THE NAKED RUNNER (1967)

This British cold war espionage film, directed by Sidney Furie, would have benefited by shaving about fifteen minutes from its one hundred minute length to help eliminate scripted micro detailing. The weak character development adds to the confusion with a myriad of characters popping up throughout the film. Scene changes may be frustratingly abrupt as well. I was initially not sure what to make of Harry Sukman’s opening piano concerto. It seemed out of place or a bit too romantic. It is explained, however, with opening visual support, as only a suggested record album selection of one main character, Peter Vaughn. I was most impressed with the stylish cinematography and its tight, asymmetrical closeups of actors or camera angles. A late Sixties trend. The high camera shots of a modern London office interior fits the title character, an industrial designer played by Frank Sinatra. Just to clarify, he runs a bit but at no time is he naked and this film should not be confused with his superior, Some Came Running, nine years earlier. Though at times ponderous, this is a decent update of a typical B-movie and would fit nicely into a Sinatra fan movie vault. His friend, actor Brad Dexter, garnered support for the project and ended up producing it. Unfortunately, the film was a box office disappointment and severed the ties between Sinatra and Warner Bros.

Working in London, Sinatra and his young son are planning a holiday behind the Iron Curtain—another “Wheel of Fortune” getaway—and attend an international trade show. Meanwhile, a British Intelligence officer, Vaughn, who served with Sinatra in the Second World War, decides to use the opportunity to coerce him into carrying out a simple exchange. Sinatra is skeptical of its simplicity. Only Vaughn knows that a recent prison escapee plans to share highly sensitive scientific information with Moscow and his assassination is imperative. With an integrated plan that involves half of western Europe, Vaughn plays on Sinatra’s sympathies and his wartime experience as an expert marksman. However unethical, he will do anything to rattle Sinatra to the breaking point—make him so angry he will willingly carry out the deed.

The script seems to suggest, that after twenty years a civilian, Sinatra is a bit rusty and naively assumes everyone is telling the truth. His anger increases, however, as the truth gets harder to find. He is at the mercy of Vaughn and his operatives. One operative is Derren Nesbitt, posing as an East German intelligence officer, who sweats him out in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of a forest. The agonizingly slow interrogation ends with Nesbitt’s apparent plan to execute Sinatra. After a short stroll in the woods, he takes the pistol’s safety off but “changes his mind” at the last second. This pushes ‘Ol Blues Eyes over the edge expelling whatever meal he had eaten previously. Another operative is Edward Fox, intending to be from the British Embassy, who graciously comes to Sinatra’s aid yet with no information of value to relieve his anxiety.

An abrupt, deflated ending may recall one of those old “backstory jokes” from your uncle with a set-up that seemingly goes on forever and a punchline not worth the wait. The single most glaring element of the film. Kudos for saving disappointment until the end. As Vaughn’s pawn, Sinatra gets no apologies for his underhanded manipulation. Sinatra had become so confused with Vaughn’s cryptic behavior, he assumed he was the actual target. Something Sinatra may still be considering. Vaughn does provide an extremely brief explanation and a compliment for completing the nerve-racking assignment as planned. No hard feelings, ‘ol chap?

Oddity: Shortly after the seven-minute point there is a fuzzy red square covering the center of the screen, cropping into the hands of Vaughn and the Cabinet minister—facing each other at opposite ends of the screen—during their conversation. Cannot imagine this was in the theatrical release. It is immediately followed by straight-on close-ups of each man in conversation. A better approach for the scene’s entirety.

WALK EAST ON BEACON (1952)

Directed by Alfred Werker with a screenplay inspired by a J. Edgar Hoover article on the case of treason against Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, this ninety-eight-minute Columbia Pictures release uses a pseudo-documentary format like so many low-budget FBI-themed films of the era. It is melodramatically narrated by the then-familiar voice of Westbrook Van Vorhees. Authenticity is the keyword. Whether real or imagined. I will say, without the frequent narration, it might be difficult to keep track of the many characters or procedural shifts in the film. To help sell the authenticity, the narration includes a superimposed “date stamp” as events unfold. Canadian composer, Louis Applebaum, known for his documentaries and short films, wrote the score. There are not many actors of note for the viewer to identify with but three are mentioned below. 

An FBI agent, the pre-Senator George Murphy (center above), is assigned to locate the Communist spies behind a plot to infiltrate a secret government project on a high-speed, basement-sized, IBM Selective Sequence Electronic Calculator. Murphy comes off genuine in his last Hollywood role and he adds credence to the film. The Communist’s plan is to extort information from a top mathematician, played by Finlay Currie, with the added incentive that his son will remain a hostage in East Berlin until he surrenders the information they want. The film highlights cutting-edge investigative work of the FBI like surveillance car spotlights—pre-GoPro days—converted to nifty concealed cameras. After reviewing an undercover film of a suspicious male-to-female exchange in a park, the bureau sends out a police bulletin about a woman who carries a shoulder-strapped purse and has a peculiar walk. This would be Virginia Gilmore (pictured with Currie below). I could never determine the cause for her walking—perhaps only a broken heal—nor did the director provide any clues. Gilmore may be the one actress who could pass as Jane Greer given the correct angle and hairstyle.

As suspected during this era, Soviet operatives meet secretly, hiding under the guise of legitimate businesses. Their operations make up a good chunk of the film. The FBI shows a few frames of silent surveillance film of suspect Communists to members of a Boston school of international lip reading to determine their nationality and conversations. The information gleaned suggests a late-night escape along the Atlantic shoreline. Some fairly tense moments as the Navy and Coast Guard pinpoint the exact location of the cabin cruiser. The end of the film wraps in quick order as Applebaum’s score cranks up the intensity. Currie barely escapes with his life, his son is actually released and the Moscow mastermind is apprehended for a positive climax.

Note: Noted director, George Roy Hill, in his first of four acting gigs, has the unenviable role as the suggested Julius Rosenberg. Louisa Horton plays his wife. Both have fictitious character names in the film to protect the guilty. Finally, this film is perhaps one of only a handful—if not the only one—that makes reference to J. Edgar Hoover’s first name, John.

FORGOTTEN FILMS: TV TRANSITION

Though typically overshadowed by Hollywood's A-list, there were respectable performances by numerous actors and actresses who never became major film stars. A common occurrence was their transition to the new medium of television, often becoming familiar faces in homes across America. These periodic posts offer insight into their transition.

Beverly Garland: Beverly Fessenden (1926-2008)

Beverly Garland started her career with feature films, primarily small parts in a few major productions and the lead in some low-budget films. In her early roles, the versatile actress often seemed to be either at odds with the law or screaming in science-fiction movies. Her film career began on a positive note with a role as Miss Foster in the quintessential film-noir, D.O.A. (1949) starring Edmond O’Brien. As Holly Abbott, she had a strong supporting role in The Miami Story (1954) opposite Barry Sullivan. A series of forgettable westerns and dramas followed. Two Guns and a Badge (1954) and New Orleans Uncensored (1955) to name two. Sprinkled between these films were her singular roles on television programs, initially in The Lone Ranger (1950). Rehearsals at a television studio became more common yet she never left the science fiction genre behind in such cult films as Curucu, Beast of the Amazon, 1956 and as the rather flippant, unsuspecting nurse in the creepy, Not of This Earth, 1957. She was the unfortunate mother in the dark comedy flop, Pretty Poison, 1968.

Her television claim to fame was in the ground-breaking role on Decoy (1957) for its entire thirty-nine episodes. As Casey Jones—seemingly an undercover alias—it was television’s first female policewoman and the first actress to star in a television dramatic series. Garland racked up appearances on most of the popular shows of the Sixties and Seventies with a recurring role as the wife in the short-lived sitcom, The Bing Crosby Show (1964). The “mom” roles became her stock and trade. She was the step-mom to the Douglas boys during the late stages of the long-running comedy, My Three Sons (1960). She found new fame as the well-cast, unaware mom to Kate Jackson in the successful, Scarecrow and Mrs. King (1983). She played Ellen Lane for six episodes in Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman (1995). Her last recurring role was nine appearances on the family drama, 7th Heaven (1997).

Note: Garland combined her acting career with a devotion to the hotel that her second husband, Filmore Crank, built and named in her honor. Starting out as a Howard Johnson's Motor Lodge, it became a 255-room Spanish Mission-style resort called Beverly Garland's Holiday Inn. In 2014 it was renamed, The Garland.

THREE BAD SISTERS (1956)

Those few keeping track of John Bromfield’s career, that hunky blend of Rory Calhoun and Steve Cochran, may remember him from his other two Bel-Air Productions, Crime Against Joe, and The Big Bluff. Released by United Artists, it was directed by Gilbert Kay and produced by Howard W. Koch. Again, Paul Dunlap provides Bel-Air’s music score.

Bromfield is questioned in a courthouse interrogation room about what happened when his small plane crashed, killing his passenger, a wealthy tycoon. Bromfield survived without a scratch. A civil aeronautics rep is not very civil, accusing him of orchestrating the crash—not an easy thing to pull off. The dead tycoon leaves his fortune to three daughters, two of which are witches. So this seventy-six-minute film’s title may be the most misleading of the year. I submit two alternative titles, “One Out of Three Ain’t Bad” or simply, “The Sisters of Annoyance.”

The conniving middle sister is Kathleen Hughes, at times attempting a coy Monroe vocal interpretation. Her robotic smile accompanied by verbal venom gets increasingly creepy as her eyes grow larger, all Adam Schiff-like. She wants the other two-thirds of the estate and bribes Bromfield with a substantial amount to keep his murder slate clean. She also wants him to lather on the charm for the first-born, Sara Shane, executrix of their father's estate, in the hopes she will not marry their father’s attorney. Shane is the only sister with a conscience but not the only one with psychological issues.

Standing in a bathing suit, Shane's inner thoughts try to conjure up the courage to dive from a rocky cliff into raging waves among rocks over a hundred feet below. Apparently a summer challenge among the sisters. Out of nowhere, Bromfield grabs her and says it would be a shame to damage such a lovely fuselage. Just plane talk. The scene changes to the interior of the cliff-side mansion where the youngest sister, Marla English, introduces herself to Bromfield as any seductive tart might. She is annoying to all the characters in the film. Later, along with the females in the audience, she gets a glimpse of the hunk using an electric razor. Without a shirt. He never does finish shaving his chest. Bromfield, a real-life fitness enthusiast, does a lap in the pool and then comes out drenched. It is that kind of film.

An additional annoyance is a snippy aunt, who thinks Bromfield is a liar, that he is taking advantage of the sisters one by one, and that her brother would never have committed airplane suicide. Where she gathered that idea I do not know since social media was in the far distant future. She does have a knack for eavesdropping on the telephone with subsequent misinterpretations. Things get a bit uncomfortable as the family, plus the attorney, sit around the mansion lounge waiting for auntie to pounce on Bromfield with accusations. Pouncing. Also one of English’s favorite pastimes.

At about this point, Hughes’ character takes the annoyance factor to a whole new level with lies and syrupy, faked sincerity. Her jealousy and demented behavior drive her to beat English across the face with a riding-whip, eliminating her from any Bromfield competition. Naturally, the instinctive thing to do after a good whippin’ is go for a high-speed drive. Not sure the purpose or how they could possibly help, Bromfield and Hughes dash to another car to pursue—at one point going off-road circumnavigating a tree. The stunt drivers were well-paid for their work. English no longer has any purpose in living. Her shallowness knew few bounds.

Back at “Annoyance Manor” thick-headed auntie has a bullet waiting for Bromfield but he grabs the gun from the old bat. He and Shane leave the mansion and head to the airport. He tells her the whole truth about the accident and that the monetary “contract” the tycoon offered him was a huge-Hughes forgery. He confesses his love for her and he charts a course to the “wedding capital” of the west. Yuma, Arizona? Bromfield turns out to be everything contrary to auntie’s stubborn thinking and becomes the most sensible executor of the estate. She still hates him. I suspect he will close off the mansion’s third floor with a separate outside entrance for the aunt.