Last night, in Lippert's "Heat Wave"(1954), American novelist "Mark Kendrick" (Alex Nicol) is trying to get some writing done, but it's difficult to concentrate because the rich folks across the lake are always partying, making a racket. One night, his phone rings. Annoyed, he answers and it's the woman of the house, "Carol Forrest" (Hillary Brooke), asking him a favor. "I see you have a boat. Would you mind ferrying some of our friends across the lake? They've run out of petrol." Kendrick finds the request a bit rude: what is he, a taxi service? But he's seen Mrs. Forrest through binoculars, standing in her party dress. She cuts quite a figure, so he does as she asks just to get a closer look.
He'll soon wish he hadn't, and he admits as much in the opening narration that introduces the movie in flashback. As a somewhat jaded author, he's not impressed with a bunch of wealthy, dressed-up Brits, and even less so when he sees Mrs. Forrest fawning over a pianist (Paul Carpenter, with pompadour but sans Canadian sweater). "Where's your husband?" Kendrick cynically asks her after a few drinks. The guests make fun of his request for bourbon instead of scotch, (just like Ritchie Blackmore talking about Southern rock groups). "Oh, that's right. you're American." Disgusted, he heads back to his boat to leave, but runs into "Bev" (Syd James), Mrs. Forrest's cuckolded husband, who's avoiding the party because he's used to his wife's forays and doesn't need the humiliation. He's also mega-rich, and everybody in the house wants something from him. No thanks. He'd rather sit lakeside with a drink. Bev is a major league boozer, and we'll find out later that his health is bad. He's got between one month and one year to live.
But for now, when Kendrick is about to leave, he asks him instead to stay, just for company. "We could shoot a game of pool. And how about a real drink? You want bourbon? I've got it." Kendrick and Bev thus bond, both knowing Bev's wife is a bimbo. They shoot pool and drink until 7 in the morning.
But Kendrick, a moderately talented author whose weakness is women, can't stop thinking about Carol Forrest, even as he buddies up to her husband, who keeps inviting him back to the mansion. It's one of those male bonding situations where the pal really likes the rich man, and sympathizes with his plight concerning his slatternly wife, but at the same time can't stop thinking about the wife, and eventually allows himself to be seduced by her, even though he thinks she's rotten. And, as quid pro quo, she assesses him also: "You hate yourself, you know. You can't even finish your book because of me." His obsession is about to cost him his publishing contract.
Kendrick is a chump's chump, getting suckered into a rich people's love triangle. It's true that Bev really is his friend, but it's only because he has one month to live and needs someone to confide in. He tells Kendrick that he's gonna cut Carol out of his will, not for being a bimbo - he knew she was that when he married her - but for rubbing his nose in it, making out with Paul Carpenter in front of party guests and in front of Bev's lovely daughter "Andrea" (Susan Stephen).
Because his time is short, Bev wants to take his new speedboat out on the lake, against his doctor's wishes. "Hey, I'm gonna die anyway. So what if it's in a boat doing 40 knots or sitting in a chair?" The speedboating doesn't kill him, but on another boating trip, with Kendrick and Carol aboard, they run into a thick patch of fog and almost crash into a ferry. Bev loses his balance on deck and is knocked unconcho. Carol, knowing he's planning to cut her out of his will, takes the opportunity to heave him overboard while Kendrick desperately tries to right the boat. Now Bev is dead. His money will be Carol's, and if Kendrick says anything, she'll implicate him too: "I'll tell them you helped me!" A coroner's inquest rules accidental death, but a police inspector is snooping around, and he's one of those Veddy Brrrrittish square-jaw guys, relentless beyond measure. By now, Mark Kendrick is wishing he'd stayed home and written his book. The only unbelievable part is that he's just witnessed Carol throwing Bev overboard, but still makes out with her later that day. I mean, cue Joe Biden: "C'mon man!" Bev was his friend. Kendrick wasn't in on the murder, and this bimbo Carol is worse than pond scum, so it's a stretch to believe he's still obsessed with her. But otherwise, Two Bigs and almost Two Huge. The great Paul Carpenter is doing another of his inexplicable walk-ons. He was a star in so many Lippert and Butcher Brothers productions. I think his cameos are just favors: "Say, Paul, we need a piano player/boyfriend, can you do three days of shooting?" "Sure, Bob. I've got nothing scheduled. Should I bring my sweater?" "Not this time. We've got you in a tux."
The picture is razor sharp. Think "Double Indemnity" with a nosy cop instead of Edward G. ////
The previous night, in "Night Alarm"(1934), Reagan pal Bruce Cabot stars as reporter "Hal Ashby" (huge lol), who's fed up with his assignment at The Times. His editor has him writing a gardening column when he really wants to be on the crime beat. He's always running out of the office every time he hears sirens. Fire engines are especially his thing, and with an arsonist running loose in the city, setting fire to the older buildings, Ashby thinks he can nail the guy. "I've always been attracted to fires. I think like he does, but from the opposite angle."
At around the same time, a new gal named "Helen Smith" (Judith Allen) applies at the paper. She's competent and has a good grasp of grammar, correcting Hal's mistakes. "Oh good," he says, "you can have my gardening column. Boss, give it to her. Now I can go chase my fire engines." The editor agrees, and Hal is finally in his element. As he works on his first report, a man walks into the press room unsolicited. He hands Ashby an envelope and says, "I'm just a citizen, but this is my opinion on the fires. You should read it when you have the chance, it might interest you." Hal's so busy he just nods and puts the envelope in his desk. Meanwhile, the paper runs runs an editorial on a possible insurance connection to the fires, which angers "Mr. Henry B. Smith" (H.B. Warner), the head of the downtown business league. Smith controls the mayor, who phones The Times and complains. "You can't accuse Henry Smith of insurance fraud!" "Why not?" asks the editor, "he gets more money from insurance claims than those old buildings are worth."
Smith does seem like a grade-A capitalist powerbroker, but maybe not corrupt. He loves his daughter, who happens to be the gal who took over Hal Ashby's gardening column. Helen didn't mention her connection to her Dad because she wants to "make it" on her own merit. Dad doesn't want her working. He wants her to marry "Vincent Van Dusen" (Tom Hanlon), a dweeb from a prominent family. But Helen's a modern young woman. She wants to make a name for herself. The paper, and Ashby, have no idea she's Henry Smith's daughter, the same Henry Smith theyv'e been railing against.
In the middle of the movie, the plot is temporarily set aside for fifteen minutes of nightclubbing and developing a possible romance. One of the noteworthy aspects of the film is the ultra pre-Code dress that Judith Allen wears to the club. It's extremely revealing, and she spends most of the scene with her arms crossed, covering up. Our old Western pal Fuzzy Knight has a vaudevillian turn, showing comic flash as a song and dance man. Fuzzy was multi-talented and gets a five minute scene. In these kinds of movies, they often threw in a musical number in the middle of a crime plot, just for variety.
The romance between Helen and Hal never really develops. It's more of an "independent woman likes hard charging reporter, but no sex please" kind of deal, and when Hal starts accusing her Dad of being behind the arson, she draws the line and reveals her real identity. "I quit! I won't work with a yellow journalist!" She turns instead to dear old Dad, Henry Smith, and takes a job at his paper factory, but by this time - because of all the hijinx - we've forgotten all about the envelope in Hal Ashby's drawer, from the mysterious visitor to his office.
The movie uses horrific-but-astounding stock footage from real Los Angeles fires in the 1930s, and man, are those firefighters courageous. "Night Alarm" gets Two Huge Thumbs just for this footage alone. The eeriest scene is when the firebug, near the end, sneaks into the basement of Henry Smith's factory, sees all the rolls of paper stored there, and gets excited. He sets a fire and saunters out, causally, as it builds, and I was reminded of the horrible Ole's arson fire in 1984. If you remember Ole's Hardware, it was a precursor to Home Depot. The fire in their Pasadena store was deadly, and there were a series of similar arsons at the time. They finally caught the guy who did it, and it was the fire chief of Glendale, the worst serial arsonist in American history. Joseph Wambaugh wrote the definitive book about the case, called "Fire Lover". It's one of the scariest and most bizarre true crime books I've ever read. Think about it: a fire chief was also the worst arsonist in American history. The guy is still sitting in a prison somewhere. He will never get out. But it turned out he set the fires so he could be "first on the scene", as the fire chief, in order to also be "the hero" who put them out. The way he started the fires, using cigarette butts as igniters, reminded me of this movie (or vice versa), and the scenes in 1930s Los Angeles of heroic firemen risking life and limb climbing tall ladders, heading directly into the flames, is astonishing to see. Despite the nightclub hijinx that take up the middle of the film, it gets Two Huge Thumbs Up, not only for its firefighting scenes, but for it's straight faced look at city-level corruption, which is as bad for folks in major cities (or even worse) than Federal corruption, because city corruption affects them directly. The picture quality is hit and miss. ////
And that's all for tonight. Let's do a Stephen King Top Ten real quick. We're doing novels only, no short story collections, novellas, or collaborations, and man, it's tough to whittle 'em down. Some classics will have to miss the cut, but what can you do? Here we go. Number One is #1, the rest are in no particular order:
1) IT 2) The Shining 3) Pet Sematary 4) The Tommyknockers (SK hates this book, but I love it) 5) The Green Mile 6) 11/22/63 7) Fairy Tale 8) The Outsider 9) The Stand 10) From A Buick 8.
Yeah, I know: where's "Cujo"? What about "The Dead Zone"? Or "Christine?" I agree on all of those, and basically everything he's ever written. It all belongs in the Top Ten, but if I had to pick only ten, the above would be my choices. And I had to leave out "Black House" (possibly his scariest book), because it was co-written with Peter Straub. Anyhow, these Top Ten lists are fun. What are your ten favorite Kings? ////
My blogging music was the first two Blue Oyster Cult albums. My late night is "Das Rheingold" by Wagner. I hope your week is off to a good start and I send you Tons of Love as always.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
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