HELL BOUND (1957)

This seventy-one-minute Bel-Air Production project is directed by William J. Hole, Jr., produced by Howard W. Koch, and distributed by United Artists. A Bel-Air standby, Carl E. Guthrie is the cinematographer. This crime drama has its quirks and slow sections, but it is another well-acted and filmed offering. Part of its problem is that some scenes extend far too long, which may affect the viewer's attention span. Although not readily apparent at the outset, it is a small film within a larger film. 

As many B-movies did, a voice-over narration provides the background of a coordinated robbery on a freighter entering the port with 250 grand of surplus narcotics from the 1940s. The viewer assumes the drugs have not exceeded their expiration date. Three impostors—a man rescued in open waters on a dingy, a diabetic ship's doctor, and a nurse complete the gang. It is the perfect setup and goes without a flaw as if it might result in the shortest Bel-Air movie of all time. Except that what the viewer is witnessing has never happened. Yet. This opening is the most clever twist of this film, done better nearly a decade later in Gambit (1966). As in that romantic comedy, nothing quite goes as the mastermind planned.

John Russell, with his menacing good looks, is once again a cold-blooded killer with severe anger issues. Do not be fooled by his charming countenance used for the above poster. His smile is turned upside down in this film. He is the fourth impostor in his demonstration film to entice a crooked businessman into financing the plot. His assistant slash girl is played by June Blair, who has a particular knack for imposing herself on any male and sensing a good plan when she hears one. She is competent in her screen debut. Russell turns a cold shoulder to Blair's repeated “come-ons” and is especially not pleased that she volunteers to be the nurse, squeezing out his girlfriend intended for the part. However, the reality of people's personalities has a way of changing one's future. For this film, reality becomes a bit more confusing than the "home movie" he financed.

Speaking of dragging a scene out, Russell beats a drug addict into submission in a convincing fashion to force him into playing the rescued man on a dingy. Between shadows and total darkness, he is pummeled relentlessly. So this beating can wrap up, he agrees to the assignment. But when the heist is mid-cycle, he is so strung out for a fix that he panics and never follows through. Russell pressures Stanley Adams into playing the diabetic doctor, whose character is an actual diabetic. Adams is to inject himself with insulin to put him into diabetic shock. But it is good news, bad news from his doctor. Adams' improving health means insulin injections are not currently necessary. Indeed, an injection could be fatal. The waiting ambulance is to take Adams and the phony nurse to the hospital. Enter Stuart Whitman, in a brief but pivotal role as an intern slash ambulance driver.

One may not be surprised that the actual heist action aboard the ship looks like the very same footage from Russell's home movie—with different actors. Not to go unnoticed is at least one implausible segment with Whitman and Blair sharing ambulance runs while she, somehow, covers for her total lack of medical knowledge. They also share some milk and cookies—no kidding—in his humble apartment. And passionate kisses. Not Hershey's.

Russell is livid that she wants to go legit with the sensible intern. He drops in on her later and viciously slaps her among the furniture before stabbing her, shoving the pocket knife in as far as possible. Russell becomes the useless operative in his "ideal" heist and is now hell-bound to drag out the final segments of the film. In a somewhat clever climactic scene, his demise in a scrap metal yard provides his final disappointment.

Notes: The music score by Les Baxter is a bit overkill at times, as if he is not quite sure what should support a scene. Mundane scenes might be backed by bold, staccato brass, while other parts of the score nearly disappear. The talented musician was noted for providing stock music for numerous projects. Scoring a film was perhaps not his strong suit.

Better known for his many Westerns, Dehl Berti has an uncredited role as Daddy, a heroin supplier, decked out in sunglasses inside a dark strip club (above). He is interrupted by the addicted dingy “survivor” who needs another fix. Ever cool and calm, the unintentionally funny character smirks his way through clipped conversation in a monotone fashion—his head hardly moving. He cannot help the addict. His bizarre scene ends when the camera pivots to focus on the dancer, then to a seeing-eye dog in the wings. Perhaps I made the equally bizarre assumption that it was the canine's eyesight that allowed him to ogle the ladies.

THE BIG CHASE (1954)

The opening score beneath the title credits and Los Angeles highway footage sounds like music for a 1940s Lon Chaney Jr. horror film—ironically a supporting player in this film. The rest of the music would fit an old action serial. Few films are more aptly titled, as about one-third of the movie is a climactic chase sequence that flits from car to rowboat to motorboat to helicopter, and to dress shoes.

Such as it is, the plot concerns a police officer, his expectant wife, and criminals out to steal a payroll truck. Starring again for Lippert Pictures are actors past their career peaks, Glenn Langan, Adele Jergens, and Jim Davis. The opening amateurish dialogue between the police lieutenant, Douglas “B-movie” Kennedy, and reporter Joe Flynn (in a thankless role) is a weak spot, yet the other unknown supporting actors think their own dialogue is not only important but terrific. As recalled by Kennedy to Flynn, it sets up a backstory about Langan and Jergens (in a role against type) back to his graduation from the police academy and the following months on the force. Kennedy is very supportive of the expectant couple and, as a point of encouragement, visits them periodically. Their dialogue is also clichéd. By the way, Kennedy and Flynn wrap up the film in a hokey style.

Aside from some good location filming on land and sea, there are some cheap high school drama sets during the early prison scenes. A potential riot stirs up the acting extras as they pound their tin cups on a table in front of a blank, "cardboard" wall. Making it laughable are extras casually “photo-bombing” in front of the main actors in slow motion in the prison yard. Jim Davis plays a hardened criminal planning a big breakout. This is the last we hear about that (plot hole number one). Instead, he is released from prison and is looking to reconnect with his wife and a couple of prison pals for a payroll robbery. As the chase begins, the trailing police attempt to shoot someone or something in the convertible getaway car while on the freeway. Davis’s wife is assumed to be shot dead, and he takes the wheel to steer the car. Somehow, he manages to bring the car to a stop. In a surprisingly despicable act, more in tune with movies twenty years into the future, the guys push her from the car and over a cliff. Catch you later, babe! 

Then sit back for an “editing festival” as scenes jump from one location or automobile in a matter of seconds. The railroad yard sequence appears to wrap up the chase after Chaney is shot multiple times, and the music fades. I was wrong. The two remaining criminals are now on foot to an awaiting rowboat to Mexico. Amazingly, they trade their rowboat for a motorboat abandoned in open water. In an impressive supporting performance, a Nash Ambassador patrol car comes in hot, skidding at an angle toward the camera next to a waiting police helicopter. Langan misses his child's birth as the chase continues—in Florsheims.

Note: In contrast to this movie's lead, Robert L. Lippert Senior was probably present at his son's birth. It appears Junior picked up some of his father's traits. Number six of seven in his producing career, this film is by no means horrible. The film was directed by Arthur Hilton, and taking full responsibility for the mundane dialogue is the writing team of Fred Freiberger and the uncredited (by request?) Orville Hampton. The 3-D footage will have no relevance today, but it was thrust upon the viewer willy-nilly during the big chase. The producer edited that footage into this film from his film short, Bandit Island (1953). The twenty-five-minute short had no dialogue. Probably a wise choice. The above poster appears to promote Bandit Island with an overlaying poster.

HI-JACKED (1950)

Unlike last month's Highway 13, this project has a greater element of authenticity thanks to the Lippert team director, Sam Newfield, and cinematography by Philip Tannura. No sped-up film gimmicks nor does it have a 1930s look and feel. Sigmund Neufeld Productions produced this sixty-six-minute little gem, one of the better Lippert suspense-filled crime dramas. Expect commendable performances by low-budget actors and location filming of interstate trucking. This time around, it is not sabotage but hijacking. Iris Adrian (below right) adds her usual spark as the diner waitress.

Jim Davis drives for a company experiencing more than their fare share of truck hijackings. He is also trying to shake the stigma of his incarceration for embezzlement. Now on the up and up, he becomes the unwitting pawn to ship millions in stolen furs. Davis still has a chip on his shoulder, believing his employment future is bleak as an ex-con. His pessimistic, smart-aleck attitude toward a highway patrolman during a trailer inspection is not going to help. The patrolman says as much.

The film has a strong opening sequence in a driving rain. Davis stops to help a motorist, but it is simply part of a gang of hijackers, who leave him in a ditch. Lots of film is used to show Davis in a late Forties GMC ACR 723 tractor during deliveries. An eyeful from bygone days. The mob's goons slip a sleeping sedative in his coffee thermos while distracted at the diner, resulting in another hijacking. He later takes a beating at home, and they hide a fur coat in the room. Rodney Dangerfield could relate. Davis tells his wife, Marcia Jones, that someone must be working from inside the trucking firm. He logically narrows the culprit down to the shipping manager. After a pretty exciting climax of fist-o-cuffs and gunplay, the police arrive to arrest the mob, the finger man, and the fence.

Note: Lippert regulars, House Peters, Jr., and Sid Melton, take their usual spot in this film. “Killer” Melton is the comedic relief as an awkward goon who dreams of having his own gun and someday being a mob kingpin. He is hopelessly in the wrong line of work. Speaking of levity, one cannot ignore Iris Adrian as the quintessential diner waitress. Do not blink and miss Myron Healy as a police dispatcher.

Check out my series on seven other Lippert films that ran from February to July 2022, starting here.

HIGHWAY 13 (1948)

Robert L. Lippert Productions churned out countless low-budget films. I profiled seven of them beginning here. This project's budget came in under Sixty grand and Sixty minutes. It was distributed by Screen Guild Productions. Top billing goes to Robert Lowery, sans mustache. He is supported by Pamela Blake (below right) and Michael Whalen, whom Lippert tapped into more than once, and everyone's favorite sardonic curmudgeon, Clem Bevins (below left), who plays her uncle. Whalen and Maris Wrixon both have pivotal roles.

Trucking was a popular movie theme during the early years of overland shipments with engines that could increasingly go the extra mile. It was a noisy, physical job to pilot a tractor or single-axle truck during the 1940s and 1950s. Sabotage was a sure-bet premise. This film is not subtle about addressing this, as the opening scenes use a constant barrage of trucks—at least one miniature—crashing over a cliff on a mountainous section of “jinxed” Highway 13. Out of sequence is a sedan that enthusiastically powers over a cliff. The driver, Whalen, survives, but his wife, the heiress to the trucking company, does not. After a period of recovery, he returns to the office and expresses to the owner his concern that the rash of driver eliminations is more than accidents. He seems sincere. He later meets the truck driver who found his wife after the fiery crash. Lowery. Imagine his surprise to see that Walen survived.

Bevins, whose age seems to always be pushing ninety, regularly checks the trucks over before the drivers hit the road again. Adjacent to the studio garage set is a diner set where Blake takes short orders. Lowery is a regular customer, and after their back-and-forth teasing quips, it is apparent they are planning a future together. As per usual, Bevins is likable as “Pops” with disparaging remarks about coffee's effect on him. Not entirely on the up-and-up, however, he starts spreading rumors that Lowery may be responsible for the rash of crashes.

Walen hires a private detective to pose as their newest driver to investigate the sabotage. Expect the usual sped-up truck sequences as they power around a curve like a sports car. The climax involves an unconscious Lowery, a stowaway Blake, and the truck pilot, Bevins. With a strong bit of suspended disbelief, you might accept the unlikely and clichéd final sequence.

Note: One interesting historical element is the lost art of using a manual choke lever on the dashboard. Way before electronic fuel injection, a manual choke provided a way to get the right mixture of fuel and air in the carburetor. It was mainly used during cold starts, especially in winter. A full choke at start-up, however, might “flood” the engine with too much fuel, making it nearly impossible to start immediately, and a short waiting game ensues until the fuel drains from the carburetor. Once underway, pulling the choke all the way out would provide enough fuel to keep a vehicle slowly rolling without a foot on the accelerator pedal. Lowery does this early in the film (albeit a studio prop truck) as he opens the door, places his left foot on the running board, and stands to get a better view of an accident ahead. Bevins also uses the manual choke in the movie's climax for his stunt double to jump from a moving truck.

SO’S YOUR AUNT EMMA! (1942)

This soft comedy is a Monogram Pictures film, produced by Lindsley Parsons, and gives ZaSu Pitts a rare headliner in a film of confusing and less funny characters. Co-starring with her is Roger Pryor, in his third of fifteen films, as a newspaper reporter. His glib deliveries provide nearly as many huffed laughs as Pitts (Aunt Emma). She plays another spinster, this time sharing a home with her permanently unmarried sisters. Life is very simple in their small town. Quiet, except for her caustic siblings. Pitts was famous for portraying a fretful old maid, with forlorn eyes and a high-pitched, fluttering, crestfallen delivery. This film eliminates most of those qualities, despite many nostalgic ZaSu fans highly rating the film. At just two ticks over an hour, it is an ideal length, however. 

Pitts reads a newspaper headline about a boxing match that causes her to swoon over a past love, a prizefighter. Turns out the headlined boxer is his son. Hearing radio comments about his lifestyle and lack of training, she feels compelled to travel to New York City by train and help him get his act together to be a success. The screenplay was written by George Bricker and Edmond Kelso. Their premise had comedic potential if they had written something funny, but there are few genuine laughs in this dull, slow-paced, cluttered tale. One wonders if the director, Jean Yarbrough, provided any input. 

There is a kidnapping, murders, a postponed wedding for Pryor, and two dim-witted gangsters who jump to silly assumptions. One being, she appears to be muscling in on the young boxer's handler, Douglas Fowley. With her ever-present umbrella, she is also assumed to be the infamous Kate “Ma" Parker, who was known to carry a gun under her umbrella. Never mind that the real Parker died in 1935. Once Pitts finds out about this, she decides to learn how to talk tough and play the role—not very convincingly—but courageously. One would expect some laughs during this segment as she lays into gangster, Tristam Coffin. I could only muster a muted chuckle, my stomach muscles never moving. In the end, Pitts becomes the unlikely trainer for the wayward boxer back in her hometown. Using her Ma Parker attitude, she puts her two nagging sisters in their place as well.

Notes: The film's title might suggest this is one in a series of popular "Emma" adventures. In reality, it was based on the story, “Aunt Emma Paints the Town” by Harry Hervey. A couple of notable supporting cast members not mentioned above include the chief of dimwits, Warren Hymer, and Pryor's irritated newspaper boss, Dick Elliot.

According to her own introduction on an episode of I Got A Secret in 1952, ZaSu pronounced her name as Say-Zoo. The unique moniker was an amalgamation of her aunts, Eliza and Susan. Her secret on the game show? Rudolph Valentino taught her to dance socially.

THE DAY MARS INVADED EARTH (1962)

This independently made black-and-white CinemaScope science fiction film was backed by Robert L. Lippert and had its premiere in the cinema capital of the world, Minneapolis, Minnesota. The seventy-minute film is best viewed during daylight hours when there is a lower chance of dozing off. The film was released by Twentieth Century Fox as the bottom half of a double feature, Elvis Presley's Kissin' Cousins. Ouch! On the positive side, there are no embarrassing alien monsters to groan about. Hauntingly dull best describes the film.

Kent Taylor halfway through reading the screenplay

The film was directed and produced by Maury Dexter, and it was the second and (thankfully) final script written by Harry Spalding. The film stars B-movie regulars Kent Taylor, Marie Windsor, and William Mims. Taylor is the anchor of the film, but not his family. He is just too brilliant in his position at NASA to be there for his kids' birthdays, April Fool's Day, Armed Forces Day, Memorial Day, or even Easter. It could explain Windsor's lackluster performance, who seems sedated throughout the film.

Marie Windsor cannot believe she signed the film's contract

Taylor is in charge of a probe surveyor craft to Mars. The robotic probe is destroyed on the surface by some unknown force, and that same force makes Taylor's face get all blurry. More than this, there are double Taylors, with at least one showing up for a rare family Christmas at the Windsor family's lavish, 46,000-square-foot mansion. Taylor's entire family eventually gets all blurry-faced, and when he goes looking for his wife, she is in two places at the same time. The footage of Taylor or Windsor wandering through acres of the well-groomed estate is covered by a “sleep-inducing” soap opera score.

William Mims, a family friend and future blurry face, is a cohort of Taylor. He is invited to the mansion, and their conversation turns to the four extra “people” at the estate. His wanderlust being strong, Taylor later stumbles upon his duplicate. The Taylor martian tells him that they are without physical bodies and possess energy-generated intelligence. Sort of a hologram without the film's special effects department able to show that on screen. The Martians travel to Earth by two-way radio waves, preferably the FM band with its lack of static. Speaking of static, the Martians do not want any. Turns out they are not the social animals Hollywood usually envisions—they want no more illegal Earthling visits.

This film puts “provoking” into “thought-provoking”—mostly wondering if one can sit through the film. Spoiler alert: there is a bit of clever writing after the entire human cast has been reduced to ashes at the bottom of an empty swimming pool—in proportioned silhouette forms. The water jets are opened, and the ashes disappear down the drain without a trace. Like one's money disappearing in a crooked hedge fund. The five aliens pile into the Plymouth station wagon and drive off to an unresolved ending. Spooky.

Note: Most of the film was shot at the Greystone Mansion, located in Beverly Hills since 1928. It has been used in countless films over the decades and is currently a public park and set aside for special events.

JOHNNY STOOL PIGEON (1949)

It is safe to say this seventy-five-minute American crime drama, directed by William Castle with a screenplay by Robert L. Richards from a story by Henry Jordan, is essentially unknown. The film was produced by Aaron Rosenberg and is a typical effort from Castle before his more infamous “horror” projects. But thanks to the professional casting of Howard Duff and Dan Duryea, it may satisfy the fans of television's Dragnet. The middle section stays fairly upright thanks to the film's bookends of action. Well-equipped for the role, Duff works for the US Treasury's narcotics bureau. Echoing Dragnet with a no-nonsense, low-key delivery, his periodic voiceovers fill in any gaps for those who might have dozed off. With handgun drawn, peeking around a brick building, the suspense-filled opening sets up an attempt to crack an international drug ring. But he is going to need help.

Duff wants to suspend Duryea's three-year stay in Alcatraz to become the title character. Not surprisingly, the movie perks up with Duryea's first appearance. To convince him he desperately needs his help, Duff wants him to identify a corpse at the morgue. Duryea is sickened to see that it is his estranged wife, a victim of drug pushers. Though still holding out hope of revenge, he agrees to train Duff to become a tough-talking drug dealer with substantial connections.

Shelly Winters has already met Duff and Duryea. During this era, she was ensconced in “high school dropout” roles, here as a helpless pawn to mob boss John McIntire, who could play genial or despicable, but rarely in the same film. One of his operatives is a junior hitman played by Tony Curtis, who appears to be puzzled about something during his scenes. The climax provides the other bookend of “thrills” as Duff's undercover is blown—never saw that coming. In the end, Duryea is deserving of a reduced sentence, and Winters. Duff's final voice-over wraps the film.