THE REBEL SET (1959)

Allied Artists Pictures distributed this basement-budget crime tale for E & L Productions. A one-time offering, apparently. The only thing lowering this below other heist films of the period is the hilarious “pre-hippie” subculture. In this regard, the film could stand alone. A position it richly deserves. Thankfully brief, the lame performances are the comedic low point in the movie, though the opening jazz combo is cool enough. Dig it, daddio? Other than the opening, an innocuous score seems to be added without the director's knowledge. After an opening seemingly longer than fifteen minutes, the plot unfolds, and the film gets better. But make no mistake, this film is funnier than intended. 

Edward “Get Smart” Platt steals the film and delivers a convincing performance as a scoundrel in a silk lounging robe. A bit of humor can be found beyond the coffee house performers, thanks to quips from Ned Glass, Platt's leg man, and wristwatch fence. Platt is certainly full of himself as he frequently quotes famous literary passages, making whoever he is with feel inferior. Glass assumes he is a master chess player because he never loses. On the contrary, Platt simply handpicks customers who cannot play the game well. He appears to be the biggest Beatnik sellout. In reality, his Los Angeles coffee house provides him cover where sunglass-wearing, anti-establishment weirdos with van dikes spout poetry—after a fashion—or leotard-clad females attempt interpretative dance all in an effort to “find themselves” through overt behavior. As most surely know, bongo drums have a magical power to transform people into groovy cats. Can you dig?

Being the wise judge of character he is, Platt condescendingly hires three frequent coffeehouse losers he has been monitoring. He asks their help to rob an armored truck of one million clams during the stopover in Chicago of the Los Angeles to New York train. All three men could use a financial portfolio booster. Top-billed and obviously acting, Gregg Palmer and his wife, Kathleen Crowley, are struggling because he cannot land any acting gigs. He was lucky to get this one. She suspects he is not trying that hard. It is not that he lacks potential. He is quite believable when coming up with excuses. John Lupton has writer's block, and Don Sullivan's only achievement, barring a few suicide attempts, is being the rich brat-of-a-son to his famous actress mommy.

The slickly planned and timed professional heist during the train's four-hour layover in Chicago goes without a hitch. Assuming all things could go as planned, these scenes are feasible. Platt “shaves off” his studio beard and dons a clerical collar. A good disguise, as all the elderly ladies on board think he is swell when quoting scripture. But one cannot judge a priest by his collar.

Sullivan's greed gets the best of him, and he plans to keep the entire take for himself. When he turns up dead, Palmer suspects someone is not playing fair. Dig, my brother? He and Lupton spot a typewritten suicide note designed to quell any suspicions. But Palmer astutely blurts, “Except that looks type-written.” Yes. It certainly does. Next up, Lupton departs the speeding train against his will. Palmer, finally buckling down to something, levels with his wife about his so-called all-night casting calls, then leads a police detective to the money's suspected location. 

Palmer initiates a long—can it only be seven minutes?—foot chase to capture Platt and his money-filled duffel bag through a rail yard, in which the director never threw away any footage during editing. If it were an actual chase, both men would have been exhausted in the first minute. But filming scenes can do wonders for your stamina. Just when you think Platt will be pounced on, he escapes—his cane becomes a force to reckon with—under or over rail cars or climbing up boxcar ladders. Reset. Platt is spotted and then disappears again. Reset. They each sprint through a locomotive shop completely unnoticed. Reset. Palmer finally gets hands-on with Platt as the chase finally comes to a...no, wait...a railroad employee comes to the “reverend's” defense. After beating off the employee, Palmer is back in the chase after one wily priest for an electrifying finish.

Note: In the middle of that climactic chase, we witness an odd placement of deliberate humor. Three hobos silently crawl forward on all fours to peer out from their individual, triangularly stacked large sewer pipe sections, wondering what all the commotion is about. When they spot the railroad police, all three pop backward inside their pipe like a turtle in its shell. A scene seemingly lifted from a silent film comedy.

THE CAT BURGLAR (1961)

This sixty-five-minute film opens with night moves by a petty thief, Jack Hogan, climbing on balconies and roofs in his cat burglar apparel, a black sweatshirt, and a flat cap. The film feels promising with an opening title theme by Buddy "Repetitive" Bregman. The jazz score is cool in the beginning, yet becomes stale as the movie progresses with the same riff repeated over and over, only louder. Hogan shines in the last of his short film career as the burglar, giving the distinct impression that his delivery style is that of James Caan. When his character audibly shares his inner thoughts, his vocals pull it off with a natural flair. Hogan carries this film.

The story, written by Leo Gordon, prolific television actor, screenwriter, novelist, and all-around burly guy, has a subplot that I did not see coming so some kudos are in order for this. But expect the usual awkward scenes, which have now become amusing. Beyond Hogan's excellent performance, the other players do a decent job, though June Kenney's untrained voice and stage presence hurt her performance. (Seen below in deep thought.) Gregg Palmer's over-the-top performance is borderline hilarious.

Hogan steals a briefcase from Kenney’s apartment, hoping to find something of value. His usual pattern is to fence his take at a local pawn shop run by Gene Roth. Roth is effective here as the cigar-smoking owner with an annoying cough. Hogan’s contents are not of much value except for a notebook he thought worthless. He leaves that behind in his trash can.
Kenny, the unsuspecting briefcase courier, tells her boss/boyfriend, John Baer, about the theft, and his only concern is that notebook.

Greedy mastermind, Palmer, learns of the missing case and questions his partner, Baer. Using a low "hip cam" angle, we have a detailed view of his waistline and suit, which forms an "A" shape around Baer's face. He grumbles down on Baer’s recklessness in commanding form. It demands we see his face. But the cameraman cannot find his face in his viewfinder. When we hear Palmer’s threatening words as he thrusts a newspaper’s damaging headline at Baer, it is immediately followed by six descending notes of doom from a trombone, da-da-dum, da-da-dum. Another Bregman overkill. It is the funniest element in the film and is repeated often, just when expected. The very same notes of doom used over the years in comedy skit parodies.

Without revealing how, Kenny manages to locate a rotund, unkempt man in a sleazy apartment complex. An additional low "ankle cam" experiment is used as she approaches his apartment door. He is downtown’s official informant and takes her to the pawnshop. After telling her story, Roth knows to contact the cat burglar. After a meager payment to Hogan for the briefcase contents, Roth returns the briefcase to Kenny. Baer is not amused that the notebook is still missing and verbally assaults Roth, assuming he knows where it is.

Before dumping the notebook, Hogan tore out a couple of pages to level his teetering dresser, which his motel owner refuses to fix until he pays his rent. He arranges to get the notebook back to Kenney after a rather ambitious plan for a guy who calls himself a “crumb.” He painstakingly writes out several fake pages to fill out the notebook's mathematical schematics and get a fast hundred-dollar reward.

Baer meets with Palmer (above), who is enraged by the pages of gibberish in the notebook. The fake pages make the engineering plans for a new ICBM propulsion useless. He expected to trade those to foreign buyers on the black market. Suddenly, a national security subplot! They immediately head for Hogan’s motel room, and Palmer’s muscle gives Hogan a thorough beating and takes his one hundred dollars. But one thug is not quite finished. Not comfortable enough, he wants to get down to business. He takes off his suit coat and rolls up his sleeves. On previous beatings, he tried this with sleeves buttoned, but it was never successful. Hogan now realizes that the notebook must have a high value.

Kenney, assuming the benefit of the doubt, tells Baer that Hogan thinks he is involved in espionage. Da-da-dum! Da-da-dum! With lies spewing left and right, she soon finds that Palmer is not actually a police lieutenant. Arriving in his new Thunderbird should have been her clue. Hogan is waiting in a warehouse full of empty, blank boxes. As the last to enter the warehouse, Palmer releases Baer of any future scenes and mortally wounds Hogan. At the clichéd elevated position, he and Palmer struggle, both stuntmen falling onto the aforementioned empty boxes to break their fall. Both die from severe paper cuts. The "crumb" finally did something worthwhile with his life..

Note: Billie Bird, the daffy Mrs. Prattle, is the motel owner. She insists everyone pronounce it Praytel. The Praytel Motel does have a ring to it. Comically, she grumbles about being interrupted in the middle of nothing important. Drag racing legend Tommy Ivo plays her somewhat dimwitted son, who garners some laughs with his weak performance.