FILM BRAKE: MR. JONES' TEMPTATIONS

 

Henry Jones (1912-1999) could usually be identified before looking up at the screen by his unique vocal groan-whine nasal delivery—ghrining—when lacking commitment or just ornery. The Philadelphia native was an accomplished actor of stage, film and television but the ordinary-looking 5' 10" Jones was initially a casting challenge—directors not knowing what to do with him. That quickly changed, being cast in more than 180 performances in film and television roles, the latter being where it was most frequently seen.

Jones possessed considerable stage experience—though a sporadic start in 1931. By 1938 he made his Broadway debut in Maurice Evans' Hamlet. Nearly a decade later, between film and television appearances, he gained notice for originating the role of the suspicious handyman, Leroy Jessup, in The Bad Seed, with a flaming end to his character for the 1956 Mervyn LeRoy version. Other theater credits included The Solid Gold Cadillac, with Sunrise at Campobello winning him the Tony Award for Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Play. His last Broadway role was in Advise and Consent in 1960-61.

His wide range of second-string movie roles cast him often as a philanderer, minister, judge, banker or sly mayor. He shined in comedic support roles where his talent for angst or temptation could be put to good use in such outings as Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?, Support Your Local Sheriff (and the sequel) Dirty Dingus Magee or 9 to 5. But it was not all laughs. He often portrayed unscrupulous characters or ones with a dark side. None more so than the methodically cruel coroner in Vertigo (1958). However, Jones was most consistently visible on television where he was in constant demand through the mid-1990s.

Capturing Jones' craft first-hand is perhaps best displayed in five leading roles on Alfred Hitchcock Presents (AHP). Jones was one of Hitchcock's favorites, accounting for his five appearances on the series (above). They best define his acting nuances where temptation gets the best of him, knowing full well it is the wrong thing to do—the very definition of temptation. His first episode, “”De Mortuis” (1956), casts Jones with fishing buddies, Philip Coolidge and a Professor, Robert Emhardt. Any one of which could hold an episode together despite a worn script. But the Professor cannot be found at home though they suspect he will be along shortly. To kill some time, their conversation turns to Emhardt's younger, attractive wife whose reputation for “fooling around” is no secret. In fact, each has stories to tell. Jones is particularly tempted by his encounter with her. A clatter leads them to discover Emhardt was in his basement all along. The fresh cement section about the same length as your average coffin gets them wondering—basement entombment being somewhat a habit for AHP during this period. His second appearance, entitled “Nightmare in 4-D” (1957) is a dark comedy casting Jones as a married man with constant nightmares from reading too much pulp fiction. In reality, he gets wrapped up with a coy Barbara Baxley and her corpse lying on the floor of her apartment. There is plenty of “ghrining” as Jones reluctantly helps remove the “icky” body in the middle of the night simply as a favor. Both performers are amusing. Unfortunately, his straightforwardness becomes his next nightmare. Next has Jones as a master taxidermist in, “The West Warlock Time Capsule” (1957), whose cleverness in removing a cruel freeloader seems to be foolproof. For the futuristic episode, “The Blessington Method” (1959), Jones plays an executive who meets with an "insurance" agent of sorts, with a "Dr. Kevorkian" twist. Jones is appropriately wary yet, once again, tempted. His quintessential character finishes his final episode, “Profit-Sharing Plan” (1962). Temptation raises its head during Jone's office retirement party—with a thankless pen and pencil set for twenty year's service. His unscrupulous plan is thwarted at the last minute in an unanticipated twisted ending. Jones also did one Alfred Hitchcock Hour episode, “The World's Oldest Motive” (1965). Jones plays a philanderer with murder on his mind. An ironic ending ensures.

One would think Jones might have frequented The Twilight Zone, but his single appearance was in the silly 1960 episode, “Mr. Bevis.” Jones—a persuasive guardian angel—rescues the title character, Orson Bean, from his oddball lifestyle as well as Bean's lackadaisical performance. Jones had a regular role on the drama Channing, then three decades of appearances running the gamut from The Man from U.N.C.L.E. to The Mary Tyler Moore Show and its spin-off, Phillis. Jones joined that cast as her cantankerous, droning father-in-law, Judge Jonathan Dexter. His final recurring roles were on Falcon Crest from 1986-87 and in a series without any traction, I Married Dora (1987-88).

KISS ME [atypically] DEADLY (1955)

This one-hundred-six-minute cult classic based on Mickey Spillane's salacious book of the same name is hardly obscure or unknown in the Twenty-First Century. What is definitively unknown are my opinions about some strangeness or implausibilities in this late-blooming film noir produced and directed by Robert Aldrich for Parklane Pictures and distributed by United Artists. I take note of numerous atypical elements which set this film apart from earlier film noirs. Years of hindsight have solidified this film's cult status and emblazoned Ralph Meeker in the Hollywood history books. The measured score was composed by the versatile Frank De Vol, a four-time Oscar nominee with thirty-six comedy acting roles in his future—mostly in television. 

This film's atypical opening involves quirky Cloris Leachman frantically running— appearing to be barefoot—in the middle of a road at night. Meeker, aka Mike Hammer, nearly runs her down with his Jaguar XK120. The captivating opening screenplay by A. I. Bezzerides may give the impression you just parachuted in. As one would expect, she is exhausted. Questionably strange, however, is that she continues to heave and moan miles later as his passenger. It would seem the director would have stepped in to suggest something else for Leachman at this point. It is unnecessarily extended or at least annoying. On a more positive note, first-time viewers were probably eager to know what happens next in this slow-burn journey which ends outrageously like a science-fiction horror film.

Not many Los Angeles private detectives have the wherewithal to be choosy about the car they drive. And it usually is not a Jaguar. Atypical. His home is built around a cutting-edge reel-to-reel answering machine embedded in his wall. Atypical. He employs an invaluable secretary slash undercover manipulator, Maxine Cooper. The report by the Kefauver Commission, in strongly-worded comments, said this film was not fit for families to view. The initial intimate embrace between the two leads may have made a few mid-century patrons uncomfortable, with the scene [perhaps] comprising one of the commission's middle paragraphs. Another paragraph may have addressed the atypical Gaby Rodgers—the most quirky female in the film as Leachman's roommate—Quirky 2.0. She too is barefoot in her opening scenes with a vocal delivery indicating she may be under some sort of influence. Rodgers' short blonde hair seems to fit the era's formula of a sociopath—the bleached hair of psychos like Raymond Burr, Skip Homeier or Corey Allen comes to mind.

Adding to the lead cast are supporting roles for Wesley Addy, whose condescending, sarcastic delivery is always spot-on—here as a police lieutenant who knows how to keep a secret—and perennial bad guys Jack Elam and Jack Lambert. The two Jacks earn respect after Meeker's—assumed martial arts—effortless off-screen debilitation of Lambert. Atypical. As if Meeker has supernatural powers. Elam is visibly shaken by what he witnessed. Their mob boss, Paul Stewart has a brief screen appearance but will not go unnoticed. The deviously smiling gangster and Meeker never resolve their trust issues. But with no hard feelings, Stewart leaves a new Corvette—atypical to spotlight this car during the era—curbside outside his home. He only sprung for two accessories—bombs wired to double Meeker's chances of exploding. The mustachioed Nick Dennis plays the experienced Italian auto mechanic frequented by Meeker, with an enduring phrase, “Va-Va-Voom,” when referring to fast cars or beautiful girls. After “disarming” the Corvette—saving Dennis's life—it becomes Meeker's new ride of choice. I think the sound department may have taken liberties with the Corvette's exhaust note. The studio cameras attached to Meeker's cars add realism to the film. No cheap studio prop cars in this one. Cinematographer, Ernest Laszlo, should be noted for his lighting, and his Los Angeles location shooting may be interesting to those who grew up or still live there. He and Aldrich seemed to have had an understanding and would work together frequently.

Rodgers is reunited with her superior, Albert Dekker, who warns her to never open “The Box.” It sets up the bazaar and chilling twist that utilizes a horrifying sound effect like mankind's screams from hell when she opens the box. Most atypical. Meeker and Cooper escape the beach house's “atomic” fireball—sans a mushroom cloud—capping an implausible ending as they reach safety in the shore's knee-deep water. Mid-century moviegoers—tossed between bewilderment and fright—may not have been able to describe the film to a friend except to say they had not seen anything quite like the disturbing ending.

Note: The mystery box so tempting to Rodgers contained an atom that has excess nuclear energy of highly unstable Radionuclide. Its degree of harm would depend on the nature and extent of the radiation produced and the amount and nature of exposure. However, with suitable properties, Radionuclide is today used in nuclear medicine for both diagnosis and treatment. The film eludes to it only as atomic, equating it to the atomic bombs that ended World War II.

WIRETAPPER (1955)

 

Based around actual events, this eighty-minute crime biopic highlights four years in the life of a World War II communications expert, Jim Vaus Jr., in 1945. He is awarded a four-year prison term for the theft of government equipment. The film is respectably acted, though no Golden Globe nominations were announced. Directed by Dick Ross, with a screenplay by John O'Dea from Vaus' autobiography, "Why I Quit Syndicated Crime," it was produced by World Wide Pictures, founded in 1951 by the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association. The film was an outreach tool to inspire moviegoers. Unfortunately, they have to wait seventy minutes to be inspired. The film gets no awards for cinematography nor for the score composed by Ralph Carmichael—who will be considered the father of contemporary Christian music in a decade.

I use the Vaus name and not the actor, Bill Williams, who portrays him. Another B-movie regular, Douglas Kennedy, joins the male lead ranks as an underworld boss. The least-known, Georgia Lee, as Vaus' wife, is the weakest acting link. A "criminal casting call" was sent out to snag the usual suspects. Paul Picerni is once again hooked up with the mob as is Eric Roman. Even Stanley Clements works his way into the ranks. He becomes instrumental in Vaus's plan to delay horse-race betting results, giving both a guaranteed race winner. Going behind Kennedy's back to do it is not wise. Carmichael's military march composition during the horse-race segment is astonishingly misplaced.

Vaus is released early but his incarceration results in a demotion from Captain to Private. His deception begins when he buys cheap knock-off service medals to pin to his uniform before arriving home. He takes no pride in his decision. Soon running his own electrical business with a hit-and-miss profit margin, he is hired to fix a lowly doorbell for Kennedy. Vaus accidentally discovers someone has planted a hidden mic in the mob boss's home. Kennedy slips him a “Franklin” to find out who. Vaus's easy money is suspiciously on the rise while his new marriage begins a rapid descent. A low point has him working while his wife gives birth to their first child. Another empty promise. He justifies his illegal wiretapping by working for both the mob and the police. That horse-race betting scheme takes a rapid descent as well, with Clements gunned down from behind. Vaus is apprehended, beaten, and given an ultimatum. One final job in St. Louis.

Vaus drives his wife to the safety of her mother's home before his trip to Missouri. Mysteriously, they appear to be without their now pre-school daughter. Lee spots the Graham revival tent and is urged to stop. Bible passages and Graham's poignant words seem to be directed specifically toward Vaus. He tells his wife it is time to face the [Carmichael] music. At life's turning point, he is spiritually guided to accept Christ into his life, relieving his criminal burdens to begin a new life. Mustering the courage to face Kennedy about why he is quitting the syndicate presents a tense scene between them.

Note: In this film, we witness a high energy Billy Graham during the extended, eight-week-long, Los Angeles Crusade under a huge tent in 1949. The passionate young Graham may appear to be the clichéd “condemning preacher” but he does not condemn nor judge. He simply understands the seriousness of eternity as spelled out in the Bible. Vaus went on to tour the country as an inspirational Christian speaker. Throughout history, God chooses people to lead. Ignoring these truths and not comprehending the change in Vaus, the ending will likely remain dull.