THE HOUSTON STORY (1956)

William Castle offers up his final noir about an ambitious oil driller who discovers a way to steal oil and then sell it to distributors or foreign interests for huge profits. The film's first half is the stronger section, as one is not sure of the main character's intent, played by Gene Barry. The opening morgue scene involving a female's body gets the intrigue award. Barry purposely misidentifies her. The script can be complicated in laying out the benefits of underworld “investing” and whose pipes are being gleaned. It starts to disintegrate during the last third of the film, however, offering a commonplace resolve. There is enough backstabbing in this film to be another Castle horror movie.

Barry puts the con in conniving. A greedy, unscrupulous businessman who romances a nightclub singer to infiltrate a Houston mobster's organization. He is a decent fit for this role as a womanizer. More believable than the original choice, Lee J. Cobb. Barbara Hale—the aforementioned (in name only) morgue lady—is now a nightclub singer with a different name. Her single vocal number is quite mesmerizing and convincing. No dubbing. Her bleached hair and facial features are also stunningly perfect.

Mob boss Edward Arnold, in his next-to-last movie, could play corrupt like few others. Barry needs his financial backing. Arnold goes along with Barry's scheme, vouching for their newest board member, chaired by “Mr. Big,” John Zaremba. But Arnold never wavers from his plan to dispose of Barry once the funds start rolling in. Apart from Houston's temperatures, Barry begins taking heat from investigators. He sets up nightclub owner Paul Richards, another Arnold associate, to take the fall for an oil well sabotage to get them off his back. But Richards shifts the blame to Arnold, putting him on a slippery slope. For the first time in his career, he is a hunted man with no place to go. Out of nowhere, instantly, Arnold spits out his startling confession to Barry, “Now I gotta run! I never had to run before! I don't even know how to run!” At his weight and age, he was accurate. Zaremba wants Barry removed “peacefully” from the “board of elders” and sends a gangster, Chris Alcaide, to...uh...find him. 

Barry's passed sweetheart, Jeanne Cooper, runs a cafe in oil derrick territory. She expects a future with him. Now in big trouble, he tells her to go to his house and get the 100 grand from the safe, then they will meet up later. Cooper arrives to find Hale already removing the money, which she does not plan to share. A lightbulb turns on for Cooper. With all his shrewd and detailed planning, Barry would have made an excellent professional organizer some fifty years later. Organized for him will be a trial. Sentencing for graft, corruption, and an itty-bitty murder. Digging himself out of prison might be his next drilling adventure.

THE SCARLET HOUR (1956)

This ninety-five-minute film's premise is what God meant by His Tenth Commandment. Though the title is a bit of a mystery—no scarlet noted in a black and white film. The suspense is handled pretty well by director Michael Curtiz. The only thing new about this film is the debut of some future television regulars. Paramount's Vista Vision gamble, Carol Ohmart, stars with Tom Tryon, Elaine Stritch, David Lewis, and James Gregory in their first film, along with seasoned actors Ed Binns and E.G. Marshall. In fact, this movie might have played better on the small screen by being shorter. It would have been free, too. Ohmart's successful husband, Gregory, knows his wife will do just about anything behind his back. Straight-arrow Tryon proves to be a real sap by succumbing to the devious female and her plan to have him intercept jewels after thieves steal them from Lewis's house. 

On the night of the theft intercept, the abusive Gregory follows his wife, catches her, and spots Tryon. Obvious to her, he would like to kill her, as he had threatened before. He pulls out his gun and enters her car. They struggle as Ohmart pleads with him. Gregory's gun goes off in the wrong direction, and he is shoved out onto the pavement. Though she despises him, she plunges into hysterics, calling out his name in sorrow. How could her plan possibly have gone this wrong? This segment is hard to fathom as she drives off, arms shaking, with Tryon trying to figure out what happened back there as he was dodging burglar bullets. Surely Gregory was shot with a stray one. 

Ohmart becomes jealous of Tryon, guessing he is secretly seeing her late husband's secretary, played by Jodie Lawrance. She, by the way, had more movies under her waistline before 1956 than the other stars combined. Lawrance wants to protect him for the decent man he is, as she hopes for a future together. Ohmart drops a none-too-subtle suggestion to the police that she might have killed Gregory. When Tryon finds this out, he is...how to put it...livid. He arranges for the police to gather at Ohmart's estate as he gives her a big dose of verbal reality. She stares out a second-story window as Lawrance and Tryon embrace in the courtyard below. As for Ohmart, I am not sure how severe the charges will be, given her husband's accidental death and the theft of fake jewels. Perhaps a series of counseling sessions and a year of community service. She has issues.

Notes: At least for this film, Ohmart is Madame Tussaud's, Barbara Stanwyck. Given her resemblance along with a similar storyline, one might assume it is a re-think of a famous Stanwyck role. But in this case, “Double Dumbidy” might be a better title. Her face is a mash-up of seventy percent Stanwyck and thirty percent Meryl Streep. Even at one hundred percent, it would not have helped Ohmart's movie career, which quickly transitioned to television. Her over-the-top acting quirks come off as if she is trying to steal any scene she is in. Constantly fidgeting some part of her body. None worse than her scene poolside with Lewis, in which her character has all the femininity of Marlon Brando, nervously shakes in between severe drags on a cigarette. She is the weakest link in the movie, and Hollywood noticed.

Hard to believe there would not have been a script change, so I found this amusing. When the police come to the office to question Tryon—portraying E.V. Marshall—he meets the lieutenant, played by E.G. Marshall. I thought I saw E.G. smirk a bit, but only wishful thinking. E.G. seems to have sucked some helium before filming certain scenes.

PAROLE, INC. (1948)

Equity Pictures presents this uninteresting film about a federal agent's undercover mission. The Orbit Production is split between studio sets and location shooting, with the obligatory train steam whistle soundtrack in the distance. The opening title credits are accompanied by an Alexander Lazlo score, a B-movie composer and music director for NBC Radio at the time. The music has slight documentary angst about it and the opening roll of the introductory text seems to support this. Yet the score could be used for many dramas with a burlap background behind the titles. l cannot imagine many talked about the film after its initial run, although Michael O'Shea was popular. This movie lacks suspense, action, or any surprises, making for a long seventy-five minutes, including the minimum fist-a-cuffs action.

The film opens from O'Shea's hospital bed, and we see him verbally, still gasping for air, transcribe his thoughts over a Dictaphone about his recent investigation. His head appears bandaged by "Miss Winthrop's third-grade class" using masking tape indiscriminately. While his character sets up the film's premise through flashbacks, each time cutting back to his hospital bed, O'Shea's bandages begin to look a tad more medically approved. The nurses got a real chuckle with those third-graders!

As O'Shea recalls, he went undercover to flesh out the gang responsible for buying paroles for convicted criminals. His lackluster voice-over narration has all the raw toughness of Danny Kaye. Evelyn Ankers, the owner of a dinner club, employs several of her “boys” to do her bidding. The film plays out in slow motion as it cuts between informative scenes and the lull of O'Shea's narration. The Police Commissioner, Lyle Talbot, looking particularly oily in a pencil-thin mustache, arranges a fake news headline that reassures the gang about O'Shea's supposed criminal history. Soon enough, we are back in the hospital, and by now, bedsores are probably O'Shea's biggest concern.

Turhan Bey plays the gang's attorney—the hunk of Ankers—who is the kingpin of buying paroles with inside help from two crooked parole board members. In a pinstriped suit and dark Vitalis hair, Bey looks every bit the matinee idol and stands out from all the other average-looking people in the film. Harry Lauter, always on hand for a supporting role, plays a board member whose well-reasoned votes are constantly ignored by the overriding, obstinate committee.

The excitement nearly crescendos, but the ending is the least imaginative as we finally learn how O'Shea ended up in the hospital in the first place. It also supplies the moviegoer with his current status. He is finally out of that “Craftmatic” bed with dreams of going dancing again. 

A WELL-KNOWN HOLLYWOOD SHORT LIST

I am breaking from my usual comments on low budget movies to address five high budget actors and actresses for the “Five Stars Blogathon” hosted by http://www.classicfilmtvcafe.com/. There were some solid performances in the B-movie genre in spite of being saddled with a poor production or a bad agent. A few of those seemingly forgotten actors might appear on anyone's expanded list. But my candidates stand the test of time and are universally accepted as some of the best of Hollywood regardless of the era. Despite starring in a few less than successful films, their performances were not at fault. Each is impossible to ignore on-screen and in their best films, the running time is not quite long enough.

Edward G. Robinson

Except for the ubiquitous carnival funhouse distortion mirror, your average mirror never confused Edward G. Robinson with Errol Flynn of the Thirties. With handsome leading men being hand-picked by studios, it may be hard to figure how E.G. made it onto a soundstage at all. Not hard to figure is the polished performances of this tremendously dedicated, classically trained actor. His talent resuscitated many a script, transforming the movie into a memorable encounter. There have been those who seem fully aware or intimidated by camera and crew a few feet away. Their acting is turned on and off by their presence, perhaps trying too hard to make a good impression. There was never any hint of this in Robinson's acting. He inhabited his characters to become one of the most famous actors of any era. His distinctive voice and small stature was a polarizing magnet to audiences. From light comedy to heartfelt dramas or a crime story, he made it look so easy. His funny asides in “Larceny, Inc” to his amusing character in “The Whole Town’s Talking,” to his performance in “The Stranger,” each illustrated an actor of great versatility. He returned to his criminal roots in a believable role for, “Key Largo.” In his book, “The Actor's Life: Journal 1956-1976,” Charlton Heston wrote about Robinson’s last screen appearance in “Soylent Green.” Though E.G. was terminally ill, "He never missed an hour of work, nor was late to a call. He never was less than the consummate professional he had been all his life.” Yet, to go throughout his entire career without an Oscar nomination after appearing in nineteen academy nominated films is a bit mind-boggling. He did receive a Cleo award which included a self-parody ending line for a 1964 Maxwell House television commercial. Finally, a career fulfilled! “Listen here, Hollywood. May a pox be cast on ya', see!”

Gregory Peck

With his commanding voice, female-weakening smile, angular good looks, and stature, he was definitely someone to watch in the Forties. Peck was destined for screen immortality almost out of the gate and his fifty-four years of excellent performances catapult him to the top of any actor’s list. He will forever endure as one of the best representatives of Hollywood’s Golden Age. “Spellbound” may have solidified his career but he was just getting started. From his interpretation of a good-natured father in, “The Yearling,” the undercover reporter in, “Gentleman’s Agreement,” to the stressed-out combat pilot in, “Twelve O'Clock High,” each role fit him perfectly. His Oscar performance as the wise father and patient lawyer in, “To Kill a Mockingbird,” stands singularly alone. Critics complained about his stiffness in certain roles or in general. Maybe stoicism was a more positive moniker. Most thought he was miscast in “Moby Dick.” Though Peck apparently agreed, I find his Captain Ahab scary, commanding and appropriately stiff. The versatile actor rolled on. Who would have figured the western star of such classics as, “Yellow Sky” and “The Gunfighter,” or an Army lieutenant in “Pork Chop Hill,” as the unassuming professor with spy, Sofia Loren, in “Arabesque,” Peck's last outing for light comedy. When one considers Peck's entire body of work, comedy does not readily come to mind. But his first meeting with Loren’s character is funny because of his authentic delivery and charm. She enters the room and says hello. Peck, without looking up responds with a short, unconcerned, “Hello.” He does a double-take, and astounded by her beauty, cannot compose a sentence, only excitedly repeating, “Hel-lo, Hello! Hel-l-l-o Hello!” Few actors could make such effective use of a single word.  

Jean Arthur

The list of genuine comediennes with as many classics gets very narrow after considering Arthur at her nearly “ten-year zenith.” Adorable, thy name is Jean Arthur. Her characters of strength may be one reason her movies seem so relevant some seventy-five years later. Her silent films are now forgotten because she had no voice. A voice distinctly suited for comedy, wacky or not. Her child-like voice doubled her charm as if part tomboy and dainty ingenue. That voice gave her an “everyday girl” appeal, someone smart but still a bit confused about relationships yet always talking to men on equal terms. There were moments her voice sounded like her impression of an octogenarian as her voice crackled with her pitch squeezed to new heights. She interpreted her roles with a unique delivery that remains singularly endearing. Arthur was delightful as the savvy reporter when “Mr. Deeds goes to Town,” and is hilarious as the out-of-work secretary mistaken for a millionaire's mistress in, “Easy Living.” For “The Talk of The Town,” she again plays a single, well-educated female amid two male suitors with a few hilarious twists. For, “The More the Merrier,” her legendary voice and subtle facial nuances were both funny and alluring, especially to McCrea who was powerless to resist. Their scenes are innocent and pure yet may have set new standards for screen chemistry. She was worthy of the Oscar nomination. Other females of the Golden Age handled comedy well enough, which may have as much due to a great script than anything else. But to be flummoxed, smart, sassy, sympathetic, empathetic, resourceful, sad and funny in a single character, you need to be Jean Arthur.

Spencer Tracy

Tracy always elevated a film several floors simply by showing up. Adept at comedy or drama, with his natural style he seemed to walk through his roles as if he knew his part from birth. That he was destined to do one thing perfectly in his life. Act. His early Thirties films helped jump-start his career but by the end of that decade, his Hollywood stardom was planted firmly for ions with excellent films too numerous to mention. I have always defended his performance as Jekyll and Hyde. Coming off his first Oscar performance and the enjoyable, “San Francisco” or “Boom Town,” maybe it was a shock for Tracy fans and critics. Tracy's Hyde was not a physically grotesque creature, in the likes of John Barrymore or Frederic March, but a disgusting, psychological menace of terrifying proportions. His constant threatening of Bergman —” I am such a tease, aren’t I?”— as he calmly eats fruit, spitting the seeds on her apartment floor. All the while planning another “fun” evening together purely for selfish desires and ego. His performance, sometimes subtle, is a beautiful thing to watch. He would later team up with March for, “Inherit the Wind,” where Tracy wins the audience and court case over his costar in their respective roles. If his private life was not joy-filled, his comic timing is of course, legendary. Especially with Hepburn. Tracy could be the favorite father, a saintly priest or a despicable criminal. One can almost imagine him listening to his fellow costars deliver their lines, as if he just dropped by, then recite the appropriate lines in response in the most natural way. As his stocky stature seemed to allude, his acting was solid year after year.

Claudette Colbert

Though at times her high cheekbones and big wide-set round eyes gave a slight quirkiness to her face, there is no denying her appeal. Her slender body was much simpler to reason with and her skin was the envy of every porcelain doll. Her charm and sophistication were unequaled as was her insistence to be fashionable at all times on screen. All of which may account for her appearing taller than her rather short stature. Colbert’s silky, alto vocal range was another of her engaging qualities that could melt through any script. Her comedies are legendary and rank as some of the best of the Golden Age. Even if critics neglect it, “It’s a Wonderful World” is one of my favorites which includes her most memorable and charming line, “I swear by my eyes!” Keeping her sophistication intact, she held back on pure physical comedy. But she fit right in responding to it. “The Egg and I” came close with her character tackling the unknowns of farm living. Sort of a “Green Acres” predecessor, you might say. After World War II her success continued with a mix of highly regarded dramatic roles and comedies, culminating her career with a Golden Globe for the television miniseries, “The Two Mrs. Grenvilles.” Colbert was a smart businesswoman. She stood firm on her professional demands, of which there were many. She was shrewd enough to choose roles to maintain her Hollywood image. But what really mattered to audiences at the time was her flowing charm, self-assured characters, effortless acting and the uncanny ability to personify the expression of revelation. If Clark Gable was a man’s man, Colbert was, indeed, a woman’s woman.

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.