#6: In a Lonely Place (Nicholas Ray, 1950)

Released: May 17, 1950

Director: Nicholas Ray; Screenplay: Edmund H. North and Andrew Solt based on the novel by Dorothy B. Hughes; Cinematography: Burnett Guffey; Music: George Antheil; Producer: Robert Lord; Studio: Columbia Pictures

Cast: Humphrey Bogart (Dixon Steele), Gloria Grahame (Laurel Gray), Frank Lovejoy (Det. Sgt. Brub Nicolai), Carl Benton Reid (Capt. Lochner), Art Smith (Mel Lippman), Martha Stewart (Mildred Atkinson), Jeff Donnell (Sylvia Nicolai), Robert Warwick (Charlie Waterman), Morris Ankrum (Lloyd Barnes), William Ching (Ted Barton), Steven Geray (Paul, the Headwaiter), Hadda Brooks (Singer)

- “I was born when she kissed me… I died when she left me… I lived a few weeks while she loved me.”

The further I dig into the work of Nicholas Ray, the deeper my appreciation of his craftsmanship grows. His visual style is well-documented, and one need only watch something like his aerial shots in They Live By Night to immediately grasp the fact that he had an eye for space and camera movement on par with anyone else in Hollywood. Such technical skills certainly impress me, but what comes through most in his work is the passion. Everything the man directed seems to ooze intensity, whether it is a passionate relationship, a boiling anger, or an unbridled obsession. Nearly all of his films feature characters that openly display this type of raw emotion, which Ray would expertly balance with moments of compassion. This resulted in characters that felt not like players in a film, but fully-developed, lifelike people – sometimes likable, sometimes reprehensible; sometimes gentle, sometimes violent; sometimes caring, sometimes heartless. Like you or me, like real people. For all of the talk of certain types of films or filmmakers creating “ambiguous characters,” Ray’s films remind me that _all_ people are morally ambiguous at some point; some just have a penchant for leaning more toward the dark than the light, or vice-versa.

This comes through loud and clear in what I consider the finest film Ray ever made, 1950’s In a Lonely Place. Big-screen idol Humphrey Bogart gives the darkest performance of his career as Dixon “Dix” Steele, a Hollywood screenwriter who hasn’t seen success in years. He previously enjoyed success, but then reached the point that he could not churn out mundane scripts at the rate that studio executives demanded – he contends that he has to find a story that he truly believes in. So rather than filling his time with work, Dix’s life begins a continual cycle of alcohol and violent eruptions of his legendary temper. One night at popular Hollywood hangout Paul’s, Dix’s agent (Art Smith) tells him he has a novel that a studio is asking to be adapted for the screen. They want Dix to write the screenplay, but Dix shows very little interest in doing any work. Since he refused to read the actual novel, he decides to bring hatcheck girl Martha Stewart (Mildred Atkinson), who recently read it, to tell him the story. After a couple minutes, Dix quickly comes to the conclusion that it is another disposable story and sends Martha on her way. When he awakes the next morning and is greeted at his front door by longtime friend Brub Nicolai (Frank Lovejoy), a police officer, he is told that Martha was murdered shortly after leaving his house.


Dix naturally becomes the lead suspect in the case, but an unlikely witness provides him with enough of an alibi to convince the police to release him pending further investigation. Struggling actress Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame) recently moved into Dix’s apartment complex and testifies that she was up late that night and saw Martha leave the apartment alone. After his release, Dix grows closer to Laurel and a torrid affair begins. The love interest spurs Dix’s creative muse, as he sets off on his most productive writing sessions in years. This results in his producing a brilliant script and plans for marriage with Laurel. But the murder investigation hounds them at every turn, and the more that Laurel learns about Dix’s past – including multiple arrests for assault and other violence – the more she questions the relationship. Is it possible that he really did murder Martha? Even though she doesn’t think so, the question threatens to plague any future plans they make.

The movie runs barely over an hour and a half, which I point out because the economy of it all is astounding. Over the 94-minute running time, Ray guides the viewer through a maze of emotions and interpretations. When the mysterious murder is announced, it is actually pretty obvious to the audience that Dix is not the culprit. We saw Dix give Martha the cab money, send her on her way, and then retire to a hibernation-like sleep. So unless you think Nick Ray is going to pull off one majorly unbelievable swerve, then it is obvious that Dixon did not commit the murder. Or is it? Writers Edmund North and Andrew Solt expertly pace the revelation of details concerning Dix’s violent past, while Ray perfectly times the inclusion of brutal outbursts to ensure that the suspicion festers. The greatest example of this, and arguably the best scene in the entire film, takes place when Dix visits Detective Brub Nicolai and his wife for dinner. While discussing the case, Dix argues that as a longtime writer of murder mysteries, he could solve the crime easier than could the police. Dix sets up a recreation of the fateful car ride, instructing Brub and his wife Sylvia (Jeff Donnell) to act it out. As Dix describes the horrible actions, he becomes completely caught up in the storytelling, in the process getting Brub overwhelmed as well. As Dix gets more amped up in describing the strangulation, Brub loses his own self-control and begins squeezing his wife’s neck to the point that she screams for help. The sadism that can be seen in Dix’s eyes as he narrates the murder makes the question seem even more up in the air.


Still, like Laurel in the film, the viewer is likely to remain at least somewhat confident that Dix did not commit the murder. The greatness of the film derives from the fact that solving the mystery becomes unimportant. The question eventually becomes not did he do it, but does it even matter? Even more terrifying for Laurel is the realization that he is certainly capable of doing something that wicked. That awareness, even without confirmation one way or the other on the actual murder, is enough to keep her from committing. Grahame’s performance as the alluring Laurel is, in my opinion, the finest of her career. The conditions under which she worked on this film are also legendary, as her marriage to director Nick Ray was already starting to fall apart when filming began. It is amazing to consider how their deteriorating relationship mirrored the doomed affair of Dix and Laurel. As Dix began to enter the greatest creative outburst of his career, his relationship with Laurel crumbles under the pressure. So too did the marriage of Ray and Grahame, who separated during filming and would divorce two years later.


Also fascinating is how In a Lonely Place provides commentary on the effect that the Hollywood culture can have on those around it. This is a different interpretation from what is done in another 1950 classic, Sunset Boulevard. In that film, Wilder examines how Hollywood treats past stars, the people that are no longer profitable to those in power. In a Lonely Place looks at what can happen to entertainment personalities who are right in the middle of it all, trying to make a living and get by in that same world. It seems to show that even those who are finding work, who are still productive, can find it just as isolating as those that have been cast aside.

Little more needs to be said about Bogart’s performance – others have said it more articulately than I can. I still maintain that while Rick Blaine is certainly his most iconic role, his performance as Dix Steele is his best. Only Bogart’s turn as Fred C. Dobbs even approaches the same level of darkness seen in Dix. Watching him fight inner demons for the entire film is both unnerving and spellbinding. This is not necessarily a pleasant film to watch, but the craftsmanship on display from the Ray, the principle actors, and the great Burnett Guffey make it so powerful that you can’t help but return to it.

#15: The Maltese Falcon (John Huston, 1941)

Released: October 3, 1941

Director: John Huston; Screenplay: John Huston based on the novel by Dashiell Hammett; Cinematography: Arthur Edeson; Music: Adolph Deutsch; Producer: Hal B. Wallis; Studio: Warner Brothers

Cast: Humphrey Bogart (Sam Spade), Mary Astor (Brigid O'Shaughnessy), Gladys George (Iva Archer), Peter Lorre (Joel Cairo), Barton MacLane (Det. Lt. Dundy), Sydney Greenstreet (Kasper Gutman), Elisha Cook Jr. (Wilmer), Ward Bond (Det. Tom Polhaus), Jerome Cowan (Miles Archer), Lee Patrick (Effie Perine), John Hamilton (Bryan)

- “The stuff that dreams are made of…”

The film that is often acknowledged as kicking off the “classic noir cycle,” The Maltese Falcon remains a true treasure of American cinema. Does it possess all of the elements that one immediately looks for in film noir? Not necessarily – it is not nearly as dark, both in terms of look and content, as other classics. But it is so important in defining how the noir anti-hero is supposed to act and the moral ambiguity and flip-flops that these men must go through. Its legacy cannot be overestimated. Aside from helping to jumpstart that what would eventually become known as “film noir,” it was also the springboard for a number of other important moviemaking developments. It was the first film directed by John Huston, resulting in one of the most impressive debut films in Hollywood history. Also, while Humphrey Bogart was already a well-known quantity and his rise to stardom had already been started by High Sierra earlier in the year, this film is what put him into a whole other stratosphere of stardom. On these facts alone, The Maltese Falcon is rightly recognized as a landmark.

I think the quote that opens this write-up, which remains one of the most famous in the history of film, summarizes the entire production. As already mentioned, you have a director who has never been at the helm of his own major production. A leading man who was not the first choice – George Raft is actually said to have turned the role down. The story is based on a pulp novel that, for all of its merits, boasts a handful characters that could justifiably be labeled one-dimensional. How does the studio combat this? It puts together an absolutely dynamite cast to fill every role, bringing the characters to life. Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet make characters like Cairo and Gutman some of the most unforgettable personalities ever committed to celluloid. The movie itself is confined to only a handful of sets, the bulk of it in a single room of an apartment, which is something that one would normally expect from a stage play. And yet never once does the movie feel like it is bound in anyway to the set, or anything else for that matter. Everything comes together for a wonderful, wildly entertaining picture. Truly the stuff that dreams are made of.


Bogart plays legendary Dashiell Hammett character Sam Spade, a private eye who owns an investigation firm with friend and partner Miles Archer (Jerome Cowan). When the two are hired to track someone for a mysterious Miss Wonderly, Miles is murdered. Determined to discover who killed his partner – not just out of friendship, but also so he is not set up for the crime – Spade is plunged into a world of international intrigue. Miss Wonderly turns out to actually be Brigid O’Shaughnessy (Mary Astor), a woman who has been traveling the world trying to track down a valuable treasure. The item she seeks is the Maltese Falcon, a statue of a bird that is encrusted with priceless jewels and gems. The danger arises out of the fact that she is not the only one that seeks the figurine. Other unscrupulous characters like Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre) and Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet) are also on the chase. Spade is thrown into the middle of everything, as he tries to fend off the police at the same time he tries to profit from the search for the missing falcon.


Every performance in this film sparkles, because they have to. Almost every moment of the film takes place indoors and all of the action is propelled by lengthy conversations between characters. The connection between all of the actors leaps off the screen, giving all of the bickering and conniving so much authenticity. Bogart has a number of characters for which he will always be celebrated, but next to Rick Blaine this is might be his most legendary. He _is_ Sam Spade. He makes Spade the prototype for how private eyes would be portrayed in cinema for at least the next thirty years. Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet work together flawlessly, alternating between being allies and enemies. Cairo and Gutman may at times border on caricatures, but what does it matter when they are so much fun to watch. Great ensemble acting, combined with the unmatched cadence and snappiness of Hammett’s dialogue is arguably the greatest asset of the entire production. It is not all about the actors though, as director and cinematographer pull their weight as well. Director of photography Arthur Edeson uses bizarre camera angles and very low-key lighting to ensure that the simple sets never become boring. The shadows that run deep into the background are striking, giving the impression that there is some intense source of light emanating from the floor. This effect is accentuated by camera angles and placement where the camera is situated at ground level, looking up at the characters as they converse.


Even with all of this going for it, what ultimately elevates The Maltese Falcon to greatness is, in my opinion, the fact that what should be nothing more than a simple mystery is made into an interesting character study. The falcon is the ultimate McGuffin and once you realize that they are all chasing an object they are never going to capture, it becomes interesting to try and understand what motivates each person. Obviously, the most interesting of them all is Spade. The first time you see the movie, it really is difficult to get a handle on where he stands until the very end. Is he with Brigid or only out for himself? Is he searching for Miles’ killer or just trying to save his own skin? It almost seems like Spade himself doesn’t know the answers to these questions, which only makes him all the more intriguing as he gets drawn in deeper.

#17: The Big Sleep (Howard Hawks, 1946)

Released: August 23, 1946

Director: Howard Hawks; Screenplay: William Faulkner, Leigh Brackett and Jules Furthman based on the novel by Raymond Chandler; Cinematography: Sidney Hickox; Music: Max Steiner; Producer: Howard Hawks; Studio: Warner Brothers

Cast: Humphrey Bogart (Philip Marlowe), Lauren Bacall (Vivian Sternwood Rutledge), John Ridgley (Eddie Mars), Martha Vickers (Carmen Sternwood), Dorothy Malone (Acme Bookstore Worker), Peggy Knudsen (Mona Mars), Regis Toomey (Chief Inspector Bernie Ohls), Charles Waldron (General Sternwood), Charles D. Brown (Norris), Bob Steel (Lash Canino), Elisha Cook, Jr. (Harry Jones), Louis Jean Heydt (Joe Brody), Sonia Darrin (Agnes Lowzier), Ben Welden (Pete), Tom Fadden (Sidney), Trevor Bardette (Art Huck), Arthur Gwynn Geiger (Theodore von Eltz)

- “I collect blonds and bottles…”

OK, I’ll pose the question to you fine readers: Who did kill Sternwood chauffeur Owen Taylor? One of the most famous stories of Hollywood lore deals with this issue, as Howard Hawks and screenwriter William Faulkner (yes, that William Faulkner) couldn’t figure out how to explain this mystery. They figured they would go straight to the source and sent a wire to Raymond Chandler asking to solve the mystery for them. Chandler’s response? He didn’t have the foggiest idea. That story is apocryphal, but it highlights why The Big Sleep remains such an impressive film. Plot holes like this do nothing to damage the overall product. You don’t know how Owen Taylor was killed (even though I think I have a basic theory that works)? There are other details that don’t make sense? Who cares – there is so much fun to be had along the way that by the time you realize that some things aren’t adding up, it doesn’t really matter.


The story certainly is convoluted. It’s not necessarily incomprehensible, mind you, but it is likely to leave a first-time viewer scratching his or her head. The protagonist is Raymond Chandler’s legendary private eye Philip Marlowe (Humphrey Bogart). Hired by the rich General Sternwood (Charles Waldron) to investigate blackmail letters that are being sent concerning his youngest daughter Carmen (Martha Vickers). Carmen is a wild child who is known around Los Angeles as someone that paints the town and builds up massive gambling IOUs. Normally the General would have farmed the job out to his longtime protégé Sean Regan, but he has recently disappeared. Marlowe looks into the blackmailer, a bookstore owner named Geiger, which eventually pulls him into a maze that winds through the entire Los Angeles underworld. Along the way he also becomes involved with General Sternwood’s older daughter Vivian (Lauren Bacall), a vivacious and enigmatic socialite. Even as the two begin to fall for each other, it seems as if Vivian is constantly scheming behind Marlowe’s back.

The production history of The Big Sleep is equally as interesting and convoluted. Although not released until mid-1946, filming actually began in 1944 and was completed by January 1945. In Warner Brothers’ eyes, though, the timing could not have been worse. With World War II coming toward a conclusion, the studio had a number of war films in the vault still awaiting release. Fearful that if the war ended the audience would no longer be interested in war-themed films, they began to rush those to the screen and hold back movies that would not lose appeal by a delay. Thus, The Big Sleep was seen as a movie that could withstand such a wait. But by the time it finally was about to get its shot at the big screen, the Bogey and Bacall duo had become a wildly popular phenomenon. Jack Warner wanted to capitalize on this popularity and decreed that key scenes needed to be added or re-shot in order to do so. The end result of all this is that there are actually two versions of the film in existence – the theatrical release of August 1946 and the 1945 “pre-release” version, with slight variations between the two. Fortunately for modern audiences, the easily-obtainable DVD contains both versions, so each individual can form their own opinion as to which is superior. There aren’t necessarily any major differences, but I usually go for the theatrical cut whenever I watch it.


The reason I chose the ’46 version? The Bogey-Bacall interplay really was worth adding, even if it was the result of a studio dictating something to a director of Hawks’ stature. Although fans of Robert Mitchum can make a strong counterargument, there has never been a cooler on-screen presence than Humphrey Bogart. Whether he is playing Marlowe, Sam Spade, Rick Blaine, Fred C. Dobbs, or countless other roles, there is a an inherent hipness to everything that Bogart does. This is not to say that he is one-dimensional as an actor – the man could play damn near anyone. But there is certainly a “Bogart slant” to each of them. The closest I have ever seen in terms of a female possessing this same coolness is Lauren Bacall, whom Bogart married in 1945. So when the two are allowed to go toe-to-toe, they soak up every inch of the screen. Absolutely nothing else matters except the witty exchanges between Marlowe and Vivian. And, wow, what great exchanges they are. Raymond Chandler deserves huge kudos for the great dialog that he crafted in his original novel, but much praise also has to go to the incredibly talented screenwriting team in crafting the script. William Faulkner needs no introduction to anyone who has completed high school or read any American literature, and to any fans of classic cinema Leigh Brackett and Jules Furthman are close to writing royalty. Some of my favorite lines and exchanges:

Vivian: So you do get up, I was beginning to think you worked in bed like Marcel Proust.
Marlowe: Who's he?
Vivian: You wouldn't know him, a French writer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Marlowe: Come into my boudoir.
Vivian: You go too far, Marlowe.
Marlowe: Those are harsh words to throw at a man, especially when he's walking out of your bedroom.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Philip Marlowe: You wanna tell me now?
Vivian: Tell you what?
Philip Marlowe: What it is you're trying to find out. You know, it's a funny thing. You're trying to find out what your father hired me to find out, and I'm trying to find out why you want to find out.
Vivian: You could go on forever, couldn't you? Anyway it'll give us something to talk about next time we meet.
Philip Marlowe: Among other things.

Not just noirs, but film in general doesn’t come much more entertaining than this. It might not be as dark as other classic noirs, but it is such an entrained part of noir history that it is an absolute essential.

#73: Key Largo (John Huston, 1948)

Released: July 16, 1948

Director: John Huston; Screenplay: Richard Brooks and John Huston based on a play by Maxwell Anderson; Cinematography: Karl Freund; Music: Max Steiner; Producer: Jerry Wald; Studio: Warner Brothers

Cast: Humphrey Bogart (Frank McCloud), Edward G. Robinson (Johnny Rocco), Lauren Bacall (Nora Temple), Lionel Barrymore (James Temple), Claire Trevor (Gaye Dawn), Thomas Gomez (Richard “Curly” Hoff), Harry Lewis (Edward “Toots” Bass), John Rodney (Deputy Clyde Sawyer), Marc Lawrence (Ziggy), Dan Seymour (Angel Garcia), Monte Blue (Sheriff Ben Wade), William Haade (Ralph Feeney), Jay Silverheels (John Osceola), Rodd Redwing (Tom Osceola)

- "One Rocco, more or less, isn't worth dying for..."

Another case of a movie that is probably more properly labeled a gangster movie, but here I am going to flat out admit to being swayed by conventional wisdom that just naturally places Key Largo as a film noir. It’s a debatable point, but I don’t feel like expending the energy of debating whether or not to include it. My definition of film noir is large anyway, so this one ultimately has no problem in qualifying for this countdown. The resort atmosphere of the Florida Keys is certainly atypical for a noir, but the hurricane gives the shadowy lighting and darkness to lend it a noirish atmosphere. Plus, when it comes right down to it, it’s just too much of an enjoyable film for me to pass up the opportunity to write about it.

I’ve always been fascinated by how the stage play origins of the film are glaringly obvious, which is usually a negative. In the story, returning veteran Frank McCloud (Humphrey Bogart) visits the Key Largo resort owned by the family of a dead war buddy. There he meets the man's father (Lionel Barrymore) and widow Nora Temple (Lauren Bacall). While Frank is visiting, the resort is taken over by a group of gangsters led by the notorious Johnny Rocco (Edward G. Robinson) and his entourage which includes a number of minions and girlfriend Gaye Dawn (Claire Trevor. Due to the hurricane moving into Key Largo, he is forced to set up camp in the hotel. While Rocco holds Frank and the Temple family hostage, Frank slowly moves from not wanting to be involved in the situation to growing protective of Nora and James. The closed confines of the resort are vital to the success of the story. The claustrophobic feel seriously heightens the tension. It is an interesting dynamic that is created, with the deterioration of relations between the fugitive gangsters and resort owners mirroring the worsening of the weather outside. So while it quickly becomes obvious that with the exception of the outdoors scenery, we are essentially watching a play on film, it’s so well done that it never matters.


The key reason it doesn’t matter is because of the astounding level of talent involved. The great John Huston not only directs, he also co-wrote the adaptation of Maxwell Anderson’s play. While certainly not his best, it is still impressive work from Huston, as he had quite the stars to coordinate during production. In Edward G. Robinson, Huston was working with the most iconic of on-screen gangsters in his final gangster role. It would mark the first time that Robinson would work with Humphrey Bogart and not receive top-billing. The reason is obvious, as this is prime-era Bogart. In the previous six years he had a run of films as impressive as any actor in the history of cinema, among them: Casablanca, To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, and the same year’s The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. I’m not arguing that Key Largo is as good as any of those, but it’s impressive movie to keep his red hot 1940s run intact. This would also be the final film that he and wife Lauren Bacall would make together. The performances are as expected from both of them, but Houston was wise not to focus things entirely on the wildly popular duo. Robinson and Claire Trevor provide outstanding performances of their own, serving as a counterpoint to the harmony of Bogey and Bacall. Lionel Barrymore is also smooth in his role as the wheelchair-bound proprietor.


The tension builds to a well executed, if un-noirish conclusion. Even so, I quite like the realization that is made by McCloud at the finish. While far from the best of anyone involved, Key Largo remains a delightful film to watch and I definitely intended to find a place for it in the countdown.

#74: High Sierra (Raoul Walsh, 1941)

Released: January 21, 1941

Director: Raoul Walsh; Screenplay: W.R. Burnett and John Huston, based on a story by W.R. Burnett; Cinematography: Tony Gaudio; Music: Adolph Deutsch; Producer: Mark Hellinger; Studio: Warner Brothers

Cast: Ida Lupino (Marie), Humphrey Bogart (Roy Earle), Alan Curtis (Babe), Arthur Kennedy (Red), Joan Leslie (Velma), Henry Hull (Doc Banton), Henry Travers (Pa), Jerome Cowan (Healy), Minna Gombell (Mrs. Baughman), Barton MacLane (Jake Kranmer), Elizabeth Risdon (Ma), Cornel Wilde (Louis Mendoza), Donald MacBride (Big Mac), Paul Harvey (Mr. Baughman), Isabel Jewell (Blonde), Willie Best (Algernon), Spencer Charters (Ed), George Meeker (Pfiffer)

- “I wouldn’t give you two cents for a dame without a temper…”

Many would argue that High Sierra might be more properly classified as a gangster film, akin to the great crime dramas like Angels With Dirty Faces or Scarface. Raoul Walsh was the director of The Roaring Twenties, one of the greatest of the classic era gangster movies. Writer W.R. Burnett also had a pedigree as being an integral part of those cycles of films, providing either the source material or screenplay for classics like Little Caesar and Scarface. Humphrey Bogart rose to prominence in the 1930s on the strength of performances in support of superstar James Cagney in Angels With Dirty Faces and The Roaring Twenties. Even the producer, Mark Hellinger, was behind many of these aforementioned films. So it has the traits of another in the line of classic gangster films. It’s inclusion in this countdown underscores a key point in the development of noir: the natural progression that was made from gangster films into what would come to be known as film noir. There are many similarities between the two. And so the most proper classification of High Sierra would likely be that of a transitional film, and one of the early ones to bridge the gap between the gangster films of the 1930s and the noir that would flourish for the next two decades.

One of the best treatments of the difference between gangster films and film noir is an appendix to Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference to the American Style by Alain Silver and Elizabeth Ward (an excellent reference book, by the way). They argue that one of the key differences is that, on the whole, the gangster films maintained a sense of distorted idealism – gangsters like Tom Powers and Rico Bandello using crime as a means to rise above the slums and squalor of city life. Conversely, lead characters in noirs tend to see their demise coming, ruminate on why they are about to take a fall, and oftentimes simply accept it. Although a generalization, and not likely to fit every film that is analyzed, I think that this is a convincing argument and one that certainly applies to High Sierra.


Humphrey Bogart stars as Roy Earle, a recently paroled bank robber who begins working on his next job the minute he secures his crooked release from prison. Traveling to California to lead a robbery of an upscale hotel, Roy meets a family of transplanted Okies on their way west. Roy quickly develops an eye for the granddaughter Velma (Joan Leslie), a clubfooted girl who charms Roy with her innocence. Arriving at the secluded resort where the job will be planned, Roy discovers that his two partners (Alan Curtis and Arthur Kennedy) have a woman from Los Angeles staying with them. Marie (Ida Lupino) is a former dancer who is attracted to the prospects of parlaying an association with the criminals into a better life. Roy at first tolerates her, and then develops a friendship, while Marie almost instantly falls for the famous gangster. Roy also maintains contact with the Okie family, visiting them in order to drop off money to have Velma’s foot fixed. He clearly has plans to marry Velma once he successfully pulls off the robbery. Complications with the heist, followed by Roy being spurned by a now-mobile Velma, leads to Roy and Marie going on the run with the faint hope of cashing in on the heist and then escaping to freedom.

The visual style of the film is certainly not traditional noir, as the bulk of the story takes place in the wide open mountain landscapes of California. There are not the usual light-dark contrasts and shadows lurking at every turn. What qualifies this film as a noir, in my opinion, is what Silver and Ward described in their outstanding essay. Roy is a man who knows that his life is on a path toward destruction, and even tells Marie that traveling with him is a quick way to wind up dead or in trouble. As Doc Banton (Henry Hull) tells Roy, he is the kind of guy who is “just rushing toward death.” Roy acknowledges as much, constantly talking about “crashing out.” He knows his end will not be pleasant, but seems to know no other way to live. In attempting to help Velma and marry an innocent, respectable girl, he makes an attempt at vindication. But as is common in noir, he seems fated to never achieve such respectability.


The historical significance of High Sierra is probably even more important than the actual merits of the movie. Bogart had to finagle his way into the role of Roy Earl by convincing George Raft, who was hoping to break free of gangster typecasting, to turn down the offer. When Raft complied, Bogart got the nod for a role that he had coveted since first reading the screenplay. This is the film that catapulted Bogey to the status of the brightest star in Hollywood. High Sierra would be the last movie in which he did not receive top-billing, and the classic films and roles that instantly come to mind when the name “Bogart” is mentioned would come in the next few years.

1942: Casablanca (Michael Curtiz)

Released: November 26, 1942 (premiere)

Director: Michael Curtiz; Screenplay: Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein, Howard Koch, Casey Robinson based on the play by Murray Burnett and Joan Allison; Cinematography: Arthur Edeson; Studio: Warner Bros.; Producer: Hal B. Wallis

Cast: Humphrey Bogart (Rick Blaine), Ingrid Bergman (Ilsa Lund), Paul Henreid (Victor Laszlo), Claude Rains (Captain Louis Renault), Sydney Greenstreet (Signor Ferrari), Peter Lorre (Signor Ugarte), Conrad Veidt (Major Heinrich Strasser), Dooley Wilson (Sam), Madeleine LeBeau (Yvonne), Joy Page (Annina Brandel), S.Z. Sakall (Carl the waiter), Curt Bois (Pickpocket), John Qualen (Berger), Leonid Kinskey (Sasha)

Don't tell me you're surprised by the choice? For someone like me, who is completely enamored with classic Hollywood, there was never any doubt. So, here is yet another entry in the “what can I possibly add to the volumes already written on this film?” category. The obvious answer is not a whole lot, at least in terms of scholarly film analysis and interpretation. All I intend to do in making Casablanca my runaway selection as the best of 1942 is recount my own personal experiences with this classic and why it has remained possibly the most versatile film in my viewing activity.

By versatility, I am referring to the fact that this is a movie that I can watch at any time, regardless of my mood. It doesn’t matter whether I am happy or sad, depressed or in high spirits, tired or wide awake. It can cheer you up, it can calm you down. It can make you smile or be quite touching. I know firsthand how comforting it can be, as I can still vividly remember putting it on the first night I returned from the hospital after a very scary episode of what I would ultimately discover was cancer. Casablanca is like a safety net of sorts for me and thus will always have a significant place in my life.

The background on the conception and production of the film is legendary and is probably well known by most readers. Still, it is always amusing to remember that this film that has become so iconic was originally viewed as just another movie. There are legends about key roles being offered and refused – George Raft as Rick, the even more shocking possibility of Ronald Reagan in the lead, the push for William Wyler to direct. Judge for yourself the veracity of such claims, but true or not they certainly reinforce the recognition that producer Hal Wallis ultimately found the perfect combination of actors and director. In Michael Curtiz he had a man perfectly suited to oversee the studio setting in which nearly all of the scenes were shot. And with a cast that resembled representatives at the soon-to-be-established United Nations – according to that fount of knowledge and sometimes accurate resource Wikipedia, only three credited actors were Americans – Wallis and Curtiz were able to create an atmosphere in which each performance appeared to one-up the other.


Leaving the appeal of the story aside, the key characteristic of the film that has always stuck out to me is the number of truly great performances that are on display in this film. This applies to roles of all sizes, be it the top-billed or the supporting cast. Humphrey Bogart is the epitome of cool as Rick Blaine, the expatriate American who runs the popular café. He does his best to make it clear that his number one priority in life is looking out for himself, and this is articulated by both words and physical nonchalance. Ingrid Bergman is irresistible as Rick’s love interest Ilsa, who reunites with him in Casablanca and completely wrecks the life that Rick has crafted for himself. As Ilsa’s husband Victor Laszlo, Paul Henreid is determined and fully committed to the cause of France. While maybe not as impressive as other performances, Sidney Greenstreet is sufficiently immoral as Signor Ferrari, the club operator and self-styled rackets boss. Claude Rains is the French Captain working with the Nazis, but Rains makes the Captain so likable that such an indiscretion is overlooked. The interaction between Rick and Captain Renault is unendingly witty. They appear to be at the same time adversaries and the best of friends. Then there is Peter Lorre playing the excitable knockaround guy Ugarte, a criminal who is both sleazy and sweet-talking. In his very limited time in the film, Lorre very well may be the most entertaining. Whenever I think of Lorre I always think of him as Ugarte telling Rick that “...just because you despise me, you are the only one I trust.”


These central performances are routinely celebrated, and rightfully so. But the lesser roles are what really add subtle flourishes that make the city of Casablanca feel alive. In this case I am thinking of characters like Carl, the waiter at Rick’s. While nearly everyone else in Casablanca views the city as something of a purgatory on the way to freedom, Carl seems to be always cheerful. His interaction with various characters is amusing, with his sarcasm coming through with biting one-liners. Just witness his declaration that he decided on his own to give Major Strasser the best table, “knowing he was German and that he would take it anyway.” There is Sasha, the bartender who woos the women who come into the club. It’s impossible not to smile when he tells a spurned lover or Rick’s, “Yvonne, I love you, but he pays me.” Dooley Wilson, Rick’s most loyal friend and employee, is delightful. Such minor characters, although not playing substantial roles in the story, feel fully developed. They are not just included to take up space on the screen, but instead enhance the movie.

The number of enduring scenes and quotable dialogue are innumerable. Who can forget the dueling national anthems, with the passionate singing from the French patrons at Rick’s? Or how about Captain Renault leading his officers into the café and feigning indignation as he tells Rick, “I am shocked… shocked, to find that gambling is going on here!” While I could go on for days citing my favorite moments and exchanges, I won’t indulge myself. But I do think that naming such diverse scenes as being so memorable speaks to why this movie is so appealing to me and so many others. I already mentioned how I can put this movie on at any time and be drawn into the story. This is because there are so many different things to concentrate on. It can be viewed as a good ol’ fashioned love story, and may well be the best of its kind. You can watch it as a war movie, with a story documenting Nazi resistance. There are many moments of comedy, such as the above raid by Renault or scenes involving Sasha and Carl. Versatile is the word I keep coming back to.

I’ll close things with another fond memory I have of watching the film, this time in a group setting. I am a young guy, so it was only a few years ago that I was sitting in a college classroom for a “History Through Film” course. Casablanca was one of the films selected to be shown, which was great for me as it was already one of my personal favorites and I had seen it many times. Sadly, some folks in the class had not already seen it or had only a vague knowledge of the film. What I remember about that day is that after running a bit long with the lecture, the professor realized that the movie was not going to be done by the end of class. So as we neared the normal ending time, he told the class that if someone needed to leave that they could go ahead but anyone who wanted to stay and finish the film was more than welcome. Not a single person left. It just underlines what a timeless film this is.



Rating: 10/10

Other Contenders for 1942: There was never any doubt about what the choice was for this year. Still, Ernst Lubitsch’s classic comedy To Be or Not to Be is so good that I almost feel guilty about the fact that it doesn’t somehow make the countdown and get a full review of its own. It is nearly as good as Trouble in Paradise, which I consider to be Lubitsch’s greatest film. This was also a year that fell within the stretch of time in which Preston Sturges was white hot. Palm Beach Story is another outstanding comedy written and directed by Sturges. While I don’t think it is Sturges’ best film, the “weenie king” scene is as clever as comedy writing gets. The Jacques Tourneur-Val Lewton combination starts off strong with Cat People – that scene in the swimming pool is still chilling! The Magnificent Ambersons is an interesting movie to evaluate, as there are two decidedly opposite camps. One group considers it to be Welles’ true masterpiece and the other finds it completely uninspiring. I’m somewhere in the middle – as the studio cut it and released it, it never manages to reach the heights of Citizen Kane or Touch of Evil for me, but it’s still an interesting story. One can only wonder how Welles himself envisioned the film to be. And finally, while I don’t feel that Michael Curtiz’s Yankee Doodle Dandy is as good a film as the others mentioned, James Cagney’s performance is incredible and deserves to be mentioned. The man was just so multitalented.

The Roaring Twenties (Raoul Walsh, 1939)

Released: October 23, 1939

Director: Raoul Walsh; Screenplay: Jerry Wald, Richard Macauley, Robert Rossen based on story "The World Moves On" by Mark Hellinger; Cinematography: Ernest Haller; Studio: Warner Bros.; Producer: Hal B. Wallis

Cast: James Cagney (Eddie Bartlett), Humphrey Bogart (George Halley), Gladys George (Panama Smith), Prsicilla Lane (Jean Sherman), Jeffrey Lynn (Lloyd Hart), Frank McHugh (Danny Green), Paul Kelly (Nick Brown)

1939 truly was a momentous year in Hollywood. The number of films released that year that are still revered to this day is staggering. Gone With the Wind, Dark Victory, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Stagecoach, Only Angels Have Wings, Ninotchka, Goodbye, Mr. Chips, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Wizard of Oz, and Wuthering Heights just to name the first that to come to mind. This is the likes of Fleming, Hawks, Lubitsch, Capra, and Ford at, or near, the top of their games. And yet, in my opinion, there is another deserving film released that year that is rarely mentioned in the same breath as these legendary pictures. Raoul Walsh’s The Roaring Twenties serves as a final statement of the classic Warner Brothers gangster films and I would contend that it is the best to come out of Hollywood in 1939.

James Cagney and Humphrey Bogart had worked together in two other films – in the same year’s The Oklahoma Kid and in 1938’s gangster classic Angels With Dirty Faces. In Angels With Dirty Faces, though, Bogart was playing something of a lesser role. In The Roaring Twenties, while Cagney was still receiving top billing, it is the tense interaction between him and Bogey that gives the film its unique perspective on the gangster genre.

While some have dismissed the tale as simply another take on the usual rise and fall gangster story, it is actually unique in the way that it’s told. Cagney’s Eddie Bartlett is certainly the primary character, but the story actually follows three men that are drawn into the rackets during the decade. Each of the three becomes involved for different reasons, and each possesses varying degrees of ruthlessness, but all three are shown to contribute to the legend of the decade known as the Roaring Twenties in some way.


The three men meet in a foxhole in France in the midst of World War I. Eddie, a good-natured mechanic, wishes nothing more than to return to New York and open his own garage. George Hally (Humphrey Bogart), possessing a more coldhearted disposition, is looking forward to running the saloon his father owns. The third man, Lloyd Hart (Jeffrey Lynn) is the mild-mannered man of the trio. He is a recent law school graduate and plans to begin his practice once he makes it out of Europe. After the Armistice is signed, they return to the city and attempt to resume the lives they left before going to war but they find that times have changed. Eddie is under the impression that his old job as a mechanic will be waiting for him upon his return. Instead, he finds he has been replaced and that there is resentment felt toward the returning workers. In order to generate some income, Eddie begins driving the cab of his friend and roommate Danny (Frank McHugh). On one fare, a customer asks Eddie to deliver a bag of goods to someone named Panama Smith. When he does so, he unwittingly gets busted for delivering bootleg liquor and the two are arrested. Even though he had no part of the operation, Eddie refuses to testify against Panama (Gladys George). Panama appreciates the favor and in turn pays the fine levied against Eddie. Impressed by Eddie’s conduct, she offers to use her connections to set the two up in the bootlegging business. With no other prospects for work on the horizon, Eddie enters the rackets and prospers. He becomes incredibly wealthy, battling his way toward the top of the bootlegging business, while buying pieces of clubs and a fleet of taxicabs.


Lloyd, although not a direct participant in the rackets, is drawn into the periphery of the underworld while acting as Eddie’s lawyer. While brokering deals for Eddie to continue buying cabs, Lloyd begins to openly question his involvement in the shady activities. The relationship between Lloyd and his former army comrades is further complicated when he begins to fall in love with a singer/entertainer that Eddie has set up with a job in his club. The girl, Jean Sherman (Priscilla Lane), wrote to Eddie while she was in high school and he was fighting in Europe. When Eddie reconnects with her working as a chorus girl, he takes her under his wing and begins to develop an affection for her as well. The uneasy love triangle complicates all interaction between the three.

George, meanwhile, enters the rackets naturally. Due to being involved in the saloon business and possessing a ruthless streak dating back to the Army, it’s no surprise that he is in such a line of work. He begins captaining rum-running boats for the biggest racketeer in town, Nick Brown (Paul Kelly). While overseeing one such shipment he is reunited with Eddie, as Eddie and his gang come aboard and hijack the liquor. Rather than protect his employer’s product, George decides to instead partner with Eddie and expand their bootlegging operations. Once these various interconnected partnerships are established, the film begins to follow the forces that ultimately bring about Eddie Bartlett’s demise.

To understand the course of events of the film, it’s necessary to understand Eddie. He is a man who is attempting to cross over into areas which are unnatural to him. And this straddling both sides – both in his relationship with two potential love interests and in the underworld – eventually brings about the dramatic downfall. In his personal life, he very early finds a woman with whom he has much in common and is at ease with. Panama clearly has feelings for him, and even though he is not as open about it, Eddie obviously feels strongly about her. Even when he is wooing the younger Jean, Walsh highlights the almost subconscious affection Eddie shows toward Panama, such as when they are watching Jean audition and Eddie naturally reaches out and takes Panama’s hand. He is drawn toward Jean, the chorus girl who has more in common with the college-educated Lloyd. Yet, he never can completely distance himself from the relationship that he has established with Panama. When Jean eventually ends up marrying Lloyd, there is no surprise that Eddie sticks ever closer to Panama. As a gangster, he is an outsider. He is not a lifelong criminal, someone who has been groomed from a young age for a life of crime. Only after being unable to find work is he drawn into the business. Even though he becomes enamored of the money and power that comes with his status, there is always uneasiness about Eddie in the rackets.


This awkwardness is given emphasis through the relationship between Eddie and George. While Eddie enters the rackets somewhat reluctantly, George is a natural. He is unabashedly coldblooded, willing to deceive any partner or kill any enemy in order to achieve his ends. The interaction between Cagney and Bogart is at its absolute pinnacle in this film. They worked marvelously together in Angels With Dirty Faces, but their on-screen time was limited compared to this movie. The tension that underlies every meeting of the two men is palpable. These are old war buddies, men who literally were sitting together in foxholes and shooting at enemy Germans behind stone walls. They are business associates attempting to succeed in an increasingly dangerous business. They should be able to trust each other. And yet, no matter how friendly their interaction, there is a perpetual friction between them. Soon into their partnership, it becomes obvious that it is going to fall apart at some point. It is not a matter of if, but when. Most of this tension is played out in a war of words. This is where the two legendary actors shine. Bogart is tremendous as the conniving underboss. The viciousness he displays at times truly is astounding for a film of this era. It is through Bogart’s convincing performance as Hally that Eddie Bartlett is able be structured as such a tragic figure.

Eddie’s downward spiral is tragic because of where he lands in relation to George. Even though he was engaged in the same business as George, Eddie comes to be viewed sympathetically. Here is a man who was drawn to bootlegging due to lack of work. He was a gangster who tried to avoid violence, in contrast to George who was forever bloodthirsty. While it may not be entirely true, Eddie is portrayed as a good man at heart. Yet, when the Roaring Twenties come to a screeching halt with the stock market crash, which of the two men emerges unscathed? George. Eddie is penniless, back to driving a single cab, and increasingly dependent on the product that he used to peddle.

The original story, written by film producer Mark Hellinger is based on real-life events that Hellinger experienced. Hellinger points this out in an on-screen forward to the film, but does not tell precisely who or what specific events were used as his source material. However, it’s easy to pinpoint who the Eddie Bartlett is based on – gangster and Hell’s Kitchen native Larry Fay. Like the Bartlett character, Fay was a former cabbie who entered the bootlegging and nightclub businesses. After amassing a small fortune through liquor, he too began buying a fleet of taxicabs. At the end of the film, when Eddie tells George that people from Chicago offered him millions for his cabs, but he instead refused and is forced to sell to George for just $250,000, this is straight from an apocryphal Larry Fay story. While well-established among his contemporaries, Fay’s reputation in the underworld was known as a nonviolent gangster. Like Eddie, Fay lost a fortune when the stock market crashed, but was continually trying to find another angle back to the top. Fay was killed in 1933 by a disgruntled employee at a club he owned.

This film was the one that established Raoul Walsh’s reputation as a topflight action director. In particular, the shootout sequence between Eddie and rival Nick Brown and his henchmen is outstanding. As Eddie and his men enter the restaurant, the cameras are positioned at vantage points that give the audience the same vision as Brown and his men. Thus, you see Eddie and his men enter the club as if you personally are crouched and waiting to open fire on them. The patrons in the restaurant are used to build up the tension, as they panic just before the gunfire erupts. Then, the editing becomes very quick, cutting to the various gunmen as they unload their weapons. It is a great sequence and is eclipsed only by the famous death sequence that closes the film.



The structure of the film is a mixture of documentary style and traditional narrative. In hindsight, many such films that utilize the documentary style can come across as old-fashioned and very much an artifact of the era. In this case, it works quite well. This is due to the fact that the narration is used exclusively to fill in details concerning the decade of the 1920s. Since it’s not telling us about feelings or actions of the characters, it doesn’t feel obtrusive as narration often can. Instead, we learn about social developments of the 20s, creating the context for which the lives of Eddie, George, Panama and company progress. This is one of the few times that I didn’t find the documentary style to be incredibly corny.

Walsh would go on direct other celebrated crime dramas, most notably 1941’s High Sierra with Humphrey Bogart and 1949’s White Heat with Cagney. However, The Roaring Twenties serves as a conclusion to a particular type of gangster film. While movies like High Sierra and White Heat are thematically similar to the classic era, they deal more with lone wolf outlaws. In this film, Walsh chronicles the famed hoodlums who built syndicates and roamed major cities like celebrities. Its story of the meteoric rise and disastrous fall of these men is the perfect capstone to the cycle.

Rating: 9/10

Angels With Dirty Faces (Michael Curtiz, 1938)

Released: November 24, 1938

Director: Michael Curtiz; Screenplay: Rowland Brown, John Wexley, Warren Duff, Ben Hecht (uncredited), Charles MacArthur (uncredited); Cinematography: Sol Polito; Studio: Warner Bros.; Producer: Samuel Bischoff

Cast: James Cagney (Rocky Sullivan), Pat O’Brien (Jerry Connolly), Humphrey Bogart (James Frazier), Ann Sheridan (Laury Ferguson), George Bancroft (Mac Keefer), Dead End Kids


- "Let’s go and say a prayer for a boy who couldn’t run as fast as I could."

As two boys busting into a freight car are spotted and surrounded by police officers, they decide to a make a run for it. Jumping out, they take off running, diving under nearby other railcars and avoiding oncoming trains. Nearing a fence, they are but a leap away from escape… but only one of them makes it over. Jerry, the quicker of the two, manages to avoid capture and is never tied to the attempted robbery. He goes on to become a priest and leader in his Lower East Side community. Meanwhile, his best friend Rocky is tight-lipped and takes the rap for both of them. He is shipped off to a boys’ reformatory, where instead of being rehabilitated he becomes schooled in the finer points of the underworld. Rocky goes on to pursue a career in crime, working his way up to being a leading racketeer in the city and building up bootlegging and gambling rackets in between several stints in prison.

And so begins this dramatic tale demonstrating the very fine line between sinner and saint. It’s a gangster film that examines why such characters exist. Are these criminals born or are they created? If the results had been reversed, would Rocky Sullivan have become a priest while Father Connolly shuffled in and out of jail? Not only is that question posed to the audience, but it also seems to weigh heavily on the consciences of the characters.


The story begins in earnest after Rocky emerges from a three-year bid for a crime committed with his lawyer James Frazier (Humphrey Bogart). Rocky agrees to keep his mouth shut and do his time, but extracts an assurance from Frazier that the $100,000 he earned shortly before his arrest will be waiting for him when he gets out. Once out of jail, Rocky returns to his old neighborhood and begins reestablishing connections with former pals. He stops at the church to see Jerry (Pat O’Brien) and reminisce about their days as young punks on the street. After taking a room at a local boardinghouse, Rocky runs into a neighborhood girl that he has used to pick on when they were kids. Laury Ferguson (Ann Sheridan) is leery at first, but slowly begins to warm up to him.


Along the way Rocky becomes the key influence over a gang of young hoodlums played by the Dead End Kids. This group of incorrigible teenagers is much like Rocky and Jerry were in their youth, terrorizing the neighborhood and committing petty crimes. Father Connolly tries desperately to reach out to them, creating a recreation center to keep them off the streets. But he is no match for the charm of his old friend. Rocky Sullivan is a legend in their neighborhood and the kids idolize him. Rocky is accommodating to Jerry, encouraging the kids to participate in things like the Father’s afternoon basketball games.

In spite of this loyalty he displays toward Father Jerry, Rocky clearly revels in the adoration of the boys. He regales the gang with stories of his own childhood and uses them as couriers in situations when he has too much heat on himself. The influence of Rocky, including the instances in which he pays the gang handsomely for their help, is more than Jerry can combat. No matter how much gunplay and underworld action takes place, the true battle of the film is waged between the two friends over influencing the boys. Realizing this, Jerry makes it his mission to lead a public relations campaign to expose the corruption and crime throughout the city, even if that means taking Rocky down in the process. Rocky patronizingly gives him the green light to attempt the cleanup, telling Jerry that “You got about as much chance of getting an indictment as I’ve got of getting into bible society.”

No matter how involved Rocky becomes in his neighborhood, he never loses sight of his business interests. While he was away, Frazier rose to a powerful position in the underworld, teaming with Mac Keefer (George Bancroft) to seize control of the rackets. Rocky believes that he will now be collecting his $100,000 Frazier was holding and assume a powerful position in the organization. Frazier and Keefer have no intention of relinquishing such power to Sullivan. Frazier instead stalls Rocky, while secretly plotting to rub him out. When an attempted hit goes awry and Rocky kills his would-be assassins, the organization is thrown into turmoil. Rocky snatches Frazier, forces him to pay the debt, and muscles his way into the organization. Frazier and Keefer are no match for the hardened Sullivan, and they realize it as he outmaneuvers them at every turn. But they quickly recognize the one weak spot in Rocky’s gruff exterior – Father Connolly. When they move to eliminate Jerry, Rocky quickly comes to the defense of his friend.


Angels With Dirty Faces came seven years after James Cagney’s role as Tom Powers in The Public Enemy and a strong case can be made that he eclipsed even that iconic performance. The criticism most often used against Cagney is the claim that he simply played the same character over and over again. It’s similar to the bunk used to try and diminish the acting of John Wayne as well. In both cases, the detractors are horribly misguided. Yes, there are similarities between the gangsters that Cagney portrayed throughout his career. But in each role, Cagney was able to add nuances that distinguished each individual character from any others. Rocky Sullivan is _not_ Tom Powers. And neither of them are Cody Jarrett or Eddie Bartlett (more on these two characters in the near future). For Rocky, it’s the trademark “Whadda ya hear? Whadda ya say?” phrase. It’s the quick shrug of the shoulders as he turns to exit a room. It’s the presence of some humanity that is lacking in other gangsters. Where Powers and Jarrett were sociopaths who seemed hell-bent on violence, Rocky Sullivan is constantly shown to possess redeemable qualities. His loyalty to his lifelong friend is unwavering, even when that friend is trying to dismantle his criminal empire.


As electric as Cagney is, this film is far from being solely his own. It would not have been the same without the direction of Michael Curtiz. While far from forgotten, Curtiz is underappreciated. The shadow cast by his most renowned film, Casablanca, seems too large for many of his other films to emerge from. He is often labeled a pawn of the Hollywood studio system, but that is an overly cynical analysis. While he was a principal of that system, one need only view a film like Angels With Dirty Faces to witness how successful he could be in manipulating that system to his own designs. Just witness the way that he uses smooth, simple, yet highly effective camera movement and brings the Lower East Side neighborhood to life (see above screen shot for an example). The viewer immediately gets the overcrowded feeling of tenement life and the swarming conditions in which Rocky and Jerry come of age. The bustling neighborhood takes on the status of a character itself. Above all, Curtiz was a master storyteller, a quality that is sometimes overlooked as people get swept up in technical achievements and innovation. He had a knack for extracting superlative performances from his leading actors.

Perhaps the best display of Curtiz’s significant contribution to the film is seen in his framing of the tour de force of an ending.

WARNING: As much as I hate to tell somebody to stop reading, if you haven’t seen the end of Angels With Dirty Faces, I beg you to stop now and see it ASAP before reading any kind of analysis on it. It is, in my opinion, among a handful of the best endings to ever come out of Hollywood and I don’t want to rob anyone of the joy that is watching it for the first time… after seeing it, though, make sure you come back and let me know what you think! For now, you can just skip down in the article to the “(/SPOILERS)” tag and continue.

Nowhere are Curtiz’s chops as a director on greater display. Jerry comes to Rocky in his final moments before going to his execution in order to ask a final favor of his pal. He wants Rocky to do the unthinkable – to “die yellow,” as an example to the Dead End Kids that he is not the hero they built him up to be. Rocky bristles at the idea, arguing that his reputation is the only thing he has left and he has no intention of ruining it with his final living action. The march to the death chamber, with Rocky and Jerry walking side by side is nothing short of beautiful. The hallway is ominously dark, with the silhouettes of the police officers trailing behind. The jail cells cast shadows onto the wall, creating the picturesque shot of Rocky walking through the bars and on toward his execution.




The moving conclusion can be read two different ways and apparently is still open to some debate. When Rocky inexplicably begins struggling and begging for his life just before being placed in the electric chair, is he going yellow or is he doing one final favor for Father Jerry? Cagney himself, when questioned about which theory was true, said that he meant for it to be ambiguous and left to the imagination of each viewer. I have no definitive answer as to which is true, but my high assessment of this film is built on the belief that Rocky was following through on what Jerry asked of him. Maybe it’s because I was completely drawn into the Rocky character and simply want to believe that is the case, but I think that the film works better when the ending is interpreted this way.

The ironic thing is that this is the only instance I can think of where having to conform to the Hays Code actually served to enhance an ending. In many crime dramas of the era, there is often the feeling of the story coming to a screeching halt in order to ensure there is time for the criminal to pay for his crimes. In this case, it never had the feel of a cop out, where the gangster has some magical “awakening” and then sees the error of his ways. It allows the Rocky character that was so charming throughout the entire film to retain his “self-respect,” at least between himself and Jerry, while at the same time delivering some form of redemption.

(/SPOILERS)

While O’Brien and Cagney are obviously the focus of the film, the supporting cast is still very good. Knowing the persona that he would go on to craft in the next decade, it’s always interesting to see Bogart playing one of his less savory roles. Although his on-screen time is limited, he brings just the right amount of sleaziness to the Frazier character. According to commentary on the excellent DVD release, the Ann Sheridan Laury character was originally slated to have a larger role in the story. While Sheridan does fine, it was a wise decision to pull the character back. The relationship between Rocky and Jerry deserved the bulk of the attention. The fact that Cagney and O'Brien were such good friends off-screen adds a touching element to the friendship that they are able to exhibit through Rocky and Jerry.

The only bum note for me is the Dead End Kids. I understand why they’re included, as they were wildly popular at the time. But there performance is the one aspect of the film that seems dated to me, coming across as very campy. This might simply be a sign of times having changed, but I think a more hard-edged group of teens would have been more effective than the slapstick routine of the Dead End Kids.

I can understand how some people might find it to be overly moralistic, but for me it works masterfully. There is a message being delivered, but the ingenuity of the finish is that it doesn’t force-feed that message to the viewer. It allows the social commentary to be delivered clearly, but it doesn’t completely discard the Rocky Sullivan character that had been cultivated so brilliantly over the course of the film. But it's not just the conclusion that is so captivating. It's beyond just that momentous scene -- it's also little things like the scene where Rocky tells Frazier that he'll take the three years in prison, but leaves an ominous warning to his lawyer: "Look, I know you're a smart lawyer... very smart. But don't get smart with me." It's only a minor couple of seconds in the film, and a lot of people probably never give it a second thought, but something about Cagney's delivery just gives me goosebumps every time I watch it. There are actually quite a few of these seemingly insignificant scenes throughout the film that are just magical.

I've wavered on whether or not to include this in the Perfect 10s. I understand that this is not a flawless film, but it's a prime example of one that has strengths that more than compensate for any weaknesses. It may be extremely subjective, but I can't resist making this entry #2 in the Perfect 10 Reviews section.

Rating: 10/10