THREE BAD SISTERS (1956)

Those familiar with John Bromfield’s career, a real-life fitness enthusiast and hunky blend of Rory Calhoun and Steve Cochran, know that his previous Bel-Air Productions, Crime Against Joe, and The Big Bluff, the latter of which ranks on the same scale as this film. Arguably, his best of the bunch is Hot Cars, released the same year as this film. United Artists released this film, which was directed by Gilbert Kay and produced by Howard W. Koch. Again, Paul Dunlap provides Bel-Air’s music score.

Bromfield is questioned in a courthouse interrogation room about what happened when his small plane crashed, killing his passenger, a wealthy tycoon. Bromfield survived without a scratch. A civil aeronautics rep is not very civil, accusing him of orchestrating the crash—not an easy thing to pull off. The dead tycoon leaves his fortune to three daughters, two of whom are disturbed. So this seventy-six-minute film’s title may be most misleading. I submit two alternative titles, “One Out of Three Ain’t Bad” or simply, “The Sisters of Annoyance Manor.”

The conniving middle sister is Kathleen Hughes, at times attempting a coy Monroe vocal interpretation. Her robotic smile, accompanied by verbal venom, gets increasingly creepy as her eyes grow larger, all Adam Schiff-like. She wants the other two-thirds of the estate and bribes Bromfield with a substantial amount to keep his murder slate clean. She also wants him to lather on the charm for the firstborn, Sara Shane, executrix of their father's estate, in the hopes she will not marry their father’s attorney. Shane is the only sister with a conscience, but not the only one with psychological issues.

Standing in a bathing suit, Shane's inner thoughts try to conjure up the courage to dive from a rocky cliff into raging waves among rocks over a hundred feet below. Apparently, a summer challenge among the sisters. Surprising every viewer, the pilot grabs her from behind and says it would be a shame to damage such a lovely fuselage. The scene changes to the interior of the cliff-side mansion, where the youngest sister, Marla English, introduces herself to Bromfield as any seductive tart might. She is annoying to all the characters in the film. Later, along with the females in the audience, she gets a glimpse of the hunk using an electric razor—without a shirt. He never shaves his chest, though. Bromfield, a , does a lap in the pool and then comes out drenched. It is that kind of film.

An additional annoyance is a snippy aunt, who thinks Bromfield is a liar, taking advantage of the sisters one by one, and that her brother would never have committed airplane suicide. Where she gathered that idea, I do not know, since social media was in the far distant future. She does have a knack for eavesdropping on the telephone with subsequent misinterpretations. Things get a bit uncomfortable as the family, plus the attorney, sit around the mansion lounge waiting for Auntie to pounce on Bromfield with accusations. Pouncing. Also, one of English’s favorite pastimes.

At about this point, Hughes’ character takes the annoyance factor to a whole new level with lies and syrupy, fake sincerity. Her jealousy and demented behavior drive her to beat English across the face with a riding whip, eliminating her from any Bromfield competition. Naturally, the instinctive thing to do after a good whippin’ is go for a high-speed drive. Not sure the purpose or how they could possibly help, Bromfield and Hughes dash to another car to pursue—at one point going off-road, circumnavigating a tree. I hope the stunt drivers were well-paid for their work. English no longer has any purpose in living. Her shallowness had few boundaries.

Back at “Annoyance Manor,” thick-headed Auntie has a bullet waiting for Bromfield, but he grabs the gun from the old bat. He and Shane leave the mansion and head to the airport. He tells her the whole truth about the accident and that the monetary “contract” the tycoon offered him was a huge Hughes forgery. He confesses his love for her and charts a course to the “wedding capital” of the West. Yuma, Arizona? Bromfield turns out to be everything contrary to Auntie’s stubborn thinking and becomes the most sensible executor of the estate. She still hates him. I suspect he will close off the mansion’s third floor with a separate outside entrance for the aunt.

A STRANGE ADVENTURE (1956)

A decade before this film's release, William Witney was directing Republic Pictures cowboy serials, so he may have felt at home in the mountain setting of “Suspended Disbelief,” my alternate title for this film. The official title works. It is every bit that. It comes off, at times, like a filmed stage play with everyone knowing their cues and what expression to provide. The opening score is appropriate...if it were a soap opera. The score may also burst onto a scene without warning. Some abrupt edits give the impression that the film reel may have broken and been spliced together. This actually complements the film’s pacing.

An apparent “upper teen,” the twenty-three-year-old Ben Cooper (speaking of Westerns) assists his mom in running her mountain motel. His hobby is a souped-up 1939 Mercury coupe for which he is always in tinkering mode. His other tinkering hobby is gawking at the visiting Marla English, poolside. Her intentions are rather obvious, except to Cooper, who plays it cool like a naive high-school senior. She says she is a nightclub singer—we have no evidence of this—and completing her trio are Jan Merlin (known for many despicable characters) and Nick Adams. I am not sure how much the boy really knows about cars after these two arrive in a new Lincoln. He is "gosh-darned" impressed and heard it will do zero to sixty in six seconds. Even Road&Track found this hard to believe.

Cooper is pretty suspicious of these two after noticing that the Lincoln is actually registered to Woody Wilson, the trio's "booking agent." He is supposed to arrive at a later hour, but Cooper informs English that the newspapers say he has escaped from a midwestern jail. Golly! She is “shocked” and cannot figure that one out. Her real shock is suspecting Woody knows Merlin double-crossed him. Cooper soon discovers the trio’s new gig: an armored car robbery. He is pressured into driving his “faster than a Lincoln” hot rod as the getaway vehicle. I will say, the stunt driving convinced me of its custom nature. Nothing phony about the speeds or cornering up the mountain roads. The actual car was somewhat of a celebrity, a genuine early Fifties customized model completed some two years prior. I digress. The robbery should move that fast because Woody is in town! While English gazes at the blurred flora and fauna up the mountain, she gets something in her eye. After they stop, she tells Cooper, “I think a pebble hit my eye.” The only thing funnier would have been using the word “rock” instead. I think an ophthalmologist is needed. With all the talk and fear of Woody, I looked forward to seeing the actor. But the role was never cast.

Merlin’s character is certainly dangerous. A momentary wise mastermind and a man-child prone to temper tantrums. Things do not always pan out like he thinks they should. So frustrated, he takes it out on whoever is nearby with bursts of angry yelling, using a gun for gesturing. After the robbery, a contrived radio broadcast centers on the lighter side of the news. The amused newscaster mentions Cooper’s mother (startled, he blurts out, “Mom!”). She figures her son eloped with that 'swimming pool Delilah. Everyone in the car has a good laugh at the son's expense.

Merlin demands Cooper take a particular turn off the main highway. They come to a halt. Merlin yells, “It’s a dead-end!” The “Road Closed until Spring” sign should have been an earlier clue. The entire cast is now at an electric company’s weather reporting station, which is about to experience its first big snowfall of the season. No one in or out for six months. Merlin’s brilliance tells him this will be the ideal hiding place. Six months without anyone ever making contact with the station and stretching the food supply for two to five. Suspended disbelief at its essence. The station is run by a brother and sister team of Peter Miller and Joan Evans. For some unknown reason, Evans falls head over heels for Cooper. She knew him for his weekend races, but they had never met. He is on the same page. More tinkering. There is plenty of acting silliness until Miller purposely destroys the communications radio. With communication down, a ranger in a snow tracker heads in their direction.

The final scene is a most rushed segment, as if the director had to say, “Cut. That’s a wrap!” at the seventy-minute mark, no matter what he had intended to film. With no time left to properly resolve the film, the viewer has to settle on another radio broadcast from the car Cooper, Evans, and Miller are traveling in. 

Note: Nick Adams brings an early comedic note to the film as a guy with sinus woes due to the higher elevation. Merlin is intolerant of his constant sniffles, yelling, or throwing things at him like a child. With his black shirt, white tie, and white suspenders, Adams looks like he is part of a clichéd comedic gangster skit. He is a funny sight, later, with a “scarf” under his fedora, tied under his chin, to keep warm. But his I.Q. is a bit higher than “Merlin the Yeller” and outwits him by incrementally depositing all the loot in a "snow bank," exchanging pine cones for the money inside the bag. Neither Merlin nor English could figure out why the money turned hard and lumpy. Must be the altitude.

SHIELD FOR MURDER (1954)

This United Artists release is a standard film noir, and there is hardly a dull moment, starting with an attention-grabbing opening. Directed by Edmond O’Brien and Howard Koch, the latter may have obliged the star to take top credit. The music score by Paul Dunlap is used sparingly and only when effective. Much like an episode of television’s Columbo, there is no surprise who is guilty of murder after the opening scene. What is unknown is how O’Brien, a sixteen-year police detective with a volatile nature, is finally brought to justice. Do not be too surprised by O'Brien's occasional overacting. It sometimes reflects badly on an otherwise versatile actor. His character may raise a viewer's blood pressure.

O'Brien covers up his deed, suggesting it was a justified but errant shooting. No one bothered to check his revolver's chamber. It would have indicated he shot three bullets, not the two, heard by passersby. Never bothered to check the distance the fatal bullet entered the deceased, either. But I digress. His false scenario could almost be legit, but for his lifting of twenty-five grand from a well-known bookie’s coat. The money hounds him throughout the film. In between the hounding, Hollywood once again portrays a male being tempted to do whatever it takes to make his girl and himself happy. Marla English is the girl employed at a nightclub. A job O'Brien loathes as she's being ogled by male patrons nightly. The loot may be his ticket to “untrue” happiness. In hopes of buying a particular home under construction for the two of them, he buries the bag of cash in his personal “dirt vault” near the foundation.

A seasoned police reporter, Herbert Butterfield, hangs around the squad room in hopes of a Pulitzer on O'Brien. He was quite pessimistic about that opening scene. O’Brien’s young partner, John Agar, refuses to believe it. O’Brien is something of a hero to him, helping turn his own wayward youth in the right direction. However, building a new house on a policeman’s salary sets off an internal siren.

Notorious bookmaker boss, Hugh Sanders wants his twenty-five grand “investment money” back and hires two private detective goons to tail O'Brien. The script gives private detectives some bad press as these two usually beat the truth out of a suspect. O'Brien is one recipient. This police hatred for private investigators was no help to Jim Rockford twenty years later. Their final shootout in a crowded indoor swimming pool set several lap records for some swimmers. Bullets flying between them—both lousy shots—with little regard for the patrons. One swimmer, prostrate on a high dive, hesitates, then decides to dive in between bullets. And they call it a health club!

Though no surprise to the viewer, there was a witness in that opening scene. What is a surprise is that the screenplay cleverly makes the witness unable to hear or speak, demanding he write down what he saw. O’Brien is the first to read the small note. Bummer. Later, he pays the old gentleman a visit to confirm the note's assertions and close a loose end. Unknown to him, the man left a master copy of his police note in his notebook. Agar finds it and plans to arrest his partner, who nearly pulls the trigger on Agar. It is at this point the viewer has confirmation that O’Brien needs serious psychological counseling. He maniacally attempts to retrieve the cash from his dirt vault after the usual high-speed night chase. He turns around with his bag of loot to face a row of headlights. Losing all reasoning, O’Brien opens fire. What he receives in return is undeniably over-the-top.

Note: As Hollywood's typical lonely woman at a bar counter, Carolyn Jones has a couple of scenes with O’Brien, though he is not good company. She could not care less. At least he is company. After they kiss, he notices an obvious large bruise on her upper right arm. He asks her where she got it. “From somebody, I guess,” she says unconcerned. “Besides, it doesn't hurt.”