FLIGHT THAT DISAPPEARED (1961)

 

Nearly twenty minutes of this seventy-one-minute science fiction film are spent setting up the low-budget premise about an alien abduction of an airliner over “flyover country” between Los Angeles and the Nation's capital. The flight never arrives at anything compelling. The pilot and co-pilot have an attempt at witty banter about the eventual demise of the piston-era airliner they are flying. The poster is way ahead of them with an inaccurate headline teaser and graphic. Two scientists and a mathematician on board the flight have been summoned to a classified meeting at the Pentagon. Liberal filmmakers on America's two coasts—lacking any logic—lived in fear of total destruction by an atomic weapon, perhaps figuring an administration never gave it a thought about how futile it would be to engage in a nuclear war where retaliation makes life moot. This tired premise is the second one in this boring talk-fest, produced by Robert E. Kent. Nearly a “mayday” call toward the end of his long career. United Artists distributed the film. United Airlines wanted no part of it. What really disappeared was this film from almost everyone's memory.

Midway through the flight, the Douglas DC-6 airliner—with enough studio cockpit room to be the envy of a cruise ship's bridge—mysteriously begins to climb ten miles high even though its engines ceased three miles before. More alarming to the pilot (above) is his realization that the cockpit has no roof. Just kidding. The oblivious co-pilot continues to be fascinated with the spring in his ballpoint pen. The passengers start to pass out despite the emergency oxygen masks. Their hearts have stopped as well as their watches. Never mind the “nutcase” who opens an airliner door and is not sucked out but given the choice to jump. The three heavy thinkers—Dayton Lummis, with the formula for a new bomb, Craig Hill, literally a rocket scientist, and Paula Raymond, a mathematician lacking logic—mysteriously are immune and soon greeted outside the airliner by a human-looking alien in an open-collared summer shirt and Haband slacks. The three follow with an underlying fake theremin into a lot of fog. The money saved on a set and costumes was a boon. One's imagination will have to do.

They are shown a future where “their bomb” has been used and it destroyed the atmosphere, killing all life on the planet. A typically negative attitude from people in charge without any real hope. The narrow-minded aliens continue to castigate until they proclaim a guilty verdict. But their Sage, Addison Richards, objects to the counsel's life sentencing on planet "Limbo" and allows the three to return from whence they came. The abduction alone will give them something to think about. 

Except for Hill, the other two assume they all had the same vivid dream. The control tower is astounded when the plane lands safely—being a decrepit old prop-driven airliner. No, that is not fair. It is because they were supposed to land the previous day. Proof that Hill's theory of the trio's “day-long” trial—with no bathroom breaks—and judgment was not a mere dream. One wonders if that “nutcase” jumped into the future, delaying his demise one whole day.

Notes: Television actor and Spanish film star, Craig Hill, had a trio of Robert Kent films to his credit during this period. This film is sandwiched between Deadly Duo and You Have To Run Fast. The latter being the better of the three. Close your eyes and his voice may conjure up Bob Cummings.

Perhaps no Ray Teal or Whit Bissell in terms of frequency, the ever-present Roy Engle (above, far right) ranks high on the “everyday guy” list. He has a brief appearance here as an over-acting, obnoxious passenger thrilled with the prospect of obliterating the USSR. Dayton Lummis is excruciatingly stuck in the window seat.

NEW YORK CONFIDENTIAL (1955)

Based on the novel of the same name by Jack Lait and Lee Mortimer, this eighty-eight-minute film stays several stories above ground thanks to a superior cast. Richard Conte is a standout. He plays the always smiling, polite, confident hitman for a Chicago mob, tarnishing an otherwise likable guy. Key to the film is Broderick Crawford as the knee-jerk, hot-headed mob kingpin who has worked his way to the top by intimidation and not necessarily brains. Crawford was blessed—or cursed—with the ability to speed-talk faster than your average Millennial, something that belies his facial appearance. His script alone is half as thick as the rest of the cast because he crams five pages into one.

Edward Small Productions, along with Clarence Greene, produced this “confidential” film—Small's second—centering on a crime syndicate's control of big-city movers and shakers obsessed with rising to the top by any means. It is directed by Russell Rouse, who along with Greene, wrote the screenplay. Though not a particularly busy career, Rouse wrote screenplays and/or directed a wide variety of films, spanning such diverse films as, Wicked Woman starring his wife, Beverly Michaels, and Doris Day's classic, Pillow Talk. Small's earlier Kansas City Confidential offered some uniqueness that this film lacks. Those Midwest folk were way more creative with their crime. This film is never exciting nor intense—a basic rehash of how a cartel can pressure ordinary businessmen with an offer each cannot refuse. As was common, opening narration sets up the premise by radio and television actor Marvin Miller.

Conte is on a relaxing East Coast assassination vacation when Crawford calls him into his office. He makes an immediate impression and the boss hires him at twice his Windy City salary to be his business “equalizer.” From the start, one gets the feeling these two devoted friends will face off one way or the other. Syndicate friendships can be fleeting. Strictly business. Nothing personal. Anne Bancroft plays Crawford's daughter who rebels against her dictated life and is embarrassed by her father's career. She is socially unacceptable. Her casting seems to be fortuitous timing being the right age and a relative newcomer.

A plan to cut the head off the syndicate is initiated by the governor's crime commission. Crawford sends three men to eliminate the primary target but they botch the assignment and leave behind too many clues. This will not be tolerated. The syndicate becomes smaller by three. Conte is sent out to finish the house cleaning. All the while Crawford is being pressured to turn state's evidence, relinquishing his hold on the cartel. The syndicate realizes they will all be implicated if he cooperates. Conte is given the heartless assignment. Later that night as he parks near his apartment—in a momentary lack of judgment—Conte exits down the middle of the dark street. What goes around comes around.

Note: New York Confidential was generally well-received, in part due to the familiar cast. J. Carrol Naish plays Crawford's right-hand man. A character whose inside knowledge of the syndicate becomes a liability. The widowed Crawford has attracted a new girlfriend, Marilyn Maxwell, who finds herself in the wrong place and time. She and Bancroft both have designs on Conte but he has learned to stay in his own neighborhood. Then there is the actor one would expect to be associated with gangsters, Mike Mazurki. As a life-saving measure, he actively pursues a plea bargain. Finally, Barry Kelly, in somewhat of his typecast character, plays the unethical syndicate attorney trying to work both sides of the legal fence.

RED LIGHT (1949)

George Raft is the successful owner of a large trucking firm. His bookkeeper, Raymond Burr, is sent packing on embezzlement accusations. The scene shifts to Burr and his fellow inmates watching a newsreel which includes highlights of Raft welcoming his young brother home from the war. Raft would seem to be more mayor than businessman to rate a newsreel feature. As the film's “reel of revenge” turns in Burr's mind, the projectionist, Henry (Harry) Morgan, is in the same frame of mind. The clipped, monotone dialogue between them is an unintended humorous exchange of two vengeful guys. Morgan was adept at playing disturbed, simple-minded individuals. Again, he is downright scary, here. Also typical of his early film career, Burr is cold-blooded. Embezzlement was nothing. Expect another hanging lamp over his shoulder in otherwise darkness. With nearly four years behind him, Morgan is due for prison release—on good behavior—and follows through with Burr's request. Kill a minister of the Gospel. Raft's brother.

This is a good example of a forgotten film noir in the waning months of a challenging decade. It is a solid endeavor with a flashback or two, unexpected twists at the end, and more than its share of assumptions. The cast is a no-fault affair of respected actors with a familiar Raft in a fedora pursuing personal justice. The film is based on the story by actor, Don "Red Ryder" Barry, "This Guy Gideon," with an underlying Biblical lesson about vengeance and who will ultimately administer it. The misleading change of title is understandable as few would buy a ticket if Raft was a Gideon Bible salesman. But not much thought seemed to go into it. The film is not about traffic violators in San Francisco, though the opening credits over a dark background are revealed to be the tunnel approaching the Golden Gate Bridge. I sort of get it. Red means stop. The eighty-three Minutes is competently directed and produced by Roy Del Ruth and distributed by United Artists. It possesses the quintessential harsh shadows and engaging camera angles of cinematographer Bert Glennon. Still, the film would lack a great deal of depth without the rolling thunder score by Dimitri Tiomkin. His pounding rhythm elevates the film several notches. His repeated motifs—some from an earlier composition—are appropriately applied with a subtle recurring adaption of Schubert's “Ave Maria.”

The final cryptic words to Raft from his brother, Arthur Franz, mention a Bible. Raft's assumed lead is to search the scriptures for a clue to the murderer's name. Rifling through the pages is a time-consuming waste of time for him. He prefers pounding the pavement in search of the Gideon Bible stolen from a particular hotel room. Burr, now also out from behind bars, wants bygones-be-bygones and seeks work with his previous employer. While there he overhears Raft's recounting his brother's last moments to his trusted employee, Gene Lockhart. Burr assumes he needs that book first. The middle of the film has Raft seeking his own revenge, interacting with an assortment of characters who had stayed in that particular room. The most fortuitous is Virginia Mayo, who agrees to help in his search though she soon tires of his lack of forthrightness. It is a pretty strong role for her and appropriately not ostentatious.

Raft's next lead takes him to Reno and is soon aware Morgan has tailed him. He sets up a sting with what looks like an indexed Bible and purposely leaves it unattended on a counter. Morgan takes the bait. At gunpoint, Raft ushers him off to the hotel room he shares with Burr. The murderer discovers it is nothing more than a cookbook. A brief tussle before Morgan escapes out the window, taking a bullet with him. Later on the train back to San Francisco, he tells Burr he is through with getting shot at. Burr understands. An uppercut knocks Morgan from the speeding train.

Mayo has found the specific Bible and points out to the myopic Raft that his brother simply wanted him to read what he had circled, Romans 12:19—his plea to not seek revenge along with a personal handwritten scribble for Raft. Cue the Ave Maria melody. It is the start of Raft's transformation. Burr, the elephant in the room, shows relief in his soft, boxy face. Imagine his surprise when face to face with the smoldering, bleeding Morgan, whose revenge is unsuccessful but proves that one may survive a header off a speeding train. Raft's rooftop neon company sign is the next staging area for the usual Hollywood chase upwards to nowhere. The viewer expects the obligatory death plunge by Burr, only bouncing a couple of times after hitting the pavement. But it becomes a science lesson that rain and electricity should not simultaneously come together. Fried Burr-ito.

Note: A particularly cruel and startling segment involves Raft's trusted employee, Lockhart, his trucking dispatch officer. It is a dark evening when he makes his way to his car. It will not start. The distributor wires have been cut. Burr is hiding in the shadows waiting for his moment. Lockhart is spooked and stumbles backward under a truck's trailer. Burr calmly approaches and kicks the jack away which is suspending the trailer. 

HANDS OF A STRANGER (1962)

A promising concert pianist, James Stapleton, loses the use of his hands when they are thrust through the glass of a taxicab during a low-speed crash. The viewer must assume this is at least remotely possible. His hands are a mangled mess of flesh and bone. Not a scratch on his face by the way. Therapy is not an option. He receives a groundbreaking double hand transplant from the hands of a recent murder victim. Lead surgeon Paul Lukather declares the operation a success. At least he has hands that inhabit normal living. But the pre-owned hands do not respond to Stapleton's brain. They cannot discern black keys from white. In fact, both hands seem to have a brain of their own, completely taking control of the pianist's psyche. In reality, it suggests the high-strung artist had some prior mental and emotional issues.

More thriller than horror, if the title or its miss-categorized genre does not explain the premise, the first fifteen minutes will. Then settle in for the less-than-thrilling outcome. Distributed by Allied Artists Pictures—uh-oh!—it is a routine attempt to bamboozle an audience, preferably at a drive-in. The best part of this one-hundred-seventy-grand film may be the marvelous opening and subsequent scenes by photographer Henry Cronjager, Jr. The piano concert music score throughout by Richard LaSalle is appropriately used. One may spot some familiar television faces but it may be difficult to put a name to them. Also unknown at the time is Sally Kellerman, whose film fame was only slightly proportionately longer than her script, here. There are solid, sensitive performances by the three leads, however. If it were possible at the time, this movie might have gone straight to DVD.

In Stapleton's distress, the blame lies entirely with the surgeon. His older sister, Joan Harvey, is of the same mind. She hysterically believes the surgeon wanted personal glory for doing hand transplants. Talk to the hand! Her over-the-top performance during this scene made me wish I could be transplanted to another room. One expects a murder rampage will work its way into the film's eighty-five minutes. Hands-downs, this is the main reason for its theatrical release. No real point going into detail about how or who, but know that Stapleton's script calls for him to kill—accidentally or on purpose—repeatedly thanks to those clunky criminal mind hands. The violence is only alluded to with any gore unnecessary since most victims expired by hand. He sets his sights on the doctor who assisted in the surgery and presumably will get around to the rest of the medical staff in due course if he survives the film.

The ending is what one would expect. We find Stapleton in a vacant, echoing concert hall as Harvey and Lukather arrive and spot his latest victim. After a few disparaging remarks, Stapleton begins pounding on the keyboard—something he never excelled at before—proving that his future may likely include boxing.

FILM BRAKE: A TELEVISION KING

Wright King (Thomas Wright Thornburg King 1923-2018) 

Wright King, not to be confused with other notable kings—King Calder or King Donovan—was an American stage, film and television actor whose career spanned from 1949 until 1978 with an official retirement publicized in 1987. Also of note is King's single 1948 marriage which lasted until his wife's death ten years prior to his. His lengthy career placed him in stage productions on both sides of the Atlantic as well as a prolific supporting actor on numerous television series. Heady stuff for the small-town Oklahoma native. King studied drama at the St. Louis School of Theater, graduating in 1941 before enlisting in the United States Navy, serving in the South Pacific from 1943 to 1945. After being honorably discharged he continued his drama studies in New York at the Actors Studio and the American Theatre Wing. He garnered critical acclaim in the original Broadway production of A Streetcar Named Desire (1947-49). A role he would repeat in the movie version, below.

His screen debut was in the 1949 television series, Captain Video and His Video Rangers for those who had a budget for a television set. He then gained notice in the thirty-nine episode children's fantasy series, Johnny Jupiter, playing Ernest P. Duckweather (1953-54) on the DuMont Network. Few considered to what heights his career would ascend. King made the rounds on popular anthology series of the day but being in the saddle is where one would soon expect to find him. On his second of three episodes on television's Cheyenne, entitled, “Born Bad” (1958), he played the young outlaw, The Pocatello Kid (below) decked out as if the inspiration for Woody of “Toy Story” fame. The versatile actor brought honesty to his roles, sometimes running a bit close to an over-the-top delivery simply to sell his character. His Pocatello Kid was one such role. Another actor might have played down the role, but King leaves no doubt his character is an immature, hot-headed gunslinger.

In 1957 King starred as a falsely accused horse thief saved from one hanging but not his second after killing one of his original hangmen in “Born To Hang” on Gunsmoke. His first of four appearances with Richard Boone in Have Gun Will Travel (1957) was "Helen of Abajinan." King is a delight to watch in this role as an independent young buck refusing to get tied down by any woman. But he is undeniably smitten by Lisa Gaye, the daughter of an Armenian winemaker. His comedic delivery and facial expressions define his character. His most visible role was eleven episodes on the television series Wanted Dead or Alive (1959) playing Jason Nichols, an eager partner to Steve McQueen's Josh Randall. It was an experiment to infuse another angle in the show or give McQueen what he wanted—less time on the set.

But you cannot keep a good King saddled forever. His two appearances on The Twilight Zone is of special note. In "Shadow Play" (1961) he plays a newspaper editor who becomes convinced that a death row inmate's "dreams" may become reality. His final episode is a dandy, ending under the false pretenses that all “Twilight” episodes ended with a twist—hence the most memorable. “Of Late I Think of Cliffordville” (1963) has King, a forty-year janitor, “switching” roles with a wealthy, arrogant Albert Salmi in the end. All arranged by a devil, Julie Newmar. King had a minor role as Senator Richard B. Russell Jr. of Georgia in one of the most captivating television movies of the Twentieth Century, The Missiles of October, (1974), a dramatization of the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962. His last recurring role was in the short-lived, Logan's Run (1977-78), as Jonathon.

Note: Though there were numerous bit parts or uncredited roles for King in his early venture into movies, he is most famously associated with “A Streetcar Named Desire” (1951), “The Young Guns (1956) and “Cast a Long Shadow” (1959). It took about five days to film the low-budget, yet decent ocean-based thriller, “Dangerous Charter,” which was finally released in 1962. King's supporting role might have only taken a day, however. Larger-budgets awaited as King was cast as the District Attorney in the fantasy musical, “Finian's Rainbow” (1968) and notably “unseen” in “Planet of the Apes” (1968) as the chimpanzee veterinarian, Dr. Galen.