Reviews

I was expecting an in-depth examination of the German-American Bund's activities in the 1930s. Instead we get the well-known footage of the Bund's Madison Square Garden rally on Feb. 20, 1939, used time and again in numerous earlier documentaries to demonstrate the influence of native fascists in America's past, or the threat of native fascism to America's present. The film images may shock, but they are nonetheless only pictures. There may have been "20,000" people at the rally, but there's no indication that all were "Nazis" or even sympathetic to the Bund. Some were anti-Nazi protesters, like the man shown rushing the stage and being hauled off by the NYPD before the Bund's goons can further rough him up. The rally was the well-publicized high point for the Bund, a relatively tiny organization (3,000 -- 5,000 hardcore members nationwide, mostly recent German immigrants) that had little influence on U.S. society and politics during its brief existence (1933-41). It's resemblance to U.S. neo-Nazis of the 21st century is superficial at best. The modern right wing in the United States is much more deeply seated in American culture, and its real leaders are not so stupid as to advertise their intentions and goals by waving swastikas and shouting "Sieg Heil!" Those looking for information on the Bund are best served by books by Bradley W. Hart ("Hitler's American Friends") or, if you can find it, Sander Diamond's "The Nazi Movement in the United States, 1924-1941". "A Night in the Garden" is just barely history and serves only to excite and alarm, rather than to comprehend and explain.

At the age of 86, J.L.H. "Red" Rountree decided to embark on a post-retirement career. He started robbing banks, in 1998. After his first robbery, in Biloxi, Mississippi, Rountree was arrested, found guilty, and -- largely due to his age -- was sentenced to probation and told to leave Mississippi. He moved to the Alabama coastal area, and the following year he robbed another bank, in Pensacola, Florida. This time the sentence was tougher. He spent part of a three-year sentence in a Florida correctional institution before being released again. Returning to his native Texas, Rountree began roaming the state and was arrested again after a bank holdup in Abilene in 2002. This time, he pleaded guilty and received a sentence of twelve years in a federal lockup in Springfield, Missouri. Rountree was just a couple of months short of his 92nd birthday, making him the oldest known bank robber in the country. He died in federal custody on Oct.12, 2004, at age 93.

The story of Red Rountree's unusual life is related in great detail in THIS IS NOT A ROBBERY, a documentary that draws on some cartoonishly recreated footage, as well as news archival video, photos, and the expected talking heads. The directors -- Lucas Jansen, Adam Kurland, and Spencer Vrooman -- also make good use of of audio and video interviews done with Rountree in prison. It's a bit surprising that so many people who knew Rountree (including his second wife)-- and who seem to have loved and respected the man -- were willing to talk about him in front of the camera.

The portrait they paint of Rountree is of a largely self-made man who came out of rural Texas to make for himself and his family a very comfortable life in Houston. But, as one person puts it, "he lived too long." After selling one thriving business, Rountree lost most of HIS money in another enterprise. Personal tragedies also darkened his life, and by the time he was in his 80s, he was in desperate straits. And then he discovered, as he said, that "robbin' banks is fun!" The makers of this is not a robbery walk a fine line between "ain't them old geezers cute" comedy and a real human tragedy. They aren't always successful in remaining balanced, but rarely are they very offensive in telling Red's story. In his defense, one can admire the man's refusal to make excuses for himself, as well as the fact that he never armed himself or threatened harm to anyone during his robberies. THIS IS NOT A ROBBERY is also a reminder that every person, no matter how mundane their life might seem, has a story to tell.

The review by "kellyadmirer" is pretty spot-on regarding THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT. It is not hard to perceive -- or ridicule -- both the naiveté and the shallow thinking of many '60s radicals from the perspective of 40 years later, but naive and shallow they were. For the first 90 minutes or so of THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT, screenwriter Israel Horovitz and director Stuart Hagmann were able to perceive that naiveté and shallowness at roughly the time it was happening -- and gently satirized it. In the last 20 minutes or so, however, they change course about 150 degrees and, suddenly, the student "revolutionaries" become martyrs, victims of The Establishment and its brutal police lackeys.

I've never read James Kunen's book, on which the film is based, but I recall having little sympathy for the Colombia University students whose attempted takeover of that institution in the spring of 1968 is the basis for THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT. I entered college the following year, but I thought of myself as an educational consumer rather than an owner or investor in the institution I attended. If I didn't like the fact that the university was doing military/defense research or offering ROTC classes, I could always go to school elsewhere. The students were transients; the trustees, faculty and staff (and in the case of the state university I attended, all of the citizens who supported it) were the ones with the long-term interests of the school at heart. Students who called for "strikes" to protest policies they didn't like were playing at being proletarians. Hell, I was in school to get out of the working class.

I guess my antipathy to most student protests of this ilk (as opposed to anti-war statements and demonstrations that respected the rights of the non-political or apolitical members of the university community) may have blinded me to the satirical edge of THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT when I first saw it at the end of my freshman year. The national traumas of the 1968 Chicago convention riots (in which Mayor Daley's police definitely over-reacted to largely peaceful protesters) and the Kent State shootings of May 1970 were still fresh when this film arrived in theaters. That may have led Horovitz and Hagmann to add the climactic scene of the film (which changes the tone drastically) for the sake of timeliness. Of course, the contrast between the preceding 90 minutes of idealism and pseudo-revolutionary rhetoric with the stark reality of the last 20 minutes may have been the filmmakers' point -- but if so, they do a lousy job in setting up the ending. The sudden radicalization of Simon is pretty hard to believe, and the film ends ambiguously, as though Horovitz and Hagmann are afraid to come down on one side or the other.

Up until that transitory moment of radicalization, however, THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT contains some shrewdly observed scenes. The obsessive horniness in the midst of "revolution," the verbal masturbation of the student politicos, the "non-violent" radicals' fascination with violence, and the resentment of the working class cops toward the "privileged" college students are well-portrayed. But the need for a big, dramatic and yes, violent climax really undercuts the subtlety of most of the film. Too bad, because it reduces THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT almost to the level of cliché.

For Hollywood filmmakers -- concerned mainly with attracting the college-age population that most obsessively went to the movies -- portraying "the Sixties" meant depicting the "counterculture" and ignoring the fact that most Americans weren't a part of it. THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT is a movie about a rather small, if heavily publicized, slice of The Sixties -- and a rather wishy-washy film for all the sly humor that promises so much for the first 90 minutes, and then falters.

This was Cagney's and Blondell's last film together, as well as the last film for each released prior to the onset of the Production Code Administration (the "Hays Office"). It's mainly of interest to admirers of these two justly celebrated screen stars, mainly because of the downbeat story and characterizations.

Warner Brothers apparently didn't think much of HE WAS HER MAN (lousy title) and wasn't interested in spending much money on developing it. Despite the presence of two of their biggest stars, this film has the look and feel of a "B" picture, as evidenced by its 70 minute running time. Cagney apparently didn't like the film either. The awful haircut he wore in his previous film, JIMMY THE GENT, and the mustache sported by Flicker Hayes in this film, were symbols of Cagney's increasing dissatisfaction with the roles he was getting, though it would be another year or so before he would try to break his Warner Brothers contract.

The film's premise is promising. Career safecracker Flicker Hayes (Cagney) double-crosses a couple of fellow criminals after they frame him for another job. In the double-cross, one of the hoods kills a New York cop and is sentenced to die in the electric chair. Flicker flees to San Francisco, seeking a hide-out. A small-time Frisco hood, Pop Sims (Frank Craven), fingers Flicker for the New York mob. Two gunmen, J.C. (Harold Huber) and Monk (Russell Hopton), head for California to take care of Flicker.

Meanwhile, Flicker (now calling himself "Jerry Allen") meets Rose (Blondell), a survivor who apparently has been selling her sexual favors to various men -- one of whom, surprisingly, has now offered to marry her. (The screenwriters make much of the written marriage proposal -- this was the era when "breach of promise" was still an actionable tort in most states.) Rose, despite her immediate attraction to Jerry, is on her way to join her fiancé in his little fishing village near Frisco. Jerry is attracted to Rose, too (and it's strongly implied they have a sexual encounter just hours after meeting), but he also smells a good place to hide out, and he offers to stake her and take her by bus to her new home.

The fiancé', Nick Gardella (Victor Jory), is a salt-of-the-earth fisherman who tells Rose that her past life will be forgotten once they are wed. (There's more to Nick and Rose than the screenplay tells us, or could tell us under the censorship standards of that era. Nick met Rose "professionally." Here's a guy in his thirties, living with Mom in little, out-of-the-way Santa Avila -- and he seems pleased to marry a woman about whom he knows little save she's a prostitute?) Rose and Jerry arrive in Santa Avila and the wedding plans get underway. Jerry wants to stay and hide, but Rose is increasingly torn between Nick and her attraction to Jerry. Pop Sims follows Jerry to Santa Avila, posing as sports fisherman, to set up Jerry for the arrival of J.C. and Monk.

That's a lot of plot for such a slight film, and it gets better, but the "B" picture limitations get in the way. It would have been nice if the studio would have allowed a little more air into the story, fleshing out the characterizations -- especially the relationships among Rose, Jerry and Nick -- and expanding the film to 90 or 95 minutes. (The quick attraction between Rose and Jerry is especially sketchy and needs more time.) This could have been the much better movie that the story hints at.

Flicker/Jerry does the right thing by Rose and Nick, though apparently he pays for it with his life. (Another interesting point: Under the Production Code Authority, a movie killer had to pay for taking a life -- unless the killer is a lawman or soldier -- either by being arrested or by dying himself. We don't actually see Flicker/Jerry getting killed, and his likely assassins aren't punished. One wonders how this outcome would have been altered by the Hays Office just a short time later.) The film ends with a subdued wedding between Rose and Nick -- a happy occasion tempered by our knowledge of Flicker's apparent fate.

Fans of Cagney/Blondell will find both actors dialing back their usual exuberance/perkiness in this film and playing characters who are more like real people than in many of their other early Warners' films. Jory tries to be a little too ethnic, but he effectively portrays Nick's essential kindness and decency. Huber and Hopton, as the gunmen, are surprisingly human, as is James Eagle(s) in a small role as their driver. Sarah Padden, as Nick's mother, is a bit over the top but charming, and it's interesting to hear John Qualen in a small role sans his trademark Scandinavian accent. Frank Craven's Sims is an interesting character too -- sinister but folksy. The dependable Lloyd Bacon directs with his usual understated style but should have made more of the exotic isolation of "Santa Avila."

To summarize: HE WAS HER MAN is an unusual Warner Brothers film of the period, made as Hollywood was feeling the heat from the Legion of Decency and other pressure groups that would lead to the institution of the Production Code Administration in mid-1934. It's of interest mainly for Cagney and Blondell fans who want to see them in quieter roles that sharply contrast with their usual energy. Outside those contexts, though, I doubt you'll be favorably impressed.

(Does anyone know if this film, or plot, was ever remade? Seems like something that Warners would use again, though I can imagine if they did so before 1945 they would have brightened it up considerably. One can imagine RKO doing something nicely noirish with the same story c.1948.)

P.S. -- A "C" from the Legion of Decency? Not according to the listing of such "C" films in Wikipedia. What was its rating?

MARINE RAIDERS is a rather ordinary example of the type of war film that Hollywood turned out in the period 1943-44, as movie makers had more opportunities to see actual combat film footage and to avail themselves of the experiences of combat veterans. RKO apparently developed the opportunity to film scenes of U.S. Marines training at newly established bases in southern California and built a story around the "glamour" of the new Marine Raider and Marine Parachute battalions that fought on Guadalcanal. There are only two major combat sequences -- a facsimile of the Battle of Bloody Ridge on Guadalcanal in September, 1942, that opens the movie, and the concluding sequence based on the Bougainville landing in November, 1943. The combat scenes (except for a brief air attack sequence) were filmed in the studio, skillfully mixing staged shots with miniatures and actual combat footage. If they remind you of film noir, remember that RKO pioneered in the style because the shadowy lighting could hide, somewhat, the cheapness of the sets and special effects.

The script is conventional and not well-focused. We're supposed to believe that Lockhart (Pat O'Brien) and Craig (Robert Ryan) are old friends, but there's no indication of that early in the film, at least until Craig starts to lose his command composure after one of his officers is tortured and mutilated by the Japanese. Later in the film, the higher-ranking Lockhart officially intervenes to prevent Craig from marrying an Australian woman (Ruth Hussey) he's only just met. That act, of course, creates the tension between Lockhart and Craig that the film tries to sustain until the concluding combat sequence. Craig's "hatred" for the Japanese, which is supposed to make him a liability for a command, is never really explored. Given the general high level of anti-Japanese feeling engendered in most Hollywood movies of this era (as opposed to strong anti-Nazi -- rather than anti-German -- feeling displayed in the same years), Ryan's "hatred" doesn't seem especially unusual. It's more a MacGuffin than an engaging character development.

Likewise, the relationship between Craig and Ellen is a little difficult to believe. Certainly there were many whirlwind courtships and short engagements among World War II servicemen, but here are two fairly mature adults who decide to marry within 24 hours of first meeting. I didn't buy it, nor did I buy the rapid reunion later in the film.

There are some out-of-the-ordinary moments in MARINE RAIDERS. In the middle of the film is an air-raid sequence that features some very complex shots -- Craig and Ellen sheltering in a shallow trench, as an antiaircraft gun blazes away behind them, and fighter planes take off over the gun, zooming toward the camera as bombs burst around them. These must have been difficult to pull off, and they are striking compared to the rather pedestrian combat sequences in the rest of the film.

It's also interesting to see at least a little attention paid to wartime women as more than just attractive movie props. At one point, Craig counsels another Marine -- reluctant to marry while the war is still going on -- to remember that "the girls are in this war too" and that he should consider his fiancée's needs. There is a brief comic sequence involving Women Marines. And Ellen's closing speech, which could have been echoed by millions of Allied women of that time, is genuinely moving.

In sum: Essential if you're a war movie buff, but even for such fans like me, its a mediocre film of the genre.

P.S.: Ironically, for all the ink and celluloid they generated early in the war, the newly formed U.S. Marine Raider and Parachute battalions were not popular with Marine brass, who wanted to build large, division-sized formations to crush the big Pacific targets instead of pricking them with hit-and-run raids. The "Paramarines" never made a combat jump during the war (despite what one sees in this movie) and were disbanded in December 1943. The four Marine Raider battalions were disbanded in January 1944, about six months before this film was released. Their officers and men would continue to fight in other Marine units, however, and the Raider's enviable combat legacy -- Tulagi and Guadalcanal, Makin, New Georgia, Choiseul, Bougainville -- remains a proud chapter of USMC lore.

I had looked forward to seeing this film, and I wanted to like it more than I eventually did (after three viewings on DVD, two with commentaries.). "C.S.A." is a great idea for a movie, and some of it is well-executed, but the lack of production funds and thorough thoughtfulness do show after repeated viewings. The film also suffers from trying to cover too much territory in too little time, and from a stifling sense of political correctness. The basic idea of "C.S.A." is to put black slavery and white supremacy into a modern context. It's a worthy idea, and some of the movie – e.g., the TV commercials and the hilarious D.W. Griffith parody – do that very well. But it's the getting to the 21st century that poses problems for writer/director David Willmott and company.

One can argue that no author is bound to all actual facts in any piece of "alternative history" literature, and obviously Willmott tried to portray a plausible series of developments that (1) lead to a Confederate victory in the "War of Northern Aggression," and a complete takeover of the United States by the Confederate government, followed by (2) the continued development of slavery and institutionalized racism to the present day. Willmott no doubt would argue that his portrayal of an American nation that is imperially minded, militarily aggressive, and celebrates above all a white, Christian, male-dominated culture is quite valid, since much of the actual history of the United States since 1865 has chronicled those very developments. But a counterargument is equally valid – that is, that other factors have led to development of strong American movements that effectively countered imperialism, military adventurism, and racism/sexism/religious preference. One also wonders whether a deliberately decentralized national government would have been capable of the imperialistic and military expeditions portrayed in the film, or the quasi-fascist policies implied. (The Confederacy lost the Civil War, in large part, because the centralized Union government was better organized than the "states' rights" government of the South.) There are numerous other historical holes in the overall premise of "C.S.A." that undercut the principal theme of the primacy of racism in American culture.

(Being from North Carolina, I'll admit I was a little put off by Willmott's DVD commentary references to "Charlotte, South Carolina," when the photos he was referring to were of the ruins of Columbia, S.C. Sherman didn't make it to Charlotte, N.C. In fact, the DVD commentaries wound up making me more critical of the film than I would have been without them.)

Willmott's is not only a dark view of an alternative America but a rather skewed view of America as it is. "C.S.A." is obviously concocted to portray a country in which today's so-called "conservatives" – especially the "religious right" – would feel very comfortable, though there are some anomalies portrayed (e.g., the apparently ready availability of internet pornography in a society in which the conservative Christian-dominated government seems to exercise significant -- if not outright -- control over the media). It is a view of the United States in which everything is formed and measured by race. Willmot, like some other "progressive" historians, makes the mistake of emphasizing all the contemporary evidence of America's past racial wrongheadedness while seldom acknowledging that the country has indeed changed since 1865. This mindset, while understandably intended to discredit the presentation of American history as patriotic indoctrination, overly downplays the culture's capacities for self-criticism (like Willmott's) and correction.

I know it isn't fair to insist that Willmott should have made another film, but I do wish he'd downplayed the "history" and made a "contemporary" mockumentary --say, about the proposed "Emancipation Act of 2010" or some such other fictional development in American race relations, or even some relatively innocuous aspect of American society – that made only subtle allusions to how the current racial situation developed. Such a film might have had more impact. (Take a look at "White Man's Burden" -- not a great film, but an effective presentation of the kind of alternate universe I'm talking about.)

As it is, "C.S.A." has some powerful and evocative moments. The Confederate States of America, for all the claims of its apologists, was a nation conceived in racism and slavery. Its defeat in the Civil War changed the United States of America for the better, though "the better" has been slow in coming and has yet to completely arrive. Willmott, commendably, wanted to show just how inhumane a slavery-based society like the C.S.A. could be, but his "alternative" take on history just doesn't ring true, as presented.

I'm seldom partial to movies about smart-assed teenagers who have problems with authority, but "Toy Soldiers" has grown on me with repeated viewings. This is as much a movie about Billy Tepper growing up and becoming an adult as anything else, and I give credit to Sean Astin and writer/director Daniel Petrie Jr. that they don't make a big deal of that, but let it just unfold and sneak up on you. The camaraderie of Tepper's friends, their grief over Joey's death, and their joy at their survival, all are genuinely moving. And, I have to admit, I take a certain patriotic (and perhaps slightly reptilian) glee when the U.S. Army guys finally move in and righteously kick some narco-terrorist butt. Ooh-rah, General Kramer! And the heroic Robert Folk score is the cherry on top. I'm sure I could find a hundred reasons not to like "Toy Soldiers," but as long as we don't take it TOO seriously, I don't see the need. This is one of the most entertaining "bad" movies in my pantheon.

Remember "The Untouchables?" No, not Kevin Costner and Sean Connery. I'm talking Robert Stack and Bruce Gordon and Desilu (and Walter Winchell's tommy-gun narration). This series hit ABC television in 1959 and became one of the most popular prime-time dramas in the United States during its four-season run. It sparked protests by Italian-American groups who didn't appreciate the portrayal of ALL fictional gangsters as Italian-Americans. The TV series also sparked new interest in America's organized crime history and helped ignite a new cycle of Hollywood gangster films based on actual criminals:

"Baby-Face Nelson" (1957) -- Mickey Rooney; "Machine-Gun Kelly" (1958) -- Charles Bronson; "The Bonnie Parker Story" (1958) -- Dorothy Provine; "Al Capone" (1959) -- Rod Steiger; "The Purple Gang" (1959) -- Robert Blake; "The Rise and Fall of Legs Diamond" (1960) -- Ray Danton; "Pretty Boy Floyd" (1960) -- John Ericson; "Ma Barker's Killer Brood" (1960) -- Lurene Tuttle; "Murder Incorporated" (1960) -- Peter Falk as Abe "Kid Twist" Reles; "Portrait of a Mobster" (1961) -- Vic Morrow as Dutch Schultz; "King of the Roaring 20's - The Story of Arnold Rothstein" (1961) -- David Janssen; "A House Is Not a Home" (1964) -- Shelley Winters as Polly Adler, Cesar Romero as Lucky Luciano; "Young Dillinger" (1965) -- Nick Adams.

Okay, perhaps the first few movies in this cycle were prompted by a rising national awareness of organized crime, following the Kefauver congressional hearings in the early 1950s. But this cycle and "The Untouchables" also were helped by the fact that many of these criminals were dead (some rather recently, e.g., George "Bugs" Moran -- Al Capone's intended target in the St. Valentine's Day Massacre -- in 1957, Adler and Luciano in 1962). That made it possible for the filmmakers to take "artistic liberties" with their portrayals of these actual personages.

"Mad Dog Coll" displays all of the earmarks of this late '50s/early '60s gangster cycle – low budget, up-and-coming performers who would go on to greater prominence, crisp black-and-white cinematography, lots of night shots to hide the modern urban settings, casual attention to period costuming, and a slant toward the young-adult audience. John (Davis) Chandler plays Coll as a tormented child turned reptilian narcissist, and he does a good job of generating some personal magnetism for Coll while remaining an essentially repellent character. The supporting cast (Ohrbach, Savalas, Hackman) is interesting mainly because of the work they would do later.

Anyone viewing this film, or any of the other movies in the late '50s/early '60s gangster cycle, who expects pinpoint historical accuracy needs to grow up. These were not docudramas, save in the broadest sense, any more than was "Bonnie and Clyde" (which itself, with some help from "The Godfather" I and II, sparked a new cycle of similarly factish gangster films in the late '60s and early '70s -- "The St. Valentine's Day Massacre," "A Bullet for Pretty Boy," "Dillinger," "The Valachi Papers," "The Virginia Hill Story," "The Kansas City Massacre," "Lepke," and TV's "The Gangster Chronicles" among others). These filmmakers seldom let the facts get in the way of telling a good story about characters with whom the audience should "identify." That means either handsome, sympathetic criminals who are just regular folks (as in "Bonnie and Clyde" or Beatty's later "Bugsy"), or else secondary characters (such as Ohrbach plays in "Mad Dog Coll") who come to see the error of their ways and turn against the sociopathic antihero.

The MPAA's Production Code still had a strong effect in the late '50s and early '60s. "Mad Dog Coll" meets his end in a police ambush – not at the hands of a Dutch Schultz gunman, as actually happened in the London Chemist drug store on Feb. 9, 1932. The Production Code required that an on-screen killer, no matter what the reason for taking a life, had to be punished for committing murder, either by being apprehended by law enforcement or by dying himself. The gunman who killed Coll was never tried for that murder, and having Coll killed legally by the police drove home the "crime does not pay" message. (Originally, the 1959 "Al Capone" was to be narrated by a character played by Martin Balsam, a corrupt reporter who is murdered by the Capone mob. However, according to Murray Schumach in "The Face on the Cutting Room Floor: The Story of Movie and Television Censorship" (1964), the Production Code Administration insisted that the narration be rewritten and given to a tough cop, played by James Gregory, in order to drive home the point that Capone was a real bad guy.) (And was it the Production Code, or just box-office sensitivity, that led the makers of "The Purple Gang" to fictionalize all characters and eliminate any reference that most members of this Detroit mob were Jewish?)

Another factor affecting the gangster films of this era was the fact that some of the minor characters were NOT dead and didn't like being portrayed unflatteringly in such movies. Even some of the historic personages who were long deceased had relatives still looking after their reputations. Thus, for some legalistic reason, "The Bonnie Parker Story" included as characters the "Darrow" brothers, "Guy" and "Chuck" (Jack Hogan and Joe Turkel), rather than the actual Clyde and Buck Barrow, even though both real-lifers were long gone by 1958. "Bonnie and Clyde" concocted a composite character, "C.W. Moss," (Michael J. Pollard) to avoid being sued by a real-life member of the Barrow gang. Even in 1981, "The Gangster Chronicles" had to call Meyer Lansky "Michael Lasker," since Lansky was still alive (d.1983).

MAD DOG COLL isn't the best of the gangster cycle of the late '50s/early '60s, but it is representative. It's worth a look if gangster films are your meat -- if not, don't bother.

Cliff Robertson set out to make two films in J.W. Coop (he worked on the screenplay as well as directed and starred), but in this case his effort winds up as only half a good movie.

He starts with an interesting premise -- a former rodeo cowboy emerges from prison c.1970, tries to pick up where he left off, and finds that both society and the rodeo game have moved on. The first half of the film is pretty good, dealing with J.W.'s efforts to adjust to his senile mama (Geraldine Page) and to a society where "the kids, the commies, and the unions" (so says one character) are ruining the country.

But when J.W. actually starts rodeoing, the picture shifts to an underdog-making-good-in-a-cutthroat-world scenario, as the old cowboy becomes an unlikely dark-horse contender for the national rodeo championship (competing against a younger rider with more corporate savvy). The ending of the film is unsatisfying and leaves us feeling incomplete -- there's more story to be told, but Robertson leaves us to feel sorry for a guy who, frankly, is not beaten down so much by "the establishment" as by his own pride.

Also unsatisfying is Page's role in the film. She appears in one scene toward the beginning of the movie, and then she disappears. Maybe that's reality, but art provides the opportunity to inject more of her story and her relationship with J.W. into the film. That opportunity is missed. We do learn some more about J.W.'s family as the film progresses, but there's no closure on his mom-and-pop issues, although I suppose one could argue that the lack of parental comfort has something to do with the end of the movie.

Robertson the actor is pretty darned good in this film, capturing J.W.'s initial bewilderment, suspicion and frustration with the '70s, and later his delight at having gained the love of a younger woman (Christina Ferrare). And Robertson the director has a nice eye for small towns and "the sticks" (there's a scene at a rural crossroads that's beautifully shot). But he's undercut by Robertson the screenwriter -- it's just difficult to buy J.W. as a contender for a major championship right out of prison (even if he has been rodeoing successfully there). And the film bites off more than it can chew in trying to comment both on social change and the rodeo life. This could have been a far stronger movie if it concentrated on one or the other -- and, to be honest, the encounter of a '50s guy with the early '70s was the far more interesting part of the film.

"A Woman of Paris" is hardly the innovative work of genius that some Chaplin enthusiasts would have you believe, nor was it a flop just because moviegoers were disappointed that The Little Tramp was not to be seen in it. It's just a mediocre film, proof that genius can have an off day, or an off year, especially when it tries to push the envelope too much.

I'm not sure who originated the truism that every comic yearns to play Hamlet, but certainly Chaplin aspired to make films that were more than gag-laden comedies. He had already tugged at the world's heartstrings with "The Kid" (1921), and within a couple of years he was ready to make a "serious" film that would entirely omit the comedy image that had made him the most famous movie star on the planet. He also wanted to feature his longtime co-star (and part-time inamorata), the lovely Edna Purviance, who had been a pleasant presence in about three dozen earlier Chaplin shorts and features. Apparently, he had great belief in her abilities as a dramatic actress.

Unfortunately, Chaplin the writer/director didn't give his favored lady much to work with. The real weakness of "Woman" is the bland story, which has some rather large holes. Why do the fathers of Marie and Jean both object to their child's choice of fiancé(e)? How does a provincial girl like Marie -- who doesn't seem to have much going for her beyond her looks (Edna, who was 28 when "Woman" was released, looks harder and does not seem quite so fetching as she did five or six years earlier) -- develop in one year the ambition and cunning to become the mistress of "the richest bachelor in Paris?" How does she find out that Jean has moved to the city? None of these important plot points are really covered in the film. Chaplin seems to have thought that dazzling and risqué glimpses of the Parisian high life would be sufficient to hold the narrative together.

Of course, Jean finds out that Marie is a prominent courtesan, and he's torn between his lingering love for her and his widowed mother's insistence on marital respectability. (Shades of "Camille!") After the tragic climax, we get a quick inter-title telling us that Marie has learned her lesson, and the film ends with her departure from the the Big City of Lights as the richest bachelor motors on his merry way.

Kevin Brownlow and David Gill's explorations of Chaplin's creative process, "The Unknown Chaplin," makes it clear that Charlie didn't always have a firm grasp on the details of the story he was trying to tell -- and one suspects that may be why "Woman's" storyline is so pedestrian. Without the screen persona of the Tramp to guide him, and in his effort to make a "serious" dramatic film, Chaplin's inventiveness failed him in telling a compelling and believable story in which he did not appear.

This was Purviance's last featured role in a Chaplin film. A few years later she starred in a Chaplin-produced movie, "A Woman of the Sea" (aka "The Sea Gull"), directed by Josef von Sternberg. (This film is now apparently lost; Chaplin reportedly refused to release it and ordered the negative destroyed for financial reasons.) It would have been nice to observe Edna working with another director, if only to see if she indeed did have the acting chops in which Chaplin believed. She made only one more film (not counting a couple of very small roles in two later Chaplin movies) before retiring in the late '20s. (Chaplin kept her on his payroll, however, until she died in 1958.)

So, "A Woman of Paris" is essentially a Chaplin oddity, a film that every Chaplin fan ought to see at least once, if only to appreciate what the man accomplished in his comic films. But if Chaplin's name weren't on it -- contrary to some opinions -- it would remain a mediocre and unremarkable film, save for the appearance of Edna Purviance and the striking performance of Adolph Menjou.

MARIE GALANTE is an interesting relic of 1934 cinema on several counts:

(1) One of the few readily available films (on DVD, anyway) of Spencer Tracy's pre-MGM career.

(2) The first starring role for Ketti Gallian. This was her first major American film, and her only other significant role in Hollywood was as "Lady Denise Tarrington" in the classic Astaire/Rogers musical, SHALL WE DANCE, three years later. After that film, Ketti apparently returned to her native France and, aside from a handful of French productions, did no more movies (though apparently she was also active on stage). Lovely woman, and one wonders why she failed to make it in Hollywood.

(3) Interesting political context: As with many 1930s films involving espionage, the villains are not any identifiable countries but unnamed parties who "profit from war." This was the era in which the First World War was being blamed on munitions manufacturers, "merchants of death" who supposedly encouraged international instability and chaos in order to sell weapons.

(4) It's almost startling to see a Japanese naval officer turn out to be one of the "good guys" in a Hollywood film. Of course, MARIE GALANTE was released seven years before Pearl Harbor. And, of course, he's played by a Caucasian actor (Leslie Fenton).

(5) Other interesting casting: Helen Morgan has a minor role as a saloon singer (and does a couple of songs), Ned Sparks does his cantankerous act, and Sig Ruman plays a fairly straight role, rather than hamming it up.

(6) Henry King's direction and pacing are fascinating -- at times I thought I was watching something by Josef von Sternberg, with all those giant close-ups. Unusually brisk cutting between scenes, too, for a film of this vintage.

(7) Some nice stock footage of the Panama Canal and the U.S. Fleet.

No one should mistake MARIE GALANTE for a great film. Even by 1934 standards it was no more than casual entertainment. (Reportedly, the author of the original novel, Jacques Deval, was so disappointed in the film that he unsuccessfully tried to have his credit removed from it.) But if you're interested in 1930s movies, or if any of the factors listed above grab you, it's worth a rental.

John Malkovich is the heart of THE GREAT BUCK HOWARD, and he's the principal reason for seeing this slight but very enjoyable film. An entertainer whose "mentalist" act has grown stale, Buck Howard is playing to half-filled houses in small cities, far out of the show-biz mainstream. Desperate to revive the fame he enjoyed when he was a fixture on The Tonight Show -- "that's 'The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson'", as he constantly reminds everyone -- Buck concocts a new "effect" that he hopes will get him some new fans, a shot with Jay Leno, and perhaps a booking in Vegas.

Buck's comeback story is told through the observances of Troy Gable (Colin Hanks), a young man looking for a calling, who in the meantime takes a job as Buck's traveling road manager/valet/whipping boy. Troy is both fascinated and repelled by Buck's temperamental behavior and his "cheesy" act.

The movie is entirely conventional, including Troy's liaison with Buck's publicity agent (Emily Blunt), but Malkovich's take on "Buck" make this worth a look or two.

After seeing THE SOUTHERNER for the first time, I had a number of reactions:

(1) The title was a desperate marketing ploy by United Artists to find an audience for a film that must have been a severe marketing challenge. The film (and the novel, HOLD AUTUMN IN YOUR HAND, by George Sessions Perry, on which the movie was based) actually is set in Texas, which is not the same place as Alabama or North Carolina; but "THE SOUTHERNER" has a chauvinistic appeal that must have attracted some regional viewers.

(2) I recalled a critic's remark about a later legendary film (in an entirely different way), HEAVEN'S GATE -- to paraphrase: In Hollywood, the poor are more virtuous than the rich because they're more photogenic.

(3) The conclusion of the film is quite as artificial as the tacked-on ending of John Ford's THE GRAPES OF WRATH (1941), but without Ma Joad's conviction. Where is Jane Darwell when you need her?

(4) A couple of Hispanics (Texas, right?) but not a single African-American in this South? Somewhere, Jesse Helms is smiling.

THE SOUTHERNER was widely praised when it came out in 1945 (and continues to earn admirers) because it was so different from Hollywood's traditional portrayal of "the South" and played on the liberal, proletarian sympathies of certain audiences and critics. Hollywood had tried to address the plight of Southern cotton croppers before (Michael Curtiz's CABIN IN THE COTTON, 1932, and Ford's TOBACCO ROAD, 1941) but THE SOUTHERNER does so without drowning in CABIN'S sociological balance or Ford's forced humor. The earnestness of the film is a large part of its appeal.

The reputation of Jean Renoir also is responsible for the high marks this film receives. Renoir had made a "southern" film earlier -- SWAMP WATER, in 1941 -- and perhaps he found the region interesting. No doubt he found the human drama of the Tucker family a fitting subject, but the results don't show any special insight to time and place. (Renoir apparently rewrote Hugo Butler's original script, from Perry's novel, and two Southern-born writers, William Faulkner and Nunnally Johnson, apparently had some input into the screenplay as well.) My biggest problem with the film is simply that the people are too pretty and the story too pat. I don't know that Joel McCrea or any Hollywood leading man of that era would have been more appropriate than Zachary Scott in the role of Sam Tucker, but Scott and the entire cast are just not convincing. One can't get over the impression that these are well-meaning actors rather than real people. J. Carrol Naish, usually a very convincing actor, comes closest to nailing his character, but playing the S.O.B. is usually easier than portraying the S.O.E. (Salt Of the Earth). Beulah Bondi and Norman Lloyd are wasted caricatures.

In the end, THE SOUTHERNER fails to convince because the filmmakers failed to deal with the real dilemma of the family whose cotton crop has been destroyed by a flood. I wanted to know how these people were going to survive the loss of a year's hard work. These people are in real trouble! Instead, we get an inspirational "keep on keepin' on" message that mutes the tragedy of this family's loss. It's rather insulting, really, to both the audience and to the real croppers who had to deal with such a precarious existence, year in and year out.

I don't know that there's ever been a film that's effectively dealt with this aspect of American life and culture, but if you really want to know about the people that THE SOUTHERNER purports to portray, make the time to read James Agee's classic rumination, LET US NOW PRAISE FAMOUS MEN, which includes the moving photographs by Walker Evans.

ADDENDUM: June 19, 2009: I've recently read HOLD AUTUMN IN YOUR HAND, on which THE SOUTHERNER is based, and the book only reinforces my view that the film is Hollywood proletarian schmaltz -- well-meaning, but a slick and sanitized portrayal of this culture. The book itself ends a bit abruptly, with a "happy" ending that's only a little less contrived than the film's. If you are interested in this aspect of American culture, however, it's a decent and quick read; and there's a better movie to be made from HOLD AUTUMN IN YOUR HAND.

I have seen MICKEY ONE three times now, over a period of perhaps twenty years, and I think I'm finally beginning to get it. Obviously, it's an unconventional Hollywood film that seems to provoke either great praise (perhaps excessive) or intense damnation (unwarranted!). As the first collaboration between director Arthur Penn and actor-cum-producer Warren Beatty, MICKEY ONE could be considered important as the predecessor of BONNIE AND CLYDE, but it's such a different film that it should be judged on its own merits, which are considerable.

Upon recent viewing on TCM (thank you, TCM), I was struck by the emphasis on visual storytelling, typified by the opening title montage, a little masterpiece in itself. (In case you missed it, the woman in the sequence is Donna Michelle, the 1964 Playmate of the Year and a frequent fantasy of my adolescence.) Throughout the movie, though we get some crucial stretches of dialogue, Penn and screenwriter Alan M. Surgal (his only screenplay? really?) let the gorgeous B&W camera-work (by Ghislain Cloquet) do most of the talking. In that factor alone, MICKEY ONE runs counter to most American films of its time, or any time after 1929.

The sparse and sometimes cryptic dialogue frustrates many first-time viewers of MICKEY ONE -- which is why a second viewing, at least, is recommended to those who find the film initially baffling. What IS the point, anyway?

MICKEY ONE (Beatty) is a young nightclub comic who gets in some unspecified trouble with The Mob. The evil power and vengeful character of Organized Crime -- a myth which no one in this film seems to question or doubt -- prompts the comic (whose real/original stage name we never learn) to escape into greater anonymity. But he can't resist the lure of the spotlight, and, adopting the new stage name of "Mickey One," he eventually falls into a promising gig in Chicago, as well as the love of the normal, down-to-earth Jenny (Alexandra Stewart, about whom I shall fantasize in the future). But Mickey still believes The Mob is out to get him, and he frantically tries to make amends for whatever offense he's committed.

MICKEY ONE is more a character work than a plot-driven movie, and that sort of film is, no doubt, problematic for many viewers, especially since Beatty's character is not especially likable or sympathetic. In fact, he's a rather self-absorbed jerk whose edges are softened only by Jenny, whose love forces him to come to terms with his fear of The Mob. While his job depends on making other people laugh, Mickey is essentially a loner and all the more pathetic for that in his fear of a violent death. The climax of the film may make some viewers scream, "Is that all there is?" But, in a sense, that IS the point.

The pleasures of this film are many. Those who aren't looking for a predictable, well-telegraphed plot can enjoy MICKEY ONE for the vivid imagery -- the auto graveyard scenes, the self-destructing "YES" machine, and the atmospheric depiction of Chicago that is by turns gritty and elegant. The savory jazz score, by Eddie Sauter and Stan Getz, is listenable in its own right and gives strong support to the visuals. And the acting is superb. Beatty is not a favorite of mine, but this role fits him well and he gives a credible performance. Stewart is convincing in her crucial role. Hurd Hatfield and Jeff Corey stand out as nightclub managers, and veteran Franchot Tone has a small but compelling part as a mobbed-up club owner. Most of the smaller parts are convincingly played by little-known character actors, some apparently non-professional. Kamatari Fujiwara, veteran of many roles in Akira Kurosawa's films, is featured as a Harpo Marx-like artist who pops up frequently as a sort of silent but cheerful commentator on Mickey's plight.

MICKEY ONE requires close attention. Some of Penn's efforts to ape the new conventions of the French Nouvelle Vague don't work especially well but, again, they foreshadow the somewhat more Hollywoodish BONNIE AND CLYDE. Those seeking a plot-heavy film with a predictable ending are going to be frustrated. But for those with the eyes to see, and a little patience, MICKEY ONE grows on you. It's worth seeing twice, at least.

This 1948 Warner Brothers release was based on a Broadway play that had opened in December 1943 and closed only weeks before the movie premiered. The central issues of the film are a mix of the up-to-date and the outdated -- fear of commitment, as well as the propriety of "intergender cohabitation."

In an era when proper young ladies didn't discuss sex with proper young gentlemen -- at least, not in movies sanctioned by the Hayes Office -- THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE was a bit risqué, which helped account for its long run on Broadway. The fear of what other people might think about a nice girl offering a spare bed to an attractive young man in uniform, even during the housing shortages of World War II, was not foreign to a lot of Americans, especially women, as the war put a strain on the nation's sexual mores and values. Among those born since the 1940s, that kind of innocent gesture might be taken for granted as an act of kindness, with no sexual overture implied by the woman. The scene in which Sally and Bill frantically try to prevent Olive from finding out that he's come to her apartment that morning to have breakfast with her may seem silly (though it is funny), but Sally knows that if Olive finds Bill there at breakfast, Olive will immediately assume "the worst." (I also anticipated that, if Bill was discovered, Sally's subsequent "reputation" might cause her to become an even more tempting target for the aging stage lothario with whom she's been cast in a play, but that little tete-a-tete occurs off-stage/off-camera.) It was still the 1940s, and in those days, people WOULD talk. (Some people STILL do.)

Fear of commitment is still with us. Unfortunately, here the film doesn't succeed very well, perhaps because, again, of Hollywood's self-censorship. We get a little information about Sally's disappointing relationship with a theatrical producer (which, the context implies, did become sexual), but the allusions to Bill's pain about lost love are weak. (At one point he encounters his old lover in a nightclub, but we never learn anything more about her, or them.) The delicate minuet that Sally and Bill dance around their immediate attraction to one another is what drives the story, but (not having the seen or read the play) I have a strong sense that Van Druten's original addressed their dilemma more directly than his Hayes Office-vetted screenplay.

No doubt self-censorship also undercut the more brazenly promiscuous aspects of Olive, though Eve Arden does a fine job with what she is given to work with. In fact the cast is one of the things that makes this film still worth watching. Eleanor Parker does well in conveying Sally's uncertainty about love, and whatever you think of Ronald Reagan's later political activities, he effectively portrays the essential decency of Bill. Actors Wayne Morris, Kent Smith, and those who play a host of other supporting characters (none of them in the original stage version) also are effective.

THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE is best approached as a period piece, a time capsule of how Americans viewed awakening love in a changing wartime culture. For all the restraints imposed by the Hayes Office, it remains worth an occasional viewing.

As a former jackal of the press myself, I get a big kick out of newspaper movies. FIVE STAR FINAL is one of the best, ranking alongside THE FRONT PAGE and its various remakes, CITIZEN KANE, MEET JOHN DOE, the little-known DEADLINE, U.S.A. (with Bogart as a crusading editor), ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN, and ABSENCE OF MALICE. (I'm probably leaving out a couple of other favorites but those are the ones that come to mind at this writing.)

This film has three things going for it. The story, based on a play that opened in 1930, was probably more relevant in that era than today. Most news outlets (excluding those that are exclusively on the internet) now are more respectful of the privacy of private citizens than are the employees of the Evening Gazette; and I've never known a reporter or photographer who lied about being one to get a story. But an intimate followup on the "crime" committed twenty years earlier by Nancy Voorhees -- and for which she was not convicted -- was the type of sensational bread-and-butter that certain sleazy newspapers pursued before World War II. (Today's sleazy tabloids, print and electronic, are far more likely to go after real celebrities who hunger for any kind of publicity. And many so-called internet journalists, without training, editing, or professional standards, are much worse.) Though this kind of yellow journalism is an aberration in today's newspaper industry, in 1930 it was all too prevalent, especially in the cut-throat world of New York City's intensely competitive dailies. It's very representative of the era, and on top of that it's just a good yarn.

The supporting actors are extremely well-cast. Aline MacMahon as the editor's lovelorn secretary, George E. Stone as the paper's staff bootlegger and fixer, H.B. Warner as the understanding husband of Nancy Voorhees, and Oscar Apfel as the villainous publisher Hinchcliffe are particular standouts. It's interesting to see Boris Karloff in a pre-FRANKENSTEIN role, though it's difficult to think of him as a womanizing reporter. Some may find the acting in the film too stagy and overdone, but if you can adjust your expectations and accept the dated style, it works very well.

Then there's Eddie G. He had just achieved stardom with LITTLE CAESAR when FIVE STAR FINAL was made, and despite the excellent competition he commands the screen as the Gazette's editor, who is both repelled by the betrayal of his journalistic ideals and excited by the repellent story he's ordered to pursue. The hand-washing (which actually occurs only about three times in this 90-minute movie) is a perfect metaphor for his guilt, and his reliance on the bottle was (maybe still is) all too common an occupational hazard for newspapermen of this era. At film's end, we finally get the emotional explosion that has been building in Robinson throughout the movie. Very satisfying. What a shame this actor never received even an Oscar nomination, much less a statuette (except for an honorary one awarded after his death.)

FIVE STAR FINAL was nominated for the best picture Oscar in 1931 but lost out to CIMARRON. Guess which film has aged less. Despite the dated setting and story, FIVE STAR FINAL still crackles with passion and humor. It is an enduring example of what Warner Brothers accomplished, altogether unintentionally, in documenting America in the 1930s. I can understand that it's not to all tastes, but this jackal of the press finds in FIVE STAR FINAL characters and issues that still resonate with journalists today.

I have been fortunate enough to catch SO WELL REMEMBERED a couple of times on TCM, and I hope they will add it to their "rotation" of popular films. It deserves more attention, and I doubt many Americans have paid it, either when the film was released in 1947, or today. (If indeed it was thought to be lost, a big "Hoorah" for the person who found it.)

Many Hollywood films touch on class conflict, but usually in the romantic contexts of poor-boy-woos-rich-girl (e.g., THE GREAT GATSBY, A PLACE IN THE SUN) or rich-boy-woos-poor-girl (KITTY FOYLE, WORKING GIRL). The British obsession with political class struggle surfaces only occasionally, usually in Depression-era films like MR. DEEDS GOES TO TOWN, MODERN TIMES, or THE GRAPES OF WRATH. As some film historians have demonstrated, when Hollywood's main audience began to shift from working class to middle class around 1920, class conflict as a political and economic issue (as opposed to a romantic and social concern) all but disappeared from American movies.

But the portrayal of British class conflict is not the main reason to watch SO WELL REMEMBERED (which, in fact, also sets forth the conflict largely in terms of romantic relationships). It's one of those multi-generational sagas with a twist ending, and while the story is rather predictable, the characters that inhabit it are quite interesting and well-played. (John Paxton adapted James Hilton's novel for the film, and Hilton -- best known as the author of LOST HORIZON -- also narrates some portions.) John Mills makes an appropriate working-class hero, trying to remain loyal to his origins while at the same time tempted by the opportunities presented to him to rise above them. During the course of the quarter-century covered in the film, his character matures realistically. Trevor Howard, however, steals the film as an alcoholic doctor -- he makes the most of every moment on the screen. Martha Scott -- a very active actress who nonetheless did not become especially well-known to the public -- has the most difficult part in the film, transitioning from a sympathetic young woman into a selfish (and, horrors! classist) shrew as the film progresses. Patricia Roc was one of England's most popular film performers in the '40s but was rarely seen in the United States. She is pleasant enough but nothing special here. It's difficult to understand why Richard Carlson never became a major star, along the lines of Glenn Ford or Charlton Heston. He had the looks and he certainly had the voice, and he is fine here as Roc's love interest. And give a hearty nod to Frederick Leister, who has a brief but important part in the opening minutes. It would have been interesting to know more about his character, who, in some ways, is at the root of the story.

One should also congratulate director Edward Dmytryk and his collaborators for the gritty location photography, another feature that makes this film worth more than one viewing.

SO WELL REMEMBERED also is notable for the collaboration of Dmytryk and producer Adrian Scott. Right after this film, this RKO duo made CROSSFIRE (with another Paxton screenplay), one of Hollywood's most notable "social consciousness" films of the late 1940s. And about the time SO WELL REMEMBERED was first being shown in the United States, Dmytryk, Scott and eight screenwriters -- the celebrated "Hollywood Ten" -- would be ruled in contempt of the U.S. House Committee on Un-American Activities for refusing to answer the committee's questions regarding Communist involvement in Hollywood. All of the Ten served jail time, although Dmytryk eventually decided to tell the committee what it wanted to hear and thus avoided the film-industry blacklisting that the other nine men would endure for several years. The blacklisting connection also extended to the film's soundtrack. Composer Hanns Eisler (1898-1962), a German Communist who fled the Nazis in 1933 and eventually settled in the United States, also was called before "HUAC" and wound up being deported to Communist East Germany in March 1948.

Considering the class-conflict background of SO WELL REMEMBERED, perhaps it's not surprising that this film has been so well overlooked (one wonders how long it actually played in American theaters in 1947). I doubt many Americans today (except, perhaps, the disciples of the late Jesse Helms) would find this film in any way "communistic," but the political atmosphere in the United States was different and more fearful in 1947. (Yes, I know, but the current Bush-era hysteria doesn't begin to compare with the 1947-1954.)

Yes, the ending is implausible. Yes, Stallone is insufferable. Yes, Bill Conti ripped off the Shostakovich Fifth. Still, while I would grow weary of watching VICTORY every month, I get a kick out of it (sorry!) every other year or so.

I'm a Yank who generally finds soccer ... uh, futbol about as interesting as Andy Warhol's EMPIRE. When VICTORY first came out in 1981, soccer was starting to boom as an amateur youth sport in the United States, and I really thought this rather benign and likable film would be more popular than it was. But subsequent viewings do reveal the film's strengths, including the excellent football scenes in the finale, and the solid on-screen presences of Caine and Von Sydow (despite the limitations of the script). And, let's face it, you want the Good Guys (and they were definitely the Good Guys) to kick ass on those arrogant, cheatin' Nazi bastards. (I'm anti-Nazi, not anti-German.) Maybe I've seen too many World War II movies, but when the spectators break out in the "Marseillaise," and storm the field yelling "Victoire!," my eyes grow moist.

I was not aware until I read IMDb that VICTORY was based on the 1961 Hungarian film TWO HALF TIMES IN HELL, which itself was based on the legendary "Death Match" involving the Ukranian FC Start team against a Luftwaffe eleven in 1942. (See "The Death Match" in Wikipedia.com). Sounds like the real thing would make a better film. But VICTORY, for all it's fairy-tale believability, is enjoyable enough.

I caught this on TCM the other morning. I had seen it years ago, and it was about as bad as I remembered. Cassavetes was a wonderful actor but he appeared in a lot of lousy pictures to earn the dough that financed FACES, A WOMAN UNDER THE INFLUENCE, GLORIA, and his other directorial efforts.

Perhaps GLI INTOCCABILI suffers in translation to MACHINE GUN McCAIN. Some of the English dialogue seemed shoehorned into the original Italian, out of place and nonsensical as English. But it was the relationships among the characters that seemed most outlandish here -- particularly between McCain and his "son" (Pierluigi Apra?) and, later, with Irene (Britt Eklund). There's no chemistry among these actors, yet we're supposed to believe that their character relationships are significant. Too bad the scriptwriter didn't bring Gena Rowlands into the film in the first ten minutes -- she would have been even more credible as McCain's longtime accomplice and lover. And it would have been nice if there had been some opportunities for interaction between McCain and Joey Adamo (Peter Falk, who also was wasting his talent here).

The Vegas heist is the one part of the film that works, but it takes a lot of dull exposition to get there, and -- as another poster here points out -- how can a career criminal as wily as McCain not have had an escape plan worked out before the heist? If the ending of a story is as inevitable as the fates, then it had better be a damned good story. MACHINE GUN McCAIN is tedious, predictable, and in the end, just plain shipshod storytelling. (However, I do hope some bright political satirist picks up on the closing ballad in the film and applies it to a montage of John S. McCain's campaign photos after he loses the presidential election in November.) By the way, McCain's submachine gun is a Sten, not a Thompson.