I Was a Male War Bride

I Was a Male War Bride (Howard Hawks, 1948) Hawks doing what he does best in a comedy—taking the finely chiseled speci-man that is Cary Grant and reducing him to a frustrated, humiliated wreck, robbing him of everything—dignity, decorum, manhood and sleep...mostly sleep.

In this one, Grant plays a Belgian in the French Army (in the same way he plays an American...as Cary Grant) in post-war Germany (it's actually based on a memoir—"I Was an Alien Spouse of Female Military Personnel en route to the United States Under Public Law 271 of the Congress" by the fellow this happened to) trying to break a black market operation with the help (and frequent hindrance) of Ann Sheridan. They have history and start out loathing each other. Along the way, he suffers bumpy rides in a motorcycle sidecar—in a rainstorm, no less—is nearly vaulted and scrunched by a barricade, paddles on the brink of a waterfall, climbs a pole (only to find that the sign, in German, says "Wet Paint"), is knocked off an awning from the second floor of a hotel, tossed in jail, and, in general, is made to suffer every indignity known to Man.

War is Hell, with several levels of humiliation, and its an everyday occurrence in this man's (and this woman's) Army. If it's not a battle of the sexes. its a battle with bureaucracy, or the everyday battle with being a stranger in a strange land. It is constant frustration, and Grant, outwardly so unflappable, is the master of its comic opposite (as evidenced by such Hawks-Grant pairings as His Girl Friday, Bringing Up Baby, and the non-Marx Monkey Business. Grant was the perfect test-subject for emasculation and the break-down of the cool customer.

As is typical Hawks, the camerawork is nothing fancy; set the camera up at chest-level and let the actors go and just try to keep up with everyone jumping over roadblocks, whether made or wood or red tape. Typical situation—getting married. She's American. He's Belgian. They're in Germany. So, there are three wedding ceremonies and so many "I do's" that there's no time for a honeymoon—leaving him with one big "I don't" ("Get some sleep" says one of the hoteliers to him, to which he replies "That's ALL I'm getting," which is a pretty racy comment for the time, but Hawks always liked to push the envelope and tweak the censors)—plus, she's getting re-assigned to America, while he's fresh out of the Army, something that he'd been looking forward to but is now complicated by...all the complications. But the mark of a professional in the Hawks world is the ability to punt, to improvise, and heal quickly...and move on, or around. It was a constant with this director, in front of and behind the camera. To persevere, do the job, despite set-backs and soldier on was the measure of a man...or a male war bride.

Edge of Darkness (1943)

Whenever I was doing any sort of search for "Edge of Darkness"—one of the "Anytime Movies" from here—I would have to distinguish it was the 1985 British mini-series...or, eventually, the 2010 film adaptation...or another film done back in the 40's. I was always curious about that wartime propaganda film, and thanks to TCM I finally got to see it a couple weeks back.

Edge of Darkness (Lewis Milestone, 1943) A German reconnaissance plane flies over the occupied town of Trollness, Norway to find the unusual circumstance of a Norwegian flag flying over one of the buildings. The crew radios back to send a squad to find out why the expected Nazi flag of Germany isn't flying.

 

When troops are sent out, they find a town of corpses. They're everywhere—German and Norwegian alike—filling the streets, even going up to the Nazi commandant's office, where he still sits upright in his chair, dead. There has been a massacre and Trollness is deserted, save for one townsman, raving and extolling the Nazi's. He's clearly off his head, so they execute him without a second thought. So much for loyalty.

 

Being Nazi's, they probably wouldn't have spared his life even if they'd known his past. He was Kaspar Torgerson (Charles Dingle), the well-to-do owner of the town's cannery and their strongest supporter in town: as long as the Nazi's were in control and there were no conflicts, no danger of strikes, and the cannery kept running and he was making money, what could be the issue with them? And Torgerson would only be too happy to report one of his neighbors to the Nazi's as a troublemaker (which in the Nazis' view is "every man, woman, and child!"—and here I thought Nazi's discriminated)

The thing is, most of those "troublemakers" are relatives of his. Oh, brother-in-law Dr. Martin Stensgard (Walter Huston) remains neutral—presumably to "do no harm"—and his wife, Anna (Ruth Gordon) is merely passive. It must skip a generation because one of the most ardent members of the underground is their daughter Karen (Ann Sheridan), who, with lover Gunnar Brogge (Errol Flynn), heads the Nazi resistance—there are 150 Nazi occupiers and over 800 villagers, but as the Nazi's say "we have guns and they are afraid to die"—so the villagers  must wait until arms are delivered to them from English submarines—it is, after all, a fishing village and boats are going out all the time.

Not that everybody is on board with the idea: Stensgard's son (John Beal), recently returned from university, is considered a Nazi sympathizer, and the town's priest (Richard Fraser) lectures from the pulpit about violence and God's judgment. And some folks, like the doctor, just don't want to get involved. But, if there is one thing Nazi's are good at, it's they can turn apathetic villagers to angry action. They're just like Frankenstein that way. It's the only thing they are good for.

Fairly soon, the arrogance turns to harassment then to rape and murder and even the most faint-hearted are soon flogging Nazis in the street, which allows the situation to escalate to horrific displays of aggression and violence that doesn't allow for any nuance of philosophy or conscientious objection...like any good piece of propaganda should. Made in 1943, it was a well-oiled agitprop by the studio that jumped on the war wagon first, Warner Bros. So, the performances are resolute and clear-eyed earnestness set against mustache-twisting villainy. Milestone, who'd started out in the silent era and who's All Quiet on the Western Front had won the Best Picture Oscar thirteen years earlier knows how to keep things moving quickly while not hesitating at outright manipulation to get the point across. Finish it off with Roosevelt's "Look to Norway" speech and you have a story that Americans can relate to, two years into the war effort.

They Drive By Night

They Drive By Night (Raoul Walsh, 1940) Warner Brothers-style action-and-intrigue pot-boiler about...wild-cat truckers. Well, that shouldn't be much of a surprise. In lieu of gangsterism, the trucking world could serve as a substitute for rough-and-tumble world of trying to make a fast buck on the legitimate side of the ledger in the world of capitalism The subject hit something of a zenith combining trucking and film-noir in Jules Dassin's Thieves' Highway. This tough little film from Raoul Walsh—who made definitive films on both crooked and straight paths to success concerns the brothers Fabrini (George Raft and Humphrey Bogart) are partners in a truck who decide to stop working for other shipping companies and do the deals themselves. This pushes their murderous schedules to the edge and consequences determine a change of focus. An interesting little movie where two Warner's tough-guys—Raft and his understudy at the time, Bogart*—do "everyman" jobs and mine real drama out of it. Of course, it couldn't be a Warner's picture without action and the film boasts two nail-biters where truck-drivers fall asleep at the wheel, filmed with the snap that one can expect from Raoul Walsh.

Where the movie excels is the smart patter that spins drama in the economic realities of this corps of transport specialists. The movie manages to slip in lessons in Unionization and Modernization amid the wise-cracks and the trumped murder-plot that dominates the film's second half. You begin to feel like you're learning something without being preached to.

And there's enough good acting going on that raises it above "B" level. Raft is a bit looser than usual in the starring role, but Bogart has the most dramatic...and fun part. Ann Sheridan does well with her wise-acre dialog and Ida Lupino manages a mine-filed of femme fatale neuroses with dexterity and quick-silver reactions. But the stand-out is Alan Hale—"The Skipper''s" dad—who takes the part of a trucker-who-owns-a-company and can't believe his good fortune. Hale's "Ed Carlsen" never has a "down" moment, and is carried out with wolfish good spirits and the sense that he's making it up as he goes along. His performance is the diamond in the rough in this rough little film about trucking. 

*At this time in his career, Bogie was still upset at the way his career was going, he was still doing the occasional western, and just the previous year he starred in the worst movie of his career--The Return of Doctor X! But in his next movie would be a part that Raft tosses aside--"Mad Dog" Roy Earle in High Sierra. And the next part meant for Raft but inherited by Bogart would be detective Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon.

Black Legion

Black Legion (Archie Mayo, 1937) "That means one white boy don't get to play"  The words of John Jordan "Buck" O'Neill in Ken Burns' documentary "Baseball." He was talking about the integration of baseball in the 1950's, a great thing. A major-league accomplishment. "But," said "Buck," "every black player that gets to play, that means one white boy don't get to play..." "Ya see?"  is how he concluded.

People have been seeing as long as they've had eyes, and as long as the societal see-saw ensures that as one person goes up, another has to go down. And in that imbalance of opportunity germinates prejudice, disguising jealousy, as if in sheep's clothing, with "principle."

This is the situation that Frank Taylor (Humphrey Bogart, playing a regular "joe," for once) finds himself in, when he finds that his sure-fire promotion goes to a studious young man with a "ski" at the end of his name.  Bitter and isolating himself from his family, his wife and son, he's recruited by a co-worker to join a secret society of white supremacists (who are so discriminating they only prey on other whites). They run offenders out of town, but not before meting a punishment of whipping, then destroying all the property they own. The police are a little slow in this burg to follow up on clues, especially when there's a motorcade of guys in robes speeding through the night (they can't trace tire tracks?)—but, as the group is composed of prominent whites in town, maybe some of them have badges under the robes.

For a time, the short-term benefits are great for Frank. He gets a night out with the boys, drinking and crowing over their nocturnal activities, and he even gets the promotion previously denied him when his rival if given the bum's rush on an outbound train. Then things start hitting close to home, affecting his home-life and the lives of his friends. But Frank has sworn an oath of silence not to rat out his prey-mates. And the contract is non-negotiable. 

"In the name of God and the Devil, one to reward and the other to punish, and by the powers of light and darkness, good and evil, here under the black arch of Heaven's avenging symbol, I pledge and consecrate my heart, my brain, my body, and my limbs and swear by all the powers of Heaven and Hell to devote my life to the obedience of my superiors and that no danger or peril shall deter me from executing their orders. That I will exert every possible means in my power for the extermination of the anarchist, the Roman hierarchy and their abettors. I swear that I will die fighting those whose serpent trail has winnowed the fair fields of our allies and sympathizers. I will show no mercy but strike with an avenging arm as long as breath remains. I further pledge my heart, my brain, my body, my limbs never to betray a comrade and that I will submit to all the tortures mankind can inflict and suffer the most horrible death rather than reveal a single word of this, my oath, before violating a single clause or implied pledge of this my obligation. I will pray to an avenging God and an unmerciful Devil to tear my heart out and roast it over the flames of sulfur, and lastly may my soul be given into the torment that my body be submerged into molten metal... and stifled into the flames of Hell, and that this punishment may be meted out to me through all eternity. In the name of God, our creator, Amen."

Sounds like some contracts I've had to sign recently. Credit card statements. Creepy stuff, and Frank's spineless enough to fold at any opportunity to stand up. It's an American tragedy, although whatever punishment he receives doesn't compare to those he's dished out. There are no heroes in this one, only victims and the Warner Brothers production takes on the topic of vigilantism, domestic terrorism, and prejudice with a semi-soft-pedaled spirit of outrage. It could be—and probably should be—considerably rougher, but for the time—before World War II and it's institutionalized terror—it's a parable for the common man to "get along," something else that war taught us in the concentrated efforts of allies of every color and faith to band together and truly deliver us from real evil.