THE BRAIN THAT WOULDN’T DIE (1962)

Modern commentators amazingly may suggest—in the unrestricted freedom of hindsight—that this film has deeper meanings than what appears on the surface. Yes, it is deep. About ankle-deep. This is bottom-of-the-barrel filmmaking, yet this preposterous result has garnered almost more attention than The Longest Day. William Castle’s thumbprints are assumed on each film's canister yet he did not produce it. In this case, imitation is the lowest form of flattery. This decapitated budget disaster was produced by Rex Carlton and Mort Landberg with direction by Joseph Green, who co-wrote the story with Carlton. Though completed in 1959, this science fiction horror double feature was theatrically released with an inane score three years later by American International Pictures. Europe’s salacious eighty-one-minute version includes gratuitous “naughty bits” with no benefit to a bizarre screenplay. This hardly unknown, seventy-minute version is still a good ten minutes too long.

Television stalwart, Jason (Herb) Evers, in his first leading film role, plays the obligatory mad surgeon who has invented a serum to keep human body parts alive. Mary Shelley was way ahead of him. He and his fianceé, Virginia Leith, are cruising to his country estate in her Mercury convertible. As any insane person might do, his speed increases to a point where the land barge has little chance of negotiating the downhill curves. The cheap, oft-used mounting of a camera on the front bumper’s corner fakes a sense of high speed. One can expect a poorly edited crash at any moment. The three-second, decades-old stock sound effect of screeching tires and metal crunching is used. There is a quick edit of Evers’ silently screaming in horror as the camera lens rapidly rotates. He then perfectly rolls down an embankment (whee!) to find the car exactly where it was positioned. It is a clean decapitation of Leith. Well, I think her head simply popped off. Instinctively, Evers grabs her head thinking he could probably do something with that later.

In his estate’s basement laboratory, Evers keeps Leith’s head wired and tubed for days with an added pair of stylish headphones. The effect of her head on a tray is well done, convincing in a gullible way. Her new existence is sheer agony. Her nose itches. He ignores her pleas. Leith brings a new definition to brain power as she instigates a kinship with an insidious mutant by telepathy—Evers’ early experiment gone awry. It is one of the worst makeup attempts in cinema. I think Evers’ surgery has to garner the blame. One eye is positioned forty-five degrees opposite the other with a head shape that can best be described as a descendant of the Conehead family from the original Saturday Night Live skits. A reference photo of any human may have helped. The mutant’s first sounds of grunting or vomiting are pretty funny. If only he had also farted.

Evers, now with the option of taking Leith’s figure to a whole new level, hunts for a body specimen at a sleazy burlesque club, and a beauty contest, and lusts after girls who “randomly walk cul de sacs.” He settles on a former girlfriend—now a “figure” model—a face reminiscent of Elizabeth Taylor from certain angles. Her hair hides a hideous facial scar from a male attacker. Understandably, she is turned off by men. She can add one more to her list as he drugs her and takes her to his country estate's lab.

Given the ridiculous concept of this film and her lack of body language, Leith's alto voice acting is well done as the head of the table. But Evers has had enough of her constant yapping and puts tape over her mouth. This may work at home but is never successful at stopping telepathy. It is pretty ghastly when Mr. Mutant first tears an arm from a lab assistant and then takes a bite out of Evers' neck, spewing blood—and then some—from his carotid artery. The director, wondering how to possibly end this debacle, sets fire to the lab, as one would expect. Leith ends the film with cryptic nonsense, “I told you to let me die.”

Note: This project ended Virginia Leith’s film career—perhaps out of total embarrassment. Understandably, she refused to return for some post-production recording, so her voice had to be dubbed here and there. The drive to the country estate is the first time her voice is obviously dubbed with a higher vocal register complete with a southern accent—most frequently used is an out-of-place laugh. Actress Doris Brent, the nurse at the beginning of the film, did the honors.

TOWARD THE UNKNOWN (1956)

This is Warner Bros.' first attempt to cash in on Paramount’s superior Strategic Air Command, released the previous year. The film takes a serious look at the unknowns of supersonic flight research. Warner Color was back at it again the next year with a sudsier air force story, Bombers B-52, which was primarily a project for the rising star, Natalie Wood. Director Mervyn Leroy weaves this film dangerously close to a soap opera, where long-term personal commitments are harder to come by with someone in a very dangerous occupation. Assuming you like aircraft of this era, this film works well thanks to an intelligent script by Beirne Lay, Jr., who also penned the Paramount film as well as Above and Beyond, and Twelve O'Clock High. The accuracy of the Air Force lingo, flight gear, and location filming is spot on. Yet despite the famous lead actor, the casting mix places the film in the B-movie barracks. With the possible exception of Lloyd Nolan, the balance of the cast is a flight line of “Bs” from Virginia Leith, Charles McGraw, Paul Fix, Karen Steele, and a brief appearance by the ever-present Bartlett Robinson. William Holden's own production company, Toluca Productions, may have been responsible for a tight casting budget. Though viewers did not know it then, James Garner’s brief film debut would catapult him into a Hollywood "A-lister." Considering Holden's overall body of work, this film falls nearer the bottom...toward the unknown part.

With an enviable name for a legendary aviator or NFL quarterback, Holden is  Lincoln Bond. The Major's charm and self-deprecating wit make him quite likable. But he has psychological issues. Holden returns to Edwards Air Force Base in hopes of being selected for the test pilot program. The story takes a while to unfold, but we eventually learn Holden was a Korean prisoner of war. Holden has an impressive early scene when he enters the headquarters building. He walks over to a wall full of some real test pilot handprints. Among the likes of Chuck Yeager and Glenn Edwards, we see Bond’s handprint. Holden presses his hand firmly over the inked impression as a supporting musical chord solidifies the scene. It also reveals wrist scars from his attempted suicide under those unimaginable atrocities. His cracking under those conditions does not bode well for a living-on-the-edge test pilot. 

Nolan (with Holden below) is always ideally cast when carrying a good deal of authority. Here, as a commanding officer who is so wrapped up in first-hand test piloting, he does not know when to move on. McGraw is Holden's good friend and biggest supporter, and pleads with Nolan to give him a second chance. A second chance is needed with Leith, also. I have mentioned the occasionally strange vocal quality of this attractive actress before. Considering the era, one might think the studio would have provided voice training to eliminate her dark, goofy vocal moments. Today, this training would never be considered: the stranger, the better. She is feminine enough in a soft voice. But her voice placement retreats to the back of her throat when emoting or speaking while smiling. A distracting sound, even on an Air Force base. But I digress. She seems to be attached, off-hours, with her boss, Nolan, whose age gap could pass him off as her uncle. She and Holden were an item before the war—speaking of niece and uncle—but she is reluctant to make any commitment. Her character is a bit puzzling. She would seem to be happy enough with Nolan unless Holden is around. Maybe any dependable guy. 

Given a number of second thoughts, Nolan cautiously eases Holden in on some testing. He gets his chance at the Martin XB-51, masquerading in this film as the Gilbert X-120. It is featured in an impressive flying sequence in a unique head-on takeoff view alongside its chase plane. Taken from a third plane already in the air, we watch both planes accelerate upward toward the unknown, zooming over the camera aircraft. Character actor Ralph Moody plays H.G. Gilbert, who assumes his plane is perfect and is arrogantly opposed to Holden's blunt assessment of a specific design flaw. When Garner loses his life because of this flaw, Moody is sheepishly humbled. Off-camera. In private. We assume. 

Nolan expects to pilot a research rocket plane, the real-life Bell X-2. It is his baby. But unknown to Nolan, Holden witnessed his dizzy spell after an earlier test flight. Holden, being about a decade too old himself for this kind of thing, bluntly tells him, off the record, that he would risk his life if he goes through with it. Reluctantly, he lets Holden pilot the flight. It becomes a troubled test with a necessary bailout. Holden's role during these scenes is based on the actual testing by Lieutenant Colonel Frank Kendall in the Bell X-1D. Holden met Kendall during filming, who gave an account of his experiences. The hard parachute landing bangs Holden up with needed physical therapy. Reporting on Holden's progress, the base doctor also informs Nolan that he would not have survived that high-altitude bailout. Nolan gallantly takes a position in Washington, DC, with McGraw filling the base commander’s shoes.

Notes: Paul Baron provided an appropriately sensitive background score. He also weaves in the opening bars of “The U.S. Air Force” song with interesting arrangements. There are two instances, though, when he or the studio creates a slightly humorous and startling “electronic” sound during two scenes of aircraft soaring high in the sky. A sound not unlike a Hawaiian slide guitar whose pitch gradually gets higher during take-off. It is more appropriate for a Warner Bros. cartoon than a dangerous saga about test pilots.

For aviation historians, the Martin XB-51 and the other aircraft or stock footage are the main draw of this movie. Never chosen for production, there were only two XB-51s built, both destroyed in crashes. The last XB-51 featured in this film crashed shortly after the filming was completed. Lincoln Bond mentioned its design flaw.

VIOLENT SATURDAY (1955)

The early, low-budget Richard Fleischer movies were noted for realism through location shooting and in-car cameras, giving credence to the scripts. Violent Saturday has the realism front covered, but this time with a larger budget worthy of the then-popular CinemaScope. Hiring Hugo Friedhofer to do the score settles the issue. From the pivotal opening scene of the obligatory bus arrival, Fleischer does not let your attention wander. Cameras weave in, out, up, and down, setting up scenes and characters with no loss of continuity. Ideal for CinemaScope. It is not without its faults, as a few sequences may generate a few chuckles in the truest soap opera sense. There is at least one illogical scene that tests the suspension of disbelief in you. The script involves a myriad of character subplots, not unlike many of today's television dramas. But the film is first-rate.

Speaking of first-rate, Victor Mature gets top billing. An obvious assumption based on his leading roles over the past decade. His supporting cast is equally strong, including up-and-comers Lee Marvin and Ernest Borgnine. Along with stalwarts J. Carrol Naish and Stephen McNally are Sylvia Sidney and Virginia Leith. They even managed to work in Brad Dexter as his smarmy self. Richard Egan has a major role as the mining company CEO and is in charge of the soap opera element. He and his wife, Margaret Hayes, have the usual Hollywood marital problems, and their extended scene together may try your patience. The scene becomes very poignant after the bank robbery.

Tommy Noonan has a creepy subplot as the awkward and emotionally challenged bank manager who moonlights as a voyeur of a nurse, Leith. From a distance, he peeks into her window at night. He follows her around town to get closer to her. He nearly faints at the drugstore, finding himself in a tight spot exiting, brushing between her and a display rack. It was not meant to be funny in 1955. His character is also married, which makes one wonder how that is going. He is wounded on this violent Saturday, and Leith is the nurse monitoring him. With a sense of manliness, he confesses his weird behavior to her.

Known for her somewhat wooden acting and with one of the most unfortunate female voices since the silent era, Virginia Leith never made it into the big time. She was attractive, but it is hard to describe her occasional goofy voice. When she keeps her volume low, it disguises the real danger when she smiles and talks. Her throat tightens up, and all her feminine qualities vanish. Her first greeting to Egan in the drugstore is a prime example. One would think the studio might have provided vocal training if they thought her career was skyrocketing. It is not offered today, as actors and actresses are not associated with studio demands. Plus, no one cares anymore.

That obligatory bus lets off McNally, the self-proclaimed “traveling salesman.” He is soon joined by two “junior salesmen,” the sadistic nasal inhaler, Marvin, and Naish, who appears to be everyone’s favorite uncle. Naish has been through this routine before and has the presence of mind to keep candy in his suit pocket in case an unruly child in the bank needs to be distracted.

There is a somewhat humorous scene for Marvin. It is a great scene that captures his character. He is restless. He cannot sleep. McNally is not yet in dreamland, and Marvin wants to talk about all the women who have messed up his life. He always went for “skinny broads.” Just skin and bones. One wife, in particular, was a record holder for getting colds. Then he would get a cold. Maybe fifty times. That is how he got addicted to nasal inhalers. She left him for a two-bit undertaker. Another character revelation comes earlier in the film when a local boy accidentally bumps into Marvin, knocking his inhaler to the sidewalk. Uh-oh. As the boy apologizes and attempts to retrieve the inhaler, Marvin grinds the boy’s hand into the concrete with his shoe. He enjoyed it.

McNally fakes a visit to an Amish farm outside town in which Borgnine is the head of the household. Borgnine calls any stranger “neighbor” and says “thee” and “wouldst thou.” It will be the perfect hideout. McNally later describes him to his partners as “a religious screwball.” McNally is given the customary glass of buttermilk. Nothing more refreshing in the desert! Set in the fictitious town of Bradenville, the southwest Arizona desert seems an unrealistic location for the Amish, given their expertise and dependence on growing and harvesting crops in fertile soil. The Amish DIY houses are made from wood, making one wonder where they got the bricks for this two-story home. But it is Borgnine’s pitchfork that may explain why the Amish were scripted in.

Mature’s Mercury is what the robbers need, and at gunpoint, he is ordered to drive to the Amish farm. Fleischer’s in-car camera goes to work, and Friedhofer’s score cranks up the excitement. The final stand-off scene was controversial at the time as the bandits tie up Mature and the Amish family in the barn’s hayloft. Seeing the family lined up with white tape covering their faces is still a bit unsettling, as they look less than human. Mature manages to cut the ropes around his wrists and then sets the Amish free—in a nod to Abraham Lincoln. The bandits then position the Mercury in front of the barn doors, and with a huge stone over the accelerator, the high-revving engine is remotely shifted into gear with a rake, and the car rams through. They set the car’s gas tank on fire to level the barn. Mature and Borgnine push it back into the open and Mature crawls underneath with little fear that the car might explode. His shotgun eliminates another robber. After shooting Mature in the leg, Borgnine notices he is reloading. Marvin kicks his inhaler habit with Borgnine's magic pitchfork thrust into his back, in a shocking moment.

Mature's young son could not explain why his friends called his dad a coward—a classic example of attacking someone before knowing the facts. Mature was more useful at home in the copper mines during World War II. After his recovery of the stolen money, blowing away two criminals with a shotgun and getting wounded himself, he becomes a hero to his son and his friends.

Note: The jury may still be out on how deeply "thy pitchfork" could be driven into the upper back to kill a person instantly, as suggested in this film. A lot of bones to pick through. It would "take thee" one monumental thrust into the spinal column. Based on the effect in the film, passing out would be logical, and with medical attention, perhaps survivable.