The Cincinnati Kid

The Cincinnati Kid (Norman Jewison, 1965) One of the great poker movies, from a novel by Richard Jessup, written by Ring Lardner Jr. (the first studio film bearing his name after being blacklisted during the McCarthy era) and Terry Southern and directed by Norman Jewison.

That's the credits on the final film...and legitimately so. But, at the start of filming, everything was different. The film was originally bearing a screenplay by Paddy Chayevsky—who was warned by Steve McQueen (who had a lot of clout and would throw his weight around on-set) "I'm better at walking than talking"—re-written by Lardner and to be directed (in black and white) by Sam Peckinpah. The Hustler—a film about compulsive gambling (in that case, pool) to the detriment of life—had been a big hit and critical darling...and had picked up quite a few Oscar nominations. So, producer Martin Ransohoff must have had that in mind when this film was being cobbled together in pre-production.

Well, once filming started, Ronsohoff was shocked by the dailies Peckinpah was bringing in—there were scenes that didn't relate to the script—and fired him almost immediately (stories conflict on the details) and quickly hired Norman Jewison, who was most known for directing Doris Day movies, and the production was shut down, giving the new director time to re-assess and make changes. Charles Eastman and Terry Southern were hired to do some re-writing, and Jewison switched to color film—he thought filming red and black playing cards in black and white was counter-productive. 

Talk about gambling.

A New York Times story published Dec. 7th stated: "In trying to put “The Cincinnati Kid” before the cameras, Mr. Ransohoff and MetroGoldwyn ‐ Mayer have run through nearly every possible difficulty that can arise in contemporary Hollywood."

We meet "The Kid", Eric Stoner (McQueen) pitching pennies with a shoeshine boy (Ken Grant), who knows the Kid, knows his reputation and is in a hurry to beat him. Of course, he loses. And the Kid rubs it in: "You're just not ready for me yet." But, the youngster watches him saunter down the street with a lean and hungry look. Everybody will have that look at one point or another.

The Kid, you see, holds markers on everybody in New Orleans, which is fine except that he has to go across the river to dredge up a decent stud game, which—tonight—brought him $194 and the near-opportunity of a shiv between his ribs. But, there's a new game in town: Lancey Howard (Edward G. Robinson), "The Man", has stepped off a train in the city and is looking for action. The Shooter (Karl Malden), the best dealer in town and who's been bested by Howard in the past, knows The Kid wants to play against The Man, if only to prove he's the best in the game, and the Kid knows he can beat him. He knows it. Shooter had those dreams, too...once.

But, it's making him a bit preoccupied and more self-absorbed than he usually is. So much so that he's ignoring his girl Christian (Tuesday Weld) to the point where she's taking up with Shooter's bad-girl wife, Melba (Ann-Margret), who's so bad that she cheats at jigsaw puzzles. That's not Kitten with a Whip-bad...but it's bad as Chris is naive and Melba is anything but.

The Kid knows all about Melba's habits, but he's focused on the game and all-in. "Listen, Christian, after the game, I'll be The Man. I'll be the best there is. People will sit down at the table with you, just so they can say they played with The Man. And that's what I'm gonna be, Christian." She can't break through the wall of chips he's seeing, so she leaves town to go back to the folks'.

But, there's another game in town. Howard has an invitation to play stud with the very wealthy and very competitive William Jefferson Slade (Rip Torn) and the two go at it in a high-stakes 30 hour game that Slade ends up losing...to the tune of  six grand. And Slade doesn't like to lose...to anybody. Oh, he plays the Southern Gentleman just fine. But, he tells Shooter—who dealt the game—that he wants to "gut" the old man the way he feels gutted, and using Melba as a chip, coerces Shooter to slide the Kid the right cards in the inevitable match between them. This goes against everything Shooter believes in, but, with Melba in the mix...

It's gun-slingers meeting over green felt rather than the town square and Robinson is the fast-draw every twitchy trigger-finger kid wants to best. And just about everybody in the movie has skin in the game, if only to see The Man meet his match. With so much interest by outside parties, I come away (after a third viewing) convinced the game is rigged—the odds of the hand being dealt are very long—either 45,102,781 to 1 or 332,220,508,619 to 1, depending who you believe. But, it makes a good story, no matter the odds.

Steve McQueen's poker-face.

Jewison called it his "ugly duckling" film—given his short amount of pre-production time, how could it not?—and considered McQueen the most difficult actor he ever worked with (although he chose to work with him again!), but the film manages to hold up pretty well. There's just enough nodding to New Orleans to give it an exotic air, it's filled with with great actors—Dub Taylor, Ron Soble, Robert DoQui, Joan Blondell (!!), Jack Weston, Jeff Corey, Torn...and Cab Calloway (fer cryin' out loud!), how could it not be entertaining?

 

Yeah, there's issues. Script issues, mostly. But given the paper changing hands so often, and McQueen's way of up-ending tables for the sake of "image," it's surprising that it's as consistent as it is. The Kid zigs when he should zag a couple times—he's supposed to be savvy and be able to "read" people but he gets blind-sided too many times to believe it. 

Steve McQueen's poker-face, when he thinks he's winning.

And there's two endings—the one Jewison had in mind and one mandated by Ransohoff and the studio. The one I've seen the most I don't believe for a heart-beat. I'm out. But the one ending with the freeze-frame? That's aces.

One of the nicest thing about The Cincinatti Kid is the score by Lalo Schifrin, which includes

an End-Title song sung by the inimitable Ray Charles.

It's one of my favorite movie-songs, not only because of Charles

but because it uses the word "pyramid" as a verb.

The Fighter (2010)

Written at the time of the film's release...

"Put Back What You Use"

or

"I-Yi-Yi-Yi-Yi'm Not Your Stepping-Stone"

The family that preys together, stays together.  For the extended family of boxer Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg), the preying is mostly internal although they have the illusion that they're getting the best of everybody else.

Micky is the younger brother (step-brother, actually) of Dickie Eklund (Christian Bale), former up-and-coming boxer, who had one glory moment: knocking down Sugar Ray Leonard in a match some years before. Now, he's a part-time trainer for his half-brother and a full-time crack addict. HBO is making a documentary about Dickie, who, despite his years and habits, still thinks he's on the comeback trail. But the pipe keeps him missing training sessions with Micky, leaving the heavy lifting to his trainer (Mickey O'Keefe playing himself). While the boys' lioness of a mother (Melissa Leo) manages Micky and enables Dickie, it leads to some bad decisions on matches for Ward, leaving him battered and disillusioned.

The higher-ups at the sports networks have Ward pegged as a "stepping-stone," the fall-guy they use to advance other fighters in the winning circle to boost ratings, and that reputation follows him around his home-town of Lowell, Massachusettes. Ward's on a downward spiral, and any outside help is treated with suspicion. "You can't trust that guy. He ain't family." says Dickie, lounging in the limo his brother's money rented, sucking a beer.

Yeah. About that...

Perspective is all in The Fighter.  And the boxing motif is the perfect setting. Micky is caged by his relations with his family, but every time he tries to strike out on his own, he gets attacked by Mom (playing the suffering card), step-brother hangs back and then takes his licks, and a coven of sisters and half-sisters are a unified greek-chorus of mom-ditto-speak. All you need to make this a match is a soft canvas to fall on, so Micky's a fighter always on the defensive. It's no reason he doesn't say much, but the eyes are far away, looking for a way out, looking for an opportunity to make a move, looking for anything.

"Your fahther looks at my ass, too, but at least he tawks ta me," says Charlene (Amy Adams, while not looking at him), the "bah-girl" Micky keeps staring at. Micky's so down for the count, he thinks even she's out of his league. And she might be, but she keeps showing up in his corner, alarmed at the punishment he's taking. When she questions it, Micky tells her everybody's not concerned. "Who's 'everybody?'" she asks. "My mother, my brother," he replies.

Yeah. About that...

The Fighter is a mostly true story. Ward is a better, tougher fighter than the movie wants to give credit for (the underdog status makes for a better story, I'm sure, but the dismissive commentary on the soundtrack during the fight sequences is the real thing...taken from the actual broadcasts...Ward was considered an underdog), and Dickie DID do all those things, but his timing was a bit better in real life. One wants to say that the best character arc in the movie is Dickie's, but that would be falling into the appreciation trap the movie sets up.

Because Micky's is the best character arc, although it seems a very simple Rocky-like success story on the surface. It's the approach that Micky takes with the forces in his life that are tearing each other apart which is the most interesting aspect of the story. Micky has been wronged by his family, but he won't discount their worth, or their place in his life, even over the objections of his new supporters—they have to find a way of dealing with each other and their conflicts, with or without him.

For a fighter to take the stance that he does, reaching compromise with the warring factions in his life—to stand up and take control, risking everything from everybody—is a complete negation to what he does for a living and how he was raised.*

The acting kudos are going to go to Bale (who is incredible, not to slight him) and Leo and Adams (who has two great scenes involving an intercom, and throws some nice punches in a chick-fight), but Wahlberg is the champ in this movie, with the tougher part (he trained for this through his last six roles), which he does almost purely physically.

Micky is a man of few words, and not too many moods, but Wahlberg, restrained and less showy, does all of it with body language and does the difficult fight scenes, as well—in the latter taking a lot of body-blows that are not hidden with oblique camera angles or trickery.

Wahlberg has worked with director David O. Russell before—in fact it was Russell's war pic Three Kings that first showed how good an actor "Markey-Mark" could be. Russell keeps the movie on edge with quick cutting and an improvised feel, even managing to make the final fight scenes nerve-rattling, despite the suspicion that one is going to see a typical boxing picture ending. But, his assurance with good material, performed by such a dedicated cast, manages to keep the movie on its feet, even at the final bell.

Micky and Dickie at the time of the events of the film



* The real-life Ward did much the same thing, often befriending his opponents, including Arturo Gatti, the fellow he boxed in his last three epic fights, often described as the greatest in the sport.  Ward was a dedicated, fearsome fighter, but admired his opposites in the ring, and their talents.  The two fighters, who put each other in the hospital, continue to be good friends.  I find that amazing...and admirable.

The Bikeriders

The "Wisdom" of the Tribe ("Whatta Ya Got?")

or

"It'd Be Funny If It Weren't So Tragic..."
 

Look. I get it.

 

I blog about movies because I love it. So, of course, I joined a movie-loving-cluster of bloggers—The Large Association of Movie Blogs (I've participated in a podcast for them about this very movie) and there is comfort there. It's a joy to commiserate with other people—of other ages, of other backgrounds, from other countries—who share a love of movies. We all have opinions. Sometimes we don't agree, and you can ignore that or you can learn from the different perspective. It's all about the process of understanding this thing you love. There's safety there, too. Sometimes you can share something in those discussions that it would be a fool's errand to try to communicate with your family and friends. For most of them, "movies" is something to do on a date-night, or when you want to just 'veg'. The last thing they want to do is to study the film and try to find out why (or why not) it communicates its message. For others, that's like assigning yourself homework. For me, it's something I "gotta" do.

 

So, here's The Bikeriders, written and directed by Jeff Nichols. It's a movie about a motorcycle club—the Vandals MC —that operated (in its hey-day) between 1965 and 1973, and was immortalized by the picture book of the same name by Danny Lyons.

It's a movie about a motorcycle gang. Haven't we seen enough movies (and bad ones) about those?

Sure. But, this is Jeff Nichols, one my favorites of the "younger" crop of directors, and his subjects are interesting, and if they're not box-office sure-things, they're at least interesting in the way he presents them. He made Mud, Take Shelter, Midnight Special, and Loving, all movies I'd recommend seeing (especially Loving) because of the way he tells stories so well. All his movies are about ostracized outsiders, and The Bikeriders is no exception.

We first meet Benny (Austin Butler) quite a ways into the story, but this is like a thesis statement for the movie. He's sitting in a bar, smoking, drinking, minding his own business. Then two beefy "townies" walk into the bar and object to the fact that Benny is wearing "colors"—his motorcycle jacket—and suggest that he take it off. Benny—as in the way of movie bikers—looks from one of the guys to the others—clenches his jaw and says "You'd have to kill me to get this fuckin' jacket off." 

So, there's a fight, seeing as there's no negotiation between the parties. It starts in the bar, then goes outside. It's starts as a fistfight, then Benny pulls out a knife and slashes one of the guys' face, then the other grabs a shovel and swings it at his head.

Just before it connects—and it IS going to connect—Nichols freeze-frames and we begin the movie proper with an interview (we're still not at the beginning of the story) and Danny (Mike Faist) is talking to Kathy (Jodie Comer) about the incident and about her relationship to Benny and of how the Vandals came to be—Johnny (Tom Hardy), a blue collar worker with a wife and two kids, saw The Wild One on TV and, like so many others, liked the freedom of the lifestyle depicted (ignoring the underlying message) and formed the club. It was about how a bunch of outsiders formed a community of like-interests, ignoring the typical organizations like churches, PTAs, and Elks. The reason? They're all outsiders who wouldn't fit in those clans, so why not form their own? "What's not to like?" (which is as much of a nothing sandwich as "Whatta ya got?").

The through-line of the movie is the passage of time and how the group changes, following Johnny's lead, which has some basic things like wearing the distressed leather jacket that serves as a uniform, and some arbitrary rules about being loyal to each other, and if there are any issues that are disagreed upon, they'll have a fight—"fists or knives" is the only specifics that need to be addressed—and whoever wins, gets their way, much in the way it worked in Black Panther (which sounded like a good system in that movie, but here smacks of "rule by minority").

While these things are going on, Johnny weighs the responsibility that being leader of such a group imposes on him, and Kathy realizes that Benny will always be conflicted whether to choose her or the club, even as that club faces challengers from a couple of fronts—the incoming Vietnam vets with chips on their shoulder and a disdain for authority and the young kids who see the power in numbers and want in on it. The "outlaw" mythology starts to get the better of the Vandals and it starts changing as time gets longer and meaner. It leaves Johnny with one of the few articulate insights in the movie: "You can give all you got to a thing" he tells Kathy at one point. "And it's always gonna do what it's gonna do" and it applies for Kathy to Benny and it applies for him to the club.

But, that's about it for depth. Things happen. Things get worse. And the vague rules of the club seem to go by the way-side as its reputation swells and new members begin to dilute its purpose and turn it into a gang. The rules don't apply to anybody anymore. And any good intentions are drowned out by bad behavior.

That's the gist of it. And as good as the performances are—although the actors' recreations of their characters' voices may produce giggles, they're based on Lyons' tapes of interviews with them—and as okay as the visuals are and as strenuously Nichols tries to recreate the books' look, it doesn't amount to much. One gets left with the impression that The Bikeriders is less about the gang than it is about Kathy's observations of them, and that's an outsiders' perspective (like, frankly, the guy who made the book). We see her struggle for the soul of Benny, but we really don't get to know him—he's a James Dean wanna-be—and the audience doesn't really get to know the Vandals—do they have jobs? how do they get the money for all that beer? They own a bar, sure, but there never seems to be anybody in it—because they're a bit of a mystery—and an antagonist—to Kathy. Like Brando's challenging non-answer of "Whaddaya got?" there's no "there" there. And the story of the Vandals is just another cautionary tale of what happens when you don't apply the brakes every once in awhile. Or check the gas-tank.

If Nichols wanted to make a film of a picture book, he accomplished it. But, it's all captions with nothing between the lines and nothing between the pictures. The Bikeriders is more of a scrapbook than a fully fleshed-out movie, with a veneer of remove as he's trying to recreate what somebody already documented—"The Golden Age of motorcycle clubs"...but that age is long gone. Thomas Wolfe said you can never go home again. Apparently you can't make a movie of it, either.

 

But, Nichols is a fine director. This time he merely took a spill. And I look forward to his next one

 

Don't Make a Scene: Sweet Smell of Success

The Story: The location: a snake-pit disguised as a club table at "21". And newspaper columnist J.J. Hunsecker is the King Cobra.

 

This is another of the "Classic Scene" features from the old "Premiere" Magazine, which could always be counted on to choose an interesting "moment in time" (per James Stewart's phrase) depicted in the film-world, this one—as the magazine described—from a screenplay that was famed for its corrosive dialogue and for some of the nastiest late-night denizens Hollywood has ever produced."

It's Sweet Smell of Success, from the short novel by Ernest Lehman (based on his time working for a New York publicist, Irving Hoffman), which was first published in the April, 1950 issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine as "Tell Me About it Tomorrow!" (as a result Hoffman wouldn't speak to Lehman for a year). Ironically enough, it was a laudatory piece by Hoffman in The Hollywood Reporter that first garnered attention to Lehman from the Hollywood studios.

By the time the story's rights-holders Hecht-Hill-Lancaster were getting around to filming, Lehman had established enough clout to produce and direct it, despite misgivings from the production company's distributor, United Artists. Director Alexander McKendrick (Whiskey Galore!, The Man in the White Suit, The Ladykillers), who had made a name for himself making films for the recently-sold Ealing Studios, was chosen (despite making a success in England, McKendrick was American). Lehman, at some point, dropped out of writing the screenplay with him and McKendrick chose Clifford Odets to work on the screenplay, which he did, sometimes turning in script pages the day of filming.

 

I'm not a fan of Odets' writing. It tries "too hard" to be clever to the point where sometimes it's bizarrely artificial (I need only point to the line from this movie where Lancaster's Hunsecker tells Tony Curtis' Falco he's "a cookie made of arsenic."—I ask you, who talks like that?). But, one can't deny the power of this little scene of shifting loyalties and attempting to avoid the klieg light glare of vindictive columnist J.J. Hunsecker. Cockroaches always run from a light and that's what Hunsecker thinks of people, toying with them, insinuating, making his guests—invited or not—uncomfortable.

It's that shifting dynamic of Hunsecker and his victims that makes the scene so interesting and fascinating to watch.

Sweet Smell of Success was voted into the National Film Registry in 1993.

The Set-Up: Sidney Falco (Tony Curtis) is a low-level press agent in New York City trying to make it big. To further his career, he has promised to find out information for powerful columnist J.J. Hunsecker (Burt Lancaster), whom he is trying to contact at one of the man's "haunts"—the "21" Club—where he is seated with some other denizens trying to get his attention—and maybe a mention in his column, The Agent (Jay Adler), The Senator (William Forrest), and The Girl (Autumn Russell).

Be careful what you wish for.

 

Action.

 

As the girl, shrugging, puts through the call, CAMERA moves closer to Sidney in the booth. He hears the connection made, speaks at once. 

SIDNEY (to phone) J.J.? It's me -- 

We are close enough to the instrument to hear the sound of a voice on the other end. Though the words are not distinguishable, it is quite clear that the speaker is not talking to the phone. Sidney seems to relax, as if this is something that happens often. He waits, studying his manicured fingertips... Presently Sidney hears the voice on the other end become clearer. 

It asks: "Yes?" CAMERA moves closer as Sidney says: 

SIDNEY J.J., it's Sidney. 

SIDNEY Can you come outside for one minute? 

Hunsecker's voice, filtered through the sound of the telephone, is sharp and tiny; but the words are now very clear. 

HUNSECKER (O.S.) Can I come out? No. 

SIDNEY (tensely) I have to talk to you, alone, J.J., that's why. 

HUNSECKER (O.S.) You had something to do for me - you didn't do it. 

SIDNEY Can I come in for a minute? 

HUNSECKER (O.S.) No. You're dead, son - get yourself buried! 

There is a click as Hunsecker hangs up. 

Sidney, more slowly, also hangs up. 

Brooding, he comes out of the booth. 

INT. TWENTY ONE CLUB - LOUNGE 

Sidney comes out of the door to the phone booths,

walks through the lounge to the hallway. He turns towards the dining room. 

INT. HALLWAY 

BARFLY Sidney...

SIDNEY Later...

Sidney comes to the door into the dining room, CAMERA tracking with him. Here he pauses, looking towards... 

HUNSECKER From Sidney's viewpoint. Hunsecker is seated at a table which is cleverly his habitual position. We see him only in semi-back view, a broad and powerful back. He is listening to a man who has paused at his table, stooping over Hunsecker to whisper in his ear. As the columnist listens, his hands play with an omni-present pad and pencil which lie on the dinner table amongst an assortment of envelopes, mimeographed sheets and a telephone. Beyond Hunsecker and the man talking to him are the SENATOR, the AGENT, and an attractive, if fatuous GIRL. 

HUNSECKER I'll check it in the morning, Low - thanks. 

The man leaves; 

Hunsecker is scribbling a note on the pad. Meanwhile the Senator whispers something to the girl, who giggles softly. 

REVERSE ANGLE Sidney comes across to the table, nervous but deliberate. 

CAMERA PULLS BACK to include Hunsecker in foreground. Sidney, without accosting him, stands a few feet from the columnist's elbow and deliberately lights a cigarette.

Hunsecker, barely turning his head, sees him. We have heard of Hunsecker as a monster, but he is evidently in a mild phase of his metabolism, for he seems gentle, sad and quiet, as he turns his gaze casually to the Senator, totally ignoring the young man who stands behind him. 

HUNSECKER (softly) Harvey, 

HUNSECKER (softly) I often wish I were deaf and wore a hearing aid...

HUNSECKER (softly) with a simple flick of a switch I could shut out the greedy murmur of little men... 

SIDNEY A close shot. Sidney shows no reaction to this insult. He steps in closer, an Indian fixity in his face. 

SIDNEY J.J., I need your ear for two minutes... 

REVERSE ANGLE Shooting across Sidney, onto Hunsecker. J.J. turns - but not to Sidney. He raises his hand in a small gesture which summons a passing Captain, who steps into picture at Sidney's elbow. 

HUNSECKER Mac! I don't want this man at my table... 

SIDNEY (quickly but quietly interrupting) I have a message from your sister. 

The Captain is already there.

But now Hunsecker's eyes have switched to Sidney's face.

For the briefest of moments, nothing happens.

Then Hunsecker, seeming to relax and ignoring the Captain whom he has summoned, turns back to casual conversation with the Senator as if nothing had happened. 

HUNSECKER Forgive me, Harvey. We were interrupted before - 

In foreground, Sidney turns to the Captain with a carved smile, indicating that Hunsecker's change of topic is to be interpreted as sanction for Sidney to remain. 

The Captain, not entirely convinced, retreats. 

Sidney finds himself a chair, places it and takes a seat which is near enough to the table to establish his presence. During this: 

SENATOR (who is mildly surprised and faintly embarrassed) Err...the Supreme Court story, I was telling you - Justice Black. 

HUNSECKER (nodding) Yes, the Justice, that's right. But I think you had it in the column. 

SIDNEY (smoothly, casually) Last July, the lead item... 

Sidney's interjection is quietly well-mannered. Hunsecker totally ignores it. The other members of the party are a little astonished at the interplay. 

The girl, in particular, is fascinated; she clearly admires Sidney's looks. The Senator, noting this, glances at Sidney, accepting the point: 

SENATOR (laughing) And I believe that's precisely where I read it, too. You see, J.J., where I get my reputation for being the best-informed man in Washington. 

HUNSECKER Now don't kid a kidder. 

THE SENATOR, THE GIRL, AND THE AGENT 

The girl looks again towards Sidney. The Senator again sees this, addresses Sidney pleasantly. 

SENATOR I don't think we caught your name, young man. 

REVERSE ANGLE Group shot. The Senator in foreground, Sidney beyond Hunsecker in background, and the others on edge of shot. 

SIDNEY Sidney Falco, sir. And, of course, everyone knows and admires you, Senator Walker. 

SENATOR (humorously) Every four years I get less convinced of that.

SENATOR This young lady is Miss Linda James. (indicates the Girl)

SENATOR She's managed by Manny Davis. (he indicates the Agent) 

SIDNEY AND HUNSECKER 

Sidney nods pleasantly to the Girl and the Agent. 

SIDNEY I know Manny Davis. 

HUNSECKER (quietly) Everyone knows Manny Davis... 

HUNSECKER (as the phone rings on the table) ...except MRS. Manny Davis. 

Hunsecker is picking up the phone, continuing: 

HUNSECKER Yes? Go ahead, Billy - shoot... 

REVERSE ANGLE To intercut with the above. 

The Senator, the Agent and the Girl watching Hunsecker. The Agent's reaction to Hunsecker's remark is a sickly smile. 

RESUME HUNSECKER He repeats aloud a story which is told him over the telephone. 

HUNSECKER Uh huh. Sports cars in California are getting smaller and smaller...the other day you were crossing Hollywood Boulevard and you were hit by one...you had to go to the hospital and have it removed...

HUNSECKER (coolly) You're not following the column: I had it last week. 

During the speech, CAMERA eases back to include Sidney again. 

At the end, Sidney looks up in the direction of the Senator. 

SIDNEY Do you believe in capital punishment, Senator? 

RESUME REVERSE ANGLE The Senator, amused, asks: 

SENATOR Why? 

RESUME HUNSECKER AND SIDNEY 

Sidney glances sidelong at Hunsecker. 

SIDNEY (pointing to the phone) A man has just been sentenced to death... 

Hunsecker's face hardens; aware of Sidney's impertinence, he does not design to react directly; he turns towards the Agent. 

HUNSECKER Manny, what exactly are the UNSEEN gifts of this lovely young thing...

HUNSECKER ...that you manage...? 

THE AGENT AND THE GIRL 

The Agent glances uneasily at the Girl beside him. 

AGENT Well, she sings a little...you know, sings... 

GIRL (by rote) Manny's faith in me is simply awe-inspiring, Mr. Hunsecker. Actually, I'm still studying, but - 

RESUME HUNSECKER 

He studies the Girl intently. 

HUNSECKER What subject? 

RESUME THE AGENT AND THE GIRL

GIRL Singing, of course...straight concert and - 

RESUME HUNSECKER 

Hunsecker's glance flicks between the Girl and the Senator. 

HUNSECKER Why "of course"? It might, for instance, be politics... 

As the Girl betrays herself with a nervous glance at the Senator beside her, CAMERA eases back to include him. The Senator is unruffled; gravely, he lights a cigar. 

The Girl laughs. 

GIRL Me? 

MANNY Well, you see, J. J...

GIRL I mean "I"? Are you kidding, Mr. Hunsecker? With my Jersey City brains? 

RESUME HUNSECKER 

Again his glance links the Girl and the Senator. 

HUNSECKER The brains may be Jersey City, but the...

HUNSECKER ...clothes are Trainor-Norell. 

THE SENATOR, THE AGENT AND THE GIRL 

The Girl and the Agent are both nervously uneasy. The Senator closely examines the tip of his cigar and, with deliberation, turns towards Sidney. 

SENATOR Are you an actor, Mr. Falco? 

GIRL (supporting the change of subject) That's what I was thinking.

GIRL Are you, Mr. Falco? 

SIDNEY AND HUNSECKER 

Hunsecker, for the first time, half-turns in Sidney's direction, amused. 

HUNSECKER How did you guess it, Miss James? 

RESUME THE AGENT, THE GIRL AND THE SENATOR 

They all look at Sidney. 

GIRL He's so pretty, that's how. 

RESUME SIDNEY AND HUNSECKER 

Sidney bitterly resents the adjective, but contrives to hide the fact; he smiles, gracefully accepting the compliment. Hunsecker (who knows what Sidney feels) is pleased; he turns towards Sidney expansively. 

HUNSECKER Mr. Falco, let it be said at once, is a man of FORTY faces, not one, 

HUNSECKER ...none too pretty and ALL deceptive. 

HUNSECKER See that grin? It's the charming street urchin's face. 

HUNSECKER It's part of his "helpless" act - he throws himself on your mercy. 

HUNSECKER I skip the pleading nervous bit that sometimes blends over into bluster. The moist grateful eye is a favorite face with him - it frequently ties in with the act of boyish candor: he's talking straight from the heart, get it? 

HUNSECKER He's got about half-a-dozen faces for the ladies, 

HUNSECKER but the one I like, the real cute one to me 

HUNSECKER ...is the quick dependable chap - nothing he won't do for you in a pinch. 

HUNSECKER At least, so he says! 

HUNSECKER Tonight Mr. Falco, whom I did not invite to sit at this table, is about to show in his last and most pitiful role: pale face with tongue hanging out. In brief, gentlemen and Jersey Lilly, the boy sitting with us 

HUNSECKER ...is a hungry press agent and fully up to all the tricks...

HUNSECKER ...of his very slimy trade! 

Hunsecker has started his speech lightly, but it has built up to enough cold contempt and feeling to embarrass and intimidate the others at the table. 

In conclusion, Hunsecker, his eyes on Sidney, picks up a cigarette and waits expectantly... 

HUNSECKER (quietly) Match me, Sidney...

The Sweet Smell of Success

 

Words by Clifford Odets and Ernest Lehman (and Alexander Mackendrick)

 

Pictures by James Wong Howe and Alexander Mackendrick

 

The Sweet Smell of Success is available on DVD from M-G-M Home Entertainment and The Criterion Collection.