Showing posts with label Stanwyck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stanwyck. Show all posts

Sunday, April 18, 2010

#7: Double Indemnity (Billy Wilder, 1944)

Released: September 6, 1944 (U.S.)

Director: Billy Wilder; Screenplay: Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler based on the novel by James M. Cain; Cinematography: John F. Seitz; Studio: Paramount Pictures; Producers: Buddy G. DeSylva and Joseph Sistrom

Cast: Fred MacMurray (Walter Neff), Barbara Stanwyck (Phyllis Dietrichson), Edward G. Robinson (Barton Keyes), Tom Powers (Mr. Dietrichson), Jean Heather (Lola Dietrichson), Byron Barr (Nino Zachetti), Porter Hall (Mr. Jackson), Fortunio Bonanova (Sam Garlopis), John Philliber (Joe Peters), Richard Gaines (Edward S. Norton, Jr.)

As is the case with other films that I have already written extensively about (or at least what I consider to be extensive, meaning in terms of blog posts), I don’t feel it necessary to write completely new takes on such movies. I easily chose Double Indemnity as my #1 for 1944 and it is a no-brainer to place it comfortably within the Top 10 for the noir countdown. Still, I think that there needs to be something additional added onto these pieces, at the very least to show that I’m not piggybacking on past work at this point. And so I made a point to re-watch each of the movies in the Top 10, to bring some new thoughts to each entry.

Watching Double Indemnity for the umpteenth time, there is one thing that drew all of my attention: the work of John Seitz. Since seeing Double Indemnity for the first time, I have never been able to look at venetian blinds the same again. I’m not kidding – anytime I see shadows or light slithering through the slits in such blinds I am reminded of this movie. I have praised Seitz’s work throughout the countdown, particularly in regard to his work in yesterday’s Billy Wilder entry Sunset Boulevard, and all of it is more than deserved. His photography is distinctive. It doesn’t have the grittiness of the work of John Alton. Instead, Seitz’s work is what I like to call stylishly dark. It has smoothness to it, yet never sacrifices the darkness. My realization of just how great Seitz was remains one of the biggest eye-openers of this whole series. I knew he was great, but I didn't fully appreciated the consistent excellence of his work until recently.

My other thoughts on the film are well captured in the piece below. I’ll just add that I go back and forth concerning my favorite Billy Wilder noir. Sometimes it is Double Indemnity, sometimes it is Sunset Boulevard. The fact that they ended up back-to-back in the countdown was not planned, and in fact they only ended up in those positions very late in the process. For now, Double Indemnity wears the crown, but it’s a tough call between such classics.

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- "I killed him for money and for a woman. I didn't get the money and I didn't get the woman. Pretty, isn't it?"

Just looking at the notables involved in every facet of this legendary film is enough to make a classic movie fan or noir buff salivate. The cast is superb, combining diverse on-screen personalities that result in maximum tension. With Barbara Stanwyck having already perfected the role of a manipulative, ambitious vixen in earlier pre-Code films, she is the ideal fit as the calculating Phyllis Dietrichson. Fred MacMurray, who until this point had played mostly wholesome, friendly characters, is cast against type as the man who is drawn into Mrs. Dietrichson’s machinations. It is a brilliant casting decision, as although Walter Neff takes an active role in the planning, the persona of MacMurray manages to convey the sneaking suspicion that the insurance agent is in over his head and is being maneuvered. Edward G. Robinson plays Barton Keyes, a claims adjuster who is hell-bent on uncovering any fraudulent claims submitted to the Pacific All-Risk Insurance Co. While not as ruthless as the gangster characters that made Robinson a star, Keyes is every bit as resolute and determined toward his job. The script is based on a novel by one of the godfathers of pulp fiction, James M. Cain. It is adapted for the screen in part by another of the titans of the hardboiled genre, Raymond Chandler, who infuses his trademark snappy dialogue with the dark themes of Cain’s story. The soundtrack is handled by the celebrated Miklós Rózsa. The photography of John Seitz is appropriately dark and shadowy. And the entire affair is overseen by arguably the most versatile director of his era, Billy Wilder.

On paper, it is a can’t-miss experience. On-screen, it manages to be the equal of such impressive credentials.


It is the story of insurance salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray), who finds himself in the middle of a murderous love triangle after doing something as simple as attempting to renew an automobile insurance policy. While on a call to renew of the policy of Mr. Dietrichson, Neff meets his gorgeous wife Phyllis and immediate chemistry is developed between the two. The sexual tension at this first meeting is palpable. As the two begin an affair, Phyllis sheepishly proposes the idea of purchasing life insurance for her husband, then later progresses to planning to kill him in order to collect on the policy. While he at first resists such an evil idea, Walter eventually comes on board, but decides that if they are to go through with it they are going to go for the gusto. If they can make Mr. Dietrichson’s death appear to be an accident, they will collect twice as much through the double indemnity clause.

When Mr. Dietrichon is found dead on railroad tracks, apparently having fallen off the back of a slow-moving train, police are quick to conclude his death the result of an accident. Unfortunately for the plotting couple, Barton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson) and Pacific All-Risk are not as easily convinced. Keyes senses something strange and quickly begins to suspect that Mrs. Dietrichson likely plotted with another man to kill her husband. The relationship between Phyllis and Walter is strained as they try to maintain secrecy and keep Keyes from the truth. Meanwhile, as relations between the couple begin to deteriorate, Walter comes to suspect Phyllis of plotting more than just the murder of her husband.

It may not be my favorite film noir, but Double Indemnity remains one that I would put forth as the quintessential expression of the genre. As I have said previously on this blog, couple this one with Tourneur’s Out of the Past and even a complete neophyte will have a perfect introduction to the elements that have become noir staples. The flashbacks, the shadows, the dark lighting, the femme fatale, the unforgiving determinism – all of these components are on display here. But with Chandler involved in the screenplay and Wilder involved in both the screenplay and direction, there is the unmistakable quality of everything being a bit tongue-in-cheek. This is a story dealing with deadly serious issues, and yet nobody in this film – with the possible exception of the never-tiring Keyes – seems to be taking themselves seriously until it is far too late.

This feeling is due in large part to the sarcastic banter between characters. It is biting, cynical, and at times can feel a bit awkward. Lines like Neff telling Phyllis, “Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket” or “They say all native Californians come from Iowa” at first left me scratching my head wondering where in the heck they came from. I may be in the minority, but I truly do feel like some of the dialogue can be unwieldy. But it does fit with the sarcastic nature of the proceedings for most of the film – at least through the planning stages of the murder – as if there is a joke behind everything.


It is also amazing how tense this film at times can be, when considering that from the opening scenes the audience basically knows the conclusion. Early on we see a wounded Walter Neff stumbling into the insurance office and declaring into Keyes’ Dictaphone that his plan did not work out. Within the opening minutes, the plot that he and Phyllis hatched is outlined and he confesses to committing murder, declaring that he now plans to reveal all to his friend and coworker. Even with all of these details, there are moments in the film that are incredibly suspenseful. Just witness the scene when Keyes unexpectedly barges into Neff’s apartment to discuss the Dietrichson case. Unaware of the visitor, Phyllis pays a visit at the same time. Realizing the potential problem, Neff works to keep the two out of each other’s sight. Because of the opening of the film, we know that Keyes is not going to see Phyllis, and yet there is great tension as Walter tries everything to usher Keyes to an exit. Praise must go directly to Billy Wilder for this, as the direction of scenes such as this reinforces how masterful he could be. He is able to take something as simple as a woman hiding behind an open door and make it thrilling.

The other aspect that I did not initially realize, but that on subsequent viewings came to understand, is the fact that this is a rare example of a film that does not have a single likable character. Phyllis is as devious a character as has ever been committed to celluloid. Although it at times seems as if Walter is being manipulated by Phyllis, it’s impossible to overlook the fact that Walter is a willing participant and contributes significantly to the planning of the murder. Even Keyes, the incorruptible claims adjuster, can be irritating. After all, who likes overbearing insurance employees who will do anything to see to it that no money is ever paid out? The only character I ever remotely felt for was Lola (Jean Heather), Mr. Dietrichson’s daughter, but she is primarily on the periphery. It is this dearth of heroes or likable personalities that makes Double Indemnity such a grim film. No matter how much sarcasm or snappy dialogue is rattled off throughout, it is never enough to overcome the fact that these are unpleasant people all the way around.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

#62: The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (Lewis Milestone, 1946)

Released: July 24, 1946

Director: Lewis Milestone; Screenplay: Robert Rossen and Robert Riskin (uncredited) based on the story “Love Lies Bleeding” by John Patrick; Cinematography: Victor Milner; Music: Miklós Rózsa; Producer: Hal B. Wallis; Studio: Paramount Pictures

Cast: Barbara Stanwyck (Martha Ivers), Van Heflin (Sam Masterson), Lizabeth Scott (Antonia “Toni” Marachek), Kirk Douglas (Walter O’Neil), Roman Bohnen (Mr. O’Neil), Judith Anderson (Mrs. Ivers), Darryl Hickman (Sam as a boy), Janis Wilson (Martha as a girl), Mickey Kuhn (Walter as a boy)

- "Couldn't you see blackmail in his eyes?"

If star power appeals strongly to you, then The Strange Love of Martha Ivers is likely one that you feel should be moved much higher in these rankings. It has star power bursting from every crevice. The amount of big names and talent is astounding. The four leads are now seen all-time greats. Barbara Stanwyck had already staked a claim to be the toughest femme fatale in all of noir. Van Heflin was no newcomer, but this would kick off a wonderful noir run. Lizabeth Scott, in only her second film, shows the promise that she would more than live up to over the next twelve years. And making his acting debut, Kirk Douglas began his stellar career with a bang. The music was composed by the great Miklós Rózsa. The list of films with the name of producer Hal Wallis attached to it is unreal – Little Caesar, The Maltese Falcon, Sergeant York, Casablanca to name only a few. The screenplay was written by celebrated writer, and future director, Robert Rossen. Although not a regular in film noir, director Lewis Milestone had already become a prominent figure in Hollywood and snagged two Academy Awards for Best Director. Hell, the assistant director was only Robert Aldrich!

Typing these credentials out still amazes me. I suppose you could look at this one of two ways – that with this much talent involved, it would be hard for a movie not to succeed; or, you can give credit to Milestone, Wallis and company for bringing all of the elements together to create a compelling noir melodrama. I obviously lean toward the second interpretation. Like a great coach winning with the best players, there is something to be said for bringing everything together cohesively. The only knock I have is that although it is obviously well-crafted in every way, it can’t help at times feeling a bit like a run-of-the-mill studio production. Rossen’s script is gritty enough to lift the film above that description and the all-star cast boasts enough talent to sell it all.


The story follows the links in the lives of three childhood friends (or, at the very least, two childhood friends and an acquaintance) that grow up in Iverstown, Pennsylvania. The town is dominated by the dictatorial Mrs. Ivers (Judith Anderson), who essentially owns the entire town. Her young nice Martha despises the authority of her aunt and rebels by running off with her friend Sam. When the two are caught in a railcar, she is returned to her aunt, while Sam gets away. But when the two meet up later that night at the Ivers home, along with a pal named Walter O’Neil, a supposed accident occurs – Mrs. Ivers is killed and the young Martha inherits an incredible fortune. In the aftermath of the accident, Sam runs away, while Martha and Walter stay behind and grow into adulthood. Martha (Barbara Stanwyck), who busies herself managing her fortune, marries Walter (Kirk Douglas), who is the city prosecutor. When Sam (Van Heflin) wanders back to Iverstown, the quiet life of the couple is thrown into chaos. The problem is that as prosecutor, Walter had convicted an innocent man for the murder of Mrs. Ivers in hopes that it would cover any possible entanglement of Martha in the crime. Seeing Sam as the one person who can implicate them, Walter begins scheming to hustle him out of town. Meanwhile, old passions between Sam and Martha are ignited, which in turn are complicated by the beautiful Toni (Lizabeth Scott).

As I said, what stand out most to me are the Robert Rossen script and the performances that bring it to life. This does not attain its noir status on the basis of expressionistic lighting and inventive camera work found in other classics. Instead, the anguish felt by each character is what validates its inclusion in a countdown like this. All of the principles are suffering from psychological torment. The entire bond between Martha and Walter appears to be built on an uneasy alliance – Martha submits so as not to be implicated in the murder of her aunt, Walter stays in the relationship due to guilt about his sham prosecution. Both are quick to hold these things over the other’s head. Sam is the trigger to send both of them into full-scale panic. And even though he professes a loyalty to the recently arrived Toni, he seems like he is still at times unable to overcome the spell that Martha casts over him.


For those that haven’t seen it (assuming there are some), I won’t reveal anything about the conclusion, except to ask if there is any more iconic finish in noir? I can think of a few that might top it, but it’s as memorable as any other finale.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

#66: Clash by Night (Fritz Lang, 1952)

Released: June 18, 1952

Director: Fritz Lang; Screenplay: Alfred Hayes based on the play by Clifford Odets; Cinematography: Nicholas Musuraca; Music: Roy Webb; Producers: Jerry Wald and Norman Krasna; Studio: RKO

Cast: Barbara Stanwyck (Mae Doyle D’Amato), Paul Douglas (Jerry D’Amato), Robert Ryan (Earl Pfeiffer), Marilyn Monroe (Peggy), Keith Andes (Joe Doyle), Silvio Minciotti (Papa D’Amato), J. Carrol Naish (Uncle Vince),

- “Listen to me, blondie. The woman I marry, she don't take me on a wait and see basis. I ain't a dress she's bringin' home from the store to see if it fits and if it don't, back it goes. In my book marriage is a two-way proposition - you're just as much responsible as I am. So, that little eye is gonna roam... if what you think is Joe's alright until somethin' better comes along... honey, you better take another streetcar.”

A fitting film for Valentine's Day, no? (If you could see my face now, you would see a sly grin...)

At any rate, I have the same reaction to Fritz Lang’s Clash by Night almost every time I watch it. I tend to come away from each viewing with a positive memory of the film, meaning that each time I re-watch it I go in with the idea that it is undoubtedly among the best American films Lang ever made. Then, about midway through, I start to wonder what kind of fumes I’ve been sniffing, as I start to question how I could be placing this in company with Scarlet Street and The Big Heat. And then, with about 30 minutes to go in the film, I do yet another about-face and return to my original position that Clash by Night really is outstanding work from a master. Its placement in the countdown should make clear that my ultimate judgment comes down closer to masterwork than middling, but I stop a bit short of classifying it as top-flight Lang. As strong as that final half hour is, I have to admit to finding myself wandering at times through the middle.

But… Wow, what a potent conclusion, like a runaway train that you’re watching steaming straight for the end of the tracks. It might not actually go completely over that edge, but it comes distressingly close.


This is yet another noir based on a play, this time with the source material being written by the great Clifford Odets, who himself would write a few classic Hollywood screenplays. The storyline is deceptively simple: Mae Doyle (Barbara Stanwyck) returns to her hometown fishing village after a failed marriage in the big city, staying with her brother Joe (Keith Andes) and his fiancée Peggy (Marilyn Monroe). World weary and cynical, Mae surprisingly falls for naïve fishing boat owner Jerry D’Amato (Paul Douglas). The two are married, have a child, and appear to living the ideal small town life. But that façade is shattered when Mae shockingly becomes involved in an affair with Jerry’s longtime friend – and sometimes patronizing companion – Earl (Robert Ryan). Having been a softy his entire life, akin to a big lovable teddy bear, Jerry suddenly snaps when he learns of the affair. Fearing he might due something awful, such as kill Earl, he opts instead to leave with his child.

The themes and implications of the film have been written about by far more astute analysts and scholars than me. For a great analysis, I’ll go ahead and direct people to a review from Tony D’Ambra at FilmsNoir.net. Tony is spot on in his reading of the themes, particularly regarding the finale. Clash by Night is, most of all, about redemption, particularly for Mae. Again, check out Tony’s review, as any further analysis by me would mirror the thoughts that he has already penned.


Instead, I just have some general observations that came to me while watching this for the third or fourth time (I’m not sure which). First, it validated the theory I put forth in the entry for On Dangerous Ground, where I wondered if maybe my lukewarm feelings toward Robert Ryan are more a reflection of the characters he played than antipathy toward him as an actor. Earl Pfeiffer is a movie character that I genuinely hate. Even before the affair is revealed, he’s the kind of guy that comes off as absolutely insufferable – always complaining, throwing out backhanded compliments with a smug smile on his face. I know that there are noir villains who do much worse things than him – the usual murders and whatnot that populate noir – but I can’t think of a single one I dislike more than Earl Pfeiffer. Second, that short monologue that is at the beginning of this article is one of great slices of dialog I’ve yet come across. It’s delivered by Joe Doyle (Keith Andes) to Peggy (Marilyn Monroe) right after Mae has left to run off with Earl. Perfectly written, perfectly delivered, it makes an otherwise routine performance from Keith Andes stick out to me. Third, and finally, if anyone needed any further proof that Marilyn Monroe could act, I think that her supporting, albeit minor, performance here should do the job.

The bona fides of Lang and cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca are known by everyone reading this, so there really is little need go into detail on their work. I will just acknowledge that they capture the feel of a small fishing town quite well, particularly in the opening sequences of the film. You really get the sense that everything in the town centers on fishing, canning, and everything that goes with it, contributing a unique atmosphere.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

#91: Sorry, Wrong Number (Anatole Litvak, 1948)

Released: September 1, 1948

Director:
Anatole Litvak; Screenplay: Lucille Fletcher; Cinematography: Sol Polito; Music: Franz Waxman; Producers: Anatole Litvak and Hal B. Wallis; Studio: Paramount Pictures

Cast: Barbara Stanwyck (Leona Stevenson), Burt Lancaster (Henry Stevenson), Ann Richards (Sally Hunt Lord), Wendell Corey (Dr. Alexander), Harold Vermilyea (Waldo Evans), Ed Begley (James Cotterell), Leif Erickson (Fred Lord), William Conrad (Morano)

Anyone that has followed the site knows the love I have for Alfred Hitchcock’s classic Rear Window and I can’t help but think about that all-time favorite whenever I consider this similar, but lesser film from Anatole Litvak. The similarity comes from the simple setup of having a character that is confined to a single room, who by chance uncovers a horrendous crime. In this case, due to crossed telephone wires, Barbara Stanwyck’s Leona Stevenson, an invalid, uncovers the planning of a murder. When she tries to contact police and tell them what she heard, they say that they can do nothing on such speculative information. Alone in the house and scrambling to find out why her husband Henry (Burt Lancaster) has not returned home, Leona begins to worry and reminisce about her past.


As the story unfolds through flashbacks, recounting the courtship and marriage of Leona, a well-to-do heiress to a chemical fortune, and Henry, the high school dropout that the heiress becomes infatuated with, clues begin to highlight the constant tension of the marriage. Slowly, things begin to emerge that reveal that Henry has been the target of an extortion plot by a shady character named Morano (William Conrad) and has been scrambling to come up with a way to pay him off. He attempts schemes like stealing a valuable pharmaceutical from his father-in-law’s company and even hastening the death of his invalid wife so as to inherit her fortune and pay Morano off. Ultimately, it becomes obvious that the murder plot that Leona overheard on the crossed telephone lines was actually killers discussing her own murder. It then becomes a race as to who will get to Leona first, or if she can alert someone before it is too late.

The movie is based on an original radio play by screenwriter Lucille Fletcher. The radio program was only 22-minutes long, so the flashback sequences had to be added to the script in order to flesh the story out to feature-film length. This fact becomes obvious on repeat viewings, meaning that certain sections of the narrative feel like they were added simply to extend the length of the overall product. This is not to say that the story is necessarily a negative. There is undeniably fluff, though. Still, the story is the most appealing part of the film for me. Performances are just solid, nothing spectacular from anyone involved – even from noir heavyweights like Stanwyck and Burt Lancaster. The story can be unnerving in the way that the Leona character is characterized and photographed. This is a woman who is bedridden entirely because of her own mental problems. There is nothing physically wrong with her – Dr. Alexander (Wendell Corey) makes this clear when he tells Henry that there is nothing that he can do for and that she needs to see a psychiatrist. But these mental problems mean that she has confined herself in her own personal prison. And this is how Anatole Litvak shoots her bedroom, like a dark, foreboding prison cell. Things become unsettling because you are watching Leona trapped in this claustrophobic environment, knowing that physically she could get up and get herself out of danger at any moment, but understanding full well that she likely won’t.


Sorry, Wrong Number also takes itself incredibly serious, perhaps too much so, which is in direct contrast to the dark humor found throughout Rear Window. It’s certainly not in the same league as the Hitchcock masterpiece, but fans of Hitch should definitely check it out and view it as something along the lines of Rear Window’s distant, slightly-older cousin.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

1944: Double Indemnity (Billy Wilder)

Released: September 6, 1944 (U.S.)

Director: Billy Wilder; Screenplay: Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler based on the novel by James M. Cain; Cinematography: John F. Seitz; Studio: Paramount Pictures; Producers: Buddy G. DeSylva and Joseph Sistrom

Cast: Fred MacMurray (Walter Neff), Barbara Stanwyck (Phyllis Dietrichson), Edward G. Robinson (Barton Keyes), Tom Powers (Mr. Dietrichson), Jean Heather (Lola Dietrichson), Byron Barr (Nino Zachetti), Porter Hall (Mr. Jackson), Fortunio Bonanova (Sam Garlopis), John Philliber (Joe Peters), Richard Gaines (Edward S. Norton, Jr.)

- "I killed him for money and for a woman. I didn't get the money and I didn't get the woman. Pretty, isn't it?"

Just looking at the notables involved in every facet of this legendary film is enough to make a classic movie fan or noir buff salivate. The cast is superb, combining diverse on-screen personalities that result in maximum tension. With Barbara Stanwyck having already perfected the role of a manipulative, ambitious vixen in earlier pre-Code films, she is the ideal fit as the calculating Phyllis Dietrichson. Fred MacMurray, who until this point had played mostly wholesome, friendly characters, is cast against type as the man who is drawn into Mrs. Dietrichson’s machinations. It is a brilliant casting decision, as although Walter Neff takes an active role in the planning, the persona of MacMurray manages to convey the sneaking suspicion that the insurance agent is in over his head and is being maneuvered. Edward G. Robinson plays Barton Keyes, a claims adjuster who is hell-bent on uncovering any fraudulent claims submitted to the Pacific All-Risk Insurance Co. While not as ruthless as the gangster characters that made Robinson a star, Keyes is every bit as resolute and determined toward his job. The script is based on a novel by one of the godfathers of pulp fiction, James M. Cain. It is adapted for the screen in part by another of the titans of the hardboiled genre, Raymond Chandler, who infuses his trademark snappy dialogue with the dark themes of Cain’s story. The soundtrack is handled by the celebrated Miklós Rózsa. The photography of John Seitz is appropriately dark and shadowy. And the entire affair is overseen by arguably the most versatile director of his era, Billy Wilder.

On paper, it is a can’t-miss experience. On-screen, it manages to be the equal of such impressive credentials.


It is the story of insurance salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray), who finds himself in the middle of a murderous love triangle after doing something as simple as attempting to renew an automobile insurance policy. While on a call to renew of the policy of Mr. Dietrichson, Neff meets his gorgeous wife Phyllis and immediate chemistry is developed between the two. The sexual tension at this first meeting is palpable. As the two begin an affair, Phyllis sheepishly proposes the idea of purchasing life insurance for her husband, then later progresses to planning to kill him in order to collect on the policy. While he at first resists such an evil idea, Walter eventually comes on board, but decides that if they are to go through with it they are going to go for the gusto. If they can make Mr. Dietrichson’s death appear to be an accident, they will collect twice as much through the double indemnity clause.

When Mr. Dietrichon is found dead on railroad tracks, apparently having fallen off the back of a slow-moving train, police are quick to conclude his death the result of an accident. Unfortunately for the plotting couple, Barton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson) and Pacific All-Risk are not as easily convinced. Keyes senses something strange and quickly begins to suspect that Mrs. Dietrichson likely plotted with another man to kill her husband. The relationship between Phyllis and Walter is strained as they try to maintain secrecy and keep Keyes from the truth. Meanwhile, as relations between the couple begin to deteriorate, Walter comes to suspect Phyllis of plotting more than just the murder of her husband.

It may not be my favorite film noir, but Double Indemnity remains one that I would put forth as the quintessential expression of the genre. As I have said previously on this blog, couple this one with Tourneur’s Out of the Past and even a complete neophyte will have a perfect introduction to the elements that have become noir staples. The flashbacks, the shadows, the dark lighting, the femme fatale, the unforgiving determinism – all of these components are on display here. But with Chandler involved in the screenplay and Wilder involved in both the screenplay and direction, there is the unmistakable quality of everything being a bit tongue-in-cheek. This is a story dealing with deadly serious issues, and yet nobody in this film – with the possible exception of the never-tiring Keyes – seems to be taking themselves seriously until it is far too late.

This feeling is due in large part to the sarcastic banter between characters. It is biting, cynical, and at times can feel a bit awkward. Lines like Neff telling Phyllis, “Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket” or “They say all native Californians come from Iowa” at first left me scratching my head wondering where in the heck they came from. I may be in the minority, but I truly do feel like some of the dialogue can be unwieldy. But it does fit with the sarcastic nature of the proceedings for most of the film – at least through the planning stages of the murder – as if there is a joke behind everything.


It is also amazing how tense this film at times can be, when considering that from the opening scenes the audience basically knows the conclusion. Early on we see a wounded Walter Neff stumbling into the insurance office and declaring into Keyes’ Dictaphone that his plan did not work out. Within the opening minutes, the plot that he and Phyllis hatched is outlined and he confesses to committing murder, declaring that he now plans to reveal all to his friend and coworker. Even with all of these details, there are moments in the film that are incredibly suspenseful. Just witness the scene when Keyes unexpectedly barges into Neff’s apartment to discuss the Dietrichson case. Unaware of the visitor, Phyllis pays a visit at the same time. Realizing the potential problem, Neff works to keep the two out of each other’s sight. Because of the opening of the film, we know that Keyes is not going to see Phyllis, and yet there is great tension as Walter tries everything to usher Keyes to an exit. Praise must go directly to Billy Wilder for this, as the direction of scenes such as this reinforces how masterful he could be. He is able to take something as simple as a woman hiding behind an open door and make it thrilling.

The other aspect that I did not initially realize, but that on subsequent viewings came to understand, is the fact that this is a rare example of a film that does not have a single likable character. Phyllis is as devious a character as has ever been committed to celluloid. Although it at times seems as if Walter is being manipulated by Phyllis, it’s impossible to overlook the fact that Walter is a willing participant and contributes significantly to the planning of the murder. Even Keyes, the incorruptible claims adjuster, can be irritating. After all, who likes overbearing insurance employees who will do anything to see to it that no money is ever paid out? The only character I ever remotely felt for was Lola (Jean Heather), Mr. Dietrichson’s daughter, but she is primarily on the periphery. It is this dearth of heroes or likable personalities that makes Double Indemnity such a grim film. No matter how much sarcasm or snappy dialogue is rattled off throughout, it is never enough to overcome the fact that these are unpleasant people all the way around.


Rating: 9/10

Other Contenders for 1944: A solid if unspectacular year for me. There are a number of outstanding films, but nothing to seriously challenge Double Indemnity. The story of To Have and Have Not from director Howard Hawks certainly owes a lot to Casablanca, but it’s still a great film on its own. The interplay between Bogart and Bacall, with this being the first film to ever unite them, is just so hip. Plus, Walter Brennan is always golden whenever in a Howard Hawks film. I don’t feel it’s on the same level as Casablanca, but it’s at least worthy companion or follow-up. Preston Sturges released two very good comedies in this year with The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek and Hail the Conquering Hero. Both star Eddie Bracken, and in my opinion Hail the Conquering Hero is the superior of the two. It is hilarious as Bracken’s Woodrow character tries to convince his hometown that he is _not_ a war hero.

There are also were some very good other noirs released in 1944. Otto Preminger’s mysterious Laura is another noir that is considered to be an essential. I like it, but actually prefer the later Preminger-Dana Andrews film Where the Sidewalk Ends (1950), which shares much of the same cast as Laura. Edward Dmytryk’s Murder, My Sweet has been often parodied, but I still think it’s an entertaining film and that it’s interesting to see Dick Powell’s version of the Philip Marlowe character.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

1933: The Bitter Tea of General Yen (Frank Capra)

Released: January 3, 1933

Director: Frank Capra; Screenplay: Edward E. Paramore, Jr., based on the story by Grace Zaring Stone; Cinematography: Joseph Walker; Studio: Columbia Pictures; Producer: Walter Wanger

Cast: Barbara Stanwyck (Megan Davis), Nils Asther (General Yen), Toshia More (Mah-Li), Walter Connolly (Jones), Gavin Gordon (Dr. Robert Strife)

I have a confession to make, and it is one that goes against my usual classic Hollywood-centric perspective – I’ve never been a big Frank Capra fan. It isn’t that I necessarily dislike any of his work that I’ve seen, but outside of the most famous of all of his films (It’s a Wonderful Life) I have been rather indifferent toward him. My apathy hasn’t been the result of the usual complaint made against Capra – the “Capra-corn” label that derides his films for being overly sentimental or moralistic. I’ve actually been struck by how stretched such a claim can be, as there are times in Capra films where characters and situations are very realistic and relevant. But outside of It’s a Wonderful Life I found myself reacting to subsequent Capra films with lukewarm reactions.

Then, instead of plowing straight ahead in the Capra filmography, as I was doing after having started with It Happened One Night, I decided to take a step backward. I tried the less-renowned The Bitter Tea of General Yen and felt like I had discovered some kind of hidden gem. I’m perfectly aware of the fact that I discovered nothing, and that plenty of folks are familiar with it, but I’m amazed that this film is not more celebrated. In what I am guessing will differ from most others, I pick this one as tops for 1933.

The film opens to gorgeously chaotic scenes of 1920s Shanghai, showing the frantic pace of China at this time. With the country in turmoil, as various warlords and government factions begin to battle at the start of the Chinese Civil War, the city is nonstop commotion. Refugees are scattering, buildings are burning, and the opening shots reinforce this sense of confusion. These scenes are very darkly shot and edited at such a quick pace to perfectly convey the sense of chaos of the people. The other thing that struck me from these scenes is how overcrowded everything looks, as it feels like there are so many people jammed into shots that these cities are going to burst. The city genuinely feels miserable and absolutely frenzied.

It is into this environment that American Megan Davis (Barbara Stanwyck) arrives with plans to marry missionary Dr. Robert Strife (Gavin Gordon). However, on the night of the wedding, Strife announces that he must postpone the nuptials in order to rescue a group of orphans in a nearby town. Rather than wait for him in the homes of fellow missionaries, Megan declares that she has come to China in order to assist her future husband. She sets out with Dr. Strife to participate in the rescue, which they believe to be a safe trip after supposedly obtaining travel permits from the powerful General Yen (Nils Asther). But while trying to make their way through the chaos of the city streets, the group becomes separated and Megan is knocked unconscious. When Megan comes to her senses, she is in the railcar of General Yen who explains that he rescued her from harm in the streets and is now transporting her to safety. Megan seems completely unaware of the fact that Yen has likely kidnapped her.


Megan is taken to General Yen’s summer retreat where he holds her as a captive. It is not as a lock and key prisoner, but it is captivity none the less. While under General Yen’s control, Megan becomes acquainted with the various underlings that work with the General. These include a fellow American, Jones (Walter Connolly), who is the chief strategist and financial adviser to Yen. She also becomes friendly with a servant/concubine Mah-Li (Toshia Mori) who begins to complicate Megan’s stay at the compound. It soon emerges that Mah-Li is a spy, conveying highly sensitive information concerning General Yen and his operations to rival factions in the civil war. After Jones alerts him to this fact, Yen sentences Mah-Li to death. She is saved only after Megan personally pleads for her life. Yen acquiesces, having become infatuated with the American woman, but asks that Megan offer her own life as a pledge to Mah-Li’s future good behavior. When Mah-Li continues her scheming, the tenuous relationship that has developed between General Yen and Megan is truly put to the test.

Stanwyck is excellent as usual, but the true star of the film is Nils Asther as the enigmatic General Yen. There is great irony in the Danish-born Asther, a star of the theatre in Sweden of all places, portraying a Chinese warlord. But he is outstanding in the role. The tension that is built in the relationship between the general and the naïve American is due to Asther’s ability to create a character that is mysterious. The reputation that is given to General Yen by the missionaries is one of an absolute monster, as someone who kills and pillages at will. Yet in his conduct toward others, Yen is surprisingly reserved. He is deliberate in both action and speech and seems calm in every situation. It is quite a contrast and leaves the viewer wondering what the true nature of General Yen is. In interaction with Megan he seems the perfect gentleman, being exceedingly courteous. And yet as casually polite as he is to Megan, he can just as coolly order the execution of Mah-Li. Asther is able to exploit this paradox in crafting a very measured character. This detached nature that he establishes for General Yen is believable and never reaches the caricature-level where the general comes across as a psychopath.

The other striking feature of the film is how uncompromising and brutal it is at times. Made in 1933, before strict Hays Code enforcement, Capra is able to get away with a bit more than would have been allowed in the near future. This means he is able to do things like showing prisoners being executed by firing squad at General Yen’s compound. In most films of this era you would hear the shots and maybe see the aftermath of the gunmen. Not here. Capra shows the entire sequence – taking aim, firing, bodies dropping. It is nothing overly graphic, but it is shocking (at least for someone like me who is not well-versed in Pre-Code cinema) to think of this coming from a film of the 1930s. While I don’t feel the need to go into great detail concerning the issue, the interracial relationship between General Yen and Megan is also remarkable. It is amazing that it made it through censors.

There are obvious drawbacks to the film. It would not be a stretch to claim that the portrayal of the Chinese people is patronizing. One need look no further than the opening minutes of the film, when a longtime missionary recounts the tale of a group of Mongolian people who were enthralled by his tale of the crucifixion. He later learned why they were so interested – soon after, they attacked a caravan and crucified the captives. “That, my friends, is China,” the missionary declares. In most instances, the Chinese people are similarly portrayed as exceedingly brutal. But I felt like the depth given to the General Yen character helped to soften some of this prejudice. He was ultimately shown to have a heart and be just as capable of acting out of something other than self-interest.

I’ll be interested to see just how big of an “upset” this is as a pick for the best of 1933. I have to admit that overall this is not a great year for me, at least in comparison to some of the years around it. But The Bitter Tea of General Yen is a film that would at least compete against competition of any year. It is intriguing for me to see another side of Frank Capra as a filmmaker and the photography of Joseph Walker is a great compliment to this darker style. At times, the film looks like a noir set in Shanghai, and instantly reminded me of a William Wyler film of seven years later, The Letter. Combine these strengths with the performance of Nils Asther and it is an outstanding film.

Rating: 8/10

Other Contenders for 1933: As I said, not a banner year for me, but there are a few other films that I considered. Fritz Lang’s The Testament of Dr. Mabuse is intriguing but I don’t rank it with some of my other favorite Lang films. Barbara Stanwyck was in another legendary pre-code film this year, Baby Face, and her individual performance is better there than in The Bitter Tea. If you thought she was conniving as Phyllis Dietrichson, check her out as Lily Powers in Baby Face. My guess would be that the Marx Brothers classic Duck Soup will be the most popular choice, but not being the biggest fan of the Marx Brothers fan it’s not my selection. It certainly is funny, but not one I would list as an all-time favorite. King Kong is another film that I can appreciate for its historical value, but not a personal favorite.