THREE BAD SISTERS (1956)

Those familiar with John Bromfield’s career, a real-life fitness enthusiast and hunky blend of Rory Calhoun and Steve Cochran, know that his previous Bel-Air Productions, Crime Against Joe, and The Big Bluff, the latter of which ranks on the same scale as this film. Arguably, his best of the bunch is Hot Cars, released the same year as this film. United Artists released this film, which was directed by Gilbert Kay and produced by Howard W. Koch. Again, Paul Dunlap provides Bel-Air’s music score.

Bromfield is questioned in a courthouse interrogation room about what happened when his small plane crashed, killing his passenger, a wealthy tycoon. Bromfield survived without a scratch. A civil aeronautics rep is not very civil, accusing him of orchestrating the crash—not an easy thing to pull off. The dead tycoon leaves his fortune to three daughters, two of whom are disturbed. So this seventy-six-minute film’s title may be most misleading. I submit two alternative titles, “One Out of Three Ain’t Bad” or simply, “The Sisters of Annoyance Manor.”

The conniving middle sister is Kathleen Hughes, at times attempting a coy Monroe vocal interpretation. Her robotic smile, accompanied by verbal venom, gets increasingly creepy as her eyes grow larger, all Adam Schiff-like. She wants the other two-thirds of the estate and bribes Bromfield with a substantial amount to keep his murder slate clean. She also wants him to lather on the charm for the firstborn, Sara Shane, executrix of their father's estate, in the hopes she will not marry their father’s attorney. Shane is the only sister with a conscience, but not the only one with psychological issues.

Standing in a bathing suit, Shane's inner thoughts try to conjure up the courage to dive from a rocky cliff into raging waves among rocks over a hundred feet below. Apparently, a summer challenge among the sisters. Surprising every viewer, the pilot grabs her from behind and says it would be a shame to damage such a lovely fuselage. The scene changes to the interior of the cliff-side mansion, where the youngest sister, Marla English, introduces herself to Bromfield as any seductive tart might. She is annoying to all the characters in the film. Later, along with the females in the audience, she gets a glimpse of the hunk using an electric razor—without a shirt. He never shaves his chest, though. Bromfield, a , does a lap in the pool and then comes out drenched. It is that kind of film.

An additional annoyance is a snippy aunt, who thinks Bromfield is a liar, taking advantage of the sisters one by one, and that her brother would never have committed airplane suicide. Where she gathered that idea, I do not know, since social media was in the far distant future. She does have a knack for eavesdropping on the telephone with subsequent misinterpretations. Things get a bit uncomfortable as the family, plus the attorney, sit around the mansion lounge waiting for Auntie to pounce on Bromfield with accusations. Pouncing. Also, one of English’s favorite pastimes.

At about this point, Hughes’ character takes the annoyance factor to a whole new level with lies and syrupy, fake sincerity. Her jealousy and demented behavior drive her to beat English across the face with a riding whip, eliminating her from any Bromfield competition. Naturally, the instinctive thing to do after a good whippin’ is go for a high-speed drive. Not sure the purpose or how they could possibly help, Bromfield and Hughes dash to another car to pursue—at one point going off-road, circumnavigating a tree. I hope the stunt drivers were well-paid for their work. English no longer has any purpose in living. Her shallowness had few boundaries.

Back at “Annoyance Manor,” thick-headed Auntie has a bullet waiting for Bromfield, but he grabs the gun from the old bat. He and Shane leave the mansion and head to the airport. He tells her the whole truth about the accident and that the monetary “contract” the tycoon offered him was a huge Hughes forgery. He confesses his love for her and charts a course to the “wedding capital” of the West. Yuma, Arizona? Bromfield turns out to be everything contrary to Auntie’s stubborn thinking and becomes the most sensible executor of the estate. She still hates him. I suspect he will close off the mansion’s third floor with a separate outside entrance for the aunt.

HOLLOW TRIUMPH (1948)

THE QUADRUPLE DO'H!

Based on Murray Forbes’ novel of the same title, this film is better known by its reissued title in the United States, “The Scar.” A title that best clarifies the film’s pivotal detail. This film noir crime drama is supported by a top-notch cast, but do not expect gripping action. Still, few faults here. It was directed by Steve Sekely and released by Eagle-Lion Films. The oldest of seven little Foys, Bryan, was the executive producer while its dual-role star, Paul Henreid served as producer. A dynamic score by Sol Kaplan enhances the film. Riveting at times. The cinematography by John Alton is also noteworthy with some interesting camera positions, lighting, and point-of-view perspectives.

The film opens promisingly as the viewer discovers that the soon-to-be-released prisoner, Henreid, is an intelligent, well-educated man and med school dropout with a tendency toward violence. Lacking zero prison reformation, he wastes no time picking up where he left off. He gathers a team for a big heist at a gambling casino, run by mobster Thomas Browne Henry, the actor with an eagle profile. The robbery goes badly, with Henry eliminating half of Henreid’s team, then placing a hit on each remaining thief.

Henreid escapes by train to another town where his brother, Eduard Franz, has arranged a desk job for him. However temporary. But the manager’s condescending attitude deliberately causes tension, and after repeated badgering, Henreid sends the manager to the office floor with a single right cross. Upset at his brother’s firing, Franz is more upset that Henry’s men have tracked him to his current location. Henreid seeks a foolproof cover and a chance encounter with a dentist, John Qualen, who mistakes him for his friend and psychoanalyst working in the same building. To Henreid's amazement, he has an identical twin from another mother. The doctor and Henreid also share the same accent and vocal range. What luck! Except the real doctor has a scar on his left cheek. Maybe the right?

Illegally searching the twin’s office after hours, Henreid is surprised from behind by the office secretary, Joan Bennett, who kisses her preferred physician. She instantly realizes her mistake and I assume is quite puzzled by her suspended disbelief. On the other hand, as much as she likes the doctor, his scar always bothered her a wee bit. Henreid charms his way into her life. They seem to have a future together until Henreid suavely calls off their “unfortunate timing.” The story of her life. He needs to “disappear.” Joining Bennett in the suspended disbelief ward is the audience that witnesses a contrived identity swap.

Weeks pass, and Henreid gets a job at an automotive service garage. It is from here that the doctor’s car will be returned after servicing, and Henreid takes the service call as a favor to a fellow employee. Confusingly, he has grown a mustache of a useless purpose, perhaps to further distance himself from…himself. Henreid uses a photographic print of the doctor to copy the scar reflected in a mirror. His med school studies were not totally wasted by performing a bit of surgery on his own left cheek. Zero grimacing. A few scenes later, the scar looks like a decades-old scar, skipping the logical progression of a healing scab. For all his smug cleverness, he was unaware he was looking at a flopped image due to incompetent photo processing. DO'H! He first discovers this upon disposing of the doctor’s body. DO'H! In too deep to turn back, he masters the doctor’s handwriting, and his med school studies in psychology continue by using the doctor’s library. All the while, Kaplan’s powerful score intensifies these vignettes.

Henreid now has the perfect cover by tuning out his patient’s chattering while under the guise of a calm demeanor, offering incompetent advice. In quintessential form, gentle Qualen returns for a charming scene in the doctor’s office, unknowingly relaying to the impostor doctor of his past encounter with the twin. He is a wee bit flummoxed, as well. He apologizes for not realizing the doctor’s scar is on the opposite cheek he thought it was.

In a rather slick scene, Henreid takes a phone call while in his fake office and is enlightened to learn the dead doctor had his own girlfriend. Deftly, Henreid covers his identity over the phone and goes with the flow. To make sure he identifies her, he not only chooses the location to meet but suggests, out of pure devotion, of course, that she select an orchid to wear and charge it to his account. He smoothly fakes his way through the evening at a frequented casino, yet he mistakenly calls the ever-present dealer by the wrong name. He is corrected with a blunt reply. 

Aware of Henreid’s studies in psychology, Franz reenters the picture to seek help in finding his brother...from his assumed brother. Oh, brother. He informs him that Henry and his men have been arrested, so there is no reason for his brother to keep hiding. DO'H!

Bennett’s suspicions deepen after overhearing a patient say that her recent sessions seem different. Knowing now that the real doctor has not been in the office for days, she suspects what Henreid has done. Finally. It is a well-acted, powerful scene when they confront each other before she boards a ship, torn between reality and what might have been. Yet still holding out hope the imposter might join her. He does rush to the dock but two thugs corner him, thinking he is the real doctor, who owes a casino a lot of money and is further in debt up to his clipboard. DO'H! It is a tough sale for Henreid to convince them that the doctor they seek has a scar on the opposite cheek.

Note: The automotive service garage provides a humorous scene for Henreid’s fellow, unassuming employee, Alvin Hammer, who shares his passion for a career as a professional ballroom dancer in spite of his short stature. With hand gestures as proof, he believes this disadvantage can be masked by projecting an illusion of height. Henreid could not care less what he aspires to as he glances around the garage, purposely distracted by the inventions in his mind.

MADONNA OF THE DESERT (1948)

This sixty-minute Republic Pictures release will go by harmlessly. Directed by George Blair of Republic's Western fame, the film is a modern tale of the West. Do not expect riveting suspense. Screenwriter Albert DeMond included a few clichés for those expecting them in a story that centers around a mobster and an ivory Madonna statue. Though inanimate objects do not possess any power, man-made creations have become symbols of hope for many. Such is the case for the lead character in the desert of Southern California. Rarely has ivory been so beneficial.

Sheldon “Nick” Leonard learns about a priceless statue from his inside man working as an antique swindler...er...dealer, who is also a master at creating exact replica statues. Leonard is pretty much the bookends of this film, hardly seen in the sentimental middle section. Speaking of clichés, it is pretty funny when Leonard calmly chastises his female operative, Lynne “Legs” Roberts, about the importance of doing a caper well. Standing over her, with quintessential gangster mannerisms, he grabs his shirt sleeve cuffs with his forefinger and thumb under his suit coat and tugs on each sleeve as his shoulders rise up on every poignant word.

Don “Joe” Castle, half Rory Calhoun, half Robert Taylor, is the owner of a Renaissance Madonna statue that has been handed down for generations. He believes it has the power to protect anyone who believes in it. Indeed, the power to heal. It also brings good fortune, sort of like Buddha without the belly rubbing. Helping out on the plantation farm is Paul Hurst, a skeptical, experienced farmhand who quickly sizes up any visitor. He has some of the best lines in the film, usually with spot-on character assessments with humorous results.

Leonard makes the drive up in his Lincoln convertible in hopes of buying the Madonna. Apparently, with no one home, he discovers an unlocked door, so he decides to make off with the statue. Castle and Hurst return to find Leonard standing in the back doorway. The shifty mobster instantly becomes an interested “art collector” who is checking its sparkling jewels in the daylight. Hurst does not believe that one, either. Leonard admires Castle’s faith in the statue. Hurst acerbically fires back at Leonard, 'Joe has the faith. I have a club!' Accepting that the statue is not for sale, Leonard graciously leaves. Castle tells his farmhand that he seems like a nice guy. Hurst responds, 'Eh, that guy could give lessons to an eel.'

If the statue cannot be bought, then Leonard is not above stealing it. After meeting mild-mannered Castle, he thinks it should be an easy operation for Roberts, whose assignment will be to befriend Castle and exchange the real statue with a fake one. Leonard tells her that he is one of those 'corny golden rule guys' who probably have never met a real woman in his life. She arrives at the farm on foot after prearranged car trouble, dressed down compared to her first scene. If she is not successful, Leonard will not let her 'play in his yard anymore.' Which is a lot more menacing than it reads, verbally coming from him.

The Madonna has been loaned to an Italian wedding couple for good luck. Castle takes Roberts there to see the statue and for him to honor the family. When she attempts to make the switch, the candles surrounding the altar to the Madonna catch her sleeve on fire. Despite her screams, she shows no after-effects of being even slightly burned. Those in attendance thank Madonna. Roberts thanks her flame-retardant dress. Yet she wonders about that statue. Castle astutely notices a conflict in Roberts’ behavior after her burn notice. She is, in fact, having second thoughts about stealing the statue. In a bit of misguided script logic, Castle tells her, 'Only good people have conflicts. The bad ones aren’t bothered by anything.' He tells her not to worry, he has a dress back at the farmhouse. Never mind your Twenty-First Century thinking. It was his mother’s dress. So it gets worse for Roberts.

Donald Barry, a recent ex-con who used to work for Leonard, also finds out about the statue. He figures Leonard is responsible for his five-year vacation at San Quentin. Stealing the statue under his nose would be sweet revenge. After a brief script disappearance, he returns as the newly hired hand on Castle’s farm. Roberts, wanting to continue playing in Leonard’s yard, digs a hole in Castle’s yard in about seven seconds—with her bare hands—and buries the Madonna. There is no dirt under her nails. Another miracle. The switch is made, and once inside the house, Barry absconds with the fake. As script luck would have it, Leonard passes him on the road and then forces Barry to stop, demanding the statue. Leonard recognizes the fake, then the Madonna “flies” toward Barry’s head, knocking him down an embankment. Not finding the car keys that Leonard threw over the cliff, Barry grabs his gun and walks back to the farm. It is dark by the time he arrives to witness a fight between Castle and Leonard's stunt doubles. Barry wounds Leonard, then shoots him twice, 'where it hurts.' Amazingly, Leonard gets off one final shot in retaliation. For all its protective powers, Madonna did not help Leonard or Barry. Help thou my unbelief.

Note: Castle mentions returning from the war as a cripple with mental turmoil. He chose to believe the statue healed him. The cross that Christ died on was simply a wooden device of punishment and death. It has no power in and of itself, despite what Hollywood and Bram Stoker would want you to believe. Likewise, in the 1953 movie, “The Robe,” it was Caligula, among many others, who thought Jesus’ robe explained the miracles He performed. Human logic habitually wants to overrule simple truths.

UNDERTOW (1949)

Distributed by Universal Pictures, produced by Ralph Dietrich, and directed by William Castle, this film is not groundbreaking, but it does fly by thanks to a screenplay by Arthur T. Horman and Lee Loeb. It is another B-movie noir with little to fault and only one surprise. How it plays out is well handled, yet they spill out an assumed outcome in the first ten minutes of this seventy-one-minute film. The filming in Chicago may bring back memories if you lived there during this era. The same goes for the filming in Reno. The ever-present Paul Sawtell took the reins as the composer, but none of the themes in this movie will be hummed after the ending.

Scott Brady, doing a great job here as a handsome I-take-care-of-myself former Chicago mobster, ex-con, and war veteran, who is turning over a new leaf as manager of a lodge in Reno. Before leaving on a quick trip back home to Chicago and “mend a fence” or two, he spots his old friend and colleague from the Windy City, John Russell, a fellow casino owner. As both get up to speed on their seven-year separation, each is excited to share a glimpse of their engagement rings for their respective girl. Strolling through the casino, Brady accidentally bumps into vacationing Peggy Dow. Pardons are accepted, but they stumble upon each other a second time, laughing at the coincidence. They are so comfortable together that there is little surprise they will have a future together within the hour. 

Dow is an unassuming elementary teacher from Chicago with zero gambling experience, but has won twice with only two dice rolls. After seeing the handler change the dice after a nod from Russell, Brady makes an astute gambling decision on her behalf so she can win again. Russell is not amused and feigns his disappointment that Brady has to leave so soon. This is that ten-minute point. Based on Russell’s early film roles with his angular face and “dangerous” thirty-degree ascending eyebrows, there is no surprise that he has ulterior motives. It will be no surprise, as well, that Dow and Brady are on the same plane back to Chicago. Good odds. She may not be any good at it, but she is willing to gamble on a relationship.

Candid images of Scott Brady and John Russell on location between filming in Reno 

Dave Celinas Collection

No sooner than hitting the pavement from the airliner steps, Brady is met by a childhood friend, now detective Bruce Bennett. He has orders to bring Brady in for questioning. The police captain is especially hard on Brady, accusing him of returning just to kill mob kingpin Big Jim. The police tail him with little success. Brady reunites with his girl, Dorothy Hart, Big Jim’s niece, at Buckingham Fountain along Lake Shore Drive. Brady wants to make peace with him so they can get married. Later that night, Brady is attacked, shot in the forearm, and placed in a car across the road from a diner—a revolver placed beside him. Gadzooks! That one surprise in the film is the character actor with the over-the-top Southern drawl, Robert Easton, a well-worn Hollywood dialect coach. He is the parking valet of sorts for the country diner where cars are parked willy-nilly in a gravel lot. Spotting a parked police car, Brady makes a quick exit and finds out Big Jim is suddenly not available for any future scenes, and a clichéd frame is afoot. Dow goes the extra “magnificent mile” to protect Brady, while Bennett, unfairly suspended by the captain for supporting an innocent man, has evidence to help clear Brady.

Unsurprisingly, Russell shows up in Chicago with Hart in the mansion she inherited from “Big Dead Jim.” Brady expects help from both, but she is pretty icy about it. He then notices the chunk of “ice” around her finger that Russell had shown him in Reno. Again, no surprise who orchestrated the murder and frame-up. A rapid, happy ending evolves for Brady and Dow, at least.

NOTES: Some suggest Peggy Dow was bland in this outing. Perhaps hard to argue with, casting her did seem appropriate. She is sweet in this role. Probably best she ended her three-year acting career after marrying an oil baron. Otherwise, she might have been lost in guest-starring roles after her television transition. Dorothy Hart never set a film frame on fire, either, but she should have. She is pretty one-dimensional as a devious female with hardly more than a smirk or smile. Bennett's fellow police detective is the nearly invisible Roc (Rock) Hudson in his fifty-second appearance in a dark police lab. Smoki Whitfield has three brief and effective scenes as Big Jim's long-time aide, out to get whoever killed his boss. Perhaps the most memorable takeaway from the movie, outside Easton's obligatory performance.

PRIVATE HELL 36 (1954)

This eighty-one-minute noir centers on two detective pals coming to odds when one turns to the noir side. It is an independent film produced by The Filmakers Inc team of Ida Lupino and Collier Young. Directed by Don Siegel, do not expect anything ground-breaking, but it will not disappoint, thanks to a competent cast. The opening, in particular, is excellent as it leads to an off-duty detective stumbling perilously upon a store robbery. Leith Stevens' score with muted trumpets at the beginning adds a jazzy, low-key element and never overpowers the scenes. Unfortunately, his best bit, the bouncy, multi-faceted tune entitled “Daddy Long Legs,” is hidden in barely audible background music a couple of times in the film, the last being the meeting of the detective pals at a diner near the end. Revealed in the closing minutes, 36 refers to a trailer park address. 

Detectives Howard Duff and Steve Cochran are tasked with tracking down fake fifty-dollar bills from a three-hundred-grand robbery. The duo first encounters two famous character actors and one less famous. King Donovan is one of the robbers and a frequent guest of the police department. His face and torso hurt after a one-sided fight of realistic proportions with Cochran in that opening sequence. Dizzy Donovan has trouble keeping his aliases straight. Another stolen fifty ends up with a pharmacist, Richard Deacon, who is questioned about it. He is well cast in a meek, unassuming role. His prescription payment from a gall bladder patient leads them to one of the best character actors in the business, Dabbs “Marv” Greer. He is, as usual, one hundred percent believable. This time, as a local bartender who thinks the cops are accusing him of a crime because he had one of the bills. He is quite defensive about it. Duff has a funny line here to reassure them that they are just asking where he got the fifty. He tells Greer, “Uh-uh, mind your bladder, Marv.”

The duo turns next to money enthusiast, Lupino, a nightclub singer, questioning her at length about how she came upon her fifty. She delivers a few witty lines at the expense of the detectives, which Cochran finds very appealing. Against her preferred judgment, she is convinced to go along with their plan and ultimately identifies the man with the phony bills. A realistic car chase ensues with automobiles racing to the edge of tire adhesion. The fleeing thief is killed in a crash, learning too late that the mountain's “Road Closed” sign was not a mere suggestion. You might say Cochran goes over his own cliff when he pockets part of the stolen loot at the crash site. Most of it, he hopes, going to keep Lupino happy. 

Police Captain, Dean Jagger, who also opens and closes the film with sonorous voice-overs, calmly asks the cops later about the shortfall from the thief's suitcase. Cochran concocts a likely scenario. Duff sits silently fuming over his partner's blatant dishonesty. Obviously, the partners have a falling out with Cochran taking his obsessive downward spiral even lower, with murder not out of the equation. The final scene offers a twist, all explained by Jagger's script. 

Notes: Ida Lupino performs part of one number, “Didn't You Know?” yet she really does not sing it. She talks-sings it, never really zeroing in on any particular note. Unlike others who must talk their way through a song because they cannot carry a tune—Eva Gabor's “Green Acres” television theme is a prime example—she was musically talented. Her song interpretation simply is a bit humorous when considering Cochran going off in dreamland listening to her “talk” while the piano plays.  

Seemingly in his element, Duff earlier played a U.S. Treasury agent in the lesser-known film, Johnny Stool Pigeon, and would star as a detective in his own 1960s television show, The Felony Squad. Duff and Lupino's nuptials were in 1951. Their thirty-three-year marriage ended in divorce.

DRIVE A CROOKED ROAD (1954)

This lower-budget Columbia Pictures drama succeeds thanks to its excellent cast and screenplay. A better-than-average B-movie centering around an automotive theme. The screenplay was written by Blake Edwards from a story by James Benson Nablo and adapted by Richard Quine. The eighty-three-minute film starts off in realistic fashion, hiding the plot initially with racing sequences filmed on location in California. Outside of these scenes, a studio Jaguar XK120 prop car is being hounded by rear-projected cars as an introduction to the film's star. There are cameras also at an actual automotive specialty shop, which is a real eye-ful for foreign car fans. Under echoes of the garage's concrete interior, each vehicle is lined up in its stall as its tune-up awaits. Master mechanic Mickey Rooney is one of the repair shop's best. He had left Andy Hardy in the dust with Quicksand four years earlier, also playing an auto mechanic. Rooney would use another Edwards screenplay, The Atomic Kid, the same year.

The film takes its time to establish Rooney's character, but it is never dull. The entire cast is more than competent. Rooney is first-rate as an unassuming mechanic and part-time racer of the aforementioned Jaguar. He lives and breathes automobiles, leaving little time for socializing. His dream is to race in the famous circuits in Europe. Throwing a wrench into his garage is Dianne Foster, who brings in her British Hillman, asking specifically for Rooney to work on it. The very next day, Foster again has “car trouble.” It will not start―probably expected―but this time, Rooney has to drive to her apartment building. Being the perfect gentleman, he gets her car started with only a thank you expected. She quickly gets him started, twisting him tightly around her finger. He is nervously smitten by the Amazon female. She is a woman with interior...uh...ulterior motives. 

Kevin McCarthy and Jack Kelly finish out the deceitful trio. McCarthy has been scouting local race tracks for a fast driver. They single out Rooney as their ideal chump. Like diesel fuel in sub-zero weather, the plot thickens. Witty script lines perfectly befit Kelly's condescending sarcasm, usually at Rooney's expense. McCarthy wants Rooney to drive a crooked, dangerous road in twenty minutes that would safely take forty. In mock fascination, he pumps up Rooney's ego on what it would take to do this. Accurately, he explains the different driving dynamics of a European car compared to a heavy American sedan. The lighter European models corner better, have stiffer suspension, and exude more confidence on a racing circuit. One would need to highly modify an old sedan to make it work. But Rooney is puzzled about the importance of twenty minutes. And his payment of fifteen grand just to drive. He immediately punches the emergency brake on their robbery getaway plan. 

By this stage, Foster is showing sincere remorse for towing the sweet little guy along. The trio is at McCarthy's beach house when Rooney shows up, hoping to find Foster. Something he was told not to do. Still sufficiently naive, McCarthy tells him he has not seen her. Foster enters from another room to bluntly spill her guts about her involvement, much to McCarthy's ire. Rooney knows a bit too much at this point. It is Kelly's job to eliminate him along the coastal roadway. As an excellent driver, Rooney knows how to handle sudden emergencies. He also knows how best to roll a car. Rooney survives and stumbles back about a mile to McCarthy's with Kelly's gun. The one in the poster that suggests Rooney is a hired killer or something. The ending minute leaves the story unresolved, but it does not take a certified master mechanic to figure it out.

Note: The studio prop car's “driving” sequences are pretty funny during their shortcut's dusty escape. The studio's stunt driver and sound department put on an impressive show, however. Rooney's faking of the prop car steering wheel suggests he understands and respects the car's limits. He supposedly hits 100 mph at one point with Kelly hanging on for dear life in the back seat as the rear-projected scenery shifts abruptly left to right, tires squealing in the dirt. Not as wacky as W.C. Fields' climactic driving in The Bank Dick, but nonetheless, amusing.

THE SCARLET HOUR (1956)

This ninety-five-minute film's premise is what God meant by His Tenth Commandment. Though the title is a bit of a mystery—no scarlet noted in a black and white film. The suspense is handled pretty well by director Michael Curtiz. The only thing new about this film is the debut of some future television regulars. Paramount's Vista Vision gamble, Carol Ohmart, stars with Tom Tryon, Elaine Stritch, David Lewis, and James Gregory in their first film, along with seasoned actors Ed Binns and E.G. Marshall. In fact, this movie might have played better on the small screen by being shorter. It would have been free, too. Ohmart's successful husband, Gregory, knows his wife will do just about anything behind his back. Straight-arrow Tryon proves to be a real sap by succumbing to the devious female and her plan to have him intercept jewels after thieves steal them from Lewis's house. 

On the night of the theft intercept, the abusive Gregory follows his wife, catches her, and spots Tryon. Obvious to her, he would like to kill her, as he had threatened before. He pulls out his gun and enters her car. They struggle as Ohmart pleads with him. Gregory's gun goes off in the wrong direction, and he is shoved out onto the pavement. Though she despises him, she plunges into hysterics, calling out his name in sorrow. How could her plan possibly have gone this wrong? This segment is hard to fathom as she drives off, arms shaking, with Tryon trying to figure out what happened back there as he was dodging burglar bullets. Surely Gregory was shot with a stray one. 

Ohmart becomes jealous of Tryon, guessing he is secretly seeing her late husband's secretary, played by Jodie Lawrance. She, by the way, had more movies under her waistline before 1956 than the other stars combined. Lawrance wants to protect him for the decent man he is, as she hopes for a future together. Ohmart drops a none-too-subtle suggestion to the police that she might have killed Gregory. When Tryon finds this out, he is...how to put it...livid. He arranges for the police to gather at Ohmart's estate as he gives her a big dose of verbal reality. She stares out a second-story window as Lawrance and Tryon embrace in the courtyard below. As for Ohmart, I am not sure how severe the charges will be, given her husband's accidental death and the theft of fake jewels. Perhaps a series of counseling sessions and a year of community service. She has issues.

Notes: At least for this film, Ohmart is Madame Tussaud's, Barbara Stanwyck. Given her resemblance along with a similar storyline, one might assume it is a re-think of a famous Stanwyck role. But in this case, “Double Dumbidy” might be a better title. Her face is a mash-up of seventy percent Stanwyck and thirty percent Meryl Streep. Even at one hundred percent, it would not have helped Ohmart's movie career, which quickly transitioned to television. Her over-the-top acting quirks come off as if she is trying to steal any scene she is in. Constantly fidgeting some part of her body. None worse than her scene poolside with Lewis, in which her character has all the femininity of Marlon Brando, nervously shakes in between severe drags on a cigarette. She is the weakest link in the movie, and Hollywood noticed.

Hard to believe there would not have been a script change, so I found this amusing. When the police come to the office to question Tryon—portraying E.V. Marshall—he meets the lieutenant, played by E.G. Marshall. I thought I saw E.G. smirk a bit, but only wishful thinking. E.G. seems to have sucked some helium before filming certain scenes.