Accounts
vary regarding Fritz Lang’s departure from his native Germany in 1933.
His own tale of a hasty and secretive escape in the dark of night has
been met with scrutiny, and documentation from the period seems to
confirm a considerable amount of embellishment on Lang’s part. In any
case, the bottom line is that Lang got out while the getting was good,
first stopping over in France, where he directed Liliom (1934), then making his way to America, where his first Hollywood feature, Fury,
was released in 1936. Lang never fully left his Germanic sensibilities
though, nor did he deviate much from his established cinematic style,
already so marvelously displayed in the earliest of his German films. It
stands to reason, then, that when World War II began in full force,
Lang felt compelled to delve into war-related films. His personal
connection to his European homeland and his feelings about what had
became of it found an outlet in his Hollywood moviemaking, first with Man Hunt (1941) then with Hangmen Also Die
(1943), an excellent wartime thriller that exhibits a number of Lang’s
defining narrative and formal characteristics, and clearly indicates
where he stood politically and socially.
After
the Czechoslovakian resistance fighter Dr. Franticek Svoboda, AKA Karel
Vanek (Brian Donlevy) shoots Nazi officer Reinhard Heydrich, AKA “The
Hangman” (Hans Heinrich von Twardowski), he attempts to flee from the
scene, which he does thanks to Nasha Novotny (Anna Lee). Nasha is a
young Czech woman who lives in the area and quite innocently directs the
Gestapo away from Svoboda. Such a seemingly innocuous decision,
however, brings forth tragic and wide-ranging ramifications. Nasha’s
father, Prof. Stephen Novotny (Walter Brennan), knows who Svoboda is
when he comes to thank Nasha, and he is wise to what the stranger has
done. The rest of her family, however, remains in the dark, as does her
fiancé. Eventually, the Nazis round up anyone who may know the
whereabouts of Heydrich’s assassin (including Prof. Novotny), planning
to execute these hostages until the assailant reveals himself.
The
suspenseful pursuit that transpires gives Lang ample time and varying
scenarios to convey the threatening reign of terror that envelops this
Czechoslovakian region. Reminders of intimidation tactics and promises
of punishment constantly haunt the townspeople. Yet their destitution
and surface meekness conceal a rebellion that boils underneath. The
shooting of “The Hangman” lights the spark, and no matter that
restrictions are tightened and hostages are taken, the bottled up
defiance is steadily brought to eruption. Is Hangmen Also Die a
propaganda piece? Of course, in the best possible sense. Adamantly
pro-Nazi, the film in turn must undoubtedly favor the other side, as it
should. It is a testament to the resilience of the resistance.
But
there is also a very human drama acted out against this backdrop.
Svoboda’s attack of conscience as he struggles between his own survival
and that of the hostages is a powerful predicament. When the Nazis begin
their community assault, all in the name of seeking the assassin,
Svoboda wonders if it’s all worth it. He is reassured that the
underground needs him, that he, or more specifically, his actions, are
representative of the whole of the opposing population. “Czech people
have executed the hangman,” he is told. It’s more than just him. But the
guilt of the punishment extended to the innocent weighs heavily. At the
same time, Nasha knows who Svoboda is and what he did. Drop the dime
and her father will possibly be returned, but at what cost to the
resistance? Like in so many Lang films, from M (1931) to Fury to Beyond a Reasonable Doubt
(1956), moral dilemmas abound, all questioning simplistic divisions
between the personal and the communal, between what is good for all and
what is good for one.
Lang
expertly shoots the tension with a stark, noirish treatment, where
every word or suggestion potentially puts someone new in danger.
Suspicion and impending betrayal sway actions and thoughts, and the
hazards of traitorously playing both sides are shown to be quite dire.
As in M, Lang’s interrogation scenes are taciturn and hostile,
with little in the way of decorative visual or aural adornment to divert
attention from the accusatory aggression. The questioning is cold,
detached, and menacing. Likewise, as also in M or Fury
for example, Lang’s depiction of a mob mentality, for better or worse,
is powerful. When Nasha is questioned by her own people about her
reasons for wanting to go to the Gestapo, the threat of their violently
turning even on her becomes very real.
There
are times when the overriding message of the film gets somewhat
pedantic, but the intentions are admirable and the emotion is strong.
And though the film gets slightly sluggish toward the end, with some
needlessly prolonged digressions, these same scenes occasionally boast
moments of brilliance (the way in which the traitor is revealed, for
instance).
With cinematography by the renowned James Wong Howe, Hangmen Also Die looks great, even if it’s not quite as ornamental as his work on Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942) before, or Sweet Smell of Success
(1957) years later. Donlevy gives a decent performance, though it’s
largely a one-note turn. Lee’s frightful Nasha fluctuates more notably,
between timidity and stubborn strength. Brennan, not at all as most
people know the actor, is generally responsible for the film’s didactic
speeches, as given by the endearingly wise Prof. Novotny. They are brief
appearances, but the performances of Lionel Stander as a pivotal
everyman cab driver and Hans Heinrich von Twardowski as the creepy
“Hangman,” an embodiment of pure evil, are also memorable.
(Interestingly, the German von Twardowski’s credits range from work on
the seminal The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) to a string of almost comically typecast roles in films such as Hitler’s Madman (1943), The Strange Death of Adolf Hiter (1943), The Hitler Gang (1944) — you get the idea.)
That Hangmen Also Die
came together as well as it did and holds up as well as it does is
something of a surprise given its tumultuous road to production and
release. Accompanying the newly released Cohen Film Collection Blu-ray
is a commentary by Richard Peña, a featurette with historian Robert
Gerwarth, and an essay by Prof. Peter Ellenbruch, all of which detail
the film’s complex backstory and its true-life source. Bertolt Brecht
and Lang were friendly, and Lang did a good deal to secure the author’s
arrival in America and his subsequent Hollywood employment, but each
approached storytelling from drastically different methodologies, and
their ultimate aims for the film were not always in sync. What followed
also included contested screenwriting credit (hence John Wexley’s name),
issues with studio requirements (more romance) and, years later, a
“subversive” label at the hand of the HUAC. Whatever it took though, Hangmen Also Die works. With M,
it is a film Lang considered among his most important.Coming out in
1943, it also must have been frighteningly dramatic for contemporary
audiences, and it remains a chilling and captivating window into the
personalities and emotions of WW II’s victims, their struggles, their
small victories, and the sweeping human toll of the whole era.
REVIEW from SOUND ON SIGHT
If Alejandro Jodorowsky’s name has been in the news as of late, it’s largely thanks to Frank Pavich’s excellent documentary Jodorowsky’s Dune.
While this is a fascinating and tantalizing examination of what might
have been a stunning feature in the filmmaker’s rather limited body of
work, it should not distract from the films Jodorowsky actually made
since the Dune debacle. This includes the 85-year-old’s latest feature (which is teased at the end of the documentary), the autobiographical The Dance of Reality,
out now on blu-ray. This Felliniesque chronicle of occasionally
inflated childhood reminisces and the sociopolitical factors that form
one’s identity is a beautiful film, lovingly crafted, episodic though at
times meandering, and certainly a passion project for its director.
We
first see Jodorowsky himself in the present day, directly addressing
the camera and speaking somewhat cryptically about the perils of money
(obviously for those who saw the Dune documentary, financial
backing was a frequent struggle for Jodorowsky). From there, the real
Jodorowsky occasionally reappears, inserted into the narrative,
providing words of comfort and wisdom to his fictional childhood self,
played by Jeremias Herskovits. Joining young Alejandro is his mother,
Sara (Pamela Flores), a pleasant and quite curvaceous woman who
operatically sings her dialogue (Jodorowsky’s mother always wanted to be
an opera singer), and his father, Jaime (Brontis Jodorowsky, Alejandro
Jodorowsky’s oldest son), an obnoxious, Stalin-loving brute. Jaime is
frequently condemning his timid boy, with accusations of everything from
being too quiet, to being too effeminate (especially with his locks of
golden hair), to being a homosexual. For Jaime, his crude notions of
assertive masculinity depend on his son’s ability to tolerate pain.
Adding to the child’s bewildered upbringing is the fact that his mother
refers to the boy as her father, apparently because she was (still is?)
under the impression that he is her dad reincarnated.
Once this much is established, The Dance of Reality
has no real driving narrative path to speak of. The early portions of
the film follow young Alejandro as he goes about his daily business in
the small seaside town of Tocopilla, Chile, circa the late 1930s.
Whether or not it truly was this way, Jodorowsky’s recreation of his
hometown is one of vibrancy and vitality, in the literal color of its
buildings and houses and in its colorful cast of frequently exaggerated
characters. The strongest moments of The Dance of Reality come
in these early sequences, where we steadily see the factors that shape
the man Jodorowsky would become, with elements of new age spiritualism
and reactions to politics, art, family, religion, sex, money, and death.
It is not all gloom though. We also see the joys of young Jodorowsky:
new red shoes (which he quickly gives away) and his role of mascot for
the local fire brigade (a position he assumes once the old mascot, a
dog, dies). But there are the bad times, the times when he is verbally
and physically mistreated by his father or ostracized by other children
for being a circumcised Jew.
For
much of the film’s latter half, the focus shifts to Jaime and his
conflicted and complicated political ideology. His initial disdain for
dictator Carlos Ibáñez gives way to a resentment that turns Jaime the
lingerie salesman into a would-be assassin. Through this portion of the
film, The Dance of Reality, while hitting on more substantial
political themes, nevertheless loses some of it amusing charm.
Ultimately though, this section is itself redeemed by redemption as the
initially bellicose Jaime endures a number of trials and tribulations,
including some extremely unpleasant torture, only to wind up a
comparatively weak and humbled figure. His trajectory is tragic yet
finally constructive.
Every
film should be judged on its own merits, not necessarily on what came
before it. But given Jodorowsky’s stunning surrealism of the late 1960s
and early ’70s, and given the intensely personal nature of The Dance of Reality,
one can’t help but draw comparisons to his prior works. In this regard,
while this latest feature may not have the wall-to-wall brilliant
weirdness of El Topo or The Holy Mountain, there are
still more than a few moments of classic Jodorowsky imagery, albeit less
shocking and provocative: hundreds of sardines washed ashore, Jaime
pissing on the radio, a small army of scarred amputees. And there are
multiple scenarios and single images of metaphoric significance; like in
the works of the late great Hungarian Miklós Jancsó and Greek Theodoros
Angelopoulos, however, many of the regional and historical references
will likely go missed by those not familiar with the material.
Nevertheless, also like in the films of these other two directors, this
lack of knowledge does not in any way diminish the impact of the film at
hand.
On
the technical side of things, the new ABKCO blu-ray is a stunning
release, with extremely sharp picture and a few brief, though
insightful, interviews. Some have decried Jodorowsky’s decision to shoot
on digital rather than film, and while the budgetary benefits were
likely imperative, the results, in any case, are superb. Some of the
special effects falter and some of the interiors have a noticeable
hollow, soap opera-like quality, but by and large, this is a great
looking movie.
Jodorowsky calls The Dance of Reality
“A picture made with soul. My soul.” And he was not alone. Accompanying
him in the creation of this special work was his wife, Pascale, who did
the costumes, and his two other sons, Adan and Axel, appear in the film
as well; Adan also worked on the score. For anyone who has seen
Jodorowsky speak passionately (like in Jodorowsky’s Dune), it is clear that when he has great enthusiasm for something the results can be extraordinary. The Dance of Reality
may not exactly be extraordinary, but for a filmmaker like Alejandro
Jodorowsky, even a less than perfect movie is going to be unique and
always at least worth watching.
Director
Jacques Tourneur knew how to make the most out of a little,
particularly when he was working in collaboration with producer Val
Lewton (see Cat People, 1942, I Walked with a Zombie, 1943, and The Leopard Man,
1943). So when RKO gave this master of the low-budget picture a
comparatively larger budget and a top-notch screenplay (by Daniel
Mainwaring—as Geoffrey Homes—based on his own novel, “Build My Gallows
High”) the result was one of the finest of all film noir.
Starring Robert Mitchum as Jeff and Jane Greer as Kathie, Out of the Past
is built on a premise that is one of the defining characteristics of
noir: the inevitability of an inescapable past. Such a device was often
integral, with the repercussions of one’s recent deeds coming back to
haunt them, but relatively rare was the film that was built purely
around this convention, and even more unusual was the gap in time
between one’s transgressions and their current life.
When
Jeff Bailey is first seen, he is an unassuming gas station owner with a
mysterious background that doesn’t at all concern Ann Miller (Virginia
Huston), the pleasant small-town girl he loves. The town is Bridgeport,
California, a quiet, peaceful place, an ideal place to be and never
leave, an ideal place to go when you don’t want to be found. Such are
Jeff’s motivations. But when former acquaintance Joe (Paul Valentine)
shows up, Jeff’s state of calm is upended. Bailey is revealed to be
Markham and Jeff’s dark past comes to light.
Jeff
is instructed to travel to Lake Tahoe to meet criminal boss Whit
Sterling (Kirk Douglas). With Ann in tow, Jeff finally tells her who is
he, where he came from, where they’re heading, and why it might not be a
good thing. “You sure are a secretive man,” Ann tells Jeff earlier (she
has no idea), but now he’s going to come clean. Ominously he warns her,
“Some of it’s gonna hurt you,” and he proceeds.
Via
voice-over and flashback (noir through and through), Jeff goes back
three years prior, to when Whit hired him to find Kathie, Whit’s girl
who made off with 40 grand of his money only after plugging him in the
chest. Jeff is competent, so of course, he finds her, but he is also a
man, and this is noir, and she is a quintessential femme fatale. They
fall for each other and Jeff quickly disregards his obligation to Whit,
knowing full well what will probably happen to Kathie if she is
returned. Predictably, this brief liaison doesn’t end happily and the
now murderous Kathie disappears. Cut to present day and Jeff is back
with Whit at his Tahoe mansion. And so is Kathie. Whit again employs
Jeff, but this time, Jeff is wiser and knows the game, and the name of
the game is frame. Jeff knows he is being set up, but by playing dumb,
he emerges smarter than everyone thinks, and he attempts to use
incessant double crossing and dirty dealing to his favor. The past may
have caught up with Jeff—his past partner, past deals, the past of his
former associates—but he is convinced a future remains in reach.
There are multiple reasons why Out of the Past
is such an exemplary work in the world of noir, and part has to do with
just how faithfully and inventively it adheres to the form. Ambiguous
motives leave nearly everyone under suspicion, and when someone’s
personal faults don’t trip them up, chance usually does. Mainwaring’s
screenplay (with uncredited assistance from James M. Cain and Frank
Fenton) has some of the snappiest quips of any noir, where everyone is
witty and cracks wise at an unbelievable rate. For his part, Tourneur
keeps Out of the Past visually appealing with imaginative
camera angles and lighting that is deep and dark in the best noir
tradition. Diverse settings in New York, Mexico, and California
illustrate that no matter where one goes, the seamy and threatening look
of noir, just like one’s past, is sure to follow. Locations also serve
the purpose of reflecting Jeff’s dual nature and his conflicted desires,
with Kathie and Ann personifying their respective backdrops of shadowy
urban peril and secure rural tranquility; in other words, who Jeff was
and what he hopes to be.
Robert Mitchum owns Out of the Past.
After bit parts throughout the early 1940s, Mitchum paid his dues to
earn more substantial roles, including his first and only Oscar
nomination for Story of G.I. Joe (1945) and his turn in the excellent Crossfire,
also from 1947. But here, we see the fleshing out of his characteristic
cool, calm, seemingly detached bad-boy sensuality, just barely
shrouding a capacity for wicked violence. This film would then serve as
the catalyst for a career full of memorable performances: The Lusty Men (1952), River of No Return (1954), The Night of the Hunter (1955), Cape Fear (1962), El Dorado (1966), and so on, all the way up to Dead Man
in 1995. Such a legendary acting career cannot, however, be applied to
Huston or Greer, though Greer would amusingly appear in Taylor
Hackford’s 1984 Out of the Past remake, Against All Odds.
As for Kirk Douglas, this being only his second film role, it’s
obviously safe to say he had much more ahead of him, including his first
Oscar nomination for Champion just two years later.
