...Marguerite Chapman's legs, Lucille Barkley's legs, Virginia Huston's legs. Sexy space tootsies provide the principle interest in slow, talky space opera Flight To Mars. Unfortunately the first half of the running time is spent on the space flight itself before we get to see the shapely Chapman in the sexiest space babe outfit this side of Devil Girl From Mars (1954 -- see my review). She and her fellow Martian honeys seem to be what keeps the dying Red Planet alive, along with a phony element that has a goofy name sounding something like Congoleum.
The rocketship crew, which crash-lands on Mars, is led by the ever earnest Arthur Franz and an embarrassed looking John Litel. Cameron Mitchell plays a reporter along to observe the expedition, but he mostly just observes the comely Ms. Huston. Almost as soon as contact is made with the underground-dwelling Martians, the dull, unromantic Franz surprisingly becomes the love object of hot, hot, hot Marguerite Chapman. The Martian leadership headed by the formidable Morris Ankrum, later a Perry Mason judge, helps rebuild the spaceship, supposedly so the earthlings can return home, but the Martians all along plan to seize the rocket when it is finished. But nothing much in the way of action comes of this plot -- just talk, talk, talk. They missed a wonderful opportunity to have what could have been a swell cat fight, when Barkley, suspecting Chapman had joined the earthlings, followed her down he hallway to spy on her. Instead of tackling the leggy Chapman herself, Barkley calls for a couple of burly male Mars henchmen to nab her. Oh, well, Barkley wouldn't have stood much of a chance anyway, as Chapman was much bigger and had showed herself to be one heck of a mean, tough femme fa-tale in Mr. District Attorney (1947).
But I'm making this turkey sound like more fun than it is. In fact Flight To Mars is cheap, tacky, prolix, and boring. Only for geeky students of 1950's Si-Fi, fans of the under-appreciated Marguerite Chapman (which obviously includes yours truly), and desperate insomniacs. Others should avoid this picture as if it were a hypochondriac friend wanting to tell you about her latest medical procedure.
The rocketship crew, which crash-lands on Mars, is led by the ever earnest Arthur Franz and an embarrassed looking John Litel. Cameron Mitchell plays a reporter along to observe the expedition, but he mostly just observes the comely Ms. Huston. Almost as soon as contact is made with the underground-dwelling Martians, the dull, unromantic Franz surprisingly becomes the love object of hot, hot, hot Marguerite Chapman. The Martian leadership headed by the formidable Morris Ankrum, later a Perry Mason judge, helps rebuild the spaceship, supposedly so the earthlings can return home, but the Martians all along plan to seize the rocket when it is finished. But nothing much in the way of action comes of this plot -- just talk, talk, talk. They missed a wonderful opportunity to have what could have been a swell cat fight, when Barkley, suspecting Chapman had joined the earthlings, followed her down he hallway to spy on her. Instead of tackling the leggy Chapman herself, Barkley calls for a couple of burly male Mars henchmen to nab her. Oh, well, Barkley wouldn't have stood much of a chance anyway, as Chapman was much bigger and had showed herself to be one heck of a mean, tough femme fa-tale in Mr. District Attorney (1947).
But I'm making this turkey sound like more fun than it is. In fact Flight To Mars is cheap, tacky, prolix, and boring. Only for geeky students of 1950's Si-Fi, fans of the under-appreciated Marguerite Chapman (which obviously includes yours truly), and desperate insomniacs. Others should avoid this picture as if it were a hypochondriac friend wanting to tell you about her latest medical procedure.