THE REBEL SET (1959)

Allied Artists Pictures distributed this basement-budget crime tale for E & L Productions. A one-time offering, apparently. The only thing lowering this below other heist films of the period is the hilarious “pre-hippie” subculture. In this regard, the film could stand alone. A position it richly deserves. Thankfully brief, the lame performances are the comedic low point in the movie, though the opening jazz combo is cool enough. Dig it, daddio? Other than the opening, an innocuous score seems to be added without the director's knowledge. After an opening seemingly longer than fifteen minutes, the plot unfolds, and the film gets better. But make no mistake, this film is funnier than intended. 

Edward “Get Smart” Platt steals the film and delivers a convincing performance as a scoundrel in a silk lounging robe. A bit of humor can be found beyond the coffee house performers, thanks to quips from Ned Glass, Platt's leg man, and wristwatch fence. Platt is certainly full of himself as he frequently quotes famous literary passages, making whoever he is with feel inferior. Glass assumes he is a master chess player because he never loses. On the contrary, Platt simply handpicks customers who cannot play the game well. He appears to be the biggest Beatnik sellout. In reality, his Los Angeles coffee house provides him cover where sunglass-wearing, anti-establishment weirdos with van dikes spout poetry—after a fashion—or leotard-clad females attempt interpretative dance all in an effort to “find themselves” through overt behavior. As most surely know, bongo drums have a magical power to transform people into groovy cats. Can you dig?

Being the wise judge of character he is, Platt condescendingly hires three frequent coffeehouse losers he has been monitoring. He asks their help to rob an armored truck of one million clams during the stopover in Chicago of the Los Angeles to New York train. All three men could use a financial portfolio booster. Top-billed and obviously acting, Gregg Palmer and his wife, Kathleen Crowley, are struggling because he cannot land any acting gigs. He was lucky to get this one. She suspects he is not trying that hard. It is not that he lacks potential. He is quite believable when coming up with excuses. John Lupton has writer's block, and Don Sullivan's only achievement, barring a few suicide attempts, is being the rich brat-of-a-son to his famous actress mommy.

The slickly planned and timed professional heist during the train's four-hour layover in Chicago goes without a hitch. Assuming all things could go as planned, these scenes are feasible. Platt “shaves off” his studio beard and dons a clerical collar. A good disguise, as all the elderly ladies on board think he is swell when quoting scripture. But one cannot judge a priest by his collar.

Sullivan's greed gets the best of him, and he plans to keep the entire take for himself. When he turns up dead, Palmer suspects someone is not playing fair. Dig, my brother? He and Lupton spot a typewritten suicide note designed to quell any suspicions. But Palmer astutely blurts, “Except that looks type-written.” Yes. It certainly does. Next up, Lupton departs the speeding train against his will. Palmer, finally buckling down to something, levels with his wife about his so-called all-night casting calls, then leads a police detective to the money's suspected location. 

Palmer initiates a long—can it only be seven minutes?—foot chase to capture Platt and his money-filled duffel bag through a rail yard, in which the director never threw away any footage during editing. If it were an actual chase, both men would have been exhausted in the first minute. But filming scenes can do wonders for your stamina. Just when you think Platt will be pounced on, he escapes—his cane becomes a force to reckon with—under or over rail cars or climbing up boxcar ladders. Reset. Platt is spotted and then disappears again. Reset. They each sprint through a locomotive shop completely unnoticed. Reset. Palmer finally gets hands-on with Platt as the chase finally comes to a...no, wait...a railroad employee comes to the “reverend's” defense. After beating off the employee, Palmer is back in the chase after one wily priest for an electrifying finish.

Note: In the middle of that climactic chase, we witness an odd placement of deliberate humor. Three hobos silently crawl forward on all fours to peer out from their individual, triangularly stacked large sewer pipe sections, wondering what all the commotion is about. When they spot the railroad police, all three pop backward inside their pipe like a turtle in its shell. A scene seemingly lifted from a silent film comedy.

SPLIT SECOND (1953)

This film marks Dick Powell’s directorial debut, and he should have felt good about the final project. Roy Webb's powerful opening score adds a real sense of danger. Accompanied by a custom title font symbolizing electric voltage, it sets the movie up as, literally, an explosive tale of prisoners and hostages about five to ten miles away from a Nevada atomic test site. Interspersed with stock footage of an actual test, it is the film's unique element. Beyond this, it is another RKO crime thriller. The film does not get any more “B” than this, with actors Stephen McNally, Jan Sterling, Alexis Smith, Robert Paige, Richard Egan and Keith Andes, all trying to stay alive in Arthur Hunnicutt's neighborhood. The atomic test site premise was done with a modicum of laughs a year later in The Atomic Kid starring Mickey Rooney. Sterling handles Dick Powell's trademark glib humor for this tale.

McNally is typecast again as a ruthless criminal and recent prison escapee, with a heart as small as an atom. His two cohorts, a badly wounded Paul Kelly and Frank de Kova, as “Dummy,” are along for the ride of their lives. During their gas station stop, Smith and her affair, Paige, are taken hostage by McNally. At the same time, Andes is on his way to interview McNally for his paper, picking up Sterling along the way. One may wonder why the interview. Send the state troopers to “interview” him! Fortuitous script timing as Smith's car runs out of gas, with Andes stopping to help.  McNally hijacks Andes' station wagon. At this point, the entire cast, minus Hunnicutt, is in this vehicle with barely enough room for dialogue. All are positioned like a seasonal office portrait so that everyone can be seen. They arrive at an abandoned resort near the epicenter of the atomic test site. For the obvious reason, it is now a ghost town. But in McNally's mind, it is the perfect hiding place.

Hunnicutt plays his usual rural character, this time as a prospector, an old-timer who remembers seminal moments from 1901. Hunnicutt’s real age and suspension of disbelief collide. After the cast has settled into a dusty building, he stumbles onto the entourage. All the characters are now intertwined into talkative, character-developing scenes. Knowing he is irresistible, McNally makes a pass at both women. First, Sterling appears to have rented a Shelly Winters wig for her role—a wound-tight platinum wig about to break a spring. Contrast this with her dark eyebrows, which symbolize her lifelong pent-up anger. It is a harsh look. The street-smart Sterling seems to have her head screwed on right, however. A more trustworthy person than the self-centered socialite and cowardly Smith, who begs McNally to take her with him, caring little for anyone else, even though Paige is standing right beside her. Paige is disgusted with the whole thing (outside of his affair with Smith). He is always loudly threatening McNally, who warns him several times to shut up. Paige ends up on the pointy end of two bullets. 

McNally’s best bud is Kelly, who has a normal-sized heart, though barely beating. McNally found out that Smith’s husband is a doctor, Richard Egan, once again cast as one half of a shaky relationship. McNally calls him from a phone booth in a nearby town and threatens to shoot Smith's head off if he does not come and save Kelly. After a lengthy pause...he decides to come. The operating scenes and the attempt to overpower McNally are tense and handled well by Powell.

Perhaps for their own amusement, those in command move the atomic test up one hour with actor Clark Howat, calling the excruciatingly slow countdown. McNally makes a split-second decision. Smith throws herself into the car with Kelly sandwiched in between. In their escape, they go the wrong way, heading straight toward the detonating tower. Smith lets out a blood-curdling scream and Kelly loses his hearing. The bouncing miniature car backing up is pretty humorous. Naturally, their car gets stuck in the sand. Hunnicutt and the three remaining cast members find protection from the fallout in an abandoned mine. 

Note: RKO had planned to team Victor Mature and Jane Russell as leads, coming off their roles in The Las Vegas Story one year earlier. The pairing might have brought in a few more moviegoers initially. McNally makes a much more disgusting human than Mature could have ever projected. Assuming Russell was cast in Sterling's role, that might have worked. Along with Egan, McNally and Mature would co-star two years later in a more diverse crime story, Violent Saturday. Also set in desert climes, it has its own unique angle: an Amish family that has settled in arid Arizona.

THE DIAMOND WIZARD (1954)

Dennis O’Keefe’s character in this obscure film may seem familiar. His excellent performance in the gritty T-Men seven years before was a much tougher portrayal of a U.S Treasury agent, however. Perhaps that role gave him the insight to write this film’s story as well as share in directorial duties. This eighty-three-minute film was produced by Gibraltar Productions and released through United Artists. The film is another procedural account of the Treasury trying to track down who is profiteering from the sale of synthetic diamonds. The film was Britain's first in 3D. Unfortunately, moviegoers really never got their 3D money’s worth with limited opportunities to use the process. This B-movie has humor and competent performances in a routine investigation. It is nonetheless an entertaining effort. Hang on for a worthwhile, explosive ending. 

There is very little to fault here from an acting standpoint. O'Keefe again displays his ability to be a real charmer. Especially when it comes to a stewardess, Margaret Sheridan, whom he has met on previous flights. It is not hard to imagine that his character would be fun to be around or that he rarely has a totally bad day. He is always trying to lighten the moment with a quip. Or persistently trying to get a date. A running gag concerns chewing gum. He is trying to quit smoking and has taken up gum to quell his habit. If he is offered a cigarette, he catches himself and reaches into his pocket for the gum instead. Ironic, in that O'Keefe was a chain smoker from an early age. And it shortened his life.

 

O’Keefe travels to London and teams with Philip Friend, a British detective with Scotland Yard. They hit it off right out of the arrival gate. They are always on the same page, each having an eye on Sheridan. She transferred to a London hub to be with her father, a renowned atomic scientist, busy making synthetic diamonds for industrial research into the medical and military fields. The spooky mountaintop castle appears to be a rental from Victor Frankenstein. The process is a dangerous mix of towering flames, giant dials, lights, and switches. These laboratory scenes are in stark contrast to the mundane search by O’Keefe and Friend. A few abrupt edits back and forth between the scenes can be jolting or irritating. O’Keefe’s accumulating evidence suggests the scientist’s integrity may be in doubt. Sheridan refuses to believe it.

Note: A couple of scenes to mention. One, reminiscent of The French Connection (1971), O'Keefe is at the top of an escalator, returning fire at a criminal holding a drawstring bag full of fake diamonds. Mortally wounded, the thief first falls backward, but the escalator slowly brings him back to the top as the diamonds spill out of his bag and roll to O’Keefe’s feet. Another is the filming of a ship's funnel as her steam whistle blows. Clever if not original, the camera then pans backward to reveal simply a model on the bridge of the real ship they are on.

CONTRACTIONS: THE SILENT ERA

"FRANKLY, MY DEAR, I DO NOT GIVE A 

THOUGHT TO CONTRACTIONS"

I digress. In every movie I have commented on, not one actor had a problem pronouncing contractions. The apostrophe was recognized as having a reason. It eliminates a letter. That letter is silent because, not surprisingly, it is missing. The contraction was pronounced as it was spelled. They never invented a word to override the apostrophe, which defeats the purpose of a contracted word in the first place. I am not a grammarian. It is as simple as right and wrong. 

"OF ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE TOWNS IN ALL 

THE WORLD, SHE PRONOUNCES 

CONTRACTIONS LIKE THAT"

Oddly, most contracted words are not mispronounced. The annoying habit typically contains the ending “d” of the first non-contracted word. Two common examples are the words “didn’t” (did not) and “wouldn’t” (would not). They are not pronounced “dident” or “wouldent.” Nowhere is the word “ent” included in the spelling of the contracted word. Jane Greer “dident” say it. Sterling Hayden “wouldent” say it. Claire Trevor “couldent” say it. The fabricated word is common among some young females, but regardless of which sex dominates its usage, this “affliction” only seems to affect those under forty. 

Thankfully, only a portion of Generation X, Millennials, and Generation Y make up the majority of offenders. Logically, we assume they have no idea why an apostrophe is in a contraction or have never seen the word in print. I suspect technology and societal change can be rightfully blamed, given the increase in non-verbal communication. It takes "time" to search for an apostrophe on a smartphone. Just spell it in a letter arrangement of one's choosing. Like, "Your great!" instead of correctly spelling it, "You're great!" Never mind that the meaning changed. Verbally, their point is clear, finding no need for such punctuation. Unintelligible, rapid speech does gloss over contractions.

"WHAT WE'VE GOT HERE IS FAILURE 

OF COMMUNICATION"

When attempting to advise them on the proper pronunciation, their response is similar to a "deer in headlights." I have accepted the combining of two words to make a confusing one, as in “Online,” “Linkedin” or “Login.” One can imagine the time I have saved by doing this. Using a global mindset, many younger generations often hear certain foreign residents mispronounce contractions when attempting to use English. This is excusable. It is not their native language. The lack of educational discipline has to share the blame, or maybe a parent with the same anomaly. These offenders have not been taught how to correctly pronounce certain common contractions at an early age. Teachers will no longer correct a student's “preference” for mispronouncing a word, fearing a lawsuit or defamation of character.  

I suspect this speech malady will not correct itself. One generation will screw it up for the next one.  Abandoning the contraction altogether would solve these grating, airhead errors, but I suspect mispronunciation may be due to one fact. It is physically easier. One needs the innate ability to place the tip of the tongue behind the front teeth, near the roof of the mouth, for that apostrophe. “That’s hard, dude. You can't make me do that!”

Note: One lame excuse would be to blame the sometimes illogical American way of spelling. To illustrate, the “t” in “often” is silent, and preferred as is the second “d” in “hidden.” It is never two words, “hid den.” Though there is nothing odd about the spelling of "important," the curse of the "Ds" continues. One cannot replace the first "t" or the "a" in the word with a "d" and an "e." This is very "impordent."

TOWARD THE UNKNOWN (1956)

This is Warner Bros.' first attempt to cash in on Paramount’s superior Strategic Air Command, released the previous year. The film takes a serious look at the unknowns of supersonic flight research. Warner Color was back at it again the next year with a sudsier air force story, Bombers B-52, which was primarily a project for the rising star, Natalie Wood. Director Mervyn Leroy weaves this film dangerously close to a soap opera, where long-term personal commitments are harder to come by with someone in a very dangerous occupation. Assuming you like aircraft of this era, this film works well thanks to an intelligent script by Beirne Lay, Jr., who also penned the Paramount film as well as Above and Beyond, and Twelve O'Clock High. The accuracy of the Air Force lingo, flight gear, and location filming is spot on. Yet despite the famous lead actor, the casting mix places the film in the B-movie barracks. With the possible exception of Lloyd Nolan, the balance of the cast is a flight line of “Bs” from Virginia Leith, Charles McGraw, Paul Fix, Karen Steele, and a brief appearance by the ever-present Bartlett Robinson. William Holden's own production company, Toluca Productions, may have been responsible for a tight casting budget. Though viewers did not know it then, James Garner’s brief film debut would catapult him into a Hollywood "A-lister." Considering Holden's overall body of work, this film falls nearer the bottom...toward the unknown part.

With an enviable name for a legendary aviator or NFL quarterback, Holden is  Lincoln Bond. The Major's charm and self-deprecating wit make him quite likable. But he has psychological issues. Holden returns to Edwards Air Force Base in hopes of being selected for the test pilot program. The story takes a while to unfold, but we eventually learn Holden was a Korean prisoner of war. Holden has an impressive early scene when he enters the headquarters building. He walks over to a wall full of some real test pilot handprints. Among the likes of Chuck Yeager and Glenn Edwards, we see Bond’s handprint. Holden presses his hand firmly over the inked impression as a supporting musical chord solidifies the scene. It also reveals wrist scars from his attempted suicide under those unimaginable atrocities. His cracking under those conditions does not bode well for a living-on-the-edge test pilot. 

Nolan (with Holden below) is always ideally cast when carrying a good deal of authority. Here, as a commanding officer who is so wrapped up in first-hand test piloting, he does not know when to move on. McGraw is Holden's good friend and biggest supporter, and pleads with Nolan to give him a second chance. A second chance is needed with Leith, also. I have mentioned the occasionally strange vocal quality of this attractive actress before. Considering the era, one might think the studio would have provided voice training to eliminate her dark, goofy vocal moments. Today, this training would never be considered: the stranger, the better. She is feminine enough in a soft voice. But her voice placement retreats to the back of her throat when emoting or speaking while smiling. A distracting sound, even on an Air Force base. But I digress. She seems to be attached, off-hours, with her boss, Nolan, whose age gap could pass him off as her uncle. She and Holden were an item before the war—speaking of niece and uncle—but she is reluctant to make any commitment. Her character is a bit puzzling. She would seem to be happy enough with Nolan unless Holden is around. Maybe any dependable guy. 

Given a number of second thoughts, Nolan cautiously eases Holden in on some testing. He gets his chance at the Martin XB-51, masquerading in this film as the Gilbert X-120. It is featured in an impressive flying sequence in a unique head-on takeoff view alongside its chase plane. Taken from a third plane already in the air, we watch both planes accelerate upward toward the unknown, zooming over the camera aircraft. Character actor Ralph Moody plays H.G. Gilbert, who assumes his plane is perfect and is arrogantly opposed to Holden's blunt assessment of a specific design flaw. When Garner loses his life because of this flaw, Moody is sheepishly humbled. Off-camera. In private. We assume. 

Nolan expects to pilot a research rocket plane, the real-life Bell X-2. It is his baby. But unknown to Nolan, Holden witnessed his dizzy spell after an earlier test flight. Holden, being about a decade too old himself for this kind of thing, bluntly tells him, off the record, that he would risk his life if he goes through with it. Reluctantly, he lets Holden pilot the flight. It becomes a troubled test with a necessary bailout. Holden's role during these scenes is based on the actual testing by Lieutenant Colonel Frank Kendall in the Bell X-1D. Holden met Kendall during filming, who gave an account of his experiences. The hard parachute landing bangs Holden up with needed physical therapy. Reporting on Holden's progress, the base doctor also informs Nolan that he would not have survived that high-altitude bailout. Nolan gallantly takes a position in Washington, DC, with McGraw filling the base commander’s shoes.

Notes: Paul Baron provided an appropriately sensitive background score. He also weaves in the opening bars of “The U.S. Air Force” song with interesting arrangements. There are two instances, though, when he or the studio creates a slightly humorous and startling “electronic” sound during two scenes of aircraft soaring high in the sky. A sound not unlike a Hawaiian slide guitar whose pitch gradually gets higher during take-off. It is more appropriate for a Warner Bros. cartoon than a dangerous saga about test pilots.

For aviation historians, the Martin XB-51 and the other aircraft or stock footage are the main draw of this movie. Never chosen for production, there were only two XB-51s built, both destroyed in crashes. The last XB-51 featured in this film crashed shortly after the filming was completed. Lincoln Bond mentioned its design flaw.

THREE BLONDES IN HIS LIFE (1961)

This apparent single Golden Film Production—this poster is golden—surely struggled at the box office on its second weekend. The score is composed and conducted by Andre Brummer and His Dectet. A jazzy opening title song, written by him and Francis Turner, is performed by The Russo Brothers, giving an impression this is a lighthearted comedy. Tony Randall is not in this movie. Perhaps a fair warning the film should not be taken too seriously. Though overlong at eighty-six minutes, it seems longer.

Famous stuntman, Jock Mahoney, plays an insurance investigator, aka a private detective, who is hired to find out what happened to his company's missing operative in Los Angeles. This is his film, and he adds stability to the production. An airline ticket awaits from New York to Los Angeles aboard an American Airlines 707 Astrojet in classic red-orange lightning bolt livery: black and white film does not do it justice. According to his inner thought voice-overs, the only thing on the investigator's mind is the women he has encountered throughout his travels. Handsome Mahoney goes by the name of Duke. Of course. He is not easily ruffled with the confidence and swagger to take on anything or anyone. He dominates any room he is in. He joins forces with his Los Angeles contact, apple-addicted Jesse White. He is always eating or offering one. By the same token, we learn Mahoney's favorite alcoholic drink, either ordering one or being offered one. There is good chemistry between them, and White's distinct delivery and expressions help a very talkative script. Mahoney has been given the authority to fire White for his incompetence, yet he is still on the job by the film's end.

White picks up Mahoney at the airport in a convertible, which becomes one of the most faked, budget-strained prop cars I have seen in a film. No suggested car, windshield frame, or dashboard. Just two guys sitting in front of a camera with a steering wheel in front of rear-projected highway traffic. While “traveling” on a 4-lane freeway at speed—in between the obligatory horn honks—listen closely for the sparrows chirping as if the two were sitting in a quiet city park. 

There is so much explanatory dialogue by screenwriter and director Leon Chooluck that your auditory senses may shut down completely. Time is spent filming the principal cast members reading lengthy accident reports related to the case. Unless you are taking dictation, you may not keep things straight. Three blondes were involved with the missing investigator. When his cold body turns up, it becomes a murder case. Mahoney's first blonde interview, Elaine Edwards, the wife of the murdered detective, provides a backstory of major proportions. He is only able to stay awake because of her seduction attempts, yet she is "distraught" over her husband's recent demise. His second encounter, Valerie Porter, seems to have borrowed the same script. The silliest by far is Greta Thyssen (below) in an ostentatious, fire-retardant wig. The other identifying trademark is the use of Hollywood's stereotypical sultry saxophone every time she appears. She has a lot of “something more comfortable” to slip into with strategically placed mirrors in her bedroom.

Mahoney and White investigate the mountain cabin where Edward's husband was murdered, with assistance from a drowsy old sheriff and his Jeep. Back in town, adding the first bit of excitement is Mahoney's stunt work as he is "pushed" down a stairway headfirst by actor Anthony Dexter. Their later fight scene has Mahoney knocked to the floor on his back. As Dexter approaches, Mahoney sends him halfway across the room with his legs. Dexter is soon out of his element, and his stand-in takes over. From one stuntman to another, the energetic fight is well-choreographed, and they destroy the apartment. Police are called to the scene in a 1950 Nash traveling so fast in time that it transforms into a 1956 Ford at the scene. The film ends with another “exciting” reading of the official report in an attempt to wrap up the movie. 

Note: This appears to be a television pilot movie that every network rejected. Speaking of television, this film may be the only indirect reference to the then-popular Gerald “Kookie” Kookson, III of “77 Sunset Strip” television fame. With a wry smile, Mahoney questions a young “cool cat” parking attendant if he ever watches television. The hipster's reply indicates he is familiar with the show.

PRIVATE HELL 36 (1954)

This eighty-one-minute noir centers on two detective pals coming to odds when one turns to the noir side. It is an independent film produced by The Filmakers Inc team of Ida Lupino and Collier Young. Directed by Don Siegel, do not expect anything ground-breaking, but it will not disappoint, thanks to a competent cast. The opening, in particular, is excellent as it leads to an off-duty detective stumbling perilously upon a store robbery. Leith Stevens' score with muted trumpets at the beginning adds a jazzy, low-key element and never overpowers the scenes. Unfortunately, his best bit, the bouncy, multi-faceted tune entitled “Daddy Long Legs,” is hidden in barely audible background music a couple of times in the film, the last being the meeting of the detective pals at a diner near the end. Revealed in the closing minutes, 36 refers to a trailer park address. 

Detectives Howard Duff and Steve Cochran are tasked with tracking down fake fifty-dollar bills from a three-hundred-grand robbery. The duo first encounters two famous character actors and one less famous. King Donovan is one of the robbers and a frequent guest of the police department. His face and torso hurt after a one-sided fight of realistic proportions with Cochran in that opening sequence. Dizzy Donovan has trouble keeping his aliases straight. Another stolen fifty ends up with a pharmacist, Richard Deacon, who is questioned about it. He is well cast in a meek, unassuming role. His prescription payment from a gall bladder patient leads them to one of the best character actors in the business, Dabbs “Marv” Greer. He is, as usual, one hundred percent believable. This time, as a local bartender who thinks the cops are accusing him of a crime because he had one of the bills. He is quite defensive about it. Duff has a funny line here to reassure them that they are just asking where he got the fifty. He tells Greer, “Uh-uh, mind your bladder, Marv.”

The duo turns next to money enthusiast, Lupino, a nightclub singer, questioning her at length about how she came upon her fifty. She delivers a few witty lines at the expense of the detectives, which Cochran finds very appealing. Against her preferred judgment, she is convinced to go along with their plan and ultimately identifies the man with the phony bills. A realistic car chase ensues with automobiles racing to the edge of tire adhesion. The fleeing thief is killed in a crash, learning too late that the mountain's “Road Closed” sign was not a mere suggestion. You might say Cochran goes over his own cliff when he pockets part of the stolen loot at the crash site. Most of it, he hopes, going to keep Lupino happy. 

Police Captain, Dean Jagger, who also opens and closes the film with sonorous voice-overs, calmly asks the cops later about the shortfall from the thief's suitcase. Cochran concocts a likely scenario. Duff sits silently fuming over his partner's blatant dishonesty. Obviously, the partners have a falling out with Cochran taking his obsessive downward spiral even lower, with murder not out of the equation. The final scene offers a twist, all explained by Jagger's script. 

Notes: Ida Lupino performs part of one number, “Didn't You Know?” yet she really does not sing it. She talks-sings it, never really zeroing in on any particular note. Unlike others who must talk their way through a song because they cannot carry a tune—Eva Gabor's “Green Acres” television theme is a prime example—she was musically talented. Her song interpretation simply is a bit humorous when considering Cochran going off in dreamland listening to her “talk” while the piano plays.  

Seemingly in his element, Duff earlier played a U.S. Treasury agent in the lesser-known film, Johnny Stool Pigeon, and would star as a detective in his own 1960s television show, The Felony Squad. Duff and Lupino's nuptials were in 1951. Their thirty-three-year marriage ended in divorce.