*Writer’s Corner- Dashiell Hammett’s "Women In The Dark"

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for American detective novelist Dashiell Hammett.

Book Review

Woman In The Dark, Dashiell Hammett, Introduction by Robert B. Parker, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1988

Dashiell Hammett, along with Raymond Chandler, reinvented the detective genre in the 1930's and 1940's. They moved the genre away from the amateurish and simple parlor detectives that had previously dominated the genre to hard-boiled action characters who knew what was what and didn't mind taking a beating to get the bad guys. And along the way they produced some very memorable literary characters as well. Nick Charles, Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe are well known exemplars of the action detective. However, on the way to creating these literary works of art Hammett did journeyman's work at the detective genre in various pulp detective magazines and in serial form in popular magazines. The latter is how the short novel under review, Woman In The Dark, began its life.

The late Robert B. Parker, a very fine detective story writer in his own right, noted in the introduction to this work that this plot line, and its twists and turns, represented a very strong example of Hammett’s sense of the randomness of human existence. But also the drive for some regularity, some place to hang one’s hat, as well. Even down at the edges of society, the places where no one really wants to be, the place of kept women, cons, and ex-cons and of those who have the resources to make such dwellers their playthings. The plot line centers on a hardened, take no bull, been around the block, femme fatale, certainly not your typical damsel in distress, who is fed up with the antics of the rich guy who “rescued” her, for a time, the antics of the rich guy who doesn’t like to take no for an answer, especially when he has bought and paid for the merchandise (the femme fatale in this case), and a hard-nosed, hard-luck ex-con (a non-detective for once, if you can believe that) who simply will not go back to prison but who is not adverse to a little romance. And is willing to give, and take, a hard punch, if necessary.

Naturally, as is almost always the case with Hammett, the story line is driven, Hemingway-style, by sparse, functional language. However, for my money, there is just not enough of it to grip the imagination. Other than as an example, arguably a failed example, of Hammett trying to put steamy love interest and hard-boiled guys together on short notice, this novelistic effort could have stayed back in the pulp archives. Or waited to be anthologized, as it was, in the Dashiell Hammett volumes of the Library Of America series. For the real Hammett read The Thin Man or The Maltese Falcon, those two efforts, my friends, are why Hammett is in the American literary pantheon.

*Writer's Corner- Raymond Chandler's "Little Sister"

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Anglo-American detective novelist Raymond Chandler.

Book Review

Little Sister, Raymond Chandler, 1958

Phillip Marlowe, Raymond Chandler's classic noir hard-boiled, fundamentally honest private detective forever literarily associated with Los Angeles and its means streets is a bit off course here in his search for the inevitable exotic/diabolical `missing woman' (`dame' for the non-politically correct types) in trouble in the Hollywood film glitter mill. Old Marlowe is going uptown here, or so he is led to believe. But it seems to me that it is more than the geography that off Marlowe's beaten path here. I love Chandler as a great writer with a good ear for the West Coast American scene in the 1940's but hasn't Marlowe followed that woman, or her "sister", before in a previous novel? Except that she wasn't an actress, or had some little devilish sister from Kansas. You get my drift. Old Chandler's Marlowe is starting to run out of steam in the theme department. By the way, beware of those Kansas women; they are hell on your average California rough-and-tumble shamus.

Sure there is plenty of sparse but functional dialogue, physical action and a couple of plot twists but Marlowe needs to think about that rest home for worn-out indigent gumshoes (since he never made enough money). He has taken one too many hits on the head for the latest worthy cause. Give me those background oil derricks that sound like money churning out the wealth while looking for General Sternwood's Rusty Regan in The Big Sleep or the run down stucco flats in pursue of Moose's Velma in Farewell, My Lovely any day. However, even on his uppers, as always with Chandler you get high literature in a plebeian package. Read on.

*The Op At Work- Dashiell Hammett's "The Dain Curse"

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Dashiell Hammett's early Continental Op detective novel, The Dain Curse.

Book Review
The Dain Curse, Dashiell Hammett, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1929

Dashiell Hammett, along with Raymond Chandler, reinvented the detective genre in the 1930's and 1940's. They moved the genre away from the amateurish and simple parlor detectives that had previously dominated the genre to hard-boiled action characters who knew what was what and didn't mind taking a beating to get the bad guys. And along the way they produced some very memorable literary characters as well. Nick Charles, Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe are well known exemplars of the action detective. However, on the way to creating these literary works of art Hammett did journeyman's work at the detective genre in various pulp detective magazines. Moreover, in the beginning he hid his detectives behind the anonymous, although not faceless or without personality average detectives, of a national detective agency (shades of his own past).

The unnamed universal Continental Operative (Op) who is the central character of here is the prototype for Hammett's later named detectives. He has all the characteristics that mark a noir detective-tough, resourceful, undaunted, and incorruptible with a sense of honor to friend and foe alike that sets him apart from earlier detectives. The plot line here requires all the resourcefulness of the Op as he tries to solve a jewel heist (simple enough, right, just a day at the office for the average, faceless private dick). Naturally there is murder, mayhem, a swing through 1920s California’s high-end occult and cultish environment (it didn’t just start lately out there).

Needless to say you need a scorecard to tell who is on the level and who is not, including the people who hire said average private detective. The twists and turns as Op tries to mix and match with the various interests at play drive the drama of the film. As I mentioned in a recent review of Hammett’s Red Harvest if you want a well-thought out story, although not as memorable as The Maltese Falcon or the The Thin Man, that is also well-written, although without the numerous unforgettable lines of the above-mentioned novels, from a member of the second echelon of the American literary pantheon, this one is for you.

***********

Note: It is not altogether clear to me what Hammett’s political sympathies (or rather more to the point, organization connections) were in the period of his great detection-writing period, the early 1930s, although one can speculate they were at least progressive. I should note for those who are only familiar with the detective novels and crime short stories that Hammett was a make-no-bones-about-it supporter of the Communist Party during the hard, don’t turn your eye from your neighbor, see reds under every bed, your mommie is a commie turn her in, prison house, American night of the red scare, Cold War, post World War II period (and earlier as well, during the Popular Front all the way with FDR (Franklin Delano Roosevelt), Joe Stalin, our father can do no wrong, Moscow Trials liquidate the Old Bolsheviks, the makers of the revolution, time but this post-war period is what concerns me here).

This was period when anything to the left of Herbert Hoover, including probably red tablecloths on restaurant tables, was suspect. This is also the period of the unlamented Joe McCarthy, the equally unlamented Richard Nixon, the deep, fatal, anti-communist purges in the labor unions from which we still suffer today (and anti-red purges in many other political and cultural institutions as well), and of the time of “the naming of names.” The high watermark time of the “fink” and of the “blacklist.” I have vilified, rightly so, no, righteously so, the likes of movie director Elia Kazan (Viva Zapata, On The Waterfront) for their “stool pigeon” scab actions before the "committees".

Kazan was, unfortunately, not alone in that dark, witch-hunt, keep your eyes down, keep walking straight ahead with blinkers on, and tell them what they want to know although they already know it, night. I have also heaped tons of well-deserved praise on the Rosenbergs, Julius and Ethel, for holding their ground under intense pressure and under penalty of paying the ultimate price, their lives, for their steadfastness. For defending the Soviet Union, not in our Trotskyist way, but in their own honorable way, and didn’t complain about it when they were called on it, unjustly, by the American imperial state.

Dashiell Hammett was called, tooth brush in hand, before the “red scare” committees and just said no. Hats off. Now there is no need to get mushy about it, and one should not forget that in the end Hammett’s Stalinist politics (and vilification of leftist political opponents like our Trotskyist forbears) made us not less political opponents, but isn’t there something in old Hammett’s actions, that sense of “tilting to the windmills,” that leads right back to Sam Spade. Yes, I thought you would think so.

*Nick And Nora To The Rescue- Dashiell Hammet's "The Thin Man"

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Dashiell Hammett's classic detective novel, The Thin Man.

Book Review

The Thin Man, Dashiell Hammett, Alfred A. Knopf, new York, 1934

Dashiell Hammett, along with Raymond Chandler, reinvented the detective genre in the 1930's and 1940's. They moved the genre away from the amateurish and simple parlor detectives that had previously dominated the genre to hard-boiled action characters who knew what was what and didn't mind taking a beating to get the bad guys. And along the way they produced some very memorable literary characters as well. Nick Charles (and wife Nora), Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe are well known exemplars of the action detective. Hammett, on the way to creating these literary works of art did journeyman's work at the detective genre in various pulp detective magazines. Moreover, in the beginning he hid his detectives behind the anonymous, although not faceless or without personality, average detectives of a national detective agency, the Continental Op series(shades of his own past). One of those efforts is an early almost totally unrelated version of The Thin Man that those who have read the later version (or know Nick, Nora and Asta only from the film series) would not recognize.

Dashiell Hammett is perhaps better known for creating the classic modern proto-typical detective, one Sam Spade the detective-hero (or anti-hero, if you prefer) of the literary (and film) noir The Maltese Falcon. With The Thin Man he took a different tack in providing a model detective- the urbane Nick Charles, his side-kick society wife, Nora, and their ever present faithful dog companion, Asta. The story line here centers on a missing eccentric inventor/businessman who it is suspected has been a victim of foul play. Enter Nick, Nora and Asta at the request of his wondering society family (wondering, that is, about the fate of the dough necessary to keep them in their luxuries) and after a series of misadventures and false leads Nick grabs the villain. That is what old Nick has in common with the illustrious Mr. Spade-the dogged (not pun, intended) and tenacious search for the truth and the killer, come what may. If you like your detectives with a light touch this is for you. If you like your detective novels to be minor works of literary art this is also for you. Hammett (along with the above-mentioned Raymond Chandler) practically reinvented the previously rather shabby art of the early detective story into literature. Kudos.

Note: It is not altogether clear to me what Hammett’s political sympathies (or rather more to the point, organization connections) were in the period of his great detection-writing period, the early 1930s, although one can speculate they were at least progressive. I should note for those who are only familiar with the detective novels and crime short stories that Hammett was a make-no-bones-about-it supporter of the American Communist Party during the hard, don’t trust your neighbor, see reds under every bed, your mommie is a commie turn her in, prison house, American night of the red scare, Cold War, post World War II period (and earlier as well, during the Popular Front all the way with FDR (Franklin Delano Roosevelt), Joe Stalin, our father can do no wrong, Moscow Trials liquidate the Old Bolsheviks, the makers of the revolution, time but this post-war period is what concerns me here).

This was period when anything to the left of Herbert Hoover, including probably red tablecloths on restaurant tables, was suspect. This is also the period of the unlamented Joe McCarthy, the equally unlamented Richard Nixon, the deep, fatal, anti-communist purges in the labor unions from which we still suffer today (and anti-red purges in many other political and cultural institutions as well), and of the time of “the naming of names.” The high watermark time of the “fink” and of the “blacklist.” I have vilified, rightly so, no, righteously so, the likes of movie director Elia Kazan (Viva Zapata, On The Waterfront) for their “stool pigeon” scab actions before the "committees".

Kazan was, unfortunately, not alone in that dark, witch-hunt, keep your eyes down, keep walking straight ahead with blinkers on, and tell them what they want to know although they already know it, night. I have also heaped tons of well-deserved praise on the heroic Rosenbergs, Julius and Ethel, for holding their ground under intense pressure and under penalty of paying the ultimate price, their lives, for their steadfastness. For defending the Soviet Union, not in our Trotskyist way, but in their own honorable way, and didn’t complain about it when they were called on it, unjustly, by the American imperial state.

Dashiell Hammett was called, tooth brush in hand, before the “red scare” committees and just said no. Hats off. Now there is no need to get mushy about it, and one should not forget that in the end Hammett’s Stalinist politics (and vilification of leftist political opponents like our Trotskyist forbears) made us not less political opponents, but isn’t there something in old Hammett’s actions, that sense of “tilting to the windmills,” that leads right back to Sam Spade (and Nick and Nora in an oblique, half-funny way). Yes, I thought you would think so.

Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night-“The Dark Corner”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir, The Dark Corner.

DVD Review

The Dark Corner, Clifton Webb, Lucille Ball, William Bendix, Mark Stevens, directed by Henry Hathaway, 1946

As I have mentioned before at the start of other reviews in this crime noir genre I am an aficionado, especially of 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 have classic femme fatales to add a little off-hand spice to the plot line, and, oh ya, 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, the film under review, The Dark Corner, is under that former category.

And here is why. The dialogue, even though the film itself was under the direction of Henry Hathaway a more than competent noir director, if not of the first order, is, well, way too smaltzy for a good crime noir. First off the love interest between the framed-up detective, Brad Galt (played by Mark Stevens), and his girl Friday secretary (played by Lucille Ball) is played up front and without subtly and lacks the dramatic cat and mouse build-up of classic noirs. In any case whatever Ms. Ball’s later recognized talents as a screw-ball comic, and they were considerable, here as a lower-class "good girl" with all the right morals, all the right world-wiseness for her joe, and all the right instincts to stand by her man set my teeth on edge. That lack of tension between two such leading characters spills over into the rest of the doings. This one does not even have the cutesy “Oh, you devil Sam” of Sam Spade and his girl Friday secretary, Gladys, in The Maltese Falcon.

A little summary of the plot line is in order to demonstrate that lack of tension. Said detective is being framed again in New York (and had already been framed before, although not in New York but San Francisco) by, he believes, his SF ex-detective agency partner. That, however, is merely a blind ruse used by a certain high-powered high society art dealer (played, naturally, by Clifton Webb, a central casting fit for such a role if there every were one), an art dealer with a young wife. After all the other misdirection this one was telegraphed the minute that we see the “divine” pair together, and that fact is cemented when we see said ex-partner and lovely trophy wife ready to take off right under the nose of Mr. High Society. But a high society art dealer, with a young wife or not, does not get where he is without a strong possessive desire and so the frame is on and our detective is made to fit the frame, and fit it very easily until our real culprit is discovered and dealt with. And dealt with forthrightly, as all overwrought, possessive older husbands are dealt with in noir. By the pent-up hatred of that trophy wife, after she finds out that dear hubby has killed her man. You don’t need to know much more to know what that will mean, or that the framed guy and his good girl Friday will eventually walk down the aisle together. Doesn’t this sound a little too familiar? Like, maybe a low-rent Laura in spots? Hmm.

Note: Clifton Webb, as mentioned above, seems to have been a gold-plated central casting stereotype for the repressed, possessive, and, well, psychopathic high-powered high society swell with an eye (or maybe two eyes) for lovely young women. As seen here, and more famously, in the classic crime noir, Laura. Apparently Mr. Webb never learned that those 1940s lovelies may be wily enough to latch on to a rich man for fame and fortune but are a little headstrong about being roped in, roped in completely by, well, an old lecher, high class or not. It doesn’t take a Mayfair swell to know this is not a country for old men. Any young joe could have told him that.

***Erroll By Starlight- The Piano Of Erroll Garner

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Erroll Garner playing "Misty".

CD Review

“Concert By The Sea”, Erroll Garner, Columbia Records, 1955

Misty sprays furiously coming off of the rocks in some seaside scene. Smoke-filled nightclubs with the tinkling of martini glasses and of the piano. Better yet, background music for some Bogart film noir of the 1950’s. That is what the jazz piano of Mr. Errol Garner reminds me of. And it seems natural to believe in those dream-like scenarios mentioned above as Garner’s heyday was in the 1950s when jazz was going through some turns and it needed to rest, a little, on his capable shoulders. I need only add, since this concert took place in Carmel, California in 1955, that this is one of the few times that the future mayor of Carmel, actor/director Clint Eastwood, and I can agree on something. He has used Garner’s work as background in more than one of his films. Hell, he may have been in the audience for this one. I wish I was.

Out Of The Be-Bop Film Noir Night- The Crime Noir “Kansas City Confidential”

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime film noir, Kansas City Confidential.

DVD Review

Kansas City Confidential, John Payne, Preston Foster, Coleen Gray, Jack Elam, directed by Phillip Karlson, United Artists, 1952

I have said this many times. Sure 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 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, the film under review, Kansas City Confidential, is in the former category.

And why shouldn’t it be. One fall guy Joe (fall guys seem always to be named Joe, regular Joes I guess to make the cut in regular guy America aborning in the late 1940s), played here in a understated way by John Payne, a little the worst for wear in post-World War II America, having had a few legal problems of his own, gets caught up in the dragnet after a major heist (over a million dollars, a lot of money then but just pocket change today) of a bank, in of all places Kansas City (Missouri, of course, not the staid, square Kansas one). Now all of this fall guy action, aside from the criminal intent and cash reward, has been set-up by a disgruntled, vengeful ex-cop (played by Preston Foster) who masterminds the whole thing.

Of course such a major heist then (as now) requires several, um, “associates,” to pull the damn thing off in this case masked associates (for their own and Foster's self-protection against the dreaded “stoolie’ syndrome. That old chestnut about honor among thieves being honored, if honored at all, more in the breach than the observance. Just ask about ten thousand guys serving time, hard time if you get a chance) Said associates are not anyone you or I would want to hang around with, even if you were strictly a hang around corner boy because you would have to watch your wallet, to speak nothing of your back from minute one. These guys are strictly losers, especially one grafter extraordinaire, Pete Harris, played to manic perfection by Jack Elam. (The others are perennial bad guys Lee Van Cleef and Neville Brand).

Now Joe, as one might expect, takes umbrage, yes, umbrage at having taken a beating from the cops, and also for being set up as the fall guy. So, naturally, as any crime noir hero worth his salt would do, he in good private citizen outraged fashion is going to get to the bottom of this thing come hell or high water. And the rest of the plot line centers of following the clues, and following the sun to sunny Mexico (low film budget fauxMexico in some Hollywood back lot, to be sure) to undo the bad guys, and maybe catch a reward. Or at least a stray gringa or senorita. Naturally he does, the gringa part anyway, although she turns out to be mastermind ex-cop’s daughter (a law student daughter, not exactly a femme fatale hiding out in sunny Mexico until some guy who knows how to do some heavy lifting comes along and falls for her like Jane Greer did to Robert Mitchum in the classic “Out Of The Past,”played by Coleen Gray).

Other than the inevitable tacky ending ( I won’t spoil your fun by telling what it is) this one moves along nicely, is filled with some nice twists, and is, as usual with black and white noir films great on those shadowy takes which reveal evil in the making. Especially those loser, grifter, chain-smoking Jack Elam takes. Some noirs you watch for the magic camera work, some for the femme fatales that drive the story line, some for the tough guys and their gaff. This one you get for the plot line.

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Out In Be-Bop 1950s Crime Noir Night- “Heat Wave”

Click on the headline to link to a Film Noir of the Week blog entry for the 1954 British film Heat Wave.

DVD Review

Heat Wave, starring Alex Nichols, directed by Ken Hughes, Hammer Studios, 1954

Sure, I like my femme fatales as bad as possible, wicked even (cinematically that is, since I don’t always want to in real life be constantly looking over my shoulder to see if some off-hand brunette is waiting to put a slug, or six, in me for some supposed transgression, or just because). And, again theoretically, I suppose I am as likely, maybe more likely, than any other guy to be “swayed’ by some perfumed request of said femme fatales to do a little off-hand heavy lifting in the way of freeing them of some burden. But, damn, I would, and I will, swear on a stack of seven bibles or whatever holy book you want, draw the line at murder. No way, no way at all.

Well, no way except that just maybe I would consider that line of work if white shorts, white blouse, white bandana Lana Turner in The Postman Always Rings Twice gave me that second look that she gave John Garfield. And it is not beyond the realm of possibility that I would be tempted to tumble to some scheme Barbara Stanwyck had worked up in Double Indemnity after seeing that ankle bracelet come down those stairs. But really I am not build for that heavy lifting, and remember my drawn in the sand line against murder policy. So there is no way, no way in hell, I would fall under the spell of Carol (Hillary Brooke) in the film under review, Heat Wave (aka The House Across The Lake).

See, I don’t mind a blonde or two for company, although I prefer brunettes, but I am always a little wary when they, those blondes, have that look, that you are going to tumble for me but as part of the package I have job for you look. And that job always, always involves some in the way a hubby to be cleared out of the way before she (and I, of course) can be really happy. Like I said I draw the line. I draw the line doubly because in this case this blonde is no big-hearted blonde out of a Dorothy Parker Big Blonde short story but an ice queen, a serious ice queen. Of course our skirt-addled, high-end bourbon -addled, perfume whiff- addled protagonist here, Mark (Alex Nicols), is smitten right off by this butterfly swirl. Worst as the story develops he actually likes the husband (likes him well enough to drink that high-end bourbon when offered).

Of course the story line here in this very B film, very B British noir, very B noir 1950s Hammer production, is as old as Adam and Eve. Maybe older. One young gold-digging wife with no moral compass (and frankly no apparent charms) is tired of older hubby, Beverly, and wants something done about it. And quick. Now today, here in America at least, thank goodness, she could juts file for divorce, make a hefty sum, and go on about her business with the next six guys who come along. That, needless to say, would make for a very short noir, and moreover not satisfy dear Carol’s lust for depravity. Enter patsy, yes, patsy, Mark who while allegedly out in the England country-side taking in the airs in order to write the great English (or American) novel seems to have nothing better to do that drink proffered high-end bourbon and fall under the spell of our damsel in distress.

As with all these, as someone put it, divorce-noir style films the evil deed, the murder, is done (and done with some bravado by Carol) but as with all amateurs and non-professional career criminals this job gets so botched up and the suspects and motives are so apparent that the police can just sit around and wait for the guilty to step to the crime, and the rope. Our boy Mark was clearly not build for this heavy lifting and falls to his part in it after a few more bourbons (assumed to be high-end still although who was paying seems to be have been left up in the air.) Lesson: guys, when some perfumed country estate damsel with ice in her veins gives you that come hither look, check the wedding finger, and get the hell out of there fast. Except if she is a foxy little brunette then maybe you can stop long enough to listen to her story. Enough said.

Hold ‘Em Or Fold ‘Em –Steve McQueen’s “The Cincinnati Kid – A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film “The Cincinnati Kid.”

DVD Review

The Cincinnati Kid, starring Steve McQueen, Edward G. Robinson, Karl Malden, M-G-M, 1965

Okay, okay five card stud a game that reality television has gone ga-ga over(not Lady Ga-Ga I don’t think) is not my game, not even close, but the film under review, The Cincinnati Kid, made me realize that at least in a dramatic presentation it has possibilities. Especially when everybody’s 1960s cool hand, cool man Steve McQueen decides to take the table stakes. And one cannot discount, if there is any truth to the story line here, that the very appealing (1960s appealing anyway) eye-candy that drifts around where there is easy money to be found like Melba (played by Ann-Margaret) and Christian (played by Tuesday Weld) makes me think that maybe I should take up the game.

Oops, that is mistake number one brother. See what a man (or woman) needs to play poker, or any game of chance, is undivided concentration, some dough, some serious dough, and some more serious dough for the rough spots, and nerves of steel. Some fluff with come hither looks (Melba) and talk of white picket fences (Christian) is strictly off the books. Well, kind of, remember even “The Kid” has to have something to shoot for beside the dough. Someone to help him spend it, although the dough ain’t nothing, nothing except acknowledgement that he is king of the five card stud hill.

And that grail, that holy, holy grail is what drives The Kid. That and the Great Depression gnawing hunger that drove many kids, and oldsters too, to grab for the brass ring anyway they could. See old Lance (played by Edward G. Robinson last seen in this space slapping dames and old geezers around, although not for long, as old- time “Chi” town mobster on the lam Johnny Rico in Humphrey Bogart’s Key Largo) has been king of the hill since Hector was a pup, if not before. The Kid has been working his way up the ladder, cooling his heels, waiting for just the right time with just the right amount of dough to stake his claim. Of course left by itself one great pie-in the-sky winner take all poker game could not sustain a full-length film. So some sidebar stuff with those come hither and white picket fence dames, some lesser games as warm-up, and some attempts by Shooter (played by Karl Malden), his mentor, to “fix” things his way and some this and that keep the thing moving until the big finale-winner take all game (and maybe an extra prize with the dames). So is The Kid strictly from hunger or is he getting ready to be fitted for a new walking cane? Well, see the movie.

Out in the Robert Mitchum Crime Noir Night-Kind Of- “The Racket”

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Robert Mitchum’s The Racket.

The Racket, starring Robert Mitchum, Robert Ryan, 1951.

Elsewhere in this space I have noted my love for film noir. The black and white photography, the story lines, the sparse and functional language. However, not all film noir is created equal and that is the case here. Robert Mitchum along with Humphrey Bogart, Kirk Douglas and Orson Welles were the masters of this genre. However this one falls flat as Mitchum plays the old-fashioned steady reliable no nonsense cop
untainted by the corrupt public officials around him. Robert Ryan as an old fashioned small time crime boss who is not hip to the new ways of doing criminal business is a wooden stereotype as are his henchmen. The plot, such as it is, revolves around the tension between these old foes. If you want to see Mitchum when he reached for the noir stars see Out Of The Past. Then you will know what I mean when I say not all film noir is created equal.

In The 1970s Steamy Noir Night- Roman Polanski’s “Chinatown”

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Roman Polanski’s Chinatown

DVD Review

Chinatown, Jack Nicholson, Faye Dunaway, directed by Roman Polanski, Paramount Pictures, 1974

Without a doubt director Roman Polanski’s take on greed, crime and corruption in high and low places in 1930’s Los Angeles is a modern landmark in the detective genre. Evoking all the attributes of the classic film noir detectives Jack Nicholson as J.J. Gettes is that old favorite- a tough guy who doesn’t mind taking a beating for the good of the cause, is resourceful, loyal and resolute and also has a little spare time for the ladies (of course without strings, if possible). Fay Dunaway as the conniving, justly father-conflicted femme fatale carrying a big family secret is a good match up for Nicholson’s tough guy detective. Unlike some plot lines this one, written by Robert Townes, keeps a tight leash on the line and does not get tricky with subplots and twists. That makes it is the stronger for this one may be all about the water problems in up and coming Los Angeles but is also about overweening greed and ambition-that says it all.

Out In The1950s Low-Down Be-Bop Crime Noir Night- Lizabeth Scott’s “Two Of A Kind”

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the 1950s crime noir Two Of A Kind.

DVD Review

Two Of A Kind, starring Edmond O’Brien, Lizabeth Scott, Columbia Pictures,1950

One of the unspoken premises of the crime noir (other than the by now obvious one that crime doesn’t pay, or at least not pay for those at the bottom of the crime chain) is that there is a “code of honor” among thieves. Code there may be, although that premise is open to serious question as the film under review, Two Of A Kind, explores but it has been honored more in the breech than the observance. That said, this is a rather nifty little B-side film that can’t quite decide whether it is a light-hearted, flirty camping on the crime noir genre or wants to go full bore in the low-rent be-bop crime noir night.

Why? Well the plotline certainly promises a “big score” on the crime front even though guns and rough stuff are, mostly, in the background. No nasty armed robberies or off-hand murders here. This one is about a scam, a beautiful everybody gets plenty of dough and can retire to Rio scam. On paper. And for a while it seems to be getting up a full head of steam toward that goal. But like all scams, or almost all scams, a little what the hell happened reality sets in.

Here husky-throated and fetching, 1950s-style blond fetching, Elizabeth Scott as Brandy, a girl who has to look out for herself in any way a 1950s girl can, and a wealthy man’s lawyer, Vincent, have cooked up a scheme to grab ten million in dough by stealth. But what they need, desperately need, is a third party to play the role of this wealthy man and his wife’s long lost son. Enter small time grafter, Lefty (played by crime noir stand-by Edmond O’Brien) who is down on his uppers and whose “resume” fits the bill as the son, except he needs a little work to flush out the role- he needs to get his finger smashed to smithereen to look authentic. (Ouch, even fifty years later.)

And he goes for it, smashed finger and all. And goes, by the romantic interest way, for Lizabeth Scott (who like I said before is a girl who had to look out for herself and has already pinned herself to that lawyer so there will be some trouble, no question). And she, off-handedly, goes for him along the way. So the plan is unfolding beautifully, including working on a dizzy young dame who has entre to the wealthy man’s home, when all of a sudden the tables are turned. The old guy doesn’t tumble for the scam and all bets are off. But see nobody goes to the slammer on this one. Nobody gets shot up, or even ruffled up (except said lawyer has to get out of town) so the big build-up turns this one into a comedic crime noir. Is there such an animal, or is it against nature? Still this one was one of the better B-film noirs based on the dialogue and the little twists around the scam. Oh ya, in case you forgot, crime doesn’t pay.

Out In The 1950s Technicolor Crime Noir Night- Van Heflin’s “Black Widow”-A Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the 1950s film noir Black Widow


DVD Review

Black Widow, starring Gene Tierney, Van Heflin, Ginger Rodgers, George Raft,

No question the draw of crime noir for this reviewer is the great black and white photography and the shadowy effects that medium has on heightening the drama of a film, especially films set in big grimy, hard-boiled cities like New York where the seamy side is hard to draw in unless you use such technique. And in the end that is what kind of does in this Technicolor film under review, Black Widow. Many of the actors, Gene Tierney, Van Heflin and George Raft in particular, cut their teeth on noir but here much of that skill goes to waste along with some soapy and indifferent dialogue that is calculated to make true aficionados of the genre weep.

That said, the plot line here and the mis-directions away from the real killer are actually not too bad. Writer Van Heflin unwittingly takes a budding Podunk girl, a budding Podunk writer gal, just freshly arrived in the big city under his wing. She is no fading violet though when it comes to moving her own career along. Unfortunately she has an affair and becomes, oh no, pregnant with an older man, an older married man whose actor wife (played by Ginger Rodgers) is, well, to be kind a bitch on wheels. Especially to those who try to take her “kept” husband away. Needless to say old Brother Heflin has to move heaven and earth to get out from under the “frame” someone has gone to great lengths to place around his poor writers head. Including sowing doubts in the head of his actor wife (played in kind of a syrupy way by Gene Tierney. She is no Laura here.). The plot line however cannot make up for that 1950s “color” that makes this one a wash.

Out Of The 1940s Crime Noir Night- American Psycho 101- “Born To Kill”- A Review

Out Of The 1940s Crime Noir Night- American Psycho 101- “Born To Kill”- A Review

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Born_to_Kill_(1947_film)

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the 1940s crime noir Born To Kill.

DVD Review

Born To Kill, starring Claire Trevor, Lawrence Tierney, Warner Brothers 1948

No question the possible combinations of criminal conspiracies and conspirators in any crime noir are almost infinite. Here stone-cold killer meets stone-cold femme fatale (well mostly stone cold that is) in one of those crime noir efforts that you can’t really root for anybody to break out of the trap- the crime doesn’t pay trap that is a signature message of these vehicles. That is the plight of the ”inmates” of the film under review, Born To Kill, that despite its title is not a relentless slice and dice at every clip crime noir out of the 1940s. But neither is it one that will have you bursting out crying at the end.

Here’s why. One very stone-cold killer (played frankly, a little woodenly given later pyscho killers that the movies have produced, by Lawrence Tierney) with a very short, make that a very,very short fuse, gets offended by some guy in Reno trying to “make time” with some frail that he is interested in and in a fit of pique beats him senseless, and dead. A familiar crime theme although not usually is Reno. The frail comes in and observes the foul deed and she too must fall. On advice of a friend, who should have fled from this guy on day one and counted himself lucky, our American pyscho is told to scram until things cool down. So he beat it to the coast, ‘Frisco, of course. And through that set of circumstances he meets our stone-cold femme fatale (played more convincingly by Claire Trevor). Nothing good can come of this combination and nothing does.

Why? Well our pyscho has post –World War II American-sized dreams of riches and power and he expects to gather it in through his association with our dear femme fatale’s sister who controls a media empire (newspapers back in the day, okay). Except, well, of course, an except Ms. Femme Fatale has gotten under his skin and he under hers. Remember now our boy has a short fuse so you know that nothing but murder and mayhem are going to come out of all this if he gets a little bit miffed. And he does by of all people the guy who was trying to help him scram back in Reno (played by perennial bad boy Elisha Cook,Jr.) Go figure. As for the rest, see the film and learn yet again that even pyschos get their just desserts-if only in the movies.

The Girl With The Bette Davis Eyes- Somerset Maugham’s “The Letter”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the Bette Davis film The Letter.

DVD Review

The Letter, starring Bette Davis, Herbert Marshall, directed by William Wyler, based on a play by Somerset Maugham, Warner Brothers, 1940

Not every black and white film is a noir and not every crime noir has a femme fatale although in both cases many are. Nor are all films based on the work of world literature figures like Somerset Maugham (although his reputation has been eclipsed somewhat since his 1920s-1930s heyday when he produced classics like The Razor’s Edge and Of Human Bondage). But the film under review, The Letter, is all of them, kind of. Sure the black and white crime noir is present although with a more than usual amount of melodramatic moments, and as noted so is the world literature authorship.

The real question is the femme fatale aspect. Now Bette Davis was an extremely fine actress during her 1940s and 1950s heyday (and earlier as well in such beauties as The Petrified Forest) but she never struck me as a femme fatale like Lana Turner, Lauren Bacall and Rita Hayworth. You know leaving the guys gasping for breath, and asking for more. No question in this role as the put-upon and isolated wife of a owner of a rubber plantation in pre-war (pre-World War II war to be precise) in colonial British Malaysia scorned by a wayward lover she matches any femme fatale with a quick, too quick, trigger finger when things don’t go her way. She certainly could use her wiles, feminine or otherwise, to get out from under the law, British colonial style. And she was just psycho enough to stand one’s hair on edge. But a lot of her actions (and frankly Davis’ performance) are just too mawkish to root for.

Maybe a little sketch of the plot will illustrate the point. As the film opens Ms. Davis is firing away with that old root-a-toot-toot like crazy at that scornful lover (Hammond by name) mentioned above. No question she is a classic murder one case, and let’s just wrap it up and ship her off to some English prison. Right. But she has a story; a fantastic story on its face about a known intruder making sexual advances to her while her husband is away. Moreover this is the 1930s colonial outback of the Empire and Bette is the proper wife of a stand-up rubber plantation owner (played by Herbert Marshall).

Needless to say, outback or not, murder is murder and the wheels of justice must grind along. A mere formality if her story holds up, a quick trial and she will be free. Except a certain letter, and hence the title of the piece, shows up in mid-plot from her to the intruder. Seems they were lovers, that she had been scorned, and that moreover he had picked up an inconvenient wife, a Eurasian wife to boot. Said letter was in possession of the wife who had her own ax to grind after Bette put six in her husband. A deal between Bette’s compromised lawyer and the wife suppressed this piece of key evidence that would convict Bette.

Bette thereafter was acquitted. Legally acquitted. But you know how those Eurasian women are. That was not to be the end of it. Naturally between a woman scorned and a woman bereft of her companion-lover something has to give. And instead of getting the hell out of town on the first boat, canoe or raft like any real femme fatale our Bette just steps into her fatal fate. See what I mean.

Where Is Perry Mason When You Need Him-Raymond Burr’s “Blue Gardenia”

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film noir Blue Gardenia

Blue Gardenia, starring Anne Baxter, Raymond Burr, Richard Conte, title song sung by Nat King Cole, directed by Fritz Lang, Warner brothers, 1953

Yes, where is Perry Mason when you need him. And not just because one of the lead actors in this film noir is Raymond Burr, who made Perry famous on 1950s black and white television (hey, look it upon Wikipedia if you don’t believe me there really was a time when that is what TV. viewing looked like. Ya, I know, the dark ages.), but because there is a murder to be solved. His. Or rather the ne’er do well, roué, lady’s man, whatever, character he plays here, Harry Preeble, an artist with a very roving eye.

If there is a murder, then there must be a murderer, right, or in this case a murderess, and here hard-working, get ahead, and just jilted Norah (played by Anne Baxter) is picture perfect for the frame, and the big house, women’s side. See, she was old boy Harry’s last known date, last know drunken date taken up to his apartment, from the wilds of the Blue Gardenia club, Chinese food, blue gardenias for the ladies, and serious rum drinks a specialty, to see that old chestnut, his etchings. Yes, silly girl, especially with Harry’s reputation. But birthday, jilted, and blue, flowers for your hair or not, would make any girl, hell, any human, a little out of sorts.

Out of sorts or not, Anne Baxter, who is reduced to sharing an apartment with two other fellow female workers (including one incredibly fierce chain-smoking Ann Sothern), is not going to take any fall for one little off night. And here is where hard-hitting reporter Casey at the press (played by Richard Conte) comes in to wrap things up, wrap them up so tight that even the police have to cry “uncle,” let her go, and go off in some corner and pout. That leaves only one thing. If Ann Baxter didn’t do it, then who did? I am not telling. But think back a minute, old Harry had that roving eye and so the number of female suspects could have stretched around the block. It’s too late for Mr. Harry, but remember that old saw about a woman scorned. Well don’t say you were not warned.

Out Of the Be-Bop 1940s Film Noir Night-Publish Or Perish- “The Big Clock”- A Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film noir The Big Clock

DVD Review

The Big Clock, starring Ray Milland, Charles Laughton, Elsa Lancaster, Paramount Pictures, 1948

Yes, after over a score of film reviews of noir efforts I can truthfully say they come in all sizes, some that stretch the limits of “proper” noir dimensions like the noir under review, The Big Clock. After all plenty of glib lines, some faded femme fatale, a few screwball scenes and an off-hand maniacal press baron as the bad guy could have fit as well as in the 1930s social comedy beat. The thing that saves this actually nice ninety minute film is the flashback aspect of the plot line as it unfolds and the comeuppance of one Rupert Murdoch, oops, Earl Janoth (played a little too woodenly, and perhaps archly, by great actor Charles Laughton).

As to the plot line here is the skinny. Press baron Janoth will stop at nothing, nothing at all (sound familiar?), to keep up the circulation of his various world-wide journalistic enterprises, in the days before social media clicked our cares away, when such items were massively bought and read by the large reading public, Needless to say in order to keep producing plenty of grist for the mill, and keep people employed, it is necessary to have a staff that is little short of workaholic (to say nothing of alcoholic). And here is where hard working journal editor George Stroud (playing in dapper, and perhaps a little too arch as well, manner by Ray Milland) trying to balance work and home life comes in. Because if anybody is going to get to the bottom of anything, anything, at all, it will be George Shroud. Just ask his hard-pressed wife.

And George has plenty to get to the bottom of. It seems that among his oddball, off-hand interests (besides big clocks, keeping a very tight ship, and firing people at a patrician whim) Mr. Janoth doesn’t like the idea of being the “fall guy” for murder. Oh, yes and he also is jealous of other men “courting” his wayward, conniving mistress. Which leads to said murder (maybe murder two, but murder nevertheless) when he confronts his dear after seemingly seeing some shadowy guy coming out of their little love nest. That is why he needs a fall guy.

What he doesn’t know is that George, innocently (at least from what we are shown on camera and what figures given the unfolding plot line), is the spotted guy. Naturally Mr. Janoth, given his aversion, wants to cover his tracks and find that fall guy. As is also inevitable he puts someone on the case that will leave no stone unturned. Yes, George. So you know, know even before the final confrontation of good and bad that drives noir that Mr. Murdoch, oops again, Janoth is going to take “the fall.” And that, my friends, is what passed for high drama, high journalistic-themed drama, in the days before social networking eliminated the guesswork.

Out In The Be-Bop 1940s Crime Noir Night- Otto Preminger’s “Laura”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film noir Laura.

DVD Review

Laura, starring Dana Andrews, Gene Tierney, Clifton Webb, directed by Otto Preminger, 20th Century Fox, 1944

I guess if you get into a crime noir crazed mode as I have been over the past several months then nothing should surprise you as far as plot line, photography (black and white of course), or actors are concerned. Recently I reviewed a film noir , Where The Sidewalk Ends, that no way, no way in hell, when I started out this jail break-out reviewing process of the old time films from the mid-1940s to the mid-1950s did I figure to be reviewing. Except that film with its line-up, as here, of Dana Andrews, Gene Tierney and director Otto Preminger got me thinking about Laura. From the plot line it appears that I was not alone in thinking of her and I will just have to stand in line until she tires of whoever is next in line to get tired of.

Additionally, there is no way, no way in hell, I would have believed that I would be, seemingly endlessly now, on a Dana Andrews run. Bogie, no question, Robert Mitchum sure, even Dick Powell in a pinch but Dana Andrews? Oh well, at least he has classic good girl (no femme fatale here she is a hard-working career women in advertising) Gene Tierney to keep his eyes on once he gets control of his emotions (and lays off the bottle).

But enough of that. This is a story with great arch dialogue ( if somewhat dated for today’s audiences) although I am sure some would argue that it is not really a noir but more a little Thin Man series mystery comedy fluff whatever. In any case every guy in New York, every guy with eyes anyway and maybe even guys who don’t see so well, has a bee-line straight for Laura (played of course by Gene Tierney). Even a guy, a police detective (played by seemingly perennial cop Dana Andrews) who has never met her and is only “interested” in her because she has been murdered (a little anyway, if there is such a thing) and as a good methodical, if somewhat blasé, cop he has to put the pieces together and see if they fit. In short, who done it.

Wait in line, brothers and sisters. It could have been half the women in New York, well, upper-side New York anyway jealous of Laura’ charms (and tired of their companions’ head-turns). It could have been half the guys in New York who never had a chance at her. But let’s narrow the field a little. Narrow it to her cash-strapped gigolo fiancé Shelby (played by a very young Vincent Price) and Laura’s older gentleman friend (I am being polite as they were then) Waldo (played by Clifton Webb), the great society newspaper writer, who introduced Laura to upper-crust New York society. Of course Waldo has this little problem, this little homicidal problem about his affections for Laura and that’s what drives the twist and turns of the film. As for our good guy detective well for his efforts, in the end, he gets the girl. Natch.

Out In The 1930s Social Film Noir Night- Humphrey Bogart’s “Call It Murder”

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Call It Murder

DVD Review

Call It Murder, starring Humphrey Bogart, Warner Brothers, 1938

I have been on something of a Humphrey Bogart tear of late. And when I get on the occasional tear I tend to grab everything of an author, singer, artist, or actor in sight. And hence this review of very much lesser known Humphrey Bogart film, Call It Murder. If you are looking for the Humphrey Bogart of To Have or To Have Not, Casablanca, The Big Sleep or even The Petrified Forest then you will be disappointed. Bogart plays a relatively minor role as, well what else, a second- rate cheap hoodlum whose heading out of town fast, or so that is his plan. So no one should be offended if you pass this one by.

Pass by is what I originally intended to do as well except when I thought about it this film is actually a very good example of the kind of social film critique that was popular and produced during the turbulent and trying 1930s. The subject here is the death penalty, its application, and its basic appropriateness in an evolving progressive society (or that has pretensions to civilization). The plot line centers on a woman who has killed her abusive husband when he was going to run out on her leaving her high and dry. At trial the foreman of the jury, a self-righteous and upright citizen, persuades his fellow jurors that she is guilty of murder one, and hence headed for the electric chair. Since there was no “battered person” defense then she was convicted and sentenced to die.

The dramatic tension of the film comes when that self-righteous juror is bombarded with pleas from all kinds of sources to call for sparing her life. He maintains his stance and she is executed. And here is where Bogie comes in. He has been seeing the juror’s daughter, she has fallen in love with him, and as mentioned before, he is ready to fly to the coop. Naturally she is ready to move might and main to keep him in the coop. Well one thing leads to another as they do with thugs and he is shot to death. She thinks that she has done it in a rage at his leaving. She runs home to dear old dad and tells her story. Hey, she is up for murder one and the chair too, right? No way in the end of course but the old man has to confront, or rather we have to confront, that little moral dilemma when thing hit just a little to close to home.

Good thoughtful social critique on the death, agreed? Yes, although I should note that this film is one of those 1930s Theater Guild productions which tended, as this film, does to be rather heavy-handed and didactic in making its important point. Thus the dialogue, the staging, and the acting are rather stilted for today’s audiences. Still it mad that nice social commentary. Just don’t see for the Bogie part, okay.

Out In The 1950s Film Noir Night- Nicolas Ray’s “On Dangerous Ground”- A Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film noir On Dangerous Ground.

DVD Review

On Dangerous Ground, starring Ida Lupino, Robert Ryan, Ward Bond, directed by Nicolas Ray, RKO Pictures, 1952


Sure, I have run through a ton of film noir of late good, bad, and indifferent and for lots of different reasons. In the film under review, On Dangerous Ground, you would expect that what I was looking at was an example of Nicolas Ray’s pre-Rebel Without A Cause resume. And this film is not a bad example of his directorial ability, especially his ability to frame black and white nature scenes rather starkly, but that is not why I am reviewing this film. The primary reason is one Ida Lupino. I saw her in a very B non-descript black and white film from 1942 with French star Jean Maurras and that reminded me of her great performance as Humphrey Bogart’s Roy Earle hard guy moll, or wannabe moll, in High Sierra. And so we were off to the races looking for her other work and here we are.

As for the rating part, good, bad or indifferent, remember, it is the latter. You always like a film to have certain cinematic core, a certain frame of reference, but this one just kind of gets away. That is not Ms. Lupino’s fault, or Mr. Ray’s, or for that matter Robert Ryan’s, who plays the high pressure big city cop at the center of the story. And maybe that is where it all falls down. See, Ryan, a guy who might have had early dreams of glory and kudos but they are long gone by the time he gets on screen, is waiting out his time until he gets his pension. Obviously in his chosen profession he sees nothing but bad guys, their tough dames and everything else that comes up from under the rocks. So this life steels him to any emotional commitment to see human existence as anything but short, nasty and brutish as Professor Hobbes used to say. Of course in an evolving “civilized” society one cannot be judge, jury and executioner so Ryan’s methodology for getting at the truth, the criminal truth, by beating it out of the tough guys, does not stand up to today’s Warren Court Miranda standards. So he is shipped out to the country to cool off for a while and to assist in a homicide investigation out in the wild-edged boondocks.

Bingo, primitive man meets primitive nature and one senses right away that Brother Ryan’s soul will be cleansed before we are through. But crime even hits the boonies every once in a while; here a heinous murder of an innocent young girl done by a very mentally disturbed young man. Enter, finally, Ms. Lupino as the disturbed young man’s sister, blind sister, who wants to do what’s right for brother but mostly that he not fall into the hands of the local vigilante justice that is hunting him like a dog, especially that dead girl’s father (played by Ward Bond) who swears vengeance unto death. Of course poor brother is doomed, one way or another. However during the course of the chase our cop is smitten (well, what else would it be) by Ms. Lupino’s ways of thinking and is drawn to her. The final segment of the film revolves around this unusual budding romance. Like I said, it is just a little too melodramatic to be a good noir. But don’t blame Ms. Lupino, Mr. Ryan, Mr. Ray, or even Mr. Bond for that.