THE THREAT (1949)

The film opens dramatically during a night prison break and a constant barrage of machine guns blazing willy-nilly, hoping the guards might hit something moving other than the opening credits. It is an attention-grabbing scene often used during this era. All of which is unknown to Detective Michael O'Shea, recuperating at home from a broken rib. A phone call from the police inspector, Robert Shayne, informs him about the breakout of a notorious homicidal criminal, who had sworn to kill those who placed him behind bars. O'Shea, being number one. Rather than obey his wife's wishes, he goes into action without a single grimace from that rib injury. But before he can even start his patrol car, he is kidnapped by the cold-blooded killer. Few films start so compellingly. That cannot be said of the ending.

Typical of O'Shea's B-movies, one would never call him truly tough, especially when compared to Charles McGraw, in another evil role. With gasoline prices hovering around thirty cents per gallon, the criminal trio is happy to burn the police car's tank as they make the rounds delivering “death warrants” on a District Attorney and nightclub singer, Virginia Grey, in a familiar role at odds with a man who thinks she squealed on him. Like many in today's films, it is another criminal who does not comprehend why he spent time behind bars in the first place, preferring to blame others for his despicable lifestyle.

Known only by McGraw's alias, an unsuspecting Don McQuire is hired to pick up a load in his moving van at a designated location. He gets a bit suspicious after seeing what is loaded into his van: a police car. This weighs heavily on McGuire's conscience. The van is later abandoned and unloaded, and he tries to beg off and return with his van. But all seven end up at a dilapidated shack in the desert, thus beginning the brief slowdown in the film. Suspended disbelief is needed when they enter the dusty, cobweb-infested shack that appears to have not been inhabited for twenty years. McGraw growls out a command for Grey to make some sandwiches. Pretty amazing she could find anything edible—certainly nothing to spread on or meat to place between two slices of rock-hard, moldy bread. Those “sandwiches” do appear to be simply two slices of bread. Yum. 

Not fully grasping the gravity of the situation, McQuire again demands to be set free, swearing not to rat on the gang as he heads for the door. McGraw, stone-cold, calmly addresses him by name. Knowing he will probably be shot, he angrily takes his seat back inside. McGraw uses O'Shea to send a misleading message to Shayne over the police car's radio. But he uses a “code name” that only his wife will understand. The gang stays put until the arrival of their escape plane, leading to their portion of the loot. The hostages are rightfully concerned that there is only room for three passengers upon takeoff.

This RKO Radio Picture film is a hard-hitting sixty-six-minute crime drama from a screenplay by Dick Irving Hyland and Hugh King from King's own story. Edited by Samuel E. Beetley, it is supported by a music score by Paul Sawtell. Though not the first film noir that comes to mind associated with Charles McGraw, this obscure film is a good one to finish out the 1940s.

Note: O'Shea's police training seems to get the upper hand on McGraw from the adjoining, locked, hostage room, but the killer starts firing randomly through the door, hitting O'Shea in the leg. Already known for his high threshold for pain, the bullet in the leg nor the broken rib fazes him in the least when he drops down from the rafters onto McGraw. Welcome to "make-believe" shack.

TWENTY PLUS TWO (1961)

This American mystery film is directed by Joseph M. Newman and is adapted from Frank Gruber's 1961 novel of the same mysterious title. Ten years into Gerald Fried's career is a period-specific jazz band score. The prolific television composer's opening theme here suggests a private eye caper. Close enough. The film was released by Allied Artists Pictures (uh-oh) and stars David Janssen, Jeanne Crain, and Dina Merrill, with a dandy performance by Jacques Aubuchon. Fans of Janssen will be pleased, if not the entirety of the film. His downplayed trademark acting skill is well suited for this role. This film is sandwiched between Janssen's television success with the Richard Diamond series and his phenomenal hit, The Fugitive. There are touches of both characters in this film, from his potential smile twitch at the right side of his mouth, a general awkward nervousness, and his occasional glib humor. I have centered my comments only on the actors and the production. There are no spoiler alerts except this one: far left, the poster suggests Ellie Kent is an integral part of the film. On the contrary, she has an uncredited bit part, and a viewer's sneeze will make one miss her entirely. 

Set ten years after his Korean War service, Janssen plays an investigator [privately] specializing in locating lost heirs and perhaps bringing closure to any unresolved issues. His interest is piqued by a teenage girl who went missing a decade prior—perhaps dead or alive. It leads to encounters with a detective associate, the mother of the missing girl, and a former flame. Surprisingly, such a talkative film holds one's interest thanks to Janssen's performance and a well-paced script. Not all “talkies” come off this well.

The early scene between Janssen and Aubuchon—tailing him everywhere—lays down the personalities of both characters. Aubuchon needs his services to locate his brother, who may be using an assumed name. His sophisticated demeanor and superior attitude are amusing and off-putting to Janssen, whose humorous counters to his proposal are subtle highlights. Just who is using assumed names in this film is something Janssen needs to unravel. This in itself provides most of the script's twists.

Coming off his role in The Magnificent Seven is Brad Dexter, once again at his smarmy best. No one, including the viewers, trusts this guy. Crain is the past flame of Janssen, who insists on rekindling those dying embers. Her "Dear John" letter, while he was in the war, still stings after ten years. Time to move on, you two! One wonders why her character is even in this film, but she has a connection to Janssen's investigation.

The production itself has its problems. One is the year that the young girl disappeared from school. It is not consistent throughout the film—like the film editing. I have not spent enough time figuring out how the Twenty Plus Two title fits into this film since I have not read the book. Who has? Perhaps it is the year of the missing girl's birth advanced to what would be her current age: twenty...plus two. Except that Merrill is thirty-eight! There is a ten-year flashback in the final third of the film set in Japan that might have been less of a surprise had the film used the alternate title, It Started in Tokyo. During this flashback, Janssen's acting persona comes off as much younger—an awkward young adult—something Merrill does not accomplish. This brings up a problem early in the film when Janssen and Merrill are seated on a United Airlines flight.

He cannot quite place where he has seen her. She apparently has no clue who he is. This makes sense until that late flashback blows this whole scene to smithereens. How a highly trained investigator is unable to recognize the woman with whom he had a pivotal fling simply because of her altered hair color is beyond reason. Maybe the hint of "crow's feet" emanating from her eyes threw him off. The suspension of disbelief should not have to stretch this far. It is kind of like Richard Kimble "dying" his hair black for four years. Oh, wait.

Note: On the positive side, whereas low-budget film companies were notorious for switching aircraft mid-flight, United Airlines provided all the airline footage. So the Douglas DC-8 remains constant throughout the film. 

TWELVE HOURS TO KILL (1960)

Twelve Hours to Kill is an unimaginative premise hampered by a tired script and a poorly directed lead actor providing eighty-three minutes to kill. This might have played better a decade earlier. Distributed by 20th Century Fox, it gains its B-movie status more likely due to the director, Edward L. Cahn, infamously known for his mediocre films. It is written by Jerry Sohl, based on a 1959 Saturday Evening Post story by Richard G. Stern, Set Up for Murder. The prolific Paul Dunlap handled the music score adequately.

The Greek actor, Nico Minardos, in his first lead role, provides no spark to the film given his lack of direction or experience. He plays an immigrant amazed by America. Nico witnesses a mob hit outside his apartment and then hesitantly reports it to the police. They find it hard to convince him that he could be just as dead in America as in Greece. No way! Not making a solid commitment as to what to do, he flees to a small town by train and finds himself offering a seat to Barbara Eden, whose destination is the same, her hometown. She is the most optimistic and trusting person—nothing fazes her—sounding a lot like the Jeanne some will dream about in the near future. Dramas were not the light comedienne's strong suit, and her character also stretches believability. 

Both leave the train hand in hand as if on their first date. All googly-eyed. She may find out too late about his lack of commitment. Also waiting at the depot are a pair of thugs, Richard Reeves and Gavin MacLeod. The latter seemingly lifted from a comedy skit, while MacLeod, as was often the case early in his career, is a heartless gangster. Eden drives an adorable 1959 Simca Aronde Océane. The standout element in this movie. Spotting the suspicious duo, Minardos asks for a ride. She is happy to do so for her favorite total stranger. She quickly learns of his "death dilemma," and being the take-charge kind of person she is, tries to help. Not so much. 

Not surprisingly, the mobsters find Eden home alone and, right out of the Hollywood playbook, they get rough with her. After this encounter, viewers never see her again but assume a reuniting with her only love, the Simca ...er...Minardos. The movie moseys along as two detectives, Grant Richards and Russ Conway, try to locate the Greek—one with no interest in his safety. There is a soft closing as the "ever kind and wise" Art Baker, the police captain, exposes the double-crossing cop and gives MacLeod a choice before going to jail: one will kill him en route. He chooses wisely.

THUNDER IN CAROLINA (1960)

 

Dirt track racing footage and the roar of eight cylinders with no exhaust system play heavily under the 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 projected 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 later 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 overconfident boasting, he adds the only acting spark. The director's simple solution keeps his right hand in his pocket at all times since losing 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. There are obligatory arguments between the husband and wife about their future together in true soap opera fashion. Hines would later gain notoriety as a co-star of the Mr. Ed television comedy. 

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 straightaway, it would appear. They catch the eye of Revenuers from their hidden speed trap. One can see the different suspension setup between their 1959 production car, as the stock car lies 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 end 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), it was 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 the star and director, Ray Milland. His co-starring family consists of Jean Hagen, Frankie Avalon, and television's Mary Mitchel. With this film's success, Avalon made several pictures for AIP, mainly at a beach. Featured prominently is a 1962 Mercury Monterey with a Kenskill travel trailer in tow. As the family heads for their mountain vacation, from miles away, they witness the bright flash of an atomic explosion. The special effect painting of a distant nuclear cloud over Los Angeles looked believable enough, but their second look back was spliced-in nuclear test footage that looked more like a large smoke signal from several Indian tribes.

Slightly long at ninety-three minutes, the film's editor, William Austin, out of budget constraints or simply following directives, pads the film with repeated footage—albeit from different angles—of the same automobiles in their high-speed escape into the mountains. The film could have done without the many abrupt post-production editing implausibilities. These cheapen an otherwise exciting first half. Splicing in frequent, three-second close-ups of the Mercury Monterey's wheels, with an odd sound effect like bad wheel bearings, is another example. There are close-up blurs of automobiles zipping by, and poor-quality stock footage of multi-lane automobile traffic from a totally different location and vantage point. At first, the family decides to turn back to Los Angeles. But going in the opposite direction are escaping citizens, recklessly speeding up the two-lane mountain highway—on blind curves or blocking both lanes—as maniacal stunt drivers leave the Baldwins little space to drive. It is too perfectly arranged to be believed. 

On the plus side, 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 many supplies they will need—perhaps his dry-run panic during the 1958 recession may have helped. The family uses a damp, chilly Prehistoric cave as their home. 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 at gunpoint, decking a 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, vigilante use of his hunting rifles. 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. It is, however, befitting the assumed lawlessness after a nuclear attack. Today, it would only take a jury's decision with which a group of myopic, ignorant thugs disagrees. But I digress. The film's opening is focused on a car's radio, so maybe the music was cleverly coming from there. It simply is misplaced music of the era to start the film—given its main theme—rather than a gang of idle teenagers succumbing to a life of crime. 

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 Rio de Janeiro. 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 [literally] clowns commit a murder.

Released in America in 1965 by Columbia Pictures, nearly half of this eighty-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, and 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 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 one male to another. Smyrner is not only an aviation pilot, but also at 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 with 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, and 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 teaser 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 JCPenney as he explores a diamond mine, shoots an attacking lion, and goes scuba diving, with viewers wondering about 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 with German audiences 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. 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 ventriloquists—a chiseled face, or the machismo of a bare chest resonate. Coming off his successful Planet of the Apes science fiction film, this 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 scenario for COVID-19: those not vaccinated are belittled—or eliminated in this film—by 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 the motorcycle in the film. It must be true. Except for close-ups 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 took "forever" to get vertical 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 nightlife, 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.