THE FAST AND THE FURIOUS (1955)

This seventy-three-minute B-movie is loaded with all the ingredients of a little-known film. But it is not. Despite its meager budget and a ten-day shooting schedule, it garnered a huge box office return. Produced by Roger Corman with a story by the same, this Palo Alto Productions was the first film produced for American International Pictures. He took home the checkered flag for this one. Filming at the Pebble Beach racing circuit may have also boosted ticket sales—plenty of vintage sports car footage for the automobile fan. There is a puzzling opening to the film that has the feel of a truncated theatrical trailer. The viewer has to wait about forty minutes to find out what it is all about. The two leads seem made for each other, and perhaps a catalyst for moviegoers. It stars John Ireland, who also directed, along with Edward Sampson. Corman updated his resumé after seeing Ireland’s good results. Getting few casting calls at this point in her career, Dorothy Malone signed on as the second-billed lead. Despite the necessary dialogue to explain why Ireland is furious, and Malone drives fast, it is full of entertainment value and plenty of Corman trademarks.

Ireland, in another furrowed brow role, is framed for murder but breaks jail—the only means of escaping the rap. Minding his own business in a diner, Malone drives up in her Jaguar XK120 to get a glass of pineapple juice. Try requesting that in Minnesota. A blonde motormouth waitress, Iris Adrian—the physical equivalent of today's social media—is full of opinions and gossip about the recent murder. She is irritating Ireland, as does a rotund male customer who keeps probing him with questions. He pulls a revolver on Ireland, there is a scuffle, and "Lumpy" gets decked. The Jaguar did not go unnoticed. Ireland hustles Malone out of the diner and suspends her driving privileges. She might come in handy as a suggested couple. What she becomes is a nightmare hostage, frustrating him to no end as she tries to escape, throws the ignition key in the weeds, or constantly complains. They dislike each other immediately.

The unconscious music score is the single worst element in the film. A Corman tradition. It is never appropriate for any given scene, as if they randomly chose selections from a music library based on the album's cover art. The first inappropriate use is during Malone’s arrival at the diner with situation comedy music of the era. I half expected a laugh track when she ordered the pineapple juice. An over-the-top theme is used as the two escape motorcycle police. The complicated, raging orchestral music is played at a very low level, so it will be less noticeable. But the scene calls for tension from a sustained note. Some of today’s action thrillers have a fear of silence, like so many people on a picnic who cannot eat outdoors without a sound system making willows weep. I digress. The music quietly and mindlessly crescendos as Malone excitedly says, “I’m Hungry!” Later, upon entering a roadblock, Ireland pulls a gun on Malone. “Don’t try anything,” he snarls. Hollywood's idle threat is always stupid. If he fires the gun, the police will be on top of him, plus there is no point in shooting her. Maybe Ireland really is a psycho. No surprise they get through after telling the authorities they are participating in the nearby international race. Suddenly, Malone gets playfully sarcastic as her mood changes. Soon, “humorous” jabs are traded, signifying an upshift in their relationship.

Malone is well-known and respected on the racing circuit. She enters her car in the cross-border race, but Ireland will drive the manly course. Riding as a passenger, she verbally points out the correct driving techniques to be a winner as they take a practice run over the course. Ireland is an implausibly quick learner. She did not coach Ireland on how to appear believable when “driving” the studio prop car, though. His face looks positively numb. Suspicious of Ireland is Malone’s racing friend, Bruce Carlisle, who is given the caution flag for worst acting. The racing sequences, using shaky, rear-facing race footage, add some excitement. Rather humorous, though, is the race announcer calling turns and spotting cars over the long-distance road course despite a thick forest and distant hills obscuring his view. Ireland and Carlisle battle for the win until the latter loses control and crashes. Ireland’s plan for his Mexico escape does not become a reality as he stops to help his fellow racer.

Note: Dorothy Malone’s hit-and-miss career might be compared to that of a contemporary of hers, Marsha Mason. Malone’s most visible role may have been her lead in television’s “Peyton Place.” Originally a brunette, dyeing her hair platinum boosted her career for a short time, an assumed alternative to Monroe. But there were plenty of those.

CRASHOUT (1955)

This eighty-nine-minute film—about ten minutes too long—is an unnecessary offering about a commonplace Hollywood theme, a clichéd prison break. Perhaps six convicts are too many characters involved to be a legit noir. Three is manageable, and the film does center around the three main leads. Regardless of the number, convicts rarely escape successfully in a standard formula like this. I might have enjoyed this more if the cast were mostly unknown actors. These six are well-known, respected actors, all of whom had their turn as crooks or murderers with their membership in the “Criminal Actors Union.” Their polished performances seem a waste for such a routine B-movie. The film has a couple of gritty moments, but even those are tame when compared to some scenes from Armored Car Robbery from five years earlier.

The film was directed by Lewis Foster, who also helped pen the screenplay with his writing partner, Hal Chester. It was produced by Chester for Standard Productions. I think any blame falls directly on these two. The dialogue is not scintillating or original. One example is when the tough leader commands diner patrons, “Everybody stay where you are and keep quiet.” An anonymous jazz score with blaring trumpets is by Leith Stevens.

William Bendix plays the self-centered, heartless leader at odds with life. If the others want their share of the loot he has hidden in the mountains, everyone will do it his way. Though a versatile actor, with his gnome-like stature, tiny mouth, and definitive nose, he seems better suited for a film’s levity. Nevertheless, the film gravitates around his capable performance as one unhappy individual. The balance of the cast follows his lead. William Talman may have been expected as the ruthless leader, speaking of Armored Car Robbery. Close. He is a mentally unbalanced reverend. A convict with knife-throwing expertise and the ability to use a Mercury as a lethal weapon. See my note below. The third main character is Arthur Kennedy. Unlike the other two, he was sent to prison for non-lethal embezzlement. He is an astute judge of character, and his least favorite person is Bendix. Rounding out the cast is Marshall Thompson, the youngest convict with redeemable qualities. Gene Evans, with several loathsome character roles under his belt, is always hungry, and Luther Adler is a scoundrel, moocher, and deviant. The gang takes over a roadside diner, hides when motorcycle cops arrive by swapping clothes with the male patrons, steals a car, abandons the car, and argues a lot.

The convicts invade Beverly Michaels' country home. Kennedy, being that good judge of character, provides her protection from the remaining miscreants. Coupled with Michaels is Adam Williams' singular performance. He nearly steals the film as a naive young man—a friend of the family. One could imagine his late appearance in the film to be accompanied by canned laughter. Polite to a fault, he is an all-around nice guy arriving to help Michaels in any way he can—perhaps with chores or save her from preparing dinner. He is not leaving anytime soon. He would like to say hello to her mother. Unavailable. In an attempt to have him move on, Michaels tells him Kennedy is her visiting cousin. He immediately spots the family resemblance. He offers him chewing gum, even suggesting all three take in a picture show. Not able to take a hint, the hidden convicts have had enough of his persistence and come downstairs to make things perfectly clear. It begins to sink in. Kennedy wraps up the film during a highly fake snowstorm, walking past the camera for an interpretative ending.

Note: I will never understand how gullible Hollywood thinks the average moviegoer must be when someone just stands in one place like a possum caught in headlights while a vehicle accelerates toward them. Most times, it can be improved with better film editing. Having a trained police officer with good hearing and common sense, just staring at the approaching car rather than jumping out of the way, is not believable. No amount of suspended disbelief could improve this scene.

MILLION DOLLAR WEEKEND (1948)

Masque Productions presented this seventy-two-minute romantic adventure with an honorable nod to film noir. Produced by Matty Kemp, it was distributed by the British film production company, Eagle-Lion Films, Inc., one of the most respected B-movie makers on Hollywood's "Poverty Row.” This film is one of their weaker efforts, not in the mold of T-Men, Raw Deal, or He Walked By Night. The director is the star of the film, Gene Raymond, based on his original story. I am happy to report on a commendable job with aircraft/airline continuity—matching in every scene. A couple of times, he got clever with overlapping transition shots. One has the female lead's hand curled over, gripping the airline armrest’s end, and the transitional footage shows the pilot's hand gripping all four prop controls. Later, the flame from Raymond's cigarette lighter transitions to the flame of her lighter. I suspect a lot of congratulatory back-slapping after viewing the rushes.

SPOILER ALERT IF ANYONE CARES

Action leading up to and during a flight to Hawaii is perhaps the most intriguing, as the premise is revealed. We are introduced to the main cast: Raymond is a stockbroker with plans for an unlimited vacation thanks to his million-dollar theft from his employer. How he plans to blow through a million in two days is of no concern. While waiting for an airline ticket, he flips a coin to determine whether he follows his plan. At the same time, Osa Massen—billed here as Stephanie Paull—flips a cardboard coaster on whether to board the [same] plane to Hawaii. She is a recent widow with a substantial death benefit. Francis Lederer, the handsome version of Peter Lorre, is well aware of her late husband's abuse. He attempts to blackmail her for half the benefits because it would be easy to convince the authorities that she murdered him. He was there that evening. She and Lederer are sitting side by side. As the latter heads for the lavatory, she asks Raymond—seated directly across from her—to pretend they are old friends and take Lederer’s seat. Upon his return, Lederer smugly sees through their weak charade—duh! After these initial twenty minutes, the film's intrigue gets grounded on final approach.

While Raymond and Massen share a balmy evening, Lederer breaks into Raymond’s hotel room and takes his million-dollar briefcase. There is a car chase of sorts, with the orchestra feverishly working hard to make it exciting. All three end up back on the same plane. After arriving in San Francisco, Lederer spreads a rumor with customs about Raymond, giving him space to escape. Once released, Raymond has a heart-to-heart talk with Massen about their past as the viewer dozes off. Raymond’s sheepish expressions indicate he is not cut out for a life of crime. Their honesty brings them closer together, but alas, they must part. On Raymond’s suggestion, they optimistically agree to meet back in Hawaii at a designated spot in one month if their individual troubles are put behind them.

Now alone in the bar with a glass full of remorse, Raymond sees a young woman order a bottle of Napoleon brandy. Lederer's drink of choice. He follows her back to the hotel room and then barges in on the charming scoundrel. A bit of a fistfight breaks out with Raymond, the all-American stockbroker, the winner by a knockout. He retrieves his briefcase, returns to Los Angeles, and puts the money back in the company safe on Monday morning. A month later, Raymond awaits Massen's arrival and learns the value of patience. She is over thirty minutes late.

Notes: This was in an era when Hawaii and its music transported one seemingly to another planet. On hand to perform traditional Hawaiian music are “The Royal Hawaiian Serenaders.” Except for one singer in falsetto, the quartet is not far removed from the “Sons of the Pioneers.” Just balmier.

Finally, there is an amusing use of stock film suggesting Raymond has telephoto vision. He gazes admirably from his hotel room at surfers about a half-mile away, but his view is close-up Hawaiian promotional footage from water level. The stockbroker's dreams are dashed, realizing he does not know how to surf anyway.

THE 27TH DAY (1957)

Based on John Mantley’s 1956 novel of the same name, this seventy-five-minute science fiction effort could be considered a thought-provoking approach but it is the time-honored Hollywood fear that atomic weapons will destroy Earth by dim-witted political administrations. And every galaxy knows about it. Though not given any credit, Robert Fresco wrote the screenplay's adaptation. An oversight I assume and not at his request. It is competently directed by William Asher and produced by Helen Ainsworth for Columbia Pictures. Mischa Bakaleinikoff composed an effective score. It is a solid lead cast, though most are not globally known. A misleading poster suggests aliens arrive to attack Earthlings. Again. The film is well-played with a refreshing alien twist.  

Hollywood almost always portrays aliens as wiser than mere humans. Mankind’s hopeless assumption is that it is always greener on the other side of their life, which is not evolving as they had hoped. As representatives of the world's population, five earthlings (that low number is not a typo) are taken aboard a spacecraft by an alien, Arnold Moss, the planet’s marketing director. He travels at the speed of light yet waits until the last minute to save his people from annihilation. The aliens favor Earth as their new home. The problem: all the humans taking up so much space. The subjects are given three capsules, each capable of destroying all human life within a 3,000-mile radius. Neither the environment nor anything constructed by men or women will be harmed. Whew! Each of the five can only open the capsule case through their specific mental projection. The liberal alien believes the entire human history is one of self-destruction, and it will not surprise him if the capsules are used for this purpose. Aliens can be a pessimistic bunch. However, if humans behave themselves, the capsules will be rendered useless, and there will be no invasion on the twenty-seventh day. The last time Earthlings took an alien at his word was from Klaatu.  

Alien Moss interrupts worldwide broadcasting transmission to reveal the names of the five, becoming the first alien whistle-blower. The media speculates about the “dangerous five” with a fever pitch of personal opinions. It becomes a pandemic of fear. Jisatsu shortens the group by one, while another, Valerie French, throws her capsules into the ocean, relieving her of any responsibility in the film. Not making a great deal of sense, she catches the next flight to rejoin top-billed Gene Barry. Now with a new purpose, she becomes the companion and sounding board for his theories. The police have awarded Barry an APB, but not for being a newspaper reporter. Citizens are warned not to take the law into their own hands, yet someone fitting his description has already been killed. Quoting Barry, “People hate because they fear, and they fear anything they don’t understand.” Earthly life as we know it today. Relinquishing their three-day hideout at an off-season horse race track, they place their bets with the authorities.

Friedrich Ledebur, above, a year after playing the bald, creepy, tattooed Queequeg in Moby Dick, has a brief role as a brilliant scientist with the most chiseled, aesthetic face in this or any other film. Once realizing the alien’s ultimatum, he subjects himself to a lethal dose of gamma radiation just in case they need a guinea pig to test one of the capsules. To his good fortune, they do! They place him on an inflatable raft—with an irrelevant life vest—in the South Atlantic Ocean. We see him happily waving. His coordinates are given. He vaporizes. No one else in a 3,000-mile radius is affected. One of the five, a respected scientist, determines that a complete set of capsules has a numbered code of “math destruction.” He activates all three capsules, and the results indicate they contain the power for both life and death. Confusingly, the screenplay suggests the capsules know which is which. Those tricky aliens!

                               EX-TER-MI-NATE! EX-TER-MINATE!!

On the other side of Earth, the Soviets are relentlessly interrogating the Soviet officer about his capsules. He is administered a truth serum plus mind and physical torture, which provides the Soviets' knowledge of the capsules’ purpose. Unable to sustain the atrocities, the officer opens the capsule's lid. The Soviets, somehow, locate the two other capsule cases. Global headlines claim the Soviets have world domination with the demand that America withdraw all its military from Europe.

The United Nations is all giddy about the prospect of being overrun with aliens. They give Alien Moss fifteen seconds (that is also not a typo) to reply to their friendship broadcast, hoping he has not stepped out for a supermarket errand. All broadcasting ceases to provide a clear reception of his reply. Millions are pretty peeved that they will miss their regularly scheduled programming.

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 occurrence was their transition to the new medium of television, often becoming familiar faces in homes across America. These periodic posts offer insight into their transition.

Merry Anders: Mary Anderson (1934-2012)

Merry Anders and her mother moved from Chicago to Los Angeles before her sixteenth birthday and doors opened for her to become a junior model. She never got much traction in her acting career—despite an uncustomary first name change—perhaps being born a decade too late to compete in a wardrobe full of attractive mid-century blondes. Her acting was adequate though her roles were not. Anders made her film debut in 1951 for 20th Century Fox films appearing in several uncredited small and supporting roles. She was indistinguishable as one of the fashion models in the film, How to Marry A Millionaire (1953) opposite the high profiles of Marilyn Monroe, Betty Grable and Lauren Bacall. She played a college girl in the film Titanic (1953) and appeared briefly in Three Coins in The Fountain (1954). Also that same year she was overpowered in another forgotten role for the comedy, Phffft (1954). Perhaps not knowing—or caring—what to do with her, Fox studios dropped her in 1954. Larger roles awaited her in the television universe.

Anders was a regular cast member of The Stu Erwin Show (1954-55) and the lead role in It’s Always Jan (1955-56). She landed a lead role in the NTA Film Network and syndicated TV sitcom, How to Marry a Millionaire (1957-59) co-starring, Barbara Eden and Lori Nelson. Anders appeared on several episodes of the Warner Bros. westerns, Cheyenne and Maverick. Also for Warner’s, 77 Sunset Strip provided numerous appearances during its entire run. Finally, in seven episodes she played Policewoman, Dorothy Miller, on Dragnet 1967. Producer and star, Jack Webb, had her wear a brunette wig suggesting that it made her look more serious. Someone should have advised the same for Heather Locklear of T.J. Hooker fame, though hair color was not her only believability problem.

Note: Wanting to live a normal life with a steady paycheck, Anders eventually became a successful customer relations coordinator at Litton Industries, where she remained until her retirement in 1994.

BEAST FROM HAUNTED CAVE (1959)

Right up front, the producers acknowledge their gratitude to South Dakota for their cooperation in making this film (only for the extended television print). Specifically, the use of their snow. No Hollywood fake snow in this one. The film will eliminate seventy-five minutes from your life. Double-billed with The Wasp Woman, many Dakotans may have been expecting another “comedy” from this grammatically challenged “Tonto-esque” titled film. But many probably came away skittish about hitting "plenty big slopes" given the spooky creature. The “special effect beast” is handled with restraint, relying mostly on ominous shadows, a claw, and a prehistoric scream that sounds like someone tightening their vocal cords while inhaling to get a high-pitched screeching effect. Lessening the embarrassment are undefined facial features as it supernaturally floats about, sometimes superimposed in the corner of the screen. Strange. This paced film, produced by Gene Corman, Roger’s kid brother, has the Corman touches. The random graphics splashing on the screen are typical of the Corman brothers. But accolades are due for being primarily a heist film with the science-fiction premise almost as the film's sidebar. Never mind the salacious, misleading poster, designed to attract an audience.

A Corman always pads their films, and there is plenty of ski footage, supported with misplaced music. Alexander Laszlo’s recycled score, in part, is from other Corman movies. From a Hammond organ to soap opera strings to a cool jazz segment (see note below), the music is certainly disjointed. And totally expected. The film was distributed by Filmgroup—the Corman boys—for Allied Artists Pictures. Charles Griffith’s script of clipped and witty banter, however unlikely, is quite suitable for the drive-in crowd. After a decade of papier mache “monsters,” this one relies more on imagination. The squeamish element is that the beast spins its live victims in a web-like cocoon, placing them in various cave locations until it can return for dinner. Certainly more creepy than Roger’s laughable wasp head on Susan Cabot.

The handsome Michael Forest is undeniably the most familiar face in the film. His long list of television appearances allowed him a great deal of notoriety and variety. He and his four co-stars were Corman regulars, professionally accounting for themselves. Forest is the level-headed element in this film, a ski instructor/guide in snowy Deadwood. In a turtleneck sweater, a prop pipe with his own cabin, he seems too classy, too perfect, to be in this film. He is persuaded to guide a group of four on a multi-day cross-country ski tour to his cabin. The group’s leader, Frank Wolff, has in his possession an unappreciated girlfriend, Sheila Noonan, a free spirit with sarcastic wit, a drinking problem, and insights into her life's bad decisions. She also slurs her lines as if her mouth is actually frozen in the authentic weather. This is Noonan’s second of four roles in her nearly one-year film career. She tries to thaw “Mr. Perfect,” who keeps her flirting at arm’s length for a while. Noonan wants out of her bottomless pit and reveals that her three skiing companions are gangsters. The other gang members consist of Wally Campo, a nutty little guy, and Richard Sinatra, Francis Albert's real-life cousin. 

Prior to the ski tour, the thieves set off a diversionary explosion in an abandoned cave as cover for stealing gold bars from the town’s bank vault. Forest becomes a hostage in order to get the gang close to their escape plane when it arrives. How the pilot could possibly land among thick evergreens and yard-deep powder is not clearly spelled out. But nothing goes as planned, thanks to that stringy spider-beast awakened by "heap big cave blast." Cocooned bodies are suspended in various locations, with the victims helplessly staring out into space. The beast’s lair provides temporary blizzard shelter for the remaining cast. Emphasis on temporary. Chaotic editing makes for a confusing climax in which a final gangster fires two flare guns, giving “haunted beast plenty big sunburn.” 

Note: The extended print for television broadcasts is responsible for ten minutes of extra footage to pad the film. One of those scenes happens before the opening credits roll, focusing on a cutting-edge Polaroid Land Camera. Most viewers were glued at this point. The two guys in a 1960 Corvair station wagon (top image) are casing the town's bank. One will note jazzy saxophone caper music. The brief music snippet may remind one today, humorously, of the chase music later expertly written for the famous cat-and-mouse jazzy chase sequence in the film “Bullitt.” But this is Laszlo, not Lalo. I digress. In the background is a white 1961 Ford Thunderbird. For a film released in October 1959, both vehicles seem a bigger mystery than a cave beast. As the original length version indicates, the only mode of transportation for the gang is a 1959 Ford. 

KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (1952)

 

This is the first of three films teaming director Phil Karlson with John Payne in his career-changer. This film noir has captivating segments, though one may need to overlook an idealistic screenplay by George Bruce and Harry Essex. With commendable casting choices, great camera work, and an enhancing score, ninety-nine minutes never seemed so short. It was produced by Edward Small with distribution by United Artists, and it paved the way for a few "confidential" films in the Fifties. Despite some uniqueness, nearly seventy years have given it some humorous and less-than-believable scenes. Worthy of a more in-depth review, it necessitates two words I rarely want to use: spoiler alert.

Robbery mastermind, Preston Foster, with an unimaginative character name of Tim Foster, checks the timing of a floral delivery truck driven by Payne and the all-important armored bank van from his third-story office across the street. Foster puts a lot of stock in the preposterous idea that both vehicles will always arrive at precisely the same time. He checks off the time on a desk-sized stakeout map as confirmation. The large map is assumed to be a scaled architectural blueprint, yet this map is a simple outline drawing of building squares that are directly in front of the bank. A hand-drawn note on a paper napkin would have sufficed. It would suggest an exciting robbery to come by way of a rudimentary robbery so often used. But the clever setup and robbery are dispensed with right up front. The bulk of the film concerns the aftermath.

Foster hires three lowlifes for the opportunity of financial freedom if they help pull off the heist: ironically, three stereotypical villains of the era, Jack Elam, Lee Van Cleef, and Neville Brand. To their amazement, he knows their backstory specifically. Their dialogue is concise and effective. A chain smoker by birth, Elam’s character is a nervous wreck, constantly in hiding from the electric chair. He is the first to meet Foster, and it is a dandy scene. The mastermind wears a rather creepy, perhaps leather, mask when he meets with each of the three. At gunpoint, Elam angrily demands that the mask be removed. Elam is in no position to make demands. Instead, Foster slaps him back and forth several times in "burst out laughing" choreography by Elam as he jerks his head left and right in a precise metronome fashion. Van Cleef is much cooler during his prospective job interview. Quite the ladies' man—they are entranced by his eye slits—he is told not to be late, which means stay away from women. Brand is an emotionless gum-chewing killer who has nothing better to do than look numb. 

CINCH UP YOUR SUSPENDED DISBELIEF BELT

First class all the way, Foster (as Foster) has thought of everything, supplying the trio with one-size-fits-all masks, identical delivery uniforms, airline tickets for their Mexican rendezvous, and a floral delivery truck that will only contain the foursome. Foster needs the bank money to recoup his losses. It seems unfair that the artist who painted the floral company's logo on the side of the truck will get no cut of the loot. And no jail time for being an accessory. As it speeds away, awkwardly amusing is a bank guard, who, without really aiming, fires several times at the van in a crouched position with his gun at knee level. His firing range instructor has repeatedly scolded him about his ineffective stance. Slickly, the van is driven inside a big rig trailer parked at a prearranged loading dock. Once again, director Karlson has Payne, a reformed ex-con, a victim of mistaken identity, as his truck is spotted. Without a single shred of evidence, he is assumed to be part of the robbery. One sadistic detective tries to beat Payne into submission. He hates him on pure assumption before gathering any facts. So very 2020-like. Foster’s clever plan dictates that everyone keep their masks on to hide their identity from each other. One of the film’s clever devices. Each is separately ordered to get out of the semi's trailer in the middle of nowhere and told to stay south of the border until the heat is off. Probably about two years! Think about that for a moment.

After the police find the bogus floral van, Payne is released with the police chief's feeble apology. Not from the violent detective, though. “Thanks for nothin'!” is Payne's seething reply. Payne gets a bead on Elam from an informer. He needs to only follow the cigarette butts. Elam grabs Payne in another Hollywood “confrontational alley.” He demands to know why he is being followed. He growls, “You’ve been giving me the fisheye all evening!” A funny apropos coming from Elam. Payne claims innocence and then walks away, later picking up Elam's carcinogenic scent in his hotel room. The first item of business...slap Elam. Payne finds a mask in his suitcase. Elam gets slapped again. Payne’s breathy taunting pre-dates the “Dirty Harry” character by nearly two decades. Payne is on Elam like a bad stink as they await their flight to Mexico. The authorities spot Elam, who reaches for his gun. His frequent-flyer club membership is canceled. But it gives Payne an opportunity to pose as Elam. The viewer knows his charade is understandably limited. This is the halfway point in the film, and one is still pretty sure Colleen Gray is in this movie.

Since the robbery, Foster (as Foster) has been enjoying his retirement as a pipe-smoking fisher of errant men. A longtime friend and insurance investigator, Howard Negley, shows up by invitation. We finally learn that Foster is a veteran cop, explaining his background knowledge of his accomplices. He informs Negley that new “evidence” will help him crack the two-year-old bank robbery with the credit—Foster's double-cross of his three stooges—going on his resumé. It is the first mention of his daughter, Gray, who has been waiting for her cue to enter the film while studying her script and bar exam. Despite her short screen time, being the singular female lead, and her notable work in earlier films, it probably accounts for her star billing, whether negotiated or paid for. She grows fond of Payne during the same southern flight. Purely scripted coincidence. She eventually mentions his “undercover” name to dear old Dad. His eyes suddenly get suspicious, knowing full well she could not have been charmed by “Fisheye Elam.” 

Payne is pummeled by the pugilistic team of Cleef and Brand, the latter having met Elam before. There is another usage of the specific violent and painful act as  Cleef’s left and right palms bang hard against Payne’s ears. Cleef repeatedly refers sarcastically to Payne at this point as “pal-zee,” after being decked by Payne earlier. As luck would have it, Gray shows up during a pummeling pause, and the two thugs, sweating profusely, cordially leave. Gray assumes a serious “conversation” was taking place. She and Payne have little to say to each other. At this point, every male identity starts to unravel. Gray is relieved to learn the truth about Payne as Negley sets the record straight. Confidentially, of course.

Note: Elam wants to buy some cigarettes at the airport. I always thought it strange that some of those height-challenged machines had a large mirror, usually round, on the front. Apparently, for men to nonchalantly check their fly.