THE STEEL LADY (1953)

Directed by Ewald André Dupont with a screenplay by Richard Schayer, one might suspect Aubrey Wisberg's story was the inspiration for Elleston Trevor's 1964 novel, The Flight of The Phoenix, and the 1965 box office failure. Both films center around crash-landing in the Sahara desert with at least one dissenter in the group and the customary limited food, water, no radio, and any rescue attempt taking too long for their survival. Something has to be improvised. Wisely, the Yuma desert filming got underway at the very end of the previous year. The similarities between this B-movie cast and the 1965 big-budget cast separate the two but it is sometimes difficult to determine how much. Released by United Artists, it is a concise eighty-four minutes of adventure, produced and edited by Grant Whytock. Concise is not a word used to describe the extra hour added to the more implausible “Phoenix” film. The incredibly prolific Edward Small Productions again provides a movie without a dull moment. What Small did with limited budgets has rarely been equaled.

Heading up the four-man crew of American oil company employees in this film is Rod Cameron and Tab Hunter in his fourth film. Like today's many films or television series with a socially askew computer genius who saves everyone's bacon, Hunter nearly fits that role as sort of an electronics expert. John Dehner is the pessimistic “glass half empty” dissenter in the film. He and Cameron are at odds throughout the film, in no small part due to the former's alcohol addiction. Always available for a few quips is Richard Erdman, the dependable guy with an eye in the opposite (sex) direction. His countenance before crash landing, below, is both one of inevitable doom and acceptance.

Perhaps given the naive acceptance of the era's movie patrons—who were less critical about such things—one will need to ignore a few filming and editing shortcomings when viewed today, like the era's painted sandhills or studio backdrop screens. Perhaps most confusing here is the gear-up plane crash, burying the nose in a sandbank according to the pilot, Cameron. By the next morning, there is a mound of sand piled around the main landing gear, which clearly depicts the twin-engine Cessna T-50 in its tail-dragger stance. Then there is the bullet's cartoon ricochet effect that sounds more like a metal spring has broken loose from its anchor. But I digress. Nearly every film made—no matter the budget—has something amiss in one detail or the other.

Cameron sets out over a ridge and spots an antenna flag poking above the sand that is connected to a buried World War II Nazi tank. Thinking it may provide them a way out of a dire situation, the crew digs out the sunken tank. They notice German wording on the side roughly translating into the film's title. After burying the mummified German duo, Hunter repairs their radio with parts from the tank's radio but it only works long enough to tell their contact in Casablanca that they are alive.

All work together—even Dehner, for the most part—to get the tank mobile using the remaining gasoline from the plane. With zero options, Cameron must also use their remaining water for its radiator, a decision Dehner tries to thwart at gunpoint. Never get into a fistfight with square-jawed Cameron. Adding another element to the story is a satchel of jewels in a hidden storage compartment, a discovery that Dehner keeps to himself. Although there is more to the story than this, it is the same bejeweled tank Bedouin leaders have been trying to find since 1944—implausibly never spotting the flag or tank among the constantly shifting sands. The Bedouin leader, the Hersey chocolate-faced John Abbott, offers Cameron horses, pack camels and water in exchange for the tank. “We love tank!” Amazingly, the foursome agrees to the exchange with none wondering what the desert dwellers could possibly do with a tank unless they fill it with water. Smelling an infestation of desert rats, Cameron and the team reclaim the tank the following day in an intense battle.

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.

99 RIVER STREET (1953)

This time around, John Payne is a tough prizefighter in another film for director Phil Karlson. A familiar tale of a “man against the world.” George Zuckerman's story is pretty far-fetched, certainly not routine. If this Edward Small production falls short of being a great movie, the spot-on performances allow one to overlook any clichés. The budgeted studio sets with perpetually wet city streets were a standard device to give a city life. The painted or rear-projected buildings are present to add depth. There seems to be noticeably odd “processing” during the harbor climax scene, which looks like a stage scrim has been set up in front of cargo ships. 

Though Payne starred in a gritty, career-changing film before, he is believable as a guy beaten down inside and outside the ring. Payne is on a career roll, leaving behind his lighter characters. There is never a dull moment. The boxer's volatile temper, blunt dialogue, and realistic action catapult the film above the average film noir. I found the opening boxing scenes more believable than the over-the-top Rocky Balboa bouts. Though both films seem to use the same sound effect of punching a cardboard box with a throw pillow inside. Because of the potential permanent eye damage during his championship fight, Payne's heavyweight career comes to an end. Three years on, he is now a taxi driver with dreams of owning his own service station. His wife, Peggie Castle, is a nagging, unsympathetic woman who blames him for her lack of social importance and her personal career crusher. Owning a lowly gas station is the "last round" for her. Castle is already two-timing with a jewel thief, Brad Dexter. No secret to Payne. 

Jay Adler moonlights as a backroom jewel fence, incognito as a pet shop owner. He refuses to pay off Dexter for his latest jewel delivery, not only for killing the original owner but primarily because he brings Castle into the mix. Adler tells him there is no deal if a woman is involved. Emotional attachments have a way of altering the end game. Dexter takes his “advice,” and her cold body is found in the back of Payne's cab. Not exactly a typical fare.  

Playing an aspiring actress, Evelyn Keyes has two supporting roles with Payne. Besides being his co-star, she is a frequent taxi fare. When she finds out about his predicament, she wants to help but he is reluctant to get her involved. Keyes' attractiveness lies in her character portrayals more than in being naturally beautiful. It is of no concern whether her face is filmed from one side or the other. Jack Lambert, Adler's muscle, below, has a good turn as well. He has developed a sense of humor despite his line of work. Calls everyone at gunpoint, “kiddies.” His fight scene with Payne is worth noting. Suspecting he is in with Dexter, he slaps Payne around from behind, who is slowly coming to a full boil. Lambert becomes his punching bag. He completely did not anticipate the jackhammers hiding at the end of Payne's arms. Poor Lambert is repeatedly blasted over furniture and becomes wall décor, after a fashion. It is well-choreographed, vicious, and believable. 

Adler and crew are confused about Payne's supposed involvement in a jewel heist. He is picked up on 99 River Street and they need answers to a few questions. After the butt-end of a revolver from a revengeful Lambert, Payne tells Adler about his frame-up, then all bullets have Dexter's name on them. Continuing to hone her acting skills, Keyes' role-playing comes in handy as she lures Dexter out of the diner. Spotting Payne outside, Dexter makes a run for it, with Payne taking a bullet in one arm. One arm is plenty and Dexter is soon down for the count.