Universal Pictures, 100m 49s
"Don't
be discouraged, warden. It's a rule in all the best stories: everybody always lives happily ever
after."
—Doctor
Walters
By
the definition rendered above, BRUTE
FORCE does not qualify as one of the best stories, though there is little
doubt it is one of the cinema's more important stories. In today's world of
heightened civil unrest, this incendiary film
noir may be more relevant today than it was at the time of its original
theatrical run. Filmed primarily on Universal Studios sound stages, BRUTE FORCE is a stunningly
well-executed cross-genre film, the noir
film tightly shackled to the prison film.
A
vast assortment of time-honored prison movie tropes populate Westgate
Penitentiary: inmates who seem like
basically good men, the mild-mannered prisoner who has made peace with himself
regarding his life stretch, the intellectual who thinks he is about to be
paroled, the highest level of leadership that only wants results, the tough
screw who enjoys his work far too much. Then there is the daily routine of the
prisoner's existence, composed of regimented roll calls, a single-file line in the
cafeteria, where a serving ladle distributes questionable-looking sustenance,
the hospital, where prisoners recover from unjust treatment, the obligatory
visitor segment, movie night (in this case the Universal product THE EGG AND I [1947]), the machine
workshop, where tedious labor is performed and orchestrated violence sometimes
plays out, mind-numbing solitary confinement and the inevitable escape plan.
The noir narrative often is pinned to
some form of entrapment, so a marriage of ideas with the prison film commands
obvious prospects. As the narrative progresses, the isle of detention is
engulfed by swirling noir currents.
The
opening credits are battered by heavy rainfall that accurately forecasts the
story's gloomy trajectory. Along the way, convict Joe Collins (Burt Lancaster)
harbors personal reasons for planning an early departure from the confines of
cell R17, but it will not be easy given the entrenched system that stands in
his way. This prison's power structure echoes imperishable truths about
long-term social concerns that remain unresolved today. When not focused on the
claustrophobic environments dominated by prisoners, BRUTE FORCE accesses the warden's office, where the prison's role
in social reform is debated. Within this setting the carefully marked out
social context of the film is at its most perceptive. Under the assumption that
prisons are an ugly necessity, how exactly might these institutions best
function? The administration of Westgate Penitentiary is riddled with financial
pressures, pesky calls from the press, an overcrowded inmate population (double
what the prison was designed to hold), and above all else, competing thought
processes in regard to prisoner management. Warden A.J. Barnes (Roman Bohnen),
a man with a foam-rubber spine, allows himself to be pushed around by McCallum
(Richard Gaines) and Captain Munsey (Hume Cronyn), who both see the prison as a
house of dehumanizing punishment. Dr. Walters (Art Smith) is the humanitarian,
but a man not built to fight a sustained battle against entrenched power. In a
key sequence that isolates the arrogant Munsey with Walters, the doctor
suggests Munsey is addicted to power, a vice no better or worse than any other.
The exchange between the two men communicates the film's major theme, one that
cements the film forever on noir
ground: kindness and decency are
concepts primed for retirement, like the aging alcoholic doctor, while the
cruel philosophies embodied by the younger man Munsey have gained traction. Any
argument for rehabilitation over discipline loses momentum when Munsey proves
himself the stronger of the two, which results in Walters driven to the office
floor, his liberal ambitions with him. One wonders whether Walters possesses
the intestinal fortitude to follow through on his convictions. The awkward
introductory sequence with Walters provides a clue: as Joe returns from a 10-day stay in
solitary, Walters tells Joe he "meant" to visit him.
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| Munsey's arm separates the men under his influence from Collins |
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| The known Munsey operative Wilson (James O'Rear) faces extinction |
Burt
Lancaster may have been top-billed, but this timeless film noir was constructed around Hume Cronyn's unforgettable
portrayal of Captain Munsey. Listed at 5' 6" at IMDb.com, the diminutive
figure Cronyn (especially when standing next to Lancaster) would seem an
unlikely candidate to play the part of Westgate Penitentiary's most dangerous
man (no prisoner comes close), but he proves himself ideal for the role. There
is a Napoleonic lesson in there: the
seemingly unthreatening man sometimes possesses incredible strength of purpose.
Though slight from a physicality standpoint, Munsey's fascist agenda is the
stuff of nightmares. He is a monster who does not look monstrous, a forerunner
of Norman Bates and the many unstable minds that would dominate the revisionist
horror film output of the 1960s. An unapologetic advocate of Social Darwinism,
Munsey not only is the brute of the movie's title, he preys upon the weaknesses
of the prisoners from a psychological angle. The two tactics are intertwined
closely; Munsey's aggressive mind games with the inmates allow him to unleash
his sadistic side when he feels so inclined. Neither approach allows the
prisoners to gain any ground. Mental torture leads to the suicide of Tom Lister
(Whit Bissell), one of the most innocuous fellows doing time, later Munsey's
physical abuse badly injures Louie Miller (Sam Levene, beaten to death in the
same year's CROSSFIRE). The
interrogation of Louie reveals Munsey at his most appalling; one of the guards
leaves the adjacent room in disgust when Louie is beaten with a piece of rubber
hose while Richard Wagner's "Tannhäuser" plays in the background.
Wagner was one of Adolf Hitler's favorite composers, and references to der
Führer do not end there. The drain pipe project, where at least one prisoner (a
62-year-old!) is worked to death, provides an overt reference to forced labor
in Nazi concentration camps. Not surprisingly, Munsey seems particularly fond
of sentencing prisoners to drain pipe drudgery, a punishment he reserves for
members of the prison community who refuse to play ball. Whether the drain pipe
ever will be completed or have any practical functionality is left an open
issue.
When
Munsey condemns all of cell R17 to the drain pipe, his demeanor seems oddly
emotional, like a jilted lover lashing out at someone he realizes he has lost.
Earlier there is a striking homoerotic connotation to the evil embodied by
Munsey when he visits Tom, alone in his cell at the time, later in Munsey's
office, where he lowers the shades before his violent interrogation of Louie.
The latter sequence anticipates the questionable behavior of Jim Wilson (Robert
Ryan), the hotheaded cop from director Nicholas Ray's ON DANGEROUS GROUND (1951). When Wilson interrogates suspect Bernie
Tucker (Richard Irving), Wilson's words emphasize a sexual subtext
("Alright Bernie, we're alone now."). The film noir commonly equates homosexuality with perverse evil, as can
be witnessed in THE MALTESE FALCON
(1941), BLACK ANGEL (1946), GILDA (1946), THE BIG CLOCK (1948) and STRANGERS
ON A TRAIN (1951). In terms of narrative function, typically such
characters either are discarded or undergo some type of miraculous change that
certifies their ability to re-enter society.
Munsey's
power-hungry tactics are proven untenable when he fails to extract information
from Louie and thus badly misunderstands his mounting prisoner problem. So
confident is Munsey in his methods, he does not have the capacity to consider
the notion another will might be stronger than his. Interestingly, the chaotic
nightmare of the Collins-driven breakout attempt coincides with Munsey's
ascension to the rank of warden. At this juncture social turmoil threatens to
consume the entire prison population by way of bullets and fire (for those who
like to look for recurring film noir
motifs, the prison riot features one of the genre's many dangerous staircases).
BRUTE FORCE concludes on a
pessimistic note of unvarnished truth with Walters framed behind bars, still as
much a prisoner as anyone at Westgate, perhaps more so. Munsey may have been
defeated, his methods ultimately as self-destructive as self-serving, but we
are left to anticipate his inevitable replacement.
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| "Nobody ever really escapes." |
The
characterization of women is worth examination in most any film noir, even one that presents its females in brief flashbacks
that convey how they relate to the men with whom they are connected. Flashbacks
often are employed to add a sense of style to the noir film, though here that trope manifests itself out of
practicality. The imprisoned men not only are physically confined to their
cells, they are locked in sexual prisons as well. All that the guys in cell R17
have for female companionship is a Christmas calendar pinup girl, which
provides the sort of contained feminine image that fuels the fantasies of the
male characters in an assortment of film
noirs. As the cellmates describe for the uninitiated, the portrait under
consideration here represents any imaginable example of the gender,
frustratingly unavailable to the incarcerated man. That the pinup girl
resembles a woman carefully laid to rest probably was no accident. The male
protagonists of the film noir make a
habit of becoming obsessed with a woman somehow completely out of reach, her
likeness often memorialized in art form. That dynamic is crucial to formative film noirs such as LAURA (1944), MURDER, MY
SWEET (1944), PHANTOM LADY
(1944), THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW
(1944) and SCARLET STREET (1945).
Female
archetypes are grounded in the most misogynistic of film noir assumptions. In other words, all of the female characters
come with heavy baggage of some kind. Two of the women are nothing beyond
greedy femme fatales. Flossie (Anita Colby) is the tigress who latches onto
Spencer (John Hoyt). She uses his own gun to rob him before speeding off in his
vehicle. Now in prison, Spencer actually remembers her fondly! Even a memory
like that can be sentimentalized when a man is left without options. The
material desires of Cora Lister (Ella Raines) convert her ostensibly decent,
caring husband Tom into a convicted embezzler. Gina Ferrara (Yvonne De Carlo)
factors in the decline of Robert Becker (Howard Duff), who cannot get out of
his own way after protecting her from a probable murder charge (of her own
father!). Joe's girl Ruth (Ann Blyth) is a cancer patient confined to a
wheelchair, easily the least scandalous of the film's "women on the
'outside'" as they are tagged, but she is weak physically and requires
financial support. The invalid also refuses to undergo a surgical procedure
without Joe near her, which essentially guarantees his ill-fated escape
attempt. On one level or another, all the men who reflect on civilian-life
relationships perish in prison thanks at least in part to their undying
dedication to the fair sex.
The
pre-production development of BRUTE
FORCE found inspiration in the Battle of Alcatraz (May 2—4, 1946), when
armed inmates failed in their attempt to escape from The Rock. The project was
directed with vigor by Jules Dassin, who vividly depicts action sequences,
especially those steeped in brutality. Even today, his film can be shockingly
tough viewing (the steam hammer killing in particular is one hell of a set
piece). A more subtly effective sequence involves the juxtaposition of the
warden's speech and an inmate's suicide. Dassin would become one of the central
filmmakers during the classic film noir
movement, with subsequent contributions to the genre that included THE NAKED CITY (1948), THIEVES' HIGHWAY (1949) and quite
possibly his finest effort NIGHT AND THE
CITY (1950), a towering achievement in film
noir anchored by the performance of the great Richard Widmark. The director
relocated to France in 1953, where he made RIFIFI
(Du
rififi chez les hommes, 1955), a legitimate candidate for greatest
heist film of all time.
Independent
producer Mark Hellinger had established himself as a New York theater critic,
the sort of journalist who would belly up to the bar each day. A syndicated
columnist featured in William Randolph Hearst newspapers, Hellinger was on
friendly terms with guys like Al Capone and Lucky Luciano. Hellinger's considerable
writing skills led to projects in Hollywood, where he would emerge as an
associate producer of trailblazing noir
films for Warner Brothers such as THEY
DRIVE BY NIGHT (1940) and HIGH
SIERRA (1941). Later he would produce THE
TWO MRS. CARROLLS (1947) for Warner. Hellinger would jump ship to Universal
Pictures, where his Mark Hellinger Productions served up THE KILLERS (1946) before BRUTE
FORCE. Hellinger Productions brought us THE NAKED CITY (1948), released after Hellinger's death December
21, 1947. He was only 44. BRUTE FORCE
screenwriter Richard Brooks also wrote THE PRODUCER, a novel based on the life
of Hellinger. Worthy of special mention are some of the cast members. Charles
Bickford is perfect as Gallagher, the aging convict rightly disappointed with
the porous terms of his parole application. Sir Lancelot, so memorable in
director Jacques Tourneur's I WALKED
WITH A ZOMBIE (1943), truly adds something as "Calypso" James.
Jeff Corey is well-cast as Stack, who plans to hide out in the anonymous noir city after his escape from
Westgate. He does not get that opportunity; when Stack is used as a human
shield during the breakout attempt, one wonders if MAD MAX 2 director George Miller is a BRUTE FORCE admirer. Also look for noir icon Charles McGraw, who shows up in an uncredited role as a
mechanic. Jack Overman, who portrays Kid Coy, died at the age of 32 from a
coronary occlusion. The Christmas calendar girl was painted by John Decker,
noted for the paintings so integral to Fritz Lang's SCARLET STREET (1945).
BRUTE FORCE has
been reissued as part of the Criterion Collection's dual-layered Blu-ray
offerings, with a new 4K digital restoration by TLEFilms Film Restoration &
Preservation Services and uncompressed monaural soundtrack. The new
presentation includes an introductory segment that describes the demanding
restoration process, which involved two years of restorative work from 13
separate film elements. Unlike the Criterion DVD released in 2007, this
restored version maintains the original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1.
Looking at the two versions side by side, it appears the DVD compromised the
integrity of the original element to get to 1.33:1.
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| Criterion Blu-ray (2020) |
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| Criterion DVD (2007) |
The
only new supplement is an episode from The Criterion Channel. In "BRUTE FORCE: The Actor’s Tool Kit"
(OBSERVATIONS ON FILM ART NO. 12, 2017, 13m 7s), film scholar David Bordwell
explores the acting styles at work in the feature film. Though an actor's
ability to emote with the eyes, eyebrows and hands might sound like elementary
information, what is less obvious is how all of the other production tools
available to filmmakers combine with the actor to create meaning. Bordwell
cites the importance of blocking and camera position in an intense sequence
between Captain Munsey and Dr. Walters. The result is not realistic in that
people are unlikely to communicate in that manner, but when Walters leans in on
Munsey, the takeaway is what matters most:
Walters is dead-on about what motivates Munsey.
Culled
from Criterion's 2007 DVD version is the assiduous audio commentary recording
from noir specialists Alain Silver
and James Ursini. Their commentary is predicated on the sound logic that film noir evolved from a leftist
ideology. As a metaphor for the "creeping fascism" that was a concern
in post-WWII America, BRUTE FORCE is
precisely the type of film that got filmmakers in trouble with the House
Un-American Activities Committee. By the 1950s, many associated with noir productions of the 1940s were unavailable
due to blacklisting (i.e. actors Roman Bohnen, Art Smith). Noir endured, but mutated into something new in its transition to
the docudrama approach that favored naturalism to the more expressionistic look
of the classic era (roughly 1944—1950). Silver explains Dassin frames actors to
illustrate how they relate to one another. Sometimes characters are on equal
ground, sometimes one has an advantage over another. The author sees Lancaster
in the "defeated posture" that recalls his turns in THE KILLERS and CRISS CROSS (1949). Ursini describes Mark Hellinger as a very
hands-on producer and a great negotiator; he had to be to get the machine shop
murder through the film censors. Cinematographer William H. Daniels, Greta
Garbo's preferred DOP, was lured out of semi-retirement for this production. At
the time Daniels was not known for noir,
but MGM epics. According to Ursini, much of Lancaster's acting style is rooted
in the techniques of the silent era; indeed his dialog throughout the film is
minimal. Sometimes his character is trapped in situations in which speaking is
not an option.
Other
material harvested from Criterion's 2007 release includes a 2006 interview (15m
55s) with Paul Mason, editor of CAPTURED BY THE MEDIA: PRISON DISCOURSE IN
POPULAR CULTURE. Despite the obvious restrictions of the genre, Mason does not
consider BRUTE FORCE a typical
prison film. The identification of inmates by names versus numbers in the early
going sets the tone. There does not appear to be a clear need for a prison based
on its population; not one inmate is presented who clearly needs to be there.
Mason opines that those who do not take prisons as a given are viewed as
extremists. The theatrical trailer (2m 14s) seems to market a more exploitative
film, while a stills gallery (3m 56s) neatly assembles production stills,
posters and behind-the-scenes photos. The hefty booklet includes the insightful
essay "Screws and Proles" from film critic and novelist Michael
Atkinson, who delves into the sociological exposition of film noir, "The lower-middle-class civilian has no genuine
antagonist outside of the system, the prerigged establishment designed to
either exploit, enslave, or exile him. The American dream as such is a tissue
of propaganda, a lie invented for crowd control...Noir is Yankee socialism,
textualized for the masses." Also within the booklet's pages are a profile
of producer Mark Hellinger that originally appeared in the SATURDAY EVENING
POST ("The Softest Touch in Hollywood" by Pete Martin, June 28, 1947)
and correspondence between Hellinger and Production Code administrator Joseph
Breen. If Hellinger had his way, BRUTE
FORCE would have been even more brutal.
