SPOILERS!
Last Date illustrates how suggestion can trump showing in emotional power. Only 19 minutes long, directed by the prolific but not famous Lewis D. Collins, the 1950 black and white short driver's training film Last Date is a tight, taut, finely crafted horror picture that deserves appreciation. It opens with a brief scene of young people enthusiastically dancing, followed by the title card over a silhouette of a boy and girl kissing. Then we are in the room of a teenaged Jeanne (Joan Taylor). Her back is turned to the camera. We do not see her face but shoulder-length dark hair that is silky and slightly waved. There is a suggestion of loveliness as well as freshness in that image. When first seen - from behind -- she is penning a letter to a friend. In the voiceover, we hear her sadly telling her friend of life-altering events that began innocently at a high school football game.
The film switches to a high school football game being played. Jeanne and Kathy (Sally Hughes) sit happily side by side in the bleachers. Then the two young ladies are among a small group of high schoolers milling around on the grass outside a school building. Talking with Kathy, Jeanne wonders aloud which of two boys with whom she should go home since she has been dating the two most popular boys in the school - both of whom just distinguished themselves in the football game. "I wish I had that problem," Kathy says wistfully, lightly, apparently envious of Jeanne's ability to captivate boys. Right on time, the two boys, Nick (Richard York) and Larry (Robert V. Stern), show up.
This seems like the right time to say a bit about the four major actors in this short. As is usually true of motion pictures featuring teenaged characters, the high school kids look a bit old - for the very good reason that the actors playing them are not teenagers but young adults. Although it would work for cinematic realism if the actors playing teenagers actually were teenagers, the special rules filmmakers must follow when employing minors means that this is, unfortunately, rarely the case. For example, in that classic teen angst motion picture, Rebel Without A Cause, 17-year-old James Stark was played by 24-year-old James Dean. Indeed, when this writer sees a high school classroom in a motion picture or TV show, I often wonder if everyone in the class flunked for about eight years straight!
Thus, it is little surprise that Taylor was 21 and York 22 when they played high-school kids in Last Date. I was unable to find the ages of Hughes and Stern but believe it safe to surmise that they were in their 20s when they played in this film. Taylor and York enjoyed distinguished acting careers. Taylor became widely known to audience from the films Earth vs. the Flying Saucers (1956) and 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957). She also had a recurring role for two years on the TV Western The Rifleman before leaving acting in 1963 to become a full-time housewife. Making the small name transition from "Richard" to "Dick," York became famous as the first, often exasperated Darrin Stevens in the popular TV sitcom Bewitched. Hughes had a much briefer and less ostentatious acting career although she often played varied guest roles on the classic sitcom The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. By contrast, Robert V. Stern boasts no credit on the Internet Movie Database other than Last Date; the short may have been his last - and first - date with a film career.
Back to the scene outside the stadium after the football game. Talking with Kathy, Jeanne admiringly notes that Nick's Dad recently gave him a hot-rod car. "But the way he drives!" Kathy remarks. The two boys come over to the girls and Nick graciously offers a ride to both girls. Kathy states that she has already had a ride with Nick and does not wish a second ride with "this candidate for teenicide." She helpfully explains that "teenicide" is a term often used by a disc jockey to describe teenagers who kill themselves, and perhaps others, before their 20th birthday through speeding and reckless driving.
In fact, as Paul Mavis notes in DVD Talk, the Lumberman's Mutual Casualty Company "coined the term 'teenicide' in the late 1940s" because of a spike in fatalities by adolescent drivers in the United States after World War II ended.
When Kathy explains the ominous term to the small group, Nick contemptuously snorts, "Teenicide!" He tells Jeanne that he learned to drive from his Dad who has never had an accident and has "only" been arrested three times. Of course, the latter disclosure is a big red flag - as obvious as a red light or stop sign. Nevertheless, Jeanne allows Nick to drive her home. He takes a long way home but cheerfully and recklessly goes over the speed limit.
When Jeanne exits the hot rod for her home, she sees Larry sitting on her porch's swing. Why is he there? He tells her he is concerned about the way Nick drives. Larry asks her to remember what Kathy said about "teenicide." Jeanne seems to view his concern as overwrought and he goes on to tell her not to take unnecessary risks with her life. Despite being peeved at what she views as hyper-caution, she accepts a date that evening with Larry. She will go to the dance with him.
Thus, the film sets up a situation in which our heroine, Jeanne, finds herself pulled between the exciting bad boy and the responsible good boy. In this case, the boys are differentiated by their driving styles: Nick, the speeding, lane-changing "candidate for teenicide" and Larry, the careful driver who respects the speed limit.
On the way to the dance, Jeanne is frustrated by Larry's way behind the wheel, chiding, "You drive like a slowpoke!" She also rags, "Hurry up, you can beat that red light!" Larry turns on the radio and - wouldn't you know it? - the voice that comes on is that of the disc jockey warning against the danger of "teenicide." Jeanne derides the scolding DJ as "corny" and tells Larry she is sick of hearing about teenicide.
Cut to the dance. Jeanne and dance Larry energetically. "Larry's a marvelous dancer," Jeanne says in the voiceover that vocalizes the letter she is writing about the film's events. As might be expected, Nick shows up. He cuts in to dance with Jeanne. "Want to take a little ride around the lake?" Nick asks. "Not more than fifteen minutes," she says. Once in the car, Nick speeds and weaves. "Be careful, Nick," Jeanne urges. "I'm always in a hurry," Nick asserts. He also says, "Just give 'em the horn and they'll get out of the way." Distressed by Nick's driving habits, the word "teenicide" plays repeatedly through our heroine's head.
It is playing right before the (expected) crash.
Back to the room in which the film started. Jeanne is writing the letter. We see only the back of her head. She looks out the window, envious of teens having fun. She writes to her friend, and tells the audience, that she was too ashamed of her face, which was disfigured in the crash, to attend X's funeral or those of the people he killed in the other car.
We still see only the back of her head as she looks in the mirror -- then breaks the mirror.
In less than 20 minutes, the viewer has been treated to a film that is, as Mavis asserts, "Dizzyingly crammed with more melodrama and action than some highly regarded '50s noir." He rightly elaborates that it is a "marvel of pinpoint scripting, expressive direction from Lewis D. Collins, and perfectly matched performances."
That our heroine's scars are not shown gives the horror a power that no amount of gruesome make-up could equal. The power of Last Date, a power wonderfully out of proportion to its running time and budget, lies in the restraint of its horror, a restraint that leads a powerful sense of loss and damage that lingers long after its finish.
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