Quicksand (1950)

Directed by Irving Pichel; produced by Mort Briskin

A hard-working but broke auto mechanic (Mickey Rooney) needs $20 to take out the new girl (Jeanne Cagney) at the local diner. He decides to steal it from his work-place, knowing that he can replace it on the morrow when a friend pays him an outstanding debt. But when the friend has to go away suddenly, the mechanic is forced to take ever more dangerous steps to keep his petty larceny from being uncovered, steps that lead to armed robbery, blackmail and perhaps even murder.

Mickey Rooney had, by 1950, fallen from the immense popularity of his ‘Andy Hardy’ film series which, whatever its professional and financial effects, did his acting no harm. In Quicksand, he leaves behind the over-acting and mugging of earlier days, and turns in a most creditable performance. The film depends almost exclusively on his participation and, if it had resulted in an unbelievable effort, could have been disastrous. His character, an ordinary man, is entirely credible. As his situation becomes more dire, and his actions more frantic, the viewer can feel the fright and panic building in the man.

Rooney is the best thing in Quicksand. Peter Lorre, also past his prime in terms of his career, gives an atmospheric performance that helps the movie tremendously. Less of a help is the leading lady; one has trouble imagining Jeanne Cagney as someone to inspire a crime spree, or even the initial reaction of Rooney and his pals.

The story is good but not imaginative. Rooney commits numerous acts that most probably would not, if faced with similar motivations, but they are not implausible. The ending, while realistic, is perhaps less climactic than the preceding events would have implied, and gives the characters a few breaks that may be considered the easy way out. Even so, there is uncertainty at many points as to where the plot would finish, and that is a key element of a suspense film.

The script matches the story in being adequate, but no more. The actions and words of Cagney’s character would surely have turned most men away from her, while those of Barbara Bates, as a girl badly stuck on Rooney, would have been classed as stalking, if committed by a man.

The direction is decent, as well, without being expert. There are some good scenes, such as the bell ringing to end a shift at the garage, just as Rooney lifts twenty dollars from the cash register. The timing, and Rooney’s reaction, make the viewer’s heart run a bit faster.

Quicksand reminded me of a low-budget film noir of the 1940s, with a second- or third-string cast which is nonetheless competent, a low budget and largely unknown people behind the camera. Move time up to 1950, add several better known actors who were once ‘names’, and you have Quicksand, entertaining to a degree, but no more.

Sabrina (1954)

Directed and produced by Billy Wilder

Young Sabrina Fairchild (Audrey Hepburn) is the daughter of the chauffeur to the wealthy Larrabee family. She lives above the garage on their Long Island estate and watches their parties, their comings and goings, and is desparately in love with the younger Larrabee son, David (William Holden). When two years in Paris transforms her into a stunning sophisticate, David suddenly takes notice. So does his older brother, Linus (Humphrey Bogart), but only because his sibling’s new romance would derail a dynastic marriage and business merger. That’s when Linus decides to derail the derailment.

Almost everything works in this classic movie. It doesn’t ‘push the envelope’ in any way, but it is fun, witty, enchanting and, in the end, says something about maturity. The story is straightforward and, to be fair, predictable. Rather different than the play by Samuel Taylor from which it is derived, Sabrina Fair, the movie offers a fairy tale in realistic garb.

If not in the story, the success, then, must be found elsewhere, and it is. The actors come first. Hepburn is extremely winning, both in her initial guise of naïve woman-child, and later as a woman of the world. She brings her character almost effortlessly to life, despite this being an early rôle for her. Bogart’s part is somewhat different than most that he plays, but he nonetheless gives it a toughness that is familiar: he is a businessman who has clearly learned how to run a commercial empire and, to judge by his family, learned it on his own. In the odd glance, the hesitation in response, Bogart’s talent demonstrates that there is more to the character than one may think. And Holden does well, too; his character is simpler to portray, yet he doesn’t make playboy David empty. He conveys intelligence, but intelligence that is hamstrung by laziness.

The chemistry among the three leads is excellent. Usually, the term refers to romantic leads. Certainly, despite the disparity in their ages, Bogart and Hepburn show their characters as having a mental and emotional bond, just as Hepburn and Holden show that their characters would actually make better pals than lovers. On the other hand, the two males convince the audience that they are brothers: stereotypically opposite, perhaps, but one can imagine them growing up together.

The other players add interest and humour. John Williams (not the composer, nor the guitar virtuoso) gives an emotional performance as a father who is trying his best to give his daughter her own future in an overwhelming environment, while Walter Hampden, as the eldest Larrabee, seems to have coasted through life, with strong opinions, but no real challenge to them, and happy to continue so.

The script, co-written by Taylor, Ernest Lehman (who also wrote North by Northwest and Westside Story) and the director, is intelligent and grown-up, something not always found in Hollywood romances. In many ways, it is about growing up; certainly all three leads change, discovering things about themselves. The dialogue is smart: Hepburn’s Sabrina is intelligent, quick-witted and knows exactly what she wants – or thinks she does. It is easy to see why the men in the film fall for her. Yet her declaration at one point that she is still a child is perfect, as it shows that she is, actually, not.

Linus incorporate’s some of Bogart’s adventurer from To Have and Have Not, his idealist from Casablanca, but clothes them in mundane business attire. Again, the script provides clues as to why the movie works: the viewer may think it ridiculous for Linus to believe he can steal his brother’s girl, yet the very fact he thinks he can suggests some impressive success in love earlier in his life, even if the stories he tells of his past are silly fictions. His is, in some ways, a Victorian persona, his belief in wealth and work being that they are mere stepping stones to decent lives for those in need. Linus genuinely believes in progress as a force of good. The Gilded Age and the Roaring Twenties would have been mere distractions to such a man, the Great Depression a challenge.

Wilder’s direction is superb. It starts with the depiction of a house-party in the Larrabee home, the balmy summer night, the full moon lighting bits of cloud (the sort of moon always on call in Hollywood), the laughter and music on the edge of Sabrina’s world. There is a blurring of fantasy and fact in the movie, as there should be in every good romance. Wilder is able to make both facets, neither stronger than the other, seem real. That is one of the secrets of Sabrina’s success.

So, while Sabrina doesn’t break new ground as a movie, it takes a most interesting route through familiar territory. The acting, writing and directing allow a depth and beauty to a story that’s been told many times, and re-told many times since – but rarely as well.

 

Without a Clue (1988)

Directed by Thom Eberhardt; produced by Marc Stirdivant

In 1900, Sherlock Holmes is the famous private detective who is the hero of every law-abiding citizen in the world, and the nemesis of every villain. Imperturbable, brilliant, eccentric, no criminal is safe from him. And he doesn’t exist. Doctor John Watson (Ben Kingsley) created the character to camouflage his own sleuthing skills for the sake of his professional reputation – and then had to conjure up the ‘real’ Holmes in the shape of an actor, Reginald Kincaid (Michael Caine), to satisfy his fans. Now, Watson is stuck as the sidekick to a dense, opportunistic, womanizing inebriate – just as the evil Moriarty (Paul Freeman) is set to ruin the economy of the British Empire.

This hilarious premise is the basis of the comedy Without a Clue and, though it is a one-joke premise, the film does manage to make it last long enough for a feature. This is due principally to the lead actors. Caine has performed in comedy before this but, except for Shakespeare, I think this is Kingsley’s first foray in the genre; both do very well. Kingsley, in particular, is successful, as much of his comedy comes from eye movements, small expressions and inflection of voice. Caine has the broader laughs, encompassing even slapstick.

The other actors contribute adequately. Freeman, Jeffrey Jones, Lysette Anthony, Pat Keen and young Matthew Savage – like Caine and Kingsley – seem to be enjoying themselves in their roles.

The script is good, though it wavers from hit to miss, and never quite attains the promise of the premise. The writers (Gary Murphy, Larry Strawther) worked almost exclusively in television (including for Johnny Carson’s The Tonight Show) - Without a Clue is their only movie credit – and some of the humour is at sit-com level. (And don’t ask me why Moriarty wants to destroy the British economy; I still have no idea. In fact, since his scheme involves counterfeiting five-pound notes, one wonders how successful it would have been at a time when five pounds was such an amount that most Britons rarely saw such a note…)

One of the problems of the script is with Reginald Kincaid. Played for laughs, he is a drinker and a gambler, someone whose eye for the ladies never stops roving. But because of this, it is difficult to believe that he would ever persuade the public that he is the genius depicted in Watson’s stories, or that Watson would ever have chosen him to portray his creation. There are a number of mitigations for these omissions (eg. Watson may have needed nothing more than a stop-gap measure in hiring Kincaid), but these reasons are not given, and must be surmised. Of course, part of the comedy – and good parts – arise from the ridiculous situation of Holmes’s adoring fans being too smitten by his every action and utterance to think he is not the demi-god they worship. And a character whose failings are more inadvertent may have steered the story into pathos, which clearly was not wanted by the writers.

A good idea was the inclusion of several other characters in Watson’s secret. The loyalty of the Baker Street Irregulars to the good doctor, and Moraiarty’s knowledge that his real enemy is Watson (“He knows you’re an idiot,” Watson tells Kincaid), make for amusing scenes, as does Watson’s revelation to his editor (Peter Cook).

While it could have been much better, Without a Clue is nonetheless a fun movie, a comedy which, despite the insults that fly throughout, is without viciousness. Light, undemanding humour, good performances, and a satisfying finish make it enjoyable entertainment.

Without Reservations (1946)

Directed by Mervyn LeRoy; produced by Jesse Lasky Jr

Kit Madden (Claudette Colbert), the authoress of an immensely popular and influential best-seller, is headed to Hollywood to collaborate in the adaptation of her novel to the big screen. As she is about to board her train, she learns that Cary Grant, intended for the lead role, cannot participate. Initially upset, she decides that the problem is a blessing in disguise when she meets U.S. marine officer Rusty Thomas (John Wayne), who bears a striking resemblance to her vision (and the dust-jacket image) of her book’s hero. Her plan to persuade him to star in the movie hits one bump after another when, first, she realises Rusty intensely dislikes her book, and second, their journey west is detoured time and again. What really derails her scheme, though, is the fact that she’s falling in love with her hero.

Before I discovered this film, I certainly would not have considered John Wayne and Claudette Colbert as a romantic couple; they seem to have inhabited two different movie-making worlds. Indeed, this may have been the thought behind the casting. After all, someone more urbane – such as Cary Grant – is who one might determine to be perfect for Colbert, who usually plays witty, sophisticated women. The fact is, however, that the two stars work very well together. Wayne handles light comedy easily if not expertly, and Colbert can pretty much succeed in any film-pairing.

The acting and the characters are strong points in Without Reservations. Aside from the leads, Don DeFore, as Wayne’s friend, gives good support: he is the common sense to Wayne’s mild hard-headedness, sees exactly what his pal is going through, and tries to prod things along. Other beneficial parts are given to Charles Arnt as a man bewailing his bad luck in automobiles and, especially, Frank Puglia, as a robust farmer and father to a large motherless brood. These are offset, however, by two particularly annoying characters (Anne Triola, Phil Brown).

The characters are well-written and fit into the movie. Colbert’s Kit is a passionate believer in the philosophy of her book, which seems part romance and part ideological treatise. Wayne, on the other hand, is a straightforward sort, who wants an uncomplicated relationship with a ‘helpless’ woman. Nonetheless, Wayne’s character is, perhaps, the more unusual: what one may view as a simple marine flyer has evidently made his way through four hundred pages of a book he dislikes, and has strong opinions on the subject and the writing, and reasons to back them up.

The story and the script are Without Reservation’s weakest bits, ironically, considering the movie centres on a book. The series of adventures that the trio have making their way to California are episodic, with each part unrelated to the others, with too much contrivance. Though the script allows for plenty of humour, most of it comes from spoken lines, and not from situations; the story could have taken place entirely on one train and been as good or better. As well, there is a missed opportunity, I feel: Kit is clearly in love with her book’s hero - she has ‘lived with him for two years’ – and, at first, sees Rusty as his embodiment. That his personality is so different than his fictional counterpart obviously causes her confusion, but the reasons her affection for him grows nonetheless are never really examined. As well, Rusty’s attraction to Kit was as superficial as hers for him but he falls in love with the woman even so. This involves the characters changing, and that aspect of the film could have been emphasized more.

Something that perhaps can be appreciated only at a distance from 1946 is the fact that the characters in the movie understand that they are at a crossroads of history, as pivotal as the arrival of colonists in North America that Rusty describes. It is difficult for us in the darker and more cynical twenty-first century to understand the light and hope people emerging from the evils of World War Two must have felt.

Not a failure by any means, Without Reservations is a good entry into the genre of ‘road’ movies, the couple falling in love as they travel, similar in some ways to Colbert’s earlier It Happened One Night. It benefits from the odd partnership of its leads. But, let down somewhat by the writing, it could have been more than it is.