Doghouse-6
Joined May 1999
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Doghouse-6's rating
Indeed, BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK is like the burning fuse on a stick of dynamite: a suspenseful, steady progression to a seemingly inevitable outcome, crackling and sparking along the way.
Director Sturges and screenwriters Kaufman and McGuire nicely contrast typical film noir elements - an enigmatic stranger; a dark secret kept by the inhabitants of a hostile town; a strong-arm boss ruling the roost through intimidation (and thugs) - against widescreen, Technicolor vistas, and the thematic one-man-against-a-town/nowhere-to-run claustrophobia is deftly and unexpectedly enhanced by the surrounding open spaces.
Led by Spencer Tracy - for whom the film provides an image so iconic it was echoed years later in "It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World - a galaxy of first-rank players delivers punchy dialogue -
"You've got the body of a hippo but the brain of a jackrabbit; don't tax it."
"You're not only wrong, you're wrong at the top of your voice."
"Talking to you is like pulling teeth; you wear me out."
"I get 'em comin' and going."
"I live a quiet, contemplative life."
"Don't get waspish with me, mister...I feel for ya, but I'm consumed with apathy."
"Do the nice little things...like keepin' yer big, fat nose outta my business."
Sturges' effective pacing is at once deliberate yet tense: a chess-game-like battle of wits and wills punctuated by moments of jeopardy met with daring gambits, after which the squared-off opponents quietly consider each other's next move.
Before urgently barreling toward its climax, very much like the diesel train seen behind the credits, BAD DAT AT BLACK ROCK packs a great deal into its brisk, 81 minute running time, and is a vest pocket tornado.
Director Sturges and screenwriters Kaufman and McGuire nicely contrast typical film noir elements - an enigmatic stranger; a dark secret kept by the inhabitants of a hostile town; a strong-arm boss ruling the roost through intimidation (and thugs) - against widescreen, Technicolor vistas, and the thematic one-man-against-a-town/nowhere-to-run claustrophobia is deftly and unexpectedly enhanced by the surrounding open spaces.
Led by Spencer Tracy - for whom the film provides an image so iconic it was echoed years later in "It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World - a galaxy of first-rank players delivers punchy dialogue -
"You've got the body of a hippo but the brain of a jackrabbit; don't tax it."
"You're not only wrong, you're wrong at the top of your voice."
"Talking to you is like pulling teeth; you wear me out."
- the most elegant passages of which are delivered by town doctor/undertaker Walter Brennan:
"I get 'em comin' and going."
"I live a quiet, contemplative life."
"Don't get waspish with me, mister...I feel for ya, but I'm consumed with apathy."
"Do the nice little things...like keepin' yer big, fat nose outta my business."
Sturges' effective pacing is at once deliberate yet tense: a chess-game-like battle of wits and wills punctuated by moments of jeopardy met with daring gambits, after which the squared-off opponents quietly consider each other's next move.
Before urgently barreling toward its climax, very much like the diesel train seen behind the credits, BAD DAT AT BLACK ROCK packs a great deal into its brisk, 81 minute running time, and is a vest pocket tornado.
CRIME OF PASSION - never mind the generic title - exhibits much that's recommendable, but never quite jells as it might have under more imaginative direction and, much as I hate to fault powerhouse performers such as Stanwyck and Hayden, with different casting.
What we have here is really a sort of suburban "All About Eve:" the portrait of a manipulative schemer who'll stop at nothing in service to ambition, even when that ambition is to be simply the dutiful woman behind the successful man.
Another reviewer aptly calls the film "subversive," and this element could have provided its most interesting facets had it been more fully explored. By the mid-to-late 50's, some films were taking a hard-edged second look at the established conventions and revered institutions of postwar American life, and while this one appears at times to aspire to a similar examination - in this case, of the potentially stifling nature of traditional gender roles - it trips itself up in execution, leaning to heavy-handedness when subtlety is called for, and ultimately surrendering to a too-conventional presentation of a "woman at the breaking point" theme that was such a staple of players like Joan Crawford - and Stanwyck herself - during this period.
The been-around-the-block maturity of Stanwyck at this stage of her career is squeezed into a rather tight fit: that of a career woman who, on the brink of long hoped-for advancement, sacrifices all for love and transfers her personal ambition to the professional betterment of her new husband. Likewise, Hayden's normally brusque and self-assured persona seems uncomfortably constrained in the role of a pedantic police professional who cares little for departmental politics and career success, and is more comfortable with a solicitous passivity toward both his working and personal relationships.
One casting bulls-eye is scored with Raymond Burr as the departmental chief who misses nothing, and immediately spots - and appreciates - Stanwyck for the kind of woman she is. As a sort of counterpart to "Eve's" Addison DeWitt, Burr silkily embodies both graciousness and menace, and his sly underplaying projects true power not only of character but of performer, easily dominating every scene in which he appears. With this approach, he seems the only cast member with a handle on what a rich film CRIME OF PASSION could have been.
If undemanding, it's diverting enough, and would certainly be worth seeing for Burr's multi-dimensional work alone, but it's also worth pondering, while one watches, the fascinating possibilities at which it all too briefly hints.
What we have here is really a sort of suburban "All About Eve:" the portrait of a manipulative schemer who'll stop at nothing in service to ambition, even when that ambition is to be simply the dutiful woman behind the successful man.
Another reviewer aptly calls the film "subversive," and this element could have provided its most interesting facets had it been more fully explored. By the mid-to-late 50's, some films were taking a hard-edged second look at the established conventions and revered institutions of postwar American life, and while this one appears at times to aspire to a similar examination - in this case, of the potentially stifling nature of traditional gender roles - it trips itself up in execution, leaning to heavy-handedness when subtlety is called for, and ultimately surrendering to a too-conventional presentation of a "woman at the breaking point" theme that was such a staple of players like Joan Crawford - and Stanwyck herself - during this period.
The been-around-the-block maturity of Stanwyck at this stage of her career is squeezed into a rather tight fit: that of a career woman who, on the brink of long hoped-for advancement, sacrifices all for love and transfers her personal ambition to the professional betterment of her new husband. Likewise, Hayden's normally brusque and self-assured persona seems uncomfortably constrained in the role of a pedantic police professional who cares little for departmental politics and career success, and is more comfortable with a solicitous passivity toward both his working and personal relationships.
One casting bulls-eye is scored with Raymond Burr as the departmental chief who misses nothing, and immediately spots - and appreciates - Stanwyck for the kind of woman she is. As a sort of counterpart to "Eve's" Addison DeWitt, Burr silkily embodies both graciousness and menace, and his sly underplaying projects true power not only of character but of performer, easily dominating every scene in which he appears. With this approach, he seems the only cast member with a handle on what a rich film CRIME OF PASSION could have been.
If undemanding, it's diverting enough, and would certainly be worth seeing for Burr's multi-dimensional work alone, but it's also worth pondering, while one watches, the fascinating possibilities at which it all too briefly hints.
During the espionage film craze of the 1960's, "spy" movies generally fell into one of two categories: the colorful, just-for-fun spoofs full of whiz-bang gadgetry and exotic sexpots, and the "serious" examinations of the cold war and - most pointedly - its effect on those caught up in it. THE DEFECTOR, which has more than a little in common with Hitchcock's "Torn Curtain" from the same year, is of the latter type.
As an American physicist recruited by the CIA for a behind-the-iron-curtain mission, Clift is, as always, fascinating to watch. Of all the screen's best-known method actors, he was the only one who never let the mechanics show. With a performer like Brando, one can often sense what the actor's thinking. With Monty, you sense what the character is thinking. Add to this the high-wire nature of the personal vulnerability he projected in his performances (especially the later ones), and the sum is never less than compelling. He often utilized that quality as an effective element of his characterizations, and as a man of letters whose life appears to consist entirely of his twin devotions to science and art, and who finds himself in dangerous territory (emotional and otherwise), it works well here. Despite Clift's often obvious frailty, he executes some rather demanding physical feats, and this, too, fits within the characterization of a man who discovers, by necessity, strengths he hadn't known he possessed.
As espionage drama, THE DEFECTOR is strictly routine, but it's enlivened by both some unexpected plot twists and the presence of players such as Roddy MacDowall as the genial but oily operative who employs blackmail-with-a-smile to enlist Clift's cooperation, David Opatoshu as a not-to-be-crossed intelligence overseer and - most outstandingly - Hardy Kruger as Clift's equally unwilling eastern bloc counterpart. Kruger was an immensely engaging performer, and his scenes with Clift feature some entertaining sparring (between both the characters and the actors).
Director Raoul Levy (who, only a year younger than Clift, also died during the year of the film's release) unfortunately yields to some now-dated 60's-style psychedelia, but it's fairly brief, and he largely keeps the proceedings on a straightforward and even keel. If the film has one quality which lifts it above the norm for the genre, it's the attention it pays to the humanity of the characters - both major and minor - in all its forms, from the noblest to the basest.
THE DEFECTOR is, overall, an intelligent - if not showy - film, and although not terribly remarkable otherwise, definitely worthwhile for any Montgomery Clift devotee.
As an American physicist recruited by the CIA for a behind-the-iron-curtain mission, Clift is, as always, fascinating to watch. Of all the screen's best-known method actors, he was the only one who never let the mechanics show. With a performer like Brando, one can often sense what the actor's thinking. With Monty, you sense what the character is thinking. Add to this the high-wire nature of the personal vulnerability he projected in his performances (especially the later ones), and the sum is never less than compelling. He often utilized that quality as an effective element of his characterizations, and as a man of letters whose life appears to consist entirely of his twin devotions to science and art, and who finds himself in dangerous territory (emotional and otherwise), it works well here. Despite Clift's often obvious frailty, he executes some rather demanding physical feats, and this, too, fits within the characterization of a man who discovers, by necessity, strengths he hadn't known he possessed.
As espionage drama, THE DEFECTOR is strictly routine, but it's enlivened by both some unexpected plot twists and the presence of players such as Roddy MacDowall as the genial but oily operative who employs blackmail-with-a-smile to enlist Clift's cooperation, David Opatoshu as a not-to-be-crossed intelligence overseer and - most outstandingly - Hardy Kruger as Clift's equally unwilling eastern bloc counterpart. Kruger was an immensely engaging performer, and his scenes with Clift feature some entertaining sparring (between both the characters and the actors).
Director Raoul Levy (who, only a year younger than Clift, also died during the year of the film's release) unfortunately yields to some now-dated 60's-style psychedelia, but it's fairly brief, and he largely keeps the proceedings on a straightforward and even keel. If the film has one quality which lifts it above the norm for the genre, it's the attention it pays to the humanity of the characters - both major and minor - in all its forms, from the noblest to the basest.
THE DEFECTOR is, overall, an intelligent - if not showy - film, and although not terribly remarkable otherwise, definitely worthwhile for any Montgomery Clift devotee.