Last night we had a very chatty screwball/news biz crime story called "Dead Lucky"(1960), with an emphasis on competing reporters and their Captain Binghamton-like editor. You know how Captain Binghamton was always about to blow a fuse? And Joe Flynn (the actor who played him) died at 50 in his pool of a massive coronary, kind of like Frank Sutton, aka Sgt. Carter on "Gomer Pyle"? That's what this editor is like, blood pressure: 210/108. As the movie opens, several recent "suicides" of playboy gamblers are causing the police to suspect murder. Illegal casinos are turning up in back rooms of mansions and warehouses, luring the gullible wealthy, then entrapping them with exposure when they can't pay their debts.
Reporter "Mike Billings" (Vincent Ball) sets up a ruse with his fellow reporter and girlfriend "Jenny Drew" (Betty McDowall). They're competing with two other scribes to break the story, but the movie can't make up its mind to be fun or hard-boiled. If you take it as fluff, you're better off. There isn't a bad guy ruthless enough to root against, and when the man behind the scenes emerges, you'll realise you've never seen him before because he wasn't introduced until the end of the movie, a strange way to reveal the villain. Two Bigs, but only because it's breezy fun. The picture is dvd quality and widescreen. ////
The previous night, we began yet another new chapter serial, "The Mysterious Mr. M", which in fact was the last serial made by Universal. Mr. M is killing people, dumping them by the wharf, and, like Zorro, leaving behind his trademark, an embossed M. His targets are scientists and others connected with a munitions fortune. He wants to get his hands on a new, cutting-edge submarine for world domination, and he's using a drug called Hypnotrene to hyp-no-tyze people to do his bidding, including employees of the submarine assembly plant. A hit has been put on the widow of the plant's founder, to be carried out by a Sirhan-like waiter, who - like Sirhan - was probably hypnotised by Louis Jolyon West. But the plan is foiled by "Agent Grant Farrell" (Dennis Moore) and "Detective Kirby Walsh" (Richard Martin). They find out that the guy we thought was Mr. M, isn't Mr. M at all. He was just a front man for the real Mr. M, who has taken to phoning his targets, and, in a whispery voice, telling them the hour at which they will die, a courtesy call if ever there was one.
This is just the first chapter, but we're already loving it, with it's submarine-dock electrical plants and high Universal production values. Two Big Thumbs Up so far, with the potential for Two Huge. The picture is again dvd quality. ////
I apologise for the short reviews this time. I am working super hard on the second of my two upcoming books, and I'm finding editing to be in some ways more strenuous than writing. A lot of concentration is required, in order to attempt to "diamond-cut" sentences and paragraphs, and you get bleary-eyed after a few hours. Established writers, of course, have professional editors, who are artists themselves. Those of us who can't afford an editor (and wouldn't trust one who wasn't Stephen King or J.K level) must do it ourselves, and it's a time-consumer. Also, as to the short reviews, the first movie was kind of lightweight and the second was only one chapter of a serial, so I didn't have a lot of detail to work with.
At any rate, to make up for it we can do some more September 1989, which eventually is going to be a book itself (title still undecided), and unlike the original "What Happened in Northridge" (which was subtitled "The Story of Adam and Eve"), this new one won't be about me and LM, with a lot of background about our years together. It will have a run-up, starting maybe around 1988, but after that it will be an extremely detailed and forensic look at The Event itself, filled up with knowledge gleaned in the 15 years since I wrote "What Happened". That book, a massive effort checking in at 800 pages, was written at a time when I was still unclear on many important aspects of the case. Since then, I've gotten clarity on a number of things, and many specific questions have occurred to me, concerning the logistics of an event that, I used to think, lasted twelve days. I now think it lasted longer than that, for myself at least, given what I now know about my stay at Northridge Hospital, the details of which, as reported, have astounded me enough to be life-changing. I may have been in the hospital for up to ten days.
At any rate, the new book is going to be the Jack Webb version, just the facts, ma'am, with no stone unturned. Tonight, just for the heck of it, I'll give you an example of the type of hair-splitting questions we'll be asking. Here's one to start: How did Rappaport know I'd be home alone? He couldn't have kidnapped me if my Mom had been there to see it. How did he know? I don't know the answer to that one.
Here's another. Within two hours, at most, of my being stun-gunned at Terry's apartment, there were Federal agents on the scene. We already knew that fact, granted, but we've never considered the fine points of why, and how, they were there so quickly. Who called them instead of calling the cops? Or was there surveillance going on, and if so, who was being surveilled?
So you see, I could ask these kinds of questions all day, and I've got a million of 'em. Why was Mary Sean Young on scene at Concord Square less than two hours (closer to one hour) after I was stun-gunned? Somebody had to call people, to say: "get over here." It's easy to guess that LM called her sister Ann and her friend Lys (or maybe Ann called Lys, as LM was not friends with her, to my knowledge, after about 1983). But who called Mary Sean Young? Who called Howard Schaller, so he would know we were at Northridge Hospital? I always thought that caller was the "security" thug who stuck a knife in my stomach when the Concord Square manager called him to Terry's apartment. So yeah, the book will be chock full of these kinds of forensic questions, and when it's done (about 18 months from now) I will get it published, even if I have to self publish on Amazon.
If you are one of The Involved, you may or may not realise you are part of the biggest secret in America, and thus is it is the biggest story of our lifetimes. Yes, it's even bigger than JFK, and I do not say that lightly, but because I know it is bigger than JFK. And you are part of it. Take a bow.
Here's a final question: who fed my dog Alice the entire time? Somebody did. Was it you? And whoever fed Alice, didn't they ask or wonder where I was? Of course they did. Or they already knew. So these are the kinds of questions we will have for the book. It may be another 800 pager after all. ////
Finally, in remembering Robert Blake, who died today, I've always though he was a very good actor, of course on "Baretta" and "In Cold Blood" (a legendary performance), but he was in a ton of other stuff, like "Lost Highway" by David Lynch (a chilling performance) and we've even seen him as a child in the Red Ryder movies we watched last year. I always liked Robert Blake, and I will always remember the day at CSUN, around 2004-5, when I was pushing my Mom in her wheelchair on a walk around the orange grove. A voice behind us called out, "Excuse me."
I turned around, turning Mom with me, and a man was walking toward us, now about ten feet away. He continued to speak as he approached us, "excuse me, but do you know where the Orange Grove Bistro is located?" The Bistro is a white, ranch-style building that was built as a dinner club for faculty in the 1970s, but opened to the public around 2000, when it was officially named. I'm not sure if I even knew the name "Orange Grove Bistro" when the man asked me, and I think he was reading it off a piece of paper, as if he'd written it down for reference. But even if I didn't know the name, I would've known the building. I'd passed it a million times over the years. Of course I knew where it was, and as the name he gave had the location in it: "Orange Grove", and as we were no more than 50 yards away from it, I should've been able to point him to it without even thinking. "Yes sir, it's right there," I should've said, while pointing directly to it. But we were now standing face to face, and it was all I could do just to stammer..."n..no, I...uh, I'm not sure where it is, I'm sorry."
And that's because the man asking the directions was Robert Blake.
Do you know how, when you see someone famous, a kind of weird Time Flip happens? I can't describe it exactly, but it's like your eyes register the person ahead of your mind, or maybe the reverse. Because you're used to seeing the Famous Person on TV or a movie screen, or in photos, but not in person, then suddenly, There They Are.
And for Mom and me, it was like that with Robert Blake: "Excuse me, sir." And you turn around and he's right there asking his question, right by the orange grove itself. If it had just been Robert Blake, I might've been able to say, "oh, uh....hi Mr. Blake. Sure, I know which building you mean. It's right there."
But it wasn't "just Robert Blake." It was either Robert Blake Out On Bail, or Robert Blake Post-Acquittal, hence my slight stammering and blank-minded answer. We were standing only fifty yards from The Bistro, but I couldn't remember where it was, because all I could think was : "It's Robert Blake."
"That's okay," he said, after I told him I couldn't help him, "I'm sure I can find it. Thanks again." He turned and walked away, and I turned Mom around to resume our walk. After a few seconds of silence, I said to her "you know who that was, right?" Mom said yes. And the next thing I said was, "He didn't do it, Mom. He's not guilty." She agreed.
You could see it in his eyes, and not only that (and it was genuine), but you knew he was not guilty because how could a guy come up to you and your Mom and ask directions to the Orange Grove Bistro, with gentlemanly manners, if he was a murderer who lied on the witness stand and got away with it?
The answer is, he couldn't. Robert Blake was not guilty. I knew it that day at the orange grove. He was also an excellent actor, who as a child had a very hard life. God Bless Robert Blake, and that's all I know for today.
My blogging music is "The Good Earth" by Manfred Mann's Earth Band, my late night is Handel's Radamist Opera. I hope you are having a good week and I send you Tons of Love, as always.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
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