THE CREATION OF THE HUMANOIDS (1962)

 

This eighty-four-minute American science fiction double feature was directed by Wesley Barry for Genie Productions Inc. and released by Emerson Film Enterprises. Who knew? The Eastman color is rich and dense with cinematography work by Hal Mohr enhancing the simplistic and colorful set designs—highly interpretive as if for a modern stage play. But Shakespeare this is not. Most of the lowly budget was spent on paper to print the massive scripts that rival Congress's pork projects. Jay Simms created the most talkative film of the Sixties. Through its knee-deep dialogue, it attempts to convince the viewer that humans and humanoids share many similarities. This film is a real technical head-scratcher, so it is pointless to divulge any of its fictitious jargon. 

From the pessimistic Hollywood playbook comes the story that most of humanity has been destroyed by a nuclear war. Humanoids are an advanced type of robot that work closely with humans. They are created from man's unique ability to learn, his memory, his personality, and his philosophy. The uppity “oids” seem a wee bit condescending. Today, they may visually remind one of the future Ernst Blofeld, played by Donald Pleasence, in You Only Live Twice. Like Blofeld, they dress in “Communist” uniforms with their banded collars. These Godless humanoids routinely recharge at stations they call "temples" and exchange information with a central computer known devotedly as "the father-mother." Their glowing eyes are creepily well done. 

"The Order of Flesh and Blood" is obviously the humans. They are constantly assessing the humanoids whom they fear are planning to take over the world. They do seem to be quick learners. One local OFB union leader is played by the towering Dan Megowan, who may be the only familiar face in the film due to his many television and film Westerns. There is a love interest, of sorts, which becomes a real eye-opener for him. The wardrobe for all OFB members are sleek “Bob Mackie” versions of a Confederate soldier's uniform of powder blue shirts combined with a reflective material topped off by a period “Rebel” cap. Jazz hands! Certainly not standard issue during the Civil War.

Note: The film suggests humans should not judge humanoids too harshly. Their words might come back to haunt them. Increasingly, humans have difficulty recognizing themselves. A sly, thought-provoking ending comment by the film's research doctor intimates that identity is deeper than mere appearance.

4D MAN (1959)

 

Jack H. Harris, from his original screenplay, produced this eighty-five-minute independent film for Valley Forge Film Studios. It was directed by Irvin Yeaworth and distributed by Universal International. Its smaller budget is a well-kept secret thanks to bits of impressive special effects, suspenseful cinematography and an engaging lead actor. Yet it is not consistently successful. The jazz score is hit-and-miss, for one. The film's slightly off-kilter opening credits may appear at various spots on the screen with graphic arrows inserted randomly for a split second, stinging your eyes. Despite these creative elements, it is not a spy thriller nor a pilot for a television series.

The premise of this imaginative science fiction film is explained by voice-over while we witness a young scientist, James Congdon, accidentally ignite a small fire after his experiment goes awry while adjusting, what looks like, a shortwave radio made in high school shop class. An awkward, yet funny transitional editing occurs as the small fire in a trash can consumes the building instantly by the next film frame in identical, scale model flames. The jazz band blasts in as if to celebrate the blaze. A music cue better suited for a spy barely escaping imminent danger. The university is not pleased with Congdon’s research results and he finds himself instantly unemployed. Not necessarily due to his misplaced range of acting skills.

Congdon reunites with his older brother, Robert Lansing, in his film debut, as a distracted and dejected scientist whose laid-back, moody trademarked acting style adds his own dimension to the film. His lab is in the midst of an experiment with what appears to be a huge sugar cube. The material is Cargonite, so dense it is assumed impenetrable—perfect for a set of travel luggage. Once the lab equipment is activated it sounds like there is a squirrel going nuts trying to break out of a wooden cage. Rounding out the main cast trio is Lee Meriwether, in her shaky film debut, getting early training for adjusting dials in a lab coat for her role a few years later on television’s, The Time Tunnel.

Congdon is pleased to know Lansing has plans to marry Meriwether. The three have dinner in an upscale restaurant with Congdon bringing over-sized drawing paper to do a sketch inside the large menu while waiting to be served and ignoring the conversation. She cannot take her eyes off him and suggests he join their research team. Lansing seconds the notion. The big band score explodes and she invites the brother to dance. There is no room for dancing nor a designated area so the nearby patrons carefully guard their tables and everything on it. Just imagine impromptu dancing inside an Applebee's.

The film takes an embarrassing turn as the three have a picnic in a hillside park, after fashion, in the middle of nowhere. There is a self-propelled children’s merry-go-round with a studio camera mounted in the center. We watch a giggling Meriwether and an aggressive-looking Congdon go round and round in front of a blurring landscape and an accompanying score grossly out of place. The frivolity ends with an attempted game of tether ball with Meriwether escaping with no eye injuries. Lansing looked as concerned as I was about these scenes. Quietly and in deep thought, Lansing decides to leave. Alone. His potential bride slips into the fifth dimension.

Congdon shares his 4D theories with big brother. That restaurant sketch is unveiled in tangible form as a pencil through an inch-thick solid mass of steel. But for no apparent reason, after excitedly retrieving the object upstairs, Congdon takes a tumble coming back down. Really odd without a laugh track, so provide your own. Apparently, the one-off sample was mentally created by Congdon, willing the pencil through the steel with the help of an amplifier. Lansing begins experiencing painful headaches after his own 4D testing. His doctor is amazed at the electro-impulses of his brain. He speculates his mental capacity may be unlimited. What better use for an impulse than proposing to Meriwether. 

Lansing locates her at the home of a friend where, as a favor, she is monitoring a younger-than-twelve-looking Patty Duke. Duke was an acting veteran compared to the three main leads in this film. Meriwether tells him marriage will never work because he is so wrapped up in research. Brooding, he storms off, later breaking into his brother’s locker at the research center. He attempts to push a pencil through a thick metal plate but his hand also goes halfway through. It is the first excellent special effect in the film utilizing a prop that fits Lansing's fingers. His brother later witnesses the feat and then disturbingly tells him the amplifier was never on, dude. Lansing went into the fourth dimension entirely by his own will.

Lansing begins to realize his miraculous electro-impulses allow him a great deal of latitude. High notes from an electric organ signify his 4D state. Another successful effect is the first time he puts his arm through a store window to steal an apple. The glowing blue outline around his arm where it intersects the glass pane is nicely done. The next time though, the audience is not being fooled by simple camera positioning for an edge-on window pane view along with camera processing wizardry. His lust for power turns him into a bank robber with little fear of ever being incarcerated for any length of time. Oh, and it gets worse. His “special effects” accelerate the aging process at a rapid rate. When seeking a doctor’s help he inadvertently discovers this by simply touching the doctor, rejuvenating his own life. The doctor is accidentally drained for all he is worth. An ironic twist on a doctor's final bill. The doctor’s ninety-year-old facial aging process is done with a smooth effect. Now a very wanted man, Lansing litters the town with old people, including his self-serving boss, Edgar Stehli, who looked to be pushing eighty-five anyway.

Lansing earlier hid the amplifier in a lab vault. He returns to retrieve it, apparently, on April Fool’s Day with humorous results. He pushes the open button but Congdon pushes the close button from the control booth, preventing Lansing any access. He cannot figure out what is going on with that stupid button! He turns around to look toward the booth, but he and Merriweather have crouched down out of sight. He hears no snickering. Everyone pops up again to play the same "trick" when Lansing tries another access point. Pretty funny.

Lansing is really bummed that he and Meriwether cannot agree on any dimension together. The century-old Lansing, still with a thick head of hair, only wants a final kiss. She obliges. From her lab coat, a revolver fires. They quickly break away yet are temporarily anchored together by a four-inch string of spittle. Without a doubt, the single most disturbing effect. Strangely, no explanation for why Meriwether never ages. In a rage, he defiantly proclaims his invincibility and convinces himself he can even pass through a wall of Cargonite. Let’s just say he does penetrate the wall. 

Note: The film’s big band jazz score was written and conducted by Ralph Carmichael, a gospel award-winning composer, arranger and conductor. No such accolades for scoring this film. The previous year he composed the score for, “The Blob,” but not the movie’s theme. Carmichael would soon establish himself as the father of contemporary Christian music, arranging and writing popular songs of faith. He would occasionally arrange hymnal standards for various albums with a big band flavor, causing quite a stir among pipe-organ-only worshipers. 

DOUBLE JEOPARDY (1955)

 

Stoically stiff, yet charmingly handsome, Rod Cameron plays a criminal attorney nearly engaged to Allison Hayes, whose father, a wealthy businessman played by John Litel, thinks highly of Cameron, personally and professionally. Perhaps the director suggested the brunette Hayes lighten her hair. The problem is that she and her equal-billed co-star, Gale Robbins, look similar in their opening scenes, sharing a hairstyle, facial structure, and figure. What separates the two is Robbin’s annoying character, an extremely deceptive and smart-aleck tart. Money is her only interest, not her former wealthy husband, Robert Armstrong. He has not worked in years since serving a prison term for a shady business deal with his former business partner, the aforementioned Litel. He now spends his idle hours consuming alcohol by the quart. That, and blackmailing Litel to keep their secret sealed. Enter problem child, Jack Kelly.

Kelly and Robbins are in a deceptive lust affair. They deserve each other. Kelly is a salesman for “Happy Harry’s” used car dealership. Kelly is as greedy and unethical as they come. Portly Dick Elliott plays Harry, some years away from being a one-term Mayor of Mayberry. At Kelly’s suggestion, Robbins sweet-talks Armstrong into pressuring Litel for a second big payoff. Another dreaded phone call and Litel meets Armstrong on their usual mountain overlook. But Litel has not brought any money, only rendezvousing with the extortionist to say he has had enough. Slime bag Kelly has been watching from afar and after Litel drives away he confronts Armstrong, demanding the assumed money. They argue, then Armstrong gets behind the wheel and attempts to drive off. Outside the passenger side of the car, Kelly appears to impossibly pull Armstrong away from the driver's side in a questionable bit of editing. Suddenly Armstrong's right arm dangles out the passenger side window. The car slowly rolls backward over a cliff. 'Twas the crash that killed the drunken beast.

Based on the specific tire tread pattern of his Rolls-Royce leading to the spot, Litel looks good for the murder. He finally admits his past with Armstrong and their financial deal for new housing development. Investigating on his own, Cameron puts the idea into Robbins' head that Kelly planned to double-cross her and keep the money himself. The two “love doves” drive to the scene of Armstrong’s demise to get the invisible money. Kelly's only plan is to silence loose lips.

This drama was produced by Rudy Ralston and written by Don Martin for Republic Pictures. The veteran of many Republic westerns, R. G. Springsteen, directed this seventy-minute crime film. Thanks to a competent cast, this well-played B-movie is a familiar theme of extortion with lying characters—two Hollywood favorites. Thick, night cinematography adds atmosphere to this "mystery" film. It holds up well enough for a very unknown film with an oft-used title.

Note: Late in the film, Cameron begins suspecting Kelly is surely guilty of something and poses a few questions to Elliot. Covering for Kelly, the attorney gets the run-around. Fed up and realizing there will be no straight answers, Cameron sarcastically deadpans, "Well, are you happy, Harry?"

FOREIGN INTRIGUE (1956)

Directed and produced by Sheldon Reynolds for Sheldon Reynolds Productions but not starring Sheldon Reynolds, this mystery was a box office success for United Artists in spite of an involved, twisty plot and some confusing characters known by name only. Reynolds’ one-sheet resumé includes his producing the television show of the same name at the same time. He was quite repetitive. American audiences were familiar with the star of this slightly long, one-hundred-minute film but not so much the co-stars. Introduced are Geneviève Page as Dominique and the blonde Ingrid Thulin as Brita. An intriguing character of amusing danger is played by Frederick O'Brady as Spring. Except for the lone American, Robert Mitchum, I have referred to the cast members by their character names. The slow-burn plot is not short on intrigue. Enjoy the beautiful camera work with lavish interiors and cinematic outdoor locations. But an unresolved ending may make one throw the remains of that bowl of popcorn at the screen, however.

The classically-inspired piano solo composition entitled, “The Foreign Intrigue Concerto” by Charles Norman, opens the film as Victor Danemore returns to his mansion after surveying his flower garden. At the same time, along the French Riviera, Mitchum enters the film to purchase Danemore’s airline tickets. An inquisitive and eavesdropping tourist, knowing something of the wealthy Danemore, questions Mitchum before he can drive back to the mansion. His exit is in a sleek 1949 Delahaye 135 Cabriolet Chapron accompanied by a frivolity of strings. Paul Durand’s music is never quite right as Mitchum traverses a beautiful high stone arch bridge in a distant shot—foreshadowing the likes of some early James Bond movies—the music here is a vivid mismatch of scene and score as soft flutes take over, setting entirely the wrong mood. The music is better suited for Mitchum net-hunting butterflies in a field. Visually, that would be intriguing.

Mitchum enters the mansion—chest first—to find Danemore on the floor in a position that would be uncomfortable for someone alive. He informs Danemore’s young wife, Dominique, who is not exactly grief-stricken. All the viewer knows at this point is Mitchum was hired a few years back to write a glowing account of Danemore’s past life. Glowing but fabricated. Not until near the halfway point, does one learn that Mitchum is a reporter. But he cannot get any straight answers on how he obtained his wealth. The intrigue gets underway in a complicated intertwining of tales and characters. Mitchum is particularly perplexed by the shadowing of the bald-headed Mr. Spring. Throughout the movie, Mitchum seems so relaxed he probably suspects what is around the next corner. On the contrary, he is flummoxed at every turn. His most frustrating mystery is why so many want to know if Danemore said anything before he died. Sometime after the funeral, in all her feigned sweetness, Dominique pays Danemore's estate representative a visit to request a sealed document. But she permitted only to verify that it is sealed. He opens the safe and the screen fades to black. For a second I thought I passed out. Mitchum stumbles upon another dead body. 

In an effort to unravel the two recent deaths, he sets off for Stockholm to meet a man associated with Danemore. Unfortunately, the man is no longer living. His daughter, Brita, is there to greet Mitchum. Whenever these two are together, Durand’s score erupts with more strings in a bouncy, slightly baroque repetitious ditty. The American is quite smitten with her playfulness. Brita suggests her mother may be able to shed some light on her late husband's connection yet Mitchum hits another brick wall.

Spring returns as the self-invited guest in Mitchum's hotel room. They share some sarcastic banter while Mitchum shaves. Nonchalantly, Spring informs him of his orders to kill him for that visit to Stockholm. He slowly lifts a small handgun but Mitchum knocks the gun from his hand with a towel and an uppercut decks him. After he awakes, Spring rubs his jaw in total puzzlement as to why he was punched so hard since they are good friends. It is back to Vienna for Mitchum who is met in secret by the opening's inquisitive “tourist” who is actually an agent with the Swiss Counter Intelligence. Mitchum quickly finds himself with the agent and four foreign officials in a dark, stone room and a warm fireplace. Mitchum is finally enlightened of Danemore’s past and they request he proceed with his prearranged night meeting with Spring. These national representatives provide an unexpected clever twist a bit later.

Unaware of Spring's appointment and conveniently hidden from his view, Dominique (above) approaches Mitchum at gunpoint with a partnership proposal or else. Those foreign officials are not far behind and arrest her. One should thank Bertil Palmgren for his excellent cinematography during these climactic scenes. The dark shadows cast by village archways and rich colors add the most intrigue to this film. The tension mounts with Durand’s two tones from a woodblock percussion instrument—a similar effect of water dripping in a drain pipe.

Note: When Dominique pays a condescending visit to Brita and her mother, it is an editing whiplash of sorts. As the mother appears to further elaborate on her husband, the scene abruptly changes to Mitchum looking through Spring’s suitcase. A few words with Spring and we are suddenly back to the three ladies as Dominique blabs on about Mitchum romancing Brita only to get the truth on Danemore and blackmail her with that truth. Then it is back to Mitchum and Spring. Then back to the ladies as Dominique leaves the premises with a threat. It all reminds me of many of today’s television crime dramas where they incorporate the assumed attention span of a gnat into the story.