Out Of The Be-Bop Film Noir Night- The Crime Noir “The Kiss of Death”-

Out Of The Be-Bop Film Noir Night- The Crime Noir “The Kiss of Death”-

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

A link to a Wikipedia entry for the film noir classic, Kiss of Death.

DVD Review

Kiss of Death, Victor Mature, Coleen Gray, Richard Widmark, directed by Henry Hathaway, 20th Century Fox, 1947
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, Kiss of Death, is under that latter category.

But hold on though. Although the plot line is thin, mainly about a middle level career con gone wrong once again who, to save his kids from a fatherless and motherless future (mother having committed suicide), decides to play ball with the law. Thus, chump Nick Bianco (played pretty well by Victor Mature, given what he had to work with) turned stoolie, rat, fink, turncoat and the other ten thousand names for such a wrong gee and the rest of the plot hangs on that idea. Say idea being that it is not good business (and for all I know, maybe, unethical, unethical in the criminal code of conduct, although my own very small youthful experience is that it is "every man for himself") to turn stoolie, especially if the price of “freedom” is to tangle, tango, or whatever with one Tommy Udo. No way, no how, not for anything.

And that is what saves this thing as a crime noir classic, the performance of Richard Widmark as psycho-killer for hire Tommy Udo. Everything about him from minute one says wrong gee, don’t mess. I knew such hard boys, maybe not as hard as Tommy but as a pale reflection corner boy who watched as “Red” Riley chain-whipped a guy near to death just for passing by his corner where he was not welcome in my growing up working class neighborhood I knew, second hand at least, their “style.” Although, needless to say, Nick will mess (Tommy has threatened his kids and his new honey after all) just like eventually the serious outlaw motorcycle boy Pretty James Preston (Vincent Black Lightning no less from Britain no less not some Harley hog or Indian chopper) put even Red Riley out of commission when he just looked, looked longingly, maybe just a second too long at his sweet long-legged red-haired baby, Mimi Murphy.

Yes, although I was only a babe then I will give a retroactive vote to Richard Widmark for that 1947 Oscar he won for best supporting actor. There have been a lot of scary psycho-killers that have come down the pike since then but I would not, and would not advise others, to tangle with this guy. Or Pretty James Preston, who eventually got waylaid by the coppers trying to pull a bank heist single-handedly, if you see his ghost around.  And you would too. Kudos.

Upon The 50th Anniversary Of The Death Of "King Of The Beats" Jack Kerouac-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 Hammet’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, 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), 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. Now all of this, 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”, in this case masked associates (for their own and Foster's self-protection against the dreaded “stoolie’ syndrome. Said associates are not anyone you or I would want to hang around with, 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 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 faux Mexico, 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 (law student daughter, by the way, 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.

When The Whole World Reached Out For One Sweet Breathe Of Hollywood Glamour When It Counted-In Honor Of The Commemoration of 100th Birthday Of Rita Hayworth-A Different Look At The Women Question -On Jumping Through Hoops- Rita Hayworth’s Gilda- A Film Review

When The Whole World Reached Out For One Sweet Breathe Of Hollywood Glamour When It Counted-In Honor Of The Commemoration of 100^th Birthday Of Rita Hayworth-A Different Look At The Women Question -On Jumping Through Hoops- Rita Hayworth’s Gilda- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Rita Hayworth. You are forewarned.

DVD Review

Gilda, Rita Hayworth, Glenn Ford, George Macready, Columbia Pictures, 1946

No, this will not be a paean to the virtues of the modern women’s movement and to the women liberation struggle that I have spilled much worthwhile ink arguing for in this space. Let’s place it more as an off-the-cuff social commentary on bourgeois society and the sometimes obscure way that its values get transmitted even to those who oppose, and oppose vehemently, its existence although they are not inured to the pull of some of its (historical progressive) charms. But enough of introductory justification, let us get to the heart of the matter- a film review of 1940s “hot” (you can see where I am going with this already) film star Rita Hayworth in her most famous film, the film noir classic, Gilda, and the men, the legions of men in the film and in the audience, including this writer, whom she had (or, in my case, could have had) jumping through hoops (and much more, gladly).

Now the last time that devilishly sweet-smiling, buttery-voiced, long-legged, big-haired(heck, that's the best I can do, I don't know what they called that style but other "hot" 1940s women stars like Lauren Bacall and Veronica Lake wore it that way too), been around the block and is still standing, femme fatale, relentlessly sexual, very relentlessly sexual, Rita’s name came up for this writer was when her photograph, just her big blow-up photo nothing more, was used to cover (literally) actor Tim Robbins’ escape route in the film, The Shawshank Redemption. Of course, that flash got me to thinking about the film Gilda and there you have it. So naturally I had to see the thing, again. I have had to wait until now though to write this little commentary until my doctor said that my blood pressure had gone down enough to do so.

Here are the high points of the plot quickly. Down and out American expatriate fellaheen, Johnny Farrow (played by Glenn Ford), finds himself in Buenos Aires doing, well, doing the best he can. Sometimes though doing the best one can, when down and out at the lumpen edges of society is risky, very risky, and not just in Buenos Aires, as the French writers Genet and Celine can tell you. Up steps “savior” Ballin, illegal night club owner, power-monger and all-around megalomaniac (played by icy George Macready) to offer job, companionship and advice. Most importantly, on the advice front, that gambling and women don’t mix, especially for up-and-coming managerial prospects. Naturally, that advice goes by the boards when femme fatale Gilda (off film) marries one totally enchanted megalomaniac Ballin. That’s one hoopster corralled. Turns out though that Johnny and Gilda know each other and had previously held the "torch" for each other. Well, to make the story short, the rest of the “boy meets girl” action is spent with old Johnny denying on three (maybe more) bibles that he is over, done with, finished with, couldn’t care less about, is not smitten with, Gilda. Maybe. Ya, there goes another hoopster down.

As we know, which was very routine for 1940s (and now, for that matter, see Avatar) “boy meets girl” films in the end things will work out, although it was close for a while here. Ballin, despite his off-hand desire to rule the world, was so smitten with Gilda that he could not think straight. Johnny was so smitten with Gilda that he could not think straight. The 1940s male audience was so smitten with Gilda that they could not think straight. The modern male audience is so smitten with Gilda that it cannot think straight (oops). And it is just not me, old as I am. I showed a picture of Rita Hayworth to some young leftist male college students once, and they were drooling just like I was. So there are the rest of your hoopsters.

Now where does all this lead. Simply this, or maybe not so simply, in the course of human relationships there are people (there are many permutations) you will jump through hoops for and for no known reason (dare I say rational reason?). I have done it more times than I care to admit, and gladly. That is what makes the millions of possible relationships that humankind has run through so interesting, even within the limitations of bourgeois society. Well, I have to finish this thing up. And here is how. Leon Trotsky, the great Russian Bolshevik revolutionary leader, according to his best biographer Isaac Deutscher, once stated that of the three great tragedies of human existence, hunger, sex, and death that revolutionaries had, necessarily, to concentrate on the struggle against hunger but that under a more equitable socialist society the other two would be dealt with in a much better manner. Let us hope so. Meanwhile we hoopsters have our Gildas. And that is just fine. Oh, did I mention that among Rita’s other charms that she could sing (well, lip-sync, being able to sing is overrated anyway, don't you think? ), dance, and strum a guitar. Wait, I have to stop now I feel that old blood pressure rising again.

When The Whole World Reached Out For One Sweet Breathe Of Hollywood Glamour When It Counted-In Honor Of The Commemoration of 100th Birthday Of Rita Hayworth-Out In The Tex-Mex Be-Bop Night- Ex-Rita Husband Orson Welles’ “ Touch Of Evil"

When The Whole World Reached Out For One Sweet Breathe Of Hollywood Glamour When It Counted-In Honor Of The Commemoration of 100^th Birthday Of Rita Hayworth-Out In The Tex-Mex Be-Bop Night- Ex-Rita Husband Orson Welles’ “ Touch Of Evil"

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Orson Welles' Touch of Evil.

DVD Review

Touch Of Evil, Orson Welles, Charlton Heston, Janet Leigh, directed by Orson Welles, 1957

Put the blame on Mame. Or rather on the quintessential 1940s film star Rita Hayworth for her role in the 1946 film noir classic as the good femme fatale in Gilda. I was so smitten by Ms. Hayworth’s performance that I had to run out and get several other of her films. First place amount those works was her bad (very bad, indeed) femme fatale role in The Lady From Shang-hai, directed by the director of the film under review, Orson Welles. I might add that Welles also co-starred in that film as the roustabout sailor who also was very smitten by Rita’s charms, Irish Blackie. (See I am not the only one who was taken in by Ms. Hayworth’s charms).

In this film, Touch Of Evil, old beanbag (and I am being kind about his girth) star Orson Welles(Sheriff Hank Quinlan) is very much smitten as well, but not by any such sensible thing as being smitten by a beautiful dame but is rather in thrall to small time Tex-Mex border police power and a rather overblown sense of what passes for “justice”, his rough and tumble justice, as meted out in the hinterlands. The plot line is rather straight forward. Old Orson has to investigate what turns out to be a second-rate romantic variant of murder for hire of a well-known Texas citizen ( along with his, ah,lady friend) who is murdered when his car is blown up by a planned bomb, said bomb planted on the Mexican side of the border. Enter newlywed ace Mexican honest cop Miguel Vargas played by Charlton Heston (gee, I didn't know he was Mexican he could have fooled me with that makeup)just married to a very fetching gringa, played by Janet Leigh. But duty calls, at least the script call for it, especially when Mike becomes wary, very wary of Orson’s investigative techniques which include putting the “frame” on the nearest Mexican national that he can get his hands on. The rest of the film is highlighted by the struggle by Orson to cover up his dirty work and by Charlton to expose Orson as just another red-necked gringo sheriff with no respect for third world sensibilities.

The plot may be simple, and the political incorrectness by the gringos, led by Orson, may be way too obviously incorrect for today’s audiences but this is a classic Welles break-out of a film. Both the direction that, by the end, forces you to almost smell the evil of small town, last of the old frontier life, down in gringo good-time borderland Texas in the 1950s and by Welles’ performance where you can almost smell the corrupted human flesh as it loses its relationship to any rational view of the world are what makes this a late noir classic. Add in the always engrossing close-up black and white photography that is a Welles hallmark and that enhances the grittiness of the scenes and highlights the sometimes startling grotesqueness of the human animal when held under a microscope and there you have it. Thanks, Rita.

The Golden Age Of The B-Film Noir- Paulette Goddard’s “The Unholy Four” (1954)

The Golden Age Of The B-Film Noir- Paulette Goddard’s “The Unholy Four” (1954)

DVD Review

By Sam Lowell

The Unholy Four, starring Paulette Goddard, Hammer Productions, 1954 (released in England as A Stranger Came Home)

In my long career in the film reviewing racket, a cutthroat where you are only as good as your last review and the vulture competing reviewers are ready with the long knives if you fall down profession. If you will though which is overall pretty subjective one, filled with personal predilections and snarls when you think about it, I have run up against all kind of readerships and readers but my recent escapade with one reader takes the cake as they used to say in the old days. As the headline above indicates I have been doing a serious of reviews of B-grade film noirs by the English Hammer Production Company from the early 1950s. A B-grade film noir is one that is rather thin on plotline and maybe film quality usually made on the cheap although some of the classics with B-film noir queen Gloria Grahame have withstood the test of time despite that quality. I have  contrasted those with the classics like The Maltese Falcon, Out Of The Past, The Big Sleep, and The Last Man Standing to give the knowledgeable reader an idea of the different. In the current series the well-known Hollywood producer Robert Lippert contracted with Hammer for a series of ten films which would star let’s say a well-known if faded Hollywood star like Dane Clark or Richard Conte as a draw and a cheap purchase English supporting cast with a thin storyline.    

I had done a bunch of these reviews (minus a couple which I refused to review since they were so thin I couldn’t justify the time and effort to even give the “skinny” on them) using a kind of standard format discussing the difference between the classics and Bs in some detail and then as has been my wont throughout my career giving a short summary of the film’s storyline and maybe a couple of off-hand comments so that the readership has something to hang its hat on when choosing to see, or not see, the film. All well and good until about my fifth review when a reader wrote in complaining about my use of that standard form to introduce each film. Moreover, and this is the heart of the issue, she mentioned that perhaps I was getting paid per word, a “penny a word” in her own words and so was padding my reviews with plenty that didn’t directly relate to the specific film I was reviewing. Of course other than to cut me to the quick “penny a word” went out with the dime store novel and I had a chuckle over that expression since I have had various contracts for work over the years but not that one.

The long and short of it was that the next review was a stripped- down version of the previous reviews which I assumed would satisfy her complaint. Not so. Using the name Nora Charles, the well-known distaff side of the Dashiell Hammett-inspired film series The Thin Man from the 1930s and early 1940s starring William Powell and Myrna Loy, she still taunted me with that odious expression of hers. (By the way one of the pitfalls of citizen journalism, citizen commentary on-line is that one can use whatever moniker one wants to say the most unsavory things and not flame any blow-back).

Here is the “skinny” in any case and let dear sweet Nora suffer through another review-if she dares. Four guys go fishing, fair enough, but only three came back. The missing one, Phillip, the husband of lure the audience in Paulette Goddard (on the downslope of her career with this nondescript effort), playing Angie the non-grieving wife. No foul play suspected, none that is until about four years later and probably a dozen unacknowledged Angie affairs later Phillip inconveniently shows up, claimed amnesia and maybe he did have it stranger things have occurred. Although being bopped on the head, drugged and left to die are rough things to have happen among friends. Those inconveniences Phillip showed up for were the murder of one of the boys and somebody who was unhappy since they were making a play, a gold-digger play for Angie. Angie playing on her best behavior helps Phillip out while keeping her options open in case her hubby takes the fall, takes the big step-off. Maybe Phillip should have picked better fishing partners or taken up golf because before he is done one of those good old boys, one of John Bull’s finest will actually be taking that big step-off. Oh, well, enough Nora, right.                  

Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night- Ernest Hemingway’s “The Killers”- A Film Adaptation

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the film adaptation of Ernest Hemingway's The Killers.

DVD Review

The Killers, starring Edmond O’Brian, Burt Lancaster, and Ava Gardner, based on a short story by Ernest Hemingway, 1946

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 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, 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 (ya, 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.

Out In The 1950s Be-Bop Crime Noir Night- Humphrey Bogart’s “Beat The Devil”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the anti-film noir Beat The Devil.

DVD Review

Beat The Devil, starring Humphrey Bogart, Jennifer Jones, Peter Lorre, directed by John Huston, 1953

When Humphrey Bogart was in his prime, say from the time of Petrified Forest in the late 1930s until say 1947’s Dark Passage, he was hands down king of film noir hill. No question. There were prettier faces (Clark Gable), there were better actors (Spencer Tracey), there were actors with more angst per ounce (Montgomery Cliff) but for sheer gritty, grizzled, gnarly (nice, huh) film presence Bogie was the one. Of course even those who have not kept up with their history know that every king (or queen) has his (or her) day. And then-done. Well, not exactly done but since actors, like some generals, only fade away and hang on for just as long as studios think they have “start” quality to put in the bank. In the film under review, Beat The Devil, our man Bogie is in such a quandary. Clearly, on the screen, it is almost painful to see his physical decline from his prime (only slightly hidden by “make-up magic”) if not his ability to throw off a few off-hand devil take the hinter-post lines in this one.

Fortunately this film, directed skillfully to enhance the black and white features, by John Huston, is not desperately in need of “high” Bogie to carry it along. The story line, about a motley crew of “desperados” seeking fame and fortune in post-World War Africa is fairly straight forward and mundane. Unfortunately, for them, they are stuck in an out-of the-way port in Italy. The keys to the kingdom that this crew is trying to corner in the heated up Cold War world- uranium (or some other equally precious commodity, if thinks turn out badly). If in earlier times gold or diamonds stirred men’s (and women’s) greedy thoughts just then in that red scare night it was that particularly important produce. However not for one moment can any of the parties (and those like Ms. Jennifer Jones and her down-at-the-heels British husband who wonder what this crew is doing out in the sticks) take one eye, much less two, off the others. And that, more than the thin plot line, is what carries the day here. The collective day, with likes of Robert Benchley, Peter Lorre and Ms. Jones, playing off against Bogie’s world-wary, world-weary performance. Add into the mix a little off-hand undone infidelity for the good of the cause and that makes a very interesting mix. If you need classic “high” Bogie then go to Casablanca, To Have or Have Not or The Big Sleep. But if you want to see him play against type and in an ensemble performance watch this one.

*Once Again, 'The Stuff Of Dreams"- "The Maltese Falcon"- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the classic film noir detective film, The Maltese Falcon.

DVD Review

The Maltese Falcon, starring Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, directed by John Huston, 1941

The first two paragraphs are taken from a review of Dashiell Hammett’s book The Maltese Falcon, also reviewed today, from which this film adaptation was, pretty closely, drawn.

“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 Nora), Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe are well known exemplars of the action detective.

Hammett and Chandler also speak to a different, more macho if you will, but also a more world-wary and world-weary style of detection than today’s hyper-extended and techno-detail-oriented detectives who rely on computers and gadgetry more than guts. Still, with few exceptions, it is hard now to find a better proto-type for the kind of detective that writers of detective fiction wished they had, in their long, smoke-filled, whiskey-soaked, staring at that blank white page, writer nights (and we will not even speak of the days), dreamed up than Sam Spade. Nor a better, sparse, functional language-filled story line than old Dashiell Hammett thought up."

In literature and film there have been no lack of private detective-types depicted from the urbane Nick and Nora Charles (also a Hammett creation) of The Thin Man series to Mickey Spillane's rough and tumble Mike Hammer but the classic model for all modern ones is Dashiell Hammett's Sam Spade (the Humphrey Bogart role in the film) in The Maltese Falcon. Some may argue on behalf of Raymond Chandler's Phillip Marlowe and may have a point but as for film adaptations Spade wins hands down. Compare, if you will, Bogart's performance in The Maltese Falcon with his performance (good as it was, and as “hot” as it was with real life lady love, Lauren Bacall, be still my heart, co-starring) The Big Sleep. Get my point. But enough of that. What make's Spade the classic is his intrepidness, his orneriness, his dauntless dedication to the task at hand, his sense of irony, his incorruptibility, his willingness to take an inordinate amount of bumps and bruises for paltry fees and his off-hand manner with the ladies, femme fatales included, and a gun. And in The Maltese Falcon he needs all of these qualities and then some.

And for what? It is the bird, stupid. You know, the stuff that dreams are made of. This modern tale of greed and desire gets nicely worked with a cast of adventurers, including Sam's love interest, one femme fatale, Brigid, of course, who are serious, inept, and ultimately dangerous. There is a certain amount of off-hand humor as is warranted by some of the situations thrown in to boot. Sam is well up to handling everything thrown at him by is male adversaries. But, the dame (played by Mary Astor in the film), that is a different question. She is as greedy (if not more so) than the rest but she is ready to use her feminine wiles on even the incorruptible Spade in order to get that damn bird. That, dear friends, puts her beyond the pale and she will have many a lonely night in prison to think that through. In the end Sam's honor and the honor of his private detective profession is intact, and that's what counts in his world. Counts big, as it turns out.

Out In The 1950s Crime Noir Night- Humphrey Bogart’s “The Enforcer”

Out In The 1950s Crime Noir Night- Humphrey Bogart’s “The Enforcer”


Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Humphrey Bogart’s The Enforcer

DVD Review

The Enforcer, starring Humphrey Bogart, Everett Sloane, Warner Brothers, 1951


I have been on something of a Humphrey Bogart tear of late. And when I get in the occasional tear mood I tend to grab everything of an author, singer, artist, or actor in sight. And hence this review of a very much lesser known Humphrey Bogart film, The Enforcer. If you are looking for the oddly charismatic Humphrey Bogart of To Have or To Have Not, Casablanca, The Big Sleep or even the lumpen thug, Duke Mantee, of The Petrified Forest then you will be disappointed. Here Bogie goes over to the other side of the law and plays a hard-working, tough (naturally) District Attorney who will stop at nothing to put the bad guys in this quirky police procedural.

Quirky because the film switches between the film's 1950s present and an earlier time in order to figure out why a woman was killed by her gun-for-hire boyfriend. As it turns out what Bogie and his police crew have stumbled into is the film version of Murder, Inc. a real phenomenon of professional killers who kill strictly for the dough, and no regrets. Except, as always, there is a weak link in the chain. That weak link is the that the woman killed by her boyfriend for seemingly no reason allegedly saw the psycho head capo of the murder for hire operation (played by Everett Sloane) kill a guy and he needed to cover it up. Was she the right woman? See the film and see if Bogie can figure things out. Figure the bad guys out as well as Phillip Marlowe or Sam Spade could.

When Humphrey Bogart Ruled The Crime Noir Night- "Dead Reckoning"

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Humphrey Bogart’s Dead Reckoning.

Dead Reckoning, starring Humphrey Bogart, Lizabeth Scott, 1947.

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. Humphrey Bogart was a classic match for the genre-tough, rugged, resolute, loyal and always loyal to a pal come what may. Such roles as Philip Marlowe in The Big Sleep or Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon come to mind. Here he tries to milk that work without being a detective but with the same qualities as he tries to defend the honor of a fallen and maligned fellow soldier. Add Lizabeth Scott as the femme fatale who jams up the works and you would seemingly have the makings of a fine film. When the plot holds interest to a point there is a very strong sense of déjà vu from previous work. If you want to see the film noir master at work then see Bogie in The Big Sleep or The Maltese Falcon. Save this one for back up.

Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night-The Stuff Of Dreams- Humphrey Bogart’s “The Maltese Falcon”-A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the crime noir classic, The Maltese Falcon.

DVD Review

The Maltese Falcon, Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorrie, based on the crime novel by Dashiell Hammett, directed by John Huston, Warner Brothers, 1941

No question I am a film noir, especially a crime film noir, aficionado. Recently I have been on a tear reviewing various crime noir efforts and drawing comparisons between the ones that “speak” to me and those that, perhaps, should have been better left on the cutting room floor. The classics are easy and need no additional comment from me their plot lines stand on their own merits, although I will make some comment here. Others, because they have a fetching, or wicked, for that matter, femme fatale to muddy the waters also get a pass. Some, such as the film under review from the early 1940s, The Maltese Falcon, offer parts of both.

Generously offer parts of both here as an exemplar of the genre with one of the classic detectives of the age, Sam Spade. The plot line works because it is a prima facie, hard-boiled example of the lengths that humankind will go in pursuit of “the stuff of dreams.” As for femme fatale energy, although my personal 1940s favorite is Rita Hayworth, it is provide by the fetchingly wicked Mary Astor. Yes, I can see where old Sam Spade will jump through a few hoops, hell, many hoops, to get next to that one once she starts making her moves. Watch out Sam.

Although every serious crime noir aficionado should know the plot to this one by heart I will give a short summary for those three people in the classic crime noir world who have not seen (or read) this one-yet. It is, frankly, about a bird, and not just any bird but a historically significant gem –ladened statue of a one, and one moreover that will bring a good price on the black market where such things are traded as a matter of course. That is where the “stuff of dreams” gets everyone evolved in trouble. Who has it (or doesn’t have it), for how long, and what they will do in order to get it (and keep it) provides the driving force of this film as it did with classic noir detective writer Dashiell Hammett when he wrote it. The film is fairly true to the spirit of the novel, including much of the dialogue. Of course, along the way certain alliances are made (and unmade) as Sam Spade tries to maneuver among the parties interested in the object, including the aforementioned Mary Astor, a band of high- end brigands led by Sidney Greenstreet, and maybe others who have fallen by the wayside in pursuit.

Dashiell Hammett was known, correctly known, along with Raymond Chandler, for taking the crime detective out of the police procedural/ society amateur detective milieu and permitting their detectives to take a few punches, give a few punches, flirt with the femme fatales, and use the sparse language of the streets to bring some rough justice to this sorry old world. Sam Spade here takes more than his fair share of hits in order to make sense out of the mess that Ms. Astor brings to his door (and initially his partner, the late Miles Archer). And that is the rub. The various characters here are willing, more than willing, to murder and maim to get the damn bird and so Sam has to, on more occasions that he probably wished, weigh what to do about it. See that is where the femme fatale to muddy the waters part comes in, that damn perfume and that dangerous sassy manner that will drive a man, even a rough justice seeking man a little too close to the edge. But in the end the code of honor, or just an idea of it, drives Sam away from the perfume and back on the straight and narrow. Later when he thinks about that perfume he still will be wondering if he did the thing the right way. Ya, dames will do that to you, tough detectives or just regular joes. I know I was ready to throw my lot in with her, share of the bird or not.

Note: This will not be the last time that Humphrey Bogart played the classic noir detective. Or work with Lorrie and Greenstreet. He got his shots at playing Phillip Marlow in Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep. In a sense Bogart as an actor, a strange sense since he was not “beautiful,” defined that kind of detective- the “tilting at windmills” guy not too fragile to take a punch, give a dame the once over, and bring a little of that “rough justice” to the world, especially a world where the stuff of dreams went awry more often than not.

*Saucy and Sexy- The Wicked Old World of James M. Cain- "Baby In The Icebox"- Short Stories Not For The Faint-Hearted

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for American novelist James M. Cain..

Book Review



Baby In The Ice Box, James M. Cain, Penguin Books, New York, 1984



I have reviewed James M. Cain’s two major works The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity elsewhere in this space. He is justly famous for those little literary potboilers. Not as well known, although they should be, are his short stories that are of the same caliber with the same kind of plot exploration and with quirky little endings, a la O. Henry. The definitive example of this little collection is the title work- Baby In The Icebox. Here we have the inevitable California male drifter of indeterminate morals, the adulterous housewife of vague if intense longings, the seemingly inevitable symbolically meaningful wild cats that populate many of Cain’s works and the intense, almost too intense, sexual stirrings that make the term potboiler very apt. The other stories follow with their own little twists. And hovering just below the surface is a literary examination of class, race and sex in 1930’s America that seldom gets this kind of inspection not matter what period we are in. These will keep you glued to the page, read them.

*Saucy and Sexy- The Wicked Old World of James M. Cain-You Don't Need A Postman to Know Which Way This Wind Blows

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for American novelist James M. Cain's noir classic, The Postman Always Rings Twice.

Book Review

The Postman Always Rings Twice, James M. Cain, Everyman's Library, New York, 2003

Okay, so now that this reviewer has recently warmed you up with review of James M. Cain's lesser works, including the minor classic Double Indemnity it is time to bring up the big guns- The Postman Always Rings Twice (hereafter, Postman). I have reviewed elsewhere in this space both the movie versions of this novel- the original one with John Garfield and Lana Turner in black and white in the 1940’s and the color version with Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange in the 1980’s. Both have there merits although the Nicholson/Lange version produced at a time when there was a more permissive atmosphere in portraying raw, primordial sexual passions is closer to the sense of Cain’s novel.

Both films also take some license with the story line from the novel. That line, in summary, went something like this- Girl is unhappily married to older uncouth owner of a highway diner and gas station in sunny California of the 1930’s. Boy an outlaw tramp, who also happens to be handy, very handy, with a wrench, comes down the road and hubby puts his to work in the station. Boy meets girl. Bang. Hubby is doomed but the newly formed couple, after a false start in clearing up that little matter, seemingly is ready to start a new life together once the murder rap is cleared up. Or are they?

After a fair exposition of Cain’s works in this space, including a few short stories not reviewed, it is apparent that he was onto something about the way that novelist could look at crime and the vagaries of human passions. Most of his works, including Postman, center on the reactions of his characters to the way that their lusts (and it is mainly the distortions caused by their lusts that Cain wants to look at) lead them inevitably to crime, mainly the most heinous one murder. Moreover, as demonstrated here, no crime no matter how perfectly committed or maneuvered around, will go unpunished either as a result of the psychological reaction and revulsion against their crimes, no matter how deeply submerged, of the characters, as here, with Frank and Cora or by some quirk of fate. No police or gumshoes need apply to solve these crimes.

I have sometimes mentioned in reviewing Cain’s work that the women tend to be femme fatales and that is true to the extent that these women have strong sexual identities, use that fact, and are, usually, to the extent they are fully developed by Cain stronger than the men. But then we are back to the old Adam and Eve story, aren’t we? After all Eve was the one who took the chance. I would argue, as an aside here to the theme presented in Postman, that as conventional as Cora is in many ways, trying to make a go of the diner and trying to create a stable environment after the close call on the murder rap, that there is also some primitive Christian notion at work here. Something about the fates being played out a certain way and the gods best stay on the sidelines while they get worked out. But, hey, why don’t you read this little gem and try to figure it out for yourselves.

*Saucy and Sexy- The Wicked Old World of James M. Cain- "Double Imdemnity" And Friends

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for American novelist James M. Cain's noir classic, Double Indemnity.

Brother Cain Warms Up

Three Of A Kind: Career in C Major; The Embezzler: Double Indemnity, James M. Cain, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1943

I am more familiar with the work of James M. Cain via the movies as the basis of such films as The Postman Always Rings Twice and one of the works under review here Double Indemnity. For classic noir films I like to read the works they are based on to see how true they are to the literary efforts. Thus, I picked up this book for Double Indemnity but along the way I got into the other two. The common theme here is the role of women in bringing a man down (or building him up, if that seems appropriate to her designs). You know the old Adam and Eve tale in the modern setting. If Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, Cain's near contemporaries, had the hard-boiled, no nonsense detective down Cain has the bewitching femme fatale and `gullible' smitten guy down in the same way. This little three story volume, moreover, has the virtue of an introduction by Cain himself where he essentially dismisses out of hand positive critical comments about the hard-boiled outlook on the world expressed in his work, his commanding sense of language and his deft craftsmanship with the twists and turns of a story. Ya, right James.


Cain identifies Career in C Major as the story that he liked the best of the three presented here and the one that would hold up over time. I did not get that feeling mainly because the story line gets a little too bogged down by the narrator's efforts to become a male opera singer. The tension between his gratitude (if you can call it that) to his operatic paramour/muse and his catty, headstrong and over demanding wife (who also had musical ambitions) is what drives this little work. In the end, there is basically a Mexican stand-off between hubby and wife. I do not believe that either the theme or the moral hold up today. Let me point out that despite Cain's predilections for this little piece Double Indemnity, with a very much darker theme, is still remembered as a classic tale of murderous impulse. This one you can take or leave.

The Embezzler is, however, one you had better take, as its plot structure leads straight to the classics. This little sleeper of a story points to the fine twist and turns that Cain is rather noted for. The plot revolved around the complicity of a bank executive with the wife of a bank clerk to order to try to stave of family disaster (her's) by trying to "fix" the books of her philandering husband held in thrall by his fellow female employee, an accountant (go figure, right?). The twist and turns center, of course, around the attraction of the bank exec for the wronged wife who may, or may not be, on the up and up. Christ, this thing had me guessing for a while whether that exec was really going to take the tumble for a wrong "dame". Read this one. You will be glad you did.

I mentioned above that one of the things I want to read the original story of a film noir classic for is to see how close it is to the film version. Double Indemnity runs fairly close except as to the fates of the two lovers, if that is what they are. The plot here revolves around that old standard- life insurance- or rather more properly `death' insurance, for the insured. One hulky insurance agent meets one drop dead beautiful young wife of an insured older client. Said wife merely inquires about accident insurance for dear hubby. You know, he is in a dangerous business, producing oil in L.A. The rest is history- hubby is a goner. The double indemnity part? Oh, if you die in an accident on a train you get double. Get it? You will.

The core of the story goes to the compulsive nature of the actual murder once the wheels are set in motion, its cover-up and the falling out among thieves. Along the way we get an entanglement with the deceased insured lovely daughter, her `boyfriend' and enough duplicity to fill up the jails of 1930's California to capacity. No problem. Except the ending of this story doesn't match up with the film. Yes, the moral of both is that men (and women) must not do evil things to their fellows. Okay, but in the movie it is a straight proposition- the bad guys must pay back society for their crimes. They must die. In the book not only is that true but the bad guys had to feel guilt-ridden about it as well. So, instead of getting away with their nefarious deeds they must kill themselves. Moreover, as it turns, wifey didn't tell dear old insurance man that she had a little prior history of psychopathic behavior. So all of society's books are cleared on this one. Nice. I'll take the darker book ending, thank you.

*Saucy and Sexy- The Wicked Old World of James M. Cain-"Mignon"

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for American novelist James M. Cain

Mignon, James M. Cain, The Dial Press, New York, 1962



The last time I have had a chance to mention the work of James M. Cain in this space was a review of his classic noir films The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity, a couple of films that take place in the 1930-40’s in sunny California. As usual when I get ‘high’ on an author I like to run through most of his or her work to see where he or she is going with it. Thus, this review of a lesser work by Cain is something of an introduction to themes that he likes to give a work out in his literary efforts.

And what are those themes? Well, sex, steamy or otherwise, thwarted love, consummated love that will end badly and frankly, greed. Nothing new to add in Mignon, except that Cain does this with a use of language and sense of plot that is well above average for those who try these combinations. With Mignon moreover he addresses his familiar themes but backdates his place to New Orleans and his time to that of the American Civil War period. While some of his plot twist and turns are interesting the overall effect is that this is a very ordinary tale of betrayed love, frustration and financial fiasco that has been done much better when he sticks to California in the 1930-40’s. Yes, that is the real James M. Cain. That is the one that belongs in the second tier of the American literary pantheon. Stay tune for more.

Knocking On Heaven’s Door- Gene Tierney’s Leave Her To Heaven- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for Leave Her To Heaven.

DVD Review

Leave Her To Heaven, starring Gene Tierney, Cornel Wilde, Jeanne Crain, 20th Century Fox, 1945

I take my femme fatales on the low-down side. Gals like Mary Astor clawing for gold and that damn bird as the corpses pile up in The Maltese Falcon or Rita Hayworth getting guys, rational guys in most matters, to commit murder and mayhem just for a slight glance from those dancing eyes. Or, well, you get my drift. So when I run up against a high society femme like Ellen (played by demure, sort of on the surface, Gene Tierney) in the film under review, Leave Her To Heaven, I am not sure what to make of the situation. She doesn’t need dough, she doesn’t need a guy really (or she can have the pick of Back Bay Boston and other high tone watering spots as they line up six deep for her favors), or fame and glory. So what gives?

What gives is that our dear Ellen is a control freak, and an unrestrained sort when she hones in on her target. And her psycho behavior drives the plot here as she targets one bright star Mayfair swell literary man Richard (played by Cornel Wilde) to see if she can clip his wings. She tries through thick and thin to reduce her world to one (and almost succeeds as she already had driven her father off the edge, Richard’s brother, her unborn baby and was deep into setting her foster-sister Ruth, played by Jeanne Crain, before the wheels came off). My thought though as the story dragged on was that she should have just been sent over to McLean’s Hospital in Boston for a little rest. Say for about ten to twelve years. When it comes to femmes though give me those greedy girls like Ms. Astor and Ms. Hayworth every time.

*It's The Jade, Stupid!-Raymond Chandler's" Farewell, My Lovely

Click On Title To Link To Raymond Chandler Web page.

DVD REVIEW

Murder My Sweet, Dick Powell, 1943

Not all of the classic detective novelist Raymond Chandler's Phillip Marlowes are born equal. The definitive screen role is that of Humphrey Bogart in the Big Sleep. Dick Powell, however, here keeps pretty good company with his interpretation of Marlowe as the world-weary private detective who sees things through to the end, especially when he screws up an assignment. It's professional ethics, you know. That characteristic helped define the noir detective. Here Powell adds a little off-hand humor and self-deprecation to the role as he fight for his concept of rough `justice'. But mainly he is intrepid and that carries him a long way in the role. And surprisingly, unlike in the book that the film is based on, he gets the "nice" girl in the end. Who would have thought.

Apparently not all classic Raymond Chandler novels are born equal either. The film here takes bits and pieces from various shorter stories written by Chandler earlier in his career as he was defining the Marlowe model to make the plot line run here. If you want to see a truer take on the original novel Farewell, My Lovely that this film is based on then you should see the remake from the 1980's starring Robert Mitchum.

In Murder, My Sweet the story line runs more around the question of some jade lost by or stolen from a wealthy younger woman with a aging husband, a familar plot, although not always with aging husbands, who actions are central to a murder that occurs along the way. She, as is the order of things in noir films, is a mantrap and classic femme fatale who will do whatever it takes to get what she wants. And will succeed to a point. But do not forget that Marlowe has his own sense of honor so do not cross that line, or else. See both films and judge for yourself.

*Not All Phillip Marlowes Are Created Equal- Raymond Chandler's "Playback"

Click on Title To Link To Raymond Chandler Web page.

Book Review

Playback, Raymond Chandler, Vintage Press, New York, 1988

I have mentioned, in passing, in previous reviews (see archives) that not all of the classic detective novelist Raymond Chandler's Phillip Marlowes are born equal. The definitive screen role, probably the way Chandler’s Marlowe is most widely known, of course, is that of Humphrey Bogart in the "Big Sleep". Others like Dick Powell and, later in the 1970’s, Elliott Gould kept Bogie in pretty good company with their interpretations of Marlowe as the world-weary private detective who sees things through to the end, especially when he screws up an assignment. It's professional ethics, you know. But mainly Marlowe is intrepid and that carries him a long way. That characteristic helped define the noir detective. From that perspective, Robert Mitchum and James Garner were less successful in their respective interpretations on that very point.

That said, apparently, not all classic Raymond Chandler novels are born equal either. This late, perhaps, final Phillip Marlowe adventure (published in 1958) seems to have run out of steam both as to the Marlowe character and to plot. One would have thought Phillip Marlowe, forever literarily associated with Los Angeles and its means streets, would be right at home in his search, at the request of a local lawyer, for the inevitable `missing woman' ("dame", "frill", "frail" for the non-politically correct types) who is “on the lam”. There is plenty of sparse but functional dialogue, physical action and a couple of plot twists, particularly around the identity of the above-mentioned "dame" and the motives for her movements.

As always, have no fear, the intrepid Marlowe will figure it out in the end and some kind of 'rough' justice will prevail. At this point in the Phillip Marlowe series, however, our shamus has been around the block more than a few times but he still is punching away at the 'bad guys' and the absurdity of the modern world. But here, in the 1950’s Southern California milieu that is very quickly losing any of its pioneer spirit and has gone ‘soft’, Marlowe seems out of place. His world has lost its bearings and the strength has been sapped out of such virtues as personal honor, individual effort and chasing after windmills. Hell, old Marlowe goes to bed with the lady client (a no-no in the old days), is considerate and respectful of the police (a definite no-no for any self-respecting private eye) and, at the end, is wistfully thinking about an old love that has reentered the picture. Phillip, where did you go wrong?

How does this one compare with the other Marlowe volumes? Give me those background oil derricks churning out the wealth while looking for General Sternwood's Rusty Regan in "The Big Sleep" or the run down stucco flats in some shady places in pursuit of Moose's Velma in "Farewell, My Lovely" any day. Nevertheless, as always with Chandler, you get high literature (including, as always, some choice metaphors) in a plebeian package. Phillip Marlowe, RIP.

*Not Ready For Prime Time Class Struggle- "Black Dahlia' -A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a "YouTube" film clip of the movie trailer for "Black Dahlia".

DVD Review

Black Dalhia, Josh Harnett, Hilary Swank, Scarlett Johansson, directed by Brian DePalma, 2006

Take Raymond Chandler's noir "slumming streets" of 1940s Los Angeles, a few tough cops who may, or may not, be "on the take", more "dishy" dames than you can take a stick at all trying to make their way to Hollywood's big time, big screen any way they can. Throw in money, sexual desire, sexual perversion, some stolen scenes from other noir films and you have "Black Dahlia". No, not Chandler's "Blue Dahlia" there is too much visual, up-front violence, too little worthy dialogue, and too little character development for that but all the other elements are there to produce a somewhat entertaining mystery that will keep you guessing a little, if you can keep your eyes off those "dishy" dames, Hilary Swank and Scarlett Johansson, (or, depending on your preference, those "dishy" guys, Josh Harnett and Aaron Eckhart ). That in the end is probably the reason to see this thing. It does have that great `40s background music to set the mood, though. You know, if you are a noir fan what I mean.

*In The Time Of The "Fixer"- Dashiell Hammet's "The Glass Key"

Click on the title to link to a "Wikipedia" entry for the American detective story writer extraordinaire, Dashiell Hammet.

DVD/BOOK REVIEW

The Glass Key, Dashiell Hammett, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1932

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 sidekick society wife, Nora), Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe are well known exemplars of the action detective.

In The Glass Key Hammett takes a little different run at that same idea. The protagonist this time is not the usual detective but an old fashioned political "fixer". No, not the "spin doctor" or "flak" of modern media-driven politics but the older handler of the retail politics that counted in the local urban scene with the added factor of a little off hand, old fashioned mob influence. Nevertheless, the "fixer" Ned Beaumont has all the resourcefulness, toughness, loyalty, and hard-boiled common sense that we have come to expect of Hammett's 'real' detectives.

The plot revolves around the familiar problem of electoral politics-getting elected. In this case getting a Senator with a beautiful daughter, Janet, and an errant son, Taylor, reelected. Add in some political factions, also mob-dominated, a fair share of corrupt officials, an off-hand murder and other crimes and misdemeanors and you would hardly know we are not dealing with a `normal' Hammett novel. Further add in a slowly evolving romance between Ned and the afore-mentioned Senator's daughter who is also the object of his political boss's affections and you have quite a mix. Frankly, I prefer Hammett's detectives but any time you can get your hands on one of his books do so.

In the film version of the novel that follows the script of the book pretty closely the part of Ned is played by a young Alan Ladd. The Senator's daughter, Janet, is played by Veronica Lake. Naturally in the film the romantic tension is given more play than in the book. Some of the scenes between them, especially that classic silky hair over one eye Lake look when she is being coy, are worth the price of admission. Brian Donlevy as Ned's political boss also has his moments. Nice.

*******

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 the other cheek on 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, 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.