Seven Thieves

Seven Thieves (Henry Hathaway, 1960) One of the posters for Seven Thieves screams out the cast of characters in this Cinemascope black and white film and manages to have its own little obfuscation in there: The Dancer! (Joan Collins) The Professor! (Edward G. Robinson) The Baron! (Eli Wallach) The Gambler! (Rod Steiger) The Beatnik! (Eli Wallach) The Muscle Boy! (Berry Kroeger) The Safe Cracker! (Michael Dante). Well, kinda, the characters are a bit more nuanced than that, and "The Beatnik" is a stretch for a jazz saxophone player, but, it was the parlance of the time...and Wallach, in the film, fills the bill of two of those mentioned. Hey! It's a Heist film, and one should expect some fudging of the truth here and there, even in...and maybe especially in...the advertising.

 

Seven Thieves may be long forgotten—I'd never heard of it until Todd Liebenow of "The Forgotten Film-cast" podcast gave me a choice of four films to consider discussing in an up-coming episode.* Seven Thieves was a tempting subject—directed by Henry Hathaway—with a cast that included Wallach, Edward G. Robinson, Rod Steiger, Alexander Scourby, Sebastian Cabot, and Joan Collins. The cast alone makes it worth seeing, even if it only amounts to another variation on the One Last Big Score Caper Movie.

Professor Theo Wilkins (Robinson) is a discredited ex-patriate living in Monte Carlo. He spends his time at the beach explaining to little children how to collect shells, but, in the back of his mind is a plan. All he needs is one last "element" to bring it all together and keep it all together in order to pull it off. That "element" shows up one day in the form of gambler and thief Paul Mason (Steiger), who has affection for the old man, but is reluctant to get involved in another of the old man's quixotic ventures.

The plan, Wilkins explains, is to steal ₣4,000,000 from the vault of the casino at Monte Carlo, which will require some special equipment and specialized personnel, all of which he has, but he needs Mason, his trusted mentor, to join the group in order to keep his motley crew of conspirators in line.

The key to the whole enterprise is the casino employee (Scourby) who is so besotted with "exotic dancer" Melanie (Collins) that he will do anything for her, even rob his employer. But, he merely provides information (and invitations) to make the job go smoother...and faster. Time, you see, is the critical element here, with an elaborate distraction on the night of a special celebration at the casino. Security is tight, but it just might be too tight to take advantage of. 

47 minutes in (after much bickering and negotiating), the caper starts, involving a trick wheel-chair, a cyanide pill, a conveniently open window, some safe-cracking tools, some steady nerves and balance, and the casino manager's reluctance to have "a scene" disrupt the joint's big night. It just about comes off without a hitch...but, after all, there needs to be some element of suspense to make the movie enjoyable. 

Now, this was made in 1960, so movie-morals hadn't loosened up so much that producers might let the thieves actually get away with their ill-gotten gains. But, here, they do...but manage to have it both ways so that Boston Blue Noses and the Catholic Legion of Decency won't condemn the film for celebrating "the wages of sin." It's a rather thin ledge the film has to negotiate to do it...and far-thinner than the one that had to accommodate Rod Steiger. But, it still manages to be a semi-enjoyable film, with quite a few things to admire.

 

* The movie we decided on was The Blue Max and the episode discussing it is here.

Warning Shot (1967)

Warning Shot (Buzz Kulik, 1967) Based on a novel by Whit Masterson (who also wrote the book that had become Touch of Evil), Warning Shot was considered a good vehicle for David Janssen, who was in the middle of his run on "The Fugitive" TV series. The script was by "Fugitive" veteran Mann Rubin* a prolific writer who wrote at least one script for most of the thriller/SCI-FI series of the 1960's and 1970's.

 

The story has a nice affiliation with Janssen's "Fugitive" persona in that he plays a discredited cop accused of killing an unarmed man—and nobody believes his story that the dead man was carrying a gun—a search of the scene has never turned up the weapon, and the prosecuting attorney (Sam Wannamaker) is more than happy to provide no reasonable doubt. It doesn't help that the L.A. police (in the form of Ed Begley's crusty superior and partner Keenan Wynn) have their own suspicions, whether to save face for the force or attain a promotion.

 

Plus, it doesn't help that Janssen has a face that always looks guilty.

It's true that during a drug stakeout, Sgt. Tom Valens (Janssen) has shot a man who was running away from him in the night, in the fog of a swimming pool, but Valens swears it was a "good" shoot; he didn't fire until the suspect drew a gun on him. But, in the light of day, the dead man turns out to be a respected doctor and no weapon can be found on the scene. Valens had been shot a year previously—so the whispers are that he might be a little trigger-happy. Facing manslaughter charges, Valens is forced to do a little investigating on his own.

The victim, Tom Ruston, was a respected doctor catering to diseases of the rich, but also well-regarded for his humanitarian work in Mexico. The doc's accountant (George Sanders) and his floozy wife (Eleanor Parker) are of no help, nor is the doc's assistant (Stephanie Powers). Nope, the only people who seem to have any sympathy for Valens' plight is his ex-wife (Joan Collins) and a pilot (George Grizzard) who lives at "the scene of the crime" and who offers to fly Valens down Mexico-way to see if the doctor's work in Mexico was legit.

Then, things start to get complicated; Valens acquires quite a few bruises after he's been beat up in an apparently random attack. Then, Ruston's nurse dies and the doctor's office is ransacked. Then, Valens is dosed with a mickey in his milk—this was the days of door-stop deliveries**—and nearly gassed by his own fireplace. It would have looked like an accident. But, Valens knows it's enemy action.

Now, it being the 1960's, there's a little bit of experimentation on director Kulik's part with camera angles that are a little too precious,*** and when Valens is beat up (not too convincingly and in sloooow motion) his POV is shown with vasellined and distorting lenses, which is groovy, baby, but didn't strike me as being very convincing. Frankly, when these sorts of shots appear I think less that the person is going unconscious and more that trends in film-making in the '60's were very fleeting.

Ultimately, the entire movie is not very convincing. The plot hinges on one of the most unbelievable and least likely MacGuffins**** in movie history (nope, I won't spoil it, but, once you know, you'll say "why would they use THAT?"). It's odd, but Warning Shot is one of those movies where the script is supposed to be deadly serious, but there are those moments—when Kulik is focusing on a bottle of milk at Janssen's feet, or a shot that shows just how convenient meeting in a graveyard can be—that you think they're trying to have as much fun with the material as they can, the results seeming half-hearted, like the film-makers realizing somewhere in filming they were making one of those Hitchcock "wrong-man" movies. The film is top-heavy with talent—Sanders, Parker, Walter Pidgeon and Lillian Gish—all playing characters they've played and excelled at in their careers—but, the film is far less entertaining than one would expect given all that. The film needs a little bit more absurdity to work. Especially given its ending.

 

* Yeah. No, he didn't write for "Star Trek" but for Irwin Allen and the "Bionic" people. Quite a few scripts for The Alfred Hitchcock show and most of the detective/mystery shows of the era.

 

** It's just a cautionary note in these pandemic times, but don't be like David Janssen and leave the delivered food on the stoop all day so bad guys can poison you...or the food gets so old it poisons you. 

 

*** Check this shot out—that's the heavy-hand of the prosecutor in the foreground during the manslaughter trial. Yup, the judge is Carroll O'Connor.

**** And just in case you don't know what a "MacGuffin" is, here is Alfred Hitchcock to explain...

Land of the Pharoahs

Land of the Pharoahs (Howard Hawks, 1955) Director Fritz Lang once said famously that Cinemascope—a popular widescreen movie format in one of the studios' experiments to lure people away from their televisions and back into theaters—was only good for shooting "a funeral, or for snakes, but not for human beings; you have a close-up and on either side, there's just superfluous space." 

The aspect ratio of 2.66:1 proved a challenge for film-makers and one determined to solve it was Howard Hawks, one of the least "showy" of directors when it came to camera-angles and presentation. Hawks' formula up until that time had been the standard boxy Academy ratio (1.37:1) in an unpretentious un-fussy style, shooting at mid-height and without a lot of distracting camera movement. The focus was actors and performances; you showed off in front of the camera, never behind.

But Cinemascope was a challenge for any film-maker and Hawks began to design a movie that might showcase the format's strengths by story, and chose the building of the pyramids as its theme (after all it was a great source for snakes and funerals). 

And parades...lots of parades. For the story, Hawks turned to his frequent collaborator, the acclaimed author William Faulkner (Hawks' brother was his Hollywood agent). Faulkner had worked wonders "breaking" problematic stories for the screen (including Hemingway's self-admitted "worst story" To Have and Have Not). To flesh out the story, Harry Kurnitz—who could be counted on to lighten up entertainments and would write Hawks' Hatari!—and Harold Jack Bloom (who had just won an Oscar for his first screenplay, Anthony Mann's The Naked Spur) were brought in to make something more of a movie about the construction of the pyramids.

What they came up with somewhat ingenious, mixing elements of biblical tales with soapy melodrama. In ancient Egypt, the conquering Pharoah, Khufu (Jack Hawkins), decides that the world is not enough and decides that he must make a place for himself in the after-life. He decides that he will create a great tomb for himself, using the labor garnered from all the civilizations that he has under his thumb. Knowing full well that he is approaching the end of his life and that the project may take years (if not decades), he begins the process of making his final kingdom. He begins by taxing all of the territories of his empire to pay for it (government is government), and to take as many treasures with him to impress the many kings and queens and gods that have gone before him.

From one of the kingdoms, he enlists the aid of the greatest architect, Vashtar (James Robertson Justice), but like any construction project there is a "punch list": the tomb must be vast to hold Khufu and his treasures and impressive in its scope; it must be impenetrable, unable to be entered or exited, in order to discourage any would-be grave-robbers attracted to the treasures within; to make sure that its secrets will never be disclosed, Vashtar must die upon the pyramid's completion—an extreme example of termination after work is finished. In return, Khufu will free Vashtar's people...the ones that survive building the thing, of course. No such concept as worker's comp in the slave trade. Vashtar agrees, and, with his son (Dewey Martin) Senta's assistance, begins the plans for the intricate tomb.

But, he's not the only one doing any planning, as the relationships plotline starts to get rather soapy ("like sand through the pyramid run the days of our lives..."). Cyprus, pleading poverty, instead sends its Princess Nellifer (Joan Collins) as tribute. She's haughty and gives Khufu so much attitude that he decides to have her whipped. Then, just to show how stable Pharoahs could be back in that day and age, Khufu takes her as his second wife over the objections of Queen Nailia (Kerima) and his old friend, confidante and High Priest, Hamar (Alexis Minotis). Sounds healthy...

Joan being Joan, she immediately starts to make big trouble in little Egypt: she begins by challenging just how much gold Khufu is amassing (since her kingdom contributed none of it), and demands to see it for herself. Khufu thinks she's being a little impudent, but, being Khufu, he has to prove his worth to the woman from the country that pled poverty. Nellifer is impressed and decides to take a necklace for herself, which really pisses off Khufu, who removes it forcibly and throws it back in the pile. But (Joan being Joan) all that does is to light the fire of some serious plotting, first seducing Khufu's captain of the guard (Sydney Chaplin) and plotting with him to kill Queen Nailia, her son, and Khufu himself, so that she can rule Egypt and keep all that gold for herself. She's just a bad person...

The project takes decades to complete, and Hawks keeps track with slave-working montages, the graying of characters' hair and Senta's growth from child to young hunk. It is an engineering marvel, but anyone who enters must be blindfolded, lest they betray the secrets of the tomb and be killed for it. Vashtar hedges the bet, though, for Senta, who his father tasks with completing the Pyramid should he die. Senta's knowledge is kept secret for the plan to work.

It's a good thing, too. On an inspection tour of the work, Khufu is injured by a falling beam and Senta reveals to him that he can prevent any premature burial by helping the Pharoah out of the complicated interior. Khufu, having better taste in friends than he does in wives, gratefully thanks Senta but refuses to forestall his death for knowing the secret of the Pyramid, but offers the young man anything in return for his help. Senta chooses to free Nellifer's slave-girl Kyra, who he's sweet on and who risks being punished with the lash by the evil Queen.

The plot is far less intricate than the tomb itself (which is something of a sand-powered marvel and would whip Indiana Jones), and turns out being the most effective thing in the script, becoming something truly sought after by all parties and a way to resolve all conflicts. For all the machinations in the court, it's the grave that...appropriately...settles all accounts in a very satisfying way. It just takes a long time to get there and tries the patience and nerves while the House of Pharoah unravels and the audience waits for anything that seems noble happens.

And that's unusual for Hawks. His films, at their most entertaining and thoughtful, feature disparate individuals forming a working unit, a clan, a force to be reckoned with. Land of the Pharoahs has disparate tribes and peoples working to build a pyramid, yes, but they're doing it as slaves, not by choice, which is a perversion of the Hawks paradigm. The lead figure is a complete narcissist, no matter how accomplished he may be, and a bit of a fool. The closest comparison Land of the Pharoahs comes to in previous Hawks films is, unusually, Scarface, where another "Kingpin" is undone by his weaknesses and passions. But, where Hawks could work contemporaneously with a gangster, the Pharoah left the filmmakers...and audiences...high and dry.

The film was a box-office failure, a rarity in Hawks' career and costly in both time and money—two years and 3 million dollars. Years later, he would offer up that he "should have had someone in there that you were rooting for. Everybody was a son of a bitch." Not exactly true, as Vashtar and Senta are at least noble people and competent, as well. But, it was missing Hawks' banter that generated wit and humor—Hawks told Peter Bogdanovich "we didn't know how a Pharoah talked." He did, however, make a picturesque film filled with crisp detail and thousands of extras that filled that daunting Cinemascope frame almost to bursting.*

The film's failure weighed on Hawks and he spent the next years travelling in Europe and when he came back, he came all the way back—to the western genre (he hadn't made one in ten years) and that film's star John Wayne, making Rio Bravo, which was a box office smash.

* Interesting about the old directors—they could figure out what to do with those unusual fame aspect ratios—John Ford was surprisingly adept using Cinerama during How the West Was Won.