Out of the Past

Out of the Past (Jacques Tourneur, 1947) A stranger comes into town looking for a guy. He's not from around here. The fancy suit gives it away at a glance—city-clothes, where the jacket doesn't zip up. And the manner. Tough, not friendly. Not altogether polite. In a hurry. Plus, everybody knows everybody else in a small town like Bridgeport. And everybody knows everybody's business. Nobody asks questions because everybody already knows the answers.

But, this guy's asking for Jeff Bailey (Robert Mitchum). You know, Jeff, "the mysterious Jeff Bailey" who owns the local gas station. What does he want with Jeff?—he's a guy on the level. Treats people decent, even the local deaf kid (Dickie Moore). Plus, Jeff is gone for the day, out fishing with Ann Miller (Virginia Huston), who's sweet on him. Her folks don't approve, though. Neither does Jim (Richard Webb)—you know Jim, he's been trying forever. Then, Jeff came into town and Jim's been playing second fiddle ever since. And this guy's asking for Jeff.

The Kid finds him while the city-guy pokes around the diner, and even though The Kid can't hear/can't speak, Jeff merely has to see him to know that something's up and the fishing has to be curtailed. The fishing in the lake, anyway. Jeff can relate. To the fish, I mean.

Turns out the guy is an "old chum from old times." And he has a message for him. Whit wants to see him. In Tahoe. Jeff's not a guy to telegraph what he's thinking or say what he's thinking. "I never found out much listening to myself," he says once. But, this...this is something he left miles out of the way. And Out of the Past.

Out of the Past came from a novel by Daniel Mainwaring, who used to be a private eye and a reporter before getting into pictures. He was a prolific writer of books and pictures and he was the natural go-to to adapt his novel "Build My Gallows High" (written under his pseudonym Geoffrey Homes). Humphrey Bogart read the script and liked it, but his bosses at Warner Bros. didn't. RKO bought it and were pleased enough with it to attach a good budget and a guy who knew his way around noir, Edward Dmytryk, to direct. But, there were conflicts with his schedule and so Jacques Tourneur (late of the Val Lewton horror unit) was brought in. Robert Mitchum was set to top-line and the script was punched up for him by Frank Fenton—who'd put words in Mitchum's mouth before—and James M. Cain, the godfather of noir, who'd written the novels of "The Postman Always Rings Twice," "Double Indemnity," and "Mildred Pierce." Together, these writers would craft dialog of a quality that was top-notch noir, that at its best is verbal shadow-boxing with its metaphors, its feints and jabs and dead-ends (but no knock-outs), a kind of gutter-poetry that evokes gruff chuckles or haunted thoughts.

So, Jeff has an appointment in Tahoe with a thing of his past. Best to take care of the present, so he goes to see Ann, maybe for the last time, and square up accounts and speak the truth, not avoiding it, even though "some of it's going to hurt". First, she tells him that the man she knows isn't him. He's Jeff Markham, and he was a private detective at one time, who had a reputation for being smart and honest, and a partner (Steve Brodie) who was neither. He'd been brought in by a "big op"—"an operator, a gambler" named Whit Sterling (Kirk Douglas, in only his third film) about "some dame (who) took four shots at him with his own .38. Made one of 'em good." Whit's only slightly wounded, but what really smarts is she took $40 G's with her when she beat feet. Her name is Kathie Moffat (Jane Greer), and he wants the money back, the girl is just interest.

After some digging and some hoofing, Jeff found her in Acapulco...and found her fascinating. Maybe it's the heat, or the waiting, or the anticipation, but when she walked into a bar, she walked away telling him were he might find her again...and walked away with his heart. He knew he was being a sucker, taking her side just because it was a nice place to be. And, as the waitress who works across from his future garage is given to say: "Seems like everything people ought to know, they just don't want to hear. I guess that's the big problem with the world." Jeff puts it more succinctly to Kathie: "Baby, I don't care."

"Baby, I don't care"

Famous last words. Jeff stops being smart, and he stops being honest...at least with his employer, Whit, who comes down to Acapulco to check on his progress. He doesn't tell him that he's found Kathie and that he's planning on leaving town with her that very day. They run to San Francisco, but the ends of the Earth wouldn't be far enough. He and Kathie are found by Jeff's old partner, Fisher, who tries to blackmail them for keeping quiet. Kathie shoots him, then runs out, leaving Jeff to dispose of the body. He never sees her again, and that's when he made his way to Bridgeport, to Ann, thinking he'd left his past behind.

Later, he'll say "You know, sometimes a bad memory is like what they call an ill wind. It can blow somebody luck." He doesn't specify whether it's good or bad. But, he leaves Ann to drive back to Bridgeport while he walks in to confront his past, too much of it, it turns out, knowing full well that it may doom his future. His talk starts to turn fatalistic, as he's led through a series of traps, trying to get ahead of it, but, seemingly, with his back always against something, hiding in the shadows trying to see his way to the light. But, he knows that this journey began with a bad step and like he told Kathie once "You're going to find it easy to take me anywhere." Even against his better judgment.

Out of the Past is one of the definitive film noir films, if not the epitome of the genre. But, it's not the world, or the machinations of the Universe, that's bad here, it's people, and how their influences on the world can drag you down, throw you off-course, even if you're smart, even if you're honest, even if you want a better life. It's your choices under their influence that make the difference and once you've made them, you can't escape them, whether physically or mentally. Past is prologue goes the saying, attached like a chain that binds you to it, and from which there is no escape, despite your best intentions. And no matter how nostalgic you may feel about them, it's best to not revisit old haunts.

That's why the ending to the film is so good. A lot of would-be film noirs will "cop out" the ending, tacking on the glimmer of hope, a way to redemption, and a warm hug. Out of the Past does that, but stays true to its cautionary theme, providing a moment of wisdom and of grace, a gift that jettisons the past and makes a clean start, free of regret. It deliberately brings hope and the good luck that an ill wind could toss. Mourning the past never did anybody any good. Leaving it behind and running towards the future is always the best path.

Witness for the Prosecution

Witness for the Prosecution (Billy Wilder, 1957) Lady Justice is having some work done as we first approach "The Old Bailey," where the majority of the drama for Witness for the Prosecution takes place. Good thing, too, although some attention should probably be paid to the legal loop-holes that keep cropping up inside the chambers. This Agatha Christie-penned theater chestnut is given a nice presentation by Wilder, who has added much comic-relief in the form of giving brilliant barrister Sir Wilfrid Robarts, QC (Charles Laughton), a nurse after a debilitating heart attack (played by Laughton's wife, Elsa Lanchester).*

It was the third re-write of the story in as many adaptations, starting with Christie adding a justifiable coda to her original story for the theater adaptation, and Wilder providing further complications in order to have Lanchester's presence, and giving Marlene Dietrich a song and a romantic scene with Tyrone Power in flashback (although both actors can't really pull off playing young at this point in their careers).

And that's an interesting point: the acting is what this one is all about. This is Power's last completed film, and his anguished defendant is an interesting mix of distraught agitation and Big Studio Heart-throb mannerisms. Laughton's performance is hilarious and dry as vermouth, while Lanchester fusses and kvetches.

And Dietrich is as cool as can be. A bit past her prime as a fascinating beauty, she is still fascinating (and a beauty), playing her Christine Vole as cold and aloof—Dietrich excelled at that, but with a simmering quality underneath the surface, especially in her work with Joseph von Sternberg, like an iceberg with a volcano at its heart. She always was just on the edge of camp-sexiness,** but the heavy lidded smoldering eyes always had an air of superiority that were deadly serious. And those eyes are still in play here, never revealing much, and keeping the characters and the audience off-guard...and then on, especially when she turns on the dramatic fire-works in the latter stages of the film.

Laughton and Lanchester were given Oscar nominations for their performances,*** but I'd make a case that Dietrich was robbed of a nomination—maybe because of the stunt-casting, the nature of the part, but also...maybe...because they didn't recognize how good she is.

* Er...she plays the nurse, not the heart attack...

** Her mannerisms were devastatingly lampooned by Madeleine Kahn in Blazing Saddles.

*** He lost to Alec Guinness for The Bridge on the River Kwai, and she to Miyoshi Umeki for Sayonara.  Can't argue with the first one.

American Fiction

And Everything Looks Worse in Black and White

or

"The Dumber I Behave, The Richer I Get!"

"It's Why My Parents Moved Here from Puerto Rico!"

 

One of the films selected for the National Film Registry last year was Spike Lee's 2000 film Bamboozled, which had its African-American television writer protagonist—after being told his material wasn't "black" enough—write a television pilot that is so racist (entitled "Mantan: The New Millennium Minstrel Show"), that he is taken aback when the show is accepted by his network and, when aired, becomes a big hit. Taking a script-page from Paddy Chayevsky's Network, where a middle-aged newscaster has a breakdown on television only to see the ratings go up and his network play up his insanity, Bamboozled takes a look at how extreme stereotypes in the form of entertainment—whether it's "Amos n' Andy" or gangsta videos or just satirical in its intent—can be equal in their power to reinforce prejudices, and even if the people getting paid to make the stuff are of that same minority. It says simultaneously that mass-entertainment appeals to the lowest common denominator, and that a conscienceless pursuit of money and prestige is a form of back-stabbing. It seems pretty obvious—did the popular "All in the Family" promote racism? Why are African-American television shows mostly comedies? Just because a minority is "represented" on a television show, does it have pander? The old "Candid Camera" had a line in its theme song that said "It's fun to laugh at ourselves." It never mentions that most people would rather laugh at others.

Or, "The Other." So, here we have American Fiction (based on the 2001 novel "Erasure" by Percival Everett) that does basically the same thing with a similar plot, but instead of being a blistering satire on the subject pushing the bounds of credulity, it feels all too real. Instead of a rant, it's a melancholic, ironic meditation. Sure, it's still satire, but instead of outrage, it produces an chagrined "Yeah, probably..."

Which is fine, especially when you have Jeffrey Wright doing the chagrinning. He plays Thelonious Ellison (call him "Monk"—everybody else does), a literature professor and author, whose books are still in print but also still on most store shelves. He writes great stuff, just not stuff that sells. After a classroom incident involving a particular Flannery O'Connor title ("With all due respect...'Brittany'...I got over it. You should be able to."), it's suggested that he take a breather for awhile and let things settle down. Fortuitously, his agent—who's a little lukewarm to his new book being a modern take on Aeschylus—suggests he go to a Book Festival in Boston for a panel discussion. "I hate Boston. My family's there," grouses Monk. But, he goes. The panel is less than rewarding. And considerably less than standing room only.

But, another panel is packed. Curious, Monk walks in to a discussion by author Sintara Golden (Issa Rae), author of the new best-seller "We's Lives in Da Ghetto" and is a bit dumbfounded when a reading from the book is all ebonics and 'hood-slang, greeted adoringly by the mostly-white audience for "giving voice to the African-American experience." He gets the same expression on his face that I get when I see good directors aspiring to make B-movie grinders.

Then, it's off to visit his family. He's picked up by his Sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), who works at a reproductive clinic and it's not as bad as all that. She admonishes him for not keeping in touch ("Everybody's busy. You drift away.") and they spend in the family home, still occupied by her and their mother, Agnes (Leslie Uggams), who is fading away to Alzheimer's—she has her "good" days and her "she's not there" days—and Lisa's the one doing the caretaking...because "the boys"—Monk and his L.A. based plastic surgeon brother Clifford (Sterling K. Brown)—aren't there and "let it happen." Monk promises to be more in touch, and the circumstances dictate that it happens.

But, Mom needs more care and that's expensive. So, one night Monk, in an alcoholic funk, sits down and starts to write. He calls it "My Pafology" under the nom de plume "Stagg R. Leigh" and—as Mario Puzo said about "The Godfather"—he "writes below his gifts" churning out a story about drugs and errant fathers and violence, always in the back of his mind thinking that he's writing a screed-parody and nobody'd touch it.

Wrong. He gets an advance of $750,000. His agent (John Ortiz) is ecstatic—it's a hot property and Hollywood is already circling around to buy the rights. Really? It was supposed to be a joke, a parody, a protest...but this gets bought?...and bought big? But, the publishers want to know who "Stagg R. Leigh" is, and Monk and his agent have to come up with a story of why the author doesn't want to meet them. They come up with the idea that "Leigh" is a fugitive from justice—the idea of which makes the book so much "authentic", so much more "real" (when it's anything but!).

American Fiction is lovely. Funny, bitter, with a protagonist who's a bit of a jerk (and never really loses that quality), but learns that he is that way and can get better. In that way, he's a bit like his reading audience—yeah, it's really too bad about slavery and "the black experience" and all, but, maybe, I can be better by "embracing" the African-American voice (or as another character says "white people think they want the truth, but they just want to be absolved."). That is, if we want to set it down in monolithic black and white.

This is Cord Jefferson's first feature as writer and director (he's previously worked on HBO's "Watchmen" and "Station Eleven" series) and the writing is sharp, clever and well-considered. It's also, in places, damned funny and he knows how to make an ironic point without painting it in neon. That he's cast it so faultlessly probably made the job easier. Wright, as he always is, is the best—without being a poser about it—and it's nice to see him finally carrying the weight of a movie, instead of merely buttressing it. Plus, Leslie Uggams—who everybody knows is a very fine actress—finally gets another part to shine in, and Sterling K. Brown manages to make Monk's prodigal brother a best worst sibling in the world.

Very impressive for a first feature. And it's way-past time that Wright was top-lined in a project. But...you know progress, even when it's such a sure thing, always seems to take too long. But, this is a good project for him, fitting right in with his ability to make you feel like you could meet this guy on the street. It's light satire, nerf parody, that doesn't make you feel so bad even if you're in on the joke...and maybe part of it. Maybe it is fun to laugh at yourself.

Don't Make a Scene (Redux): Network

Over the next couple weeks, there's going to be a bit of a thematic similarity between posts. I'm not going to make too big a deal of it, and it'll probably mean more if that's kept in mind.

The Story: Back when this scene was first presented (away back in 2008, election week) it was accompanied with these words: "No words necessary. Except to say that the words ring truer now than they did in 1976. You bet they're still yelling in Baton Rouge...from their FEMA trailers."

The second time I ran it, it was to commemorate Senator Ted Cruz for his own little rant on the Senate floor before cameras about the Affordable Care Act, in an apparent bid to get camera-time by aping Rand Paul's filibuster of a few weeks previous over domestic drone usage. (that little piece of theater, lest we forget the particulars, scrapes the bottom of the page in green-eggs-and-ham bold!***).

But, I'll tell ya, this speech never gets old or out of relevancy.

And so, here's another go'round for the "I'm as mad as Hell" speech," the dramaturgical epicenter of Paddy Chayefsky's bicentennial Oscar-winning satire on news and television and America, Network. In it, an American newscaster cracks up, like King Lear or Willie Loman and rants against the absurdities of it all and garners more attention than when he was just reading the news. He's both Public Service and Bread and Circuses, in one convenient package, and you don't even have to turn the channel.

Trouble is, he's just ranting—he doesn't have any solutions ("I don't want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write!") but the anger is cathartic, it's addictive and it's instructional in it's delusion, it gives people a directive and as it doesn't cost them anything, not money, and only the fewest ticks of time without commitment of more. You don't risk your toaster, your TV, or your steel-belted radials without sacrifice. 

But, of course, there is. It's just ephemeral, slow-motion, imperceptible—like global warming. Doesn't affect your job, your home. Why not yell at the world? Why not fantasize about seeing it all burn? What could be worse than it is now? Especially if you've lost your job or something.

Not to be harsh or anything, but tell that to a buggy-whip salesman, or a video-rental store owner, or...better yet, try preaching that gospel on the reservation.
What have you got to lose?

History chews up those who only see in the short term, and it's tough to be anything but when you're living paycheck to paycheck. So, it's better to rant impotently into the night, rather than light a single candle. Better to look to a charlatan selling the snake-oil you're buying.

And so, back to Howard Beale, "Mad Prophet of the Airwaves," sociological evangelist, who has no answers and no solutions, but just wants us to react because yelling about it always solves things, and impresses people you're dealing with that you're a thoughtful person who can be reasoned with. Anyway, that's what I learned in customer service.

But lest one become too smug, there's not a lot of original thought being displayed here, merely feel-good mob mentality, which, as we've learned, can not only garner large ratings, but also win the most important election in the country.

Also, when this was first presented it was stated that George Clooney (was) prepping a remake...which will be broadcast...live...on TV.

Several years later, no TV network has decided to bite its own hand and the plans for a live TV remake of Network haven't appeared. 

But then, why should it? Reality has outpaced it.

The Set-Up: Old-school UBS news-anchor Howard Beale (Peter Finch) has been fired for low ratings, so he has announced that in a week's time he will commit suicide on the air. As a result, his ratings have soared. But his mental condition deteriorates. Now, after wandering the streets of New York in the rain in his pajamas and trench coat, he arrives at the studio in time for his newscast...and some commentary. Programming Director Diane Christensen (Faye Dunaway) and former News Director Max Schumacher (William Holden), along with the rest of the country, are watching.

Action!
DIRECTOR: Take two, cue Howard.
HOWARD BEALE: I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression.
BEALE: Everybody's out of work, or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel's worth, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street...
BEALE: ...and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it.

BEALE: We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TV's while some local newscaster tells us that today we had 15 homicides and 63 violent crimes, as if that's the way it's supposed to be. We know things are bad--worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out anymore. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we're living in is getting smaller, and all we say is, "Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone."
BEALE: Well, I'm not going to leave you alone. I want you to get mad. I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to riot.
BEALE: I don't want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crime in the street. All I know is that first you've got to get mad.
BEALE: You've got to say, "I'm a human being, goddamn it! My life has value!"
BEALE: So I want you to get up now, I want all of you to get up out of your chairs.
BEALE: I want you to get up right now and go to the window, open it and stick your head out, and yell, "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"
HARRY HUNTER: (in the control room): Stay with him, stay with him!
DIRECTOR: Everybody, stay with him!
BEALE: I want you to get up right now, get up, go to your windows, open them, and stick your head out and yell, "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"
DIANA CHRISTENSEN: How many stations does this go out live to?
BEALE: Things have got to change! But first you've gotta get mad!
HUNTER: Sixty seven! I know it goes to Louisville and Atlanta and...

BEALE: You've got to say, "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" Then we'll figure out what to do about the depression and the inflation and the oil crisis.
(Former news-director Max Schumacher sits at home with his wife and daughter watching the screen as Howard rants. Max is alarmed)
BEALE: But first get up out of your chairs, open the window...
BEALE: ...stick your head out, and yell, and say:
BEALE: "I'm as mad as hell...
BEALE: ...and I'm not going to take this anymore!"
CHRISTENSEN(walking into executive Herb Thackeray's office): Who are you talking to, Herb?
HERB THACKERAY(on phone): WCGG in Atlanta.
CHRISTENSEN: Are they yelling in Atlanta, Herb?
THACKERAY: Are they yelling in Atlanta, Ted?
BEALE: But first you've got to get mad! You've got to say, "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"
RAY PITOFSKY (handing the phone to Christensen): They're yelling in Baton Rouge.
BEALE: Get up! Get up out of your chairs!!
CHRISTENSEN (throwing the phone into the air): Son-of-a-bitch! We've struck the mother lode!
BEALE: Stick your head out of the window, open it, stick your head out and yell and keep yelling, "I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore." Just get up from your chairs...right now..
LOUISE SCHUMACHER: What are you doing?
CAROLINE SCHUMACHER: I'm going to see if anybody's yelling!
BEALE: Stick your head out and start yelling, and keep yelling...
(It's already started. More and more windows start to open, and people come out and begin yelling in different tones, different accents, different cadences "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!!")
"I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!"
(A thunderstorm begins overhead, and its thunder can't drown out the, by now, hundreds of voices shouting out into the night.)
(Max Schumacher listens for a moment, then he shakes his head, and closes the window, shutting out the noise.)

Network

Words by Paddy Chayefsky

Pictures by Owen Roizman and Sidney Lumet

Network is available on DVD from MGM Home Video.

*** From the earlier version: Only this wasn't a filibuster.  There's wasn't a vote being debated, and what he wanted to talk about—when he wasn't going somewhere else, like the philosophy of "Duck Dynasty"*—was about the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, which was voted into law March 23, 2010—and hasn't gone into effect yet (that will be October 1st, 2013). Cruz says it doesn't work. He's right. It doesn't. It can't...and that's because it doesn't go into effect for a couple days (That's a bit like me saying that I know what the score for the first game of the World Series is because, since it hasn't started it's 0 to 0). How effective it will be will depend entirely on how states decide to fund it and utilize it, and that will fall along party lines. 

Because, in a democracy, your health depends on your political party affiliation. 

Anyway, Cruz wanted to prove he wasn't just an empty shirt with hopes to run for the White House. He proved it. Under that shirt is a lot of hot air...that's fairly directionless. My big take away after his twenty one hours of sad-clown fretting and regretting was his recalling the Little Engine That Could and it's mantra "I think I can, I think I can." It would be not only more economical, but more truthful and more determined if he left off the words "I think" and merely adapted "I can."  

But then he'd actually have to do something, I think.

And so, back to Howard Beale, "Mad Prophet of the Airwaves," sociological evangelist, who has no answers and no solutions, but just wants us to react because yelling about it always solves things, and impresses people you're dealing with that you're a thoughtful person who can be reasoned with. Anyway, that's what I learned in customer service.

But lest one become too smug, like Cruz's speech, there's not a lot of original thought being displayed here, merely feel-good mob mentality.

* Funny.  The episode of "Duck Dynasty" after Cruz's speech was about how the Uncle Si was doing some insurance scamming to buy himself a motorized scooter.  Great values we should all emulate. Thanks, Senator.