Junkfilms occasionally take you by surprise.  Particularly when they didn't seem to be junkfilms.  At least not for a substantial stretch.

The movie will be moving along, fairly standard in acting, script, direction and so forth.  Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, it takes an abrupt left turn at Junkdom Junction.  The Flight That Disappeared is one such critter.

Nuclear physicist Doctor Carl Morris (Dayton Lummis) and his young single attractive math genius assistant Marcia Paxton (Paula Raymond) board a cross-country flight from Los Angeles to Washington DC, where they are scheduled to participate in a secret meeting with US military brass.

Also bopping aboard the four-prop plane is young single attractive missile design wiz Tom Endicott (Crain Hill), he too headed to the Capitol for the very same secret pow-wow at the Pentagon.  Guess which of the aforementioned duo he, through a reservation mix-up, winds up sitting next to (and soon hitting on.)  Hint: She doesn't have a beard.

We are off and running--er, flying--and soon meet the stewardesses, flight crew, the blowhard on Dr. Morris's left, the hyper conspiracy kook and his blind wife...annnnnd thats about it.  Apparently, the flight is very popular among those in the Screen Extras Guild.

Via some cockpit chit-chat, we learn the co-pilot is marrying one of the stews in three days (Who cares?), the captain will be transferring over to flying jets after this flight (So what?) and there's a storm a-brewin' 500 miles ahead.  (Now we're talking.)

Just how serious does the situation get in this Harvard Film Corporation release?  A Mr. Manson, of no established job or rank, begins feverishly bossing around a bunch of lackeys in an Air Traffic Control room that, for some crazy reason, one might somehow mistake for an office set with a ham radio rolled in from the Property Department.  (Maybe because there are desks, a secretary and no visible windows.)

Get this:  Not only has Manson been driven to smoke cigarettes, but also theramin music plays while the plane crew tries to radio in a report!!!  Hooboy, the grim reaper must be right around the corner.

Here comes the scene where each of the plane's engines burn out and the craft takes a big nosedive, right?  Congratulations, movie master--for being wrong. In fact, you've quite literally got it backwards.  Flight 60 remains structurally sound but makes a sudden drastic ascension, the incredulous pilots helpless to correct its course.

Impossible though it may statistically be, the craft climbs so high, everyone onboard blacks out, including the crew.  All except, oddly enough, the scientific threesome. Tom and Marcia, Marcia, Marcia burst into the cockpit to discover the KO'd fliers had switched to auto-pilot and the plane is "ten miles high."

THEN THINGS GET WEIRD.

The nuke doctor, mathematician and missile designer confer in the lounge, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, realizing they're all headed to DC for a common purpose.  The doc's latest development is the Beta bomb, "the ultimate weapon," just one of which could wipe out an entire nation.  That is, if it could be delivered such a distance--exactly what Mr. Endicott's new missile can do.

None of the trio is keen on wiping out millions of civilians.  But they have little time to contemplate their conundrum because [here comes that hard left turn, junkfilm junkies] appearing at the lounge door is The Examiner (Craig Morton)--and away goes any sense of sanity...or professional acting.

I am 100-percent serious when I say, if I showed you just The Examiner's extended segment and claimed it was newfound Ed Wood footage, you wouldn't doubt it for a second.  Well, all of you except Steve.  You know what he's like.

The location, "where time is suspended," has more dry ice eerie mist effect than the first 27 Black Sabbath concerts combined.  The landscape--what little we can see of it, at any rate--is all enormous boulders and rock formations, enough that one half-expects Kirk and Spock to beam down to it shortly.  

But the main attraction here is Gregory Morton's stiff mannerisms countered by a hysterically overblown, contraction-free "great orators'" vocal affectation.  His moralizing dialogue isn't quite up to the Woodman's sterling level, though it's "ballpark" enough to resemble lines Ed may have approved of.  And we get plenty of it.

The three leads are to be judged by a "jury of the future, people who may never be born because of you."  All dressed alike (and Caucasian), the jury of ten listen intently--okay, just stand there motionless--as The Examiner pontificates about the scientists' crimes against humanity, even though the accused haven't committed any yet.  The jury also has no speaking parts because, ya know, the actors might have to get paid for that.

In essence, The Flight That Disappeared has inexplicably turned into Plan 9 IN Outer Space, even employing frequent Wood makeup man Harry Thomas.

As per usual, Manor On Movies withholds information spoiling the ending.  Nonetheless, I strongly implore all "bad movie" buffs to witness the true wackiness described directly above.

Don't want to sit through the formulaic footage before the left turn?  Don't.  Since you now know the premise, feel free to jump to the 44-minute mark and bask in the transcendent glory that is the remaining 28 minutes.  

Please take all prescribed pharmaceuticals in advance, in order to survive the nearly suspenseful 67-second jury deliberation.  Remember, if found guilty, our heroes will be "suspended in time through eternity."  And, as The Examiner stresses, "There is no escape.  No escape."

You'll never in a million billion years predict what transpires at the conclusion of this thought-preventing morality play.  Not one person on Earth--make that the whole solar system--will correctly anticipate the fate of the accused and the Beta bomb.  NOT ONE*!!!

*excluding people who watch movies and/or scifi TV shows.