I won't play the sap for you

 THE MALTESE FALCON (1941)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Sam Spade can love women like any hardboiled detective, but can he forgive himself after loving someone who may killed someone close to him? That is the real question and one that stays with you long after watching John Huston's astonishing directorial debut, "The Maltese Falcon." 

Based on Dashiell Hammett's classic mystery novel (adapted twice before), Sam Spade is our man of the hour (Humphrey Bogart), a tough detective who doesn't sugarcoat anything and pedals hard when he wants information. His partner, Miles Archer (Jerome Cowan), is more than a bit enchanted by their newest client, a certain Miss Wonderly (Mary Astor), who wants protection of her sister from a malevolent boyfriend named Thursby. The private detectives know what to do and when Archer allegedly confronts Thursby, the pleasant detective is shot dead. A half-hour later, Thursby is gunned down. The police and Archer's wife suspect foul play from Spade but Spade is nobody's murderer or fool. Spade is eager to find Archer's shooter and he has a good hunch that Miss Wonderly, who is actually Brigid O'Shaughnessy, might hold some clues. It turns out her story was a fabrication, which Spade had already suspected, and he can sense almost everything coming out of her mouth is a lie. 

Then we get to the business of the Maltese Falcon, a sought after statuette of a black bird that holds encrusted jewels. The effeminate Joe Cairo (Peter Lorre) is interested in acquiring it and thinks Sam has it. Then there's the "gunsel" Wilmer (Elisha Cook, Jr., known at the time in Hollywood as the "lightest heavy") who is trailing our detective and whom Spade can easily spot a mile away. Wilmer works for a most jolly, cultured fellow known as Kasper Gutman, the "Fat Man" (a marvelous Oscar-nominated performance by Sydney Greenstreet), who relays the history of the "black bird" that goes as far back as the Knights Templar. Before long, Spade is embroiled in a search for a statuette that is of little significance to him, other than his growing love for Brigid and the mystery killer who shot his partner and Thursby.

"The Maltese Falcon" is so alarmingly fast-paced that, not unlike say "His Girl Friday," you have to keep up with these characters' rapid-fire dialogue to make sense of everything. That is the beauty of a jewel of a movie like this - it never hesitates to keep moving, to keep us on our toes wondering what else will be uncovered and what other double-crosses are headed our way. The clean, crisp dialogue is full of delicious memorable lines like "When you're slapped, you'll take it and like it!" or "Don't crowd me" or even the film's last Shakespearean line delivered by Bogie's Sam "This is the stuff dreams are made of" (a line not in the original novel). Every scene is sumptuously acted and crackles with excitement (further proof that a room full of people talking can be thrilling and suspenseful) - no shot is ever wasted and no scene ever feels out-of-tune. Watching Humphrey Bogart have his way with everyone, and completely fearless, is truly divine cinema. Greenstreet's girth says just as much as his soft Brit accent - such a man with a wicked smile can only spell danger around the corner. Bug-eyed Lorre as Joe Cairo also keeps you on your toes - he threatens Sam with a gun twice in the same scene! Then there's Elisha Cook, Jr. whose eyes well up when he realizes he will be the fall guy for this black bird mess. And, finally, there is the equally divine Mary Astor who is also fearless in her own right, playing one of the most duplicitous femme fatales I've ever seen. And when Sam confesses he loves her and knows that he has to send her away to jail, you feel his regret. Astor's Brigid can't even look at him in the final scene. This is juiced-up, fantastically entertaining noir and it would make a hell of a double feature with "Out of the Past." An American classic.  

Neorealism at its peak

 BICYCLE THIEVES (1948)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Bicycle Thieves" is highly effective in its very simplicity, in evoking a time and an era where hardships and financial strife were all too common. The simplicity goes further in establishing desperation through a necessary mode of transportation.

That mode of transportation is simply a bicycle, one needed sorely for a new job that our protagonist needs. The protagonist is Antonio Ricci (Lamberto Maggiorani), a desperate man who finds a job placing movie ad posters on bare walls surrounding selective parts of Rome, Italy. Ricci has a wife who has a strong religious faith, Maria (Lianella Carell), who sells her bedsheets for money, and a young, empathetic son named Bruno (Enzo Staiola) not to mention a newborn baby. When Maria receives sufficient money, Antonio uses it to buy back his bicycle at a pawn shop. While doing his job one day, a young man steals his bicycle and Antonio spends the rest of the film trying to get it back. Without it, he can't do his job (although he tries to convince the boss that he can walk all over Rome if needs be). Antonio files a police report but to no avail - Rome is littered with its citizens riding bikes. Finding the bike is practically a needle in the haystack yet he does come across the young man, seen speaking to an older, disheveled man who wants a hot meal at the local church. The young man disappears in the bike yet again and Antonio begs the old man to tell him about this thief but to little avail, until an address is finally revealed. 

Set during the post-WWII era in Italy, director Vittorio de Sica has crafted something that was unusual at its time - a street-level look at life in actual locations that look and feel real. Aside from some rear-screen projection during a bus ride, nothing in "Bicycle Thieves" seems inauthentic or less than credible. The film never gives you the impression that you are looking at dressed-up sets or elaborate soundstages with expressionistic lighting. This film was one of a select few that birthed the neorealism movement on film (the movement began as a literary one in the 1920's)  - using found locations with people marching along or bicycling their way around the many tight corners around buildings and the wide, open streets. The cast is not a group of professional actors - they are all people with real jobs selected by De Sica and it is admirable how not one false note is apparent in their characterizations. 

I did get a bit impatient with the business of the Wise Woman, an alleged fortune teller whom Maria seeks and gives money to when luck initially seems to be on their side. I see the necessity of such a character but one scene would've been enough - an extra scene with Ricci just seems extraneous. It is the only issue I have with "Bicycle Thieves," a film where you can't help but empathize with this unfortunate poor family getting by with scraps yet hoping for a better future. We share in Antonio's plight so strongly that it is hard to feel anything other than pity and helplessness at the end during a very tearful scene rich with irony. No bike, no job, and if there's no job, no money to support a family - very elegantly and simply told. Everybody seems to be poor (other than the restaurant scene where we see people affording luxurious pasta meals and refreshing wine) and we know the young thief is poor and we feel sorry for him, as well. Antonio feels that sorrow as well.  

Vincent Price is the chill in the air

 SHOCK (1946)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Vincent Price had the shock and awe of a feared presence whom we ought to be wary of. He was not a frightening monster to look at - he was handsome and had a rugged, delicate charm - yet it was that meticulously mellifluous voice that could either imply a cordial tone or something malevolent. Either way, Price unmistakably could bring a chill to the air in thrillers and horror. "Shock" is as mediocre and banal as any thriller yet Price does his best to elevate the "shock" value.

Janet (Anabel Shaw) is the wife of an army lieutenant husband who is awaiting his arrival at a San Francisco hotel. While staying overnight at the hotel, she witnesses a man clubbing his wife with a silver candlestick. She is horrified and is practically in a coma-like status. Her husband arrives and is "shocked" by her appearance. A certain doctor (Vincent Price) is consulted who has a room at the hotel and, surprise, he is the killer! Later on we get scenes at his sanitorium where he administers insulin shots to Janet with an evil plan to have her committed! 

Nothing in "Shock" is startling or inventive and it is mostly boring. Elaine Jordan (Lynn Bari) is the doctor's nurse and they are having an affair and there is that tingle of noirish feeling. Elaine wants the doctor to relax and is angered when he begins to develop a conscience. Even for an hour-long film, the film is deadening to a crawl and nothing here will keep you awake. Vincent Price is game for anything and is the best thing about this forgettable tripe. 

Cleopatra becomes one of them

 FREAKS (1932)
Retrospective by Jerry Saravia

To look at "Freaks," one presumes you look at the circus freaks depicted and are astonished and can't avert your eyes. The surprise in Tod Browning's film is that you are never astonished and you can't avert your eyes for other reasons - the "freaks" are seen as simple human beings with disabilities. Only point of contention is that they may stand out in a crowd but, to themselves, they are as normal as can be.

"Freaks" is engaging and never a freakshow of itself in its own right. Director Tod Browning (whose directorial career slowly ended after making such a controversial film) presents the circus freaks as people, human beings who are paid to perform and to be gawked at. It could be a half-man, half-woman (Josephine Joseph, who still seems more feminine than masculine), a bearded lady (Jane Barnell), a man without legs (Johnny Eck), another man who is a limbless torso (Prince Randian), the pinheads (the more appropriate term would be they suffer from microcephaly) who are like giggling children (Schlitzie is the most memorable), or the little people. They all have the same desires, the same problems, the same agonies as everyone else. Some are married and one, the bearded lady, gives birth. There is also the Siamese twin women (Daisy and Violet Hinson), both of whom feel the passion of a kiss from a gentleman - how is marriage going to work for these women? These "freaks" do not think of themselves as abnormal yet they see the evil that normal-looking people do. The real question is: who are the real freaks? 

After the duplicitous Russian trapeze artist Cleopatra (Olga Baclanova, devilishly good) decides to poison her newly-married husband, Hans (Harry Earles), the other circus members decide it is time to end Cleopatra's murderous impulses. Hercules (Henry Victor) is the strong man who has no scruples whatsoever, and clearly has an affair with Cleopatra (pre-Code films could only show some much sexuality). Cleopatra and Hercules sin mercilessly yet the beguiling Venus, a seal trainer (Leila Hyams), and Phroso, a clown (Wallace Ford), are normal with no disabilities and they are compassionate to the "freaks." They get along with them and treat them as family.

"Freaks" is not a masterpiece to me, it is often sloppily made and sloppily edited. Also, a good chunk of the film was excised - roughly 30 minutes - after some disastrous preview screenings. Still, the movie retains a raw, unfiltered power and explores a family dynamic in a community of people who do not judge, who do not discriminate. They are not grotesque these "freaks," only viewed and belittled by others who do judge, who do discriminate. In a creepy last scene of body horror, Cleopatra becomes the very thing the audience might have expected the circus folks to be - a grotesque, abnormal freak to be gawked at.    

Dead or Alive on a Caribbean Island

 I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE (1943)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"I Walked With a Zombie" packs a major cinematic, horrifyingly dreamlike punch with its brazen atmosphere of sugar cane fields and voodoo ceremonies in a vast plantation. In terms of its often frightening and poetic imagery of shadows lurking in the night, this is no average RKO horror picture. This is directed by the phenomenal Jacques Tourneur ("Cat People") and produced by the great Val Lewton and it is the stuff of repressed nightmares - the kind that leaves you gasping for air whenever a zombie appears with bugged out eyes appears. 

That particular zombie is none other than CarreFour (Darby Jones), a very tall, striking figure, a zombie guard of sorts, who is often commanded to grab Jessica (Christine Gordon), a seemingly comatose and emotionless woman who walks at night in some sort of trance. Jessica is married to Paul Holland (Tom Conway), who owns the plantation and is as emotionless as Jessica. Truly the problem with Jessica isn't her spinal cord, based on the local doctor's findings, but that she is the walking dead! That's right, she is a zombie herself. Paul has to contend with her sleepwalking and with his half-brother, Wesley Rand (James Ellison), who is practically an alcoholic in the making. Paul has hired a Canadian nurse, the nurturing Betsy (Frances Dee), who wants to cure Jessica unaware of her actual, shall we say, issues. She also falls for Paul although it is such a muted love story that it never occurred to me she had any feelings for him - the nurse gets along more smashingly with James. The "Jane Eyre" influence is not immediate in this alleged re-telling.  

"I Walked With a Zombie" might give the Z generation pause for its plantation setting but it shouldn't - the black residents of this Caribbean island are not slaves, though many came from slavery. Carre-Four might be seen as a racist stereotype but he is simply devoid of humanity - just a zombie who never kills anyone. The performances are effectively restrained and the atmosphere gives off otherworldly, supernatural vibes (complemented with a constant drumbeat) that you would never feel in a George Romero "Dead" film. Influential and elegantly made with breathless, intoxicating scenes that may put you in a fixated trance.    

Deadening stare

 LE SAMOURAI (1967)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Alain Delon's steely gaze along with the perfect brim of his fedora hat and his tan trenchcoat can give one chills. Most of Jean Pierre-Melville's "Le Samourai" gives you chills in its elongated long takes of an unassuming Delon walking through the Parisian streets at night, ready for his kill. There is a coldness even when he steals an unlocked car with his ring of keys that presumably will contain the one lucky key to start the ignition. I did learn a couple of fascinating facts about Paris in the 1960's - all cars are unlocked and a set of keys from either an assassin or the police will eventually work for a locked apartment or an unlocked car. 

Delon is a dehumanized assassin for hire, known as Jef Costello. There is a prostitute's apartment he frequents, though sex never seems to enter the picture (the prostitute is played by Alain's wife at the time, Nathalie Delon). There is no joy or even a passing grin to ever enter the handsome Delon's face - this man has no inner life and nothing to keep him anywhere. He could float in and out of one city after another and retain his anonymity and nobody would ever give him a second look - a handsome automaton whom you could call the Everyman. I stress the handsomeness of Delon because this is probably Melville's own sly joke on his protagonist - no woman ever seems to notice him especially when he enters a club without his fedora on (I think in real life with Delon, this was hardly the case). His disinviting grayish apartment is spare except for a black rotary phone, a bed and a caged bird who happily chirps when he is home. In a stunning scene that kept me on the edge of my seat, Jef enters his home and notices that the bird is not chirping as much, as if the bird is exhausted. Jef realizes his home has been bugged and searches for the device. Amazingly tense sequence for a cliched scene.

"Le Samourai" has a grayish, sometimes nondescript, cloudy atmosphere that is reeked in despair, as if Melville was fully aware of the protagonist's fate. The film is clean and spare with hardly any gimmicky editing tricks other than the occasional slow swish pan between scenes. This works wonders and though I came to this film a little too late after seeing so many other lone assassin pictures inspired by Melville, "Le Samourai" is top of the line in every way with an existential ending that kept me riveted, shocked and drained. Melville's film, like its robotic antihero, briskly moves along with a deadening stare.  

America's Wickedest City!

 THE PHENIX CITY STORY (1955)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

A major news story from Alabama, ripped straight from the headlines! The local attorney Albert Patterson from Phenix has been gunned down, attempting to run for Attorney General! His military son, John Patterson, will take over and run, but first he must call the militia and institute martial law! The town of Phenix is infested with an organized crime syndicate and 14th street, especially the Poppy Club, is the haven of corruption, prostitution, violence, illegal gambling and some striptease songs performed with more taste than such decadence might allow! It is a 100 million dollar enterprise, a truly successful industry, and when it comes to woeful capitalism (woeful only to those who hate the decadence and corruption), a change must come and rescue the citizens! Will it be John Patterson who lifts the town out of such violent, mob-run mentality? 

"The Phenix City Story" could have been an exploitation B-picture and it sure can read as one, at first. Opening with a 13-minute prologue involving a TV reporter interviewing actual citizens of Phenix including John Patterson's widow, you might think you stumbled onto a documentary. Then the film probes a little deeper into the Poppy Club and how the fix is in, and we see how such money is funnelled in through the factory development of die loaded with mercury, slot machines rigged to pay one cent on the dollar, marked dealer cards, bad whisky, etc. 

The head of this crime syndicate is Rhett Tanner (Edward Andrews), who has one terrific line where he states that he "hates trouble, despises it, keeps me awake at night." Of course, there is nothing but trouble in this town, from fistfights to the occasional murder that is reported by the press as just an accident. Rhett is an amoral bastard yet so damn smooth-talking that he looks like a simple jolly businessman. Attorney Albert Patterson (John McIntire) can't be persuaded by Rhett to join the syndicate or to join local efforts to rid the crime in the area. Then the violence starts to really dominate when Patterson, after the hideous murder of a black girl who is left for dead in front of his home, decides to run for attorney general. The voting locations are swarmed by mob guys who beat, slap and throw voters from careening vehicles. Voting is not a protected right, clearly. Albert Patterson is unfortunately gunned down, in addition to the murder of a witness who worked at the Poppy Club spying on the mob enforcers. No one is safe from the venomous syndicate but it is finally John, Albert's son, who brings justice to town.

"The Phenix City Story" doesn't shy away from the corruption that envelops Phenix City - it is street violence that comes alive in moments least expected. There is a sense of unease and no respite from its incendiary tone. The cast is uniformly excellent, especially reliable McIntire who brings an unquestionable moral authority. Richard Kiley also excels in his sweaty anxiety, trying to do the heroic thing but will the money-making industry allow it? "The Phenix City Story" has its imperfections and expected historical inaccuracies and some outright omissions (John Patterson reluctantly held segregationist views as attorney general and later as Governor of Alabama) yet the film is tough, fast-paced and unrelenting. It is strong stuff for 1955.