CRASH LANDING (1958)

Here is another disaster film about the fear of ever flying again. The double-billed film is based on the 1956 crash landing at sea of a Pan American Airlines Boeing Stratocruiser. The production team failed to garner any technical insights from that event, so the audience might better understand why an emergency landing on water was the best and only option. After an airliner loses numbers one and four engines during a flight from Lisbon—one prop cannot be feathered, causing drag to make New York risky—the infamous, overbearing flight commander flashes back before take off for the answer. He questions how this could ever happen to his plane and who or what is to blame. He learns little. The pilot is too busy preparing to crash land.

This film is consumed about preparations for a belly landing on water, and the flight is also my focus, not on the ticket-holders. The miscellaneous mix of passengers is B-movie and unknown television actors, representing a small cross-section of humanity with their own problems, guilts, and fears. Standard fare for nearly every flight disaster film before and since. One passenger, however, literally stands out at 6' 7”. The Orthodox priest with the foot-long beard is played by Frederick Ledebur. He was indelibly etched in viewer's minds as the spooky, heavily tattooed chief harpooner, Queequeg, in Moby Dick (1956).

Gary Merrill is equally in command of the film. Everyone is pale by comparison. Merrill was somewhat of a master at portraying stiff upper lip, hard-lined characters. A by-the-book guy where compromise is not an option. These are good qualities for a seasoned aircraft commander, but not the best for a flexible home environment. Notable co-stars are brief appearances by Nancy (Reagan) Davis, in her last film, as the wife, and an uncredited Kim Charney (Suddenly 1955), as the son who walks on eggshells around “Mr. Father.” Roger Smith gained fame in the cast of television's 77 Sunset Strip. He plays the co-pilot who locks eyes and lips with a stewardess.

Though I am not qualified to address the myriad of expected technical errors in this film about actual flying, I do know that when an engine fails in flight, it does not shake the plane so violently it would remove a crewmember's dentures. These scenes are hilarious. In addition, passengers moving to one side of the plane will not cause the plane to "tip over" as if in a rowboat. Nor would there be anything left of the airframe at the suggested high airspeed at the point of impact. The model bouncing on the water is obviously a different aircraft, the US Navy's proposed Lockheed Constitution. These flaws are characteristic of a cheap, quick production where accuracy takes a back seat to terror (such as it is). Finally, though the tail on the Douglas airliner is painted to represent a DC-7, the plane is actually a DC-6 series.

Merrill's instant transformation during the rapid closing indicates his life was forever altered by the harrowing experience. With over 15,000 flight hours, his first ditching at sea. A ship returns him to his family in Lisbon as a “Softer Father.” He wants his son to drop the “Sir” and just call him “Your Majesty.” Wait. That is no transformation. Just call him dad.

Note: The seventy-six-minute film was distributed by Columbia Pictures Corporation and directed by Fred F. Sears, well known for his rapid style, churning out countless tiny budgeted films. His opening narration is effective, however, in setting the film's premise. Filming was "in the can" in ten days. Crash Landing was written by Fred Freiberger and produced by Sam Katzman, who had a knack for turning a profit out of nothing. This film was to be released one year earlier, but was delayed because of Sears' sudden death.

THE BIG CHASE (1954)

The opening score beneath the title credits and Los Angeles highway footage sounds like music for a 1940s Lon Chaney Jr. horror film—ironically a supporting player in this film. The rest of the music would fit an old action serial. Few films are more aptly titled, as about one-third of the movie is a climactic chase sequence that flits from car to rowboat to motorboat to helicopter, and to dress shoes.

Such as it is, the plot concerns a police officer, his expectant wife, and criminals out to steal a payroll truck. Starring again for Lippert Pictures are actors past their career peaks, Glenn Langan, Adele Jergens, and Jim Davis. The opening amateurish dialogue between the police lieutenant, Douglas “B-movie” Kennedy, and reporter Joe Flynn (in a thankless role) is a weak spot, yet the other unknown supporting actors think their own dialogue is not only important but terrific. As recalled by Kennedy to Flynn, it sets up a backstory about Langan and Jergens (in a role against type) back to his graduation from the police academy and the following months on the force. Kennedy is very supportive of the expectant couple and, as a point of encouragement, visits them periodically. Their dialogue is also clichéd. By the way, Kennedy and Flynn wrap up the film in a hokey style.

Aside from some good location filming on land and sea, there are some cheap high school drama sets during the early prison scenes. A potential riot stirs up the acting extras as they pound their tin cups on a table in front of a blank, "cardboard" wall. Making it laughable are extras casually “photo-bombing” in front of the main actors in slow motion in the prison yard. Jim Davis plays a hardened criminal planning a big breakout. This is the last we hear about that (plot hole number one). Instead, he is released from prison and is looking to reconnect with his wife and a couple of prison pals for a payroll robbery. As the chase begins, the trailing police attempt to shoot someone or something in the convertible getaway car while on the freeway. Davis’s wife is assumed to be shot dead, and he takes the wheel to steer the car. Somehow, he manages to bring the car to a stop. In a surprisingly despicable act, more in tune with movies twenty years into the future, the guys push her from the car and over a cliff. Catch you later, babe! 

Then sit back for an “editing festival” as scenes jump from one location or automobile in a matter of seconds. The railroad yard sequence appears to wrap up the chase after Chaney is shot multiple times, and the music fades. I was wrong. The two remaining criminals are now on foot to an awaiting rowboat to Mexico. Amazingly, they trade their rowboat for a motorboat abandoned in open water. In an impressive supporting performance, a Nash Ambassador patrol car comes in hot, skidding at an angle toward the camera next to a waiting police helicopter. Langan misses his child's birth as the chase continues—in Florsheims.

Note: In contrast to this movie's lead, Robert L. Lippert Senior was probably present at his son's birth. It appears Junior picked up some of his father's traits. Number six of seven in his producing career, this film is by no means horrible. The film was directed by Arthur Hilton, and taking full responsibility for the mundane dialogue is the writing team of Fred Freiberger and the uncredited (by request?) Orville Hampton. The 3-D footage will have no relevance today, but it was thrust upon the viewer willy-nilly during the big chase. The producer edited that footage into this film from his film short, Bandit Island (1953). The twenty-five-minute short had no dialogue. Probably a wise choice. The above poster appears to promote Bandit Island with an overlaying poster.

FRIGHT (1956)

This gullible talk-fest with a sleep-inducing pace and a puzzling title was directed and produced by W. Lee Wilder, the younger B-movie brother of Billy, who turns out another questionable production in his nearly forgotten career, one of six films for Planet Filmplays. His son, Myles Wilder, penned the original story and screenplay, which addresses hypnotism and reincarnation. The future comedy writer could have had a lot of fun with this film two decades later. These sixty-eight minutes were distributed by Exploitation Productions, a credit that does make some sense. The only thing alluding to fright is the use of a Theremin as it oscillates its way into the anonymous score by Lew Davies in his first and final film. Putting aside the disjointed opening score, the cinematography in the opening sequence suggests an exciting crime drama as the authorities chase a murderer. Savor these first three minutes or so. After this, any fright—other than that lady in the poster—comes to a grinding halt.

Through long-distance hypnosis and simple word associations with an escaped murderer, Frank Marth, psychiatrist Eric Fleming is able to prevent his plunge into the East River from the Queensboro Bridge. Accomplished over a distance of about five city blocks thanks to a microphone, speakers, and a searchlight burning Marth's retinas. In the gathering crowd is Nancy Malone, whose indirect hypnosis provides Fleming another opportunity to perform his magic. After a few consultations, he unveils her belief that she is the reincarnated spirit of a Baroness. The moviegoer suffers through her dual personality. Likewise, the non-charismatic Fleming has a dual-acting personality—credible one moment, then lackluster and stiff—indicating his inexperience in this, his second feature film. Malone does not burn up any film frames either, as both seem to be in the midst of a final rehearsal. I suspect Wilder shares a chunk of responsibility for this.

Malone could be nuts, but she is not joking. Her subconscious is taken over by the long-dead Baroness—as the legend goes—who had an affair with a Crown Prince. Not exactly undying love; they made a vow to die together rather than live apart. Fleming wants the genuine Malone back for himself, and since “Mithter Marth” is scheduled to be executed anyway, he hypnotizes him to play the Crown Prince. The film's convoluted journey preposterously concludes by reuniting the imaginary lovers one last time. The Crown Prince of Marth is expected to shoot—with what sounds like a cap gun—Baroness Malone. Her reincarnated self falls to the floor, releasing the hold on her, and the genuine Marth is quickly ushered back to his cell. It takes a death row murderer to get away with a reincarnation killing. I hoped I had been hypnotized by the end, but alas, I woke up entirely on my own.

Note: Some posters made it a point to include under the main cast, “featuring an all-star New York Broadway cast.” Not sure that mattered after the premiere. A bit more significant today is witnessing the beginnings of four future television regulars. Fleming is well known for the popular western, “Rawhide,” though his full potential was never realized due to a fatal freak accident. Malone went on to a prolific television career as an actress, director, and producer. Marth set a non-stop pace in lead and supporting roles. The versatile actor could not be typecast and went on to appear in just about every major American prime-time show during the Sixties and Seventies. Finally, Myles Wilder went on to write for many successful television comedies during the same decades. His father, however, never progressed beyond the hokum in this film.

THE BRAIN THAT WOULDN’T DIE (1962)

Modern commentators amazingly may suggest—in the unrestricted freedom of hindsight—that this film has deeper meanings than what appears on the surface. Yes, it is deep. About ankle-deep. This is bottom-of-the-barrel filmmaking, yet this preposterous result has garnered almost more attention than The Longest Day. William Castle’s thumbprints are assumed on each film's canister yet he did not produce it. In this case, imitation is the lowest form of flattery. This decapitated budget disaster was produced by Rex Carlton and Mort Landberg with direction by Joseph Green, who co-wrote the story with Carlton. Though completed in 1959, this science fiction horror double feature was theatrically released with an inane score three years later by American International Pictures. Europe’s salacious eighty-one-minute version includes gratuitous “naughty bits” with no benefit to a bizarre screenplay. This hardly unknown, seventy-minute version is still a good ten minutes too long.

Television stalwart, Jason (Herb) Evers, in his first leading film role, plays the obligatory mad surgeon who has invented a serum to keep human body parts alive. Mary Shelley was way ahead of him. He and his fianceé, Virginia Leith, are cruising to his country estate in her Mercury convertible. As any insane person might do, his speed increases to a point where the land barge has little chance of negotiating the downhill curves. The cheap, oft-used mounting of a camera on the front bumper’s corner fakes a sense of high speed. One can expect a poorly edited crash at any moment. The three-second, decades-old stock sound effect of screeching tires and metal crunching is used. There is a quick edit of Evers’ silently screaming in horror as the camera lens rapidly rotates. He then perfectly rolls down an embankment (whee!) to find the car exactly where it was positioned. It is a clean decapitation of Leith. Well, I think her head simply popped off. Instinctively, Evers grabs her head thinking he could probably do something with that later.

In his estate’s basement laboratory, Evers keeps Leith’s head wired and tubed for days with an added pair of stylish headphones. The effect of her head on a tray is well done, convincing in a gullible way. Her new existence is sheer agony. Her nose itches. He ignores her pleas. Leith brings a new definition to brain power as she instigates a kinship with an insidious mutant by telepathy—Evers’ early experiment gone awry. It is one of the worst makeup attempts in cinema. I think Evers’ surgery has to garner the blame. One eye is positioned forty-five degrees opposite the other with a head shape that can best be described as a descendant of the Conehead family from the original Saturday Night Live skits. A reference photo of any human may have helped. The mutant’s first sounds of grunting or vomiting are pretty funny. If only he had also farted.

Evers, now with the option of taking Leith’s figure to a whole new level, hunts for a body specimen at a sleazy burlesque club, and a beauty contest, and lusts after girls who “randomly walk cul de sacs.” He settles on a former girlfriend—now a “figure” model—a face reminiscent of Elizabeth Taylor from certain angles. Her hair hides a hideous facial scar from a male attacker. Understandably, she is turned off by men. She can add one more to her list as he drugs her and takes her to his country estate's lab.

Given the ridiculous concept of this film and her lack of body language, Leith's alto voice acting is well done as the head of the table. But Evers has had enough of her constant yapping and puts tape over her mouth. This may work at home but is never successful at stopping telepathy. It is pretty ghastly when Mr. Mutant first tears an arm from a lab assistant and then takes a bite out of Evers' neck, spewing blood—and then some—from his carotid artery. The director, wondering how to possibly end this debacle, sets fire to the lab, as one would expect. Leith ends the film with cryptic nonsense, “I told you to let me die.”

Note: This project ended Virginia Leith’s film career—perhaps out of total embarrassment. Understandably, she refused to return for some post-production recording, so her voice had to be dubbed here and there. The drive to the country estate is the first time her voice is obviously dubbed with a higher vocal register complete with a southern accent—most frequently used is an out-of-place laugh. Actress Doris Brent, the nurse at the beginning of the film, did the honors.

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.