TOKYO FILE 212 (1951)

This American-Japanese double-billed film, distributed by RKO Radio Pictures, could not get any more “B.” From the start of filming to it being put "in the can" took about two months. The acting is okay but any innovative dialogue was left in a manila folder, perhaps File 207. The bland dialogue may be an effort to suggest the film was “shot as it happened” using the everyday people involved. I am being kind. Except for some actual military personnel, it is simply a cast of unknown actors in a speculative story filmed entirely in Tokyo, a Hollywood first. It is an innovative take on the Korean War, suggesting Communist spies were working from Japan to sabotage American operations. Certainly not a preposterous premise. Despite the film’s average packaging, the pacing is good and the Tokyo settings add realism and mystery. Albert Glasser’s rousing opening score certainly gets your attention. The eighty-four-minute movie was not a success with mixed reviews from critics and ticket buyers alike.

The story is told with voice-overs by a U.S. Government Agent, the sometimes billed, Robert Peyton. His voice and mannerisms seem too intimate for the big screen and better suited for television where one can get small but perceived big. The bulk of the movie is told in flashback after a briefcase bomb explodes near his chins. Since he is telling the story, we know he survives the blast but we do not know what miracle befell him. The climax does have a logical, eye-opening resolution. Officially, he was not a body double for Fred MacMurray but one might disagree, below.

After checking in at the front desk, Peyton finds Francis Marly, a mature Euro-tart making herself at home in his room. Perhaps the funniest thing in the movie is that she talks seductively in the third person. Being a debonair geek, he is attracted to her fits of flirts. We are never sure if she can tell the truth. They become an odd team even though he suspects her of being a Communist sympathizer.

Peyton came to Japan to find an old college classmate, Katsuhiko Haida, who is suspected of joining the Communists. Haida’s father tells Peyton of his son’s backstory in a World War II Kamikaze 101 class where they use scale models for practice. One student is slapped by the tough instructor for timidly and repeatedly not zooming his plane in the right area of a carrier model, thanks to an improper grip on the model. No successful Kamikaze 101 student gets a typical diploma. They get funeral rites. But the war comes to an end and Haida is crushed that he will never be able to go on frequent Kamikaze missions. He is despondent and vulnerable to Communist propaganda.

The leader of the Communist ring, Tetsu Nakamura, is all very honorable when in Peyton’s presence. Just a sweetheart. Peyton’s informer, however, tells him to be wary of his secret ingredient when he dines with him. Poison. Peyton makes an attempt to add a bit of suspenseful humor to this scene. 

The girlfriend of Haida is played by the exceptionally cute, Reiko Otani. She is abducted by the Commies, then dumped on the road without so much as an apology. While in the critical care unit, Haida secretly visits and they express their undying love for each other. Never use any form of the word “dying” in her presence at this point. Haida has an epiphany and is no longer on the dark red side, using all his kamikaze skills to defeat Nakamura. For Peyton, it is File 213.

Note: The film provides the moviegoer with good exposure to mid-century Japanese culture. If the film has any assets, it would be this. Many of these scenes carry no dialogue as we follow Peyton through the streets and bars of Tokyo. This in itself saved a ton of production money. There is a scene in a sleazy Japanese-only bar where rowdy, drunk tattooed men are doing what they would not do unless in a crowd. There is a fully clothed female dancer, after a fashion, on a table. When Peyton and Marly enter in search of Haida, the place becomes dead silent. Like two Jews entering a Nazi bar. The U.S. Military Police tell them that the bar is off limits and suggest, for their own safety, they leave.

THE PACE THAT THRILLS (1952)

You can thank the producer, Lewis J. Rachmil, for helping make this RKO Pictures release just sixty-three minutes long. Howard Hughes' tread marks are evident in this film with opening dramatic action shots of motorcycle racing appearing to have been filmed a decade earlier. No music score beneath the credits, just the roar of racing. If you are not a historic motorcycle fan the film will seem long. Plaudits go to good rear camera work right in the thick of the racing sequences. Of course, sandwiched in between are the familiar fuzzy studio projected backgrounds of actors "pseudo-racing." A predictable script with supporting actors more C-movie than B-movie, it becomes simply a time-filler, as it was for me. Despite these things, the entertainment value is pretty high.

With a similar visual opening, do not confuse this film with the motorcycle gang film, The Wild One. The dweebs in this movie certainly could use some road manners, but their Clover Leaf "Sickle" Cub (as one character pronounces it) becomes a gang only to play cycle soccer, have a cola or ride together weaving between oncoming traffic. Or feel the thrill of your best girl hanging on for dear life when they "pack double," as those crazy cavorting young adults used to say. But it is not, as the poster suggests, murder on wheels. Death on wheels? Sure.

The movie centers around the misunderstood era of motorcycles and winning any way you can. Bill Williams' style of racing has taken a cue from the roller derby circuit as he, quite literally, kicks challengers out of a race to win. When your company does not have the fastest bike, cheating levels the field. Encouraging “Long Leg Williams” is his boss and cycle builder, Robert Armstrong. He feels bad that Williams has to play dirty but he can live with that. The chief engineer and childhood friend of Williams, Michael St. Angel, (RKO changing his name to Steve Flagg) is building a new cycle with fluid drive, as per Chrysler transmissions of the day, I assume. He thinks Williams is the best rider in the city limits. If Williams rides it, they are sure to win. Possibly without cheating. But one never knows. 

Enter female newspaper reporter, Carla Balenda, who is sent to do a hard-hitting story about what these nuts do on weekends. When she witnesses William's lack of riding etiquette in the ring of dirt, her story berates Williams to the point of tears. Well, unlikely. She gets a new perspective on cycling, though, when she and Flagg take to the road with other club members. There is a lot of filming as actors recite dialogue in the movie’s middle. Enough said. Flagg’s new “sickle” still has flaws to work out but no dough to do it. Williams racks up funds by racing and stunt riding on the Daredevil circuit, county fairs, and Girl Scout cookie fundraisers. Flagg again pilots the new bike in a major race while graciously, carefully, Williams takes himself out on the final lap in a controlled crash, giving Flagg and the new cycle the win. But that is all he wins. Williams gets the girl.

NOTE: Williams is half of the acting glue that barely holds this film together. Robert Armstrong is the other half. Frank McHugh is on hand to do his trademark high, lilting laugh. Balenda holds her own but that cannot be said of the handsome Flagg. His lines are delivered like a polished amateur. The name change did not help. A red flag that his career was not going to be remembered.

UNDERTOW (1949)

Distributed by Universal Pictures, produced by Ralph Dietrich and directed by William Castle, this film is not ground-breaking but it does fly by thanks to a screenplay by Arthur T. Horman and Lee Loeb. Unfortunately, they offer an assumed outcome in the first ten minutes of this seventy-one-minute film. How it plays out is well handled with a couple of (obvious) surprises. The filming in Chicago may bring back memories if you lived there during this era. It is yet another B-movie noir with little to fault or remember. Paul Sawtell took the reigns as the composer but none of the themes in this movie will be hummed after the ending.

Scott Brady, doing a great job here as a handsome I-take-care-of-myself former Chicago mobster, ex-con, and war veteran, turning over a new leaf as manager of a lodge in Reno. Before leaving on a quick trip back home to Chicago and “mend a fence” or two, he spots his old friend and colleague from the Windy City, John Russell, a fellow casino owner. As both get up to speed on their seven-year separation, each is excited to share a glimpse of their engagement rings for their respective girl. Strolling through the casino, Brady accidentally bumps into vacationing Peggy Dow. Pardons are accepted but they stumble upon each other a second time, laughing at the coincidence. 

He and Dow are so comfortable together there is little surprise that they will have a future together within the hour. She is an unassuming elementary teacher from Chicago with zero gambling experience but has won twice with only two dice rolls. After seeing the handler change the dice after a nod from Russell, Brady makes an astute gambling decision on her behalf and she wins again. Russell is not amused and feigns his disappointment that Brady has to leave so soon. This is that ten-minute point. Based on Russell’s early film roles with his angular face and “dangerous” arching eyebrows, there is no surprise, either, that he has ulterior motives. It will be no surprise, as well, that Dow and Brady are on the same plane back to Chicago. Good odds. She may not be any good at it but is willing to gamble on a relationship.

No sooner than hitting the pavement from the airliner steps, Brady is met by a childhood friend, now detective, Bruce Bennett, above with the nearly invisible Roc (Rock) Hudson in his fifty-second stint as a police detective. Bennett has orders to bring Brady in for questioning. The police captain is especially hard on Brady, accusing him of returning just to kill mob kingpin, Big Jim. The police tail him with little success. Brady reunites with his girl, Dorothy Hart, Big Jim’s niece, at Buckingham Fountain along Lake Shore Drive. Brady wants to make peace with him so they can get married. Later that night, Brady is attacked, shot in the forearm, and placed in a car across the road from a diner—a revolver placed beside him. Gadzooks! Then, perhaps the only surprise in the film, the character actor with the over-the-top Southern drawl, Robert Easton, shows up as a parking valet of sorts for the country diner. Cars are parked willy-nilly in the gravel lot and he offers to park Brady’s car. Spotting a parked police car, Brady makes a quick exit and finds out Big Jim is suddenly not available for any future scenes and a clichéd frame is afoot. Dow goes the extra “magnificent mile” to protect Brady, while Bennett, unfairly suspended by the captain for supporting an innocent man, has evidence to help clear Brady.

Unsurprisingly, Russell shows up in Chicago with Hart in the mansion she inherited from “Big Dead Jim.” Brady expects help from both but she is pretty icy about it. He then notices the chunk of “ice” around her finger that Russell had shown him in Reno. Again, no surprise who orchestrated the murder and frame-up. A rapid happy ending evolves for Brady and Dow, at least.

NOTE: Some suggest Peggy Dow was bland in this outing. Perhaps hard to argue with, casting her did seem appropriate. She is sweet in this role. Yet probably best she ended her three-year career after marrying an oil baron. Otherwise, she might have been lost in guest-starring roles after her television transition. Dorothy Hart never set a film frame on fire, either, but she should have. She is pretty one-dimensional as a devious female with hardly more than a smirk or smile. Smoki Whitfield has three brief and effective scenes as Big Jim’'s long-time aide, out to get whoever killed his boss. Perhaps the most memorable takeaway from the movie other than Robert Easton's obligatory performance.