PANIC IN YEAR ZERO! (1962)

 

American International Pictures (AIP) is known for its budgeted productions, horror films, and sensationalism. By the end of the Sixties, they transitioned to violent motorcycle gang films. Only hinting at that future is this science fiction black and white survival film, destined upon completion to be a double feature. Using the crew from Roger Corman Productions (Santa Clara Productions, here), it is produced by Arnold Houghland and Lou Rusoff. The fast-paced screenplay is by John Morton and Jay Simms, helping make the film profitable. It would have to be an awful film to not turn a profit from a 225-grand budget. Up to the halfway point, the film is captivating with non-stop action and tension, set during the height of the Cold War. The second half slows considerably and gets more violent as a trio of lawless hep-cat thugs get their kicks by looting, female sexual assaults, and cold-blooded murder. These are the less-than-zero-trio.

Leading the Baldwin family on vacation to the mountains is Ray Milland. His co-starring family consists of Jean Hagen, Frankie Avalon, and Mary Mitchel. Featured prominently is a 1962 Mercury Monterey with a Kenskill travel trailer in tow. With this film's success, Avalon made several pictures for AIP, mainly at a beach. This is Mitchel's first film and displays her lack of experience. Miles away they witness the bright flash of an atomic explosion. The special effects of an auburn-tinted flash and distant nuclear cloud over Los Angeles looked believable but their second look back was spliced-in stock footage that looked more like Indian smoke signals.

Slightly long at ninety-three minutes, the film could have survived without the many abrupt edits. As the director, Milland adequately nails the opening vacation section but his overall inability to focus on the film's elements leads to mounting editing implausibilities. The film's editor, William Austin, perhaps out of necessity or simply following directives, pads the film with repeated footage—albeit from different angles—of the same automobiles in their high-speed mountain escapes. The panicking citizens recklessly speeding up the two-lane mountain highway—many in the passing lane on a blind curve—is too perfectly arranged to be believed. At one point both lanes are clogged with maniacs going the opposite direction, leaving the Baldwins seemingly nowhere to drive. Post-production relied on splicing in frequent, three-second close-ups of the Mercury's wheels—with an odd sound effect like bad wheel bearings—and close-up blurs of automobiles zipping by. At one point, poor-quality stock footage of multi-lane automobile traffic from a totally different location and vantage point was used. These cheapen the otherwise well-spent film.

However, one could not have a better survival leader during a nuclear winter than Mr. Baldwin. Milland's character knows precisely what to do and how much supplies they will need—his dry run during the 1958 recession may have helped. The family uses a damp, chilly cave as their home—last used in the Prehistoric era—which no one has located since. Before partaking in their first cave meal together, Milland asks for God's protection with prayer. He had vowed earlier to protect his family by whatever means, including physically assaulting a store owner and gas station attendant, crashing through a barricade after being asked to turn around, destroying a bridge that might give others access to their food, and making deadly use of his firearms—not just for hunting. Perhaps a prayer of forgiveness will be forthcoming.

Note: The opening jazz score by big band legend Les Baxter provided no sense of doom or tension. Optimistically, given the film's opening is focused on a car's radio, maybe the tune was supposed to be coming from there. Still, it simply seems misplaced music of the period more fitting a pulp fiction film or centering on a group of idle teenagers succumbing to a life of crime. Perhaps it was a foreshadowing theme for those three hoodlums.

CODE 7 VICTIM 5 (1964)

An annual week-long celebration is the cold intro to this film. Once the mountains are spotted in the background you know it is not New Orleans. The colorful parade traverses the Cape Town streets with instrumentalists and flag wavers creasing the point of view camera as participants pass by. Amid the celebration, however, three clowns commit a murder.

Released in America in 1965 by Columbia Pictures, nearly half of this eight-nine-minute film has a potential license to thrill. I was impressed with the great opening theme music by Johnny Douglas as the credits rolled with his faint nod to the signature sound of the "007" franchise of the period. Coupled with Nicolas Roeg's beautiful panning of Cape Town's bay from high in the mountains, it portends what might have been an international action-packed thriller. Add a winding mountain car chase amid views of the sea between two unlikely vehicles, one can expect a lot of tire-screeching. Another reason for optimism is the presence of the maturely handsome Lex Barker, a New York City private detective with great-looking hair. In the early going the private detective delivers exactly two one-liners ala Mr. Bond of the period. Yet there is not much action for him in town—and his stuntman—outside an early fistfight with attackers. The film starts to lose its intrigue with a somewhat confused and dull final third.

From the moment Barker steps off the Lufthansa Boeing 720 the film has secret agent potential. He never looked better. Yet he is more a puzzle-solver than tough detective womanizer. The engaging script continues as he is quickly met by the beautiful (naturally) Ann Smyrner, secretary of a wealthy German, Walter Rilla, whose butler was the film's opening victim—the reason for Barker's hiring. The heavily French-accented Veronique Vendell plays Rilla's adoptive daughter. The dodgeball-faced tart bounces from "any male" to another. Smyrner is not only an aviation pilot, she also takes the helm of a 1958 Lincoln Continental Mark III 430 CID V8 convertible land yacht as it wallows up the mountains toward the estate. Roeg's distant pan shots of the vehicle add adventure—and no back-screen projection scenery ala Hitchcock's It Takes a Thief from a decade earlier. But look out—they are pursued by an eighteen-year-old Dodge Custom, perhaps on its last legs.

Barker—not to be confused by a word scramble of band leader Les Baxter—is one of two faces Americans will recognize. Less so is perhaps Ronald Fraser as Inspector Lean, Barker's help in solving the case and the film's levity. Fraser's lifestyle is ogling bikini-clad females, always arriving late to assist Barker. With his somewhat disparate facial features—a mouth no wider than his nose flanked by inflated cheeks—the ladies are not too discriminating. Rilla sits poolside in a wheelchair though he is not the least bit physically impaired. Reminiscent of Program Manager, “Guy Caballero,” of SCTV fame. Baxter discovers a well-hidden photograph at the estate of four people marked for death. The butler makes it five. But no reveal of Code 7. Perhaps for good reason: Code 7 officially means “out of service to eat” for American police squads, making the tagline at the top of this poster hilariously misguided.

This British Lion Film Corporation endeavor was written by Harry Alan Towers under the pseudonym Peter Welbeck with a screenplay by Peter Yeldham. With its obvious Ian Fleming influence, the film made a tidy profit. Originally filmed as Table Bay, the current spy craze gave it the obscure Code 7 Victim 5 title—yet again as the more logical Victim Five. The end result is a rather talky mystery as it bounces from location to location. The former Tarzan, Barker shifts to “African Safari” summer wear from JC Penney as he explores a diamond mine, shoots an attacking lion and goes scuba diving with viewers wondering its point in the film. The “point” is the tip of a spear gun's harpoon mysteriously skewering one of the cast. Expect the oft-used battle between good and evil on a gondola lift as it ascends a mountain and an implausible (nee ridiculous) cliff-hanging climactic pursuit.

Note: There is no doubt this film has some 1960s foreign trademarks of abrupt editing and a studio soundtrack seemingly unconnected to any screen action. Code 7 Victim 5 was released on Blu-ray in 2016 with another 1964 South African caper, the talkative and dull, Mozambique—essential with the same production team—as a double feature. It stars a weary Steve Cochran, with an American release eight months after his death. The same or similar Lufthansa Boeing 720 from this film is also used in Mozambique. With the astounding success of the Eurowestern, The Treasure of Silver Lake (1962)—and its six sequels as "Old Shatterhand"—Barker was on a career resurgence in Germany by the time "Code 7" was released.

THE OMEGA MAN (1971)

 

I suspect this Warner Bros. film was a popular topic in the break room some fifty years ago. Critics at the time were certainly divided, though. It has not held up all that well and it is longer than necessary at nearly one hundred minutes. The intrigue during the first third holds up the best and that is where I have focused my comments. Directed by Boris Sagal with a screenplay by John and Joyce Corrington, it is a warped adaption of Richard Matheson's novel, I Am Legend, from 1954. Australian composer Ron Grainer—of Doctor Who and The Prisoner fame—was tapped to do the music score, and though it never gets in the way, it is merely adequate. One can give Matheson some leeway as he speculates about chemical warfare seventeen years in the future with apocalyptic proportions. Speculating only four years into the future, as his film does, simply displays the mindset of Hollywood's pessimistic fears of the “inevitable,” either from nuclear war or cosmic and environmental chaos.

Charlton Heston could be noteworthy in the right roles, where his stiff upper lip—the envy of all ventriloquist's dummies—a chiseled face or the machismo of bare chest resonate. Coming off his successful Planet of The Apes science fiction film, this post-apocalyptic tale also seems well-suited for him as the only person left on Earth with a sense of humor—and perhaps the only one inoculated. But this film does not readily reveal that there might be those naturally immune to the toxins. It could easily be construed as an absurd reverse scenario for Covid-19: those not vaccinated try to belittle—or eliminate in this case—those who are.

Filming in downtown Los Angeles on a deserted Sunday morning helped pull off the barren authenticity. Less authentic is Heston's driving skills of a modern-day Ford XL—which he crashes almost immediately due to driving inattentively and too fast for conditions. Furthermore, Heston is on record stating that piloting a chariot was easier than that motorcycle in the film. It must be true. Except for closeups of Heston when stopped, it is an obvious stuntman doing all the cycling. There is an amusing “Keystone Cops” moment during the opening—speaking of that Ford convertible—when the film is sped up as Heston stands from the driver's seat to fire his automatic rifle at a mutant in a multi-story building. But I cannot understand why unless Heston made it even more awkward in real-time.

A small group missing out on the vaccine has become a creepy cult of powder-faced “plaguesters” calling themselves the “Family.” These nocturnal albino mutants in Monk robes and matching designer sunglasses represent the biggest credibility gap in the film. Overall, they never seem all that committed to living the night life though torching buildings would appear to be a pleasing pastime. Despite their serious physical ailments, their CEO, Anthony Zerbe, wants no part of modern technology, Heston's vaccine or the serum created from his own blood. Zerbe's plum role is quite understated when compared to so many recent insane villains. His right-hand mutant, Zachary, puts the “kill” in Lincoln Kilpatrick however, and he might have made a more disturbing leader. One thing is for sure, they both hate the “social good life” Heston is living―if one calls living like a prisoner in their own apartment every night. In true anarchist form, a select few destroy Heston’s personal property and all his lab work in a small-scale riot over a disagreement on how one chooses to live.

FILM BRAKE: THE PHIL SILVERS SPECIAL

 

On the first Saturday in May 1960, CBS aired a very funny 55-minute send-up of a television western starring Phil Silvers and Jack Benny, The Slowest Gun In The West. Written and produced by Nat Hiken—following his success of The Phil Silvers Show—and directed by Herschel Daugherty, the story centers on Silvers, Fletcher Bissell III, aka The Silver Dollar Kid, who is the slowest gun in the west outside Benny, as Chicken “Chick” Finsterwald. Both frightened by even the hint of violence, they have been bluffing their way through the old west to stay alive. In many ways, it is a variation on Silvers' signature character, Sgt. Bilko. Like Don Knotts' Barney Fife to follow, the Bilko role defined his career. After the opening's brilliant set-up and humorous script, the movie drags a bit with gratuitous canned laughter not helping. For Benny's part, he appears to be reusing a skit from his own show. These two are the designated funny men with the balance of the cast featuring Bruce Cabot, Ted de Corsia, Robert Wilke, Jean Willes, Jack Elam, and Lee Van Cleef, among others, playing it straight. It is a hoot to watch in all its absurdity. Unfortunately, online prints are of terrible quality.

Conrad Salinger's opening folk ballad, The Silver Dollar Kid, suggests a number of early television westerns, this time featuring a lone rider on a ridge. Sung by the pop-folk duo of Bud and Travis, complete with an acoustic guitar, it appears to be a potential classic prime-time western. Cleverly, the story flashes forward to modern day as an ancestor recalls the town's darkest days to a vacationing family. In 1878, Primrose, Arizona was the roughest town in the west and with another wavy-screen flashback, Silvers sashays through the saloon doors decked-out in shiny black leather...and black-rimmed eyeglasses. It is a burst-out laughing moment even without the canned laughter. The Kid talks in an angry disposition, and the saloon patrons are wary of the mysterious man in black. The initial confrontation with de Corsia, the town's fastest gun, is beautifully played out. Proving just how fast he is, Silvers places his gun several feet away from himself on the bar counter, suggesting that even at that distance, he is incredibly fast. Assessing the impossible, the gunslinger starts his 1-2-3 countdown to draw. Silvers then begins peeling and eating a boiled egg! de Corsia is incredulous. The ever-calm Silvers' mind game suggests he has not counted to number three yet. It is classic Silvers all the way as the fastest tongue in the West. His conniving, confusing logic melts another challenger, Van Cleef, who becomes psychologically beaten down into a child, realizing he has a Freudian complex—his guns simply represent teddy bears.

The gunslingers cannot have the reputation for shooting the slowest gun in the West, so the mayor hires Silvers as sheriff believing he would never be killed. But the outlaws have had enough of “motor mouth” and hire an even slower on-the-draw coward, Benny, to go up against Silvers. Both end up liking each other—partly out of fear—yet get into an argument about who is more “yellow.” The two cowards are thrust into the street by the townsfolk for a gunfight that would, at the very least, eliminate one of them. Each challenges the other to draw first but each defers. Hilariously, the whole charade extends to nightfall and into the next morning! A final flashback to 1960 has Silvers as a modern police officer—certainly looking like an ancestor of Fletcher Bissell—who is startled by the young boy in the family who points his toy “cowboy gun” at him.

Note: Bud Dashiell and Travis Edmundson, alias "Bud and Travis" only had one hit song, The Ballad of The Alamo (1960) but made several successful albums for Liberty Records between 1958 and 1965.

THE THREE MUSKETEERS (1948)

 

I have never read Alexander Dumas' classic, but have seen a few film adaptions. This movie may explain the reasoning behind most versions only taking it as far as the jewel theft plot. By trying to cover all the characters and subplots—even with 125 minutes—there is not enough time to develop either. The story lacks a strong central focus and it is all over the place. Just when one thinks it will be wrapped up, it goes "back around" for a second or third time introducing irrelevant characters or repeated sequencing. What follows are my takes on a beautifully filmed costumed extravaganza that is not exactly perfect—but great movie-making.

THE DANCING FOIL

The film starts out as a pseudo-slapstick comedy with the over-eager reactions of Gene Kelly (D'Artagnan) closely resembling a cartoon figure. If Kelly could possibly keep this up, I would have likened his character to Danny Kaye's later perfection in the hilarious film, The Court Jester. One might expect (wish) this to set the tone of the film. Kelley's fencing scenes are excellent and possess enough believability to give a pass on any repetitions. The well-choreographed, opening swordplay—filmed at Busch Gardens in Pasadena—is hilariously explosive and done with great acrobatic skills by Kelly. It is easy to see that he enjoyed the role. This amusing sequence opens the door for an undying friendship with the film's title characters. Kelly broke his ankle about a year before the film's release, and these scenes were some of the last filmed to give him maximum recovery time. So there is physicality better left to professional stuntmen like effortlessly climbing up a trellis to a second story, jumping from great heights or onto a horse. Then again, I doubt Kelly's agent wanted him leaping off rooftops. The humor is in short supply as the film progresses.

CASTING A LOT

Lana Turner gets top billing yet is arguably the least talented of the big-name actresses of her era. Like many Hollywood discoveries, her appeal was strictly physical and her youthful glow which was so magical at the beginning of the decade began to fade. One male equivalent might be Errol Flynn within his first decade. A hint in this film is when she is imprisoned and lacks makeup. I do not know when those scenes were shot, but after casting her in the role, the director wanted her to lose weight. Her face seems squarish and perhaps heavier. Of course, lighting or camera angle has a great effect on visual perception, perhaps as the director envisioned someone imprisoned in a dark cell. Turner still looked astonishing in other close-ups. She simply did possess a strong ability to pull off a self-serving villain. She was reluctant to take the supporting role, not fully understanding it was actually a lead character.

Angela Lansbury campaigned for the Turner role but MGM said no. Turner was the bigger star at the time—Lansbury had no clout. Lansbury seems wasted (now) in her brief appearance as Queen Anne. Quite astutely, June Allyson did not think a period piece was right for her, but her opening scene with Kelly works well. If you blink at the wrong time you will miss Marie Windsor's two brief glimpses. Fans probably expected her to develop into someone, but she is never seen a third time. Very strange. Along the same lines, Patricia Medina—on a career upswing—appears out of nowhere as Turner's maid. The airhead character could have been left on the cutting room floor. Van Heflin brought a heavy-drinking flair to his role with Gig Young and Richard Coote as adequate comrades. Speaking of old coots, Frank Morgan was too much of the Wizard as the king of France. Long-time MGM contract player, Lewis Stone, might have been a better—perhaps the only choice within the studio. In face-altering disguise, it may take a bit of time to recognize Keenan Wynn—until his first sentence—as d'Artagnan's right-hand man.

FLAMBOYANT COSTUMES

The wardrobe department pulled out all the stops (for you pipe organ enthusiasts) with costuming, though some today might take exception to their authenticity. One of Turner's hats, the green feathered black hat pops off the screen and adds about three feet to her height. Vincent Price looked authentic enough—accented in red—and I loved his angled gray/white stripes across his torso for one costume. The musketeers looked as one would expect—like on the candy bar wrapper of the day—in capes, wide-brimmed feathery hats, and vibrant colors.

Despite some questionable casting for a period piece, the film was an entertaining hit with the full MGM splash without singing and magnificent cinematography in dazzling Technicolor. The film's credits can be found on numerous websites as well as a Dumas synopsis if you choose to explore.

Allied Artists Productions

I am highlighting three of the five crime movies released by Allied Artists—each roughly an hour long—that are all quite routine. The films center around the Los Angeles police department and, in particular, a no-nonsense police lieutenant, the low-energy Bill Elliott. He seems out of place in a modern-day setting after his popular cowboy daze. 

 

DIAL RED O (1955)

This slow-moving, sixty-three-minute film, directed and written by Daniel B. Ullman, is as predictable as daylight. Not as obvious at the time was Allied Artists Production's intention to produce four more crime mysteries over the next two years. Rather intriguing [confusing] is that the symbol “O” actually represents the zero on the phone's dial. Apparently, the operator can offer a great deal of assistance no matter the circumstance. In a nutshell, the film opens with a mysterious, intriguing escape from a veteran hospital's psychiatric ward. A war-torn, highly decorated World War II and Korean veteran seeks his wife, who is preparing divorce papers. His escape initiates an all-out manhunt, not really sure if the veteran is unstable or what his plans are for his wife's life. The police department enlists the help of an undercover policewoman, played by Elaine Riley, to help locate the escapee.

Keith Larsen plays the even-tempered, well-mannered veteran whose potential contact with his wife, Helene Stanley, is his only reason for going AWOL. In fact, he plans to return to the hospital that evening. But the audience is way ahead of him as we learn she is involved with Paul Picerni, a Realtor paying for her fancy apartment. In the habit of making demands, she wants Picerni to also get a divorce. Immediately. Temper's flair, he is slapped, and he judo chops her to death, as his combat and Realtor training comes into play. He returns to his office to call a few clients as an alibi for his whereabouts. By happenstance, Larsen spots his realty office lit up. The two Marine buddies have a cordial reunion with Larsen hoping he has seen or heard from his wife. Picerni's devious wheels start turning. He contacts the police about his concern over Larsen's visit. Larsen is jailed but bamboozles the officer with a clever combat trick and escapes. Marlin Skiles' score finally makes itself evident as the escapee heads straight for Picerni and the two combat-trained vets share a few bullets in total darkness. But you cannot bamboozle Elliott's good judge of character. That, and Stanley's autopsy reveals a detail that dooms Picerni.

Note: Bill Elliott, popular cowboy star for the past two decades, plays Lt. Andy Flynn in this first outing. He is the constant in the series. It was soon brought to Allied's attention there was a real Andy Flynn in Los Angeles law enforcement, so for the remaining films in the series, the lieutenant becomes Andy Doyle. Elliott is about as tight-lipped as a ventriloquist and appears to really miss the slow pace, prairie campfires with his horse, Sonny.

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SUDDEN DANGER (1955)

Tom Drake "guest stars" in this week’s episode of television's "CSM: Crime Scene Mystery" series. Except this film was never meant as home entertainment, being the second film from Allied Artists Production, Inc. about a Los Angeles detective, Bill Elliott, solving another crime with repeated questioning and methodical deduction. Like the other films in the set of five, it is a talky procedural offering with zero excitement until the last-minute climax. Viewers will know that point when the otherwise dormant Merlin Stiles' score explodes. With less professional performances, the film could have been a laugh-fest. Elliott seems a bit less wooden than in his first installment and he is able to smile appropriately in this routine whodunit.

The film opens under the credits as we watch men's shoes and dog paws walk on a sidewalk. The Thom McAn's belong to Drake and the paws to his seeing-eye dog. The German Shepherd barks and refuses to go inside their apartment. The natural gas smell is heavy and he yells for his mother but it is too late. Elliott investigates the apparent suicide of the woman, a clothing manufacturing company executive. There is substantial evidence that does not support suicide and all eyes are on her son, who lost his sight years earlier due to his mother selecting what she thought were eye drops. Feeling pretty embarrassed since that day, her insurance policy designated it go toward his eye surgery. A successful operation later, he feigns his blindness under sunglasses around his mother's attorney and insurance agent in the hope of finding clues to the murderer. Drake is helped by his girlfriend, Beverly Garland, a swimsuit fashion designer for the company. Typically, near the halfway point in the film, Elliott already knows who staged the suicide.

Note: Minerva Urecal plays the apartment manager where Drake lives. Her negative attitude causes trouble for him when she gives false details to Elliott. This frequently happens when someone does not have any facts to back up their opinions. Another Hollywood stalwart, Frank Jenks, plays a bartender with his usual facial contortions. Garland more often than not played strong characters—like in this film—when she was not screaming at a creature in a science fiction film.

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FOOTSTEPS IN THE NIGHT (1957)

This film opens with a teaser. We see a man leave his motel kitchenette to find his poker partner dead in the other room. This all plays out as the camera focuses on a record playing part of a jazzy Marlin Skiles score. A flashback repeats the scene in sequence as the movie unfolds. Directed by Jean Yarbrough, this is the fifth and final film series by Allied Artists Productions Inc. that follows detective Bill Elliott with the Novocaine upper lip. A man of controlled emotions with suits bought off the rack. Don Haggerty plays his partner and they sort of echo the Dragnet series at times during their idle, barely humorous, chit-chat. This sixty-two-minute film is a talk-fest of interviews between witnesses and those who are anxious to help the department track down a murderer. Pretty boring stuff with Elliott not quite fully awake. He headed for the “Sunset Retirement Corral” after this film. Never mind the poster. Amazingly, no women were attacked in the film.

Douglas Dick, looking at times like the higher fore-headed brother of actor, Roger Smith, has had a serious gambling problem in the past but when we are introduced to his character, he has put all that behind him. Thanks, in big part, to his fiancé, Eleanore Tanin. His acquaintance and motel neighbor, Robert Shayne, has not kicked the habit and pesters Dick into playing a small stakes game of poker with him. Shayne is not meant to be likable in his brief role. In order to clear some debt and put Shayne in his place, Dick decides to clean him out, then suddenly calls it quits. Shayne is irate that he is not given the chance to win it back and promptly leaves the room in a huff—to get ice for their drinks. The opening scene returns though the viewer never witnesses the murder.

We later learn of the somewhat humorous premise about the world's fastest strangler, played by Gregg Palmer. In his confusion between two different motels with similar names, he accidentally kills Shayne in bungalow 8 at the wrong motel. The “Bungling Bungalow” strangler intended to kill and rob James Flavin, another bungalow 8 motel occupant. In the murderer's defense, he and Shayne share a similar appearance from behind. Elliott does not figure Dick for a killer, but Haggerty, who never saw the opening scene, bets otherwise. See Dick run. See Dick get apprehended.

Flavin is a spark of fun in an otherwise droll screenplay. Noted for being a typically high-strung Irishman, he is an extrovert of the highest order in this film. A flamboyant salesman who flashes his big-money roll around to attract big business. Spend money to make money. He drives a station wagon loaded with every option. Where he gets his car serviced plays a pivotal role in his future. Elliott wants to use him to flesh out the strangler. Flavin finds the plan exciting until he is informed that he will be the bait for the killer. His excitement wanes momentarily.

Palmer has finally caught up with Flavin in the correct motel just as Elliott planned on his 36” x 24” stakeout drawing. Before strangling Flavin from behind, the baiting police step in. The killer pushes Flavin into Elliott, escapes, and drives away. The gunshot sound effect during this ”exciting” ending sounds like any number of old Saturday morning cowboy shoot-em-ups. Palmer speeds off leaving the viewer wondering if he gets away. We are suddenly back in the squad room to wrap up the movie with “Deadpan Elliott” explaining to Dick and Jane...er...his fiancé what exactly happened. Tucked neatly within the dialogue is a reveal that Palmer was actually wounded during his getaway. He did not get far and lived a simple life on behalf of the state.

Note: Elliott's other two Allied films are Calling Homicide (1956), and Chain of Evidence (1957).

FILM BRAKE: A CONFIDENT MAN

 

Yancy Derringer (1958-59) is a thirty-four-episode American action/adventure series that was originally broadcast Thursdays on CBS. The opening theme song followed the era's trend as one of the shortest orchestral themes of the era, in the likes of Wanted: Dead or Alive or The Rifleman. Both of whom carried unique firearms. The thirty-minute show was produced by Derringer Productions and filmed in Hollywood by Desilu Productions. Halfway through the season, the show was deemed a success with a second season planned. Now realizing its potential, CBS suddenly demanded a percentage in the profits and wanted Desilu out of the picture. Neither the star nor the creators wanted any part of the plan and the network canceled the show. 

Those sensing the show was another gimmick Western was on to something. It would seem to be cashing in on Have Gun – Will Travel's popularity, which reached its peak at about the same year. Both Paladin—when at the Hotel Carlton—and Yancy like a white suit with frilly shirts and were lovers of fine cuisine and an eye for the ladies. Both were super confident, both used their physical dominance to settle arguments, and both might act as detectives or secret agents. Each knew their way around derringers, too. Paladin carries a 2-barrel version, and Yancy ups the ante with three 4-barrel Sharps pepperboxes hidden in his hat, under a coat sleeve, or in his vest. Though the series is centered in New Orleans, Yancy—like Paladin from San Francisco—might be hired to travel to far-off destinations. 

Set three years after the Civil War, the series follows Yancy's exploits as an ex-Confederate soldier turned cardsharp and gentleman adventurer. The promising first episode set up the series premise as Yancy returns to his estate in New Orleans after several years. A civil engineer and city administrator, the hard-nosed John Colton—played by television veteran Kevin Hagen—makes a deal with Yancy to clean up crime in the city however he sees fit. Colton cleverly makes sure there are no records of them as a team—it is their little secret. Their arrangement brings up one distinct difference between Paladin and Yancy. The latter never gets paid.

There are unique aspects to Yancy, aside from the unlikely pairing of a cool, dapper Jock Mahoney with an emotionless and silent partner, the largest gimmick of the era: Pahoo-Ka-Ta-Wah, or simply Pahoo. Played by X Brands, a Pawnee Indian who carried a knife at his upper back and a double-barreled shotgun under his Native blanket. He always had Yancy's back and the duo were considered blood brothers after Paho saved Yancy's life. They communicate only by hand gestures—both excellent at charades I imagine. It was Mahoney's suggestion that X Brands not say a word during his audition. He became a defining character of the show. Oddly, Mahoney's voice quality may differ during a given scene—at times a puny, nasal sound that can give way to a rich baritone.

Mahoney is certainly appealing with his unflappable, fluid persona. He is a smooth talker as well as a walker with a short stride and a back as straight as a ship's mast. He is quite likable with some witty one-liners added for charm. With fists of iron and a cane that conceals a sword for additional protection. Considered by most in Hollywood at the time to be the most amazing stuntman working, viewers get to witness his athleticism during the occasional fight scene or jumping from a second-story veranda. Somewhat pale in comparison to his amazing work in his earlier Western series, The Range Rider, however. X Brands started as a stuntman as well and they worked together on new stunts. One of the slickest was the tossing of Pahoo's knife back and forth in a rapid, flawless exchange—sometimes backward over the shoulder. A series regular is Madame Francine, played by Frances Bergen, owner of a members-only gambling house in New Orleans. Bergen was the wife of Edgar (and Charlie McCarthy).

D.O.A. (1950)

 

This film is hardly unknown to any film-noir or B-movie fan so I have focused on some memorable elements that stand out. Few movies ever opened with this level of intrigue. First up is the captivating opening sequence. The innovative behind-the-back view of Edmond O'Brien—under a driving Dimitri Tiompkin score—as the viewer follows his brisk walking down a sidewalk then down the hallway of a police station—Tiompkin always on pace with O'Brien's gate. If a director is saddled with a routine script, just hire Tiompkin to better the film. To his surprise, the police have been trying to locate him. To their surprise, O'Brien is there to report his murder. If there was ever a film needing a big flashback, this is it.

The story and screenplay, written by Russell Rouse and Clarence Greene, of intertwining characters, need the moviegoer's full attention. Additionally, it seems inconceivable that one person could be singled out for murder by mere circumstances. Probably a tad long at eighty-four minutes, it is directed by Rudolph Maté and produced by Leo C. Popkin. The cinematography by Ernest Laszlo is as powerful as Tiompkin's score. This "mystery murder" has indeed become a classic.

O'Brien's performances are rarely subtle. Here, he possesses all the pent-up rage of an accountant and notary public who is not dead yet. His backstory ramps up while on vacation. The director includes a laughable and silly slide whistle sound effect numerous times whenever O'Brien spots a female, which would seem to indicate his main reason for a vacation. A noisy sales convention party in the adjoining suite gets his attention. The salesman and their locally acquired female companions want to paint the town and the accountant is invited. It is a bad omen for O'Brien whose drink is unknowingly switched at a bar. Later feeling ill, he visits a hospital that sets up a second powerful sequence concerning the physicality of O'Brien. After getting the doctor's diagnosis from swallowing a deadly luminous toxin, he bolts from the office in wide-eyed panic.

I have always been impressed with actors of this era running full bore in Florsheim dress shoes on pavement. Forrest Gump nor Nike have nothing on Frank Bigelow. The thirty-five-year-old fluidly descends down the hospital's long set of steps—feet are two blurs. I assume this was done in one take. He sprints down crowded sidewalks and across mid-town traffic, setting a new notary record until his momentary pause at the point of exhaustion—pedestrians unaware a film is in progress. He then begins a slow walk, gradually picking up steam with Tiompkin's score accelerating with O'Brien's pace. His anger propels him to solve his murder. The film then settles into a rather routine crime mystery.

O'Brien's girlfriend slash secretary, Pamela Britton, provides an early lead about a bill of sale for the toxin, something he notarized. In the pursuit of truth, he discovers another person poisoned, a couple of possible suicide leads, and continually intersects with several flip-flopping characters under police investigation. All of which filters back to the guy who knows too much, O'Brien. The final confrontation between the murdered and the murderer ends the flashback. O'Brien, in one final laugh-out-loud moment, leans over to speak Paula's name to the police officer then quickly pushes himself backward and instantly collapses horizontally, disappearing behind the desk.

Note: There is an indelible performance by Neville “Chester” Brand, the ever so psychopathic henchman hired to kill O'Brien in a more rapid manner. Before ushering him into a waiting sedan, Brand pokes his gun hard into O'Brien's stomach, who doubles over in pain. Delighted by the pain inflicted, the smirking Brand informs him, “You're soft in the belly!”

FEAR NO MORE (1961)

Personal secretary, Mala Powers, boards a train with an assignment from her boss, John Harding, to deliver an important letter. She is instantly accosted in her compartment by a man with a gun, then knocked unconscious. She is awakened by an assumed police officer who accuses her of murder, part of the weakest frame-up ever. It is going to be that kind of movie. There are many secrets in this film. In general, if you are gullible enough, they are revealed by the very end—assuming one can hold out for the full eighty minutes. This is strictly television fare—perhaps suspenseful—like a low-grade attempt to copy a less successful Hitchcock film. Some lavish praise on Powers' acting in this nightmare of improbable characters. I thought she was much better eight years earlier in City That Never Sleeps. I will say, I never doubted her character's six months in a mental hospital due to a nervous breakdown. Powers' repetitious, wide-eyed hysteria would seem to indicate she has issues. I find her over-acting captivating. Keeping tabs on who is or who should be a mental patient may be a task.

She appears to escape the clutches of the officer after the train stops and in total panic, is nearly run over by a 1960 Ford driven by Jacques Bergerac—Hollywood's worst fake French accent from an actual Frenchman. Michael Palin was just as good in that Holy Grail movie. His character is not well defined except we know he is divorced and has a young son who cannot stop crying from bumping his head on the dashboard after the panic stop. We do know this: he wants Powers to level with him. Something she has difficulty doing throughout the first hour.

When Powers returns to Harding's home, his habitual lies are dispensed flawlessly. It is an old premise where he denies the train incident or that the letter ever existed. The remaining players are in kind, also denying her reality. Appearing totally perplexed by it all, it is a highly improbable conspiracy that includes the chauffeur who drove her to the station, the lady she was accused of killing, and the officer who arrested her. It is all a bit much and I found it very silly with an assumed climax, barring one twist. Harding's condescending explanations for what never actually happened are hard to sit through. Bergerac seems to be along as Powers' defense attorney or hostage negotiator. The movie-goer's frustration all leads up to a hilarious ending of bad acting with a detailed—albeit confusing—explanation of what the first fifty-eight minutes were about. The only twist worth mentioning is that Powers and Bergerac are the only ones who do not belong in a sanatorium.

Notes: Based on the 1946 novel of the same name by Leslie Edgley, this pseudo-thriller was directed by Bernard Wiesen. It was produced by Wiesen, Earl Durham, and Julie Gibson for Scaramouche Productions and distributed by Astor Pictures, a poverty row film distributor from the Thirties through the Fifties.

The studio prop car that Bergerac "drives" in traffic is typical of low-budget films. Not long after they first meet, he is so exasperated by Powers' secrets it appears he stops in the middle lane (at night) and asks her to get out. Yet the projected screen traffic is still moving behind him. Indeed, her reality is that she will more than likely be struck by a vehicle if she exits. Every driver behind him is courteous without a single horn honk.

Lippert Pictures Series

Robert L. Lippert controlled a successful low-budget American film production and distribution company from 1948 to 1956, producing short, fast-paced westerns and crime films with a penchant for obligatory humor, and the occasional jarring edits. This is my final review of eight Lippert films.

MOTOR PATROL (1950)

This hour-long film opens in obviously low-budget fashion yet as an honorable tribute to the motorcycle patrol officers of Los Angeles. I felt like standing to salute during the opening score by Ozzie Caswell—reminiscent of a college marching band or a football newsreel—as motorcycles leave the station in parade fashion. This main theme returns to close out the film. Later, during overlapping scenes of night patrols, he uses a couple of bars of situational comedy music. Certainly worthy of issuing a ticket. There is some location shooting but expect a lot of back-screen projected scenery during the studio motorcycle “chase” segments. The speedy, climactic cycle chase is especially funny as the hero's fedora is surely stapled to his forehead. Motor Patrol is produced by Robert L. Lippert and Barney A. Sarecky for Lippert Pictures and directed again by Sam Newfield. Fast-pacing was a Lippert signature yet this movie definitely played better in mid-twentieth century. Other Lippert signatures are the occasional abrupt editing.

As each motorcycle peels off from the "parade" to its intended patrol area, the film quickly shifts to the Los Angeles Police Academy's firing range. First up are the female traffic cops aiming at parking meter silhouettes. You can believe that if you want. The male officers only get a tiny dot on cardboard. The location provides the perfect opportunity for Newfield to introduce the main cast, Officers William Henry and Don Castle, plus Detective Reed Hadley. Richard Travis innocuously appears later as another detective. Yes, Lippert regular, Sid Melton, does his shtick as a bar owner where everyone knows his name: Omar. The leads work well enough in this dialogue-heavy screenplay by Maurice Tombragel and Orville Hampton, but expect some amateurs in the supporting cast.

Once Officer Henry's character is established, one gets the distinct feeling his days on the force are numbered. The apparent hit-and-run accident he was investigating was simply a cover for an automobile theft racket. Henry pays the price for getting too well-informed. Castle, engaged to Henry's sister, is asked to infiltrate the gang of pre-owned vehicles. The gang employs a tow truck driver—a familiar face from his Warner Bros. days—Frank Jenks, who is suspicious of the new guy. Things really heat up during the final aforementioned motorcycle pursuit. 

HOT CARS (1956)

This sixty-minute American crime film stars John Bromfield in the best of his four Bel-Air Production films (see below) in a modern-day setting, again playing a man out to prove his innocence or regain his self-esteem. The film is fast-paced with a high degree of believability. The acting is not forced with everyone doing a fine job without [hardly] a single unintended laugh-out-loud moment. Based on “Hot Cars” by H. Haile Chace, it is directed by Don McDougall, and written by Don Martin and Richard Landau. It was produced by Howard W. Koch. Uncharacteristically, I spend more time discussing this storyline because of the twists and characters in the film. 

The opening jazz band score by Les Baxter sets the tone for the film while the viewer watches a 1955 Mercedes-Benz 190SL convertible being test driven. Under superimposed screen credits, we watch Bromfield pull the sportscar to the roadside so the potential buyer, and stereotypical bombshell, Joi Lansing, can take the wheel. She provides the only curves—nearly all hairpins—in the film. Building customer relations is foremost in his mind so they stop at Santa Monica's “Jack's at the Beach” bar for a drink and chat, hoping to close the deal. Before the drive back to the dealership, he irresponsibly—an unintentionally funny moment—asks her, “What good is one drink without one for the road?” Though the salesman seems to now have a heavy foot, they safely return to the dealer lot. But she drives away in her own 1956 Chrysler New Yorker convertible.

Bromfield's perpetually irate boss, Robert Osterloh, an auto-shyster of the first order, is savvy enough to know his clientele. He blasts him for wasting time with a high-class dame who has no interest in used cars. Bromfield is straddling the unemployment fence at this point. Enter Ralph Clanton, who appears to be interested in an old MG roadster for only $700. But “Honest John” Bromfield tells him it was used on the racing circuit, has been rolled three times and will be nothing but trouble, in the hopes of getting him into a more expensive car. Clanton appreciates his honesty but drives away. Wanting to unload the dumpster roadster—and on his last nerve—Osterloh fires Bromfield. Clanton re-enters the picture by calling straight-arrow Bromfield about working for his own dealerships. The whole MG thing was just a test as was Lansing's coy attitude to open the film. As soon as Bromfield discovers the hot car racket, he walks out.

But the salesman and his devoted wife suddenly have an urgent financial dilemma thrust upon them when their ill son needs surgery. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Clanton accepts Bromfield's decision to return just as the always authentic Dabbs Greer enters the film. The detective asks the salesman to keep an eye out for any suspicious cars. Later that night, a shipment of hot cars is unloaded onto the lot and in near panic, the semi-driver—a real hep cat—tells Bromfield, “Cut the [dealership] lights, man!” The next day, Greer returns to look at a Chrysler, one of the hot cars yet to be moved behind the dealership. Bromfield's initial fear is unfounded because the detective simply wants to buy the car as an anniversary gift for his wife—she always liked Chryslers. Greer and his wife return, ready to sign on the dotted line. Bromfield is well aware the hot car will not remain a secret very long. In hopes of dissuading Greer, he tries a couple of stalling tactics then suddenly requires a larger down payment. Clanton's operative finally shows up with a pre-arranged sales receipt for the car. Greer is very suspicious and unhappy with the last-minute flip-flop with pointed comments leveled at Bromfield. The detective is too intimidating for the hot car henchman, who shortens Greer's script.

Two police officers want to question Bromfield about the murder but he cannot be found at home. When he does return, his wife pleads with him to tell the truth. The three men pay Lansing a visit and she denies ever meeting Bromfield yet he can prove they met. While in another room, he describes her bedroom furnishings—ahem—which have suddenly been “renovated.” Now a legit suspect, the salesman has an easy escape with the intent of tracking down the assassin. It leads to an exciting and authentic roller coaster climax at Ocean Park Pier in Santa Monica. The two men receive and give punches while being filmed from a coaster car in front of them. Quite a ride for the viewer. Jockeying for position, the henchman is thrown during a high-speed loop. Also thrown for a loop are Clanton and Lansing, who have been on law enforcement's radar for some time.

Notes: Bel-Air Productions was a joint venture between the director, Koch, and the independent producer Aubrey Schenck. These low-budget productions were all distributed through United Artists. Bel-Air usually offered realism on the cinematography front with its location filming. This movie is an eyeful for the automotive historian as it was filmed at Big John's and Johnny O'Toole's used car dealerships in Culver City, California. The film thanks both for their cooperation with an ending acknowledgment.

Bromfield starred in three other Bel-Air Productions of the period, more amusing, less tidy, and generally inferior to this film. Check out The Big Bluff, Crime Against Joe, and Three Bad Sisters.