PORTLAND EXPOSÉ (1957)

Allied Artists released this low-budget crime film. It was directed by Harold Schuster from a screenplay by Jack DeWitt. The jazz combo blast is Paul Dunlap's opening. The film was inspired by crime boss Jim Elkins and the McClellan Committee's investigation into Portland's underground criminal ventures for a decade after 1940. The "travelogue" opening narration encapsulates the city's beauty and surrounding scenery. A great place to call home. But the town has unseen problems: mobsters running amok. The film is pretty routine outside some hard-hitting and sleazy operatives taking over businesses, specifically the tavern, soon to be opened by Edward Binns and his wife, Virginia Gregg. A teenage daughter and younger son complete the family. A salesman pressures Binns into installing a pinball vending machine, arguing that it will make more money than a jukebox. Expect soap opera moments with Binns and Gregg as they wonder what they are getting into, using dull dialogue fit for a television episode.

A syndicate boss, Russ Conway, wants to infiltrate the labor unions. It will be no surprise to see the ever-present and versatile Lawrence Dobkin (sans toupee below) as Conway's right-hand man. Binns' tavern is targeted as it is near some blue-collar industrial plants. Conway enlists thugs, the unknown Joe Marr and up and up-and-coming star Frank Gorshin to convince Binns to install their machines. The multiple "sinball" machines end up making the tavern not exactly Cracker Barrel-friendly. Marr is just awful (maybe an actual thug) while Gorshin makes an impression here, near the beginning of his career, often cast in gangster or hoodlum parts. Speaking of impressions, for those old enough to remember his stellar caricature impersonations of famous actors, it is pretty funny watching Gorshin "method-act" his way through.

Binns catches the pedophilic Gorshin assaulting his daughter, and he is left horizontal and bloodied. Co-captain of the pinball team, actor Rusty Lane, arrives late that night in Conway's late model Thunderbird to meet Marr at a railroad warehouse. It is always a warehouse. Gorshin, still half unconscious in the back of Marr's sedan, is a skinny squealer by nature. Lane is not taking that chance. Gorshin's demise is—by all accounts—gruesome. And it is not even the halfway point of the film.

With assistance from the police, Binns is able to go undercover wearing a wiretap that doubles as a "hearing aid." The recorder is the size of a DVR under his suit. Conway and a skeptical Dobkin accept Binns into his racketeering business, with the former spilling the beans about his bigger operations. The pinball wizard handles everything like an experienced private detective—taking a beating and keeps on ticking. At one point, Jeanne Carmen (above) thrust herself on him. Her acting is so obvious, running neck-and-neck with Mr. Marr in the acting accolades. Note the sarcastic dialogue between Dobkin and Carmen, however. The prostitute is suspicious of Binns' hearing loss and informs her boss.

Knowing Binns has suddenly regained his hearing, he is transported to the obligatory warehouse where he is (naturally) beaten to a pulp. Binns is smirking most of the time until they threaten to blind his daughter with acid. He reveals where he has hidden the tapes. The thugs untie Binns from the "torture chair," but he springs to action, dispensing with some heavies, after hiding his daughter behind some crates. He strangely disappears from the film, leaving his daughter and the audience to wonder if he is still alive. A bit of strange directing. An arriving taxi—with no paying fares—leads two cars full of a rival union. They all casually step from the car as if it were movie night and appear rather reluctant to enter the warehouse with only their fists. A very brief, highly staged, and humorous rumble ensues. An upbeat closing narration closes the film to issue an "all clear" message. The citizens can breathe easy. 

Note: Many who lived near or in Portland, Oregon in the 1940s and 1950s knew or their children have found out the history of the veritable cesspool it was. Still a high-crime area today in the city's center, it has nothing to do with pinball machines. 

TEEN AGE THUNDER (1957)

This seventy-eight-minute film—with night scenes lit by a 40-watt bulb—is another HOWCO International film specializing in low-budget double feature movies. Lost, Lonely and Vicious was another of their films that I have skewered. That film is so bad I thought it should have been released as HOWCOME International. Directed, written and produced by guys who knew enough to get things rolling, this particular film is a couple of rungs above on the professional ladder. It is added to a long line of misunderstood hot rod teen films in the attempt to cash in on the original, Rebel Without A Cause, from two years prior. According to the movie's opening narration, hot rod racing is the nation's fastest-growing sport and it is pronounced, "drag-RACING" not today's "DRAG-racing."

The casting budget for this film did not make a dent in production costs. The twenty-seven-year-old Western supporting actor Chuck Courtney plays an eighteen-year-old. His “method acting” captures a lonely, unhappy high school senior. Down the professional scale is the monotonous, singsong delivery of Melinda Byron, Courtney's girl and waitress at the local diner. Doing much better with leading man stature is Robert Fuller, who plays a braggert with an ego larger than his flat-head V-8. He and Courtney have a thing: they hate each other. In real life, Fuller is three years younger than Courtney, too young for a driver's license! Yet the assumption is he is older, perhaps dropping out of school two years sooner. He does have a letter jack, but no achievement letters sewn on. Playing a pivotal part is Paul Bryar. With a long career as a supporting player, he is the most genuine actor in this film. As he was often cast, he played a policeman in the aforementioned Dean classic.

Courtney's widowed father is a hard-lined disciplinarian showing little affection for his non-commital son. The boy slouches at the dinner table and wears a T-shirt during supper. It could not possibly get much worse. Well, jail time would figure in. Living under the same roof is the father's sister who tries to reason with her narrow-minded brother when sparks fly. In the end, the adults teach errant teenagers little about taking responsibility for their actions.

God's gift to hot rodders shifts his charm into high gear for the affections of Miss Byron during a lunch with Courtney. Not liking the company, she persuades Courtney to drive her home in her brother's old car. The subsequent filming nearly suggests Guy Ritchie's hand-held camerawork to create the shaky sensation of speed as Fuller blasts past them. Courtney's attempt to keep up shows the speedometer's needle also blasting from 50 to 80 mph in about two seconds—2025 Corvette ZR-1 territory, buddy!

There is a listing for a job opening at a Mobil gas station owned by Bryar, currently building a hot rod. The high schooler now has a father figure who understands burning rubber off tires and wasting fuel a quarter mile at a time. Later, the even-tempered mechanic gives some valuable advice to Courtney's father on how to be one. With some inner confessions, Dad turns the corner at Reality and Shame. He learns his son got clobbered by Fuller and Dad wants to teach him how to defend himself. Turns out, 'ol dad was a middle-weight boxing champion in college. Dad's lesson with boxing gloves has him feeling like a champion again. Knocking his son to the grass a few times feels pretty good. A second lesson is not happening.

Fuller challenges the introvert to a drag race for Byron's honor—what to do, what to do?! Courtney lies about his age to a used car salesman, Bing Russell, and lies about just going around the block for a test drive. I am beginning to side with his father. Courtney calls to inform him he will return the car the next morning. Russell is irate. He had a big date. He is the antithesis of a stereotypical used car salesman and no charges are filed. Ahh...to live in the early twentieth century when common sense overruled suing. The law offices of "Fuller & Courtney" meet with the former suggesting they drive towards each other at top speed in near cave darkness. Cool. Showing more courage than either driver, Byron intervenes by standing in the middle of the road, causing both idiots to do the “Byron Swerve.” She promptly faints.

Courtney steals the hot rod from the gas station. The Mobil owner planned to drive it in the upcoming drag race in place of his son, afflicted with Polio. Putting wisdom forefront, Bryar has faith the man/boy took the rod to put Fuller in his place. Never mind about zero drag strip experience. It is a no-brainer who beats who, which is edited as if it is a mile-long track, Full-of-it Fuller falsely accuses his competitor of trying to wreak him—the excuse for losing. Both actors were trained stuntmen so they pull off a pretty realistic fistfight. Courtney's single boxing lesson pays off as he pictures Fuller as his dad. Pop buys the hot rod for his favorite son and drives it home. To Courtney's delight, Dad gets the speeding ticket instead.

Notes: The title song is performed well by David Houston (1935-1993). The song is also used during the first trip to the Front Page diner where teens seem to think it is a tune you could possibly dance to. He is credited as the star of RCA Victor Recording in the fashion of a Frankie Avalon or Bobby Rydell of the period. But Houston's mark was on the country music charts, finding huge success in the 1960s.

Chuck Courtney gained a splash of notoriety initially by playing the visiting nephew of the Lone Ranger for several episodes before this film. With a couple of exceptions, he is best known for his supporting roles in countless Westerns. Another actor getting his start in the Western was popular television leading man, Robert Fuller. He gained stardom for television's Laramie, Wagon Train and Emergency!.

THE RESTLESS BREED (1957)

This is the final Western from director Allan Dwan, known for many "oaters." It is also my first Western added to this blog after a decade considering a pre-1960 Western that is not typical fare. My "first draw" to this particular Western was Scott Brady. With a long career as a famous leading and supporting player, he can usually elevate B-movies. Unlike most Westerns of the era, the film opens oddly (uniquely?) with a black background behind a glowing red modern font of credits accompanied by a contemporary music score by Edward L. Alperson Jr. The result creates an impression more attuned to a low-budget horror film by William Castle. The opening music somewhat foretells Brady's own television Western, Shotgun Slade, with its atypical jazz score. 

The Restless Breed is distributed by 20th Century Fox. The Pathécolor tinting is of questionable quality in a film that utilizes bluish (night) studio sets along with location filming. Set in 1865, the story is written by Steve Fisher. The film's main stars are Scott Brady, Anne Bancroft, and Rhys Williams, along with a few familiar B-movie character actors. Fine performances all around. Be prepared for some unnecessary and disruptive two-second edits that return the viewer to another location during a break in the conversation. There is an overabundance of character eavesdropping, too, but it is not intended to be humorous.

A lawyer with a temper, Brady opens the film as it confirms his father, a Secret Service Agent, has been murdered. The incident is told in a brief flashback that has true spoiler-alert credentials. He accepts his father's revolver but not the badge. Bent on revenge, he goes to the town where the murder took place, a Texas-Mexico border town overrun by the typical gang of outlaws. After a self-defensive shooting of two town bullies, everyone thinks he is their latest gunslinger.

There appears to be a significant role for Scott Marlowe yet he is irrelevant until near the movie's end. The young Marlowe pops up throughout the film lurking nervously against storefront posts, in alleys, or peeping through a broken section of a saloon window. His every appearance proves he does not have the nerve to shoot down Brady. This eavesdropper reports to Leo Gordon, one in the gang of gun-runners, whose boss is Jim Davis.

Williams is quite the eavesdropper, himself. These "advanced notifications" make him wise beyond his understanding. He is perceived as the only sensibility factor in town, benefitted by dressing in black like a minister. When pressed by Brady, however, he admits to the impersonation. Only his word should be taken as gospel. The tunnel-visioned Williams deems his good intentions are best for the whole town. His soft-spoken demeanor always wins out. It is hard to argue with a man who initiated a children's shelter of unwanted half-breeds. The oldest being Bancroft. Williams becomes much more "hard-spoken" when she becomes enamored with Brady. Always ready to make demands, she must stay away from that no good gunslinging [though handsome] criminal.

All the town's previous sheriffs have been murdered soon after taking office. Brady himself survives numerous assassination attempts but the gang's numbers only dwindle. Beware of a hot-headed lawyer with a gun. Williams finally gets the facts about Brady and nearly apologizes. The murderer arrives back in town with a few of his henchmen. We learn of Marlowe's small part in the murder, then he disappears from the film. We can only assume he still lurks. Everyone supposed to be dead is now dead and Williams supports the Brady-Bancroft union.

Note: I could not pinpoint the restless breed. It could be Brady, out for revenge. The contraband gang is quite restless. Perhaps it is Bancroft, wanting to break out of a children's shelter. Perhaps it is all three or the town itself. It could be the four producers of the film.

HELL BOUND (1957)

This seventy-one-minute Bel-Air Production project is directed by William J. Hole, Jr., produced by Howard W. Koch, and distributed by United Artists. A Bel-Air standby, Carl E. Guthrie is the cinematographer. This crime drama has its quirks and slow sections, but it is another well-acted and filmed offering. Part of its problem is some scenes extend far too long which may affect the viewer's attention span. Editing out about ten minutes might have been wise. Although not readily apparent at the outset, it is a small film within a larger film. 

As many B-movies did, a voice-over narration provides the background of a coordinated robbery on a freighter entering the port with 250 grand of surplus narcotics from the 1940s. The viewer assumes the drugs have not exceeded their expiration date. Three impostors—a man rescued in open waters on a dingy, a diabetic ship's doctor, and a nurse complete the gang. It is the perfect setup and goes without a flaw as if it might result in the shortest Bel-Air movie of all time. Except that what the viewer is witnessing has never happened. Yet. This opening is the most clever twist of this film, done better nearly a decade later in Gambit (1966). As in that romantic comedy, nothing quite goes as the mastermind planned.

John Russell, with his menacing good looks, is once again a cold-blooded killer with severe anger issues. Do not be fooled by his charming countenance used for the above poster. His smile is turned upside down in this film. He is the fourth impostor in his demonstration film to entice a crooked businessman into financing the plot. His assistant slash girl is played by June Blair who has a particular knack for imposing herself on any male and sensing a good plan when she hears one. She is competent in her screen debut. Russell turns a cold shoulder to Blair's repeated “come-ons” and is especially not pleased she volunteers to be the nurse, squeezing out his girlfriend intended for the part. However, the reality of people's personalities has a way of changing one's future. For this film, reality becomes a bit more confusing than the "home movie" he financed.

Speaking of dragging a scene out, Russell beats a drug addict into submission in a convincing fashion to force him into playing the rescued man on a dingy. Between shadows and total darkness, he is pummeled relentlessly. So this beating can end, he agrees to the assignment. But when the heist is mid-cycle, he is so strung out for a fix he panics and never follows through. Russell pressures Stanley Adams into playing the diabetic doctor, who is, in reality, an actual diabetic. Adams is to inject himself with insulin to put him into diabetic shock. But it is good news, bad news from his doctor. Adams' improving health means insulin injections are not currently necessary. Indeed, an injection could be fatal. The waiting ambulance is to take Adams and the phony nurse to the hospital. Enter Stuart Whitman, in a brief but pivotal role as an intern slash ambulance driver.

One may not be surprised the actual heist action aboard the ship looks like the very same footage from Russell's home movie—with different actors. Not to go unnoticed is at least one implausible segment with Whitman and Blair sharing ambulance runs while she, somehow, covers for her total lack of medical knowledge. They also share some milk and cookies—no kidding—in his humble apartment. And passionate kisses. Not Hershey's.

Russell is livid that she wants to go legit with the sensible intern. He drops in on her later and viciously slaps her among the furniture before stabbing her, shoving the pocket knife in as far as possible. Russell becomes the useless operative in his "ideal" heist and is now hell-bound to drag out the final segments of the film. In a somewhat clever climactic scene, his demise in a scrap metal yard provides his final disappointment.

Notes: The music score by Les Baxter is a bit overkill at times as if he is not quite sure what should support a scene. Mundane scenes might be backed by bold, staccato brass, while other parts of the score nearly disappear. The talented musician was noted for providing stock music for numerous projects. Scoring a film was perhaps not his strong suit.

Better known for his many Westerns, Dehl Berti has an uncredited role as Daddy, a heroin supplier, decked out in sunglasses inside a dark strip club (above). He is interrupted by the addicted dingy “survivor” who needs another fix. Ever cool and calm, the unintentionally funny character smirks his way through clipped conversation in monotone fashion—his head hardly moving. He cannot help the addict. His bazaar scene ends when the camera pivots to focus on the dancer, then to a seeing-eye dog in the wings. Perhaps I made the equally bazaar assumption that it was the canine's eyesight that allowed him to ogle the ladies.

HOT SUMMER NIGHT (1957)

 

There is some intrigue at the beginning of this film as bank robbers coerce a bank executive from his home at night to open the vault. Overall it is a decent film helped enormously by veteran actors. The film stumbles during a slow-motion, dimly-lit getaway through a most obvious studio set with "studio dirt" heavily applied to a station wagon. There is zero realism in the scene that is sprinkled with extras as obvious as shadows on a sunny day. In his small, fading hometown, Robert Wilke has become somewhat of a local hero, giving his illegal gains to support the town where he sees fit. The townsfolk are very protective of him—out of fear.

The recently fired newspaper reporter, Leslie Nielson, sees the news article about a local robbery and he develops a plan—put his honeymoon on hold while he gets a scoop on Wilke's former girlfriend. Nielson's past article helped free her from his dominance but everyone in town is tight-lipped about her whereabouts. Never mind about his wife, Colleen Miller, for marrying a guy without a job or mindlessly accepting her husband's decision for this dangerous career booster. He is vague about his plan, only telling her that a honeymoon is forthcoming. Probably.

Wilke's ego is stroked with anticipation of a grand story about himself. He is eerily cordial to the reporter as his skeptical gang is not sure whether he might order Nielson shot from across the table. In a powerfully tense scene, before the interview starts, Wilke sets the table by verbally flattening his skittish partner, Paul Richards, like a placemat—insulting his panic attack that ruined a previous robbery. Richards is seething with rage but has not yet decided how to retaliate. Their friendship has run its course. Nielson ultimately gets a story but not the one he intended.

Most will note the familiar television lead actors in this unknown crime film, a film suggesting it has noir roots. A volunteer gang member, James Best, opens the film with his usual good old country boy flavor. He praises Wilke for his morale boost to the town. Nielson is adequate as a one-dimensional character. He was much “bigger” on the small screen during his dramatic era. Miller's career was sparse as is her emotional range here. She is the weak link in the cast. The standout in the film, the aforementioned Richards, is the mentally unpredictable polar opposite of venerable film actor, Jay C. Flippen, the level-headed veteran of the gang. Filming never attempts to capture Richards' menacing, aloof stare that was somewhat of his trademark in sinister roles. But what he does in wide-eyed pleasure about halfway into the film gets everyone's attention. It is the only shocking moment in this dialogue-heavy film. The genuine article is Edward Andrews, inhabiting his character as a sweaty sheriff.

This probably is the only film with two actors of the opposite sex named Leslie. For her uncredited role, Leslie Parrish plays an undefined character sitting on the floor, oddly clinging to Richards' leg in total devotion. IMBD dot com, for one, incorrectly identifies Parrish, giving her two different actresses' names.

Note: Directed by David Friedkin, this eighty-six-minute film would appear to be a television production with its low budget, flat camera work by Harold J. Marzorati, and highly visible actors of the period. The music is by André Previn but the score remains, for the most part, anonymous. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer distributed the film but it did not turn a profit. Today, it might be considered a lost treasure by younger viewers, not realizing Nielson did anything else but Lt. Frank Drebin.

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. Costa is also quite good in only her second film, possessing an intelligent vocal delivery and on-screen 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 a gin 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 himself. 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 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 on 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 was all shot in shadows. Now a genuine couple, the last seconds of the film have “The Calhouns” 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.

THE 27TH DAY (1957)

Based on John Mantley’s 1956 novel of the same name, this seventy-five-minute science fiction effort could be considered a thought-provoking approach but it is the time-honored Hollywood fear that atomic weapons will destroy Earth by dim-witted political administrations. And every galaxy knows about it. Though not given any credit, Robert Fresco wrote the screenplay's adaption. An oversight I assume and not at his request. It is competently directed by William Asher and produced by Helen Ainsworth for Columbia Pictures. Mischa Bakaleinikoff composed an effective score. It is a solid lead cast though most are not globally known. A misleading poster suggests aliens arrive to attack Earthlings. Again. The film is well-played with a refreshing alien twist.  

Hollywood almost always portrays aliens as wiser than mere humans. Mankind’s hopeless assumption is that it is always greener on the other side of their life, which is not evolving like they had hoped. As representatives of the world's population, five earthlings (that number is not a typo) are taken aboard a spacecraft by an alien, Arnold Moss, the planet’s marketing director. He travels at the speed of light yet waits until the last minute to save his people from annihilation. The aliens favor Earth as their new home. The problem is all the humans taking up so much space. The subjects are given three capsules, each capable of destroying all human life within a 3,000-mile radius. Neither the environment nor anything constructed by men or women will be harmed. Whew! Each of the five can only open the capsule case through their specific mental projection. The liberal alien believes the entire human history is one of self-destruction and it will not surprise him if the capsules are used for this purpose. Aliens can be a pessimistic bunch. However, if humans behave themselves, the capsules will be rendered useless, and no invasion on the twenty-seventh day. They will simply challenge another planet for living rights.

Alien Moss interrupts worldwide broadcasting transmission to reveal the names of the five, becoming the first alien whistle-blower. The media speculates about the “dangerous five” with a fever pitch of personal opinions. It becomes a pandemic of fear. The group gets shorter by one, a suicide. Another, Valerie French, throws her capsules into the ocean relieving her of any relevance in the film. Not making a great deal of sense, she catches the next flight to rejoin top-billed Gene Barry. Now with a new purpose, she becomes the companion and sounding board for his theories. The police have awarded Barry an APB, but not for being a newspaper reporter. Citizens are warned not to take the law into their own hands yet someone fitting his description has already been killed. Quoting Barry, “People hate because they fear and they fear anything they don’t understand.” Relinquishing their three-day hideout at an off-season horse race track, they place their bets with the authorities.

Friedrich Ledebur, above, a year after playing the bald, creepy, tattooed Queequeg in Moby Dick, has a brief role as a brilliant scientist with the most chiseled, aesthetic face in this film. Once realizing the alien’s ultimatum, he subjects himself to a lethal dose of gamma radiation just in case they need a guinea pig to test one of the capsules. To his good fortune, they do! They place him on an inflatable raft—with an irrelevant life vest—in the South Atlantic Ocean. We see him happily wave. His coordinates are given. He only vaporizes. No one else in a 3,000-mile radius is affected. One of the five, a respected scientist determines a complete set of capsules has a numbered code of “math destruction.” He activates all three capsules and the results indicate they contain the power for both life and death. Confusingly, the screenplay suggests the capsules know which is which. 

                               EX-TER-MI-NATE! EX-TER-MINATE!!

On the other side of Earth, the Soviets are relentlessly interrogating the Soviet officer about his capsules. His administered truth serum plus mind and physical torture, provides the Soviet's knowledge of the capsules’ purpose. Unable to sustain the atrocities, the officer opens the capsule's lid. The Soviets, somehow, locate the two other capsule cases. Global headlines claim the Soviets have world domination with the demand that America withdraw all their military from Europe.

The United Nations is all giddy about the prospect of being overrun with aliens. They give Alien Moss fifteen seconds (that is also not a typo) to reply to their friendship broadcast, hoping he has not stepped out for a supermarket errand. All broadcasting ceases to provide a clear reception of his reply. Millions are pretty peeved they will miss their regularly scheduled programming.

ACROSS THE BRIDGE (1957)

This slightly longer-than-necessary, one-hundred-three-minute British film is notable for Rod Steiger's gravitating performance along with some interesting camera positions and closeups in the film's early stages. His intensity for offbeat, often volatile characters is legendary though his range seemed to have few boundaries. All other characters fade by comparison. Yet for this film, he is almost an absurd figure of illogical attitudes and intents while channeling fellow method actor, Brando. His German accent is no better than Artie Johnson from Laugh-In television fame with his, “Vely Intelesting” signature comment. What might have been another signature role, the film's believability factor suffers as he crosses America by train where the panicked Steiger is placed in some forced, compromising suspense sequences as he begins his cowardly escape from justice. 

Based on a short story of the same name by Graham Greene, the film was produced by The Rank Organisation and directed by Ken Annakin and filmed at Shepperton Studios, Middlesex, England, UK, and in Spain. The set-up is quite engaging as Scotland Yard arrives with embezzlement charges at Steiger's British office. The doors are opened, providing visual evidence they have the right man as they witness a self-aggrandizing floor-to-ceiling “Stalinesque” self-portrait of himself. The music score supports their shocking revelation. Steiger gets the warning while at his New York office. With inevitable escape procedures already in place, he arranges his immediate departure to Mexico for a three-month hideout. Scotland Yard sends an inspector across “the pond” to apprehend the condescending embezzler.

The scheming egoist assumes the identity of a rail passenger by matching the duped man's passport picture allowing him to cross the Mexican border. In a heinous act, he shoves the drugged passenger from the speeding train. Steiger retains the passenger's suitcase for identity purposes with a plan to dispose of it alongside the road. It snaps open revealing that the man is wanted in Mexico for the assassination of a Mexican governor. His unfortunate twist. Perhaps a major miscue, Steiger's sweaty fingers have apparently lost the man's passport. But it gets worse. The man survived his abrupt train departure. Rescued and secretly treated by his “personal” doctor, the assassin is recovering in a singular motel along a Texas thoroughfare. Bandaged and in traction from head to toe—similar to the final scene in Its a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World—the man is threatened by Steiger at gunpoint for his passport.

There is a fair amount of assuming throughout the film. At least one Porter on the American train has a British accent. We can assume he found work overseas. Another character slips in and out of a faint British accent though he is a lifelong Texas resident. One could also assume he arranged for his French-speaking girlfriend to join him on the prairie. Steiger gets apprehended at the Mexican border and the authorities assume he is their wanted man. But the smug thief tells them who he really is. They could care less. Steiger is further stunned. The assassin's wife confesses he is her husband! Hard to believe there was not an initial question about why he was assuming that particular man's identity. Finally, Steiger's angry demands assume he is above the law, even offering a bribe to the Mexican police chief to get “his” passport back.

The police chief and the British inspector conspire to keep Steiger trapped in the Mexican border town to pressure him into escaping across the bridge back to America for prosecution. But the agreement is a one-sided affair in Mexico’s favor. He is never getting out of Mexico. Steiger is content to settle in the town for as long as it takes. His wealth buys him whatever he desires until the political assassin’s body is returned home, killed in a Mexican raid at the motel. I am not sure why the townspeople feel Steiger is responsible for leaving behind a widow and child, but they band together, refusing his money or his existence.

Note: After assuming that unfortunate identity, Steiger is unaware he is now the owner of an adorable spaniel. Rather risky when the baggage car handler has to remind him not to leave his previously fawned-over pet behind. The dog seems to recognize the impersonated face and follows him around town. When Steiger disposes of the assassin's suitcase, he also tries to leave the dog behind. Weary and exhausted from escaping, his life is spared by the whimpering dog alerting him of a scorpion on his trousers. Steiger has a change of heart toward the dog and it eventually becomes his only friend. Yet the catalyst for his death.

DEATH IN SMALL DOSES (1957)

From a Saturday Evening Post exposé by Arthur L. Davis this film is based on factual accounts. The film was directed by Joseph M. Newman who had several notable B-movies already under his clapboard. A jazz-inspired score by Emil Newman and Robert Wiley Miller is used effectively over opening credits, all in modern, lowercase letters. This low-budget Allied Artists production is a well-cast “call to action” about the excessive use of addictive, mood-altering drugs. The viewer is locked in from the opening scene with headlights glaring down a dark highway. The theme is established as the driver, to stay awake, downs a handful of amphetamines, known as “bennies” (Benzedrine) or “co-pilots” to truck drivers. His subsequent hallucination drives him over a cliff.  As is often the case with any old movie, regardless of budget, there are a couple of unintentionally funny scenes of note.

Handsome, likable Peter Graves plays one of the numerous FDA agents sent undercover to find out who is supplying drivers the illegal pills. This may be the best B-movie production of his career as a man with undercover experience. His “off the top of his head” suggestion for a phony alias and routine cover for this sort of thing is pretty funny. And not even questioned by his supervisor. He decides to be a widower from...um... Indianapolis...um...who has been drifting for...um...five years working at various...um...jobs. Perfect!

You will not forget Chuck Conners' standout performance. One might think he is over-acting, but on the contrary, he sells the harmful effects of drug addiction vividly. Connors hams it up as a hopped-up-hepcat big-rig driver. He and “Bennie” can go the distance on the highway or the dance floor. His flirtations with the diner waitress, Merry Anders, is a favorite pastime. Sleeping is for losers, in his altered mind. When Graves becomes a border in the same house as Connors, the automobile buff will wonder who owns the Thunderbird convertible curbside. Once Connors “blows the cameraman off his feet” with his first appearance, the owner is revealed. His climatic, hallucinogenic ride, almost drives him insane, and nearly kills Graves in the process before getting him the medical help needed.

Mala Powers, who runs the trucker's boarding house, looks sheepishly uncomfortable when Graves checks in. Like she killed her dog a couple of hours before after he peed on the carpet. Graves' phony backstory plays to her emotions and they soon become attached at the lips. She will be quite surprised to learn he is just a professional doing his job. So there is little surprise for the moviegoer that they have no future together. Typically, Harry Lauter is just too nice as Power's thoughtful “brother-in-law.”

Routine stops at a service station introduce us to the owner, Robert B. Williams, as “Dunc.” The amiable character is the driver's primary pill physician, but he is not the kingpin. When the pill-pusher gang finds out the identity of Graves he is abducted and taken to a remote location. Against his will, Williams is also “taken for a ride” and then commanded to dig a grave for Graves. Sensing a chance to sway Williams' actions, Graves tells him he is also dispensable. “Dunc, you better make that two graves.” After that unintended pun, Williams places the shovel upside of the head of the drug kingpin. After a few stray and deadly bullets, Graves returns to town to wrap up his assignment. Powers' hysteria of being arrested at the end is a bit much.

THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN (1957)

This was an impressive science fiction film for its day. The main character is not fending off a stereotypical invasion of aliens from another planet. Rather, it is a fantastical tale of a man's challenge to retain his very own existence through an imaginative screenplay and a thought-provoking story, thanks to Richard Matheson. The miniaturization special effects using larger-than-life furniture and props were convincing at the time, though the idea was produced seventeen years earlier in the first film to suggest miniaturization, Dr. Cyclops. Directed by Jack Arnold and produced by Albert Zugsmith, this is eighty-one minutes well spent. It was a box office success for Universal Pictures. Though logically pure science fiction, it seems a reasonable theory based on a convincing medical diagnosis to explain shrinkage.

While boating with his wife, played by Randy Stuart, Grant Williams is overwhelmed by a low-lying fog as it passes over the craft. After returning to the deck, she notices he is covered in reflective flakes, a visual affirmation of the cloud's effect. As if this once-in-a-lifetime experience was not enough, he is later accidentally exposed to large amounts of common insecticide. The radioactive mist and insecticide combination rearrange William's molecular structure, causing his cells to shrink in perfect synchronization. 

Months roll by with little thought of the misty cloud until Williams notices his clothes seem a tad too big. The subtle changes in his stature are handled believably. Jumping to a conclusion, he blames the laundry service, perhaps that mysterious process known as Martinizing. The realization his wife no longer needs to stand on her tip-toes to kiss him gives confirmation to his fear...she is getting taller! His physician, William Schallert, dismisses his concerns and reassures him that he is normal. A young man simply does not grow shorter, after all. But Williams is further convinced there is something wrong when his wedding ring falls from his finger. An omen to be sure.

At the suggestion of his “thoughtful” brother, Paul Langton, his story hits the headlines in the hope that Williams might provide income as a national, three-foot-tall, freakazoid. His humiliation is too much to bear, however, and he ventures outside his home. A female neighborhood midget—that does not happen every day either—becomes his encouraging source in accepting his shortcomings. It does not take him long to notice, however, she retains her height. One might wonder whether he stopped at a tailor for a fitting. His next moving experience is to get comfortable in a new 1:1 scale dollhouse. By this time, Williams is getting rather cranky. His wife needs a grocery run to pick up a lima bean for his supper. She leaves the front door open just a few seconds, and their cat, played by Orangey, gets in. As some cats have probably considered, he attacks his owner. When the wife returns to find a blood-stained piece of cloth, she assumes Orangey has been a vehwy, vehwy bad kitty.

Alive but trapped in the basement by a locked door, Williams has to overcome many obstacles to survive, including a very intimidating spider the size of a sedan and nourishment from cheese retrieved from a mousetrap. Yuck! These are “fun” scenes as challenges erupt when adapting to everyday objects. When the water heater bursts, a minor inconvenience for most people, it becomes a life-threatening flood for Williams as the rushing water leads down a drain pipe. After an exhausting final battle with that pesky spider, he awakens to find he is small enough to slip through one square of a window screen. Seeking a tailor is no longer an option, either. He is now literally dressed in rags. Having survived incredible odds, Williams does not fear the future as the inspiring music crescendos and he gazes to the heavens. No matter how small he becomes, he will still matter in God's universe. "To God, there is no zero." 

He is immediately devoured by a praying mantis. Perhaps.

Note: Richard Matheson was a superb writer of science fiction and may be best known as the one providing many successful scripts for television's original, “Twilight Zone” and “Alfred Hitchcock Presents.” In this, her "largest" role to date, it was Randy Stuart's next-to-last film.