Displaying Review 11 - 15 of 16 in total

• "What do I know about commies? Nothing… but I know I don’t like ‘em" — for Pickup on South Street
  Written by them00ch on 29.07.2010

  I’ll preface this review by saying of all the films on my noir list that I am working through, this was one that I was looking forward to the most. I only own one other Samuel Fuller film – Shock Corridor – but it is a personal favourite of mine, so I had high hopes for Pickup on South Street. I wasn’t disapponted.

  Petty thief Skip McCoy (the excellent Richard Widmark whom I respect more and more as a dramatic actor every time I see him) is in the wrong place at the wrong time as he lifts a purse from the earthy, but alluring Candy (Jean Peters) on a train. Unluckily for him, she was a mule, carrying a microfilm for her weasly boyfriend Joey (Richard Kiley). Before long, he finds himself an unwitting player in a Communist spy ring, playing off the cops on one side and fighting for his life against the Communists on the other.

  The political connotations aren’t exactly subtle, especially when you consider when this was made. No matter what side you are on in this movie, everyone hates the Commies! The attitudes of Americans at the time are summed up perfectly in a single line by Brooklyn wise-girl Thelma Ritter. Her character – Moe Williams, is as happy to hang out with criminals as she is to sell them out to the police, flirting with both sides of the law, but when suspected of selling out to a “Commie” though, she gives the deadpan reply :

  “What do you think I am, an informer?”

  Thankfully, Fuller doesn’t really push this as a propagandist film, and in fact there is much to suggest this is to be taken as a satirical glance at American attitudes, rather than an anti-communist propaganda work. The sign-of-the-times satire is further suggested by another line given life by Ritter;

  “What do I know about commies? Nothing… but I know I don’t like ‘em“.

  Like I said, everyone hates the commies. Even the stool pigeons.

  Also, the Communists create the added bonus of putting an inventive twist on the standard noir themes. Rather than just having the law and the criminals, and every shade of gray in between, the film uses the Communists as a 3rd player, creating an interesting playground wherein the law are after the criminals, and everyone is after the communists and their microfilm – giving a fresh feel to what is essentially a genre-film.

  Zeitgeist political suggestions aside, this is a swift, entertaining roller coaster ride of a movie. Weighing in at a fairly lightweight 77 minutes, the film breezes along, rarely slowing down to take a breath.

  The performances are excellent, with the possible exception of Richard Kiley, whose anxiety-ridden character is often tinged with wide-eyed, twitchy melodrama. Richard Widmark plays his role to perfection, one of the truly great noir anti-heroes. If a film can have you rooting for someone even after they punch out a beautful lady and laugh about it, that’s one great script and actor. When Skip isn’t dislocating the lovely Candy’s jaw, he is caressing it, and the more tender scenes between them are simply electric, with a real chemistry.

  They are very nearly all upstaged though, by the afore-mentioned Thelma Ritter. Without a doubt one of the most under-appreciated supporting character actresses that ever lived. Her character is a complex one, one that works on both sides of the law. She sells her friends out to the police, and they know it, but they still have a huge amount of respect for her. In a genre that is ridden with stoolies who get their come-uppance, this is a quite a hard cliche to break, yet the combination of the excellent script, and Ritter’s pitch-perfect performance lend the film the credibility it needs to break that barrier.

  Visually, the film is faultless and unique. Fuller plays with high angles, low angles, shadows, light, cross-fades etc. in a masterful way. It’s all tightly edited, with no excess baggage and underlined by an understated but desperately cool blues saxophone.

  I cannot write this review without mentioning the bone-jarringly realistic fight scenes. One scene in particular, shot in a single take, is a brutal tête-à-tête between Richard Kyley and Jean Peters, and the beating he hands out to her is quite hard to watch. Slaps and punches land with convincing fervour, and the poor actress is thrown into tables and furniture as they smash on her battered body. I can honestly say that of all the films I have seen from this era, this is the first time a fight scene has made me wince in imagined pain – it is a powerful moment.

  In summary, I cannot find a fault with Pickup on South Street, other than a slightly hammy perfomance at the start of the film by Richard Kiley – but even he picks up the ball and runs with it towards the end. This is a brilliantly dark, fast-paced, satirical script, with well developed characters and relationships, great set-pieces and flawless direction, as well as being an essential commentary on American political beliefs at the time. A must-see.

• London never looked so good. — for Night and the City
  Written by them00ch on 30.07.2010

  Yet another unfortunate victim of the infamous Hollwood blacklisting by HUAC in the 1950s, Jules Dassin made Night and the City while essentially beginning exile for “un-American” behaviour. Dassin, forced to make the film abroad and extremely quickly before the main studio heads shut him down, had to resort to near-guerilla tactics to create this noir masterpiece.

  The difficult political situation Dassin found himself in forced him to take instinctive, rapid decisions, using on-location shoots in the after-midnight locale of London’s inner-city backstreets – and as Dassin already proved in the lighter noir-policier “The Naked City“, he knows how to direct in an urban environment, using late-night London as a stage, and bringing her to life in a completely natural and satisfying way. For example, a stand-out scene which was forcibly imposed due to the shooting conditions, is a fairly long, single-take shot from the back of a car as it drives around Piccadilly, the driver stopping occasionally to speak to the people on the streets. Dassin admitted later that he had no permission to film, there were no traffic restrictions in place, they just jumped in a car and shot in the midst of the real-life of London. It is an incredibly effective shot, and amongst others gives Night and the City a unique, organic feel, and proves how inventive Dassin could be under pressure. It isn’t just the on-location shots which impress either – visually, the film is an end-to-end feast for the eyes, with immaculately lit sets complimenting the outdoor cityscapes.

  Despite completing shooting of this expansive, densely plotted film at a rapid pace and under restrictive conditions, none of this is felt by the viewer at any moment. The film unfolds masterfully and patiently, driven forward by the complex characterization of our main protaganist Harry Fabian – portrayed here in the performance of a lifetime by the dependably excellent Richard Widmark.

  Fabian is a very complex character – A confident and charming small-time trickster with two feet rooted deep in the gutter. Ultimately, his passionate self-belief is not matched by his ability, and despite always having a big break “in the palm of my hand“, he never manages to carry it through, frequently dragging his long-suffering girlfriend Mary (the beautiful Gene Tierney) down with him. The film follows Fabian as he attempts to make a splash in the London wrestling racket, using his observational skills and a couple of fairly cheap confidence plays to secure the attention of worldwide Greco-Roman wrestling legend Gregorius (played by real-life wrestler Stanislaus Zbyszko). Gregorius is the father of rival wrestling promoter and underworld boss Kristo (the effortlessly cool Herbert Lom) who is loathe to see his father represented by the infamous Fabian, a man known as a two-bit loser by everyone in London. Seeking funding from Mary’s nightclub boss Nosseross (Francis L. Sullivan) and his reluctant wife (Googie Withers), Fabian quickly gets in over his head, and so the film’s web of deceit and suspicion is spun.

  Such a complex character, driven to extreme highs and lows, requires much of Richard Widmark, and once again he doesn’t disappoint, as he bears the weight of Fabian’s paradoxical and conflicted personality without falter. Laughing one moment, crying the next, moving swiftly from confident and arrogant to humble and apologetic, Widmark’s range hits all the right notes in a naturally tragic, realistic, career-defining performance. The rest of the supporting cast, while they are not tested and stretched anywhere near as much as Widmark, still manage to put in stellar complementary performances, with the possible and understandable exception of non-actor Stanislaus Zbyszko. What he lacks in emotive delivery though, he makes up for in screen prescence, and partakes in one of the most intense fight scenes ever captured on film.

  It is also worth noting that the film is an excellent piece to study how post-production can effect the final product, as two versions exist. For reasons lost in time, the UK and US versions worked with the same footage, but were edited seperately, and perhaps more importantly scored completely differently. The US version is scored by Franz Waxman who utilized a huge orchestra and chose to fully score most of the film with energetic, jazz-infused instrumentals, while the UK version was composed by Benjamin Frankel, who opted for a smaller scale, more traditional score. I have to say I preferred the UK score. The on-location shots felt had a more natural ambience with little-to-no music, while Waxman’s US score at times feels a little intrusive and overpowering – a little too “Hollywood” for the London setting.

  The opposite can be said for the plot however – the US version completely omitted a few characterization scenes, and surprisingly for Hollywood had a much more downbeat realist ending than the heavily romanticized UK ending. The US edit was in my opinion correct in it’s decision to remove superfluous segue characterization, as the perfect screenplay already framed the characters “in-plot”, no extra exposition was needed. The extra scenes in the UK version felt a little forced and unneccesary, and the ending in the UK cut would probably have knocked at least half a star off the review score. However one short scene bizarrely cut from the US edition was a fairly important one, and without it, a character inexplicably appears at a location they couldn’t have known about. This doesn’t detract too much from the overall experience though, and the pacing of the US cut still has the edge.

  For review purposes I have concentrated on the US edit, but both versions combined are a fascinating example of how the tone of a film can be completely altered in post-production.

  Whilst my knowledge of film-noir is still in relative infancy, this film has been a real highlight for me, and I still feel confident enough to proclaim it as one of the best ever made, especially considering the restrictive conditions it was produced under. Directed with flair and passion by Jules Dassin, this sits alongside “Du rififi chez les hommes” as a shining example of his output. A absolute must-see for noir fans.

• Widmark's astonishing debut. — for Kiss of Death
  Written by them00ch on 31.07.2010

  Kiss of Death, directed by Henry Hathaway, is a fairly by-the-numbers noir crime drama. Nick Bianco (played by Victor Mature) is a thief who gets caught on a job, stealing for Christmas presents because his previous criminal record prevents him from getting a job. While serving time he hears that his wife has commited suicide and his children have been put in an orphanage, and so he strikes a deal with the district attorney Louis D’Angelo (Brian Donlevy) to get released on parole if he provides evidence against his old underworld friends, including the vicious killer Tommy Udo (Richard Widmark). When the case falls flat and Udo is acquitted, Bianco has to defend himself.

  Kiss of Death is now the third film in a row I have seen with Richard Widmark, and yet again he steals the show. Although he isn’t the starring lead, Widmark’s portrayal of psychopathic gangster Tommy Udo is surely one of the greatest feature film debuts in the history of cinema, and netted him his only academy award nomination, and a Golden Globe win for “best promising newcomer”. His maniacal giggle, and an infamous scene where he pushes a wheelchair-bound woman down a staircase, secured him a rich, but ultimately criminally unrecognised career in Hollywood.

  Victor Mature is merely adequate, and doesn’t seem to test himself in the role. The character of Bianco brings a lot of opportunity to express emotion, yet Mature seems content to play it fairly flat and cool. Not a bad performance, but there was a lot of room for him to stretch his legs, and he didnt take it. This is highlighted by the above-mentioned, simply brilliant performance of Widmark, who steals scenes from under Mature like taking candy from a baby.

  The rest of the cast are fairly bland, along with the plot, which doesn’t really step up a gear until the final act of the movie, after Udo is acquitted. Aside from the terrific opening heist, the first half of the film is devoted to justifying Bianco’s decision to become a “stoolie”, but it seems to try a little too hard in spelling out his reasons. When the plot does step up in the last 30 minutes though, it does a great job of creating a tense, paranoid atmosphere as Bianco waits for the repercussions of his court testimony. Two scenes stand out; Bianco waiting in his home in silent darkness waiting for the inevitable home visit from Udo is brilliantly tense, as is the entire final act where Udo and Bianco go head to head.

  In summary - if it wasn’t for Widmark, this film would likely have been lost to history as yet another crime drama amongst a sea of low-budget equivalents, but his performance guarantees it a place in the hearts of every noir and crime fan, and laid down a blueprint for future characters of the same ilk. An average crime drama made worthwhile by Widmark. Worth watching for him alone.

• Whad'ya say? — for Angels with Dirty Faces
  Written by them00ch on 04.08.2010

  In the late 30s, gangster movies had begun to run their course. Catholic communities imposed restrictive moral production codes on movies, to prevent gangsters being portrayed as underworld heroes and figures to admire and respect. On the Hollywood studio lots, crime was no longer paying. Cue “Angels with Dirty Faces” as somewhat of a renaissance of the genre. Skillfully ambiguous and directed with careful moral duty by Michael Curtiz, this is a film that shows both sides of the story, and more importantly introduces social commentary to the mix, showing how criminals were produced by the hard knocks and tough breaks of life in city slums.

  The opening scene of the film sets the stage. A camera wanders around an overcrowded, dirty, poverty-ridden slum, and eventually finds focus on two friends, Rocky Sullivan and Jerry Connolly, products of their environment. They decide to rob a train carriage, and are forced to flee from the police. Jerry, manages to evade capture, while Rocky is caught and detained. Here our two friends part ways, and this one quirk of fate offers up two completely different paths. Rocky is institutionalised and we are shown by way of montage how his path to adulthood is full of crime and violence, while his friend Jerry finds God and decides to use his freedom to try and prevent kids ending up like Rocky. When they meet again 15 years later they are essentially opposites, but still retain a friendship and mutual respect. The film makes a statement here and shows that a single break can change the path of someone’s life forever, and is something which sets it apart from other films of the genre and era. Rather than a criminal being “born bad”, this film shows us that it is the cards dealt to us which shape our future, and was an important step towards appeasing the imposed religious moral codes.

  As the plot unfolds, Rocky (James Cagney) makes decisions the only way he knows how – a result of a lifetime of imprisonment – while Jerry (played by Cagney’s real life pal Pat O’Brien) tries to stop a gang of kids (acting troupe “the Dead-End kids“) from entering a life of crime and repeating the cycle. The kids look up to and admire Rocky, and his behavior only serves to cement this admiration, much to the chagrin of Father Connolly. The incredibly moody and ambiguous “last mile” finale of the film though brings redemption, as Rocky makes a self-sacrificing decision which could the children change their ways.

  James Cagney is mind-blowingly awesome here. In a fairly melodramatic film, Cagney’s performance stands out as incredibly realistic and naturalistic, as he fleshes out Rocky with physical tics, unique poise and posture, and a rapid delivery of speech. He lends Rocky a charismatic, roguish charm, and despite being a ruthless criminal, you cannot help but like him.

  O’Brien is also solid as the Priest who wants to make a difference. The real-life rapport between Cagney and O’Brien carries over into their scenes together, and the tear shed by O’Brien towards the end of the film shows a highly skilled actor at work, enhancing what is already a very moving and emotional scene.

  The supporting cast are also all excellent. Bogart operates well in a role not typical for him (a cowardly backstabbing lawyer), Ann Sheridan plays the sassy, beautiful, street-smart Laury Martin to perfection, and “The Dead-End Kids” all manage their roles honourably. Make no bones about it though, this is Cagney’s show, and probably one of his best. I think many fans would agree that in “Angels”, Cagney was doing Brando nearly 20 years before Brando did himself.

  While the film is an outstanding and entertaining example of gangster films and film-noir, it elevates itself even further above genre with powerful, yet subtly written social critique and a show-stopping performance by Cagney. Highly recommended.

• Haunting, beautiful and intentionally evasive. — for Picnic at Hanging Rock
  Written by them00ch on 21.08.2010

  Peter Weir’s “Picnic At Hanging Rock” is a story of an all-girl school’s expedition to a local mountainous landmark, the Hanging Rock of the title. 3 of the girls vanish without a trace, never to be seen again, and the film deals with how the school and local community deal with the aftermath of the incident. This review contains minor spoilers, but the film is essentially spoiler-proof, as the beauty is not in the plot developments but the experience of the journey itself.

  While at first glance this is a fairly sedate, albeit haunting drama, closer viewing reveals a layered and infinitely deep film, and one which is to be avoided if you insist that plotlines are all tied up nicely in a bow by the time the credits roll. The film delights in asking questions, and abhors answering them, leaving it open to much debate and interpretation. Many themes and solutions are hinted at here, but none are conclusive and definitive.

  It is common opinion that the majority of the film is a metaphor for the path to womanhood and loss of innocence – similar in tone and message to Lucile Hadzihalilovic’s “Innocence” [2004] but a lot more subtle and ambiguous. Whereas Innocence focuses purely on the young girl’s experience of the journey, this film also tries to observe the change through an adult, or parental viewpoint as well as the child’s.

  The initial 30 minutes leading up to the disappearance of the girls, is where strong visual and narrative metaphors are established which suggest the main subtext of the film is one of sexual awakening, and the loss of innocence through puberty. For instance, on their fateful climb up Hanging Rock they spot their school-friends who stayed behind at the base, not recognising or relating to them – their ascent seemingly a symbolic climb to womanhood, leaving their now foreign childhood and innocence behind. Also, before they make their final walk through the rocks never to be seen again, one of the girls removes her childish, stifling items of clothing revealing the flesh of a young woman. Another of the girls that makes the climb is short, round and less womanly, obviously lacking in the emotional maturity of the other girls, and as such it is understandable that she is left behind when the 3 girls make their ultimate walk through the rocks – she is not yet ready for adulthood, and instead runs frightened and screaming back to her safe, comforting childhood at the base of the rock.

  Later, one of the missing girls returns with unexplained bruises and wounds on her head and hands, and we are told after inspection by a doctor that “she is still intact”, referring to her status as a virgin. For this girl it seems the path to womanhood was not smooth, and instead full of pain – and life throws her back to where she has started. Instead of the virginal white worn by the other girls, she now wears a crimson dress instead, and the schoolgirls attack her for not giving them the answers to the other girl’s disappearance. At this point she is symbolically neither a woman nor a child, trapped in the confusing mess of puberty.

  It is here that the focus moves away from the girls, and on to the adults, their perception of events, their sense of loss and their coping mechanisms. The head of the school – Mrs Appleyard – is essentially the matriarchal role, and her coping mechanisms can be likened to a parent’s sense of loss and abandonment when they realise their offspring are no longer children but young adults. She wistfully remembers her youth, and laments how the towns she used to visit “never changed… never changed”, and also steps up the discipline with the remaining girls. In the final scene she dresses in black and wears a veil as she finally realises she has lost the girls, and pushes another away (with fatal consequences) in the mourning process.

  This is of course, just one interpretation. Many other viewers see the film as nothing more than a supernatural horror yarn. Another popular opinion is that the film is a masochistic reflection of the colonial British guilt of inhabiting the beautiful land of Australia. Other schools of thought suggest the film is an analogy for the fear felt by the colonials in a foreign, misunderstood land of unfamiliar ambience and nature. Perhaps the film is a tapestry woven of all these hypotheses. However you approach it, it’s clear that the film is intentionally evasive – in an unusual move Peter Weir famously removed scenes from his Director’s cut, scenes which could be considered “clues” to a possible solution. It appears he doesn’t want the film to be understood, that the point of the film is to be alien, unsettling, ambiguous, and free of a comforting conclusion.

  Visually, the film is at times intentionally dull and reserved, and at others breathtaking and hauntingly beautiful – with Victorian colonial costume clashing with the rugged beauty of the Australian outback. The soundtrack is complimentary, unique and memorable and casts a timeless, sometimes supernatural slant on proceedings. The entire cast performs naturally and with subtlety, and my only nitpick is a rather obvious overdub of a minor character’s voice (the immature girl who flees from the moutain as the other girls vanish).

  My summary may seem paradoxical. While Picnic’s main strength is how it prompts analysis of its themes and discussion, this is also its weakness. The deeper levels of the film provide so much room for interpretation that on the surface the main story arc may seem a little drawn out after the first half hour. If you ignore any assumed subtext and are unwilling to look deeper, the film as a stand-alone story may seem a little lethargic. Some may say this is not the film’s fault but the viewers – but I believe a true masterpiece should be able to engage the viewer on every level, and it is easy to see that the sedate pace and lack of conclusive answers may not appeal to a casual viewer. If you are willing to apply some thought and concentration however, you will be rewarded with a thoughtful, deep film which is a catalyst for debate and interpretation, as well as being a beautifully shot, mysterious film in its own right.