Fuller could always be counted on to start his movies with a bang (sometimes literally) and he begins his tribute to newspaper publishing with a screen filled with the names of newspapers—each in their distinctive fonts—with a preamble linking them to his movie—"These are the names of 1,772 daily newspapers in the United States/One of them is the paper you read/All of them are the stars of this story"—and crescendoed with a "Dedicated to American Journalism" in the cinematic equivalent of 120 point type.
"Go jump off the Brooklyn Bridge!"
It's a thesis big and bold and approaching camp with a zeal that flavors the entire movie, starting with the first image when "Samuel Fuller Productions" is revealed to be a type-block held by a statue of Johannes Gutenberg, the first statue of the many lining "the most famous newspaper street in the world," New York's Park Row, "where giants of journalism mix blood and ink to make history across the front page of America."
On this street—a stage-filling street set that we will be going up and down quite a bit—on this night, one door will shut and another open for Phineas Mitchell (Gene Evans in a gale-force performance) of the editorial department of The Star, as he stomps into O'Rourke's pub, intercepts the beer sudsily slid in his direction, and glowers, upset at something he's seen in the publication of his employ. A glory hound, Steve Brodie (George O'Hanlon), walks in and asks him what a guy has to do to get his name in the newspaper around here. Mitchell snarls "go jump off the Brooklyn Bridge," and then announces he doesn't work for The Star anymore. He's about to get himself fired.
He goes to the potter's field grave of recently hanged Charles Mott and nails up a makeshift head-stone "Here lies..." with a birth-year and death-date with the epithet "Murdered by The Star." That little act of defiance gets the attention of the publisher of The Star, Charity Hackett (Mary Welch), who isn't even aware Mitchell's on her payroll, but makes it to O'Rourke's to find the responsible party and, finding her prodigal son, fires him. She is unrepentant for the role her paper paid in the execution and Mitchell excoriates her for her "trial by publication."
Mitchell: He was tried by your paper.
Hackett: He was tried by a jury.
Mitchell: You sprung the trap.
Hackett: I simply broke the story.
Mitchell: The story broke his neck!
Whatever rhetoric he might employ, he's still fired. Hackett leaves; she's got a newspaper to put out. But, two more incidents happen at O'Rourke's that evening: Brodie comes back to tell everybody he jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge and a local printer who's been listening to Mitchell mutter about the paper he'd publish—"The Globe"—finally decides to put his money where Mitchell's mouth is and stake his dream-paper. With a key to the front door, a couple of the O'Rourke-habituating news-hounds in his employ, a compositor who can't read English, and a bail of butcher paper, he puts out Vol.1; No.1 of The Globe, four pages of "a newspaperman's newspaper." The lead story is how Steve Brodie got sprung from the clutches of the local authorities (the story doesn't mention that Mitchell turned him in so he could get him out and get the story).
"The press is good or evil according to the character of those who direct it."
There will be other headline-grabbers—The Globe will start a fund for getting a pedestal for the Statue of Liberty (currently sitting around in pieces in New York) and that will start a small crime-ring of grifters selling false certificates, and, internally, that illiterate compositor will be inventing the linotype machine. But the Big Story will be the rivalry between The Star and The Globe, a love-hate relationship that will reflect the regard held between Mitchell and Hackett, but turn ugly in the ruthless competition to stay in business. She'll try to hire Globe reporters and compositors, he'll rail against her business practices, she'll try to buy up all the newsprint, he'll get in a brawl with a Star thug who started that grifting ring (in a long travelling shot that covers the length of Fuller's Park Row set and ends up with Mitchell using the statue of Ben Franklin as a weapon).
Fuller makes full use of his all-inclusive set, which includes both interiors and exteriors—thresholds are crossed in one unbroken camera move—and even when inside, there's bustle out on the street as seen through the windows and doors, filled with details of the day-to-day for all to see (one nice little bit of business is the pike-board at Mitchell's editorial desk with the obligatory spaces for Births, Deaths, Marriages and Bills—the "Bills" pike is never empty). Fuller was a director of the image and would far prefer to show you what's going on than tell you. And despite the speed with which he made the film—it was shot in 14 days—the compositions are careful with an eye towards crafting a painterly image, especially given the way he would crowd characters into the frame to direct the eye to its focal point. Fuller was never afraid of close-up's or two-shots, but here his film fairly busts with characters jammed to fill the frame, making use of every available use of space.
When a director makes his dream project there is often a let-down in quality—the opportunities come at their greatest success and the budgets expand and there's less of a critical eye and the burden of constraints. Dream projects suffer because of the indulgence and the ego of its creator.
But, this is one dream project where the love is on the screen and the director's infatuation informs every shot, every beat and every edit. This is the movie that Fuller had his heart and soul set on—and he put his money on it to back them up (and set the constraints). The result is a love that isn't embarrassing in the least, but forthright, honest, and as bigger-than-life as the guy what made it.
There are lots of good Fuller movies—ones so brazen they'll make ya squirm—but, this one might make you proud. Just as it did its creator (even though it didn't make a dime).
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