Tuesday, June 10, 2014

THE ENFORCER (1951)

Bretaigne Windust, Raoul Walsh, 1951
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Zero Mostel, Ted de Corsia, Everett Sloane

Assistant District Attorney Martin Ferguson is determined to get the testimony that will put away gangster Albert Mendoza, head of a ring of murderers-for-hire. Ferguson’s key witness is Joe Rico, a terrified gangster who has agreed to exchange a damning testimony of dead witnesses and hidden corpses for freedom. Out of sheer terror after several assassination attempts, Rico tries to escape and is killed. Ferguson and his men must spend the night pouring over old testimony in the hopes that they can summon a new witness, otherwise Ferguson will walk free.

Though generally considered an average Humphrey Bogart film, I absolutely loved The Enforcer and it certainly ranks among the most underrated police procedurals of the ‘50s. Director Bretaigne Windust (I don’t know what to say about that name…), primarily known for his Broadway work, became ill during shooting. Experienced gangster film director Raoul Walsh (The White Heat, The Roaring Twenties) stepped in, though he remains uncredited, and allegedly helmed the film’s most explosive scenes. Aside from his all-encompassing stardom, it’s fascinating to look at Bogart’s career through the lens of the gangster film, because he was an active participant in the progression from the classic ’30 gangster film to murkier efforts in the ‘40s mixed with film noir (such as Key Largo), to the death of the gangster flick in the ‘50s, when it was essentially transformed into the police procedural.

The Enforcer is based on the events related in Murder, Inc. (1951), a true crime book co-written by Burton Turkus, formerly the Brooklyn ADA who helped prosecute the crime gang of the same name. Bogart’s character, ADA Ferguson, is based on Turkus’s exploits during this period; there are a number of similar parallels throughout the film. Also known as Murder, Inc, this was the first Hollywood film devoted to the inner workings of organized crime. It was also one of the first to introduce now-familiar jargon like “hit” and “target.” I’m not sure how they slid half of this past the censors, but there are dead bodies everywhere and seemingly on unpleasant scene after another – throats are slit, lovely young women are butchered, and a mass grave site is uncovered. In what I took to be a nod to the Holocaust, the grave site is symbolized by a table full of withered, abandoned shoes. The few scenes that focus on the band of killers are excellent – Rico abuses and humiliates the men, emanating an aura of power, violence, and disdain. He lays into one underling for bringing a gun; it’s understood that the man should use a more nondescript weapon, like his hands or an icepick.

The tough and hardboiled script from Martin Rackin (The Horse Soldiers) is fast paced and suspenseful. Both Rackin and directors Walsh and Windust excellent handled the tricky flashbacks and plot twists, which are deftly used to propel the film’s building sense of suspense. The cinematography from Hitchcock-regular Robert Burks (Vertigo) adds to the film noir feeling and expertly captures shots of men smoking in the half-light, looking grim and serious and as they attempt to escape or hunt down their prey. A cold, loveless film utterly devoid of humor or romance, it’s easy to see how this crosses the line into film noir, though it is mostly a police procedural. Bogart’s character frequently crosses the line into unethical behavior (much like his earlier private detectives) and this is less cut and dry than most police procedurals from the period, which figure the cops as good guys and the criminals as clearly bad. The Enforcer also shares some things in common with the gritty realism of film noir director Jules Dassin.

One of the best things about this film is that it’s truly an ensemble effort, not just a star vehicle for Bogie. He’s excellent here in his last film for Warner Bros., but willingly shares the screen with a roster of talent character actors all portraying some hard-hitting characters. Ted de Corsia (The Naked City), King Donovan (Invasion of the Body Snatchers), Everett Sloane (Citizen Kane, The Lady from Shanghai), and the amazing Zero Mostel (The Producers) are all wonderful to watch, with de Corisa and Mostel nearly stealing the film out from under Bogart.

The Enforcer has been lovingly released on Blu-ray by Olive Films and comes highly recommended. It’s a nice little surprise and I suspect most Bogart fans haven’t had the chance to seek it out yet. Similarly, anyone who enjoys police procedurals – from Dragnet to Law and Order – will find a lot to like here. It has aged particularly well and retained its dark, gritty tone and murky sense of morality.

Monday, June 9, 2014

KEY LARGO

John Huston, 1948
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Edward G. Robinson, Lauren Bacall, Lionel Barrymore

Frank McCloud, a former soldier, travels to Hotel Largo in Key Largo, Florida, in order to pay respects following the death of a friend and fellow soldier. McCloud is greeted by his widow, the lovely Nora Temple, and his father, James Temple, the hotel owner. Due to an impending hurricane, there are only a handful of guests in the hotel, but McCloud soon comes to realize that they are gangsters only pretending to be on a fishing trip. The Temples, along with Frank, are soon taken hostage by Johnny Rocco, a fearsome gangster who has been hiding out in Cuba, but has come to Florida for a nefarious business deal. After a night of murder and psychological torture, Rocco convinces Frank – under threat of death – to captain a small boat, which will take the gangsters back to Cuba. But will Frank survive the trip?

Adapted from Maxwell Anderson’s play of the same name, Key Largo is generally considered part of Humphrey Bogart’s cycle of film noir entries, but it diverges from traditional noir quite a bit. While there are some film noir elements – the lonely, isolated soldier incapable of action, themes of crime and violence – this is more of a throwback to the gangster films of the ‘30s. The existential angst and obvious weariness felt by McCloud gives the film a noir flavor, but there is little moral ambiguity and the lines between good and bad are drawn firmly in the Key Largo sand. Frank is somewhere between the kind, morally upstanding Temples, who are beloved by the community, and the menacing gangster Johnny Rocco. Franco’s only true moral ambiguity is his initial failure to act. Despite his military training, he is initially interested in self-preservation and believes that killing one Rocco out of hundreds of similar criminals can have no real meaning. Due to his growing feelings for Nora, he comes to change his mind and the film has a romantic, happy conclusion where order is inevitably restored.

Director John Huston – one of the finest early American auteurs – also helmed The Maltese Falcon, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The Asphalt Jungle, The African Queen, Beat the Devil, Moby Dick, Casino Royale, and more. The direction itself is effective, if fairly nondescript. Though some of the hurricane footage was taken from stock reels, the film benefits from the dependable cinematography of Karl Freund, one of Hollywood’s hardest working German expatriates. Huston also worked regularly with his close friend, Bogie, and possibly his finest work on Key Largo was in casting.

There are some truly great performances from a bevy of dependable talent. The film’s lack of a clear, central protagonist is tricky, but seems to be less a fault of the writing and more a juggling acting between the huge talent on screen and a number of forceful personalities. Bogart is wonderful, as always, even though he plays a variation of his own stock character here: the embittered war vet who has a wide romantic streak, despite the fact that he is a sullen loner.

Lauren Bacall looks lovely and is likable, but doesn’t have a whole lot to do as Nora. Her real-life chemistry with Bogart goes a long way towards making the characters and their plight believable. This would be their last film together. Bacall also has excellent chemistry with the enjoyable Lionel Barrymore, sort of an ultimate father figure here. Film noir actress Claire Trevor (Murder, My Sweet) is excellent as Rocco’s downtrodden, alcoholic girlfriend clinging desperately to an abusive relationship. She won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress that year and richly deserved it. Her best scene is an impromptu, allegedly unrehearsed rendition of “Moanin’ Low,” which conveys the utter desperation of her character, essentially a washed up gangster’s moll.

It is Edgar G. Robinson, though, who steals the film right out from under Bogart. Robinson was one of the primary gangster actors in the ‘30s and seems to be reprising that role for the last time here as the complex, despicable Johnny Rocco. Charismatic yet cruel, cowardly yet murderous, Rocco is a compelling character, one you can’t take your eyes off of, despite his more unsavory traits and repressive, controlling nature. One of the film’s most interesting aspects is its treatment of Rocco and the infamous world that surrounds him. Key Largo is intentionally set after WWII, after the repeal of Prohibition. Life is tough for the gangsters and has become unglamorous. They pine often for the pre-war years and hope that chaotic, lawlessness of the past will return.

Key Largo is available on DVD and comes recommended, particularly to Bogie fans and anyone interested in gangster films. It’s an unusual twist on the typical gangster formula and though considered a classic, the film is underrated and worth unearthing. 

Friday, June 6, 2014

THE TWO MRS. CARROLLS

Peter Godfrey, 1947
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Barbara Stanwyck, Alexis Smith, Nigel Bruce

“We all die sooner or later.”

Painter Geoffrey Carroll shocks his girlfriend, Sally Morton, when she learns during their vacation together that he married. He tries to explain that his wife is ill and he’s seeking a divorce, but Sally leaves him anyway. Obsessed with her, Carroll goes home to his wife and young daughter, Beatrice, and kills his wife with poisoned milk. He paints a lovely, but disturbing picture of her as an angel of death. Sometime in the future, Carroll marries Sally and they move to her imposing, Gothic-style home in England. They are soon visited by Sally’s ex-boyfriend and Carroll expresses jealousy, though his eye begins to wander as he is introduced to the lovely Cecily. They quietly begin an affair and soon Sally falls ill. Her doctor assumes it is nerves, but Beatrice reveals that her mother had the same symptoms just before her death…

Upon its release, The Two Mrs. Carrolls was maligned due to its similarity to other films being made during the same period: Conflict (1945), where Bogart kills his wife to be with her younger sister (played by Alexis Smith, who oddly co-stars as Cecily in this film), Hitchcock’s Suspicion (1941), about a man who may or may not be trying to kill his wife, Dragonwyck (1946), a Gothic-style melodrama with Vincent Price starring as a man who poisons his wife to marry another woman, and Gaslight (1944) with Ingrid Bergman, where a man attempts to drive his wife insane and keeps her shut up in her spooky ancestral home. There are also obvious comparisons to Hitchcock’s Rebecca (1940), where a new bride is haunted and psychologically terrorized by the specter of her husband’s deceased, and to The Spiral Staircase (1945), where a disabled young woman is terrorized by a serial killer in an old dark house on the night of a terrific storm. Though completed in mid-‘1945, The Two Mrs. Carrolls was delayed two years because of these obvious similarities to other films.

There are also some obvious literary influences – Poe’s “The Oval Portrait” and Jane Eyre – but, unlike critics and audiences from the ‘40s, I don’t think this devalues The Two Mrs. Carrolls. There are also some references to Charles Perrault’s “Bluebeard,” about the French nobleman who kills his wives and locks them in a secret room. Carroll doesn’t lock bodies in a secret room, but he does have a locked study where he keeps his paintings – namely the painting of his wife that he is planning to kill. This relates it to Edgar Ulmer’s (Detour) Bluebeard (1944) – a horror film about a painter by day and serial killer by night, who kills women that he finds beautiful – and to Fritz Lang’s later The Secret Beyond the Door (1948), a film noir retelling of “Bluebeard.” The paintings, which are so critical to Carroll’s psychosis, are reminiscent of Laura (1944), another film where a painting of a dead woman is critical to the film’s visual world, and the horror-melodrama hybrid The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945), where the painting has visual and literal weight.

Though it is flawed – the middle section lags, there are some very talky scenes, and Bogart’s sheer presence distracts from his role – The Two Mrs. Carrolls is a fascinating part of the cinematic dialogue surrounding the changing role of women in American life in the ‘40s. While film noir largely dealt with this threatening shift in feminine freedoms and priorities through the femme fatale, horror and melodrama presented a version of the Victorian/Gothic hysterical woman, the perpetually helpless, shrieking victim. Barbara Stanwyck (Double Indemnity) is not an obvious choice for this type of role, which is evident in the fact that though Sally is dressed like Joan Fontaine in Rebecca (thanks to some lovely costume design from the great Edith Head), she doesn’t project the same sort of innocence or sexually nervous energy. Stanwyck is exuberant early in the film, throwing herself in Carroll’s lap, kissing him passionately, and otherwise giving every indication that they have (or had) a healthy sexual relationship.

In what is perhaps a nod to her work in film noir, Stanwyck brandishes a pistol at Carroll when he breaks through her bedroom window with the intent of strangling her to death with a massive curtain cord. It is simply incredible that she doesn’t shoot him and passively falls back against the bed. This is one of the film’s biggest flaws and the scene should have been re-written to accommodate Stanwyck’s vibrant, independent presence. On the other hand, her healthy sexual energy makes Carroll’s jealousy more believable and there are absolute layers of sexual obsession, infidelity, and jealous throughout the film. She marries him even though she knows he cheated on his first wife (with her) and gleefully welcomes her ex-boyfriend to their home. She even seems to tolerate his infidelity with Cecily, though the degree to which she knows about their affair is unclear.

Alexis Smith was a good choice for the predatory Cecily, who befriends Sally in order to have an affair with her husband. Though Smith played an innocent in Conflict, here she fully embraces the role of femme fatale, which is again emphasized by some wonderful costumes. In her first scene, she’s all in white, which is quickly exchanged for suggestive black gowns with enormous fur coats, emphasizing her animalistic, lustful nature. It’s a shame she wasn’t given more screen time or a meatier role. The young Anne Carter, who is excellent as Carroll’s daughter Beatrice, is also worth mentioning. She manages to upstage Bogart in a scene or two and her acceptance of her mother’s death – and her father’s obvious psychosis – is disturbing. Carter also starred in the excellent, underrated Curse of the Cat People, another film that is haunted by a man’s dead ex-wife.

Aside I said earlier, Bogart’s persona is somewhat distracting. He is excellent in the film’s conclusion and is given a chance to go full crazy. He is convincingly frightening as he impulsively forms a plan to kill Sally once and for all. He’s not bad in the role, but was essentially working against himself. A more unknown actor would have been a better fit, but it’s nice to see Bogart and Stanwyck in their only film together. Nigel Bruce (Dr. Warson alongside Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes) also makes a delightful, if comic appearance as the family doctor – he has a similar role in Suspicion.

Like The Spiral Staircase, The Two Mrs. Carrolls is a mixture of film noir, melodrama, and horror. The film’s central character (Bogart) is effectively a serial killer. The incredible house has some wonderfully Gothic atmosphere. Sally becomes a prisoner here and Carrolls turns into a monster. The camera creeps around the house, lingering on locked doors, dark corners, heavy curtains that blot out natural light, and shadowy halls. There are some lovely transitions between similar shots of bells and roses – images of femininity, sexuality, marriage, which are contrasted by frequent shots of a violent, raging storm that persists for nearly the whole film. Director Peter Godfrey was also responsible for The Woman in White (1948), which had a similar atmosphere and also concerns a painter and a dead woman.

Though The Two Mrs. Carrolls is flawed, it’s absolutely fascinating and is worthy of repeat viewing. Available on DVD, this will be a rental for some, but will please fans of the films I mentioned above and anyone who enjoys the intersection between melodrama, the Gothic, and horror, such as Rebecca, Gaslight, The Lodger, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Suspicion.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

DARK PASSAGE

Delmer Davies, 1947
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Agnes Moorehead

Vincent Parry, mistakenly sent to jail for killing his wife, escapes from prison and begins hitchhiking across California. A man picks him up, but hears about Parry’s escape on the radio; he is forced to beat the man unconscious and flee. A beautiful young woman, Irene Jansen, picks him up and hides him in her trunk to get to San Francisco. She knows who he is and wants to help, but Parry’s poisonous ex-girlfriend Madge shows up, forcing him to flee. Madge knew Parry’s wife and testified against him at his trial. It turns out that Irene is willing to help him because her father was also falsely accused of murder, and she believes strongly in Parry’s innocence. He happens to run into a cab driver who recognizes him, but the man is sympathetic and takes Parry to get facial surgery, potentially allowing him to escape. Sparks fly between he and Irene during his recovery time, but he knows trouble is just around the corner. Parry intends to flee to an undisclosed location south of the border and hopes that Irene will meet him, but Madge stands in his way…

Though Dark Passage was somewhat maligned by critics, I think it is an underrated and unfairly maligned film. This is the third (out of four) films that Bogie and Bacall appeared in together and is technically noteworthy because of the first-person POV shot it employs for the first thirty minutes of the film. This is due to the fact that Bogart’s character initially has a difference face and only appears to look like Bogart after surgery. Critics and audiences at the time where disturbed that Bogart only appears in shadow or dialogue for the first thirty minutes and bandages for the second thirty minutes, but I think this profoundly emphasizes the films themes of identity, agency, and responsibility.

It also struck a powerful chord and reminded me of Universal and classic-era horror. In the opening of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931), star Frederic March appears in first-person P.O.V., moving through his house until the shot ends when he looks in the mirror. In Dark Passage, after Bogart’s surgery, he spends a significant amount of time in bandages, which reminded me inevitably of The Invisible Man, as well as the Peter Lorre film The Face Behind the Mask (1941), where a well-meaning immigrant recently arrived to New York is disfigured in a fire and can only make a living as a gangster. In all three of these films, the physically transformed protagonist turns to evil, emotionally damaging the woman he loves and putting her in physical danger. It seemed inevitable that Bogart’s Victor Parry would take this path in Dark Passage.

Based on a novel of the same name by hardboiled writer David Goodis, director Delmar Davies (The Red House) also wrote the flawed script. There are plenty of plot holes – for instance, everyone Parry encounters knows who he is and is in some way involved with him – but these flaws oddly work in the film’s favor, giving it a dark, almost surreal tone. The incredibly complicated plot rivals something Raymond Chandler would write, but it is actually a simplified version of Goodis’ original tale. Though I haven’t yet read the book, I suspect the script’s glossing over of Goodis’ complexities resulted in all the plot holes.

There is a nightmarish sense of logic at work – coincidences occur in nearly every scene and there is a strong feeling of unreality throughout the film. While other film noir efforts deal with the concept of fate, Dark Passages instead seems to expose Parry to a series of obstacles and disappointments not to further damn him, but to remove him from his current reality – his life in San Francisco – and push him towards a tropical dream world, where he and Irene can fade away into the sunset. Both of these characters have an odd sense of death, or possibly un-life, about them. Even though Irene does not share Parry’s doomed fate (a return to prison, escape, or death), her character has a sense of waiting, a feeling of not existing without Parry.  

Though Bogart’s performance leaves nothing to complain about, this is really Bacall’s film. For maybe the only time in their cinematic partnership is she able to stand on her own. She is excellent -- mysterious, lovely, and a strange mix of determined and naïve – and the camera lingers expertly on the shadows and contours of her face. There’s another strong performance from Agnes Moorehead, who gives one of the best and most uncharacteristic performances of her career as the maniacal femme fatale, Madge. Though she is given limited screen time, her character presents an otherworldly portrait of obsessive love that gets under the skin. Her death scene, which I will not spoil here is jarring, abrupt, and utterly unexpected.

Houseley Stevenson, Tom D’Andrea, Clifton Young, and Rory Mallison are all memorable in colorful, well-written side roles. Stevenson is particularly great as the questionable, yet charismatic surgeon. His scene with Bogart reminded me powerfully of the scene in Tim Burton’s Batman, where the Joker goes to a hack surgeon and wakes up with a colorful face and a demented smile. After the dizzying dream sequence during the surgery scene in Dark Passage, I was waiting for something similarly disfiguring to happen to Bogart.

The final thing worth mentioning is the cityscape. The favorite city of film noir and hardboiled fiction, San Francisco looks particularly dark and unsettling here and almost becomes a character itself. Dark Passage benefits greatly from the cinematography of Sid Hickox (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep), which makes the rolling hills and pleasant vistas threatening and uncertain, with danger always lying in wait.

Dark Passage is certainly a flawed, meandering work, but it comes highly recommended. Available on DVD or as part of the Bogie and Bacall Signature Collection DVD box set alongside The Big Sleep, Key Largo, and To Have and Have Not, Bogie and/or Bacall fans, as well as anyone interested in unusual, off-the-beaten-path film noir will want to check this out.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

DEAD RECKONING

John Cromwell, 1947
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Lizabeth Scott, Morris Carnovsky

A former paratrooper, Rip Murdock, meets with a priest, his old friend, to explain his recent adventures in case he dies. Flashing back, Rip explains that his army buddy, Sergeant Johnny Drake, recently went vanished. Murdock tracks him to Gulf City, in the South, but was too late – Drake’s burned body was recovered from a car crash. He learns that Drake was in the Army with a fake name, because he fled a murder charge in Gulf City. He was accused of killing the rich, old husband of Coral “Dusty” Chandler, a nightclub singer that Drake was in love with. Murdock himself soon falls for Dusty and gradually realizes that not only was Drake innocent, but that all in Gulf City is not as it seems…

Bogart was lent out to Columbia Pictures for this mediocre film that is enjoyable almost solely because of his strong performance as Rip Murdock, a take-no-prisoners former paratrooper. “Dead reckoning” is a term that means navigation without any instruments or technology, essentially traveling blind and using the information at one’s disposal to guess location and direction. It’s a great title – probably the best thing about the script – and ties together Murdoch’s wartime experiences and his predicament in Gulf City.

The script is really to blame for all the film’s flaws. Characters aren’t properly developed, plot lines go unresolved (such as a dead body in the trunk and some explosives), and Bogart’s primary focus on his missing comrade-in-arms is left by the wayside embarrassingly fast. It’s also possible that there are too many film noir clichés thrown together – a femme fatale, a younger woman married to a rich, older husband who dies, troubled soldiers returned from the war, a gangster who owns a nightclub and is entangled with the sexy singer, and so on. Many of these individual plot elements actually appear in other Bogart films, which seem to strip Dead Reckoning of any unique identity and it times it feels like a parody. For example, the dead, older husband is named Chandler, after leading hardboiled writer Raymond Chandler.

And speaking of Chandler, key elements are lifted directly from the film Double Indemnity, which he scripted. An injured, perhaps dying man gives his final confession to an older friend (in Double Indemnity, the man is a boss, here it’s a priest), much of both films take place in flashback and voice over, the main character falls for a blonde woman that plots (or plotted in the past) to do away with a rich, older husband, and he is haunted by her flower-scented perfume. Both the male and female characters have a fateful car ride together towards the end of the film, and both films essentially conclude with the couple trying to kill each other.

While nothing about this sounds inherently bad, the film is lacking something indefinable. There are five names credited on the script – Sidney Biddell, Gerald Adams, Allen Rivkin, Oliver H.P. Garrett, and Steve Fisher – which was obviously too many. Most of these men went on to better film noir projects, including Lady in the Lake (1947), The Big Steal (1949), His Kind of Woman (1951), etc. There are some intriguing things introduced, such as the opening scene, where Murdock relates his tale to a priest, but this doesn’t go anywhere. It would have been interesting to involve the priest in the plot (he is in Gulf City, after all), but this potential quickly dissipates.

Dusty Chandler is another perplexing element. While Barbara Stanwyck is excellent at conveying that Phyllis Dietrichson is simply a woman gone wrong in Double Indemnity, Scott’s Dusty simply feels confused. She’s an almost schizophrenic character, acting and making decisions to propel the plot forwards, but not out any sense of identity or rationality. Is she a good woman fallen on rough times, manipulates by evil men? Or is she a duplicitous murderess? The film doesn’t entirely answer this – she is a murderess, but she’s given no clear motivation for her crimes and it’s obvious that she loves Murdock, at least by the end of the film.

Bogart is great, as always, though by about 20 minutes into the film, it’s difficult to believe that he’s a paratrooper instead of a private detective. Lizabeth Scott shows the limited range of her acting ability here, floundering with a bad script instead of overcoming it (as Bogart is able to). Scott was unfortunately similar to Bogart’s wife Lauren Bacall – a deep, sulty voice, pretty, if angular face, and blonde hair – but unlike Bacall, whose romantic relationship with Bogie was a keystone of her acting career, Scott could play a femme fatale. Though she was never as famous as Bacall, Scott starred in a number of noir films over the years and I’ve always found her pleasant to watch. Dead Reckoning was only her third film, so she was still settling in to the genre here.

While Dead Reckoning has plenty of faults, it’s still an entertaining effort and will please Bogie fans. Director John Cromwell does a decent job, providing some memorable scenes, and went on to make two superior film noir efforts, Caged (1950) and The Racket (1951). Dead Reckoning is available on DVD and is at least worth a rental.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Raymond Chandler (1888-1959)

"I have lived my life on the edge of nothing." –Raymond Chandler

One of America’s most beloved writers, the man who elevated hardboiled detective fiction from pulp magazines to bourgeois literary circles, was born Raymond Thornton Chandler on July 23, 1888. Though he was associated with Los Angeles for much of his life, Chandler had a rocky, mobile upbringing, one that gave him an intimate knowledge of small-town, working-class, Middle Americans. Born in Chicago and raised in Nebraska, Chandler and his Irish mother were soon abandoned by his abusive, alcoholic father and they relocated to England. A wealthy family member supported them for a time, while Chandler attended school in London. The young Chandler pursued a career as poet and editor – though this was a relatively brief period in his life, it would set the stage for later years.

He traveled Europe to improve his language proficiency and worked in the civil service when his uncle refused to care for Chandler or his mother. He eventually relocated back to the U.S., bringing his mother with him. He worked a series of random jobs in San Francisco before joining the Canadian army and serving in France during WWI. After the war, Chandler began the single most important relationship of his life. He met Cissy Pascal, a married woman nearly 20 years his senior. She was beautiful and open-minded, having once posed for nude photography in New York, and Chandler was smitten. Though she obtained a divorce soon after their affair began, they were unable to marry for several years until Chandler’s mother died. In the meantime, he became an accountant and later executive at an oil firm, making an enormous salary until he was fired due to his out-of-control alcoholism.

In order to deal with poverty, recovery from his alcoholism, and unemployment, Chandler took the unlikely, unexpected route of writing pulp detective stories. At the somewhat late age of 44, he began writing hardboiled stories for Black Mask. These were popular and successful enough that he combined a few for his first novel, The Big Sleep, which starred his main protagonist, the private detective Philip Marlowe. The hard-drinking, chess-playing, and crime solving P.I. would gradually become Chandler’s claim to fame, as he ceased writing stories and churned out seven complete novels until his death. He was also hired by Hollywood, much to his surprise, to pen crime scripts for a generous salary.

While Chandler’s life seems like an unlikely success story, he suffered a fair amount of tragedy. His alcoholism was a serious obstacle during the second half of his life. Though he was generally able to get control of himself for Cissy’s sake (and to write), he deteriorated after her death in the mid-‘50s. He attempted suicide several times, drank himself nearly to death, and engaged in some fantasy-based, toxic relationships with women. Though few of these were consummated, he dealt with a secretary that nearly leached him of all his money, and he was infatuated with the wife of British writer Stephen Spender.

By his death in 1959, Chandler had become a mainstay of American fiction, was adored by fans, critics, and other writers, and was named the president of the Mystery Writers of America. Alongside Dashiell Hammett, he helped popular mystery and crime fiction, elevating it to a more serious level in American literature. His sensitive, yet tough detective, Philip Marlowe, went on to influence the future of crime fiction, helped create film noir, and permanently shaped the career of iconic actor Humphrey Bogart.

The Stories
“When in doubt, have a man come through the door with a gun in his hand.” –Raymond Chandler

While many of his early stories became the basis for later novels, this is also where Chandler discovered and perfected a formula. He began studying Erle Stanley Gardner’s Perry Mason stories and settled on the following outline: a protagonist, typically a private detective, though sometimes a cop, gambler, or gangster, discovers a crime. Often something is missing; though this is generally jewelry in his stories, it could also be a missing person or a corpse. While searching for clues to solve the first crime, he stumbles across a second crime (usually a murder). The people he meets during his investigation of the second crime wind up being involved in and often responsible for the first crime.

Chandler’s first story was “Blackmailers Don’t Shoot,” which was published in Black Mask Magazine in 1933. He would go on to write 22 crime tales, only one of which was published posthumously. For this article I read all the stories in the first Library of America volume of Chandler, which contains all the stories not later cannibalized for novels. While some of his early work is confusing, full of characters and crimes that blend together, and lacks the wit of his later novels, it’s fascinating to watch him develop as a writer. My favorite stories include “Nevada Gas,” where the protagonist is a charming gangster a la a younger version of Bob from Bob le Flambeur, “Spanish Blood,” the bleak “Red Wind,” “The King in Yellow” (not to be confused with the horror tale of the same name by Robert W. Chambers), and “Trouble is My Business.”

Character and scene are always more important than plot to Chandler, and some of his plots are outright confusing, ludicrous, or lacking critical details. But his characters are compelling, he writes dialogue unlike any other American writer, and he develops captivating scenes that effectively capture life in 1940s and ‘50s California. The kernel of his amazing writing began in these stories for Black Mask and come recommended. The Library of America edition of Raymond Chandler: Stories and Early Novels is basically everything you need to get started with his short fiction and to read most of the stories that were not turned into novels.

The Big Sleep
Chandler’s first novel, The Big Sleep (1939) features his most beloved and well-known character, private detective Philip Marlowe. Written in first person, the novel introduces Marlowe, a tough, but lonely and sensitive character who often acts out of a moral impulse rather than a specific desire for money, love, or acclaim. He drinks heavily, plays chess alone in his apartment, and is often betrayed by other characters. He kills only when he must. Adapted from two of Chandler’s stories “Killer in the Rain” (1935) and “The Curtain” (1936), Marlowe is hired by the aging, ill General Sternwood, a rich and proud man with two rebellious, adult daughters. Sternwood hires Marlowe for two reasons: first, to deal with a blackmail issue surrounding his youngest daughter, Carmen, and second, to locate Rusty Regan, the General’s only confidant and his second daughter Vivian’s estranged husband.

The plot becomes more and more twisted as Marlowe learns that Carmen is a drug-addicted nymphomaniac being blackmailed by a pornographer, Arthur Geiger. Geiger turns up dead, with a naked Carmen in his home and a camera missing its film. While he is tracking down the missing pictures, Marlowe learns that Vivian is also being blackmailed by Eddie Mars, a gangster and casino owner who owned the house Geiger was living in. It turns out that Mars’ wife was also having an affair with Regan…

Though the plot is so complicated as to be headache-inducing, The Big Sleep remains one of Chandler’s best and nastiest novels. The lurid subject matter includes illicit sex, a nymphomaniac, a pornography ring, gamblers, murder, blackmail, and one of Chandler’s favorite subjects, the writhing moral decay of the wealthy. It’s hard to believe that this kind of book was written during the period and became so popular over the years. Carmen Sternwood is one of Chandler’s most complex and terrifying characters and must be read to be believed. While I love the film adaptation with Humphrey Bogart, it doesn’t quite do the book justice, though it is the most superior out of the handful of film adaptations. The novel is included in Raymond Chandler: Stories and Early Novels.

Farewell, My Lovely
Chandler’s second novel, Farewell, My Lovely (1940) again featured Marlowe hired to find a missing person. A recently released con, the enormous Moose Malloy, is desperate to find his girlfriend, Velma, because he is still in love with her after years in prison. This leads Marlowe towards a jewel heist, a rich man’s drunk and licentious wife, an earnest young woman trying to play policeman, and plenty of murder. Though Marlowe took a few shots in The Big Sleep, here he nearly dies several times. In addition to the traditional sap to the back of the head, he is beaten within an inch of his life, shot up with heroin and imprisoned at a phony hospital, and more.

Based on “The Man Who Liked Dogs” (1936), “Try the Girl” (1937), and “Mandarin’s Jade” (1937), this story incorporates the somewhat tired conceit of a jewel heist, albeit with an interesting twist. Though Farewell, My Lovely may lack the punch and nihilism of The Big Sleep, it’s a more mature work with a wider range of characters, more violent gangsters, far more crooked cops, and pits Marlowe against his first femme fatale. And while he showed the corrupt rich in the first novel, here he focuses on the same inherent corruption in blue collar cops, dancers, and low-level gangsters trying to aspire for something more.

This novel was adapted as Murder, My Sweet (1944), the first faithful Chandler adaptation for the screen. Former musical and romantic comedy actor Dick Powell beat Bogart to the punch and is memorable as an excellent, if somewhat comic Marlowe. As with The Big Sleep, both films send Marlowe off into the sunset with a love interest, something Chandler was always reluctant to do in the novels, giving his worker a bleaker edge. This novel is included in Raymond Chandler: Stories and Early Novels.

The High Window
Chandler’s third novel, published in 1942, yet again examines social corruption and juxtaposes innocent with murderous women. Based on “Bay City Blues” (1938) and “Lady in the Lake” (1939), Marlowe is hired by a wealthy, viperous widow, Mrs. Murdock, to find a missing coin – the incredibly rare and valuable Brasher Doubloon – and to find her missing daughter-in-law, a wayward nightclub singer. Though it first seems that the daughter-in-law stole the coin, soon a blackmailer is murdered and Marlowe finds a curious picture of a man falling out a window, which exposes another murder that is several years old.

Chandler apparently thought this novel was his worst. I found parts of it very entertaining, but it doesn’t quite reach the heights of The Big Sleep or some of his other works. Part of the problem is that it rehashes some of his typical themes: a missing valuable object and missing person, a murder connected somewhat obviously to another, seemingly unrelated murder, the inherent corruption of the rich, etc. It also has some of his least complex or compelling female characters, including the controlling, manipulative widow, innocent young thing, world weary nightclub singer, and two-timing gold-digger. Marlowe himself is a bit unusual here, acting as a sort of white knight that rescues a psychologically damaged young woman from a toxic situation.

While Chandler fans will want to check out The High Window, it isn’t an ideal place to start for beginners. This novel is included in Raymond Chandler: Stories and Early Novels. There is also a film adapted, The Brasher Doubloon, from underrated film noir and horror director John Brahm (The Lodger, Hangover Square), starring George Montgomery (Battle of the Bulge) as Marlowe.

Lady in the Lake
Definitely more satisfying than The High Window, Lady in the Lake (1943) is a return to form and a return to the almost absurd plot complexity of The Big Sleep. Based on “Bay City Blues,” “Lady in the Lake,” and “No Crime in the Mountains” (1941), Chandler is hired to find a department store manager’s rich wife, who sent a postcard saying she was running off with another man, but seems to be missing. Marlowe retraces her footsteps, which leads him to the family’s lake house in the middle of the country. Here he comes across a woman’s body in the lake and yet another missing wife. Though the local sheriff tries to be helpful, Marlowe is soon stuck in the web of a femme fatale and yet more corrupt cops.

Lady in the Lake is one of Chandler’s better novels and is the first time Marlowe would leave the big city for a jaunt in the country. The small town sheriff is one of Chandler’s most lovable side characters and provides a nice foil for the frequent depictions of stupid, corrupt, and violent police officers that occurred in the first few books. Though the female characters throughout the novel are a mixed bag and none of them are thoroughly fleshed out, there are some nice twists and turns that show promiscuous, alcoholic women in a sympathetic, if somewhat positive light. Marlowe is probably at his least involved here and the film noir concept of fate takes a strong hand in the film’s plot. This novel is included in Raymond Chandler: Later Novels & Other Writings.

The Little Sister
Publish in 1949, The Little Sister was based on Chandler’s story “The Bay City Blues.” An innocent-looking young woman comes to Marlowe’s office pleading that he locate her lost brother, who recently moved to the big city from the middle of nowhere and may be in trouble. Predictably, the bodies begin to pile up and Marlowe stumbles across a scheme where blackmailers are trying to milk an up-and-coming actress, one who is unfortunately dating a notorious gangster. The innocent young woman and her brother may not be all that they seem and Marlowe again risks life and limb to keep a young woman safe.

The Little Sister definitely borrows some elements from Farewell, My Lovely and Lady in the Lake, and there won’t be a whole lot of surprises about the resolution of the mystery if you’ve read either of those first. Despite that, it’s still an entertaining story with three very interesting female characters – a guarded and desperate actress, her violent, nymphomaniac friend, and the original young woman who first hires Marlowe, who is far more than she seems. I doubt this will be anyone’s favorite Chandler novel, but it still has its high points and was largely inspired by Chandler’s time as a screenwriter working in Hollywood. The change of scenery is refreshing and Chandler’s take on the studio scene is both hilarious and deeply critical. This novel is included in Raymond Chandler: Later Novels & Other Writings. It wasn’t adapted to film until 1969, as Marlowe.

The Long Goodbye
My favorite Chandler novel is undoubtedly this one, published in 1953 and not based on any pre-existing stories. This was Chandler’s favorite of his own works and it has a more somber, defeated tone, thanks to the fact that he wrote it while his beloved wife was dying. It also has more autobiographical elements than any of his earlier novels. Marlowe befriends a young, but white-haired alcoholic, ex-soldier Terry Lennox. They meet off and on for a few months, until Terry shows up at Marlowe’s apartment and begs to be driven to Tijuana. Afterwards, Marlowe learns that Terry’s rich, promiscuous wife was found dead with her head bashed in. Though Marlowe is originally thrown in jail, he is set free with the news of Terry’s apparent suicide in Mexico. Meanwhile, one of the Lennox’s acquaintances, Eileen Wade, hires Marlowe to find her missing husband, an alcoholic writer on a bender. The situation is bleaker than Marlowe first suspects and soon it seems that he has another suicide on his hands. Seeing, however, is not quite believing, and Marlowe suspects something more sinister is afoot.

Available in Raymond Chandler: Later Novels & Other Writings, The Long Goodbye comes with the highest possible recommendation. Marlowe is aged, mature, weary of life, and defeated. The book provides an interesting look into the life of an alcoholic writer with a suffering wife, much like Chandler himself. This novel has a bitter, grieving tone and Chandler didn’t write anything else quite like it.

Playback
Chandler wrote a courtroom drama for Universal, which was never produced. He took the material and turned it into Playback (1958), perhaps his least known novel and his very last. Published just a year before his death, this concerns Marlowe on his final adventure. He is hired by an anonymous client to follow a woman through southern California. The woman, Betty Mayfield, becomes the target of a blackmailer, who winds up dead in her hotel room. She goes to Marlowe for helping, sucking him into a world of gangsters, hired killers, and an old man with a sinister grudge. More meandering than Chandler’s other films, he seems reluctant to put Marlowe in the same rough position as some of the earlier novels. He even gives him a potentially happy ending, where he reunites with Linda Loring, a character he had an affair with at the end of The Long Goodbye.  Probably only of interest to Chandler completists, this novel is available in Raymond Chandler: Later Novels & Other Writings.

Other Writings
Though Chandler didn’t finish another novel, he wrote a few chapters of Poodle Springs, a work posthumously completed by mystery writer Robert B. Parker. I don’t consider this actual Chandler, but I thought it was worth a mention.

Something else you can find in Raymond Chandler: Later Novels & Other Writings is Chandler’s excellent, Academy Award-nominated script for Double Indemnity (1944), which he co-wrote with director Billy Wilder. Though based on the novel by James M. Cain, the script benefits from Chandler’s razor sharp dialogue and thick sexual innuendo, which fuels the relationship between Walter and Phyllis, an insurance agent who helps a married woman kill her rich, older husband for the money. Chandler also scripted The Blue Dahlia (1946), the tale of ex-soldiers, murder, and madness. His original ending (where a soldier is the murderer) was rejected due to censorship issues and he insisted that he would only finish it while on a bender.

Though Chandler was disappointed in the final version, it garnered him his second Academy Award nomination. He also worked with Hitchcock on Strangers on a Train (1951), an adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s novel of the same name, though the writer and director did not have a positive working relationship. Though Chandler remains credited as lead screenwriter, Hitchcock got someone else to finish up the project.

He also wrote a number of essays about penning detective fiction or working in Hollywood, including the most famous, "The Simple Art of Murder" in 1944. Most of his essays were written for The Atlantic Monthly and include "Writers in Hollywood," "Critical Notes," "Oscar Night in Hollywood," "Ten Per Cent of Your Life," and "A Couple of Writers.” These can be found in Raymond Chandler: Later Novels & Other Writings.

For yet more about Chandler, there are plenty of resources. I recently read and recommend Tom Hiney’s biography, Raymond Chandler, though there is also Frank MacShane’s The Life of Raymond Chandler, Judith Freeman’s The Long Embrace: Raymond Chandler and the Woman He Loved, and Tom Hiney and Frank MacShane’s The Raymond Chandler Papers: Selected Letters and Nonfiction. While I recommend the Library of America editions, explore Amazon’s Chandler Page for alternate versions of his books.

However you read his books, just read them.

I will leave you with one of my favorite lines, which is from Farewell, My Lovely: “He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food cake.”

Monday, June 2, 2014

THE BIG SLEEP (1946)

Howard Hawks, 1946
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall

Philip Marlowe: "You've got a touch of class, but I don't know how far you can go."
Vivian Sternwood: "Depends who's in the saddle."

The aged, wealthy General Sternwood hires private detective Philip Marlowe to settle a case of blackmail – a local bookseller, Arthur Geiger, is trying to get money out of the General on the behalf of his wild youngest daughter, Carmen, and her gambling debts. The General’s almost equally wild oldest daughter, Vivian, thinks her father has hired Marlowe to locate Sean Regan, a missing friend. Marlowe quickly learns that Geiger is using his bookstore as a front and is really in the pornography business. Marlowe follows him home and finds a drugged Carmen, a dead Geiger, and an empty camera – Carmen is obviously involved in the pornography racket, if not worse. He takes the unconscious Carmen home and returns to Geiger’s house to find the body missing. This plunges Marlowe into a complex web of blackmail, murder, gangsters, and a mounting number of bodies.

Helmed by classic director Howard Hawks (His Girl Friday, Rio Bravo, Bringing Up Baby), The Big Sleep is perhaps most famous because of the personalities involved. At the time of its release, star Humphrey Bogart was in his post-Casablanca boom and reveled in fame that would last till the end of his life. He had recently married his co-star, Lauren Bacall, and the two were one of Hollywood’s most beloved couples. This was the second time Bogie and Bacall starred in a film together – after To Have and Have Not (1944), also directed by Hakws – and it marks their reunion during Bogart’s divorce with the violence, alcoholic Mayo Methot. Though they began a relationship during To Have and Have Not, they split/stayed apart because of Bogart’s marriage. Fortunately for them both, Bogart and Bacall were married soon after The Big Sleep’s completion. Their relationship became the forefront of the film and inspired other noir efforts, including Dark Passage (1947) and Key Largo (1948). While I love this film and their onscreen charisma, the focus on their relationship does take away from Raymond Chandler’s excellent and far bleaker novel, where there is no punishment, no redemption, and no happy ending.

The script was primarily co-written by Leigh Brackett and famed novelist William Faulkner. Brackett, a crime novelist not yet 30 years old at the time, went on to become one of Hollywood’s leading female screenwriters, and had her hand in everything from Rio Bravo (1959) to El Dorado (1966) and The Empire Strikes Back (1980). She and Faulkner were hired to write the script because Chandler was under contract to Paramount and unable to adapt his own novel for another studio. Brackett, Faulkner, and Hawks worked to keep the script as close to the book as the Production Code would allow, even using his dialogue where appropriate.

The plot is absurdly complex, particularly in the film version. It’s difficult to keep track of all the characters and to tell difference between General Sternwood’s dead chauffeur and his dead drinking buddy, both of whom never appear on screen before their murders. Several characters don’t appear, have very limited run time, no dialogue, or only exist as corpses. But the meandering, needlessly complex plot doesn’t hinder the film’s popularity with both new and old audiences. What makes the film so enjoyable is the incredible cast, hard boiled script, and witty dialogue that keeps things compelling, even though no one really bothers to figure out who killed the chauffeur. The film’s ending, which was restricted by the Hays’ Code, also unfortunately watered down the shocking if more implausible ending from the book.

While Bogie is excellent as the tough, but sensitive Marlowe, Bacall provides a great foil. The two have excellent on-screen chemistry together, even if their love scenes do change some of the novel’s plot. There are some great side actors, including film noir regular Elisha Cook Jr., who appears here as a brave stoolie, willing to die in order to protect his girlfriend. John Ridgely (Arsenic and Old Lace), Regis Toomey (Spellbound), and Charles Waldron (Stranger on the Third Floor) all put in welcome side performances.

Martha Vickers, who was phenomenal in her few scenes as Carmen, was screwed over by the 1946 recut/re-filming. Apparently she upstaged Lauren Bacall so much that many of her important scenes were cut in order to take away from Carmen’s character and put more of an emphasis on the budding romance between Marlowe and Vivian. Vickers got her start with small roles in a number of Universal horror films, including Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, Captive Wild Woman, and The Mummy’s Ghost. She should have gone on to stardom after The Big Sleep, but instead she quickly faded away, appearing briefly in another film noir – The Burglar (1957), an adaptation of David Goodis’ novel of the same name – before retiring in 1960.

In addition to some great performances and major personalities, The Big Sleep is known for being an early, influence film noir. Though it was filmed in 1944, the movie wasn’t released until 1946, when the war was over and Hollywood had released all its WWII-themed films while they were still fresh in public interest. The first Chandler adaptation, Murder, My Sweet (1944) with Dick Powell as Marlowe, was released earlier the same year, along with a slew of other major noir films, including Laura and Double Indemnity (with a script co-written by Chandler). I can’t help but wonder what The Big Sleep’s impact would have been if it hadn’t been held back two years. It doesn’t seem to be overly damaged by its late release -- more Chandler adaptations immediately followed it, including The Blue Dahlia (1946), The Brasher Doubloon (1947, an adaptation of The High Window), and Lady in the Lake (1947).

While The Big Sleep will always stick with me more as a Bogie film than specifically as film noir, it certainly has many elements of the latter. The shadowy sets include foggy nights, dark, wet roads, and Geiger’s gloomy, perverse cottage at the center of it all. The film (and even more so, the novel) is still surprisingly perverse, a relevant tale of drug use, pornography, insanity, sex, blackmail, and illicit relationships. Sexual motivation – and opportunity – is everywhere, drowning every scene of the film. It’s amazing Marlow gets anything accomplished, as women throughout the film are all after him – he exchanges sexual witticisms with Vivian, Carmen throws herself at him numerous times, and nearly all the female bit players lust after him, including a bookshop clerk, a taxi driver, and a hat check girl.

It is worth making a note about Carmen, though this paragraph contains some spoilers. In many ways, she is the ultimate femme fatale. On one hand, she's rich, educated, beautiful, and oddly innocent. But then she has another side. Her character is still marginally shocking (by today’s standards) in the film: she takes a copious amount of drugs (laudanum is suggested), throws herself at Marlowe and other men and is clearly a nymphomaniac, is involved to some degree with a gay man running a pornography ring, and does not act in any fashion that could be described as lady-like. In the novel, her actions are – to borrow a phrase from Morrissey – enough to make Caligula blush. She makes Bridget O'Shaughnessy (of earlier Bogie film The Maltese Falcon) look like a shyster school marm.

When Marlowe finds her in the novel, she is naked, wearing only jade earrings. It is implied that she allowed herself to be photographed naked and is even more of a promiscuous nymphomaniac than is implied in the novel. She breaks in to Marlowe's apartment and waits for him, naked in his bed. She was also responsible for nearly all the murders, simply because men rejected her random, inappropriate sexual advances and then she had some sort of rage-induced seizure. And she is never punished for her actions.

Because this plot twist was too much for the Hays’ Code, there were actually two versions of The Big Sleep filmed. The first version, made in 1944, doesn’t neatly wrap up the conclusion and there is less of an emphasis on Vivian Sternwood. Due to a number of issues, parts of the film were re-shot, reducing Martha Vickers’ role, increasing the scenes with Bogie and Bacall, and tidily wrapping up the ending in a manner that reassured audiences that Vivian was never guilty of murder (it is all blamed on Eddie Mars).

Though the original version was missing for years, a number of people – led by Hugh Hefner – paid for the film’s restoration after an original was discovered in the ‘90s. There are several versions that now contain both the original Hawks’ version and the Hollywood version. The Big Sleep comes highly recommended despite its dizzying plot. It is available on DVD, but I’d still like to see a Criterion-level special edition sometime in the future.