Films of the 50's: Crime Doesn't Pay (in France)

Elevator to the Gallows (1958, Louis Malle)

Like all good heist / crime / murder caper films, Elevator to the Gallows proves that despite meticulous scheming, there is no such thing as the perfect plan. Unlike other caper films, however, Elevator is full of interestingly drawn out wrinkles, thoughtful plotting, and an interesting comparison between premeditation and impulse. We begin by meeting Julien and Florence, a pair of lovers intent on killing Florence’s husband, Simon Carala, who also happens to be Julien’s boss, making it look like a suicide in the process.

One has to stretch their imagination a bit to accept the actual plan as flawless. It involves Julien, explained to be a former Foreign Legion parachutist, rappelling by rope up to Simon’s office, killing him, locking the office door from the inside, then rappelling down again. The leap involves the general public never bothering to look up at any point as the office borders a busy street. But, if the viewer can swallow that, the rest is ultimately believable, if not amazingly unfortunate for many characters.

In a Hitchcockian-like twist, Julien realizes from the street below that he has left the rope dangling from the office window. (D’oh!) He leaves his car in front of the building, with the keys in the ignition (oh, for simpler times), and attempts to fix the situation. Having removed the rope, and assumedly putting himself in the clear, Julien becomes trapped in the elevator when the office building closes for the weekend. Meanwhile, a local flower girl, an acquaintance of Julien’s, and her boyfriend steal the car out front and go for a joyride. Florence, of course, happens to see Julien’s unique car driving by with the lovely young flower girl in the passenger seat, and thinks that Julien has betrayed her. Holy twist of fate, Batman!

As Julien tries to escape his tiny prison, Florence walks the streets of Paris in fear and doubt, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst. The two youngsters who stole the car get into even more trouble by registering at a hotel under Julien’s name and committing a crime in an entirely impulsive fashion. Jinkies! There are even further twists ahead, with plenty of thrills, near misses and tragedies, but I’ll leave those for you to discover. What makes this film work is its steady pace. Malle doesn’t try to create tension with forced rapidity. Julien is in the elevator for almost the entire film. His attempts to escape are purposely realistic and arduous. Jeanne Moreau’s turn as Florence is a major highlight of the film. Her scenes are wondrously fraught with inner turmoil, accented by the now legendary film score by Miles Davis. Davis’ trumpet fills the film with loneliness, a longing feeling that was mastered by the musician a mere two years later on his landmark, Kind of Blue.




Pickpocket (1959, Robert Bresson)

Pickpocket is a compact gem of a picture. It is as tight as the intricate movements required for the agile moves within. The story is simple enough. Michel is a pickpocket, living in a tiny apartment, making small time scores to live. The first such ‘lift’ we see is at a horse race. The police detain Michel. They suspect him of the theft, but having no concrete evidence, let him go. Michel is emotionless throughout the film, obsessed only with the art of the steal. At one point, he learns more from a mentor, and we become privy to a series of amazingly filmed tricks of the trade. Buttons are cut, newspapers act as shields, wallets are lifted out of coat pockets and dropped safely to a hand waiting below, only to be stripped of their money and delicately returned to the owners. The moves are highly choreographed, and in their way, beautiful.

Meanwhile, Michel’s mother is ailing, tended to by the young Jeanne, a lady who we think could possibly redeem Michel. But throughout the film, we start to realize that Michel may not be redeemable. The thrill of the crime is everything to him, and is one of the few ways he actually interacts with people. It is a psychosexual drama played out in front of our eyes, and we realize at some point in this compact film that there is likely no happy ending. Regardless, Pickpocket is an amazing film, meticulously constructed, much like the actual act of pickpocketing. Those close-up scenes of the lifts alone are worth it, with us as viewers feeling the immense amount of tension and anxiety that Michel never shows on his stone, expressionless face.



Rififi (1955, Jules Dassin)

Rififi is probably the one heist film on which all other successful heist films are based. Reservoir Dogs, Ocean’s 11, and many others all owe gratitude to Rififi and its director, Jules Dassin. Dassin, heralded for The Naked City, yet blacklisted by the HUAC, retreated to France to find work. Originally, Rififi was to be directed by the great Jean-Pierre Melville, but he bowed out for Dassin. It is the ultimate archetypal heist film. We start with a veteran criminal, Tony, just out of jail (Danny Ocean, anyone?) and a proposition for a heist that he initially turns down, but then perfects and enlarges after finding out his woman left him for a goon.

A crack team is assembled for the project, in which they drill through the ceiling of a jeweler’s shop from an apartment above, including the director himself playing the role of César, a safe cracker, and Robert Manuel playing Mario, an over-the-top yet charming lothario. The caper itself takes place over a half hour, supremely detailed, sans music or dialogue. All we see is the plan being executed with every bit of minutiae played out for the viewer, and you can’t take your eyes off of it.

But, of course, every criminal plan must go awry, otherwise there is no real conflict. César’s lack of foresight gets the gang noticed, and the goon closes in on our central figure, the jailbird Tony. The goon kidnaps Tony’s nephew, and Tony must rescue him. The rest of the film becomes a race against time and has a memorable ending. Rififi is the ultimate crime film, and one by which all others must be compared.




Bob le Flambeur (1955, Jean-Pierre Melville)

While Dassin was making Rififi, Jean-Pierre Melville was making Bob le Flambeur, a story that shares several elements with the former. Roger Duchesne plays Bob, a well-regarded member of his community who has had a long unlucky streak and is nearly broke. Hearing from a friend that a nearby casino stores a lot of cash, he hatches a plot and assembles a team to pull off the heist. In the meantime, he meets Anne, a gorgeous young free spirit who ends up dating his partner in crime, Paolo.

Bob also shares a fond friendship with a police inspector, Ledru, whose life Bob had once saved. As such, Ledru tends to overlook some of Bob’s dealings, though warns him off bigger crimes. Anne ‘accidentally’ lets Ledru in on the big heist and Ledru races off to warn Bob. In a twist of fate, Bob is having the biggest run of luck he’s ever had, winning big at the gambling table, making him late for the heist. What ensues is tragic, but ultimately we feel that Bob will be relatively unaffected, and things might even be improving for Bob in the long run.

While Bob le Flambeur might not have the same inner turmoil as in Pickpocket, or the intricacies of a plan like in Rififi, or the myriad twists and turns of Elevator, we do get to the heart of Bob and what makes him unique. This is what makes Melville’s movies so striking and memorable, as he later does with such great films as Le Samourai. It is Bob’s relationships, those with Ledru, Anne, Paolo, and his community that define him, not his crimes, his past or his luck, though those do paint a more detailed picture. In the end, we are rooting for Bob, and we don’t necessarily do that with Julien, Michel or Tony.

Films of the 50's: The Decade of Hitchcock (One of Many)

Strangers on a Train (1951, Alfred Hitchcock)

I could think of few other combinations as potent as Patricia Highsmith, Raymond Chandler, and Alfred Hitchcock. Highsmith wrote the original novel of Strangers on a Train, Chandler wrote an early draft of the screenplay (despite claiming the novel wasn’t believable), and Hitchcock directed the heck out of it. A recurring theme in many of Hitchcock’s films is the everyday man stuck in a tough situation and the evils of human nature allowing him to make things even worse for himself. Farley Granger is that man in Strangers on a Train, yet he’s not quite average. Granger plays an up and coming amateur tennis star, aptly named Guy, but he wants out of his marriage to a manipulative cheater. Thus, we have our first stranger.

Then we meet Bruno, played by Robert Walker. Bruno wants his father taken out of the picture. Both men have problems and Bruno, a bit psychotic, puts forth the idea of the ‘perfect murder’ in that they take care of each other’s killings. If Hitchcock makes one thing perfectly clear in most of his films, it’s that there is never any such thing as a perfect murder. Evidence is left behind, people who share a secret are not to be trusted, and nerves will always leave you undone in the end. In few other Hitchcock films does he present the game of cat and mouse so well, wrapping up in a nail-biting culmination that will leave you breathless. Strangers on a Train is easily one of my favorite Hitchcock films, despite the presence of Granger, one of my least favorite Hitchcock actors. Oddly, he is also in Rope, another of my favorites, so his presence apparently isn’t enough to change my opinion of a film.



I Confess (1953, Alfred Hitchcock)

Amazingly, before I Confess, I had never seen a Montgomery Clift film. I can say that after seeing this particular Hitchcock gem, I can see why he was a sought after star. I Confess is a film largely unsung in the Hitchcock collection and I’m not sure why. Clift plays a Catholic priest, Father William Logan. Logan is implicated in a crime by the church groundskeeper, a fact we as the audience know from the very beginning. The drama isn’t a whodunit, as it rarely is in Hitchcock's films, but rather how is the innocent man going to get out of it. The twist comes when we find out more about Logan’s life, about why he doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder, and why everyone suddenly believes he actually committed the murder. It is a study of public opinion, of paranoia, and of shared misinterpretation leading to mania. I Confess could be a film that is a parable for today’s audience, especially in things such as the New York mosque issue. Hitchcock always seemed to get amazing performances out of the secondary authority figures such as cops or judges. In this case, Karl Malden, playing Inspector Larrue, is phenomenal, as is O.E. Hasse, the groundskeeper.



Rear Window (1954, Alfred Hitchcock)

I tend to go back and forth as to whether Vertigo or Rear Window is my all-time favorite Hitchcock film. In a pinch, I’d have to go with Vertigo, but the latter is a very close second. There are oh so many things I love about Rear Window, from the elaborate set to the performances, and then the camera’s perspective. Jimmy Stewart plays L.B. Jeffries, often called Jeff, a famous photographer who is laid up in his apartment thanks to a broken leg after getting too close to the action for a photo. He is being taken care of, from time to time, by his girlfriend, played by Grace Kelly. Yeah, life is rough. But, being a man who needs to be in the thick of it, Jeff starts to snoop out his panoramic picture window into the courtyard between buildings. He begins to learn his neighbors’ habits and starts to give them nicknames, like Miss Lonelyhearts. I realize as I type this that I should be thinking this to be too much of a summary, as I hope that everyone has seen this seminal movie already. If not, you’re in for a treat. The twist on the story is that rather than just being an ordinary man thrust into dire peril, thanks to his natural instincts for finding trouble, he is given a handicap and is literally trapped with nowhere to go. The screenplay is based on a short story by the great Cornel Woolrich, who, if you haven’t read any of his work, you should. Plus, when a great film inspires an equally great Simpsons episode, how can you go wrong?




The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956, Alfred Hitchcock)

Jimmy Stewart is again the go-to guy, but this time in a remake of a film Alfred Hitchcock had already made. Hitchcock preferred this later version, saying it was more professional, but I’m sure some people would beg to differ. It is probably most known for the appearance of Doris Day, playing Jimmy’s wife, and her singing of “Whatever Will Be, Will Be (Que Sera Sera),” the Academy Award winning song introduced in this film. It seems an odd debut for a song with so much treacle, but there it is. On a trip to Morocco, the McKennas (Stewart, Day and the boy playing their young son) stumble upon intrigue and murder, thus making Stewart the titular hero. The boy is kidnapped, and the rest of the story is a race to save the son and a foreign dignitary. It’s not one of my favorites, and the song tends to stick out, but it is Hitchcock and it is enjoyable. I’d rather watch one of Hitch’s worst movies than watch most of the movies being made today.




The Wrong Man (1956, Alfred Hitchcock)

Other than Jimmy Stewart, I can think of few other ‘everyman’ actors as great as Henry Fonda. He plays Manny Balestrero, a jazz musician in New York who is mistakenly fingered for a bank robbery due to his resemblance to the real felon. The amazing thing about this film is that it was based on a true story. Originally told in a long article in Life Magazine, the story relates the tale of mistaken identity and the fight to prove innocence in the face of overwhelming ‘eyewitness’ evidence. Fonda is amazing in the film, giving one of his best performances, and that is really saying something, looking at his stellar work. Vera Miles also gives a fantastic performance as Balestrero’s wife. Through the film, we see the slow breakdown of what a simple case of mistaken identity can do to ordinary people, and how little the public seems to care about that suffering. Fonda’s scene with his son, trying to explain his innocence, and his son believing him with every fiber in his being, is undoubtedly moving. Like I Confess, The Wrong Man is unsung, and is yet one of Hitchcock’s finest films.



North by Northwest (1959, Alfred Hitchcock)

I love the story told by Gene Wilder on Inside the Actor’s Studio. Wilder had just starred in Silver Streak, a comedy / mystery film with Richard Pryor. Soon after, Wilder met Cary Grant, who remarked that he had enjoyed Silver Streak, and likened it to North by Northwest saying something to the effect of, “It always works, put someone in mortal danger, an everyday man like you or me…” The audience laughed, getting Wilder’s point. Cary Grant was never an everyman, but he didn’t need to be.

I love everything about North by Northwest. Hell, I could just watch Saul Bass’ opening credits, one of the first examples of kinetic typography, over and over again. Bernard Herrmann’s music is stellar. But, along with memorable appearances by James Mason and Eva Marie Saint, Cary Grant owns this movie from beginning to end. Grant plays Roger Thornhill, caught up in yet another signature case of mistaken identity, this time the baddies thinking he is George Kaplan. He barely manages to escape a murder attempt and then spends the rest of the movie trying to escape even more. Except for perhaps Vertigo and Psycho, North by Northwest has some of the most signature scenes in Hitchcock history, including the divebombing cropduster and the chase atop Mount Rushmore. But, Grant is anything but a bumbling or tortured Jimmy Stewart-type. Instead, he is a cavalier James Bond-ish figure, a dashing leading man on the run, yet so charming that we root for him all the same, despite not being able to fully relate to his predicament.

Films of the 50's: Three Horrors, a Dance with Death, and if it's Not Love then It's the Bomb that Will Keep Us Together

Les Diaboliques (1955, Henri-Georges Clouzot)

Henri-Georges Clouzot, who had already impressed (though not without controversy) with Le Corbeau and The Wages of Fear, returned with a movie whose script was stolen right out from under the nose of Alfred Hitchcock, both literally and figuratively. Les Diaboliques is one of those films, like many of Hitchcock’s, that is hard to pigeonhole into either horror or thriller, but is an arguable hybrid of both. That being said, Les Diaboliques houses one of the scariest scenes in modern cinema.

I don’t really want to get into the plot, as this is one of those ‘spoiler alert’ types of film. What I can say is that the film involves a couple and a teacher who works for them. The couple includes Michel, who is the headmaster of a boarding school, and his wife, Christina, who owns the school. Nicole, played by the exquisite Simone Signoret, is the teacher, trying to help the abused Christina get out from under the heavy thumb of her abusive husband.

What transpires from there is pure Hitchcockian suspense. People are murdered, bodies disappear, people are suspected and living in fear, and some insist they see ghosts. The truth is slightly unbelievable, but neatly wrapped up, making it yet another fantastic film from Clouzot. The Wages of Fear might be my favorite, but Les Diaboliques is not far behind.



The Blob (1958, Irvin Yeaworth)

I once saw The Blob as a kid on a local television station as a Saturday movie of the week. Now, I’ve never been a big viewer of horror films, probably after deciding to watch films such as The Exorcist or The Shining after midnight, alone in the house. Yeah, I was S-M-R-T. But, back then I didn’t get what the big deal was about The Blob. Being overtaken by a giant rolling slab of watermelon Jell-O was not, in my mind, a bad way to go. In fact, it might be just ahead of freezing to death. Upon reviewing the film, however, I found it much more entertaining than I did when I was in grade school.

The story has been told a million times, yet never quite this simply and elegantly. An alien form falls to earth, becoming a hostile entity that threatens the population. The biggest difference is in the movie’s central figure, played here enthrallingly by a young Steve McQueen. McQueen’s performance manages to make up for a host of horror movie clichés, stereotypical horror character mistakes (i.e. “Don’t go in there alone,” “Don’t turn your back to the unknown thing,” etc.), and fairly simplistic dialogue of a squeaky-clean teen movie variety. The Blob is a movie that practically defined America’s image of the drive-in movie. What makes it even more memorable is the incredibly goofy theme song, written by Burt Bacharach, called “Beware of the Blob.” For its limited budget, the movie is well made, am impressive use of restraint of imagery and off camera horrors.



House on Haunted Hill (1959, William Castle)

William Castle was the P.T. Barnum of cinema. For Castle, whose budgets were always constrained, it was more about marketing and gimmicks than putting together the best quality film. Some of the gimmicks included joy buzzers in seats for a heightened scare, breaks in the film to let ‘chickens’ leave before the scary parts, only to be ridiculed by 'planted' theater patrons, and skeletons dropping into the audience from the ceiling. The latter was one of the stunts used for the release of House on Haunted Hill. The story seems to have some holes, or at least needed some tightening. There’s an owner of the house, and a host, yet not the same person. The owner is played by Elisha Cook, Jr., giving a performance that unbelievably goes farther over the top than that of the host, played by Vincent Price.

Despite Castle’s notoriety for b-movie quality, House has some definite scares and startling imagery. Then again, it also has some incredibly cheesy effects, but Castle manages to slip out of some of the criticism by providing some interesting explanations. More than anything, the film is a great party movie, as is evidenced by the fact that the former MST3K crew, now working as RiffTrax, have provided a humorous voiceover. The premise is simple, and is not any newer than the premise for the Blob. A group of people is invited by a creepy host to spend the night in a haunted house (in this case the famous Ennis House in Los Angeles, used as the location for Angel’s ‘castle’ in Buffy the Vampire Slayer) and if they can last the night, they win some cash. There are a few twists and turns along the way, which make it worth continuing, but overall you have to come in expecting the worst to make it surpass those expectations.



The Seventh Seal (1957, Ingmar Bergman)

I doubt there’s anything new or revealing I could say about Bergman’s The Seventh Seal. I suppose I could just wrap it up there, but that would be somewhat of a cheat. Bergman’s medieval play, with the backdrop of the Black Death, has spurred parody and homage for years. I suppose you know your film is iconic when the parodies are as varied as Woody Allen and Bill & Ted. Max von Sydow plays Antonius Block, a knight returning wearied from a battle of the Crusades. He finds his home country of Sweden crippled by the Black Death, and he is quickly approached by Death himself, leaving Block to both contemplate the meaning of life, and to try and outwit Death by challenging him to a game of chess. As might be expected from an art film as opposed to a Hollywood movie, Death is witty, patient, and a bit of a trickster.

Along his journey, Block and his squire meet several villagers and travelers, additional dramatis personae who seemingly influence Block’s views of the world, life and death. Again, I can’t say anything that hasn’t been said already. The Seventh Seal is considered one of the finest art films in history. Personally, I think the art tag is unnecessary. The film is a masterpiece, measured in existential philosophy, humor and pathos. In 1957, I don’t think many people could envision the man playing the deeply thoughtful role of Antonius Block playing Brewmeister Smith in Strange Brew, or Ming the Merciless in Flash Gordon, but I suppose that merely proves the actor’s range.

The heart of the film lies in the characters of Jof and Mia, the actor and his wife, and their baby, representing the surviving future of mankind, in my incredibly obtuse interpretation. Jof’s vision and humorous antics remind me of one of his antecedents, Roberto Benigni, while the mere representation of the family’s character as a whole has a moving effect on the other characters, specifically Antonius. If there is any other image in The Seventh Seal that rivals the chess game with Death, it is the Dance with Death, the vision of silhouettes in a daisy chain on the top of a hill. For me, that scene is up there with Kane’s snow globe, Rick and Renault in the fog on the tarmac, and Jimmy Stewart looking down the ‘smash-zooming’ staircase.




Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959, Alain Resnais)

For the last week, I’ve been studying modern wars and, specifically, the decision to use the atomic bomb. Aside from the assigned textbook, I’ve read John Hersey’s Hiroshima and portions of David McCullough’s Truman. So, it was kismet that Alain Resnais’ Hiroshima Mon Amour recently arrived from Netflix. The film, like most of Rensais’ work, other than Night and Fog, is difficult to summarize. At its core, it revolves around a love affair between a French woman and a Japanese man, both haunted by the events of World War II. What must be said, before getting too deep, is that Hiroshima Mon Amour is a film that equally belongs to two creative minds, one belonging to Resnais, and the other, writer Marguerite Duras.

Duras’ words contribute as much to the atmosphere as Resnais’ incredibly chosen images. The first twenty minutes set up the symbolism and metaphor throughout the rest of this memorable film, and I use memorable intentionally. Memory is a keystone for Resnais, probably never used as effectively as in his later film, The Last Year at Marienbad. The collective memories of the victims of war are encapsulated in these two unlikely lovers, an affair that brings together two distant spheres of post-war pain. The mini-documentary at the forefront, mixing horrific images of the effects of the A-bomb with Emmanuelle Riva’s ethereal dialogue, only sets the stage for future hallmark imagery that recalls the horror of Hiroshima. We see the shadow of two lovers on the walls of buildings, repeated touches of hair and skin, those things most easily lost by the fallout of the bomb, and we see mirroring of France and Japan in its rivers and the Paris garden cupola that resembles the Atomic Bomb Dome, one of the few standing buildings after the attack.

As I’ve studied, the question has come up as to Truman’s choice to use the bomb. Riva repeats in the intro, “You’re destroying me. You’re good for me.” Although she may be talking about her affair, it’s not a far stretch to attribute any of these lines to a number of different interpretations. Duras’ words are simple in form, yet lead to varied avenues of translation. 'His' story is told quickly, and is the story of many others caught up by the destruction of the bomb, but 'hers' is one of German occupation, nationalism, and forbidden love. In the end, it is a film that cannot be internalized easily. But, like all great films, it sets different parts of the brain and heart in motion. It’s no mistake that toward the end of the film, Resnais has his unnamed characters rendezvous in a club called the Casablanca. Nearly two decades later, Hiroshima Mon Amour is a more complex, jagged, and yet beautiful retelling of Casablanca, a classic story of impossible love affected by the memories of war.

Films of the 50's Part 9: War! What Is It Good For?

Night and Fog (1955, Alain Resnais)

Possibly the most devastating thirty minutes of film I’ve ever seen exist in the French documentary called Night and Fog. Released on the 10th anniversary of the end of the war, I’d imagine that emotions were still running high, and that several of the images seen in the film were quite shocking to the viewing public. The title comes from a division of the Nazi government that rounded up dissidents and threw them into camps. They would get an “N / N” painted on the backs of their coats, representing “Nacht und Nebel.”

Night and Fog is a powerful marriage of three elements, visuals, which are a mix of stock war footage and shots of the camps in 1955, stark and riveting narration by Michel Bouquet, off a script written by Gusen concentration camp survivor Jean Cayrol, and an indelibly moving score by Hanns Eisler, regular collaborator of Bertolt Brecht, whose music was banned by the Nazis. Eisler fled to the states during the war. Night and Fog was one of the first, and possibly one of the more shocking, revelations of wartime atrocities and the Holocaust put into mass media.

Something that struck me while watching this short film is that the images of the abandoned camps, the overgrown weeds covering the train tracks leading to the camp buildings, the empty wooden bunks, and the gas chambers, all telling stories through a haunting absence. These absences can’t help but evoke overwhelming feelings of despair for humanity. It is most likely because of this that French schools required their students to watch Night and Fog, to understand what happened, and what we need to be ever vigilant to be sure never happens again.

You can see Night and Fog for free on Google Video, as well as read the Criterion collection essays about the film online at Criterion.com.



Mister Roberts (1955, John Ford & Mervyn Le Roy)


From a devastating documentary about the camps to another side of World War II, we have Mister Roberts, a comedy-drama set on a naval cargo ship in the Pacific during the last days of fighting. Henry Fonda stars as the title character, the executive officer that acts as the respected middleman to Lt. Commander Morton, a pain in the ass Captain, played to the hilt by James Cagney. Morton won’t let any of his men out on leave, or ‘liberty’ as they call it in the film. Roberts is constantly trying to get off the cargo ship, looking for a more meaningful assignment on the front lines, writing letter after letter, essentially driving Morton crazy.

Morton and Roberts make a deal. Morton will let the men have their ‘liberty’ as long as Roberts ceases his letter writing campaign to get off the cargo ship. There is an odd, yet effective balance in Mister Roberts. There are serious and heartbreaking moments throughout, especially the bittersweet ending, but the film is punctuated by hilarious comedy, usually involving Ensign Pulver, played by a young Jack Lemmon, who is spectacular in the role, as evidenced by winning the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor.

One of the more memorable scenes of the film involves a concoction by Roberts, Pulver and the ship’s doctor to create a bottle of Scotch with some clear alcohol, Coca-Cola, and iodine. Another hilarious moment involves Morton confronting Pulver, asking the ensign how long he’s been aboard the ship (as Pulver has been avoiding the Captain since being on the ship), Pulver hesitates, then hilariously reveals, “Fourteen months, sir.”



Paths of Glory (1957, Stanley Kubrick)

Paths of Glory might not be the most famous film in which Stanley Kubrick and Kirk Douglas teamed up (that would be Spartacus), but I’m not sure it shouldn’t be. The film, based on a novel of the same name, takes place during World War I, and is separated into two distinct parts. The first part involves the taking of the ‘anthill,’ a strategic position that, with the combatants current entrenched positions, would be impossible to reach. The second part involves a trial, a court martial of four soldiers accused of mutiny.

Much like one aspect of Night and Fog, Paths of Glory displays the vast difference between the worlds of power and the worlds of the ‘expendable.’ The French General Broulard, played by Adolphe Menjou, orders General Mireau on a suicide mission to take the ‘anthill.’ While at first resistant, he is swayed by the offer of a promotion. Mireau then orders Colonel Dax, played by Douglas, who is also hesitant, but a devoted soldier, intent on carrying out his duties. The attack goes badly, with many killed, and one whole company, led by a cowardly lieutenant, refusing to leave their bunkers. Mireau actually orders, from his cushy station behind lines, the bombing of his own men to get them out of the bunkers. Dax goes back for the company, meaning to spur them into action, but it pushed back into the bunker by a falling French soldier, and by then it is too late.

Furious, Mireau wants to have 100 men executed for mutiny, but General Broulard scales it back down to three to make an example. The three are to be chosen by lot, one from each company, but they’re actually chosen for different reasons. One is chosen for witnessing his cowardly commander mistakenly kill his own soldier, one for being an outsider, and the final actually by lot. Dax feels the entire affair is preposterous and offers to represent the three soldiers during the trial. The rest of the film finds Dax trying to save the three ‘mutinous’ soldiers from the firing squad, but we find that common sense has no place in war. What is truly sad about this is that it was based on a true story, including the General ordering an attack on his own troops.



Operation Petticoat (1959, Blake Edwards)

Cary Grant and Tony Curtis team up in one of Blake Edwards’ early comedy films, Operation Petticoat. Grant shows up to see the decommissioning of his old vessel, the Sea Tiger, a World War II submarine. While waiting for its current captain, he finds his old logbook and begins to reminisce about his war days aboard the ship, and that’s where the hilarity ensues. We are quickly introduced to Matt Sherman, played by Grant, and one of his crew, Nick Holden, played by Curtis. Holden shows up in dress whites, much to the amusement of the crew of the Sea Tiger, but it turns out he’s not in the military out of duty, but as a way to meet a rich wife. He also turns out to be a masterful con man, someone who can procure difficult to get items, becoming an asset Sherman never anticipated.

The two work well with each other, which is assuredly helped by the fact that Curtis idolized Grant, and saw Grant as the inspiration for his entering the acting business. Already having trouble with the submarine (one engine continually backfires, which seems somewhat impossible, but funny), they end up taking on five attractive female passengers, which ruffles the feathers of the somewhat by-the-book Sherman, and even more hilarity ensues. Amazingly, Curtis starred in two of the funniest and more successful films of that war, this one and Some Like it Hot.

Operation Petticoat moves a bit slowly, and isn’t necessarily laugh-out-loud funny, but is endlessly watchable. The stars are charismatic and there are plenty of signature moments to take with you after its over, not the least of which is the one in which Curtis needs to procure paint for the sub, but is only able to get half of what they need in red, and half in white. You can guess what happens from there. Operation Petticoat is one of those films you’d call a ‘fun romp,’ and certainly puts the heavy messages of these other war films into perspective. While the somewhat similar Mister Roberts still displayed some of the seriousness of war, Operation Petticoat is all humor, a lighthearted look at the absurdities that can surround military life.

Films of the 50's Part 8: Sci! Fi!

I used to like science fiction a lot more than I do now. I used to be the six-year old who saw the original Star Wars film multiple times in the theater. But, my tastes have changed. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a good sci-fi book or film (and superfans, please don’t correct me about the use of the term, sci-fi, as you just sound crazy). In my mind, the best science fiction isn’t made merely to display the clichés of the genre, including flying saucers, alien races, and the like. In my mind, the best sci-fi is really about us, now, or our recent past, merely set in a sci-fi diorama. Case in point, the philosophical genre writings of Philip K. Dick, a true master. It’s also why I prefer Star Trek over Star Wars at this point in my life. The 50’s were an important time for sci-fi films, in which movies and books went from being relegated to the pulp pile and b-movie tag, to an air of respectability. Well, three of these films achieved it…


The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951, Robert Wise)

Let’s try to forget about the recent remake, shall we? The original film displays wonderfully what I love about sci-fi, namely a tale of humanity merely set in a fantastical landscape. The action starts right away, with a flying saucer landing in Washington, D.C. We are immediately introduced to Klaatu, a visitor from another world who is mistakenly shot by a nervous soldier. Gort, Klaatu’s menacing robot companion, emerges to protect his master, vaporizing the military’s weapons.

What ensues is a parable of the Cold War, the atomic arms race that would eventually threaten to destroy the Earth. It’s actually one of the more potent allegories I’ve seen on film. It can also be seen as a religious allegory, with Klaatu as Jesus, donning the name Carpenter when hiding out, trying to find a way to deliver his warnings of peace. Of course, Jesus never warned, nor had an enforcer robot, though that would be a pretty amazing alternate take.

The images of the film are iconic. The sliding rampway to the alien spacecraft, the look of Gort’s cyclopic eye and tubular head, and Klaatu’s handheld device have all inspired many sci-fi tropes to come. But, the film will probably be remembered most for the phrase, “Klaatu Barada Nikto,” a shibboleth that brings our ‘resurrected’ hero back to deliver his important message.


Gojira (1954, Ishiro Honda)

Gojira, or as we all have come to know it, Godzilla, is another parable of the atomic age. Still recovering from the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan turned its fears and shock into a dramatic monster movie. Godzilla was the first ‘kaiju’ or giant monster film in what would become a major genre in Japan.

The story is simple enough. Ships and vessels begin disappearing, with washed up crew unable to relay what it was that caused the devastation. Local villagers tell of the myth of Godzilla, and he turns out to exist. Created by a nuclear explosion, the radioactive monster seeks land and begins destroying everything in sight. The effects are terrible, to be sure, but entertaining. But, if the effects got one thing right about Godzilla, it’s his scream. Apparently made by the sound a leather glove along the strings of a double bass, then slowed down, Godzilla’s roar is terrifying.

This film holds a special place in my heart. No, unlike with my last film post, I do not have a crush on Godzilla. Instead, I made a short film with a home video camera in my high school years based on the original Godzilla. It was a mix of live and stop-action, dubbed badly for effect, and featured the destruction of an entire Lego city. The best part was the calm before the storm, a prologue featuring an idyllic slice of life, all set to Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five.”


Forbidden Planet (1956, Fred M. Wilcox)

Forbidden Planet is considered one of the more important sci-fi films of the 1950’s. It is one of the first features that got the effects right. Though now dated, it’s easy to see, in comparison to other genre films of the time, they stand out above the rest. The ship, the matte paintings, the set dressings, and the animated “id monster” are all examples of the increased effort that lifted this film above b-movie status.

In essence a retelling of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Forbidden Planet tells the tale of a group of space travelers landing on a planet with a pair of lone survivors, Morbius and his daughter, Altaira, along with their now famous construction, Robby the Robot. Morbius reveals the demise of his crew, the technology he found on the planet, and the Krell, the former inhabitants who were all wiped out 200,000 years prior. The entire crew of the newly arrived Bellerophon, including the captain, played by Leslie Nielsen, fall for the fetching Altaira, played by Anne Francis (who I will most likely also write about in an upcoming review of Bad Day at Black Rock). Altaira is a 50’s era bombshell, blonde, bedroom eyes and a mole near her lip. She’s the space version of Marilyn Monroe, and she wears the shortest skirts I think I’ve ever seen.

Like The Day the Earth Stood Still, Forbidden Planet is tale of humanity and man’s infallibility. It is most likely this factor that led Gene Roddenberry to find it inspiring enough to spur his creation of Star Trek. It’s all there: the military like crew visiting unknown planets, the mysteries that have to be unraveled about an alien race, a smart and charismatic yet misguided civilian, and a manly captain who ends up making out with the one girl available, who happens to be a stone cold fox.


Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959, Ed Wood)

Unlike the rest of the films above, Plan 9 from Outer Space is a train wreck. I’m not shattering anyone’s misconceptions about it as the Ed Wood film is now widely known as the worst film ever made. My brother revels in bad films. The inanities of Starship Troopers, Mission to Mars and Van Helsing all appeal to his sense of the high art of absurdity. But, Plan 9 transcends bad film to high art, transcends that again into even worse territory, then jumps again into an altogether different stratum all by itself, becoming one of the funniest, craziest, and unintentionally brilliant films ever made.

Nothing makes sense. It’s as if the film were pieced together from eight different films, none having anything to do with the other, and no effort made to find the logic of transition. Bad acting, bad editing, horrible effects, and the cheesiest narration in existence all lend to the disastrous hilarity. “Unspeakable horrors from outer space paralyze the living and resurrect the dead!” says the movie poster. Does it get any better than that? Tor Johnson, Vampira, and Criswell all became iconic figures of sci-fi, though probably not in a way that any of them envisioned. There’s not much else to say about it. If you haven’t seen it, you should, preferably with friends, to share the joys and pains of this memorable film. There have been many parodies and homages to Plan 9, which seems at times overkill, but the best I’ve seen was in an episode of Mission Hill, called “Plan 9 from Mission Hill: or, I Married a Gay Man from Outer Space.”

Films of the 50's Part 7: Audrey Hepburn

I admit it. I’m prone to crushes. Or, as Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn put it, in the sublime voices of Chet Baker and Frank Sinatra, I fall in love too easily. Just today, in watching the recent film When in Rome, I gained another crush, this time on comedienne / actress Kate Micucci. Sigh. And yet somehow, every crush I’ve harbored, every girl I’ve fallen for, each female I’ve shared a relationship with, has had one thing in common, an element of Audrey. I don’t know if I realized it until now. It’s only in hindsight that I’ve been able to piece together that Audrey Hepburn has been the Rosetta Stone for my love life. So, it was with great awe and reverence that my journey through the films of the 50’s found the movies of the exquisite Ms. Hepburn.

Roman Holiday (1953, William Wyler)

Is it coincidence to go from the aforementioned When in Rome to Roman Holiday? Honestly, it is coincidence. While When in Rome did film a small bit of footage in Rome, Roman Holiday was filmed completely in that magical city. Rome itself becomes a character. But, this film is truly owned by Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, two giants of the silver screen. Hepburn and Peck still had to wait a few years, until the early 60’s, to portray the roles that would define them (in my opinion, Breakfast at Tiffany’s and To Kill a Mockingbird, respectively), but it was easy to see just how magnetic these two were together in Roman Holiday. Peck was already a veteran of Hollywood. Hepburn had done a few small films, but Roman Holiday was, for all intents and purposes, her big screen debut.

Hepburn plays Ann, or Anya as she reveals herself to Joe, played by Peck, the princess of a country that is never named, on tour throughout the major cities of Europe. In Rome, she has a kind of breakdown, escaping the confines of her quarters and her handlers. She meets Joe Bradley, a reporter, who finds her asleep on a bench. Though Joe soon figures out her true identity, he can’t help but fall in love with her. They spend time together having as ‘normal’ a life as this princess has ever had. And though Ann eventually returns to her life of royalty, we are left with coded messages between the two that will tug at the tautest of heartstrings.

It’s no wonder that I, along with many others, fell for Audrey. She is at once elegant, aloof, charming, silly, radiant and unbelievably beautiful. Roman Holiday introduced to the world a stunning vision and incredible talent, and it’s a damn fine movie, too. To top it off, Hepburn won the BAFTA, the Golden Globe, and the Oscar for her role as Ann. Special mention also has to be given to Eddie Albert, brilliant comic relief in this highly romantic film.

Sabrina (1954, Billy Wilder)

There’s a bit of a leap in logic viewers have to take at the beginning of Sabrina. As Hepburn, playing the title role, sits in the crook of a tree, crushing on William Holden’s David Larrabee, we are to believe that she is awkward and unattractive. It’s a bill of sale given to us by Hollywood time and again. Except this time, we didn’t even get the courtesy of the glasses and overalls, such as in She’s All That. Instead, Hepburn is unintentionally dreamy from the first second she appears on screen, a creature so enchanting that no man, no matter how rich or experienced, could possibly resist her.

Regardless, according to the story, Sabrina is sent off to culinary school in Paris, learning about the ways of cultured life. She comes back, and is somehow unrecognizable to David. But, David is engaged to a very rich heiress, and older brother Linus feels the need to intervene in a possible fledgling relationship. In the process, Linus, played by Humphrey Bogart, himself falls for Sabrina.

Though the age difference was substantial, it’s hard to deny the sparks between Bogart and Hepburn. (The same could be said without the age difference for Bogart and another Hepburn in the earlier film, The African Queen). Each part is expertly cast, with Holden playing the role of the selfish playboy exceedingly well. Billy Wilder had yet another magnificent film on his hands with Sabrina, and Audrey Hepburn further cemented her status as the thinking man’s fantasy girl.

Funny Face (1957, Stanley Donen)

I’m not normally a fan of musicals. Very few films of the genre have done much to change my mind (though I have not yet written about Singin’ in the Rain). The biggest problem I have with musicals is the idea of characters breaking into song in the midst of ordinary situations, a problem that Singin’ in the Rain handles with ease. While this movie doesn't quite avoid that trope, Stanley Donen proves once again he is a master of the genre. Funny Face is a virtual feast for the eyes and ears. Images by Richard Avedon, vivid colors, and classic tunes by George and Ira Gershwin all combine to make a film that would be remembered, even if not for the inclusion of Audrey Hepburn. But, she took it to another level.

First of all, we are again given the same unbelievable pablum that Hepburn can somehow be made to appear unattractive. But, as a literature loving bookstore clerk, Hepburn had me falling all the harder. In fact, I found her more appealing and attractive in these clothes than her eventual fashion plate makeover duds. In another similarity to Sabrina, the story pairs Hepburn with an older man, in this case Fred Astaire, thirty years her senior. Astaire plays Dick Avery, a photographer, who plucks Jo Stockton (Hepburn) from her beatnik-like lifestyle and introduces her to the sophisticated world of fashion. They, of course, fall headlong for each other.

With Astaire in tow, you know there are going to be some beguiling dance scenes, and in that realm, Funny Face does not disappoint. His “umbrella and cape” dance routine to “Let’s Kiss and Make Up” is riveting, while his duet with Kay Thompson (yes, the later author of the Eloise children’s books) is a bit silly but highly entertaining. Never have I seen, outside of Happy Days, the beatnik scene so cartoonishly portrayed. But the true centerpiece of Funny Face is the Bohemian, black bodysuit dance by Hepburn in a Paris nightclub. The scene was later put to AC/DC and put in a Gap ad, showing the power of Hepburn’s appeal. My favorite Hepburn movies were filmed in the 60’s, but I could watch her early work in the 50’s repeatedly, most likely falling in love too easily, all over again.

Films of the 50's, Part 6: A Trio of Westerns

Shane (1953, George Stevens)

For a few of these installments, I’ve decided to expand my selections to more than two. I have to get through all these somehow, and two at a time just isn’t cutting it. So, in this case, welcome to a special Westerns edition of “Films of the ‘50’s.”

Westerns, at one time, were incredibly popular. These days, even if you combine the western genre with another one, say science fiction, you can’t even get a show to last for half a season. Western novels used to take up entire sections of bookstores. Now, you’ll be lucky to find more than a few shelves, even if they’re all Louis L’Amour. The 50’s were probably the last bastion for the ‘white hat’ westerns, those stories where a squeaky-clean cowboy would protect the defenseless in the lawless west. The 60’s would bring both a new artistry and grittiness to the genre with the Sergio Leone Spaghetti Westerns. Soon after, the category seemed to practically disappear from the theaters. But, every once in a while, someone finds a new take, or a gripping story, and the ailing western is given a new breath of life, at least for a short time.

Shane is one of the most famous westerns of the innocent ‘white hat’ age. Out of all of these films I’ve seen, Shane is the only one in which the hero actually does show up in a white hat and suit (well, it’s sort of a cream color, but close enough). Alan Ladd plays Shane, a gunslinging drifter who chances upon a homesteading family fighting for their survival against a gang of land-grabbing toughs. Shane, the altruistic good-guy that we take him to be, offers his help, including one of the most homo-erotic scenes I’ve witnessed, involving the removal of an old tree stump. The community and family, especially their young boy, become attached to Shane. Already, even if you haven’t seen the film, you can predict what’s coming. After the big showdown, in which it remains unclear whether Shane’s injuries are critical or superficial, our white-hatted hero rides off into the sunset yet again, leaving the really creepy, beady eyed, big-headed young boy to call out to him, his needy voice echoing into the valley.

Despite its reputation and seemingly straightforward tale of bravery, I had a few problems with Shane. For one, that kid scares the hell out of me. Secondly, there is a scene in which Shane begins to teach the child in question how to use a gun. The boy’s mother, Marian, protests, saying she doesn’t want her child to live that kind of life. This prompts Shane to give her a speech, saying, “A gun is a tool, Marian; no better or no worse than any other tool: an axe, a shovel or anything. A gun is as good or as bad as the man using it. Remember that.” I know this is a standard defense for guns, and makes sense for the old west, yet it still bothers me. Not only do I believe the argument is complete bunk, but this supposed good guy is directly defying the wishes of the child’s mother, a child he has known for all of a few days.

There are a few things I did enjoy about Shane. In an uncharacteristic fashion to the more innocent days of westerns, Shane contains one of the longest, bloodiest, and most believable bar fights in the genre. The movie should also be remembered for the standout performance of Jack Palance, portraying the hired gun for the black hats. I also always enjoy the performances of Elisha Cook, Jr., a wide-eyed actor best known for playing the ‘gunsel’ in The Maltese Falcon.



Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (1957, John Sturges)

I don’t know if there is any other western story as famous or as prevalent as the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. The tale of unlikely friends, Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, proved that sometimes truth is stranger and more interesting than fiction. Yet, at the same time, it has inspired some pretty darn great fiction. One of the early standards was the simply titled, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas, in their second team-up that would eventually become legendary, are Earp and Holliday, respectively. Lancaster, who was known as all teeth and muscle, and Douglas, with a perfect mix of cockiness and panache, play off each other incredibly well, which is why it’s fairly easy to see how their partnership continued so successfully.

This movie was a real hodge-podge. It’s full of memorable lines and great performances, but devoid of much action, drags along from town to town in order to preserve the historical timeline, and has the goofiest theme song, which would be forgiven if it wasn’t interspersed throughout the film, acting as summary narration. Ultimately, the biggest drawback is somewhat an unfair one, having to do with the passage of time. I don’t know if Tombstone could be considered a remake, since it’s merely telling the same real-life story, but it’s difficult to look back on any other Earp story after it. Val Kilmer’s Doc Holliday is easily one of the most quotable and entertaining roles in westerns, or frankly any other film for that matter.

That’s not to say that Douglas’ performance is lacking. In fact, he has some great lines that certainly could have been inspiration for the 1993 version. For instance, “I do handle them [guns] pretty well. The only trouble is, those best able to testify to my aim aren’t around for comment.” Further, in comparison to Shane, Lancaster’s Earp has a more palatable message regarding guns, “I never knew a gunslinger yet so tough he lived to celebrate his 35th birthday. I learned one rule about gunslingers. There's always a man faster on the draw than you are, and the more you use a gun, the sooner you're gonna run into that man.”

There are two appearances to watch for in Gunfight, DeForest Kelley and Dennis Hopper. Kelly, best known for playing Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy in the original Star Trek series and films, plays Morgan Earp. Hopper, in a small but memorable performance, plays Billy Clanton, a youngster who feels trapped into being a gunslinger by his older brothers, a nice contrast to the Earp family sense of unity.



Rio Bravo (1959, Howard Hawks)

I mentioned Rio Bravo previously, in my capsule on High Noon. As I said before, Rio Bravo was made as John Wayne and Howard Hawks’ response to the Gary Cooper film, which they felt was unbelievable (and not in the good sense). So, instead of a Marshal who can’t find anyone in the town help fight the villains, western icon John Wayne finds a motley bunch of friends and strangers that band together in the same mission.

There’s the town drunk, Dean Martin in a pretty much typecast role, the rickety old jailer, also typecast with Walter Brennan, the young noncommittal drifter, played by Ricky Nelson, and the strong, beautiful, independent gambler, played by Angie Dickinson. On paper, this film could have been a huge mess. Hawks didn’t particularly want to cast Nelson, and the idea of singing cowboys was quickly becoming an outdated concept. Plus, remaking High Noon, a beloved film, was a risky proposition, even if they didn’t believe in its politics.

But, the movie succeeds on several levels. Rio Bravo is mostly carried by its co-stars, and nearly stolen by supporting characters, such as Pedro Gonzalez Gonzalez as the hotel owner, Carlos. Even the songs, including the memorable duet between Martin and Nelson, “My Rifle, My Pony, and Me,” stand out. It’s rumored that Quentin Tarantino shows Rio Bravo to his dates, and if the girl doesn’t like it, they never have another. I certainly didn’t feel that strongly about it, but there are very few westerns I can claim to love. In this day and age, after Silverado, Tombstone, and more recently, the hybrid show Firefly, and the ultra-gritty realism of Deadwood, it would be difficult for any of these movies to win me over.

Films of the 50's Part 5: 12 Angry Men & Compulsion

12 Angry Men (1957, Sidney Lumet)

Few directors have had as long and storied a career as Sidney Lumet. In fact, out of all of the directors of the 50’s films I have seen while researching this project, (40 of them so far), only Lumet is still active. Fewer still have had as strong a debut as 12 Angry Men. It existed as a teleplay before Lumet’s version, and it’s been remade many times since (even given homage in a Veronica Mars episode), but Lumet’s is the quintessential one.

Henry Fonda, as strong and steadfast an everyman hero as there’s ever been (along with Jimmy Stewart), stars as juror #8 (only given the name “Davis” at the end of the film). He is a member of a jury of other unnamed men, faced with giving a young man the death penalty. Even one dissenter amongst the twelve will cause a hung jury, and the room is full of people who just want to get on with their lives.

Number 8 has other aims, namely to do what is right. That’s the center of 12 Angry Men, a riveting tale that mainly takes place in only one room. The tension, and there’s plenty of it, is all delivered in dialogue and acting, a trait that would be nearly unheard of in modern film. The rest of the cast is a ‘who’s who’ of, it not stars, then at least notable actors for one reason or another. Martin Balsam and E.G. Marshall are both solid actors, often under-appreciated, though prolific. As far as character actors go, it doesn’t get much better than the two Jacks, Warden and Klugman. Most will recognize the voice, if not the face, of juror #2, who is probably best known as Piglet in the Disney versions of the Winnie the Pooh stories. And then there’s Lee J. Cobb.

Cobb plays juror #3, aside from #8, the lead, probably the most complex character of the bunch, and maybe the richest and hardest to play. Cobb pulls it off beautifully, portraying a troubled father who has to deal with his own innermost feelings, and tendencies toward violence, before making a decision on the life of another. Cobb himself was a bit of a controversial figure, one of a select few who named names in the Red Scare hearings. But, it’s tough to stay mad at the guy who originated the role of Willy Loman.

What 12 Angry Men has become is a primer on the justice system, a lesson on the concept of ‘reasonable doubt.’ I believe that every young person should see this film before they become old enough to get summoned for jury duty. What Henry Fonda’s character has shown in this film is to stand up for one’s convictions, even in the face of a large amount of opposition. The death penalty is not something to be taken lightly, whether you believe in it or not, and the decision to employ it should not be so hasty. Which brings us to another film…



Compulsion (1959, Richard Fleischer)

It had been about 35 years since the famous Leopold and Loeb murder and subsequent trial, yet Hollywood wasn’t nearly done with telling that story again and again. The story, about a pair of students who thought they could pull off the ‘perfect murder’ has since become a timeless one, and some versions ended up better than others. Case in point, Rope. Compulsion is another good one, albeit somewhat scattered.

The film starts with the two prospective murderers, played to the hilt by Bradford Dillman and a young Dean Stockwell. Both astound, Dillman as the preening and cocksure Artie, essentially the dominant one, and Stockwell as Judd Steiner, the easily influenced follower, who finds himself the intellectual better of everyone he meets, even his professors.

The opening depicts the two driving along a dark rural road, when they come across a hitchhiker. Artie pushes Judd into trying to run him down before the credits roll, in a very distinctive b-movie fashion. This is when Artie delivers the tagline that would appear on all the posters, “You know why we did it? Because we damn well felt like doing it!”

But, what evolves is much more serious than b-movie material. We go through an introduction to the arrogance and lifestyle (shot at UCLA, which looked remarkably the same in the 50-year-old film as it did when I attended), and then the murder victim is discovered, the act committed off screen. Stockwell pretty much confesses while assaulting the one girl in his life, Ruth Evans (Diane Varsi). From there, the film changes gears and goes into a courtroom drama, with the inimitable Orson Welles playing the Clarence Darrow-like lawyer.

Nearly every aspect of the actual Leopold and Loeb case is reproduced, down to the damning evidence, a pair of glasses with a set of hinges only sold to three people. But, the grace of Compulsion is not in its reproduction of the facts, as Hitchcock’s Rope does a far more compelling job of storytelling by altering them. Instead, Compulsion’s mastery is in its message, conveyed through the dialogue of characters Ruth Evans and lawyer, Jonathan Wilk. Both end up to be the only characters to show compassion for the two killers, despite the horrible nature of their crime, its evil no one would dispute. Welles’ closing arguments speech is one of the longest monologues in film history, and one of the most powerful. His anti-death penalty stance might be viewed by some as a lawyer's ploy, especially due to his series of hilarious one-liners before the trial, but then again, I didn’t need any convincing.

Films of the 50's Part 4: The 400 Blows & High Noon

The 400 Blows (1959, Francois Truffaut)

I was originally planning to start this blog post with a film by Elia Kazan so that this entire piece could somehow revolve around the Red Scare theme, but I have to get myself a little more acquainted with both On the Waterfront and East of Eden. Instead, I went in a different direction. So far, the films I’ve written about have been, for the most part, thrillers or action oriented. Upon realizing this, I aimed to write about the film that most affected me emotionally; that film is Les Quatre Cent Coups, or as it is known in English, The 400 Blows.

I don’t remember how many films I screened in my French film class in college, all of seventeen or eighteen years ago, but there are only four or five films that I remember vividly. The 400 Blows is a film I will never forget. The fact that this was Truffaut’s feature film debut is more than impressive; it’s practically unbelievable. It was one of the first popular examples of the French New Wave, and in my opinion, one of its standard bearers.

Antoine Doinel is the main character, an adolescent who most everyone in his life has either ignored or pegged as a troublemaker. (In fact, the French title of the film, which was literally translated into English, is slang for “raising hell”). But, most of the time, Doinel seems a victim of circumstance; no more a hooligan than many of the other kids his age, but trapped in a self-fulfilling prophecy. What follows is a stark, tragic and gut-wrenching tale.

Doinel is always on the outside, looking in. He sleeps in a cot in the entryway of his mother’s small apartment. He discovers his mother is having an affair and that his father is really his stepfather. He’s blamed for things he hasn’t done, and even when he does make a mistake, it’s in the interest of bettering himself, such as when he builds a shrine to Balzac, nearly burns down the apartment, and then his resulting Balzac-inspired essay is thought to be plagiarized.

If Doinel eventually does give in to a life of adult crime, it is only because the adults in his life have allowed it to happen. The closing scene is one of the most memorable in the history of cinema. Antoine, after having been placed in a jail cell with adult criminals and prostitutes, then shipped off to a work camp, runs away, toward the beach, as far as he can, then turns to face the camera, the audience, and theoretically, his past, his future, and his accusers. I could never claim to completely empathize with Antoine. I did, however, make my fair share of trouble as a child, and, on more than one occasion, was left to my own devices. Truffaut made this as an autobiographical film. He is Antoine Doinel. I was not, but I feel only slightly distanced from his world. The 400 Blows is truly a masterpiece of cinema, one I return to regularly.



High Noon (1952, Fred Zinneman)

High Noon is another story of someone isolated, but in a different way. Based on John Cunningham’s short story, "The Tin Star," Fred Zinneman wanted to turn this western tale into an allegory of the Red Scare and blacklisting in particular, a brave feat considering it was happening at the time. During the makig of the film, the screenwriter, Carl Foreman, was called in to see the committee for having been a former member of the Communist Party some ten years earlier.

Gary Cooper plays Will Kane, the retiring Marshal of a small New Mexico territory town, having just been married to Amy, his pacifist Quaker wife, played by Grace Kelly in only her second performance. But, Kane hears that a man he captured got off on a technicality, and is on his way to town to enact his revenge. Despite a desire to start his new life, Kane feels a duty to stay and face the criminal and his gang. He looks to fill the ranks of deputies, or at least to get some help in defending the town. But, his deputy, played by Lloyd Bridges, feels slighted and quits. The rest of the townspeople are equally unhelpful, motivated by fear and cowardice. The only one people who attempt to do anything in Kane’s defense are the two women in his life, his wife Amy, and his former flame, played by the stunning Katy Jurado.

Kane ultimately has to face down the gang on his own, abandoned by the town he devoted his life to protecting. Relying on his wits and experience, Kane guns down the criminals, as could be expected, and the cowering townspeople come out of the woodwork. Kane boards a stage with his wife, and throws his badge down in disgust.

One of the notable things about this film is the real-time storytelling. Criminal Frank Miller is due in town at, you guessed it, High Noon, and we see every minute leading up to that hour, and the few action packed minutes after it. This method is something that most directors, then or now, of the popular Hollywood machine, could not pull off nearly as effectively. The film stirred some controversy when John Wayne and Howard Hawks took offense at the film, saying the story was completely unbelievable and in Wayne’s words, “un-American.” Well, wasn’t that Zinneman’s point about blacklisting? Wayne even went on to take pride in helping blacklist screenwriter Foreman. They made a film that was an answer to High Noon, in Rio Bravo. With my views, it’s hard for me to see it outside of this light, even though I do enjoy the film, and it might end up being profiled in this blog.

Regardless, High Noon is a landmark film, the quintessential example of the lone hero against insurmountable odds. And, despite its original political statement, has been enjoyed by two Presidents considered by some to be the respective heroes of both political parties, Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton. I don’t know if I could watch it 17 times in eight years, as done by Clinton, but I understand its appeal.