RKO Radio Pictures, 85m 38s
As
a man is beaten to death in a dialog-free opening sequence, the sometimes
savage climate of film noir comes to
light quickly and mercilessly in CROSSFIRE.
The remainder of the narrative is concerned with how such a thing could occur,
under what circumstances another man would feel compelled to kill someone with
his bare hands. The success of the production is in its reduction of social
complexities to the raw simplicities of human nature. The first major film to
deal openly with anti-Semitism, CROSSFIRE
is also among the most dimly lit of all film
noirs, which provides a suitable backdrop for the social content at the
forefront. As a man who has from childhood to adulthood witnessed many
spontaneous fistfights, often ignited by the consumption of alcohol, this RKO
feature rings especially true to me. Put a few guys in a barroom with varying
backgrounds, beliefs and levels of education and stand back. Things can
escalate extremely quickly, sometimes with the ringleaders of violence
themselves unable to explain what caused the commotion. Such randomness falls
well within film noir parameters,
where being at the wrong place at the wrong time can have grave consequences.
Film noir
emerged from the ashes of WWII, when our soldiers returned to a homeland that
was in a state of transition. Some veterans found it no easy task to
reintegrate. Such men are the focus of this noir,
in which social paralysis results from the collision between soldier and
civilian. The demobilized servicemen of CROSSFIRE
push this theme in a nocturnal urban no-man's-land, neither at war nor at home,
cooped up in area hotels where activities are limited. Thus men in uniform are
on nightly pub crawls en masse,
trapped in a roundabout of drinking, skirt-chasing, card games and good-ol'-boy
stories. That directionless state works to trigger the primordial fears and
anxieties of certain men, some of whom become a danger to others, some mostly
to themselves. According to Sergeant Peter Keeley (Robert Mitchum),
"Soldiers don't have anywhere to go unless you tell 'em where to go. When
they're off-duty they go crawling or they go crazy."
The
man most impacted by crazy behavior is Joseph Samuels (Sam Levene), killed at
the film's exposition. Via flashbacks a gradual portrait of Samuels comes into
being. His needless death is investigated by Captain Finlay (Robert Young) a
man who collects facts, though he admits most of them are not helpful to his
cause. This case he finds particularly puzzling. Why would anyone want to kill
Samuels? No obvious motive is apparent. While Finlay surveys the crime scene
and hears from Miss Lewis (Marlo Dwyer), who says Samuels was drinking with
some military men the prior evening, Montgomery (Robert Ryan) arrives on the
scene. Having returned from deployment only two weeks ago, Montgomery reveals a
lot of qualities that make the viewer suspicious. He was a cop for four years
in East St. Louis, which likely fomented a disdain for people who were somehow
different from him. During a partially-true flashback directly related by
Montgomery, he expresses contempt for civilian types in the military after
reprimanding his fellow soldier Leroy (William Phipps) for clumsiness. In the
course of a brief barstool conversation, Samuels tires of Montgomery's
attitudes and poor grammar and gravitates to Corporal Arthur Mitchell (George
Cooper). When Montgomery realizes Samuels quietly has relocated from a seat
next to him, Montgomery's reaction instantly makes his a suspect, but that
noticeable response is revealed only to the viewer, not Finlay. Montgomery sees
Samuels as a coward who stayed home while real men fought for their country
overseas. Unsurprisingly, that assessment proves completely inaccurate.
Especially to a modern audience, Montgomery's repeated use of the derisive
moniker "Jewboy" tells us everything we need to know about an
intolerant man who condemns those who for whatever reason do not subscribe to
his rather limited worldview.
The
fatal physical beating that marks the film's opening segment is accented be the
psychological abuse absorbed by characters who labor through an endlessly
difficult noir obstacle course. Of
particular note is the mentally tormented Mitchell, the most sensitive of the
soldiers profiled, who probably has struggled the most with adjusting to his
return to the states. Mitchell is the antithesis of Keeley, who has not seen
his wife in two years and seems indifferent. Mitchell is not that sort of man,
he is an artist with an artist's sensibility. Sought by police, he cannot
remember exactly what happened the night Samuels was killed. True to classic film noir form, his disoriented memory
is related through his hazy flashback. After Mitchell leaves the Samuels place,
he wanders the uncertainties of noir
terrain, as his narration confirms:
"I
must have started to walk. I don't remember. I remember a street sign. I
couldn't read it. I don't know how far I walked. It must have been a long
way."
Later
Mitchell relates his state of mind to Keeley more directly:
"...what's
happening? Is everything suddenly gone crazy? I don't mean just this. I mean
everything. Or is it just me?"
The
streets walked by the innocent Mitchell, one of noir's many "wrong man" cases, lead to Ginny Tremaine
(Gloria Grahame), a dancehall girl and obvious prostitute. Ginny is the noir woman best avoided, her good looks
betrayed by her endlessly standoffish personality. Though her demeanor renders
her unsympathetic, one might consider her another casualty of the noir landscape, a woman doing the best
she can under the circumstances. Within her apartment is an important ancillary
figure to this film noir, a living
testimonial to what happens to men who fall for women like Ginny, to men who
lack that essential tough guy mentality. The individual portrayed by Paul Kelly
is defined entirely by his varying accounts of his relationship with Ginny. He
first introduces himself as Ginny's husband as he recalls plans the couple made
together that never materialized. One gets the feeling he has told such stories
repeatedly, probably to anyone willing to listen, even those who could care
less. Perhaps those plans were discussed with Ginny, perhaps not. Such
ramblings may not matter to anyone else, but the important element in the
context of the film noir is how much
his ambitions matter to him. Despite
every indication Ginny is an exasperating little tramp, he is obsessed with her
anyway, and seems powerless to do anything about it. Hopes and dreams conceived
in the past have little value in a post-WWII world that has undergone radical
change. As Ginny's long-term suitor attempts to relate his history with her to
Finlay and Mary Mitchell (Jacqueline White in the role of the Grahame
character's polar opposite), the two leave the apartment in tuned-out
disinterest. The character tellingly listed in the credits only as "The
Man" could appear in most any film
noir and be in good company. His unhealthy fixation with an unattainable
woman is the basis for an existence without purpose.
The noir staircase has its role in a nightmarish descent into chaos |
Seriously, you remind me of my wife |
One of CROSSFIRE's many minimalist lighting effects |
If
at home we must confront the same ideological struggles for which our
servicemen fought overseas, how ironic that CROSSFIRE's story of intolerance revolves around a veteran.
Fittingly, the eventual collapse of Montgomery is due to his increasingly
unsteady psychological condition. Based on the word of a country boy from
Tennessee he always held in low regard, Montgomery is compelled to investigate
whether a man he knows he killed somehow remains alive. In the process Finlay
cleverly allows Montgomery to incriminate himself by using the racist's memory
of murder against him. A bad-tempered man whose instincts and impulses
consistently have been shown to be wrongheaded, it feels appropriate Montgomery
should be brought down by a lie communicated by the simple man Leroy. The end
of the line for Montgomery—gunned down in the dark of night by Finlay—certainly
plays differently today than it must have back in 1947. There is also a bit of
a preachiness factor that dates the film; Finlay might as well be looking into
the camera's lens when he delivers his speech about the realities of prejudice
and bigotry. An Irish character, Finlay serves as an emblem for our country's
long history of racism and hostility toward foreigners. There is no doubting
the sincerity of the filmmakers, though, and of course the message remains an
important one. Montgomery is a byproduct of entrenched systemic racism. When a
group is denied basic human rights (to join a club, to live in a community, to
get a job), Montgomery and others like him derive a sense of empowerment.
Sooner or later, civil liberties will be violated more violently. As the great
American writer and activist James Arthur Baldwin recognized, to be thought of
as equal to another is not an exciting concept for the average person. The
notion that an individual might be better than someone else is entirely
different.
Producer
Adrian Scott and director Edward Dmytryk considered CROSSFIRE part of a trio in conjunction with MURDER, MY SWEET (1944) and CORNERED
(1945). In fact a poster for CORNERED
is displayed outside the movie theater where Mitchell furtively attends a screening.
I think it is fair to say Dmytryk and Scott hoisted film noir to a higher level with these tremendous contributions to
the genre, all of which rightly are held in reverence by film noir fans. Dmytryk also helmed THE SNIPER (1952), one of the most crucial noir films of the 1950s and a direct influence on director Martin
Scorsese's neo-noir TAXI DRIVER (1976). CROSSFIRE was created on a modest
budget yet was ambitious in scope, a social justice story with broad-ranging
implications. It was also executive producer Dore Schary's first film at RKO,
where he served as head of production for a brief while before defecting to
MGM. A low budget production shot in 20 days with less than 150 setups, CROSSFIRE was completed for
approximately $250,000 and made a nice profit of $1,270,000. It also received
unstinting approval from critics. The screenplay written by John Paxton was an
adaptation of the 1945 novel THE BRICK FOXHOLE by Richard Brooks, his debut,
optioned for the screen by Scott. In one of the source material's subplots, the
hate crime victim was a homosexual in the U.S. Armed Forces. The Production
Code did not allow for the homosexual theme, which shifted to an anti-Semitic
angle in the Dmytryk film, though something from the original material remains
in Sam Levene's portrayal of Samuels, who absolutely seems attracted to Arthur
Mitchell in the barroom sequence that so visibly upsets Montgomery. Then
consider the fact Samuels invites Mitchell to his apartment while the woman
with Samuels leaves the two of them alone. Brooks was a sergeant in the U.S.
Marine Corps when he wrote his novel. Robert Ryan was also a Marine when THE
BRICK FOXHOLE was published and told Brooks he would like to play Montgomery on
the big screen. As a screenwriter, Brooks made his way into the noir arena numerous times, with writing
credits for BRUTE FORCE (1947), KEY LARGO (1948), MYSTERY STREET (1950) and STORM
WARNING (1951). He would become a filmmaker of interest as well, with a
diverse assortment of impressive titles to his credit that includes DEADLINE - U.S.A. (1952), BLACKBOARD JUNGLE (1955), CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF (1958), ELMER GANTRY (1960), THE PROFESSIONALS (1966) and IN COLD BLOOD (1967). Cinematographer
J. Roy Hunt utilized various lenses to better capture the increasing menace of
Montgomery. Precious little light is speckled throughout the movie; a technical
necessity that binds perfectly to the film's pessimistic worldview. Low-key
lighting was necessary to distract the viewer from the austere sets. A
cinematographer of 200 credits at IMDb.com, Hunt managed the camera for a
couple of films that should be of interest to noir fans: I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE (1943) and THE DEVIL THUMBS A RIDE (1947).
In
1947 the Academy Award for Best Picture went to director Elia Kazan’s GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT, which also dealt
with anti-Semitism. CROSSFIRE
actually was released theatrically first, a few months prior to GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT. The Edward
Dmytryk film also got award attention with five Oscar nominations, including
Best Picture (the first ever for a B film), Best Director, Best Writing,
Adapted Screenplay, Best Supporting Actor (Robert Ryan) and Best Supporting
Actress (Gloria Grahame). Going forward both Ryan and Grahame would long be
associated with playing similar characters.
Caught |
Thanks
to Warner Archive, CROSSFIRE has
been made available on Blu-ray by way of a new 1080p HD Master, sourced from a
4K scan of the original camera negative. Framed at the original theatrical
aspect ratio of 1.37:1, the wow factor is high—this new scan looks nothing
short of amazing and should be considered a mandatory add for noir collectors. Ported from the Warner
DVD issued in 2005 is the audio commentary track by Alain Silver and James
Ursini, with interview excerpts courtesy of director Edward Dmytryk. The film
historians review the careers of producer Adrian Scott and director Dmytryk,
who both were among the Hollywood Ten, all cited for contempt of Congress and
subsequently blacklisted for their refusal to answer questions in regard to reputed
ties to the Communist Party. Both Scott and Dmytryk did prison time. As Dmytryk
recalls what it was like to work during the Cold War, he explains his
confrontation with the House Un-American Activities Committee effectively took
four years out of his life. According to Dmytryk, leftist liberals stopped
backing those under fire from Congress during those years, which was upsetting
to him. Ultimately Dmytryk was encouraged to speak before the American Legion
to demonstrate he was a changed man. That event helped to untangle him from the
blacklist. Ironically the most liberal man on the set of CROSSFIRE per Dmytryk was none other than Robert Ryan, the man who
played the detestable racist and brutal bully Montgomery. In regard to Gallup
poll data that was accumulated before and after preview screenings in Denver,
Dmytryk notes the incidence of anti-Semitism dropped 15% once people had seen
the film, which speaks to the power of film to shape public opinion. RKO
initially wanted nothing to do with CROSSFIRE.
Dmytryk and Scott had to convince the studio to take a leap of faith.
Warner Blu-ray |
Warner DVD |
The
commentary track is loaded with useful information to those interested in
learning more about film noir. A
valuable assertion from Ursini is that character motives are not always clear
in the noir universe. The lead
protagonist endeavors to discover the truth in an ambiguous world. Another good
lesson for students of the genre is what Ursini labels "psychological dysfunction."
Noir characters like Mitchell are
absolutely correct to feel unfairly embattled, yet his somewhat distorted
account of the evening that claimed Samuels is the closest to reality. Another
interesting point raised by the commentators is that the filmmakers make no
direct references to the odd notion soldiers like Montgomery fought against
institutionalized racism overseas.
Also
revived from the DVD is the informative featurette "CROSSFIRE: Hate Is Like A Gun" (8m 58s).
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