By Josh Breslin
DVD Review
The Killers, starring Edmond O’Brian, Burt Lancaster, and Ava Gardner, based on a short story by Ernest Hemingway, 1946
[I have noted in a recent bracketed introduction (see, Archives January 11, 2019 Jenny Dolan Speaks Her Mind) that some of the material that former site manager, then called administrator, Allan Jackson had let his old cronies run wild with whatever they wanted to write about centered on the old days their old days. Write about under his direction, some of the younger non-crony writers at the time said under his command, their old Acre neighborhood corner boy days back in their youthful 1960s. And they did, and truth, did a pretty good job. That however at the expense of other materials that this publication has been noted for since its hard copy inception back in the mid-1970s.
My background is from many years at the American Film Gazette in both its hard copy and on-line forms, so I was somewhat appalled when I noted that films, current or classic, were being given short shrift, especially in that last period of Allan’s reign when he had them running through hoops to pay 24/7/365 homage to the Summer of Love, 1967. The writer here, Josh Breslin although not an old time Acre neighborhood corner boy did hitch up with these older writers under the guidance of one Peter Paul Markin after he met this crowd out on Russian Hill in San Francisco in that long, hot summer of 1967. Notwithstanding that long association Josh wrote the following short, short by the Jackson standard then that every film review had to be only a little short of a cinematic studies dissertation without the footnotes, about an adaptation of one of Ernest Hemingway’s short stories and did a good job of it. Thus the encore.
Although I have been in the film review business for many years going back to when Sam Lowell used to be at American Film Gazette as a stringer I have always had something of an ambivalent feeling about film noir, that 1940s mostly genre that turned hardboiled literary productions by guys like Ray Chandler and Dashiell Hammett into hard-boiled films complete with great black and white photography and some femme with a knife, no, better gun in her pocketbook for a little off-hand shooting if the occasion arose, and it did. Maybe I am just that half-generation removed from Sam, and Josh, who lived and died by this Saturday afternoon matinee double feature menu as they came of age but a recent review of this film under review has moved me a little in a positive direction. In any case watch out for that gal with the gun-simple eyes, yes, watch out. Greg Green]
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As I have mentioned before at the start of other reviews in this genre, I am an aficionado of film noir, especially those 1940s detective epics like the film adaptations of Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon and Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe in The Big Sleep. Nothing like that gritty black and white film, ominous musical background and shadowy moments to stir the imagination. Others in the genre like Gilda, The Lady From Shang-hai, and Out Of The Past rate a nod because in addition to those attributes mentioned above they also have classic femme fatales to add a little off-hand spice to the plot line, and, oh yah, they look nice too. Beyond those classics this period (say, roughly from the mid-1940s to mid-1950s) produced many black and white film noir set pieces, some good some not so good. For plot line, and plot interest, femme fatale interest and sheer duplicity the film under review, The Killers, is under that former category.
Although the screen adaptation owes little, except the opening passages, to Ernest Hemingway’s short story of the same name this is primo 1940s crime noir stuff. Here, although Hemingway left plenty of room for other possibilities in his plot line, the question is why did two professional killers, serious, bad-ass killers want to kill the seemingly harmless “Swede” (played by a young, rough-hewn Burt Lancaster). But come on now, wake up, you know as well as I do that it’s about a dame, a frill, a frail, a woman, and not just any woman, but a high roller femme fatale. In this case that would be Kitty Collins (played by sultry, very sultry, husky-voiced, dark-haired Ava Gardner) as just a poor colleen trying to get up from under and a femme fatale that has the boys, rich or poor, begging for more.
As I have noted recently in a review of the 1945 crime noir, Fallen Angel, femme fatales come in all shapes, sizes and dispositions. But, high or low, all want some dough, and man who has it or knows how to get it. This is no modernist, post-1970s concept but hard 1940s realities. And duplicity, big-time duplicity, is just one of the “feminine wiles” that will help get the dough. Now thoroughly modern Kitty is not all that choosy about the dough's source, any mug will do, but she has some kind of sixth sense that it is not the Swede, at least not in the long haul, and that notion will drive the action for a bit. And if you think about it, of course Kitty is going with the smart guy. And old Swede is nothing but a busted-up old palooka of a prize fighter past his prime and looking, just like every other past his prime guy, for some easy money. No, no way Kitty is going to wind up with him in some shoddy flea-bitten rooming house out in the sticks, just waiting for the other shoe to fall.
Let’s run through the plot a little and it will start to make more sense. You already know that other shoe dropped for Swede. And why he just waited for the fates to rush in on him. What you didn’t know is that to get some easy dough for another run at Ms. Kitty’s affections he, Swede, is involved along with Kitty’s current paramour, “Big Jim”, and a couple of other midnight grifters in a major hold-up of a hat factory (who would have guessed that is where the dough, real dough, was). The heist goes off like clockwork. Where it gets dicey is pay-off time. Kitty and Big Jim are dealing the others out, and dealing them out big time. And they get away with it for a while until an insurance investigator (yah, I know, what would such a guy want to get involved in this thing) trying to figure out why Swede just cast his fate to the wind starts to figure things out. And they lead naturally to the big double-cross. But double-crossing people, even simple midnight grifters, is not good criminal practice and so all hell breaks loose. Watch this film. And stay away from dark-haired Irish beauties with no heart, especially if you are just an average Joe. Okay.
Note: This is not the first Hemingway writing, or an idea for a writing, that has appeared in film totally different from the original idea. More famous, and rightly so, is his sea tale, To Have Or Have Not, that William Faulkner wrote the screenplay and that Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall turned into a steamy (1940s steamy, okay) black and white film classic.
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