PICKUP ON SOUTH STREET (1953)

This Cold War spy film, co-written and directed by Samuel Fuller for 20th Century Fox earned modest success at the box office from a tight budget. With great pacing and solid performances, the film is nicely supported by a score that is, at times, elaborately arranged by the significant film composer, Leigh Harline. In a general sense, the film can be distasteful and made it controversial in its day. Over the years since, reading between the screenplay lines, many Twenty-First Century critics have placed the film on a pedestal for those very same reasons. In contrast, moviegoers of the era were able to quickly categorize the film upon exiting the theater. And their reviews were mixed. Reviews were decidedly one-sided for Fuller's remake in 1967. A full-color disaster starring a dull James Brolin and a miscast Jacqueline Bisset made the original screenplay a talk-fest of major proportions, lacking any style or intrigue. 

The film opens on a crowded New York City subway train as Government agent, Willis Bouchey, has his eyes trained on Jean Peters, whose dark lipstick, false eyelashes and dress convey her persona. Also sandwiched between them is a professional pickpocket, Richard Widmark, who deftly steals Peters' wallet during the jostling ride. Neither knows the vital contents inside. Widmark just hopes to inherit some cash or jewels. Peters' ex-boyfriend, Richard Kiley, has told her the wallet contains stolen business secrets, unaware that she has naively gotten herself wrapped up in a Communist plot. Widmark persistently denies he stole any microfilm but the detectives, sensing he is not on the level, offer him a deal to clear his record if he hands it over.

A scoundrel living in a wooden shack along the New York harbor, Widmark is not exactly living on easy street in his one-room “clubhouse.” He does have a nifty winch system he can raise and lower to retrieve his chilled beer. Cleverly hidden in a false bottom of his “beer box” is his plastic-wrapped safe for his “take-home pay.” Always nicely attired with plenty of confidence, surely he lives elsewhere. He ends up being somewhat of a likable chap despite his cocky, aberrant behavior. He soon discovers the microfilm's national significance. 

For most of her roles, seemingly in the same wardrobe, I can only take Thelma Ritter (above) in small doses. Her scenes here are actually that. Here she again plays the savvy, wiseacre informant to the police. A knowledge she has accrued since childhood, I gather, as a school's classroom was either not available or school was just not her thing. She knows the crime underbelly better than the police. She is called in to identify the pickpocket's style based on Bouchey's observations. A mugshot quickly pinpoints Widmark. Her value to the police department has deadly consequences, however.

Kiley demands Peters get the microfilm from Widmark as only she can. Thinking he has an ace up his sleeve, Widmark plans to seek a huge cash reward for the film. But Kiley's plan goes awry as Peters takes his place. Upon her return Kiley finds a key film frame missing. He takes his anger out on her. Time being critical, Communist agents order Kiley to deliver the film as is. Recognizing Kiley from his earlier attempted visit, Widmark tails him onto the subway train where he pickpockets his handgun. The film exchange is witnessed in a subway station restroom then Widmark chases Kiley through the subway for the film's climax.

Note: Jean Peters sells this performance of a woman who has lived off the streets most of her life, earning a “living” as needed. Like Ritter, she has connections. Unlike Ritter, she is on the opposite end of the visual spectrum. She has never known real respect or unconditional love but Widmark makes an attempt. In the early scenes, with an airy dress more suited for the beach, it is not exactly what June Cleaver would ever consider. I cannot imagine another actress who could fill this part as well. If ten years younger, perhaps Ida Lupino. The other female options of the era would either have been too sophisticated or too overt.

THE GIRL WHO DARED (1944)

This unmistakably B-movie with a confusing title was produced by Republic Pictures to tell the harrowing weekend tale about a large cast arriving at a mansion to argue and accuse one another of murder. A second plot concerns stolen radium which may be easy to find in all the shadowy darkness. This well-performed mystery was directed by the Western matinee staple, Howard Bretherton, who would end his directing career with two television episodes of, The Adventures of Superman. This could be the only film with two future DC Comics characters. See my note below. It is a bit confusing to keep the character names straight to say nothing of the twin ladies who swap clothes. Who is related to whom or how these people seem to know each other takes a while to unravel. You will witness the ever-present shadowy figures, lightning, thunder, a pair of hands that clip telephone wires, and women who faint easily while a drink of water is offered to revive them. Frankly, I would consult a physician about the fainting spells. The levity is provided by the butler, Willie Best. Highly respected in the business and one of the hardest-working character actors of Hollywood's golden era. 

The opening is somewhat clever. First, the background image under the opening credits is a skull and crossbones symbol. When the credits fade, the camera zooms out to reveal it to be part of a personal invitation as it is being signed. Secondly, brother and sister, Kirk Alyn and Lorna Gray stop at a service station with minor car trouble. Upper crust Alyn impatiently yells at the lowly mechanic to “look” at the engine, it has a “bad miss” in it. The guy in the overalls, Peter Cookson, is the assumed mechanic. He overhears their party destination and then informs them the engine “looks” like it will need more time to fix. They accept his offer to drive them to the party then he returns to the station, removes the overalls, and thanks the lazy station owner for the use of them to change his own tire. 

John Hamilton and his on-screen wife are hosting a weekend party that has been all the rage. At least they think so. One of those events you know comes around every year in which you dread an invitation but feel you have to accept. The planned main event—the only event—is to have their six guests experience the ghost of a sunken pirate ship that appears annually, late at night, right on cue. Like teenagers on a scavenger hunt, everyone gets into their rain slicker and hikes amid lightning and thunder to Heron Point. Off in the distance is Hamilton’s theatrics. To make sure the guests sleep well, he later tells them the ghost was not real, just a device he created for the annual party (yay). Over the years one would think word had gotten around about this charade. Especially as Hamilton says no one comes up here except by invitation. The “ghost thing” quickly wears thin as one cast member is murdered before returning to the house. Then another, later on.

Cookson returns and removes the distributors from all the guest’s sedans, not allowing anyone to escape. When greeted at the door, it is not long before he sounds like the guy in control. No one questions “the mechanic” or why he is interested in what goes on at the ostentatious house. After everyone discovers he is no longer in the house, they assume he is the murderer. But he has better things to do with his time. Find stolen radium. It is at this point I assumed Gray is the “girl who dared” carry a handgun loaned to her by her cousin, Hamilton, for safety. She is not afraid to point it, finding Cookson twirling around in the woods with what appears to be a nightclub waitress’s cigar and cigarette display case, but with knobs and lights, supported by a strap around his neck. My initial interest would have been about that case but she ignores that and accuses him of murder and...well...walking around funny. She learns that Cookson is actually an insurance detective and (Missy) he knows how to use his radium detecting equipment. Before returning to the house they discover a secret tunnel and the dead bodies. The ending wrap-up is done in a whirlwind fashion, so you should probably take notes throughout the movie.

Note: There were many atmospheric, house ghost movies during this decade. One may wonder about their constant appeal but guess it was an escape from the war. At only fifty-five minutes, it made for a shorter evening for moviegoers. A likable movie to discuss around the office water cooler or cigarette machine on a Monday. Kirk Alyn continued to act into the 1980s but will always be remembered as the first actor to play Superman. The dependable, low-tier actor, John Hamilton, ended his career a decade later famously as editor of the Daily Planet on television’s, The Adventures of Superman series.

FLIGHT TO HONG KONG (1956)

This budgeted black-and-white crime drama was directed and produced by Joseph M. Newman of, This Island Earth, fame. Newman finished his career in television. There are no dull moments in this eighty-eight-minute film as it leaps from, as one poster puts it, the “sin-capitals of the world” from Hong Kong to Tangiers, Macao, Tokyo, and San Francisco in an effort to keep the lead actor in business and alive. A Sabre Productions film, it was formed by associate producer, Victor Orsatti, and distributed by United Artists. Orsatti would later join Rory Calhoun to help form Rorvic Productions. The forgettable music score is composed by Albert "B-movie" Glasser. In mock-documentary fashion, the film initially opens with a British officer explaining the worldwide effort to bring crime syndicates to justice. Not a bad film, just a quickly forgotten one. But it is well cast and acted, with Calhoun a charming scoundrel. Unfortunately, the dialogue was obtained from a folder marked, “Movie Clichés.”

Handsome and self-confident, Calhoun is a lady magnet. No one knows this better than himself. He comes off as a respectable businessman in the skeptical “import-export” business on his flight to Hong Kong. That is what he tells his fellow passenger, the equally charming, Barbara Rush, as a bestselling author. They hit it off like two college seniors who imagine each might be “the one.” The airliner is transporting industrial diamonds and is hijacked for this very reason. This comes as no surprise to Calhoun, the mastermind behind it. The plane is forced to land on an abandoned runway, totally disrupting everyone's dinner plans. In subsequent happenstances, when he and Rush meet, Calhoun is mysteriously called away on “business.” Unsuspecting, he becomes the central character for her next novel. Calhoun becomes more undependable by the week which is no surprise to his long-time girlfriend, Delores Donlon.

No longer working on his own, Calhoun has become an operative for a crime cartel. Things have gone swimmingly for him, but there is hanzi on the wall that his carefree life may be hampered by his personal elimination. His fellow operative, Pat Conway, would like nothing better. With Calhoun's confidence at an all-time high, he decides to freelance. Never do that to the boss of a crime syndicate. Calhoun's fear and desperation increase as the film progresses. He fakes his own kidnapping, then double-crosses the syndicate in a savvy display of violence by rigging a ceiling fan with a grenade taped to the top of each blade. When the fan is turned on, the connected string tightens and sets off the mortal blasts. He is assumed dead among the gang members. Calhoun departs with an alias and a million dollars in diamonds. Paraphrasing Mark Twain, the report of Calhoun's demise has been highly exaggerated.

Constantly on the run, he racks up a lot of frequent flier miles and pockets full of airline peanuts. An entire year later he tracks down Rush in San Francisco and crashes a party thrown by her publisher on behalf of her latest book success, "The Calhoun Story." In an understatement, she is surprised. Especially by his acknowledgment that he has a new identity. He thought she would find that pretty cool. To his surprise, she has moved on with someone else. Personally embarrassed, Calhoun storms off, wandering the streets of San Francisco in search of a safety plan as the gangsters close in. A loyal friend gets him passage on a steamer back to Hong Kong. He contacts his life-long mentor, played by Soo Yong, and also reunites with Donlon. Calhoun's realization that his diamond-filled briefcase has brought nothing but trouble, he attempts to give it back to Conway and walk free. Knowing what he knows, however, they cannot let him go “unattended.”

Note: One of my old movie pet peeves is transportation continuity. Airliners seem to provide the most problems. Low-budget films are notorious offenders. Accessing ideal stock footage can be understandably difficult or expensive. However, I do not understand why it happened so frequently. Padding the film's length perhaps. In most cases, a transitional scene to another location would suffice. These editing details are sometimes blatantly obvious. The poor continuity in this film is a good example. Under the opening titles, we are witness to stock footage of a Pan American Stratocruiser in flight and its landing. The film's director takes over to finish the journey from Tokyo to Hong Kong on a fictitious airline called, “East Asiatic Airways.” Acceptable, but during the flight, the plane morphs into a United Airlines airliner and then lands in Hong Kong as a Pan American DC-6. All those changes with not one passenger missing their boarding gate. Locating their luggage is a different story.

THE PRIZE (1963)

This rather long, illogical Communist spy yarn, distributed by MGM, fits the era and is more suspense than thriller, more nonsense than common sense. Director, Mark Robson, formed the Irving Wallace novel into a blend of intrigue and sarcastic wit.  Alfred Hitchcock's influence is quite evident, even in the glaring process screen backgrounds, but there is certainly nothing low budget about this film, what with the lead cast's salaries and crew in Stockholm. The intricate plot takes about fifty minutes to get propelled while the Nobel sub-plots lengthen the film with no relevance after exiting the theater. Right from the opening credits, with its use of snare drums and syncopated rhythms, you may guess correctly that Jerry Goldsmith wrote the score.

Newman arrives with skepticism in Stockholm to receive his Nobel Prize in Literature. His lack of Nobel enthusiasm and less-than-classy behavior do have their effect. Newman tells the press he has not written a book in years and wonders why he was nominated in the first place. The committee is aghast to learn he has maintained a living writing pulp fiction detective novels. All their noses automatically turned upward.

Elke Sommer, in her first American role, serves as Newman's assistant upon arrival. She is strictly by the book and expects no hanky-panky on the drive from the airport. Every moviegoer knows it is just a matter of time before she succumbs to Newman's bright blue eyes. Somewhat oddly, she is never in harm's way despite her close association with Newman. Her character is one-dimensional and not thoroughly defined, relying only on her memorable attractiveness and stacked hair. Which was all that was needed for most males of the era. No one came out of a Sommer film stunned by her acting skills. Do not confuse this film with The Oscar. That film takes the prize for the most embarrassing high-profile film of the Sixties.

On a 180-degree career path to Sommer is classically pretty, Diane Baker, perhaps known more to television viewers than moviegoers. Her upper-class, reserved appeal is her strongest asset for her intermittent role, with little to suggest she is integral to the script. She plays the niece of Edward G. Robinson's first character

Robinson is a pivotal character but there is little for him to do. He is also on the Nobel ticket but is kidnapped by the Communists with his “identical twin brother” taking his place. The plan is to move Uncle Edward behind the Iron Curtain giving his brother the propaganda opportunity to make disparaging remarks about the U.S. during his acceptance speech. When Robinson 2.0 unites with Baker, it is not clear if she is part of the scheme or not. But Newman notices a change in Robinson's manner upon their second meeting and it begins his speculations. No one takes him seriously except a couple of Communist agents. Newman becomes their primary target. His wit goes into hiding.

For a writer with little appetite for real-life dangers nor the expertise to handle such, Newman manages a few fantastical escapes. His processed “Hitchcockian” fall into the river is reminiscent of the falling scenes in Vertigo. How he survived such a free fall one may wonder. However, the real prize goes to the scene with the Communists trying to run him down on an iron truss bridge. It is the agent's third bridge attempt, who is now on foot, that sets up his ridiculous escape. A farm truck approaches the bridge at speed. That is to say, in a blur. Newman runs to the opposite side of the truck. After the truck passes he appears to have vanished. Even if he knew where to get a superhuman handgrip on the side of the truck, the force would have pulled his writing arm from his shoulder socket! His screams of agony would have made him easy to track. But there he goes, clinging to the side of the truck, face to face with a goat, in 007 glory. It is a ridiculous moment.

In the end, Newman has the Nobel thrust upon him anyway, making little sense after insulting the Nobel committee nor for his doing anything in recent years to warrant it. Like former President Obama receiving his Nobel for simply existing in his first year.

Note: On the road to a career peak, after a few speed bumps, this movie is tailor-made for the likes of Newman. An anti-establishment figure with grumpy witticisms. Doubt there were other “A-listers” as appropriate, though James “Our Man Flint” Coburn comes to mind. But not James Dean, had he lived. Newman inherited a couple of early roles that were slated for Dean. James Dean and Elke Sommer? I sense a new female casting. 

CLOSE-UP (1948)

This seventy-six-minute drama may offer one or two surprises but it is no surprise it was produced by a small studio with the male and female leads somewhat resembling more famous Hollywood celebs. Distributed by Eagle-Lion Films for Marathon Pictures, it is a pretty good tale of fleshing out a Nazi war criminal who has never been brought to trial. The film starts out on a comedic note simply as an ice breaker so the characters endear themselves to the audience. It is never a dull moment with quips flying left and right. Thank the screenplay by John Bright and Max Wilk for these. Additional dialogue was supplied by the director, Jack Donohue. The humor takes a back seat, however, as the plot unfolds.

Alan Baxter is a newsreel photographer in New York City. At times, he appears and sounds like a young, nasal-toned James Gregory. He opens the film with a voice-over that introduces his character and sets the stage for his tale. While on assignment for a high fashion shoot outside a bank, he unknowingly films a Nazi war criminal, Richard Kollmar, exiting the bank. One of Kollmar's operatives was at the same location and realizes the danger of releasing the photos. He buys those frames of film on the basis of a phony story. But it is only a print. Kollmar demands the original negative.

Enter magazine reporter, Virginia Gilmore, looking familiar as the then-current, more famous, Jane Greer. Baxter, being a gentleman, is always on the lookout for an attractive female. Gilmore's silk stocking-wrapped ankles are the ticket. They hit it off, one reporter to another. Baxter is kidnapped by another Kollmar associate, Phillip Huston, posing as a policeman. He and his henchman take Baxter aboard the intimate surroundings of a Staten Island ferry. I was hoping there would not be a “chase” in such small quarters with the usual up-and-down staircase pursuit. But Baxter is in constant motion and does a nifty getaway by stepping onto another ferry going the opposite direction at the dock. All feasible. Director, Donohue, handled it well.

Still needing the negatives, a goon is sent to kill Baxter's boss but he never leaves the office. The film's negative remains on his dead body. Baxter gives instructions to his waiting cabbie, Sid Melton, to take the canister to the police if he does not return. Unsuspecting Melton is hit on the melon, however, and the negative is again on the move. The film switches to an “ankle cam” focusing on a pair of post-war nylon stockings. In the background is her boyfriend, Huston, as the audience gasps to learn instantly of Gilmore's backstory. In the meantime, Kollmar hired a seaplane to fly him out of the country. Huston accompanies him with Baxter restrained at gunpoint. Huston has plans to double-cross Kollmar, who suspects as much. Huston is eliminated and Kollmar dashes to the plane with Baxter in pursuit. A sympathy call from Gilmore sent the police to the docks. Kollmar's “ticket” is canceled and the seaplane heads for open waters. Despite the well-meaning call, Gilmore is going to be without nylons for some time.

Note: Comedian, Joey Faye, (above left) plays Baxter's assistant and is responsible for a big dose of the humor. He pretends to be a cool operator with a camera and the ladies. He has better fortune with the former and comes off as the unknown fourth stooge with the latter. Faye should be appreciated for his delivery, timing and physical comedy. He ends the film on a comedic note. Not being entirely incompetent, he had the foresight to bring his camera to the shore to film the ending, headlining story. As he steps backward, he falls into a motorcycle sidecar as it speeds away. His camera still rolling.

HIGH SCHOOL BIG SHOT (1959)

Distributed by Sparta Productions, this seventy minutes of celluloid was directed and written by television's Joel Rapp, the man responsible for writing some of the most popular shows of the Sixties. Let us not blame him entirely for this film. This was a team effort. Shave about five minutes and this film might have played better through an RCA or Magnavox console. An intelligent, jazzy score by Gerald Fried opens the film in which a third of the lead cast gets killed. Always an acceptable ending for low-budget acting. The executive producer was Roger Corman and though the twenty-something high school students are not fooling anyone, the acting is mostly above par thanks to those same twenty-somethings and a few television veterans. A film that concerns a depressing group of flawed characters. There is the alcoholic deadbeat father, a renowned safe cracker who subscribes to the “honor among thieves” mantra, a female classmate who puts the “man” in manipulate and three high schoolers who enjoy talking about slapping their dates around or anyone they dislike. Just call them the “three stooges.”

Tom Pittman is good. Moody. Talking directly into the camera, he opens the film, asking the whereabouts of a safecracker to maybe work out a deal. Though captivating, his cool, adult delivery immediately defeats the premise of the shy, awkward high school kid. He is routinely threatened by the bully-leader of the “three stooges,” Howard Veit, in his only acting role, simply because Pittman is the brightest student in the class. In true liberal thinking, he cannot beat someone so he tries to eliminate the competition. So Veit seems to be the more logical choice as the "wannabe" big shot, what with his classroom disruptions and smart-aleck replies. But he is just not that smart. Pittman is the one student who has a scholarship waiting. Being a big shot is not in his thinking. His downfall is the cute Virginia Aldridge, part-time tart of meathead Veit. With an ulterior motive, she goes sweet on Pittman to get him to write her final exam essay. He thinks they have a future. She thinks she possibly might graduate. Their teacher, television’s Peter Leeds, knows she did not write it. She cannot even quote it. After denying it, Leeds presses Pittman again for the truth and he confesses. She is outraged he told the truth. Things just never work out for her. She will not graduate and Pittman’s scholarship is canceled. Thanks, honey-bunch.

Malcolm Atterbury plays Pittman’s father. He was an old pro and he bolsters the film’s early stages. Their father and son scenes are tender if not heartbreaking. Pittman is devoted to his father who believes he will get another job, or even remarry. Dad reassures his son he has also sworn off drink. Later finding his father again nearly unconscious, Pittman bends before him and breaks down in tears. He would do anything to remove their financial state of affairs and buy useless stuff for Aldridge. 

Pittman overhears his boss, Bryan Foulger, planning a million-dollar heroin deal with the money to be locked in the office safe prior to the deal.  Pittman wanders the streets by fake-walking in place, head turning left and right. Pretty funny. He locates Stanley Adams, a well-dressed safe-cracker, who spends his off hours mooching off a liquor store owned by his brother-in-law. Hard to believe but Pitman transforms into a savvy mastermind as the trio splits their haul.

Self-serving Aldridge double-crosses Pittman and informs Veit he should intercept the money from Pittman at the pier. Distant sirens can be heard. Detail-orientated viewers will notice a film flop as one Plymouth patrol car, conveniently unmarked, is right-hand drive. They use the same correctly projected footage for a “third” patrol car’s arrival from the same direction. A visual lesson on how to save production money or pad a cheap film. In his attempt to escape, Veit is dropped by a bullet and the briefcase flies open. Also on the scene is Foulger, who goes berserk looking directly into the camera and twice uncontrollably fumes, “A million bucks!” as he watches it float away from the dock. Chilling, but the amount was only Pittman's share of the loot. The aftermath calls for four funeral arrangements and taxpayers to pay room and board for the rest of the lead cast. 

Note: James Dean made a huge impact (poor choice of words) on Tom Pittman. Both had television experience with the medium being the bulk of Pittman’s work. He had several movies to his credit and this was his last film, released posthumously, along with a previous film, after he died from injuries crashing over a cliff in his own Porsche Spyder on Halloween, three years after Dean. It was nearly twenty days later that his body and car were discovered in a ravine.

THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN (1957)

This was an impressive science fiction film for its day. The main character is not fending off a stereotypical invasion of aliens from another planet. Rather, it is a fantastical tale of a man's challenge to retain his very own existence through an imaginative screenplay and the thought-provoking story, thanks to Richard Matheson. The miniaturization special effects using larger-than-life furniture and props were convincing at the time, though the idea was produced seventeen years earlier in the first film to suggest miniaturization, Dr. Cyclops. Directed by Jack Arnold and produced by Albert Zugsmith, this is eighty-one minutes well spent. It was a box office success for Universal Pictures. Though logically pure science fiction, it seems a reasonable theory based on convincing medical diagnosis to explain shrinkage.

While boating with his wife, played by Randy Stuart, Grant Williams is overwhelmed by a low-lying fog as it passes over the craft. After returning to the deck, she notices he is covered in reflective flakes, a visual affirmation of the cloud's effect. As if this once-in-a-lifetime experience was not enough, he is later accidentally exposed to large amounts of common insecticide. The radioactive mist and insecticide combination rearrange William's molecular structure, causing his cells to shrink in perfect synchronization. 

Months roll by with little thought of the misty cloud until Williams notices his clothes seem a tad too big. The subtle changes in his stature are handled believably. Jumping to a conclusion he blames the laundry service, perhaps that mysterious process known as Martinizing. The realization his wife no longer needs to stand on her tip-toes to kiss him gives confirmation to his fear...she is getting taller! His physician, William Schallert dismisses his concerns and reassures him that he is normal. A young man simply does not grow shorter, after all. But Williams is further convinced there is something wrong when his wedding ring falls from his finger. An omen to be sure.

At the suggestion of his “thoughtful” brother, Paul Langton, his story hits the headlines in the hope that Williams might provide income as a national, three-foot-tall, freakazoid. His humiliation is too much to bear, however, and he ventures outside his home. A female neighborhood midget—that does not happen every day either—becomes his encouraging source in accepting his shortcomings. It does not take him long to notice, however, she retains her height. One also wonders about his tailor-made clothes and did he stop by for a fitting. His next moving experience is to get comfortable in a new 1:1 scale dollhouse. By this time, Williams is getting rather cranky. His wife needs a grocery run to pick up a lima bean for his supper. She leaves the front door open just a few seconds and their cat, played by Orangey, gets in. As some cats have probably considered, he attacks his owner. When the wife returns to find a blood-stained piece of cloth, she assumes Orangey has been a vehwy, vehwy bad kitty.

Alive but trapped in the basement by a locked door, Williams has to overcome many obstacles to survive, including a very intimidating spider the size of a sedan and nourishment from cheese retrieved from a set mouse trap. Yuck! These are “fun” scenes as challenges erupt when adapting to everyday objects. When the water heater bursts, a minor inconvenience for most people, it becomes a life-threatening flood for Williams as the rushing water leads down a drain pipe. After an exhausting final battle with that pesky spider, he awakens to find he is small enough to slip through one square of a window screen. Seeking a tailor is no longer an option, either. He is now literally dressed in rags. Having survived incredible odds, Williams does not fear the future as the inspiring music crescendos and he gazes to the heavens. No matter how small he becomes he will still matter in God's universe. "To God, there is no zero." 

He is immediately devoured by a praying mantis. Perhaps.

Note: Richard Matheson was a superb writer of science fiction and may be best known as the one providing many successful scripts for television's original, “Twilight Zone” and “Alfred Hitchcock Presents.” In this, her "largest" role to date, it was Randy Stuart's next-to-last film.

THE MOB (1951)

This Columbia Pictures release, directed by Robert Parish with an adapted screenplay by William Bowers, is first-rate from beginning to end. A compelling film about corruption, mental delusions, and atonement. Bower’s script bounces humorous quips from one character to another as one might expect from a film noir of this caliber. Nearly everyone has a turn at them. The cinematography by Joseph Walker is rich with wet streets and dark, danger-filled shadows. The well-versed George Duning provided an effective music score, as well.

Police detective, Broderick Crawford, is duped by a mob killer carrying an authentic police badge who appeared to be coming to the aid of a shooting victim. Crawford discovers too late the victim was a key witness in an upcoming hearing. The police commissioner is livid and would like to punish Crawford for his halfhearted effort to double-check the true identity of the impostor/gunman. For news headline purposes only, accompanied by a fake picture, he is “suspended.” His real punishment is a demanded death-defying undercover assignment to infiltrate a rough New York waterfront crime organization and bring down its kingpin. 

Needing to redeem his career, Crawford's acting trademark allows him to fit right in as a tough, sarcastic and unflappable thug from New Orleans. His noir quips are expelled effortlessly through his legendary lightning delivery. Also on the waterfront payroll is Richard Kiley. He and Crawford become pals. It does not take Kiley long, however, to frequently question why Crawford is so interested in what goes on. A relatively unknown Hollywood entity at this point in his career, Kiley is very authentic in this role. Crawford drops a few key names that get the attention of a Union thug, Ernest Borgnine. Neville Brand, nearly at a typecast level in his career, is again playing a henchman. This time, not the psychotic “Chester” from D.O.A. but a thug with the wherewithal to also deliver a few quips of his own.

Local bartender, Matt Crowley, seems to know a lot about what goes on around the waterfront. For a fee. After frequent encounters, he feels Crawford can be trusted enough to set up a meeting with Blackie, the kingpin. The police put a tracking device under Crowley’s car about the size of a carry-on suitcase. Also installed is an equally sized tank that cleverly drips fluorescent dye on the road so the police can tail the car at night using an infrared spotlight. Cool. Except they did not figure a city street sweeper would turn onto their street a few blocks ahead of them. Just one of the many clever twists in this film you will not expect.

Blackie wants Crawford to do him a favor. Kill the suspended police officer seen in the newspaper. In a twist to end all twists, then, Crawford is hired to do a hit on himself. Blackie has kidnapped Crawford’s girlfriend, Betty Buehler, to use as a pawn to flesh out her boyfriend, who, unknowingly, stands before him. Twisted. When she and Crawford meet, their roles are played as effectively as possible. The scenario becomes potentially too dangerous and Crawford tries to overpower Blackie, who escapes with a minor gunshot wound. A hospital setting ends the film with both Buehler and Blackie recovering. Blackie later enters her hospital room at gunpoint while Crawford is visiting. From an adjacent building, the police have a clear shot through the window.

Note: There is a humorous scene when Kiley sets up a blind date for Crawford to find out what Crawford’s game is. The women in waiting are Kiley’s wife, played by Lynn Baggettt, and his sister, Doris, played by Jean Alexander. Crawford immediately hooks up with the more attractive wife. It seems no one wants to be with the sister. Especially Kiley, who protests. He says there is nothing wrong with Doris. “Why can’t he like Doris?!” The sister quickly adds, “Why can’t somebody?” After numerous teasing lines between Baggett and Crawford, the sister turns to her brother, “Well, say something to me.” Kiley hesitates then awkwardly replies, “Oh...uh..how ya’ been?”

CHICAGO SYNDICATE (1955)

There is a crowded Chicago commuter trainload of details to sift through during this average B-movie from Clover Productions, distributed by Columbia Pictures. The voice-over details in documentary-style plus the added dialogue make it difficult to keep things straight at times. Probably does not matter. I have grown to appreciate Dennis O’Keefe's talents. His character here, through no fault of his own, is probably too amazing to be real. He knocks down the analytical accountant stereotype of a numbers cruncher. A Chicago newspaper editor, civic leaders, along with a detective, the ubiquitous John Zaremba, want him to go undercover to flesh out the syndicate responsible for killing a bookkeeper who had evidence on the syndicate’s boss, Paul Stewart. Feeling they have the wrong guy for the job, O’Keefe is totally against the dangers associated with the idea. They plan to pay him sixty grand to do it. He gives it a try. O'Keefe handles everything like an experienced secret agent. Cool under pressure and light on his feet. Fists of iron. Pencils with no erasers. Stewart is excellent as a seemingly good-natured crime czar whose only love comes from his mother. The suave insurance scammer has little fear but his patience has its limits. He can be vicious. O’Keefe’s plan is to capture assumed microfilm to put Stewart away on tax evasion.

Speaking of hard to believe, Allison Hayes’ role has her going undercover, on her own initiative, using an alias to avenge her bookkeeping father’s death at the hand of Stewart. This is after spending time in a mental institution over the traumatic event and subsequent suicide of her mother. She has recovered very quickly. O’Keefe befriends her to gain access to Stewart’s nightclub. Once he is informed of who she really is, he suggests she stay out of harm’s way. But Hayes comes in handy. O’Keefe’s amazing accounting expertise places him in good favor with Stewart after the police arrange a jewel theft and nifty insurance scam.

Double-billed with O'Keefe is Abby Lane, Stewart’s tolerable girl. She drinks too much when she is not performing with her real-life husband, Xavier Cugat. The squinty-eyed, rotund devil had a thing for a woman over thirty years his younger. Cugat was given some lines to say. Yay. With numerous roles already under her strapless gowns, Lane does alright in the part. You may find yourself singing her opening number, “One At a Time,” long after the ending. O'Keefe suggests Hayes cater to Stewart's social weaknesses which makes Lane jealous, who then threatens to reveal Stewart’s edited books. His goons do a sixty-second beating in a separate room in full earshot of all the dinner guests. Awkward. Lane comes out of the room instantly bruised by a lot of strategically placed dark, smudgy makeup and tousled hair.

In a bit of a nail-biter, Zaremba and the police arrive to catch Stewart with his account book on a tip from O'Keefe. To his dismay, Stewart burns the pages in his mommy's wood stove. With the expected knock on the door, O’Keefe volunteers to answer it. To not blow his cover, he decks Zaremba. Now horizontal, he whispers to him that the book has been burned. Both men pull off the charade. As I say, one amazing accountant. Kind of funny when Zaremba tries to enter the room, though, as he does a comical triple take as if confused. What the...hey! Stewart knows Zaremba well but O'Keefe covers the incident by telling him he thought he was trouble. Lane's hidden microfilm evidence is revealed but Stewart tells O’Keefe to light a match to it. Instead, he pockets the microfilm, gives Stewart a knuckle sandwich, and makes a run for it. As if expecting her son to come by any moment, from her upstairs apartment window Mom witnesses Stewart being brought down by police gunfire. He was such a good boy.