copper1963

Having a Caribean cocktail with the stunning Yvonne De Carlo is always a welcome treat. Watering down a highball glass full of shiftless men (with one exception) who she encounters along the way is a daunting prospect. De Carlo's "Bahama Mama" is the swivel stick that stirs the island economy. She inherits a hefty sum of cash and quickly enlists Zachary Scott to accompany her to the Bahamas where she purchases a resort/casino. All of the female characters seem to be harboring dark secrets. The male characters, however, come off as clueless (Duff doesn't even recall having a past relationship with Miss De Carlo.) or righteously noble (Arness has the hots for De Carlo but would rather see her return to the mainland, before losing her dignity and money chest.) Arness' character is steadfast against the vice of gambling. He's always preaching against the evils of the roulette wheel. Sleazy Kurt Kazner, yet another investor, has eyes for the female lead, too, but also has ties to some unsavory gangsters. Duff's memory returns and he begins to woo the sultry Yvonne, but Duff's mother is an impediment. She dislikes show people (Decarlo is a singer) or anyone else she feels is beneath her son's station in life. Tough courting rules. Along the way, Decarlo sings and dances up a tropical storm. Her three musical numbers slyly comment on the action taking place on the screen. One reggae-riff, while she's in a drunken stupor, is a highlight. Multiple scandals pop up along the way; secrets are revealed. Duff's meddlesome mother is in the center of things. It all leaves you guessing and a bit perplexed. Set during the Christmas season, the exotic scenery and super bright day-glow colors leap (lords a leaping) from the screen. This film was written by the same woman who penned the Christmas classics Beyond Tomorrow and Christmas in Connecticut. Flame of the Islands completes the yuletide trilogy in fine fashion.

An unrelenting Rudolph Mate film noir that tunnels deep into the underside of urban bleakness, but crests at the top of the genre's ring of royalty. Edmund O'Brien is Frank Bigelow, C.P.A., and all around swell fellow. But Bigelow--a great noir name--has a small problem. Perhaps a little indigestion and heartburn from a night of carousing? No--more serious. He visits a doctor and he tells him he's been poisoned. Luminous poisoning. We know this because the good doctor turns off the light and the test tube glows in the dark. Bigelow gets a second opinion. Same results. He's told he has a week to ten days (tops) to live. Bigelow turns tail and spends the rest of his life (and the movie) seeking his killer. Bigelow bounces and careens off the city landscape like Roger Rabbit on speed. The despair and cynicism of a modern metropolis is bored into like a doctor's syringe that is thrust into a patient's bone marrow during a spinal tap. At the Fisherman's Bar in San Francisco, Bigelow is slipped a Mickey Finn while chatting up a female hipster. From that very first lethal sip from a spiked drink, his humdrum occupation and clingy girl friend are all but a distant, fog-shrouded memory. His journey through Los Angeles' dark streets and its even darker denizens, puts his life in serious peril. He doesn't care. He doesn't have anything to lose. He no longer has to be polite or gentlemanly toward women. He has no trouble manhandling the broads he comes in contact with if it may help his cause. One has a great line: "If I was a man I'd punch your face in." Or something like that. Composer Dimitri Tiomkin's somber and, at times, quirky score (punctuated by wolf calls on a slide flute whenever the lead character spots an attractive dame), works fine in the long run. But Bigelow's run will be short. His penultimate line of dialog in the movie is simple but filled with confusion and regret: "All I ever did was notarize a bill of sale." Never has film noir been so fatalistic-- but true.

The Geiger counter is off the meter in this Roger Corman effort. Red hot. Searing. Out of the radioactive mist stagger seven survivors. One, a man, has suffered radiation poisoning. The other six characters are relatively intact. But exposed. Beefy Richard Denning performs his best fireman's carry of the infected man, plucking him out of the lethal, contaminated fog. They all arrive safely in a valley protected by a natural barrier of mountainous lead. Or something. It's best not to think too much about such matters. Stumbling into a place where there are very few people, natural shields and a house with supplies, is alway a plus in this type of genre film. Mike Connors arrives and soon cracks thick skulls with Denning. They both want to take charge. He also has the hots for the daughter of the military man, in whose house they've all crashed. The gruff, older gentleman has only enough supplies for three people: his daughter, her fiancée and himself. The fiancé never makes it. Or does he? The Captain views the others as uninvited guests--extra mouths to feed. The daughter takes pity on them and allows them to stay the night. And longer. Softy. A stripper and prospector (complete with burrow) fill out the remaining cast. The characters fight, argue, dance, bicker, swim, fight (some more) and plan for the future. The father even marries off his daughter to Denning. His philosophy: start making babies as soon as possible. But what if the radioactive rains come too fast? Well, then they will all be pushing up daises. The surrounding hills are populated by mutated humans in different stages of decay and rot. The fog creeps and slithers around the rim of the valley like mustard gas. The movie does convey a spooky atmosphere very well, and violence and religious overtones are present and applied liberally. All you need for a rainy Saturday afternoon of viewing. But keep clear of any radioactive pellets cascading from the sky. They're killers. Now whatever happened to that fiancé?