This was written by Charles Schnee from a novel by Hank Searls. They couldn't have had a particularly difficult time concocting this Snow Job. You and I could have written it just as well. All we'd have to have done is watch "The High and the Mighty" a couple of times and make notes. Then dumb-down the dialog. Near the opening Zimbalist, pulling on his uniform, has this exchange with his wife: "Well, is there any chance, Cheryl?" "Chance for what, Dale?" "For picking up the pieces of this marriage." In the course of three sentences, the writer tells us this: (1) Zimbalist is a naval officer; (2) the marriage is rocky; (3) his name is Dale; (4) her name is Cheryl. A moment later, Cheryl admits she was caught "flagrante delictoo."
"The High and the Mighty" was released in 1954 and this appeared in 1960. I've sometimes wondered why it took someone six years to cash in on a big hit like the original. (There were some el cheapos in between, one of them the source of the parody "Airplane".) A Navy jet with two men aboard, both leading unhappy lives with treacherous women, crashes into an airliner being flown by pilot Dana Andrews, leading an unhappy life with his son, and co-pilot John Kerr, having an unhappy relationship with the stewardess, Anne Francis. All the passengers are in conflict over their love lives except a method actor who is consumed with the obsession of self.
One by one, strictly in accordance with the formula, we are introduced to the characters' back stories. We get to learn why they're in conflict through their voice overs. Although directed by Joseph Pevney, the camera placement and movements seem to have been plotted by one of those robots that plunk out computer chips. Is it time for a character's story to be explored? Before the interior monologue begins, the camera slowly zooms in for a gigantic close up of the ruminative's face. The envelope for the most closeups and fragmentary stream-of-consciousness, or rather semi-consciousness, goes to Jean Willes, whom you will recognize from a dozen B movies of the 1950s. The camera returns to her and her dull and nasty mulling at least three times, more than any of the others'.
The performances do nothing to help this hackneyed story. Andrews and Francis are at least competent, seasoned performers, although even they have trouble with the clumsy exposition. John Kerr mopes throughout. The doctor -- this kind of movie must always have a doctor on board -- fades from memory the moment he's absent from the screen. The poor guy who plays Dana Andrews' resentful son simply cannot act. The most enjoyable performance, though not the best, is that of the method actor, trying to find his inner "coward" for a new part, shrugging his shoulders, gesticulating like Brando, and constantly looking pained.
If there are movies that are so bad they're funny, this must be one of them.
"The High and the Mighty" was released in 1954 and this appeared in 1960. I've sometimes wondered why it took someone six years to cash in on a big hit like the original. (There were some el cheapos in between, one of them the source of the parody "Airplane".) A Navy jet with two men aboard, both leading unhappy lives with treacherous women, crashes into an airliner being flown by pilot Dana Andrews, leading an unhappy life with his son, and co-pilot John Kerr, having an unhappy relationship with the stewardess, Anne Francis. All the passengers are in conflict over their love lives except a method actor who is consumed with the obsession of self.
One by one, strictly in accordance with the formula, we are introduced to the characters' back stories. We get to learn why they're in conflict through their voice overs. Although directed by Joseph Pevney, the camera placement and movements seem to have been plotted by one of those robots that plunk out computer chips. Is it time for a character's story to be explored? Before the interior monologue begins, the camera slowly zooms in for a gigantic close up of the ruminative's face. The envelope for the most closeups and fragmentary stream-of-consciousness, or rather semi-consciousness, goes to Jean Willes, whom you will recognize from a dozen B movies of the 1950s. The camera returns to her and her dull and nasty mulling at least three times, more than any of the others'.
The performances do nothing to help this hackneyed story. Andrews and Francis are at least competent, seasoned performers, although even they have trouble with the clumsy exposition. John Kerr mopes throughout. The doctor -- this kind of movie must always have a doctor on board -- fades from memory the moment he's absent from the screen. The poor guy who plays Dana Andrews' resentful son simply cannot act. The most enjoyable performance, though not the best, is that of the method actor, trying to find his inner "coward" for a new part, shrugging his shoulders, gesticulating like Brando, and constantly looking pained.
If there are movies that are so bad they're funny, this must be one of them.