EXPOSED (1947)

This film attests to the low-budget efforts of director George Blair for Republic Pictures. Royal Cole and Charles Moran wrote the tedious, confusing screenplay with an innocuous score by the future’s more important Ernest Gold. There is little need to share details about the plot that concerns an heir to the family fortune, a deceased wealthy businessman, and—no one anticipated this—a possible cure for alcoholism. Drinking in moderation was just too obvious. This routine fifty-nine-minute film involves several intertwined characters, where an extra ten minutes might have helped clarify them better. The deflated ending makes a stab at doing so. Still, one may need to rewind. The film might give the sense that this is just one in a string of entries about a father-daughter crime team. Except this film was one and done.

The spirited twenty-three-year-old Adele Mara brightens up the screen and is about the only reason to make the film. The captivating opening is a good start. She appears to be in jeopardy right from the start while seated in her favorite restaurant. Bob “Chicago” Steele approaches her table, removes his hat, and sits down. Not in the least bit intimidated, she coolly asks him to take his hat off the table because she is allergic to dandruff. The hat hides a gun. He escorts her from the restaurant only to be met by the extra-large William Haade, Mara’s bodyguard. The duo shuts down Steele’s plan, and they motor off. The self-confident beauty is a sassy private investigator in a man’s world. The early scenes establish her character as a savvy woman in total control of all things crime. There are humorous quips written for Mara.

You have seen these father-daughter battles before. Robert Armstrong tries to rein in his daughter for her own safety and lack of experience handling danger. She thinks Dad is old-fashioned. Still, they provide the only energy in this film, as faint as it is. Well, there is a rousing, choreographed fistfight between tall Haade and short Steele of Western stunt fame. Ironically, the distant shots use stunt doubles. Mara is an adept pickpocket as well. While hugging dear old dad, she lifts his badge from the side pocket of his suit, which gives her access to places off-limits to ordinary citizens. Armstrong castigates her for impersonating an officer, with serious jail time being a possible outcome. Recognizing it is his own badge, he hits the proverbial ceiling. Yet the two pool their resources and round up the rest of the cast like so many Agatha Christie films. Everyone gathers—minus the deceased—in one room for the finalé and to expose each one’s motive during the mystery.

Note: Adele Mara, born Adelaide Delgado, churned out film after forgettable film in the Forties. In a Hollywood full of petite, pretty blondes cast in low-budget films, Mara’s career simply ran out of steam. She turned to television in the mid-fifties. She is the older sister of television’s Luis Delgado, a regular on The Rockford Files and Garner’s on-set personal aide for many years. Fortuitously, Mara would marry Roy Huggins in 1952, the man responsible for the Rockford character. 

FILM BRAKE: A SYNDICATED DETECTIVE

 

CORONADO 9 (1960-61)

Suddenly it's 1940! Reminiscent of a twenty-year-old movie premise, this thirty-nine-episode syndicated series, produced by Revue Studios' shoestring budget, starred the popular Republic Pictures Western star, Rod Cameron. The Canadian-born actor played a former United States Navy intelligence officer who is now an always-in-demand private detective in this, his third and final law enforcement series. Business-savvy Cameron figured he would be better served financially by starring in another syndicated series. Producers may have hoped the no-nonsense Cameron would carry the series on the heels of his popular, long-running series, State Trooper. This show possessed nothing unique and even with an ideal time slot on either of the three major network's prime-time schedules, it would not have survived long.

The Navy provided a good pension. The show's title represents his phone exchange in the affluent suburb of San Diego where the iconic Hotel del Coronado got the attention of photographers. Owning the massive slab of Lincoln Continental that got about seven miles per gallon with a tailwind is another tip-off. He may reluctantly take on an investigation being a wee bit tired of dodging bullets, getting beaten up, or not trusting a client's motives.

Cameron's baritone voice provides narration to introduce his assignment—periodically informing the viewer of his progress—and typically wraps an episode to tie up any loose ends. His persona might not solicit Mike Hammer or Philip Marlowe, though one cannot help but like the towering star. A friend one could flawlessly reconnect with no matter how long the separation. Reconnecting with the receiving end of Cameron's fists is another matter. He has a permit to carry them. His stunt double can be quite obvious—ironic in that Cameron used to be one himself—in his younger days. It also explains why he is never winded after an intense fistfight. 

Not to be too harsh, television's number one action man—according to the series promo ads—did have a winning smile and could charm the ladies. He could also be a role model to the local lad looking for summer work swabbing his boat. Aside from the projected background shots, the San Diego filming adds flavor. Several episodes were well-directed and well-paced with a twist or two. But sixty years later, any twist may be untwisted sooner than later by a viewer. Some episodes climaxed with a chase up a stairway or on rare occasions, end with a touch of humor, sometimes at Cameron's expense. The writers generally did a pretty good job in an era of equally talky, and generally boring shows—Peter Gunn or Mr. Lucky come to mind. Coronado 9's first episode is particularly dull due to being filmed almost entirely in the confining space of his sailboat. A fun trivia journey for boomers may be the familiar guest stars, yet Revue's casting net was not wide, hiring actors with limited television credits.

Cameron's stalwart persona was perhaps better suited for holding reins than a steering wheel. The Ford Motor Company appears to have been a sponsor of the show. They were always convertibles because Cameron sat tall in the vinyl. With Cameron's start in Hollywood, his Western-style might be best associated with  Randolph Scott. If possible, imagine stalwart Scott as a modern-day private detective behind the wheel. Do not expect to see automobiles associated with the show's release date as the series began filming in 1958. Do not expect the ubiquitous music to be a signature element—unlike Peter Gunn—any more than the nondescript opening theme as Cameron scans the bay, guessing where he last anchored his boat.

Finally—it can be assumed—due to his Naval Intelligence years, “Dan Adams” had a deep social network that eventually took him from Coronado to strange, exotic locales around the globe as more adventurer than mere detective. Implausibly, it suggests everyone's only crime-solving choice had to be a somewhat weary fifty-year-old P.I. from California.