CLOSE-UP (1948)

This seventy-six-minute drama offered one or two surprises during its first run, but it is no surprise today that it was produced by a small studio with the male and female leads somewhat resembling more famous Hollywood celebs. Distributed by Eagle-Lion Films for Marathon Pictures, it is a pretty good tale of fleshing out a Nazi war criminal who has never been brought to trial. The film begins on a comedic note, allowing the characters to endear themselves to the audience. It is never a dull moment with quips flying left and right. Thank the screenplay by John Bright and Max Wilk for these. Additional dialogue was supplied by the director, Jack Donohue. The humor takes a back seat, however, as the plot unfolds.

Alan Baxter is a newsreel photographer in New York City. At times, he appears and sounds like a young, nasal-toned James Gregory. He opens the film with a voice-over that introduces his character and sets the stage for his tale. While on assignment for a high-fashion shoot outside a bank, he unknowingly films a Nazi war criminal, Richard Kollmar, exiting the bank. One of Kollmar's operatives was at the same location and realized the danger of releasing the photos. He buys those frames of film based on a phony story. But it is only a print. Kollmar demands the original negative.

Enter magazine reporter, Virginia Gilmore, looking familiar as the then-current, more famous Jane Greer. Baxter, being a gentleman, is always on the lookout for an attractive female. Gilmore's silk stocking-wrapped ankles are the ticket. They hit it off, one reporter to another. But hold that thought. Baxter is kidnapped by another Kollmar associate, Phillip Huston, posing as a policeman. He and his henchman take Baxter aboard the intimate surroundings of a Staten Island ferry. I was hoping there would not be a “chase” in such small quarters with the usual up-and-down staircase pursuit. But Baxter is in constant motion and does a nifty getaway by stepping onto another ferry going the opposite direction at the dock. All feasible. Director Donohue handled it well.

Still needing the negatives, a goon is sent to kill Baxter's boss, but he never leaves the office. The film's negative remains on his dead body. Baxter gives instructions to his waiting cabbie, Sid Melton, to take the canister to the police if he does not return. Unsuspecting Melton is hit on the melon, and the negative is again on the move. The film switches to an “ankle cam,” focusing on a pair of post-war nylon stockings. In the background is her boyfriend, Huston, as the audience gasps to learn instantly of Gilmore's backstory. In the meantime, Kollmar hired a seaplane to fly him out of the country. Huston accompanies him with Baxter restrained at gunpoint. Huston has plans to double-cross Kollmar, who suspects as much. Huston is eliminated, and Kollmar dashes to the plane with Baxter in pursuit. A sympathy call from Gilmore sent the police to the docks. Kollmar's “ticket” is canceled, and the seaplane heads for open waters. Despite the well-meaning call, Gilmore is going to be without nylons for some time.

Note: Comedian, Joey Faye, (above left), plays Baxter's assistant and is responsible for a big dose of the humor. He pretends to be a cool operator with a camera and the ladies. He has better fortune with the former and comes off as the unknown fourth stooge with the latter. Faye should be appreciated for his delivery, timing, and physical comedy. He ends the film on a comedic note. Not being entirely incompetent, he had the foresight to bring his camera to the shore to film the ending, headlining story. As he steps backward, he falls into a motorcycle sidecar as it speeds away. His camera, still rolling.

HIGH SCHOOL BIG SHOT (1959)

Distributed by Sparta Productions, this seventy minutes of celluloid was directed and written by television's Joel Rapp, the man responsible for writing some of the most popular shows of the Sixties. Let us not blame him entirely for this film. This was a team effort. Shave about five minutes, and this film might have played better through an RCA or Magnavox console. An intelligent, jazzy score by Gerald Fried opens the film, in which a third of the lead cast members are killed. Always an acceptable percentage for low-budget acting. The executive producer was Roger Corman, and though the twenty-something high school students are not fooling anyone, the acting is mostly above par, thanks to those same twenty-somethings and a few television veterans. A film that concerns a depressing group of flawed characters. There is the alcoholic, deadbeat father, a renowned safe cracker who subscribes to the “honor among thieves” mantra, a female classmate who puts the “man” in manipulate, and three high schoolers who enjoy talking about slapping their dates around or anyone they dislike. Just call them the “three stooges.”

Tom Pittman is good. Moody. Talking directly into the camera, he opens the film, asking about the whereabouts of a safecracker to maybe work out a deal. Though captivating, his cool, adult delivery immediately defeats the premise of the shy, awkward high school kid. He is routinely threatened by the bully-leader of the “three stooges,” Howard Veit, in his only acting role, simply because Pittman is the brightest student in the class. In true liberal thinking, he cannot beat someone, so he tries to eliminate the competition. Veit seems to be the more logical choice as the "wannabe" big shot, what with his classroom disruptions and smart-aleck replies. But he is just not that smart. Pittman is the one student who has a scholarship waiting. Being a big shot is not in his thinking. His downfall is the cute Virginia Aldridge, part-time tart of meathead Veit. With an ulterior motive, she goes sweet on Pittman to get him to write her final exam essay. He thinks they have a future, but she is thinking about graduating. Their teacher, television’s famous Peter Leeds, knows she did not write it. She cannot even quote it. After denying it, he presses Pittman again for the truth, and he confesses. She is outraged that he told the truth. Things just never work out for her. No diploma for her, and Pittman’s scholarship is canceled. Thanks, honey-bunch.

Malcolm Atterbury plays Pittman’s father. He was an old pro, and he bolsters the film’s early stages. Their father-son scenes are tender if not heartbreaking. Pittman is devoted to his father, who believes he will get another job or even remarry. Dad reassures his son that he has also sworn off drink. Later, finding his father again nearly unconscious, Pittman bends before him and breaks down in tears. He would do anything to remove their financial state of affairs and buy useless stuff for Aldridge. 

Pittman overhears his boss, Bryan Foulger, planning a million-dollar heroin deal, with the money to be locked in the office safe prior to the deal.  Pittman wanders the streets by fake-walking in place, head turning left and right. Pretty funny. He locates Stanley Adams, a well-dressed safe-cracker, who spends his off-hours mooching off a liquor store owned by his brother-in-law. Hard to believe, but Pitman transforms into a savvy mastermind as the trio splits their haul.

Self-serving Aldridge double-crosses Pittman and informs Veit that he should intercept the money from Pittman at the pier. Distant sirens can be heard. Detail-oriented viewers will notice a film flop as one Plymouth patrol car, conveniently unmarked, is right-hand drive. They use the same correctly projected footage for a “third” patrol car’s arrival. A visual lesson on how to save production money or pad a cheap film. But I digress. In his attempt to escape, Veit is dropped by a bullet and the briefcase flies open. Also on the scene is Foulger, who goes berserk, looking directly into the camera and twice uncontrollably fumes, “A million bucks!” as he watches it float away from the dock. Chilling, but the amount was only Pittman's share of the loot. The aftermath calls for four funeral arrangements and taxpayers to pay room and board for the rest of the lead cast. 

Note: James Dean made a huge impact (poor choice of words) on Tom Pittman. Both had television experience, with the medium being the bulk of Pittman’s work. He had several movies to his credit, and this was his last, released posthumously, along with a previous film, after he died from injuries crashing over a cliff in his own Porsche Spyder on Halloween, nearly four years after Dean. It was nearly twenty days later that his body and car were discovered in a ravine.

THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN (1957)

This was an impressive science fiction film for its day. The main character is not fending off a stereotypical invasion of aliens from another planet. Rather, it is a fantastical tale of a man's challenge to retain his very own existence through an imaginative screenplay and a thought-provoking story, thanks to Richard Matheson. The miniaturization special effects using larger-than-life furniture and props were convincing at the time, though the idea was produced seventeen years earlier in the first film to suggest miniaturization, Dr. Cyclops. Directed by Jack Arnold and produced by Albert Zugsmith, this is eighty-one minutes well spent. It was a box office success for Universal Pictures. Though logically pure science fiction, it seems a reasonable theory based on a convincing medical diagnosis to explain shrinkage.

While below deck during a boating cruise with his wife, played by Randy Stuart, Grant Williams is overwhelmed by a low-lying fog as it passes over the craft. After returning to the deck, she notices he is covered in reflective flakes, a visual affirmation of the cloud's effect. As if this once-in-a-lifetime experience was not enough, he is later accidentally exposed to large amounts of a common insecticide. The radioactive mist and insecticide combination rearrange William's molecular structure, causing his cells to shrink in perfect synchronization. Well, it is science fiction.

Months roll by with little thought of the misty cloud until Williams notices his clothes seem a tad too big. The subtle changes in his stature are handled believably (above). Jumping to a conclusion, he blames the laundry service, perhaps that mysterious process known as Martinizing. The realization that his wife no longer needs to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him gives confirmation to his fear...she is getting taller! His physician, William Schallert, dismisses his concerns and reassures him that he is normal. A young man simply does not grow shorter, after all. But Williams is further convinced there is something wrong when his wedding ring falls from his finger. An omen to be sure. One may wonder who provided his scaled-down clothes. Especially those tiny zippers for his trousers.

At the suggestion of his “thoughtful” brother, Paul Langton, his story hits the headlines in the hope that Williams might provide income as a national, three-foot-tall, freakazoid. His humiliation is too much to bear, however, and he ventures outside his home. A female neighborhood midget—that does not happen every day either—becomes his encouraging source in accepting his shortcomings. It does not take him long to notice, however, she retains her height. His next moving experience is to get comfortable in a new 1:1 scale dollhouse. By this time, Williams is getting rather cranky. His wife needs a grocery run to pick up a lima bean for his supper. She leaves the front door open just a few seconds, and their cat, played by Orangey, gets in. As some cats have probably considered, he attacks his owner. When the wife returns to find a blood-stained piece of cloth, she assumes Orangey has been a vehwy, vehwy bad kitty.

Alive but trapped in the basement by a locked door, Williams has to overcome many obstacles to survive, including a very intimidating spider the size of a Chrysler and nourishment from cheese retrieved from a mousetrap. Yuck! These are “fun” scenes as challenges erupt when adapting to everyday objects. When the water heater bursts, a minor inconvenience for most people, it becomes a life-threatening flood as the rushing water leads down a drain pipe. After an exhausting final battle with that pesky spider, he awakens to find he is small enough to slip through one square of a window screen. Seeking a tailor is no longer an option, either. He is now literally dressed in rags, perhaps paper towels. Having survived incredible odds, Williams does not fear the future as the inspiring music crescendos and he gazes to the heavens. No matter how small he becomes, he will still matter in God's universe. "To God, there is no zero." 

Note: Richard Matheson was a superb writer of science fiction and may be best known as the one providing many successful scripts for television's original, “The Twilight Zone” and “Alfred Hitchcock Presents.” In this, her "largest" role to date, it was Randy Stuart's next-to-last film.

THE MOB (1951)

This Columbia Pictures release, directed by Robert Parish with an adapted screenplay by William Bowers, is first-rate from beginning to end. A compelling film about corruption, mental delusions, and atonement. Bower’s script bounces humorous quips from one character to another, as one might expect from a film noir of this caliber. Nearly everyone has a turn at them. The cinematography by Joseph Walker is rich with wet streets and dark, danger-filled shadows. The well-versed George Duning provided an effective music score, as well.

Police detective Broderick Crawford is duped by a mob killer carrying an authentic police badge who appears to be coming to the aid of a shooting victim. Crawford discovers too late that the victim was a key witness in an upcoming hearing. The police commissioner is livid and would like to punish Crawford for his halfhearted effort to double-check the true identity of the impostor/gunman. For news headline purposes only, accompanied by a fake picture, he is “suspended.” His real punishment is a death-defying undercover assignment to infiltrate a rough New York waterfront crime organization and bring down its kingpin. 

Needing to redeem his career, Crawford's acting allows him to fit right in as a tough, sarcastic, and unflappable thug from New Orleans. His noir quips are expelled effortlessly through his legendary lightning delivery. Also on the waterfront payroll is Richard Kiley. He and Crawford become pals. It does not take Kiley long, however, to frequently question why Crawford is so interested in what goes on. Crawford drops a few key names that get the attention of a Union thug, Ernest Borgnine. Neville Brand, nearly approaching a typecast level in his career, is again playing a henchman. This time, not the psychotic “Chester” from D.O.A. but a gunman with the wherewithal to also deliver a few great quips of his own at Crawford's expense.

Local bartender Matt Crowley seems to know a lot about what goes on around the waterfront. For a fee. After frequent encounters, he feels Crawford can be trusted enough to set up a meeting with Blackie, the kingpin. The police put a tracking device under Crowley’s car, about the size of a carry-on suitcase. Also installed is an equally sized tank that cleverly drips fluorescent dye on the road so the police can tail the car at night using an infrared spotlight. Cool. Except they did not figure a city street sweeper would turn onto their street a few blocks ahead of them. Just one of the many clever twists in this film you will not expect.

Blackie wants Crawford to do him a favor. Kill the suspended police officer seen in the newspaper. In a twist to end all twists, Crawford is hired to do a hit on himself. Blackie has kidnapped Crawford’s girlfriend, Betty Buehler, to use as a pawn to flesh out her boyfriend, who stands before him. Twisted. When she and Crawford meet, their roles are played as effectively as possible. The detective kicks a lamp over, but in total darkness Blackie escapes with a minor gunshot wound. A hospital setting ends the film, where Buehler and Blackie are recovering. Blackie enters at gunpoint and closes the window curtain. A "nurse" enters to check on Buehler and to open the curtain for more light. From an adjacent building, the police have a clear shot through the window.

Note: From numerous twists, there is a humorous one when Kiley sets up a blind date with Crawford to find out what his game is by using his sister, Lynn Baggett, to pump him for information. Crawford immediately hooks up with Kiley’s wife, played by Jean Alexander, the more attractive of the two. It seems no one wants to be with the sister. Especially Kiley, who protests. He says there is nothing wrong with Doris. “Why can’t he like Doris?!” The sister quickly adds, “Why can’t somebody?” After numerous teasing lines between Baggett and Crawford, the sister turns to her brother, “Well, say something to me.” Kiley hesitates, then awkwardly replies, “Oh...uh..how ya’ been?”

CHICAGO SYNDICATE (1955)

There is a crowded Chicago commuter trainload of details to sift through during this average B-movie from Clover Productions, distributed by Columbia Pictures. The voice-over details in documentary style, plus the added dialogue, make it difficult to keep things straight at times. Probably does not matter. I have grown to appreciate Dennis O’Keefe's talents. His character here, through no fault of his own, is too amazing to be real. He knocks down the analytical accountant stereotype of a numbers cruncher. A Chicago newspaper editor, civic leaders, along with a detective, the ubiquitous John Zaremba, want him to go undercover to flesh out the syndicate responsible for killing a bookkeeper who had evidence on the syndicate’s boss, Paul Stewart. Feeling they have the wrong guy for the job, O’Keefe is totally against the dangers associated with the idea. They plan to pay him sixty grand to do it. He gives it a try. O'Keefe handles everything like an experienced secret agent. Cool under pressure and light on his feet. Fists of iron. Pencils with no erasers. Stewart is excellent as a seemingly good-natured crime czar whose only love comes from his mother. The suave insurance scammer has little fear, but his patience has its limits. He can be vicious. O’Keefe’s plan is to capture assumed microfilm to put Stewart away on tax evasion.

Speaking of hard to believe, Allison Hayes’ role has her going undercover, on her own initiative, using an alias to avenge her bookkeeping father’s death at the hands of Stewart. This is after spending time in a mental institution over the traumatic event and the subsequent suicide of her mother. O’Keefe befriends her (above) to gain access to Stewart’s nightclub. Once he is informed of who she really is, he suggests she stay out of harm’s way. But Hayes comes in handy. O’Keefe’s amazing accounting expertise places him in good favor with Stewart after the police arrange a jewel theft and a nifty insurance scam.

Double-billed with O'Keefe is Abby Lane, Stewart’s tolerable girl. She drinks too much when she is not performing with her real-life husband, Xavier Cugat. The squinty-eyed, rotund devil had a thing for a woman nearly thirty years younger. Cugat was given some lines to say. Yay. With numerous roles already under her strapless gowns, Lane does alright in the part. If you are musically inclined, you may find yourself singing her opening number, “One At a Time,” long after the movie's end. O'Keefe suggests Hayes cater to Stewart's social weaknesses, which makes Lane jealous. She threatens to reveal Stewart’s edited books. His goons do a sixty-second beating in a separate room in full earshot of all the dinner guests. Awkward. Lane comes out of the room instantly bruised by a lot of strategically placed dark, smudgy makeup and tousled hair.

In a bit of a nail-biter, Zaremba and the police arrive to catch Stewart with his account book on a tip from O'Keefe. To his dismay, Stewart burns the pages in his mommy's wood stove. With the expected knock on the door, O’Keefe volunteers to answer it. To not blow his cover, he decks Zaremba. Now horizontal, he whispers to him that the book has been burned. Both men pull off the charade. As I say, one amazing accountant. Kind of funny when Zaremba tries to enter the room, though, as he does a comical triple-take as if confused. What the...hey! Stewart knows Zaremba well, but O'Keefe covers the incident by telling him he thought he was trouble. Lane's hidden microfilm evidence is revealed, and Stewart tells O’Keefe to light a match to it. Instead, he pockets the microfilm, gives Stewart a knuckle sandwich, and makes a run for it. From her upstairs apartment window, as if expecting her son to come by any moment, Mom witnesses Stewart being brought down by police gunfire. He was such a good boy.

DANGER LIGHTS (1930)

One could easily assume the RKO cinematographers were supervised by people who love trains. No doubt, the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul, and Pacific Railroad’s cooperation was a significant force in showing their first-class railroad at work. It is the most authentic steam railroad movie Hollywood has ever made. No restored museum locomotives were used. No CGI necessary. Typical of dramas in this era, there is no distraction or needed help from a music score. The filming of actual freight train operations is singularly unique, with an opening landslide expertly authentic. It is a true time capsule of an era that might otherwise remain unknown. The acting is more than satisfactory, though it is typical of 1930s melodramatic storytelling. Some scenes are treated like stage plays with cued entrances. But first and foremost, this is a railroad film which happens to have actors in it. Just the opposite of Titanic (1997), a concocted love story in which they happen to be on a "boat" that sinks. In this regard, Danger Lights stands alone. Today's viewer needs to accept this; otherwise, it will only play as an outdated, corny film with yucky, polluting trains.

Louis Wolheim, who would die suddenly one year later in real life, plays the burly rail yard boss in Miles City, Montana. A singular career man who gets things done. Nobody loafs or gets a free ride on his watch. A few boxcar hobos are quickly put to work to help clear the tracks after the aforementioned landslide. Robert Armstrong, a former railroad engineer, is one of them. Wolheim recognizes Armstrong simply needs to get his self-esteem back and hires him. Jean Arthur, Wolheim's fiancée, knows their love story is far-fetched. Her father has long desired that she would marry the hard-working, honest, and polite railroader. But he exudes all the romantic charm of a jackhammer. A steam locomotive has a more attractive face. This is where handsome, energetic Armstrong comes bounding in to fill her void. Once he and Arthur meet, it is full steam ahead, and Wolheim is uncoupled and placed on a siding. 

Few films paint a more accurate picture of a steam locomotive's “romantic” era than one scene from inside Arthur’s living room. I am not sure if miniatures were used at all or exactly how the scene was shot, but it is realistic enough. Perhaps a studio set with real train footage superimposed in the background. As curtains flutter in the summer breeze through the open windows, we see a freight train in the distance and hear the engineer’s unique, personal whistle signifying it is Armstrong to Arthur's heartfelt delight. This is authentically true as many engineers had their own recognizable, rhythmic “song.” 

The young couple decides to elope on the next train to Chicago. During the rainy night, Wolheim spots them walking down the tracks and goes into a jealous rage, pounding toward them with steel fists. Armstrong steps between two tracks as it switches, getting his shoe caught in between. Suddenly, Wolheim's anger is thwarted by what he sees. Armstrong is in the path of an approaching high-speed train. Danger lights! The big-hearted boss yanks him free, but a stuffed, limp dummy takes a nasty hit in the head by the locomotive’s cylinder. Had it been a real person, he would have died instantly. Not in Hollywood. Wolheim’s only hope of surviving his "migraine" is to get him to specialists in Chicago in record time. Armstrong volunteers. It is an eye full for locomotive fans and exciting for everyone else, including beautiful pan shots of the train crossing an iron bridge, around curves, with top-mounted cameras through cities. After returning home, the recovering Wolheim resolutely acknowledges to Arthur that his first love will always be the railroad. Though she feels guilty for not honoring his long courtship, inside, she is secretly jumping off the ceiling with joy.

Notes: There are doses of humor from Wolheim. Armstrong and Arthur have a humorous romantic encounter as he is washing up, singing a jaunty tune. But it is Hugh Herbert who must carry the torch. Herbert does double duty as the film's dialogue director and a lovable hobo who expects a great deal of respect for his position in life. He sheepishly threatens to report the railroad if he is not treated properly. Wolheim acts tough, but the old softy takes it in stride. Herbert hanging on for dear life between two rail cars during the climactic, dusty, record run to Chicago certainly cures him of wanderlust. 

IMPACT (1949)

The first fifty minutes of this Harry Popkin Productions film are the strongest. The implausible premise prevents keeps it from being an A-list picture. The pacing is more encouraging, however, as it sets up the impact on a husband whose wife hates him beyond his understanding. In this twisty script, Brian Donlevy is first-rate as a highly paid automotive production manager and loving husband. Helen Walker delivers a convincing performance, too, as many viewers would have wanted to reach out and slap her had the film been released in 3D. In a role before her career shift to television, Ella Raines adds a freshness to the film and more than enough encouragement for Donlevy's character. The musical score by Michel Michelet does a great job of enhancing the mood of most scenes with a restrained theremin when appropriate. Charles Coburn plays a police lieutenant with an intermittent, debatable Scottish accent whose mounting evidence convinces him that Walker is surely guilty of something. 

Walker's New England dialect works best when she is syrupy-sweet. It falters when she is angry. She is as devious and fraudulent as they come. She arranges her current male interest—call him “Fling Boy”—to pose as a family cousin and rendezvous with her husband. Fling Boy's cryptic conversation along a dark, dangerous and curvy mountain highway is awkward for Donlevy. Before a brief stop, the fake cousin had manufactured a slow leaking tire, later selecting the worst possible spot to fix a flat—on the narrow curve of a studio set. One passerby parks right in the middle of the road to offer aid. Surprising that this is not an accident-prone area. Fling Boy makes his move. Donlevy gets a concussion from a tire iron and rolls down the embankment.

Speaking of impact, Fling Boy escapes in a panic with Donlevy's Packard but he is pancaked by a gasoline semi, sending both cascading over a cliff. All done with obvious miniatures with resulting flames like those from a small gas fireplace. A Bekins moving van stops to put out the flames with a single extinguisher. Perfect for a toy semi. Conveniently, the moving van's rear loading doors had been open. Furniture and carpet hanging on for dear life. The film got no endorsements from Bekins. Donlevy climbs aboard to the next town. His phone call to his wife's relative reveals dear old cousin does not exist. Donlevy's subtle changes in facial expression are perfect. His six-year devotion to his wife has been foolishly wasted. It is a powerful scene as he emotionally breaks down in tears.

The headlines assume Donlevy is dead. But Walker cannot figure out why Fling Boy is not at their rendezvous point. Coburn uncovers her affair with Mr. Boy. Donlevy becomes a three-month resident of the small, rural town while Walker becomes a resident in a prison ward. Raines runs the town's service station and is taking a hammer to an engine amid Donlevy's grimaces. His impressive quick work as a mechanic gets Donley hired on the spot. In her second scene with Donlevy, she does her best Princess Leia with her hair twisted into stereo headphones. His decision to stay in tiny Larkspur, Wherever, may not make a great deal of logic, but he simply wants to disappear and his "death" made it easier. Raines is cast for a reason: to help transform his thinking and provide a happy ending. As their friendship grows, Raines convinces him to return to San Francisco and tell his story. It does not go as she expected.

After discovering who was burnt to a crisp in that Packard, husband and wife meet in the squad room as the music comes effectively to a crescendo during a close-up zoom of Walker's face. One can see the wheels turning in her warped mind as her facial expression changes from shock to loathing. Having developed into a liar, she accuses him of plotting to kill Fling Boy and then go into hiding with Raines. Right,  Donlevy convinced Fling Boy to deliberately crash into a semi. There is zero logic in killing the fake cousin as Donlevy knew nothing of the affair until he arrived in Larkspur. Walker's script of implausibilities is silly but no one noticed. Not even the director. Donlevy's convoluted story is no less hard to believe and he is arrested while Walker is released. Even knowing what the viewer already knows, the closing courtroom scenes still provide a few twists. Thankfully, Walker becomes a hypocritical idiot on the stand as she continues to bury herself with uncontrollable, outrageous denials. But it is her handwriting analysis that dooms her. Diverting blame, she plans to sue the Parker pen company, believing it was their fault all along.