhelms me.

Oh, good.

How about this evening?

I'm afraid not,

thank you.

My husband hates

to eat alone.

Then he gave me

this stack of chips.

But for a moment there, I expected

him to produce a length of hose

and go to work on me.

Well,

compared to your day,

I'm afraid Boulder Dam's

gonna make pretty dull copy.

No such thing.

I'm dying to hear about it.

Here, now, cut it out. I'll

give you a full report at dinner.

Why don't you

phone down for a table?

David, it's 7:
30 in Chicago.

Don't you think

we ought to call Ruth?

Now, look, Joan, we went

all through that yesterday.

You're a big girl now

and so is your sister.

Yes, I know, but this is the first

time we've left her home alone.

Well, it's not going

to be the last.

She shouldn't be living

with us in the first place.

Oh, that's not fair, David. After

all, living together wasn't her idea.

Wasn't it?

Anyhow, didn't you send her

a wire the minute we got here?

Yes, but I wouldn't

want her to think that we...

Oh, well,

you know how she is.

Yeah. I have an idea she'll manage to

survive without us for these few days.

And I'm sure

I'll survive without her.

Dining room, please.

Operator? Operator,

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Roy Huggins

Roy Huggins (July 18, 1914 – April 3, 2002) was an American novelist and an influential writer/creator and producer of character-driven television series, including Maverick, The Fugitive, and The Rockford Files. A noted writer and producer using his own name, much of his later television scriptwriting was done using the pseudonyms Thomas Fitzroy, John Thomas James, and John Francis O'Mara. more…

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