Mogambo

Mogambo  (John Ford, 1953) It's good to be The King. When you're Clark Gable, King of Hollywood, you can forgive a lot of shortcomings on the acting front. Mogambo, situated in Africa, and for a large part photographed there, makes Gable the King of the Jungle and no less predatory than some of the denizens. If the film has a shortcoming, and it has a few, it's that it depends so much on Gable's charisma to carry what is essentially an under-written "man's man" of a role—one who will take a woman in his arms and plant one with a mere change in the barometer, his, hers or Nature's. Gable's Vic Marswell is so fragile in his moods, he's practically bi-polar, swinging from cranky to rapacious to "I don't care," running hot and cold and more than a little unreadable either way. And for the women in the film, Eloise "Honey Bear" Kelly (a plucky Ava Gardner), a recklessly adventurous widow—she has a great summing-up line: "There's a lot of snarling in this joint!"—and Lina Nordley (Grace Kelly, still in her neurotic, fragile period), wife of Marswell's current client, it creates a weird triangle that I.Sosceles himself couldn't figure out. 

Maybe it's the heat of Africa, or maybe it's the wild life of the wildlife, but both of these women, with lots going for them, still neurotically slam themselves like meteors into Winslow's orbit. And while the heat and flash are nice, things burn out mighty quick. And the only explanation is "it's Gable," in a writer's shorthand that defies logic, common sense, or understandable motivation (other than box-office). It's just assumed that any woman's going to throw themselves at the King, no matter how much of a tiger trap he might be.

That shaky "given" aside, it's a nice adventure entertainment, directed by John Ford with a painterly eye trained on a new canvas. The Technicolor cinematography—by Freddie Young (doing the English studio shots) and Robert Surtees—is absolutely gorgeous, whether in the blinding sunlight of a native village, or the shadowy slats of a "civilized" encampment (The film's second unit was directed by famed stunt-man Yakima Canutt). Ford is a long way from the locations he favored in his Westerns, but adjusts, employing his fascination with native culture in the same diversions of including the faces of the tribes, distinguishing them from each other and, in a single set up, putting the flavor of the place on obvious display. He's truly recharged and energized by Africa, his camera roaming all over, finding the picturesque and telling details.*

And it's interesting to note (to me, anyway) that Ford is essentially making a Howard Hawks movie: a group of professionals and semi-professionals trying to eke out a living (and a kind of focused community) despite their differences. Hawks and Ford would knowingly tip their hats to each other in their projects—if it didn't interfere with their own process—and there are a lot of the Hawks hallmarks here—the group sing-along, the loaning and sharing of a cigarette as relationship sub-text, the strong females (one of whom is "just one of the boys"), and the alpha male who has a code, few words, and manages to mangle them around the opposite sex.**

Even if the emotions run a little too high and there's way too much drama to get any real work done, there's a lot in Mogambo to like, that is pleasing to the eye. The story's not much, but it sure is interesting to see how Ford tells it.

Gardner and Kelly-revealed in their environments

* One of my favorite shots is a simple one of Gable and company walking the high grass on a trapping trip, shot at ground level, looking up through the wisps at the party.  How much less interesting would that shot have been from any other angle?  How much less would it have said about the conditions there, while making the most of the surroundings?  Ah, I'm probably getting all "academic" here.  Ford probably shot it that way to avoid seeing a garbage heap in the distance.  

** Hawks made his own version of the "African trapper" story—Hatari—ten years later with John Wayne (although internet sources say Gable was to co-star "but who believes the Internet?") with a more cohesive group (the kids have the relationship problems, not the leader) turning the story into a metaphor for a film-making crew).  The differences are night and day—in style and atmosphere—despite the similarities in subject matter.  In Hawks, the relationships are background, while the job is center-stage.  In Ford, it's the other way around.  They'd make an interesting double-bill.

The Killers (1946/1964)

Ernest Hemingway wrote his short story "The Killers" in 1927 for Scribner's Magazine. It's a simple story about two gunmen who come to a small town diner in Summit, Illinois and briefly terrorize the nighthawks there (including Hemingway's young alter-ego, Nick Adams), before setting their sights for their target—a washed up fighter nicknamed "The Swede", who, curiously, accepts his fate and tells Nick (who runs to him at his boarding house to warn him) that he's tired of running and not to do anything because nothing can be done. Nick leaves town knowing full well "The Swede" will be killed, but he can't stand being there any more, knowing a man has surrendered to his fate and awaits his execution.

Of "The Killers" Hemingway said "That story probably had more left out of it than anything I ever wrote. I left out all Chicago, which is hard to do in 2951 words." 

But that kernel of a story is perfect for a full-length motion picture (it's also been adapted into un-embellished short films, one by Andrei Tarkovsky as a student—see below), allowing film-makers to fill in the blanks, speculate about the circumstances that would set into motion the specifics of the short story, creating a preamble and, if one is concerned with the morality of the tale, an epilogue.

But, the two most well-known adaptations of the tale titled "The Killers" take a completely different approach to the titular characters—in the first, making them secondary, and in the second, the driving narrative force—and its unknowable back-story.

As the blurb for the later version says, "There's more than one way to kill a man."

The Killers (Robert Siodmak, 1946) Credited to Anthony Villiers (with unbilled contributions by John Huston and Richard Brooks), the movie starts with Hemingway and leaves him behind. Two toughs in suits, Al and Max (Charles McGraw and William Conrad) drive into Brentwood, New Jersey and case the burg. They check out the local service station of the Tri-State Oil co. and then set their sights on Henry's Diner across the street. Henry's offers boiled dinners but they don't come any more hard-boiled than Max and Al, who immediately start to get cute with the menu and calling the guy behind the counter "Bright Boy." They're looking for Pete Lund, "The Swede" ("What did Pete Lund ever do to you?" "He never had a chance to do anything to us..."), but Pete usually comes in at 6 and he's not there, so he's not showing up. So, Max and Al start to mess with the only other patron, Nick Adams (Phil Brown*), Lund's co-worker at the filling station, telling him to get in the kitchen with the cook (Bill Walker), where Al ties them up and Max stands guard. Satisfied that "The Swede" isn't showing up, the two leave, allowing Nick to get untied and warn Lund (Burt Lancaster). But, Lund won't leave saying, finally, enigmatically, "Once I did something wrong."

Pete is gunned down in his room by Al and Max. But, that's not the end of the story. Tri-State's insurance investigator Jim Reardon (Edmond O'Brien) is checking out the killing to see what's going to be done with Lund's $2500 life insurance policy. The local police aren't handling the case because the two gun-men are from out of state. Why? Examining Lund's body, he notices that the dead man's knuckles are scuffed up like the hands of a boxer and he has his office check out local rings. He tracks down the beneficiary, but she doesn't know any "Pete Lund," she knew him as "Mr. Nillsson," who stayed briefly at her boarding house. But why would he name her as beneficiary?

A check at the office finds that the victim's real name is Ole Andreson, ex-prize-fighter and that tip comes from Lt. Sam Lubinsky (Sam Levene) from the Philadelphia police department. Lubinsky once busted Andreson a few years back—ironic as the two grew up together and were friends since childhood. But, that's part of it. Lubinsky's wife, Lily (Virginia Christine) used to be sweet on the Swede (and Sam was sweet on her), but Ole dumped her for another woman, Kitty Collins (Ava Gardner), and Kitty was involved in rackets, and pretty soon, Ole was involved with both. It was Kitty that got Ole arrested when he took the fall for her shoplifting charge—and violently resisting arrest. But, Lubinsky wants in on Reardon's investigation because, as he says, "once a copper, always a copper."

Ole spends three years in jail, pining for Kitty and determined to make it on the outside. When he gets out, his former cell-mate, Charleston, tells him about a big job being planned, knocking over the payroll of the Prentiss Hat Co. (in Hackensack, New Jersey), the "biggest caper anyone's pulled in a long time" according to its ring-leader, "Big" Jim Colfax (Albert Dekker). When Ole goes to meet Charleston at the planning, he meets Colfax, "Blinky" Franklin (Jeff Corey), 'Dum-Dum' Clarke (Jack Lambert), and oh yeah...Kitty's there, as she's hooked up with Colfax again. Charleston, having spent too much of his life in prison, opts out. But, "the Swede" is in, probably because of Kitty's presence. But, it doesn't make relations between Colfax and Ole amicable. They get worse the night of the robbery.

The original meeting place to split the dough gets changed, and the only one who isn't let in on it is The Swede. That meeting place is burned down at about the planned time for the meeting. This leads to what Reardon ultimately calls "the double-cross to end all double-crosses," that will leave most of the culprits dead, including the two killers who started the gun-play, when it all gets figured out not-so-nice and not-so-simple.

Huston, Brooks and Villiers stage the story like Citizen Kane: a guy dies at the beginning and a snoop goes around talking to people trying to learn the big secret of the dead guy, interviewing them one by one, their stories told in flash-backs, running parallel forward courses to the ultimate answer of who put the killers onto Ole and why. Siodmak had a way with pulp material and he and cinematographer Woody Bredell produce some amazing lighting effects, whether its to highlight Gardner's cheek-bones or stage a murder without gunfire. It was the first movie of Burt Lancaster, launching his career, and the first big role of Ava Gardner's, while also giving Edmond O'Brien a chance with a major screen role of a type that he would continue to play throughout the 40's and early 1950's.

Mention should also be made of the tough brutal score by Miklos Rosza, which folks will recognize even if they've never heard of the composer or seen this version of The Killers. The opening bars over the Universal Studios logo are a stark four-note motif that is repeated whenever the hit-men Max and Al appear on-screen, and it so impressed a young producer named Jack Webb that he used it as the opening theme for his series "Dragnet" in all of its incarnations. It may inspire some audience giggles, but these things have to start somewhere.

Hemingway's reaction to this version of The Killers? I've read a couple stories—one where he went into the john and threw up; the other (from producer Mark Hellinger who had a vested interest) where he set up a private screening for Hemingway at his domicile in Sun Valley, Idaho. Hemingway attended the screening with an overcoat in which he had a full bottle of gin in one pocket and a full bottle of water in another. After the screening, he shows the two full bottles to the studio publicity man and and said "...didn't need 'em."

The Killers (Don Siegel, 1964) Adapted by Gene L. Coon (who was a showrunner/scripter for the best episodes of "Star Trek") and directed by Don Siegel (who was briefly attached to direct the first one), this version was originally designed to be a TV-movie, but was deemed "too violent" for "The Tube" and was thus released to theaters. Coon, who wrote it under the title "Johnny North,"** took a completely different approach to the adaptation, leaving out Hemingway's basic story and the characters that formed the basis of the original, but leaving in the plot that Huston and Brooks and Villiers designed for the back-story—and even—when it fit—some of the dialog. But, with one very important difference. This time, the point of view isn't from the investigating insurance agent. It's told from the point of view of the contract killers who are hired to "take out" the man "who just stood there and took it." Although, the two have a rule that they never discuss the work, this one is different enough that it makes the older one of the two gun-men curious and decides to do a little digging to find out what it was about this particular guy that he didn't run from certain death but just took it passively. Call it professional curiosity.

Charlie (Lee Marvin) and Lee (Clu Gulager) are an odd pair of hit-men. Lee is young and a bit of a goof-ball, almost child-like attracted to flashy things. Charlie is older and "going gray" and has been doing "this" ("this" being killing people) for a while. They show up at "The Sage School for the Blind" for a job and walk around unnoticed—two guys wearing shades indoors in a school where a lot of people wear shades. They head to the principal's office—she's sightless, too (the blind leading the blind?) and after viciously toying with her a bit to find out the location of their target "Jerry Nichols," they knock her unconscious and start casing the school for Jerry. 

After some cursory reconnaissance, they find that "Jerry Nichols" is teaching an auto repair class in the school's basement. Even though "Nichols" is warned by a telephone call, he stays in the classroom, telling his students to get out quick. During the confusion of the exiting would-be mechanics, Lee and Charlie burst into the room, and "Jerry" (John Cassavettes) just stands there and takes several silenced slugs from the two hit-men, who use the confusion to briskly walk out.

On a train away from the scene, the two killers start to talk, but Charlie is ruminating on the hit. He recognized "Jeff" as Johnny North, former race car driver that might have had some criminal past. And he won't let it go. There are four elements that has him thinking: 1) Johnny North "just stood there and took it," while anybody else would try and run 2) the price for the "simple" hit was $25,000, an extraordinary sum of money to kill one guy and 3) Johnny North was involved "in a big mail-robbery in California, supposed to get away with a million bucks"—what happened to the million dollars and 4) the person who hired the hit wasn't worried about those million dollars "and the only person who doesn't worry about a million dollars is the guy who has a million dollars." He wants to find that million dollars.

It's partially curiosity, partially greed, but he and Lee decide to divert to Miami to find out more about the late Johnny North and that missing million dollars. They'll follow a trail of witnesses: first, Earl Sylvester (Claude Akins), Johnny's pit-boss and chief mechanic (and friend—very good friend), who witnessed Johnny get involved with one Sheila Farr (Angie Dickinson), who liked hanging around the pits and basically ran over Johnny going 90, until all he could think about was Sheila, to the point where his high-living brings him low when he crashes during a big race breaking his leg and messes up his peripheral vision, not that he could see anything beyond Sheila, anyway. Earl tells a hospitalized Johnny that he's not the first guy she's had a fling with, but she keeps going back to a guy named Jack Browning (Ronald Reagan), an older racketeer who can keep Sheila in the lifestyle that she's grown accustomed to. It's the last time Earl sees Johnny.

Next, they move to New Orleans where an acquaintance of Browning's, Mickey Farmer (Norman Fell) has a gymnasium. They turn the heat on Mickey (literally) and he picks up the next chapter of the story, where Browning and Farmer are planning a big mail robbery that depends on some fast driving on some bad road in a car that might require a little tweaking of an engine. Browning can't do it, so Sheila recruits her old friend Johnny who's fallen on hard times driving demolition derbies. He's suspicious of the whole job, but Sheila's very convincing, especially when she tells Johnny that Browning plans on not splitting the million, and if Johnny can deal with Browning first, she and he can run away together. That's enough to seal the deal.

So, the next step is for Charlie and Lee to head to Los Angeles, where they find Browning has done very well for himself, going straight and starting a lucrative development and construction business. He has no idea what happened to the million dollars, or what happened to Johnny North after the robbery—he only has a vague idea where Sheila is, but Charlie and Lee are very persuasive with their pistols, telling him they want to meet Sheila to get the rest of the story and where that million dollars is. They say that he needs to arrange a meeting and if he doesn't—or if he plans a double-cross—they'll find him...eventually.

It's the meeting with Sheila that's the most disturbing. The hit-men have a time set up and they show up a couple hours before expected and are far rougher with Sheila than with any of the men they've interviewed, punching her around and even almost throwing her out a high apartment window. If Marvin and Gulager have the flashier parts, it's Dickinson who gets the best part and, as one might expect, she plays the hell out of it, both in her seductive flashbacks and the hysterics of her "interview" with Charlie and Lee. Ultimately, one shouldn't feel too sorry for the character—she's been in control the whole time, and is responsible for a lot of carnage along the way..

"...I don't have the time."

It's similar in composition (certainly with the introductory killing and the flashback structured piecing together of the story) to the earlier film, but the tone of the latter version of The Killers is—despite it's sunnier settings and color photography—tougher, grittier, and deeply cynical, especially considering that the vast majority of the characters in the 1964 version are completely unadmirable, back-stabbing sociopaths whose only redeeming quality is they're too busy turning on each other to do any permanent harm to the outside world of innocents, mostly represented as passive bystanders and watchers. The 1964 Killers is a bit like a circular firing squad, where the bad-guys get exactly what they deserve...from each other. It's almost a noir farce in living...and dying...color. Hemingway might have been horrified. 

What Hemingway would have thought can't be known. He died by his own hand on July 2, 1961.

A couple of after-after thoughts: Actress Virginia Christine appeared in both versions—as Lt. Sam Lubinsky's wife in the first, and as the principal of the Sage School for the Blind when Charlie and Lee are looking for Johnny. Older folks might remember her as "Mrs. Olson" hawking Folger's Coffee.

Jack Browning was the last major role played by Ronald Reagan before he pursued his political ambitions. Older folks might remember him as a President of the United States. Even older folks remember him as an actor playing good guys. He's not too convincing playing a bad guy, but he does have a cynical rueful look that's endearing.

Andrei Tarkovsky's student film of "The Killers"

Steve Soderbergh has an interesting side by side video of both versions of The Killers which can be found on his Extension 756 site here. 

"If there's one thing in this world I hate, it's a double-crossing dame."

* Here's some juicy trivia for you: the actor who played Hemingway's alter-ego, Nick Adams, is the same Phil Brown who played Luke Skywalker's Uncle Owen in Star Wars.

** The screenplay was titled "Johnny North", but, for whatever reason—maybe due to some situations and lines of dialogue being similar—Universal Studios chose to hang it with the title "Ernest Hemingway's The Killers", a move that director Don Siegel was dead set against.

Seven Days in May (1964)

Seven Days in May (John Frankenheimer, 1964)  May 18th.

Mark it in your calendars (or in notes for future trivia contests). That is the day the government of the United States was scheduled to be overthrown by a military coup organized by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, over a nuclear treaty signed by the United States and Russia and ratified by the Senate.

 
But it never happened. Not even in the movies.

Still, May 18th was the day. The year was never mentioned...almost as a caution.

The early 60's were a great time for filmed political thrillers in the States. Kennedy was president, the world was at war (coldly) and the fictional machinations were filmed in a very appropriate black-and-white, just like the television sets that brought the news into our homes. It was a time distant from the years of World War II when the words of politicians and leaders were taken at face value, even if the individuals were two-faced. Cynicism about the government and political overreach began to settle over the populace with the threat of nuclear weapons, the McCarthy hearings, Ike lying about the U-2 incident, each in their own way chiseling at the foundations of the monuments we had in place in DC. 

Books and movies started to reflect that cynicism like The Best Man, The Manchurian Candidate, Advise and Consent, maybe Fail-Safe. And this one, Seven Days in May, from the the team that wrote "Fail-Safe," for this movie adapted by Rod Serling and directed by Manchurian director Frankenheimer, with an eye towards reflecting the world as it is...or as we would see them playing out on TV. Serling was overseeing "The Twilight Zone" series at the time, but this one was not too off his comfort "zone" by being equal parts suspense, intrigue, and character study, in words, terse, circumspect, and dripping with irony. Serling's writing could be a little ripe and on the nose, even spoken through gritted teeth and tight lips, as when Ava Gardner tells Kirk Douglas: "I'll make you two promises: a very good steak, medium rare. And the truth, which is very rare."

Douglas plays Colonel Martin "Jiggs" Casey, adjutant to the fifth most powerful man in the world, but maybe the most charismatic, General James Mattoon Scott (Burt Lancaster), head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff under President Jordan Lyman (Fredric March). The nuclear arms treaty is extremely controversial, causing violent protests outside the White House.

Briggs is a good soldier, snap-to and does his job, he's loyal to his boss and doesn't make waves (important for a Marine). But, odd things are starting to add up. There's the office pool on the Preakness that's passing between official channels between the Joint Chiefs, which is odd. But, what's odder is the reaction of Scott's "body-man" Colonel Murdock (Richard Anderson) who gets hot under the collar-buttons when Briggs mentions that betting pool. It isn't casual water cooler talk, it's treated like an international incident with the grunt who mentioned getting stationed out of the way to Hawaii. Odd.

Then, Briggs gets a visit from an old pal, Colonel "Mutt" Henderson (Andrew Duggan) who tells him about his current assignment at a secret base in Texas designed for interrupting television signals and designed for "seizure," "like the Commies already had the stuff, and we had to get it back.." That and Scott's accelerating role on the political stage, aiming for a run for the White House.  A somewhat heated conversation with a saber-rattling Senator (Whit Bissell) at a Washington function is the final worry. Briggs follows the Senator back from the party to a clandestine meeting at General Scott's house...when the Senator has already mentioned he'd be out of town.

It's just enough incongruous parts and shady behavior for Briggs to go to the White House to vent his suspicions to the President—there's going to be a coup by the military to take over the government. The President is concerned but cautious. Briggs is sent out to get details on the wisps of evidence that he has, while the President's Aide (Martin Balsam) is sent to make a call on the one military chief, Vice-admiral Farley Barnswell (John Houseman-his first screen debut, although uncredited) who has not opted into the "pool" to provide written evidence of the conspiracy. One of Lyman's closest associates in the Senate, Senator (Edmond O'Brien) heads to Texas to see what he can find out about the hidden base, while Briggs starts to gather evidence, including from Scott's discarded mistress (Ava Gardner).

It soon becomes clear that there is, indeed, a coordinated effort from a particularly dedicated cabal to take over the government, either during a nuclear training exercise or the President's upcoming trip to his weekend retreat—the President maneuvers his schedule, making Scott adjust his plans, which are then monitored by government agencies. But, how will it play out? It's an elaborate chess game with many moving parts with the final component being the medium of television, the direct link to the populace on whom the ultimate decisions of governing rests.

There's a lot of talk, as Serling goes overtime with terse conversations behind locked doors. It's drama, but Serling disliked raised voices, just like Washington does (or used to). There was never a time when the theatrics of the circus didn't invade governance, but before entertainers and the pulpit entered the fray, the popular conception of government conversation was discourse and debate, not some hard-balling cross-fire competition to be the loudest voice that doesn't pause for breath as is the impression made by the info-tainment of today's television. Why, General Scott's braying passion sounds downright reasonable in today's age of clowns. "You got something against the English language, Colonel?" barks the President when Briggs tippy-toes around his suspicions. Now, everyone does. Today's government speaks the language or lawyers and liars. Snake-oil salesmen.

Frankenheimer films in high-contrast black-and-white, with the high light-levels of television lights and offices and the deep shadows of parking lots and other holes of skullduggery. It's like he wants to show pictorially that the best governance is the one in the light and not the ones that scurries away from it. And for all the surveillance gear on display, conspiracy can still hide in plain sight. Especially if no one is really looking.

Seven Days in May is a classic movie and a repudiation to the old saw that looks to a savior or "a man on a white horse." Those who engage in hero-worship or ignore the media of manipulation are just bound to be disappointed, if only they were smart enough to admit it. It is also a great movie that should play in the Church of the Eternally Naïve as they endlessly chant "It can't happen here."

March 18th.

Remember, the year isn't given.