20,000 EYES (1961)

This tolerable film—only sixty-one minutes—opens with a driving, big band score by Albert Glasser, the king of B-movie composers. Against automobile headlights cutting through night streets, interesting title designs give one the feeling of a cutting-edge crime drama. Even so, the poster might have you believe by the "Vertigo-inspired" graphic and "horror" eyes, that this is a William Castle horror film. I was relieved, however, that “The Beast With...” is absent from the title. 20,000 was a popular round number during this or the Jules Verne era. The dialogue is well memorized, always on cue, and disappointing.

Singer and hoofer, Gene Nelson, tries again to step out of his musical background with another crime movie. There is little that sets him apart from others, arriving very late to the noir party. Nelson is in the spotlight right from the first scene. Though a legit diamond mine investor, he needs capital to cover a failing mine in Brazil. He swindles rotund John Banner’s investment money to do it. Banner feeds Nelson a knuckle sandwich as his introduction to the movie. Nelson intends to pay him back but he needs time. Much more than the five days Banner gives him. The poor sound quality, Banner’s thick German accent and fading volume make it difficult to understand all of his dialogue. I could have used subtitles.

Merry Anders plays Nelson’s secretary and girlfriend. To help with Nelson’s predicament, they contact Nelson’s old Army buddy and mining partner—Anders’s old flame—James Brown. Brown brings some diamond samples at Nelson’s request as promotional investments. His plan involves stealing valuable diamonds from a museum and returning them after an appropriate appraisal. With a lot of persuading they both help make the theft a success. Nelson (his stunt double) sneaking across rooftops and into the museum before dawn is a nice touch. It has the momentary feeling of a high-quality caper. It continues so dark one cannot see Nelson’s time-consuming detail work he goes through to steal the diamonds from the museum case. Unless one has stolen jewels before from a case with alarms, you will have no idea what he is doing. I think he may have done a super professional job (for his first time) but one will never know for sure. But the director sure devoted a lot of film to it.

It is easy to lose track of which diamonds were samples, switched, stolen, stolen again or returned in Nelson’s shell game. His meeting with diamond appraisers is interrupted by Brown disguised as a robber. In the planned struggle with Brown’s gun, Nelson is supposed to take a bullet in the arm. Also part of the plan is a prior injection of Novocain into Nelson’s forearm so he does not feel the bullet as much. I have never tried that. I assume it stops the bleeding as well.

In the director’s attempt to explain away the logic behind the theft, Robert Shayne is given a useless part as the police lieutenant who tries to piece together Brown’s presence at the bank. The whole scene, filmed with the echo of an area microphone, lasts less than two minutes. Everyone gives contradicting remarks about the bandit’s identity and reasons for him arriving at that precise moment. Shayne is stumped, gives up, and is the last we see of him.

The phony theft of the diamonds means Nelson’s insurance policy will pay off. But it will take six weeks to get the money returned to Banner. Nelson pays Banner a visit poolside with his twenty-two-inch television console nearby. After Nelson’s attempt to explain, Banner threatens Nelson, who pushes Banner backward into the pool, tipping over the console on the way down. Never mix electricity and chlorine.

Note: This B-movie has the qualifying attributes. Dark filters for night scenes. Abrupt editing. Many interior scenes were filmed with an area microphone. Showing Nelson in his 1961 Chrysler pulling curbside a few times at the same location supplements the film’s location action and cements a low budget. The music score, so promising at the beginning, inserts itself in some scenes as if the composer never saw the rushes. Except for the poor lighting, questionable script and directing, it may satisfy an hour, however.

HONG KONG CONFIDENTIAL (1958)

This United Artists film uses periodic voice-over narration akin to a documentary newsreel. The Robert Kent Production sounds authenticated and unfolds the story with the smallest studio sets, looking more like an early television play. Yet in one scene they manage to squeeze in a current model Ford through one tiny street, leaving little room for the studio lighting let alone the Asian extras to walk about on cue. It is a tale of Cold War tensions with the Soviet Union and the special government agents assigned to resolve an unusual case. It is all fairly silly and predictable but the secret agent premise beats the Bond pictures out of the starting gate. 

The Communist's “new weapon” is to kidnap the son of an Arab King to pressure him into not signing an agreement with the United States to build a missile base in his small Arab nation. Assigned to find the prince is undercover agent, Gene Barry, who is posing as a lounge singer in a tiny Hong Kong nightclub set. He handles suave with the best of them and this film highlights his talents. The two brief songs he performs are the standout moments in the film. Barry had a voice but his body rhythm here is hilariously stiff and corny. His left and right arms do whatever they want with his body planning on moving right but it suddenly feels compelled to move left. Cannot fault him for trying his best to sell the first lame song about himself. But he is definitely a “foot loser.” Few would ever guess he is an intelligence agent, so in that regard, he is in deep cover. His love interest and accompanist is played by Beverly Tyler in her last film before transitioning to television. She is not undercover yet her faked piano playing made me suspicious.

After Barry’s informant is killed, King Calder, the intelligence agent recommends Barry for the prince's retrieval. There is evidence that the informant had ties to Allison Hayes, who is under surveillance for gold smuggling to the Communists. Hayes can play untrustworthy through makeup and wardrobe alone. She resides in another small Asian film set called Macao. So Barry has about forty feet to travel, not forty miles, in the hope of flushing out the kidnappers. Barry sells her on his smuggling plan of mass-producing souvenirs, yet after the cheap metal is burned off, underneath is solid gold.

Barry discovers a medallion belonging to the kidnapped prince in the office of Noel Drayton and the kidnapping mastermind is revealed. Hayes sets up a meeting with Drayton but double-crosses Barry at gunpoint, forcing him into a cellar where Drayton awaits with the kidnapped prince. Smugly, he tells his plan to pin the kidnapping on the American Barry. He and the prince will be killed after the Arab King signs the papers to let the Commies establish their own missile base. All wait impatiently for that important phone call. But Barry comes up with a plan to disrupt the telephone service that is right out of a Bond playbook. In the standard secret agent ploy, he needs to stand and "fake" stretch. Then with outstretched arms, he casually picks up a thick metal pin lying near the telephone. Really not sure what it is, yet it is pretty obvious he is up to something. I am surprised Barry was not whistling a random tune. Drayton is oblivious. Suspended disbelief at its best. The funny scene continues as Barry sits back down and one arm immediately dives between the cushions as if it were sucked in. Below the couch is where the telephone line is and he pokes the pin through the rubber-encased telephone cable. Drayton must call from an upstairs phone to confirm the signing. He leaves Hayes alone with Barry. Uh-oh. Moviegoers knew what was coming next. In her “duh” moment, Barry volunteers to light her cigarette but overwhelms her with his charms...uh...arms, knocking the gun from her hand and as she stumbles hits her head in the fall. Drayton returns and graciously accepts a bullet. Barry and the prince escape.

One evil-doer is holding Tyler as Barry leverage. Barry kicks open the door and stands back as Asian bullets shoot the hallway full of lead. Without looking, Barry shoots around the door frame, killing the man. Yes. He is that good. At that very moment, another man is ready to shoot Barry in the back but he is shot in the back by Calder. This would have extended in a Zucker Brothers film. Tyler’s suspicions about Barry’s dancing abilities become clearer when she learns of his real occupation.

Note: Another funny scene, an optical illusion, is between Calder and Barry. Both men are facing the camera with Calder standing right behind Barry's right shoulder. Due to the lighting and shadows, it appears Calder is resting his chin on Barry's shoulder, who is getting a bit uncomfortable.

THE LONG HAUL (1957)

This film opens ominously late at night behind a contemporary, driving score with modern fonts. It has the intriguing feel of a possible Cold War drama. An Army truck comes to a halt near London and out pops Victor Mature with his trademark countenance of superior sarcasm. His momentary heavy eyelids are not from an all-night drive. This will be his last delivery for the U.S. Army and with his discharge sets his sights back on returning to America. His British wife would rather stay put to raise their family. After a moment of heated discussion, Mature realizes staying put is best for their marriage.

His lorry driving comes to an abrupt end, through no fault of his own, after an incident places Mature on Britain’s “do not call list.” Desperate for living money he gets involved with a smuggling operation run by Patrick Allen. Allen’s girl, Diana Dors, has been under his control for some time. He treats her like any of his property. Keeping her looking cheap is anything but. In an intense exchange, she walks out on him and hides in Mature’s lorry. Mature opens the driver’s door and the arrangement is not to his liking. She insists on going to any place else. She prefers a mature man much to Allen’s ire and they begin an on-again, off-again affair with Mature’s marriage taking the brunt.

Always scheming, Allen wants to complete a money-making long haul of hot furs and a sizable cash reward persuades Mature to drive. The middle seat is cushioned by Dors. How the three of them continue to get along is a wonder. The time-sensitive delivery through forest and mountain shortcuts is exciting with literal cliffhangers at every turn. They cross a stream but get stuck on the embankment coming out. While Mature is trying to free up a wheel, Allen diabolically lets the lorry roll backward, hoping to mash Mature. A fistfight ensues with neither actor appearing to use a stunt double as they slosh around the water's edge. Allen is hit by a sliding container from the truck bed and then smothered under a mountain of falling fur boxes and drowns.

After delivering some soggy furs to the cargo ship on time, Mature and Dors take a cab back to town. Their route back was the better one for that fur delivery in hindsight. She begs him to run away with her. The money he got from the long haul is meant for his wife as a final goodbye gesture. Dors delivers it and his wife delivers a slap across her face. Dors overhears talk of Mature’s son’s health (an earlier blow to the head from a fall has turned serious) but she is hesitant to mention it upon reentering the cab, which is a pretty low-down. He knew nothing of the illness and would not leave his wife and son despite his impending arrest. Dors returns to her nightclub gig and all live not so happily ever after.

Mature was more than halfway down the slope of his long-haul career and with a couple exceptions, this might be his best late-career serious role. It is hard to fault him in any of his prior projects, where he usually dominated the screen. Although at times self-deprecating about his career, he turns in a solid performance for a script that takes its time to unravel. Dors’ acting and vocal range cannot be faulted. She seems out of place in a crude trucker's cafe. Like burning magnesium, she is not hard to spot. Most posters used her image as a catalyst for ticket sales.

Note: Hollywood continued churning out this tired premise of the weak male having an affair. They have left out the weak part since, suggesting it is inevitable behavior. Guilt is still a conscience bender in late Fifties Hollywood.

PATTERNS (1956)

Flawless. Compelling. Stunning. Select words that describe this movie from a revised script and screenplay by Rod Serling first used for a Kraft Television Theater production the year before. The lack of a music score carries over from the television project. If you were told that the crux of the film revolves around boardroom meetings, one might think it would be boring. There is nothing here to bore the mature viewer. From the beautiful opening cinematography by Boris Kaufman—weaving between skyscrapers— the movie intrigues as if it were a creative art film. We see graphic patterns right before us, but Serling’s script deals more with personal behavior patterns and political movers and shakers.

Each actor performs a tour de force, but I cannot say enough about Everett Sloane who is extraordinary as the intimidating, iron-fisted company president. His workday begins with crowded ground-floor elevators. To understand Sloane’s status, the elevator operator forbids anyone in a particular elevator—the one reserved for Sloane. He expects no less and few words are ever exchanged. When the door opens, his staff are at his beckoned call.

Van Heflin and his wife, played by Beatrice Straight, arrive in New York City by invitation from Sloane after Heflin’s successful career as an industrial designer. He is a bit overwhelmed by the transition from his small Ohio town until he meets Ed Begley, the long-tenured Vice President, who reassures him in a calm demeanor. Begley has a soft spot for people. Their welfare is his first priority, a sentiment at odds with Sloane. One cannot discount Heflin but this film centers around Begley and Sloane.

Heflin’s first board meeting is an eye-opener. As he has done for many years, Begley voices his concerns over Sloane’s latest business plan in full earshot of fellow board members. Building up a head of steam, remaining cordial, Sloane suddenly and repeatedly nails him to the wall in vicious verbal attacks challenging his competence. Watching the board members sit uncomfortably staring at their folders even made me a bit uneasy. And as explosive as a conversation can possibly be, Sloane smoothly settles tensions down with reasoned foresight and a brief smile. No one dares challenge him without good reason and Begley has never had one. His desire is to get Begley to resign through humiliation. As if not shocked enough by his initial board meeting, Heflin is further jolted to learn his joining the company is to replace Begley. Heflin aligns himself too closely with Begley, lending support to him to the explosive ire of Sloane, who is not in a popularity contest. He is there to make a profit. For his verbal support of Begley, Sloane lays into Heflin with the same viciousness for not recognizing his own potential. The shocking scene packs a wallop, and of course, without the habitually used R-rated language of today’s films. There are no words of real substance wasted or a lack of self-control.

Heflin later spots Begley working late into the night. Begley, perhaps with one too many shots of whiskey, gets so upset referring to Sloane that one might think he is going to kill him at the next board meeting. Heflin begs him to calm down and seriously consider resigning. He is also angrily at rope’s end with stubborn Begley, who refuses to ever give Sloane any satisfaction. Begley’s path is crumbling beneath him. And he knows it. For the next board meeting, he again gets lambasted by Sloane. So relentless and severe that Begley stands up in a rage, but slowly and quietly apologizes to Sloane and the board as he has done for nearly thirty years. He walks out in a trance from the adjourned meeting and collapses in the hallway. He will not need to resign. Heflin believes Sloane is the catalyst for Begley’s death, knowing of his heart condition. Alone in his office, Sloane appears to briefly show sadness at this outcome but a new day of business is upon him.

The final scene is astounding. Heflin confronts Sloane, seemingly for the last time before returning to Ohio. He has had enough of New York City, the company, and Sloane in particular. In no uncertain terms, he tells Sloane how much he hates every inch of him. Heflin would do everything in his power to remove Sloane as president if he remained. Sloane has no problem with that and Heflin is welcome to try. Sloan defends himself by fiercely laying out his reasons for his behavioral pattern, continually challenging Heflin’s work ethic. Still in fiery conversation, out of the blue he immediately doubles Heflin’s salary and stock options. Without even a blink, Heflin also wants to inherit Begley’s “single dream” of breaking Sloane's jaw someday. Slightly amused, Sloane agrees and adds a rider giving him the same privilege to Heflin's jaw.

THE PROWLER (1951)

Louis B. Mayer once looked at Van Heflin and said, “You will never get the girl in the end.” This movie supports Mayer’s assessment. Heflin takes another turn playing a scoundrel, a deceiver in a policeman’s uniform. His past has been a series of disappointments that led to his career as a disgruntled cop. The viewer is not sure who the prowler is in this ninety-minute film and the authorities never find the prowler by the end. Helfin is not likable from his first scene to his last. His co-star is the lithe Evelyn Keyes. Her marriage is rocky due to a possessive, jealous husband, nearly twice her age. Keyes's timid, hesitant performance makes Heflin seem even more controlling. This is an oft-told story of greed, seduction, and a web of deceit. But with only a few implausible moments, the two stars make this obscure film quite watchable.

Heflin and his squad car companion, John Maxwell, arrive to investigate a prowler. Keyes is typically alone most nights because her husband is an overnight radio personality. By the way, he is voiced on the radio by screenwriter, Dalton Trumbo. Instantly, Heflin starts wondering what her “game” is as if she is just wanting attention. He becomes completely obsessed with her. The

In the guise of a follow-up call to check on Keyes's safety the next evening, Heflin comes right into her home and immediately gets comfy on the couch. She is very uncomfortable with his intrusion, not understanding why he keeps showing up. Heflin apologizes with all the fake sincerity he can muster. On another return visit, he needs a smoke but they are locked in a cabinet for her husband’s use. Heflin simply picks the lock in front of her with her hairpin, then snoops around the cabinet to discover an insurance policy on the husband's life.

She feels guilty about the possible affair and decides to call it off. As days pass she gets lonely. Every time she calls he lets the phone ring extra long before answering. He tells her she is right. Nothing he can do. It will never work out between them. And hangs up with regrets. Heflin falls back into his bed and a high-placed camera catches him with a huge smile. She is hooked.

In an official police uniform, Heflin concocts a late-night scheme at Keyes’ home. He makes it appear their screen door has been compromised, then repeatedly bangs the fence gate to arouse the husband. When Heflin sees him he shouts, “Halt!” as he opens fire. The murder becomes “a tragic accident” with Heflin resigning from the police force, never wanting to see a gun again. His deceit convinces Keyes that he may be a nice guy after all. They happily marry then the honeymoon surprise. She is four months pregnant. The date of the child's conception would prove the two had lied under oath. The final turning point for her is when he blurts out in anger about the life insurance policy he is counting on. Oops. Having the baby in a hospital would establish a record so they hide out for an astonishing five months in a desert ghost town. A town Maxwell always talked to Heflin about during his gem collecting.

Keyes goes into premature labor and Heflin seeks a doctor in a nearby town. Keyes discovers Heflin’s "disavowed" gun in his suitcase. She warns the doctor who returns to town with the newborn. Realizing the doctor will send the police, Heflin drives away in panic leaving his beloved to fend for herself. The gravel road is blocked at a narrow passage by his former partner, Maxwell, who was coming to pay a visit. After a five-month disappearing act, he guesses Heflin might be there!? Heflin bolts from the car and attempts to run up a one-hundred-foot mound of steep, loose stone. Not sure where he was planning to go but in that closing metaphor of his life, the harder he tries running up the hill the more futile it becomes. He is as stationary as a statue. It makes for an easy target.

Note: Moviegoers may have talked about this film in the office break room for a week or so. Some modern assessments of this film view it from a twenty-first-century interpretation, leaving behind the milder mid-twentieth-century production restrictions. The film leaves no doubt about its lurid subject matter and today's "enlightened" language is not a necessity.