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Monday, May 28, 2018

The Underworld Story (1950)

Directed by Cyril Endfield; produced by Hal E. Chester


A hard-nosed city reporter (Dan Duryea) writes a story that gets a prosecution witness killed and, as a consequence, he’s fired. Anathema in his usual environment, he takes a job at a suburban newspaper, only to find himself involved, on his first day, in a murder - and fighting on the right side, for once.


The Underworld Story is not really an easy movie to review - except for the title. It is meaningless, as this is not an expose of the underworld (either in terms of criminality or mythology), and organised crime is just one aspect of the film. The fact that there are a number of different elements to the film is the problem. Each element is pretty good - but they don’t go together.


Duryea does a fine job starting out in his usual ‘heel’ role, but his character becomes more noble as the movie progresses. The script makes the transition unbelievable, but Duryea’s talent brings it back to some credibility. It’s interesting to watch his character’s confidence diminish as he becomes a better man. He’s not accustomed to such behaviour, and is unsure of how to deal with it. Gale Storm has a thankless role as Duryea’s newspaper partner and potential love interest, though this doesn’t develop as it may have been even less believable than Duryea’s transformation.

Howard Da Silva has a role that looked as much fun to portray as to see. His mobster certainly enjoys his status, and his befuddlement at the climax is almost palpable. As well, Herbert Marshall gives pathos to his part as a decent man who realises he must protect his murderous son.


The acting is not at fault but, rather, the story - or stories, since there are several. It starts out as a tale of the mob and organised crime, from the journalistic point of view. It moves into a murder - not really a mystery, since we are told almost immediately who killed the victim - then into a story of unjust persecution, and mob (a different kind, this time) mentality, a story of social inequality. The shift in narratives is accompanied by a shift in setting, from the small-town suburbs to the unnamed big city, which merely accentuates the disconnection between the elements.


Strangely, each of these elements is well done. The psychological crime story, the tension between father and son, provides genuine suspense, as the viewer wonders about the outcome. The interaction between the reporter and the crime boss also provides tension, while the other side of the murder, featuring a black maid on whom the real killer hopes to foist his guilt, suggests the writers also wanted to incorporate a tale of discrimination. Mary Anderson, as the maid, gives her character dignity and fortitude, and also the movie’s best line: when she realises another character tried to give her up for the $25,000 reward, she congratulates her betrayer, and remarks that she had a great-grandfather who was sold for a lot less. But even this aspect of the film veers off target: in the ensuing rush of the town to convict her, the innocent maid’s race isn’t mentioned, except by the killer and the woman herself. It’s as if, though shallow and easily led, the townspeople genuinely don’t care about race. Instead, their story is one of the dangers of irresponsible journalism, and of the lynch-law.


So while oil and water are essential ingredients in many good foods, they simply don’t mix - and neither do the parts of The Underworld Story.

Monday, May 21, 2018

The Black Book (a.k.a. Reign of Terror) (1949)


Directed by Anthony Mann; produced by William Cameron Menzies


In 1794, Maximilien Robespierre (Richard Basehart) aims at gathering absolute power to himself in order to complete the French Revolution. Part of this goal is to be achieved by the destruction of his enemies by any means, usually death, and a list of them, and why he wants them dead, is written in a book. It has disappeared and, since it contains the names of even his supposed friends whom he plans to send to the guillotine, he needs it recovered. For this purpose, he summons an ally to Paris. That ally is killed by Robespierre’s foes, however, and an imposter (Robert Cummings) put in his place. The stage is set for a Byzantine game of treachery, murder and blackmail.


This is one of the most interesting of movies directed by Mann, known principally for his westerns. The interest lies not in the plot, which is actually a sub-standard mystery, with an almost half-hearted romance thrown in. I can’t imagine that these aspects of the story received much thought.
 
What entertains in The Black Book is the direction, photography and acting, and they certainly make the film worth seeing. Mann gives the movie a nightmarish quality, with extreme close-ups of enraged faces, images distorted by light and shadows, claustrophobic sets with low ceilings and pressing crowds. In several pivotal scenes, the ugly bloodlust of the mob is influential. The Black Book is rather like a sub-conscious version of the actual Reign of Terror.


The actors portray their characters well. Basehart, a year after playing a psychopath in He Walks By Night, is a stand-out as the fanatical Robespierre, a man who believes only he can lead the people to a better life, and that that path must lead through rivers of blood. (How often has history thrown up that sort of leader?) There is no corruption to Basehart’s Robespierre, though; his fanaticism is pure, as is his devotion to the Revolution. That makes him scarier than any authoritarian just out to feather his nest. There is a scene near the end when Robespierre’s words work to turn the mob to his own advantage. This is fictional, as is most of the film, but is probably indicative of the man’s oratorical skill; it certainly was indicative of Basehart’s.


The other actors do as well. Cummings, in an atypical role, plays essentially a film noir tough guy in lace and a cut-away coat. Arlene Dahl is good as the femme fatale, though no one would believe her in the disguise she adopts as a peasant farmer’s wife. Arnold Moss is suitably Machiavellian as Fouché, later the head of Napoleon’s secret police (and, historically, much more monstrous than Robespierre). Minor roles are filled by actors who went on to long careers: Charles McGraw as the slovenly thug who does Robespierre’s bidding, Russ Tamblyn as a country boy, Dabbs Greer as an easy-going guard at a bridge, and Shepperd Strudwick as the voice of Napoleon.


Another interesting aspect of The Black Book is that few of the characters, even those on the ‘right’ side of the struggle appear to be attractive people. Even Barras (Richard Hart), the “honest man” hoping to save France, seems opportunistic, and most of those involved in fighting Robespierre are as ready to kill as their enemies. Cummings and Dahl are the most appealing, but the viewer cares less about their appearances in the film than he does about others’.

Simplistic plot aside, The Black Book is worth an evening’s viewing. Bogart would have been badly miscast in it, but it is nevertheless his style of movie, a blood-brother to The Maltese Falcon, with muskets and knee-breeches.

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Silverado (1985)

Directed and produced by Lawrence Kasdan


After defeating an attempt by four men to kill him, a cowboy (Scott Glenn) saves a stranger (Kevin Kline) left to die in the desert. Headed in the same direction, the pair meet up with Glen’s brother (Kevin Costner) and a fourth man (Danny Glover), who was run out of a town. It isn’t long before the quartet find that they each have a quarrel in the making at their destination, and only by working together can they come out alive.


This is the third time I’ve seen Silverado, so I must like it. Indeed, I find it an enjoyable film, and a good one - though not a very good one. Why do I like it and why is it not very good?

The story here is decent, though it doesn’t offer anything new. That’s all right; I don’t demand that a movie ‘push the envelope’, as the saying goes. It needn’t even buy postage or be put in a mailbox. A simple movie has its advantages. But Silverado comes close to being simplistic. It is a straightforward good-guys-versus-bad-guys tale. With one exception, every character is exactly what you think he is from almost the moment you meet him. Kline and Glenn are cowboys who have experienced much, both having served sentences for crimes, both still decent at heart, though Kline wants to avoid trouble to the point of seeming apathetic to others’ troubles. Costner is a little boy in a man’s body; Glover has suffered discrimination and hardship. The villains are also plain to see. Dennehy is suitably menacing from the start; Jeff Fahey is borderline-crazy, etc.


The animosity between the villains and the heroes has a sketchy origin. Ray Baker is the local cattle-baron whose vague objection to farmers is apparently the source of discord and violence. The real contention seems to be drawn simply from past violence: Glenn went to prison for shooting someone who was going to shoot Costner. Why was Costner’s would-be assailant going to shoot him? We don’t know. We assume it had something to do with cattle and rangeland or something or other. Jeff Goldblum plays a charming gambler, but why he ends up on the side he does is a mystery. Glover worked for years in a Chicago slaughterhouse yet is an expert with a rifle…


There is no development of story or character here. I certainly don’t seek an apology for it; many wonderful movies had lacked those characteristics. Silverado has more in common with Randolph Scott and Joel McCrea films than later westerns, and, like those, it makes up for any deficiencies with good actors, believable performances and exciting action.


The players overcome the limited personalities they are given. Kline, someone I always find entertaining, is immediately likeable, as is Glenn, in a rougher way. They come across credibly as two men who would back each other up, simply based on instinct. Costner I thought annoying, but I usually do. Dennehy, who can switch from sinister to supportive with a director’s snap of the fingers, gives a memorable and skillful performance, as is his wont. John Cleese, far out of his usual milieu, is nonetheless convincing as a decent and tough sheriff.


The gun-play is thrilling (though I always marvel at how many men in westerns are killed outright by a single shot), and the scenery is well-used. The undefined moment in the Old West during which the movie is set is realistically depicted without going too far, though I thought the script rather anachronistic.

Silverado is a good movie for a thoughtless weekend evening; there is no deep philosophy, no interpretation of events or individuals. There are, however, a fine cast, exciting fights and a feeling afterward that the viewer has watched an adventure - however often he may have seen it before.

Monday, May 7, 2018

Pickup on South Street (1953)

Directed by Samuel Fuller; produced by Jules Schermer


A pickpocket (Richard Widmark) just a week out of prison targets a woman (Jean Peters) on the subway. The choice is unfortunate for a couple of reasons: she is carrying not just money but film that her boyfriend wants delivered to Russian intelligence agents, and she is under surveillance by U.S. government security officers. Now, Widmark finds himself in the midst of a complicated situation which may bring him a fortune, or an early death.


Pickup on South Street is full of smart-alec hoods, tough cops, hard dames and violence. It’s also very good. The writing is dead-on, as are the characterisations. Widmark’s confidence isn’t just bluff: this is a man who is sure of his own skills, sure of his trade and sure of his milieu. This of course makes him infuriating to the cop (Murvin Vye) on his trail, a driven detective who has put Widmark away thrice and wants to do it again - in those days, it was four strikes and the criminal was out - or, rather, in - for life. But Vye, like Widmark, plays by the rules; they aren’t quite the law, but they are rules, and everyone in this world knows them. The incomparable Thelma Ritter is part of this world, too, as an information-broker, liked and respected by both cops and crooks, and whose one goal is to save enough money for a decent burial. A scene in which she displays both defiance and mortal fear shows why she was a high point in any film of which she was part.


All the acting is excellent here. There isn’t anyone whom the viewer doesn’t believe. Widmark isn’t a hood with a heart of gold, but neither is he all bad. Richard Kiley, as the villain, is propelled by desperation rather than evil, and one can almost feel his cold sweat as pressures mount. Peters comes across initially as a shallow girl, just wanting to break free of her past, but, like the other characters, demonstrates depth as the movie progresses.


The imagery is very detailed. The extras who populate the scenes were obviously given instructions on how to look and behave; sometimes, it is distracting, but that’s how strangers on a subway or walking down a street often are. Thought was expended on minutiae; a sign, for instance, in a shop window, advertising ‘help needed’ is at an angle at which it is almost impossible to read, yet the director took the time to insert it; a man in a sandwich board advertises men’s suits; the expressions on people’s faces; all contribute to the sense of realism. (Note the soldier whose shoulder patch displays the U.S. 1st Infantry Division’s ‘big red one’ - Fuller’s erstwhile army formation and subject of a future film.)


Pickup on South Street is a cornerstone of 1950s film noir, more explicitly violent and cynical than its 1940s predecessors, but perfectly logical in its depictions. It’s a must-see movie for those who like the genre.