What Was The Last Movie You Watched?

[Fading Fast]

Skippy from 1931 with Jackie Cooper, Robert Coogan, Willard Robertson and Enid Bennett


Skippy is a family drama or really a kids' movie, 1931 style, where the Depression isn't tucked away from the public. It's entertaining enough if you want to get an idea of what being a kid in 1931 was like; otherwise, it's tough sledding.

Titular Skippy, played by child star Jackie Cooper, is the only child of a wealthy doctor, played by Willard Robertson, who is the head of the town's Board of Health. Skippy's kind mom is played by Enid Bennett.

Skippy, like most kids, doesn't like doing what he's told, such as washing his face and brushing his teeth, but his real "bad behavior" is sneaking over to "Shanty Town," the poor part of town where his father fears he'll catch a disease.

Skippy, inappropriately dressed like Little Lord Fauntleroy, finds a sense of freedom in Shanty Town, playing with the ragamuffin kids in a way that contrasts sharply with his more solitary life in his upscale home.

While his father sees danger and disease, Skippy finds camaraderie and fun, highlighting the innocence of childhood amid socioeconomic disparity.

It is also in Shanty Town where he befriends Sooky, played by Robert Coogan. Sooky is worried he's going to lose his dog because his mom, who lives alone with Sooky, can't afford a dog license for him.

Of greater concern to all in Shanty Town is that they are being forced to move because the Board of Health, again, headed up by Skippy's father, is shutting it down, believing it is a breeding ground for disease.

The plot, and it's pretty straightforward, is Skippy trying to raise the $3 necessary for the dog license, which leads to a bunch of little kid money-raising efforts like breaking into a piggy bank, putting on a show with the neighborhood kids, and opening up a lemonade stand.

Skippy starts out worshipping his father as an important doctor who helps others, but as he learns about Shanty Town, he begins to question that view. It doesn't help that his dad is almost always too busy for him, even when he needs the money for the dog licence.

That plot summary doesn't do justice to the movie's real value, which lies in its ability to capture a child's point of view. You're with the kids when they break a window and run or use kid "logic" to not cross the railroad tracks by scooting through a drainage pipe that runs under them.

Whatever is happening to them, at that moment, is the most important thing in the world, but even at a young age, some develop sympathy for others, as Skippy does for Sooky and his mother.

The two worlds - the kids' and the parents' - as they usually do in kids movies, come together in the climax as Skippy's father finally sees what his edicts mean to the people of Shanty Town. It's heartwarming in a very obvious but effective way.

It's also a timeless lesson in the dangers of well-meaning but powerful bureaucracies as Skippy's dad becomes so focussed on data that he forgets his decisions impact real people. It's an evergreen lesson Washington and even local school boards need to learn today.

Kudos to Paramount Studios and the writers for not making all the Shanty Town residents good and kind souls, or all the rich people heartless and mean-spirited, as happens in many movies, both then and now.

The Shanty Town dog catcher and his kid are mean little bullies and Skippy and, eventually, his dad are shown in a positive light. In real life, one's bank account balance is not shorthand for one's character.

For us today, it's eye-opening just to see how truly free-range these eight-or-so-year-old kids were back then. They roam around their neighborhoods unsupervised all day, something shocking to modern generations.

Cooper, Coogan and many of the other child actors, already pros at the time, were able to show on screen the unique mannerisms, characteristics and thoughts of children. They were ably supported by the talented adult actors like Robertson and Bennett.

Skippy will only be your cup of tea if you like seeing long scenes of kids being kids. Today, it would be interesting to watch with your children to get their reaction to how kids grew up in the 1930s, when a radio was modern technology and "playdates" were spontaneous and unsupervised


N.B. Kids putting on a show (a stage play or musical review) to raise money is a stock storyline in many movies from the 1930s to the 1950s. To each his own, but I find it hard to not fast-forward through every single one of these scenes, and I very rarely fast-forward through any scene.

 

[Fading Fast]

September Affair from 1950 with Joseph Cotton, Joan Fontaine, Jessica Tandy, Francoise Rosay and Robert Arthur


The pieces are here for a classic Romantic-Era-style movie in September Affair, but slow directing, a believability issue and a muddled ending, perhaps required by the Motion Picture Production Code, leave you with only the pieces of a very good movie.

Joseph Cotton plays a wealthy American businessman, husband and father of a teenage son who meets a single woman, played by Joan Fontaine, while he is vacationing alone in Italy where Fontaine, an American concert pianist, is currently living.

They strike up a friendship as both begin a multi-legged trip back to the United States. While sightseeing together during a brief stopover in Naples, a romance blossoms. Paris might be the city of love, but Naples is doing a darn good job of it here.

They then just miss their flight out. When that plane crashes, a plane they are believed to have been on board, they are reported as dead. Now in love and very much alive, they face a decision.

Cotton is estranged from a wife who won't give him a divorce and Fontaine has few ties. So they make the completely idiotic and unbelievable decision to let the world continue to think they are dead, allowing them to start a new life together in Italy.

A couple of deus ex machinas and the help of Fontaine's close friend, played by Francoise Rosay, deal with the details of identity papers and money. Effectively, it's abracadabra and Cotton and Fontaine are living in a huge villa in Florence.

They are together, but both of their careers, perforce, are over as is Cotton's relationship with his son – ponder that for a moment. Back in the States, we see Cotton's wife, played by Jessica Tandy, and son, played by Robert Arthur, trying to adjust to the loss.

Cotton and Fontaine, who truly love each other, slowly realize that just loving each other isn't enough, especially when two impressive and challenging careers, plus ties to former family and friends, had to be jettisoned as the price of that love.

Tandy and Arthur, reeling from the loss, make a trip to Italy to follow up on a lead from Cotton's death. They don't suspect anything, but Tandy, who never appears to be the difficult woman Cotton implies she is, needs closure.

You know there is a reckoning coming, which is where the movie twists itself into knots trying to do right by everyone or right by the Motion Picture Production Code or right by some mysterious guiding light.

The only two legitimate outcomes to this story are Fontaine and Cotton saying "love at all costs" as Romantic-Era throwbacks or everything smashing up horribly as Tandy and Arthur - a boy whose father pretended to be dead - confront Cotton.

Either of those ending would have had an integrity, but the forced one presented muddles the entire effort, which is a shame as there is a lot of good in the movie.

Cotton and Fontaine are talented actors who create likable characters. Their scenes of two middle-aged people falling in love are charming. When, later, they are remorseful about all they gave up, but trying to hide it from each other, it's professional acting at its best.

Tandy is excellent in a role that is poorly defined by the writers. Is she a bitter wife or a misunderstood one? Kudos to her for doing an outstanding job trying to square the circle of her not-well-defined character. She's the unsung hero in this one.

The on-location shooting in Italy is beautiful. In 1950, the movie probably served as a travelogue for American audiences at a time when international travel was not yet common. Today, the footage is a wonderful time capsule of post-war Italy.

Director William Dieterle understands romance and creates some lovely intimate scenes, but he also lingers too long on some shots. His movie's runtime is, at least, a quarter of an hour greater than it needed to be, which prompts your mind to wander at times.

September Affair didn't have the courage of its convictions to either go all in on its classic Romantic-Era theme or to blow everything up. Instead, its "safe" conclusion leaves the viewer feeling cheated, feeling like the whole of the picture is worth a bit less than the sum of its parts.

 

[GHT]

https://www.nowtv.com/watch/the-music-of-buddy-holly...-2005/A5EK4nmp9qb64u5jFxvHs

More of a documentary than a film. One and a half hours of nostalgia. It features so many celebrities of that era, many of whom I was surprised had managed to avoid the grim reaper.

 

[Fading Fast]

Shanghai Express from 1932 with Marlene Dietrich, Clive Brooks, Anna May Wong, Warner Oland and Lawrence Grant.


Shanghai Express, one of several Marlene Dietrich collaborations with director Josef von Sternberg, uses a train journey from Peking to Shanghai as a metaphor for the personal journey that Dietrich and several of the other first-class passengers experience along the way.

The main story is about Dietrich's character, the notorious Shanghai Lily – a courtesan, a woman who "makes her living" by having "relationships" with wealthy men. On this train, though, is the one man she truly loved and lost, played by Clive Brooks.

Five years ago, Brooks, a British Army captain and surgeon, broke off their relationship for murky reasons. It is implied, though, that he doubted her faithfulness and was unwavering in his British sense of honor; so Dietrich was cast off to become the infamous Shanghai Lily.

When they meet here, it's clear neither has put the past completely behind them. Brooks is still angry; Dietrich is still hurt by his distrust of her. This is no leisurely train trip for five-year-old reminiscences and recriminations, however, as the train is traveling through civil-war-torn China.

Almost all the attention is on the first-class passengers, which include a Chinese courtesan played by Anna May Wong, a rigid English minister, played by Lawrence Grant, a seemingly wealthy Chinese man, played by Warner Oland, and several other "typical" rich Europeans.

Oland, it is soon revealed, is really the head of the rebel Chinese army. After one of his top commanders is removed from the train by the Chinese government, he later stops the train and detains all the passengers, looking to exchange Brooks for his commander.

Brooks was on the way to Shanghai to perform a life-saving operation on a top Chinese government official, so he's a powerful bargaining chip. While being held by Oland, he and Dietrich toss more recriminations at each other until Oland's threats become deadly.

Then Brooks and Dietrich get to show, through sacrifice, that they still love each other; but Brooks is too stubborn to admit it. Worse, events unfold in a way that, once again, make Dietrich look unfaithful.

While Brooks and Dietrich's little soap opera is playing out, poor Anna May Wong is facing her own challenges as Oland doesn't believe no means no. But since this is precode-movie world, Wong can dish out her own rough justice and walk away.

By journey's end, most of the white European passengers have come down a peg or two, or at least see that the condescensions they held toward the Chinese and toward women like Dietrich and Wong didn't align with the way events unfolded when lives were on the line.

Grant as the seemingly highbound minister makes the furthest personal journey as he, versus some of the other Europeans, is willing to admit his past prejudices were wrong. It's refreshing to see a movie where each ethnic group isn't portrayed as all good or all bad.

Today, though, the movie is most famous for its beautiful cinematography of Dietrich in particular – it won its one Oscar for its cinematography. Dressed in archly elaborate 1930s gowns and accoutrements, several of the close-up shots of the German star are now iconic.

Lit like an angel, despite her character's reputation, the movie at times is a love letter to Dietrich, who at thirty-one is at the peak of her arresting beauty. Dietrich aged incredibly well and could still turn heads in her fifties, but youth and beauty combined has a power of its own.

Brooks unfortunately is the movie's Achilles heel. Besides the fact that his face seems somehow hidden under his officer's cap, you never understand what Dietrich sees in this wooden, cold man whose sense of honor is real but inflexible.

Dietrich is not the warmest-looking human ever put on earth to start, so one feels that it would take some work to fire up her libido. One doubts very much that Brooks is up to the task. But as the saying goes, it's pointless trying to figure out what attracts one person to another.

Shanghai Express, despite its casting flaws, has aged well. It is still an engaging story with some contemporaneous history weaved in. Despite being shot all on sets in Hollywood, it offers a thoughtful look at China, while delivering a sharp elbow to upper-class England.

Shanghai Express is also a cognate to 1932's Grand Hotel, which beat out Shanghai Express for the Best Picture Oscar. And refreshingly, it displays a more balanced view of cultural difference than would be seen after the Motion Picture Production Code was enforced.

Today, film buffs come to see Dietrich famously framed by von Sternberg. Yet they can't help noticing that it's also a darn good movie that rips along at a precode fevered pace, while showing that prejudice wasn't nearly as rigid back then as we often believe today.

 

[Julian Shellhammer]

Man of the People (1937) with Joseph Calleia, Florence Rice, and Thomas Mitchell. Calleia grows up in a tough part of NYC, then later in life becomes an attorney in private practice. Mitchell heads up the local corrupt politics, for whom Calleia foregoes his noble legal aspirations, and takes to defending crooks and minions of Mitchell. Rice is from the well-to-do part of society, and her character is mostly for the romance angle. We see some gasp-inducing bad things done by bad guys in the context of rampant judicial bribery, but since it's 1937 things straighten out towards the end.

 

[Edward]

Recently I've been in and out of Paris a couple of times for work, travelling in the most civilised way - the Eurostar train service. Among other things, I've watched and rewatched, respectively, Operation Mincemeat and The World's End.

Operation Mincemeat (2021) is an excellent little piece about the eponymous British counter-intelligence operation to fool Hitler into believing the Allies were targeting Greece and Sardinia, rather than Sicily. (Oddly, a persistent popular belief exists now that connects this to D-Day rather than Sicily. How history becomes legend becomes myth....). It's a very tightly scripted and well played piece, with a real sense of period-believability. Had it not been shot in colour, I could well imagine it being mistaken for a much older film. The tension between Colin Firth, Matthew Macfadyen and Kelly Macdonald as a love triangle never acted upon reminds me somewhat of the never quite realised affair at the heart of Brief Encounter. It's an excellent film about an important part of the war that lacks the glamour of in-the-field operations. but carries the narrative beautifully, showing the importance of the office-bound war. Mark Gatiss does a fun supporting role as the louche brother suspected of being a communist spy. Simon Russell's performance as Churchill is fine, though perhaps an unusual choice in that he neither looks nor sounds anything like Churchill at any point. I wonder whether it was a deliberate effort to step away from imitation to make it more an 'acting' role. It doesn't detract from the whole, but it seems odd overall when so many other fine actors have produced a closer representation of the man on screen. This was a bit like having Kelsey Grammar play Elvis - great actor, great singer, unlikely to produce the sought resemblance to such an identifiable historical character.

The World's End (2013) is Simon Pegg & Edgar Wright's final act of their so-called 'Cornetto Trilogy'. Not a vintage-period piece, but it has themes that must be of interest to any thinking vintage enthusiast. Pegg plays Gary King, a man who is a pronounced sufferer from Tom Buchanan Syndrome. His life peaked for him on one night in 1990, when, as a teenager with his gang tried - and failed - to complete the Golden Mile, a pub crawl through their non-descript, commuter belt town in the South of England. The crawl involves twelve pubs, the final destination being The World's End. Gary manages to convince, with various acts of dishonesty (including lying about his mother having died - she actually phones during the course of the events) the gang in the present day to return and take the crawl on again. Unfortunately for them, this is the night that they discover the town (and, impliedly, the whole world) has been taken over by something of an invasion of the body snatchers who have targeted and replaced a handful of influential people world wide and are more or less running the planet - at least until alcoholic Gary and his former pals stumble on the truth and disrupt everything. It's a fun and silly sci-fi with references to the Midwich Cuckoos, Stepford Wives, Invasion of the Bodysnatchers, but at its heart it is also a meditation on the power, and danger, of nostalgia unchecked. Gary's friends have all moved on with their lives and made something of themselves, but Gary has been unable to move on, stuck forever trying to recreate the imagined glory of that one night in his teens. It's a classic piece of a bit of a silly b-movie type plot speaking to a greater truth, reminiscent of George Romero (who, indeed, was a huge influence on Wright and Pegg).

 

[Fading Fast]

Purple Noon from 1960 with Alain Delon, Marie Leforêt, Maurice Ronet and Bill Kearns


First, read the book The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith because it's very good and you get to form your own images of everything and everyone in your head.

Then watch Purple Noon to see how director René Clément interpreted the novel in 1960 cinema. Finally, watch The Talented Mr. Ripley to see how director Anthony Minghella did so in 1999.

Other than, one assumes, censorship that forced a different ending from the book, Clément's Purple Noon is reasonably faithful to Highsmith's story and a bit grittier than Minghella's later interpretation; the latter made post-war Italy look like the prettiest place on earth.

Not that Clément's post-war Italy isn't darn attractive, especially with a beautiful cast including Alain Delon proving a man can be prettier than even the beautiful Marie Leforêt.

Despite all this visual beauty, Purple Noon is still a murderous tale about a polished, psychotic grifter and a nasty, spoiled rich kid who take the concept of frenemies to a new level of spite and antipathy. The picture is effectively film noir in its soul, but it's too pretty to fit the genre.

Delon plays a poor boy bounder who is hired by a rich kid's dad to bring his prodigal son home to America from Italy. The son, a young man, played by Maurice Ronet, is living a sybaritic life with his quasi fiancée, played by Leforêt, whom he mentally abuses when he's bored or angry.

Delon befriends Ronet while stringing along Ronet's dad back in America with dissembling telegrams. Delon is attracted to Ronet's lifestyle and his fiancée. Ronet is sometimes friendly and sometimes nasty to Delon, but the poor boy puts up with it to stay in Ronet's wealthy orbit.

That is until he doesn't. It happens about halfway in, so maybe it's a spoiler, but after Ronet is particularly nasty to Delon, Delon kills Ronet, disposes of the body at sea, and then shows why Highsmith titled her novel The Talented Mr. Ripley, Delon's character's name.

After he murders Ronet, Delon goes full grifter, stealing Ronet's identity to make it look as if Ronet is still alive. This both covers up the murder and allows Delon to enjoy some of Ronet's lifestyle.

Delon shows an incredible talent for copying signatures and faking passports, but where he really shines is in thinking far ahead to put all the pieces of his elaborate deception in place. But the boy can also think on his feet, as he outwits the French police on the fly several times.

Delon's encounters with a particular French detective, played by Erno Crisa, are wonderful nail-biting scenes as the detective clearly suspects pretty-boy Delon, but he has no evidence. Delon, for his part, assumes a reserved innocence with the detective that requires nerves of steel.

Delon also outwits Ronet's friends and Leforêt, but one friend he can't outwit is an obnoxious, arrogant, but whip-smart nosy ba***rd, played by Bill Kearns. So Delon "disposes" of him the way many good film noir villains do: he bonks him hard on the head and dumps the body.

You'll get exhausted just keeping up with Delon as he dances all over Italy, spinning stories to the police, American Express agents, Ronet's friends, and, of course, Leforêt. It is the heart and soul of the book's story. The movie, though, adds visual beauty.

Italy might have been struggling to get back on its feet after WWII, but not where the rich expat Americans play, party, sun and sleep around. With everyone dressed in beautiful clothes, the film doubles as a travel brochure for Rome and Naples.

In the real world, even though Ronet was a rich ba***rd with a nasty meanstreak, you'd want Delon caught, convicted and punished for his murder. But in the world of movies, your morality wobbles as Ronet is hateful, and Delon is so handsome and passionate, you almost root for him.

It's this ability of Delon to do bad things, but still have you somewhat like him that takes Purple Noon to a higher level. Clément made a pretty and intelligent movie with beautiful cinematography, smart pacing and engaging scenes, but Delon makes the movie.

The man "grifts" the viewer as much as the characters in the story. Ronet is fine as the nasty rich kid, but he becomes a prop for Delon. Leforêt, though, is the other interesting character, as she projects a depth of thought and feeling that exceeds the role as written.

You, of course, don't have to read the book first or watch the 1999 version of the movie afterward to enjoy Purple Noon, but you might want to so that you can fully appreciate the rich texture and multiple layers of Highsmith's achievement.

Clémet's interpretation of her work, however, stands on its own as an engaging, appealing, and pretty, but also somewhat frightening look at a charming sociopath quietly menacing his way through Italy's young, rich American expat community.

 

[Fading Fast]

Three Strangers from 1946 with Geraldine Fitzgerald, Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, Joan Lorring and Alan Napier.


If you put O. Henry's The Gift of the Magi into a film noir blender, something like Three Strangers could come out. In O. Henry's tale, good people learn a lesson about giving and money; in Three Strangers, some questionable people, maybe, learn something about irony and money.

Three Strangers, from a John Huston and Howard Koch screenplay, directed by Jean Negulesco, and starring Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet and Geraldine Fitzgerald, is notable even in noir land as good and evil, right and wrong never fully sort themselves out in the end.

None of that would matter, though, if all three leads, and Joan Lorring and Alan Napier in key supporting roles, didn't deliver compelling performances that elevate this picture above its short-story-like plot.

The movie starts with a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, as Fitzgerald's character separately lures two men, Greenstreet and Lorre, to her London apartment posing as a prostitute – the censors missed that one – only to switch the game once the two men are there.

Fitzgerald assembled them in her apartment because she believes in the legend of an ancient Chinese statue about wishes, three people, and the Chinese New Year. The upshot has the three buying one sweepstakes ticket on the belief that the statue will allow them to win.

The scene has both a noir and "ancient mystery" vibe, as all three hover around the antique statue in the darkened apartment, with sounds of Chinese New Year celebrations drifting in through the window. And, of course, it doesn't take much to make Lorre look eerily mystical.

From here the movie, sometimes through flashbacks - film noir loves flashbacks - explores each of the three lives. Fitzgerald, the true believer, is trying desperately to win back the affections of her husband, played by Alan Napier, who wants to divorce her.

Greenstreet, initially, seems to just want to gain the respect of his legal peers. Soon, though, we learn he, in the role of a trustee, has used a client's funds to make a risky investment for himself that turned south. He now doesn't have the funds to return his client's money.

Lorre's story is the most confusing. It seems he's an educated gentleman from a wealthy family who, owing to alcoholism, has fallen in with a group of crooks. While he's innocent of any crime, he is being set up by them to be the fall guy for a murder.

Money would only solve Greenstreet's problem. This leaves the real intrigue in this movie to be the three lives themselves, each quickly reaching a crisis stage. Will Greenstreet's embezzlement be exposed? Will Lorre go to jail? Will Fitzgerald's husband file for divorce?

Greenstreet and Lorre see the sweepstakes ticket as a lark. Thus, it isn't until the climax, when their horse is, against all odds, running for the big money, that all three reunite. They then, of course, fight about the ticket now that it is valuable.

The outcome has a The Gift of the Magi irony, where nothing works out as it should because fate and intentions mix, as always, in unpredictable ways. While there's enough "justice" to satisfy the censors, the movie is really a tangle of morality that is left somewhat balled up.

Three Strangers really works because of the acting. Fitzgerald has her best career role here, playing an unstable wife. She sinks her teeth into it, shifting our opinion of her several times. Look for her confrontation scene with her husband's girlfriend: it is gripping and frightening.

Lorre and Greenstreet, who teamed up in a total of nine movies, are also outstanding here, even in atypical roles. Greenstreet is not a master manipulator, as usual, but a man who is being out manipulated. It is interesting to see him be the one to twist and turn in agony for a change.

Lorre, too, plays against type in this one, as he is a thoughtful and philosophical man. Yes, he is an alcoholic, but he's not creepy, sinister, or bent in the way he usually is. He's the more rational one than Greenstreet.

It's a fun variation on their usual pairing, as typically, it's Lorre who is spiraling into an abyss of self-doubt, with Greenstreet settling him down. That "feels" right as Greenstreet is three times Lorre's size. Yet here, it's tiny Lorre calming the flailing giant down: it's wonderfully unexpected.

Even the acting in the supporting roles is strong. Joan Lorring gives an excellent performance as a woman whom life has kicked around, but who recognizes the good qualities – the human decency – in Lorre even at his lowest.

Alan Napier, too, stands out in a small role as the man married to Fitzgerald, a woman whom we come to see is emotionally unstable and dangerous. His final scene, where he realizes he's gotten a lucky break, is acting without words at its best.

Huston and Koch penned a good short-story type of plot that director Negulesco turned into an engaging noir with the use of black-and-white cinematography, shadows, wet streets, blunt objects as weapons, one-billion cigarettes and stark visuals – and a fantastic cast.

Fitzgerald wanted money to buy back her husband. Greenstreet wanted it to cover a crime. Lorre wanted it, after he had learned something from Lorring, to give his life a fresh start. The story runs the gambit of morality from honorable to dishonorable, but never lands anywhere.

When it's over, as in The Gift of the Magi, you see the lost opportunity and the futility of it all. In the Magi, it's irony and fate playing with good intent; in Three Strangers, it's irony and fate playing with mal intent. Either way, you come away thinking anew about fate, irony, luck, and life.

Perhaps another Fitzgerald squared the circle for us. F. Scott Fitzgerald's famous quote from the end of The Great Gatsby, "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past," argues we can never fully escape our past, but must try.

Isn't that what the three strangers in Three Strangers were trying to do—escape their past—only to find that fate, irony, and luck kept pulling them back?

 

[Zombie_61]

Wolfs (2024) starring George Clooney and Brad Pitt as "fixers" assigned the same job of cleaning up a New York official's mistake(s). Being rivals (their characters, that is), neither is pleased with the situation but they proceed anyway. Co-starring Austin Abrams as a young 20-something...uhh...extra baggage for the two main characters to have to deal with, this movie suffers from too much talk and not enough, action, humor, or, to be honest, lack of anything interesting to watch. Even Clooney and Pitt look bored throughout the movie. Watch it if you must, but I'm pretty sure most people could find a better way to spend an hour and 48 minutes.

 

[Monte.C]

Hey there people. My first post.
White Lightning, 1973. Watched it two days ago and well worth the watch.

I'm presently putting together a Klondike with Simmons Bilt, in a dark reddish-brown HH. Debs is sending out samples now.

I have a vague, hazy memory of similar jackets in vintage films, but I can't think of the right movies. Not this one, that's for sure, because in this film everyone is continually drenched in sweat! Too hot for any sort of jacket. But some sort of lawman in the deep South in an old film... I'm picturing an authority/cop/tough guy/villain with a southern drawl, a cigar and a shotgun on his hip... in a vintage halfbelt...

So now I'm collecting crime thrillers from the 1970s.

 

[Fading Fast]

Split Second from 1953 with Stephen McNally, Alexis Smith, Jan Sterling, Keith Andes, Robert Paige, Paul Kelly, Frank DeKova, Arthur Hunnicutt, and Richard Egan.


At only eighty-five minutes long, there is a lot of plot, a lot of characters, and a lot of philosophy on life, love, and honor packed into the film noir Split Second. Director Dick Powell, a veteran of film noir acting, corrals these elements into a taut movie that builds to a gripping climax.

Two escaped prisoners, played by Stephen McNally and Paul Kelly, with the help of another former gang member, played by Frank DeKova, on the outside, commandeer two cars and take four people, played by Alexis Smith, Jan Sterling, Keith Andes, and Robert Paige, hostage.

But since that isn't complicated enough, they take them to a deserted Nevada town. The town is deserted because it's in the blast radius of the nearby above-ground government nuclear bomb test site that is scheduled to detonate a bomb early the following morning. Jesus.

McNally and Kelly, the latter was shot when they escaped, hole up there waiting for both a partner to come and a doctor. The doctor, played by Richard Egan, is Smith's estranged husband, whom McNally "blackmailed" over the phone into coming by threatening his wife's life.

The final puzzle piece is an old prospector, played by Arthur Hunnicutt, who wanders into the group with a backpack containing, among other things, a bible and a gun. With everyone now assembled in the town's bar, the tension builds to tomorrow morning's bomb-blast deadline.

McNally, the leader of the gang, is ruthless and smart. His brand of tribalism has him killing anyone in his way, but risking everything for his wounded partner, Kelly. Andes, an educated newspaper man, tries to reason with McNally, but ethical dialectics do not work on tribalists.

Sterling, a wayward woman all her life, sees something special in decent Andes, but she's a survivor, so she keeps her options open. The most intriguing character is Smith, who is having an affair with Paige, but she's willing to, ahem, "bargain" with anyone for her life.

Egan shows up – he won't let his estranged wife die – and is bullied by McNally into removing the bullet from Kelly right there in the bar. All this is an intentional set-up by Powell and the writers so that we can see the different personalities perform under pressure as the time ticks down.

Andes finally gives up reasoning and goes caveman, but is badly beaten up by McNally in a fight, a fight sparked by Sterling showing some gumption by standing up to McNally. Egan, meanwhile, tries to save Kelly, while arguing with his wife, Smith, in his downtime.

Theirs is the truly interesting relation here, as Smith, who appears well-bred and polished, is weak and ruthless in a mindlessly selfish way. Egan, who knows this, won't let her die, but he will let her go - it's an entire marriage mini drama dropped in the middle of a hostage situation.

The gang, too, has its dynamics as even Kelly, loyal as he is to McNally, sees that leaving six people to die in a bomb blast is morally wrong. His "give me a bible" request on the make-shift operating table has a "there are no atheists in a foxhole" moment to it.

Kelly is probably dying and has only made it this far because his friend and partner has risked everything to save him. But Kelly, in his soul, is not the tribalist McNally is. Look for the moment when McNally mindlessly tosses the bible on the ground and Hunnicutt calmy reproves him.

Director Powell understands film noir well. He moves seamlessly and continuously between fistfights, philosophy, sexual tension, and the countdown to the bomb blast, all in an atmosphere of fear and fatalism, shot in black and white with moody camera angles and lighting.

He was fortunate to have the cast to pull off what essentially is a dialogue-heavy stage-play-like story taking place mainly on one set – a bar in a deserted town. There is not one bad performance, but Egan's, Sterling's, McNally's and, especially, Smith's stand out.

Having resurrected his acting career in film noir several years earlier, Powell respected the genre, so much so he thoughtfully directed his picture to rise well above it B movie status.

He effectively made a gripping morality tale pitting tribalism against objective justice that requires selfless acts of heroism for that justice to triumph, all set in the shadow of a looming nuclear bomb blast that has one questioning if anything man does really has any meaning.

The movie leaves you meditating, sometimes uncomfortably, about how you, individually, would respond if faced with decisions where survival and morality were at odds.

Some movies deserve more attention than they'll ever get. Driven by an outstanding cast and a script that weaves together life's biggest questions—love, sex, honor, betrayal, and purpose — Split Second, with its film noir slow burn to a dramatic climax, is one of those movies.

 

[Edward]

View attachment 642958
Purple Noon from 1960 with Alain Delon, Marie Leforêt, Maurice Ronet and Bill Kearns


First, read the book The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith because it's very good and you get to form your own images of everything and everyone in your head.

Then watch Purple Noon to see how director René Clément interpreted the novel in 1960 cinema. Finally, watch The Talented Mr. Ripley to see how director Anthony Minghella did so in 1999.

Other than, one assumes, censorship that forced a different ending from the book, Clément's Purple Noon is reasonably faithful to Highsmith's story and a bit grittier than Minghella's later interpretation; the latter made post-war Italy look like the prettiest place on earth.

Not that Clément's post-war Italy isn't darn attractive, especially with a beautiful cast including Alain Delon proving a man can be prettier than even the beautiful Marie Leforêt.

Despite all this visual beauty, Purple Noon is still a murderous tale about a polished, psychotic grifter and a nasty, spoiled rich kid who take the concept of frenemies to a new level of spite and antipathy. The picture is effectively film noir in its soul, but it's too pretty to fit the genre.

Delon plays a poor boy bounder who is hired by a rich kid's dad to bring his prodigal son home to America from Italy. The son, a young man, played by Maurice Ronet, is living a sybaritic life with his quasi fiancée, played by Leforêt, whom he mentally abuses when he's bored or angry.

Delon befriends Ronet while stringing along Ronet's dad back in America with dissembling telegrams. Delon is attracted to Ronet's lifestyle and his fiancée. Ronet is sometimes friendly and sometimes nasty to Delon, but the poor boy puts up with it to stay in Ronet's wealthy orbit.

That is until he doesn't. It happens about halfway in, so maybe it's a spoiler, but after Ronet is particularly nasty to Delon, Delon kills Ronet, disposes of the body at sea, and then shows why Highsmith titled her novel The Talented Mr. Ripley, Delon's character's name.

After he murders Ronet, Delon goes full grifter, stealing Ronet's identity to make it look as if Ronet is still alive. This both covers up the murder and allows Delon to enjoy some of Ronet's lifestyle.

Delon shows an incredible talent for copying signatures and faking passports, but where he really shines is in thinking far ahead to put all the pieces of his elaborate deception in place. But the boy can also think on his feet, as he outwits the French police on the fly several times.

Delon's encounters with a particular French detective, played by Erno Crisa, are wonderful nail-biting scenes as the detective clearly suspects pretty-boy Delon, but he has no evidence. Delon, for his part, assumes a reserved innocence with the detective that requires nerves of steel.

Delon also outwits Ronet's friends and Leforêt, but one friend he can't outwit is an obnoxious, arrogant, but whip-smart nosy ba***rd, played by Bill Kearns. So Delon "disposes" of him the way many good film noir villains do: he bonks him hard on the head and dumps the body.

You'll get exhausted just keeping up with Delon as he dances all over Italy, spinning stories to the police, American Express agents, Ronet's friends, and, of course, Leforêt. It is the heart and soul of the book's story. The movie, though, adds visual beauty.

Italy might have been struggling to get back on its feet after WWII, but not where the rich expat Americans play, party, sun and sleep around. With everyone dressed in beautiful clothes, the film doubles as a travel brochure for Rome and Naples.

In the real world, even though Ronet was a rich ba***rd with a nasty meanstreak, you'd want Delon caught, convicted and punished for his murder. But in the world of movies, your morality wobbles as Ronet is hateful, and Delon is so handsome and passionate, you almost root for him.

It's this ability of Delon to do bad things, but still have you somewhat like him that takes Purple Noon to a higher level. Clément made a pretty and intelligent movie with beautiful cinematography, smart pacing and engaging scenes, but Delon makes the movie.

The man "grifts" the viewer as much as the characters in the story. Ronet is fine as the nasty rich kid, but he becomes a prop for Delon. Leforêt, though, is the other interesting character, as she projects a depth of thought and feeling that exceeds the role as written.

You, of course, don't have to read the book first or watch the 1999 version of the movie afterward to enjoy Purple Noon, but you might want to so that you can fully appreciate the rich texture and multiple layers of Highsmith's achievement.

Clémet's interpretation of her work, however, stands on its own as an engaging, appealing, and pretty, but also somewhat frightening look at a charming sociopath quietly menacing his way through Italy's young, rich American expat community.

Interesting - I was unaware of this one, I must go looking for it. The Minghella picture is the previous earliest one with which I was familiar. I actually rather enjoyed the (much closer to the book) Netflix series last year, which I think some of us discussed at length over on the TV thread. I'd adore to see the rest of the books in the Ripley series made with Andrew Scott playing Ripley, each in the style of the cinema from the period in which the story is set. Alas, Netflix being Netflix, I fear having a hit series on their hands only seems to strengthen their resolve to cancel it.

 

[Worf]

MONSTER DAY on TCM!!!!!!

Worf

 

[Fading Fast]

Paid from 1930 with Joan Crawford, Robert Armstrong, Marie Prevost, John Miljan, Purnell Pratt and Douglas Montgomery


Other than getting a bit muddled and mawkish at the end, Paid is a hard-hitting and entertaining precode that says some cops are bad and the legal system is brutally unfair and biased for the rich, but it also says crooks are worse.

Joan Crawford plays a department store worker who is railroaded into jail when she's accused of stealing. Crawford's sentence is severe because the store's owner, played by Purnell Pratt, sternly refuses to say anything in Crawford's favor at her sentencing.

In jail, which is harsh but has a hint of women's prison prurience, Crawford does two things: she studies the law, and she befriends a fellow inmate played by Marie Prevost. When she gets out after three years, she joins Prevost's gang of swindlers, but Crawford has a plan.

Her angle is to swindle older rich men out of money by having them propose marriage to her or Prevost. When the men realize who the girls really are, the girls sue them for breach of promise. It's nasty but legal as is a partnership swindle Crawford also masterminds.

The gang's old leader, played by Robert Armstrong, smartly cedes his position to Crawford, a woman he's developed feelings for. Things are going well as the money is coming in, and while shady, it's all legal.

The police are wise to them, but Crawford is smart and keeps the gang within the law. That, though, isn't enough for Crawford as she also wants revenge on Pratt, so she – get ready for it – marries his son, played by Douglas Montgomery.

The classic three-act story has now completed act two where the heroine, Crawford, has exacted revenge on the villain, Pratt, by stealing his son from him. Up to now, it's an excellent retribution movie, but as the saying goes, it still needs a third act.

Paid gets muddled now as the gang members, sans Crawford as she's focused on hurting Pratt, consider slipping back into their old ways when they see an opportunity to make a big score by stealing from Pratt.

The other wrinkle, which you'll see coming, is Crawford, against her will, beginning to fall for her husband for real – despite having married him only as a way to hurt Pratt.

From here, the movie mashes all these threads together into a giant muddle that is both confusing and hard to believe. The movie needed a Hollywood ending, so it got one, but the twists at the climax are too cute, and the wrap-up is rushed and awkward.

Had Warner Bros., not MGM, made Paid, the ending would probably have been harsher but more realistic. MGM's movies, even during the precode era, had a gloss that rough-and-tumbled Warners didn't.

Paid, though, does accuse the legal system of being unjust, harsh and biased for the rich. The cops look dirty as they use tricks, deceit, and physical force to get confessions. They bend the law like Crawford does. Paid is no shining example of American justice

Crawford's acting isn't subtle here; she'd become subtler in time, but she is effective as the wronged woman on a revenge quest. Other than Prevost, who is wonderful as an insouciant swindler, this is Crawford's movie, so much so, she fireman carries it through the third act.

Armstrong is good as the crook who, ironically, doesn't seem to enjoy making money honestly. Pratt is fine as the cardboard "rich guy" who has no feelings for his employees, but Montgomery feels almost like a placeholder as the pretty boy son who's just a pawn.

If Crawford has a true antagonist in this one, it's John Miljan playing the police inspector who stalks Crawford's gang throughout. The long closing scene, where he manipulates everyone as he uses his office as a stage, is impressive, even if the storyline is forced.

Paid uses its precode freedom pretty well. It shows America's justice system, from its courts to its police, in an unfavorable light, while having a woman, pretty much, outsmart the men time and again.

Paid would be remade as a B movie in 1939 with the title Within the Law, the story's original stage name. The remake held on to a decent amount of its grit, plus it's a more polished version, but for raw precode entertainment, this 1930 version is the one to watch.

 

[Fading Fast]

I See a Dark Stranger from 1946 with Deborah Kerr, Trevor Howard, Garry Marsh and Tom Macaulay

Englishman on the train: For a subject of a neutral country, aren't you being a little belligerent?

Deborah Kerr as a passionate Irish national: There's nothing belligerent about it. It's entirely a question of which side I'm neutral on.

Had Alfred Hitchcock made I See a Dark Stranger, it would probably be a classic as nobody combined spy intrigue with humor better than the master director. Here though, director Frank Launder still deserves credit for creating an engaging WWII spy mystery.

So many Hitchcockian elements are wrapped into Launder's movie that you wonder if it's a coincidence. Deborah Kerr plays a young Irish girl raised to hate the British. During WWII, she leaves her small town intending to join the IRA in Dublin.

After being dissuaded from joining the IRA by a former member who has mellowed since the 1921 treaty, she, owing to her British antipathy, is recruited to spy for Germany.

You try not to hate Kerr, as she's a young girl loaded up with anti-British propaganda, but still, she's on the wrong side.

From here the story takes on more Hitchcockian elements. Kerr proves to be a persistent spy who ends up with critical knowledge about the D-Day landing, but her challenge is getting it into the right German hands.

A British intelligence officer, played by Trevor Howard, is first attracted to Kerr simply because she's a pretty young girl. He soon realizes, though, she's involved in something nefarious, so for mixed reasons, and despite her cold shoulder, he stays with her.

Also tracking Kerr are the Germans, some who don't realize she's, at least initially, working for them. British Intelligence, separate from Howard, is also in the mix as they are looking for "a young Irish woman," but not Kerr specifically.

Kerr then begins to have doubts about handing over the information to the Germans as she's learning the world is not at all as black and white as her militant Irish father led her to believe.

Kerr discovers, though, you can't just say "I'm out" and have everyone stop chasing you. The climax – no spoilers coming – has Howard, the police (informed by British Intelligence) and the Germans all hunting Kerr, who no longer wants to be a spy.

I See a Dark Stranger starts out as a pure spy thriller with a rarely-explored Irish angle to its WWII story. But after Howard gets involved, the story takes on a somewhat lighter tone as romance and comedy tiptoe in.

The comedy is increased when Garry Marsh and Tom Macaulay (as doppelgangers of that era's popular British comedy team of Charters and Caldicott) get involved playing two somewhat unaware British Intelligence officers trying to find Kerr.

Marsh and Macaulay play their comedy at a bit of a lower key than the more famous comedy team, which works better here as too much humor would have broken the spy tension that really holds the narrative together.

It also helps that Kerr and Howard share wonderful on-screen chemistry. Her youthful obstinacy – she's annoyed with male advances as she's busy bringing down the British Empire – plays well against his British aplomb, which comfortably mixes business with pleasure.

Kerr is so young here, it will take fans who know her from her later Hollywood pictures a moment to recognize her aglow with youthful beauty. Howard, who looked old even when young, pulls off being a male lead with elegance and confidence, despite lacking classic good looks.

Director Launder effectively uses his on-location scenes of England and Ireland to give the movie a genuine Irish vs. English cultural feel. He also understands spy/noir cinematography, as his angles, shadows, and night scenes create ominous tension.

Had the story not gotten a bit muddled and had the tone not become a bit too comedic in the climax, I See a Dark Stranger could have been a classic WWII spy movie. Still, with Kerr's and Trevor's performances and a Hitchcockian style, it's an entertaining-as-heck picture.

 

[Fading Fast]

Fog Over Frisco from 1934 with Bette Davis, Margaret Lindsay, Lyle Talbot, Alan Hale and Henry O'Neil


You watch Fog Over Frisco for the leads, in particular, for a Bette Davis, seconds before her breakout to major stardom, and you watch it for the 1934 zeitgeist and argot – reporters, gangsters, gun molls, Wall St. types, cops, and amazing on-location San Francisco footage.

You don't watch it for its confusing, off-the-pre-code-shelf plot about two wealthy stepsisters: one dangerously scratching her underworld itch, while the other tries to save her.

Bette Davis plays the bad sister here; Margaret Lindsay, the good one. Davis is also the stepdaughter (her mom seems to have passed away) of a very wealthy financier, Lindsay's real father, but from the first scene, we see Davis likes the seamy side of life.

We also quickly learn that she's involved in some sort of financial fraud racket – yes, a full on racket – which involves using her dopey fiancé, a broker at her stepfather's firm. Davis has no shame or conscience as she launders stolen securities through stepdad's brokerage house.

Davis' partners are mobsters and an "inside man" working at her dad's firm. She is no average bad daughter running up bills, drinking, sleeping around and gambling, while expecting her rich father to just make it okay afterwards, as this is full-on corruption that could ruin her stepdad.

Lovely sister Lindsay, unaware of all the corruption and devoted to her stepsister, tries to make peace between her dad and Davis. Also tossed into this mix is Lindsay's boyfriend, a reporter, who uses his access to Davis to report her shenanigans in his paper.

This unstable brew comes to a head as federal agents are getting wise to Davis' scheme; yes, it's so big, the Feds are involved. Her dad is also getting wise and her fiancé is wobbling. There is no easy way out for Davis, though, as the mobsters want her to keep laundering for them.

Most of the movie, all shot at a warp-speed pace with typical Warner Bros. warp-speed dialogue, is Davis trying to find a safe escape hatch for herself, her money, and her gangster boyfriend, while the Feds and stepdad close in, and sister Lindsay, still unaware, tries to help.

Being a Warner Bros. picture (under its First National Pictures brand), there's a real-world grit to all this as the gangsters kidnap, assault and shoot to kill to protect their money and turf. Davis also is no misguided good kid, but a corrupt, lying and selfish young woman.

The movie's wrap-up is confusing as there are so many players - local cops, the Feds, several newspapers, several gangsters, and the family - but you get it easily enough at a high level. Plus, you don't watch this movie for its plot; you watch it for its actors and atmosphere.

Davis, shortly, would become one of the era's defining stars, but here you see her ready to launch, as her energy, presence, and delivery have her owning every scene she's in. She's so good, it sometimes seems like everyone else is just standing still around her.

Lindsay is no Davis, but she's a perfect counterbalance here as the good, level-headed sister truly trying to save Davis. Also, Lindsay's character has the absolutely wonderful name Valkyr (pronounced Val-ker) Bradford, a first name which should be brought back immediately.

The entire cast, which is chockablock with Warners' regulars, including Lyle Talbot, Alan Hale, Henry O'Neil and others, feels like old home week for the studio. The acting talent that Warners could throw at even a B movie is impressive to this day.

Warners also captured the hijinx and competitiveness of the intense newspaper business back then – look for the scene where the reporters raaz the paper's photographer, played by Hugh Herbert. No historical account could mimic the real-world feel you get here.

Unusual for the time, Warners Bros. also took to the streets to film, shooting all over San Francisco. This brings the city alive in a way no recreation on studio sets and backlots can ever achieve.

Along with all of the movie's gangster argot and wealthy people swag – Davis' bedroom is an Art Deco Hollywood fantasy that had to have 1930s audiences swooning – you feel the era and the times in an almost palpable way.

Fog Over Frisco is a B movie with a run-of-the-mill plot, but as sometimes happens when fate and luck combine, it also captured so much of-the-moment history, and so many period curios that it's probably a better movie for modern audiences than it was for contemporaneous ones.

Today, it offers us a chance to see Bette Davis locked and loaded for stardom, San Francisco just before the Golden Gate was built, and the city's gritty underworld just before the Motion Picture Production Code forced movies to whitewash its pictures.

Sometimes it's just happenstance, but in Fog Over Frisco, a nondescript B movie, Warner Bros. thankfully, even if accidentally, preserved a lot of cultural and historical ephemera on celluloid for us.

 

[Julian Shellhammer]

Making up for a short hiatus, here's the recent viewing experiences at stately Shellhammer Palais du Old Movies-

Murder Ahoy (1964) with Margaret Rutherford as Miss Marple, solving mysteries on a sailing vessel; which doesn't sail but stays anchored in a bay somewhere. Rutherford is in fine form, completely inhabiting her screen persona. Some folks are murdered with fiendish cleverness, and Marple sets out to find out who and why. We didn't guess whodunnit, but it was still fun.

The Shanghai Story (1954) with Ruth Roman and Edmund O'Brien as part of a crowd of Westerners interned by the Communists in 1950s Shanghai. Modestly budgeted apparently, since most of the story takes place within a commandeered hotel for the internees. Roman is someone with connections to the military authorities, who floats through oppression and political brutality draped in mink. O'Brien is a doctor who would like to get back to the USA. There's a spy in the group and the guards are determined to find out who. Will they get back home? Who's the spy? There's a reference to General Mao, not Chairman Mao. Entertaining, if you've an evening to while away.

Strange Alibi (1941) with a young Arthur Kennedy going undercover to bust up a mob. Corrupt police complications railroad him into a life-sentence for a murder he didn't commit. How he gets out of prison and tracks down the one eye-witness* who can prove his innocency takes up the second half of this one hour and three minute diversion.

* No, no, no- it's not a witness with one eye: it's the eyewitness who is the only guy to see the crime.

 

[Fading Fast]

La Notte from 1961 is an Italian film with Jeanne Moreau, Marcello Mastroianni and Monica Vitti


At first you think "intellectuals" see life with a deeper, richer, and more-complex insight, but if the characters in La Notte are "intellectuals," then you might find yourself revising your opinion to see them as intelligent adults who use their sizable IQs to live life like overgrown children.

In this second entry in noted director Michelangelo Antonioni's trilogy (which includes 1960s L'Avventura and 1962's L'Eclisse), bougie, artistic intellectuals find life boring, meaningless, or too materialistic – or something that makes these good-looking, successful people unhappy.

Here, a wealthy heiress, played by Jeanne Moreau, and her successful author husband, played by Marcello Mastroianni, spend a long day and a longer night angstily disliking life, each other at times, and themselves at other times – all because they are bored or disappointed in life.

Shot in beautifully rich black and white, you are in for long scenes of Moreau walking around Milan looking unhappy. These scenes are engaging in a way, but you definitely have to be in the mood for a 1960s "artsy" approach to moviemaking.

You also have to be in the mood for two people constantly talking past each other in a morose way. It's clear their marriage is struggling, but they ironically seem perfectly suited for each other as they can wallow together in their existential angst. Plus, who else would want them?

That question gets answered at the "climactic" (in quotes because there is no real plot here) wealthy person's house party where others like Moreau and Mastroianni drink, eat, dance, get stupid when it rains, and generally try very hard to have fun while "sounding" intellectual.

It's all artsy scenes we've come to know well: an unhappy-looking girl sitting alone, just around the corner from a rambunctious party, or two pretty women, smoking excessively as they talk with feigned nonchalance about the man they won't admit they're fighting over.

Staying with the fiction that there is a plot, Mastroianni meets the daughter, played by Monica Vitti, of the owner of the house who is, get ready for it, bored with her cosseted life. She and Mastroianni flirt, but don't have sex, because it seems, that would take too much effort.

Interrupting the long shots of Moreau being unhappy, are bursts of conversation where the meaning of life, materialism, art and sex are talked about in an off-the-shelf leftist intellectual way. It's like Antonioni wanted to show the French that the Italians can do pretentious angst too.

The movie is beautifully filmed in an stylized way, and Moreau's, Mastroianni's and Vitti's performances are engaging for what they were trying to achieve, but it's hard to sit through two hours of early 1960s intellectual disillusionment unless it is your thing.

It is also difficult to feel sorry for good-looking, successful people who have had many professional or artistic achievements, but still feel life is "so meaningless." This childlike thinking takes our modern phrase, rich-person problems, to even greater pretentious heights.

Today the movie works in two ways. It is still visually appealing and well-acted in the context of what Antonioni was trying to say. It also serves as a time capsule, not so much of Italy at that moment, but of an early example of what would come to be known as 'indie' moviemaking.

If you want to tackle La Notte don't worry about it being part of a "trilogy," as this is no Star Wars: each entry stands on its own angst, depression, and meaninglessness-of-life bona fides. Just don't watch all three on the same day if there are any razor blades in your house.

 

[Fading Fast]

70,000 Witnesses from 1932 with Phillips Holmes, Dorothy Jordan, Charles Ruggles, David Landau and Johnny Mack Brown


70,000 Witnesses plays okay as its intended "murder mystery wrapped inside a big rival college football game" story, but where it really shines for us today is as another piece of movie evidence that college football had already been corrupted by the early 1930s.

There's a belief that college football was once a "pure" sport played for the love of the game by sincere college students who honorably represented their school. Maybe back in the late 19th century, when college football started that was true, but not by the 1930s.

One 1930s college football movie after another shows that all the corruption we're familiar with in college sports today was already in play by that decade. There were few clean hands even back then.

Players were gratuitously passed in their classes to maintain eligibility. Ringers were often brought in. Star players were paid in backdoor ways, but called "amateurs." Alumni held outsized sway if they made large donations, often steered toward sports, not academics.

Gambling and gamblers, too, were already heavily involved in the sport with bribes and, as seen in 70,000 Witnesses, worse machinations put in play to affect the outcome of the games.

"State" is about to play its big game against "University" (why they didn't come up with fake college names is a mystery) with State's star player, played by Johnny Mack Brown, being targeted by a big New York City gambler, played by Lew Cody, who needs University to win.

Cody's ace in the hole is his brother, a teammate of Brown’s, played by Phillips Holmes. Cody has been paying his younger brother's way through State, but Holmes has kept his tie to his big-time gambler brother a secret.

College was an upper-class milieu then, so no gambler's relatives were invited. Worse, Holmes is dating Brown's sister, played by Dorothy Jordan. So when Holmes' brother pressures him to "harmlessly" knock Brown out of the game, Holmes is torn.

He knows it is wrong, but his brother has paid his tuition, plus his brother says the knock-out drug for Brown is not dangerous. Cody, knowing his brother might not help, has put other plans in motion to get Brown out of the game, "just in case."

Game day is a mass of tension as Holmes is still torn between team loyalty, friendship and a perverted sense of filial duty. For some reason or other, Brown dies on the playing field, in front of 70,000 fans, making it, potentially, a very public murder.

From here, the movie becomes a homicide investigation led by the local police chief, played by David Landau, who smashes his way through obstacles in a way no police chief would be allowed to today.

Landau sees all the random pieces – the brothers and the mobsters – but he can't connect the dots. So on the recommendation of an always inebriated newspaper man, played by Charles Ruggles, he comes up with the stupidest plan ever, which is to reenact the game.

It's a mess of a plan that turns the movie into a giant mess, with a forced "dramatic" and not-too-believable outcome that seems like a last-minute "save" to give the audience a happy ending.

The movie, which starts as a college picture, effectively becomes a detective story by the second half. Holmes is a good-looking but weak leading man, which leaves a lot of room for Landau, with his strong screen presence, to take over the picture.

Jordan might have been fun to see as she's cute and spirited, but her role shrunk even more than Holmes' in the second half, which became the "Landau with Ruggles as his comic sidekick" movie by then. Even Cody is nothing more than a stock mobster.

All this makes 70,000 Witnesses an oddity as a collegiate movie that morphs into a murder-investigation movie with the lead characters and tone changing. The story is okay entertainment, but the picture's real value is simply in what its existence says.

College football was already a massively popular sport in the 1930s. Many 1930s movies argue that the sport was also already corrupt and a corrupting influence on colleges and students. Sadly, the only thing that's changed today is that it's gotten worse.

 

[Worf]

Wasn't it Groucho in "Horsefeathers" who as Dean of a University said and I quote loosely:

"I'm going downtown to buy a couple of Football Players!"

Worf