THE JUDGE (1949)

This shoestring-budgeted film is told with voice-overs through the eyes of a judge, actor Jonathan Hale, who has witnessed a defense attorney’s career rise and fall. The odd use of Gene Lanham's wordless a cappella choral effects instead of an instrumental score gives it an eerie, avant-garde science fiction feel...if it were the early Sixties! To finish out the Forties with it is just weird. Couple the narration with the choral score, the opening suggests a Sunday morning inspirational film. Other than the opening melody a mixed vocal ensemble sets the mood with only cued chords. Like a macabre Swingle Singers. You might recognize the first few measures of the opening theme as sounding like a cross between John Williams’ Superman theme and The Adventures of Superman television theme. Perhaps a bit ironic that John Hamilton (television's first Perry White) is in this film as a police lieutenant.

Milburn Stone plays the noted criminal attorney whose practices are at least unethical if not illegal. “A waste of a mind misused,” so says the judge. He is infamous for his loopholes in the law, springing the guilty. This takes a toll on his conscience after seeing his picture beside the word “shyster” in the dictionary. He now wants restitution for his actions and for all those he has maligned in the process. Speaking of maligning, enter his disloyal wife, Katherine DeMille. She is having an affair with the county police psychiatrist, Stanley Waxman, in his first credited film. This is no longer a secret to Stone, whose performance sets him apart from his co-stars. He is compelling. DeMille is not, though, adequately irritating.

The opening apartment scenes between a mental patient and a boy’s violin practice in the next room are disturbing. Continuity takes a hit in the early stages, with the best bits past the halfway point, with an oddly used flashback dream sequence near the film’s end. Perhaps a last-minute idea to pad the film. While Stone lies unconscious on the floor from a blow to the head, he experiences a dream nightmare about his wife. In his mind, he settles the score on the psychic rift between them. At the end of this sequence is the funniest use of the chorus, when Stone is slapped across the face by DeMille. As soon as her hand makes contact, we hear a rapid, two-note descending pitch, “Whaah Ohh!”

Stone’s unsettling use of a straitjacket on his hired killer, played by “under the radar” actor, Paul Guilfoyle and Stone's implementation of Russian Roulette is pretty intense. He seems possessed by a demon at this point, with the viewer not knowing who might be killed, who wants to be killed, or who will be framed for either. The ending resolution is both ridiculously rapid and implausible. Still, the film is a unique seventy minutes, though few would call it successful. The a cappella chorus is its defining element. “Honey, let’s go and see that film that uses a lot of aahs and whaaos as background music."

BOMBERS B-52 (1957)

This CinemaScope production is Warner Bros.' answer to the more successful 1955 release, Strategic Air Command, filmed in Paramount’s VistaVision format. It was superior in cinematography and script authenticity by Bernie Lay, an airman himself, who came to the table with firsthand details. Victor Young's opening male ensemble song and dynamic flying score from that film better captured the grandeur of this period. But I digress. Renowned composer Leonard Rosenman, on the other hand, wrote a soap opera opening theme that goes against the bold, three-dimensional title graphically spelled out on the screen. He did write a dynamic B-52 motif, which I address below. Some big bucks were spent here, and it shows. The film gets high points for location filming on an active SAC base, and the camera crew's work on the ground is applauded. This helps distance itself a bit beyond the B-movie category, along with the draw of Natalie Wood, Karl Malden, and Efrem Zimbalist, Jr., all on career upswings.

The film gets low points for a Sam Rolfe story adapted for the screen by Irving Wallace. His soap opera screenplay, which I already warned you about, had an alternate title. Dell's movie promo publication (below) suggests the airmen's sleep-deprived twenty-four-hour missions and perhaps Malden's multi-hour angst over his daughter's late-night dating behavior. Contrasted with this is Wallace's infamous double-entendre about sleepless nights suggested by the poster.

Another low point is an over-the-top performance (once again) by Malden. He can be hard to stomach in this bull-headed, self-centered character. His role as the over-protective father and career airman dominates the movie, despite this being a Wood film. His guest shot on a popular quiz show has all the nervousness of a father awaiting the birth of a newborn. The sequence is a bit embarrassing. Comedy was never his strong suit, as he appeared upset even while delivering humorous quips. The scenes where he paces the floor, blowing off steam to his wife, Marsha Hunt, while downing eight cans of beer, between trips to the bathroom, are humorless. 

If you are an aviation enthusiast of this era, the B-52, as was the B-36 in the “SAC” film, will be your highlight and the main reason for remembering the movie. It is a visual aviation history lesson of the USAF's formative years, including Boeing's B-47 in background shots. The takeoffs and flybys are exciting, if not spectacular. Probably done better in A Gathering of Eagles (1962). The banter between tanker and bomber pilots is fun in one sequence. During a twenty-four-hour flight, Zimbalist's “travelogue” comments and accompanying back screen projected visuals should have been left on the editing floor. The Boeing bomber's interior mockups appear accurate.

Rosenman wrote a majestic march-like theme for brass and strings. Though it takes nearly half the film before we see a B-52, the theme, along with an elevated camera position, is all goose-bumpy, casting long, early morning shadows for an impressive debut as its wings spread out over the tarmac. Once the plane is front and center, we hear the theme frequently. The theme should have debuted with this sequence. But just prior, it is hilariously misplaced during a sequence of Malden riding a ubiquitous scooter several hundred feet. With the gallant theme blasting away, we expect him to end his ride next to the bomber as it fills the screen. Instead, he simply stops at the base barracks after putt-putting past the base gate. Piloting a scooter is just not very majestic.

While "blowhard dad" is in the base hospital recuperating from a bailout injury, Wood, sobbing, apologizes for being only nineteen and confesses she is no longer embarrassed by her dad's occupation. Planes are keen. Wood's constant crying is a bit tedious, but she and her father finally have an understanding. We assume Wood will marry, move out of the house and Malden will cut back on the beer volume. Near the end of the film, Wood looks rearward from Zimbalist's T-Bird, finally understanding the point of the eleven-ship B-52 formation roaring overhead. A large formation that would only be performed for a promotional demonstration. Like in this film.

Notes: I have always found the film’s title a bit of strange syntax, like “Thunderbird Ford.” The alternate title would have addressed numerous aspects of this film. For Paramount’s Strategic Air Command (sorry, Air Command Strategic), recruitment went up about 25% because of its inspiring screenplay and a believable performance by James Stewart. I doubt the Air Force got that much of a jump following this movie’s premiere. Who wants to enlist and be supervised by a character like Malden? Most would gladly choose Stewart's flight engineer, Harry Morgan.

Finally, many noted the twenty-year age gap between Zimbalist and Wood. Until the Internet, Hollywood actors' stats were not readily available. Generally, an older male was/is expected in Hollywood. Note Clark Gable with Doris Day, or John Wayne with Jean Arthur, and many others. Zimbalist, in his first major screen debut, makes it work on-screen because he appears ten years younger than reality. As many have found out since, Warner's original choice was Tab Hunter. He and Wood were hot property during this period and would have been a box office draw. Though it would solve the perceived age gap, it probably made it implausible to believe he was a seasoned pilot in the Korean War, then achieving the rank of Lieutenant Colonel at such a young age. Plus, he likely would not have pulled off the demeanor or vocal authority that Zimbalist brought to the role. Consider a major script revision pairing Wood with the handsome co-pilot, Stuart Whitman. But he and Zimbalist appear the same age! 

FLIGHT TO NOWHERE (1946)

When the Golden Gate Pictures trademark logo appeared on the screen, my knuckles started to sweat in anticipation. Directed by William Rowland and distributed by Screen Guild Productions, this seventy-nine-minute film starts at a fast pace but soon settles into a talky, mundane script, stifling interest. An overabundance of abrupt edits from Gregg Tallas may give you whiplash, as few scenes never seem to finish a thought before cutting to another character’s scene and then back to where the whirlwind began. Carl Hoefle's music score accompanies one scene and then abruptly cuts to another without music. One scene may be at a bar, then a restaurant. They are outside with martinis. Inside with martinis. Flights of confusion from Los Angeles to Death Valley and Las Vegas. Marcel LePicard's camera filters make it difficult to distinguish night from day. 

There are very few actors who might be recognized by die-hard B-movie fans. Jack Holt, the famous early Western star, plays an FBI agent out to retrieve a map containing the location of uranium deposits, which was stolen from a Korean national and subsequently murdered after leaving a dinner party. This is the first studio film to deal with an atomic bomb angle. Certain guests at the party are suspects, and Holt arranges to have his trusted pilot and former FBI agent, Alan Curtis, tail them. Curtis was a frequent player during this era and does his best Clark Gable impression at times. Their washroom scene provides some well-delivered witty lines by Curtis. The scene simply supplies the background of their espionage days during World War II. Holt pops up throughout the film to keep the viewer and Curtis abreast as the story drags on. Curtis’ witty comments are the only spark to an otherwise droll script to nowhere. He gets hit over the head more than the average charter pilot, each time accounting for his loss of a secret map. If the map gets stolen, there is a music cue by a harp to confirm it. 

Women seem attracted to Curtis, and one gets the feeling he is not surprised. First up is dinner guest and supposed countess, Micheline Cheirel, who hires him to fly her to Death Valley along with her party of four. Fans of the low-budget films of the Forties and Fifties will be familiar with Evelyn Ankers. She and Cheirel are in an atomic hat war upon their screen entrances. Cheirel’s headwear gives her an “MST3000” Crow T. Robot look while Ankers went with a breakfast-themed, fifteen-inch, ten-dollar pancake. Adding to the overall confusion is a secret letter about one of the passengers, which gets stolen five times in a matter of minutes. Numerous characters bounce from scene to scene in a disjointed fashion, so why not add another? Inez Cooper, playing Curtis’ ex-wife, arrives to complete the character maze, which includes Ankers’ brother, two other male suspects, plus a few other males that muddy the story. Cooper’s purpose in the film appears to highlight her trade secret, that of a professional pickpocket. This might explain Curtis's divorce. She is so good that a large, valuable ring disappears from Ankers’s finger, who is none the wiser. Cooper steals Curtis's (sabotaged) plane, and the subsequent crash removes her from the script. The ending in Las Vegas is precisely nineteen minutes later than it should have been, as all the atomic secrets are secured after a few suspects either die or get arrested. While in Vegas, Curtis takes the plunge at a nearby chapel. That amazing pancake hat on Anker's head was simply irresistible.

Note: This project may be most notable for bringing Hoot Gibson out of his retirement...er...element. All the filming was done on location in Chatsworth, California, and Iverson Ranch, reflecting a budget reminiscent of the films that made Gibson famous. His minuscule appearance as the sheriff is notable for his cowboy hat and a cue-perfect entrance. 

NIGHTFALL (1956)

This Columbia Pictures B-movie stars Aldo Ray, James Gregory, Anne Bancroft, and Brian Keith. Rudy Bond has a standout role, one of several films he made, three of which starred Marlon Brando. His sister, Jocelyn Brando, plays Gregory’s wife. However, the film may be best remembered for the camera work of cinematographer Burnett Guffey. Directed by Jacques Tourneur, his use of seamless flashbacks provides the most interesting segments of this film. Despite his success with Out of the Past, his directing here can be uneven. One cannot fault the studio art department for pumping up the promotion of this seventy-nine-minute film---note the yellow teaser text in the poster.

I found Stirling Silliphant’s script ponderous at times. Many segments go by slowly with a lot of character development dialogue. The title, as near as I can figure, refers to the opening night scene between Ray and Gregory. It took a while to figure out what was up with Ray's character, whether he was innocent or guilty of something. His incessant, vague comments about the source of his troubles barely squeeze through. The homey scenes with Gregory revealing to his wife how his insurance investigation is progressing ate up a lot of film for a character not in need of so much background. Then, Keith’s extended cat-and-mouse verbal threatening of Ray is also a frame-eater. Thankfully, the flashbacks make sense of why Ray is being hunted, how he, Keith, and Bond collided, and why the latter two cannot find their stolen loot.

I was not buying the World War II veteran, Ray, as a freelance commercial artist. Artistic people exist in all walks of life, but Ray seems better suited as a professional truck driver. Barry Sullivan, one of the original choices, would have been ideal. I could have supported Bancroft as a Montgomery-Ward catalog model, though not a high-fashion model. The novel that the film is based on may be the culprit. Bancroft's first appearance with Ray in a local bar is also a wee cumbersome until thieves and noir-do-wells, Keith and Bond, enter the picture. He thinks his abduction was set up by Bancroft. 

Keith once again seems to be holding himself back from a sudden outburst of violence. A one-dimensional character played well with clamped jaw. But Bond...Rudy Bond, (second from left above) steals the film as the sadist who enjoys killing people by games of (no) chance. His laugh from an individual with a screw loose upstairs. I imagine him watching Wile E. Coyote cartoons endlessly―as an adult―always laughing hysterically at every pratfall, however repetitive. His demise is well worth waiting for. Then, there is a lot of waiting in this film. Waiting for Ray and Bancroft to become an item. Waiting for Gregory to explain himself to Ray. Waiting for Keith and Bond to come to an understanding, and waiting for that snowplow to make itself useful. 

BEHIND THE HIGH WALL (1956)

You will want to overlook the familiar script in this Universal-International production. Just enjoy the superb acting of the lead actors. It is another prison break story of a good guy gone bad, destroyed by temptation, and a doomed driveway. More about the latter, later.

Accomplices on the outside facilitate a prison escape, kill a guard and kidnap the warden, Tom Tully, and force an inmate, John Gavin, to accompany them. A car crash kills everyone except the aforementioned. Considering their short screen time, the other actors were just happy to be paid scale. Before the police arrive, Tully buries the gang's money with a plan to finally live in financial peace. If that is not dishonest enough, he shamefully attempts to pin the guard’s murder on Gavin by uncomfortably never coming to his defense.

Flawlessly, Tully catapults from supporting to lead actor without a hitch. He is excellent as a prison warden with financial problems, a crippled wife, and decisions that change his life through layers of lies. Tully’s understated and subtle performance―his tender voice when trying to comfort his wife―reflected an actor of great range. Sylvia Sidney's role as the wheelchair-bound wife seems a good choice. An interesting detail is that she is able to drive her car equipped with handicap controls. Sidney's flexibility as an actress attests to her longevity and was never confused with any of her more attractive peers. Even though her wrinkles had multiplied twelve-fold―oddly, still wheelchair-bound―she carried on forty years later as a loopy grandma in Mars Attacks!

John Gavin gives a solid performance, but the handsome actor, with a face fresh from a J.C. Leyendecker's Arrow Shirt illustration, seems out of place in this role of a down-and-out loser. With his snarling upper lip, Elvis Presley would have worked better. If Gavin was ideally cast, then his girlfriend should have been Elizabeth Taylor and not Betty Lynn, playing Tully's daughter. She was attractively cute but not a classic beauty. For the record, I have no idea who the lady in the poster with the red skirt is since she was not in this movie. But her face, if not her hair color, has an uncanny resemblance to Miss Taylor.

The dependable and versatile actor, John Larch, is on hand as a prison inmate who sticks close to Gavin until the end, implausible as it is. In order to flush out both men hiding in Tully's garage, he confesses his sin over a bullhorn―in the formerly quiet neighborhood―and testifies to Gavin's innocence. Larch wants no part in any surrender and blasts through the garage door without opening it, hitting Tully in his escape. How anyone so near the garage―on that driveway of doom―could not hear the engine start and accelerate is beyond reasoning.

BEYOND THE TIME BARRIER (1960)

On a test flight, Robert Clarke pilots his X-80 (Convair F-102 interceptor) through a time barrier then returns to the airbase finding it deserted with buildings showing decades of neglect. He wanders alone from one building to another. What the...hey! Check out his expression below. Doh! He looks off into a distant forest to see a dark projected painting...uh...futuristic city. He is soon captured and taken to an underground city called the Citadel. Triangles are the dominant architectural theme in this dystopian society. A fantastic city right off a 1938 Popular Science magazine cover. Tall beacons use the pulsating sound effect of the Martian's laser ray appendage from the original The War of The Worlds. The not-so-special effect of what sounds like a sophisticated party favor slide whistle is used for an elevator’s ascent and descent. This was probably not included in the budget.

Vladimir Sokoloff, in one of his last movie roles, plays the Supreme of the Citadel who is suspicious of any outsiders. His muted granddaughter, played by Darlene Tompkins has the singular ability to read minds and affirms Clarke is quite a catch. The Supreme trusts her telepathy. Planning to stay at least overnight, Clarke is provided sleeping arrangements in an open-concept area the size of a small airport terminal. The bed is an enormous, double-queen-sized mattress placed on the floor. A servant brings him dinner, for which he is grateful because he has not eaten since who knows when. He takes a bite out of something and proceeds to explore his surroundings. He is stuffed and never eats again. Clarke and Tompkins get along triangularly. So well, she slaps him for what he is thinking after their first kiss. At least she is not sterile like all the others. 

Wait?!

Apparently, America’s nuclear bomb testing in the Seventies damaged the Earth's atmosphere, letting dangerous cosmic rays fall back to Earth, causing a plague of massive mutants and stupendous sterility. Tompkins somehow escapes the latter part and the Supreme hopes Clarke can regenerate their society. Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink. Speaking of sterile—unfortunately, not mute—Boyd “Red” Morgan’s performance as the Captain is just that. A former NFL player and Hollywood stuntman, his delivery lacks any professionalism. What better film to showcase his talent.

To help him understand the year 2024―no wonder he was starved―the Citadel’s complete history is stored in a Zenith record player console cabinet painted in sterile white. A chronicle only a few geniuses could ever possibly interpret. Tompkins pulls out shoulder-width portrait images, which Clarke, without hesitation, nails the detailed story behind each. She nods excessively in approval. He is so dreamy! Oh, he has more questions. She brings out another portrait to remedy his curiosity. She nods excessively. I was getting a headache watching her head shake so enthusiastically.

Other time-travelers are revealed to be living in the Citadel, which conflicts with Clarke’s plan. Each wants to return to their time and will stoop low enough to make it happen. One traveler releases underground mutants who look hilariously harmless with choreographed attacks resembling a Kung Fu gymnastics event. The bare-footed bald mutants, with pant legs, slit from ankle to knee, laugh maniacally. The Supreme helps Clarke escape, albeit alone, via the X-80 and return to his airbase with a hard-to-fathom story to log. Time travel is risky business. In a popular Twilight Zone twist, Clarke ages, mysteriously, only on his return trip. He warns them about the dangers of nuclear testing and, of course, man-made climate change.

Note: This American-International film will not be on many must-see lists. Directed by Edgar Ulmer, of “Detour” movie fame, every penny of its $125,000 budget can be accounted for. And much of the expense went into hiring actors. Handsome Robert Clarke, with his commanding voice, is well known for his low-budget science fiction movies of the Fifties. He was a busy actor on television who seemed to love acting, no matter what the project. This film being a good example.

THE VIOLENT ONES (1967)

The first thing of note about this Madison Productions, Inc. production, aside from the production company name itself and a misplaced detail of a steam locomotive whistle in 1967, is a driving score by Marlin Skiles befitting a major military operation with tanks rumbling through the North African desert. Yet what we see is a sheriff’s 2-door Impala Sport Coupe---first-class all the way---being driven within the speed limit through town and country. A lengthy segment that eats up enough film to include all the credits and then some. The film was not expected to be a Golden Globe nominee, but the star and director, Fernando Lamas, managed this drama fairly well despite some unlikely sequences and a clichéd script. Perhaps to ease some directing complications, there is plenty of driving in this film. Used once during a road sequence---perhaps to break the monotony---is a strangely-used, and totally ineffective, vignette. This ninety-five-minute film is about twenty minutes too long.

The low-budget melodrama, set in a New Mexico border town, concerns three apprehended white men: Aldo Ray, Tommy Sands, and David Carradine. One is guilty of rape and the death of a local girl. Lamas, no fan of gringos, is the deputy sheriff who interrogates each individually, starting with a big smile and cordial questions as if he intends to release them once he hears their story. In reality, he is waiting for each one to say something to set him off so he can verbally assault or slap each one around. Also on his conscience is the possible lynching of the three prisoners by the townspeople. The “mob” seems particularly uncommitted to string up anything as they sheepishly gather in small groups around the jail, quietly discussing what to do next.

With a lynching imminent, Lamas and his chained-together prisoners escape out the back as no one covered that exit. I mentioned the mob was not very committed. However, a very committed carload of locals tries to bump Lamas’ two-ton truck off the road. Traveling around twenty-five miles per hour, the sequence is not very believable or plausible. They constantly lay on their horn as if taunting them like high school rivals. The truck moves off-road, and their slow, synchronized chase in the desert is pretty silly. Not being a fair fight, the truck maneuvers to ram the car, flipping it over. The truck soon runs dry, with their subsequent escape through the desert on foot being tedious and time-consuming for them and viewers alike. Seizing an opportunity to overwhelm Lamas, the four-man choreographed fight scene is supported by solo piano and percussion, looking a bit like a halfhearted Keystone Cops routine in slow motion.

All three prisoners eventually feel their lives slipping away from dehydration, and each one's story begins to reveal the murderer through a process of elimination. An injured Lamas gets flanking leg support as he proudly hobbles toward a nearby town. The three now appear to be buddies as if they were successful in their defeat of Rommel.