The Hunters (1958)

This film is an adaptation of The Hunters, the first novel by Air Force veteran James Salter in 1957. The film strays from the original story most notably by incorporating a self-destructive fighter pilot. Mr. Salter was not pleased and not consulted. It was directed and produced competently by Dick Powell, with a screenplay by Wendell Mayes. The 108-minute film was distributed by Twentieth Century Fox. Paul Sawtell's powerful music score during the escape of three downed American pilots in Communist occupied territory is worth noting. Without a doubt, the CinemaScope aerial sequences by cinematographer Charles G. Clarke, A.S.C. are the highlight of the movie. Because the well-acted drama is another "war picture" with personal conflicts, studio cockpit "flying", and hitting the speed brake switch during a love tryst going nowhere. A film that might have stood the test of time instead lost money. Not too surprising after viewing the first quarter of the film.

The film stars Robert Mitchum, Robert Wagner, Lee Philips, May Britt, and Richard Egan. Hard to argue with this line-up, though Britt seems a bit anemic. Yet it probably is written into the script, "your character is supposed to be anemic." You can believe that if you want. Mitchum plays an experienced WWII combat ace. On the opposite end of the spectrum is a young lieutenant, a hep-talking, ego-centric new recruit, Wagner. He is quite good in the role and improves the film from his very first scene with his legendary exuberant delivery and good looks. The two do not see eye-to-eye on taking orders. Mitchum wants him out of his flight unit, but the Colonel, Egan, overrides his desire. It turns out to be fortuitous.

Philips is worth singling out with a difficult emotional role as the invented character outside the novel. He plays a promising combat pilot who has only found frustration with his inability to make a mark for himself. His escape is to drown his fears and self-loathing in alcohol consumption. Aware of Mitchum's legendary status, Philips is quite defensive about his lack of confidence (above). But Mitchum has little sympathy for the thirty-year-old and, upon meeting his wife, Britt, senses that she is on the proverbial fence over her husband's evasive maneuvers. Mitch and Britt are joined at the lips on several occasions. Philips suspects as much.

On one hunting mission, Philips is caught trying to outmaneuver a top Communist pilot when his plane is hit. He ejects, landing in a tree badly injured. Mitchum takes out the enemy plane, spots Philips' chute after a few passes, then finds a clearing to do a risky belly landing. His duty is to rescue his fellow pilot. Wagner was given an order to return to the base, but disobeying is second nature. He spots Chinese military vehicles approaching and hits the deck to strafe the convoy. But his plane is hit by anti-aircraft fire while climbing away. He has to bail. The three make a valiant effort to stay alive in Powell's action-filled climax, making good use of the term. A passing UN convoy saves their lives. Mitchum actually had enough fuel to get back to base. By deliberately destroying his aircraft, a court-martial is a likely outcome. Common sense wins, and after a light reprimand, Egan dismisses the incident.

The trio is transferred to a military hospital stateside, where Mitchum recovers from a wounded arm, and Philips improves daily. The latter indicates sincere remorse to Britt and vows to be the husband he had intended to be. She seems skeptical. The unscathed Wagner finishes his scenes humorously and with a genuine respect for "his elders."

Notes: The air combat scenes are exciting as North American F-86 Sabre Jets (above) encounter Chinese/North Korean Mig 15s. Except the Migs are gray Republic F-84 Thunderstreaks with the red Chinese stars appropriately placed. The sequence of a one-on-one dogfight is exciting, as are the beautiful rows of contrails from a multi-ship formation of Sabres at altitude. 

As is so often the case in films where relationships take precedence over aircraft continuity, famous stock footage of a North American F-100 Super Sabre crashing substitutes for a pilot's F-86. Rather than editing in this obvious out-of-place clip, let the onlooking cast convey the inevitable crash in facial horror with the provided script. Not sure Powell saw the rushes.

CRASH LANDING (1958)

Here is another disaster film about the fear of ever flying again. The double-billed film is based on the 1956 crash landing at sea of a Pan American Airlines Boeing Stratocruiser. The production team failed to garner any technical insights from that event, so the audience might better understand why an emergency landing on water was the best and only option. After an airliner loses numbers one and four engines during a flight from Lisbon—one prop cannot be feathered, causing drag to make New York risky—the infamous, overbearing flight commander flashes back before take off for the answer. He questions how this could ever happen to his plane and who or what is to blame. He learns little. The pilot is too busy preparing to crash land.

This film is consumed about preparations for a belly landing on water, and the flight is also my focus, not on the ticket-holders. The miscellaneous mix of passengers is B-movie and unknown television actors, representing a small cross-section of humanity with their own problems, guilts, and fears. Standard fare for nearly every flight disaster film before and since. One passenger, however, literally stands out at 6' 7”. The Orthodox priest with the foot-long beard is played by Frederick Ledebur. He was indelibly etched in viewer's minds as the spooky, heavily tattooed chief harpooner, Queequeg, in Moby Dick (1956).

Gary Merrill is equally in command of the film. Everyone is pale by comparison. Merrill was somewhat of a master at portraying stiff upper lip, hard-lined characters. A by-the-book guy where compromise is not an option. These are good qualities for a seasoned aircraft commander, but not the best for a flexible home environment. Notable co-stars are brief appearances by Nancy (Reagan) Davis, in her last film, as the wife, and an uncredited Kim Charney (Suddenly 1955), as the son who walks on eggshells around “Mr. Father.” Roger Smith gained fame in the cast of television's 77 Sunset Strip. He plays the co-pilot who locks eyes and lips with a stewardess.

Though I am not qualified to address the myriad of expected technical errors in this film about actual flying, I do know that when an engine fails in flight, it does not shake the plane so violently it would remove a crewmember's dentures. These scenes are hilarious. In addition, passengers moving to one side of the plane will not cause the plane to "tip over" as if in a rowboat. Nor would there be anything left of the airframe at the suggested high airspeed at the point of impact. The model bouncing on the water is obviously a different aircraft, the US Navy's proposed Lockheed Constitution. These flaws are characteristic of a cheap, quick production where accuracy takes a back seat to terror (such as it is). Finally, though the tail on the Douglas airliner is painted to represent a DC-7, the plane is actually a DC-6 series.

Merrill's instant transformation during the rapid closing indicates his life was forever altered by the harrowing experience. With over 15,000 flight hours, his first ditching at sea. A ship returns him to his family in Lisbon as a “Softer Father.” He wants his son to drop the “Sir” and just call him “Your Majesty.” Wait. That is no transformation. Just call him dad.

Note: The seventy-six-minute film was distributed by Columbia Pictures Corporation and directed by Fred F. Sears, well known for his rapid style, churning out countless tiny budgeted films. His opening narration is effective, however, in setting the film's premise. Filming was "in the can" in ten days. Crash Landing was written by Fred Freiberger and produced by Sam Katzman, who had a knack for turning a profit out of nothing. This film was to be released one year earlier, but was delayed because of Sears' sudden death.

GIDEON OF SCOTLAND YARD (1958)

This fast-paced procedural crime film is based on the book, Gideon's Day, by John Creasey, the title used for the British release. When retitled for the US, the film was shown in black and white, not in Eastman Color. It details one day in the life of Detective Chief Inspector George Gideon of the Metropolitan Police, played convincingly by Jack Hawkins. He is in command of every situation, with a blend of explosive temper and measured calmness. Though this is the first film to feature the George Gideon character, Hawkins played a similar role in the less fun British film, The Long Arm (US: The Third Key) two years earlier.

His day begins when he receives a traffic ticket from a dedicated young police officer without regard to the driver's standing. Gideon could only produce his Scotland Yard I.D. Laws are laws, after all. This recurring character provides the best bits of levity for viewers and raises the ire of the Inspector. Gideon is indignant but a series of challenges ahead—one phone call at a time—puts the incident behind him. Temporarily. Adding to his hectic morning, his wife reminds him of his daughter's evening violin recital. He is also reminded to bring home a salmon for dinner. Work becomes his nemesis throughout the film, making it difficult for a timely return home. And so it goes.

One of Scotland Yard's officers is discovered to be taking bribes in the sale of dope, aka marijuana. With plenty of evidence as ammunition, Gideon lays into the officer harshly and is immediately suspended. The officer becomes a fatal victim of a hit-and-run accident. Gideon visits his wife, a rattled and shaking alcoholic chain smoker, not willing to accept his death and the realization of his suspected mistress. Her performance made me uncomfortable, perhaps due to the stark contrast with the other players. Her brief appearance nevertheless stands out. Scotland Yard has evidence the car is the same used in a daring payroll robbery, based on the tire tread pattern. There is no respite for Gideon.

An escaped mental patient commits a murder. Later spotted and arrested. Gideon wants to personally congratulate the officer. It is the constable who wrote a summons earlier that morning! Awkward. The young officer sheepishly accepts his thanks. It is barely midday. Scotland Yard believes they have the mastermind behind the payroll robbery, a struggling painter, played by Ronald Howard. Gideon visits his home but only finds his wife/accomplice, the only American in the cast, Dianne Foster, who, not very convincingly, tries to cover for her deceptive life. A second visit is more revealing as Howard descends the stairs with a gun. He frantically explains his motive for the needed “painting money,” then tells Foster to take the gun. Gideon explains that “Coward Howard” has left her behind. Foster provides another over-the-top performance as she hysterically falls apart emotionally and relinquishes the gun to the inspector.

After seemingly putting a wrap on the day, the phone rings. A safety deposit firm has been robbed by a gang of socialites, but they have no escape. After that is wrapped up, Gideon nearly forgets the wrapped fish, still in the newspaper inside his file cabinet. Hardly something one could forget. His wife politely tells him he bought a halibut, not a salmon, and his daughter met a polite young man at her recital—something Gideon regretfully missed. It turns out to be the same wet-behind-the-ears constable! Before the four can sit down to dinner, the phone rings once again. “Howard the Coward” is spotted at the airport, and the young constable has to drive Gideon there in his thirty-year-old jalopy. He is stopped en route by a policeman for running a red light. The constable attempts to explain the situation and who sits in the passenger seat. But laws are laws. In an ironic conclusion, the young driver is unable to produce his driving license! On their way to the airport, Mrs. Gideon had advised her daughter to never marry a policeman.

Note: In addition to Hawkin's genuine acting skills, John Ford's directing helps make this ninety-one-minute film watchable from a screenplay by T. E. B. Clarke. The film was distributed by Columbia Pictures and was filmed on location in and around London, with interiors used at the MGM-British Studios, Borehamwood in Hertfordshire, England.

Mismatched Couples Blogathon

TELEVISION HISTORY 101

Decidedly unknown today, even in America, Yancy Derringer (1958-59) was categorized as a Western but set in New Orleans—a Southern Western if you will, broadcast on the USA's CBS network. It was an era of gimmick Westerns to remove the stigma of the traditional Westerns in the likes of Cheyenne, Gunsmoke, or Wagon Train. The trend was The Rifleman, Wanted: Dead or Alive, Have Gun—Will Travel or Bat Masterson. Each weekly hero carried unique defensive weapons. One Western lead had shiny discs around his hatband that blinded his opponent in a gunfight given his precise positioning against the sun. There was also a short-lived series of a one-armed bounty hunter—his prosthetic arm covered in black leather and supported by a sling. And there was the Derringer series. The title character owned a river boat, a lavish homestead, was an expert card sharp, and had a most apt name for the character: he concealed four-barrel Sharp derringers, one up his sleeve, another in his vest, and a third under his hat. Oh, and he sometimes carried a cane that concealed a sword. Just in case.
Yancy Derringer undoubtedly had the largest gimmick: a Pawnee Indian sidekick. At first glance, he appeared to be the cliché cigar store Indian seen in many ancient Western films or television episodes. His face remained emotionless, and he hardly ever bent at the waist except to sit. Pahoo Ka Ta Wah never spoke and rarely broke a stare. The duo communicated only by sign language.

On the other hand, Derringer was a fancy-dressed dude. Always cool, fluid, collected, and the ever-gallant gentleman to the ladies. He looked every bit that next to the wooden Pahoo in authentic Indian dress. In this contrast, few characters appeared more disparate than these two. Far from it. Acknowledged blood brothers, Pahoo always had Yancy's back with a knife sheathed behind his right shoulder and a buckshot-spitting shotgun concealed under his Native blanket. However mismatched they appeared, they were a tightly synchronized duo on the set because both began their careers as stuntmen.

Derringer is played by Jock Mahoney while Pahoo is played by Jay X Brands X Brands. Mahoney is considered the most original and best stuntman working in Hollywood in the Forties and Fifties with an athletic ability that stunned his contemporaries in the business. His earlier Western series, Range Rider, showcased many of his outstanding abilities. As stuntmen, they were consistently developing new stunts for the Derringer series. One of the more common was passing Pahoo's knife back and forth—a deceivingly simple toss backward—without looking. By the way, it was Mahoney's suggestion that Brands not say a word during his audition for the part. Pahoo became a defining character of the series.

Notes: With its blend of drama, action and humor, the series was destined for a second season but the CBS network, now realizing they had a hit on their hands, wanted a significant interest in the series and wanted Desilu Productions out of the mix. Neither Mahoney nor the creators would agree to this and the network canceled the series.

A special thank you to Realweegiemidget Reviews for hosting the Mismatched Couples Blogathon.

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).

STEP DOWN TO TERROR (1958)

Bicycling is a joy for most youngsters. The freedom to roam outdoors is inherent and often enhanced as an adult with the added adventure of touring. As with any transportation choice, however, there is a risk of serious injury. Just ask the main character, played by Charles Drake. His childhood head injury from being hit while riding his bike scrambles his brain, eventually resulting in a dual personality with uncontrollable behavior. The thought-provoking title of this seventy-six-minute film is subtly illustrated underneath the title above. In this first remake of the Hitchcock classic, Shadow of a Doubt, it does not offer the same dark and creepy vibe. 

This American crime film is directed by Harry Keller and produced by Joseph Gershenson for Universal-International Pictures. It was written by Mel Dinelli with input from Czenzi Ormonde and Sy Gomberg. I find no credits for the music score, so I assume it is from Universal's stock library. But the opening is powerfully ominous and at least deserves a mention. Besides Drake, the film stars Colleen Miller in one of her more visible roles and a relative newcomer to the big screen, Rod Taylor. Everyone is first-rate in this rather overstuffed story. 

It is no surprise that Drake's opening caustic verbal attack on his landlord indicates he has a problem, an underlying anger much deeper than just being irate about his landlord for popping in unexpectedly. However, he is all smiles in a phone booth when next we see him, suggesting a highly respected, sweetheart of a guy coming home to visit mother, sister-in-law Miller, and her seven-year-old son. When a family member disappears without a trace for six years, it would seem to arouse some sort of suspicion. But the unassuming relatives are ecstatic to have him home. The script throws suspicion his way in due course, perhaps subconsciously hoping his mental nightmare will finally come to an end once and for all. Drake embodies a psychopath in subtle fashion despite his handsome, winning smile and straight-arrow appearance.

Drake gifts Miller with an expensive ring engraved with the initials of no familial connection. Another lie appears to explain it. His heinous life starts to unravel—loosened by guilt—and he is helpless to stop it. Taylor, two years away from fame as H.G. Wells, is a lead policeman on the trail of the philanderer. Miller first finds his revelations preposterous until he tells the origins of the ring's bogus engraving. It leads to a serious falling out with her brother-in-law. Drake is “Uncle Charlie” only to his nephew, who has nothing to fear from him, being overly protective of the boy's safety on his bicycle.

The inane climax is the film's weakest element—ironically involving a bicycle. Drake avoids hitting the Schwinn with a slow speed turn—sped up to a humorous Herman Munster level—with his DeSoto convertible—windshield flattened—ending up completely upside down in tall grass. As if positioned there by a crane hired by the studio. Hmm. Miller absorbs her family's dark secret at the hush-hush funeral. Perhaps a commissioned statue in honor of the town's "ideal" native son. 

WAR OF THE SATELLITES (1958)

Roger Corman's rock-bottom budget for this film would put one comfortably in a new Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat. He directed and produced this sixty-six-minute, double-billed, imaginative film released by Allied Artists. The frenetic, disjointed score with percussive xylophone by Walter Greene opens and closes the film like a mid-Sixties science fiction television series. Think of it as a conglomeration of The Jetsons and Lost in Space themes. Coupled with the then-trendy, opening animated graphics—a Corman trademark—and strategic placement of bold text, it suggests the viewer will hardly be able to contain themselves for an hour. This is the oft-told tale of evil twins (clones). All the tension occurs aboard a manned satellite spacecraft with interior props made from the finest cardboard and plywood. 

As is so often the case in recent movies, it is left to a single hero to save the film, the world, and the girl. This would be Dick Miller and Susan Cabot (above), respectively. After an opening scene of disappointed scientists watching another satellite being destroyed, the film shifts to a gratuitous romantic couple—an apparent comedy team—in a 1957 Mercury convertible parked on the lane of love. They witness a UFO crashing, though what they pick up appears to be a large, professional firework. Whatever. A Latin phrase is inscribed. Roughly translated, “Earthlings are a bunch of belligerent boobs.” Just a guess. From a matching set of leather recliners, and with arms dutifully crossed before launching, anyone can survive space travel from the "liftoff lounge." 

The story picks up inside the United Nations, where world representatives discuss recent attacks by an unknown force on satellites. War with Earth has been declared after the UN disobeys the repeated subtle hints with satellite destruction. Perennial villain Richard Devon (below) is the genius behind the “Sigma Project,” designed to eliminate the attacks. He is well-cast in this film. Miller and Cabot are key team members supporting his theory. The responsibility of launching satellites falls under the UN Satellite Control Center. The large, single control panel is so simple to operate that it can be monitored by one man, Roger Corman, himself.

As their key speaker, Devon departs for the UN. En route, an alien force takes control of his steering wheel—despite Devon’s humorous preventive efforts—and plummets the vehicle down an embankment in a fiery crash. The sound effects of the alien force are lifted from the Martian crafts in The War of the Worlds, released five years earlier. Though some thought he was already a bit screwy, the UN council members mourn the death of Devon for about thirty seconds before he suddenly appears before the council, not a scratch or a burn on him. Few recognize the evil clone. He is equipped with a popular accessory, the ability to “splinter off” any number of Devons. Satellite crews suggest he is appearing in more than two places at the same time.

Wanting to make sure Devon is safe for the trip, the doctor wants to listen to his heart. He excuses himself because he has none. Later, he creates a heart by himself by placing his two hands in that general area. In the closing moments of the film, he becomes amorous toward Cabot, who is freaking out. Be still, your beating heart! Devon's emotionless speech pattern and no longer using a smoking pipe make Miller suspicious. Devon is now pushing "Plan B," but Miller knows "Plan A" is the safer and more effective course to counter the celestial blob that has been destroying previous satellites. 

The makeup department provided an effective, final evil demonic look for a clone. Devon's twitching "smile" adds to the effect. A couple of special effects are handled pretty well. Devon blackens his hand from a nearby chemical torch, but is unaware of it. The lab assistant runs to the doctor. Devon simply starts rubbing his hands together (the magic of hand degreaser) and removes the "cajon burn" from his hand. There is another rather cool, weird solarization effect (alternating negative print) near the climax with music that sounds as if played backward—an effect that will get a good workout after the mid-sixties with added hallucinogenic colors. The aliens cannot comprehend the inherent need for humans to defend themselves against aggressive attacks on freedom. Miller is left to make the point that space exploration is anyone's challenge.

Note: The point of this film has been used often after the US ended World War Two. To this day, according to many Hollywood scriptwriters, aliens are nearly always smarter than humans and arrive to warn us, in varying degrees of gullibility, about the use of nuclear weapons, their expected mutations from testing such, or the conquering of space, destroying its purity. The mere suggestion of such things masquerades as fact.

FILM BRAKE: SHOOTING WITHOUT BULLETS

This 1958 black and white thirty-minute ABC network crime series centered around a celebrated World War II combat photographer, now a nationally famous freelancer working out of New York City. In reality, Desilu Studios in California. He is also well-known among his peers. Except that he had none. This man handled a space heater-sized press camera with its huge flash dish like few others could. He had fists of iron and an uncompromising persona. He had the latest spy cameras and always had the correct film for any lighting situation. He could change flashbulbs in a mere two seconds no matter how hot they were. His prints were to die for. Surely an entertaining premise where the lead character unwittingly “develops” into a freelance private detective.

Various Hollywood writers were used but most of the twenty-nine episodes were directed by either Paul Landres or Gerald Mayer. The action-packed jazz theme was by television's groundbreaking composer, Herschel Burke Gilbert. The series was a veritable “who’s who” of B-movie and television guest stars, many of whom would garner fame in their own right on the small screen. In his one and only leading television role, Charles Bronson is Mike Kovac, the envy or bane of all photojournalists.

Bronson’s voice-over introduced or periodically addressed his assignments and their potential dangers. Adding authenticity, he might provide technical details about a particular, high-tech camera to explain how he got that perfect shot. He drove a Ford station wagon equipped with a phone and a portable lab to develop prints on location. Though not much could be done with those prints without sending them with a “wire service.” Expect to see the lean and toned Bronson sans shirt, sometimes with boxing gloves. Whether assisting newspapers, insurance companies, the police, private individuals or clicking where he is unwelcome, taking photos can be life-threatening. Of course, Kovac had a connection with a police lieutenant who more often than not followed the cameraman's lead.

A nice touch was scripting in a father for Kovac. For seven episodes, his immigrant father was played by Ludwig Stossel who owned his own photo business. “Pop” was the photo genius and his son would seek out his photographic or assignment advice. There was good chemistry between them and it would have been nice to have these two interact in more episodes. It was difficult to make this happen as Kovac was not always in New York City and the series' short run gave little opportunity.

As the series progressed, Kovac was increasingly sent undercover, sometimes on foreign soil—stock footage inserted to sell the idea. He usually felt inadequate for these complex assignments, arguing that someone more qualified should handle them. But he is always persuaded. If you are going deep cover, get yourself a photographer. The show began losing its identity, morphing into another in a long line of private detective shows. In part, due to hiding spy cameras inside a portable radio, a cigarette lighter or even his necktie. That nifty Ford station wagon was essentially garaged as well.

This Friday prime-time show with its initial uniqueness, plenty of action and a captivating performance by Bronson, was sandwiched between “Walt Disney Presents” and “77 Sunset Strip.” One could not ask for a better time slot. For its second season, ABC switched it to the graveyard shift, the last prime-time show on the dreaded Monday night schedule. The move, coupled with some routine or lame scripts, had a “negative” effect and its second season was cut short. I wonder if ABC knew what to do with a guy like Bronson.

With the exception of Bronson devotees, the show resides in unknown territory. The complete series is available on DVD with a great color image and layout on the packaging. Following in Steve McQueen’s footsteps, Bronson soon found his niche and became a superstar in action films. Almost always a man with a gun.

I BURY THE LIVING (1958)

Albert Band brings his long list of B-movie credits into play for this United Artists macabre tale about a man who thinks he may be affecting people’s lives by using push pins. I note the excellent cinematography effects by Frederick Gately, below. Still, the score by the award-winning composer, Gerald Fried, sets the stage for a spooky tale using a harpsichord, a frantic tempo, and dissonant chords. The movie seems like an extended episode of television’s, Night Gallery. The viewer is sucked in right from the opening credits with a statement suggesting that some men (mankind) have the ability of great mental power over events—the old “man as God” thing—and that the dead are simply biding their time underground until released back into the unemployment lines. Do not be misled by the studio's poster. There is nothing scary about this film. It is spooky, ghost-believing science fiction at best. As is typical of low-budget “horror” movies, the ending is disappointing with the outcome as expected. It may have, however, elicited some talk around the office water cooler in the era. 

Richard Boone is appointed chairman of a committee that oversees a large cemetery. His acting skill shows restraint and does not go overboard with the character’s emotions. He is quite creditable and, as usual, improves this film. A thirty-four-year-old Theodore Bikel, the caretaker, does his best old man routine with a Scottish accent in one of the more obvious wigs from makeup artist, Jack Pierce, who may have lost interest in the film at some point. Bikel is not that convincing but he had a nice limp going there for a while.

Black pins mark the filled graves on a map resembling a Picasso sketch of the cemetery grounds. The white pins indicate unoccupied graves. Boone accidentally places two black pins where they should not be and both persons mysteriously die in an automobile accident—surely a coincidence. But it repeatedly happens either through experimentation or challenges from doubters. Boone believes he is cursed and he falls helplessly into a deep depression. 

The body count is up to seven from Boone’s pin-pushing spree. In an epiphany, he decides that if black pins give him the power of death, white pins might give him the power of life. He replaces all of the black pins with white pins. He discovers that certain graves have been dug but no casket in the plots. If you believe in this preposterous scheme, the climactic finish may spoil it. Hokum has an equally powerful force over people. I should mention that Bickel’s character is nuts.

Note: Some cinematography effects are artistically well done by Gately. The map causes much distress for Boone and near the climax appears to glow, consuming  Boone. At one point, after being struck by Bikel, an overhead light swings back and forth casting light and shadows across the pins in the map creating a dizzying optical illusion. Another has Boone’s silhouette superimposed on the map as an animated graphic illustration, eliciting an out-of-body experience for him. Watching this film may have the same effect.

HONG KONG CONFIDENTIAL (1958)

This United Artists film uses periodic voice-over narration akin to a documentary newsreel. The Robert Kent Production sounds authenticated and unfolds the story with the smallest studio sets, looking more like an early television play. Yet in one scene they manage to squeeze in a current model Ford through one tiny street, leaving little room for the studio lighting let alone the Asian extras to walk about on cue. It is a tale of Cold War tensions with the Soviet Union and the special government agents assigned to resolve an unusual case. It is all fairly silly and predictable but the secret agent premise beats the Bond pictures out of the starting gate. 

The Communist's “new weapon” is to kidnap the son of an Arab King to pressure him into not signing an agreement with the United States to build a missile base in his small Arab nation. Assigned to find the prince is undercover agent, Gene Barry, who is posing as a lounge singer in a tiny Hong Kong nightclub set. He handles suave with the best of them and this film highlights his talents. The two brief songs he performs are the standout moments in the film. Barry had a voice but his body rhythm here is hilariously stiff and corny. His left and right arms do whatever they want with his body planning on moving right but it suddenly feels compelled to move left. Cannot fault him for trying his best to sell the first lame song about himself. But he is definitely a “foot loser.” Few would ever guess he is an intelligence agent, so in that regard, he is in deep cover. His love interest and accompanist is played by Beverly Tyler in her last film before transitioning to television. She is not undercover yet her faked piano playing made me suspicious.

After Barry’s informant is killed, King Calder, the intelligence agent recommends Barry for the prince's retrieval. There is evidence that the informant had ties to Allison Hayes, who is under surveillance for gold smuggling to the Communists. Hayes can play untrustworthy through makeup and wardrobe alone. She resides in another small Asian film set called Macao. So Barry has about forty feet to travel, not forty miles, in the hope of flushing out the kidnappers. Barry sells her on his smuggling plan of mass-producing souvenirs, yet after the cheap metal is burned off, underneath is solid gold.

Barry discovers a medallion belonging to the kidnapped prince in the office of Noel Drayton and the kidnapping mastermind is revealed. Hayes sets up a meeting with Drayton but double-crosses Barry at gunpoint, forcing him into a cellar where Drayton awaits with the kidnapped prince. Smugly, he tells his plan to pin the kidnapping on the American Barry. He and the prince will be killed after the Arab King signs the papers to let the Commies establish their own missile base. All wait impatiently for that important phone call. But Barry comes up with a plan to disrupt the telephone service that is right out of a Bond playbook. In the standard secret agent ploy, he needs to stand and "fake" stretch. Then with outstretched arms, he casually picks up a thick metal pin lying near the telephone. Really not sure what it is, yet it is pretty obvious he is up to something. I am surprised Barry was not whistling a random tune. Drayton is oblivious. Suspended disbelief at its best. The funny scene continues as Barry sits back down and one arm immediately dives between the cushions as if it were sucked in. Below the couch is where the telephone line is and he pokes the pin through the rubber-encased telephone cable. Drayton must call from an upstairs phone to confirm the signing. He leaves Hayes alone with Barry. Uh-oh. Moviegoers knew what was coming next. In her “duh” moment, Barry volunteers to light her cigarette but overwhelms her with his charms...uh...arms, knocking the gun from her hand and as she stumbles hits her head in the fall. Drayton returns and graciously accepts a bullet. Barry and the prince escape.

One evil-doer is holding Tyler as Barry leverage. Barry kicks open the door and stands back as Asian bullets shoot the hallway full of lead. Without looking, Barry shoots around the door frame, killing the man. Yes. He is that good. At that very moment, another man is ready to shoot Barry in the back but he is shot in the back by Calder. This would have extended in a Zucker Brothers film. Tyler’s suspicions about Barry’s dancing abilities become clearer when she learns of his real occupation.

Note: Another funny scene, an optical illusion, is between Calder and Barry. Both men are facing the camera with Calder standing right behind Barry's right shoulder. Due to the lighting and shadows, it appears Calder is resting his chin on Barry's shoulder, who is getting a bit uncomfortable.

MACHINE GUN KELLY (1958)

This eighty-minute Roger Corman production masks any low-budget thoughts as the money has been spent wisely. It is an entertaining tale of gangsters in the early Thirties. The non-stop opening and period background score gets the viewer anticipating what comes next after a slickly planned getaway with a loot hand-off and the usual car swapping. Charles Bronson, in his first film lead, plays the title character who has a death fear rather than a death wish, as if promoting his future movies. Even Bronson tells co-star Susan Cabot, “The fear comes over me...like a cold sweat,” his 1970 movie. Though no one in the cast would be considered Oscar-worthy, Bronson is competent early in his career. Everyone is living up to their salary, including Morey Amsterdam, who probably did not affect the budget that much. Transport yourself to 1958 and that perspective will allow you to watch this movie for its entertainment value. Of which, there is plenty.

Smirking Cabot, perhaps never looking better than in this role, has been the gangster’s “personal agent” from day one and her condescending attitude keeps Bronson under her thumb. All the while smiling as if she is invincible. Her attitude in this movie has become the standard for many criminals or sickos in today’s movies. That evil is a pleasure. In that regard, like it or not, Corman may have broken new ground. On a personal level, I found Cabot’s annoying, bright and pronounced esses irritating. A split-second steel-on-steel sound that sometimes arises from acting out a female character you are not supposed to like. Enunciating, rather than slurring the words, will usually help this affliction. Perhaps the best/worst example of this was Sally Kellerman’s typical delivery. Yet I digress. Equally annoying is her mom, played by Connie Gilchrist. Ma is proud of her criminal daughter and thinks she could do a lot better than Bronson. She belittles him at every opportunity, turning him into the Rodney Dangerfield of gangsters. Gilchrist not only runs her mouth but also a house full of “ladies” for financial support.

Morey Amsterdam, the gang’s lighthearted weasel/stool pigeon, returns with the loot from the film’s opening heist but several thousand are missing. He tries to laugh it off then denies he took any for himself. He lied. Bronson is none too happy. He later plots a meeting with him to talk about another job. Corman throws in an odd premise concerning one of the gang members, Frank DeKova, who was a big game hunter before one arm was mangled by a natural habitat African. He now keeps a mountain lion behind his gas station in a cage. It is DeKova’s place where they meet. Bronson stalls the conversation before pushing Amsterdam against the cage and, somehow, the weasel loses an arm to the lion. I doubt any moviegoer saw that coming. Nor found it believable. In what seems like a short time, Amsterdam is back in the business. All smiles and several pounds lighter.

After a botched robbery, because Bronson freezes up when he spots a casket being delivered across his path, he decides to go bigger. Lacking little logic, he takes up kidnapping. "Ma Gilchrist" will finally give him some respect. He and Cabot abduct an executive’s daughter and her nurse, played by Barboura Morris. Richard Devon completes the kidnapping trio as a sleazeball who cannot help but make a pass at the young nurse. Devon, as “Apple,” is at odds with Bronson. Devon challenges Bronson at gunpoint during a heated exchange. Bronson, in his trademark, clinched teeth and monotone phrasing, his machine gun pointed at him, explains, “Go ahead Apple. And I will peel and core you.” Hey! That is some tough talk. Like a "family outing," Cabot’s parents show up at the hideout with food and encouragement. Suddenly Gilchrist does a complete 180, being so kindhearted and gentle toward the little girl, fawning over her. Perhaps Corman wanted to illustrate that over half the people in this movie have serious personal issues.

In an amusing sequence, the police bring the Amsterdam weasel in for questioning. After he leaves the squad room, two officers lose him because “he snuck into the lady's room.” Their diligence casts a cloud over their upcoming promotions. But the weasel, seeking revenge, gives a tip on Bronson’s location via an “anonymous” phone call, which the police immediately recognize as Amsterdam. The gang goes berserk when Amsterdam arrives and I imagine most moviegoers noted that anyone on screen at this point may not make it to the end. DeKova demonstrates his mental problems which, up until this point, outside of the lion behind his gas station, there were no suggestions of his illness. Giving some final Rodney Dangerfield zingers, the police arrive, taunting and belittling Bronson before hauling him off to prison.

Note: In the real 1933, Kelly's arrest was overshadowed by a famous breakout of John Dillinger and his future gang on the same day. But Hollywood has never been too concerned about facts. They like to blur them, though. Their business is entertainment at any cost. The truth has been warped here but an Internet search might square things. It is understandable they would make Bronson a tough guy, even though the real Kelly was not as tough as his wife led people to believe. In this film, "Machine Gun" is not married.

INTENT TO KILL (1958)

This is a pretty effective, yet unbelievable melodrama/thriller directed by Jack Cardiff, the famed cinematographer—more effective than the paid assassins in the film. Shot during a cold, snowy season in Montreal, the movie opens with a climactic score (over a blaring ambulance siren) yet it is only the first two minutes of the film. Perhaps not that particular as it anticipates what is ahead. One expects something drastic to happen at any moment but the only “excitement” is the quiet and careful deboarding of a South American president, Herbert Lom, who has been transported to Montreal for personal safety and special surgery on his potentially fatal cranial blood clot. Having previously survived an assassination attempt, the fire escape outside his window makes him nervous and requests a move to another room. A nice touch in the film’s early going as who knows what goes up or down those steps all hours of the day or night. To help comfort him, he asks a nurse to bring him his statue of the "patron saint of assassination."

Lom’s political opponents have hired hitmen, Warren Stevens, John Crawford and Peter Arne to kill Lom for good. They are taking orders from Lom’s personal aide, a detail unknown to him. Crawford and Arne do not get along. Stevens has to bring the hammer down on Crawford for his attitude and his absences for drinking and womanizing. Arne, a former doctor, is to administer a needle full of air into Lom’s vein. Stevens’ scouting made him aware of Lom’s move to another room but Arne knows nothing of the move until he is informed after killing the wrong patient.

Mixed into this assassination plot are surgeon, Richard Todd, and his nagging, self-centered wife, Catherine Boyle, who has arranged for him to take a high-paying position back in London. The high-paying part is of special interest to her. Todd has no interest except in fellow doctor, Betsy Drake, once again with near comatose acting. Judging by Boyle’s effective, irritating performance, most viewers might feel Todd deserves better. Meanwhile, the personal aide is hoping for a future with Lom’s beautiful wife once he has been dispatched.

As Lom recovers, he comes to the conclusion that the two may be romantically involved or plotting to kill him. The hitmen, determined not to lose their payoff, become even more incompetent leading to confrontations in the hospital. Arne tries once again to needle Lom but a detective asks him to identify himself. Arne loses his cool but never has any from the start. Todd volunteers as a lookout at the stairway entrance and Drake joins him. Crawford shows and threatens Drake at gunpoint to vouch for Arne. She stumbles over a question from the detective answering, “He...he is...doctor...watch out!” The detective falls from Arne’s bullet. What is funny are the gunshots which sound like cap pistols. The film takes a nosedive after the bad sound effects and never recovers. Unlike Lom. Arne gets a bullet in return and when Crawford enters the hall, he sends Arne to "an emergency room in the sky" by shooting him a few times. Nice knowin’ ya, bub.

Todd tangles with Crawford, who leaps down a flight of stairs in swashbuckling form as Dr. Peter Blood might do. Their struggle crashes both through a window and they fall to the pavement below. Crawford is spared spinal surgery but is arrested. Todd has surgery to remove a Crawford bullet.

As confusion and chaos rage in the hospital, Stevens assumes the role of an authoritarian figure, ordering nurses and orderlies around. Very official. It gets him access to Lom's unguarded room to perform a quick hit. Barely inside the room, he discovers Lom knows how to use that statue in a manner he could never have anticipated.

Note: It is a decent enough, if forgettable film, with competent performances. I can forgive Lom’s dull performance owing to his brain surgery. Alexander Knox possesses his role as the chief surgeon and wise counsel. Stevens stays cool and calm despite being a failure at the boss level. In an odd Todd closing prior to his surgery, Drake leans over next to his face and quietly whispers, 'Breathe Deeply,' as if referencing an alternate British title. One could spend some time debating why that line ends the film.