HOT SUMMER NIGHT (1957)

 

There is some intrigue at the beginning of this film as bank robbers coerce a bank executive from his home at night to open the vault. Overall, it is a decent film, helped enormously by veteran actors. The film stumbles during a slow-motion, dimly-lit getaway through a most obvious studio set with "studio dirt" heavily applied to a station wagon. There is zero realism in the scene that is sprinkled with extras as obvious as shadows on a sunny day. In his small, fading hometown, Robert Wilke has become somewhat of a local hero, giving his illegal gains to support the town where he sees fit. The townsfolk are very protective of him—out of fear.

The recently fired newspaper reporter, Leslie Nielson, sees the news article about a local robbery and develops a plan—put his honeymoon on hold while he gets a scoop on Wilke's former girlfriend. Nielson's past article helped free her from his dominance, but everyone in town is tight-lipped about her whereabouts. Never mind about his wife, Colleen Miller, for marrying a guy without a job or mindlessly accepting her husband's decision for this dangerous career booster. He is vague about his plan, only telling her that a honeymoon is forthcoming. Probably.

Wilke's ego is stroked with anticipation of a grand story about himself. He is eerily cordial to the reporter as his skeptical gang is not sure whether he might order Nielson shot from across the table. In a powerfully tense scene, before the interview starts, Wilke sets the table by verbally flattening his skittish partner, Paul Richards, like a placemat—insulting his panic attack that ruined a previous robbery. Richards is seething with rage but has not yet decided how to retaliate. Their friendship has run its course. Nielson ultimately gets a story, but not the one he intended.

Most will note the familiar television lead actors in this unknown crime film, a film suggesting it has noir roots. A volunteer gang member, James Best, opens the film with his usual good old country boy flavor. He praises Wilke for his morale boost to the town. Nielson is adequate as a one-dimensional character. He was much “bigger” on the small screen during his dramatic era. Miller's career was sparse, as is her emotional range here. She is the weak link in the cast. The standout in the film, the aforementioned Richards, is the mentally unpredictable polar opposite of venerable film actor Jay C. Flippen, the level-headed veteran of the gang. Filming never attempts to capture Richards' menacing, aloof stare that was somewhat of his trademark in sinister roles. But what he does in wide-eyed pleasure about halfway into the film gets everyone's attention. It is the only shocking moment in this dialogue-heavy film. The genuine article is Edward Andrews, inhabiting his character as a sweaty sheriff.

This is probably the only film with two actors of the opposite sex named Leslie. For her uncredited role, Leslie Parrish plays an undefined character sitting on the floor, oddly clinging to Richards' leg in total devotion. IMBD dot com, for one, incorrectly identifies Parrish, giving her two different actresses' names.

Note: Directed by David Friedkin, this eighty-six-minute film did not return a profit. It would appear to be a television production with its low budget, flat camera work by Harold J. Marzorati, and highly visible actors of the period. The music is by André Previn, but the score remains, for the most part, anonymous. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer distributed the film. Today, it might be considered a lost treasure by younger viewers, not realizing Nielson did anything else but Lt. Frank Drebin.

NIGHT TRAIN TO PARIS (1964)

Ending in an appropriate sixty-five minutes, this film’s lackluster direction by actor Robert Douglas never becomes an exciting espionage yarn, hinting that he should stay in the television medium where he was best suited to direct. The repeated filming of the same sequences only lengthens the film. He uses a momentary rocking camera motion only for the train’s first interior filming to my annoyance. An opening jazz score by the modest British composer, Kenny Graham, assumes a treat ahead as if to mimic Henry Mancini. The underlying cartoon train graphic—I expected the Pink Panther as the engineer—shaves any dangerous edges off the film. So one might anticipate a little humor, and that is all one gets. Unlike a secure day train, only on a night train does one experience death. Filmed by Shepperton Studios in London, it was released by Twentieth Century Fox. It assumes a cool caper television pilot that the networks passed on.

The excitement begins and ends with two men exchanging wrapped deli sandwiches...er...a reel tape and cash at a phone booth. The guy with the cash never makes it home. The other guy retains a fake reel as a deception. The scene shifts to the office of an airline travel agency and its public relations man, Leslie Nielsen, a former intelligence officer in the OSS. He is charming and flippant, but not convincing, whether serious or comedic. Squeezing laughs out of an unfunny script by Harry Spalding is not easy. At this stage in his career, Nielsen is not a notable star, yet the average television viewer in America at the time would recognize his face if not his name. For any fan of Nielsen's comedic career crescendo, it may be difficult to entirely remove him from his Lt. Frank Drebin character. 

Arriving at his office in a modest tribute to the hairstyle of the bride of Frankenstein's creation is Alizia Gur in all her exotic allure. A frequent guest star on many American television shows during the period, her acting has not matured since her single Bond film appearance. She arranges a meeting between Nielson and Hugh Latimer—credited as playing Jules Lemoine—a fellow OSS officer who wants his pal off to Paris for a secret mission to deliver the (real) tape containing defense information. But Latimer's fake reel becomes his fatal drawback. Upon discovering his body, Nielson gathers unknown material from his apartment for a tedious waste of film. Without any music score, it seems even longer.

Nielson poses as an assistant to a professional photographer, and to further the gambit, they take along two models, one of whom turns out to be an impostor. Gur fills in as a third model. But even before packing for the special New Year’s Eve Bear Ski Club train, the photographer is stabbed in the back by the short-spiked end of a ski pole. I might have believed his immediate demise had he been struck in a carotid artery. With Gur as his companion, Nielson arrives at the costume party in a “Groucho Marx” prop—Drebin undercover. By midnight, the party is in full swing with era music and “ants in your pants” dancing.

On board is the large, high-cholesterol Eric Pohlmann, responsible for all the deaths in the film. The ski club has an inebriated bear mascot that interacts with Nielson for no apparent reason. The mascot gets a throttling as well, and after the boat docks, Pohlmann dons the bear costume to the unknowing travel agent. Their confrontation in Dunkirk is pretty silly, but it was not meant to be. He is able to beat the bear costume into submission with repeated blows to the stomach. Meanwhile, Gur’s been busy with her own plan for the tape, and her inept pursuit of Nielson is preposterously dull. Nielson ends the film with a lighthearted, freeze-framed expression in Police Squad fashion.

Notes: Hugh Latimer is credited with playing Jules Lemoine. Adding some confusion, he is introduced to Gur as Georges Freneau. She claimed to be a friend of Lemoine, yet, oddly, she never flinches when his undercover name is mentioned.

Finally, back in the day, a ferry shuttled specialty trains from Great Britain to France across the English Channel. Once docked in Dunkirk, the train would continue on to Paris and Switzerland’s slopes. Despite the film’s title, neither the audience nor the cast ever gets to Paris. Perhaps a more accurate, but less intriguing title, “The Dunkirk Night Ferry.”