JOHNNY COOL (1963)

A surprising box office success, this one-hundred-three-minute film, distributed by United Artists, produced by Peter "Rat Pack" Lawford, and directed by William Asher, Miss Montgomery's third husband, has some believability issues, and its mix of tongue and cheek humor with gangster elements simply lessens the impact of contract assassins. It could be argued that Silva did for contract killers what James Coburn did for spies with his Derek Flint character. It is light years away from the wallop two years earlier by Blast of Silence. However, Asher does a fine job with pacing and the authenticity of location shooting. The film’s violence is not visualized, but it gets the point across and may have set a new trend for assassins without a moral conscience. A Billy May jazz score also provides the right amount of kick when needed. Why this popular poster has three people in the crosshairs who are not targeted is at the very least misleading.

Henry Silva carries this film, in the early stages of his typecast career—he was even intimidating as a mobster in the Jerry Lewis comedy, Cinderfella. Silva’s emotionally detached persona advanced the type to a higher violent quotient by the late Twentieth Century. At certain angles or lighting, his facial structure may appear as though he had reconstructive surgery after a serious face plant. His eyes seemingly lack any iris, just giant pupils.

Elizabeth Montgomery is believable in an emotionally difficult, roller-coaster role. Witnessing Silva easily dispense with an obnoxious bar patron in a nightclub, she is instantly attracted to the button-eyed Silva in the worst way. Her boredom is quelled by his mysterious aura. His persona overpowers all her discernment. She is all-in for Silva. Danger is always teasingly attractive to Hollywood. 

Marc Lawrence is riveting during the opening scenes, thanks, in part, to years of portraying movie gangsters. As an exiled American gangster (the original Johnny Cool) living in Sicily, he has bigger plans for Silva than the local mercenary he has become. A look-alike is killed in Silva’s place so Lawrence can reinvent him for the American market as the oxymoron “cultured assassin.” He wants Silva to take out each former associate residing in America. Lawrence has equipped him with a detailed history of all things underworld. Silva 2.0 has memorized it all. He removes his mismatched costume beard and takes the name of Lawrence’s character, eventually gaining the modified moniker, the film’s title. After establishing himself in New York City, his next “take-out order” sends him to Las Vegas.

Silva infiltrates a Vegas crap game with no real relevance to the plot. Sammy Davis, Jr. (as "Educated") wears an eye patch similar to the one he used for a while after his 1954 injury. In real life, long since fitted with a glass eye, he uses the patch here as a subtle comedic prop. Davis has a knack for rolling winning numbers. After a few winning rolls in a row, his nervousness demands he lift his eye patch—since Silva is holding a gun to his head—just to make sure he is still using the same die. Another Vegas heritage connection, comedian Joey Bishop, takes an amusing turn as a fast-talking Los Angeles used car shyster who prevents Montgomery from getting a word in edgewise during her purchase.

Montgomery is seriously abused by two thugs posing as police officers. The originally filmed violent assault ended on the editing floor for 1963 audiences. Sliva crosses their path after they exit their vehicle in town. With their laughter and exchanged words, Silva makes a miraculous assumption that she is the subject of their "fun." After checking on her, he returns to the duo's car and knifes them both. Back to his "to-die list," ruthless casino owner John McGiver, is up next. Also not leaving the room is his confidence man, the then-popular comedic pundit, Mort Saul. He provides an eye-opener for the hitman. He calmly informs Silva that Lawrence is using him like he was used. Murder's delivery boy. Unemotional Saul is aware he faces eternity by the trigger finger of an embarrassed and angry Silva. Jim Backus plays an unethical contractor whose day is permanently cut short with a briefcase mix-up. When off camera, leaving a scene, Backus provides his "Mr. Magoo" laugh. I am not sure why, other than the cartoon was popular at the time. Very silly.

Then there is an amusing “filler” scene involving a Vegas tour bus driver. The local police are looking for a suspicious passenger, one of several lined up outside the bus. Silva, who already “confessed” his religious views against gambling to the driver, is in a flowery tourist shirt with three cameras around his neck. Looking down the line, the police are convinced by the bus driver that Silva could not possibly be wanted for anything. Just look at him. A guy in line with a cowboy hat is bragging to Silva about the money he won, exclaiming, “Boy, I murdered ‘em!” He asks how Silva did, and he blandly replies, “I did all right.” It is the cowboy who gets yanked out of line. 

Silva and Montgomery are off to Los Angeles, where she learns his background, which does not faze her much. She is the getaway driver for Silva’s latest hit on an oil baron, Brad Dexter, treading water in his pool. With her convertible idling atop an overlook, she hears an explosion, and then she and her windshield become spotted with blobs of chlorine water in a rather creepy moment. They drive away, and she attempts to process all of Silva's detailed instructions about doing ordinary things until her time comes to reconnect with him back in New York City. She goes to a hair salon and pulls up curbside. It is clear she has issues with parallel parking. Upon exiting the salon, she noticed a patrol officer looking over her 1962 Ford parked at nearly a fifty-five-degree angle. Guessing “what would Cool do,” she abandons the car. This is a big error. She will never know the officer was only giving her a ticket for an expired parking meter. A second officer hits pay dirt by discovering fragmented pieces in the car's interior, typical of a homemade bomb. 

Silva's killing efficiency may be hard to believe, but JC is also an expert con artist. Posing as a photojournalist on assignment, he uses a motorized outdoor window washing system to inch his way up to the upper-floor skyscraper office of Telly Savalas, a New York mobster kingpin. In what would otherwise be a comedic parody scene, Savalas turns to see Silva’s head slowly rising outside his window. As surprising as this is, the only thing concerning him is the rifle pointed in his direction. Edited out, smartly, is Silva's slow getaway descent.

Joining friends for a Newport Beach yacht party, Montgomery finally has a reality check. Though still disturbingly attracted to Silva, she realizes he is a despicable human. She reveals Silva's location, and the East Coast “brotherhood” puts him in a straitjacket and then explains in very specific detail how his life will slowly and painfully end. Not so cool, Johnny.

Notes: James Van Heusen wrote a nearly incoherent title song as if Sammy Davis Jr.—totally without blame—was making up the song on the spot. A perpetual motion tune with rambling lyrics by, sorry to say, Sammy Cahn, who seems to have written too many words for Van Heusen's given notes. 

Finally, there is a mystery involving an FBI agent, played by Douglas Henderson (above), with only one tinted eyeglass lens. We have already seen Davis with an eye patch. Now this. It would be strange that the director would suggest this. It is not explained. I chalk it up to another quirk of the film. 

HIGHWAY DRAGNET (1954)

One cannot assess vintage movies with a Twenty-First Century mindset. Understanding the era in which the film was made is only fair. Otherwise, a review could mostly be negative simply because it is "old-fashioned." Truthfully, many B-movies illicit some implausibilities and unintentional humor from when audiences were more gullible. Likewise, some modern movies still utilize an implausible script despite any perceived realism on screen. Allied Artists signed off on this slightly above-average production. There are numerous tell-tale clichés that indicate Roger Corman co-wrote the script. The whole premise is predictable with little singled out that might be construed as creative. However, thanks to adequate casting and the authenticity of being filmed on location, it should hold your attention. The ominous opening notes of the theme music by Edward Kay resemble numerous crime dramas of the era. The opening bars of the melody are sort of a minor key macabre version of the “Laura” movie theme's first notes, turned inside-out. Naturally, Richard Conte is commendable. A fine actor who may have simply needed a better agent. He plays a recently released Korean War veteran who visits Las Vegas, where whatever happens in Vegas stays with Conte.

Conte meets Mary Beth Hughes, whose character used to be somebody. Half drunk, she misinterprets Conte's badly versed compliment and loudly demands an apology because he hurt her feelings. It happens all the time today. While hitchhiking his way out of town, he is arrested and brought back for questioning by Reed “Joe White Eagle” Hadley. Hughes has been murdered and there were plenty of witnesses who jumped to conclusions about what may have happened. Conte can take refuge in the fact that there is no social media yet. He is hot under the collar and, after a few probing questions, stereotypically slugs Hadley, holds his deputies at gunpoint, shoots one patrol car tire flat, then steals the other Nash patrol car. These self-inflicted bits rack up a lot of violations.

He helps two stranded motorists get their car started and expects to get a ride as thanks. As a professional photographer, Joan Bennett is cool to the idea, but her young assistant, Wanda Hendrix, would like to have a hunk along. Bennett's expression while riding in the convertible looks like she smells roadkill. Perhaps her upper lip is overloaded with lipstick or she is just disgusted by life in general. Her esses and “r” pronunciations are Barbara Walters-lite. I digress. Conte tries to fake his persona, but the ladies are suspicious. They try to leave him behind at a diner, except the car keys are dangling from Conte's hand. He is not much for small talk after this.

Much of the “excitement” is typically resolved with clichéd staging. These scenes make up the bulk of the film. Getting through a sweat-inducing roadblock or stealing a car that happens to have the keys in the visor, to name only two. Perhaps the most preposterous is when Conte commands a delivery driver at gunpoint to move his ice cream truck across the highway to block the chasing police. Not a fan of round tires, he shoots them flat. Not as flat as the surrounding desert terrain, yet Joe White Eagle cannot go around the truck. Apparently, because of a dust danger. He is completely bamboozled. If you have not laughed or cringed by now, the ending should do it.

Conte has inherited from his family a house on coastal waters that is dry when the tide is out and when the tide is in, every room has its own wading pool. A family heirloom. It is his final hope to connect with a fellow veteran, his only alibi on the night of Hughes' murder. Hadley—he finally had the courage to go around that truck—arrives to take a Bennett bullet in the shoulder, yet he treats it like a mere BB gun hit, rubbing the wound with his fingers. “Gee Willikers, that stings.” Conte chasing Bennett in apparent slow motion through knee-deep water is...well...not as funny as Bennett, in a near panic of drowning in waist-deep water, with her arms held up as if preparing to signal an NFL field goal. It makes for a silly but revealing ending befitting this effort to produce a film that has not stood the test of time.

Note: Once again, ignore the poster's enticing content. The Art Director must have gotten an earful about selling a dull film. Conte is not a “thrill-killer,” nor do we witness any female attempting to be strangled. The cast never drove a Kaiser Manhattan, either, about to burst through a roadblock.

THE LAS VEGAS STORY (1952)

Howard Hughes puts his trademarks on this eighty-eight-minute RKO Radio Pictures film, what with the flying sequences and microscopic closeups of his leading lady. A hardly unknown film, it lost money at the box office. However, with the pairing of Victor Mature and Jane Russell, it is hard to ignore. Despite some inferior projects, Mature never embarrassed himself. He is his usual flawless self, yet his co-star, Vincent Price, takes a back seat to no one. Throw in Hoagy Carmichael and you have the potential for fine entertainment. It was directed by Robert Stevenson and required the trio of Robert Sparks, Howard Hughes, and Samuel Bischoff to produce it.

With similar “dangerous” facial features, testy pout, and a noteworthy sneer, Russell may remind one of the female Elvis. She could hardly be called flat except for her adequate acting and one-dimensional delivery here. Her eyes are generally expressionless and her potentially witty comebacks are not as pointed as in the superior, His Kind of Woman, a year earlier, with Robert Mitchum. Nonetheless, she had one of the most beautiful smiles in Hollywood. But lately, those smiles only happen when she is around Happy, played by Carmichael, the casino pianist. Thanks to his delivery, he lightens the film considerably, if not frequently. His opening narration sets up the background for the film's stars. Hoagy's folksy tone of a “country cool cat” is endearing. He performs an early “rap” song, “The Monkey Song.” The difference with his rap is that he uses an actual melody. The 1938 song, “I Get Along Without You Very Well” is reused for this film. Russell is filmed only from the waist up while singing, providing another comparison to Elvis. But with Hughe's opposite intentions.

Russell's husband, Price, insists on vacationing in Las Vegas, determined to play the tables in hopes of winning enough to pay his debts. He is decidedly a character with selfish motives. Russell preferred a flight anywhere else from fears of running into her old flame, Mature, now a lieutenant with the Sheriff's Department. Throughout most of the film, he and Russell get along without each other very well due to their parting years before, the result of poor communication skills. Russell's 100 grand necklace becomes Price's gambling collateral with the casino owner attempting to secure it. Getting off the same flight as the newlyweds is "Mr. Smarmy" himself, Brad Dexter. He has been assigned by his insurance company to watch Price and Russell's neckli...uh...necklace. Dexter slimes into the dark side about halfway through the film.

The climax, filmed at the former Tonopah Army Airfield, was the first car and helicopter chase sequence in a movie. Flying twice through an open hanger was a groundbreaking sequence and I imagine amazed the audience. Dexter's useless driving around in circles in his attempt to evade the helicopter is pretty silly. The foot chase between him and Mature is a high-wind final confrontation yet typical of the era. Price is no longer a murder suspect but is found guilty of embezzlement to please the audience. An appropriate wrap to the film. But wait. It is not quite over. After two murders, theft, and an extended chase scene, one might not expect to have another song thrown in. Written for this film and Mature's character, “My Resistance Is Low” is an okay Carmichael song but hard to sit through because of Russell's syrupy delivery and slurred esses. I digress. There will be divorce papers to sign and assuming they can keep their personal blowups restrained, Russell and Mature may roll the dice one more time. Viva Las Vegas!