HIGHWAY 13 (1948)

Robert L. Lippert Productions churned out countless low-budget films. This project's budget came in under Sixty grand and Sixty minutes. It was distributed by Screen Guild Productions. Top billing goes to Robert Lowery, sans mustache. He is supported by Pamela Blake (below right), and Michael Whalen whom Lippert tapped into more than once, and everyone's favorite sardonic curmudgeon, Clem Bevins (below left), who plays her uncle. Whalen and Maris Wrixon both have pivotal roles.

Trucking was a popular movie theme during the early years of overland shipments with engines that could increasingly go the extra mile. It was a noisy, physical job to pilot a tractor or single-axle truck during the 1940s and 1950s. Sabotage was a sure bet premise. This film is not subtle about addressing this as the opening scenes use a constant barrage of trucks—at least one miniature—crashing over a cliff on a mountainous section of “jinxed” Highway 13. Out of sequence is a sedan that enthusiastically powers over a cliff. The driver, Whalen, survives, but his wife, the heiress to the trucking company, does not. After a period of recovery, he returns to the office and expresses to the owner his concern that the rash of driver eliminations is more than accidents. He seems sincere. He later meets the truck driver who found his wife after the fiery crash. Lowery. Imagine his surprise to see that Walen survived.

Bevins, whose age seems to always be pushing ninety, regularly checks the trucks over before the drivers hit the road again. Adjacent to the studio garage set is a diner set where Blake takes short orders. Lowery is a regular customer and after their back-and-forth teasing quips, it is apparent they are planning a future together. As per usual, Bevins is likable as “Pops” with disparaging remarks about coffee's effect on him. Not entirely on the up-and-up, however, he starts spreading rumors that Lowery may be responsible for the rash of crashes.

Walen hires a private detective to pose as their newest driver to investigate the sabotages. Expect the usual sped-up truck sequences as they power around a curve like a sports car. He and Wrixon try to pin his “accidental” death on Lowery. The climax involves an unconscious Lowery, a stowaway Blake and truck pilot, Bevins. With a strong bit of suspended disbelief, you might accept the unlikely and clichéd final sequence.

Note: One interesting historical element is the lost art of using a manual choke lever on the dashboard. Before electronic fuel injection, a manual choke provided a way to get the right mixture of fuel and air in the carburetor. It was mainly used during cold starts, especially in winter. A full choke at start-up, however, might “flood” the engine with too much fuel, making it nearly impossible to start immediately and a short waiting game ensues until the fuel drains from the carburetor. Once underway, pulling the choke all the way out would provide enough fuel to keep a vehicle slowly rolling without a foot on the accelerator pedal. Lowery does this early in the film (albeit a studio prop truck) as he opens the door, places his left foot on the running board and stands to get a better view of an accident ahead. Bevins also uses the manual choke in the movie's climax for his stunt double to jump from a moving truck.

Lippert Pictures Series

Robert L. Lippert controlled a successful low-budget American film production and distribution company from 1948 to 1956, producing short, fast-paced westerns and crime films with a penchant for obligatory humor and the occasional jarring edits. This is my final review of seven Lippert films.

MOTOR PATROL (1950)

This hour-long film opens in obviously low-budget fashion, yet as an honorable tribute to the motorcycle patrol officers of Los Angeles. I felt like standing to salute during the opening score by Ozzie Caswell—reminiscent of a college marching band or a football newsreel—as motorcycles leave the station in parade fashion. This main theme returns to close out the film. Later, during overlapping scenes of night patrols, he uses a couple of bars of situational comedy music. Certainly worthy of issuing a ticket. There is some location shooting, but expect a lot of back-screen projected scenery during the studio motorcycle “chase” segments. The speedy, climactic cycle chase is especially funny as the hero's fedora is surely stapled to his forehead. Motor Patrol is produced by Robert L. Lippert and Barney A. Sarecky for Lippert Pictures and directed again by Sam Newfield. Fast-pacing was a Lippert signature yet this movie definitely played better in the mid-twentieth century. Other Lippert signatures are the occasional abrupt editing.

As each motorcycle peels off from the "parade" to its intended patrol area, the film quickly shifts to the Los Angeles Police Academy's firing range. First up are the female traffic cops aiming at parking meter silhouettes. You can believe that if you want. The male officers only get a tiny dot on a board. The location provides the perfect opportunity for Newfield to introduce the main cast, Officers William Henry and Don Castle, plus Detective Reed Hadley. Richard Travis innocuously appears later as another detective. Yes, Lippert regular, Sid Melton, does his shtick as a bar owner where everyone knows his name: Omar. The leads work well enough in this dialogue-heavy screenplay by Maurice Tombragel and Orville Hampton, but expect some amateurs in the supporting cast.

Once Officer Henry's character is established, one gets the distinct feeling his days on the force are numbered. The apparent hit-and-run accident he was investigating was simply a cover for an automobile theft racket. Henry pays the price for getting too well-informed. Castle, engaged to Henry's sister, is asked to infiltrate the gang of pre-owned vehicles. The gang employs a tow truck driver—a familiar face from his Warner Bros. days—Frank Jenks, who is suspicious of the new guy. Things really heat up during the final aforementioned motorcycle pursuit. 

Lippert Pictures Series

Robert L. Lippert controlled a successful low-budget American film production and distribution company from 1948 to 1956, producing short, fast-paced westerns and crime films with a penchant for obligatory humor and the occasional jarring edits. This is my sixth of seven Lippert films.

WESTERN PACIFIC AGENT (1950)

This sixty-five-minute, Sigmund Neufeld Productions crime drama was directed by Sam Newfield, a frequent partner with Lippert Pictures. It was written by Fred Myton, based on a story by Milton Raison, and stars Kent Taylor, Sheila Ryan, and the less familiar Mickey Knox. The film opens with title credits over Western Pacific train footage. Told in flashback by one informed passenger to another, it centers on railroad detectives during “The West Coast Kid” case. It suspiciously appears like a Western Pacific promotional film. After the film's climax, they return to close the film. At any rate, their encapsulated synopsis offers the benefit of shortening the crux of the film. I was impressed overall with how efficiently this one has been pulled together with its element of potential danger and intrigue—a mechanical drawbridge plays a key role at both ends of this film.

Mickey Knox's one-dimensional hate performance is something a lot of actors can pull off, so I was not that impressed. The psychopathic killer intercepts a big cash payroll by raising a drawbridge, halting a rail agent's progress. Two murders later, he is stuck with bags of traceable bills. Money that is intended for his father's general store. When he tries to warm up to his father in hopes of a handout, the father knows his lying son too well. Knox angrily storms off, hops the next freight and sits in on a couple of homeless camps to hide. But word gets around quickly within a loyal band of hobos.

A Lippert levity regular, Sid Melton plays a nervous simpleton who absorbs information literally, not clearly processing what he hears. Some might suggest Melton's character has no place in this film, but that is shortsighted. Similar characters have become common in a number of modern, team-oriented adventure films—like the socially awkward computer geek. Melton had a natural delivery for such a character and it may be Lippert's best use of the comedian. His first scenes with Taylor are the funniest. I suspect his dry, deadpan delivery is a problem for most Millennials. Deadpan is hard to recognize on social media.

Melton is the first to come in contact with the marked bills and Knox. Taylor becomes increasingly perturbed with having to clarify things to Melton over and over. So it seems to make little sense for Taylor to ask him to tag along to help with identification. But Melton's assistance pays off. Taylor and law enforcement, including a ballooned sheriff, Dick Elliott—right out of a Warner Bros cartoon—corner Knox in a shack. During the shootout, he yells back at the police in true comedic parody form, "Come and get me, copper!" Knox's father approaches the shack but he is wounded in more ways than one. Knox escapes, taking with him a bullet in the leg to the harbor drawbridge. But the bridge is ascending. The music score accelerates the climax to an exciting level. The futility of Knox's escape is no secret to the audience. What goes up must come down.

Note: American railroads peaked in the Thirties with the colorful streamlined passenger trains being the epitome of first-class travel in their effort to woo passengers away from the increasing popularity of the airline industry. Finally, as a general rule, the always-open boxcar door's invitation to hop a freight was common for decades. By the end of the Sixties, most railroads cracked down on boxcar hitchhikers.

THE FLYING SAUCER (1950)

This American, independently made Soviet spy drama was written, produced, directed, and starred the average-looking Mikel Conrad, not Comrade. So, most of the blame falls on his shoulders. In truth, he does a decent job of capturing his character, but he is never in Micky Spillane territory. Occasionally, one person in charge of all aspects of a film can make an impact. Allen Baron is a great example with his 1961 crime film, Blast of Silence. The result here is lackluster filmmaking. The film is not a thriller; it is science fiction, but not in the typical sense. Do not expect flying saucers to destroy totem poles in Juneau, Alaska. This is a mystery, and that is its strongest compliment. Denver Pyle, Roy “B-movie” Engel, and to a lesser degree, Russell Hicks, are the best-known faces, while much of the cast turns in solid collegiate performances.

Intelligence officials learn that Soviet spies have begun exploring a remote region of the Alaska Territory, concerning worldwide reports of flying saucers. Conrad, raised in that region, is recruited because his credentials as a wealthy American playboy are best suited to handle an undercover assignment to assist a Secret Service agency. He is not excited—too much work. Then he admires his reflection in a mirror and is introduced to the pretty female agent, Pat Garrison. Many frames are eaten up by bucolic Alaskan scenery, slow motorboat navigation across a vast lake, a seaplane flight, and a picnic, all of which include no dialogue. The crescendoing music score is better suited for an epic film. Yet the grandeur is lost in a wash of grays. 

Conrad is to pretend he is suffering from a nervous breakdown—trying to control this film perhaps—with Garrison acting as his private nurse. The charade seems to be a moot point throughout the film. The lodge's caretaker, from his first frame, is one of the more obvious villains. “Mr. Terrific,” clad in plaid, is highly skeptical of flying saucer reports until he hears one slice over his Alaskan lodge. Probably a meteor, he thinks. The saucer is real, an invention of American scientist Roy Engel, whose mechanic, Denver Pyle, is a greedy communist spy with a plan: get in on the ground floor of the Soviet Frisbee cartel. Conrad has to deal with Soviet agents in Juneau, a conniving barmaid, and his own drunken stupor, an avalanche, and the rescue of his phony private nurse—all of which approach mundane. Conrad, Garrison and Engel see light at the end of a secret Soviet tunnel just in time to spot Pyle being "saucered." The Soviets would learn a lot from reverse engineering, so Engel installed an after-market accessory. At a certain altitude, the saucer explodes with small "Pyles" scattered about.

Note: This seventy-five-minute science fiction film was distributed in the United States by Film Classics Inc. It is the first feature film to deal with the era's hot topic of flying saucers. I imagine those who bought tickets for this international spy yarn were ticked off that it has nothing to do with the poster. The single saucer in this film is more akin to a reconnaissance drone. Flying disks were first given the film's title in 1947 by a private pilot who reported nine silvery, crescent-shaped objects flying in tight formation. Some chose to take him at his word.

Lippert Pictures Series

Robert L. Lippert controlled a successful low-budget American film production and distribution company from 1948 to 1956, producing short, fast-paced westerns and crime films with a penchant for obligatory humor and the occasional jarring edits. This is my fourth of seven Lippert films.

TREASURE OF MONTE CRISTO (1949)

Though the opening narration tries to justify why this movie has "Monte Cristo" in the title, there is no mention of swords or high-waist tights. Well-directed by William Berke, and distributed by Screen Guild Productions, it attempts to bring Alexandre Dumas to modern-day San Francisco, complete with a prison escape of sorts. It is another fast-paced Lippert Pictures production making a likable film from a constrained budget. And it only removes a mere seventy-eight minutes from your life. One of the better Lippert productions, the film is centered around a descendant of the Count and his sizable fortune. As expected, some would like to intercept that treasure. The duped descendant tries to unravel reality during one of his most improbable weeks. The location cinematography by Benjamin Kline puts the viewer on the streets. He even uses a "gun cam" behind the gun's barrel of one detective firing bullets. A competent score by Albert "B-movie" Glasser is well-utilized.

Dashing Glenn Langan is the descendant, a Second Mate on the shipping freighter, Pacific Queen. After dropping anchor, he rescues an assumed damsel in distress, Adele Jergens—the real-life wife of Langan. He and Jergens never looked better than in this film. I doubt anyone in the theater believed her backstory about her mental hospital stay, so her guardian could control her wealth. But Langan does. Jergens wants an "arranged" marriage to deflect her pursuers. So it is off to Reno. He becomes the latest Hollywood simpleton completely unglued by a female's lying lips.

In the captivating opening scene, the Cristo fortune liaison is knocked unconscious while recovering in the hospital. Paralyzed, except for the ability to move his eyes, Langan visits him in hopes of discovering his point in the film. It sets up an unintended funny moment. Needing yes or no answers, he suggests the patient move his eyes back and forth, left to right, for the appropriate reply. But it appears he is simply looking at one side of the room, then the other, in terror of the strange noise of an attacker. Blinking would have had a less humorous outcome. While Langan leaves the hospital, the liaison is permanently silenced, with Langan set up to take the fall. The traditional flashing newspaper headlines inform the viewer of his sentencing to die quicker than his marriage ceremony.

It is rare to find Steve Brodie in an educated professional role, yet true to form, he is a crooked underworld lawyer with a studio caterpillar mustache passing himself off as Langan's best defense. But his scheme already included Jergens, and he plans to throw the case, removing Langan from any inheritance. Despite his limited screen time, he provides the only spark in the film. Something he often did.

From a story by Aubrey Wisberg and Jack Pollexfen, the screenplay is intelligent enough, once it gets past Dumas' original intention. In keeping with a number of Lippert productions, a bit of amusing obligatory dialogue is sliced in late in this film. Sid Melton, the weasel working on Brodie's behalf, abducts Jergens, ushering her into a waiting car. Rising above his comical looks, he assumes he might be worthy of her attention. "You know I'm single?" Her deadpan reply is, "I can understand that." She gets shuttled around again by Brodie, and she frightfully asks, "What are you going to do?!" He replies, "Two things, and you're the second."

Note: Langan's character was taken in as a young child by an Italian family. His “Papa” and two sons visit him behind bars on more than one occasion. Papa is played by Michael Vallon “witha-the-worsta” stereotypical Italian accent. In keeping with their criminal heritage, the two sons later spring Langan during a prison transfer, shooting out a tire on the police vehicle and arranging for his change of clothes from a well-planted panel truck.

Lippert Pictures Series

Robert L. Lippert controlled a successful low-budget American film production and distribution company from 1948 to 1956, producing short, fast-paced westerns and crime films with a penchant for obligatory humor and the occasional jarring edits. This is my second of seven Lippert films.

SKY LINER (1949)

Sky Liner is a sixty-one-minute espionage film that takes its time getting airborne. As a double-billed, lower bunk bed offering, it lacks all the excitement expected in a crime film. Had it been released today, it would have gone directly to subscription streaming. It is Cold War mania as a handsome FBI agent gets caught up tracking down pesky Communists on a westbound flight. The storyline is a bit hard to follow with an opening set-up leaving the viewer wanting explanations, mostly about who signed off on the haphazard music score. Lippert Pictures produced a boring, yet fast-paced film. Quite a feat. On a positive note, the second half of this film is more interesting. Perhaps the only recognizable actor in this “air-noir” is Richard Travis, yet he is mostly known for one film, the 1942 comedy, The Man Who Came to Dinner. His laid-back, slightly naive supporting role worked well for him there. For this film, the FBI agent is laid back from the opening nearly to the halfway point before establishing his identity. The movie starts to gel with his involvement, yet he is unable to ignite a single spark plug.

A sharp-shadowed silhouette with a revolver in hand enters the office of an American State Department official. A bit of visual trickery as viewers expect a gunshot to ring out. But the attacker simply uses a well-placed butt of his gun to the skull, resulting in manslaughter. Assuming the identity of the late official, he boards the plane with Rochelle Hudson, secretary to the official. Unfortunately, it will not be necessary for the imposter to fasten his seat belt before landing. Travis, with the help of a stewardess, Pamela Blake, set a trap for the murderer on board and intercept Hudson before she defects to the Soviet Union. When confronted, the traitor reveals information helpful to the moviegoers.

Travis quickly wraps up the plot essentials with Blake in case there are still those puzzled before leaving the theater. What is truly puzzling is why two elderly ladies—in early twentieth-century apparel—close out the film amusingly. It is totally without precedent and not as useful as Sid Melton's obligatory appearances could be in Lippert's films. Caught up in their own fantasy, they watch with hearts aflutter as Travis and Blake kiss before entering the terminal. The duo decides then and there to apply for an exciting position as stewardesses.

Note: There are many low-budget films where airliner continuity is of no concern to the director. Obtaining stock footage could be expensive or difficult to come by. The worst examples have a plane taking off as one type and then "transforming" in flight into a different type or airline. The triple-tailed TWA Lockheed Constellation in this film remains intact throughout, even if subtle markings do not. No doubt, the aerial footage may have come from TWA or Lockheed for promotional purposes. Perhaps a case in point, that final landing in the film—at the recently named Los Angeles International Airport—is just opposite the Lockheed factory.

Lippert Pictures Series

Robert L. Lippert controlled a successful low-budget American film production and distribution company from 1948 to 1956, producing short, fast-paced westerns and crime films with a penchant for obligatory humor and the occasional jarring edits. This is my first of seven Lippert films.

RADAR SECRET SERVICE (1950)

Suppressing counterfeit currency was the Secret Service's primary objective in 1865. In future decades, its service expanded to other areas. But few anticipated—nor actually considered—radar. So forget G-men. The R-men are really on to something, cracking down on California crime one telemeter at a time. The opening voice-over excitedly points out that radar's potential is “beyond belief.” For this film, I have to agree. As confirmation, the radar operator back at headquarters tells his boss they located a school of fish by radar that resulted in an unbelievable catch of the day. This potential I could believe, though it has no relevance in this movie. But there were those who could imagine all sorts of useful things it could do in true science fiction fashion—live images in the fashion of a highway webcam. The relaying picture quality is undeniably excellent, as if the movie studio provided the footage. Similarly, how their stationary telemeters could possibly keep pace with a passing vehicle is a total mystery. Merely a minor issue to work out.

One could not be blamed if this sixty-one-minute film was thought to be originally a four-part serial from the Thirties. It possesses a cast of “who knew” B-movie actors, including John Howard as an agent of the Secret Radar Service (RSS) lobbying for more funds to expand the use of telemeters across the United States. That knee-jerk action is similar to suggesting that enough charging stations will make electric vehicles viable for the masses in three years. Tom Neal and Tristram Coffin—known to law enforcement as The Mustachioed Mickey & Michael—star as uneasy partners trying to intercept a shipment of Uranium-238 they hope to transport across the Pacific Ocean. Coffin never reveals his master plan, but one can assume he will sell it to the highest bidder and probably double-cross Neal.

Robert “B-movie” Kent is the gang's enforcer. Too bad, he looked like such a nice young man. Returning famously in another devious typecast role is the soft Adele Jergens, girlfriend to Neal or Coffin, whichever works best into her future. Myrna dull—er, Dell—plays a waitress involved with a member of the “U-Gang.” Her boyfriend is recovering in a hospital from a gunshot wound by an earlier RSS raid. Angry because the gang leaders are not willing to help him, she eventually goes under the radar to help the RSS. Adding wacky levity to the gang is Lippert's own Sid Melton with the moniker, “Pill Box.” He is convinced his perpetual illness results from blood pressure “at a 140 net” and his “blow pressure is with a hypertension” and his “temperature is by the arrow Fahrenheit.” One wonders who vouched for the hypochondriac.

The headquarters use their radar to find the car carrying the radioactive material. To their dismay, Coffin had the incomprehensible idea of sending out a decoy car. Drat! Their horizontal radar beam has its limitations. A fragile-looking Hiller 360 helicopter is employed to track fleeing criminals from above during a yawning chase with cars “rocketing” down the highway at nearly twenty miles per hour. The helicopter was a marvel during this period, but it would not be long before it would mock radar's usefulness as a crime-fighting resource. The two gangs meet in the California countryside just as the radar patrol arrives. It becomes a trilogy of gunfire. A wounded Neal manages to make it to Coffin's hideout for a final confrontation. More mayhem ensues as the armed waitress also arrives. The film ends with preparations being made for two additional coffins. 

Note: This is probably one of the more silly premises from Lippert Pictures, again directed by Sam Newfield. The “1940” worn-out screenplay was written by Beryl Sachs—his last of five films—but I appreciated his take on Melton's character, though misplaced it may be in this “action-packed thriller.”