THREE CAME TO KILL (1960)

Cameron Mitchell seems to continue his role from Inside The Mafia in another association with this Robert Kent Production. This is his film and he commands your attention. Told with an opening voice-over narration in the style of  ABC’s Untouchables series, the device gives the impression this is based on a true story. But the script is sufficiently perforated with some illogical action and editing. The Los Angeles International Airport stock footage and location shoots of vintage autos will make most transportation historians perk up. The limited budget also requires a good share of studio backdrops, yet Kent can usually improve a small budget.

The film opens behind the United Nations building where a foreign interpreter is gunned down in a back alley. Mitchell and his partner, Steve Brodie, exit in a Mercury land yacht as it bobs and weaves over the pavement. The story quickly shifts to Los Angeles where special agent, Paul Langton, arrives from New York on a plastic scale model Lockheed Constellation and debarks an actual Douglas DC-6. Script perforation No. 1: the film’s editor is not interested in following through with the correct aircraft from one scene to another. Langton’s job is to get ahead of possible repercussions from the U.N. killing, hoping to avoid the assassination of a Middle East Prime Minister in seclusion in Beverly Hills. No motor lodge for him. Langton is assisted by a special agent and a local investigator played by King Calder. Calder again comes off authentic in every detail though his screen time is limited. They establish a secret route for the Prime Minister to arrive at the airport safely and return to his country.

Mitchell is the overconfident paid assassin to kill the Prime Minister and he will do it from the home of air traffic controller, John Lupton, by shooting the plane’s fuel supply on the runway as the engine's power up before takeoff. That might make some sense if you stop watching the film at the twenty-minute point. Script perforation No. 2: the studio backdrop film showing the runway appears to be more than a half-mile away. Script perforation No. 3: nevermind that Mitchell’s Fisher-Price map has the house on the wrong side of the runway. Nevertheless, Mitchell and Brodie abduct Lupton outside his house and everyone settles in to hear Mitchell boast about his perfect plan in overtones from the movie, Suddenly.

Mitchell vows to not hurt Lupton, his wife, her visiting sister, and her boyfriend if they just go about their daily routine. But the audience is skeptical. He breaks his vow immediately, threatening everyone with a gun to the stomach. Actually not part of their daily routine. Brodie brings a radio to pick up the control tower chatter (Mitchell calls him a genius as he tunes in the tower) but he is annoyed at those “stinkin’ jets!” flying over drowning out the radio. Commercial jets had only been in service less than two years and Brodie does not like the future. As the tense afternoon wears thin, Lupton is ordered back to the tower and when the plane is ready for takeoff he is to use a specific phrase signaling Mitchell when to shoot. If he does not follow through, he will start killing his family. Script perforation No. 4: it is impossible to hear over any radio, Lupton's written note being passed to the authorities in the tower. Brodie rapidly returns with news of the said development. Mitchell is angry. He grabs his revolver, and getting serious, puts on his hat before approaching the room where the family and a previously wounded federal agent are being held captive. Script perforation No. 5: why he puts on a hat is mysteriously funny. He opens the door to find the wounded special agent holding a shotgun at him. Mitchell quickly closes the door before being perforated with buckshot.

Script perforation No. 6: if I have not lost track. He made it a point earlier that he must level one table leg to stabilize his world-renowned shot. Another nod to Suddenly. Yet when it comes time to shoot the plane, he simply breaks the window and from a standing position aims for the plane's fuel tank. The one that is a half-mile away. Fortunately, he is jumped as he prepares to shoot. By then the police arrive to level the playing field in a hail of bullets. With the Prime Minister’s plane, a Boeing Stratocruiser, safely in the air, it transforms into a DC-6 after takeoff. A final curtain call for the film’s editor.

Note: Mitchell comes off flamboyant as the “big shot” getting set for his big shot. His arrogance blinds his reasoning. The authorities knew who he was thanks to some final words from the U.N. victim. Something Mitchell said was impossible. When he makes people dead, they stay dead. If that is not embarrassing enough, they know he drives a Ford Edsel. The film does not give Brodie much to do with his limited screen dialogue, but it is good to see him in another of his typecast roles. Lupton is competent and believable. With enough implausibility to elicit a groan or two, the film moves along well.

THE CAT BURGLAR (1961)

This sixty-five-minute film opens with night moves by a petty thief, Jack Hogan, climbing on balconies and roofs in his cat burglar apparel, a black sweatshirt, and a flat cap. The film feels promising with an opening title theme by Buddy "Repetitive" Bregman. The jazz score is cool in the beginning, yet becomes stale as the movie progresses with the same riff repeated over and over, only louder. Hogan shines in the last of his short film career as the burglar, giving the distinct impression that his delivery style is that of James Caan. When his character audibly shares his inner thoughts, his vocals pull it off with a natural flair. Hogan carries this film.

The story, written by Leo Gordon, prolific television actor, screenwriter, novelist, and all-around burly guy, has a subplot that I did not see coming so some kudos are in order for this. But expect the usual awkward scenes, which have now become amusing. Beyond Hogan's excellent performance, the other players do a decent job, though June Kenney's untrained voice and stage presence hurt her performance. (Seen below in deep thought.) Gregg Palmer's over-the-top performance is borderline hilarious.

Hogan steals a briefcase from Kenney’s apartment, hoping to find something of value. His usual pattern is to fence his take at a local pawn shop run by Gene Roth. Roth is effective here as the cigar-smoking owner with an annoying cough. Hogan’s contents are not of much value except for a notebook he thought worthless. He leaves that behind in his trash can.
Kenny, the unsuspecting briefcase courier, tells her boss/boyfriend, John Baer, about the theft, and his only concern is that notebook.

Greedy mastermind, Palmer, learns of the missing case and questions his partner, Baer. Using a low "hip cam" angle, we have a detailed view of his waistline and suit, which forms an "A" shape around Baer's face. He grumbles down on Baer’s recklessness in commanding form. It demands we see his face. But the cameraman cannot find his face in his viewfinder. When we hear Palmer’s threatening words as he thrusts a newspaper’s damaging headline at Baer, it is immediately followed by six descending notes of doom from a trombone, da-da-dum, da-da-dum. Another Bregman overkill. It is the funniest element in the film and is repeated often, just when expected. The very same notes of doom used over the years in comedy skit parodies.

Without revealing how, Kenny manages to locate a rotund, unkempt man in a sleazy apartment complex. An additional low "ankle cam" experiment is used as she approaches his apartment door. He is downtown’s official informant and takes her to the pawnshop. After telling her story, Roth knows to contact the cat burglar. After a meager payment to Hogan for the briefcase contents, Roth returns the briefcase to Kenny. Baer is not amused that the notebook is still missing and verbally assaults Roth, assuming he knows where it is.

Before dumping the notebook, Hogan tore out a couple of pages to level his teetering dresser, which his motel owner refuses to fix until he pays his rent. He arranges to get the notebook back to Kenney after a rather ambitious plan for a guy who calls himself a “crumb.” He painstakingly writes out several fake pages to fill out the notebook's mathematical schematics and get a fast hundred-dollar reward.

Baer meets with Palmer (above), who is enraged by the pages of gibberish in the notebook. The fake pages make the engineering plans for a new ICBM propulsion useless. He expected to trade those to foreign buyers on the black market. Suddenly, a national security subplot! They immediately head for Hogan’s motel room, and Palmer’s muscle gives Hogan a thorough beating and takes his one hundred dollars. But one thug is not quite finished. Not comfortable enough, he wants to get down to business. He takes off his suit coat and rolls up his sleeves. On previous beatings, he tried this with sleeves buttoned, but it was never successful. Hogan now realizes that the notebook must have a high value.

Kenney, assuming the benefit of the doubt, tells Baer that Hogan thinks he is involved in espionage. Da-da-dum! Da-da-dum! With lies spewing left and right, she soon finds that Palmer is not actually a police lieutenant. Arriving in his new Thunderbird should have been her clue. Hogan is waiting in a warehouse full of empty, blank boxes. As the last to enter the warehouse, Palmer releases Baer of any future scenes and mortally wounds Hogan. At the clichéd elevated position, he and Palmer struggle, both stuntmen falling onto the aforementioned empty boxes to break their fall. Both die from severe paper cuts. The "crumb" finally did something worthwhile with his life..

Note: Billie Bird, the daffy Mrs. Prattle, is the motel owner. She insists everyone pronounce it Praytel. The Praytel Motel does have a ring to it. Comically, she grumbles about being interrupted in the middle of nothing important. Drag racing legend Tommy Ivo plays her somewhat dimwitted son, who garners some laughs with his weak performance.

JET OVER THE ATLANTIC (1959)

With obvious roots in The High and The Mighty, this B-movie uses the first few notes of that film's main theme. Not exciting enough to be a thriller, the film does fall into the disaster category. The script perforations are numerous and the only storyline of importance is whether Guy Madison will be arrested by FBI agent, George Raft, who resembles Inspector Gadget in the opening sequence. This review will be brief.

George McCready plays a wealthy deranged man who feels responsible for his young daughter’s death. It is not clear why. McCready had a distinctive voice, a menacing growl of respectability that sounded like he had not gotten over a massive head cold. He is convinced that killing all the people on the plane, including himself, will make amends. He meets a character before the flight who does his best Peter Lorre impersonation and hands over a wrapped chemical bomb or is it a deli-wrapped ham? As deadly as a five-pound frozen ham can be upside the head, this device triggers a toxic chemical into the cabin to kill the pilots but drowsiness is the only danger to the passengers. One asphyxiated pilot informs the passengers of their status in a voice of groggy, unintelligible doom. I suspect not very comforting. Autopilot saves the day.

There are the usual annoying characters onboard. All may remind you of the famous Zucker Brothers' air disaster comedy without the intended humor. There is a wedding for Madison and co-star Virginia Mayo during the flight in a "rear lounge" large enough for a cruise ship. Raft is nearly shot by McCready but Madison saves his life. Gunshots ring out several times while in flight. The script is bound and determined to bring the plane down one way or another. Fortunately, Madison flew 4-engine planes during the war. The airplane's interior studio cockpit has no windows for the pilot yet he still lands the plane safely. We learn that he was framed and having saved everyone on board, Raft has the last words about Madison, “Yeah. Quite a guy.”

This over-long ninety-five-minute film was typically a cornerstone of a double feature. Meaning the bottom. The production team includes director Byron Haskin, noted for the original The War of The Worlds classic, and was produced by Benedict Bogeaus. Distributed by Inter- Continent Releasing Organization, Irving H. Cooper is responsible for the screenplay as is the soap opera score by Louis Forbes. Guy Madison bailed out of American Films after this flight.

Notes: A pet peeve of mine is the inconsistent editing of airliners in most B-movies. There were other ways to transition a scene without splicing in the wrong airline or aircraft. This film is a prime example. The pilots begin taxing a Bristol Brittania airliner. The pilots are completely unaware that when their plane takes off, it becomes a Boeing 377 Stratocruiser. Continuing the poor editing trend, the plane is cruising at altitude but the insertion clip shows the landing gear down. They probably will not have enough fuel to make New York City anyway with all that drag.

The British-built Brittania, the pinnacle of turbo-prop travel, arrived too late to be a success. Jet airliners dominated the market. So the title of this film is out of whack. To be fair, many referred to turbo-props as jet-props in the day. Admittedly, “Turboprop over the Atlantic” does not roll off the tongue and the advertising department could not use “Turbo-prop” in place of “Jet-Hot.”

PITFALL (1948)

Opening in the suburbs of Los Angeles, Dick Powell is an insurance agent who is weary of his predictable life template. He and his wife, Jane Wyatt, trade humorous quips and verbal jabs in the early going as many couples might do. A son completes the family album. When he begins investigating an embezzlement case, this typical family man soon changes to a life of secrets and danger, and all humor is gradually abandoned. The plot of this B-movie suggests that the average family is not immune to a disruption of marital bliss. Powell flows through the film with ease.

Powell is to recover some expensive gifts given to Lizabeth Scott by her boyfriend embezzler who's serving time in prison. With no particular place to go, they end up spending the day on her studio prop speedboat gift, which becomes the catalyst for Hank Panky. Powell, in a business suit with a fedora that stays put without chin straps—the miracle of projected backscreen scenery. Scott falls into the Lauren Bacall category of actresses who are not classic beauties but have a niche appeal. I am not in that niche. Not sure if it was a speech impediment, an overbite from bad dental development, but her lip snarls on her right side and her pronounced “esses” are especially annoying when whispering. It does not strike me as attractive or sultry.

Raymond Burr is cast this time as a private detective working for Powell and the insurance company. True to form, however, one soon learns he is once again a bit psychotic with his obsession over Scott. In probably the largest suit in show business at the time, he tails Powell and pummels him good. Scott, wanting to help and knowing Powell’s home address, spots Wyatt at the door from curbside and yells, "I must have the wrong address." Awkward.

As the day of her jailbird lover's release from prison approaches, Scott fears for her safety. Powell is beginning to see the errors of his ways and longs for the days before he got involved with her. He has had enough of Burr as well and gives him a bit of his own medicine. Burr tells the jealous jailbird about him and he attempts to kill Powell in his darkened study. However, Powell permanently removes any chance of him ever serving additional prison time. Confident all competition has been eliminated, Burr expects Scott to go away with him. Instead, she puts him in the hospital.

Powell gives a full confession to the police department, but a tougher confession is forthcoming for Wyatt. She reluctantly gives him a second chance but is not sure their relationship will survive. No definitive outcomes are revealed, leaving it to the viewer’s speculation. At best, a shaky happy ending.

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.

TIMETABLE (1956)

Arguably, this may be the best mid-century film of Mark Stevens’ career. His character is believable and, with only a few of his directorial details going amok, is a highly-rated B-movie. One of those details is the film opening to the relaxing sounds of an acoustic guitar more befitting a Western or foreign film. Yet there is a train's headlight coming at you. Abruptly, there is the sound of a sliding iron door slamming shut with a single music chord as the title graphic explodes on the screen. Then back to the guitar, then a full orchestra. That is editing worth looking into. The train sequences are the strongest part of the film, though, laying out the slick, detailed con. Indicative of the era, the ending chase is too long, especially knowing the errant characters are doomed. There are only so many flights of stairs to nowhere or alleys to run down. 

Wesley Addy, playing a bespectacled doctor without a license to practice, was busy on television with a few movies—Kiss Me Deadly, perhaps his most famous project—is only in two scenes, but his smooth, calming, and authoritarian delivery belies his devious persona. When asked by a steward to check on a sick passenger, his diagnosis is that of a phony case of polio, and the train must stop short of the scheduled destination. Due to the severity of the illness, he must have access to his medical bag in another car. His bag comes equipped with a gun for house calls. At gunpoint, he subdues the baggage personnel with a hypo, opens the safe, and keeps the loot. An ambulance is arranged for the doctor, the patient, and his wife. Everyone who debarks is part of an elaborate heist orchestrated by Stevens.

Stevens’ character, as an insurance investigator, is specifically requested to investigate the crime for the company, throwing a wrench into his timetable. Joining him in the investigation is railroad investigator King Calder, above. Practically unknown to moviegoers yet busy during the early years of television, he is excellent and so genuine that one would think he really is an investigator. He has no awareness of studio cameras right in front of him. He simply inhabits the part. He and Stevens have a long working relationship. Calder is convinced there is no such thing as a perfect crime, and he slowly unravels the crime one blackboard, one eraser, and one person at a time. 

True to Calder’s belief, the mastermind’s perfect timetable is again disrupted when he meets up with his reason for the money, Felicia Farr, Addy’s on-screen wife. The money is now in the husband's possession, and the couple makes their pre-planned Mexican escape. She squeaks by with the money and her life. He escapes with neither. With Steven's murder of a key witness and conspirator, Calder tells him the case appears to be a dead end. He suggests Stevens and his wife finally take that Mexican vacation they have talked so much about. Stevens is thinking, “Wife? Whose wife?!” 

There is a nice twist involving Stevens’ briefcase with the stolen money.  As a surprise joke, his wife has a key made for the case, substituting fishing lines and travel magazines for his “work papers.” His briefcase was a surprise to her as well. Doing the right thing, she sends the loot to his insurance company. Their relationship instantly turns south of the border. While Stevens hyperventilates, he leaves for good. Calder pays the wife a visit and she reluctantly reveals her husband's lack of clock management skills. 

Note: Stevens’ directing is not faultless. One detail that is not even questioned is that Stevens tries to convince Calder that the key witness's murder was a suicide. Except he was shot in the side. A slow suicide at best. Secondly, the script uses aliases for the thieves in the opening heist. With no lines or screen appearance, the fake patient’s name is not mentioned until later as the investigation unravels. When his name is mentioned, one might wonder who they are talking about. Thirdly, Stevens could have shaved minutes by cutting the set of “hot news” segments, interviewing those accosted during the robbery. A single-chord music cue gives each more credence than it deserves. The scenes serve no purpose.

THE TURNING POINT (1952)

This eighty-five-minute Paramount Pictures release grabs you from the start with escort sirens blaring as district attorney, Edmond O’Brien, arrives in court with breaking news about inroads to bring down a crime syndicate, run by Ed Begley. Not as optimistic is a news reporter and his childhood friend, William Holden, who is skeptical of O’Brien’s approach. Begley has half of San Francisco in his pocket and Holden can confirm it. Caught between Holden and O’Brien is the latter’s assistant and possible girl, Alexis Smith. Holden and Smith get off to a rocky start but it is clear her future could result in better-looking children than with O’Brien. The film's well-worn screenplay by Warren Duff is enhanced by William Dieterle's direction making for an excellent, believable, and fast-paced movie.

When O’Brien’s father, career cop Tom Tully, is selected as lead investigator, he balks at first. We quickly learn why as cynical Holden decides to tail him to meetings with Begley and crew. Meanwhile, O’Brien is grilling Begley in a hearing and the situation looks bleak for Begley. The DA reveals his shadow company, on the ground floor of multi-purpose apartments. Begley’s books are located there. With the DA aligning the facts and soon connecting the dots, just burning the books is an obvious option. Begley makes the snap decision to blow up the entire building. Everyone will blame it on a recent report that the building had faulty gas lines. But even his henchmen, Ted de Corsia for one, is appalled he would do such a thing. In a ruthless, selfish, and terrorist act, the entire building is set ablaze with surviving men, women, and children moaning and crying in the explosion’s aftermath. This alone is justification for the film receiving an advisory in some advertisements.

O’Brien soon arrives and becomes a pivotal scene for him and places an otherwise standard script to the top. He feels his pressure on Begley is responsible for the carnage and he is ready to throw away all his hard work. Holden challenges him not to give up and in a huge blow of truth, reveals his father’s involvement and his demise was planned by Begley, not a random robbery shooting. A turning point. Enter Neville Brand, in his usual early psychotic hitman role, hired to take out their most dangerous foe, Holden, in the midst of a boxing arena. Good luck. The match ends early in a knockout, leaving Holden obscured by the exiting crowd.

Note: Stellar performances by A-list actors is the main reason this film might be outside the B-movie category. O’Brien especially reigns in his acting skills to a perfect level. Unsurprisingly, Ray Teal is in this film as he seemingly was in every other film for over forty years. Finally, Carolyn Jones made her motion picture debut in the film.