Sunset Blvd. (1950): Billy Wilder's All-Time Classic Explored

As a caustic, cynical take on Hollywood and the nature of fame, Billy Wilder's 1950 classic is perhaps the definitive movie about the studio system of that era, shot in a distinctive, neo-gothic Film Noir style. From the first frame, we are presented with an unconventional story, narrated by an already slain man, seen from beneath the waters of a pool; his unblinking, dead gaze assuring us of an inevitable, unhappy outcome.

Sunset Blvd. - The Plot

We soon learn that our narrator is Joe Gillis (William Holden), a washed-up writer who accidentally stumbles across a decaying mansion off Sunset Boulevard, home to former silent era queen, Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson).

Ducking from creditors, he slips into her drive, then into her house, discovering the two sole inhabitants: Desmond, plus her faithful butler/driver/servant, Max (Erich von Stroheim), surrounded by the dusty trappings of a former life. You see, Norma was a star, once - back before the vulgarity of the talkies ("We didn't need voices. We had faces!" she protests), an already bygone era; hers, a forgotten name.

When Desmond discovers that Joe is a writer, she insists he pens her screenplay, one that will serve as her grand return to cinema and to her adoring public. Joe witnesses the extent of her delusion but regardless, sniffs a buck and agrees to move in and develop her project, soon becoming her gigolo.

Tensions mount as Joe meets Betty (Nancy Olson), a studio staff writer, then begins a relationship with her, enraging Norma's jealousies. Max reveals his earlier status as Desmond's former director and husband, still very much in love with her.

A confrontation ends when a pistol rings out in the night, resulting in Norma's final, grotesque return to some kind of fame. As she prepares to descend the vast staircase one last time to meet the throng of gathered press and flashbulbs, she famously announces: "All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up."

 

Its All in the Detail

Astonishingly, the images adorning the walls of the mansion are of Swanson in her (younger) glory days, herself a victim of the demise of silent movies. The movie Max screens for Joe was an as-then unreleased film directed by Stroheim himself, starring Swanson. As a director, Stroheim was another refugee of that silent era.

Continuing this theme, we are presented with a wealth of detail: in one scene, Norma has visitors over for a game of cards; the players are from that same bygone era, esteemed company that includes Buster Keaton.

 Buster Keaton in Sunset Blvd.

When Desmond is granted brief audience on the sound stage of a Hollywood studio, Cecil B. DeMille cameos as himself, directing the movie Samson and Delilah. He successfully makes the transition into modernity whilst observing her descent.

Holden himself was out of favour when Sunset Blvd. was greenlit for production, struggling with a drinking habit that would blight his career, mirroring the plight of his character Joe, further galvanising the art-imitating-life undercurrent.

As a film in it's own right, Sunset Blvd. is classic cinema. Closer examination however reveals a wealth of clever complexities, elevating the movie to a masterpiece, perfectly encapsulating the pernicious nature of fame and success.

Revisiting 'Blood Simple'

Blood Simple (1984) Dir: Joel Coen

The first Coen Bros. movie and - in some quarters - still held as their finest picture.  I watched it again this weekend, for the first time in many years. With the benefit of retrospect, it's easy to see what would become Coen preoccupations: low angles, noir-ish mood, characters who act rather than talk - but act stupid, then pay the price for their stupidity.

In many ways, this is the Coen's closest homage to the stories of James M. Cain. True, their later The Man Who Wasn't There is undoubtedly more authentic to the traditions of both hardboiled literature and Film Noir.  But in terms of story, Blood Simple examines similar themes of morality as found in Cain's The Postman Always Rings Twice or Double Indemnity - doomed lovers who make dubious decisions, inevitably questioning their motives toward each other.

Frances McDormand

Frances McDormand shines in a very early role but the real star of the show is M. Emmet Walsh, playing a seedy private eye. Walsh is always good value* but he's probably never been better than he is here, playing an odious, duplicitous man who gets under your skin seconds into his initial scene.

 M. Emmet Walsh

Less compelling is John Gets as Ray - he's saddled with a frustrating inability to articulate what's on his mind, although that's a blame more for the script than for Gets' performance.  The inarticulation of characters (and the price they pay for it) forms an important aspect to hardboiled fiction; perhaps it translates better on page than it does to screen.

Still, it's a taught, compelling thriller, with plenty to admire, not least the pitch-black humour the Coens would go on to be celebrated for.

  That's a hand pinned to the window frame - and those are bulletholes poking through from the next room. You'll have to see the movie to find out what that's all about if you don't know. 

* Movie Lore: Critic Roger Ebert coined a movie edict called 'The Stanton-Walsh Rule', which decrees that any movie starring Walsh or fellow character actor Harry Dean Stanton must have merit.

L.A. Confidential (1997)

 

A Peerless Adaptation of an 'Unfilmable' Novel

Now over a decade old, Curtis Hanson's love-letter to L.A. still stands up as one of the very best examples of a crime movie.

L.A. Confidential was first published as a novel by James Ellroy in 1990. A searing, complex tale of corruption and ambition in 50s Los Angeles, it was well received but deemed unfilmable, given the scope and density of the plot.

If anyone told Curtis Hanson that, he must have ignored them. Together with writer Brian Helgeland, he crafted a screenplay that efficiently condensed Ellroy's story into something workable in Hollywood terms.

The result was a spectacular success, ultimately nominated for nine Oscars (subsequently winning two, one of which rewarded Hanson and Helgeland for their work on the screenplay).

L.A. Confidential - the Plot

The movie opens with a terrific montage of period L.A. - images of seemingly boundless health, wealth and opportunity. The editor of a popular, sleazy tabloid (DannyDeVito) narrates over the visuals; as his words shift from cheery optimism to darkly humourous cynicism, so do the scenes: a flashbulb pops and illicit burlesque, drug busts and slain mobsters snap into view.

We're then introduced to three career cops, apparently unconnected, each with his own Achilles heel: Jack Vincennes (Kevin Spacey), a slick, confident cop caught in the media spotlight in his role as advisor to a TV show; Ed Exley (Guy Pierce), a fresh-faced, ambitious cop, living in the shadow of his father's success; and Bud White, a no-nonsense detective with a dark secret that fuels a pathological desire to avenge women in distress.

It's testament to Hanson's mastery of the material that these protagonists are so deftly drawn in the first ten minutes - everything we need to know about their motivations is clear. Each have their own strategies for survival and success, but it isn't until one fateful Christmas night that their lives are violently thrown together.

'Bloody Christmas'

Tempers spill over following a relaxed night of on-duty drinking in the police precinct, resulting in a mini-riot when officers beat inmates held in the cells. The resultant media uproar has Exley testify against his peers, turning him into a pariah.

But when a vicious multiple killing occurs - dubbed the 'Nite Owl killings' - and Bud White's old partner turns out to be one of the victims, all three cops are drawn into a plot that inexorably leads to endemic corruption within their own department.

 

'Whores - Cut to Look Like Movie Stars'

Matters are further complicated by the activities of Pierce Patchett (David Strathairn), a rich playboy and owner of a very exclusive club specialising in the prostitution of girls who look like Hollywood stars - in some cases, surgically altered to look that way.

And this leads to the movie's only central female role: Lynn Bracken (Kim Basinger, a dead-ringer for Veronica Lake). Fascinatingly, she provides the one single character who understands who she is, why she does what she does. Lynn works for Patchett, leading White's investigations to her door; given his gallantry toward vulnerable women, Bud is inevitably drawn to her.

An Early Conclusion

When police Captain Dudley Smith (James Cromwell) announces a strong lead in the Nite Owl case, a bungled arrest is made, resulting in violent confrontation and several bodies. Still, it looks like there's a nice, easy resolution to the crime.

A strange peace edges into the film, exactly one hour in; a montage of events shows each cop enjoying the glories of success while Kay Starr's 'Wheel of Fortune' plays out in it's entirety. It's a brilliant scene, culminating in a look of doubtful introspection for each of the leads. Everything appears rosy, but all have made concessions and compromises. Life returns to normal - or so it seems.

Not long after, a sudden, audacious twist changes everything. Revealing what that twist is would be to spoil the moment - suffice to say, it's such a jolt that any other film would be in danger of losing it's audience here. A character is revealed in true colours, but at a terrible price.

From that point on, the pace never lets up - and because of what just happened, all bets are off, and no character is safe.

The fallibility of the characters is what makes proceedings so compelling. A blistering final act tests the courage and resolve of the men to the limit.

Summary

The painstaking recreation of L.A. reveals a labour of love for Hanson. Backed by outstanding performances, the movie is pretty much unsurpassed.

The DVD release is packed with a wealth of features, many narrated by Hanson himself and providing a fascinating journey not just through the production history, but the milieu too.

A film that rewards for constant viewing, it should be an essential disc in every collection.

The Glass Key (1942): Classic Movie Review

Examining the Enduring Appeal of a Film Noir Classic

 

Stuart Heisler's adaptation of Dashiell Hammett's novel still influences Hollywood, with a tale of dubious alliances and loyalty.

In The Glass Key, Alan Ladd plays Ed Beaumont, right-hand man to Paul Madvig (Brian Donlevy), a boorish, ambitious player with political aspirations.

When the murder of a reckless playboy casts suspicion on his boss, Ed works to protect Madvig. Matters are further complicated when Madvig falls for the daughter of a wealthy industrialist (Veronica Lake) - especially when Ed falls under the spell of the same girl.

It's a labyrinthine plot, typical of the genre. Given the right running time (the film plays out in under 90 minutes), the script distills Hammett's usual complexities adequately - but it's still hard to follow.
Although, fans of the hardboiled crime tradition will know, that's part of the fun.

Faithful to Hammett's Hardboiled Style

Hammett popularised the kind of story-telling that threw the reader into morally murky waters. In The Glass Key, there aren't any good guys as such - just the corrupt, or the even more corrupt.

This isn't a weighty theme, however - the movie skips along with snappy dialogue and flashy smiles. But unlike other Noir-ish movies - Casablanca, for example (released in the same year), there are no noble heroes; characters are motivated by self-serving agendas, acting to protect their own interests.

The Glass Key is celebrated as one of the earliest pairings between Ladd and Lake, who went on to make a total of seven movies together. Although Lake shares top billing here, she's actually in only a handful of scenes, but when the pair first meet in this, the scene crackles with energy.

Veronica Lake glides gracefully through her brief scenes, her distinctive voice punctuating the dialogue with effortless style. Ladd is perfectly cast, his face seeming to barely mask a sardonic smile.

Brian Donlevy is superb as the oafish yet successful Madvig. Another standout performance comes from Ladd's counterpart: a thug called Jeff, played by William Bendix.

A Standout Action Scene

In perhaps the most startling and memorable scene, Ed is held captive by Jeff and repeatedly beaten. The ferocity and intensity on display is shocking for a film almost seven decades old. Bendix relishes the role, giving a creepy, homo-erotic spin to his psychopathic punishments, wooing Ed with pet names; continually, he refers to his quarry as 'sweetheart' and 'baby'.

Ed's flight from danger is an audacious, physically punishing scene that has him fall three storeys, through a glass roof and onto a dinner table. Unlike action heroes of today, he spends the next few days in hospital and never completely recovers.

Summing Up

Held alongside other movies of the genre, The Glass Key is a slighter example of Film Noir. In terms of plot, however, it was hugely influential: Akira Kurosawa acknowledged it as the chief inspiration for Yojimbo (1961), a film that in turn influenced many subsequent Hollywood movies, most notably A Fistful of Dollars (1964).

These examples are eclipsed by the Coen brothers' Miller's Crossing (1990), which effectively rewrites The Glass Key for a modern audience.

An undisputed classic of the era, The Glass Key is essential viewing for any self-respecting fan of the genre.

Point Blank (1967) - Classic Film Review

John Boorman's Hypnotic Neo-Noir Rewards for Repeated Viewings

From the outset, Point Blank makes it clear that this isn't going to be a conventional crime movie.

Double-crossed by brother-in-arms Mal (John Vernon), Walker (Lee Marvin) is shot twice in the chest. As he falls against the decaying walls of a prison cell, recent events flash before his eyes.

They were hiding out on Alcatraz, the abandoned prison complex off the coast of San Fransisco. Mal's plan to audaciously steal laundered money from a covert drop on the island looks simple enough, until Mal gets trigger-happy and kills the goons instead of simply knocking them out.

Mal needs the money to pay off a debt to the mob. Only, once he gets to count the spoils, he finds it short and decides to keep Walker's share. So, in front of Walker's wife - also present at the caper - he shoots Walker, leaving him for dead. With Walker out of the way, Mal gets to take the whole pie.

Memories begin to overlap in Walker's dying mind. He falls against the wall, just as before - a sequence that will repeat several times.

Point Blank - The Main Plot

A year or two later, a tourist boat circles the penal isle. A tour guide gives a detailed account of the prison, including descriptions of escape attempts, back when the facility was in use. None of the escaped convicts were ever found, she says - such is the nature of the perilous waters surrounding the island, nobody was considered to survive; those that tried fleeing it's confines most likely got washed out to sea.

Against this narration, staccato shots of Walker appear, stumbling out into the murky sea, holding his chest. He wades waist-deep into the cold shoreline. Escape looks impossible. Yet, a cut back to the boat reveals Walker in the present, dressed in a suit, looking out to the island.
So begins Walker's quest for revenge; and as he works his way up the food chain of The Organisation, our perception of what has happened - and what will happen - is constantly challenged.

Fractured Storytelling

The innovative, fractured story presents characters both before and after the shooting at Alcatraz. A dreamlike quality prevails as Walker's memories come flooding back. We learn how his wife, Lynne (Sharon Acker) became drawn initially to him, then to Mal - moving in with him after Walker was left for dead.

Later, her sister Chris (Angie Dickinson) enters the frame and characters begin to blur - in his memories, both he and Mal, Lynne and Chris appear to swap places with each other; Bodies press against each other at different times, either in drunken stupor or in coitus as roles, loves and loyalties continually shift.

Stark cinematography is carefully framed and blocked, showing California as a dusty, bleached landscape of concrete by day, or as bruised violet and magenta brickwork by night.

Shot in Metrocolor, the film cleverly resembles classic Film Noir; skin tones look like they are painted in, with colour drained out of everything else, save for careful colour pops.

When Dickinson is on screen, vibrant canary yellow outfits seem to radiate hues to the rest of the shot: suddenly, Walker is dressed in matching shades, and even a coin-operated telescope mirrors the colour.

Boorman punctuates the film with menace, even in what should be mundane scenes - one of many memorable shots has Walker marching down a long corridor, his footfalls striking like a metronome. As his flashbacks increase (sometimes, these seem to predict events), his steps echo like pistol shots.

One by one, Walker encounters the soldiers of The Organisation. Serendipity intervenes at several stages so that when bodies begin to fall, Walker is never the one with blood on his hands. He seems to witness events rather than influence them, an observer looking in. If Walker orchestrates the just desserts of his opponents, he is merely a guiding force.

A Challenging Finale (Contains Spoilers)

A tense finale places Walker in the exact location where events began. And yet, in the final shot of the movie (a pan up and across the bay), we observe Alcatraz on the horizon - suggesting events aren't what they seem at all.

The challenge then for the audience is to unravel what they've just seen. Did Walker ever leave Alcatraz in the first place? Is he some kind of avenging angel? Were the encounters all part of a dying man's fantasy?

Walker's only motivation seems to be to collect his share of the loot. So when it is finally laid in front of him, he doesn't take it. Just why he can't isn't made clear - but perhaps the offer of it is closure enough, an honour amongst thieves, the matter now laid to rest.

Summing Up

Point Blank was incredibly innovative, inspiring several other successful films to explore similar territory - most notably Clint Eastwood's High Plains Drifter (1973), as well as Mike Hodges' Get Carter (1971).

Marvin is at the peak of his game here, delivering a performance that reveals some tenderness amongst all the hard-boiled stuff. One astonishing scene has Angie Dickinson literally attack him with repeated blows across the face and chest; he stands, impassive, like an oak. eventually, she collapses, exhausted. He goes to watch television.

This was Boorman's calling card to America - a Brit director who would go on to team up with Marvin again on Hell in the Pacific (1968), as well as shoot the seminal Deliverance (1972).

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005) Dir: Shane Black

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang is an under-appreciated gem: Shane Black is the master of Hollywood hard-boiled and this movie shows his love for the genre - a girl addicted to pulp crime stories, an unreliable narrator, verbose goons taking turns to beat up the anti-hero… even the chapter format employed uses Raymond Chandler book titles (The Lady in the Lake, The Simple Art of Murder, etc).

It marked the return of Robert Downey Jr, perfectly cast as a petty thief drawn into a typically labrynthine intrigue.  There’s so much to like, you can forgive its indulgencies (that beer commercial, or the brief cameo by Abraham Lincoln, anyone?).

The movie also taught me to keep my hands off the frame if someone’s about to slam the door in my face.  If you’ve seen it, you’ll know what I mean.

Oh, and there’s this killer title sequence…

No Country for Old Men

“Whatcha got ain’t nothin new. This country’s hard on people, you can’t stop what’s coming, it ain’t all waiting on you. That’s vanity.”

No Country for Old Men (2007) Dir: Joel & Ethan Coen

I watched this movie again, twice (it had been a while). It really isn’t the box of tricks I’d remembered it being, not once I knew what was coming.

Moss isn’t the lead, he just occupies most of the screen time. Bell is the lead, only he spends most of the movie ducking out of harms way. Bell’s opening monologue sets it all up; Moss chooses to do what Bell won’t, which is to take a step into evil (‘A man would have to put his soul at hazard. He’d have to say, “O.K., I’ll be part of this world”’).

So many people seem to think the terrifying Chigurh character is supposed to be supernatural, but surely the rather calamitous (and completely random) accident toward the end prove his fallible, flesh-and-blood credentials?  His last potential victim refuses to play his coin-toss game, forcing him to decide their fate; once stripped of his harbinger role, he seems to be a victim of chance as much as anyone else.

Roger Deakins is again in charge of the lens (as with most Coen films) - his foreign eye (he’s a Brit) seems to capture America in a unique way, evoking movies like the old John Ford westerns, but adding something else to the mix.

Did I say I liked it?

Double Indemnity (1944)

That was all there was to it. Nothing had slipped, nothing had been overlooked. There was nothing to give us away. And yet, Keyes, as I was walking down the street to the drugstore, suddenly, it came over me that everything would go wrong. It sounds crazy Keyes, but it’s true, so help me, I couldn’t hear my own footsteps. It was the walk of a dead man.

Double Indemnity (1944) Dir: Billy Wilder

I reckon this possibly my favourite Noir movie. Barbara Stanwyck is perhaps the definitive Fatale; she plays an arch manipulator, so skilful in her estimations of the men in her life that she has to do (or say) very little - she just lets them spin like tops around her until they all fall down.

The screenplay was by Raymond Chandler, adapting the James M. Cain novel. Chandler wasn’t a fan of Cain; although the plot remains pretty much the same, the dialogue is clearly Chandler’s work - especially the exchanges between Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray, who plays the central role of a lovestruck cynic so well.
The movie starts at the end, which I always enjoy - here, MacMurray narrates what happened into a primitive dictaphone. This foreshadows events, so we know from the outset it won’t have a happy ending. The power of the story is what happens in between.

A (relatively) more recent example of this narrative technique is DePalma’s Carlito’s Way, where a bleeding-to-death Carlito (Al Pacino) wearily dreams of a tropical retreat he’ll never get to see (his flagging eyes see it on a travel poster instead) and works his story back from there.

Sunset Blvd. (1950)

“The poor dope - he always wanted a pool. Well, in the end, he got himself a pool.”

Sunset Blvd. (1950) Dir: Billy Wilder

This movie makes it onto my all-time top ten faves.