Cult films come and go. The charm of some fades within a few years of their rediscovery. Others continue to flicker in memory for a lifetime. Good, bad, what difference does it make? Films possessed of a certain vitality never die. Any flick combining hot rods, gangsters, shapely chicks and rollicking rockabilly is bound to boast staying power, and Daddy-O's got staying power. It certainly isn't a great film. But it oozes the ambience of a late-50s counter culture, encapsulating all that we choose to remember as cool from that era. At its center stands Dick Contino, his chiseled chin, stony biceps and smoldering demeanor lending credence to a muddled plot about a taciturn rocker involved with drug running. "That thing was like a class Z picture," recalls Contino. But Daddy-O is beloved less for its execution than for what it represents: jumpin' rock tunes, swinging beer joints and late night drag races through Griffith Park.

"That was something else, wasn't it? Daddy-O, man," Dick Contino muses through the same blinding smile he wore as Phil "Daddy-O" Sandifer nearly 40 years ago. "The songs. I love the songs," he grins. "Isn't that funny? The guy that wrote the music is -- y'know -- what's his name? John Williams. 'Candy Baby.' 'Angel Act.' And what was the other one. God, a couple of nice ones in there. 'Wait'll I Get You Home!' Lou Place, man, was the director. In the studio, this was like my first movie, y'know? I hadn't done anything. I'm doing the thing -- pre-recording -- singing the song. And I get to the end of 'Wait'll I Get You Home,' and I finish it ... and I go, 'Hah!'