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Sunday, March 17, 2024

Grand Central Murder (1942)

Directed by S Sylvan Simon; produced by B F Zeidman

A number of people have reason to want Broadway star Mida King (Patricia Dane) dead, and when she is found that way in her private railway carriage, Inspector Gunther (Sam Levene) has his hands full. They start to overflow, however, when high-class - and successful - private investigator ‘Rocky’ Custer (Van Heflin) shows up with his assistant ‘Butch’ (Virginia Grey), who is also his wife. Implicated in what appears to be a murder, Custer has to find the real culprit or possibly end up in jail.

Perhaps another attempt to start a series in the vein of The Thin Man movies, Grand Central Murder benefits from the performances of Heflin and Levene, but not much else.

Van Heflin was a highly capable actor, as good in lead roles - though these were usually restricted to B movies – as in supporting parts in bigger pictures. He has a natural air about him and uses it to good effect in Grand Central Murder, in which he has occasion to be witty, funny, angry and annoyed by turns. He has a good rapport with Levene.

Levene also had a varied career in movies, but had a more successful time on the stage. Here, he is the stereotypical harried detective, irritated by suspects, especially the know-it-all private investigator. He does what he can with what he is given.

Interestingly, the cast includes a number of actors who would become prominent in smaller lead or bigger character roles, including Tom Conway, who stepped into his brother’s former rôle in the Falcon film series immediately after Grand Central Murder; Millard Mitchell; Roman Bohnen, and Stephen McNally, billed as ‘Horace’ McNally.

The script is adequate but unrealistic. Gunther keeps all his suspects together - despite Custer pointing out the logic of questioning them separately - and moves them en masse from one location to another. There is, of course, no logical forensic reason for this, but is meant to keep the story, which comprises mainly the interrogation of the various characters, from becoming static. Attempts at humour are only moderately amusing, though Gunther’s never-ending thirst for cherry cola leads to a few good moments.

The actual mystery is not very clever, and in the path to its solution, the script does not play fair with the audience, declining to give them all the clues Custer finds. As well, the revelation of the method of death doesn’t come as an exciting moment; it’s almost as if that element of the story has become insignificant amid the squabbling and chatter of all the characters.

Grand Central Murder never really had much of a chance with the poor script, bland story-line and pedestrian direction. It would have paid an audience dividends to see Heflin and Levene together in a quality light-hearted crime flick - but this isn’t it.

Sunday, March 10, 2024

Vanishing Point (1971)

Directed by Richard C Sarafian; produced by Norman Spencer

Arriving in Denver on a Friday, car-delivery driver Kowalski (Barry Newman) immediately takes up his new assignment, despite the fact that he obviously needs rest. And, though the Dodge Challenger he is taking to San Francisco needs to be there no earlier than Monday, he determines to get it there by Sunday afternoon. This necessitates breaking speed limits, being chased by police and restricting his sleep, being fuelled only by gasoline, Benzedrine and a relentless craving for velocity.

The synopsis makes Vanishing Point sound like a forerunner of Smokey and the Bandit and all the other simple-minded, immature chase films of the 1970s. In fact, it is quite different. Vanishing Point is hard to categorise. Some have called it pointless, others thought it is an existential essay. I consider it the story of a self-destructive man who lives only for the thrill of speed. And I found it compelling.

Newman came to prominence in 1970’s The Lawyer, a courtroom drama based on the Sam Sheppard case. His character in the movie was used in the later television series Petrocelli. After this, Newman was found mainly in supporting rôles, though they were often strong, such as that in the recently-reviewed The Limey. In Vanishing Point, he is required to act minimally, though not ineffectively. That he was a lesser known actor helps in his interpretation of Kowalski, a man who gives away nothing about himself. Gene Hackman was originally envisioned for the part, and this would have altered the presentation of the character, and thus of the movie, considerably.

The other actors are an interesting lot. Veteran Dean Jagger appears as an old man collecting snakes in the desert. Anthony James, Robert Donner and John Amos have small parts, while Cleavon Little has a major contribution as Super Soul, a disc-jockey who becomes Kowalski’s spiritual supporter. Charlotte Rampling appears as a woman seemingly waiting for Kowalski by the side of the road. Severn Darden, one of the founders of the Second City comedy troupe, portrays a cultish clergyman, with Rita Coolidge as one of the singers in his congregation and David Gates (of the group Bread) as a pianist. As may be seen, the cast is most eclectic, and all fulfill their parts well. (Kim Carnes sings a song at the film’s end, and wrote one of the many tunes on the soundtrack.)

The direction by Sarafian is surprisingly ordinary. One might think, given the subject and the context, that more imagination might be shown. Yet, in this case, it is as well that it is not. Though there are strange aspects to the film, which involves the counter-culture of the late 1960s and early ‘70s, the story itself is grounded in a hard reality, the solidity of asphalt and dirt roads.

The writing is the most enigmatic element of the movie, as it makes the atmosphere that some find pointless and others meaningful. At no time is Kowalski’s motive for driving to San Francisco at such speeds given, though the brief flashbacks in the narrative, showing the crashes he was involved in during his professional racing career, give clues. Also shown are his relationships with women, including one – also apparently self-destructive – whose death clearly affected Kowalski deeply. Several of the women look alike.

Kowalski is written as a decent man. His short stint as a policeman ended when he forcefully stopped a colleague from molesting a girl. When his speeding causes crashes, he stops to determine if the other drivers are hurt. He appears to want nothing more than to be left alone to go as swiftly as possible; his personality might be summed up in Super Soul’s claim that to Kowalski ‘speed means freedom…’. Certainly he cares little at this point about his job: the damage he inadvertently inflicts on his car would surely get him fired.

Super Soul’s interaction with the protagonist is an interesting one. He provides a narration for Kowalski’s journey, encouraging him and telling him where police are waiting for him. Yet the two also seem to be able to communicate through the radio, and the moment Kowalski no longer listens to the dj is pivotal. Their relationship is another aspect that seems otherworldly.

These rather surreal features – the quest for speed, the isolated world Kowalski lives in, the ethereal voice of the radio, Rampling’s part – are ingredients of the counter-culture that Vanishing Point appears to embrace. Hippies, drugs, free love are seen as good, and authority – in the form of the police – as bad. Yet, I viewed this as window-dressing; it was the world through which Kowalski moved but did not join. And the self-nihilism he exhibits speaks for itself.

While it may be dismissed as self-important and pretentious, I think Vanishing Point is more than that. A depiction of a loner whose personality and goals are violently self-effacing, but only when they are expressed in the context of the real world – and how could they be expressed otherwise? – Vanishing Point is best viewed without asking too many questions at the time, and then thought about later.

Sunday, March 3, 2024

To Have and Have Not (1944)

Directed and produced by Howard Hawks

In 1940 Martinique, Harry Morgan (Humphrey Bogart) tries to make a living hiring out his boat to wealthy tourists, while navigating the new bureaucratic and political rules of the colonial government, now loyal to the pro-Nazi Vichy regime in France. His life is complicated by the arrival of stranded American Marie ‘Slim’ Browning (Lauren Bacall), alcoholic deck-hand Eddie (Walter Brennan), and requests for help from a secret Free French group on the island. It’s a good thing Harry is used to trouble.

One of the best adventure films Bogart made, To Have and Have Not is often cited as “Howard Hawks’s Casablanca”. I have long taken issue with the phrase and its sentiment, preferring, if any reference to the earlier film is needed, to call it “Hawks’s answer to Casablanca”.

Certainly, there are similarities to the famous 1942 movie. In both, Bogart plays an expatriate American in French colonial territory; there is trouble with a woman who suddenly appears in his world; that world is under Nazi/Vichy control; a police captain (named Renault in Casablanca and Renard in To Have and Have Not) makes difficulties. There is even a piano player with a prominent part in both stories.

But, in fact, the movies are quite distinct. Casablanca is a drama, emotional, with little conventional action, perhaps reflecting its stage origins; To Have and Have Not is a more straightforward adventure yarn. Bogart’s character in the former is morose, haunted by the past, and unwilling to put himself at risk for anyone, while in the latter he plays someone who appears mostly content with his life, who has taken responsibility for his drunken friend, and who accepts chancy jobs to help others.

More than anything, the movies’ differences are determined by the female lead and her character. Ingrid Bergman portrays Ilsa Lund who, despite the actress’ wonderful work, comes across as a weak and indecisive woman; her actions seem to hinge on whatever the last man to speak to her said. Bacall’s Slim is strong and independent; she is resourceful, ready to use men if she must, but also knowing what she wants and going after it. Her will is as steely as Harry’s, and she comes across as his impromptu partner, rather than a follower.

Bacall and Bogart’s chemistry takes us away from comparisons and into To Have and Have Not’s own merits. It’s known to most that the couple married, soon after this, their first film together. That they were well-matched is easily seen in the film. They have a rapport that is a tough guy’s version of Nick and Nora Charles’s, from The Thin Man movies. Their dialogue makes their verbal sparring seem perfectly natural, and in keeping with their characters. Harry is open and honest; Slim is more cautious.

The writing that provides that dialogue is first-rate, as might be expected from William Faulkner and Jules Furthman, the two who also wrote 1946’s The Big Sleep. (Furthman scripted 1935’s Mutiny on the Bounty, as well as Nightmare Alley and Rio Bravo, among other movies.) The script is amusing when it needs to be; gives much away only by implication, while its innuendo, demanded by the production codes of the time, tells much, and with imagination.

The movie benefits from the other actors, as well. Brennan plays a rather subdued rôle, considering what he had done before; his semi-amnesiac Eddie is sometimes annoying, but says a great deal about Harry. Dan Seymour’s police captain (definitely not like Rains’s in Casablanca) is suitably oily; like an ancient Roman voluptuary displaced to 1940. Pianist and song-writer Hoagy Carmichael, in his first credited feature film, provides atmosphere for the bar the principals frequent, as does Marcel Dalio, as its owner, a quiet, shifty fellow with a good heart. Sheldon Leonard receives fairly prominent billing, fit to his growing status, but his part is very small, and I don’t think he has a line.

On its own qualities or compared with others, To Have and Have Not is an excellent action-adventure flick, almost light-hearted, and most entertaining.

Sunday, February 25, 2024

Footsteps in the Dark (1941)

Directed by Lloyd Bacon; produced by Robert Lord (associate producer)

Francis Monroe Warren (Errol Flynn) has everything: a successful and undemanding career as an investment broker, wealth, a large house, servants, a pretty, loving wife (Brenda Marshall) to whom he’s devoted, even a admiring mother-in-law. He also has a secret life. Most days, Warren leaves his office and goes to a small suburban house where he writes mysteries under the pseudonym of F X Pettijohn. His lives are about to become complicated, however, with the death of a prospective client, and a criminal investigation in which he tries to keep one step ahead of the police – and his newly suspicious spouse.

After five consecutive period roles (seven, if one counts The Dawn Patrol), all dramas, Flynn chose to star in this light-hearted comedy, set in contemporary times. Despite the moderate response from audiences, he made a good choice: Footsteps in the Dark is, if not a hilarious side-splitter, a fun, entertaining movie that shows Flynn could be amusing.

The story is a fairly typical movie mystery, with the murderer rather easily spotted. There are plot-holes and incongruities – such as what the victim (Noel Madison) knew when he insinuated blackmail against Warren – and the clues and their results are no more than what might be found in the average 1970s tv detective series. Nor are we told much about the characters. It is not explained why Warren wrote his book – which makes liberal and possibly libelous use of his mother-in-law’s ladies’ club – or where his money came from (inheritance? His work?). Why a police inspector should take an interest, however casual, in a death by heart-attack is unknown, as well.

The fun, however, isn’t really in solving the riddle or dissecting characters, but in the actions and reactions of Flynn and other cast members. Warren is portrayed as an easy-going gentleman who takes an even easier-going approach to his job. His interaction with Inspector Mason (Alan Hale) of the Homicide Bureau is a good one. How it started is a mystery in itself, though it’s clear that despite the verbal barbs, they like each other. The chemistry is probably reflective of Flynn and Hale’s relationship: the two collaborated in at least half a dozen films.

Other characters are more stock. William Frawley is tiresome as a truly dense copper though Allen Jenkins helps as Warren’s secretary and chauffeur, and only confidante in his writing. Brenda Marshall has a bit of depth as the wife; she worked with Flynn in 1935’s The Sea Hawk. Ralph Bellamy has little reason to show his skills in his part as a dentist.

The writing is mediocre, with few memorable lines, though Mason’s explanation of why a crime-writer might seem a successful detective, with his already-solved mystery spread over three hundred pages of red herrings and false suspects, is dead-on. Other than the previously mentioned plot-holes, there are other head-scratchers. Turhan Bey has a small but interesting part as the murder-victim’s servant, an Indian who respects gentlemen no matter their race. He may have been included for a touch of exoticism, but disappears half-way through the movie.

Then there is Lee Patrick as the loud and obvious burlesque queen Blondie White. The movie is from an era which recognised the attractiveness of Rita Hayworth, Betty Grable and Ava Gardner, so I had to wonder if the professions of devotion from her male fans – and the pretence of love from Warren (trying to prise information from Blondie) – were intended as a gag.

It is perhaps invidious to compare Footsteps in the Dark to something such as The Thin Man, despite a proposed series based on the former, in the vein of the latter. The Thin Man, and some of its sequels, were written by Tony- and Pulitzer-prize winners. Footsteps in the Dark’s script is not witty or intelligent; this, combined with the unusual casting of Flynn, may have hurt the film’s box office. Even so, the movie is an enjoyable hour and a half, thanks to the lead and the happy-go-lucky atmosphere of the story.

 


Sunday, February 18, 2024

Hollywood Story (1951)

Directed by William Castle; produced by Leonard Goldstein

Larry O’Brien (Richard Conte), a successful film producer, moves his operations from New York to Los Angeles, where his old friend, Mitch Davis (Jim Backus), has suggested renovating an abandoned movie studio. Touring the lot, O’Brien’s imagination is fired by a story told by an aged security guard (Houseley Stevenson) about an infamous murder that took place in a bungalow on the property: in 1929, a renowned film director was shot dead, and his killer never caught. O’Brien determines to make a movie about the case. But the movie’s plot demands a resolution to the unsolved murder, and someone will stop at nothing to keep O’Brien’s movie unmade.

An entertaining mystery with an unusual angle, Hollywood Story incorporates a number of clever ideas, including the often intriguing riddle of an old, notorious murder. The killing is probably based on that of director William Desmond Taylor, who was shot to death in 1922; his killer was never arrested. The suspects included a number of well-known motion picture stars. Hollywood Story doesn’t try to get to the bottom of that crime, but uses it as inspiration.

This allows the inclusion of a number of former movie actors in cameos. Though there isn’t really a clear reason for their appearance - Are they to act in O’Brien’s  film? Are they technical advisers? - they provide verisimilitude. Their names - Helen Gibson, William Farnum and especially Francis X Bushman - would have been familiar to many in 1951. Yet it is thought-provoking that 1929, only twenty-two years before the release of Hollywood Story, seems more like an eon previously than a mere two decades. If a present-day film were to invoke names from 2002, there would hardly be the feeling of the distant past.

Yet the Silent Era must indeed have seemed distant to movie-makers and audiences of 1951, with sound an integral part of all movies and even colour becoming common-place. Francis X Bushman was an immensely popular actor in his time - ‘the handsomest man in Hollywood’ - who portrayed Messala in the first Ben-Hur (1925), yet he evidently faded fast from public memory. Joel McCrea has an uncredited cameo in Hollywood Story; he too is unknown to many, but probably known to many more than Bushman. Black and white westerns are undoubtedly viewed more often by film fans now than are silent epics.

Even without such entertaining ingredients, Hollywood Story is an enjoyable motion picture. Fictional characters from the past are included as well as the real, and it is they, as may be guessed, who contribute to the plot. In particular, Henry Hull provides a fine, fun performance as a dissolute screenwriter, who may or may not have been good at one time. Fred Clark projects his usual persona of anger and annoyance effectively; his confrontation with O’Brien over the alleged murder weapon is well-written. Former leading man (though not quite of the Silent Era) Paul Cavanagh has a good rôle as a potential suspect. His relatively small part is that of a former leading man reduced to taking small parts. And Conte himself is credible as a man easily obsessed, with enough power in the business to indulge his obsessions.

There are disadvantages. Julie Adams (billed as Julia Adams) is the obligatory love interest, but her character and O’Brien don’t seem overly attracted to one another. The narration by Backus’s character is pointless, and would have had more significance if given to Conte. And I can’t figure out why one character confesses to a second murder.

The actual story - the mystery - is pretty good, with clues found by the amateurs which might actually have been overlooked in the original police investigation, and the writing is believable. There is also cleverness and irony - perhaps written with tongue in cheek - in the climax, which provides a unique example of why movies sometime change real-life endings. William Castle performs a satisfactory job directing Hollywood Story, a few years before he turned to gimmicky and very low budget horror films.

Hollywood Story has a fairly standard ‘forgotten murder’ mystery that is given life and novelty by its setting and writing.

Sunday, February 11, 2024

Valkyrie (2008)

Directed by Bryan Singer; produced by Gilbert Adler, Christopher McQuarrie and Bryan Singer

In 1944, a group of well-placed German civilians and army officers plan to assassinate their country’s leader, Adolf Hitler. Led by Generals von Tresckow (Kenneth Branagh) and Olbricht (Bill Nighy), the group recruits dissident Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg (Tom Cruise), who will carry out the actual attempt. Hoping to end the world war and save countless lives, as well as their country, the small group of men gamble everything to rid the Earth of a tyrant.

A well-directed, acted and produced film, Valkyrie provides excitement and tension, as well as telling a compelling story in a compelling manner. The script treats the audience intelligently. There is a wealth of names and detail, but the movie is confident that the viewers will be able to digest it all. As an example, one scene has the conspiracy’s explosives expert, Colonel Mertz von Quirnheim (Christian Merkel), explain that the windowless reinforced bunker in which the assassination will occur negates the need for a large bomb, as the air pressure in the virtually sealed building would magnify the blast. On the day of the attempt, however, the vital briefing is moved to a ‘conference hut’. Stauffenberg walks to it, staring at its tall, open windows. It is assumed the audience understands the implication.

For all that, the script nonetheless is explicit where it needs to be. The plan to kill Hitler was both simple (as many of the best plans are) but ingenious. Walkürie was the Nazis’ contingency operation to use the Berlin-based Reserve Army to suppress riot and rebellion if the German people rose up against them. The conspirators intended to use Walkürie for their own purpose: killing Hitler and blaming the act on a combined SS/Gestapo coup d’état; the conspirators would implement Walkürie, use it to eliminate the entire Nazi leadership and take control of the government. This scheme is elaborated concisely and clearly by the characters. But one still must pay attention.

The direction is necessarily taut. A study of such an event would provide enough material for an hours-long documentary, but for a thriller - which is what Valkyrie is - extraneous material needs to be jettisoned. This must be balanced with the requirements of exposition, as noted above. The director, Singer, and editor, John Ottman - who also composed the film’s music - are successful in this. The running time is an unexpectedly brief 121 minutes, but there are no slow moments.

The acting is very good. Cruise, as Stauffenberg, is probably the least of the cast, though this is composed of excellent veterans such as Nighy, Branagh, Tom Wilkinson, Terence Stamp and Kenneth Cranham. Nonetheless, Cruise is perfectly capable in the role. There was some comment from German critics that he was he was an American Stauffenberg, rather than a European Stauffenberg, and that he lacked an indefinable aristocracy. This fine difference will likely be lost on most North American audiences. Philipp von Schulthess, Stauffenberg's real-life grandson, appears as Tresckow's aide.

Movies in which all the characters are meant to be speaking their own, non-English language, even though the scripts are in English, sometimes bring derision, but I’ve always assumed that the tongue they are speaking is their own, and any distinctions are due to characters’ regional and social origins. An interesting dilemma in Valkyrie might have been Hitler’s manner of speech. With all the other actors using their natural accents, it might seem incongruous to have David Bamber portray the dictator with a German accent. But I imagine the director and producers thought hearing Hitler speak as though he were from Ohio or Oxford might be far too distracting for viewers. Bamber practised Hitler’s Austrian accent which, apparently, was a contrast to that used in his speeches, and which made him stand out among native Germans. Thus Hitler’s dialect poses no problem.

In such a film, or, rather, when a film must concentrate on certain aspects, detailed character analysis is sacrificed. Thus we learn very little of the personalities of the different conspirators, Stauffenberg’s alone being the exception, and even he is given only a sketch. A study of the plotters and their motives would fill books or whole tv series - which it has. Certainly, some conspirators - such as Berlin’s police president Helldorf and his superior, Nebe - were opportunistic and amoral, leaning whichever way would ensure their survival. Others, such as Stauffenberg and Quirnheim, had early moral objections to the Nazis. Indeed, Tresckow’s life alone would make for an intriguing movie, as he seemed to be the driving force behind the 20 July 1944 plot. (In fact, one of his quotes about Hitler is transferred to Stauffenberg in the film.)

Aside from the scantiness of the attention given to the characters themselves, Valkyrie is an exceptional historical film, in that it provides as much accuracy as possible within the framework of a Hollywood thriller. It should satisfy a range of viewers for a range of reasons.