THE BRAIN THAT WOULDN’T DIE (1962)

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

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

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

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

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

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

WORLD FOR RANSOM (1954)

 

Sarcastic gumshoe, Dan Duryea, opens the film under duress from a local racketeer. Duryea yells much of his discouraged dialogue in his trademark high-register voice with its grating quality of whining. Truly the anti-hero, he complains plenty in this film. He appears to live a day-to-day existence, hoping that a positive turn of events is around the next rickshaw. His pal and polar opposite, Patric Knowles, turns out to be a double-crossing coward. His wife is played by newcomer Marian Carr, whose breathy delivery is a bit annoying, as if Marilyn Monroe were her inspiration. As a nightclub singer, her single number has her in a top hat and tails, about midway between 1930's Morocco and 1982’s Victor/Victoria. Later in the film, she is constantly weaving fore and aft at the waist as if trying to get enough air to breathe. Also, a possible subtle scene-stealer. Carr’s career was a short one. The film has become an “also-ran” within the noir archives.

Gene Lockhart playing an unbalanced, criminal mastermind is a bit of a stretch. Though accustomed to playing unethical businessmen, his biggest character flaw here is his arrogant, condescending attitude. He wants the secrets to the hydrogen bomb and enlists two thugs to "Shanghai" Arthur Shields, a nuclear scientist. Knowles is in this plot up to his mustache, assisting the kidnapping by impersonating a military colonel. Lockhart meets with the ever-so-British Nigel Bruce—the Colonial Governor—and demands five million dollars, a sum that Knowles would sell his soul to get his hands on. It is Lockhart’s ransom of the century to prevent the nuclear destruction of Singapore and then some, but not the world. As a bonus, he “promises” to release Shields unharmed.

 

The climax is a fairly exciting standoff with a lot of gunplay at the kidnapper’s hideout. Duryea’s desire is to bring the errant Knowles safely back to his wife and, with the help of the Major, Reginald Denny, also rescue the scientist. Knowles is not handling the stress well, with multiple lies to save his hide. He shoots all his criminal associates, then turns his attention to Duryea. Self-defence is called for.

The ending between Duryea and Carr is not uplifting, though he gets his face lifted from being slapped a few times. It is the demise of their friendship. She actually had a thing for the scoundrel because he never questioned her shady past. The closing scene, like the opener, has Duryea receiving wisdom from a female fortune-teller, an actress not even credited for an uncredited role.

Note: This film is the assumed continuation of the popular 1950s television series, "China Smith," starring Duryea as a mercenary adventurer. Its main notoriety is its director, Robert Aldrich, who would soon make his mark with an infamous Mike Hammer film the following year. Also, a carryover from television land is the competent—yet forgettable—score by Frank De Vol. The filming was finished well under two weeks and made the most out of a restrained budget. Distributed by Allied Artists Productions, it takes a while to get the blood flowing, perhaps due to extending a thirty-minute series into an eighty-two-minute movie. Add to this a slightly confusing screenplay by Hugo Butler during the opening scenes. Worth it all is some excellent cinematography work by Joseph Biroc and his use of intriguing points of view and lighting contrast in sweaty Singapore. 

FORGOTTEN FILMS: TV TRANSITION

Though typically overshadowed by Hollywood's A-list, there were respectable performances by numerous actors and actresses who never became major film stars. A common career shift was to the new medium of television. These periodic posts offer insight into their transition.

Patricia Blair: Patsy Lou Blake (1933-2013)

Like numerous attractive female actresses of the era, Patricia Blair got noticed first as a model. The photogenic Blair signed a contract with Warner Brothers in the mid-Fifties, later being picked up by MGM in 1959. She appeared as a second female lead—a common occurrence—in such standards as Jump Into Hell (1955), an uncredited role in The McConnell Story (1955) followed by Crime Against Joe (1956) alongside John Bromfield and Julie London. She played the devoted girlfriend of escaped convict and heroin dealer, Vince Edwards, in City of Fear (1959), a well-produced thriller with unintentionally funny moments. He steals a canister of what he believes to be experimental heroin—worth a fortune and Blair is all-in. In reality, it is a highly contagious radioactive isotope. Next came the low-budget caper, Cage of Evil (1960), playing the self-serving love interest and temptress of police detective, Ron Foster. Her second-tier productions did little to strengthen her film career so it was back to the small screen.

Television was already a big part of her resume when she became a semi-regular for one season on The Rifleman (1958) as the spunky love interest and businesswoman, Lou Mallory. Adding her seemed like a last-ditch effort to advance the series. Unfortunately, the move spelled an end to one of the series’s strongest points—the singular father and son relationship. Her most popular recurring role was playing the wife of frontiersman, Daniel Boone, on the long-running, highly-fictionalized series starring Fess Parker. Outside of Parker's 165 appearances, she had the most credits with 118 until the show ended in 1970.

For the Texas-born beauty there were single appearances on the “DOA” comedy-western, Dusty's Trail (1973) starring Bob Denver and the more promising, yet short-lived, Petrocelli (1975). Her last television role was her one appearance in the popular comedy, Me and My Girl (1988). After retirement, she produced industrial trade shows, echoing the business savvy of Miss Mallory of North Fork fame.

THUNDER ALLEY (1967)

Today, in the memory-fogged use of hindsight, some lament over Annette Funicello not getting the chance to break out as a legitimate actress. This was irrelevant in the mid-Sixties as young ticket buyers never gave a thought to her acting abilities. She does have a pulse in this film; however, doing a good job with a wide range of emotions. This predictable film was not as successful as the previous year's Fireball 500, again starring Funicello with Fabian Forte.

Kenneth Crane and Ronald Sinclair managed to edit this "auto-racing-beach-party" film down to a lengthy ninety minutes. They still did not leave enough frames on the editing floor. This was the last American International Pictures film for Funicello. A timely departure given the studio's transition to rougher, psychedelic biker films and anti-Vietnam war projects. Director Richard Rush leaves behind the previous teenage beach comedies to “adultify” the characters from those innocent, music-filled films where boy meets girl and they behave themselves. Monroe Askins' frenetic, effective cinematography during a post-race wild party changes that. This is typical drive-in movie fare. Funicello’s disapproving character leaves the party early, but as she anemically sings a love ballad in her pre-teen whisper, she removes a cigarette pack. You can hear Walt Disney’s pipe hit the floor after dropping from his mouth. But she is only putting it and other packs in a case for someone else. Whew!

Though imagining that teen idol, Fabian Forte, came up with that stage name, he was actually born with it. His acting strength in this genre was his ability to act cocky on screen. But his cardboard performance gets the yellow caution flag for any high school drama department, as he does not quite leave the late Fifties behind. His character is a promising stock car driver whose blackouts—when boxed in—create track havoc. He causes a crash that kills a popular driver, and he is suspended from professional racing. The authorities think he caused the crash for personal gain. Disgraced, he is desperate for work and willing to accept driving on the county fair bumper-car circuit. Race team owner, the lumpy Stanley Adams, initially shies away from the controversial competitor.

Forte ends up accepting a job as a daredevil driver for a cheap demolition derby owned by a tightwad promoter, Jan Murray, whose daughter, Funicello, is one of his drivers, along with fellow driver and boyfriend, the unassuming Warren Berlinger. Forte offers advice on how better to do Funicello's upcoming stunt. She is not happy about her unsuccessful attempts, thinking it is because of her father’s unwillingness to spend money on a more powerful engine. Fabulous Forte suggests it is not power but speed. Start farther back and get a good run on the ramp. Duh! She agrees with his obvious assessment. No surprise, they are soon on the ramp of romance, with Berlinger permanently in pit lane. Stunt thrill shows remained fairly popular during this era. Doing 2-wheel driving in new Ford Mustangs may have boosted sales, though not necessary.

The vintage footage inserted may perk up the NASCAR historian. The producers were unable to match the resolution with the staged film segments, giving the stock footage a blurry, color-altered appearance. Cutaways to the actor’s staged cheering or the motionless studio prop car “driving” are straight out of the Forties. Real track announcer, Sandy Reed, is again on hand to call the races. In shades and a microphone in hand, he appears restrained from gesturing wildly by a short cord. During a final race, Forte gets boxed in again and, through ghostly flashbacks, comes to grips with his past, dissolving his blackouts. Self-cured and in the good graces of race organizers, he returns to big-time oval racing.

Note: George Barris had quite an imagination, often ignoring the concept of form following function for attention. Certainly, his claim to fame is television’s Batmobile, along with his “Dragula” coffin-inspired dragster, Herman Munster’s vehicle of choice. The mostly white 1967 Dodge "Thunder Charger" in this film is a hunk of outrageous work, repainted from its original, more cohesive design. Barris hacks up the movie car into three color sections rather than using white as the lead color up front, "speed thrusting" the red and blue to the rear. One may wonder how much air was trapped in the remaining fastback section. That said, the hugely popular Charger generated a lot of conversation exiting the drive-in in the family's ten-year-old Buick.

NIGHT TRAIN TO PARIS (1964)

The excitement begins and ends with two men exchanging wrapped deli sandwiches...er...a reel tape and cash at a phone booth. The guy with the cash never makes it home. The other guy retains a fake reel as a deception. Ending in an appropriate sixty-five minutes, this film’s lackluster direction by actor Robert Douglas never becomes an exciting spy yarn, hinting that he should stay in the television medium where he was best suited to direct. The repeated filming of the same sequences only lengthens the film. He uses a momentary rocking camera motion only for the train’s first interior filming to my annoyance.

An opening jazz score by the modest British composer, Kenny Graham, assumes a treat ahead as if to mimic Henry Mancini. The underlying cartoon train graphic—I expected the Pink Panther as the engineer—shaves any dangerous edges off the film. So one might anticipate a little humor, and it does not go beyond that. Unlike a secure day train, only on a night train does one experience death. Filmed by Shepperton Studios in London, it was released by Twentieth Century Fox. It assumes a cool caper television pilot that the networks passed on.

The scene shifts to the office of an airline travel agency and its public relations man, Leslie Nielsen, a former intelligence officer in the OSS. He is charming and flippant, but not convincing, whether serious or comedic. Squeezing laughs out of an unfunny script by Harry Spalding is not easy. At this stage in his career, Nielsen is not a notable star, yet the average television viewer in America at the time might recognize his face if not his name. For any fan of Nielsen's comedic career crescendo, it may be difficult to entirely remove him from his Lt. Frank Drebin character. 

Arriving at his office in a modest tribute hairstyle to the bride of Frankenstein is Alizia Gur in all her exotic allure. A frequent guest star on many American television shows during the period, her acting has not matured since her single Bond film appearance. She arranges a meeting between Nielson and Hugh Latimer—credited as playing Jules Lemoine—a fellow OSS officer who wants his pal off to Paris for a secret mission to deliver the (real) tape containing defense information. But Latimer's fake reel becomes his fatal drawback. Upon discovering his body, Nielson gathers unknown material from his apartment for a tedious waste of film. Without any music score, it seems even longer.

Nielson poses as an assistant to a professional photographer, and to further the gambit, they take along two models, one of whom turns out to be an impostor. Gur fills in as a third model. But even before packing for the special New Year’s Eve Bear Ski Club train, the photographer is stabbed in the back by the short-spiked end of a ski pole. I might have believed his immediate demise had he been struck in a carotid artery. With Gur as his companion, Nielson arrives at the costume party in a “Groucho Marx” prop—Drebin undercover. By midnight, the party is in full swing with era music and “ants in your pants” dancing.

On board is the large, high-cholesterol Eric Pohlmann, responsible for all the deaths in the film. The ski club has an inebriated bear mascot that interacts with Nielson for no apparent reason. The mascot gets a throttling as well, and after the boat docks, Pohlmann dons the bear costume to the unknowing travel agent. Their confrontation in Dunkirk is pretty silly, but it was not meant to be. He is able to beat the bear costume into submission with repeated blows to the stomach. Meanwhile, Gur’s been busy with her own plan for the tape, and her inept pursuit of Nielson is preposterously dull. Nielson ends the film with a lighthearted, freeze-framed expression in Police Squad fashion.

Notes: Hugh Latimer is credited with playing Jules Lemoine. Adding some confusion, he is introduced to Gur as Georges Freneau. She claimed to be a friend of Lemoine, yet, oddly, she never flinches when his undercover name is mentioned.

Finally, back in the day, a ferry shuttled specialty trains from Great Britain to France across the English Channel. Once docked in Dunkirk, the train would continue on to Paris and Switzerland’s slopes. Despite the film’s title, neither the audience nor the cast ever gets to Paris. Perhaps a more accurate, but less intriguing title, “The Dunkirk Night Ferry.”

HOT ROD (1950)

Monogram Pictures did the right thing by keeping this a sixty-minute film. One could blame an idealistically inane screenplay by Daniel Ullman for these “breakout” kids who use proper grammar and handle adversity with unselfish common sense. Lewis Collins—known for his many Westerns—directed. Hollywood had its influence on this film, but these mid-century people actually existed in smaller cities across the United States. In five years, MGM’s Blackboard Jungle will portray a harsher rebellion far removed from this milquetoast outing.

Opening voice-over narration describes what a hot rod is against the backdrop of stock footage at El Mirage Dry Lake in California. Edward Kay’s score with frenetic violins supports the film’s opening, reminding one of a 1930s action serial. Poignant, as the hot rods in this film are souped-up Thirties coupes. With World War Two stagnating the auto industry’s creativity, the hot rod culture was born out of a need for something completely different. The music takes a serious tone as we see an overturned hot rod along a county road. Racing in the desert is legal and safer. Street racing is for “Club Ignorant” members. The crux of the film.

Six hot rods, two rows three-abreast, race on a straight stretch of road for bragging rights with the pavement barely wide enough to stay on the concrete. Unbelievably, the road’s finish line is lined with high school fans, many standing on the edge of the pavement. Though the starting point is logically out of sight, the gang is already cheering wildly. The fans are looking across—not down—the road, but Hollywood gives the impression they have the same vantage point as the camera crew. Filmmaking at its essence. It takes the racers forever to speed past their classmates due to repeated views of the previous footage. Topping the preposterous scene off is a motorcycle cop—heading in the opposite direction—attempting to halt the speeding hot rods by waving his arms wildly. His death is averted.

James “Henry Aldridge” Lydon (left) seems to reprise his iconic character this time as the son of the town judge, Art Baker, who apparently runs the town. He is not wavering about cracking down on illegal street racing, so that the teen gene pool is not completely drained. In a rare instance, Myron Healey does not play a villain but a police officer, the older brother of Lydon. Trying to convince “Pop” to support a legally timed strip will not be easy. Lydon buys an old beater and, being level-headed, does not add any “soup.” It is just a tired dog of transportation. His best bud and comic relief, Gil Stratton, is full of sarcastic jabs about it. This from a guy whose imprinted cap design—from the front—makes it look like his hair is in curlers. Gloria Winters, Lydon’s spoken-for girl since grade school (aka elementary), is embarrassed to ride in his turtle junker. Local demon of speed, Tommy Bond (right) is a hit with the ladies and a twisted crankshaft to Lydon. Lydon and Stratton set out to piece together the fastest rod within the city limits.

Jealous, Bond steals Lydon's pride and joy, then sideswipes a sedan in town, parking the car nearby. The police and the entire town, including Winters, assume Lydon is guilty without any proof. This, back when social media was actually social. He escapes a “public hanging” when Bond jumps up in the courtroom to confess. “Judge Dad” is lenient, but orders his own son to get rid of the hot car nonetheless. But...fate moves its huge hand—my apologies to screenwriter, Stanford Whitmore. A bank robber saves the day as Lydon’s hot rod catches up with an escaping Cadillac’s license plate. A motorcycle cop and patrol car quickly catch up with Lydon and Stratton, who lead the police in the waning moments of the pursuit. This is a pretty realistically filmed chase. For his heroism under preposterous circumstances, Lydon gets a motorcycle police escort back home as the officers vouch for the kid to his father. Hot rods and law enforcement are on the same side. There is a highly contrived closing as the judge’s public apology falls on deaf ears at the drag strip’s groundbreaking ceremony.

Note: Gloria Winters is best known to Baby Boomers as Penny on the action-adventure Saturday morning show, “Sky King.” Kirby Grant starred as Schuyler "Sky" King, while Penny portrayed his niece, who was always consumed by unexpected trouble. The television version began in 1951, and the popular show ran for eight years. As for Tommy Bond, he was the original Jimmy Olson in the Superman movie serials.

FORGOTTEN FILMS: TV TRANSITION

Though typically overshadowed by Hollywood's A-list, there were respectable performances by numerous actors and actresses who never became major film stars. A common career shift was to the new medium of television. These periodic posts offer insight into their transition.

Myron Healey: Myrton Healey (1923-2005)

Myron Healey began his career during the early 1940s in uncredited and minor supporting roles at various studios, Monogram Pictures among them. Perhaps for commonality, he or the studio changed his name to Myron. There were not many by either name in Hollywood. The low-budget western film is most associated with the actor and he never abandoned the genre as television loomed. He became a familiar face yet his name usually drew a blank. Perhaps many could not make the connection with a despicable outlaw named Myron. Adding to the confusion, he was sometimes credited as Michael.

There were countless television westerns under Healey’s gun belt. His recurring roles or frequented series appearances are the only ones mentioned here beginning with The Lone Ranger (1950-57) with seven appearances. Healey was a frequent visitor on the set of Cheyenne (1955-62). He had a recurring role as Doc Holliday on The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp (1956-59) and played a doctor twice on the forgotten adventure series, The Man and The Challenge (1959-60). Along the same period, he played Maj. Peter Horry in seven episodes of The Swamp Fox for The Magical World of Disney. Healey left his horse in the stable for several episodes of modern-day dramas, among them Schlitz Playhouse (1955-58) and State Trooper (1957-59). As the Sixties progressed his workload hardly skipped a beat in television or films.

In the Seventies the western was being replaced by detective or police shows. Healey was there as always with numerous appearances on Ironside (1969-72) or Adam-12 (1969-73). But his phone rang less and less as the Eighties drew to a close. An actor does not have much staying power if he is not a team player, like Healey. He was happy to be acting in whatever role he was asked to do without complaining. One sign of a professional. Unfortunately, his professional success did not carry over at home. His four marriages from 1943 to 1971 were all short-term for reasons unknown.

Note: Healey was a child prodigy who sang on radio and performed violin and piano recitals while still in his early teens. He served in World War II as an Air Corps navigator and bombardier in Europe. After the war he continued military duties, retiring in the early 1960s as a captain in the United States Air Force Reserve. His military discipline carried over into his acting career.