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.

Tommy

Tommy (Ken Russell, 1975) There have been bad rock and roll movies—really bad ones. But the genre seemed to hit its peak during the glitzy, gay disco-days of the 1970's. "The kids"—and Robert Stigwood—were making hits (and lots of money) from movies like Saturday Night Fever and Grease. But even more, the companies putting out the soundtracks filled with movie-hits were making a wind-fall. There was a subsequent crush of rock-movies with double-album soundtracks hitting theaters and stores and amidst that groundswell were such gems as the Barbra Streisand A Star is Born, Can't Stop the Music, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band—starring The Bee Gees and Peter Frampton—but ahead of the pack was this bloated and excessive refutation of all things revolutionary in rock n' roll—"Tommy."

Pete Townsend and The Who's "rock-opera" (though it doesn't follow strict form requirements) barely held together as an album, but it was a fine conceit. And where there's conceit, there is Hollywood.

An excessive film, during an excessive time in Hollywood. This scattered and episodic movie actually has more in common with the episodic "Broadway Melody" revue films of the 30's and 40's—guest-stars are trotted out (Eric Clapton, Elton John, Tina Turner, Jack Nicholson) for one song, then they are shipped off, never to be seen again.

Ann-Margret was asked to cavort in soap suds, baked beans, and chocolate 

as Russell wanted to make a point about materialism and advertising excess.

She was nominated for an Oscar for her performance.

I don't remember much of "Tommy" except the excesses (purging does that), but I do remember the frequent use by director Russell of the distorted close-up, how the songs didn't flow into each other but kinda...stopped. Paused.

We miss you, Tina...

Then started again. Flow was something missing from Tommy, and replaced by excess. Elton John was the biggest thing in music at the time, but he's just a blip in the film, perched atop stilt-like Doc Martens. Jack Nicholson (substituting for a probably-more-appropriate Christopher Lee) is in B-movie auto-pilot and CANNOT sing. Ann-Margret was inconceivably nominated for an Oscar for her performance in the film—probably for bravery, Tina Turner was deliriously ferocious (and fidgety) as "The Acid Queen," and the heretical "Eyesight for the Blind" sequence that took place in The Church of Marilyn Monroe. Tasteless, crass, and jaw-droppingly audacious, it is also a very neat commentary on the idolatry of celebrity—a far better one than the movie itself...or Townsend's original...was trying to be. Except for that sequence, the film is a waste of time. An extremely commercial indictment of things commercial.

I suppose it could be due a re-make.

Let's forget it (Better, still).

He's free. (We get it!)

The "Eyesight for the Blind" sequence (the song by "Sonny Boy Williamson II", performed by The Who, Eric Clapton—quite stoned—and Arthur Brown). Like the movie, it is padded to just go on soooo long and director Ken Russell (and editor Stuart Baird) do what they can to keep things semi-lively. Best thing about the movie.