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A gang of forty motorcyclists, the Black Rebels Motorcycle Club, gate-crash a legitimate motorcycle race. They are eventually thrown out, but one of the gang steals the second prize trophy and gives it to their leader, Johnny. The gang then ride into Wrightsville, where they race up and down the main street before piling into Bleekers - the local bar. The owner of the bar is happy to let the bikers spend their money, so does not support the sheriff’s attempt to address any disturbances. Stuck in town following an accident to a Black Rebel, Johnny falls for the sheriff’s daughter and tries to impress her with the trophy. When a rival gang, The Beetles, ride into town, trouble is just around the corner.

It Came From Outer Space is one of a handful of science fiction films from the 1950s that plays as well today as it did on its original release, this despite the fact that its original 3-D elements seem to be lost. It was also the first science fiction effort of director Jack Arnold, and one of three excellent 3-D features that he made (the others were Creature From the Black Lagoon and Revenge of the Creature) during that format’s short-lived history. It was also, along with The Incredible Shrinking Man, one of the two most sophisticated films he ever made in that genre. Additionally, it was Arnold’s first opportunity to use the desert setting that seemed to inspire him in some of his best subsequent movies. Based on a story by Ray Bradbury, the movie starts off in a gentle, lyrical mode, almost reminiscent of Our Town, as the narrator introduces the tiny Arizona town where the action will take place. Writer John Putnam (Richard Carlson), a new arrival to the town and an amateur astronomer, is looking at the skies with his fiancée, schoolteacher Ellen Fields (Barbara Rush), when they see what looks like a huge meteor crash into the desert. Putnam and Ellen go to the site of the crash and find a huge crater. When he goes down inside, Putnam sees what is very obviously some kind of vehicle or device embedded in the ground, but before he can show it to anyone, a rock slide buries what he saw. He reports that a spacecraft of some kind is buried there and is duly ridiculed by the local press and some of his own colleagues in the astronomical community, and even Ellen has her doubts. The local sheriff, Matt Warren (Charles Drake), is downright hostile because he believes that Putnam is not only an interloper, but has also taken Ellen away from him. Putnam is at a loss as to what to do, and doing something — or, perhaps, not doing anything — becomes a critical matter when various townspeople start to disappear, including Ellen, to be replaced by alien “duplicates.” A small but significant part of this action is told from the standpoint of the aliens, who are only glimpsed in brief flashes as they move through the desert and the underground caves where they are hiding. Putnam ultimately comes to understand that the aliens are actually benign and only need time to repair their ship and leave; but by then, the sheriff and the rest of the town have started taking his original warning seriously and their intervention threatens the lives of everyone. Reason and a peaceful approach prevail, but only just barely, and the space travelers are allowed to go on their way — in return, they restore the real townspeople. The movie ends on a hopeful note as Putnam predicts that someday, when we’re ready here on Earth, the visitors will be back to make formal, peaceful introductions.

Historically important as the first CinemaScope feature film, 20th Century-Fox’s The Robe is fine dramatic entertainment in its own right. Based on the best-selling novel by Lloyd C. Douglas, the film stars Richard Burton as the wastrelly Roman tribune who is assigned by a weary Pontius Pilate (Richard Boone, who spends the whole of his single scene washing his hands) to supervise the crucifixion of Christ. After the Seven Last Words, the jaded Burton wins Christ’s robe in a dice game. Gradually, the mystical influence of the holy garment transforms Burton from a roistering cynic into a True Believer–at the cost of his own life, which he willingly gives up in the service of his Lord. Also starring in The Robe are Jean Simmons as Burton’s pious childhood sweetheart, Victor Mature as his Christian-convert slave Demetrius (an excellent performance–in fact, Mature is more believable than Burton!), Michael Rennie as the disciple Peter, and Jay Robinson as the raving Emperor Caligula. Mature, Rennie and Robinson would appear in the 1954 sequel to The Robe, the hurriedly assembled Demetrius and the Gladiators. Watch and listen for the unbilled contributions of Michael Ansara as Judas and Cameron Mitchell as the voice of Jesus. The film won three Academy Awards, and a special Oscar bestowed upon Fox for the development of CinemaScope. For many years, the TV prints of the Robe were struck from the “flat,” standard-ratio version shot simultaneously with the widescreen version. Only recently has the CinemaScope The Robe been made available to cable TV (shown in “letterbox” format to allow home viewers the full picture).

Audrey Hepburn became a star with this film, in which she played Princess Anne, weary of protocol and anxious to have some fun before she is mummified by “affairs of state.” On a diplomatic visit to Rome, Anne escapes her royal retainers and scampers incognito through the Eternal City. She happens to meet American journalist Joe Bradley (Gregory Peck), who, recognizing a hot news story, pretends that he doesn’t recognize her and offers to give her a guided tour of Rome. Naturally, Joe hopes to get an exclusive interview, while his photographer pal Irving (Eddie Albert) attempts to sneak a photo. And just as naturally, Joe falls in love with her. Filmed on location in Rome, Roman Holiday garnered an Academy Award for the 24-year-old Hepburn; another Oscar went to the screenplay, credited to Ian McLellan Hunter and John Dighton but actually co-written by the blacklisted Dalton Trumbo. The 1987 TV movie remake with Catherine Oxenberg is best forgotten.

His Hollywood career temporarily in the doldrums in 1953, Lloyd Bridges headed to Britain to star in The Limping Man. Bridges plays an ex-GI who arrives in London to visit his wartime amour (Moira Lister). Before anyone knows what’s happened, our hero is mixed up in a murder case. The victim was killed by a mysterious “limping man,” who is also an expert sharpshooter. Just when it seems that events have overwhelmed the GI and his lady love, the story suddenly. . .well, that would be tattling, wouldn’t it? The Limping Man was released Stateside by Lippert Productions.

“It wasn’t a particularly good story, but I liked the atmosphere of Berlin after the war, and I wanted to work again with James Mason.” Thus did director Carol Reed explain his decision to return to thrillers with The Man Between. Unfortunately, political conditions forced Reed out of Berlin before shooting wrapped, compelling him to complete the picture in the studio. Even so, the story of East Berliner Ivo Kern (Mason) who rescues Susanne Mallison (Claire Bloom), a British woman trapped in the Soviet Zone, is a minor masterpiece of suspense. Despite great danger to himself, Kern takes it upon himself to escort Mallison back to her family in West Berlin. After a daring dash through the countryside, the seeming impossible is achieved–but only through a conspicuous act of self sacrifice. Never completely satisfied with The Man Between, Carol Reed grudgingly admitted “It made back its money.”

The 1953 Clark Gable film Mogambo is a remake of Gable’s 1932 seriocomic adventure Red Dust. Where the earlier film was lensed on the MGM backlot, Mogambo was shot on location in Africa by director John Ford. Gable is safari leader Victor Marswell, who plays “host” to stranded Eloise Y. Kelly (Ava Gardner, who is no better than she ought to be but is just right for our raffish hero — the Gardner role was originally played along franker pre-Code lines by Jean Harlow). Anthropologist Donald Nordley (Donald Sinden) hires Victor to lead him into the deepest, darkest jungle. Along for the ride is Donald’s wife, Linda (Grace Kelly), outwardly cool as a cucumber but secretly harboring a lust for Victor. Scorned, Kelly tries to kill Victor, but true-blue Eloise takes the blame for the shooting. Reportedly, Grace Kelly carried on an off-camera romance with Clark Gable, which ended when the differences in their ages proved insurmountable. Even so, it is the easy rapport between Gable and Ava Gardner which stole the show in Mogambo.

“Her Salome Will Steal Your Breath Away” was the classic advertising slogan attached to this opulent Rita Hayworth epic — a slogan which became laughable whenever a radio announcer would mispronounce Salome as “salami.” Using the very sketchy Biblical story of the death of John the Baptist as its springboard, Salome depicts its title character, the stepdaughter of King Herod, as a victim of circumstance rather than a wanton temptress. Banished from Rome because of an unfortunate romance with the nephew of Caesar, Salome (Rita Hayworth) declares that all men are her enemies, but her resolve weakens when she falls in love with Claudius (Stewart Granger), the military commander of Galilee. Meanwhile, Salome’s wicked mother, Herodias (Judith Anderson), plots the demise of John the Baptist (Alan Badel), who currently enjoys the protection of the superstitious Herod (Charles Laughton). At this point, the story departs radically from Scripture. Salome is no longer coerced by Herodias to demand the head of John the Baptist; instead, Herodias, on her own, promises Herod that Salome will perform the “Dance of the Seven Veils” for him — but only if he beheads John first (Salome has been misinformed that the dance will save John from the headsman’s sword). Somehow, scriptwriter Jesse Lasky Jr. even manages to concoct a happy ending for poor Salome, which is a lot more than Oscar Wilde or Richard Strauss were able to do. Considered an artistic flop in 1953, Salome seems somewhat better today, if only because of that powerhouse cast.

They don’t really go to Mars, they go to Venus, but first they go to New Orleans. While working at a missile base, Bud Abbott and Lou Costello inadvertently launch a rocket ship with themselves aboard. After a wild ride around New York City (the Statue of Liberty ducks when the rocket heads her way), Bud and Lou land in the outskirts of New Orleans. The boys are convinced that they’ve reached Mars, and their faith in this supposition is affirmed when they come across several strangely costumed “creatures” (actually revellers at the Mardi Gras). Meanwhile, bank robbers Jack Kruschen and Horace McMahon stow away on A&C’s rocketship. When Bud and Lou return, the crooks force them to make a quick getaway into outer space. After several days of weightlessness, the four space travellers land on Venus, a planet populated by the gorgeous winners of the Miss Universe contest (including Anita Ekberg). Venusian queen Mari Blanchard falls in love with Costello, only to order him and his companions to return to earth when Lou proves to be unfaithful. Reportedly, this bizarre melange of sci-fi and slapstick was based on a story by Charles Beaumont, who received no screen credit (it’s worth noting that Beaumont’s later Queen of Outer Space boasts a remarkably similar plotline). Long considered the team’s worst film, Abbott and Costello Go to Mars (”and about time!” quipped the New York Times’ TV-movie reviewer) is rather likeable in its own incoherent way.

Frightening though the prospect may sound, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis appear in Technicolor and 3-D in the musical comedy Money from Home. Cashing in on the success of Guys and Dolls, the script is based on a Damon Runyon story. Martin plays gambler Honey Talk Nelson, whose “markers” have been called in by gangster boss Jumbo Schneider (Sheldon Leonard). In need of money in a hurry, Honey Talk tries to honey-talk his gawky assistant-veterinarian cousin Virgil Yokum (Jerry Lewis) into “fixing” the outcome of an upcoming Maryland steeplechase competition. Along the way, Virgil is forced to impersonate British jockey Bertie Searles (Richard Haydn), and also gets mixed up with a visiting Arab potentate (Romo Vincent) and his harem. Pat Crowley and Marjie Millar fulfill the leading-lady obligations, while Dean Martin gets to sing three songs, one of them co-written by Guys and Dolls composer Frank Loesser.

Hondo is so “perfect” a John Ford western that many people assume it was directed by John Ford–or at the very least, Andrew McLaglen. Actually the director was suspense expert John Farrow, who worked with the “Duke” only twice in his career (the second film was an oddball war drama, The Sea Chase [55]). In Hondo, John Wayne plays a hard-bitten cavalry scout who is humanized by frontierswoman Geraldine Page and her young son (Lee Aaker, star of TV’s Rin Tin Tin). Try as he might, Wayne can’t convince Page to move off her land in anticipation of an Apache attack. He leaves her ranch, only to be ambushed by desperado Leo Gordon–who happens to be Page’s long-absent husband. Having killed Gordon, Hondo returns to the ranch to protect Page from the Indians, and to rekindle the woman’s hesitant love for him. The climactic attack sequence is enhanced by Hondo’s 3-D photography, one of the few truly effective utilizations of this much-maligned process. Long unavailable thanks to the labyrinthine legal tangles of the John Wayne estate, Hondo was finally released to videotape in the early 1990s.

Second-billed Marilyn Monroe is the blonde in question in this second film version of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes: Miss Lorelei Lee, whose philosophy is “diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” Together with her best human friend Dorothy (top-billed Jane Russell), showgirl Lorelei embarks upon a boat trip to Paris, where she intends to marry millionaire Gus Esmond (Tommy Noonan). En route, the girls are bedeviled by private detective Malone (Elliot Reid), hired by Esmond’s father (Taylor Holmes) to make certain that Lorelei isn’t just another gold-digger. When Dorothy falls in love with the poverty-stricken Malone, Lorelei decides to find her pal a wealthier potential husband, and that’s how she gets mixed up with flirtatious diamond merchant Sir Francis Beekman (Charles Coburn) and precocious youngster Henry Spofford III (George “Foghorn” Winslow). Most of the Leo Robin-Jule Styne songs from the Broadway show remain intact, including Marilyn Monroe’s rendition of “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend,” a production number later imitated by pop icon Madonna.

This simplified (but lavish) remake of the 1933 melodrama The Mystery of the Wax Museum was the most financially successful 3-D production of the 1950s. In his first full-fledged “horror” role, Vincent Price plays Prof. Henry Jarrod, the owner of a wax museum, whose partner, Matthew Burke (Roy Roberts), intends to burn the place down for the insurance money. When Jarrod tries to prevent Burke from torching the museum, he himself is trapped in the conflagration. Years pass: though now confined to a wheelchair, Jarrod manages to open up a new museum in New York, boasting the most incredibly lifelike wax statues ever seen. At the same time, a masked prowler has been stalking the city, murdering people and then stealing their bodies from the mortuary. One of the victims is Jarrod’s old nemesis Burke; another is Cathy Gray (Carolyn Jones), the roommate of art student Sue Allen (Phyllis Kirk). On a visit to the wax museum, Sue can’t help but notice that the wax likeness of Joan of Arc is a dead ringer for her deceased friend Cathy — while the courtly Jarrod declares joyously that Sue is the living image of Marie Antoinette. Guess where this is going to wind up? Frank Lovejoy and Paul Picerni co-star as the nominal heroes, while Charles Bronson — still billed as Charles Buchinsky — is a menacing presence as Jarrod’s deaf-mute chief sculptor (appropriately named “Igor”). No opportunity to show off the 3-D process is wasted during House of Wax; the most memorable stereoscopic moments are provided by garrulous “paddle-ball man” Reggie Rymal. Ironically, Andre De Toth, the film’s director, had only one good eye, and had to constantly ask his cast and crew if the various 3-D effects had come off properly.