SHIELD FOR MURDER (1954)

This United Artists release is a standard film noir, and there is hardly a dull moment, starting with an attention-grabbing opening. Directed by Edmond O’Brien and Howard Koch, the latter may have obliged the star to take top credit. The music score by Paul Dunlap is used sparingly and only when effective. Much like an episode of television’s Columbo, there is no surprise who is guilty of murder after the opening scene. What is unknown is how O’Brien, a sixteen-year police detective with a volatile nature, is finally brought to justice. Do not be too surprised by O'Brien's occasional overacting. It sometimes reflects badly on an otherwise versatile actor. His character may raise a viewer's blood pressure.

O'Brien covers up his deed, suggesting it was a justified but errant shooting. No one bothered to check his revolver's chamber. It would have indicated he shot three bullets, not the two, heard by passersby. Never bothered to check the distance the fatal bullet entered the deceased, either. But I digress. His false scenario could almost be legit, but for his lifting of twenty-five grand from a well-known bookie’s coat. The money hounds him throughout the film. In between the hounding, Hollywood once again portrays a male being tempted to do whatever it takes to make his girl and himself happy. Marla English is the girl employed at a nightclub. A job O'Brien loathes as she's being ogled by male patrons nightly. The loot may be his ticket to “untrue” happiness. In hopes of buying a particular home under construction for the two of them, he buries the bag of cash in his personal “dirt vault” near the foundation.

A seasoned police reporter, Herbert Butterfield, hangs around the squad room in hopes of a Pulitzer on O'Brien. He was quite pessimistic about that opening scene. O’Brien’s young partner, John Agar, refuses to believe it. O’Brien is something of a hero to him, helping turn his own wayward youth in the right direction. However, building a new house on a policeman’s salary sets off an internal siren.

Notorious bookmaker boss, Hugh Sanders wants his twenty-five grand “investment money” back and hires two private detective goons to tail O'Brien. The script gives private detectives some bad press as these two usually beat the truth out of a suspect. O'Brien is one recipient. This police hatred for private investigators was no help to Jim Rockford twenty years later. Their final shootout in a crowded indoor swimming pool set several lap records for some swimmers. Bullets flying between them—both lousy shots—with little regard for the patrons. One swimmer, prostrate on a high dive, hesitates, then decides to dive in between bullets. And they call it a health club!

Though no surprise to the viewer, there was a witness in that opening scene. What is a surprise is that the screenplay cleverly makes the witness unable to hear or speak, demanding he write down what he saw. O’Brien is the first to read the small note. Bummer. Later, he pays the old gentleman a visit to confirm the note's assertions and close a loose end. Unknown to him, the man left a master copy of his police note in his notebook. Agar finds it and plans to arrest his partner, who nearly pulls the trigger on Agar. It is at this point the viewer has confirmation that O’Brien needs serious psychological counseling. He maniacally attempts to retrieve the cash from his dirt vault after the usual high-speed night chase. He turns around with his bag of loot to face a row of headlights. Losing all reasoning, O’Brien opens fire. What he receives in return is undeniably over-the-top.

Note: As Hollywood's typical lonely woman at a bar counter, Carolyn Jones has a couple of scenes with O’Brien, though he is not good company. She could not care less. At least he is company. After they kiss, he notices an obvious large bruise on her upper right arm. He asks her where she got it. “From somebody, I guess,” she says unconcerned. “Besides, it doesn't hurt.”

DESTINATION MOON (1950)

This colorful, independently made science fiction film by George Pal Productions, distributed by Eagle-Lion Classics, sits near the top of early Fifties science fiction movies. There are no alien creatures in rubber suits arising from the ashes of atomic testing. A typical Hollywood tactic of imagined nuclear doom. Rather, it is an intelligent explanation of space travel, highlighting its assumed and known dangers in rich Technicolor. Despite a B-movie cast, the competent acting takes the premise seriously and breaks new ground for the genre. The film can be accurately prophetic, but one cannot ignore the implausible sequences. Leith Stevens’ excellent score establishes excitement and mystery right from the opening moon image. His score contributes heavily to the success of this box office winner.

You need not be a rocket scientist to be in this movie. But if you are the Warner Anderson character, it helps. The film opens with the optimistic launching of his latest rocket to send a satellite into orbit. On hand for the assessment is Tom Powers, playing a retired General. Their confidence is shattered when the rocket quickly plummets to the desert floor. With funds and minds exhausted, they abandon the project and move on to an even more fantastic project. Powers turns to John Archer, CEO of his own aircraft manufacturing company. When he first hears Power's argument about going to the moon, he thinks the General may have returned to his heavy drinking. In reality, he persuades Archer to consider the importance of establishing a missile base for America’s protection before an aggressor gets there first. These opening scenes provide the strongest acting in the movie. The actors are convincingly genuine and the audience is in the room with them.

Archer gathers over a dozen brilliant engineers to hear their proposal. It is quite a convincing presentation thanks to Woody Woodpecker, the very popular cartoon character of the era. With simplicity, Woody explains rocket physics like no human could, except Walter Lantz, Woody’s creator. The four-minute cartoon also helps the audience understand space travel from a non-threatening position. Bet no one expected Woody Woodpecker to be in a science fiction film.

It is up to these brilliant industrialists, with the guidance of Anderson and Archer, to build an advanced atomic-powered spaceship, harnessing the atom for peaceful purposes. Anti-atomic fear comes into play, and the project is soon threatened by fake news, which falsely purports to be public opinion. As Archer states prophetically, “Manufactured and organized with money and brains, somebody's out to get us.” The “moonies” simply launch the mission ahead of schedule without any press announcement, previous test flights, or a trained crew. This may possibly sign their death warrant if not successful. One thing is certain. It is definitely implausible. As if planning a long vacation without enough time to pack, they rush to get the rocket up in a mere seventeen hours. Such was the unlimited thinking in the optimistic, “can-do” attitude of post-war America. Powers and Dick Wesson fill out the four-man crew. It was customary during this period for one crew member to provide levity. Preferably from Brooklyn. This responsibility falls on Wesson. A substitute crew member who is squeamish about “spatial” travel or death.

For identification purposes on a gray moonscape, each crew member has their own tertiary-colored space suit for high visibility. A guy could get lost in muted silver. Rather comical today, the suits resemble the Michelin Man after a crash diet with inflated, articulated elbows and knees, topped off by helmets resembling interior lamps borrowed from a Frank Lloyd Wright building. 

The weightless effects are handled well. The g-forces on their faces, not so much, as each actor is assigned a g-force expression. Wesson is the best/worst example. One view of the rocket touching down on the lunar surface looks similar to the real 1969 event and Anderson’s description upon landing on the moon’s surface is uncannily similar to Neil Armstrong’s comment. Not to have the audience too complacent with wonder, problems occur when trying to jettison home. A miscalculation of fuel reserves makes the rocket too heavy for liftoff. Not unlike a typical liquidation sale, everything must go. Especially, weight. One crew member attempts to make the ultimate sacrifice so the remaining crew can return to Earth.

Note: Despite the systematic, perfect pattern of same-sized stars, Pal’s space effects are nicely done. With no studio restricting his budget or making suggestions, it pays off. His efforts were not so well-received in 1950. The pan shots of the moon’s surface are filled with eerie awe. The scale of the rocket and Anderson’s claim of the moon for the good of all mankind are inspiring. Outdated in many instances, with a little history under your space belt, watch the film in a mid-twentieth-century state of mind.

THE SOUND OF FURY (1950)

“Violence is a disease caused by moral and social breakdown. That is the real problem, and it must be solved by reason, not by emotion. With understanding. Not hate.”

The above quote could apply to the present century. In this case, it is the timeless voice-over warning repeated at the end of the film. A film that will not come to mind when recalling classic films, but this forgotten gem provides, perhaps, the most contrasting opening and closing bookends in film noir history. Produced by Robert Stillman and released through United Artists, this ninety-two-minute crime drama is appropriately supported by a score by Hugo Friedhofer. The agonizing crescendo, one of the most unnerving twenty minutes on film, creates a wallop of an ending. The disturbing imagery is emblazoned long after the moviegoer has left the theater. This is not a film to binge-watch.

Also in contrast are two men drawn together by happenstance. Frank Lovejoy’s performance will leave your emotions in knots. An early standout role that began his first and only full decade of acting. He portrays a loving husband and father who moved to California to seek employment, but it has brought nothing more than frustration. His opening scenes are innocent and heartfelt, but with Lovejoy at his lowest point of self-loathing, he is very vulnerable to the slightest motivation for income. His chance meeting at a bowling alley with an arrogant Lloyd Bridges influences the naive and desperate Lovejoy. Call it, imperfect timing. Bridges enjoys the finer things in life, like a fancy wardrobe, preening in front of a mirror, and bowling. He is initially kind of likable. A guy with enough confidence to take charge. His subtle persuasion plays on Lovejoy’s hopelessness, and it is a master class in salesmanship. Both actors are superb, with personalities representing a spectrum of opposites.

Appropriately, Bridges professionally steals his scenes. A young, physically fit male in which social standing is everything. He is a cocky, petty thief who thinks he is invincible, believing he should be admired no matter what he is doing. I have become impressed with Bridges's early work. His charisma burned like magnesium aflame. As only his wheelman, Lovejoy’s first robbery experience does not weigh too heavily on his conscience. On the contrary, his new “employment” brings home enough money to encourage his expectant wife and young son and boost his self-esteem. This charade continues for some time. However, with Bridge’s ego expanding blindingly fast, he decides to up his game by kidnapping the young adult son of a wealthy millionaire. Lovejoy is extremely nervous about it. The kidnapping offers up some excellent camera work by Guy Roe. With Lovejoy’s help, the son is bound by ropes, then Bridges pushes him down a stone-covered embankment. The son rolls by the ground-based camera as the stones cascade toward the viewer in a blur. There is a surreal sense of depth looking up at the two, extra-tall tall distorted figures. With no masks hiding their identification, Bridges, in all his demented logic, brutally kills the son by smashing his head repeatedly with a huge stone. Pretty obvious he is not familiar with the term “ransom.” Lovejoy is instantly sickened. His close-up, with eyes tightly closed, personifies disgust and terror. His life's history passes before him.

Enter Richard Carlson, a local newspaper reporter who fuels his report with hate-filled rhetoric. He puts the “sin” in sensationalism and thrusts the locals into a frenzy. Thankfully, he had no social media account. But after meeting Lovejoy’s wife and reading his sincere letter of confession to her, he realizes his violent words have vastly overstepped the order of the law. Carlson’s close friend, an Italian psychology scholar, Renzo Cesana, confronts him about his lack of discernment and judgment. It is a Cesana quote that opens this film.

The foursome paints the town, spending Bridges' unearned cash. Thinking nothing of the murder. His “steady” is the appropriately attired Adele Jergens. Let us just say she has been around the block more than a few times. The performance of Katherine Locke is worth a mention. She becomes Lovejoy’s awkward and repressed blind date. He seems to take some comfort in Locke’s sensitive manner. His excellent portrayal of a man helplessly numb and detached from his current life or any future life is spot-on. When a nightclub magician repeatedly uses Lovejoy as his comic foil in full public view, we witness Lovejoy’s embarrassment of being in the spotlight, knowing his shame. He is the only person not laughing. Sitting at the table, Locke pays him awkward compliments in the hope that her small talk might foster a relationship with another total stranger. However, his turn to heavy drink leaves his mind susceptible to the truth, and he blurts out his recent crime. Now terrified, Locke realizes she has picked the wrong guy again.

The calm resolve and hopelessness on Lovejoy’s face behind bars indicate a man coming to terms with his short future. Yet he is frightened beyond words. His honest confession led authorities to Bridges. In total contrast, Bridges' excellent mimicry of a raging, caged animal is chilling. He threatens Lovejoy’s life in the adjoining cell, irrationally thinking he will break out. It reveals the true nature of a violent sociopath. Mob violence rules as both prisoners are seen being dragged from the jail and beaten. Lovejoy’s horizontal manhandling exit above the heads of the mob, mosh pit style, foretells future “aggressive mobs” at rock concerts some twenty-five years later.

Note: The film is based on events that occurred in 1933 concerning two men arrested for kidnapping and murder. The suspects confessed and were lynched by a mob of locals. The 1936 film “Fury” was inspired by the same incident. This film, reissued with the title “Try and Get Me!,” was seemingly to promote the singular, electrifying performance of Lloyd Bridges.

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."