THE ATOMIC KID (1954)

A crowd mentality suggests a person will typically do things in a crowd—no matter how small—that they would not do alone. I probably should have watched this science fiction film with a friend or two due to my lack of laughter. Though mustering a hearty chuckle, I could generate nothing more. The film has not aged well. It is an absurd twist on actual early Fifties atomic bomb testing in the Nevada desert with two lame brain uranium prospectors stumbling into ground zero—may be the only science fiction film of the era that is meant to be a comedy. The thirty-four-year-old “kid,” Mickey Rooney, and his seven-year-older partner, Robert Strauss, have gotten lost in the desert searching for uranium. Rooney confesses to Strauss that he threw away the compass. It was broken. The needle only pointed in one direction—north. They cannot agree on the purpose of a 500-foot tower with a “cabin” on top. The duo comes off as a decade-long comedy team in their final film insult before calling it quits.

Seeking rest and food, they are encouraged by a lone house in the distance. The abandoned house with a mannequin family is there to give the researchers a vague idea of what an atomic explosion can do. Parked beside the abandoned model home is a current model Mercury with keys and a full tank of gas. Perhaps a military official's personal car he forgot about. Strauss, the questionable brains of the two, takes the car to get help, heading straight for a trench filled with military men. He has no clue why they are waving their arms at him. Under protest, he is dragged to the safety of the trench. Staying behind in his search for a peanut butter sandwich, Rooney miraculously survives the atomic blast in an enclosed pantry but emerges from the obliterated house seriously singed and with a (now) toasted sandwich. His voice is electronically altered to sound chipmunk-like and sped up. The officials that arrive wonder if he is an alien. Probably the funny scene in the film.

During Rooney's recovery, his real-life mid-point wife of eight, Elaine (Davis) Devry plays his attending nurse. He becomes a national phenomenon for the atom bomb survival. Mannequins should be so lucky. Absurdly, because radioactivity powers,  he can obliterate an entire room with one sneeze. Funny. While in Las Vegas, he simply walks by the slot machines and the coins pour out. His partner, in classic bug-eyed Strauss form, sets his sights on money-making deals and unwittingly teams up with a Communist spy. The kid's newfound fame could make him a fortune with a book and corporate endorsements. Naive Rooney is tracked by the FBI and unconsciously helps them crack the spy ring by accidentally falling from an upper-story window onto a spy. Oh, and Rooney periodically glows in the dark when his romantic impulses get out of control.

Devry develops a thing for the little guy and they get hitched. Tired of all the attention, the newlyweds take back roads across the Nevada desert and stop at an isolated house along the way for help and maybe a cold drink. But the mannequins inside are of no help. Panicked, they speed away from another atomic test site.

Note: This eighty-six-minute film was distributed by Republic Pictures and produced by Mickey Rooney Productions from a Blake Edwards story. The music score by Van Alexander puts the odd in periodic as it flits from a symphonic string quartet during a lighthearted moment to a driving march theme during Rooney's physical tests. The film includes many familiar faces in comedy films or television. There is Joey Forman, Peter Leeds, Hal March, Paul Dubov, and Stanley Adams. Not missing out on a single casting call is Whit Bissell.

NEVER TOO LATE (1965)

Family-themed films of this era that open with bucolic scenes of small-town life—in this case, Concord, Massachusetts—that also have a title vocal covering the scenes makes one wary it may turn into a suds-fest. Yet this film's category is comedy. The title song was written by David Rose with lyrics by Jay Livingston and Ray Evans. It is sung in the unmistakable tone of Vic Damone. The film starts off strong with Paul Ford's sarcastic delivery—mostly to his live-in son-in-law—projected through his prominent nose. The first thirty minutes or so are consistently the funniest and one may conjure up future shades of Archie Bunker. Unfortunately, there are about seventy-five minutes left.

Ford plays a successful New England lumber company executive in his early sixties living a humdrum life with—for the purposes of this film—his similarly aged wife, played by Maureen O'Sullivan. Ford's myopic ideas about life are funny in the beginning. After the wife reveals to the family she is pregnant, the film gets less funny—hit and miss—as the story slogs through a sagging middle of a mature subject matter for its era. There is little to laugh about late in the film as it becomes a silly melodrama. Ford is not supportive of his “good news.” One ends up disgusted with him and irritated by O'Sullivan's breathy, aloof delivery. However, both pale in comparison to their daughter, Connie Stevens, who tries too hard to be funny or cute, fully aware cameras are rolling. Her on-screen husband, Hutton, is no less over-the-top by the mid-way point. Her desire is to start a family but he wants to wait. Their squabbles are uncomfortably drawn out in a clichéd fashion. Perhaps all better played on a stage environment (see the Note below).

Accompanying this frustrated quartet is the town's mayor and Ford's next-door neighbor, Lloyd Nolan, who seems to be doing a parody of Joe Biden—assuming some sort of time warp has taken place. There is an overall resemblance but it is his personality that suggests Biden—ironically as a Democrat—where everyday conversation sounds politically motivated with a full cadre of faux-niceties—when not pointing his index finger. Yes, Nolan does that, too. He and Ford are long-time friends and past political rivals. The mayor awards a significant contract to Ford—sort of a congratulatory gift—to the expectant couple. Nudge. Nudge. Rounding out the cast are the family's physician, Henry Jones, and his on-screen wife, Jane Wyatt. As confidant to O'Sullivan, Wyatt thinks she needs relief from her husband's every “Nineteenth Century” command. It is she who suggests O'Sullivan see her husband about sudden fatigue.

Ford is beginning to long for humdrum. Being a father again at his age is embarrassing as the townsfolk chide him about his unexpected treasure. He complains about turning eighty at his child's future college graduation, about his wife's wardrobe spending, and their child's room renovation. Standard Hollywood fare includes the obligatory drunk scenes as Ford and Hutton return home and set up a prank on the mayor's lawn involving a spotlighted toilet. “Mayor Biden” threatens to cancel that lumber contract; O'Sullivan catches the next bus out of town, and Ford is actually stunned. And scared. And in pursuit.

Note: Warner Bros. Pictures distributed this film based on the 1962 Broadway play of the same name by Sumner Arthur Long who also wrote this screenplay. Ford and O'Sullivan reprise their roles. Nearing their height of popularity, Hutton and Stevens are cast to bring in the younger moviegoers. And given the play's success, I imagine those who saw it live anticipated the film. After O'Sullivan comes to grips with her late pregnancy, the uplifting music and her brisk pace suggest a modern, liberal woman. Just the kind of characters that producer Norman Lear would gravitate to in the next decade. Along with the director of this film, Bud Yorkin, their future partnership changed the landscape of television and this film foreshadows their concept—viewers tossed between hilarity and conflicting social issues—leaving one perplexed as to when laughing is appropriate.

THE CLAY PIGEON (1949)

 

An intriguing opening scene has a former World War II prisoner-of-war patient awakening from a coma at a naval hospital. He overhears the doctor and nurse mention his court-martial for treason and he shoots straight up in bed—face in the camera. He is accused of informing on fellow inmates in a Japanese prison camp. His amnesia makes for a foggy past and a perfect candidate for deception—hence the film's title. Not convinced of his guilt, he escapes from the hospital and contacts two people he hopes will help him re-capture the truth.

Williams' first stop is the widow of one of his POW buddies he greatly admired. Hale knows who he is and the newspaper headlines fuel her dislike of him. There is an intense physical struggle [fight] between the two that is well-played and believable. Though somewhat implausibly—after confessing to being a nice guy—he gets tough with her making the audience wonder if he should receive some sort of punishment. He gags and threatens her at gunpoint, while he calls his best friend, Richard Quine, another ex-POW. I will just say he is pretty irate to get the call as if he has something else planned. Overhearing Williams sincere conversation, Hale starts to change her opinion. Her gag order is lifted. Expect the obligatory roadblock out of town with Williams—not yet sure she can be trusted—pointing a gun and saying something silly like, “Don't try anything.” This is never believable. Those flashbacks help clarify his past for him and the audience. Williams needs to be eliminated before he recovers his memory. Leave this to thugs Richard Loo and Robert Bray.

This American film may not be included on anyone's top ten film noirs but there is little to fault here. There is never a dull moment. Starring in the B-movie is Bill Williams' rather bland performance due to his vocal tone and delivery. Barbara Hale holds her own, however. The real-life husband and wife were in their third year of marriage when this film was released by RKO Radio Pictures. It is a tidy sixty-three-minutes of suspense competently directed by Richard Fleischer with a screenplay and story by Carl Foreman based on a true story. The cinematography of Robert De Grasse should be noted, specifically his positive-negative effects during one flashback.

Note: Williams and Hale hide out in a trailer park while he fully recovers from another black-out caused by the initial hit on the head during the Japanese prison camp. The scene is filmed at the Paradise Cove location where Jim Rockford will eventually park his own trailer in the popular detectives series.