Murder, My Sweet (1944) **1/2

To say that sweet songster Dick Powell was cast against type in this 1944 Edward Dmytryk film would be an understatement. Powell was best known for his light comedic abilities and his crooning voice, which he exhibited in films such as the Gold Diggers series, 42nd Street, and In the Navy. Gritty was not an adjective often used to describe his performances before Murder, My Sweet (which is also known as Farewell My Lovely in England). Yet, gritty is exactly what he delivered as detective Philip Marlowe.

Kim Newman writes in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die that “no other film so perfectly encapsulates the pleasures of film noir, as director Edward Dmytryk deploys shadows, rain, drug-induced hallucinations (‘a black pool opened up’), and sudden bursts of violence within a cobweb of plot traps, slimy master crooks, worthless femme fatales, gorilla-brained thugs, weary cops, and quack doctors.” Her assessment is quite correct, as this film is one of the darkest and wryest film noirs I have ever seen.

The story begins with a police interrogation of private detective Philip Marlowe (Powell). When we first see Marlowe his eyes are wrapped in bandages and he’s trying to shake himself out of a drug-induced haze. Berated by accusations and questions from Lieutenant Randall (Don Douglas) about a string of murders, Marlowe recounts (via flashback) a sordid story that only Raymond Chandler could write. It all started when a man aptly named Moose Malone (Mike Mazurki) hired him to find a redhead named Velma. Moose had lost touch with Velma, as he’d spent the last eight years in prison—reason number one to turn the case down. They travel to a nightclub called Florian’s, where Velma used to work, but no one even recalls knowing her.

Later, Marlowe pays a visit to Jessie Florian’s (Esther Howard) house to question her about Velma. A lush, Jessie denies ever having known Velma. When describing Mrs. Florian to the police Marlowe says, “She was a charming middle-aged lady with a face like a bucket of mud. I gave her a drink. She was a gal who'd take a drink, if she had to knock you down to get the bottle.” Mrs. Florian soon changes her tune when Marlowe finds a photo of Velma hidden in a filing cabinet. Jessie goes from not knowing Velma, to saying that the girl is dead. When Marlowe mentions that he’s working for Moose, Jessie becomes visibly upset but doesn’t share any information with him. As soon as Marlowe leaves, she makes a frantic phone call which Marlowe views from outside—reason number two to turn the case down.

Back at his office Marlowe meets a new client: “Pretty Boy” Lindsay Marriott (Douglas Walton). He needs Marlowe to go to a secluded canyon with him to deliver a ransom for stolen jewels. Really, you took this case, too? While attending to this job, Marlowe is knocked out—not a surprise, I’m sure. When he awakens he finds a woman standing over him. After she promptly runs away he also finds “Pretty Boy” dead in the car. When the police arrive, Lieutenant Randall is incredulous about Marlowe’s story. Then, showing Grade-A police work, he warns Marlowe to stay clear of another suspect named Jules Amthor (Otto Kruger), a quack doctor.

Perhaps Marlowe should just stay away from his office, because on his next visit there he is greeted by a woman pretending to be a reporter. In reality she’s Ann Grayle (Ann Shirley) and she’s looking for her stepmother’s stolen jade necklace. Wanting to meet the stepmother, Marlowe has Ann take him to the family house. Once inside the sprawling estate, Marlowe doesn’t need a picture drawn for him: Mr. Grayle (Miles Mander) is an old man and his wife, Helen (Claire Trevor), is a bright, young thing. Evidently Mrs. Grayle was robbed at gunpoint for her $100,000 necklace and “Pretty Boy” (a close personal friend, of course) was asked to pay the ransom. Marlowe starts to see a connection when Mrs. Grayle tells him that “Pretty Boy” was a patient of Jules Amthor. Oh, and guess who shows up for a visit just about this time: Amthor.

Stepmother and stepdaughter don’t like one another—not difficult to see as Mrs. Grayle could be Ms. Grayle’s slightly older sister. Ann Shirley plays her character like a slightly-sexed up librarian. By far the best role of her career, it was also her last, a child actor since infancy she retired at the ripe old age of 26. It is interesting to me that her last role would have “mommy-issues” since she herself had the mother from hell. Anyway, both women vie to hire Marlowe to track down the necklace. In the meantime, Marlowe meets up with Moose again, who is working with Amthor, and they go to Amthor’s apartment. Once there, Marlowe accuses the “doctor” of cooking up a blackmail scheme with Marriott and then getting rid of his partner. When he sees that Marlowe doesn’t have the necklace, he knocks the detective unconscious and then proceeds to lock him up in a room and pump him full of drugs.

After escaping, Marlowe pretty much falls down a flight of stairs and finds a gun in another doctor’s office and then stumbles out into the street where he meets Moose. After telling Moose that Amthor is the key to finding Velma, Marlowe is helped into a cab, which he takes to Ann’s apartment. Once there, he tells Ann that he knows she was the woman he saw in the canyon. She admits being there and taking Marlowe’s card off Marriott’s dead body, but she didn’t kill anybody. When they go to her father’s house they find him perturbed by the news that Marriott had been living in his beach house without his knowing it—Mrs. Grayle, however, did know. Feeling like a cuckolded husband, Mr. Grayle asks Marlowe to drop the case. But Marlowe must clear his name and so he and Ann take a trip to the beach house. Things turn romantic between the slightly-less librarian-esque Ann and Marlowe and they share a kiss, but she thinks he’s just after information. While they are arguing Helen appears and the two women trade insults—I specifically remember hearing the words gold digger and something about a slip showing before an insulted Ann stormed out. Now our cheating wife is left with Marlowe to confess her infidelities (evidently there’d been many) and that she was indeed being blackmailed by her analyst, Dr. Amthor—can anyone say malpractice? Exhibiting her skill in infidelity, Helen kisses Marlowe and asks him to help her get rid of Amthor by luring him to the beach house the next evening. He agrees.

When Marlowe goes to speak with Amthor, he finds the doctor with a snapped neck. He also finds a signed photo of Velma on a desk just as Moose appears in the room—Big hands, small neck…you do the math. Moose claims that the woman in the photo is not his Velma. Marlowe, however, promises to reunite Moose with his Velma and takes him to the beach house and has him hide outside. Inside the house, Marlowe finds Helen with the necklace—surprise, she had staged the robbery. Oh, but Marlowe has his own surprise when he calls her Velma and informs her that she killed Marriott when he refused to kill the detective. Evidently she didn’t want to be found and had learned from Mrs. Florian’s drunken call that Moose and Marlowe were looking for her. Had it not been for Ann stumbling on the scene in the canyon, she would have killed him, too. Surprise—Helen has a gun and she shows it to Marlowe. Ah, but the cavalry has arrived—Mr. Grayle and Ann emerge just as Marlowe is about to say hello to Helen’s little friend. Mr. Grayle promptly shoots his wife, which brings Moose rushing into the house to find his Velma dead. When Moose comes after Mr. Grayle, Marlowe steps between them and when the gun goes off he is blinded. All he can hear is gunshots. Who made it out alive? Well, obviously Ann did because Lieutenant Randall tells him that she has corroborated everything he said—except of course, that both Moose and Mr. Grayle were dead, since he couldn’t see that part of the melee. In one of the stranger film noir endings (a happy ending?), Marlowe is being guided out of the police station by Randall and he keeps talking about how sweet a girl Ann is without knowing she is right behind him. When he’s put in a cab she joins him. And, putting the clues together, namely the smell of her perfume, he gives her a kiss.

Dick Powell is stellar as wry detective Marlowe. The wisecracks that emerge from his mouth are laugh out loud funny. For example, when discussing Mr. Florian, he says: “He died in 1940, in the middle of a glass of beer. His wife Jessie finished it for him.” Another strangely funny scene is when he plays hopscotch at the Grayle mansion on the marbled floor. I also enjoyed watching him use Cupid’s derrière to light a match. Powell plays Marlowe with the right combination of street-smart toughness and wicked mischievousness. In my opinion, his Marlowe is the most balanced of all that have graced the silver screen.

I often wonder what happened to Marlowe and Ann. Did he later learn that after her father killed Moose that she then killed him so she could inherit everything and have Marlowe as well? I mean, that would have been the more appropriate ending for a film of this sort. She’s the one who said she hated men and she didn’t seem overly upset that her father has just been killed. Yet, she’s smooching it up in the back of a cab not long after a triple homicide? I’m just saying…

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Double Indemnity (1944) ***

When it comes to the ultimate femme fatale you need only think of one name: Phyllis Dietrichson. Many have tried to surpass her—many have failed. In her first unsympathetic villainess role, Barbara Stanwyck set the bar so high that you can’t even measure how short other actresses have fallen trying to be as good a femme fatale as she was in Double Indemnity (1944). One of the great travesties in  Academy Award history is that Stanwyck, who was nominated four times for Best Actress, never won an Oscar. She was nominated for this film in 1944, but lost to Ingrid Bergman in Gaslight. Many film critics believe this was a glaring oversight by the Academy, citing the outright nastiness and amoral nature of her character as the reason she was snubbed. Quite frankly, Hollywood wasn’t ready for Phyllis Dietrichson. And, when you think about it, who could ever be ready for such an evil force of nature?

Legendary auteur Billy Wilder directed this penultimate film noir, which was nominated for seven Academy Awards: Best Picture, Best Actress, Best Director, Best Screenplay, Best Cinematography (black and white), Best Sound, and Best Score. It won none. Perhaps a film about an adulterous murder plot to collect insurance money was just too much for a country at war.

With the help of the great detective novelist Raymond Chandler, Wilder adapted the James M. Cain novella Three of a Kind into one of the greatest screenplays of the Golden Age of Hollywood. Chandler and Wilder’s dialogue is searing and sharp and the overall storyline is a taut, thrilling ride down a boulevard of betrayal. In a film noir staple, the film is told in the past tense, via voiceover. The story involves a very unsatisfied (I suspect mostly in the Biblical sense) housewife (Stanwyck) and an easily enticed insurance salesman. While carrying on a licentious affair, the couple kill the husband to claim a double indemnity clause in his accidental death policy. What follows the murder is suspicion, guilt, double-crosses and bullets.

Aided by the deft cinematography of John Seitz (whom Wilder worked with on several films), Wilder captured the unseemly nature of Hollywood, incorporating several locales into the film—most notably the Hollywood Bowl and the Glendale train station. Roger Ebert has said that Seitz’s photography in this film “helped develop the noir style of sharp-edged shadows and shots, strange angles and lonely settings." Countless “venetian blind” shots are used.

The film opens with injured, Pacific All-Risk Insurance Company salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray in a rare bad-guy role) staggering into the company’s building one early Los Angeles morning to record, via Dictaphone, how and why he committed the “perfect crime” for a woman wearing blonde bangs, honeysuckle perfume and an anklet. It all started innocently enough when he accidentally met bored housewife Phyllis Dietrichson at her faux-Spanish mansion while stopping by to get her husband to renew his car insurance. In one of the more memorable film entrances, Stanwyck enters the screen wearing only a towel and a flirtatious smile. When she emerges next to “properly” meet Neff she’s wearing a revealing dress and her signature anklet. For those of you who don’t know, the old theory was that women who wore anklets were loose women. Her use of her legs as a diversionary tactic in this scene is something that Sharon Stone would use in Basic Instinct—of course Stanwyck was wearing panties…I hope. A double-entendre conversation ensues between them about speeding cars, where Neff makes it clear he’s interested in insuring he sees her again. That is soon arranged, as Phyllis asks him to come back the next evening to speak to her husband about the policy.

Later that day Neff introduces us to by-the-book claims investigator Baton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson), a man consumed with getting every detail right and uncovering shady insurance claims. (Keyes is the man for whom Neff is recording his crimes.) While in his office, Phyllis calls and changes their appointment for the next afternoon. Strangely enough when he arrives the next day, Mr. Dietrichson (Tom Powers) is not at home again and it’s the maid’s day off. In addition, Phyllis seems very concerned about the dangerous nature of her husband’s work (he spends a lot of time in oil fields). So much so, that she asks about buying an accident policy without her husband knowing about it. Shocked by the suggestion and angry that she thought he was so stupid that he couldn’t see what she was planning, Walter huffily walks out on the blonde bombshell.

Yet, later that night when he finds Phyllis standing in his doorway (returning a hat she doesn’t seem to have) he doesn’t exactly slam the door in her face. Perhaps it was the clingy sweater she was wearing, or even the scent of wafting honeysuckle in the air. After explaining she doesn’t want him to get the wrong impression about her and that her life with Mr. Dietrichson is horrible, Walter grabs her and plants a “red-hot” kiss on her lips. Later, Phyllis explains that she often fantasizes about killing her husband with carbon monoxide poisoning in the garage. To Neff there are three bonuses to this plan: $1000,000, beating the insurance game, and having Phyllis all to himself. Presumably after they have consummated their newfound relationship (he smokes a cigarette and she reapplies her makeup), Neff agrees to help her kill her husband and make it look like an accident, but everything had to be “straight down the line” as he doesn’t want there to be any mistakes for Keyes to find.

A few days later Neff arrives at the Dietrichson house to have Mr. Dietrichson renew his auto insurance policy. Leading the unknowing husband to believe he must sign duplicate forms, Neff gets him to sign his own death warrant. The next part of the plan concerns having Mr. Dietrichson take the train instead of his car on his next trip to Stanford. The double indemnity clause pays twice as much for a death that occurs on a train. They use the local grocery store as their clandestine meeting place to plan their crime. A monkey wrench is thrown into their plan when Mr. Dietrichson breaks his leg, but only temporarily. When Mr. Dietrichson decides to take his trip after all, using crutches to get around, Neff and Phyllis hatch a plan where he takes the place of the injured husband on the train. Disguised as the soon- to-be dead husband, Neff hides in the back of the Dietrichson car while Phyllis drives Mr. Dietrichson to the Glendale train station. When she honks the horn three times he pops up from the back seat and breaks the husband’s neck. While the murder isn’t shown on screen, Wilder uses a close-up of the unflinching face of Phyllis staring straight ahead as her husband is being murdered on the seat beside her to convey the vileness of the murder. Taking the husband’s place on the train, Neff later jumps from the train when it slows down and he and Phyllis put Mr. Dietrichson’s body on the tracks. Now they just had to wait.

Although the police don’t suspect foul play, the insurance company wants to investigate to see if they can get out of paying the double indemnity clause. Keyes is assigned the case and told by the company president that they want him to find out if Mr. Dietrichson killed himself. In a meeting with Phyllis, the company president explains the situation and offers to make a smaller settlement to her. Pretending to be unaware of the policy, Phyllis feigns fury and storms out. Meanwhile, Keyes doesn’t think suicide by slow-moving train is very likely and tells Neff that the case seems like a legitimate one.

Later, with Phyllis on her way to his apartment, Neff opens the door and finds Keyes. Something just popped into his head about the case: why hadn’t Mr.Dietrichson filed an accident claim when he broke his leg? Perhaps, Keyes believes, because he didn’t know about the policy but that Phyllis did. Luckily for the dastardly duo Phyllis can overhear Keyes from the hallway and she hides behind the door until he leaves. Cracks begin to appear in their relationship as Phyllis is angry that Neff suggests they not see each other while the investigation is taking place. In addition, Mr. Dietrichson’s daughter, Lola (Jean Heather), suggests to Neff that Phyllis not only killed her father but her own mother as well when she was her nurse. Oh, and by the way, step-mommy is sleeping with her ex-boyfriend, Zachetti (Byron Barr), as well. Feeling sorry for the girl and wanting to keep her quiet, Neff begins spending time with her as a substitute for Phyllis.

After putting the pieces of his investigation together, Keyes reveals to Neff what really happened in the Dietrichson case: the husband was killed by his wife and her lover. He explains to Neff every step of the crime correctly, but he doesn’t suspect Neff. Nervous, Neff and Phyllis meet yet again at the supermarket. Phyllis is highly suspicious when Neff suggest she not sue for the insurance claim and is even more suspicious about the time he has been spending with Lola. She coldly reminds Neff that their in it “straight down the line.” Neff starts to think that things would be better if Phyllis were dead, especially after Keyes determines that Zachetti was Phyllis’ accomplice. And, so the fateful 11 'o’clock meeting is set at the mansion.

With Zachetti as his fall guy, Neff determines to rid himself of the one person who can connect him to the murder: Phyllis. Shadowed by venetian blind slats, a living room of death awaits the final showdown between Phyllis and Neff. Oh, but Phyllis has her own suspicions that the double-cross is on. So, after unlocking the door for her accomplice, she sits down in a chair with her pearl-handled gun hidden under the cushion. When Neff arrives he informs Phyllis of his plan to off-her and frame Zachetti for everything. Really? How stupid can you be? Phyllis informs him she has her own plans and they don’t involve her death but his own. In an excellent climatic scene, Neff closes the living room blinds and when the room goes black a shot rings out. The next thing we see is Neff staggered by a bullet and Phyllis standing over him hesitating to finish him off. In a strange twist, Phyllis surrenders to her love for Neff and allows him to take the gun from her. While vulnerably embracing him some form of intelligence returns to her brain when she feels the barrel of the gun pointing at her chest. Two point blank shots to the chest and it’s “goodbye baby”. Really? I don’t like this ending at all, but it was Hollywood 1944, so what can I expect?

The final scene of the film finds Neff in his office with Keyes, who is shocked by what his friend has done. When Neff asks him to give him four hours before calling the police, Robinson delivers the great line: “You’ll never make the border…you’ll never even make the elevator.” He was right.

The twists and turns of this thrilling film noir are enough to make your pulse race. You pair the stellar storyline to the raw sexuality that Stanwyck brought to her role as Phyllis and this is a wonderful film to just sit and absorb. While both Fred MacMurray and Edward G. Robinson do great jobs with their respective characters, this film belongs to Stanwyck. This was, without a doubt, her greatest dramatic role. She was so good in this role that countless male fans who had loved her before seeing this film actually started to dislike her after seeing it. She and Double Indemnity are a “straight down the line” treat to watch.

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Laura (1944) **1/2

Machiavelli wrote that “it is better to be feared than to be loved.” The title character of this film should have read more about political philosophy and less about fashion. Too many people just loved her to death…or at least tried.

A classic psychological film noir, Laura is one of the best films Otto Preminger ever made. Yet, the plot of Laura seems quite simple when you compare it to the behind the scenes plot that unfolded daily at 20th Century Fox. First Preminger was to direct; then studio head Darryl Zanuck fired him and replaced him with Rouben Mamoulian. Then Mamoulian was fired (nothing new for him) and Preminger was rehired. Then they argued over the cast. Zanuck wanted John Hodiak to play Detective McPherson and Preminger wanted Dana Andrews. Zanuck also tried to put the nix on Clifton Webb (who ended up being nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar) and first-time cinematographer Joseph LaShelle (who won the film’s only Academy Award for his photography), who replaced Lucien Ballard after Mamoulian was fired. In the end, Preminger won most of the battles and his film garnered five Academy Award nominations, including Best Director, Best Art Direction (Lyle R. Wheeler, Leland Fuller, and Thomas Little), and Best Screenplay (adapted from the Vera Caspary novel of the same name by Jay Dratler, Samuel Hoffenstein and Betty Reinhardt).

There are many elements that make this a prime example of a film noir. Parasitic and morally bankrupt characters run (well-heeled) rampant through the posh drawing rooms of New York City while an unconventional detective tries to unravel the sordidness of it all. There is a chilling theme song, “Laura” (which was inspired by a Dear John letter that composer David Raksin’s wife left him), that is unforgettable. And then there is the pristine black and white cinematography of LaShelle, which incorporates both shadows and an ethereal essence. And to top it all off, you have some of sharpest and outright acidic dialogue ever imagined. All of these elements combined make it one of the best film noirs ever.

The film opens with that haunting theme song and a shot of an even more haunting portrait of a woman we soon learn, via voiceover by society columnist Waldo Lydecker (Clifton Webb), was named Laura Hunt (Gene Tierney in a role turned down by both Jennifer Jones and Hedy Lamarr)—was being the key word, as she is now dead (sort of). After waxing poetic in his bathtub about his relationship with the recently murdered beauty, Lydecker invites Detective McPherson (Dana Andrews) in for a friendly chat, where Lydecker nominates himself as the most logical sidekick in hunting down the murderer (even if he himself is a suspect!).

Next suspect: Laura’s rich, spinster Aunt Anne Treadwell (Judith Anderson). We soon learn that Aunt Anne has a thing for Laura’s would-be fiancée Shelby Carpenter (Vincent Price), a Southern gentleman who deposits a lot of checks with the the aunt’s name on them. A classic line from Lydecker suggests the proper aunt lost money playing craps, but it is quite obvious to the audience that she pays for Shelby’s favors. On cue, Shelby enters and is insulted by Lydecker, who reveals that Laura was rethinking “throwing her life away on a male beauty in distress.” Thoroughly insulted (and insinuated as yet another suspect), Shelby accompanies Lydecker and McPherson to Laura’s apartment. At the deceased’s residence we find two identical items from Lydecker’s apartment in Laura’s apartment: a grandfather clock and that eerie portrait of Laura.

Later, Lydecker and McPherson head off to dine at Waldo and Laura’s special table, where Lydecker reminisces (via flashback) of happier days. They’d met five years earlier when career-minded Laura had asked him to endorse a pen promoted by her advertising agency. At first he had snubbed her, but then he changed his mind and not only endorsed the pen but decided to make her his protégé. From that point on, Lydecker was in the business of molding Laura into the most unforgettable woman ever. The problem was he didn’t want to share her with anyone, so if someone came into the picture he got rid of them. First, it was the portrait painter Jacoby, whose artistic talent (or lack thereof) Lydecker ridiculed in his column. Then, there was Shelby, who Lydecker found utterly reprehensible and suggested to Laura that she look into his background before marrying him. It was soon revealed that Shelby was a cad of the first order, carrying on an affair with Diane Redfern, a model at the agency, and also cozying up to Aunt Anne. Soon after these revelations, Laura decided to go to her country home to reconsider her marriage plans. Alas, it was the last time Lydecker heard her voice.

Back at Laura’s apartment, McPherson encounters the maid, Bessie Clary (Dorothy Adams), who reveals she found a cheap bottle of whiskey in Laura’s bedroom the night she was killed. He also encounters the gruesome threesome who have come to determine what belongs to whom. Lydecker wants a few things back that he “lent” Laura: an antique fire screen, a “priceless” vase, and the same grandfather clock he already has in his own apartment.

As time passes, McPherson, who has taken to sulking in Laura’s apartment alone, starts to become obsessed with the portrait. On one of his many visits, Lydecker accuses the detective of falling in love with a dead woman and predicts that he’s headed for the asylum. Oh, but wait…she’s not dead, as we and the detective soon learn when she returns to her apartment one stormy night to find a strange man asleep in a chair next to her portrait. She is surprised to learn that she is dead, since she seems to be still breathing. Evidently the face that had been blown off by the shotgun wasn’t hers. But whose was it? Well, when Laura finds one of Diane Redfern’s dresses in her closet the obvious choice seems to become clear. Now, Laura is a suspect for the murder of Diane. McPherson orders Laura not to contact anyone, but like any “dame” she does the opposite and calls Shelby. This tips McPherson off to the fact that Shelby might be the killer and he follows him to Laura’s country home, where he finds him with a shotgun in his hands. Shelby admits that he took Diane to Laura’s apartment to break it off, but that he was out of the room when the doorbell rang. Whoever was at the door Diane answered was the killer.

The next day at Laura’s apartment, Lydecker is in for a shock when he finds Laura alive and well. It’s such a terrible shock that he faints straight away. Soon after being revived a party is planned, where all the depraved guests suspect one another of murder. Yet, only one is arrested: Laura. Escorted to the police station by McPherson (who is obviously obsessed with having her to himself), Laura finds herself given the standard bright light interrogation. The problem is McPherson only wants to find out if Laura is in love with Shelby. Really!!! Once he ascertains that she’s not, they leave. Really!!! The lighting in this scene is marvelous and conveys oodles about both McPherson and Laura’s motivations. First, the use of the two bright lights spotlight the intense beauty of Laura. Then, after the lights are turned off, Gene Tierney just seems to glow.

While McPherson is checking out Lydecker’s apartment and finally realizing that the grandfather clock in Laura’s own apartment might hold the murder weapon, Laura is being verbally reprimanded by Lydecker in her apartment for her possible attraction to the detective. So, when the detective arrives at her apartment and Laura gives Lydecker the heave-ho, Lydecker is politely furious. When he leaves the apartment he casts a large shadow on the wall—foreboding? As soon as Lydecker’s gone, McPherson checks Laura’s clock and finds the gun. Setting off to arrest Lydecker, McPherson leaves Laura with a kiss and tells her to get some sleep. Believing the detective gone, Lydecker (who has been hiding in the hallway) creeps back into the apartment to murder Laura. For some reason, the detective put the gun back in the clock! Anyway, as he’s reloading the gun he hears his own voice on Laura’s radio; it’s his broadcast on History’s Great Lovers. With the cops beating down the door, Lydecker points the gun at Laura and says they will be together forever…fortunately for Laura she has good reflexes and she deflects the gun as it goes off. What I find particularly odd about what transpires after the police fatally wound Lydecker is that Laura runs to his side to console him. Really? This man has tried to kill you twice and you run to him? Anyway, with Lydecker’s dying words, “Goodbye, Laura. Goodbye, my love” and another haunting still shot of the Laura portrait the film ends.

The story itself is marvelous. You have a case of mistaken identity with the murder and the shocking reappearance of the murder victim. I would have liked to have been in the audience when Gene Tierney turned that light on back in 1944—I’m sure it startled some.

Besides the wonderful plot, you have a no-nonsense detective who becomes obsessed with his beautiful dead victim and a whole cast of venomous creatures. The callousness of Judith Anderson’s Aunt Anne is both appalling and delightful to watch. Vincent Price’s interpretation of a Southern ladies man is quite comical. Gene Tierney plays the femme fatale well by exuding an icy coolness that just scorches the screen at times. And, when it comes to Clifton Webb, it is difficult to believe this was his first sound film. Webb is just delightful as a bitter, homosexual who hates all masculine men and will stop at nothing to keep them away from his Laura. There are many ways to look at his obsession with Laura. Personally, I think he created her to be the woman he wished he could be (his other self) and didn’t want anyone to come between them because he would be separated from his one true love: his feminine self. But that’s just my theory, I’m sure you have your own. Whatever may be the case, this is a classic film noir.

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The Maltese Falcon (1941) ***

Considered by many as the first Hollywood film noir, The Maltese Falcon (1941) was John Huston’s directorial debut. What a way for a director to emerge out of the shadows!

Besides directing one of the best detective films ever, Huston also wrote the Oscar nominated screenplay, which was adapted from the 1929 Dashiell Hammett novel of the same name. Nominated for Best Picture, the film stars Humphrey Bogart as immortal detective Sam Spade. Bogart and Huston worked well together and made four more legendary films together: Key Largo, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The African Queen, and Beat the Devil.

Set in San Francisco, the film quickly introduces us to detective Sam Spade (Bogart) when his secretary, Effie (Lee Patrick), announces a new client, Miss Wonderly (Mary Astor). For those of you who have seen the entrance Astor makes, take a moment and imagine Geraldine Fitzgerald (Ann from Dark Victory) making that same entrance. No, it doesn’t work for me, either. Yet, Fitzgerald was originally cast as Ruth. Thankfully fate stepped in and allowed Astor to play her greatest role ever. Ruth has come to the Spade and Archer (Jerome Cowan) detective agency to find her missing sister, who has run away with a shady (and according to Miss Wonderly, violent) dark-haired and bushy eyebrowed character named Thursby. Asher agrees to follow her to her meeting with Thursby at the St. Mark Hotel. Big mistake. Soon Archer is looking down the barrel of a gun and is gunned down in cold blood. The fact that we don’t see the face of the assailant is a typical film noir device and sets up one dynamite ending.

Another classic film noir element is displayed when Spade goes to the scene of the crime: a shadowy deserted alley with one streetlight. After Spade is informed by Sergeant Polhaus (Ward Bond) that Archer must have known his killer because his gun was still holstered, he calls Miss Wonderly’s hotel and learns that she has checked out. The next morning he awakens to accusations from the police and the news that Thursby has also been murdered.

But wait, they aren’t the only ones who suspect Spade may be a killer. Archer’s wife Iva (Gladys George) thinks Spade killed her husband so they could be together (they were having an affair). As Iva sniffles on, Miss Wonderly calls to let Spade know she’s moved to the Coronet Apartments under an assumed named: Miss Leblanc,

He arrives at the Coronet to learn from Ruth that she lied about her real name (it’s actually Brigid O’Shaughnessy) and that she hasn’t been forthcoming about Thursby. It would seem that she met him in the “Orient” and hired him to protect her. She lays it on thick and convinces (with the aid of money) Spade not to tell the police about her. He agrees, but he knows there’s more to the story.

Back at the agency, Spade meets Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre), a gay man who at first offers Spade $5000 to find a statue of a black bird but then pulls a gun on him. Now, this film was made in 1941, so it is surprising that Lorre was allowed to play his character so stereotypically gay. Anyway, after being knocked out by Spade, Cairo hires him to help find the black bird.

Later, Spade returns to the Coronet and finds Brigid in the sharing mood: she’s really a bad girl dressed up in a helpless woman’s body. No, you don’t say? Spade informs her of Cairo’s offer and she offers him more than money. This is followed by a rather brutal kiss by Spade and a demand that she start being honest. She does this by agreeing to meet Cairo.

At this meeting we are introduced to a new character’s name: the Fat Man. We also learn that Brigid and Cairo hate each other—this shows a whole new, nasty side of Brigid. After being slapped rather hard by Brigid, Cairo pulls out his gun, only to be disarmed yet again by Spade—and for good measure Spade slaps him three more times and utters the classic line, “When you’re slapped, you’ll take it and like it.” Meanwhile, Brigid gets her well-manicured hands on Cairo’s gun just as the police arrive to question Spade about his affair with Iva. This allows Cairo to escape and for Spade to press Brigid about how she became involved with Cairo. A story of double-crosses ensues. Not deterred by this woman who admits she’s always been a liar, Spade spends the night with her.

The next day Spade goes to Cairo’s hotel and notices the man whose been tailing him (Wilmer, played by Elisha Cook, Jr.). Deducing that he works for the Fat Man, Spade tells him to tell his boss that he’s looking for him. This must have worked because when he returns to the agency he has a message from Mr. Gutman, a.k.a the Fat Man. He also learns from Brigid that someone has ransacked her apartment (Cairo).

Later, Spade goes to Gutman’s hotel, where he is greeted at the door by Wilmer. When he finally meets Gutman, it is easy to see why he’s called the Fat Man—or Gutman for that matter. All 300 lbs. of Sidney Greenstreet earned a Best Supporting Actor nomination for his portrayal of this strangely polite but menacing man. Spade doesn’t learn much from this meeting, but he learns that the black bird is extremely valuable.

After being harassed by the police yet again, Spade is once again picked up on the street by a gun-wielding Wilmer. After disarming the poor sap, Spade fully embarrasses him in front of Gutman. Appreciative of Spade’s manner, Gutman finally reveals the long (and I mean long) history of the Maltese Falcon (the black bird) and the fact that he’s been obsessed with having it for 17 years. He offers Spade $50,000 to bring it to him. Ah, but it is only a ruse to allow the drugs in Spade’s drink to take effect. With Spade passed out on the floor, Gutman, Cairo and Wilmer head off to find the bird themselves. When Spade wakes up he finds a newspaper clipping about a boat coming in from Hong Kong and surmises this must be where Gutman is headed. When he arrives at the docks he finds the boat ablaze.

Back at the agency, Spade is shocked when a fatally injured man (Captain Jacobi played by Huston’s father Walter Huston) stumbles into his office and delivers the falcon to him. Soon thereafter Brigid calls to tell Spade where she’s at, only to scream at the end of the call. First he stows the falcon at a bus terminal, then he goes in search of Brigid. When he arrives he finds an empty lot and the bells finally chime as to the fact that Brigid is indeed a liar. Yet, when he finds her hiding in a doorway near his apartment he still takes her into his apartment, where he finds Wilmer, Cairo, and Gutman waiting for him when he turns on the lights. And so the scene is set for one of the greatest endings in film history.

After informing the crew that he has the falcon, he demands that they come up with a fall guy for the murders. He suggests Wilmer, but Gutman refuses (evidently the term gunsel, which is used by Spade to describe Wilmer, was a homosexual term for a young man kept by an older one that morphed into a term for a gangster) at first but then gives into the demand. Then the whole sordid mess is revealed: Brigid had given the falcon to Captain Jacobi in Hong Kong, knowing it would follow her there later, and returned to San Francisco with her partner Thursby. Gutman had Wilmer kill Thursby to get Brigid to work with him. When they saw the newspaper notice about the boat they met Brigid and Jacobi there and she agreed to work with them, but she double crossed them and had Jacobi (who was shot by Wilmer) deliver the falcon to Spade. The reason for the cryptic phone call: they wanted to get him out of the office before Jacobi arrived but the phone call came too late.

With the loose ends tied up and $10,000 in his hands, Spade has Effie bring the falcon to his apartment, where it is revealed that it is a fake! At first all hell breaks lose and there are many tears and recriminations, but then Gutman composes himself and demands his $10,000 back from Spade and he and Cairo leave. Spade calls the police to alert them to this fact, so they can pick them up. Using this as leverage against Brigid, Spade demands that she tell him the truth about Archer before the police arrive. Evidently she hired Archer so she could tell Thursby he was being followed, which would cause him to confront Archer and perhaps kill him, which would allow her to be rid of him before the falcon arrived. But Thursby didn’t do this, so she had to take matters into her own hands and so she killed Archer in order to pin it on Thursby. The truth revealed, Brigid declares her love for Spade and begs him not to turn her in. Ah, I might love you baby, but I can’t trust you, so you’re going down—basically Spade’s answer to her plea. In the closing scene, the most overt example of film noir technique, Brigid is led into the elevator by the police and when the steel cage is pulled down in front of her it casts jail bar shapes across her face. Oh, the look on that lovely face! In the word of MasterCard: priceless.

This was actually the third film version of Hammett’s classic novel. Ricardo Cortez played Sam Spade in the 1931 version and Warren William played him in Satan Met a Lady (1936). I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that this film has so many connections to Bette Davis it’s hard to keep track. In one scene in this film we see a film marquee for The Great Lie, which starred Davis and Mary Astor (who won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role). This ties into the fact that Davis played the femme fatale in Satan Met a Lady.

In regards to film noir elements, the film is not overwhelmingly dark and there isn’t an overabundance of shadows. Yet, the core principles of an anti-hero who follows a code of honor (his own) who reaches into the underworld and deals with all sorts of unseemly characters and situations is at the core of this story. That Spade emerges in the end as a jaded but somewhat still respectable character is classic film noir. In addition, you have Mary Astor playing the epitome of the femme fatale (perhaps only surpassed by Stanwyck in Double Indemnity) and Lorre and Greenstreet as some of the most colorful and outrageous criminals ever imagined.

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Swing Time (1936) **

If you don’t think Top Hat is the best Fred and Ginger film ever, then chances are you think that honor belongs to Swing Time. To many it is a toss up. I, of course, prefer Top Hat, but there are many who say Swing Time is better. In regards to political correctness, Top Hat is the one that stands the test of time, as Astaire performs in blackface in Swing Time. So, let the debate begin…once I give this film the once over, of course.

Based on the Elwin Gelsey story “Portrait of John Garnett” (screenplay adaptation by Howard Lindsay and Allen Scott), the film was directed by George Stevens (he needed a break—he’d just finished working with Katharine Hepburn). The charming dance numbers are the beneficiary of an excellent soundtrack by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields. “The Way You Look Tonight” took home the 1936 Oscar for Best Song and Hermes Pan was nominated for Best Dance Direction for “Bojangles of Harlem”. Besides these two great routines, there is also “A Fine Romance”, “Pick Yourself Up”, “Waltz in Swing Time”, and “Never Gonna Dance”.

The plot is very thin, but thankfully Fred and Ginger’s dancing make you forget this. Astaire plays John “Lucky” Garnett, a vaudeville “hoofer” who wants to be a professional gambler. He also wants to marry his rich girlfriend Margaret (Betty Furness), but he and his wedding trousers are sidetracked by his dancing partners who don’t want him to quit the business. He arrives hours late to the wedding and is informed by Margaret’s father, Judge Watson (director George Stevens’ father Landers Stevens) that there isn’t going to be a wedding. Lucky and the judge then come to an agreement: if Lucky goes to New York City and makes $25,000 then the judge will reconsider.

So, off to the big city goes a broke Lucky, his lucky quarter, and his best pal, Pop (Victor Moore). Once in New York they soon meet Penny Carol (Rogers), who promptly tries to have them arrested for theft. Lucky is still in his wedding clothes, so the officer doesn’t believe her. Miffed, Penny strides off to her job at the Gordon’s Dancing Academy with Lucky in hot pursuit. Upon entering the studio Lucky encounters receptionist Mabel (Helen Broderick), who offers him a free dance lesson in hopes that he’ll enroll in a $45 course. Seeing Penny’s picture on the wall, he asks to take his free lesson with her. An infuriated Penny must endure his faked ineptitude, which leads to the film’s first musical number, “Pick Yourself Up”. Many critics have said this song was a nod to people trying to endure the Depression. With lyrics like: “Don't lose your confidence if you slip/Be grateful for a pleasant trip/And pick yourself up/Dust yourself off/ Start all over again” it is easy to see where they may have gotten that idea. When Penny is fired by the dance studio’s owner, Mr. Gordon (Eric Blore), for insulting him, Lucky steps in and shows off what he’s “learned” from Penny. In a fluid shot, Stevens captures the duo as they do their famous swinging twirl and leap over the dance railings. Mr. Gordon is so impressed that he decides to send the duo to his friend Simpson’s (Pierre Watkin) Silver Sandal club for an audition. To get a dinner jacket for the audition, Lucky tries to gamble but ends up losing his pants in the process. No audition and Penny is yet again angry with him.

Fast forward a bit and you find Lucky and Pop picketing outside Penny’s room. With the help of Mabel, Lucky finds his way into her room and tries to convince her to give him (and their dance partnership) another shot. And what’s the best way to convince an angry woman to reconsider slicing your heart open with her stiletto? You serenade her with “The Way You Look Tonight”. Penny, soapy hair and all, forgives him and agrees to a new audition. Too bad Ricardo (George Mataxa), the band leader at the Silver Sandal, is in love with Penny and won’t play for the duo because he’s jealous of Lucky and because his contract now belongs to Dice Raymond (John Harrington), another night club (and casino) owner. So, Lucky gambles Dice Raymond for Ricardo’s contract—and wins. The first musical piece he conducts for his new boss is “Waltz in Swing Time”. This waltz is definitely in “swing time”, as it is lighting fast with Astaire and Rogers doing some very nimble foot work and interesting gliding back kicks, amongst their usual twirls. It is a breathtaking dance, both figuratively and literally.

Later in the film the duo travel with Pop and Mabel (an odd couple if there ever was one) to a rundown lodge. It is the middle of a snowy winter and they are driving in an open convertible—really? Of course, by this point in the film Penny and Lucky are in love, but he’s giving her advances the brush-off because of his engagement to Margaret. Having all of her romantic advances rebuffed is too much for Penny and she begins singing “A Fine Romance”. The song is very sarcastic and well, cute: she wants them to be hot tomatoes and he wants them to be cold potatoes. Eventually, Pop lets her in on the fact that Lucky is engaged—just as Lucky decides to give in to his feelings.

Back in the city they begin performing at the Silver Sandal and continue their flirtation. It is at this point in the film that today’s viewer may become a bit uncomfortable, as Astaire performs in blackface in "Bojangles of Harlem". What today’s viewer doesn’t know is Astaire did this as a tribute to the African American tap dancer Bill Robinson. It is an excellent solo number for Astaire and the set design was inspired. Tap dancing amongst twenty four singing chorus girls dressed in half black and half white, Astaire showcases his wonderful tap work. Later in the number, Astaire performs a shadow dance amongst three screen projected shadows and outduels (or better yet, out-taps) them all. This is the only time he ever did a blackface number in a film. Anyway, at the end of the number Lucky notices that Margaret is in the audience. Uh-oh.

In a very quick amount of time a lot happens. Lucky loses Ricardo’s contract to Dice and Penny is introduced to Margaret. Both of these events convince Penny that she should marry Ricardo and finally be done with the gambling (and engaged) Lucky. When Lucky learns that Penny is going to marry Ricardo he convinces her to have one last dance with him when he starts singing “Never Gonna Dance”. This is perhaps the most “emotional” dance the duo ever performed together. As long as they continue this dance their romance can go on, but if the dance ends so does the romance. And, so this is one of the longest numbers the duo ever performed together. All of their earlier dance routines are intermingled with this one. It is awesome to watch this, as well as when they spin their way up a curved staircase and end the number in what can only described as an explosion of twirls. At the end, she runs away from him. It is rather devastating to watch…but then you remember it’s Fred and Ginger: I know there’s a happy ending somewhere! Okay, but we still must talk about Ginger’s dress in this number. Ten trillion times better than the Ostrich number from Top Hat, this low-cut, white satin gown was designed by Bernard Newman and it is one of the all-time greatest film gowns EVER! With cross-your-heart pleats and a cut to die for, not to mention a startling cape that was connected by a rhinestone choker, this is the ultimate “I’m just too damn sexy” dress.

But back to the story, in the end Margaret tells Lucky she doesn’t want to marry him, which frees him up to steal Ricardo’s pants before his wedding to Penny. In a rather quirky, but very sweet, ending, the two end up serenading one another with the other’s song, he sings her “A Fine Romance” and she sings his “The Way You Look Tonight”.

This is my second favorite Fred and Ginger picture. It is a lot like Top Hat, especially with the art deco set designs and the usual plot devices. I don’t know if I can make a definitive statement as to which number, “Cheek to Cheek” or “Never Gonna Dance”, is the greatest. Both are spectacular, but Ginger does wear that itchy ostrich dress in “Cheek to Cheek”. Oh, well, I’d like to hear what you think on this subject…and anything else you might have to add.

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