NOIR CITY: CHICAGO 2019
Music Box Theatre, Chicago, IL
Friday, September 6th, 2019 to Thursday, September 12th, 2019
KISS ME DEADLY (1955)
United Artists, 106m
*Presented as it was released in 1955; in 35mm courtesy of Park
Circus
"Remember me when I
am gone away,
Gone far away into the
silent land;
When you can no more
hold me by the hand,
Nor I half
turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more
day by day
You tell me
of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you
understand
It will be
late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget
me for a while
And
afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and
corruption leave
A vestige of
the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should
forget and smile
Than that
you should remember and be sad."
—"Remember," Christina Georgina Rossetti (December 5,
1830 — December 29, 1894)
KISS ME DEADLY may be the finest of film noirs released in
the 1950s, but author Mickey Spillane was not impressed with what screenwriter
A.I. Bezzerides did to his novel. According to event host Eddie Muller, founder
and president of the Film Noir Foundation, Spillane said all that remained of
his sixth novel to feature private investigator Mike Hammer was the title. The
leftist writer Bezzerides obviously did not think much of Spillane's signature
character, and went the extra mile to make sure he could not be construed as
the hero of the filmed adaptation. Whether one likes the onscreen Hammer figure
or not, there is much to admire about the film world he inhabits. Despite
adherence to the usual dictates of film noir, KISS ME
DEADLY does not look or sound quite like any other noir film.
In comparison with other examples of '50s noir, it seems oddly
contemporary; its main difference from the modern crime story is the absence of
ubiquitous f-bombs. The nihilistic production also benefits from unrelenting
toughness, Ralph Meeker's exceptional performance as a marginally likable heel
and some quirky female characters that seem plucked from the David Lynch
universe.
Director Robert Aldrich (WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE? [1962])
makes the most of an intense introductory sequence that begins with Christina
Bailey (Cloris Leachman) running barefoot down a dark highway. When Mike Hammer
(Ralph Meeker) narrowly avoids plowing into her, he shows concern only for the
preservation of his smooth ride. "You almost wrecked my car," he
grumbles in disgust. The tone is set. Next the opening credits scroll backwards over
the orgasmic panting of Christina, now attached to Mike in his convertible. She
is a fugitive from a psychiatric ward, and soon enough those seeking her make
their presence known. In an unforgettably suggestive segment, Christina is
tortured with pliers(!) by men who remain anonymous to the camera, while a
groggy Mike is helpless to intercede. The apparent leader of the villains
calmly speaks with disturbing eloquence after Christina becomes non-responsive.
The unlikely noir couple is left for dead, but Mike survives
and finds himself absorbed in a mystery he may be ill-equipped to comprehend.
Ironically for a good chunk of the film he is perplexed by a clue that reads
"REMEMBER ME." That request is a tall order for a self-absorbed man
like Mike, who parasitically feeds on divorce cases for his source of income.
The death of Christina draws the attention of the Interstate Crime
Commission, and Mike is curious as to why. The cops show complete disdain for
Mike, whose detective practice involves capturing evidence of married people
breaking their vows. Worse than that, he and his assistant Velda Wickman
(Maxine Cooper) get personally involved with the couples they target in the
interest of gathering damning information. Mike already had proven in the
opening sequence his instinct is to not cooperate with law
enforcement officials, so it comes as no surprise when he refuses to play ball
and leaves the interrogation room. One man contemptuously comments, "Open
a window." These men seem no better than Mike. Lieutenant Pat Murphy
(Wesley Addy) in particular is one smug little bastard, absolutely impossible
to like. Pat personally informs Mike that his PI license and handgun permit
have been revoked. Film noir sometimes highlights the
determination of effective public servants in examples such as T-MEN (1947), TRAPPED (1949), APPOINTMENT
WITH DANGER (1950) and PANIC IN THE STREETS (1950),
but KISS ME DEADLY finds little faith in public officials. Who
are the true villains here?
As Mike stubbornly persists in sticking his nose in where he knows
it is most unwelcome, it becomes evident he is an outsider in every way
imaginable. He associates best with other outsiders and worst with those who
feign respectability. His probable best friend is Nick (Nick Dennis), a
fast-talking, affable Greek auto mechanic. Mike is also helpful to an Italian
American burdened with what appears to be a very heavy storage chest. When Mike
gets loaded in a nightclub, he is the only white face among the black
clientele; he has more in common with people of color than other white people.
A man easily angered, Mike gets impatient with those who do not cooperate. He
delights in pushing people around, and he can take a punch as well as anybody.
Sometimes when he gets tough it is easy enough to side with him, as when he is
first confronted by Charlie Max (Jack Elam) and Sugar Smallhouse (Jack Lambert).
Other times Mike makes it difficult to gain the viewer's allegiance. The deeper
he gets into his investigation, the more crude slaps he dishes out, as when he
roughs up a meek front desk clerk. The PI is especially mean-spirited when he
breaks an opera fanatic's classic record, even more so when he crushes the
fingers of Doc Kennedy (Percy Helton) in a desk drawer. In those two instances
of highly questionable procedure, the camera captures Mike's admiration for the
type of work he enjoys all too well. The film noir often uses
narration to smooth over a lead protagonist's rough edges to encourage the
viewer to identify with that individual. The absence of narration in KISS
ME DEADLY marks a genre in transition, as well as a main character we
are not meant to admire. Even if the viewer should not condone Mike's tactics,
it is difficult not to empathize a little after the brutal killing of his
friend causes the gumshoe to go berserk.
Though critics and fans often brand Mike a stupid individual, I
think he is better described as a boorish, egocentric character who is out of
his element, a type of man whose time has passed. He is intelligent enough and
experienced enough to know a big case when he stumbles onto one, and he proves
his street smarts on numerous occasions, especially when he correctly deduces
what became of a small artifact associated with Christina. He also predicts the
location of two incendiary devices placed within the
automobile he was gifted by those who would celebrate his violent demise. In a
wonderfully intense conversation, Carl Evello (Paul Stewart) admits his
organization has underestimated Mike repeatedly. Mike's instincts prove less
reliable when he encounters a package equipped with far superior firepower
compared with what was found in his newest car. The air of fatalism that
chokes film noir characters comes neatly packaged, but
dangerous to the touch. Mike's first exposure to "the great whatsit"
as Velda describes it creates a painful brand on his wrist (we know it is
serious when the proven tough guy Mike winces!). That event marks Mike for death.
"If you had not
stopped to pick up Christina, not any of these things would have
happened..."
KISS ME DEADLY features about the oddest assortment of revisionist femme
fatales ever to grace a noir film. Christina latches onto Mike
in the opening sequence, despite his immediate disdain for her highway obstacle
act. Would he have invited her into his car had he not imagined her naked under
that trench coat? Probably not. Interestingly, only after Christina pokes Mike
about his self-centered masculinity does he begin to loosen up a little in
front of her. But in most prime examples of noteworthy noir themes,
Mike would have been the wiser to allow Christina to fend for herself (she may
have been better off as well). His chance involvement with Christina leads to a
deadly connection with the mysteriously mousy Lily/Gabrielle (Gaby Rodgers)
that has consequences far greater than anything Mike may have considered. And
though her screen time is brief, Friday (Marian Carr) strikes a chord as
perhaps the most weirdly amorous dame to appear in a noir film.
In another example of his better judgment, Mike shows some restraint when
confronted with her aggressive advances.
 |
| Point that thing somewhere else |
The "good" girl has her share of baggage, too. Velda is
always hot for Mike, and she certainly is an attractive brunette, but the
sadomasochistic Mike would prefer to pimp her out in service of his trashy
detective enterprise. She puts it well in the hospital sequence in the first
act when she tells him, "You never need me when I'm around." The
hotter she gets, the cooler he treats her, and his head usually turns when
another skirt walks by. That is not to suggest he harbors no attraction to Velda,
but her ability to seduce any other man means more to him than whatever
feelings he holds for her. During the opening scenes, Christina correctly
identifies Mike as a man who cares only about himself, a man who cannot give,
only take. Ultimately that quality condemns him. In light of the film's
devastating concluding sequence, Mike (and many others) would have been
grateful had he granted Velda the alone time she always desired and steered
clear of crazed blondes. But upon repeat viewings of the film, Velda's neediness
is a little pathetic. She wants Mike more than any man would wish to be wanted.
The fine screenplay is complemented by cinematographer Ernest
Laszlo (IMPACT [1949], D.O.A. [1949]), who relies
heavily on the use of oblique camera angles, particularly in the early going. A
nice touch I noticed for the first time at this event's screening is the
emphasis given to the hydraulic floor jack used to quickly service Mike's
vehicle after he picks up Christina—one of those devices has a role in a
gruesome murder later in the story. Laszlo's coverage of complex stairways,
both interior and exterior, stands for the complicated and hazardous noir labyrinth
through which Mike travels. Many of the interior staircases are ornamentally fabricated;
most exterior staircases are unusually high and would make for an exceptionally
painful way to take a tumble (as a thug tailing Mike learns). That stairway
fall always makes me gasp—somebody did that stunt! According to Eddie Muller,
that scene utilized an actual staircase with no special padding.
The conclusion of the film intended by director Robert Aldrich was
not reinstated until 1997. The truncated ending in which nobody escapes the
beach house may have been less open to interpretation, but neither version
suggests a different end result for the lead protagonist, who forfeits his
future when he opens the modern equivalent of Pandora's box. In any case, I do
not think Mike should shoulder the blame for the catastrophic event that ends
the film. All the blame should go to Dr. G. E. Soberin (Albert Dekker),
who fails to take his own advice. Soberin has a lot to say about the huge
mistake Mike made when he got tangled up with Christina, but in the film's
final sequence Soberin makes a far greater error when he treats Gabrielle like
a child; the intellectual is somehow completely oblivious to her potential
danger. As the doctor's name implies, KISS ME DEADLY's ultimate
takeaway is sobering indeed.
