FILM BRAKE: EMERGENCY!

 

I believe it is safe to say this is the only series that involves two composers of two different Route 66 themes. Nelson Riddle wrote the theme for Emergency! and for the previous decade's hit show, Route 66. Emergency! cast member, Bobby Troup, wrote the hit song, Get Your Kicks On Route 66, famously recorded by Nat King Cole. 

This American television medical drama from Mark VII Limited and Universal Television is aimed to be more realistic than the two previous decades of medical shows, centering on the new field of emergency medical system (EMS) paramedics. Famous for his insistence on realism and not theatrics, it was created and produced by Jack Webb along with Robert Cinader. Additional creative credit went to Harold Jack Bloom. Pioneering EMS innovator, James O. Page, served as a technical advisor, always on the set to make sure everything was authentic. Resisting the comparison to modern medical dramas, the show still remains an impressive display of intelligent production, with money well-spent where it counted. 

The earliest episodes were on shaky ground with sometimes stiff and cliched performances, delivering the occasional clipped banter or tight closeups ala Dragnet. The show hit its stride by the third season, not focusing so much on interpersonal relationships, but the seamless blend of action, drama, and comedy (best showcased at Station 51). Yet it never ranked in the Nielson top 25. Networks were having a problem with 1970s action shows blended with comedy. Emergency! was not Medical Center any more than Jim Rockford was Steve McGarrett of Hawaii Five-O. Loyal viewers kept the hour-long show running from January 1972 until May 1977. After the regular series ended, there were six two-hour television movies produced during 1978-79 as the seventh season in an attempt to bring closure to the series. See "Notes" below.

Unlike many action dramas today with multiple plots, Emergency! fans' attention span was most impressive. The show only had two areas of interest: the rescue and the hospital. If an area of heavy brush needed clearing in order to access a crashed automobile "placed" in a ravine, the production filmed a bulldozer clearing the brush. It was mesmerizing at the time, sending the message that rescues can be tedious and with potential danger. Though both lead actors underwent some paramedic training for their roles at Station 51, arrival to film an "emergency scene" sometimes offered the unexpected. Some ad-libbing was inevitable to make their characters believable. The producers were able to balance out their budget despite the high cost of the rescue scenes. On the other side of the coin, the hospital scenes were inexpensive to shoot. With the back and forth locations during an episode, they were able to split the cost for each episode. 

 

Anyone binge-watching today may find a few emergencies a bit too extended with repetitive, four-note, bass guitar licks or flutes in the background that made it seem even longer. The repeated footage of the rescue vehicles leaving the station or in transit will also be obvious, with certain neighborhoods apparently having more than their share of emergencies. Automobile accidents are obviously staged using "pre-crashed" vehicles. Crash stunts were not the point, it was how the paramedics coordinated their efforts with the hospital. The show evolved to include more spectacular 1970s-style pyro-technics, and the paramedics were involved in some exhausting stunts, using few or expertly hidden stuntmen. As a general rule, if you could not see their faces, it was stuntmen. 

The producers used fictitious names for the stationhouse and hospital, yet not all the actors were fictitious. A few were employed by the Los Angeles fire and police departments and used their real names. The balance of lead and supporting actors in the series can be found at the link below. Though Randolph Mantooth (Johhny Gage) and Kevin Tighe (Roy DeSoto) had prior credits, this was their first lead roles -- both seemingly appearing out of nowhere. These lead characters are a huge factor in making this series successful. Gage is a self-absorbed, die-hard single guy while DeSoto is married with children and has been in the paramedic program longer than his partner. These ordinary-looking guys tease, argue, and get on each other's nerves like brothers, and it is this partnership (they are best friends in real life) that makes the series memorable. There is not a situation or subject that Gage is not an "expert." He will have ideas about moonlighting on his off days for extra cash or butting in to resolve everyone's personal dilemmas to the amusement or ire of DeSoto and the firemen because he rarely knows what he is talking about. As per Barney Fife's earlier precedent, Mantooth's character became the breakout star of the show.

Notes: The series used a variation of Riddle's theme during some emergency runs. Beginning with the third season, big band composer and arranger, Billy May, came aboard to provide the show's incidental music with a jazzy, brassy, 1970s-style driving rhythm during emergency runs. Other times, his music is simply overbearing and highly repetitious. On the "B-side" is Gerald Fried's score for the last two movies. His music themes rarely fit a given scene as if he never saw a single frame from the movie. When it is not silly, much of the music is totally out of sync with the visuals.

Aside from the movie about the paramedic's retrospective of memorable rescues, there is no commonality between the movies and the series. The movies have lost their timeliness and are best bypassed today. Station 51 is nowhere to be found and the complete hospital cast only appears in the first movie. Gage and DeSoto become secondary cast members as they travel to observe paramedics in a couple other cities on the west coast, with a new cast that is dangerously close to amateurs. Perhaps the producers were thinking that watching any paramedics will be just as good. 

For more detail on the series, including the memorabilia and vehicles now in the Smithsonian Institution collection, visit HERE.

DARK CITY (1950)

Do not let a couple of A-list actors fool you. Hal B. Wallis produced a B-movie. With the likes of Don DeFore, Harry Morgan, who again plays a slightly brain-impaired character, and Jack Webb's cutting delivery of snide comments, it could be none other. Add Dean Jagger, Ed Begley, and Wallis’ favorite, Lizabeth Scott, and you have a competent cast. In his lead debut as a small-time bookie, Charlton Heston barely holds his own besides the experienced and pliable Dean Jagger. Still, he stands out from all the rest with a rugged, chiseled handsomeness the others do not possess. He delivers a foot-in-the-door performance. There are some typically awkward B-movie segue edits of actors’ faces or actions that do not match the previous frame. And in a casual driving scene in Vegas, they used an obvious stand-in driver for Heston. I guess it was too risky for him. Those automatic transmissions can be tricky.

Needing money after being shut down by the police, Heston and his hustlers fleece out-of-towner DeFore out of five grand that is not his during a rigged card game. DeFore is so distraught he hangs himself. His protective big brother sets out to kill each one by one. Note the giant emerald ring that keeps getting into tight camera shots. The ring of a psychopath. Heston meets DeFore’s wife, Viveca Lindfors, and they nearly become an item. But the only thing Heston wants is the identity of her disturbed brother-in-law. Heston gets a dealer’s job in Vegas to elude death and be the decoy detective Jagger can follow. Heston and Scott do not board a studio prop plane but remain in Vegas under assumed happiness.

The item of note is the huge contrast between the acting of Jagger and Heston. Jagger’s whole face is animated with vocals that rise and fall with emotion. He is genuine and believable. Heston, on the other hand, is able to move his mouth. An acting style better suited for some future heroic projects. Heston seems to have been asked to overdub his dialogue at times, being louder and clearer than a co-star, even though he is turned away from the camera. A common practice I am sure.

Note: Studio musician, Trudy Stevens, had her work cut out for her dubbing Scott’s three and a half songs. Unless you enjoy seeing Scott or hearing the chosen songs, you should skip right through these. Her introductory scene and first rehearsal are all that are needed to establish her character. If the lyrics pertained to the plot or another character, this could almost qualify as a musical. But who would watch a musical starring Charlton Heston?

-30- (1959)

This over-scripted box office flop would almost appear to be a television series pilot movie. Directed and produced by Jack Webb for his Mark VII Limited Company, this part sitcom, part drama, reveals the day’s happenings in the life of a competitive Los Angeles newspaper. Always a stickler for realism, Webb uses it here to a fault, with ingratiating dialogue slightly embarrassing as if you are an uninvited guest to a private party.

The somber opening with soap opera score under white titles against a stark black background quickly switches to a "cha-cha theme song" used occasionally throughout the film. Ray Heindorf's music score is certainly an odd mix. There is enough humor in the film, however, that the cha-cha tune starts to, strangely, make some sense. Webb appears to have taken "77 Sunset Strip," "Ben Casey" or "Lassie" themes of the period and suggested using them with select scenes. The film's portrayal of a big city newspaper is dated since every department head possesses the personal discernment to never politicize a story.

The film, set entirely in a newspaper office set, can be momentarily captivating with enough personal issues to tug at your heartstrings. One example, Whitney Blake plays the on-screen wife of Webb who wants him to accept the idea of adoption. Their past finds it difficult for him to make such a commitment. Another is the search for a small child who may have drowned. Both challenges weigh heavily on Webb's conscience.

Though respectably acted, there are enough uncomfortable moments to make you cringe as the occasionally corny scrip by William Bowers jumps from tearjerker to comedy. William Conrad's face fills the screen as he opens the film. He has been provided the most comedic dialogue. His performance is so over the top you may find yourself blushing as he chews up the office furniture. He berates copy boys, David Nelson specifically, throughout the eighty-eight-minute film making it a recurring amusing device. Conrad's delivery will probably make you chuckle. Still, his character is unnecessarily crude. Underlying all his toughness, though, is a large sensitive man with an enlarged heart. I will say, Webb gives his most animated performance with a full range of emotions and comes in a close second to Conrad's funny quips. He is fun to watch. Momentary humorous encounters include a young staffer, Richard Bakalyan, who has the honor to escort a prominent couple to view the newspaper's operation in full swing with all the limited experience he can muster. His run-in with "staff artist" Richard Deacon puts him in his place in comedic form. Look for William Bell, Howard McNear, and Joe Flynn. I found the closing credits, visually identifying the actors and their portrayed characters, not worthy of the style. It is an odd choice for something other than an epic historical film.

Note: The term "-30-" signified "the end," originating from several code tables for telegraph operators. The title was used at the end of this movie and explains its meaning. Ironically, it was the end to Webb's Warner Bros. contract.