Robot Monster (1953)

Robot Monster is a rite-of-passage for anyone with an interest in 50's B-Movies and has long been staple of those Worst Films Ever lists that were all the rage in the 80s and 90s.

Ro-Man, an Alien Robot that in no way bears a striking resemblance to a man wearing a gorilla suit and a diving helmet, is on a mission to destroy all human life on Earth with his Calcinator death ray. He is achingly close to getting the job done, except for half a dozen humans that stubbornly remain alive; a scientist, his wife, their two daughters, his young son Johnny and his assistant, who have all somehow developed an immunity to the death ray. As if that's not bad enough for poor Ro-Man, he has developed an illogical attraction to Alice, the eldest daughter.

It's true that the film contains much that is easy to sneer at. The story makes little sense, the acting is wooden, the Death Ray seems to be a bubble machine with a TV antenna, and the four day shooting schedule is reflected in a few fluffed lines.

But, one thing you could never call it is dull. The sheer insanity and invention coupled with a total lack of any irony or self-awareness gives Robot Monster a delirious energy sorely lacking from other examples of this genre, or their modern-day equivalents such as the Sharknado franchise. Special mention goes to the generous use of stock footage for spacecraft and ruined cities from the likes of Rocketship X-M, Lost Continent, Flight to Mars and Captive Women. Oh, and dinosaurs from One Million B.C., because Ro-Man can also unleash giant lizards on the earth or something.

Despite the recycled special effects, the score is completely original and by no less a Hollywood luminary than Elmer Bernstein. A few years before his classics such as The Man with the Golden Arm and The Magnificent Seven, Bernstein was still a jobbing composer, and had, according to him, been side-lined in some areas of Hollywood due to his left-wing politics. His score for Robot Monster is a mix of bombastic and discord and sounds like it should belong in a much better film.

There is also a Shaggy dog story twist ending (SPOILER ALERT), which actually makes the whole baffling premise work. It turns out the whole thing has been a nightmare in the mind of little Johnny, which explains the incoherent and childish feel to the plot.

The Master of Ballantrae (1953)

The Master of Ballentrae is a highly enjoyable example of the kind of old-fashioned swashbuckler film they simply do not make any more. It is also significant in that it is the penultimate swashbuckler of Errol Flynn's career, the man who made his name, as well as the success of the genre, with the classics like The Adventures of Robin Hood and Captain Blood. Although starting to look a little long in the tooth, Flynn still crackles with plenty of the charisma, energy and sex appeal he had done twenty years previously.

The story is loosely based on the Robert Louis Stevenson novel of the same name. In 18th Century Scotland, the Jacobite Rebellion is underway, with Bonnie Prince Charlie and his forces trying to reclaim the British throne from George II. Two brothers decide to take opposite sides in the war, in order to preserve the family fortune, whatever the outcome. Jamie Durie (played by Flynn) a hellraising scoundrel, with a string of women (in addition to his fiancé) and a string of gambling debts goes to fight for the rebellion, while his brother Henry, the pious, honest one, stays at home pretending to champion the English cause. When one of Jamie's spurned lovers betrays him to the Redcoats, he mistakenly thinks Henry is the culprit, and finds himself fleeing for his life, getting caught up in all manner of adventures involving slaves, pirates, an unscheduled trip to the West Indies, a Spanish Galleon full of gold, and a lovable rogue Irishman, Colonel Francis Burke (Roger Livesey). Will Jamie ever return to his homeland – and will he ever be convinced that it was not his brother who betrayed him?

Swashbuckling films are one of those genres where you expect certain tropes and The Master of Ballentrae does not disappoint, with sword fights a plenty, ships, colourful villains, treachery and betrayal. If there is a criticism to be made in terms of the genre, it is that this film provides little that we have not seen before. However, taken on its own merits, this is great entertainment, with Flynn belying his age and failing health to fling himself into the action scenes. The story rarely drags, with the goal of Jamie's quest to get back to Scotland constantly driving him on.

The Scotland in question is of course very much a Hollywood version of the country, with lush green hills, humble peasant folk, villainous Englishmen, and Scottish accents that sound like Groundskeeper Willie from The Simpsons. Wisely, Flynn does not attempt the Scots brogue, sticking instead to his familiar smooth tones. Livesey provides the perfect sidekick for him, giving his character as big a lust for life (and whiskey and women) as Jamie, and as much charm, but without ever overshadowing him. Anthony Steel as Henry is a little stiff and bland, but this is entirely in keeping with the character, a man the total opposite of Jamie.

The other big asset for the film is the rich and vivid cinematography by the legendary Jack Cardiff, who had previously shot the likes of The Red Shoes and The African Queen. The location filming, done around Cornwall, Scotland and Sicily, really brings the countryside to life, with the vivid colours as intoxicating and enjoyable as the star and the on-screen action.

The Hitchhiker (1953)

The Hitchhiker is a taut, edgy affair from the classic “Film-noir” era, and one of the few examples of the genre to be directed by a woman. 

The plot sees two friends, Roy Collins (Edmund O'Brien) and Gilbert Bowen (Frank Lovejoy) heading off to Mexico on a fishing trip, only to be hijacked by fugitive serial killer Emmett Myers (William Talman). He needs them alive because, unlike them, he does not speak "Mexican", and a deadly cat-and-mouse game unfolds as Myers bullies, tortures and provokes the two men. Can they keep their cool and escape before they are no longer useful to him?

Although some Film Noir movies were proper Hollywood productions with A-list stars, many more were shot cheaply and quickly for smaller scale studios, and as a result, made a virtue of their limitations. The Hitchhiker is a great example of this, eschewing elaborate sets for the wide-open desert spaces of California, and with no time or money to waste, the script moves quickly, with barely a word or scene feeling extraneous.

By the 1950s, Ida Lupino was an established, respected actress who had moved into writing, producing, and directing, and deserves recognition as one of the pioneers of feminist cinema (although, interestingly, in this film, there are no female characters shown at all). Here, in her fourth outing behind the camera, she makes great use of the desert locations, and far from representing freedom, the wide-open spaces, when juxtaposed with the tiny car the characters are trapped with, only emphasise the claustrophobia of the situation.

Aside from the locations, the real star of the show is William Talman. His ferociously evil and sleazy performance as Myers is underpinned with some original character touches, such his paralysed right eye lid, the upshot of which is that he sleeps with one eye open, daring his captives to guess whether or not he is watching them. This is typical of the mind games that he plays with the other two, designed to slowly but surely break them. However, this is not a one-note performance, and Myer’s cockiness repeatedly shifts to paranoia whenever he needs his captives to act as translators, the one time when he is completely in their power, and that, combined with his itchy trigger finger leads to some very tense moments.

Film Noir usually revolves around crime, and the protagonists are either those who are involved with it professionally, such as cops, detectives or crooks, or, as here, ordinary people who are unwittingly dragged into it, often as a result of a completely random event. These two are not macho tough guys, but utterly normal individuals, family men ("Except for the war, this is the first time I've been away from the kids") who normally do very little that could be considered adventurous.

Their friendship is their greatest asset morally, and their compassion and empathy for each other and the other human beings that they encounter along the way is the major thing that sets them apart from their low life tormentor. It is also, however, the thing that on several occasions sabotages their chances of escape, as they both seem unable to leave the other person behind in order to save their own lives

The ending feels like a bit of an anti-climax, but that is more a reflection on the intensity of what has gone on before, and does not spoil what is an excellent piece of Film-Noir that deserves its place alongside more well-known examples.