THUNDER IN CAROLINA (1960)

 

Dirt track racing footage and the roar of eight cylinders with no exhaust system play heavy under opening credits in this Howco International Pictures' shoestring budgeted story about some “good ‘ol boys” racing in South Carolina. This is my second Howco-distributed film review yet this one is not embarrassing. It is the oft-told tale of a former bootlegger who has risen through the ranks to become a top driver but is in the middle of a multi-year losing streak. Directed by Paul Helmick and written by Alexander Richards, this ninety-two-minute double-billed release was produced by J. Francis White. Helmets off to cinematographer, Joseph C. Brun and his capture of early highway and dirt track racing. 

Expect the customary studio prop cars against project background scenery when necessity focuses on the actor's faces. But the vintage race footage at Darlington Raceway is certainly the big climax for vintage NASCAR fans during what has proven to be the start of a deadly decade of stock car racing. It is rather amusing as the race track announcer editorializes about the central character’s unethical driving during each pass by the grandstand. That precedes the veteran driver blowing a tire, ending with a crumpled car and a resulting broken ankle. A forlorn saxophone supports his continued bad fortune as he hobbles with a cane and a plastered leg toward his unrecognizable mangled metal. I could imagine wagers at the body shop on whether it was an Oldsmobile or a Chrysler.

Rory Calhoun plays the veteran driver and raises the film up a few thousand RPMs for the independent studio. He is believable, but do not expect a southern accent even though his character grew up in the South Carolina hills. Alan Hale (sans the junior and accent) is Calhoun’s former racing buddy and rightfully garners second billing. With his trademark smile and over-confident boasting, he adds the only acting spark. In a simple yet hard-to-believe director's solution, his right hand stays in his pocket all the time because he lost the use of his arm in a devastating crash.

Everyone else gets the caution flag, particularly Race Gentry—credited here with his birth name, John Gentry—in his third and final motion picture. Given the movie’s subject, I thought his professional name was an inside joke specifically for this film. Calhoun shows up at his service station in hopes of seeing his old mechanic again. But that was three years ago…back when he was not dead. Gentry is rather cool to the “old guy” who comes off as someone expecting a handout—until he makes out his famous name on his race car. Calhoun also steps over the boundaries of ethical behavior off the track. Perhaps his personal life played a key role in this film as “Calhoun the Cad” immediately attempts to hit on Gentry’s wife—Connie Hines holds her own in her only film role—after only one glance. Hines would later gain notoriety as a co-star to Mr. Ed on television. There are obligatory arguments between the husband and wife about their future together in true soap opera fashion. 

Calhoun cannot drive. Gentry wants to. So he teaches the eager young mechanic how to drive fast, and smartly. His first driver training session is on curvy mountain roads and is a highlight in the early going. The sound of the 1955 hot rod echoing among the hills makes more noise than speed—reaching about 45 mph on a straight away it would appear. They catch the eye of Revenuers from their hidden speed trap. One can see the different suspension set-up between their 1959 production car as the stock car lays flat in the curves. A roadblock brings the training to a standstill. The revenuer recognizes the infamous Calhoun and suspects he is running moonshine again. After thoroughly searching the car and finding nothing suspicious, their total disappointment only generates more hate.

Gentry gains race experience throughout the summer season of the film, eventually qualifying with the big boys. Calhoun and Gentry have a falling out late in the film as the latter’s head gets too big for his helmet. That exciting race footage of NASCAR's Southern 500 is interrupted repeatedly with fifteen-second cuts of Hines pacing the floor amid soothing music from a radio. Then it is back to racing mayhem as Calhoun (sans plastered leg) battles Gentry for the checkered flag. Hines finally gets enough courage to arrive at the racetrack, getting her own checkered flag as she comes to grips with her husband's danger. She can always remarry if things go really bad.

Note: One race competitor is famed stunt driver, Cary Loftin, eight years away from stepping in for Steve McQueen in Bullitt. His controlled crash during his qualifying run and subsequent cut to flaming wreckage footage ends his character’s life.

Periodically, the music score during Brun's racing scenes would be more fitting of a Western movie about a grand cattle drive. With cars three or four abreast, visually that is not too far off. Finally, I am not sure why a song was written for this film, but Ann Stevens sings beautifully in her only professional credit, accompanied by her laptop Autoharp.

THE BIG CAPER (1957)

With film camera secured, the viewer rides along with Rory Calhoun's 1956 Chrysler convertible as he motors his way to convince crime kingpin, James Gregory, to help organize another heist. Lounging poolside at his estate, appearing a legit businessman, Gregory angrily tells his former operative—in no uncertain terms—he is not interested and to take a hike. Calhoun reemphasizes it involves a bank that regularly holds a million dollars before distribution to nearby Camp Pendleton. In the very next scene he and his girl, Mary Costa, are passengers in the convertible to case the bank. A salivating Gregory has Calhoun abandon his fancy New Yorker for a mid-forties beater, sets him up as a gas station owner, and buys a large house where he and Costa can establish themselves as a married couple. Their big house simply to hide the heist team. However, after four months, Costa starts liking her domestic role and the fact that Calhoun knows how to make pancakes without them sticking to the griddle. Their neighbors establish Scrabble night and their young son by now refers to Calhoun as "uncle." With every vacuuming, Costa thinks less and less of dirtbag Gregory.

This eighty-five-minute American film noir crime film was directed by Robert Stevens from a screenplay by Martin Berkeley based on the novel of the same name by Lionel White. United Artists released a dandy, yet oft-told story about another well-financed and planned robbery. Filmed beneath opening titles and an Albert Glasser score, that automotive opening is a good setup for a heist film and it is worth going into some detail about it.

Everyone is first-rate in this crime film. Calhoun is his cool self and this is one of his better crime films of the Fifties. Costa is also quite good in only her second film, possessing an intelligent vocal delivery and on-screen composure—not playing to the camera. Gregory is excellent in a role familiar to him. He mentions serving five years for a robbery as a young kid. He may not have been incarcerated since, but he has been slippery enough to avoid any more downtime. The guy has deep pockets. Gregory's booming, foghorn voice—his trademarked mumbling through some lines as if it is an aside—and sarcastic comments toward the suspected “happy couple” clearly reveal his ruthless side.

Making the film much more memorable, however, are two psychopaths (above). Robert Harris' entrance at the Calhoun house—squinting, sweating, with an untidy appearance—is the first standout. Harris had a knack for convincing performances as an overheated, demented, near-sighted weasel. An expert in explosives—his “bang juice”—he also has a gin problem. His thought processing seemingly incoherent, he settles into his room and Calhoun tells him the gin is off-limits until after the robbery. Approaching another meltdown, he lights a match to calm himself. He is mesmerized by the flame. The normally dark-haired Corey Allen is also hard to forget as a short-cropped, bleached blonde in glistening dark suntan makeup. Cold-blooded murder seems to be his most enjoyable pastime. That, and listening to Glasser's jazz score via a record player prop. Perhaps Hollywood thought there was some sort of connection between a jazz freak and a white-haired murderer with a bow tie. To say he is on edge is an understatement. His role seems to follow up on his previous 1957 film, The Shadow on the Window.

The customary review of the caper's details is to be expected. Gregory is pretty ecstatic to go over the crude map and everyone's role to play. Filming of the successful robbery is effectively not drawn out with a redundant set of visuals. A tense moment occurs when the neighbor pays a visit to the house. Tagging along is his son with an armful of lost dog. The dog bolts up the stairway where the gang is hiding, nearly going to dog heaven by an Allen knife. Glasser's score ramps up the intensity.

Harris's two diversionary explosions will create chaos—one at a high school on Saturday night, assuming no one will be there. He nearly soils himself talking about his assignment. There will be a power outage, thanks to another Paul Picerni criminal role with Allen elected as the wheelman. The exciting, rapid climax includes a believable, choreographed fight scene between Calhoun and Gregory when the latter tries to escape with the loot. Wisely, it was all shot in shadows. Now a genuine couple, the last seconds of the film have “The Calhouns” making a decision that will more than likely reduce their jail time.

Notes: A couple of amusing bits come after Calhoun signs the papers for the gas station. The elderly gas station owner quickly calls his wife about the sale, "Get the trailer fixed. The suckers fell for it!" Another chuckling scene is when Harris, angered over his gin restrictions, knocks Calhoun out and dumps his body from the car on the night of the heist. The camera then has a distant shot of the car parked behind a “No Dumping” sign.

FLIGHT TO HONG KONG (1956)

This budgeted black-and-white crime drama was directed and produced by Joseph M. Newman of, This Island Earth, fame. Newman finished his career in television. There are no dull moments in this eighty-eight-minute film as it leaps from, as one poster puts it, the “sin-capitals of the world” from Hong Kong to Tangiers, Macao, Tokyo, and San Francisco in an effort to keep the lead actor in business and alive. A Sabre Productions film, it was formed by associate producer, Victor Orsatti, and distributed by United Artists. Orsatti would later join Rory Calhoun to help form Rorvic Productions. The forgettable music score is composed by Albert "B-movie" Glasser. In mock-documentary fashion, the film initially opens with a British officer explaining the worldwide effort to bring crime syndicates to justice. Not a bad film, just a quickly forgotten one. But it is well cast and acted, with Calhoun a charming scoundrel. Unfortunately, the dialogue was obtained from a folder marked, “Movie Clichés.”

Handsome and self-confident, Calhoun is a lady magnet. No one knows this better than himself. He comes off as a respectable businessman in the skeptical “import-export” business on his flight to Hong Kong. That is what he tells his fellow passenger, the equally charming Barbara Rush, a bestselling author. They hit it off like two college seniors who imagine each might be “the one.” The airliner is transporting industrial diamonds and is hijacked for this very reason. This comes as no surprise to Calhoun, the mastermind behind it. The plane is forced to land on an abandoned runway, totally disrupting everyone's dinner plans. In subsequent happenstances, when he and Rush meet, Calhoun is mysteriously called away on “business.” Unsuspecting, he becomes the central character for her next novel. Calhoun becomes increasingly unreliable by the week, which is no surprise to his long-time girlfriend, Delores Donlon.

No longer working on his own, Calhoun has become an operative for a crime cartel. Things have gone swimmingly for him, but there is hanzi on the wall that his carefree life may be hampered by his personal elimination. His fellow operative, Pat Conway, would like nothing better. With Calhoun's confidence at an all-time high, he decides to freelance. Never do that to the boss of a crime syndicate. Calhoun's fear and desperation increase as the film progresses. He fakes his own kidnapping, then double-crosses the syndicate in a savvy display of violence by rigging a ceiling fan with a grenade taped to the top of each blade. When the fan is turned on, the connected string tightens and sets off the mortal blasts. He is assumed dead among the gang members. Calhoun departs with an alias and a million dollars in diamonds. Paraphrasing Mark Twain, the report of Calhoun's demise has been highly exaggerated.

Constantly on the run, he racks up a lot of frequent flier miles and pockets full of airline peanuts. An entire year later, he tracks down Rush in San Francisco and crashes a party thrown by her publisher on behalf of her latest book success about a charming deceiver she met on one of his many flights, entitled "The Calhoun Story." In an understatement, she is surprised. Especially by his acknowledgment that he has a new identity. He thought she would find that pretty cool. To his surprise, she has moved on with someone else. Personally embarrassed, Calhoun storms off, wandering the streets of San Francisco in search of a safety plan as the gangsters close in. A loyal friend gets him passage on a steamer back to Hong Kong. He contacts his life-long mentor, played by Soo Yong, and also reunites with Donlon. Calhoun's realization that his diamond-filled briefcase has brought nothing but trouble, he attempts to give it back to Conway and walk free. Knowing what he knows, however, they cannot let him go “unattended.”

Note: One of my old movie pet peeves is transportation continuity. Airliners seem to provide the most problems. Low-budget films are notorious offenders. Accessing ideal stock footage can be understandably difficult or expensive. However, I do not understand why it happened so frequently. Padding the film's length, perhaps. In most cases, a transitional scene to another location would suffice. These editing details are sometimes blatantly obvious. The poor continuity in this film is a good example. Under the opening titles, we are witness to stock footage of a Pan American Stratocruiser in flight and its landing. The film's director takes over to finish the journey from Tokyo to Hong Kong on a fictitious airline called “East Asiatic Airways.” Acceptable, but during the flight, the plane morphs into a United Airlines airliner and then lands in Hong Kong as a Pan American DC-6. All those changes, with not one passenger missing their boarding gate. Locating their luggage is a different story.