THUNDER IN CAROLINA (1960)

 

Dirt track racing footage and the roar of eight cylinders with no exhaust system play heavy under opening credits in this Howco International Pictures' shoestring budgeted story about some “good ‘ol boys” racing in South Carolina. This is my second Howco-distributed film review yet this one is not embarrassing. It is the oft-told tale of a former bootlegger who has risen through the ranks to become a top driver but is in the middle of a multi-year losing streak. Directed by Paul Helmick and written by Alexander Richards, this ninety-two-minute double-billed release was produced by J. Francis White. Helmets off to cinematographer, Joseph C. Brun and his capture of early highway and dirt track racing. 

Expect the customary studio prop cars against project background scenery when necessity focuses on the actor's faces. But the vintage race footage at Darlington Raceway is certainly the big climax for vintage NASCAR fans during what has proven to be the start of a deadly decade of stock car racing. It is rather amusing as the race track announcer editorializes about the central character’s unethical driving during each pass by the grandstand. That precedes the veteran driver blowing a tire, ending with a crumpled car and a resulting broken ankle. A forlorn saxophone supports his continued bad fortune as he hobbles with a cane and a plastered leg toward his unrecognizable mangled metal. I could imagine wagers at the body shop on whether it was an Oldsmobile or a Chrysler.

Rory Calhoun plays the veteran driver and raises the film up a few thousand RPMs for the independent studio. He is believable, but do not expect a southern accent even though his character grew up in the South Carolina hills. Alan Hale (sans the junior and accent) is Calhoun’s former racing buddy and rightfully garners second billing. With his trademark smile and over-confident boasting, he adds the only acting spark. In a simple yet hard-to-believe director's solution, his right hand stays in his pocket all the time because he lost the use of his arm in a devastating crash.

Everyone else gets the caution flag, particularly Race Gentry—credited here with his birth name, John Gentry—in his third and final motion picture. Given the movie’s subject, I thought his professional name was an inside joke specifically for this film. Calhoun shows up at his service station in hopes of seeing his old mechanic again. But that was three years ago…back when he was not dead. Gentry is rather cool to the “old guy” who comes off as someone expecting a handout—until he makes out his famous name on his race car. Calhoun also steps over the boundaries of ethical behavior off the track. Perhaps his personal life played a key role in this film as “Calhoun the Cad” immediately attempts to hit on Gentry’s wife—Connie Hines holds her own in her only film role—after only one glance. Hines would later gain notoriety as a co-star to Mr. Ed on television. There are obligatory arguments between the husband and wife about their future together in true soap opera fashion. 

Calhoun cannot drive. Gentry wants to. So he teaches the eager young mechanic how to drive fast, and smartly. His first driver training session is on curvy mountain roads and is a highlight in the early going. The sound of the 1955 hot rod echoing among the hills makes more noise than speed—reaching about 45 mph on a straight away it would appear. They catch the eye of Revenuers from their hidden speed trap. One can see the different suspension set-up between their 1959 production car as the stock car lays flat in the curves. A roadblock brings the training to a standstill. The revenuer recognizes the infamous Calhoun and suspects he is running moonshine again. After thoroughly searching the car and finding nothing suspicious, their total disappointment only generates more hate.

Gentry gains race experience throughout the summer season of the film, eventually qualifying with the big boys. Calhoun and Gentry have a falling out late in the film as the latter’s head gets too big for his helmet. That exciting race footage of NASCAR's Southern 500 is interrupted repeatedly with fifteen-second cuts of Hines pacing the floor amid soothing music from a radio. Then it is back to racing mayhem as Calhoun (sans plastered leg) battles Gentry for the checkered flag. Hines finally gets enough courage to arrive at the racetrack, getting her own checkered flag as she comes to grips with her husband's danger. She can always remarry if things go really bad.

Note: One race competitor is famed stunt driver, Cary Loftin, eight years away from stepping in for Steve McQueen in Bullitt. His controlled crash during his qualifying run and subsequent cut to flaming wreckage footage ends his character’s life.

Periodically, the music score during Brun's racing scenes would be more fitting of a Western movie about a grand cattle drive. With cars three or four abreast, visually that is not too far off. Finally, I am not sure why a song was written for this film, but Ann Stevens sings beautifully in her only professional credit, accompanied by her laptop Autoharp.

PANIC IN YEAR ZERO! (1962)

 

American International Pictures (AIP) is known for its budgeted productions, horror films, and sensationalism. By the end of the Sixties, they transitioned to violent motorcycle gang films. Only hinting at that future is this science fiction black and white survival film, destined upon completion to be a double feature. Using the crew from Roger Corman Productions (Santa Clara Productions, here), it is produced by Arnold Houghland and Lou Rusoff. The fast-paced screenplay is by John Morton and Jay Simms, helping make the film profitable. It would have to be an awful film to not turn a profit from a 225-grand budget. Up to the halfway point, the film is captivating with non-stop action and tension, set during the height of the Cold War. The second half slows considerably and gets more violent as a trio of lawless hep-cat thugs get their kicks by looting, female sexual assaults, and cold-blooded murder. These are the less-than-zero-trio.

Leading the Baldwin family on vacation to the mountains is Ray Milland. His co-starring family consists of Jean Hagen, Frankie Avalon, and Mary Mitchel. Featured prominently is a 1962 Mercury Monterey with a Kenskill travel trailer in tow. With this film's success, Avalon made several pictures for AIP, mainly at a beach. This is Mitchel's first film and displays her lack of experience. Miles away they witness the bright flash of an atomic explosion. The special effects of an auburn-tinted flash and distant nuclear cloud over Los Angeles looked believable but their second look back was spliced-in stock footage that looked more like Indian smoke signals.

Slightly long at ninety-three minutes, the film could have survived without the many abrupt edits. As the director, Milland adequately nails the opening vacation section but his overall inability to focus on the film's elements leads to mounting editing implausibilities. The film's editor, William Austin, perhaps out of necessity or simply following directives, pads the film with repeated footage—albeit from different angles—of the same automobiles in their high-speed mountain escapes. The panicking citizens recklessly speeding up the two-lane mountain highway—many in the passing lane on a blind curve—is too perfectly arranged to be believed. At one point both lanes are clogged with maniacs going the opposite direction, leaving the Baldwins seemingly nowhere to drive. Post-production relied on splicing in frequent, three-second close-ups of the Mercury's wheels—with an odd sound effect like bad wheel bearings—and close-up blurs of automobiles zipping by. At one point, poor-quality stock footage of multi-lane automobile traffic from a totally different location and vantage point was used. These cheapen the otherwise well-spent film.

However, one could not have a better survival leader during a nuclear winter than Mr. Baldwin. Milland's character knows precisely what to do and how much supplies they will need—his dry run during the 1958 recession may have helped. The family uses a damp, chilly cave as their home—last used in the Prehistoric era—which no one has located since. Before partaking in their first cave meal together, Milland asks for God's protection with prayer. He had vowed earlier to protect his family by whatever means, including physically assaulting a store owner and gas station attendant, crashing through a barricade after being asked to turn around, destroying a bridge that might give others access to their food, and making deadly use of his firearms—not just for hunting. Perhaps a prayer of forgiveness will be forthcoming.

Note: The opening jazz score by big band legend Les Baxter provided no sense of doom or tension. Optimistically, given the film's opening is focused on a car's radio, maybe the tune was supposed to be coming from there. Still, it simply seems misplaced music of the period more fitting a pulp fiction film or centering on a group of idle teenagers succumbing to a life of crime. Perhaps it was a foreshadowing theme for those three hoodlums.

CODE 7 VICTIM 5 (1964)

An annual week-long celebration is the cold intro to this film. Once the mountains are spotted in the background you know it is not New Orleans. The colorful parade traverses the Cape Town streets with instrumentalists and flag wavers creasing the point of view camera as participants pass by. Amid the celebration, however, three clowns commit a murder.

Released in America in 1965 by Columbia Pictures, nearly half of this eight-nine-minute film has a potential license to thrill. I was impressed with the great opening theme music by Johnny Douglas as the credits rolled with his faint nod to the signature sound of the "007" franchise of the period. Coupled with Nicolas Roeg's beautiful panning of Cape Town's bay from high in the mountains, it portends what might have been an international action-packed thriller. Add a winding mountain car chase amid views of the sea between two unlikely vehicles, one can expect a lot of tire-screeching. Another reason for optimism is the presence of the maturely handsome Lex Barker, a New York City private detective with great-looking hair. In the early going the private detective delivers exactly two one-liners ala Mr. Bond of the period. Yet there is not much action for him in town—and his stuntman—outside an early fistfight with attackers. The film starts to lose its intrigue with a somewhat confused and dull final third.

From the moment Barker steps off the Lufthansa Boeing 720 the film has secret agent potential. He never looked better. Yet he is more a puzzle-solver than tough detective womanizer. The engaging script continues as he is quickly met by the beautiful (naturally) Ann Smyrner, secretary of a wealthy German, Walter Rilla, whose butler was the film's opening victim—the reason for Barker's hiring. The heavily French-accented Veronique Vendell plays Rilla's adoptive daughter. The dodgeball-faced tart bounces from "any male" to another. Smyrner is not only an aviation pilot, she also takes the helm of a 1958 Lincoln Continental Mark III 430 CID V8 convertible land yacht as it wallows up the mountains toward the estate. Roeg's distant pan shots of the vehicle add adventure—and no back-screen projection scenery ala Hitchcock's It Takes a Thief from a decade earlier. But look out—they are pursued by an eighteen-year-old Dodge Custom, perhaps on its last legs.

Barker—not to be confused by a word scramble of band leader Les Baxter—is one of two faces Americans will recognize. Less so is perhaps Ronald Fraser as Inspector Lean, Barker's help in solving the case and the film's levity. Fraser's lifestyle is ogling bikini-clad females, always arriving late to assist Barker. With his somewhat disparate facial features—a mouth no wider than his nose flanked by inflated cheeks—the ladies are not too discriminating. Rilla sits poolside in a wheelchair though he is not the least bit physically impaired. Reminiscent of Program Manager, “Guy Caballero,” of SCTV fame. Baxter discovers a well-hidden photograph at the estate of four people marked for death. The butler makes it five. But no reveal of Code 7. Perhaps for good reason: Code 7 officially means “out of service to eat” for American police squads, making the tagline at the top of this poster hilariously misguided.

This British Lion Film Corporation endeavor was written by Harry Alan Towers under the pseudonym Peter Welbeck with a screenplay by Peter Yeldham. With its obvious Ian Fleming influence, the film made a tidy profit. Originally filmed as Table Bay, the current spy craze gave it the obscure Code 7 Victim 5 title—yet again as the more logical Victim Five. The end result is a rather talky mystery as it bounces from location to location. The former Tarzan, Barker shifts to “African Safari” summer wear from JC Penney as he explores a diamond mine, shoots an attacking lion and goes scuba diving with viewers wondering its point in the film. The “point” is the tip of a spear gun's harpoon mysteriously skewering one of the cast. Expect the oft-used battle between good and evil on a gondola lift as it ascends a mountain and an implausible (nee ridiculous) cliff-hanging climactic pursuit.

Note: There is no doubt this film has some 1960s foreign trademarks of abrupt editing and a studio soundtrack seemingly unconnected to any screen action. Code 7 Victim 5 was released on Blu-ray in 2016 with another 1964 South African caper, the talkative and dull, Mozambique—essential with the same production team—as a double feature. It stars a weary Steve Cochran, with an American release eight months after his death. The same or similar Lufthansa Boeing 720 from this film is also used in Mozambique. With the astounding success of the Eurowestern, The Treasure of Silver Lake (1962)—and its six sequels as "Old Shatterhand"—Barker was on a career resurgence in Germany by the time "Code 7" was released.

THE OMEGA MAN (1971)

 

I suspect this Warner Bros. film was a popular topic in the break room some fifty years ago. Critics at the time were certainly divided, though. It has not held up all that well and it is longer than necessary at nearly one hundred minutes. The intrigue during the first third holds up the best and that is where I have focused my comments. Directed by Boris Sagal with a screenplay by John and Joyce Corrington, it is a warped adaptation of Richard Matheson's novel, I Am Legend, from 1954. Australian composer Ron Grainer—of Doctor Who and The Prisoner fame—was tapped to do the music score, and though it never gets in the way, it is merely adequate. One can give Matheson some leeway as he speculates about chemical warfare seventeen years in the future with apocalyptic proportions. Speculating only four years into the future, as his film does, simply displays the mindset of Hollywood's pessimistic fears of the “inevitable,” either from nuclear war or cosmic and environmental chaos.

Charlton Heston could be noteworthy in the right roles, where his stiff upper lip—the envy of all ventriloquist's dummies—a chiseled face or the machismo of bare chest resonate. Coming off his successful Planet of The Apes science fiction film, this post-apocalyptic tale also seems well-suited for him as the only person left on Earth with a sense of humor—and perhaps the only one inoculated. But this film does not readily reveal that there might be those naturally immune to the toxins. It could easily be construed as an absurd reverse scenario for Covid-19: those not vaccinated try to belittle—or eliminate in this film—those who are.

Filming in downtown Los Angeles on a deserted Sunday morning helped pull off the barren authenticity. Less authentic is Heston's driving skills of a 1970 Ford XL—which he crashes almost immediately due to driving inattentively and too fast for conditions. Furthermore, Heston is on record stating that piloting a chariot was easier than that motorcycle in the film. It must be true. Except for closeups of Heston when stopped, it is an obvious stuntman doing all the cycling. There is an amusing “Keystone Cops” moment during the opening—speaking of that Ford convertible—when the film is sped up as Heston stands from the driver's seat—a convertible imperative—to fire his automatic rifle at a mutant in a multi-story building. But I cannot understand why unless Heston made it even more awkward in real-time.

A small group missing out on the vaccine has become a creepy cult of powder-faced “plaguesters” calling themselves the “Family.” These nocturnal albino mutants in Monk robes and matching designer sunglasses represent the biggest credibility gap in the film. Overall, they never seem all that committed to living the night life though torching buildings would appear to be a pleasing pastime. Despite their serious physical ailments, their CEO, Anthony Zerbe, wants no part of modern technology, Heston's vaccine or the serum created from his own blood. Zerbe's plum role is quite understated when compared to so many recent insane villains. His right-hand mutant, Zachary, puts the “kill” in Lincoln Kilpatrick though he might have made a more disturbing leader. One thing is for sure, they both hate the “social good life” Heston is living―if one calls living like a prisoner in their own apartment every night. In true anarchist form, a select few destroy Heston’s personal property and all his lab work in a small-scale riot over a disagreement on how one chooses to live.

FILM BRAKE: THE PHIL SILVERS SPECIAL

 

On the first Saturday in May 1960, CBS aired a very funny 55-minute send-up of a television western starring Phil Silvers and Jack Benny, The Slowest Gun In The West. Written and produced by Nat Hiken—following his success of The Phil Silvers Show—and directed by Herschel Daugherty, the story centers on Silvers, Fletcher Bissell III, aka The Silver Dollar Kid, who is the slowest gun in the west outside Benny, as Chicken “Chick” Finsterwald. Both frightened by even the hint of violence, they have been bluffing their way through the old west to stay alive. In many ways, it is a variation on Silvers' signature character, Sgt. Bilko. Like Don Knotts' Barney Fife to follow, the Bilko role defined his career. After the opening's brilliant set-up and humorous script, the movie drags a bit with gratuitous canned laughter not helping. For Benny's part, he appears to be reusing a skit from his own show. These two are the designated funny men with the balance of the cast featuring Bruce Cabot, Ted de Corsia, Robert Wilke, Jean Willes, Jack Elam, and Lee Van Cleef, among others, playing it straight. It is a hoot to watch in all its absurdity. Unfortunately, online prints are of terrible quality.

Conrad Salinger's opening folk ballad, The Silver Dollar Kid, suggests a number of early television westerns, this time featuring a lone rider on a ridge. Sung by the pop-folk duo of Bud and Travis, complete with an acoustic guitar, it appears to be a potential classic prime-time western. Cleverly, the story flashes forward to modern day as an ancestor recalls the town's darkest days to a vacationing family. In 1878, Primrose, Arizona was the roughest town in the west and with another wavy-screen flashback, Silvers sashays through the saloon doors decked-out in shiny black leather...and black-rimmed eyeglasses. It is a burst-out laughing moment even without the canned laughter. The Kid talks in an angry disposition, and the saloon patrons are wary of the mysterious man in black. The initial confrontation with de Corsia, the town's fastest gun, is beautifully played out. Proving just how fast he is, Silvers places his gun several feet away from himself on the bar counter, suggesting that even at that distance, he is incredibly fast. Assessing the impossible, the gunslinger starts his 1-2-3 countdown to draw. Silvers then begins peeling and eating a boiled egg! de Corsia is incredulous. The ever-calm Silvers' mind game suggests he has not counted to number three yet. It is classic Silvers all the way as the fastest tongue in the West. His conniving, confusing logic melts another challenger, Van Cleef, who becomes psychologically beaten down into a child, realizing he has a Freudian complex—his guns simply represent teddy bears.

The gunslingers cannot have the reputation for shooting the slowest gun in the West, so the mayor hires Silvers as sheriff believing he would never be killed. But the outlaws have had enough of “motor mouth” and hire an even slower on-the-draw coward, Benny, to go up against Silvers. Both end up liking each other—partly out of fear—yet get into an argument about who is more “yellow.” The two cowards are thrust into the street by the townsfolk for a gunfight that would, at the very least, eliminate one of them. Each challenges the other to draw first but each defers. Hilariously, the whole charade extends to nightfall and into the next morning! A final flashback to 1960 has Silvers as a modern police officer—certainly looking like an ancestor of Fletcher Bissell—who is startled by the young boy in the family who points his toy “cowboy gun” at him.

Note: Bud Dashiell and Travis Edmundson, alias "Bud and Travis" only had one hit song, The Ballad of The Alamo (1960) but made several successful albums for Liberty Records between 1958 and 1965.

THE THREE MUSKETEERS (1948)

 

I have never read Alexander Dumas' classic, but have seen a few film adaptions. This movie may explain the reasoning behind most versions only taking it as far as the jewel theft plot. By trying to cover all the characters and subplots—even with 125 minutes—there is not enough time to develop either. The story lacks a strong central focus and it is all over the place. Just when one thinks it will be wrapped up, it goes "back around" for a second or third time introducing irrelevant characters or repeated sequencing. What follows are my takes on a beautifully filmed costumed extravaganza that is not exactly perfect—but great movie-making.

THE DANCING FOIL

The film starts out as a pseudo-slapstick comedy with the over-eager reactions of Gene Kelly (D'Artagnan) closely resembling a cartoon figure. If Kelly could possibly keep this up, I would have likened his character to Danny Kaye's later perfection in the hilarious film, The Court Jester. One might expect (wish) this to set the tone of the film. Kelley's fencing scenes are excellent and possess enough believability to give a pass on any repetitions. The well-choreographed, opening swordplay—filmed at Busch Gardens in Pasadena—is hilariously explosive and done with great acrobatic skills by Kelly. It is easy to see that he enjoyed the role. This amusing sequence opens the door for an undying friendship with the film's title characters. Kelly broke his ankle about a year before the film's release, and these scenes were some of the last filmed to give him maximum recovery time. So there is physicality better left to professional stuntmen like effortlessly climbing up a trellis to a second story, jumping from great heights or onto a horse. Then again, I doubt Kelly's agent wanted him leaping off rooftops. The humor is in short supply as the film progresses.

CASTING A LOT

Lana Turner gets top billing yet is arguably the least talented of the big-name actresses of her era. Like many Hollywood discoveries, her appeal was strictly physical and her youthful glow which was so magical at the beginning of the decade began to fade. One male equivalent might be Errol Flynn within his first decade. A hint in this film is when she is imprisoned and lacks makeup. I do not know when those scenes were shot, but after casting her in the role, the director wanted her to lose weight. Her face seems squarish and perhaps heavier. Of course, lighting or camera angle has a great effect on visual perception, perhaps as the director envisioned someone imprisoned in a dark cell. Turner still looked astonishing in other close-ups. She simply did possess a strong ability to pull off a self-serving villain. She was reluctant to take the supporting role, not fully understanding it was actually a lead character.

Angela Lansbury campaigned for the Turner role but MGM said no. Turner was the bigger star at the time—Lansbury had no clout. Lansbury seems wasted (now) in her brief appearance as Queen Anne. Quite astutely, June Allyson did not think a period piece was right for her, but her opening scene with Kelly works well. If you blink at the wrong time you will miss Marie Windsor's two brief glimpses. Fans probably expected her to develop into someone, but she is never seen a third time. Very strange. Along the same lines, Patricia Medina—on a career upswing—appears out of nowhere as Turner's maid. The airhead character could have been left on the cutting room floor. Van Heflin brought a heavy-drinking flair to his role with Gig Young and Richard Coote as adequate comrades. Speaking of old coots, Frank Morgan was too much of the Wizard as the king of France. Long-time MGM contract player, Lewis Stone, might have been a better—perhaps the only choice within the studio. In face-altering disguise, it may take a bit of time to recognize Keenan Wynn—until his first sentence—as d'Artagnan's right-hand man.

FLAMBOYANT COSTUMES

The wardrobe department pulled out all the stops (for you pipe organ enthusiasts) with costuming, though some today might take exception to their authenticity. One of Turner's hats, the green feathered black hat pops off the screen and adds about three feet to her height. Vincent Price looked authentic enough—accented in red—and I loved his angled gray/white stripes across his torso for one costume. The musketeers looked as one would expect—like on the candy bar wrapper of the day—in capes, wide-brimmed feathery hats, and vibrant colors.

Despite some questionable casting for a period piece, the film was an entertaining hit with the full MGM splash without singing and magnificent cinematography in dazzling Technicolor. The film's credits can be found on numerous websites as well as a Dumas synopsis if you choose to explore.

Allied Artists Productions

I am highlighting three of the five crime movies released by Allied Artists—each roughly an hour long—that are all quite routine. The films center around the Los Angeles police department and, in particular, a no-nonsense police lieutenant, the low-energy Bill Elliott. He seems out of place in a modern-day setting after his popular cowboy daze. 

 

DIAL RED O (1955)

This slow-moving, sixty-three-minute film, directed and written by Daniel B. Ullman, is as predictable as daylight. Not as obvious at the time was Allied Artists Production's intention to produce four more crime mysteries over the next two years. Rather intriguing [confusing] is that the symbol “O” actually represents the zero on the phone's dial. Apparently, the operator can offer a great deal of assistance no matter the circumstance. In a nutshell, the film opens with a mysterious, intriguing escape from a veteran hospital's psychiatric ward. A war-torn, highly decorated World War II and Korean veteran seeks his wife, who is preparing divorce papers. His escape initiates an all-out manhunt, not really sure if the veteran is unstable or what his plans are for his wife's life. The police department enlists the help of an undercover policewoman, played by Elaine Riley, to help locate the escapee.

Keith Larsen plays the even-tempered, well-mannered veteran whose potential contact with his wife, Helene Stanley, is his only reason for going AWOL. In fact, he plans to return to the hospital that evening. But the audience is way ahead of him as we learn she is involved with Paul Picerni, a Realtor paying for her fancy apartment. In the habit of making demands, she wants Picerni to also get a divorce. Immediately. Temper's flair, he is slapped, and he judo chops her to death, as his combat and Realtor training comes into play. He returns to his office to call a few clients as an alibi for his whereabouts. By happenstance, Larsen spots his realty office lit up. The two Marine buddies have a cordial reunion with Larsen hoping he has seen or heard from his wife. Picerni's devious wheels start turning. He contacts the police about his concern over Larsen's visit. Larsen is jailed but bamboozles the officer with a clever combat trick and escapes. Marlin Skiles' score finally makes itself evident as the escapee heads straight for Picerni and the two combat-trained vets share a few bullets in total darkness. But you cannot bamboozle Elliott's good judge of character. That, and Stanley's autopsy reveals a detail that dooms Picerni.

Note: Bill Elliott, popular cowboy star for the past two decades, plays Lt. Andy Flynn in this first outing. He is the constant in the series. It was soon brought to Allied's attention there was a real Andy Flynn in Los Angeles law enforcement, so for the remaining films in the series, the lieutenant becomes Andy Doyle. Elliott is about as tight-lipped as a ventriloquist and appears to really miss the slow pace, prairie campfires with his horse, Sonny.

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SUDDEN DANGER (1955)

Tom Drake "guest stars" in this week’s episode of television's "CSM: Crime Scene Mystery" series. Except this film was never meant as home entertainment, being the second film from Allied Artists Production, Inc. about a Los Angeles detective, Bill Elliott, solving another crime with repeated questioning and methodical deduction. Like the other films in the set of five, it is a talky procedural offering with zero excitement until the last-minute climax. Viewers will know that point when the otherwise dormant Merlin Stiles' score explodes. With less professional performances, the film could have been a laugh-fest. Elliott seems a bit less wooden than in his first installment and he is able to smile appropriately in this routine whodunit.

The film opens under the credits as we watch men's shoes and dog paws walk on a sidewalk. The Thom McAn's belong to Drake and the paws to his seeing-eye dog. The German Shepherd barks and refuses to go inside their apartment. The natural gas smell is heavy and he yells for his mother but it is too late. Elliott investigates the apparent suicide of the woman, a clothing manufacturing company executive. There is substantial evidence that does not support suicide and all eyes are on her son, who lost his sight years earlier due to his mother selecting what she thought were eye drops. Feeling pretty embarrassed since that day, her insurance policy designated it go toward his eye surgery. A successful operation later, he feigns his blindness under sunglasses around his mother's attorney and insurance agent in the hope of finding clues to the murderer. Drake is helped by his girlfriend, Beverly Garland, a swimsuit fashion designer for the company. Typically, near the halfway point in the film, Elliott already knows who staged the suicide.

Note: Minerva Urecal plays the apartment manager where Drake lives. Her negative attitude causes trouble for him when she gives false details to Elliott. This frequently happens when someone does not have any facts to back up their opinions. Another Hollywood stalwart, Frank Jenks, plays a bartender with his usual facial contortions. Garland more often than not played strong characters—like in this film—when she was not screaming at a creature in a science fiction film.

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FOOTSTEPS IN THE NIGHT (1957)

This film opens with a teaser. We see a man leave his motel kitchenette to find his poker partner dead in the other room. This all plays out as the camera focuses on a record playing part of a jazzy Marlin Skiles score. A flashback repeats the scene in sequence as the movie unfolds. Directed by Jean Yarbrough, this is the fifth and final film series by Allied Artists Productions Inc. that follows detective Bill Elliott with the Novocaine upper lip. A man of controlled emotions with suits bought off the rack. Don Haggerty plays his partner and they sort of echo the Dragnet series at times during their idle, barely humorous, chit-chat. This sixty-two-minute film is a talk-fest of interviews between witnesses and those who are anxious to help the department track down a murderer. Pretty boring stuff with Elliott not quite fully awake. He headed for the “Sunset Retirement Corral” after this film. Never mind the poster. Amazingly, no women were attacked in the film.

Douglas Dick, looking at times like the higher fore-headed brother of actor, Roger Smith, has had a serious gambling problem in the past but when we are introduced to his character, he has put all that behind him. Thanks, in big part, to his fiancé, Eleanore Tanin. His acquaintance and motel neighbor, Robert Shayne, has not kicked the habit and pesters Dick into playing a small stakes game of poker with him. Shayne is not meant to be likable in his brief role. In order to clear some debt and put Shayne in his place, Dick decides to clean him out, then suddenly calls it quits. Shayne is irate that he is not given the chance to win it back and promptly leaves the room in a huff—to get ice for their drinks. The opening scene returns though the viewer never witnesses the murder.

We later learn of the somewhat humorous premise about the world's fastest strangler, played by Gregg Palmer. In his confusion between two different motels with similar names, he accidentally kills Shayne in bungalow 8 at the wrong motel. The “Bungling Bungalow” strangler intended to kill and rob James Flavin, another bungalow 8 motel occupant. In the murderer's defense, he and Shayne share a similar appearance from behind. Elliott does not figure Dick for a killer, but Haggerty, who never saw the opening scene, bets otherwise. See Dick run. See Dick get apprehended.

Flavin is a spark of fun in an otherwise droll screenplay. Noted for being a typically high-strung Irishman, he is an extrovert of the highest order in this film. A flamboyant salesman who flashes his big-money roll around to attract big business. Spend money to make money. He drives a station wagon loaded with every option. Where he gets his car serviced plays a pivotal role in his future. Elliott wants to use him to flesh out the strangler. Flavin finds the plan exciting until he is informed that he will be the bait for the killer. His excitement wanes momentarily.

Palmer has finally caught up with Flavin in the correct motel just as Elliott planned on his 36” x 24” stakeout drawing. Before strangling Flavin from behind, the baiting police step in. The killer pushes Flavin into Elliott, escapes, and drives away. The gunshot sound effect during this ”exciting” ending sounds like any number of old Saturday morning cowboy shoot-em-ups. Palmer speeds off leaving the viewer wondering if he gets away. We are suddenly back in the squad room to wrap up the movie with “Deadpan Elliott” explaining to Dick and Jane...er...his fiancé what exactly happened. Tucked neatly within the dialogue is a reveal that Palmer was actually wounded during his getaway. He did not get far and lived a simple life on behalf of the state.

Note: Elliott's other two Allied films are Calling Homicide (1956), and Chain of Evidence (1957).