TWENTY PLUS TWO (1961)

This American mystery film is directed by Joseph M. Newman and is adapted from Frank Gruber's 1961 novel of the same mysterious title. Ten years into Gerald Fried's career is a period-specific jazz band score. The prolific television composer's opening theme here suggests a private eye caper. Close enough. The film was released by Allied Artists Pictures (uh-oh) and stars David Janssen, Jeanne Crain, and Dina Merrill, with a dandy performance by Jacques Aubuchon. Fans of Janssen will be pleased, if not the entirety of the film. His downplayed trademark acting skill is well suited for this role. This film is sandwiched between Janssen's television success with the Richard Diamond series and his phenomenal hit, The Fugitive. There are touches of both characters in this film from his potential smile twitch at the right side of his mouth, a general awkward nervousness, and his occasional glib humor. I have centered my comments only on the actors and the production. There are no spoiler alerts except this one: far left, the poster suggests Ellie Kent is an integral part of the film. On the contrary, she has an uncredited bit part and a viewer's sneeze will make one miss her entirely. 

Set ten years after his Korean War service, Janssen plays an investigator [privately] specializing in locating lost heirs and perhaps bringing closure to any unresolved issues. His interest is peaked by a teenage girl who went missing a decade prior—perhaps dead or alive. It leads to encounters with a detective associate, the mother of the missing girl, and a former flame. Surprisingly, such a talkative film holds one's interest thanks to Janssen's performance and a well-paced script. Not all “talkies” come off this well.

The early scene between Janssen and Aubuchon—tailing him everywhere—lays down the personalities of both characters. Aubuchon needs his services to locate his brother, who may be using an assumed name. His sophisticated demeanor and superior attitude are amusing and off-putting to Janssen, whose humorous counters to his proposal are subtle highlights. Just who is using assumed names in this film is something Janssen needs to unravel. This in itself provides most of the script's twists.

Coming off his role in The Magnificent Seven is Brad Dexter, once again at his smarmy best. No one, including the viewers, trusts this guy. Crain is the past flame of Janssen who insists on rekindling those dying embers. Her "Dear John" letter while he was in the war still stings after ten years. Time to move on, you two! One wonders why her character is even in this film, but even she has a connection to Janssen's investigation.

The production itself has its problems. One is the year that the young girl disappeared from school. It is not consistent throughout the film—like the film editing. I have not spent enough time to figure out how the Twenty Plus Two title fits into this film since I have not read the book. Who has? Perhaps it is the year of the missing girl's birth advanced to what would be her current age: twenty...plus two. Except that Merrill is thirty-eight! There is a ten-year flashback in the final third of the film set in Japan that might have been less of a surprise had the film used the alternate title, It Started in Tokyo. During this flashback, Janssen's acting persona comes off as much younger—an awkward young adult—something Merrill does not accomplish. This brings up a problem early in the film when Janssen and Merrill are seated on a United Airlines flight.

He cannot quite place where he has seen her. She apparently has no clue who he is. This makes sense until that late flashback blows this whole scene to smithereens. How a highly trained investigator is unable to recognize the woman with whom he had a pivotal fling simply because of her altered hair color is beyond reason. Maybe the hint of "crow's feet" emanating from her eyes through him off. The suspension of disbelief should not have to stretch this far. It is kind of like Richard Kimble "dying" his hair black for four years. 

Note: On the positive side, whereas low-budget film companies were notorious for switching aircraft mid-flight, United Airlines provided all the airline footage. So the Douglas DC-8 remains constant throughout the film. 

99 RIVER STREET (1953)

This time around, John Payne is a tough prizefighter in another film for director Phil Karlson. A familiar tale of a “man against the world.” George Zuckerman's story is pretty far-fetched, certainly not routine. If this Edward Small production falls short of being a great movie, the spot-on performances allow one to overlook any clichés. The budgeted studio sets with perpetually wet city streets were a standard device to give a city life. The painted or rear-projected buildings are present to add depth. There seems to be noticeably odd “processing” during the harbor climax scene, which looks like a stage scrim has been set up in front of cargo ships. 

Though Payne starred in a gritty, career-changing film before, he is believable as a guy beaten down inside and outside the ring. Payne is on a career roll, leaving behind his lighter characters. There is never a dull moment. The boxer's volatile temper, blunt dialogue, and realistic action catapult the film above the average film noir. I found the opening boxing scenes more believable than the over-the-top Rocky Balboa bouts. Though both films seem to use the same sound effect of punching a cardboard box with a throw pillow inside. Because of the potential permanent eye damage during his championship fight, Payne's heavyweight career comes to an end. Three years on, he is now a taxi driver with dreams of owning his own service station. His wife, Peggie Castle, is a nagging, unsympathetic woman who blames him for her lack of social importance and her personal career crusher. Owning a lowly gas station is the "last round" for her. Castle is already two-timing with a jewel thief, Brad Dexter. No secret to Payne. 

Jay Adler moonlights as a backroom jewel fence, incognito as a pet shop owner. He refuses to pay off Dexter for his latest jewel delivery, not only for killing the original owner but primarily because he brings Castle into the mix. Adler tells him there is no deal if a woman is involved. Emotional attachments have a way of altering the end game. Dexter takes his “advice,” and her cold body is found in the back of Payne's cab. Not exactly a typical fare.  

Playing an aspiring actress, Evelyn Keyes has two supporting roles with Payne. Besides being his co-star, she is a frequent taxi fare. When she finds out about his predicament, she wants to help but he is reluctant to get her involved. Keyes' attractiveness lies in her character portrayals more than in being naturally beautiful. It is of no concern whether her face is filmed from one side or the other. Jack Lambert, Adler's muscle, below, has a good turn as well. He has developed a sense of humor despite his line of work. Calls everyone at gunpoint, “kiddies.” His fight scene with Payne is worth noting. Suspecting he is in with Dexter, he slaps Payne around from behind, who is slowly coming to a full boil. Lambert becomes his punching bag. He completely did not anticipate the jackhammers hiding at the end of Payne's arms. Poor Lambert is repeatedly blasted over furniture and becomes wall décor, after a fashion. It is well-choreographed, vicious, and believable. 

Adler and crew are confused about Payne's supposed involvement in a jewel heist. He is picked up on 99 River Street and they need answers to a few questions. After the butt-end of a revolver from a revengeful Lambert, Payne tells Adler about his frame-up, then all bullets have Dexter's name on them. Continuing to hone her acting skills, Keyes' role-playing comes in handy as she lures Dexter out of the diner. Spotting Payne outside, Dexter makes a run for it, with Payne taking a bullet in one arm. One arm is plenty and Dexter is soon down for the count. 

THE LAS VEGAS STORY (1952)

Howard Hughes puts his trademarks on this eighty-eight-minute RKO Radio Pictures film, what with the flying sequences and microscopic closeups of his leading lady. A hardly unknown film, it lost money at the box office. However, with the pairing of Victor Mature and Jane Russell, it is hard to ignore. Despite some inferior projects, Mature never embarrassed himself. He is his usual flawless self, yet his co-star, Vincent Price, takes a back seat to no one. Throw in Hoagy Carmichael and you have the potential for fine entertainment. It was directed by Robert Stevenson and required the trio of Robert Sparks, Howard Hughes, and Samuel Bischoff to produce it.

With similar “dangerous” facial features, testy pout, and a noteworthy sneer, Russell may remind one of the female Elvis. She could hardly be called flat except for her adequate acting and one-dimensional delivery here. Her eyes are generally expressionless and her potentially witty comebacks are not as pointed as in the superior, His Kind of Woman, a year earlier, with Robert Mitchum. Nonetheless, she had one of the most beautiful smiles in Hollywood. But lately, those smiles only happen when she is around Happy, played by Carmichael, the casino pianist. Thanks to his delivery, he lightens the film considerably, if not frequently. His opening narration sets up the background for the film's stars. Hoagy's folksy tone of a “country cool cat” is endearing. He performs an early “rap” song, “The Monkey Song.” The difference with his rap is that he uses an actual melody. The 1938 song, “I Get Along Without You Very Well” is reused for this film. Russell is filmed only from the waist up while singing, providing another comparison to Elvis. But with Hughe's opposite intentions.

Russell's husband, Price, insists on vacationing in Las Vegas, determined to play the tables in hopes of winning enough to pay his debts. He is decidedly a character with selfish motives. Russell preferred a flight anywhere else from fears of running into her old flame, Mature, now a lieutenant with the Sheriff's Department. Throughout most of the film, he and Russell get along without each other very well due to their parting years before, the result of poor communication skills. Russell's 100 grand necklace becomes Price's gambling collateral with the casino owner attempting to secure it. Getting off the same flight as the newlyweds is "Mr. Smarmy" himself, Brad Dexter. He has been assigned by his insurance company to watch Price and Russell's neckli...uh...necklace. Dexter slimes into the dark side about halfway through the film.

The climax, filmed at the former Tonopah Army Airfield, was the first car and helicopter chase sequence in a movie. Flying twice through an open hanger was a groundbreaking sequence and I imagine amazed the audience. Dexter's useless driving around in circles in his attempt to evade the helicopter is pretty silly. The foot chase between him and Mature is a high-wind final confrontation yet typical of the era. Price is no longer a murder suspect but is found guilty of embezzlement to please the audience. An appropriate wrap to the film. But wait. It is not quite over. After two murders, theft, and an extended chase scene, one might not expect to have another song thrown in. Written for this film and Mature's character, “My Resistance Is Low” is an okay Carmichael song but hard to sit through because of Russell's syrupy delivery and slurred esses. I digress. There will be divorce papers to sign and assuming they can keep their personal blowups restrained, Russell and Mature may roll the dice one more time. Viva Las Vegas!