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 has 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 wants 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 the realization the cockpit has no roof. The oblivious co-pilot continues to be fascinated with the spring in his ballpoint pen. The passengers start to pass out in spite of 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. Wait. I think they are talking about climate change. A typical negative attitude from people in charge without any real hope. Arguably, these final twenty minutes may make you wonder what happened to this promising concept fifty minutes prior. Honestly, it is a tough call to make. 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. One may wonder if that “nutcase” jumped into the future, delaying his demise one whole day.

With the exception of 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.

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 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. His acting awareness is painfully obvious during his reactionary facial expressions and his “nudge-nudge” of Dayton Lummis, excruciatingly stuck in the window seat.