Classic Films in Focus: SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS (1957)

Arriving late in the era of classic noir, director Alexander Mackendrick’s Sweet Smell of Success (1957) dispenses with any pretense at cool and dives right into the murkiest end of the cesspool, with Tony Curtis’ pretty boy face a thin veneer for unrelenting ugliness. This is the darkest, dirtiest sort of tale, a sordid story of ambition, jealousy, and betrayal. Tony Curtis and Burt Lancaster play characters so utterly despicable that they’re painful to watch, even if their performances are brilliantly conceived and crackling with smart talk.

Curtis plays press agent Sidney Falco, who wants success badly enough to play lackey to powerful Broadway columnist J.J. Hunsecker (Burt Lancaster). Hunsecker pushes Sidney to break up a romance between the columnist’s kid sister (Susan Harrison) and a jazz musician (Martin Milner), but even Sidney balks at the depths to which Hunsecker wants him to go. When smears in the papers don’t do the trick, Hunsecker arranges for Sidney to frame the lover for drug possession and then set him up for a beating from crooked cops.

The love story between the two young people is the least interesting thing going on in the picture, until the kid sister finally gets desperate enough to play a few of her brother’s tricks. The relationship that really grabs our attention is the sick entanglement of Hunsecker and Falco, two men on different rungs of the ladder but both of them as morally bankrupt as rotten souls could possibly be. Falco is perfectly willing to pimp himself to Hunsecker for the scraps the columnist will toss him, and he’s equally ready to pimp his girlfriend for the same cause. Hunsecker is such a control freak that he can’t stand for his sister to have her own life; he’s willing to destroy a good man just for having the temerity to court her. These two specimens of human depravity are tied to each other as much by hate as by need; Sidney sits smiling a sycophantic grin while Hunsecker holds court and cuts him down, taking every verbal blow without flinching, but underneath we get the sense that he’s keeping score. None of this can end well.

Our story revolves around vicious columnists whose livelihood depends on their poisonous tongues, and the dialogue offers plenty of barbed bons mots. One of the most famous bits, “I’d hate to take a bite out of you. You’re a cookie full of arsenic,” serves as an apt example of the whole. If you like the dirty kicks of crooked conversation, then this is the picture for you, with Curtis and Lancaster both delivering some of the most venomous double-edged lines ever conceived in classic film. It’s wickedly smart stuff, though it leaves a bad taste in the mouth and the mind. Only a rat could get away with saying such awful things, but only rats could behave as badly as Sidney and J.J. do. We long to see both of them poisoned with their own bait and thrown out with the rest of the trash.

Sweet Smell of Success did not do well when it first appeared, but today it’s considered an important accomplishment, despite its flaws. Alexander Mackendrick only directed a dozen films, but his other work includes Ealing comedies like The Man in the White Suit (1951) and The Ladykillers (1954). For more of Burt Lancaster’s films from this era, try Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (1957), Run Silent Run Deep (1958), and Elmer Gantry (1960). Tony Curtis is best remembered for more likable characters in films like Some Like It Hot (1959), Operation Petticoat (1959), and The Great Race (1965). For more late noir, see The Killing (1956), Nightfall (1957), and Touch of Evil (1958).

Classic Films in Focus: PICKUP ON SOUTH STREET (1953)

A favorite with film noir enthusiasts, Samuel Fuller’s Pickup on South Street (1953) features an odd combination of petty crime, espionage, and rough romance, with Richard Widmark and Jean Peters as two small-time losers who get caught up in a very big problem. The story and its characters are thoroughly noir but shaped by Fuller’s distinctive style. Morally ambivalent but surprisingly sensitive to its seedy protagonists, Pickup on South Street is also worth watching thanks to a knockout performance from Thelma Ritter, who earned an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress for her role as Moe, a sympathetic snitch.

Jean Peters stars as tough girl Candy, who is unwittingly carrying microfilm for Communist spies when a pickpocket loots her purse on the subway. The thief turns out to be Skip McCoy (Richard Widmark), newly released from prison but already up to his old tricks. Jean’s ex-boyfriend, Joey (Richard Kiley), presses her to recover the film from Skip, which sends Candy to Moe (Thelma Ritter) for information. Meanwhile, the cops and government agents are tracking all of them in a desperate bid to keep the information from reaching its final destination.

Skip is a perfect character for Widmark, a noir veteran who excelled at playing shady crooks. Knowing the kind of guy Widmark tends to play, the savvy viewer waits to see if Skip has any decency in him or not. It could go either way. After all, by the time we see him as Skip Widmark had been Tommy Udo and Harry Fabian, but he had also played war heroes. Jean Peters also gives a terrific performance as Candy, a brazen, jaded girl who is still vulnerable enough to fall for Skip thanks to some electric charge that passes between them. The fierce look on Candy’s face tells us that she has seen the gutter before, and in Skip she recognizes a kindred spirit, even if he opens their romance by punching her out cold and robbing her multiple times. If their courtship has a brutal, even bestial quality, it has its tender side, too, as we see when Skip worries over Candy’s sore jaw and later reacts to the beating she takes from the enraged Joey.

Skip and Candy offer variations on familiar noir characters, but Thelma Ritter’s Moe is something else entirely. Noir does not generally play nice with its old women; most of them are shrill harpies or instant victims, not fully realized characters like the sad, pragmatic Moe. Peddling her ties and her information, Moe wants only to earn enough money to buy herself a proper burial spot, away from the ignominy of Potter’s Field. She has more heart than either of the younger protagonists, which they fail to appreciate until it’s too late, but her confrontation scene with Joey is as moving, tragic, and beautifully played as any scene in classic noir. Skip’s reaction to her fate becomes the measure by which we ultimately judge his character; it means much more than any lip service to abstract ideas like patriotism. Viewers might come to this film for Widmark, or Peters, or even Fuller, but they remember it for Thelma Ritter’s Moe.

Samuel Fuller also directed The Baron of Arizona (1950), Underworld U.S.A. (1961), and The Naked Kiss (1964). For more of Richard Widmark, see Panic in the Streets (1950), Warlock (1959), and Judgment at Nuremberg (1961). Jean Peters also stars in Niagara (1953), Three Coins in the Fountain (1954), and A Man Called Peter (1955). Thelma Ritter earned six career nominations for Best Supporting Actress but never won; see some of her other top performances in All About Eve (1950), Rear Window (1954), and Pillow Talk (1959).

Classic Films in Focus: MURDER, MY SWEET (1944)

Several actors have played Raymond Chandler’s hard-boiled detective, Philip Marlowe, in memorable films: Humphrey Bogart took on the role in The Big Sleep (1946), Robert Montgomery tried it in Lady in the Lake (1947), and Elliott Gould offered a neo-noir version in The Long Goodbye (1973). George Montgomery, Robert Mitchum, and James Garner have all donned Marlowe’s mantle, as well, but the most surprising actor to appear as the noir icon might be former crooner Dick Powell, who stars as the first big screen Marlowe in Edward Dmytryk’s highly regarded Murder, My Sweet (1944). Joining Powell for this wild, dark ride are Claire Trevor and Anne Shirley as members of a murderously dysfunctional family who pull the detective into a series of deadly encounters. With its fatal females, sardonic voiceover, and tangled passions, Murder, My Sweet has all the hallmarks we associate with classic noir style, although it also offers surreal thrills thanks to Marlowe’s psychotropic adventures.

Powell’s Marlowe is first drawn into his latest case by newly paroled muscle man, Moose (Mike Mazurki), who wants the detective to track down an old flame. Before he can do much with that job, Marlowe finds himself drawn into another mystery when he plays bodyguard to a man who ends up being killed on Marlowe’s watch. The murderer’s trail leads Marlowe to the wealthy Grayle family, where trophy wife Helen (Claire Trevor) is trying to recover a stolen jade necklace given to her by her elderly husband (Miles Mander). Helen’s stepdaughter Ann (Anne Shirley) dislikes Marlowe but wants to protect her father from whatever trouble Helen has caused. Marlowe, however, isn’t sure whether he can trust any of the Grayles, especially since his two cases seem to be strangely entwined.

The story is told in flashback, and in the opening we meet Powell sitting in a police interrogation room with bandaged eyes and a crowd of unfriendly cops, so we know Marlowe’s adventure isn’t going to be any walk in the park. In fact, Marlowe really takes a beating; he gets hit over the head, strangled, drugged, shot at, locked up, and hounded by the police throughout the picture. Murder, My Sweet ventures into really bizarre territory when Marlowe is shot full of mind-altering drugs and experiences hallucinations worthy of a Twilight Zone episode, but the segment works with the unlucky detective’s repeated trips to the “black pool” of unconsciousness. For a guy who’s supposed to be thinking fast, Marlowe spends a lot of time in the dark, an irony not lost on the picture’s attitude toward its dazed protagonist and convoluted plot.

Powell originally gained fame as a musical star in Busby Berkeley productions like 42nd Street (1933), but he plays cat and mouse with Claire Trevor just as well as he had sung to Ruby Keeler. He has a perfect voice for Marlowe's narration and throws his wry lines around with a jaded, casual cool. Powell’s cast mates give him plenty to work with, especially Claire Trevor as the sexy, secretive wife and Mike Mazurki as the tough mug with a one-track mind. Otto Kruger is ominously urbane as Jules Amthor, a crooked psychiatrist who abuses his relationship with his clients in a lucrative, if grossly unethical, manner, although Mazurki is so interesting as both a physical presence and a character that his henchman really overshadows the more intellectual boss.

Murder, My Sweet is required viewing for classic noir fans; try a double bill with one of the other Marlowe pictures for different takes on Chandler's streetwise detective. Catch the lighter side of Dick Powell in Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933), Footlight Parade (1933), and Dames (1934). Claire Trevor won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress in Key Largo (1948); she also has memorable roles in Dead End (1937), Stagecoach (1939), and Raw Deal (1948). Anne Shirley earned her own Best Supporting Actress nomination for Stella Dallas (1937), which put her in direct competition with Trevor that year, although both lost to Alice Brady for In Old Chicago (1937). Look for Mike Mazurki's distinctive face in many films from the 1940s and 50s, including The Canterville Ghost (1944), Nightmare Alley (1947), and Some Like It Hot (1959). Edward Dmytryk also directed Back to Bataan (1945), The Caine Mutiny (1954), and Raintree County (1957).

Classic Films in Focus: THE GREAT ZIEGFELD (1936)

Directed by Robert Z. Leonard, The Great Ziegfeld (1936) is a lavish musical tribute to the legendary Broadway producer, with all the whistles, bells, and gorgeous girls that Ziegfeld himself could want, even if it does takes certain liberties with the facts of Ziegfeld’s life. Hollywood had an ongoing fascination with the Ziegfeld legacy, as films like Ziegfeld Girl (1941) and Ziegfeld Follies (1945) attest, so it’s no surprise that a biopic about the showman’s ups and downs would appeal, and, indeed, the film won three Oscars in 1937, including Best Picture. Today, Oscar fans trying to see every Best Picture winner are probably the most likely viewers of this stylish but overly long production, along with William Powell devotees and those with a nostalgic interest in Ziegfeld himself.

Powell stars as the ambitious Florenz Ziegfeld, Jr., who rises from promoting a sideshow strongman to producing some of the biggest shows ever seen on the Broadway stage. He constantly steals acts and borrows money from his friendly rival, Jack Billings (Frank Morgan), including the lovely singer, Anna Held (Luise Rainer), who becomes Ziegfeld’s first wife. His enthusiasm for his lady performers brings disaster to the marriage even as the shows themselves become hits, and Anna, heartbroken, divorces Ziegfeld and then loses him for good to second wife, Billie Burke (Myrna Loy). Billie stands by her husband through successes and failures, but the arrival of the Great Depression proves too much for the weary, aging producer.

Ziegfeld had been dead for only four years when the picture came out, but Billie Burke was still very much alive and interested in preserving a certain version of her late husband’s story. Ironically, the greater part of the romantic plot involves Anna and not Billie, although Anna had been dead since 1918. As with most classic Hollywood biopics, this one simplifies, elides, or simply lies about various aspects of the story, but the tragic cast of Anna’s relationship with Ziegfeld is one of the movie’s strongest points, thanks primarily to the Oscar-winning performance of Luise Rainer, who invests her character with great pathos and a birdlike fragility. Myrna Loy, who gets second billing as Billie, doesn’t actually show up until two hours in, leaving her with little time to develop her role beyond a montage of Ziegfeld family moments.

In addition to Powell, Loy, and Rainer, star watchers will find plenty of familiar faces in the movie’s large cast. Fanny Brice and Ray Bolger play themselves as members of the stage company, with Brice performing a portion of her famous “My Man” number and doing a bit of her signature comedy schtick. Frank Morgan enjoys quite a good role as Billings, and of course he’s a natural for the part of a bombastic showman, here warming up for his iconic turn as the title swindler in The Wizard of Oz (1939). Virginia Bruce has some memorable scenes as drunken starlet Audrey Dane, and Nat Pendleton is fun as the muscle-flexing Sandow. Sharp-eyed viewers will catch William Demarest, Dennis Morgan, and Reginald Owen making appearances, along with a bevy of beauties playing Ziegfeld girls (see if you can spot Lynn Bari and future First Lady Pat Nixon). Both Eddie Cantor and Will Rogers are impersonated by other actors; Rogers had died in 1935, but the real Cantor was still alive and well, and he even starred in Strike Me Pink the same year The Great Ziegfeld appeared.

Including its three wins, The Great Ziegfeld earned a total of seven Oscar nominations. Robert Z. Leonard went on to direct Pride and Prejudice (1940), Ziegfeld Girl (1941), and In the Good Old Summertime (1949). Powell and Loy have more memorable pairings in The Thin Man (1934) and its many sequels, as well as in Libeled Lady (1936). Luise Rainer won a second Best Actress Oscar the next year for The Good Earth (1937); as of August 2013 she is still living and at the age of 103 is truly an amazing example of graceful longevity. See Frank Morgan, Ray Bolger, and the real Billie Burke all together in The Wizard of Oz (1939), and catch more of the delightful Fanny Brice in Be Yourself! (1930).

Classic Films in Focus: HOLLYWOOD CANTEEN (1944)

There really was a Hollywood Canteen during World War II; it was the brainchild of stars John Garfield and Bette Davis and the hottest spot in town for servicemen of all sorts throughout the war years. For the rest of their lives veterans would remember their evenings in that magical place, where the brightest stars of the big screen mingled with patriotic average Joes and danced the night away. The 1944 film, Hollywood Canteen, takes us back to that time with a fictionalized and patently romantic story that weaves together starry-eyed young love and musical numbers from Warner Brothers’ top acts. Unabashedly sentimental and perhaps a little too long, Hollywood Canteen is nonetheless a real treat for nostalgic viewers and fans of Warner’s vast sea of stars, and some of its musical numbers will absolutely knock your socks off if you enjoy the swinging sounds of the era.

Robert Hutton plays the film’s central character, Slim, a young Purple Heart recipient who is on leave for a few days before shipping back out to active duty. Along with his pal, Sergeant Nolan (Dane Clark), Slim makes his way to the Hollywood Canteen, where the biggest stars in Hollywood entertain and work the kitchen to support the war effort. Slim harbors a passion for leading lady Joan Leslie (Joan Leslie), and Nolan romances a junior hostess (Janis Paige), while various celebrities take a personal interest in Slim’s budding romance with his screen idol.

The story is really just a frame for the series of musical acts, but it’s sweet enough thanks to Hutton’s fresh-faced sincerity and Joan Leslie’s unfeigned loveliness. Hutton, more or less a newcomer to the screen in 1944, fits his character’s nickname perfectly with a lanky figure and “aw shucks” manner that recall a young Jimmy Stewart. Joan Leslie doesn’t have to work very hard at pretending to be herself, but her performance thoroughly justifies the crush nursed by Slim and plenty of real young servicemen. Her real-life sister, Betty Brodel, makes a brief appearance as herself, although, oddly enough, Joan’s parents are played by actors in uncredited roles, which mixes up real people and actors very confusingly when Joan brings Slim home to meet her family.

Warner pulls out all the stops in stacking the deck with terrific musical acts and star cameos, and these moments make the picture a delight for fans. The first half has the best numbers, with Roy Rogers and Trigger performing “Don’t Fence Me In,” the Golden Gate Quartet swinging it with “The General Jumped at Dawn,” and the Andrews Sisters singing an irresistibly funny version of “Corns for My Country.” The second half drags a bit with a series of instrumental numbers, especially since the clock is ticking for Slim and Joan’s inevitable parting, but the majority of the performances are winners, and the Joan McCracken dance production is particularly engaging and fun. Among the many stars making brief appearances look out for Bette Davis, John Garfield, Paul Henreid, Alan Hale, S.Z. Sakall, Joan Crawford, Barbara Stanwyck, Jack Carson, Jack Benny, and Ida Lupino. Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet have an uproariously funny scene that capitalizes on their reputations as dangerous characters, and Joe E. Brown is delightful during his comedy bits and musical assistance during the “You Can Always Tell a Yank” number sung by Dennis Morgan.

Hollywood Canteen earned three Oscar nominations for music, original song, and sound. Delmer Daves, who wrote and directed the picture, is best remembered today for directing films like Dark Passage (1947), Broken Arrow (1950), and 3:10 to Yuma (1957). You can see more of both Robert Hutton and Dane Clark in the Daves picture, Destination Tokyo (1943). Find out why Joan Leslie inspired such devotion with High Sierra (1941), Sergeant York (1941), and Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942). For a New York version of the same set up, see Stage Door Canteen (1943).

Hollywood Canteen is currently available for streaming on Warner Archive Instant.

In Praise of Women's Pictures

I have been looking over my iCheckMovies rating again this week, which always forces me to confront the fact that I just don't want to sit through some of the movies that make all of those official lists. As I peruse the highly ranked pictures, trying to will myself to buckle down to some of those films, I inevitably come away with a strong desire to watch some unranked classic from the 30s and 40s instead.

Why this reluctance to watch movies that all the critics say are great?

One reason is that almost all of those critics are men (God rest you, Pauline Kael!), and the movies that move them are not the movies that move me. I'm a 40-something wife and mother, and I'm practically a non-entity in those top dog films, unless I'm being bumped off to fuel the plot and create angst for the protagonist. I can be shot by a sniper, beaten to death by organized crime thugs, devoured by zombies, or beheaded by a serial killer, and naturally I see myself being sexually assaulted quite a bit, but I very rarely get to be the protagonist of my own story in modern movies. Chick flicks are no restitution, since these days they tend to be stupid, flaky comedies about women who like to shop, or who put off marriage and children to pursue careers until they are also 40-something but acting as if they were still 22.

I think those women live in New York, where they apparently worry a lot about sex and matching shoes with designer handbags. I'm not sure, though, because I live in Alabama, where I worry a lot about how my kid will turn out and whether that sound in the middle of the night is a burglar or just the cat throwing up on my one good rug. I worry about my husband, especially when he's away on travel, and I worry about what I'm doing with my life, whether I have given up too much for the benefit of others or if I'll still manage to make good on all of those promises and dreams I had for myself twenty years ago.

When I want to see women like myself, be they wives or mothers or single career girls, with serious stories about what it means to live and struggle through the world, I turn to Greer Garson, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Claudette Colbert, Myrna Loy, Ginger Rogers, Mary Astor, and a host of other great leading ladies who show us the rich emotional lives of grown-up women living grown-up lives. They don't make actresses like them any more, and if they did make them they still wouldn't have any movies to star in, thanks to a box office driven by CGI testosterone fests aimed at 17-35 year old males.

Sure, I enjoy a bread and circuses comic book action movie on occasion, but I don't see myself in them. You let me know when Black Widow and Hawkeye have to juggle their separate crime fighting careers and decide which one will miss the big villain fight to attend Junior's soccer tournament. Then we'll talk.

At least there was a time, once upon a Hollywood, when things were different. There was a time when Mrs. Miniver could be an Oscar queen, when Mildred Pierce could straddle the line between film noir and weepie with the dark force of a mother's love, when the world wept with Kitty Foyle over her little contender for the year 2000. The women in those films grappled with love and sacrifice, ambition and regret - all the same issues that define my own life more than 60 years later. They tend to be hopeful movies, all things considered; these women are survivors - intelligent, capable, and strong even at their most vulnerable. Their choices may at times seem a little dated, especially to those who are young and single, but to me they resonate powerfully.

We talk about the power of the "every man" in literature and film because people want to see characters who

reflect them and their concerns. We don't talk much about the "every woman," but we should. Women also want to see characters who are like them, but these days we very rarely do. I'm not a super hero, or a secret agent, or a sexy distraction. I'm not a victim, or a cheap thrill, or a mindless child. My story is not written in the margins of other people's lives. One of the greatest things classic movies do for me is to remind me of that.

Thank you, Bette. Thank you, Olivia and Joan. Thank you, Ginger and Greer. Maybe one day there will be enough women critics to balance the score in ranking all of the wonderful films you made, but until then you'll have me, languishing at the bottom of the iCheckMovies heap but getting so much pleasure from the films that speak to me.

TCM Summer Under the Stars: Doris Day in LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME (1955)

This post is part of the 2013 TCM Summer Under the Stars Blogathon hosted by Sittin' on a Backyard Fence and ScribeHard on Film. Visit their sites for all of the blogathon posts for each day in August!

I normally turn to Doris Day when I'm feeling down and need the cinematic equivalent of a cupcake - something light, sweet, and fun to chase the blues away. Musicals like Romance on the High Seas (1948), It's a Great Feeling (1949), and Calamity Jane (1953) - all airing on Turner Classic Movies during the Doris Day Summer Under the Stars marathon - certainly fit that bill, and they're the kind of picture Day is best known for today, along with her romantic comedies costarring Rock Hudson. Still, Doris Day could turn on the dramatic power when the role called for it, and Love Me or Leave Me (1955) is a great example of the darker side of Day.

Our leading lady stars as real life jazz singer Ruth Etting, who makes her way from 10 cents a dance girl to Hollywood star thanks to her own talent and the relentless efforts of her Chicago gangster promoter, Martin Snyder, played in the film by the terrific James Cagney. Ruth eventually marries Martin out of a sense of obligation to him (and perhaps fear of his jealous temper), but her heart really belongs to Johnny (Cameron Mitchell), a handsome pianist who finds his own route to Hollywood success. When Ruth and Johnny meet again in Hollywood after several years apart, Ruth's marriage to Martin reaches a violent climax.

Of course Day is an obvious choice to play a great singer, but she also does an excellent job depicting the unhappiness and bitter resignation that Ruth endures during her marriage to Martin. During the second half of the film, she manages to show the miles traveled through Ruth's expressions and body language without actually being one bit less attractive, and she really holds her own in the tense scenes with Cagney's powder keg Martin. The movie also shows off Day's more usual charms with a series of memorable song numbers and some gorgeous costumes, but the dramatic story is the heart of Love Me or Leave Me, and that's where Day really comes through.

Cagney gives his costar plenty to work with as the volatile Martin; he manages to convince the audience that his character really does love Ruth but has no idea how to show it without being a domineering brute, and that delicate balance helps to justify the way the story ends. It's ironic to see Cagney, himself such an accomplished hoofer, limping around as a man often known as "The Gimp," but the role does recall his gangster characters from the 1930s; he was 56 when this film was released, but he still has the powerful presence of a much younger man. Cagney earned an Oscar nomination for Best Actor for his performance in this film; it was his third and final nomination for the award, with his only win for Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942) more than a decade earlier.

Love Me or Leave Me garnered a total of six Oscar nominations, but it won only for Best Story. You'll have to be a real night owl or a DVR user to catch Love Me or Leave Me during the TCM event, since it airs at 3:45 AM Eastern time, but it's well worth the effort. Catch some of the lighter Day films for the sake of contrast earlier in the lineup, especially the popular favorite, Calamity Jane (1953), which airs in the prime time spot at 8 PM on Friday, August 2. Check out the TCM website for a full schedule of films that will air during the Summer Under the Stars event.