DETECTIVE STORY (1951)

Paramount Pictures, 103m 33s

Police station procedure merges with noir city grit over an eventful single day in DETECTIVE STORY, Paramount's big screen version of the popular 1949 play written by Sidney Kingsley. Director William Wyler's adaptation is set in New York City, where the 21st Precinct is a non-stop revolving door for assorted criminals, lost souls, lowlifes and local loonies. It is a colorful (albeit B & W) atmosphere where law enforcement officials have become well practiced in communicating with every imaginable representation of the public. The hot summer heat surely makes for a long workday, especially for Detective James McLeod (Kirk Douglas), who has been working long hours but has a dinner date commitment with his wife Mary McLeod (Eleanor Parker). Based on the goings-on at the precinct, however, the viewer has good reason to suspect that dinner date will not take place. A complex case is introduced when attorney Endicott Sims (Warner Anderson) enters the precinct and asks for Lieutenant Monaghan (Horace McMahon). Sims's client Karl Schneider (George Macready), a reputed baby broker, has agreed to turn himself in but is fearful of McLeod, who has been known to beat suspects. In fact Sims has gone so far as to photograph the physique of Schneider to verify an absence of bruises and lacerations!

Given his reputation for roughhouse tactics with suspects, McLeod is the obvious antecedent of so many popular cop characters that populated movies released in the 1970s and 1980s, the sort of crime stories in which the end always justifies the means. McLeod is bothered particularly when bad guys are released on the grounds of insufficient evidence. Unfortunately he abhors criminals too much for his own good, as when he brutalizes Schneider during a police wagon ride, with a hard punch to the midsection serving as the exclamation point. One of McLeod's fatal flaws is his inability to believe any criminal could reform. The following McLeod quote neatly summarizes his philosophy that even remorseful criminals like Arthur Kindred (Craig Hill) never change:

"Miss Carmichael (Cathy O'Donnell), you seem like a very nice young lady. I'm gonna give you some advice. I've seen a thousand like him. You take your money and run."

In a familiar film noir hardship that afflicts the lead protagonist, McLeod is haunted by his past. His criminal-minded father drove his wife, McLeod's mother, insane. In fact she died in a mental asylum. A contributory factor from McLeod's past that emphatically shaped his belief system was an occasion when he let some criminals go out of pity. McLeod came to regret that move after one of the men he released killed someone just two days later. In a train of thought congruent with his personal and professional history, McLeod theorizes civilians are part of the problem since often they are unwilling to press charges.

Blocking is everything for a film heavily concentrated in one setting.
Note the background presence of the villain played by
George Macready in the three screen captures above.

The classic film noir is noted for ironies, often several in the same film, and DETECTIVE STORY embodies noir irony at its most cynical. All the historical tensions that merged to form Detective James McLeod reach a crescendo when he learns his dear wife Mary once required Schneider's professional services. The knowledge that her baby was "born dead" (aborted by inference) calls into question McLeod's sentimentalized view of Mary. As a former patient of Schneider's, probably the worst brand of criminal as measured by McLeod's uncompromising values, both Mary and her husband are linked forever with the corrupt evil McLeod associates with Schneider. The instant McLeod learns of Mary's complicated past, rather than offering support he transfers his eternal hatred for Schneider to his wife. In the dark wit of the noir film, everything McLeod despises most is connected inseparably to his own marriage.

"I thought I knew you. I thought you were everything good and pure."

The notion of the devoted wife converted to whore in front of her righteous husband leans into another persistent noir trope, that of disillusionment with the traditional American family. McLeod did not know his wife to the degree he though he did and had made unrealistic assumptions about her purity, the sort of idealized notions that essentially guaranteed her male counterpart's disappointment over one thing or another. Once McLeod learns about his wife's past, he cruelly downgrades her to "tramp" status. "My immaculate wife" he sneers dismissively. To make matters worse for a marriage disintegrating before our eyes, it is revealed Mary has been unable to bear children since her fateful visit to the Schneider "farm." McLeod becomes obsessed with thoughts of how many other men may have known Mary intimately before he did. The possibility of an unknown number of men in Mary's background amounts to the unthinkable for McLeod. His obsessive thoughts about her past lovers prove to be the last straw for Mary, who realizes she has no future with a man unable to understand she had a personal life before she met him.

In another of the film's bleak ironies, McLeod vowed to be a different man than the father he detested, yet matured into an eerily similar figure characterized by both physical and mental abuse of others. Mary leaves McLeod when she recognizes he is no different than his horrible father. The greatest irony of all is that McLeod, the supposedly principled character with the strongest moral compass, in truth is the film's villain. And like all of the purest examples of the noir narrative, McLeod faces an unwelcome moment of existential recognition when he realizes he has morphed into the father he always hated. Perhaps that development was genetically predetermined, or as the noir film time and again insists, his fate. In the final irony, McLeod is done in by exactly the type of criminal that, as he always stressed, never should have been walking around free in the first place.

The cluttered appearance of the 21st Precinct is
reflective of the varied personalities who come and go.

In spite of Production Code concerns, this stage-to-screen noir variant is enriched by appropriate character types that suggest a corrupt, noxious environment. Karl Schneider is depicted as a doctor who takes care of unwanted pregnancies via an illegal adoption racket in New Jersey, but the implication is he is an abortionist (as he was in the stage version of the story). What goes unspoken in the narrative is that Schneider serves a public need with his work. The illegal activities that take place at the Schneider property should hold special interest to the modern viewer since the Supreme Court overruled Roe v. Wade in June of 2022. One wonders if operations like the fictitious one founded by Schneider will become more plentiful in the US moving forward.

DETECTIVE STORY's major criminal might be Schneider, at least in the eyes of McLeod, but a potpourri of urban characters suggests a city overrun with people who are far from model citizens. Long-term louse Charley Gennini (Joseph Wiseman, his debut) is matched with mild-mannered Lewis Abbott (Michael Strong), the dim light of two burglars. Arthur Kindred is an embezzler who stole from his employer Albert R. Pritchett (James Maloney) in an attempt to impress a woman named Joy Carmichael (now isn't that a noir thing to do?). Kindred has come to regret his actions and seems deserving of a second chance. Racketeer Tami Giacoppetti (Gerald Mohr) is the man who impregnated Mary and helped forge her path to Schneider. The witness Miss Hatch (Gladys George), the recipient of a nice new fur, abruptly does not recall what Schneider looks like. Detective Lou Brody (William Bendix), a heavy drinker, stands in contrast to McLeod as the more compassionate man. Brody believes in second chances, and the story is resolved accordingly.

The screenplay was co-written by Philip Yordan and Robert Wyler (William’s older brother), who did an admirable job transporting the Kingsley play from stage to screen. Director of photography Lee Garmes does well with a limited backdrop. The only negative really is the performance of Joseph Wiseman, who portrayed the same 4-time loser in the play. Wiseman certainly could have toned down his performance for the film. Director William Wyler should have realized Wiseman's overacting was a distraction to an otherwise well-oiled machine. DETECTIVE STORY earned four Academy Award nominations:  William Wyler (Best Director), Eleanor Parker (Best Actress in a Leading Role), writers Robert Wyler and Philip Yordan (Best Writing, Screenplay) and Lee Grant in her debut as the timid shoplifter (Best Actress in a Supporting Role).

The dual-layered Blu-ray version of DETECTIVE STORY now available from Kino Lorber Studio Classics was one of my favorite physical media releases of 2022. Framed at the original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1, the presentation was remastered in HD by Paramount Pictures from a 4K scan of the original camera negative. Some scratches are visible but this transfer passes the eye test in the two areas that matter most:  contrast level and film grain.

Night and the city.

McLeod's potential for domestic violence is implied in this shot.

The audio commentary track by film historian Alan K. Rode emphasizes the differences between the stage version and this filmed adaptation. Paramount acquired the rights to the play for $285K plus a percentage of the profits. Shot in sequence primarily on a soundstage, it would be the speediest production of director William Wyler's career. Paramount brass had no interest in Wyler's penchant for perfection via many, many takes. The subject matter of the film tested the limits of the aging 1930 Production Code. Top code official Joseph Breen objected to the play's abortion content, also to the killing of McLeod by a seedy criminal. Thus the abortionist was converted into a doctor who delivers babies born out of wedlock and furthers his profits through an illegal adoption racket.

A collection of theatrical trailers for similar titles available from Kino is the only other supplement.

THE TURNING POINT (1952)

Paramount Pictures, 85m 37s

In 1949 the federal government was petitioned to crack down on the long-term social infection of interstate crime. The reaction to that pressure was the formation of the five-member Kefauver Committee, chaired by first-term senator Estes Kefauver of Tennessee. The special committee's hearings captured the interest of American television audiences. In fact some 30 million Americans tuned in to watch the live proceedings in March of 1951. Schools even dismissed students so they could view the hearings. Naturally the movie studios did not let the opportunity to profit from the 15-month investigation escape them. Numerous exposé films inspired by the hearings include THE CAPTIVE CITY (1952, personally endorsed by Senator Kefauver), HOODLUM EMPIRE (1952), KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (1952), THE MIAMI STORY (1954), THE MOB (1951), NEW ORLEANS UNCENSORED (1955), NEW YORK CONFIDENTIAL (1955), THE PHENIX CITY STORY (1955), THE RACKET (1951), THE SELLOUT (1952), THE SYSTEM (1953) and TIGHT SPOT (1955). Perhaps the social problem noir most influenced by the Kefauver Committee is THE TURNING POINT, produced by Irving Asher and directed by William Dieterle.

In a nameless city plagued by a parasitic crime network, crusading Special Prosecutor John Conroy (Edmond O'Brien) arrives on the scene to restore order with administrative assistance in the form of Amanda Waycross (Alexis Smith). Streetwise reporter Jerry McKibbon (William Holden), who grew up with John, suggests the newly-appointed crime czar might be out of his element. Undeterred, John requests the help of his police detective father Matt Conroy (Tom Tully), whose reluctance to get involved immediately implies his covert connection with local racketeer Neil Eichelberger (Ed Begley). It long has been suspected Eichelberger's supposedly legit operation Sphere Trucking hardly accounts for all of his considerable income.

"I'd rather nail one crooked cop than a hundred hooligans."

Family issues as set forth in the noir film often revolve around the absence of marriage or the futility of the institution. That sort of theme is not advanced in THE TURNING POINT. Instead the corrosive noir atmosphere sullies the father/son family dynamic along with law enforcement credibility by way of Matt Conroy, a compromised cop who fathered the man intent on bringing down the Eichelberger operation. Fittingly, the cynical newsman Jerry is the first to recognize Matt has strayed from his professional responsibilities. Jerry issues a clear warning to John that entrenched noir forces have captured control of someone close to him:

"...I'd screen everybody...I'd screen 'em again. I'd get to know them intimately back from the time they were born. I'd question my own mother."

Matt attempts to justify his behavior in terms of pent-up desire for material possessions people with more discretionary income enjoy. He grew to resent the assumption policemen are expected to serve the public largely out of moral obligation rather than for compensation of any substance. Somewhere along the way he fell for the "easy money" available to him through Eichelberger. This sequence slyly casts Matt in a somewhat sympathetic light. Principles guide us less when we find ourselves saddled with debt. That is not to say Matt should not be held accountable for his own impulses, but the scene does imply the system is more broken than he is. One of the film noir's most consistently Marxist assertions is that an economic system in which some have less than others makes criminals out of ordinary people.

As for the individual seemingly benefiting the most from a society that has allowed criminal behavior to get out of hand, the utter ruthlessness of Eichelberger is confirmed on multiple occasions. First he engineers the murder of Matt in such a way as to make it look like a robbery gone wrong. In Eichelberger's effort to close the door firmly on the matter, Matt's killer Monty LaRue (Tony Barr) is sacrificed after he completes his task! Later Eichelberger sets fire to his Arco Securities Co. clearinghouse with full knowledge the blaze is sure to bring about the deaths of those who reside in apartments above the warehouse facility. Eichelberger obviously will do anything to cover his tracks and must be eliminated from decent society, though the moral man John blames himself for the tragic deaths of those unfortunate residents who called the Arco building home. Similarly, Jerry is a man of integrity who blames himself for the downfall of Matt; Jerry gets Matt eliminated after he suggests Matt should double-cross Eichelberger. That incident, along with the Arco fire, emphasizes another theme:  sometimes people must be sacrificed for the greater good (a post-WWII era message if ever there were one). As Eichelberger is brought into custody, Jerry catches a bullet. That equation has a dark implication, commensurate with Jerry's line that John repeats to summarize his old friend's passing:  "Sometimes someone has to pay an exorbitant price to uphold the majesty of the law." An alternate way to critique the scene is that Jerry (the someone) must fall in order for John to rise.

Another of the film's crucial themes involves the varied paths people take as they mature. Though we all start out roughly the same, ultimately we define ourselves through different choices. Childhood connections might survive into adulthood, sometimes not. At times personal or professional obligations get in the way of long-term alliances. Jerry and John were childhood mates, but due to the investigation that reunites them, Jerry causes tension when he gains the romantic interest of John's trusted gal Amanda. Then there is Matt, who grew up with one of the hoods, which no doubt had an impact on his decision to turn his back on the law he pledged to uphold.

An old friendship under strain

Director William Dieterle is not one of the big names of the film noir movement, but he deserves credit for helming quality titles like PORTRAIT OF JENNIE (1948), THE ACCUSED (1949), ROPE OF SAND (1949) and DARK CITY (1950). His work on THE TURNING POINT is exceptional; this film is loaded with well-balanced compositions and thoughtful performances. It never drags. Screenwriting duties were handled by Warren Duff, who adapted the original story by Horace McCoy. Cinematographer Lionel Lindon managed the camerawork for the film noir classics THE BLUE DAHLIA (1946) and ALIAS NICK BEAL (1949), as well as the spunky little B noir QUICKSAND (1950). Lindon also served as director of photography for THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE (1962), one of the finest films of its era and certainly an instance of the film noir formula at work in the 1960s. And boy does THE TURNING POINT boast terrific starpower with Edmond O'Brien, William Holden and especially Ed Begley, who as far as I know never appeared in an unwatchable movie or gave a substandard performance. I particularly admire his work in PATTERNS (1956), 12 ANGRY MEN (1957) and ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW (1959), one of the best examples of the noir genre that closed the decade. The supporting players bring assured stability to the narrative's structure as well, with Jay Adler, Neville Brand, Ted de Corsia and Danny Dayton on board. The plot mechanics honor genre tradition with a suspenseful chase sequence built around the Eichelberger gang's pursuit of the widowed Carmelina LaRue (Adele Longmire). The final act plays out in a boxing arena, always an ideal backdrop for corruption, confusion and murder.

Traditional noir blocking as both actors face the camera

Once again Kino Lorber has given a respectable release to an important film noir title as part of their increasingly reliable Kino Lorber Studio Classics product line. This single-layered Blu-ray edition presents a 4K scan of the 35mm film elements, remastered in HD by Paramount Pictures. Framed at 1.37:1, it looks quite phenomenal in motion and constitutes one of the year's must-haves for knowledgeable film noir collectors. Contrast is just fine and the eye-pleasing level of film grain makes for a reasonable approximation of what the original theatrical presentation must have looked like. What I wouldn't give for a time machine to know for certain.

The labyrinthine noir environment

The ever-dangerous noir staircase

The audio commentary track by the always credible film historian Alan K. Rode meets his usual high standard of research and insight, including an incredibly detailed account of the film's production, budgeted slightly over $1 million with a 30-day schedule that was improved upon by four days. Only Rode would reveal that Whit Bissell earned $250 for his uncredited bit part! Rode also notes W.R. Burnett (also uncredited) worked on the screenplay. Burnett contributed to several noir essentials, among them HIGH SIERRA (1941), THIS GUN FOR HIRE (1942), THE ASPHALT JUNGLE (1950) and THE RACKET (1951). In a cost-savings measure, all of the actors wore their own suits. Only actress Alexis Smith was dressed by costume specialist Edith Head. John Conroy's character was modeled after Thomas Edmund Dewey, New York City prosecutor and District Attorney in the 1930s and early 1940s and sworn enemy of organized crime. He successfully prosecuted Charles "Lucky" Luciano in 1936. The Neil Eichelberger character is a thinly veiled interpretation of Frank Costello, the Italian-American crime boss of the Luciano criminal cabal. Ed Begley's nervous hands at the hearing are meant to remind us of Costello. In another example of gangster world influence, Vito Genovese once directed a gunman to bump off another hitman, very similar to the way Matt Conroy's demise is depicted. The Arco building fire initially met with strict Production Code resistance; arson crimes were not supposed to be chronicled in terms of criminal procedure. But after voicing his objection, lead code administrator Joseph Breen decided to let it go. Probably with a fair amount of reluctance, Breen must have recognized elements of the code had become outdated in post-WWII society. As always when it comes to film noirs that relied upon Los Angeles settings for location work, Rode comments on the significance and history of familiar locales such as Bunker Hill, the Angels Flight Railway funicular (a hillside cable railroad that counterbalances ascending and descending cars), Los Angeles City Hall and the Olympic Auditorium, where the climactic boxing match takes place. THE TURNING POINT returned several hundred thousand dollars of profit for Paramount Pictures, deservedly so.

Other than Rode's commentary, the only other supplemental material is the collection of theatrical trailers for comparable titles available from Kino Lorber.

ALL MY SONS (1948)

Universal Pictures, 94m 13s

The film noir takes on tragic proportions with ALL MY SONS, a powerful anti-war statement from writer/producer Chester Erskine, who adapted the 1947 play of the same title by Arthur Miller (DEATH OF A SALESMAN [1949], THE CRUCIBLE [1953]). This Universal International Pictures production stands as a prime example of a noir film in which events of the past completely rule the present. Also a post-WWII film, it operates under the sound assumption there was no going back to however it was before world conflict. Among the many casualties of world war was an ocean of corruption that seeped into all areas of American existence, including small towns and middle-class suburbs. Though the noir film often is framed as an urban nightmare that primarily plays out within the dark, rainy streets of the largest US cities, genre instances such as ALL MY SONS suggest noir concerns are not limited to an urban ecosystem. The invasive noir atmosphere can be particularly potent in the country's unassuming smaller towns.

The uncompromising realities of post-WWII life are contextualized in terms of an Illinois family. For the past three years, the Kellers have been forced to deal with the MIA status of their son Larry. His brother Chris (Burt Lancaster) plans to marry Annie Deever (Louisa Horton), who once was Larry's girl. In the interest of personal growth rather than financial gain, Chris is prepared to set aside his claim to the family business in favor of domestic bliss with Annie, much to the disappointment of his industrialist father Joe (Edward G. Robinson, top-billed), who hoped Chris would take the reins of the company after him. Soon it is revealed there is more amiss with the Kellers than the son presumed dead and the future of their business. During a family night out, a local woman accuses Joe of being a murderer! Joe is quick to note he was exonerated, but that was not the case with Annie's father Herbert Deever (Frank Conroy), Joe's former business colleague, who is serving a prison term. Annie's brother George (Howard Duff) believes Joe knew all about a batch of defective plane engine cylinders that resulted in Herbert's sentence.

A recurring theme in the film noir is the unusual prominence an object
can have in a shot; sometimes that object displaces or minimizes the
importance of people. In this case the family piano stands in the
place of an absent son.

ALL MY SONS is jam-packed with themes and motifs that imbue the film with an unmistakable noir edge, especially with its drama so entrenched in the past. The circumstances that brought about the deaths of 21 fighter pilots cast an ominous shadow over the proceedings. Past events are accentuated by flashbacks, a technique not uncommon to the noir form. Then there are the characters whose lives have stalled after experiencing horrific loss. Could the world possibly be the same again after the devastation of WWII? The totality of Hollywood's film noir output of the 1940s insists the answer is no. At one interval in ALL MY SONS the cries of an infant are audible through an open window as the next generation voices its objections to a world in transition, one that no doubt will be unfairly burdensome for those who had no say in the state of things. In the film's concluding moments, a step is taken away from the diegesis to reflect upon the great cost of war, to reserve a moment for families torn apart by unacceptable human loss and the long-term suffering that accompanies it. Woven into the film's fabric is an obsession theme, a familiar film noir trope that impacts many of the genre's major characters. In this case the Keller family matriarch Kate (Mady Christians) has been the most obviously scarred of her family. She refuses to accept her son Larry's death and clings to better times, i.e. the value of a bag of potatoes, the preservation of Larry's old bedroom and his place at the family piano. She even takes pills to better cope with the present day. Kate certainly recalls the similarly obsessed family matriarch Hilda Blake (Helene Thimig) from STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT (1944), though Kate is the far more sympathetic character of the two.

The noir staircase obscures a listener.

Edward G. Robinson's disingenuous character is
framed as less important than the emerging couple.

Each character faces the camera in this traditional film noir approach to framing.

This shot's blocking communicates the increasing
distance between Joe Keller and his son Chris.

Part and parcel of the film noir is the traditional family home as breeding ground of problems not resolved easily. A lingering tension since wartime events is palpable, particularly for households in which family needs and business demands are forced to intersect. A major conflict at the Keller residence involves a son who does not wish to follow in his father's footsteps. That amounts to a huge blow against the values embodied by the family patriarch Joe, the working-class man who clawed his way to a higher level. On a level that calls into question the American military industrial complex, Joe profited from the war and became an important man in a business sense, but at what cost to humanity?

With its downbeat narratives and pessimistic inclinations, the film noir gives notable emphasis to the notion that the WWII era prefigured a period of social and moral decline. A Marxist view of capitalism often claims a significant portion of the noir portrait. An economic system that provides opportunity for everyone encourages immoral behavior with the potential of limitless rewards for the most daring, that risk/reward equation even encourages criminal behavior. Joe claims he only acted in his family's best interests but the truth is his inexcusable business decision was rooted in self-preservation. Through nothing but his own ambition, he accepted a government contract he could not handle in the event something went sideways. Of course that is precisely what happened, and he was ill-equipped to climb out of the impossible situation in which he deposited himself:  either ship the defective cylinders and hope for the best or accept a punishing business setback. Via flashback we learn Joe pledged to take full responsibility for his manufacturing, so Herbert authorized the shipment of cylinders that rightly should have been piled onto the scrapheap. The unfortunate result was 21 deaths and Joe's desperate need for a fall guy. He rationalized a wrongheaded connection between dirty business tactics and family responsibilities (he thought only of his family, not "all my sons"). Joe had every opportunity to do the admirable thing, essentially to choose life over death. He instead optioned to enrich his business and knowingly secure payment for faulty manufacturing. When a film noir character deliberately makes a wrong turn, noir historian Eddie Muller calls that moment "the break." The usual result is a downward spiral designed to hold the character accountable for his (or, less often, her) actions. In one of the genres most telling ironies, it is revealed the irresponsible business call made by Joe factored in his own son's demise. In a related theme, Joe must fall to clear the path for his surviving son. The concluding scenes closely echo the finale of THE OX-BOW INCIDENT (1942), a proto-noir-Western that also features a domineering patriarch intent on compelling his son to fall under his spell.

Director Irving Reis would add to the film noir category with his writing in the early 1950s for ANGEL FACE (1952, story credit), SPLIT SECOND (1953, co-story credit) and WITNESS TO MURDER (1954, original screenplay). Sadly his career was cut short by cancer on July 3, 1953. He was only 47 at the time of his death. Few cinematographers had their fingers on the noir pulse like Russell Metty, who ensured the look of ALL MY SONS was congruent with the noir canon of the mid-to-late 1940s that was engulfed in low-key lighting. His work is excellent here, as it is in his other noir efforts such as THE STRANGER (1946), RIDE THE PINK HORSE (1947), KISS THE BLOOD OFF MY HANDS (1948), THE LADY GAMBLES (1949), NAKED ALIBI (1954) and the end-of-genre-cycle masterpiece TOUCH OF EVIL (1958). Burt Lancaster was drawn to material that resonated with a social consciousness. He delivers one of the great moments of the film when he reads the letter that explains what became of his brother Larry.

The Blu-ray edition of ALL MY SONS released early in 2022 as part of the Kino Lorber Studio Classics product line boasts a new transfer from a new 2K master. Framed at 1.37:1, as the opening credits roll it becomes evident the source material must have been in very good condition. Some sections of the film are more bespeckled than others with artifacts and minor print damage, but overall the transfer looks crisp with a satisfying level of film grain. The main supplement is a new audio commentary track submitted by film critics Kat Ellinger and Lee Gambin. They discuss the feature film in terms of the definition of masculinity, especially in an American sense. There is something both sad and tragic about the Joe Keller character, he is far too nuanced to be considered only in terms of villainy. This is a "quietly subversive" movie according to Ellinger. She makes a great point about the Marxist nature of such narratives in which the only way to advance is to veer away from capitalism.

The usual Kino assortment of trailers is on hand.

As a fan of Tyler Joseph's band twenty øne piløts I was unaware
he borrowed his band's name from the work of Arthur Miller
until reviewing this film adaptation of the Miller play.