THE BEATNIKS (1960)

Against a rudimentary jazzy score, this seventy-seven-minute film opens as the viewer follows a custom-lowered 1949-50 Ford sedan motoring through city streets. As it pulls into a local market—a habitual robbery destination—the grille has magically morphed into a custom design, removing Ford’s iconic "bullet" grille. The Ford gets its original grille back after leaving the market. It is the first concrete evidence of a strangulated budget. The occupants install their creatively demented paper masks and demand as much cash—this week—as they can. They hop back into the car as their female getaway driver peels out in the path of a Trailways bus. Cool. An electric guitar lead cranks up the intensity as the unrecognizable production company, Glenville Productions, and an equally unknown list of actors are displayed. There were worse low-budget films during the era, but this is a good illustration of what can happen. This film would seem to give kooky beatniks a bad rap, man. You dig? Not one beret or goatee, either. The film did have a different working title, but “The Miscreants” would have better defined it.

These Hollywood hoodlums are on the edge of oblivion, and if we tracked them over the next decade, a few might make my point. Though tame by today's low standards, this group has no respect for property or person as they flaunt their rebellion. On a typical day of irresponsible behavior, the social misfits pull into a diner, but an old fart’s car is in their way. The car has stalled, so they offer to push it out of the way. The getaway driver, the second-billed Karen Kadler, backs up a few feet, then floors it, crashing the two cars together for their big laugh.

Making an early impression is television’s Peter “Big Valley” Breck, the punk who finds himself to be the funniest of the gang. In reality, he is the scariest of the five as he appears to be high on something. But it is not life. "Nuts" is how gang leader Tony Travis appropriately describes him. His disturbing, high-register ratta-tat-tat laugh and cranked head during verbal confrontations define him. He is the actor you will remember the most, similar to Vic Morrow in The Blackboard Jungle fame. His over-the-top performance is the single element making this film infamous and a subject to ridicule. The advertising department understood this, as Breck is front and center on the poster above.

By pure happenstance, the middle-aged daddy-o is a music business executive. With everyone inside the eatery, the clinging Kadler coaxes Travis into singing with a jukebox tune, the film's original title, “Sideburns Don't Need Your Sympathy.” A pretty far-out concept, man! The executive overhears the fabulous “Fabian-like” voice and the “youngster” is invited to audition on a popular television show. The telephone circuits are nearly fried during and after his performance. As the “Our Gang” kids might do, the remaining four show up uninvited at the studio mainly to poke equipment and generally make fun of more stuff they do not understand. Travis never thought about being a singer, yet he miraculously sight-reads the charts flawlessly. Literally overnight, he becomes a sensation singing dreamy love songs. His rise to stardom creates dissension among the remaining untalented foursome as they see his future better defined as a life-long gang leader. Breck does make his only sensible comment telling Travis if the music producers knew his recent past, man, they would drop him like a rock. Dig, Daddy-o?

One would hate to be a retail owner if these five ever showed themselves. Breck teases a diner owner before killing him for kicks, later stating he did it to bring “Mr. Fancy Pants” back down to gang level. Guilt by association is Travis’ life plan. The police want Breck, but do not know the gang leader. Travis wants to end his charade and asks Joyce Terry, the executive's secretary and his love interest, to call the police and reveal his identity. Giving a new meaning to the beat generation, the crazed Breck assaults the music executive within an inch of his life, then wanders the night streets as a self-confirmed big shot, ending up outside the recording studio where he and Travis have a final altercation. The police arrive with two sets of handcuffs—the gang is permanently dissolved. Kadler becomes the first female driver on the demolition derby circuit. Travis becomes the featured soloist for the prison choir, and Breck spends his years staring at four padded walls. Jailhouses rock, man!

Note: Though filming wrapped in 1958, the death of its producer delayed its release for another two years. The busy actor and distinct voice-over artist, Paul Frees, wrote and directed this “time-sensitive exposé” as well as providing songs with co-writer, Eddie Brandt, and a bit of voice-over dialogue to boot. Backed by music director Stanley Wilson, then a driving force in Hollywood’s music industry, the music may be the most notable element of the film. Frees learned his lesson and decided to end his directing aspirations after this debacle. In real life, Tony Travis released a few recordings under the RCA label. He had a mellow, lounge singer style. Totally ubiquitous. 

T-BIRD GANG (1959)

At sixty-five minutes, most will be able to sit through this one if you ignore the low production quality, obvious budget constraints, and an artificial gang leader that stretches the gullibility of the viewer. I do not suggest it is going to be easy, however. The main cast does not embarrass themselves despite the area microphone echo in certain scenes. If one misses the opening credits it is still likely many will readily guess this is another production by Roger Corman. Less successful would be guessing it was distributed by Sparta Productions. Using its original title, Cry Out in Vengeance, it was a double feature with High School Big Shot and the first release of Corman’s company, The Filmgroup. At times, the overpowering, Corman trademark jazz combo soundtrack of solo drums, trumpet, or piano can be distracting. The film does have a fairly decent screenplay, co-written by star John Brinkley and co-star Tony Miller. This is one of five Corman pictures for television regular Ed Nelson. He honed his craft, churning out nearly twenty-two low-budget films. Lobby posters apparently never showcased the 1957 T-Bird from the film, choosing to use a current-generation model. For whatever reason, Nelson is MIA in this promo shot below. For automobile accuracy, I adapted elements for a revised poster to start this review.

The opening scene sets the tone of this rickety film with meandering bongo drums as the camera moves in on Nelson's T-Bird and his right-hand henchman, Tony Miller. From a safe distance, they await the outcome of a warehouse burglary in which things do not go as Nelson planned. Seemingly an expert in the misdemeanor crimes of household and warehouse burglaries, Nelson is technically only an accessory to every crime. Top-billed Brinkley arrives at the warehouse to find his father, the night watchman, murdered, however. Later in a bar, Nelson sees Brinkley defend himself in a fistfight with a troublemaker and invites him to join his gang. The police captain coaxes Brinkley to go undercover to help flesh out Nelson's gang, whom they figure is responsible for the murder.

Nelson is the cool gang leader whose ego is stroked by simply snapping his fingers to get what he wants. Bossing twenty-something “high schoolers” around and relaxing to classical music is his best use of time. With an air of superiority, good looks, and wearing driving gloves or the occasional ascot, he exudes big-shot qualities. His girlfriend, Pat George, in her film debut and career closer, is treated like an airhead by Nelson, but she usually beats him at chess when she is not devouring a series of thick books. He angrily switches to poker to improve his winning chances. She is also easily amused, and her unbridled laughter annoys him as it did me. At one point, “Mr. Warmth” purposely knocks over a glass of milk onto her new coat, causing her to leave the room to his relief. A real sweetheart.

For all his assumed bravado, Nelson's low mileage status symbol and security blanket is his beloved two-year-old Thunderbird, cowardly staying in the driver’s seat during capers. The gang's next warehouse caper also goes awry—in part due to an awkward score. Brinkley tipped off the police. A security guard is knocked unconscious by being punched in the kidneys. The most amazing special effect in the film. "Mr. T-Bird" realizes he has been set up and takes the undercover rat to a closed tavern. He will need a new town of teenagers after this blown caper. He lets it slip that his second-hand man doing his dirty work, Miller, can easily be replaced. Unaware Miller overheard the discouraging words, he repeatedly beats Nelson with a pool cue, then spears him with its blunt end. Oh, the second special effect. Scratch one gang leader. An empty tavern can be drafty as the pool cue slightly sways back and forth in Nelson's “stomach” in the closing seconds.

Note: As a testament to a low-budget Corman film, there are a few awkward or funny moments in addition to those mentioned earlier. A solo trumpet nearly kills a tender moment between Brinkley and his girl. The trumpet is about as subtle as Doris Day wearing an eye patch. Later, in dazed conversation, he twists strands of her hair into a 4” long rope. Not by request. But the topper is Nelson’s hilarious one-ding doorbell in his modest studio home/set. It is exactly the sound of ending another boxing round.

HIGH SCHOOL BIG SHOT (1959)

Distributed by Sparta Productions, this seventy minutes of celluloid was directed and written by television's Joel Rapp, the man responsible for writing some of the most popular shows of the Sixties. Let us not blame him entirely for this film. This was a team effort. Shave about five minutes, and this film might have played better through an RCA or Magnavox console. An intelligent, jazzy score by Gerald Fried opens the film, in which a third of the lead cast members are killed. Always an acceptable percentage for low-budget acting. The executive producer was Roger Corman, and though the twenty-something high school students are not fooling anyone, the acting is mostly above par, thanks to those same twenty-somethings and a few television veterans. A film that concerns a depressing group of flawed characters. There is the alcoholic, deadbeat father, a renowned safe cracker who subscribes to the “honor among thieves” mantra, a female classmate who puts the “man” in manipulate, and three high schoolers who enjoy talking about slapping their dates around or anyone they dislike. Just call them the “three stooges.”

Tom Pittman is good. Moody. Talking directly into the camera, he opens the film, asking about the whereabouts of a safecracker to maybe work out a deal. Though captivating, his cool, adult delivery immediately defeats the premise of the shy, awkward high school kid. He is routinely threatened by the bully-leader of the “three stooges,” Howard Veit, in his only acting role, simply because Pittman is the brightest student in the class. In true liberal thinking, he cannot beat someone, so he tries to eliminate the competition. Veit seems to be the more logical choice as the "wannabe" big shot, what with his classroom disruptions and smart-aleck replies. But he is just not that smart. Pittman is the one student who has a scholarship waiting. Being a big shot is not in his thinking. His downfall is the cute Virginia Aldridge, part-time tart of meathead Veit. With an ulterior motive, she goes sweet on Pittman to get him to write her final exam essay. He thinks they have a future, but she is thinking about graduating. Their teacher, television’s famous Peter Leeds, knows she did not write it. She cannot even quote it. After denying it, he presses Pittman again for the truth, and he confesses. She is outraged that he told the truth. Things just never work out for her. No diploma for her, and Pittman’s scholarship is canceled. Thanks, honey-bunch.

Malcolm Atterbury plays Pittman’s father. He was an old pro, and he bolsters the film’s early stages. Their father-son scenes are tender if not heartbreaking. Pittman is devoted to his father, who believes he will get another job or even remarry. Dad reassures his son that he has also sworn off drink. Later, finding his father again nearly unconscious, Pittman bends before him and breaks down in tears. He would do anything to remove their financial state of affairs and buy useless stuff for Aldridge. 

Pittman overhears his boss, Bryan Foulger, planning a million-dollar heroin deal, with the money to be locked in the office safe prior to the deal.  Pittman wanders the streets by fake-walking in place, head turning left and right. Pretty funny. He locates Stanley Adams, a well-dressed safe-cracker, who spends his off-hours mooching off a liquor store owned by his brother-in-law. Hard to believe, but Pitman transforms into a savvy mastermind as the trio splits their haul.

Self-serving Aldridge double-crosses Pittman and informs Veit that he should intercept the money from Pittman at the pier. Distant sirens can be heard. Detail-oriented viewers will notice a film flop as one Plymouth patrol car, conveniently unmarked, is right-hand drive. They use the same correctly projected footage for a “third” patrol car’s arrival. A visual lesson on how to save production money or pad a cheap film. But I digress. In his attempt to escape, Veit is dropped by a bullet and the briefcase flies open. Also on the scene is Foulger, who goes berserk, looking directly into the camera and twice uncontrollably fumes, “A million bucks!” as he watches it float away from the dock. Chilling, but the amount was only Pittman's share of the loot. The aftermath calls for four funeral arrangements and taxpayers to pay room and board for the rest of the lead cast. 

Note: James Dean made a huge impact (poor choice of words) on Tom Pittman. Both had television experience, with the medium being the bulk of Pittman’s work. He had several movies to his credit, and this was his last, released posthumously, along with a previous film, after he died from injuries crashing over a cliff in his own Porsche Spyder on Halloween, nearly four years after Dean. It was nearly twenty days later that his body and car were discovered in a ravine.