Ephemera :: Random Screen Grab: Earth vs. the Flying Saucers (1956)

I call it: "Atomic Gothic". 

Click here for a full review of Earth vs. the Flying Saucers.

On the Big Screen :: Musical Transcendence, the Fall, and Back Again in Bill Pohlad's Love and Mercy (2014)

As the old cliche goes, there is a fine line between genius and madness. Somewhere along the way, that line was obliterated for Brian Wilson, lead songwriter for The Beach Boys, due to a combination of mental illness, years of physical and emotional abuse from his father, and narcotic addiction.

Bill Pohlad's excellent docu-drama Love and Mercy (2014) splits time to tell this tale by showing us when things fell apart during the recording of "Pet Sounds" and the two decade later aftermath, where a chance encounter with a woman at a car dealership uncovers a whole new layer of use and abuse of Wilson due to a malignant relationship with his therapist, who manipulated his way into controlling everything and keeping his patient isolated and over-medicated.

And as a connection is made and romance blooms in the 1980s, things continue to crumble in the 1960s, making it no surprise as to why Wilson spent nearly three years without getting out of bed.

As the film progresses, Pohlad does an amazing job of using one era to reflect the other to keep the story moving forward, striking a balance between the dissent and the road to recovery. Also, major kudos for the perfect musical cue of all time at the climax. Also, also, the montage sequence where they try to get the right sound for "Good Vibrations" had me tapping my foot through the floor. I've listened to it a dozen times since and all I can hear now is the sawing, stand-up bass that drives the song like a voracious machine.

I had been itching to see this ever since the trailer broke. I admit, I didn't buy John Cusack as the older Brian in the trailer at first but he was fine. Elizabeth Banks was even better as Melinda, who essentially rescued him from himself. (And she looks absolutely smashing in those '80s fashions as well.) And Paul Giamiti once more proves how awesome he is as the lecherous Eugene Landy. Sorry, I just can't bring myself to call him a doctor -- but I'm happy to report that he no longer is one. At least in California.

Back in the past, Paul Dano is ah-mazing as younger Brian, making one believe he really is hearing all those voices and music that no one else can hear, and the frustration this causes when he tries and fails to share it with the others -- and Jack Abel is a downright eerie dead-ringer for Mike Love. All told and heard, this movie is great, the music is incredible, and Brian Wilson is a bona fide genius that was nearly lost but now is found. Highly recommended.

And while we're on the subject, after catching Love and Mercy last night it stirred up a few sketchy memories of an old made-for-TV movie on The Beach Boys that focused not on Brian but Dennis Wilson, who had his own share of problems, including getting tangled up with Charles Manson and his brood. 

And after some digging around on YouTube, I found it: Summer Dreams (1990). Turns out I remembered the film rather vividly as those memories solidified -- but I had completely forgotten that Bruce Greenwood played Dennis. It was based on Steve Gaines' Heroes and Villians: The True Story of the Beach Boys, a sensationalistic and tabloid style take on the subject matter by a man who was fascinated by the Wilsons but despised their music.

Despite the opening disclaimer and being officially tagged as an "unauthorized" bio-pic most of the events presented echo the newer release; and it does make a nice companion piece for Pohlad's film, filling in some of the blanks on the Wilson's stormy relationship and expanding the story quite a bit. It's currently streaming on YouTube (with German subtitles, alas) for those interested in such things.

Love and Mercy (2014) River Road Entertainment :: Battle Mountain Films :: Roadside Attractions / EP: Jim Lefkowitz, Oren Moverman, Ann Ruark / P: Bill Pohlad, Claire Rudnick Polstein, John Wells / D: Bill Pohlad / W: Oren Moverman, Michael A. Lerner / C: Robert D. Yeoman / E: Dino Jonsäter / M: Atticus Ross / S: John Cusack, Paul Dano, Elizabeth Banks, Paul Giamatti, Joanna Going, Jake Abel

Random Film Observation #478 :: How to Properly Accessorize Your Blood and Leather for that Special Dinner Engagment.

I always pride myself whenever I notice something new in a film I've watched, like, a gazillion times before. And I get an even bigger charge of endorphins if the latest observation hasn't, as far as I know, been picked up by anyone else. And so, there I was, watching Dark Sky's new 40th Anniversary BluRay transfer of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) as part of the ever-plodding along Cult Movie Project; and as I boggled at how clean and crisp the transfer was, we finally reached the notorious family dinner scene, where I noticed something. Something Leatherface was wearing...

And as I rewound and then freezed the frame for a longer and closer look, I realized that when he dressed up for dinner, our gibbering man-child (Hansen) decided to wear the bracelet Pam (McMinn) had been wearing.

It becomes even more obvious it's the same bracelet in the scenes during the climax when our villain gives chase and eventually falls and chainsaws his own leg. And crystal clear in the outtake reel, also included on the BluRay.

I assume he confiscated the jewelry after capturing, skewering, and stowing his latest victim away in the freezer. (Note how he wears nothing during the capture.)

This discovery also got me to thinking, wondering, What if... Tober Hooper and Kim Henkel had wanted the character to take on more of the attributes of his victims. And perhaps that was also Pam's face he was wearing. And maybe, just maybe, they wanted him to wear Pam's whole ensemble. And then I wondered what that would look like.

Artist interpretation.

And with that, I shuddered, and finished the film, hoping it would help wipe out that mental image. Obviously, this didn't work. And so, I decided to scrawl it down and share it with you all. Sorry about that. Still, that BluRay was pretty awesome and then some.

Other Points of Interest: 

Newspaper ads for The Texas Chain Saw Massacre at the Morgue.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) Vortex :: Bryanston Distributing / P: Jay Parsley, Tobe Hooper / D: Tobe Hooper / W: Kim Henkel, Tobe Hooper / C: Daniel Pearl / E: Larry Carroll, Sallye Richardson / M: Wayne Bell, Tobe Hooper / S: Marilyn Burns, Edwin Neal, Allen Danziger, Teri McMinn, Edwin Neal, Jim Siedow, Gunnar Hansen

Cult Movie Project #15 (of 200): The Difficulty of Proving You're Not Dead, When So Many of Them Are: Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard (1950)

It began life as an old cattle trail in the late 1700s, skirting around the mountains that formed the Los Angeles basin, funneling travelers and stock toward the ocean. In 1877 it officially became a street, and by 1921 they finally finished paving it. Today, Sunset Boulevard runs approximately 22 miles (-- it used to be even longer), beginning near Chavez Ravine and Dodger Stadium at the east end (-- where it used to begin near Union Station), and as you follow its serpentine path westward, the thoroughfare passes through Los Feliz, Hollywood, West Hollywood -- where it morphs into the fabled Sunset Strip for a stretch, and then continues on through Beverly Hills and Bel-Air, skirting around the UCLA campus in Westwood, then Brentwood to the Pacific Palisades, where it terminates at the Pacific Coast Highway. Along the way you will have passed the Chateau Marmont, the Cinerama Dome, the Hollywood Palladium, Hollywood High, the Hotel Bel-Air, the Whiskey a Go Go, and the Roxy Theater. You'll also have successfully navigated your way around "Dead Man's Curve," where singer Jan Berry almost died in an auto accident, later immortalized in song by Jan and his partner, Dean Torrence.

Some of Hollywood's earliest film studios also cropped up around Sunset Boulevard in 1911. And its burgeoning stars, now long forgotten, built their expansive mansions along it, too. This kind of sad, disposable detritus, and the fact that it pierces through the false-facade-of-a-heart of Hollywood itself, I think, goes a long, long way in explaining why Billy Wilder picked it as a title for his film that skewered Tinsel Town for its callousness on such things; with agents, script-doctors, producers, directors, and moguls taking the brunt of his wrath. For this is a tale of a malignant bond between the victims of these machinations; a "never was" and a "has been." Cast-offs both, and each the answer to all the others' problems. One temporarily, the other permanently. And painted around this framework, where the line between illusion and delusion is nearly non-existent, the film also serves as a funeral dirge for out-dated Hollywood styles that have been kicked to the curb: film noir, Gothic horror, and silent cinema.

Seems while growing up in Germany in the 1920s, Wilder became fascinated with American culture via (silent) cinematic imports, which eventually lured him to Hollywood in 1933. His big break came in 1939 when he teamed up with (his soon to be long time collaborator) Charles Brackett on the script for Ninotchka; a screwball comedy by Ernst Lubitsch, and a career redefining role for Greta Garbo. Wilder and Brackett rode quite the hot-streak after that with Hold Back the Dawn (1941) and Ball of Fire (1941), which earned Wilder a shot at directing their next script, another box-office smash, The Major and the Minor (1942). And then, after churning out an interesting propaganda piece on Why we Fight, Wilder managed the seemingly impossible: adapting James M. Cain's sultry thriller, Double Indemnity (1944), and getting most of its saucier elements past the Breen office, legitimizing and cementing the look of American film noir for the next decade. And his next project landed Wilder his first Academy Award for The Lost Weekend (1945).

But as the 1940s came to a close, Wilder became fascinated by the grand mansions littered throughout Hollywood, still haunted/occupied by the silent film stars he fell in love with in his youth, and wondered what they did with themselves while cocooned-up inside them now that the industry they helped establish had, for all intents and purposes, written them off. And this nugget of an idea, these museum pieces left to molder, an aging starlet who lost her celebrity and her strained and vain efforts to win them back, got the ball rolling for Sunset Boulevard (1950), the blackest of comedies, shot like a horror movie (-- I contend it presciently predicted the Hagsploitation cycle due the next decade, kicking off with Whatever Happened to Baby Jane in 1962), wrapped inside a film noir. It shouldn't have worked. And in any other hands, it probably wouldn't have.

Work on the script began in 1948 but neither Brackett or Wilder could get a true handle on it; and so, they brought in D.M. Marshman; a journalist who had impressed them both with his critiques of their films to hash it out. (Erich von Stroheim also contributed to the plot, including the revelation that Max was behind all of Norma Desmond's fan mail.) And thanks to his string of hits, Paramount basically gave Wilder free rein over his projects. Still, with the anti-Hollywood / May-December romantic gist of the story, to keep the studio and the censors in the dark they only submitted the script -- under the nonsensical title, A Can of Beans -- just a few pages at a time. And as the film went into production in 1949 only 61 pages of the script were finished (-- about 1/3rd of the story), and no one, including Wilder, had any idea how the film would end.

Assembling the cast proved just as difficult. The name of Norma Desmond was a combination of "predatory" silent film star Norma Talmadge and director William Desmond Taylor, whose unsolved murder back in 1922 remains one of Hollywood's most notorious scandals. The character also shared traits with several more reclusive silent movie queens like Mary Pickford, Mae Murray, Clara Bow and Mabel Normand; most of whom Wilder tried and failed to coax into starring in the picture. Mae West also said no, and Pola Negri's thick accent was deemed insurmountable. Wilder then turned to George Cukor for suggestions, and he immediately recommended Gloria Swanson, who had been Paramount's biggest money-maker for six-straight years in the 1920s. During her heyday, people flocked to her films not only to see the starlet but to also ogle at her wardrobe. Decked in ornate gowns, with extravagant beadwork, topped off with jewels and feathers, Swanson was the epitome of haute couture, making her one of Hollywood's first breakout stars. (She really was that big, but instead of her pictures getting smaller they got bigger as her career stalled in the sound era. More on this in a sec.) But Swanson almost rejected the role upfront when Wilder asked for a screen-test, feeling she was above such things. Luckily, Cukor stepped in again and encouraged her to do it -- and by 'encouraged' I mean he threatened to shoot her if she didn't do the test.

"The last one I wrote was about Okies in the dust bowl," says Über-cynic and failed screen-writer, Joe Gillis. "You'd never know, because when it reached the screen, the whole thing played on a torpedo boat." Montgomery Clift was originally cast for the role but he broke his contract and bailed-out two weeks into production, fearing the film mirrored his own relationship with aging actress, Libby Holman, a little too closely. Needing a replacement, and quickly, Wilder offered the role to Fred MacMurray, but he didn't like the character's motivations and turned it down flat. They approached MGM about the possible loan of Gene Kelly, who was eager, but the studio refused. Paramount then suggested William Holden, whose career had essentially stalled since his smashing debut in Golden Boy (1930). Wilder wasn't too keen on it, but he was desperate enough to hire him -- a gamble that paid off big time here and in future collaborative projects Stalag 17 (1953) and Sabrina (1954).

Another prominent character was located at 3810 Wilshire Blvd. Originally built in 1924 by William Jenkins, who lived in the expansive, Gothic mansion for one year before abandoning it for almost a decade, earning the abode the nickname, "The Phantom." Jenkins eventually sold it to J. Paul Getty, who lost it in a divorce to his second wife, who eventually rented it out to Paramount for the picture, who added the swimming pool, which in typical make-believe land was a total facade, had no filtration system, and so, was essentially useless after filming wrapped. (The mansion and the (empty) pool were re-used briefly in Nicholas Ray's Rebel Without a Cause (1955) before being torn down and replaced with an office building.) For the interior, Wilder hired set designer Hans Dreier, who had been an interior designer on the homes of silent stars Bebe Daniels and Norma Shearer. Swanson contributed her personal collection of photographs and memorabilia for Norma Desmond's home, blurring the line between fictional past and authentic career. And while filming inside, cinematographer John Seitz would sprinkle dust into the air, which would catch in the lights, adding a surreal, dreamlike effect.

Sticking with the life-imitates-art theme, Wilder cast Erich von Stroheim as Max, the loyal butler. Again, Von Stroheim added all kinds of subtle touches to the film. I just love the meta-moments when Desmond and Gillis are looking at [Swanson's] old films, and the actress starts pantomiming in front of the screen, including a dead-on impersonation of Charlie Chaplin. It was Von Stroheim who suggested they use clips of Queen Kelly (1929), a film Swanson had produced and Von Stroheim directed. It's the bigger picture I alluded to earlier, where the director went way over budget and deviated wildly from the script, causing Swanson to fire him and spend the next two years trying to salvage the project. (Some of the newer sequences were directed by Swanson herself.) In the film, Max claims he discovered Desmond and made her a star. In real life it was Cecil B. Demille who launched Swanson's career, making it only fitting that he play himself for Desmond's triumphant but ultimately heartbreaking return to Paramount Studios; one of the many sizzling examples of verisimilitude in the film.

Sadly, Sunset Boulevard would prove the last co-production for Wilder and Brackett. Seems the two nearly came to blows over the montage sequence where Norma goes through hell to prepare herself for her big meeting. Brackett thought the sequence sad and cruel, but Wilder felt it was essential to show how maniacally driven the actress was to get back into the limelight. The scene stayed in, as it should, I think, but the partnership was over.

Before its release, Paramount arranged a private screening for several studio heads and specially invited guests. As the legend goes, after the film ended, Barbara Stanwyck knelt in front of Swanson and kissed the hem of her skirt. Swanson then looked for Mary Pickford but was told she was too overcome and left. Others were not so kind. Actress Mae Murray was offended and reportedly remarked "None of us floozies was that nuts." But that paled by the tirade put on by Louis B. Mayer, who berated Wilder, saying "You have disgraced the industry that made and fed you! You should be tarred and feathered and run out of Hollywood and sent back to Germany!" Wilder, whose family had perished in the Holocaust, responded without missing a beat, telling the pompous mogul to either "Go f*ck youself" or "Go sh*t in your hat" depending on which source you consult.

After it was finally released, Time Magazine declared Sunset Boulevard to be "Hollywood at its worst told by Hollywood at its best." And while the box-office was good it was not great. Still, at the time, it was only the third film to be nominated for Best Film, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Supporting Actor, and Best Supporting Actress -- it was also up for Best Cinematography and Editing. And while it didn't win in any of those categories, it did win for Best Screenplay, Best Art Direction, and Franz Waxman took home an Oscar for his score. I think Swanson should've won but faced stiff competition from Bette Davis in All About Eve, which cleaned up in those major categories, so much so that the two split the vote enough to allow Judy Holliday to sneak in and win for Born Yesterday.

What amazes me most about Sunset Boulevard is that the viewer becomes so engrossed in this roil of madness and self-destruction that we forget our storyteller is dead. From the get-go we know Joe Gillis is no longer with us, another rat floating in the pool. Although he almost wasn't. Well he was, dead, just not in the pool. That wasn't supposed to happen until the end. Seems in the original cut, the film opens in the L.A. County Morgue, with Gillis posthumously relating his tale of woe to his fellow corpses but this sequence brought so much inappropriate laughter from preview audiences the film's release was delayed nearly six months so the new iconic opening could be shot with our hero face down in the pool. But is he really our hero? Or is he a homme fatale, a dastardly gigolo, leading Norma Desmond down the road to ruin. (He also steals his best friend's girl.) To me, that is the only way this film works as film noir. As a horror movie, obviously, Norma is the villain. As a combination of both, I honestly don't know who to root for; and I've struggled with this ever since I first saw the film and still struggle with it every time I've watched Sunset Boulevard since. 

Other Points of Interest:

Newspaper ads for Sunset Boulevard at The Morgue. 

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"Speaking of Poe, Sunset Boulevard is another conception of The Premature Burial. As Gloria Swanson wrote about silent movie stars in Close-Ups (1977): 'It has become difficult to prove you're not dead. So many of us are.' And what better locale for a 'ghost' story than Hollywood, a town built on illusion and delusion, where people grow old but stay young on celluloid, where people become has-beens often before they've made it. 'I heard you had talent,' Betty says of Joe. 'That was last year,' Joe declares ... 'I talked to a couple of yes men at Metro -- they said no to me.'"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXX-- Danny Peary 

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The Fine Print: Sunset Boulevard was watched via Paramount's Centennial Collection DVD. Watched as a Fatal Fatale Film Noir double-feature with Detour (1945). What's the Cult Movie Project? That's 15 down, with 185 to go.

Sunset Boulevard (1950) Paramount Pictures / P: Charles Brackett / D: Billy Wilder / W: Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder, D.M. Marshman Jr. / C: John F. Seitz / E: Arthur P. Schmidt / M: Franz Waxman / S: William Holden, Gloria Swanson, Erich von Stroheim, Nancy Olson, Jack Webb

Favorites :: Vintage Ads: If You Don't Tune in By Midnight...

Other Points of Interest:

Newspaper ads for Prom Night's theatrical run at the Morgue.

Cult Movie Project #14 (of 200): Wrong Turns and Choosing Your Fate Before Fate Chooses You in Edgar G. Ulmer's Detour (1945).

Is it the best film noir ever? Maybe. The darkest, bleakest, most twisted film noir ever? Definitely. And unrelentingly so. However, Edgar G. Ulmer's lean and mean no-budget miracle probably isn't as great as most would have you believe -- well, depending on your expectation. Expectation can be a harsh mistress seldom satisfied, I always say, and they were a major stumbling block on my first encounter with Detour (1945), where, I fear, they were a bit too over-inflated when what I'd read stacked up against what I saw. Over the years since, expectation and experience have leveled off, however, allowing me to reevaluate the film and truly appreciate it as a defective masterpiece.

How did such a gifted director like Ulmer wind up as the opal in the offal at PRC -- the absolute dead end of Poverty Row as far as Hollywood studios are concerned? Depends on who you believe. According to the director, the choice was self-imposed to give himself more artistic freedom. According to everyone else, he got caught sleeping with the wife of the son of Universal mogul, Carl Laemmle, and found himself unofficially black-listed from the majors. However he wound up there, there he was, doing some amazing things squeezing everything he could out of whatever change PRC found in their couch cushions.

Rumored to have been shot in less than a week, using only four sets, and a cast of five to ten, Detour is an advanced doctorate in low-budget filmmaking. The film itself is fairly simple, quick, and dirty as our hero -- wait, no, sorry, I just can't bring myself to call him our hero. A noir hero must garner likability, sympathy or some inkling of being redeemable even as he/she does awful deeds and flushes everything down the toilet. Here, destitute New York musician Al Roberts (Neal) has none of these qualities as he gets himself in over his head while trying to hitchhike across the country to get to his girl (Drake) in Hollywood. For, just as things are looking up, everything goes to hell on him.

Playing this schlub is an eerily typecast Neal, whose own biography of woe, scandal, felonious assault, poisoned relationships, and murder would make a fine noir all on its own. A glass half-empty (and full of Strychnine and razor blades) kinda guy, Al also serves as our omniscient narrator, making excuses for every rash and bone-headed choice he makes. And it is about choice, not fate or destiny. Al and the viewer can debate not being in control all they want, but it all comes down to bad choices (and self-fulfilling prophecies) when fate and destiny throw a detour in front of you. (See what I did there?) Here, these bad choices begin when Al steals a car and assumes the identity and bankroll of a gambler (MacDonald) who picked him up, only to keel over and die several hundred miles and a dozen witnesses down the road from apparent natural causes. Fearing the police would never believe that and accuse him of malfeasance and murder, the body is hidden in the desert and Al moves on. But instead of keeping a low profile, Al decides to pick himself up a hitchhiker.

Again, Martin Goldsmith's plot of Detour isn't all that special -- perfunctory is a good word, but in the hands of Ulmer and his small cast the total amperage cranked out of it is kinda mind-boggling. And sparking-off the most is Ann Savage as the venomous, spiteful, and completely whackadoodle Vera, the hitchhiker, in a performance for the ages. Each line is spat, each piercing look with maddened eyes and raised eyebrow could vaporize glacial ice. I've also often wondered if Vera had a little more eating away at her insides than consumption, eating away at her brain, but mentioning V.D. in those days was a big no-no.

Apparently due to a backfiring prank between takes (that involved a tongue and an ear), Savage and Neal did not like each other at all and this animosity leeches over onscreen, discharging a few more volts. It's kinda fun to watch the weaselly Al squirm as Vera twists him into several knots around her finger. She has him cold, knows he stole the car and believes he killed the owner, and uses this to blackmail him into a shopping spree and a drinking binge and a mad scheme to get even more money through a fraudulent inheritance grab. Tension rises as we barrel toward the climax like a runaway train, the brakes failed, the engineer dead, the tracks broken and Vera pulling the levers.

Now, I'm still not quite sure of the convoluted physics of the phone cord getting wrapped around the drunken Vera's neck as she spitefully tries to call the cops in a separate room but its another attempt to alleviate Al of any guilt as he inadvertently and unknowingly strangles her to death. Now truly guilty of murder, Al is finally free of Vera's grip. I also find it funny that Goldsmith's script did not include Al getting arrested for Vera's murder but the opening prologue and subsequent flashback and epilogue, where Al is pinched, were added to bring the film up to the Hayes Code, which explicitly stated that no one could get away with murder unpunished.

Through the whole film Ulmer and Goldsmith do their best to paint Al as the unluckiest sonofabitch on the planet but I'm not sure I buy this. With each viewing, I find it harder and harder to muster any sympathy for Al. Again, it's about choices. Did he have to pick up Vera? Who just happened to be the girl the gambler made a pass at and scratched him up. Was it out of kindness? Or was it because she had a nice pair of gams? When he finally gets a ride, it just happens to be with the man about to have a coronary. But did Al have to take the car, steal the clothes, use the money of the gambler? Forensics aren't anything like they are today but I think even the most local yokel would know the difference between murder and a natural causes and the difference between pre- and post-mortem injuries. No. Al is an opportunist, who begs the audience as the narrator for reassurance that his wrong choices were the only choices he had.

Then again, maybe I'm being too hard on Al. Not thinking clearly under stress is what makes most of us human, right? I guess what I'm trying to say is Detour is a great film but far from perfect. If you are aware of its reputation may I offer this advice: cut your expectations in half, at least, and then the rewards of this film are many. If you're walking in blind, you are in for a real treat. 

Sadly, one of the biggest hurdles with watching Detour is due to a copyright lapse and the resulting purgatory of Public Domain Hell has led to an overabundance of crappy, nigh unwatchable copies floating around. Too bad. The film deserves a full Criterion restoration treatment that we will probably never get. 

Other Points of Interest:

Newspaper ads for Detour at the Morgue. 

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"Detour is truly an unusual film, far more intense and stylish than the run of the mill low-budget film, and featuring the oddest, most repellent symbiotic (leechlike) relationship in cinema history. This, plus the fact that it was made by Ulmer -- regarded as the 'master' of the B-film -- in just six days, using only four characters of any significance, and only six minimally furnished sets, makes it a natural for critics to be impressed by quality in spite of the low budget." 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXX-- Danny Peary   

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The Fine Print: Detour was watched via Amazon Prime Instant Streaming. Watched as a Fatal Fatale Film Noir double-feature with Sunset Boulevard (1950). What's the Cult Movie Project? That's 14 down, with 186 to go.  

Detour (1945) Producers Releasing Corporation (PRC) / P: Leon Fromkess / AP: Martin Mooney / D: Edgar G. Ulmer / W: Martin Goldsmith / C: Benjamin H. Kline / E: George McGuire / M: Leo Erdody / S: Tom Neal, Ann Savage, Claudia Drake, Edmund MacDonald