The Big Sleep (1946) **

There is no doubt that Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall had oodles of chemistry, which jumped off the screen whenever they were paired together. And, they had a way of making risqué dialogue sound even more racier than it was probably intended. Yet, the fact remains that early in her career Lauren Bacall just wasn’t a very good actress.  Fortunately for her, she had two things on her side: her ability to project sexual tension with Bogart and a cool beauty that made her the perfect femme fatale. Strangely enough, however, she isn’t the most compelling femme fatale in director Howard Hawks’ The Big Sleep (1946)—that honor rests with Martha Vickers, who plays Bacall’s younger sister in the movie.  This is a rather disturbing fact when you consider that many of Vickers scenes were cut after Raymond Chandler, upon seeing the two women on-screen together, commented that Vickers unequivocally overshadowed Bacall.  This, of course, is a sad tidbit to know, since, for me at least, whenever Vickers made an appearance on the screen the movie always seemed to get better.  Perhaps if the film’s plot hadn’t been so convoluted and full of countless red herrings I could have overlooked the sidelining of Vickers in favor of Bacall, but The Big Sleep suffers acutely from an ill-conceived narrative.

Based on Raymond Chandler 1939 novel of the same name, The Big Sleep is a film noir detective story set in Los Angeles.  Private dick Philip Marlowe (Bogart) is hired by General Sternwood (Charles Waldron) to handle his youngest daughter Carmen’s (Vickers) gambling debts, which are a source of blackmail—but there’s more to the story than that.  Carmen is a drug addict and nymphomaniac (per the Hays Code, this is only alluded to) with a nasty temper who has a very bad habit of getting caught up in all kinds of jams.  These jams, unfortunately, also ensnare her older sister, Vivian (Bacall), into her sordid affairs.  Don’t get me wrong, Vivian is a piece of work, too, but while she might like to gamble and emasculate men, she’s smart enough not to pose for pornographic pictures (again, only alluded to) or have affairs with chauffeurs and errand boys—and, most importantly, Vivian isn’t the reason countless men meet their big sleep—death.  Marlowe, for his part, must navigate the endless webs of deceit spun by the Sternwood women to fully comprehend the corrupt and seedy world which controls their fate.  Along the way, he develops a hot-and-cold relationship with Vivian that is tempered by their mutual distrust of one another. In the end, he must make a fateful decision to free the Sternwood women from a hell of their own making.

First, let me say that The Big Sleep is not a bad movie. Yes, the plot is difficult to follow, but even I must admit that it is never boring—it is, however, irritating and meandering. Chandler, himself, admitted that when Hawks and screenwriters William Faulkner, Leigh Brackett, and Jules Furthman contacted him for clarity regarding the story’s narrative that even he could not explain all of the plot developments—this was a bad omen.  It also doesn’t help that the Hays Code restricted the screenwriters from telling the story as it ought to have been told. The novel is both more complex and perverse than what eventually made its way to the screen in 1946. Audiences would have to wait until Michael Winner’s 1978 film version of the novel to see the truly explicit nature of the book.

By far, the most entertaining thing about The Big Sleep is how far the screenwriters pushed the censors with their sexually charged dialogue and innuendo.  For example, early in the film Dorothy Malone makes a brief appearance as a bookstore clerk who spends an afternoon with Marlowe doing everything but discussing books.  Of course, none of this is shown, but it doesn’t need to be because it’s obvious what has occurred.  And, then there is probably one of the more risqué exchanges ever to get past the censors: the racehorse metaphor.

Vivian: Speaking of horses, I like to play them myself. But I like to see them workout a little first, see if they're front runners or come from behind, find out what their whole card is, what makes them run.

Marlowe: Find out mine?

Vivian: I think so.

Marlowe: Go ahead.

Vivian: I'd say you don't like to be rated. You like to get out in front, open up a little lead, take a little breather in the backstretch, and then come home free.

Marlowe: You don't like to be rated yourself.

Vivian: I haven't met anyone yet that can do it. Any suggestions?

Marlowe: Well, I can't tell till I've seen you over a distance of ground. You've got a touch of class, but I don't know how, how far you can go.

Vivian: A lot depends on who's in the saddle.

This exchange alone is enough to make me suffer through the film’s ever winding and unwinding plot. And, of course, then there’s also those brief moments when Vickers lights up the screen.  From her first exchange with Marlowe, “You’re not very tall are you"?”, to her would-be seduction of him, Vickers is electrifying.  It can’t be said too many times, The Big Sleep would have been a much better film with more of her in it. And, even worse, the second most interesting woman in the film isn’t even Bacall, but rather Sonia Darrin, who plays every scene she’s in with a compelling level of intensity sorely lacking on the part of Bacall.

Overall, The Big Sleep is the type of film you wish were better because it does have some redeeming qualities. Yet, it suffers from a labyrinthine plot and a less than stellar leading lady. Thankfully, the dialogue was entertainingly witty, and occasionally Vickers or Darrin popped in and made the film much more interesting.

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His Girl Friday (1940) **1/2

There’s something unusual about director Howard Hawks’ screwball comedy, His Girl Friday—it’s not all screwy. In fact, there are quite a few dark moments in it that are not standard fare for the genre.  This unusual quirk and the witty, rapid-fire repartee makes for an interesting viewing experience.  Of course, it helps that Hawks coaxed out two great performances from his principal leads, Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell.

Adapted from the heralded Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur play, The Front Page, His Girl Friday flips the script, so to speak, by making Hildy Johnson (Russell) a female reporter on her way out of the slimy bullpen and into respectable matrimony.  Unfortunately for Hildy she has two things standing in her way: her ex-husband and soon-to-be ex-editor, Walter Burns (Grant), and her own professional ambition.  Of course, this doesn’t bode well for her fiancee Bruce Baldwin (Ralph Bellamy).  It also doesn’t help that she delivers the news of her impending marriage to Walter on the eve of an execution that has political implications.  Walter needs his best reporter for the biggest story in town and he stops at nothing to ensure that Hildy writes it.  As the story grows bigger by the minute so does Hildy’s love of the newspaper game.

Sure, His Girl Friday is a screwball comedy.  Spit-fire dialogue infused with sexual innuendo and inside jokes abound throughout the movie.  Of course, Hildy and Walter are the two smartest people in any room and seem to relish jockeying between themselves to determine who is actually the smartest between them.  Alas, this means that others have to play the one-upped or, worse, the dumb sap, like Bruce.  But who cares, it’s all in the name of good, rollicking fun!  But is it… There’s a strangely dark side to this film that is quite unusual for the typical screwball comedy. 

For one, the big news story revolves around the impending execution of Earl Williams (John Qualen), a man who killed a black police officer.  We hear and see the police practicing for his hanging. And, when Hildy goes to interview him in jail there aren’t any hijinks—it’s a serious conversation about what led Walter to the gallows.  There’s also a few dramatic scenes that revolve around Walter’s friend Mollie Malloy (Helen Mack) and the callous way that the press treats their subject matter.  For me, this is one of the reasons that I don’t love His Girl Friday.  If you’ve seen it then you know that there’s a pretty horrific event that takes place near the end of the film and that almost without a beat the story moves back into screwball land—this is jarring, even if Hawks’ is trying to portray just how jaded the journalistic world is.

Still, who can resist the battle of the sexes between Grant and Russell.  He’s a reprehensible opportunist who knows how to use words to his advantage and she’s a fast-talking broad with an interesting fashion sense who knows all of Walter’s tricks.  They are a match made in matrimonial hell—but they are fun to watch.  Interestingly enough, Russell was far, far, far from the first choice for the role of Hildy, but after a slew of actresses (Carole Lombard, Claudette Colbert, Katharine Hepburn, Irene Dunne, Jean Arthur, Ginger Rogers, etc.) either turned down the role or were deemed too expensive by Columbia Pictures, Russell was given the role she is probably best known for (even though Auntie Mame is well-remembered, too).  And while Grant got top-billing, Russell obviously was the star and heart of His Girl Friday—funny how things work out sometimes. 

Overall, the inside jokes alone make His Girl Friday worth watching.  For example, when Walter is asked to describe what Bruce looks like he answers, “He looks like that fellow in the movies—Ralph Bellamy.”  And, then there’s the classic line Bruce quips when the Mayor (Clarence Kolb) says Bruce is through, “Listen, the last man that said that to me was Archie Leach just a week before he cut his throat.”  I could go on and on about how hilariously the dialogue is delivered.  Needless to say, His Girl Friday is a fast-paced, antic-filled screwball comedy—with a few odd somber moments. 

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Only Angels Have Wings (1939) **1/2

While the great screwball comedy Bringing Up Baby (1938) is my all-time favorite Howard Hawks’ film, I must admit that the director made a number of enjoyable dramatic films, too.  His versatility was what made him one of the best directors of his time.  Yes, his movies often ran over budget and very rarely wrapped on time, but he usually put out quality products.  Such was the case with Only Angels Have Wings (1939), which was hugely successful for Columbia Pictures and was the third highest grossing production of 1939—no small feat in one of the greatest filmmaking years ever.  While it didn’t swallow up a ton of Academy Award nominations like Goodbye Mr. Chips (1939), Gone with the Wind (1939), Wuthering Heights (1939), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), Stagecoach (1939), Love Affair (1939), and The Wizard of Oz (1939), it was comprised of a gifted cast and some phenomenal aerial cinematography.

Of course any film that had Cary Grant as its male lead was assured of a charismatic hero, thief, cad, or jester.  Grant had screen presence and he always seemed at ease with whatever role he played. Perhaps this is why someone who did so many memorable films was so often overlooked by the Academy—he only earned three nods in his storied career.  His co-star in Only Angels Have Wings had the same problem. 

While her career wasn’t quite as long as Grant’s, Jean Arthur starred in some of the best films of the 1930s and 1940s:  Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), Easy Living (1937), You Can’t Take It with You (1938), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Devil and Miss Jones (1941), The Talk of the Town (1942), The More the Merrier (1943), and A Foreign Affair (1948), and she ended her Hollywood career in one of the most revered westerns ever: Shane (1953). Yet, somehow Arthur only found herself nominated for one Oscar and is virtually forgotten today—except by true classic film fans. 

I wholeheartedly believe the reason Grant’s and Arthur’s acting abilities were often so overlooked—or you might say taken for granted—is because they made it look so easy. Also, they both had the ability to interweave comedy into overall dramatic films, as they did in Only Angels Have Wings, which was a heavy film.  Grant’s Geoff Carter is, to quote Dutchy (Sig Ruman), a hard man who pushes the limits of his pilots to ensure the success of his struggling Barranca Airways.  Arthur’s Bonnie Lee is a sharp-tongued and hot-tempered woman who finds herself unexpectedly involved in a masculine, adrenaline fuelled world she doesn’t understand.  Anytime someone takes to the air it might be the last thing that they do—and if it is, then the others must carry on as if nothing has happened.  With this ever-present fact hanging over their heads, Geoff and Bonnie have to maneuver through a burgeoning love affair which is jeopardized by his love of flying and her fear of his death. It would have been easy for the movie to turn into a heavy-handed melodrama, but the comedic moments between Geoff and Bonnie adds another layer to the film.  Also, who could do sly sexual banter better than Grant and Arthur—perhaps Grant and Irene Dunne, but you get my point. 

Only Angels Have Wings also benefits from good performances by Richard Barthelmess, Rita Hayworth, and Thomas Mitchell.  Barthelmess’s turn as an outcast pilot who takes the most dangerous jobs was probably his best since The Dawn Patrol (1930). Hayworth, who plays Bathelmess’s wife, Judy, turns in a performance that showed she had the chops to finally stop being cast as a lower supporting player.  Yet, it is Thomas Mitchell as Kid, the self-sacrificing almost blind pilot, that is the standout.  Not gifted with the good looks of Grant, Mitchell was a fine actor who found himself in supporting roles. Oh, but what a great supporting actor he was. While he won an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor in 1939 for Stagecoach, he could just have easily been nominated for his performance in Only Angels Have Wings. While Grant and Arthur were the spine of the movie, Mitchell was the heart of it. 

The two Oscar nominations that Only Angels Have Wings did receive were primarily related to its aerial elements.  Joseph Walker earned a Best Black and White Cinematography nod, and Roy Davidson and Edwin C. Hawn were nominated for Best Special Effects.  The two crash scenes (and one near-miss) in Only Angels Have Wings are expertly filmed and recorded.  I expect it was pretty dangerous to crash a burning plane at such a high speed, and it is quite jarring to watch—especially for anyone who doesn’t like to fly. 

Hawks had a fascination with airplanes and made a number of other memorable films about aviation: The Air Circus (1928), The Dawn Patrol (1930), Ceiling Zero (1936), and Air Force (1943). Hawks’ love of aviation began during WWI when he learned to fly in the U.S. Army Air Service and continued throughout his life.  It was this love that helped him showcase both the beauty and danger of flight.  No other director defined the genre better, and his depiction of the hero-pilot has been mimicked in countless films up to present day cinema.  It is shocking to me that someone hasn’t put a Blu-ray collection together of his aviation films.

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Bringing Up Baby (1938) ****

It is difficult for me to understand how director Howard Hawks’ Bringing Up Baby (1938) ended up being a monumental flop—it’s absolutely hilarious. Yet, it was panned by reviewers; snubbed by Oscar; and, neglected by moviegoers. Things were so bad that Katharine Hepburn had to buy out her RKO contract and Hawks was dropped by RKO—which cost him the right to direct Gunga Din (1939), which went to George Stevens. However, in the end Bringing Up Baby had the last laugh, as it is now considered one of the best American comedies ever made. What I adore about Bringing Up Baby is its breakneck pace and its clever dialogue—plus you can’t go wrong with a Grant-Hepburn pairing supported by the likes of May Robson, Charlie Ruggles, Fritz Feld, and Walter Catlett.

Dr. David Huxley (Cary Grant) is on the brink of completing the four-year process of reconstructing a brontosaurus when a missing intercostal clavicle is found.  In addition, David is about to secure a $1 million donation to the museum from Elizabeth Random (Robson) and he is getting married to Ms. Swallow (Virginia Walker).  Life is good for David—that is until his golf ball is stolen by a flighty, oblivious young woman named Susan Vance (Katharine Hepburn). Kleptomania is Susan’s disease: she not only steals David’s golf ball but his car as well—with him standing on the running board. When you think about it, Susan is a small-time crook in the making. Let’s see, she steals a golf ball, two cars, a purse, David’s clothes, and a leopard in less than two days.  It only makes sense that she would also want to steal Ms. Swallow’s fiancee, too, right?

Even with David wearing his glasses, Susan soon falls in love with him—although when she break his glasses she also likes to mention just how good-looking he is without them (perhaps this is where they got the Clark Kent/Superman, idea?). And, who wouldn’t—he is played by Cary Grant!  Susan and David do make a handsome couple, but David wants none of Susan’s craziness.  Throwing rocks at lawyers, stealing countless things, and having a pet leopard named Baby would seem like deal-breakers to most people, right? Well, it’s a 1938 Hollywood comedy—guess how it ends?

Howard Hawks should be lauded for his ability to pull the whole production together (although it did run overschedule and over budget) whilst working diligently to curb Hepburn’s nerves about her comedic abilities.  Everything about Hepburn screamed drama, and to be plunged into a harebrained screwball comedy was unnerving for her—especially after a series of flops. Initially she started the production overacting in an attempt to be funny, but Hawks cured her of this by bringing in Walter Catlett to coach her.  Catlett acted out Hepburn’s scenes with Grant and showed her that just being herself and allowing Grant to play his character as it was intended was enough. Hepburn was so indebted to Catlett that she asked he be given the role of Constable Slocum—which he was rewarded with. 

The script by Dudley Nichols and Hagar Wilde is full of double entendres and witty dialogue.  The censors knew there was something very wrong about Bringing Up Baby, but they just couldn’t put their finger on it. It could have been that David was searching for a lost bone or explaining that he thought a certain bone went in the tail but was rebuffed by Mrs. Swallow when she said, “You tried it in the tail yesterday, and it didn't fit.” And then there’s the “gay” thing. Grant has the unique honor of introducing the term “gay” into popular culture when he was dressed in a frilly woman’s negligee and explained his appearance to Mrs. Random by saying, ““Because I just went gay all of a sudden!”

Of course, the best lines are reserved for David and Susan’s stint in Constable Slocum’s jail.  When Hepburn begins her mobster moll act and does her best impression of Barbara Stanwyck in Ladies They Talk About (1933) it is hysterically funny—especially when you consider Hepburn never played such a role in her entire career. And then there’s the nod to The Awful Truth (1937):

Susan: You mean to say you don't remember 'Jerry the Nipper' ?

David: Constable she's making all this up out of motion pictures she's seen!

[Irene Dunne refers to Cary Grant as 'Jerry the Nipper' in The Awful Truth]

Susan: Oh, I suppose I saw you with that red-headed skirt in a motion picture ?

And, then there’s Baby and George (another transplant from The Awful Truth and of course The Thin Man series). In what other film can you see a leopard and a Wire Fox Terrier playing with one another?  For the most part, Hepburn was unafraid of the leopard—she wore enough perfume to choke even a $5 dollar hooker to keep that leopard at bay.  It was Grant who was petrified of the cat and who had to have a stand-in for most of his scenes with the leopard.  Which only adds to the humor of watching Susan literally dragging the mean leopard to the police station.

Overall, I am a huge fan of Bringing Up Baby. Hepburn and Grant have wonderful chemistry and make you like their two divergent characters.  The film moves along quickly and has tons of great lines, which, when put all together, makes for a brisk screwball comedy.

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Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) ***

In January 1953 President Truman announced that the United States had developed a hydrogen bomb. Later that same year, 20th Century Fox released its own double-barreled bombshell, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, starring Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe.  Christmas had obviously come early for men across America.

Based on the 1925 Anita Loos novel, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes: The Illuminating Diary of a Professional Lady, and the 1949 stage musical starring Carol Channing (really!), this Howard Hawks directed film is as raunchy as a musical could possibly be in 1953.  Start with the risqué costumes, then gasp at the double-entendre laced dialogue, and finally delight in the outrageous song lyrics and choreography—it’s a cornucopia of hysterical crassness. 

Long before actresses were expected to weigh 95 lbs. women actually had curves in the movies.  Voluptuous is the best word to describe Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe—they had curves in all the right places.  Costume designer Travilla (read Christian Esquevin's article) did a spectacular job of showcasing the assets of his leading ladies.  From the very first scene, where the ladies sing “Just Two Little Girls from Little Rock” wearing red sequin gowns with slits up to the hinterlands and suicidal plunging necklines, you know this is a film about sex.  Even when they aren’t wearing their showgirl outfits their clothes are form-fitting and sexy.  Of course, the most iconic outfit is the dress that Monroe wears when she performs “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” Often imitated (think Madonna) but never surpassed, Monroe looks sensational—and like she’s eaten a few meals in her life.  Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but I have often wondered if this dress was a metaphor for the female vagina (please cover the children’s eyes).  O’Keefe had her orchids, maybe Travilla had his pink silk gown with a huge bow on Monroe’s derriere?  Anyway, the first thing I think about whenever I see this movie is that all of the costumes are absolutely fabulous. 

This was certainly Charles Lederer’s best musical comedy screenplay.  It’s really a simple story about two showgirls looking for the right man. Lorelei Lee (Monroe) wants to marry a rich man (Tommy Noonan) to fulfill her lust for jewels—preferably diamonds—but she also wants love.  Dorothy Shaw (Russell) is a straight-talking gal who just wants an honest man.  When Lorelei’s man gets cold feet after his father threatens to cut him off, the ladies head off on a luxury liner to France. Along the way they meet the U.S. men’s Olympic team, a diamond mine owner (Charles Coburn), and a private detective (Elliott Reid).  When Lorelei gets caught with her hand in the jewelry box the girls find themselves down and out in Paris, and they have to begin performing again as showgirls. 

One of the best lines comes at the beginning of the film when one guys asks: “Say, suppose the ship hits an iceberg and sinks. Which one of them do you save from drowning?” and another guys answers, “Those girls couldn't drown.” Russell gets most of the best lines—she is playing opposite Monroe’s rather vapid character—but Monroe gets some zingers in too, such as when she responds to one of the Olympians who says he’s the only 4-letter man on the team with, “You should be ashamed to admit it.” No one played stupid as well as Monroe, and Russell always shined as a straight-shooting woman. 

So we have gorgeous costumes and witty dialogue and then we pair those two together with great musical numbers and we have a really good film.  Two songwriting teams (Leo Robin/Jule Styne and Hoagy Carmichael/Harold Adamson) were responsible for such memorable songs as: “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend”, “A Little Girl from Little Rock”, “When Love Goes Wrong”, and “Anyone Here for Love?”.  Of course, my favorite Monroe number is “Diamonds”.  The song itself is catchy:

A kiss may be grand, but it won't pay the rental on your humble flat.

Or help you at the automat.

Men grow cold as girls grow old, and we all lose our charm in the end.

But square-cut or pear-shaped, these rocks won't lost their shape.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

When you combine the set design and the choreography with such memorable lyrics it becomes musical magic.  While it is often overshadowed by Monroe’s “Diamonds” number, I find Russell’s “Anyone Here for Love?” production with the Olympic team highly entertaining.  The song is bawdy and Russell’s strutting amongst the inattentive athletes is overtly sexual, with such lyrics as:

 

I like big muscles

And red corpuscles

I like a beautiful hunk o' man

But I'm no physical culture fan

Ain't there anyone here for love, sweet love

Each song seems to be perfectly matched to the woman performing it.  As an extra treat, of course, we get to see Russell parody Monroe’s “Diamonds” number when she takes her place in court. 

Hollywood made some outstanding musicals in the 1950s (Singin’ in the Rain and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers being the finest), and I think Gentlemen Prefer Blondes falls into this group.  Which is strange, because I also think that it is an often overlooked musical gem.  People will always remember the “Diamonds” number, but I think that the overall film deserves more respect than it gets. 

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Sergeant York (1941) **

World War II had been going on for over two years when Sergeant York was released in the United States on September 27, 1941. The Germans had defeated my beloved French quite handily in the spring of 1940 and they had tried to obliterate the British throughout the fall of 1940. As this film entered American theatres the Russians were preparing themselves for a German push toward Moscow. And, in the Pacific, the Japanese had had enough of the US trade embargo that limited their access to petroleum and mineral ores—they decided to fully prepare for a war in the Pacific and began war games which would eventually lead to the event that transpired on December 7, 1941: Pearl Harbor. The United States, of course, was still a “neutral” country when this film came out, but it was becoming quite obvious that it was only a matter of time before they too would enter the fray.

Producer/director Howard Hawks had the perfect vehicle to submit to a traditionally isolationistic nation. Just like the hero of this film, Alvin York (Gary Cooper), the United States was usually peace-loving. Yet, when the Germans went crazy in 1917 and sent the Zimmermann Telegram to Mexico and reengaged in unrestricted submarine warfare, America had to defend itself and its principles against tyranny. Thus, the nation entered WWI and the real-life Sgt. Alvin York had to become a Dough Boy and go “Over There”. Everyone knew in 1941 that we would be going “Over There” very soon, so why not make a picture that reminded Americans that sometimes you have to fight to ensure peace?

Nominated for eleven Academy Awards, including Best Picture, this film follows the exploits of a backwoods Tennessee farmer to the trench-filled Western Front. Alvin York is an ambitious young man who only wants to raise enough money to buy bottomland from Mr. Tomkins (Erville Alderson) and then marry Gracie Williams (Joan Leslie). Given 60 days to come up with the necessary funds, York works himself like a dog. Yet, as time starts to run out he has to come up with some way to make fast money, and so he enters a turkey shoot hoping to win a prize steer. In a remarkable show of marksmanship, York wins the contest and raises the necessary money to buy his land. The problem is Mr. Tomkins has already sold the land. Feeling betrayed, York gets drunk and seeks revenge against those who stole “his” land. Riding out into a wild thunderstorm, York finds himself and his gun under assault by lightning bolts. One in particular hits his gun and knocks York off his horse. When he picks himself up off the ground he hears singing coming from the local church. When he stumbles into the church, Pastor Pile (Walter Brennan) and the congregation welcome York to his new Christian life. Believing Divine Intervention has stepped in the way of his committing murder, York become a Christian pacifist.

After turning over a new leaf, York finds his fortunes changing: he works out a sharecropping deal to buy the land he lost and Gracie agrees to marry him. But then the war in Europe steps in the way and York finds himself in a difficult situation. How can a Christian go to war when the Good Book is against killing? Even though York declares himself a conscientious objector, the Army still reluctantly wants him. Once the Army sees what York can do with a rifle they no longer have any reluctance at all. Yet, after having a discussion with York about what the Bible says about war, the camp commander, Major Buxton (Stanley Ridges), gives him a 2-week pass to reconsider his position. If he still wants out of the Army after his leave is up, the Major will allow it. On leave, York has another moment of Divine Intervention when the wind blows his Bible open to Matthew 22:21: ““Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s”. Seeing this as a sign, York returns to the Army ready to serve his country.

In the trenches of France (specifically the Meuse-Argonne Offensive of 1918), York finds himself surrounded by death and killing. Menacing machinegun fire just rips to shreds anything that peaks out of the trench or tries to cross the dreaded “No Man’s Land”. When York’s unit tries to flank a German machinegun nest, both the commanding officer and first sergeant are injured so severely that York must take command of the few men who are still alive in his unit. Virtually single-handedly York picks off the gunners by crawling around the machinegun nest. In the end, the few remaining German soldiers surrender to York. Behind enemy lines,York and his men work their way back to the American position by taking unsuspecting German soldiers prisoners. Eventually German soldiers positioned on a ridge notice what is happening and start to fire on York and his men (and their prisoners nonetheless!). Again, York outsmarts his German adversaries (using a turkey call of all things) and they surrender to him. When York and his handful of men return to the American position, they have captured over 130 German soldiers.

His daring exploits are rewarded with the Medal of Honor and the Croix de Gurre. He is also sent back to the States to show Americans what a real hero looks like. When he returns to Tennessee he finds that the state has turned his undeveloped bottomland into a farm as a reward for his heroism.

Gary Cooper’s portrayal in this film earned him his first Academy Award. Playing a stereotypical country bumpkin with a very strong conscious, Cooper is at times a bit too earnest for my liking. However, very few men could play the reluctant hero as well as him. His scenes with Walter Brennan (who was nominated for Best Supporting Actor) where they discuss the Bible as it relates to the modern world are the most enjoyable to watch. It is interesting to note that the real Sergeant York handpicked Cooper for this role and served as an adviser on the film. When you read excerpts of his diary (which he kept while in the Army), it is not difficult to see why Cooper played him so humbly.

The battlefield scenes were expertly filmed and edited by Sal Polito and William Holmes respectively. Holmes won an Academy Award for his deft editing and Polito was nominated for his photography. When I was a middle school teacher I would show this film as an example of what warfare was like in WWI. The constant bombardment and never-ending trenches, with mangled barbed wire strewn everywhere, are something to behold. You combine these elements with a terrific Max Steiner score (another Oscar nominee), and you have, at times, a visually stunning film to watch.

This film could not have come out at a better time. It was a reminder of what war really looked like and how ordinary men could be compelled to do extraordinary things.

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Scarface: The Shame of a Nation (1932) **

Two words: Joan Rivers.

Howard Hawks directs this 1932 classic starring Paul Muni as one of cinema’s most violent and psychologically disturbed gangsters, Tony “Scarface” Camonte. The film was actually made in 1930, but due to its controversial themes and violence Hawks had to fight the censors to have it released. After many concessions on the part of Hawks, most notably the subtitle, United Artist released it. It did poorly at the box office and a number of states banned it. Hawks withdrew it from circulation and for nearly fifty years it was virtually nonexistent. Written by legendary screenplay writer Ben Hecht in eleven days, the story chronicles the rise and fall of a Prohibition Era Chicago crime boss. Interestingly, Brian De Palma dedicated his Scarface (1983) to Hecht.

After an introductory warning about the insidiousness of organized crime, the film opens with the murder of Chicago crime boss Big Louis Costillo (Harry J. Vejar) in a telephone phone. Who puts a cap in him, you ask? Why, none other than our Scarface (and Louis’ bodyguard). Hawks adroitly chose to introduce the audience to Muni’s character through the use of shadow, as well as whistling a song from Lucia di Lammermoor (a 19th century version of feuding families). Take heed, whenever you hear Scarface whistling someone is about to die. In addition, as Scarface shoots Louis an X or a cross appears; this is also a signal used throughout the film that an unnatural death is imminent.

The next day we find Scarface and his coin-flipping associate Guino Rinaldo (George Raft, and yes, this is where his coin flipping trademark began) in a barber shop where they are arrested. We are finally introduced to Tony Camonte’s face, which has an X-shaped scar on his left cheek, hence the nickname “Scarface”. At the police station we learn that Scarface has a long rap sheet and a bad reputation. The police believe Scarface was carrying out the orders of his new boss, Johnny Lovo (Osgood Perkins—yes Anthony’s father), but he won’t talk and they have to release him. When he goes to visit Lovo he meets his moll, Poppy (Karen Morley). She is a total bitch to him and has the audacity to insult his scared face.

Later we meet Scarface’s immigrant family, his sister Cesca (Ann Dvorak) and mother (Inez Palange). Scarface had a need to control Cesca’s every move and is strangely jealous of any man who looks at her once. Hawkss hints at the idea that Scarface has incestuous feelings for his sister. If this relationship wasn’t sick enough, his mother calls him no good to his face and to anyone else who will listen. Problems soon present themselves when Cesca shows an interest in Guino.

Meanwhile, Tony becomes both enforcer and collector for Lovo’s bootlegging operation. Hawks uses montage to show how Scarface and Guino take control of South Side Chicago. One of the more memorable murders takes place in a hospital, where Scarface and his goons carry flower arrangements throughout the hospital looking for their victim. As Scarface becomes more powerful, Lovo fears he’s losing control and that his lackey is about to push into their rival O’Hara’s North Side territory. His fears are realized when Guino kills O’Hara in a flower shop. In addition, now that Scarface has money and power, Polly starts to pay him attention.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have killed O’Hara, because his successor, Gaffney (Boris Karloff), decides to declare war on Scarface with the use of tommy guns. Gaffney tries to ambush Scarface by setting up a fake funeral procession outside a restaurant he’s eating at. This attempt is a failure, but it impresses Scarface and he decides he needs tommy guns, too. Thus, a gang war erupts and countless machine guns mow down gangsters. There are too many X’s to recount, but my favorites are of the man lying dead outside a mortuary and the St. Valentine’s Massacre where seven X’s appear as ceiling beams above Gaffney’s gang. Oddly enough, Gaffney wasn’t present at the massacre—Hawks and Hecht had something more special planned for him. While bowling (really?), Gaffney scores a strike and an X is marked on his score sheet. Usually this would be cause for celebration, but instead he is mowed down by machine guns as he throws his next ball—coincidentally another strike.

With Gaffney out of the way, Scarface is on a high and has no problem being disrespectful to Lovo. Seeing Polly’s interest in Scarface, Lovo decides he needs to take him out. Too bad Cesca has decided to seduce Guino, who is trying to avoid her because she’s the boss’ sister. When he rebuffs her, she decides to dance with another man. When Scarface sees this, he punches the man and drags Cesca (who happens to be wearing an X-backed dress) home without his bodyguards. The scene at home is dark and violent. He slaps Cesca around and rips her dress. When Scarface leaves the house bullets fly overhead, barely missing him as he escapes in his car. Pursued by would-be assassins in a high speed chase, he’s run off the road and crashes. Scarface survives and he and Guino confront Lovo, whom they suspect put a hit out on Scarface. Whistling his Lucia di Lammermoor again, Scarface orders Guino to kill Lovo.

Now that Lovo’s no longer the boss (or breathing), Poppy is ordered by Scarface to go into hiding with him. With her brother out of the picture, Cesca steps up her seduction plan for Guino and they become involved. When Scarface returns to Chicago he learns from his mother that Cesca is living with a man and he suspects Guino is the man. When Scarface goes to their apartment, whistling his “special” tune he finds apartment X and his right-hand man. Off-screen shots ring out and Guino doesn’t catch his last flipped coin. A grief-stricken Cesca informs her brother that he just killed her husband. Oops. Scarface is devastated and takes refuge in his fortress of an apartment. With the police stationed outside and preparing to storm the building, Cesca goes to her brother’s to kill him. She can’t pull the trigger and actually comforts him and attempts to help him escape. They unite in violence and shoot at the police. Cesca takes a stray bullet and dies. As tear gas is thrown in the window, Scarface is forced out of the apartment. At first he begs the police not to shoot him, but then decides to make a break for it. Police gunfire fills his body with lead. When his body hits the ground it lands in a gutter.

In a tacked on ending that Hawks refused to direct, we learn Scarface has survived his injuries and is sentenced to death by hanging. These last scenes are shot from a distance and you never see his face. This would be because Muni didn’t shoot these scenes, instead a silhouetted stand-in was used. The final scene has a guard placing a black hood over Scarface’s head and the signal for the execution. This was a very stark ending—one of those fade to black endings that basically say “enough said”.

The foreshadowing element of the X symbol and Scarface’s whistling of Lucia di Lammermoor is very effective. Hawks and cinematographers Lee Garmes and L. William O’Connell are extremely clever in their usage of this device. In addition, the dark, shadowy world that they create is especially apt for the subject matter which they are depicting.

The story itself is entertaining, but this is not my favorite gangster film. Muni is effective in the role, but at times I felt he was trying too hard. The way he speaks in the stereotypical Italian immigrant accent is a tad grating at times. My favorite part of the film, other than the symbolic X’s, is George Raft as Guino. He just looks very comfortable in this role.

Not the best gangster film, but still an entertaining depiction of organized crime during Prohibition.

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