Shut up and play ball!

THE JACKIE ROBINSON STORY (1950)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Jackie Robinson playing Jackie Robinson! It is so Joe, and that is one of the many strengths of "The Jackie Robinson Story," a Hollywood biography that glosses over many aspects of Jackie's life yet retains the public abuse and scandal of being the first black man to play baseball.

The narrator states that the Jackie Robinson Story could only happen in a country which is truly free. This is true but it doesn't mean Jackie didn't have to jump over many obstacles to get to his legendary status. He plays many sports at UCLA, including track and field and football, but he is worried that once he graduates college, nobody will hire him as a coach. This is due to his brother Mack (Joel Fluellen), who was a superb athlete and college graduate but ended up as nothing more than a street cleaner. Jackie's girlfriend and fiancee Rae (Ruby Dee) encourages him but Jackie feels that after one rejection letter after another, he'll never amount to anything.

After his Army stint which is only briefly alluded to, Jackie plays baseball for the Black Panthers (a fictional team - the actual team was the Kansas City Monarchs) in the Negro Leagues. However, his batting average and pitching stirs up interest from the Brooklyn Dodgers. This is where the sprightly Branch Rickey (Minor Watson), the manager of the Dodgers, hires Jackie with one major stipulation - don't let the racism from the white folks get him down. No reaction, no confrontation - just play ball.

Jackie Robinson is very low-key as himself, and possibly on purpose to illustrate the demands by Rickey to play it cool and calm and never engage in a fight with white people's racist insults. However, in his very few scenes with the delightful Ruby Dee, he is still somewhat stoic and inexpressive. The baseball scenes is where he really comes alive, though the sequences themselves are ill-conceived in terms of framing and composition (sometimes we can only guess that Jackie hits a ball because he swings his bat and we hear the sound of a ball being hit, except for one low-angle shot from the point-of-view of the catcher).

Despite some shortcomings in the visuals and in Jackie himself, "The Jackie Robinson Story" is an enjoyable and rousing picture that runs a bracing 76 minutes. Minor Watson steals the shows as the colorful old codger Rickey, and one can't help but root for Jackie and Rickey as well, both defying all odds in a racially charged climate. The fact that this movie even got made in 1950 is something of a miracle.

The Year is One

ROSEMARY'S BABY (1968)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

If schlocky horror director William Castle ("House on Haunted Hill") had directed Ira Levin's bestseller "Rosemary's Baby," it would have had minor shock effects and some scare tactics. It might even have included a hovering demon baby and black carriage in the theater! Such is the style of Castle (who appears briefly in a phone booth scene) and the difference is lucidly demonstrated in Roman Polanski's adaptation and direction of this chilling, slow-paced horror film - a distinguished classic in a genre that has been cheapened in the ensuing years by gore and more schlock.

"Rosemary's Baby" begins in New York City where a couple, Guy and Rosemary Woodhouse (respectively played by the late John Cassevettes and Mia Farrow) rent a high-rise apartment at the Dakota. They are introduced to their new home by the superintendent (wonderfully played by Elisha Cook, Jr.). Things go wrong from the get-go. There is a dresser obscuring a closet, voices and chants are heard, various shadows are seen on walls, a young woman is found dead in the street, and so on. The dead woman, a runaway, had lived with the next-door neighbors, the Castavetts, who adopted her. The Woodhouse couple meet the next-door neighbors for dinner as a sign of respect, an affable old couple who dress in loud outfits, Roman and Minnie Castavett (Sidney Blackmer and Ruth Gordon). They are talkative, nosy people and have conflicting opinions about Catholicism and the Pope. As they talk over dinner, the wise Roman curiously remembers Guy's supporting role in the play "Luther": 'I was struck by a gesture you made. It had a wonderful sense of authenticity'. Roman also seems to have been a former businessman who has travelled all around the world. Minnie is simply nosy, and almost every time she appears, Beethoven's "Fur Elise" is playing in some tenant's piano.

While the film progresses, there is a growing feeling of something unnatural about to take place. Rosemary undergoes physical and emotional changes in her character, from cropping her hair in a "Vidal Sassoon" style to getting pregnant. Her pregnancy is handled by two different doctors: one is Dr. Hill (Charles Grodin), a "Charlie nobody" as Guy calls him, and there is the renown Dr. Saperstein (Ralph Bellamy) who prescribes herbal drinks and tanis root for Rosemary. Meanwhile, Rosemary's husband Guy grows distant while successfully landing numerous acting jobs, though he occasionally brings her flowers as a sign of love. Her good family friend, Hutch (Maurice Evans), discovers that her neighbors are in fact part of a coven of witches. That could explain the scratches on Rosemary's back and some of her weird dreams where she is raped by Satan! Slowly, Rosemary begins to believe that the Castavetts are after her unborn baby.

Polanski places a great deal of ambiguity in "Rosemary's Baby" making us feel as though Rosemary is simply paranoid and is imagining that there is a conspiracy, and that her husband is one of the conspirators. There is a sense of unease and unseen menace in the film thanks to Roman's claustrophobic direction and cinematographer William Fraker's disorienting compositions (my favorite being the hallway shot of Minnie making a phone call to Dr. Saperstein, showing that she is partially obscured by the entrance door to the bedroom so that we never see her face). Throughout the film, we are never sure if the supposed coven of witches mean well or if they intend to do harm - could they care a little too much about Rosemary? Is Guy's stoic demeanor a sign that something is wrong? Could Hutch's suspicious be erroneous? Or is Rosemary going crazy a la Catherine Deneuve's similar state of paranoia in Polanski's nightmarish "Repulsion"?

"Rosemary's Baby" was reviled by Catholic groups back in 1968, condemned for its view of Satanism (maybe the shot of the Time magazine cover with the "God is Dead" title did not help). Otherwise, it was critically well-received and placed Roman on the star director map leading to many more Hollywood offers. After more than forty years, "Rosemary's Baby" still retains its implicit power of genuine forces of evil unseen by Rosemary's eye, including the famous final sequence which still rattles the nerves. For its unnerving sense of doom and menace coupled with sharp doses of black humor, you can do no better than this baby. This is Polanski at his devilish best.

Harryhausen's Meditteranean Monster

20 MILLION MILES TO EARTH (1957)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I've been a fan of Ray Harryhausen since I was a kid, especially the sights of stop-motion animation in everything from "Jason and the Argonauts" and its dueling skeletons, to the rampaging dinosaur in "Valley of the Gwangi" to all those mythological creatures come to life in "Clash of the Titans." So I approached and received the same wild-eyed pop enthusiasm from "20 Million Miles to Earth" as I had from Harryhausen's previous work. It is a terrific ride of a movie

The opening scenes of this movie have an EC comics feel. A Sicilian kid named Pepe (Bart Braverman, "Match Game" fans rejoice) helps his father rescue a couple of astronauts inside a crash-landed spaceship, which had just made a trip to Venus and was on its return voyage back to Earth. While on shore and nursing them back to health, Pepe finds a cylinder that he decides to open and touches some jelly-like substance in it. It turns out to be an alien creature's fetus (known as the Ymir, the film's original title) that proportionally grows in size and strength. Need I say more?

The last surviving member of the Venus trip is Col. Robert Calder, who is seemingly stoically played by William Hopper. I say seemingly because the screenplay does occasionally allow him to be animated and humorous. One particular example is when Calder tries to woo a scientist's daughter (Joan Taylor) with thoughts of a nice dinner and wine. How sweet! But who has time for lovemaking when Calder and the U.S. and Sicilian goverments have to trap this destructive creature. Sulfur might help! Dogs and elephants might not!

"20 Million Miles to Earth" could've been the cheesiest and silliest monster movie ever. However, it has a charm and an innocence that resonates with its peculiar aspect of adding a monster to the most romantic environment in the Meditteranean Sea. That and peppering the movie with the scene-stealing tyke Bart Braverman, who only wants a few hundred lira and a cowboy hat from Texas for his scientific discovery, adds some excitement for kids who probably wish they would've found a cylinder like the one he finds (but a warning label should've been attached to it). The monster is believable enough and causes enough destruction to almost ape King Kong's own methods (he even battles an elephant in a scene that could have yielded laughs but its primitiveness makes it more thrilling).

So with astounding direction by the late Nathan H. Juran (an accomplished fantasy and science-fiction director known for "Attack of the 50 ft. Woman") and bravura touches of humanity and humor in equal doses by William Hopper and Bart Braverman, "20 Million Miles to Earth" is pretty damn exciting and thrilling enough for anyone who is a fan of monster movies and Ray Harryhausen.

The Lost World of Native Americans

THE EXILES (1961)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

 

When a lost film is rediscovered, it is always a pleasure, like unearthing a treasure that has only ripened with age. "The Exiles" is a rare treat of a film, a near-documentary expose of Native Americans living in the sordid sections of L.A. in the late 1950's.

By sordid, I do mean seemingly run-down, beaten paths of streets that are often seen at night bathed in neon signs and decorated with cigar shops and bars in every corner. That is not to say that the section of downtown L.A. shown in the film called Bunker Hill is sordid, but it has the look of noirish city streets with no end in sight, especially the tunnel that looks almost uninviting. I am sure that this is all by design since the story, centering on a group of Native Americans who reside in the city to get away from the reservation, seems to indicate a land of no exit, no hope and complete despair wrapped around a liquor bottle.

This group looks like young American adults with shaven faces, pressed shirts, nice convertibles, slicked back hair and an appetite for a night life of uncontrollable boozing, rock and roll music and scoring with women. The film plays like an existentialist version of "American Graffiti" in its evocation of a life with no meaning since these guys have no ambition, no goals. Yet, interestingly, they are aware of their place as dictated by voice-overs - they all sound like guys with a Mike Hammer fixation on an uncaring world. Heck, these Native Americans were exiled by the white man, forced to live in reservations, and now they leave it behind for, in a word, nothing.

One man seems to implicitly lose his patience with the world he lives in. That is Homer, a young, stocky Native American who never seems to get too drunk. He has a brief moment where he receives a letter and a picture from his parents who are still living in a reservation. There is a tinge of sadness to this, as if Homer is realizing there is more to living than drinking and women. That realization may or may not have a lasting impact on him.

Yvonne Williams is Homer's wife, and she is pregnant. She is the only character to express any measure of hope, particularly with her unborn son. She has no communication with Homer whatsoever - he simply waits for her to iron his shirts and fry his pork chops.

Beautifully shot in black-and-white by Erik Daarstad, Robert Kaufman and John Morrill and tinged with much despair and tension, "The Exiles" is a unique and tantalizing picture, a forerunner to films like "Mean Streets" and John Cassevettes films. Though it never got a proper theatrical release in 1961, it can now be placed in the real context of American cinematic equivalents to the French New Wave (just ahead of Cassevettes' own debut, "Shadows"). Stunningly directed by Kent MacKenzie, "The Exiles" has no real conventional narrative thrust - it sort of exists as an observation of lives lost in a city with boundaries that do not allow for freedom as one might ironically find in a reservation. At one point, the wild and unruly group find themselves on a hill (known as Hill X) chanting and beating drums only to be later followed by more fighting, boozing and a near-rape. And the final devastating scene of Yvonne peering through her bedroom window will leave you haunted for days. "The Exiles" is an essential and lasting masterpiece.

Feather-brained pow-wow

FRONTIER FUGITIVES (1945)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

One of the last films in the "Texas Ranger" series in the low-budget PRC (Producers Releasing Corporation) production line, "Frontier Fugitives" is the standard western tale told with very few dramatic flourishes, some bizarrely comical phoniness that could come out of Abbott and Costello, and a couple of memorable songs sung by Tex Ritter, John Ritter's dad. At less than one hour's time, there are worse ways to waste time.

Dave O'Brien

This time, the Texas Rangers (headed by Tex, Dave O'Brien and Guy Wilkerson) go after a gang that killed a fur trader. Wilkerson, who plays Panhandle Perkins, pretends to be an Indian Chief complete with full get-up, while one of the gang members try to go incognito as well. Amazing how easy it is to find Native American garb and play dress up and utter the stereotypical Indian catchphrases: "Me do some pow-wow." Veteran actor I. Stanford Jolley is one of the bad guys and has one of the least funny and incredibly offensive scenes where he performs an alleged comedy routine with Wilkerson as they pretend to be Native Americans doing a ceremonial dance and smoking a peace pipe. Too much pow-wow, too little humanity. And Native American groups had a problem with "The Searchers"?  

"Frontier Fugitives" is merely a diversion but it is a vacuum in terms of story or plot. Tex Ritter sings "Too Late to Worry, Too Blue to Cry" and "I'll Wait for You, Dear," there is a ridiculous shooting at a general store that shows Texas Rangers had no idea how to aim a gun before firing, and more singing. It is an absurd B-movie with little value beyond showing cowboys and Indians lollygagging. 

Kubrick's Killer Instincts

KILLER'S KISS (1955)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Stanley Kubrick's first foray into film noir, "Killer's Kiss," is acceptable and often crude but certainly an interesting experiment for the late master. Released in 1955, it did not cause much of a stir but it has an almost dreamlike vision of noir in its documentary-like staginess.

The film begins with voice-over narration by a Davy Gordon (Jamie Smith), a lonely New York boxer who seems rather unenthusiastic about his profession. Essentially, he seems tired of fighting, living an isolated existence in a low-rent, bland apartment. He is ready to leave for the farmlands of Seattle with his Uncle George. Across from his bedroom's window, he can see his neighbor Gloria (Irene Kane), a hostess for Pleasureland, a shabby dance hall that only seems to play the instrumental song "Once." Gloria's boss is Vincent Rapallo (Frank Silvera), a beastly, sad man who is also lonely and insecure. He sees himself as "low and worthless," and is unable to hold on to to the things he loves including Gloria.

One night, a scream is heard in Gloria's apartment, and Davy comes to the rescue. She was apparently attacked by Vincent, whom she wants out of her life. Naturally, Davy and Gloria get intimate and fall in love (rather abruptly, even for a noir tale like this one). Gloria wants to leave Rapallo and the dance hall but Rapallo's rage and jealousy grow stronger, resulting in an accidental murder and the kidnapping of Gloria.

This kind of tale has been told countless times before, and if you have seen "Double Indemnity," you'll have some idea of where the story is headed. Fortunately, Kubrick is a master stylist and employs effective use of shadows, and his screenplay evokes ironic twists of fate. The accidental murder is one brilliantly shot example where two henchmen walk through the inside staircase of the Pleasureland dance hall, ready to kill the man waiting outside the door while the sign "Watch Your Step" is seen overhead. There is also the voyeuristic use of mirrors, particularly Davy's apartment where the reflection in his mirror shows Gloria's nocturnal activities of undressing before her bedroom light is turned off. For Kubrick to show the drab surroundings of these three lead characters, including Rappalo, makes quite a statement about the post-war 1950's where farmlands were a dream to be pursued in lieu of the big city life.

"Killer's Kiss" is often awkwardly edited, with the exception of the climax set on the rooftops of loft buildings and a room full of mannequins. But there are also some terrific visceral moments backed by a tense jazz score, often the counterpoint of any scene involving the Pleasureland setting. One scene, quite avante-garde for its time, is shot as a negative leading to the aforementioned attack on Gloria.

Jamie Smith and Irene Kane are somewhat weak in their acting skills, but the two argument scenes between Irene and Silvera are marvelously dramatic and ironically funny. My favorite line is when Silvera says: "Like the man says, can happiness buy money?" Her response is: "Oh, and you are a comedian too. See what I am missing." There is no question that the best performance is by Silvera as Rapallo, showing a side of pathetic weakness crossed with rage and contempt for his persona. When Gloria refers to him as "an old man who smells bad," you can almost feel his temperature rising.

If nothing else, at a breezy 67 minutes, "Killer's Kiss" is required viewing for anyone who is a Kubrick fan or interested in film noir. It is heavily flawed but often entertaining enough to warrant a viewing. It became the stepping stone to Kubrick's greatness as seen in the far superior "The Killing" (released the following year) and, well, the rest is history.

Menace to Society

CAPE FEAR (1962)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

J. Lee Thompson's "Cape Fear," based on John D. McDonald's "The Executioners," is one of those lurid melodramas of the early 60's that caused a stir in the American public for its view of the destruction of the nuclear family by some menace. Okay, that is perhaps a bit harsh but nonetheless true since it represents a squeaky clean family with no scruples or flaws hunted and sullied by a relentless, evil force. And even today, there are scenes in Thompson's film that still terrify.

Gregory Peck is Samuel Bowden, an illustrious lawyer with a devoted wife (Polly Bergen) and a simply delightful daughter (Loni Martin), who loves her puppy dog. What we are seeing is a perfectly goody-goody family that would be at home on "Leave it to Beaver." Before long, an ex-convict named Max Cady (Robert Mitchum) begins stalking Sam. Apparently, Sam had been a witness and testified against Cady who had attacked some girl and served a long jail sentence as a result. Cady is mad and wants revenge and, with oozing menace, suggests that he will go after Sam's wife and daughter.

"Cape Fear" is essentially a standard crime thriller with overtones of noir in its shadowy black-and-white look. Noir often involves fatalistic heroes and Sam is one to an extent - he and his family cannot escape Cady's wrath. Sam can't do anything legally since Cady is always one step ahead of him on the legal meter. After Sam's daughter is supposedly chased by Cady and and is almost run over by a car, Sam calls on a private detective and hires men to beat some sense into this relentless madman. That does not work either and, finally, the family relocates to a houseboat at the Cape Fear River to trap Cady and kill him.

One major difference between the original and the Scorsese remake is Samuel Bowden's moral character. Peck's Bowden is a righteous man who does take the law into his own hands and is practically disbarred from law practice. Still, there is no way one can find his actions immoral since he has to protect his family. All Sam did was rat on Cady for a crime he witnessed. Cady wants revenge for all the years he was in prison, period. In Scorsese's film, Sam Bowden is a flawed man who did not protect his client, Cady, and had evidence that would have resulted in a shorter prison term for the convict. Essentially, Bowden committed an immoral act by withholding the evidence and has to pay the price. It is the difference of thirty years in film time and how attitudes and values have changed.

If I was alive in 1962 and saw this film, I would have scoffed at the depiction of this wholesome family with nary a trace of negativity. Just two years prior, we had Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho," which featured a less than wholesome heroine at its forefront (Janet Leigh) whose sins are washed away during a brutal shower murder. "Psycho" cut the innocence of the 1950's with its brutality and shocking depiction of a clever psychopath. "Cape Fear" wants to pretend that innocence prevails over evil anyday. Somehow, Cady's evil seems less than cunning or stinging with poison the way one would hope. I never got the impression that Cady's attacks were as severe as one would think (with the exception of the unseen violence towards a club girl). The moment where Bowden's daughter runs around the school thinking Cady is chasing her when, in fact, he was standing outside the school gates the whole time ruins the tension a tad. He instills fear in them but it is not as viscerally felt as it should have been. A title like "Cape Fear" should be ablaze with tension and thrills. I mostly got chills through Robert Mitchum's splendid performance but nothing more. J. Lee Thompson tends to hold back often, which may be a result of the Production Code that would not even allow the word "rape" to be said in a film.

On the plus side, the film is taut for the most part and has decent performances by Martin Balsam as the chief of police, Telly Savalas in pre-"Kojak" mode as the private detective, and Jack Gruschen as Cady's righteous lawyer who is dismayed by Bowden's actions. But it is a delight to see Robert Mitchum as the sleazy, muscular, sarcastic Max Cady going against the stolid, serious-minded Gregory Peck. The finale at the houseboat is especially stirring. When you see Cady slapping and smearing himself against poor Polly Bergen, you can feel some real heat and tension and, yes, a literal slap across familial innocence.