Illegal (1955)

Directed by Lewis Allen

The first act of Illegal plays like a kind of executive summary as it quickly lays out exposition and sets up the story. It goes by so briskly and so summarily it feels like point form.

It’s brusque in the way it goes from short scene to short scene. You get the feeling director Lewis Allen had a pressing appointment he had to get to.

A district attorney (Edward G. Robinson) prosecutes a case.

He’s very good as he prosecutes cases almost like serving up templated hamburgers at a fast food restaurant. In the process, an innocent man (DeForest Kelly) is convicted and executed for murder.

That goes by so fast poor DeForest Kelly gets just one line, as I recall, a simple, “I’m innocent, you know,” as he’s led to his death.

Edward G. Robinson as besotted D.A. Victor Scott and Nina Foch as the luckless Ellen Miles.

Discovering he is responsible for a wrongful conviction, the formerly blasé D.A. quits his job and quickly becomes a drunk. Almost as quickly, he recovers and finds a new enthusiasm as a lawyer on the defense side of things.

But he is all about law and the process. It’s the game he enjoys and he remains enchained by his guilt over the case he wrongly prosecuted. So he tosses his high moral ground aside and doesn’t care about the guilt or innocence of clients, just the law.

And he finds himself “retained” by a mobster who wants him to defend his gang members when they are arrested and tried.

He does. He gets them off. They are all guilty, but he doesn’t care.

As you might guess, this is a B movie, one that goes through the story motions in almost paint by numbers fashion. The proper descriptor is brusque. Scenes come up and vanish almost like targets on a shooting range.

It does, however, manage to slow its pace enough and get into a more compelling storytelling approach once its first act is over, though it continues to move through plot points speedily. In the end, it’s not a particularly good movie, even within the context of hardboiled crime stories, but it does have one redeeming virtue.

Jayne Mansfield as Angel O'Hare in Mansfield's screen debut with Edward G. Robinson.

Edward G. Robinson makes it watchable, even enjoyable, despite all the film’s faults. (The largest fault being the story is pretty ludicrous. Perhaps DeForest Kelly lucked out by getting to exit the movie so early.) Robinson even makes the film almost credible at times with his performance.

The movie is notable for a few other things, the most interesting perhaps being the screen debut of Jayne Mansfield as a piano-playing, singing gangster’s moll. Also, IMDb tell us,

(Gangster) Frank Garland’s impressive collection of Impressionist art actually was loaned to the film by collector Edward G. Robinson. Included are works by Gaugin, Degas, Duran, and Robinson’s wife, Gladys Lloyd.

Sometimes classed as a noir, this movie really doesn’t fit the bill. It doesn’t have the feel, there is really no femme fatale and there is no strong romantic element running through it. Illegal is a crime film, a kind of a melodramatic thriller. But it is not noir.

Lastly, IMDb also indicates that Illegal is a third remake of a story/play by Frank J. Collins, the first being The Mouthpiece (1932) and the second was The Man Who Talked Too Much (1940).

Collateral (2004)

Directed by Michael Mann

The only person in Collateral that seems at home in the urban environment is the predator Vincent (Tom Cruise) and, ironically, he’s the only one who says he doesn’t like it (“too sprawled out; too disconnected”).

This is a movie about disconnection.

Director Michael Mann gives us a vision of the city that suggests it’s the natural environment of a sociopathic killer because he’s a predator. Vincent is the only one that recognizes and accepts the lack of connections.

Mann’s Collateral is remarkably quiet. And it’s pace is almost leisurely. It’s fitting, too, since the majority of the movie’s drama occurs at night. It’s nocturnal.

Tom Cruise as Vincent and Jamie Foxx as Max.

Max (Jamie Foxx) is a cab driver working the night shift. He dreams of his own limo business. But everything must be perfect for that. In the meantime, he drives a cab. He’s been driving a cab for twelve years, but it’s “temporary.”

Then he picks up a fare. It turns out that fare is a hired killer, Vincent, with five stops to make, followed by a trip to the airport. Max can drive him all night for $600 plus an additional $100 if he gets Vincent to the airport soon enough.

Max accepts. But he doesn’t know what Vincent does for a living — yet.

He very quickly, and shockingly, does. He gets the “cold water in the face” treatment. Vincent’s first target lands on his windshield.

With a theme of disconnection, the movie is inevitably about isolation. As a predator, this is how Vincent kills his victims. He isolates them. It’s only later in the film, when he goes after the fourth person on his to-do list that he’s unable to isolate his victim. The result is chaos and the beginning of the end for Vincent.

Vincent doing what he does best - killing.

How Mann manages action is worth watching. He takes a Sergio Leone approach but without the elaborate choreography. There are violent scenes but they are abrupt and quickly over, reflecting Vincent’s deadly, predator approach. He’s focused and fast. It’s only in that fourth killing, and the movie’s finale, when Vincent has lost control that the violence stretches out.

Mann’s style in the movie fits his theme perfectly and he adds touches everywhere to highlight disconnection, isolation and the ritual of predator and prey. Even at the movie’s start, when Max first gets in his cab, as he shuts the door he isolates himself from the noise and chaos of the taxicab garage. We see (or rather, “hear”) this repeatedly.

As Max drives, Mann gives us overhead shots of the cab going down a street. It’s utterly silent giving a sense of detachment. His use of sound reflects disconnection and isolation; the way scenes are set and characters are placed reflect it as well. The city we see is, as Vincent says at the start, sprawling. Despite its huge population, Mann gives us scenes where people are strikingly alone and dwarfed by the expanse of their surroundings.

We only see clusters of people when they gather in nodes, like clubs. Beyond those dens they are isolated, alone in an urban expanse of roads, parking lots and concrete buildings.

In the final scenes, when Vincent is going after the fifth person on his list, Annie (Jada Pinkett Smith), we see her in the law office library — large, sprawling and Annie isolated and trapped. Perfect prey for the predator.

Max and Annie (Jada Pinkett Smith). Even together, the city separates them (notice the line the door makes between them).

However, as we saw in the chaos of the fourth victim’s death, Vincent has lost control. He has needled Max, mocking him with reality, to the point where Max is no longer willing to be a victim. In a sense, Max is now predator as well, only his prey is Vincent. The dynamics have changed for Vincent. His target won’t be isolated long; she and Max are about to become a pack.

But before they do we see Max having to overcome barriers of disconnection (cell phone signal and battery) and reduce the physical distance that separates Annie, himself and Vincent. (Notice how many glass barriers are in the movie — the cab’s windshield, inside the cab separating back seat and front and in the law offices.)

I’m intrigued by the character of Vincent as portrayed by Tom Cruise in the movie. There are scenes, such as when Max refers to him as a sociopath, saying he’s someone missing basic elements normal people have like empathy, where he looks lost and puzzled by Max and people generally. He can’t understand them.

Vincent, Max and victim number 4, Barry Shabaka Henley as jazz man Daniel.

We also see it at the end in the subway train as he is dying. Something is missing in him and he can’t figure out why or whether it is a good or bad thing. He’s just lost.

I think he suspects there is no point to his life beyond survival. He can’t make a leap to answer the next question, what is the point of survival?

He is also lost because, though a predator, he is also a pack animal, but one without a pack and that strips his life of meaning.

At the risk of beating the point and Mann’s imagery, Vincent acts as a lone wolf or coyote. However, wolves and coyotes are both pack animals and that may be why he has those moments of looking lost or confused, sensing that lack of meaning. When Max finally takes action he is, in a sense, protecting his pack.

Coyote in Collateral.

There is a scene in the movie where we see Vincent mesmerized by a coyote that passes in front of the stopped cab. I think it’s a key scene in the movie the detail of which is easily missed.

You may think that, like Vincent, it is a lone animal out looking for prey. But if you look closely at the scene you’ll see it is two coyotes — a pack. One trots across the street quickly and the eyes of Max and Vincent follow it. Then their eyes return to the original direction they were looking in and another coyote, this one moving more slowly, crosses in front of them and their eyes follow it too.

But it is two coyotes, not one, and if Vincent identifies with it he makes the mistake of missing the significance of the pack. It is as packs coyotes (and wolves) isolate their prey; they work together. Vincent’s mistake, and downfall, is in not understanding this. By acting as a lone predator, when things go wrong he is the one isolated. (Why is his fourth victim so difficult to kill? He is in a clustered group of people and surrounded by his own pack (bodyguards) while at the same time another pack, the police, are hunting him.)

The image of the coyote doesn’t represent Vincent. The image of the coyotes (plural) represents what is wrong with him.

Maybe this is the point of Collateral and why the city is portrayed as it is with all its barriers to connection. We’re pack animals and Vincent never gets this.

Directed by Michael Mann

The only person in Collateral that seems at home in the urban environment is the predator Vincent (Tom Cruise) and, ironically, he’s the only one who says he doesn’t like it (“too sprawled out; too disconnected”).

This is a movie about disconnection.

Director Michael Mann gives us a vision of the city that suggests it’s the natural environment of a sociopathic killer because he’s a predator. Vincent is the only one that recognizes and accepts the lack of connections.

Mann’s Collateral is remarkably quiet. And it’s pace is almost leisurely. It’s fitting, too, since the majority of the movie’s drama occurs at night. It’s nocturnal.

Tom Cruise as Vincent and Jamie Foxx as Max.

Max (Jamie Foxx) is a cab driver working the night shift. He dreams of his own limo business. But everything must be perfect for that. In the meantime, he drives a cab. He’s been driving a cab for twelve years, but it’s “temporary.”

Then he picks up a fare. It turns out that fare is a hired killer, Vincent, with five stops to make, followed by a trip to the airport. Max can drive him all night for $600 plus an additional $100 if he gets Vincent to the airport soon enough.

Max accepts. But he doesn’t know what Vincent does for a living — yet.

He very quickly, and shockingly, does. He gets the “cold water in the face” treatment. Vincent’s first target lands on his windshield.

With a theme of disconnection, the movie is inevitably about isolation. As a predator, this is how Vincent kills his victims. He isolates them. It’s only later in the film, when he goes after the fourth person on his to-do list that he’s unable to isolate his victim. The result is chaos and the beginning of the end for Vincent.

Vincent doing what he does best - killing.

How Mann manages action is worth watching. He takes a Sergio Leone approach but without the elaborate choreography. There are violent scenes but they are abrupt and quickly over, reflecting Vincent’s deadly, predator approach. He’s focused and fast. It’s only in that fourth killing, and the movie’s finale, when Vincent has lost control that the violence stretches out.

Mann’s style in the movie fits his theme perfectly and he adds touches everywhere to highlight disconnection, isolation and the ritual of predator and prey. Even at the movie’s start, when Max first gets in his cab, as he shuts the door he isolates himself from the noise and chaos of the taxicab garage. We see (or rather, “hear”) this repeatedly.

As Max drives, Mann gives us overhead shots of the cab going down a street. It’s utterly silent giving a sense of detachment. His use of sound reflects disconnection and isolation; the way scenes are set and characters are placed reflect it as well. The city we see is, as Vincent says at the start, sprawling. Despite its huge population, Mann gives us scenes where people are strikingly alone and dwarfed by the expanse of their surroundings.

We only see clusters of people when they gather in nodes, like clubs. Beyond those dens they are isolated, alone in an urban expanse of roads, parking lots and concrete buildings.

In the final scenes, when Vincent is going after the fifth person on his list, Annie (Jada Pinkett Smith), we see her in the law office library — large, sprawling and Annie isolated and trapped. Perfect prey for the predator.

Max and Annie (Jada Pinkett Smith). Even together, the city separates them (notice the line the door makes between them).

However, as we saw in the chaos of the fourth victim’s death, Vincent has lost control. He has needled Max, mocking him with reality, to the point where Max is no longer willing to be a victim. In a sense, Max is now predator as well, only his prey is Vincent. The dynamics have changed for Vincent. His target won’t be isolated long; she and Max are about to become a pack.

But before they do we see Max having to overcome barriers of disconnection (cell phone signal and battery) and reduce the physical distance that separates Annie, himself and Vincent. (Notice how many glass barriers are in the movie — the cab’s windshield, inside the cab separating back seat and front and in the law offices.)

I’m intrigued by the character of Vincent as portrayed by Tom Cruise in the movie. There are scenes, such as when Max refers to him as a sociopath, saying he’s someone missing basic elements normal people have like empathy, where he looks lost and puzzled by Max and people generally. He can’t understand them.

Vincent, Max and victim number 4, Barry Shabaka Henley as jazz man Daniel.

We also see it at the end in the subway train as he is dying. Something is missing in him and he can’t figure out why or whether it is a good or bad thing. He’s just lost.

I think he suspects there is no point to his life beyond survival. He can’t make a leap to answer the next question, what is the point of survival?

He is also lost because, though a predator, he is also a pack animal, but one without a pack and that strips his life of meaning.

At the risk of beating the point and Mann’s imagery, Vincent acts as a lone wolf or coyote. However, wolves and coyotes are both pack animals and that may be why he has those moments of looking lost or confused, sensing that lack of meaning. When Max finally takes action he is, in a sense, protecting his pack.

Coyote in Collateral.

There is a scene in the movie where we see Vincent mesmerized by a coyote that passes in front of the stopped cab. I think it’s a key scene in the movie the detail of which is easily missed.

You may think that, like Vincent, it is a lone animal out looking for prey. But if you look closely at the scene you’ll see it is two coyotes — a pack. One trots across the street quickly and the eyes of Max and Vincent follow it. Then their eyes return to the original direction they were looking in and another coyote, this one moving more slowly, crosses in front of them and their eyes follow it too.

But it is two coyotes, not one, and if Vincent identifies with it he makes the mistake of missing the significance of the pack. It is as packs coyotes (and wolves) isolate their prey; they work together. Vincent’s mistake, and downfall, is in not understanding this. By acting as a lone predator, when things go wrong he is the one isolated. (Why is his fourth victim so difficult to kill? He is in a clustered group of people and surrounded by his own pack (bodyguards) while at the same time another pack, the police, are hunting him.)

The image of the coyote doesn’t represent Vincent. The image of the coyotes (plural) represents what is wrong with him.

Maybe this is the point of Collateral and why the city is portrayed as it is with all its barriers to connection. We’re pack animals and Vincent never gets this.

They Won’t Forget (1937)

Directed by Mervyn LeRoy (uncredited)

This is one of those peculiar movies that does a number of things right but just as many wrong, not the least of which is engaging in the frustrating Hollywood practice of contradicting its own theme by doing the very thing it criticizes.

They Won’t Forget is the story of a man falsely accused of murder (Edward Norris as Prof. Robert Hale). It’s a particularly heinous crime because his victim is 13-year old Mary Clay (played by a 16-year old Lana Turner in her first film role).

It takes place in a southern community and everyone is outraged and crying for justice. In the end, Hale is lynched by a self-righteous mob.

An infatuated Mary Clay (Lana Turner) looks up at Prof. Hale (Edward Norris).

The movie is a critique of prejudice and mob justice. It is based on the true story of Leo Frank, who was tried, convicted and later lynched in 1915.

Regardless of its flaws, it’s a compelling movie largely due to director Mervyn LeRoy keeping the movie moving along at a quick pace. Despite its somber story, the first act of the film is pretty light as we meet the various characters and the movie never gets overwhelmingly dark as it focuses a great deal on the drama of the court room, media and community.

The most troubling aspect of the movie is its answer to the question,“Why did this happen?” The movie lays the blame on prejudice. The crime was in the south, the victim a southern girl. The accused, Hale, was a northerner. Worse than that, he seems indifferent to – or at least unaware of – southern history and pride. The day of the crime he is oblivious to its being “Memorial Day,” when the town celebrates its Confederate past.

When his trial begins, everyone working for him (such as his lawyer, Michael Gleason, played by Otto Kruger) comes from the north. The media focuses on this aspect – north vs. south – fueling emotions. (We see telegram scrolls run across the screen urging this aspect be played up.)

The real case, however, meaning that of Leo Frank, makes much more sense. He was a Jew. He was victim of the accusations and the mob’s violence because he was Jewish (or so it is argued). The prejudice was not geographical (north vs south); it was racial. (The north vs. south angle may have played a part, but only afterward as the case gained notoriety.)

Claude Rains as the tenacious, self-righteous D.A.

The prosecution’s flimsy case (as the movie presents it) is headed by Claude Rains as D.A. Andrew Griffin. They Won’t Forget is one of the few movies I’ve seen where I didn’t like Rains’ performance. To begin with, that very identifiable Claude Rains’ accent comes through and strikes an off-note in a character that is supposedly a southern lawyer.

He is also almost histrionic, particularly in courtroom scenes. To some degree, it is appropriate to the character but it struck me as far too overplayed. (His finger pointing and wagging at the jury almost becomes laughable.)

And there, in part, lies the real problem of the film. It’s about prejudice and how it leads to mob violence. Yet the film is oblivious to its own prejudice. The south is caricatured. The northern characters, like Hale and his lawyer, are seen as educated and sophisticated. The south is uneducated and/or unsophisticated. They are biased bumpkins or scheming and unscrupulous opportunists.

And then there is the character of Tump Redwine, played by Clinton Rosemond, the only African-American in the movie. The movie breezily portrays its one non-white character as a barely coherent idiot.

So what the film seems to be about, the evils of prejudice, is the thing the film uses to tell its story.

Lana Turner as Mary Clay in her screen debut.

Despite these problems, I found I liked the movie, despite nagging reservations, as I watched it. Having seen it, however, and thought about what I had seen, I found myself saying, “Hey! Wait a minute …”

The subject of the movie is a frighteningly serious one and how it treats the subject — it’s point of view and presentation — is unsettling at best. It also strikes the occasional frivolous note.

In her first screen appearance, Lana Turner is a sweater girl and there is one scene in particular where the movie takes its time displaying the 16-year old’s attributes. The camera ogles her.

The movie may have been trying to suggest a motive for the crime by sexualizing its innocent victim. But in the context of the story and the character of young Mary Clay, I just found it creepy.

They Won’t Forget is definitely a watchable and compelling movie but don’t spend a great deal of time thinking about what you have seen.

It’s very disturbing if you do.

(Another take on the Leo Frank story was the 1988 TV mini-series The Murder of Mary Phagan starring Jack Lemmon.)

Nora (Myrna Loy) shows Nick (William Powell) she has picked up a few tricks of the trade from him.

The series of Thin Man movies answers the question, “What does happily ever after look like?”

Romances are usually about the obstacles a couple goes through in order to be together and they end with the pair finally uniting with the implication they will now be happy. United, they will live “happily ever after.”

William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles in the Thin Man movies show us the couple united and what life is like now that they are.

Together and happy, life is comedy. The movies aren’t romances; that part of their story has played out. (We never are shown this. The movies start after that has happened.)

The appeal of Nick and Nora is that they are united – they’re married – and they are living that happy life implied by the endings of romances. This is something audiences rarely see, certainly not seen so well articulated and charming.

The murder mystery element of the movies is key but only as an engine to allow their happy life to play out. It provides an engine to move the story forward and to provide a context within which we can see Nick and Nora behave as a happy couple.

The movies work individually but when seen as a series and in the order in which they came out they also show us their happy life evolve over time. And the way it evolves is telling. Specifics change. They look a bit older; they have a baby; the baby becomes a child … and so on.

But their relationship and what characterizes it doesn’t change. The essence of Nick and Nora as a couple remains the same.

The comedy is a mix of three elements, the ratios of which alter to varying degrees from film to film. It combines wit, slapstick and screwball/farce. The wit dominates throughout, though the other two elements are stronger in the later films.

The significance of the wit (apart from being fun to hear and see so well executed) is that it gives us Nick and Nora as equals, even in the later films when Loy’s Nora starts being presented as more of a sidekick to Nick than a partner.

The slapstick and farce elements, apart from providing some variation in the humour, allows the movies to keep the pair in check, especially Nick. He has to be clever but, whenever he starts to appear a little too clever and maybe not “a regular guy,” it’s slapstick that steps in to put him back in place (and in some cases, keep Nora in place).

Nick and Nora (William Powell and Myrna Loy).

Over a period of 13 years, William Powell and Myrna Loy had a wonderful run with their series of Thin Man movies. In all, there were six.

Although “the thin man” in the original movie, and the Dashiell Hammett novel that was the springboard for the movies, referred to a mysterious character, Clyde Wynant, (who doesn’t even appear in the original novel as I recall), in the movies “the thin man” came to refer to Nick Charles, William Powell’s character.

As movie series go, The Thin Man proved to be one of the most successful ever. And the team of William Powell and Myrna Loy worked so well that not only did they make six movies as Nick and Nora Charles, they made eight others together for a total of fourteen movies. But it is as the Charles’s in these Thin Man movies, where they are living the “happily ever after” life, that they are known best and most fondly for.

The Thin Man Series:

• The Thin Man (1934)
• After the Thin Man (1936)
• Another Thin Man (1939)
• Shadow of the Thin Man (1941)
• The Thin Man Goes Home (1945)
• Song of the Thin Man (1947)

Nick and Nora at play.

The movie High Sierra is notable and highly watchable for a number of things not the least of which is its status as Humphrey Bogart’s first starring role.

It’s the one that placed him pretty firmly in everyone’s eyes as a top rate star, despite Warner Brothers apparent obliviousness to that.

It is also a film that works what is now a pretty standard, even over-used, dichotomy: the bad guy as good guy.

The main character, Roy Earle (Bogart) is a stone cold killer who doesn’t think twice about killing someone. He is also a life-loving man filled with kindness.

How can such qualities co-exist?

Humphrey Bogart and Ida Lupino in High Sierra.

They are what the film presents with Roy Earle because it knows such qualities, so apparently in opposition, are utterly fascinating to an audience, especially when they are presented through one of Humphrey Bogart’s best performances.

(The movie is often considered the first real ‘Bogart’ film.)

One of the last of the gangster movies that were so popular in the 1920s and 1930s, High Sierra is in part about the end of the gangster era.

The movie begins as Roy Earle is released from prison after a companion in crime paves the way for his release (presumably through bribes, threats etc.)

But from the start we don’t see the hard-boiled gangster, we see Roy Earle the man, grateful to be free of the prison and back into the world. One of the first things he does is make another gangster wait for him as he takes a walk saying he wants to make sure the leaves and grass are still there.

Humphrey Bogart, mid-heist, in High Sierra.

We quickly see the other side of Earle when he meets another gangster to get details on why he has been released and what he must do.

He clearly doesn’t like the other gangster (a former cop) and as the first act plays out we see a back and forth of character introductions – good guys and bad guys that elicit one of the two Roys.

The back and forth continues through the film as the plot develops and the story unfolds, scenes alternating between the gentler Roy and the tough Roy. We can’t resist liking him even as we see he’s indifferent to killing and unapologetic for who and what he is.

Inexorably, the movie moves toward its tragic end as Roy finally “crashes through.”

Ida Lupino and a toothy Humphrey Bogart.

In many ways, this movie gives us the stoic, cynical and tough Bogart template. You see many of the mannerisms that impersonators would use even today.

It’s interesting how much Bogart uses his teeth here in showing both sides of Earle. There is a big, happy smile with the softer Roy and there is the now-famous sucking of teeth that precedes a tough guy moment.

It’s often used as a transition from the good Roy to the bad.

Bogart had very much wanted to do this movie, likely because he saw that there were two key, opposing aspects to the character of Roy and it would allow him to show a range people were unaware he had. (He had previously been a tough guy in almost every movie he had been in.) He was probably hoping this would allow him to finally break through.

And it did, but he only got the part after Paul Muni and George Raft turned it down.

Ida Lupino as Marie and Humphrey Bogart as the graying Roy Earle in High Sierra.

High Sierra is also the first movie he was in that John Huston was involved with (as screenwriter). Not long after, in his directorial debut, Huston would get together with Bogart for The Maltese Falcon.

Finally, there is a wonderfully visual conclusion to the movie only made possible by director Raoul Walsh’s insistence that the final scenes be shot on location.

Yes, there are many fascinating aspects to High Sierra. However, as interesting as they are, they take a back seat to the fact it is still a gripping story, one that has great pacing and few if any superfluous scenes.

It’s just a damn good movie, one with a bonus: Humphrey Bogart.

Tough Without a Gun: The Life and Extraordinary Afterlife of Humphrey Bogart

High Sierra stars Humphrey Bogart and Ida Lupino. Directed by Raoul Walsh, Bogart was also in Walsh’s earlier movie, They Drive by Night (1940) (and also with Lupino). But it was this movie, High Sierra, that opened the door for Bogart, a door that didn’t read “journeyman actor” but read instead “star.”

This movie is really where we get the entire Bogie for the first time.

High Sierra (1941)

Directed by Raoul Walsh

The movie High Sierra is notable and highly watchable for a number of things not the least of which is its status as Humphrey Bogart’s first starring role.

It’s the one that placed him pretty firmly in everyone’s eyes as a top rate star, despite Warner Brothers apparent obliviousness to that.

It is also a film that works what is now a pretty standard, even over-used, dichotomy: the bad guy as good guy.

The main character, Roy Earle (Bogart) is a stone cold killer who doesn’t think twice about killing someone. He is also a life-loving man filled with kindness.

How can such qualities co-exist?

Humphrey Bogart and Ida Lupino in High Sierra.

They are what the film presents with Roy Earle because it knows such qualities, so apparently in opposition, are utterly fascinating to an audience, especially when they are presented through one of Humphrey Bogart’s best performances.

(The movie is often considered the first real ‘Bogart’ film.)

One of the last of the gangster movies that were so popular in the 1920s and 1930s, High Sierra is in part about the end of the gangster era.

The movie begins as Roy Earle is released from prison after a companion in crime paves the way for his release (presumably through bribes, threats etc.)

But from the start we don’t see the hard-boiled gangster, we see Roy Earle the man, grateful to be free of the prison and back into the world. One of the first things he does is make another gangster wait for him as he takes a walk saying he wants to make sure the leaves and grass are still there.

Humphrey Bogart, mid-heist, in High Sierra.

We quickly see the other side of Earle when he meets another gangster to get details on why he has been released and what he must do.

He clearly doesn’t like the other gangster (a former cop) and as the first act plays out we see a back and forth of character introductions – good guys and bad guys that elicit one of the two Roys.

The back and forth continues through the film as the plot develops and the story unfolds, scenes alternating between the gentler Roy and the tough Roy. We can’t resist liking him even as we see he’s indifferent to killing and unapologetic for who and what he is.

Inexorably, the movie moves toward its tragic end as Roy finally “crashes through.”

Ida Lupino and a toothy Humphrey Bogart.

In many ways, this movie gives us the stoic, cynical and tough Bogart template. You see many of the mannerisms that impersonators would use even today.

It’s interesting how much Bogart uses his teeth here in showing both sides of Earle. There is a big, happy smile with the softer Roy and there is the now-famous sucking of teeth that precedes a tough guy moment.

It’s often used as a transition from the good Roy to the bad.

Bogart had very much wanted to do this movie, likely because he saw that there were two key, opposing aspects to the character of Roy and it would allow him to show a range people were unaware he had. (He had previously been a tough guy in almost every movie he had been in.) He was probably hoping this would allow him to finally break through.

And it did, but he only got the part after Paul Muni and George Raft turned it down.

Ida Lupino as Marie and Humphrey Bogart as the graying Roy Earle in High Sierra.

High Sierra is also the first movie he was in that John Huston was involved with (as screenwriter). Not long after, in his directorial debut, Huston would get together with Bogart for The Maltese Falcon.

Finally, there is a wonderfully visual conclusion to the movie only made possible by director Raoul Walsh’s insistence that the final scenes be shot on location.

Yes, there are many fascinating aspects to High Sierra. However, as interesting as they are, they take a back seat to the fact it is still a gripping story, one that has great pacing and few if any superfluous scenes.

It’s just a damn good movie, one with a bonus: Humphrey Bogart.

Directed by H. Bruce Humberstone

As I watched I Wake Up Screaming last night I had two thoughts running concurrently.

First, this should not be a good movie. Second, somehow it manages to be a good movie. How does that happen?

I’m not sure. I think it lies partly in Betty Grable, whose performance is a level above the other main actors in the movie.

It’s also in the characterization of Ed Cornell, played by Laird Cregar, who seems a cross between Vincent Price (in the slightly effeminate voice and its cadence) and possibly a low rent version of George Sand. (I mean vocally, nothing else, and not much there either. But there seems to be something vaguely Sand-ish in the voice.)

Laird Cregar as the very creepy lawman Ed Cornell.

Cregar’s Cornell is creepy, to say the least, and that makes the movie compelling. Though the film’s mystery may be obvious, it doesn’t matter. The creepiness keeps us fascinated in a “slowing down to view the accident” kind of way. Cregar’s character isn’t the only one that gives us the willies.

Elisha Cook Jr.’s Harry is equally troubling. Soft-spoken and gentle, his focus and attentiveness to Grable’s Jill Lynn leaves us feeling something isn’t right about him. He’s stalker material.

Much of what makes the movie watchable is in the script. The bad guys in this movie – and there are a lot of them – are not villains so much in the commitment of crimes regard, as in their psychology. In fact, most of them have stalker-like personalities or variants of it.

They are all focused in some way on Vicky Lynn, played by Carole Landis. They want to either possess her, use her, or both. And she, being ambitious, is happy to permit it as she uses them. Thus, in a sense, she invites what follows from it.

Jill, Vicky and Frankie (Betty Grable, Carole Landis and Victor Mature).

Into this morass of twisted personalities come Victor Mature as Frankie, a kind of nice if goofy sports promoter (who find himself accused of murder) and Vicky’s sister, Grable’s Jill Lynn.

Frankie and Jill are the normal ones (for lack of a better word) and also the ones who suffer the consequences of a world populated by twisted personalities.

Visually, the movie delivers the noir goods but that may be less an aesthetic decision as a kneejerk response to making a crime movie in the forties.

Crime equals scenes of darkness and shadow, ergo scenes of darkness and shadow. I get the sense director H. Bruce Humberstone was a paint-by-numbers kind of director, though that may be unfair to him. But that is how it strikes me.

Frankie in a very noir-ish shot.

Still, by accident or design, the movie looks good as a noir. It has a low budget feel and some very nice shots, especially near the end where we see Mature looking down at Harry snoozing at the front desk.

Overall, then, I Wake Up Screaming strikes me as an accidental noir. It discovers a noir world in the script it brings to the screen and in the kind of kneejerk response of how it visually portrays that script.

Much of what happens on screen is highly melodramatic and it would be too much were it not for the material driving it, Laird’s unsettling Cornell, and Grable’s much better anchored performance as Jill. Victor Mature looks great as a noir character, especially in the interrogation scenes, but he is often well over-the-top. Also, for about two thirds of the movie, once outside the interrogation room (and often within it) he plays a goofy kind of guy without a care in the world. It’s deliberate, in part, as it’s an aspect of the character. But it just seems too much.

And having gone on with all these negative comments about the movie, I still have to say I liked it quite a bit. However, it feels to me it’s a good movie through dumb luck; a film noir by accident.

I Wake Up Screaming (1941)

Directed by H. Bruce Humberstone

As I watched I Wake Up Screaming last night I had two thoughts running concurrently. First, this should not be a good movie. Second, somehow it manages to be a good movie. How does that happen?

I’m not sure. I think it lies partly in Betty Grable, whose performance is a level above the other main actors in the movie.

It’s also in the characterization of Ed Cornell, played by Laird Cregar, who seems a cross between Vincent Price (in the slightly effeminate voice and its cadence) and possibly a low rent version of George Sand. (I mean vocally, nothing else, and not much there either. But there seems to be something vaguely Sand-ish in the voice.)

Cregar’s Cornell is creepy, to say the least, and that makes the movie compelling. Though the film’s mystery may be obvious, it doesn’t matter. The creepiness keeps us fascinated in a “slowing down to view the accident” kind of way. Cregar’s character isn’t the only one that gives us the willies.

Elisha Cook Jr.’s Harry is equally troubling. Soft-spoken and gentle, his focus and attentiveness to Grable’s Jill Lynn leaves us feeling something isn’t right about him. He’s stalker material.

Much of what makes the movie watchable is in the script. The bad guys in this movie – and there are a lot of them – are not villains so much in the commitment of crimes regard, as in their psychology. In fact, most of them have stalker-like personalities or variants of it.

They are all focused in some way on Vicky Lynn, played by Carole Landis. They want to either possess her, use her, or both. And she, being ambitious, is happy to permit it as she uses them. Thus, in a sense, she invites what follows from it.

Into this morass of twisted personalities come Victor Mature as Frankie, a kind of nice if goofy sports promoter (who find himself accused of murder) and Vicky’s sister, Grable’s Jill Lynn.

Frankie and Jill are the normal ones (for lack of a better word) and also the ones who suffer the consequences of a world populated by twisted personalities.

Visually, the movie delivers the noir goods but that may be less an aesthetic decision as a kneejerk response to making a crime movie in the forties. Crime equals scenes of darkness and shadow, ergo scenes of darkness and shadow. I get the sense director H. Bruce Humberstone was a paint-by-numbers kind of director, though that may be unfair to him. But that is how it strikes me.

Still, by accident or design, the movie looks good as a noir. It has a low budget feel and some very nice shots, especially near the end where we see Mature looking down at Harry snoozing at the front desk.

Overall, then, I Wake Up Screaming strikes me as an accidental noir. It discovers a noir world in the script it brings to the screen and in the kind of kneejerk response of how it visually portrays that script.

Much of what happens on screen is highly melodramatic and it would be too much were it not for the material driving it, Laird’s unsettling Cornell, and Grable’s much better anchored performance as Jill. Victor Mature looks great as a noir character, especially in the interrogation scenes, but he is often well over-the-top. Also, for about two thirds of the movie, once outside the interrogation room (and often within it) he plays a goofy kind of guy without a care in the world. It’s deliberate, in part, as it’s an aspect of the character. But it just seems too much.

And having gone on with all these negative comments about the movie, I still have to say I liked it quite a bit. However, it feels to me it’s a good movie through dumb luck; a film noir by accident.

The blogathon runs thru to February 21st with the goal of raising money to restore a specific movie, The Sound of Fury (1950, aka Try and Get Me). I love the brief description on IMDb, “A man down on his luck falls in with a criminal. After a senseless murder, the two are lynched.” If you’re inclined to pitch in, please do. You can donate here. And now, on with …

This Gun For Hire (1942)

Directed by Frank Tuttle

I came upon a review of This Gun For Hire that complained about it being viewed as film noir. The reviewer argued it was not; it was pulp. The first thing I thought was, “Aren’t all the best film noirs pulp?” My second thought was a sigh because film noir is so idiosyncratic in its definition. Everyone has their own idea of what it is.

For me, this movie is film noir. Regardless of whether it is or not, the important thing is it’s a wholly captivating movie, thanks largely to Alan Ladd’s portrayal of Raven.

Of course there is also some pretty brisk direction from Frank Tuttle and a good script.

Billing aside, this is Alan Ladd’s movie. He is the star. As good as they are, you could replace Robert Preston and Veronica Lake and not much would change. Replace Ladd and I suspect you would have a different movie and perhaps not as good.

Amid the murder and mayhem of the film, it is the story of Raven: what he does and why he does it. In other words, it’s about who he is. In the first few minutes, we see a man who uses a gun and, given the title, we infer it is for nothing good.

But we quickly see him with a cat and a moment of softening. He cares for the cat; there is tenderness. Raven then leaves the room and almost immediately we see a woman come in to tidy it. She shoos the cat away crossly and Raven steps back into the room.

Now we see what the gun is about. We see the Raven the world must deal with. He strikes the woman, tears her dress and forces her out of the room.

It is less what he does than it is how he does it: quick, brutal and unrepentant. The tenderness he has for cats is not extended to people. The opening, then, tells us what we need to know about the character. From here, the story’s engine kicks in. The opening is a great example of exposition. It provides essential information, and in a riveting way, so we can understand what is to follow.

What follows is standard pulp/film noir material. Raven is a hired killer. He does a job. Then he is shafted by the man who hired him. He’s paid with marked, stolen money. As soon as he spends some of it, the police are after him and he immediately recognizes what has happened. Now his goal is simple: kill the people who set him up. And he is nothing if not focused.

It is not that simple, however. There are complications. But this is the essential story: Raven on a mission to kill the people who set him up and how his character is revealed and alters in the process. Even the ostensible stars, Preston and Lake, are secondary to Ladd’s Raven. They are tools for revealing his character.

As with the similar (though not nearly as good) movie, Lucky Jordan, the complications involve the Second World War, selling vital material to the enemy, and patriotic pleas. Raven cares only for himself (as does Jordan) and it’s the role of Lake to persuade him to see the larger picture and care for the country which means other people.

What she is up against is a man whose background was as brutal as he has become and that has defined him and how he sees the world. The world he now inhabits confirms his view. Yet we know there is something human in him from how he relates to cats and we understand later in the film why he is as he is in a scene where he describes his childhood. Despite his callousness and violence, we care about him.

Although he was in countless movies prior to this one, This Gun For Hire was the first time Alan Ladd starred in a movie, although he was sitting in the back row as far as the billing went. I can understand why he hadn’t been noticed prior to this though. From the few movies I’ve seen him in, Ladd seems one of the quietest, most understated actors I’ve seen. Few actors express anger and melancholy as well as he does or as naturally.

Frank Tuttle, a kind of journeyman director who cranked out movies for the studio, excels here, perhaps because of the script, perhaps because of the work of cinematographer John F. Seitz, or maybe because he was a meat and potatoes director. The movie is simply and quickly directed and that is one of its virtues.

Call it a crime film, call it pulp, call it what you will, to me this is a great example of noir and regardless of genre a thoroughly compelling movie. As you may have guessed, I liked it a lot.