BEAST FROM HAUNTED CAVE (1959)

Right up front, the producers acknowledge their gratitude to South Dakota for their cooperation in making this film (only for the extended television print). Specifically, the use of their snow. No Hollywood fake snow in this one. The random graphics splashing on the screen are typical of the era. These circles look more like Reese's Cup silhouettes, however, as the credits are displayed in a non-traditional arrangement. The film will eliminate seventy-five minutes from your life. Double-billed with The Wasp Woman, many Dakotans may have been expecting another “comedy” from this grammatically challenged “Tonto-esque” titled film. But many probably came away skittish about hitting "plenty big slopes" given the spooky creature. The slow-burn film, produced by Gene Corman, Roger’s kid brother, has the Corman touches. But accolades are due for being primarily a heist film with the science-fiction premise almost the film's sidebar. Never mind the salacious, misleading poster, designed to attract an audience.

A Corman always pads their films and there is plenty of ski footage, supported with misplaced music. Alexander Laszlo’s recycled score, in part, is from other Corman movies. From a Hammond organ to soap opera strings to a cool jazz segment (see note below), the music is certainly disjointed. And totally expected. The film was distributed by Filmgroup—the Corman boys—for Allied Artists Pictures. Charles Griffith’s script of clipped and witty banter, however unlikely, is quite suitable for the drive-in crowd. And the “special effect beast” is handled with restraint relying mostly on ominous shadows, a claw, and a prehistoric scream that sounds like someone tightening their vocal cords while inhaling a high pitch for a screeching effect. Lessening the embarrassment are undefined facial features as it supernaturally floats about, sometimes superimposed in the corner of the screen. After a decade of low-budget, paper mache science fiction “monsters” this one relies a bit more on imagination. The squeamish element is that the beast spins its live victims in a web-like cocoon, placing them in various locations until it can return for the kill. Certainly more creepy than Roger’s outcome with Susan Cabot’s laughable wasp head.

The handsome Michael Forest is undeniably the most familiar face in the film. His long list of television appearances allowed him a great deal of notoriety and variety. He and his four co-stars were Corman regulars who account for themselves in a professional manner. Forest is the level-headed element in this film, a ski instructor/guide in snowy Deadwood. In a turtleneck sweater, a prop pipe with his own cabin, he seems too classy, too perfect, to be in this film. He is persuaded to guide a group of four on a multi-day cross-country ski tour to his cabin. The group’s leader, Frank Wolff, has in his possession an unappreciated girlfriend, Sheila Noonan, a free spirit with sarcastic wit, a drinking problem, and insights into her life's bad decisions. She also slurs her lines as if her mouth is actually frozen in the authentic weather. This is Noonan’s second of four roles in her nearly one-year film career. She tries to thaw “Mr. Perfect” who keeps her flirting at arm’s length for a while. Noonan wants out of her bottomless pit and reveals her three skiing companions are gangsters. The other gang members consist of Wally Campo, a nutty little guy, and Richard Sinatra, Francis Albert's real-life cousin. 

Prior to the ski tour, the thieves set off a diversionary explosion in an abandoned cave as cover for stealing gold bars from the town’s bank vault. Forest becomes a hostage in order to get the gang close to their escape plane when it arrives. How the pilot could possibly land among thick evergreens and yard-deep powder is not clearly spelled out. But nothing goes as planned thanks to that stringy spider-beast awakened by the "heap big cave blast." Cocooned bodies are suspended in various locations with the victims helplessly staring out into space. The beast’s lair provides temporary blizzard shelter for the remaining cast. Emphasis on temporary. Chaotic editing makes for a confusing climax in which a final gangster fires two flare guns, giving “haunted beast plenty big sunburn.” 

Note: The extended print for television broadcasts is responsible for ten minutes of extra footage to pad the film. One of those scenes happens before the opening credit roll, focusing on a cutting-edge Polaroid Land Camera. Most viewers were glued at this point. The two guys in a 1960 Corvair station wagon (top image) are casing the town's bank. One will note jazzy saxophone caper music. The brief music snippet may remind one today, humorously, of the chase music later expertly written for the famous cat and mouse chase sequence in the film “Bullitt.” But this is Laszlo, not Lalo. I digress. In the background is a white 1961 Ford Thunderbird. For a film released in October 1959, both vehicles seem a bigger mystery than a cave beast ever existing. As the original length version indicates, the only mode of transportation for the gang is a 1959 Ford. 

KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (1952)

 

This is the first and arguably the most well-known of the three films teaming director, Phil Karlson, with John Payne as his career-changer. This film-noir has captivating segments, though one may need to overlook an idealistic screenplay by George Bruce and Harry Essex. With commendable casting choices, great camera work, and an enhancing score, ninety-nine minutes never seemed so short. It was produced by Edward Small with distribution by United Artists and it paved the way for a few "confidential" films in the Fifties. Despite some uniqueness, nearly seventy years have given it some humorous and less-than-believable scenes. Worthy of a more in-depth review than I typically provide.

Robbery mastermind, Preston Foster, with an unimaginative character name of Tim Foster, checks the timing of a floral delivery truck driven by Payne and the all-important armored bank van from his third-story office across the street. Foster puts a lot of stock in the preposterous idea that both vehicles will always arrive at precisely the same time. He checks off the time on a desk-sized stakeout map as confirmation. The large map brings to mind a scaled architectural blueprint yet this map is a simple outline drawing of the section of the street directly in front of the bank. A hand-drawn note on a paper napkin would have sufficed. It would suggest an exciting robbery to come by way of a rudimentary robbery so often used. But the clever setup and robbery are showcased right up front. Uniquely, the bulk of the film concerns the aftermath.

Foster hires three lowlifes for the opportunity of financial freedom if they help pull off the robbery: ironically, three stereotypical villains of the era, Jack Elam, Lee Van Cleef, and Neville Brand. To their amazement, he knows their backstory specifically. Their dialogue is concise and effective. A chain smoker by birth, Elam’s character is a nervous wreck, constantly in hiding from the electric chair. He is the first to meet Foster and it is a dandy scene. The mastermind wears a rather creepy, perhaps leather, mask when he meets with each of the three. Each will be provided a one-size-fits-all mask and cap. First class all the way. At gunpoint, Elam angrily demands the mask be removed. Elam is in no position to make demands. Instead, Foster slaps him back and forth several times in "burst out laughing" choreography by Elam as he jerks his head left and right in a precise metronome fashion. Van Cleef is much cooler during his prospective job interview. Quite the ladies' man—they are entranced by his eye slits—he is told not to be late which means stay away from women. Brand is an emotionless gum-chewing killer who has nothing better to do than look numb. A man of few words.  

Idealistically, Foster (as Foster) has thought of everything, even supplying a matching floral delivery truck that will contain the aforementioned criminals. It seems unfair that the artist who painted the floral company's logo on the side of the truck will get no cut of the loot. As it speeds away, awkwardly amusing is a bank guard, who, without really aiming, fires several times at the van in a crouched position with his gun at knee level. His firing range instructor has repeatedly scolded him about his ineffective stance. Slickly, the van is driven inside a big rig trailer parked at a prearranged loading dock. Once again, director Karlson has Payne, a reformed ex-con, a victim of mistaken identity as his truck is spotted. Without a single shred of evidence, he is assumed to be part of the robbery. One sadistic detective tries to beat Payne into submission. He hates him on pure assumption before gathering any facts. So very 21st century. Foster’s clever plan dictates that everyone keep their masks on to hide their identity from each other. One of the film’s interesting devices. He provides airline tickets for the trio's Mexico rendezvous. After each is separately let go in the middle of nowhere, they are instructed to stay south of the border until the heat is off. Probably about two years! 

After the police find the bogus floral van, Payne is released with the police chief's feeble apology. Not from the violent detective, though. “Thanks for nothin'!” is Payne's seething reply. Payne gets a bead on Elam from an informer. He need only follow the cigarette butts. Elam grabs Payne in another Hollywood “confrontational alley.” He demands to know why he is being followed. He growls, “You’ve been giving me the fisheye all evening!” Apropos coming from Elam. Payne claims innocence and then walks away, later picking up Elam's carcinogenic scent in his hotel room. The first item of business...slap Elam. Payne finds a mask in his suitcase. Elam gets slapped again. Payne’s breathy taunting pre-dates the “Dirty Harry” character by nearly two decades. Payne is on Elam like a bad stink as they await their flight to Mexico. The authorities spot Elam, who reaches for his gun. They cancel his frequent-flyer club membership. But it gives Payne an opportunity to pose as Elam. The viewer knows Payne’s charade as Elam is understandably limited. This is the halfway point in the film and one is still pretty sure Colleen Gray is in this movie.

Since the robbery, Foster (as Foster) has been enjoying his retirement as a pipe-smoking fisher of errant men. A longtime friend and insurance investigator, Howard Negley, shows up by invitation. We learn Foster is a veteran cop, finally explaining his background knowledge of his accomplices. He informs Negley that new “evidence” will help him crack the two-year-old bank robbery with the credit—Foster's double-cross of his three stooges—going on his resumé. It is the first mention of his daughter, Gray, who has been waiting for her cue to enter the film while studying her script and bar exam. Despite her short screen time, being the singular female lead, and her notable work in earlier films, it probably accounts for her star billing—whether negotiated or paid for. She grows fond of Payne during the same southern flight. Purely scripted coincidence. She eventually mentions his “undercover” name to dear old Dad. His eyes suddenly get suspicious knowing full well she could not have been charmed by “Fisheye Elam.” 

Payne is pummeled by the pugilistic team of Cleef and Brand, the latter having met Elam before. There is another usage of the specific violent and painful act as  Cleef’s left and right hands bang hard against Payne’s ears. Cleef repeatedly refers sarcastically to Payne at this point as, “pal-zee,” after being hoodwinked by Payne earlier. As luck would have it, Gray shows up during a pummeling pause, and the two thugs, sweating profusely, cordially leave. Gray assumes a serious “conversation” was taking place. She and Payne have little to say to each other. At this point, every male identity starts to unravel with three burials to be scheduled. Gray is relieved to learn the truth about Payne as Negley sets the record straight. Confidentially, of course.

Note: Elam wants to buy some cigarettes at the airport. I always thought it strange that many of those height-challenged machines had a large mirror, usually round, on the front. Apparently for men to check their fly.

CONVICT’S CODE (1939)

 

The less-than-famous Motion Pictures for Television, Inc. offered up this sixty-two-minute, quintessential forgotten film, directed by Lambert Hillyer and distributed by Monogram Pictures Corporation—known after 1953 as Allied Artists Pictures Corporation. It had no chance of garnering fans in a year of monumental productions. Hillyer chewed through one movie after another, ending his career with the successful television series, Highway Patrol. There is not much to say about this budget-constrained, well-acted crime film except that the plot is revealed in the first ten minutes. There is nothing about the cinematography or music score that has not been seen or heard before. Capitalizing on a Thirties trend, there may be scenes between two characters explaining what has happened or what is about to happen so the viewer will not be confused. However, confusion is not an issue with the obviously spelled-out screenplay by John Krafft.

THE FIRST TEN MINUTES

Former college football great, “Whizz Tyler,” played by Robert Kent, has spent the last three years in prison for a robbery he did not commit. Released on six-year parole, Kent is bent on finding those who railroaded him like racketeer Sidney Blackmer, for starters—whose secretary sounds like Betty Boop over the intercom. Blackmer bet heavily on a crucial college game and lost a bundle. He hires the parolee, an assured way of getting him out of his hair over the slightest parole violation.

Speaking of violations, Kent’s parole officer runs down his restrictions for the next half dozen years. The usual, like not changing his residence, associating with known criminals, driving without a driver’s license, and no guns or boozing. No one ever said he was a whizz at comprehension as he racks up more than enough violations to send him back to the slammer. But the only witnesses are the movie-goers. Finally—the real stickler—he cannot marry unless the potential bride is approved by the parole board.

ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW AFTER TEN MINUTES

Blackmer is loved by everyone who does not really know him. A criminal manipulator, he does, however, have a beating heart. Anne Nagel adores her older brother. Personally, I was annoyed by her occasional monotonous pattern of pitch with words perfectly released as if she is cognizant of over-enunciating. Her steely-bright “esses” stinging her words. I digress. Blackmer’s first assignment for Kent is to make a delivery to Nagel’s home and he takes a shine to her right off the car's running board. There are inconsequential scenes in the movie at this point then the film wraps up briskly as Kent levels with Nagel about being framed. Being the gentleman he is, he does not reveal the person responsible. Knowing how much his sister loves the parolee, Blackmer tries to stop his bull-headed associate from following through with the “Whizz” hit. Everyone gets what and who they deserve in the end. Knowing the bloodline with a known criminal, Nagel hopes she gets a good marriage approval rating from the parole board.

Note: There are two actors of note, though for different reasons. Maude Eburne plays Kent’s landlady. An exhausted pessimist with a nasal delivery. Her performance may be the only fondly remembered moment in the film. She is the levity whether intentional or not. The other is Ben Alexander, who plays Kent’s long-time friend and newspaper sports writer. Alexander would later gain fame, and weight, as the first television partner to Sgt. Joe Friday on, “Dragnet.”

5 AGAINST THE HOUSE (1955)

Directed by Phil Karlson, this production helped establish the heist film. It was produced by Stirling Silliphant and John Barnwell for Columbia Pictures with a screenplay based on Jack Finney's 1954 novel of the same name. George Duning's score adds the right amount of heft when needed. For the most part, the eighty-three minutes play out logically until the nonsensical ending. Karlson's realism is evident right from the opening night scene in Reno, Nevada as a campus foursome arrive and have their car parked on an upper level by a nifty hydraulic parking garage system. There is plenty of genuine comic dialogue but the script's humorous quips wear a bit thin, in part due to the film eventually taking a darker turn. Enrolled to further their matrimonial studies are Brian Keith, Guy Madison, Kerwin Mathews, and Alvy Moore, appearing to be the only age-appropriate student—at thirty-four!—judging by his mannerisms, physique, and crew cut. He is enrolled as the film's levity. If you can get past the age absurdity, you are nearly halfway there. 

Returning to campus after their Korean War duty, pre-law students, Madison and Keith, are somewhat the "fathers" to the other two collegians. Madison is the straight arrow of the two. Capitalizing on some early roles, Keith's script dictates a volatile nature due to battle shock and a metal plate in his head yet refuses further treatments in the VA's psych ward. During this era, a metal plate worked its way into a number of post-war actor heads. But there are five against the house. Enter Madison's girlfriend, Kim Novak, now reunited. To his astonishment, she has become a singer at a Glendale nightclub. He had no idea she could sing and never suspected her voice would be dubbed. The chosen studio singer matches Novak's vocal range accurately enough, but it is no longer believable. Thankfully there is only one number to sit through.

Due to a sizable inheritance, the wealthy Matthews—perhaps paying cash for each semester—is obsessed with a plan to rob Harold's Club in Reno. Just for the exhilaration. All the money would be quickly returned—how is never addressed—ensuring that no one involved would be guilty of a crime. Right. Matthews purchases a used trailer and car to pull it and then fabricates a cash cart—entirely from memory—identical to the ones used at the club. The complex operation depends on Madison's participation—and a gullible audience—if it is to succeed, however. Throwing a curve into the plan is Madison's intention to marry Novak in Reno. The entire “wedding party” takes the seven hundred twenty-mile drive to Reno. Before long, Madison realizes something is up and forces the trio's hand. The happy couple want no part in it. That will not do, according to the unbalanced Keith, who now has no plan of returning the money or sharing it. Losing all sense of reason he threatens to bring them all down for their part if he gets caught.

They pull off the ideally-timed theft with the help of a nervous William Conrad, in charge of the club's cash cart, during Western costume days. Matthews has a reel-to-reel tape recorder hidden inside the duplicate cart that plays a threatening recording on his command, psychologically making Conrad think “the guy in there” will shoot him if he does not play along. How Matthews turns the recorder on and off or how Conrad could not be aware of the cart's lack of weight is purely suspended disbelief. Madison catches up with the fleeing Keith and their special bond results in a tearful, emotional collapse of the latter in the same garage where the film opened. The police are there to arrest Keith and everyone else is preposterously ignored for their part in the scheme. The viewer assumes Keith will not squeal on the other four and his metal...er...mental condition will result in a light sentence. Apparently, Conrad will keep silent when asked about his traumatic quarter-hour experience.

Note: This is certainly an entertaining film and generally got positive reviews at the time. But as time tends to enhance old films, this unknown noir has been raised to a higher level by some. The acting is commendable but Keith is the only standout performer, eliciting a wide range of emotions. Novak's early film role seems well-suited for the fairly one-dimensional Madison. However, the posters defy any thought of her in a supporting role. It is more like four against one.

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.

Steve Brodie: John Stephens (1919-1992)

Most would remember Steve Brodie from his early film noir roles as a tough, sometimes heartless, gangster. These personas carried over into westerns as a hired gun or a despicable drifter. His contract with RKO Pictures got him noticed with 1947 proving to be a pivotal year in such films as, Out of the Past, Crossfire, and Desperate, the latter of which he had a lead role as a newlywed on the straight and narrow after a prison sentence. It was a fairly exciting film in which he tries to distance himself from a past acquaintance, Raymond Burr, who is now a powerful gangster. Keeping his wife out of harm’s way was his priority. He was opposite Lawrence Tierney in Bodyguard (1948) followed by a freelance project for a dandy Richard Fleischer film, Armored Car Robbery (1950). He was on the right side of the law as a police lieutenant in the remake of M (1951). Though television kept him busy, he never left films totally behind with a supporting role in, Three Came to Kill (1960) opposite Cameron Mitchell, as an electronic “genius” who hates “stinkin' jets” as they roar overhead.

Brodie signed on to popular westerns of the era, Cheyenne, Wanted--Dead or Alive, and Rawhide. He played Butch Cassidy in the Warner Bros series, Bronco. His only recurring role was as Sheriff Johnny Behan on The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp (1960) then Everglades, (1961), as Captain Andy Benson. He made the rounds in modern detective series such as 77 Sunset Strip, Hawaiian Eye, and Perry Mason in the early Sixties. On the lighter side, he had an appearance on, The Beverly Hillbillies (1965) and The Wild World of Batwoman, 1966. He found only occasional work in the Seventies. His career ended in the Eighties—coming full circle—with three forgettable low-budget films.

Note: Stephens, a native of Kansas, took his stage name from the daredevil, Steve Brodie, who claimed to have survived a jump from the Brooklyn Bridge in 1886. Typical of actors of his era, he jumped from job to job just to get by, resulting in a hard-living, hard-drinking life away from the cameras. However, whether on stage, on film, or on television, he never embarrassed himself and usually added a memorable dimension to his films.