Hondo (1953)

Directed by John Farrow; produced by Robert Fellows

Hondo Lane (John Wayne) trudges in to an isolated ranch having survived an Apache attack in the desert. He meets Angie Lowe (Geraldine Page), who is running the ranch with her little son (Lee Aaker) in the absence of her husband (Leo Gordon), and quickly establishes a rough rapport with her. Their mutual attraction is, however, subject to a number of factors, including hostile cowboys, patrolling soldiers and raiding Indians, whose leader (Micahel Pate) develops a proprietorial interest in Mrs Lowe’s seemingly fatherless boy.

Right away, one might note a similarity in at least the premise of Hondo to Shane, which was released in the same year. Given the star of the former movie, one might also rightly expect Hondo’s canvas to be broader than Shane’s, and its attitude to be less introspective. Both films are successful, however, though Hondo works almost exclusively because of Wayne.

Wayne’s character is one of his most interesting. Hondo is a very practical man; certainly not politically correct, he strikes the viewer as a fairly realistic interpretation of an individual raised on the frontier, where sentiment may exist but takes no part in decisions. For instance, Hondo explains how his dog, a semi-feral collie, was trained to “smell Apaches”; the process involved an Indian beating a puppy until it recognises its tormentor’s scent. This explanation horrifies Mrs Lowe, who inadvertently embodies the different attitudes of later times.

Hondo, while eminently practical, is also a romantic, describing how his late wife – an Apache girl – had a name the meaning of which cannot fully be comprehended in English, and comparing it to how a person feels while watching dawn arrive or sensing the first winter breezes off the mountains. These feelings are not entirely subjugated to the real world. Hondo’s unwavering devotion to honesty is, ironically, contested by Angie’s assertion that honesty is not always the best policy. These contrasting qualities between, and in, the two characters make them deeper than what one might initially suspect them to be.

In contrast to Wayne, who, though he won an Oscar (for his part in True Grit (1969)), is not noted for his acting range (some might substitute ‘talent’ for the phrase), Geraldine Page’s performance in Hondo was thought highly enough to be nominated for an Academy Award. I cannot agree with the nomination. I think her acting here is unconvincing, and not up to Wayne’s. There is nothing that really stands out about it as bad, but almost all of her lines seem uttered in a high-schoolish fashion. Katherine Hepburn was the original choice for the role, and I can only think wistfully of what she might have made of it.

The story is not complex, but it does involve more than a few events, one leading fluidly into the next. It is based on a Louis L’Amour short story, “The Gift of Cochise”. Some reviewers have written that the movie is the most faithful adaptation of a L’Amour work; I believe the short story was greatly expanded with much original – or at least, new – material. L’Amour later wrote a novelisation of the movie, based on its script. This may be from what some people think the film was derived (rather than vice versa), in which case there is no wonder that it runs so closely to the movie.

The depiction of Indians in Hondo is unsentimental. Like the title character, they are products of a hard environment and cannot afford sentiment dictating their actions. They are villains by circumstance. They attack settlers, and therefore they must be fought. But as Hondo himself states, whites broke the treaty that had been made with the Apaches. At one point, Vittorio, the Apache leader, states that his sons are all dead; since he himself is hardly middle-aged, it seems likely they were killed young, perhaps as children, by whites.

Hondo has great sympathy for the Apaches and their way of life; he lived among them. His dog’s ability to smell them is hardly racist: Hondo demonstrates how he himself can smell Angie Lowe, thanks to her baking and washing. (American long-range reconnaissance team-members in Indochina would sometimes eat indigenous food and refrain from  washing before patrolling, so their American scent wouldn’t give them away.) Though individuals might be heroic or villainous, the whites and the Indians in Hondo are shown neutrally, simply as people who want to get by, their cultures and their respective need for land making conflict inevitable.

While the story does not contribute to the most exciting feature of Wayne’s career, it does furnish an entertaining film, with some exciting action scenes, and his character provides interest. Together, they make Hondo a superior entry in the western genre.

No Way Out (1950)

Directed by Joseph L Mankiewicz; produced by Darryl F Zanuck

Two would-be robbers, The Biddle brothers, are brought to a metropolitan hospital, each suffering non-life-threatening bullet wounds from a policeman who interrupted their heist. A new doctor, Luther Brooks (Sidney Poitier), suspects something less obvious is killing one of the Biddles but, despite his treatment, the patient dies. The surviving brother, Ray (Richard Widmark) – a rabidly racist white man – rages against the young surgeon – a black man – but can do nothing. That state of affairs doesn’t last long as he begins his plan for deadly vengeance.

One of the most hard-hitting movies about racism to come out of Hollywood was among its first: No Way Out pulls no punches in either its depiction of ethnic hatred or its consequences. Nor does it soften the language that racism employs, language that I suspect a twenty-first century movie would be afraid to use, for all the modern era’s claims to sophistication. The director co-wrote the screenplay with Lesser Samuels and, while the brutal words command attention, there is also a subtlety in the script that might escape notice.

This was Poitier’s first credited movie role (hence his fourth place in the billing, after three performers much better known at the time) and, though so young he resembles an adolescent, his talent is clear. His character could have been little more than a two-dimensional victim, but the writers and Poitier create a real person who evolves quickly amid the frantic events of the film. Brooks is unsure of himself as yet; despite his claim of a thick skin, he is affected by Biddle’s taunts, and by the pressure of his new position. How he resolves his uncertainty is unexpected but logical.

Widmark could have swamped Poitier’s part with an exaggerated performance; the script, Poitier and Widmark himself prevent it. As a consequence, the villain comes across as human but, in being cunning rather than intelligent or even clever, he shows a bestial aspect that fits with his personality. Ray Biddle is supremely sure of himself, one of the many contrasts to Brooks: his certainty and Brooks’s see-saw back and forth in inverse proportion to each other’s.

Linda Darnell and Stephen McNally (the latter in a rare good-guy role) have supporting parts, but both are crucial to the story and to the story’s aim. Darnell plays a former wife of the dead robber, while McNally is the hospital’s chief resident, and Brooks’s strongest supporter.

In the four characters assumed by the actors, No Way Out demonstrates different aspects of racism. Brooks’s place is obvious, even if his reactions are three-dimensional. Biddle’s place seems equally patent, though we see his neighbourhood (“Beaver Canal”) and how he likely had little chance of being anything but what he is. His literally fevered cries of resentment over being ignored and unloved could be the pleas of a thousand Beaver Canals around the world; streets and slums left to wallow in misery.

Edie Johnson (Darnell) is, perhaps, more common in society than the other major characters. Basically decent, she too was raised in bigotry, and stays there because it makes a shallow sense to her. Confronted by the destruction she helps to cause, however, she rebels; still full of anger, but at herself as much as at anyone else, her attempts to ameliorate the situation may be too little too late.

Just as plentiful in the world are people like Dr Wharton (McNally), a truly good man, but one who can afford to be good. He has a fine job that he loves, a nice house, more than sufficient income. As well, his duties permit him to skirt moral issues. The hospital’s director, Sam Moreland (Stanley Ridges), makes a decision that would refuse peace of mind to Brooks and possibly damage his reputation, but does so in order to keep the good name of the hospital, ensuring the funds for life-saving equipment keep coming in. Dealing with politicians and self-serving bureaucrats, he remarks that in his case M.D. stands for ‘Master of Double-talk’, and urges his subordinate to “keep wearing that white coat”: practice medicine, not administration. Moreland’s sacrifice of principles allows Wharton to maintain his. Yet it’s telling that Wharton employs a black maid.

Other elements of racism are shown in Brooks’s family, in the gang that hangs out at the Beaver Canal pool-hall, even in the casual talk of hospital staff (“I heard the hospital had one [a black doctor]. This must be him.”) Expertly, there is no condemnation levied by the movie; it shows us human beings and lets the audience judge them, or not. There is more understanding of people in these characters than in any number of psychological studies.

But for all the talk and acting, No Way Out is also an excellent drama, full of tension. The preparation of two groups for a pitched race riot is breath-taking, and the climax is a stand-out.

No Way Out is one of the best of Hollywood’s movies about ethnic hatred, joining Intruder in the Dust, from a year earlier, in that category. While the latter depicts a terrifying, sad world of victims and perpetrators, No Way Out shows a frustrating one, in which the victims of one day might be the perpetrators of the next.

(Poitier and Widmark co-starred again in 1964’s The Long Ships, as different a film from No Way Out as one might get, with very different characters, as well. They were also in 1965’s The Bedford Incident.)

 

Colorado Territory (1949)

Directed by Raoul Walsh; produced by Anthony Veiller

Bank robber Wes McQueen (Joel McCrea), awaiting transportation to a penitentiary, breaks out of jail in Missouri and rides off to the far west to meet up with his boss (Basil Ruysdael), who has another crime planned. But there’s no honour among thieves, and the gang that has been put together for the job is as much a danger to its success as is any lawman.

An entertaining western, Colorado Territory has a more complex plot than many of its genre, with changing loyalties and more than a few betrayals. As McQueen states in a good turn of phrase, there is “so much double-dealing from this deck, it’s dog-eared.” The film does not have an unusually long running time (94 minutes) but puts a lot of story into that hour and a half.

Colorado Territory is more than a little reminiscent of a film noir, which should come as no surprise as this is a re-make of High Sierra (1941), also directed by Walsh. The choice of setting – the American west of 1871 – is a good one, however, and the script does more than simply drop the plot into an earlier century; it is, for the most part, tailored for the world of cowboys and outlaws.

There is a problem with the script in that it contains words and phrases – slang, mostly – that just don’t ring true to the era. The robbers use the word ‘heist’, which, even if it had been used in that time-period, nonetheless comes off as too characteristic of the 1940s and later. In fact, here, ‘heist’ means ‘to raise’ – men are told to “heist ‘em” (put their hands up) – while ‘hoist’ is supposedly bandit-jargon for a robbery. A former Pinkerton detective is referred to as a ‘gumboots’, the equivalent of ‘gumshoe’ that I found far too early a usage.

This element aside, there is little to complain about in the film. Nothing looks like it was filmed on a stage, and some interesting locations are used, such as an abandoned Spanish settlement, the ruins of which become the outlaws’ hide-out, and an old Indian Pueblo, high on a cliff.

The characters are more than normally deep for a western; the genre often gives the protagonist a past, but a simple, one-incident past that defines his present. Here McQueen’s past is entangled with his new acquaintance of a settler’s daughter (Dorothy Malone), while his future may involve another woman (Virginia Mayo) with a strong personality of her own. The other actors are all very capable, notably Henry Hull (who was in High Sierra, as well), James Mitchell and John Archer (father of actress Anne Archer).

The direction is very good, as might be expected from the man behind the camera on White Heat and They Drive By Night. The action includes run-away stage-coaches, train robberies and shoot-outs, but also leans heavily on tension and revelation in conversations.

While its film noir origins are plain enough, Colorado Territory also makes a credible and creditable western, with McCrea on the wrong side of the law for once. Well-written, well-directed and well-acted, it is well worth a look.

The Quiller Memorandum (1966)

Directed by Michael Anderson; produced by Ivan Foxwell

In 1966, Berlin is at the centre of the Cold War and international intrigue. British intelligence operator Quiller (George Segal) is sent to the city to investigate a murderous organisation dedicated to the resurgence of Nazism. Two of his colleagues have already been killed in attempting to expose the group, and Quiller may have a difficult time completing their mission while not suffering their fate.

The 1960s saw a great number of ‘spy’ stories brought to the big and small screens. Some were comedic (eg. Get Smart and the original Casino Royale), others fun but not meant to be taken seriously (eg. The Man From U.N.C.L.E. and Our Man Flint), while still more were relatively realistic (eg. Danger Man and Callan). The Quiller Memorandum falls into the last category, featuring a credible threat and a believable protagonist. Unfortunately, neither the villains nor the hero strike the viewer as smart. In fact, no one in the movie comes across as particularly brainy.

I should mention that Segal makes an engaging lead. Just on this side of average-looking, his Quiller is no James Bond. He can take care of himself in a fight but isn’t a super-man; he charms ladies but won’t supplant Don Juan. His training is probably very good but he gives the impression that he has learned more from experience.

Recent films I’ve reviewed have included leading actors who, while portraying Englishmen, abandoned any attempt at English accents. Segal does, too, though in his case, it is just as well: someone who looks like he was born exactly where he was (New York City) could never convincingly impersonate an Englishman. But at no point did I think Quiller was British. It is not inconceivable that an American works for British intelligence, any more than it is for the reverse (as in the television series The Equalizer.) In other words, Segal was a good choice for the role.

The other players are satisfactory in their parts, as well. Alec Guinness portrays Quiller’s controller, Max von Sydow is the chief villain (with unconvincingly blond hair – despite his own blond hair in real life), and Senta Berger plays a possible love-interest.

The trouble with The Quiller Memorandum is the script. Harold Pinter wrote the screenplay, adapted from Adam Hall’s novel The Berlin Memorandum. The dialogue itself is good (but no more). What wrecks the film is the rather alarming stupidity of the characters. This may, to be fair, be present in the book, too; if so, it was not improved by the script.

Quiller presents himself in Berlin first as an entrepreneur, then as a swimming coach, and finally as a journalist for a yet to be published Philadelphia newspaper. How easy would it be for him to be tripped up as a fraud if two or more of his new acquaintances compare notes? He attaches himself, not unreasonably, to the beautiful Inge Lindt (Berger), who knew a man who had hanged himself after being exposed as a Nazi. At one point, after justifying his questions to her by claiming to be writing a story on the re-birth of Nazism in Germany, he dismisses this fiction by stating that he won’t be writing about Nazis because politics ‘aren’t his thing’.

Deliberately eschewing support from a fellow operator (Peter Carsten), Quiller is promptly kidnapped by his opponents. Despite an order for his death, he is spared. It wouldn’t take much thought on a viewer’s part to guess why. Later, pointless actions result in his re-capture. He doesn’t carry a firearm because without one he is ‘less likely to get killed’, yet he goes unarmed into a situation in which he should know that he will be murdered if he is caught.

In a long and boring sequence, Quiller is followed, quite openly, by criminals who had earlier released him, when it would have been easier for their purpose just to keep him incarcerated. A car is booby-trapped and meant to kill Quiller, though there is no evidence that the intention of the villains to keep him alive has changed.

But that’s not all. Quiller’s superiors use a phrase about cigarettes to identify one another. They use it three times over several days. Passwords are usually changed frequently, even after a single use, to prevent enemies from taking advantage of overhearing them. This is, apparently, no danger here. The opening scene of the film shows Quiller’s predecessor (Herbert Stass) being shot. Despite being obviously nervous of his surroundings (a dark, deserted lane at night) and wary of danger, he walks down the centre of the street and enters a well-lit telephone booth to make a call; there is, however, no discernible reason why he could not have waited until he reached his home or even a crowded café.

One gets the feeling that the talent in front of the camera in The Quiller Memorandum was let down by that behind. Not having read anything Adam Hall wrote, I cannot comment on him. I have seen little of Pinter’s plays but have the impression that much comes from what people think they see rather than what is actually in them. This movie’s writing has a lot in the way of situations – clandestine meetings, painful interrogations, chases – but little thought put into them, either by the writer or by the characters. And in a story that relies heavily on plot, rather than action, that is disastrous. (I was also struck by similarities between The Quiller Memorandum and The Ipcress File, made the year before. Both films contain a cynical but capable operator, a brain-washing scene, and superiors who don’t appear to care much for their subordinates’ welfare.)

In short, The Quiller Memorandum ended up being the espionage-thriller equivalent of a slasher movie in which the viewer is always saying, “Why did he do that?” and “That was dumb.” And, really, the espionage-thriller is a genre in which those comments should be the last a viewer feels he must utter.