The fate of Harry Reeves (the bank manager): SPOILERS
WARNING! SPOILERS!
Now that I've discharged my IMDb duty, much as Lee Marvin discharged his pistol....
I think Violent Saturday is a terrific movie, but I have one major bone to pick with its plot: the fate of the weasly, peeping-Tom banker, Harry (Tommy Noonan).
By all that is right and just in 1950s films, when Lee Marvin shoots him in the bank, he should have died. It would have been an eminently fitting resolution: this jerk is a loser, a whiner, and worse, a bizarre creep, spying on the young nurse, even to the point of watching her undress at night from the street, but without the guts to at least go up and proposition her (and, hopefully, get slapped for his insolence). He's the sort of introverted pervert who'd sooner or later end up kidnapping young girls and chaining them in his basement.
Okay, maybe not that, but consider this: he's the one who precipitates the gunplay during the robbery. The gang was all set to just go in and rob the joint without shooting anybody. But Harry the coward decides this is his moment to be a hero, even though he doesn't have the stuff to be one and is clearly endangering everyone else in the place. So what does Mr. Stud do? He pulls out his pistol to make his big stand, only to be shot even before he can point the thing -- so that when the errant-but-reforming wife rushes unthinkingly to his aid, she too is shot down by Marvin. Except that in her case, she's killed. Old Harry, we learn later, suffered only a minor wound (even though he collapsed unconscious like the wimp he is), and would go home to his unseen, and apparently unsuspecting, dumbbell missus after a night in the hospital.
From a 1950s plot p.o.v., what happens to the wife might be expected, given the era: she's a "tramp" (50s movie-speak for slut), and as such can only be redeemed through death. Besides, it allows her husband to demonstrate his grief by crying, then (presumably) go off with the nurse, who clearly knows a good thing when she latches onto it -- a rich hunk. (She's no babe in the woods.) But weirdo Harry, a sick peeper responsible for bringing on the shooting that killed the slutty wife and put everyone's lives at risk, makes it through with nary a scratch. He's not even publicly exposed or blamed. Plus he gets to 'fess up and apologize to the nurse for watching her undress, and immediately all is forgotten, and of course he never does such a thing ever again, cross his heart and hope to...well, been there, done that.
Nope. Sorry. Harry should have DIED. Violently. On Saturday. Period.
But at least we learned that, in 1955, being a perverse male wasn't as bad -- or as fatal -- as being a promiscuous female .