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 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, 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 shut 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 numerous quips for Mara to deliver.

You have seen these father-daughter battles before. Robert Armstrong tries to reign 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 film 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 gets 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 by 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. Fortuitous in that Mara would marry Roy Huggins in 1952, the man responsible for the Rockford character. 

DOUBLE JEOPARDY (1955)

 

Stoically stiff, yet charmingly handsome, Rod Cameron plays a criminal attorney nearly engaged to Allison Hayes, whose father, a wealthy businessman played by John Litel, thinks highly of Cameron, personally and professionally. Perhaps the director suggested the brunette Hayes lighten her hair. The problem is that she and her equal-billed co-star, Gale Robbins, look similar in their opening scenes, sharing a hairstyle, facial structure, and figure. What separates the two is Robbin’s annoying character, an extremely deceptive and smart-aleck tart. Money is her only interest, not her former wealthy husband, Robert Armstrong. He has not worked in years since serving a prison term for a shady business deal with his former business partner, the aforementioned Litel. He now spends his idle hours consuming alcohol by the quart. That, and blackmailing Litel to keep their secret sealed. Enter problem child, Jack Kelly.

Kelly and Robbins are in a deceptive lust affair. They deserve each other. Kelly is a salesman for “Happy Harry’s” used car dealership. Kelly is as greedy and unethical as they come. Portly Dick Elliott plays Harry, some years away from being a one-term Mayor of Mayberry. At Kelly’s suggestion, Robbins sweet-talks Armstrong into pressuring Litel for a second big payoff. Another dreaded phone call and Litel meets Armstrong on their usual mountain overlook. But Litel has not brought any money, only rendezvousing with the extortionist to say he has had enough. Slime bag Kelly has been watching from afar and after Litel drives away he confronts Armstrong, demanding the assumed money. They argue, then Armstrong gets behind the wheel and attempts to drive off. Outside the passenger side of the car, Kelly appears to impossibly pull Armstrong away from the driver's side in a questionable bit of editing. Suddenly Armstrong's right arm dangles out the passenger side window. The car slowly rolls backward over a cliff. 'Twas the crash that killed the drunken beast.

Based on the specific tire tread pattern of his Rolls-Royce leading to the spot, Litel looks good for the murder. He finally admits his past with Armstrong and their financial deal for new housing development. Investigating on his own, Cameron puts the idea into Robbins' head that Kelly planned to double-cross her and keep the money himself. The two “love doves” drive to the scene of Armstrong’s demise to get the invisible money. Kelly's only plan is to silence loose lips.

This drama was produced by Rudy Ralston and written by Don Martin for Republic Pictures. The veteran of many Republic westerns, R. G. Springsteen, directed this seventy-minute crime film. Thanks to a competent cast, this well-played B-movie is a familiar theme of extortion with lying characters—two Hollywood favorites. Thick, night cinematography adds atmosphere to this "mystery" film. It holds up well enough for a very unknown film with an oft-used title.

Note: Late in the film, Cameron begins suspecting Kelly is surely guilty of something and poses a few questions to Elliot. Covering for Kelly, the attorney gets the run-around. Fed up and realizing there will be no straight answers, Cameron sarcastically deadpans, "Well, are you happy, Harry?"

THE PACE THAT THRILLS (1952)

You can thank the producer, Lewis J. Rachmil, for helping make this RKO Pictures release just sixty-three minutes long. Howard Hughes' tread marks are evident in this film with opening dramatic action shots of motorcycle racing appearing to have been filmed a decade earlier. No music score beneath the credits, just the roar of racing. If you are not a historic motorcycle fan the film will seem long. Plaudits go to good rear camera work right in the thick of the racing sequences. Of course, sandwiched in between are the familiar fuzzy studio projected backgrounds of actors "pseudo-racing." A predictable script with supporting actors more C-movie than B-movie, it becomes simply a time-filler, as it was for me. Despite these things, the entertainment value is pretty high.

With a similar visual opening, do not confuse this film with the motorcycle gang film, The Wild One. The dweebs in this movie certainly could use some road manners, but their Clover Leaf "Sickle" Cub (as one character pronounces it) becomes a gang only to play cycle soccer, have a cola or ride together weaving between oncoming traffic. Or feel the thrill of your best girl hanging on for dear life when they "pack double," as those crazy cavorting young adults used to say. But it is not, as the poster suggests, murder on wheels. Death on wheels? Sure.

The movie centers around the misunderstood era of motorcycles and winning any way you can. Bill Williams' style of racing has taken a cue from the roller derby circuit as he, quite literally, kicks challengers out of a race to win. When your company does not have the fastest bike, cheating levels the field. Encouraging “Long Leg Williams” is his boss and cycle builder, Robert Armstrong. He feels bad that Williams has to play dirty but he can live with that. The chief engineer and childhood friend of Williams, Michael St. Angel, (RKO changing his name to Steve Flagg) is building a new cycle with fluid drive, as per Chrysler transmissions of the day, I assume. He thinks Williams is the best rider in the city limits. If Williams rides it, they are sure to win. Possibly without cheating. But one never knows. 

Enter female newspaper reporter, Carla Balenda, who is sent to do a hard-hitting story about what these nuts do on weekends. When she witnesses William's lack of riding etiquette in the ring of dirt, her story berates Williams to the point of tears. Well, unlikely. She gets a new perspective on cycling, though, when she and Flagg take to the road with other club members. There is a lot of filming as actors recite dialogue in the movie’s middle. Enough said. Flagg’s new “sickle” still has flaws to work out but no dough to do it. Williams racks up funds by racing and stunt riding on the Daredevil circuit, county fairs, and Girl Scout cookie fundraisers. Flagg again pilots the new bike in a major race while graciously, carefully, Williams takes himself out on the final lap in a controlled crash, giving Flagg and the new cycle the win. But that is all he wins. Williams gets the girl.

NOTE: Williams is half of the acting glue that barely holds this film together. Robert Armstrong is the other half. Frank McHugh is on hand to do his trademark high, lilting laugh. Balenda holds her own but that cannot be said of the handsome Flagg. His lines are delivered like a polished amateur. The name change did not help. A red flag that his career was not going to be remembered.

DANGER LIGHTS (1930)

One could easily assume this RKO film’s cinematographers were supervised by people who love trains. No doubt, the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul, and Pacific Railroad’s cooperation was a significant force in showing their first-class railroad at work. It is the most authentic steam railroad movie Hollywood has ever made. No restored museum locomotives were used. No CGI necessary. Typical of dramas in this era, there is no distraction or needed help from a music score. The filming of actual freight train operations is singularly unique, with an opening landslide expertly authentic. It is a true time capsule of an era that might otherwise remain unknown. The acting is more than satisfactory, though it is typical of 1930 melodramatic storytelling. Some scenes are treated like stage plays with cued entrances. But first and foremost, this is a railroad film which happens to have actors in it. Just the opposite of Titanic (1997), a concocted love story in which the lovers happen to be on a "boat" that sinks. In this regard, Danger Lights stands alone. Today's viewer needs to accept this; otherwise, it will only play as an outdated, corny film with yucky, polluting trains.

Louis Wolheim, who would die suddenly one year later in real life, plays the burly rail yard boss in Miles City, Montana. A singular career man who gets things done. Nobody loafs or gets a free ride on his watch. A few boxcar hobos are quickly put to work to help clear the tracks after the aforementioned landslide. Robert Armstrong, a former railroad engineer, is one of them. Wolheim recognizes Armstrong simply needs to get his self-esteem back and hires him. Jean Arthur, Wolheim's fiancée knows their love story is far-fetched. Her father has long desired she would marry the hard-working, honest, and polite railroader. But he exudes all the romantic charm of a jackhammer. A steam locomotive has a more attractive face. This is where handsome, energetic Armstrong comes bounding in to fill her void. Once he and Arthur meet, it is full steam ahead, and Wolheim is uncoupled and placed on a siding. 

Few films paint a more accurate picture of a steam locomotive's “romantic” era than one scene from inside Arthur’s living room. I am not sure if miniatures were used at all or exactly how the scene was shot, but it is realistic enough. Perhaps a studio set with real train footage superimposed in the background. As curtains flutter in the summer breeze through the open windows, we see a freight train in the distance and hear the engineer’s unique, personal whistle signifying it is Armstrong to Arthur's heartfelt delight. This is authentically true as many engineers had their own recognizable, rhythmic “song.” 

The young couple decides to elope on the next train to Chicago. During the rainy night, Wolheim spots them walking down the tracks and goes into a jealous rage, pounding toward them with steel fists. Armstrong steps between two tracks as it switches, getting his shoe caught in between. Suddenly, Wolheim's anger is thwarted by what he sees. Armstrong is in the path of an approaching high-speed train. Danger lights! The big-hearted boss yanks him free, but a stuffed, limp dummy takes a nasty hit in the head by the locomotive’s cylinder. Had it been a real person, he would have died instantly. Not in Hollywood. Wolheim’s only hope of surviving his "migraine" is to get him to specialists in Chicago in record time. Armstrong volunteers. It is an eye full for locomotive fans and exciting for everyone else, including beautiful pan shots of the train crossing an iron bridge, around curves, with top-mounted cameras through cities. After returning home, the recovering Wolheim resolutely acknowledges to Arthur that his first love will always be the railroad. Though she feels guilty for not honoring his long courtship, inside, she is secretly jumping off the ceiling with joy.

Notes: There are doses of humor from Wolheim. Armstrong and Arthur have a humorous romantic encounter as he is washing up, singing a jaunty tune. But it is Hugh Herbert who must carry the torch. Herbert does double duty as the film's dialogue director and a lovable hobo who expects a great deal of respect for his position in life. He sheepishly threatens to report the railroad if he is not treated properly. Wolheim acts tough, but the old softy takes it in stride. Herbert hanging on for dear life between two rail cars during the climactic, dusty, record run to Chicago certainly cures him of wanderlust.