FILM BRAKE: IRWIN ALLEN AT SEA

This science fiction television series is based on the 1961 film of the same name created by Irwin Allen. Fortuitously, the film's sets, costumes, props, special effects, models, and occasional footage, were available for the series. Launched in 1964, the show had a popular four-season run when compared to Allen's other science fiction series of the period, Lost in Space, The Time Tunnel, and Land of the Giants. The first season was seen in black and white and seemed to fit the show's occasional scripts about Cold War tensions or averting a third-world government coup. Not even close to the bottom of the sea. Yet the series never left its science fiction roots, attested to by a first season episode about an off-course flying saucer that submerges into the sea and prehistoric "monsters" discovered under Antarctica's "warm spot." Most networks hopped on the new trend of color broadcasting by 1965. Viewers were thrilled to watch their favorite gray actors in color.

THE MAIN CAST

Most of the action took place on a futuristic, nuclear-powered submarine, the Seaview. True to the series title, the Seaview was on the bottom of the sea quite often due to sabotage or an unknown force controlling the ship's operating systems. The Seaview was the brainchild of Admiral Nelson—played by respected actor Richard Basehart—the director of the super-secret Nelson Institute of Marine Research. It co-starred David Hedison as the ship's Captain and featured Robert Dowdell as the Lieutenant Commander, Del Monroe, reprising a similar role in the film version, and joining the cast after season one was Emmy-winning director and producer, Terry Becker.

For many young viewers, the Seaview was the star, with its far-reaching technology. Yet the series took place only about a decade into the future. The final two seasons were set during the eighties yet technology apparently never advanced further. In keeping with all the 007 gadgetry of the era, the crew gained the seldom-seen Sea Crab, a self-propelled explorer, a two-person mini-sub in the first season, and the yellow Flying Sub (FS-1), a three-person Manta Ray-shaped craft capable of underwater navigation or supersonic flight. It was launched underneath the Seaview's bow through a sliding panel—even when the ship was flat on the ocean floor due to an “editing mishap.” The Seaview went through early design modifications, most notably reducing the number of front horizontal windows in the bow to four. The view from the interior, however, the windows were decidedly vertical.

                                     THE SINKING SCRIPTS

In the first half of the series, there were many decently written espionage or Communist takeover plots in true spy fashion. The ABC Network wanted a lighter, less serious approach, and what developed was quite outlandish at times. It is doubtful the show could have sustained a four-year run without transitioning into the fantasy world of science fiction of a humanoid sea creature, an invisible alien, or an ordinary-looking house plant that controlled a crew member's mind. It never seemed to matter. Certainly not to the average nine-year-old. The "alien-of-the-week" was well underway during the final two seasons. One of the more silly devices had a villain or creature routinely destroying the Circuitry Room's wall of wires, disabling the ship. The amount of stockpiled wiring must have been astounding. The crew would predictably tossed left and right multiple times from an explosion on board, setting off fires and miniature fireworks. All helped by a studio camera that rocked back and forth in the opposite direction to the actors. As lead officers, Basehart and Hedison were the least vaccinated against alien mind control, who then threatened the ship or crew. Despite lowering the bar during its run, it was likely those episodes that made the series an Irwin Allen cult classic.

Note: Upon returning from the catastrophic climax scene, the final thirty seconds allowed Basehart to predictably give a rapid summation of what just transpired with everything miraculously back to normal. He might end the episode with a reserved smile or quip. I would speculate the two experienced film actors thought four seasons was plenty.

THE BIG CAPER (1957)

With film camera secured, the viewer rides along with Rory Calhoun's 1956 Chrysler convertible as he motors his way to convince crime kingpin, James Gregory, to help organize another heist. Lounging poolside at his estate, appearing a legit businessman, Gregory angrily tells his former operative—in no uncertain terms—he is not interested and to take a hike. Calhoun reemphasizes it involves a bank that regularly holds a million dollars before distribution to nearby Camp Pendleton. In the very next scene he and his girl, Mary Costa, are passengers in the convertible to case the bank. A salivating Gregory has Calhoun abandon his fancy New Yorker for a mid-forties beater, sets him up as a gas station owner, and buys a large house where he and Costa can establish themselves as a married couple. Their big house simply to hide the heist team. However, after four months, Costa starts liking her domestic role and the fact that Calhoun knows how to make pancakes without them sticking to the griddle. Their neighbors establish Scrabble night and their young son by now refers to Calhoun as "uncle." With every vacuuming, Costa thinks less and less of dirtbag Gregory.

This eighty-five-minute American film noir crime film was directed by Robert Stevens from a screenplay by Martin Berkeley based on the novel of the same name by Lionel White. United Artists released a dandy, yet oft-told story about another well-financed and planned robbery. Filmed beneath opening titles and an Albert Glasser score, that automotive opening is a good setup for a heist film and it is worth going into some detail about it.

Everyone is first-rate in this crime film. Calhoun is his cool self and this is one of his better crime films of the Fifties. But it is far from a break-out role. Costa is also quite good in only her second film, possessing an intelligent vocal delivery and composure—not playing to the camera. Gregory is excellent in a role familiar to him. He mentions serving five years for a robbery as a young kid. He may not have been incarcerated since, but he has been slippery enough to avoid any more downtime. The guy has deep pockets. Gregory's booming, foghorn voice—his trademarked mumbling through some lines as if it is an aside—and sarcastic comments toward the suspected “happy couple” clearly reveal his ruthless side.

Making the film much more memorable, however, are two psychopaths (above). Robert Harris' entrance at the Calhoun house—squinting, sweating, with an untidy appearance—is the first standout. Harris had a knack for convincing performances as an overheated, demented, near-sighted weasel. An expert in explosives—his “bang juice”—he also has an alcohol problem. His thought processing seemingly incoherent, he settles into his room and Calhoun tells him the gin is off-limits until after the robbery. Approaching another meltdown, he lights a match to calm him. He is mesmerized by the flame. The normally dark-haired Corey Allen is also hard to forget as a short-cropped, bleached blonde in glistening dark suntan makeup. Cold-blooded murder seems to be his most enjoyable pastime. That, and listening to Glasser's jazz score via a record player prop. Perhaps Hollywood thought there was some sort of a connection between a jazz freak and a white-haired murderer with a bow tie. To say he is on edge is an understatement. His role seems to follow up his previous 1957 film, The Shadow on The Window.

The customary review of the caper's details is to be expected. Gregory is pretty ecstatic to go over the crude map and everyone's role to play. Filming of the successful robbery is effectively not drawn out with a redundant set of visuals. A tense moment occurs when the neighbor pays a visit to the house. Tagging along is his son with an armful of lost dog. The dog bolts up the stairway where the gang is hiding, nearly going to dog heaven by an Allen knife. Glasser's score ramps up the intensity.

Harris's two diversionary explosions will create chaos—one at a high school on Saturday night assuming no one will be there. He nearly soils himself talking about his assignment. There will be a power outage, thanks to another Paul Picerni criminal role with Allen elected as the wheelman. The exciting rapid climax includes a believable choreographed fight scene between Calhoun and Gregory when the latter tries to escape with the loot. Wisely, it all was shot in shadows. Now a genuine couple, the last seconds of the film have “The Calhoun's” making a decision that will more than likely reduce their jail time.

Notes: A couple of amusing bits come after Calhoun signs the papers for the gas station. The elderly gas station owner quickly calls his wife about the sale, "Get the trailer fixed. The suckers fell for it!" Another chuckling scene is when Harris, angered over his gin restrictions, knocks Calhoun out and dumps his body from the car on the night of the heist. The camera then has a distant shot of the car parked behind a “No Dumping” sign.