Target #61: The Killers (1946, Robert Siodmak)

Directed by: Robert Siodmak

Written by: Ernest Hemingway (short story), Anthony Veiller (screenplay), Richard Brooks, John Huston (uncredited)

Starring: Burt Lancaster, Ava Gardner, Edmond O'Brien, Albert Dekker, Sam Levene, Vince Barnett, Charles McGraw, William Conrad, Virginia Christine, Charles D. Brown, Jack Lambert, Donald MacBride

Some intrepid critics have categorised Citizen Kane (1941) as an early example of film noir, owing largely to its influential cinematography and flashback narrative structure. As though consciously in support of this assertion, Robert Siodmak's The Killers (1946) – expanded from a 1927 short story by Ernest Hermingway – plays out precisely like a noirish retelling of Welles' film. After enigmatic ex-boxer Swede Andersen (Burt Lancaster) is gunned down by hired assassins in a small American town, insurance investigator Jim Reardon (Edmond O'Brien) decides to piece together the man's past using fragmented testimony from those who once knew him. In doing so, he hopes to uncover the meaning behind the dead man's final words, "I did something wrong once." The life that Reardon discovers is one tinged with tragedy, regret and betrayal, revealing details of an audacious factory heist, a treacherous dame, and a double-cross to end all double-crosses. An archetypal noir, The Killers caps an excellent year for Siodmak, who also released the Freudian psycho-thriller The Dark Mirror (1946).

The Killers opens with a superbly-thrilling prologue that sees two hired thugs (William Conrad and B-noir stalwart Charles McGraw) harass the patrons at a small-town diner on their way to assassinate boxer- turned-gangster Swede Andersen. The characters' quickfire exchange of dialogue resembles something that Quentin Tarantino or the Coen brothers would have written decades later, only better, because screenwriter Anthony Veiller (with Richard Brooks and John Huston) reproduces the conversation from Hemingway's short story almost verbatim. After Andersen is unresistingly gunned down in his bed, the screenplay then expands upon the foundations laid down by the source material, using flashbacks to fill in the empty spaces at which Hemingway had only hinted. Veiller, whose work before WWII was dominated by romantic dramas, comedies and light mysteries like The Ex-Mrs. Bradford (1936), appears to have been hardened by his work on Frank Capra's Why We Fight propaganda series, and the dark, cynical post-War tone he brings to Swede's tragic story is an ideal representation of the noir spirit. Burt Lancaster shows promise in his screen debut, though the film's narrative structure does keep the audience distant from his character, an issue that Welles somehow avoided in Citizen Kane. As the resident femme fatale, Ava Gardner never quite inspires the collective hatred garnered by Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity (1944) or Jane Greer in Out of the Past (1947), but perhaps that speaks to her charms – that, despite her betrayal, we're still unwilling to treat her with due contempt. Good-guy Edmond O'Brien cheerfully and voyeuristically experiences the wretched life of a gangster through the intermediary flashback device – he ends the film with a cocky grin, like an audience-member emerging from a screening of the latest gangster thriller. Throughout this review, I've been making frequent allusions to Citizen Kane, but there's a very important difference between the two main characters: Charles Foster Kane had all the money in the world and got nothing out of it. Swede Andersen wasn't even that lucky; he didn't even get the money.

8/10

Currently my #4 film of 1946:

1) It’s A Wonderful Life (Frank Capra)

2) The Big Sleep (Howard Hawks) *

3) Duel in the Sun (King Vidor)

4) The Killers (Robert Siodmak) *

5) Notorious (Alfred Hitchcock) *

6) The Locket (John Brahm) *

7) Crack-Up (Irving Reis) *

8) The Dark Mirror (Robert Siodmak) *

9) The Blue Dahlia (George Marshall) *

10) Dragonwyck (Joseph L. Mankiewicz)

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Target #54: Armoured Car Robbery (1950, Richard Fleischer)

Directed by: Richard Fleischer
Written by: Robert Leeds(story), Robert Angus (story), Earl Felton (screenplay), Gerald Drayson Adams (screenplay)
Starring: Charles McGraw, Adele Jergens, William Talman, Douglas Fowley, Steve Brodie, Don McGuire, James Flavin

Most noir enthusiasts would, I'm sure, agree that the modern heist thriller was basically born with John Huston's The Asphalt Jungle (1950). But it wasn't alone for long. Just one month after its release, Richard Fleischer released his own heist flick, a low-budget B-movie with no star power (unless you count supporting player Charles McGraw, who was no stranger to film noir – see Roadblock (1951)). With its very brief running-time, Armoured Car Robbery (1950) strips away all unnecessary fat, leaving hardly a moment to draw breath as the gang of thieves execute a brilliant heist, before losing out to the authorities, all in 67 minutes. The one classic crime element we're denied is the preparation for the heist itself. When the four co-conspirators first approached the intended site of attack, I thought that they were going through a trial-run as part of their planning, but, no, they went straight for the hit. As such, most of the film is concerned with how their "perfect" heist unravels, like a ball of yarn with a trailing thread.

The film's low-budget is readily seen in its production values. Rather than the shadowy, stylised noir photography with which we're most familiar, cinematographer Guy Roe instead opts for a documentary-style realism. The performances also reflect this approach, though there are some some strong actors in the mix. William Talman, as Dave Purvis, is a classic criminal mastermind, a calculating genius who engineers every movement to the nearest second. Square-jawed McGraw, whom I maintain is a dead ringer for Kirk Douglas, is also excellent as tough cop Cordell, who's eager to dish out retribution for the death of his long-time partner (James Flavin). Icy dame Adele Jergens plays an alluring exotic dancer, though her role in the film is mostly passive. A swift and blunt piece of storytelling, Armoured Car Robbery lives up to its matter-of- fact title, not putting anything new on the table, but utilising its resources well. The ending, with thousands of dollars in notes flittering across an airport runway, seems to have inspired Kubrick in The Killing (1956).

7/10

Currently my #12 film of 1950:

3) Harvey (Henry Koster)
4) In a Lonely Place (Nicholas Ray) *
5) Where the Sidewalk Ends (Otto Preminger) *
6) Destination Moon (Irving Pichel)
7) All About Eve (Joseph L. Mankiewicz)
8) The Asphalt Jungle (John Huston) *
9) Panic in the Streets (Elia Kazan) *
10) Stage Fright (Alfred Hitchcock)
11) Rashômon (Akira Kurosawa)
12) Armoured Car Robbery (Richard Fleischer) *

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Target #53: Roadblock (1951, Harold Daniels)

Directed by: Harold Daniels

Written by: Richard H. Landau (story), Daniel Mainwaring (story), Steve Fisher (writer), George Bricker (writer)

Starring: Charles McGraw, Joan Dixon, Lowell Gilmore, Louis Jean Heydt, Milburn Stone, Peter Brocco, Barry Brooks

WARNING: Plot and/or ending details may follow!!!

Roadblock (1951) has plenty of the classic film noir ingredients, but it also recalls all those landmarks from which it borrowed them. An honest insurance detective is corrupted into defrauding his own employer – that's straight from Double Indemnity (1944). A swift, suffocating city-wide dragnet embraces the fleeing anti-hero, stifling his final chance of escape – that recalls High Sierra (1941). Even leading man Charles McGraw, typically confined to supporting roles, might credibly be described as a "poor man's Kirk Douglas." In fact, with his chiselled facial features and a gravelly voice, I occasionally found myself picturing Douglas in the role. I also saw Gene Tierney in Joan Dixon's place, but that's just me and my wishful imagination. All things considered, the two main performers do quite well in a B-movie that offers no surprises. Content to follow the already-established film noir mould – to drive the riverbed without breaching its banks, so to speak – director Harold Daniels has produced an entertaining, workman-like thriller. But why rewatch it, especially when you can instead enjoy its superior predecessors?

The film, intended as the lower half of a double-bill, jumps straight into action. A fugitive bank robber (Peter Brocco) becomes witness to a homicide, the killer taking him hostage and threatening to dispose of him. After offering his stolen loot in exchange for his life, the film pulls its first – and probably only – unexpected twist. The "killer" is, in fact, L.A. insurance detective Joe Peters (Charles McGraw), who engineered the mock murder of his partner (Louis Jean Heydt) to discover the whereabouts of the missing bank money. Peters is fiercely honest, having resigned himself to an unglamorous life on a modest detective's income, but this episode foreshadows his character's transformation into a liar, murderer and fugitive. Why do good men turn bad? In Roadblock – as in all noir – the blame is irrevocably placed on a woman. Unashamed gold-digger Diane (Joan Dixon) taunts Peters with her icy beauty, disdainfully implying that he could never afford somebody like her on such a meagre salary. If you're going to turn to crime, I guess sex is as good a reason as any.

Roadblock was directed by Harold Daniels, who doesn't appear to have much else of note to his name, but the cinematography was by Nicholas Musuraca, whose exquisite noirish work is also on display in Stranger on the Third Floor (1940), Cat People (1942) and Out of the Past (1947). What I love most about film noir is how the photography so often suggests more than would otherwise be understood. For example, despite beginning the film as a questionable, if seductive, chiseller, Joan Dixon's character later takes a turn towards the uninteresting, rejecting her former prestigious life-style in favour of love and marriage (making Peters' fatal transformation ironically unnecessary). Having now settled into her new role as a slighted romantic lover, and apparently deserving of our sympathy, Diane witnesses her husband gunned down by police, and resignedly departs the scene. It's not spoken, but Musuraca's camera doesn't forget who's to blame for this tragedy: he frames her strutting purposely - almost dismissively - away from the devastation her hand has caused, like a gunman turning his back on a massacre.

6/10

Currently my #9 film of 1951:

1) Strangers On A Train (Alfred Hitchcock) *
2) The African Queen (John Huston)
3) The Man in the White Suit (Alexander Mackendrick)
4) The Day The Earth Stood Still (Robert Wise)
5) The Lavender Hill Mob (Charles Crichton) *
6) The Thing from Another World (Christian Nyby, Howard Hawks)
7) An American in Paris (Vincente Minnelli)
8) Royal Wedding (Stanley Donen)
9) Roadblock (Harold Daniels) *
10) Behave Yourself! (George Beck)

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