Shack Out on 101

The most important thing about this amazing piece is that despite its limitations from the buck fifty budget to the sledgehammered propagandist overtones to the all-over-the-place acting, this is a highly entertaining and enigmatic movie-going experience. That is not to say that it makes a lick of sense. But when you are treated to as much tear stained laughs and anvil-forged he-man dialogue, does it matter? I didn't even intend to see this one but a revival house ran it as the second feature here in Hollywood a few years back and I sat and watched and was blown away. I can't recall what the top billed film was but I sure recall this quintessential (yet almost unknown) tough guy movie. Screw all the proto-Nietzchean questions of Man and Superman, existential angst and jingoistic integrity discussion. This is pure lusty FUN... the story of good girls gone bad and bad men gone worse!

For starters, here's an object lesson on how someone with screen charisma can overcome incredible problems, including a spotty on-the-nose script and zero production values. In this case, young Lee Marvin (SLOB) absolutely obliterates, yanking all our attention away from whatever else is happening (generally not much) in any given scene. This IS a compliment. His infectiously sullen scowl and alienated bad boy 'tude is so blinding that even Keenan Wynn, quite the smouldering hambone of hate himself, is superseded. I can't really recall all the ins and outs of the thinly veiled communist parablizing (something about smuggled nuclear secrets), but I sure recall Marvin hitting up a very comely Terry Moore and that the sparks fly. Truly, there is as much iconoclastic rebellious poseuring here as in Brando's much more famous (but no better) THE WILD ONE or any three Clint Eastwood movies. There may not have been any visible plot but the dialogue is diamond hard and I promise the blisteringly melodramatic interactions will have you laughing harder than you will at anything Adam Sandler puts out.

Now here's some trash like it oughta be. Keenan Wynn's greaseball diner becomes the crux of a commie spy ring featuring the much-maligned Slob (suddenly I LOVE Lee Marvin). It's up to babyfaced waitress Terry Moore to set things straight. The rapport between Marvin and Wynn when they're not on the let's-get-into-Terry's-pants bandwagon is something to behold - this movie is casual in a delirious way, feels like it was shot on break from a really fun beach party. In their effort to add variety to what is basically a one-set movie, there is SO much going on - there's a goofy workout scene, Wynn gets uncharacteristically introspective and soft-spoken and then suddenly he's running around in flippers and snorkel, and a pacifist veteran shoots a commie with a spear gun. The plot contrivances have to be seen to be believed, especially the triple-macguffin love interest subplot with the State Department lunkhead and Moore walking straight in and out of the spy conference without being noticed. Lots of political speeches, all somehow overwrought and vague at the same time.

The shack out on Highway 101 just north of San Diego is an oceanside greasy-spoon hung with nautical bric-a-brac like a Red Lobster franchise. It's also the regional headquarters for an subversive spy ring and the claustrophobic setting for one of the oddest fish spawned during the Red Scare paranoia of the post-war years.

Keenan Wynn owns the joint, with short-order cook Lee Marvin and waitress Terry Moore as his live-in help, an arrangement as uncomfortable for Moore as it is convenient for Marvin, who can't keep his hands or lips off her. Regulars include Frank Lovejoy (as an unspecified 'professor' romancing Moore), salesman Whit Bissell, an old fisherman making 'deliveries' right off the boat, and a couple of drivers for theAcme Poultry Company who come in for coffee and cherry pie. In this entrepôt big wads of cash get traded for tiny slivers of microfilm. And operatives losing their nerve or asking too many questions get dead.

Few of those movies which the studios felt constrained to issue in testimony to their rock-solid Americanism were much good (and audiences shunned them like week-old mackerel). But they shared an utter lack of humor and a suffocating tone of moral urgency. This one is more perplexing. The prevailing tone remains light, at times veering toward farce, to an extent that the very real possibility presents itself that the whole thing is a very sly put-on.

One morning when Wynn and Marvin, stripped to their waists, engage in some weight-lifting, Wynn insists that his chest muscles be referred to as 'pecs.' Marvin retorts 'I'm very happy with my pecs,' whereupon they call in Moore to judge which of them has the better legs. In another scene, Moore, lighted through the holes of a hanging colander, looks like she contracted some exotic contagion. But then the movie shifts abruptly into cloak-and-dagger episodes right out of B-movies of the international intrigue genre. Towards the end, the heart sinks as it becomes clear that the movie means us to take it seriously. But serious about what? Never is the word 'Communist' uttered.

Lee Marvin's "Slob" character alone makes this worth viewing, although the espionage film is a bit talky and stagy. Still, Marvin is a real hoot, right from the beginning, and provides a few neat surprises near the end. "Slob" is the name of his character, and it fits.

Otherwise, the film is an insult-fest with everyone trading barbs at one another. Some of them are pretty funny. Keenan Wynn as "George," the diner owner, is involved in many of the put-downs but Terry Moore has a lot of good lines, too. They reminded me some good film noir dialog.

Moore plays the blonde bimbo, "Kotty," a self-proclaimed "hash-slinger" who has good looks and figure and isn't as dumb as she sounds. The guys all call her "tomato" during the story, a popular slang term for babes back in the '50s. All the guys in here are hot for Kotty, and you can't blame them.

Several characters in here aren't who they appear to be, beginning with Frank Lovejoy's professor role, so the movie does keep you guessing.

This is an odd film, a B-atmosphere with an "A" cast. It includes some strange scenes such as the goofy weight workout at the diner with Marvin and Cobb, and later a dry-land snorkel-thon between Cobb and Whit Bissell. Speaking of the latter, Bissell is a familiar face. He did a ton of TV shows in the 1950s through the 1970s. I saw him on a number of Lone Rangers episodes but he also had multiple appearances of Wagon Train, Peyton Place, The Virginian, Perry Mason, World Of Disney, The Rifleman and many, many more shows.

This is one of those strange films where overall, it sucks - let's face it, but many individual scenes make you just laugh out loud, meaning it had enough entertainment to have made my (and others here) time watching it worthwhile......barely.

The 50's don't come any goofier than this. It's like Senator McCarthy and the Three Stooges stole 50 bucks and decided to commit a movie. But Lee Marvin steals the show in a performance that puts him in the Commie Dishwasher Hall of Fame. When he's not serving up Timex hamburgers, checking out his "pec's", or slobbering over waitress Terry Moore, he's relaying atomic secrets to the Russkies. And here I thought Stalin's boys only spoke in whispers and worked in libraries. Actually this is a Marvin showcase. Watch how effortlessly he moves from laughs to menace and makes you believe both. That weight-lifting scene with Wynn is some kind of screwball classic. It looks improvised to me, like someone said, "Hey, we've only got 3 pages of script! Turn the camera over here." And when Marvin strangles himself in pursuit of "a Really big neck", I heard gym doors slamming all over the city. There must be a story behind this one-set wonder, but it can't be any weirder than what's on screen. I'm just wondering when the outpatient Dein's were due back for further therapy. Anyway, it's an overlooked chance to catch one of our greatest actors in perhaps his most offbeat and unsung role.