SHACK OUT ON 101 (1955)

This movie surely got lost on its opening weekend, but no need to apologize for their efforts. You will enjoy this rather unconventionally titled film. One might think this is a filmed stage play as ninety-five percent of the film takes place in a diner [set] along California's Highway 101. The viewer gets hooked in the first five minutes and past this point, the plot slowly unfolds. A story not about the life of Pie, but centering around a common theme during this period: national security. This slow-burn film has an interesting mix of humor and mystery during the “who do you trust” era. Condense this down to under sixty minutes and you would have one of the better Alfred Hitchcock Hour episodes.

All the diner's patrons interact with numerous one-on-one conversations. There is Lee Marvin, a character who swings from lecherous slob to comical buddy. Everyone's cliched short-order cook. If Marvin seemed to be under-appreciated mid-century he did not go unnoticed. He is quite versatile here, handling a pivotal dual role. He has a lot cooking but it is not chili. Keenan Wynn, the sarcastic eatery owner, does not like Marvin's attitude and apparently his cooking. Their verbal jabs is the daily routine. He and Marvin have the funniest scene during their weight-lifting challenge. It is full of sarcastic insults as each tries to out manly the other. Lean and lanky, Marvin is hilarious.

Throw in smokey-voiced tenor, Frank Lovejoy, with a few secrets; throw in a naive waitress, Terry Moore, and you have a reason to show up at the diner. Despite her top billing, this is Marvin's film. If you are expecting Whit Bissell to show up then you will not be disappointed. He plays the D-Day buddy of Wynn’s character. Len Lesser (Seinfeld’s Uncle Leo) and Marvin seem to have a long-standing relationship. Their odd mock "boxing match" at arm's length with opposite ends of a towel between their teeth would seem to have a childhood history.

Note: This eighty-minute suspense drama was directed by Edward Dein with a twisty screenplay by him and Mildred Dein. It was produced by William F. Broidy Productions and released by United Artists Pictures. The ever-present Paul Dunlap offered up the music score, starting off with a jazzy jukebox number.

FILM BRAKE: SECURITY INVESTIGATOR

DANGER MAN (1960-61)

This original adventure series centered on the exploits of an internationally famous security investigator whose services are only available to governments or their highly placed officials. The Danger Man aka John Drake strove for realism, dramatizing credible Cold War tensions. Beyond the fast pace, some inventive plots, and exotic locales, the gravitating force of the series was undoubtedly the American television debut of Patrick McGoohan. With his distinct, clipped delivery, intensity, charm, coolness and physicality, he makes this series quite compelling in spite of some scripts that are less so. McGoohan's British stage acting abilities could be quite intimidating to fellow actors, not unlike John Drake's pointed truths to convince someone about saving their life or country. The series did not feature silly gadgets of secret agents yet to come. Rather, Drake utilizes his intelligence and quick thinking. If he used any spycraft tools they were generally credible. The family-oriented McGoohan preferred that Drake carry no firearms. In one episode he confesses, 'I never carry a gun. They're noisy, and they hurt people. Besides, I manage very well without.' He knows how to fire one, though—a gun knocked free from a combatant's hand might provide him leverage. His final demand was no outright seduction of female co-stars. Drake is focused on the business at hand. The punctuated jazz score by Edwin Astley provides another dimension of coolness and would often burst into a scene, half debilitating the dialogue. Expect a Drake-ism once granted a favor or request—the gracious—“I'm obliged.”

After the opening scene teaser, McGoohan provides a voice-over as he leaves a building in Washington, DC. before speeding away in his convertible British sports car:

“Every government has its secret service branch. America, CIA; France, Deuxième Bureau; England, MI5. (The line, "NATO also has its own" is not always used.) A messy job? Well, that's when they usually call on me or someone like me. Oh yes, my name is Drake, John Drake.”

McGoohan never appears to use a stunt double during choreographed fistfights. This is an endearing quality of the thirty-two-year-old Irish-American, proving he is all about credibility. Assuming no visual miscues by me, he is clearly seen as the guy doing the flipping of an assailant in judo fashion, getting knocked across a room, or throwing the most violent, unimaginable haymakers and uppercuts that do send the Drake character to near science-fiction level. He might use a fake identity to infiltrate a Communist regime in Africa, Central America or a small European country. He is not infallible and assignments do not always go as anticipated.

The show did not set CBS on fire—not all of the thirty-nine episodes were above average. Some scripts can be rather complex with a myriad of characters, hopscotching from one country to the next or trying to take in all of McGoohan's rapidly delivered dialogue. The humor is restrained—a flippant hero has no place in this series. A few episodes make one wish there was a bit more, however, as McGoohan could deliver some dandy dry sarcasm. One would like to double the number of episodes with his five-time costar—the ever so British—Richard Wattis, as the bespectacled Mr. Hardy, an intelligence agent requesting [demanding] Drake's services. Though there is no real animosity between them, they initially conflict when discussing an assignment. Their sarcastic banter is a needed delight.

The idea for the Danger Man series originated with Ralph Smart, an associate of Lew Grade, head of ITC Entertainment. It is filmed at MGM British Studios, England, UK and in foreign locations. The series aired in America as a late-spring replacement for the departing Wanted Dead or Alive. American financing for a second season failed to materialize but the show continued in the UK as the hour-long second and third seasons. After a three-year Drake disappearance, the show returned to America as Secret Agent along with a new guitar-leading theme performed by Johnny Rivers.

MACAO (1952)

You are not alone if you think this might be a follow-up to His Kind of Woman, released the previous year, or perhaps its backstory from, The Las Vegas Story released the same year. Robert Mitchum steps into Victor Mature's shoes for the male lead to absolve any additional confusion. The film opens with a voice-over introduction about Macao being its own Las Vegas. Coincidence? Of the three RKO Radio Pictures, “Woman” was superior to this box office failure. Jane Russell seemingly uses a slightly altered script and wardrobe of a nightclub singer looking for a gig while snarling a few lame comebacks to any advancing male. Despite its star power, this eighty-one-minute film plays out slower than a one-person rickshaw. That responsibility falls heavily on director, Josef von Sternberg, who had few fans among the cast. The screenplay by Bernard Schoenfeld and Stanley Rubin did not make this a memorable experience, either. Everyone’s low-key performance is sleep-inducing and it takes nearly sixty minutes to get enough energy to overcome narcolepsy. Producer, Alex Gottlieb, hired the uncredited Nicholas Ray to step in and revitalize the climactic fight scene between Robert Mitchum and Brad Dexter. The result is not noteworthy, so I can only imagine how Sternberg originally planned it.

Memorable is Mitchum's chemistry opposite Russell, his kind of woman. He always earns his salary but glides through this film to ensure his house payment is on time. His trademark walking, as if his knees bend fore and aft, skims across floors with a manikin's upper body. He plays a laid-back drifter avoiding authorities in America. Russell is the only detail that he and Dexter have in common.

Painted into a familiar white strapless performance gown, Russell could never be called diminutive at 5’ 7” plus heels. Once again, a fabulous necklace fills the vacant trapezoid below her neck. Despite a limited vocal and acting range, Russell was blessed with a fine alto voice. Though she appears to be belting out some notes, there is not an equal amount of sound coming out. The curse of early lip-syncing. Also limited is her vocal dynamic, never rising past mezzo-forte for these easy-going numbers. True enough, she was popular just standing still. Russell’s role is not precisely defined, yet she is good enough to pickpocket Mitchum’s wallet in the early going without him immediately noticing. The script subjects both to clichéd misunderstandings, making waves even in port.

Also from that “Vegas” movie is Dexter, again in his stereotypical, mid-century role. He plays the conniving casino owner and underworld boss who hires Russell to sing at his club. He appears to lack sleep for most of the film, perhaps thinking of her night and day. Though wanted by the authorities, he remains safe inside the three-mile limit of international waters. Doing his dirty work is knife-throwing Philip Ahn, one of the great voices this side of George Takei. Gloria Grahame, with the permanent “fever-blistered” upper lip appearance because of her towering Philtrum ridges and pronounced Cupid's Bow, has a small supporting role as a casino dealer and companion of Dexter. Also on Dexter’s leash is slimy police lieutenant, Thomas Gomez, who informs him that one of the new male arrivals is an undercover cop. Jealous over Russell, Dexter tries to bribe Mitchum into leaving Macao with the additional intention of ridding himself of the assumed detective.

William Bendix is introduced as a salesman. Not completely legit, he offers Mitchum a commission if he helps sell a stolen diamond from a necklace to Dexter, who is not interested because it is the same necklace he recently tried selling in Hong Kong. Later, mistaking Bendix for Mitchum from behind, Ahn sends a knife into an obvious protective square patch under his suit coat. The knife barely sticks into the cushioning “corkboard” as it nearly drops from his back—Bendix has to hold it in place—before he falls. Ahn is disabled—possibly killed—improbably fast quicker than a Vulcan nerve pinch by Mitchum’s arm around his throat. Bendix shares his final “sales pitch” with Mitchum.

Note: The three leads all have a turn at potentially funny quips. Rarely do they work all that well. However, there are a couple of noteworthy instances best suited for Mitchum. He asks Bendix what the “C” in his middle name stands for. He quietly replies, “Cicero. But keep it under your hat.” Understanding the obvious, Mitchum says matter-of-factly upon leaving the room, “What else would I do with it?” Mitchum is given another zinger after he delivers Dexter to the authorities in international waters. Drenched from going overboard, Mitchum climbs aboard where Russell awaits. They start to embrace but she cautions him, “You’re all wet!” to which he replies, “You better start getting used to me fresh out of the shower.” Their future is anchored with a kiss.

TOKYO FILE 212 (1951)

This American-Japanese double-billed film, distributed by RKO Radio Pictures, could not get any more “B.” From the start of filming to it being put "in the can" took about two months. The acting is okay but any innovative dialogue was left in a manila folder, perhaps File 207. The bland dialogue may be an effort to suggest the film was “shot as it happened” using the everyday people involved. I am being kind. Except for some actual military personnel, it is simply a cast of unknown actors in a speculative story filmed entirely in Tokyo, a Hollywood first. It is an innovative take on the Korean War, suggesting Communist spies were working from Japan to sabotage American operations. Certainly not a preposterous premise. Despite the film’s average packaging, the pacing is good and the Tokyo settings add realism and mystery. Albert Glasser’s rousing opening score certainly gets your attention. The eighty-four-minute movie was not a success with mixed reviews from critics and ticket buyers alike.

The story is told with voice-overs by a U.S. Government Agent, the sometimes billed, Robert Peyton. His voice and mannerisms seem too intimate for the big screen and better suited for television where one can get small but perceived big. The bulk of the movie is told in flashback after a briefcase bomb explodes near his chins. Since he is telling the story, we know he survives the blast but we do not know what miracle befell him. The climax does have a logical, eye-opening resolution. Officially, he was not a body double for Fred MacMurray but one might disagree, below.

After checking in at the front desk, Peyton finds Francis Marly, a mature Euro-tart making herself at home in his room. Perhaps the funniest thing in the movie is that she talks seductively in the third person. Being a debonair geek, he is attracted to her fits of flirts. We are never sure if she can tell the truth. They become an odd team even though he suspects her of being a Communist sympathizer.

Peyton came to Japan to find an old college classmate, Katsuhiko Haida, who is suspected of joining the Communists. Haida’s father tells Peyton of his son’s backstory in a World War II Kamikaze 101 class where they use scale models for practice. One student is slapped by the tough instructor for timidly and repeatedly not zooming his plane in the right area of a carrier model, thanks to an improper grip on the model. No successful Kamikaze 101 student gets a typical diploma. They get funeral rites. But the war comes to an end and Haida is crushed that he will never be able to go on frequent Kamikaze missions. He is despondent and vulnerable to Communist propaganda.

The leader of the Communist ring, Tetsu Nakamura, is all very honorable when in Peyton’s presence. Just a sweetheart. Peyton’s informer, however, tells him to be wary of his secret ingredient when he dines with him. Poison. Peyton makes an attempt to add a bit of suspenseful humor to this scene. 

The girlfriend of Haida is played by the exceptionally cute, Reiko Otani. She is abducted by the Commies, then dumped on the road without so much as an apology. While in the critical care unit, Haida secretly visits and they express their undying love for each other. Never use any form of the word “dying” in her presence at this point. Haida has an epiphany and is no longer on the dark red side, using all his kamikaze skills to defeat Nakamura. For Peyton, it is File 213.

Note: The film provides the moviegoer with good exposure to mid-century Japanese culture. If the film has any assets, it would be this. Many of these scenes carry no dialogue as we follow Peyton through the streets and bars of Tokyo. This in itself saved a ton of production money. There is a scene in a sleazy Japanese-only bar where rowdy, drunk tattooed men are doing what they would not do unless in a crowd. There is a fully clothed female dancer, after a fashion, on a table. When Peyton and Marly enter in search of Haida, the place becomes dead silent. Like two Jews entering a Nazi bar. The U.S. Military Police tell them that the bar is off limits and suggest, for their own safety, they leave.

COUNTERPLOT (1959)

Forrest Tucker and Allison Hayes together at last! A stale tale of murder, a conniving lawyer and an expressionless boy in one sleepy location, Puerto Rico. The United Artists film is, literally, a real sleeper with opening music by Paul Sawtell and Bert Shefter that has all the sentimentalism deserving of this movie. Jackie Wayne plays the young errand boy looking out for Tucker who is in hiding from an assumed murder. Judging by the dark makeup, Wayne is supposed to be a native "San Juanian." He seems to worship Tucker and he likes their “just guys” arrangement. No icky women around. Tucker frequently scolds him for not doing what he is told, however.

Nightclub singer and icky woman, Hayes, has a past with Tucker and Wayne thinks she is the reason for Tucker’s trouble. Upon her arrival, she and Wayne spot each other but he does not initially acknowledge her. His lie about Tucker’s whereabouts is not convincing. Hayes is soon addressed by another familiar face, corrupt lawyer, Gerald Milton, the San Juan Shyster. The burly actor with his clear, commanding voice never uses contractions when speaking. It reminds me of one who commands people to do their bidding. A delivery that is two-thirds sultan and one-third Tonto. Even though Hayes says she is back to perform at her former gig, he suspects she is in town to find Tucker. Their cat-and-mouse conversation reveals more about Milton than the location of Tucker.

Milton comes to Tucker’s legitimate aid, however, keeping his hiding place secret from the adhesive-mustached Richard Verney, a business partner of the man murdered. With a tempting offer to represent him legally, Milton gets Verney to spill his guts about who actually committed the murder. All the while being secretly recorded by Milton. In retrospect, Tucker decked Verney’s partner during insults and feared his fall to the floor accidentally killed him. Tucker fled. Watching from another room, Verney finished off his partner to inherit the (no kidding) Acme insurance policy against his death. He is killed with a most gentle, choreographed head pounding against the floor which actually looked like he was trying to wake him. Wake up, little buddy! Clearly irritated with most anyone, Verney delivers his lines with a tight-lipped, disgruntled delivery of his best bad guy impression. His tenor voice sounds amateurish as many of his lines trail off to a whining end.

Milton’s assistant and legman, Miguel Angel Alvarez, double-crosses him and tells Verney where Tucker is hiding. Milton struggles to get control of Alvarez’s gun. When The Shyster bends over to retrieve it, he gets a letter opener in the back. Milton is able to get two shots off with a final, 'You interfered. I make payment.' Him plenty dead, now. Meanwhile, to prevent Tucker’s death by Verney’s gun, the boy shoots him in the arm with Tucker’s gun. Tucker later tells the boy that today he has become a man...his first shooting. He pours a “shot” of whiskey for each of them and teases him to take the drink. The boy is confused. Hesitant. He quickly puts down the drink in embarrassment. Tucker laughs at him. We do not know what happens with the boy after Tucker and the icky woman get back together. But that laugh probably took the boy some time to leave it behind.

Note: One funny editing note. As Hayes finishes her song, accepting applause, the camera cuts to Tucker’s face and then back to Hayes who is now in a completely different dress. Therein lies the popularity of her club act. The ability to change clothes on stage so fast that no one can see her do it. David Copperfield would be incredulous!