Fat City (1972)

 

Beat the Devil (1953)

 

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948) ***

Director John Huston and his father, Walter, showed Hollywood what greed looked like when they took home three Oscars in 1948 for their work in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948).  This was fitting, of course, because greed for gold was what the film was about.  However, I am happy to report that no one had to be shot or macheted for the Huston’s to cash in on all their hard work.

John took home the Oscar for Best Director and earned another one for his adapted screenplay of B. Traven’s 1927 novel of the same name.  Traven, by all accounts, was a bit wacky but probably deserved a share of Huston’s screenplay award because, for the most part, Huston’s script followed the book quite closely.  The story is taut with tension and paranoia and is an excellent study of what greed can do to otherwise decent people. While the corrupting influence of greed was nothing new to cinema—most notably, Erich von Stroheim made his notorious nine-hour film, Greed (1924), about it—The Treasure of the Sierra Madre did it in such a direct and concise manner that it is probably the best film ever made on the subject of the depravity of greed. 

The story takes place in 1920s Mexico, where three down on their luck Americans meet in a flop house and discuss prospecting for gold.  Old timer Howard (Walter Huston) tells Dobbs (Humphrey Bogart) and Curtin (Tim Holt) that he knows of a place where they might find a payload of gold—the Sierra Madre Mountains. After pooling their money and buying mules and tools, they set off through the rugged terrain in search of gold. Along the way they must fend off outsiders, bandits, and, finally, one another.  From the outset it’s pretty obvious which of the men is the most susceptible to greed—his paranoia drives him over the edge and eventually leads to his ruination.  Though not recognized by the Academy for his menacing performance, Bogart probably turned in the acting job of his life as a man so consumed with paranoia and greed that by the end of the movie his character is almost totally transformed.

Huston, however, was recognized by the Academy and was awarded a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his last great screen role. He’d been nominated three previous times, but it was his eccentric, folksy performance as the moral center of this film that finally won him an Oscar.  Anyone who’s seen the movie knows that when we first meet his Howard he seems rather untrustworthy and the most likely to turn on his prospecting partners, but as the story progresses his little nuggets of wisdom about the shortcomings of a man’s soul/character sets him up almost as an oracle from Greek mythology. 

The Roman philosopher Seneca once wrote that “For greed all nature is too little”, and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre does an excellent job of proving him correct. One thing that sets the movie apart is the fact that John Huston insisted most of it be shot on location in Tampico and Durango, Mexico. This added an element of authenticity to the production, and also incorporated another character to the movie: nature.  The scenes where the men are trudging through the mountainside with the sun beating down on them and dust is flying contributes to the declining psyches of the men.  The gritty realism of these scenes makes it almost understandable than a man could be pushed beyond all morality.

Overall, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre is a tight morality tale about the dangers of greed.  It is filled with great performances and an atmosphere of realism. 

The Asphalt Jungle (1950) **1/2

(This is my contribution to the CMBA's Fabulous Films of the 1950s Blogathon, which runs May 21-May 26. Check out all the great blog posts!)

Tight—that is the best word to describe director John Huston’s, The Asphalt Jungle (1950).  The plot, cinematography and the acting are all tightly wound together to create one of the most compelling film noir heist movies ever made.  Quite simply, it is the granddaddy of all heist movies, such classics as Rififi (1955) and The Killing (1956) and modern-day “classics” like Oceans Eleven (2001) and Inside Man (2006) all derive from The Asphalt Jungle. What is most compelling, however, about the movie is how it looks at the subterranean world of crime and how different from your typical noir it actually is. 

Adapted from W.R. Burnett’s novel of the same name, Ben Maddow and John Huston’s Oscar-nominated screenplay is tied together by a jewel heist.  The lives of several men are determined by the success or failure of stealing and fencing diamonds and gold worth more than a million dollars (which was a lot of money back in 1950).  The mastermind of the caper is Doc Riedenschneider (Sam Jaffe, in an Oscar-nominated performance), a recently released big timer with a full-proof plan to rob a jewelry store.  He enlists a local bookie, Cobby (Marc Lawrence), to help him snag $50,000 to put a crew together.  This leads him to Emmerich (Louis Calhern), a respected local lawyer with supposedly big pockets, who is also probably the most corrupt man in town.  The audience is then educated as to what is necessary, other than money, to pull off a grand heist—a box man, the guy who breaks into the safe (Anthony Caruso), a driver (James Whitmore), and a hooligan who handles a gun and any security guards or cops (Sterling Hayden).  Once this part of the education is over, we are then treated to a painstakingly detailed view of the entire heist. Unfortunately, things don’t go as planned and a few people get shot and there is a major double-cross that throws a damper on an otherwise spectacularly planned and orchestrated crime.

The underbelly of crime always proves compelling, and in The Asphalt Jungle it is on full display. However, the seediness is not only comprised of only career criminals but also respected lawyers and police officers as well.  For example, Cobby runs a local book that is protected by Lieutenant Ditrich (Barry Kelley), who gets kickbacks for looking the other way.  And, then there’s Emmerich, a highly respected man who both finances and represents crooks, while living in a fine house and carrying on with a woman young enough to be his daughter, or niece (played by Marilyn Monroe), while his bedridden wife (Dorothy Tree) just wants to play cards.

The story does a smart job of planting small hints about the criminals’ weaknesses and also explaining what makes them commit the crimes they do.  Doc won’t touch alcohol and has a fondness for young girls (one of which will haunt him in the end).  Dix (Hayden) only wants to make enough money to buy back his family’s horse farm but can never save enough from his robberies because he bets on the horses.  And, Louie (Caruso) has a wife and child to support.  They all just want one big score so they can get out of the life. These sympathetic, human characters don’t fit the stereotypical noir criminal, who are often violent and unethical.  For the most part, all of the criminals seem to follow a code of ethics, which flies in the face of Noir 101.

And, completely opposite to other noirs, there are no femme fatales anywhere to be seen in The Asphalt Jungle, which might sound strange when one considers that the perfect femme fatale-esque actress was in the film, Marilyn Monroe.  None of the male characters are obsessed with any wicked women. In fact, all of the women in the picture are highly sympathetic—even Monroe, who comes across as the most innocent mistress ever known to cinema. 

However, like any noir, The Asphalt Jungle is a shadow-filled black and white picture full of dark, atmospheric shots. Still, Huston’s framing of the film is much more open and uncluttered compared to other noirs.  He and Oscar-nominated cinematographer Harold Rosson employed high contrast lighting from start to finish, with an extended opening scene that follows Dix walking through a deserted asphalt jungle after his most recent robbery.  Perhaps my favorite scene in the film, other than the 11-minute jewelry heist, is when Doc first paces up and down the tight hallway of Cobby’s book parlor waiting to be introduced. One blinding overhead light illuminates the otherwise dark, grimy hallway as Doc walks toward the static camera—almost walking straight into it—and then he turns his back toward the opening door and the emerging image of Cobby. It’s a small scene, but so full of brilliant lighting and lens work. 

While Hayden may have gotten top billing, Jaffe was clearly the star of the show.  Of course, it helps that Jaffe could act galaxies around Hayden, but his character was the most interesting of the lot.  It takes skill to portray a tightly-wound but always composed character. Additionally, Calhern’s turn as Emmerich is also engaging.  Yes, it’s difficult to feel sympathy for a double-crosser and a philanderer, but when he sits down to write a letter to his wife when he’s about to be arrested and then rips it up after writing it, you almost feel sorry for him. 

Overall, The Asphalt Jungle was an important development in cinema.  It pioneered the heist film and laid the foundation for generations of heist films to come.  Additionally, it broke the barriers of film noir, and ushered in characterization and a more open and uncluttered framing into the world of noir. 

For more great Fabulous Films of the 1950s blog posts click this link: http://clamba.blogspot.com/.

The Battle of San Pietro (1945) **

The Germans weren’t the only country that made propaganda films during World War II—the United States enlisted top-tier directors like John Huston and Frank Capra to shore up troop morale and to keep the homefront abreast of what was happening in the European Theater, too.  Of course, there was a very significant difference between Joseph Goebbels and John Huston: Huston had a conscience.  It was his understanding of right and wrong that shaped how he composed what is considered the greatest war documentary ever made, The Battle of San Pietro (1945). 

San Pietro is an Italian town located in a flat corridor surrounded by mountains near the Mignano Gap, which leads to the Liri Valley, which at that time was the road to Rome. As Allied Forces made their jump from Northern Africa to Sicily and then the Italian mainland in September 1943, retreating German forces began building parallel defensive points to the south of Rome, which they called the Winter Line.  Unfortunately for San Pietro it was in a strategically important location to the Germans, who built overlooking pillbox fortifications and mined the surrounding hillsides. By December 1943, after a month of fighting, the Germans were holding on for dear life against the Allied offensive.  It was the Battle of San Pietro, which lasted for ten brutal days in early December and cost the 143rd Regiment of the U.S. Army over a thousand soldiers, that led the Germans to retreat further north and set up what would later become the pivotal Battle of Monte Cassino in 1944. 

What makes The Battle of San Pietro so memorable is its gritty realism. Cameramen Jules Buck and his crew filmed right beside the 143rd Regiment as heavy artillery and machine gun fire reigned down on them from overlooking German fortifications. Today people talk about how realistic the battle scenes in Saving Private Ryan (1998) are—well, you don’t get more real than the filming of an actual prolonged assault.  Chaotic in nature and unflinching in the reality of what takes place on the field of battle, this is a testament to the true nature of warfare. There are shots of dead soldiers and rows upon rows of makeshift graves, as well as aerial shots of the completely destroyed town itself. 

While the film was held back from general population until after the war in Europe ended in May 1945, it was used as a training film for the army.  General George Marshall said it was the type of film that would make soldiers take their training more seriously—I would hope so!  The finished product that was shown to the American people was narrated by Huston himself and exalted the courage and tenacity of the 143rd Regiment.  It also had a bit of an anti-war feel to it, which brought Huston some criticism from the Army.  To me, this is the least offensive thing about the documentary.

What I find more disturbing about this documentary is the overtly religious music and imagery that Huston uses.  There is no sanctity in war and it always bothers me when anyone attempts to say that God favors one country over another in acts of death and destruction.  When you end a film by saying that the children of San Pietro will wake up tomorrow and it will be as though the bad things never happened, and then you show an image of Saint Peter, I think you may have overstepped just a tad.  Ah, but isn’t that why war propaganda films are made in the first place?

The African Queen (1951) ***

Something happened to Katharine Hepburn in the 1950s that was both a blessing and a curse: she started playing a lot of spinsters. Some of these spinsters were painful to watch (think The Rainmaker and Summertime), but thankfully her turn as Rose Sayer in The African Queen (1951) was the perfect vehicle for her maturing talents. She had adept screenwriters (James Agee and John Huston); an accomplished director (John Huston); an award-winning cinematographer (Jack Cardiff); and, an age-appropriate co-star (Humphrey Bograt)—all of these essential elements allowed Hepburn to turn Rose into the best spinster portrayal of her storied career. 

Based on C.S. Forester’s 1935 novel The African Queen, the story takes place at the beginning of WWI in 1914 in German East Africa.  An old-maid missionary (Hepburn) finds herself in a difficult situation after her Methodist minister brother (Robert Morley) is beaten by German soldiers and later dies of a fever.  Alone in the middle of the jungle, Rose is rescued by rough-looking steamboat (a very small one, named, you guessed it The African Queen) captain Charlie Allnut (Bogart), a man who delivers supplies and mail along the Ulanga River.  After learning that the boat is carrying the necessary supplies to make a torpedo, Rose attempts to convince Charlie that they should make one and then use it against a German gunboat as an act of patriotism (he’s Canadian, which at the time was still a part of the British Empire). While attempting to dissuade Rose from her suicidal plan, Charlie often finds himself at odds with the headstrong nature of his prim companion. What ensues is an adventurous love story between complete opposites in the middle of the African jungle.

Most people who have read Forester’s novel will tell you that the movie is ten times better. This is not to say that screenwriters Agee and Huston changed a lot when they adapted the book, because they only made a few minor changes—most notably turning Charlie into a Canadian instead of a Cockney Londoner because Bogart couldn’t pull off the accent—but because the story plays better on screen than on the page.  They received an Oscar nomination for their crisp, smart dialogue and their ability to turn a somewhat turgid book into a sweeping adventure story. Writing lines for two completely opposite personalities can be challenging (you don’t want one to dominate the other too much) and that’s where I think Agee and Huston do a great job.  Perhaps my favorite exchange is this one:

Charlie: A man takes a drop too much once in a while, it's only human nature.

Rose: Nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are put in this world to rise above.

The characters’ words never seem forced and they always sound appropriate.  I wish more screenwriters wrote dialogue like this.

John Huston also received an Oscar nomination for his direction of the film.  While he and Bogart were cut from the same cloth, dealing with Hepburn in the middle of the jungle could have been a nightmare if he hadn’t approached her in the right way. He obviously was successful in this endeavor because Hepburn later said that it was “the goddamnedest best piece of direction” she ever received.  As if dealing with two of Hollywood’s biggest stars wasn’t enough, the film was shot primarily on location in central Africa (although for safety reasons all of the scenes where Bogart and Hepburn are in the water were filmed in a studio water tank).  Just the logistics alone were bad enough, not to mention the fact that it was being filmed by huge Technicolor cameras.  Sickness ran rampant on the set and the weather conditions were unbearable at times.  In the end, it turned out to be one of the best films of Huston’s career. 

Besides the off-beat love story, what is most remembered about the movie is its cinematography.  Can you really shoot a film in the middle of the African jungle in anything other than Technicolor?  Vivid and lush, the color pops off the screen.  Cinematographer Jack Cardiff was known for his experimental use of Technicolor. His use of the dye-process color system made him the go-to cinematographer for the likes of Powell & Pressburger and Hitchcock.  Yet, he was also extremely adept in his lighting techniques.  There’s a story about how Bogart told Cardiff that it had taken him years to get the lines on his face and that he didn’t want Cardiff to wash them out with lights. Bogart might have kept his lines, but Hepburn never looked better in color.  Rose was supposed to be 33-years old, while Hepburn was in her mid-40s when the picture was shot; yet, I can’t recall a color film where Hepburn looked so real—her take me as I am (with limited lighting hijinks) made her look like the beauty she was.  What makes this even more impressive is that throughout most of filming Hepburn was extremely ill with dysentery—and still she looked good, which no doubt she owed to Cardiff’s mastery.

Finally, what I think makes this Hepburn’s best spinster role is that her co-star is Bogart.  Slightly seven years older than Hepburn, Bogart looked like the kind of man who could fall for an aging old maid.  Rough and grizzled, Bogart had the necessary presence to stand next to a woman who could be perceived as domineering.  Perhaps this is why he won his only Academy Award for this role—he stood his own against one of the most powerful actresses to grace the silver screen.  When you compare his Charlie to the likes of Rossano Brazzi in Summertime (1955) and Burt Lancaster in The Rainmaker (1956) it’s easy to see where those films faltered while The African Queen thrived. While Hepburn received Academy Award nominations for all three of these films, this was the one she seemed the most believable in, which I believe is a direct result of who her co-star was.  I believe this is the inherent reason why The African Queen endures while Hepburn’s other spinster films are often pushed aside and/or forgotten. 

The Maltese Falcon (1941) ***

Considered by many as the first Hollywood film noir, The Maltese Falcon (1941) was John Huston’s directorial debut. What a way for a director to emerge out of the shadows!

Besides directing one of the best detective films ever, Huston also wrote the Oscar nominated screenplay, which was adapted from the 1929 Dashiell Hammett novel of the same name. Nominated for Best Picture, the film stars Humphrey Bogart as immortal detective Sam Spade. Bogart and Huston worked well together and made four more legendary films together: Key Largo, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The African Queen, and Beat the Devil.

Set in San Francisco, the film quickly introduces us to detective Sam Spade (Bogart) when his secretary, Effie (Lee Patrick), announces a new client, Miss Wonderly (Mary Astor). For those of you who have seen the entrance Astor makes, take a moment and imagine Geraldine Fitzgerald (Ann from Dark Victory) making that same entrance. No, it doesn’t work for me, either. Yet, Fitzgerald was originally cast as Ruth. Thankfully fate stepped in and allowed Astor to play her greatest role ever. Ruth has come to the Spade and Archer (Jerome Cowan) detective agency to find her missing sister, who has run away with a shady (and according to Miss Wonderly, violent) dark-haired and bushy eyebrowed character named Thursby. Asher agrees to follow her to her meeting with Thursby at the St. Mark Hotel. Big mistake. Soon Archer is looking down the barrel of a gun and is gunned down in cold blood. The fact that we don’t see the face of the assailant is a typical film noir device and sets up one dynamite ending.

Another classic film noir element is displayed when Spade goes to the scene of the crime: a shadowy deserted alley with one streetlight. After Spade is informed by Sergeant Polhaus (Ward Bond) that Archer must have known his killer because his gun was still holstered, he calls Miss Wonderly’s hotel and learns that she has checked out. The next morning he awakens to accusations from the police and the news that Thursby has also been murdered.

But wait, they aren’t the only ones who suspect Spade may be a killer. Archer’s wife Iva (Gladys George) thinks Spade killed her husband so they could be together (they were having an affair). As Iva sniffles on, Miss Wonderly calls to let Spade know she’s moved to the Coronet Apartments under an assumed named: Miss Leblanc,

He arrives at the Coronet to learn from Ruth that she lied about her real name (it’s actually Brigid O’Shaughnessy) and that she hasn’t been forthcoming about Thursby. It would seem that she met him in the “Orient” and hired him to protect her. She lays it on thick and convinces (with the aid of money) Spade not to tell the police about her. He agrees, but he knows there’s more to the story.

Back at the agency, Spade meets Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre), a gay man who at first offers Spade $5000 to find a statue of a black bird but then pulls a gun on him. Now, this film was made in 1941, so it is surprising that Lorre was allowed to play his character so stereotypically gay. Anyway, after being knocked out by Spade, Cairo hires him to help find the black bird.

Later, Spade returns to the Coronet and finds Brigid in the sharing mood: she’s really a bad girl dressed up in a helpless woman’s body. No, you don’t say? Spade informs her of Cairo’s offer and she offers him more than money. This is followed by a rather brutal kiss by Spade and a demand that she start being honest. She does this by agreeing to meet Cairo.

At this meeting we are introduced to a new character’s name: the Fat Man. We also learn that Brigid and Cairo hate each other—this shows a whole new, nasty side of Brigid. After being slapped rather hard by Brigid, Cairo pulls out his gun, only to be disarmed yet again by Spade—and for good measure Spade slaps him three more times and utters the classic line, “When you’re slapped, you’ll take it and like it.” Meanwhile, Brigid gets her well-manicured hands on Cairo’s gun just as the police arrive to question Spade about his affair with Iva. This allows Cairo to escape and for Spade to press Brigid about how she became involved with Cairo. A story of double-crosses ensues. Not deterred by this woman who admits she’s always been a liar, Spade spends the night with her.

The next day Spade goes to Cairo’s hotel and notices the man whose been tailing him (Wilmer, played by Elisha Cook, Jr.). Deducing that he works for the Fat Man, Spade tells him to tell his boss that he’s looking for him. This must have worked because when he returns to the agency he has a message from Mr. Gutman, a.k.a the Fat Man. He also learns from Brigid that someone has ransacked her apartment (Cairo).

Later, Spade goes to Gutman’s hotel, where he is greeted at the door by Wilmer. When he finally meets Gutman, it is easy to see why he’s called the Fat Man—or Gutman for that matter. All 300 lbs. of Sidney Greenstreet earned a Best Supporting Actor nomination for his portrayal of this strangely polite but menacing man. Spade doesn’t learn much from this meeting, but he learns that the black bird is extremely valuable.

After being harassed by the police yet again, Spade is once again picked up on the street by a gun-wielding Wilmer. After disarming the poor sap, Spade fully embarrasses him in front of Gutman. Appreciative of Spade’s manner, Gutman finally reveals the long (and I mean long) history of the Maltese Falcon (the black bird) and the fact that he’s been obsessed with having it for 17 years. He offers Spade $50,000 to bring it to him. Ah, but it is only a ruse to allow the drugs in Spade’s drink to take effect. With Spade passed out on the floor, Gutman, Cairo and Wilmer head off to find the bird themselves. When Spade wakes up he finds a newspaper clipping about a boat coming in from Hong Kong and surmises this must be where Gutman is headed. When he arrives at the docks he finds the boat ablaze.

Back at the agency, Spade is shocked when a fatally injured man (Captain Jacobi played by Huston’s father Walter Huston) stumbles into his office and delivers the falcon to him. Soon thereafter Brigid calls to tell Spade where she’s at, only to scream at the end of the call. First he stows the falcon at a bus terminal, then he goes in search of Brigid. When he arrives he finds an empty lot and the bells finally chime as to the fact that Brigid is indeed a liar. Yet, when he finds her hiding in a doorway near his apartment he still takes her into his apartment, where he finds Wilmer, Cairo, and Gutman waiting for him when he turns on the lights. And so the scene is set for one of the greatest endings in film history.

After informing the crew that he has the falcon, he demands that they come up with a fall guy for the murders. He suggests Wilmer, but Gutman refuses (evidently the term gunsel, which is used by Spade to describe Wilmer, was a homosexual term for a young man kept by an older one that morphed into a term for a gangster) at first but then gives into the demand. Then the whole sordid mess is revealed: Brigid had given the falcon to Captain Jacobi in Hong Kong, knowing it would follow her there later, and returned to San Francisco with her partner Thursby. Gutman had Wilmer kill Thursby to get Brigid to work with him. When they saw the newspaper notice about the boat they met Brigid and Jacobi there and she agreed to work with them, but she double crossed them and had Jacobi (who was shot by Wilmer) deliver the falcon to Spade. The reason for the cryptic phone call: they wanted to get him out of the office before Jacobi arrived but the phone call came too late.

With the loose ends tied up and $10,000 in his hands, Spade has Effie bring the falcon to his apartment, where it is revealed that it is a fake! At first all hell breaks lose and there are many tears and recriminations, but then Gutman composes himself and demands his $10,000 back from Spade and he and Cairo leave. Spade calls the police to alert them to this fact, so they can pick them up. Using this as leverage against Brigid, Spade demands that she tell him the truth about Archer before the police arrive. Evidently she hired Archer so she could tell Thursby he was being followed, which would cause him to confront Archer and perhaps kill him, which would allow her to be rid of him before the falcon arrived. But Thursby didn’t do this, so she had to take matters into her own hands and so she killed Archer in order to pin it on Thursby. The truth revealed, Brigid declares her love for Spade and begs him not to turn her in. Ah, I might love you baby, but I can’t trust you, so you’re going down—basically Spade’s answer to her plea. In the closing scene, the most overt example of film noir technique, Brigid is led into the elevator by the police and when the steel cage is pulled down in front of her it casts jail bar shapes across her face. Oh, the look on that lovely face! In the word of MasterCard: priceless.

This was actually the third film version of Hammett’s classic novel. Ricardo Cortez played Sam Spade in the 1931 version and Warren William played him in Satan Met a Lady (1936). I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that this film has so many connections to Bette Davis it’s hard to keep track. In one scene in this film we see a film marquee for The Great Lie, which starred Davis and Mary Astor (who won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role). This ties into the fact that Davis played the femme fatale in Satan Met a Lady.

In regards to film noir elements, the film is not overwhelmingly dark and there isn’t an overabundance of shadows. Yet, the core principles of an anti-hero who follows a code of honor (his own) who reaches into the underworld and deals with all sorts of unseemly characters and situations is at the core of this story. That Spade emerges in the end as a jaded but somewhat still respectable character is classic film noir. In addition, you have Mary Astor playing the epitome of the femme fatale (perhaps only surpassed by Stanwyck in Double Indemnity) and Lorre and Greenstreet as some of the most colorful and outrageous criminals ever imagined.