HIGH SIERRA (1941)

Warner Bros., 99m 56s

The release of HIGH SIERRA in early 1941 marked a time of genre transition, as the decline of the gangster film coincided with the emergence of the film noir. Themes that would become stock noir ingredients are on full display in this classic Warner production from executive producer Hal B. Wallis and associate producer Mark Hellinger, with master filmmaker Raoul Walsh at the director’s chair.

Our lead male protagonist is the "last of the big timers" according to the theatrical trailer. After eight years' imprisonment, convicted bank robber Roy Earle (Humphrey Bogart) is granted a pardon. Roy is not a young man anymore. His hair is turning gray and most of his old cohorts are out of the picture for one reason or another. Newly free, Roy shows enthusiasm for the simple elegance of nature available at a local park, where the trees are tall, the grass is green and children play ball. Not long after that pleasant excursion it is back to the business for which newspapers have printed front-page stories about him. Roy meets with Jake Kranmer (Barton MacLane), an ex-cop turned criminal working with heist architect "Big" Mac (Donald MacBride). Roy takes an instant dislike to Kranmer, who he does not trust whatsoever. When Kranmer attempts to seize the initiative, Roy slaps his face in a manner only imaginable in a movie of this vintage. Mac has engineered a scheme to rob a ritzy hotel located near the Sierra Nevada. It is the sort of posh resort where the sun is always shining, the pools look inviting and every woman possesses perfect legs. Should the heist go as planned, there will be a considerable amount of money to go around for all concerned.

Perhaps like no other genre, the film noir reminds the viewer how past events cling to us, especially in regard to decisions made in some haste. That moment of recognition comes quickly in HIGH SIERRA, when the career criminal Roy returns to Brookfield, Indiana, to visit the home where he was raised. After engaging in some small talk with the current residents, he makes an immediate exit after he is recognized. That scene nicely establishes two major noir themes at work in this gangster/noir hybrid:

• The past maintains dominion over the present; there is no going back to whatever life was like prior to a career in crime.
• Roy Earle may be a free man, but he is hopelessly out of place in a new decade.

The above bullet points are reinforced in different ways by Roy's younger partners in crime, Red Hattery (Arthur Kennedy) and the combustible Babe Kozak (Alan Curtis). Red attempts to flatter Roy with references to his storied past, but Roy closes the door on him. Less impressed than Red by the veteran criminal, Babe dismisses Roy as a relic of a bygone era. That interpretation does not work for Roy either, but both Red and Babe speak to uncomfortable truths about Roy’s untenable position in a world poised to move on without him.

The noir protagonist's inflexible moral code would become another key component to the rising tide of Hollywood’s film noir output of the 1940s. That noticeable mechanism attached to Roy causes the aging everyman Pa (Henry Travers) to believe Roy must be a good man. Such confusion would not be unusual as the genre developed; noir criminals commonly look like ordinary people or really are ordinary people, i.e. DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), NIGHTMARE ALLEY (1947), GUN CRAZY (1950). Such characters have little in common with the larger-than-life gangster figures that populated 1930s cinema. Roy's moral code coupled with his attraction to Pa's pretty but lame granddaughter Velma (Joan Leslie's youthful visage) prompt him to make a financial commitment to the surgery she requires to walk normally. Roy's last visit with Velma is purely out of moral obligation; he understands he has rehabilitated her for another man.

Roy's illegal business affairs lead to his entanglement with two women:  one from the Midwest, one from the West. Each of these characters is multi-dimensional in that neither is quite what she at first would seem, and each has an indomitable spirit, nearly impossible to subdue or defeat. Marie (doe-eyed British actress Ida Lupino) initially is introduced as a cheap taxi dancer whose mere presence inhibits the heist's probability of success. Only with reluctance does Roy agree to allow Marie to hang around. The two begin an asymmetrical relationship, Marie in love and Roy indifferent. As Marie fears her affection for Roy never will be reciprocated, she must wonder if her history as a dancer ever can be forgiven (the noir past again). That concern becomes especially painful when she hears about the "decent" woman Velma, for whom Roy has fallen. Velma is introduced as a model of virtue, an attractive, affable young woman whose unfortunate case of clubfoot invites sympathy. Roy senses she is inherently good and worth pursuing, despite the fact she has a significant other back home. From an analytical standpoint, Velma provides an early example of film noir's many crippled characters; that her condition is cured makes her different from any other noir character with mobility issues I can recall. Successful surgery on her foot transforms Velma into a party girl, increasingly insensitive to Roy's strong feelings for her. When Velma confines Roy to the friend zone, the familiar chord of the alienated noir protagonist rings with clean sustain (Bogart's reaction is so perfect, every man ever relegated to "friend" must nod in agreement). Despite the appearance of textured female characters, ultimately the viewer is left with a binary takeaway:  a woman is either one thing or another, at least through the eyes of a man. As film noir developed into the 1940s, the genre would become famous for dime-a-dance goodtime gals contrasted with restrained housewife types.

Though film noir would become associated closely with a stark urban landscape, the big city never was a prerequisite for noir material. Various Ida Lupino credits almost single-handedly confirm that notion, i.e. ROAD HOUSE (1948), WOMAN IN HIDING (1950), ON DANGEROUS GROUND (1951) and THE HITCH-HIKER (1953). HIGH SIERRA builds its noir case without reliance upon the alienating setting of the large city identified with so many examples of the genre. A major theme that binds film noir of all settings is that the noir atmosphere has the potential to make its presence known anywhere at any time. Pa exemplifies this axiom as the benign farmer from Ohio who lost everything.

The unmistakable existential tone of film noir is illustrated best via a conversation that takes place between Roy and his bedridden employer Mac. His health failing, Mac openly laments how times have changed for the worse, with dependable fellas like Roy replaced with "young twerps, soda jerkers and jitterbugs." According to Mac, "All the A-1 guys are gone..." Doc Banton (Henry Hull) holds a similar world view. There is a certain freedom that comes with this school of thought, evident when Mac goes on to define the existentialist nature of the noir narrative with stunning clarity. As he creates a rationalization for the drinking his physician advises against, Mac explains to Roy, "...I'm gonna die anyhow. So are you. So are we all." That attitude goes a long way toward explaining the characters that would empower the film noir throughout the next twenty years.

The stylistic flourishes that came to distinguish noir films of the mid-to-late 1940s take center stage after Roy and Doc Banton share a vehicle. Banton suggests Roy is "rushing toward death" just before a cut to the dog Pard, a harbinger of tragedy as described by the caretaker Algernon (Willie Best). Past folks associated with Pard have a shared history of premature death. It seems there is an element of the fantastic (or maybe that noir factor of fate) in the form of Pard's unshakable connection to Roy. The dog's rather curious name Pard secures his bond with Roy (who recently got a pardon). The oppressive forces of film noir invade Roy's cabin by way of ominous shadows and compositions that suggest entrapment. Roy even experiences a nightmare while Pard is camped out at his feet. As Algernon alone seems aware would happen, Pard indeed precipitates Roy's death, though from the outset it is implied Roy must perish before the film concludes. While Roy gets a dramatic death reminiscent of the gangster of the 1930s who became a victim of his own overindulgence, on another level his demise takes on oddly tragic proportions: his fondness for a dog seals his fate. A reminder of the worth of Roy comes in the form of the smug journalist Healy (Jerome Cowan), who as a total outsider provides a brief summary of Roy's life. In other film genres the reporter essentially would be telling the audience members how to think, though his words have the opposite impact here. The viewer is meant to find alignment with the condemned couple formed by Roy and Marie. Inadvertently Healy does, however, grant Marie some solace when he recognizes Roy is finally "free" in that he will not return to prison. The final moments of HIGH SIERRA anticipate many a film noir's action-oriented conclusion, in which the trapped protagonist encounters no exit.

Despite the top-billing of Ida Lupino, this is Humphrey Bogart's picture from beginning to end. HIGH SIERRA allowed Bogart to transition from peripheral roles to leading man. He proves his range as an actor from quiet menace to sudden eruptions, his trademark speech pattern always an aspect of his performance. My favorite Bogart moment occurs when his character returns to see Velma cured of her clubbed foot. Roy recognizes in advance the visit likely will be a painful one for him, but he has too much character to go back on his word. It is impossible not to side with Bogart's sad countenance, which looks unfairly trampled throughout this emotionally painful segment. Co-writer John Huston would famously team up with his barstool buddy Bogart for THE MALTESE FALCON (1941), the production many consider the first full-fledged film noir, with Bogart cemented as a singular figure in the emerging film movement. Bogart and Huston also combined forces for KEY LARGO (1948), which like HIGH SIERRA, merges noir concerns with the gangster's obsolescence. The Bogart persona was well established here, with his Army veteran Frank McCloud proving himself the better man than gangster Johnny Rocco (Edward G. Robinson), an outmoded ogre. HIGH SIERRA's location footage captured by director of photography Tony Gaudio, especially during the final act, makes for a convincing and highly entertaining movie-watching experience. The Whitney Portal climactic sequence highlights the spectacular terrain of Mount Whitney, the tallest mountain in the contiguous United States (obviously Roy's downfall is quite literal). Also worth a mention is Henry Travers, who portrays Pa with dignity. For a modern audience (at least one with some classic film appreciation), Travers is among the most recognizable of classic Hollywood actors thanks to his supporting work in SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943) and especially IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE (1946). The "mongrel" Pard is credited as Zero. He was Bogart's pet.

The Criterion Collection's new 2-disc, dual-layered Blu-ray edition of the great HIGH SIERRA presents a restored 4K digital transfer, with uncompressed monaural soundtrack. Framed at 1.37:1, it is a pleasure to watch and hear and easily one of my favorite Criterion releases of recent years.

Supplemental material is exceptional, even by Criterion standards. Extras begin with a featurette ported from the Warner DVD issued in 2003. "Curtains for Roy Earle: The Story of HIGH SIERRA" (AKA "Extra, Extra, Read All About It", 2003, 15m 6s) traces Bogart's long path to the role of Roy Earle. I never knew Bogart's second child Leslie Howard Bogart (his only daughter, born 1952) was named after English actor Leslie Howard, who secured Bogart the screen role of Duke Mantee in THE PETRIFIED FOREST (1936). In effect Howard set Bogart's Hollywood career in motion. Bogart never forgot.

The remaining supplements are unique to Criterion. "Bogart: Here’s Looking at You, Kid" is a documentary originally created for the television series THE SOUTH BANK SHOW (AKA "Humphrey Bogart: You Must Remember This...", Jan 5, 1997, 51m 7s). As produced and directed by Chris Hunt, our guide is Stephen Humphrey Bogart, the only son of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall and author of three semi-autobiographical books about his father and family. Stephen describes his father as a distant figure, a loner whose nature was to not allow others to get close to him.

Humphrey DeForest Bogart was born Christmas Day in 1899 in an affluent area of New York City. His is the story of the spoiled rich kid, headstrong and rebellious. After serving in the United States Navy, Bogart found his way onto the stage. He reportedly did not think much of the acting trade, at least not for men. That philosophy did not endear him to his colleagues; by all accounts he was not the easiest guy to like during this period of his life.

Bogart's break in Hollywood occurred after his appearance in Robert E. Sherwood's play THE PETRIFIED FOREST, which was performed 197 times at the Broadhurst Theatre in New York in 1935. That same year Warner Bros. purchased the screen rights. The play's lead Leslie Howard was brought onboard, and Howard insisted Bogart be cast as well. At the age of 36, Bogart was under contract with Warner Bros., though he would grow disenchanted with the one-dimensional roles he was handed.

Eventually it was HIGH SIERRA that deployed the brand of Bogart that would bring him international recognition. THE MALTESE FALCON (1941) was an even more crucial star-making vehicle for Bogart, ironically after the role of Sam Spade was turned down by George Raft, who had no interest in working with first-time director John Huston. Raft also had declined the part of Roy Earle in HIGH SIERRA (somewhat confusingly, this documentary touches on THE MALTESE FALCON before HIGH SIERRA, though HIGH SIERRA was released theatrically first). The following year brought CASABLANCA (1942), Bogart's signature film. To think this flawless work was produced at a time when the studios cranked out a film per week in assembly line fashion; nobody had any way of knowing what a timeless classic CASABLANCA would become. Film critic Ty Burr notes Bogart was dependent on the commitment of his leading ladies to bring out his romantic side; he was not much of a romantic presence on his own. As such Bogart brought to cinemas a new type of romantic male lead, tough and no-nonsense but always honorable.

Bogart's four wives included Helen Menken (1926 to 1927), Mary Philips (1928 to 1937), Mayo Methot (1938 to 1945) and of course Lauren Bacall (1945 until his death from esophageal cancer on January 14th, 1957). From the very beginning, Bogart's marriages were characterized by emotional outbursts, sometimes physical, along with heavy drinking. His wives often gave as good as they got. He met the woman who would become his fourth wife on the set of TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT (1944). While Bogart and Bacall made THE BIG SLEEP (1946) he remained married to Mayo Methot though very much in love with Bacall. Bogart was drinking far too much at this point in his life, a habit that would catch up with him. Another thorn in his side came in 1947, when The House Un-American Activities Committee went after Hollywood. Though opposed to the investigative committee's tactics, ultimately Bogart would create distance between himself and the Hollywood Ten, the blacklisted writers and directors who were cited for contempt of Congress for refusing to testify before HUAC. Like so many others, Bogart was intimidated and opted to protect his own career.

Of top interest to crime story fans should be the interview with screenwriter William Riley Burnett recorded in March of 1976 (14m 24s). The author of LITTLE CAESAR (Lincoln MacVeagh/The Dial Press, 1929), NOBODY LIVES FOREVER (Alfred A. Knopf, 1943) and THE ASPHALT JUNGLE (Alfred A. Knopf, 1949), W. R. Burnett's novel HIGH SIERRA (Alfred A. Knopf, 1941) was originally entitled "Rushing Toward Death" until his publisher raised objections. Burnett describes Roy Earle as the last member of the Dillinger gang rather than a standard gangster. The scenic environment and the dog Pard were injected into the story to emphasize Roy's humanity. Jack L. Warner acquired the film rights to HIGH SIERRA for Paul Muni, an actor that screenwriter John Huston did not respect. One night Huston got drunk and insulted Muni's capability as an actor. Subsequently Muni turned down the script. Burnett got involved with the adaptation under the assumption Muni could not reject the screenplay if the author of the source material contributed. As much of the novel's original dialog was preserved as possible, but Muni doubled down on his refusal. This series of events predictably infuriated Warner, who approached George Raft. Bogart convinced Raft the part did not suit him, so ultimately the role went to Bogart. Though Bogart had his issues with director Raoul Walsh, Burnett cites Walsh among the finest directors of action. Most interesting, Burnett believes one of the more difficult habits for a writer to break is the insertion of needless exposition dialog when a camera can do the work. That pattern remains obvious in all sorts of theatrical and television content to this day.

On deck next is an interview (14m) with film and media historian Miriam J. Petty, author of STEALING THE SHOW:  AFRICAN AMERICAN PERFORMERS AND AUDIENCES IN 1930S HOLLYWOOD (University of California Press, March 8th, 2016). Petty examines the career of actor Willie Best, who made a living portraying black stereotypes for mainstream white audiences. Characters such as the bug-eyed and cross-eyed Algernon, who walks around with a peculiar hunched-over gait, were very familiar to moviegoers of the 1930s and 1940s. Petty notes such characters were born in material aimed at black audiences. When these roles were repurposed for white viewers, the new context was more socially troubling. Petty goes on to explain Algernon is not on hand to teach us anything important about himself, he is present purely to help us learn more about Roy Earle. A veteran of over 130 films and television productions, Best amassed a lot of credits for a black actor of his time. Petty wonders what type of career he might have had in an industry that supported black actors beyond embarrassing comic relief duty. Best’s portrayal of Algernon reflects prevailing attitudes of the time about how black actors should be employed to make white America laugh. Petty laments, "It is hard to imagine that there was a cultural appetite for this kind of straightforward racism."

Also selectable is a severely condensed radio adaptation of HIGH SIERRA (28m 26s), originally broadcast on THE SCREEN GUILD THEATER April 17th, 1944. Both Humphrey Bogart and Ida Lupino recreated their original roles. For the sake of time I'm sure, the plot thread that involved Velma and her family was eliminated entirely. A theatrical trailer (2m 38s) rounds out the considerable contents of disc one.

The second Blu-ray disc contains a most welcome surprise with COLORADO TERRITORY (1949, Warner Bros., 94m 30s), director Raoul Walsh’s Western reimagining of HIGH SIERRA. The unrestored scan was derived from the original camera negative from the Library of Congress. In other words, the transfer is not up to the usual Criterion standards, with some film element damage apparent. Nonetheless this as-is film is in respectable condition and makes for great viewing. The original Burnett source material holds up remarkably well in its transformation into a noir-Western. Joel McCrea is well-cast as Wes McQueen, an outlaw out for one last big score, and Virginia Mayo is fetching as Colorado Carson, the equivalent of Ida Lupino's Marie, though Colorado is far feistier. Similarly, Julie Ann Winslow (Dorothy Malone) is a lot more driven than HIGH SIERRA's Velma (Joan Leslie). Though I prefer the men of HIGH SIERRA, the women of COLORADO TERRITORY have their counterparts beat. Walsh proves with this effort he absolutely was adept at managing action sequences; both the stagecoach robbery attempt and the train heist were superbly designed and executed.

THE TRUE ADVENTURES OF RAOUL WALSH (2014, 95m 12s) is a documentary directed by Marilyn Ann Moss, the author of RAOUL WALSH:  THE TRUE ADVENTURES OF HOLLYWOOD'S LEGENDARY DIRECTOR (The University Press of Kentucky, June 2011). Moss scans the defining moments of a filmmaking career that stretched over 50 years. Although best known for action, Walsh was able to handle any Hollywood genre. His personality was a good match for pictures with plenty of grit. He was a man who liked to add color to stories about himself, some of which were blatantly untrue. Walsh learned the filmmaking craft while working with D.W. Griffith, and proved he was willing to take on incredibly dangerous work while on assignment for THE LIFE OF GENERAL VILLA (1914). As an actor in THE BIRTH OF A NATION (1915), Walsh broke his leg in an all-too-realistic re-enactment of John Wilkes Booth's assassination of President Abraham Lincoln. As a director, Walsh first hit one out of the park with THE THIEF OF BAGDAD (1924), the first major American fantasy film and a huge hit. His last film as an actor was SADIE THOMPSON (1928) starring Gloria Swanson. Walsh lost his right eye after his car hit a jackrabbit, which effectively ended his acting.

Many Hollywood careers stalled or were derailed altogether in the transition from silent film to sound, especially for those who made their living in front of the camera. Those on the other side of the camera were impacted as well. With the advent of recording technology, the sound engineer became the most critical judge as to what constituted an acceptable take, not the director. Walsh obviously was one of the talents who was able to embrace sound. He thought his best "talkie" as a director was THE STRAWBERRY BLONDE (1941) starring James Cagney, Olivia de Havilland and Rita Hayworth. No doubt there are many other candidates for best Walsh film, and many that were of some historical significance, i.e. THE BIG TRAIL (1930, John Wayne's first major role, innovative use of widescreen format), GOING HOLLYWOOD (1933, Walsh shows ability to helm a musical), THE ROARING TWENTIES (1939, instant success as new contract director at Warner Bros.), THEY DIED WITH THEIR BOOTS ON (1941, Walsh becomes Errol Flynn's new director of choice), GENTLEMAN JIM (1942, Walsh's leading men often discovered their better selves through a woman), OBJECTIVE, BURMA! (1945, groundbreaking black & white cinematography), PURSUED (1947, perhaps the quintessential noir-Western) and WHITE HEAT (1949, the ultimate amalgam of gangster film and film noir, with the crazed noir protagonist that would define the 1950s film noir cycle front and center). Walsh believed the deaths of his frequent male stars (Bogart, Flynn, Clark Gable) coincided with the passing of the type of masculinity these men embodied.

The next bonus feature is a recently recorded conversation on Walsh between film programmer Dave Kehr and critic Farran Smith Nehme (May 2021, 19m 49s). Kehr observes there is never the feeling in a Walsh film that the director is judging any of the characters. Walsh seems to be following them objectively and the viewer is encouraged to do the same. Kehr applauds the effortless flow from one scene to the next as the hallmark of a Walsh film (a characteristic of Warner productions in general). Another Walsh staple is the deep clarity of his shots; he did not like anything hazy in the foreground or background. Nehme credits Walsh for encouraging actors to break out of their comfort zones and go somewhere they had not ventured previously. She also mentions Walsh's obvious humanism and sympathy for other people, regardless of who they are or what they have done.

The booklet essay “Crashing Out” by reliable film scholar Imogen Sara Smith completes the physical media package.

W. R. Burnett's novel HIGH SIERRA found its way to the screen a third time with I DIED A THOUSAND TIMES (1955), directed by Stuart Heisler and starring Jack Palance, Shelley Winters, Lori Nelson and Lee Marvin.

THE WINDOW (1949)

RKO Radio Pictures, 73m 27s

An underappreciated cult classic, THE WINDOW effectively merges film noir, fantasy and horror elements. Such a collision of genres was not unexplored territory at RKO, where Val Lewton left his indelible mark with CAT PEOPLE (1942), I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE (1943), THE LEOPARD MAN (1943), THE SEVENTH VICTIM (1943), THE GHOST SHIP (1943), THE CURSE OF THE CAT PEOPLE (1944), THE BODY SNATCHER (1945), ISLE OF THE DEAD (1945) and BEDLAM (1946). Not sure if Mr. Lewton was familiar with the title under review, but it is probably safe to assume he would have approved. Rooted in one of Aesop's Fables ("The Boy Who Cried Wolf"), the considerable amount of suspense offered by THE WINDOW is as palpable as the Manhattan summer heat that accents the proceedings.

Amidst abandoned tenements of New York City, Tommy (Bobby Driscoll) passes the time with other area kids. The boy has an active imagination and a bad habit of making up stories that travel, which leads to the mistaken notion his family is leaving the neighborhood. Embarrassed by an unexpected visit from their building manager, Mary and Ed Woodry (Barbara Hale, Arthur Kennedy) scold their son for his long history of untruths. That evening Tommy ventures outside to sleep on the fire escape due to the uncomfortable seasonal temperature. He climbs to his apartment building's next level in search of a comforting breeze, but instead of rest he finds a struggle between a sailor (Richard Benedict) and the upstairs apartment's tenants, Joe and Jean Kellerson (Paul Stewart, Ruth Roman). The scuffle culminates with what appears to be a fatal scissors stabbing. Tommy reports the evening's shocking brutality to his mother, who of course does not believe one word of it. She writes it off as a bad dream, but Tommy knows better. As the boy sticks to his rendition of what took place, it costs him his lunch and dinner, and potentially a lot more after Mary marches her boy upstairs to apologize to the Kellersons for the supposedly malicious lies he has told about them. Tommy rightly fears he might end up squashed like a bug under a shoe now that the Kellersons are aware he knows far too much to be ignored.

From an analytical standpoint, Mary Woodry might be onto something with her interpretation of her son's disturbing account of nighttime at the Kellersons, especially since the film's introduction of Tommy captures him awakening from an apparent nightmare. Indeed there is an element of the fantastic woven into the narrative, a uniquely urban nightmare that only could transpire in a sprawling, impersonal city. NYC is comprised of an incredibly intricate network of structures, from which rooftops, fire escapes and clotheslines interconnect. Among the living areas are deserted buildings that function as playgrounds for children. Fire trucks, squad vehicles and streetcars punctuate the atmosphere each day. It is the type of setting where the family patriarch might work the night shift, building managers have endless tenancy concerns and police detectives are handed information about killers but are unable to capitalize on it. The hectic urban environment is an ideal place for a vile criminal couple like the Kellersons to call home. No doubt they have fooled Mr. and Mrs. Woodry for some time; neither Mary nor Ed can imagine anything earth-shattering connected with Joe or Jean, a supposedly unassuming pair. But Tommy is more right about the Kellersons than he probably realizes; the man who dies at the Kellersons likely was lured there by the sexuality of Jean, one of the genre's alluring, exceptionally dangerous spider women. The nocturnal sequence in which she makes her way toward Tommy's bedroom via the fire escape is nothing short of chilling. Also frightening is the scene in which Joe punches out Tommy in the back of a taxi cab. With such activity playing out from a child's perspective, THE WINDOW could be excused were it to wrap up with one of those "it was only a dream" conclusions.

Other noir elements command the viewer's attention, though not in quite the same context as the noir fan has been trained to expect. Grade-schooler Tommy is this story's lead protagonist forced to contend with endless adversity, in this case through some fault of his own. As he grapples with his place in an uncompromising urban jungle, Tommy is guided by an unbreakable moral compass, the same sort of inner strength that drives numerous noir leading men who emerged after Samuel Spade (Humphrey Bogart) in THE MALTESE FALCON (1941). Tommy's fanciful storytelling tendencies aside, his parents have ingrained a strong sense of right and wrong in their son. The boy's potentially fatal flaw is his track record of not being truthful, which cannot be undone. Expressed in noir terms, his tall tales have fueled a dark past that rises to threaten his very existence. The flawed individual immersed in textbook noir terrain (the sweltering heat of the big city), Tommy is fatalistically pushed in the direction of the Kellerson dwelling. After the murder he so fatefully observes, Tommy discovers his road to redemption will be tortuous to navigate.

After industrialist Howard Hughes purchased RKO in 1948, THE WINDOW was among the completed products Hughes considered unworthy of theatrical release. It sat on the shelf for almost two years. Once released it proved to be a popular item that earned several times its production cost. The development of THE WINDOW was overseen by Dore Schary, who served in a production capacity for noir heavy hitters that include THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE (1946), THEY LIVE BY NIGHT (1948), THE SET-UP (1949) and WALK SOFTLY, STRANGER (1950), a personal favorite. Director Ted Tetzlaff is best remembered for his long career as a cinematographer, with the Alfred Hitchcock noir masterpiece NOTORIOUS (1946) among his many credits. Screenwriter Mel Dinelli was a veteran of the noir narrative, with his first seven assignments all falling under the noir umbrella:  THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE, THE WINDOW, THE RECKLESS MOMENT (1949), HOUSE BY THE RIVER (1950), CAUSE FOR ALARM! (1951), BEWARE, MY LOVELY (1952) and JEOPARDY (1953). Here Dinelli adapts the Cornell Woolrich story "The Boy Cried Murder" (MYSTERY BOOK MAGAZINE, March 1947). The writing of Woolrich provided the backbone for well regarded noir exercises such as THE LEOPARD MAN, PHANTOM LADY (1944), BLACK ANGEL (1946), THE CHASE (1946) and NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES (1948). The expressive black & white cinematography by William O. Steiner combines studio work with location footage in New York's Lower East Side for a convincing noir experience. Without question THE WINDOW would be a lesser achievement had it been filmed in color. The highlight of the final act is a suspenseful chase sequence through an abandon tenement complex that could hold its ground in comparison to any of the genre's many similar finales.

A familiar sighting in the film noir, NYC native Paul Stewart portrayed unrepentant lowlifes with brazen assurance in JOHNNY EAGER (1941), APPOINTMENT WITH DANGER (1950), WALK SOFTLY, STRANGER and KISS ME DEADLY (1955). His brand of evil is especially boundless in this film; his character coldly attempts to murder little Tommy and make it look like an accident. Another of the more capable actors in the film noir firmament, Ruth Roman blended well into noir narratives such as CHAMPION (1949), LIGHTNING STRIKES TWICE (1951), STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951), TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY (1951) and DOWN THREE DARK STREETS (1954). Here she radiates her usual amount of sex appeal (a lot). Stewart and Roman combine to form a noir couple best avoided by anyone who wants to keep living. Bobby Driscoll was awarded an Academy Juvenile Award for his work in THE WINDOW and SO DEAR TO MY HEART (1948). The child actor best known for live-action productions from Walt Disney Studios would struggle in adulthood with substance abuse. Sadly, and ironically for those familiar with THE WINDOW, he died at the age of 31, his body discovered in an abandoned building in the East Village of Manhattan. Thought to be homeless, Driscoll was buried in an unmarked grave in NYC's Potter's Field on Hart Island. His identity was discovered after the fact.

The Blu-ray edition of THE WINDOW recently made available from Warner Archive looks sharp framed at 1.37:1 but disappointingly offers no supplemental material. Film grain is apparent but minimal. Compared to the 1.35:1 Warner Archive DVD, this Blu-ray presentation reveals more information on all sides of the frame and strikingly superior detail:

Warner Blu-ray

Warner DVD

THE WINDOW would make a nice double feature with director Charles Laughton's THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955), another film noir that puts childhood innocence at odds with ruthless adult criminality. Another potential match I have yet to check out is THE BOY CRIED MURDER (1966), a British suspense film based on the same Cornell Woolrich story that inspired THE WINDOW.

HELL BOUND (1957)

United Artists, 71m 37s

The noir heist film of the 1950s has its origins in THE ASPHALT JUNGLE (1950), a superb effort from director John Huston. Though not a huge commercial success at the time of its release, the Huston film was followed by a number of quality noir heist pics including ARMORED CAR ROBBERY (1950), ROADBLOCK (1951), KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (1952), 5 AGAINST THE HOUSE (1955), I DIED A THOUSAND TIMES (1955), THE KILLING (1956) and ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW (1959), one of my personal favorites. HELL BOUND may owe a spiritual debt to all of the great heist films that came before it, but director William J. Hole Jr. ensures his contribution to the durable noir subgenre has more than enough grit to stand apart. A potent distillation of the heist film, this turbulent thriller from Bel-Air Productions anticipates the unfiltered violence of the American crime film that would crest in the 1970s, with muscular neo-noirs directed by the likes of Robert Altman, William Friedkin, Arthur Penn, Roman Polanski, Martin Scorsese and Don Siegel.

Confidently armed with a well-researched international drug smuggling scheme, Jordan (the familiar face of John Russell) stands before businessman Harry Quantro (Frank Fenton) with vigor. The operation involves infiltrating a freighter from the Far East bound for the Port of Los Angeles. The plan is green-lighted with one addition in the tantalizing form of Paula (June Blair), a woman who instantly spells trouble. Jordan agrees to inject Paula into the cast of characters necessary to perform the heist. But as the trained noir eye should suspect, the plan of military precision does not translate to perfect execution, thanks mostly to a destabilizing noir atmosphere rich with ironies and irresolvable problems. As the curtain falls on the major protagonist Jordan, prevailing noir forces allow no time for reckoning over what went wrong.

Characters of the heist film tend to be assembled based upon the unique skill set each individual brings to the table. In HELL BOUND, Jordan deliberately brings together people who are flawed, and that speaks to his own flaw as a planner. Herbert Fay Jr. (Stanley Adams) is a health officer who is a diabetic, and that irony is not lost on Herbie. His physician happily informs him he no longer requires insulin shots, that to take one could cause catastrophic heart failure, but Herbert's agreement with Jordan calls for a potentially fatal injection. In the film noir, sometimes what should be good news is really bad news. The viewer is granted a subjective shot from Herbert's disoriented view before he gets a patented noir send off (carted out feet-first). Another flawed recruit is Stanley Thomas (George E. Mather), the "butcher boy" who killed his significant other on the operating table. After he takes a vicious beating from Jordan, Stanley is on board. The unwanted assignment leads Stanley to a strip club to visit the blind dope dealer "Daddy" (Dehl Berti), a memorable noir peripheral character to say the least. Why would a blind man be so excited to be in the presence of a topless dancer? Since "Daddy" cannot see the leggy burlesque performer in front of him, the viewer might assume there will be some touching going on off camera.

The accomplice Jordan didn't ask for is the first to default on her commitment to the heist. Early in the film, it is said Paula has "two heads on her shoulders." One is the beauty, one is the pragmatic thinker. This observation, though not 100% accurate, nicely anticipates her conversion from femme fatale into conscientious maternal figure. Paula undergoes this metamorphosis suddenly, when she witnesses a young boy's death en route to the hospital (a truly chilling moment). It is made clear that under her carapace of sexual confidence is a sensitive, unselfish creature. The duality of woman is referenced again when Paula feels compelled to remind Eddie Mason (Stuart Whitman) she is both a nurse and a woman. In a genre that tends to emphasize woman as strictly one thing or the other, HELL BOUND suggests such categorization is troublesome.

Jordan is a man with an existential belief system, though in fact he does not see himself as a man, at least not in the same sense most of us probably do. "I've got no blood," he tells Paula as he rebuffs her considerable sex appeal. The narcotics acquisition plan comes first; not even a looker like Paula can distract him. The accuracy of his odd self-description is confirmed when he callously runs down an international connection who no longer is of any use to him. Later Jordan victimizes Paula with a vicious knife attack. Jan (Margo Woode), Jordan's original choice for Paula's role in the heist, recognizes that something is amiss when she tells Jordan, "suddenly your whistle is off-key." Though at the time of that quote Jan is not quite in the know about what exactly happened with Paula, her comment tellingly reflects the huge difference between Jordan's planned version of the heist and the actual event. HELL BOUND's concluding sequence is simultaneously predictable and fascinating as criminal activity leads to logical consequences (though the manner in which that certainty reaches its apex scores mega originality points!).

Executive producer Aubrey Schenck, producer Howard W. Koch and Edwin F. Zabel founded Bel-Air Productions, a film factory for low budget fare during the mid-1950s. Koch's meritorious career includes executive producer credit on THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE (1962) and producer credit on THE ODD COUPLE (1968). His first films as director both happened to be noirs:  SHIELD FOR MURDER (1954) and BIG HOUSE, U.S.A. (1955). Schenck's debut as producer was the film noir SHOCK (1946). Schenck and Koch also combined talents for T-MEN (1947), an incontestable noir must-see, with Schenck as producer and Koch as assistant director. Cinematographer Carl E. Guthrie had extensive experience capturing noir productions, including his work on BACKFIRE (1950), CAGED (1950), HIGHWAY 301 (1950) and HOLLYWOOD STORY (1951). Location footage is crucial to HELL BOUND's tone, particularly the industrial landscapes that compose the waterfront of Terminal Island between the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach, where overhead shots minimize a man in relation to his surroundings. The byzantine complexity of a cargo ship gives shape to the film's final act, even more impactful is the footage of Jordan on the run within the streetcar cemetery near Southern Pacific Railyard, an inspired choice of scenery for this film noir's resolution. A familiar face to fans of the Western, John Russell appeared in a number of film noirs of interest, such as SOMEWHERE IN THE NIGHT (1946), UNDERTOW (1949) and HOODLUM EMPIRE (1952). June Blair was PLAYBOY magazine's Playmate of the Month within the January 1957 issue.

Like the best examples of the genre always seem to offer, HELL BOUND has its share of moments that are sure to stick with you, and it withstands repeat viewings without issue. Hopefully a Blu-ray release of this top-shelf B noir will become available at some point in the future. The print shown on TCM is less than ideal but perhaps the best available source material out there. The option available via Amazon Prime appears to be derived from the same print.

I WOULDN'T BE IN YOUR SHOES (1948)

Monogram Pictures, 70m 44s

Film noir builds many rooms atop consistent pillars, its support structure provided by post-WWII malaise, fatalistic themes, atmospheric cinematography and, perhaps most important, attention devoted to ordinary people (this could happen to you!). That last pillar is tested in I WOULDN'T BE IN YOUR SHOES, a serviceable noir programmer from Monogram Pictures.

After an introductory segment that emphasizes the time-sensitive nature of what we are about to witness, the story gets underway in New York City within a tiny studio apartment where the beds are one step from the entrance. It is a hot July night, and Tom Quinn (Don Castle) is upset his wife Ann (Elyse Knox) has yet to return home from work. He imagines she is being pursued by any number of men who have taken notice of the attractive instructor at Ortiz Dancing Academy. When Ann arrives home safe and sound, the two discuss their stagnant act as a tap dance team. Ann believes if they could get established in California there is still time for them to make it, though Tom feels they would spend more time working in the food service sector than dancing.

The narrative drifts deeper into its noir orbit when Tom tires of nocturnal alley cat noise. He hurls both of his shoes at the screeching felines, but is unable to retrieve his footwear in the darkness. Weirdly, his shoes materialize the next morning. Stranger still, sufficient funds for the husband-wife dance act to relocate in California wind up in Tom's hands, but he recognizes the lost $2000 must be missed by someone. After Ann adopts a "finders keepers" mentality, the couple compromises by watching the lost and found section of local newspapers for a week. They agree to keep the cash in the event no one places an ad in search of it. Nobody raises a flag in search of missing money, but before there is much opportunity for celebration two cops arrest Tom on a murder charge! Circumstantial evidence is sufficient to produce a guilty verdict.

Despite its brief runtime, I WOULDN'T BE IN YOUR SHOES is hardly deficient in necessary noir ingredients. It begins at the end, with a doomed man's narration guiding the viewer through his flashback. A crucial segment of the film underscores Tom's complicity in his dire situation; though his instincts instruct him to turn in the found money, he allows his wife's persuasive influence to prevent that action. As Tom makes his case for doing the right thing, Ann pressures him to keep the money, as if it fell from heaven specifically for their wants and needs (in fact the money is planted to destroy their marriage). Indeed the narrative blames Ann for her husband's death sentence. She even offers herself to the man smitten with her, Police Inspector Clint Judd (Regis Toomey), should he be able to prove Tom's innocence. Interestingly, the sexual control wielded by Ann is both the cause of and solution to Tom's fast-approaching date with the electric chair.

The element of psychological torture that so frequently attaches itself to the noir protagonist erupts at the trial, where Tom cannot hide ("Shoes!" "Shoes!" "Shoes!"). The mental torment continues when the judge sentences Tom to die just after Christmas! Now that is a noir execution. The indifference of the noir universe seems particularly cruel when one considers all the events that stack up against Tom. As always, the many unlikely plot details are best thought of not as coincidence, but fate (not to suggest the story is all that plausible). Another theme consistent with film noir concerns involves the incredible lengths men will go to for the sake of securing a hot-looking woman in the bedroom. Tom's suspicions in the early going prove completely accurate; the "creeps" who gravitate to his wife for dance lessons envision closeness to her beyond the dance floor. On an even more pessimistic note is the film's distrust of law enforcement officials. The system is driven by convictions, not justice. Either downright dirty or disappointingly indifferent, the most disconcerting example of lawman is more interested in economic prosperity with the woman of his dreams than public duty. In marked contrast is the connection the viewer is encouraged to feel for Tom and the other death row inmates. That opening pan from right to left lets us know in no uncertain terms how the filmmakers feel about the death penalty. I WOULDN'T BE IN YOUR SHOES supports the human rights of these condemned men, though animal lovers are sure to note that Tom's spoken wish to kill feral cats coincides with his downward spiral.

Director William Nigh began his career as an actor in 1911 before turning to directing. Like so many others of his time, his career did not benefit from the industry's transition to sound. He would spend his last twenty years in the industry churning out B product for Poverty Row studios like PRC and Monogram. Screenwriter Steve Fisher's vast film noir credits include JOHNNY ANGEL (1945), LADY IN THE LAKE (1946), DEAD RECKONING (1947), ROADBLOCK (1951), CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS (1953) and HELL'S HALF ACRE (1954). For I WOULDN'T BE IN YOUR SHOES, Fisher adapted the work of noted crime writer Cornell Woolrich (published under the pseudonym "William Irish" in 1943). Fiction authored by Woolrich anchored noir heavyweights such as THE LEOPARD MAN (1943), PHANTOM LADY (1944), THE CHASE (1946) and THE WINDOW (1949). Cinematographer Mack Stengler also worked on FALL GUY (1947), another Woolrich adaptation released the prior year, produced by I WOULDN'T BE IN YOUR SHOES producer Walter Mirisch, who will turn 100 on November 8th, 2021. Don Castle also starred in HIGH TIDE (1947) and THE GUILTY (1947), quality B noirs distributed by Monogram Pictures.

The single-layered Blu-ray recently made available from Warner Archive was derived from excellent source material, especially considering the obscurity of this title. Framing looks appropriate at 1.37:1. Bonus material includes the modestly entertaining short film THE SYMPHONY MURDER MYSTERY (21m 27s, 1932) along with the clever Merrie Melodies cartoon HOLIDAY FOR SHOESTRINGS (7m 22s, 1946). Like I WOULDN'T BE IN YOUR SHOES, the animated feature samples Frederic Chopin.