She became an icon without ever being a star and this happened almost more on the strength of a movie's poster than the picture itself. The image in question, Reynold Brown's painting for "Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman." It's a hell of a poster, boldly depicting every detail of a lavish scene that isn't actually in the movie. While Brown's giant Amazon straddling a freeway has been reproduced on everything from kitchen magnets to mouse pads, the woman who played the titular role had a flesh and blood force the art (and it's great art) fails to capture.

Reynold Brown's classic poster

The actress was Allison Hayes, born Mary Jane Hayes in Charleston, West Virginia in 1930. She's visible at the edge of a handful of major studio B-pictures of the 1950s, and center stage in some low-budget "indies." It's a footnote of a career. An asterisk referring to "also appearing." But the strangely irresistible "Attack..." moved her from obscurity to immortality. Not bad for a movie that cost $60,000 to produce in 1958.

Mary Jane's talent as the contestant from Washington state in the 1949 Miss America pageant was playing classical piano. Her technique was complimented by her 37-23-36 figure. By 1954 she had arrived in Hollywood, changed her name to Allison and was under contract to Universal-International. Her debut came in the inauspicious talking mule epic "Francis Joins the WACS," a movie that pretty much set the tone for her work at the studio.

Allison's 1954 Universal-International portrait

Serious bodice in "Mohawk."

A film noir maiden in "Double Jeopardy."

"The Undead" is perhaps the best sustained showcase for the spectacular ripeness that is Allison Hayes. Her single costume in the film is enough reason to go out and find this movie immediately. In her low-cut, form-fitting gown (complete with anachronistic zipper) she defines the concept of voluptuous as she slinks about consorting with the devil and chopping off the occasional head.

Allison makes her case to co-star Richard Garland in "The Undead."

And then there's "Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman." If James M. Cain had written for EC Comics he might have come up with this. Written by Mark Hanna and directed by Nathan Juran (under the name Nathan Hertz), the film is sort of "Double Indemnity" meets "The Amazing Colossal Man." Its pleasures are manifold and well worth the mere seventy minutes it takes to watch.

At its heart is Allison Hayes as spoiled alcoholic rich girl Nancy Archer who, after an encounter with a UFO, grows to gigantic proportions shocking everyone who hadn't noticed the title of the picture.

Rent this movie some night, put on a slinky negligee, pour yourself a big rum and Coke, turn down the lights and indulge in it the way you would a decadent bubble bath.

Once you experience the images of Allison Hayes both before her enlargement (the great expanse of her bosom in a tight black cocktail dress) and after (moving in slow-motion across a limbo of night dressed only in a bed-sheet bikini) you'll understand how a minor movie can play major mischief with a young person's gender issues.

Freudian science fiction at the drive-in.

After "Attack..." Allison remained at the bottom of drive-in double-bills in movies such as "The Hypnotic Eye," a gruesome little thriller that's disturbing in ways only low-budget quickies can be disturbing.

There was work on television in "Perry Mason" and "General Hospital," but stardom was forever out of reach. She was 12th billed in her last movie, the Elvis Presley musical "Tickle Me." But, damn it, she looks good in the one scene she has.

"The Hypnotic Eye" (1960)

Allison Hayes died on February 27, 1977 at the age of 47. Some sources list the cause of death as "blood poisoning," but others maintain she was the victim of medical quackery stemming from dangerous alternative treatments she received after being diagnosed with leukemia in 1976.

Only after death did her cultural and personal impact come to be recognized by those who saw her movies with generous eyes and acknowledged her for what she was: A tower of ever simmering sensuality that, to this day, remains bigger than life.

Miss Allison Hayes