Film Noir #32

 

Noir: Crime in the Streets, The Crimson Kimono, and Criss Cross

CRIME IN THE STREETS (1956) --- Again a thesis movie, amusement sacrificed on the altar of preachment. The Dead End Kids did these better, and had Bogart or Jim Cagney for grown-ups to ID with. Reginald Rose wrote Crime in the Streets for television. Maybe it got by easier there just for being shorter, and besides, big heads shouting at home jangled nerves less than bigger ones doing so from theatre screens. Director Don Siegel checked baggage Rose delivered and made necessary trims, Crime in the Streets a movie after all rather than lecture off a ten-inch lectern. Rose objected, but Siegel was boss, thus a film we may assume was improvement upon the tube version. All was built and executed at rented Goldwyn facilities but for a rumble opening shot outdoors, also at Goldwyn. Allied Artists would release during a youth problem cycle forged upon hit momentum of Rebel Without a Cause and Blackboard Jungle. Rock and roll could ease burden of less earnest treatment, but Crime in the Streets was earnest, and so used Franz Waxman to score rather than relying on disassociated platters. John Cassavetes had his debut here, magnetic from a screen start even though playing an utter crumb of a wayward kid “born to be hung” as they used to say of J.D.’s from eras back to Billy the Kid. Much of Cassavetes can’t help being funny now, Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me! repeated enough to qualify for anyone’s nightclub impression. Being set bound for whole of the show plays less well than what worked for Dead End in 1937, but Crime in the Streets was a trim craft and there probably wasn’t money to enable street shooting. Among support is Sal Mineo in early incarnation of tortured boy, named “Baby” here, his eyes twin pools of suffering. Mineo was plenty good but suffered himself for too brief a shelf life, suddenly not wanted anymore (so he would recall) even after critic acclaim and Academy nomination for work done in the early sixties. A first truth taught to virtually all actors was life never being fair. Should juvenile drama be labeled noir? Perhaps not, but Warners put Crime in the Streets into one of their DVD grab bags, so I’ll play along.

THE CRIMSON KIMONO (1959) --- Samuel Fuller sometimes fired off a pistol rather than yell Cut on location. For young males intent on a career directing, from where came higher endorsement? Fuller lived the maverick life of making movies in all forward and back sense … writing, producing, megging, doing on-camera trailers as “Sam” of uncompromising breed that was largely gone even as he soldiered on. I don’t wonder he had devoted following among starter-outs in the 80’s, into 90’s, right till Fuller passed in 1997, his typewriter clacking to the finish. He was accessible and adored. Documentaries have been made on his life and career. His films are considered a best of their sort, which was mostly war, crime, bizarre topics, especially by the sixties when he went way off walls with things like The Naked Kiss and one that played our Liberty late show only, Shock Corridor, which I really wanted to go see for thinking it was a horror film, which it kind of was but not in the way I might enjoy in 1963. Just as well parents forbade my late attendance (single unspool at 9:30 PM, then back on the Charlotte Observer newspaper delivery truck where all prints went in/out of our town, more than appropriate mode of ingress/egress for Sam Fuller reels). The Crimson Kimono was sold on trashy terms, Columbia posters never attractive whatever content, but these made much of pairing between Victoria Shaw and James Shigeta, exploitative as in wait till you see them kiss, but Fuller didn’t mean his story to be received that way, had no say in any case, for what director could influence selling apart from Hitchcock, DeMille, precious few others? Forbidden love engages Fuller maybe more than the murder hunt Shigeta and detective partner Glenn Corbett engage.

Victim is a strip dancer called “Sugar Torch,” so merchandising could go all types of sleazy direction, The Crimson Kimono better bound for lower placement on bills and early forfeit to television. Its discovery by Fuller fanbase and noir listers amounts to rescue and assurance that what began as minor product should thrive forever on auteur and cult shelves. There was no denying such status for Fuller, as no word of his writing reflected other than a singular vision of life and people. Having been on newspapers from age 12 and experienced worst of the war, Fuller had nervous energy to write all night and direct all day, provided they'd let him, which too often was not the case, would-be projects fallen by the boards for not enough financial or moral support. Of course, that’s the story for most filmmakers, especially independents like Fuller, but there were periods when he was backed, notably in the fifties when Zanuck lent a continuing hand and enabled Fuller to make one fine film after another. Wish it could have lasted, but nothing does in an industry rocked by constant change. As Zanuck went from Fox, so went Fuller. The ninety-ten rule that applies to life goes especially here (as in ninety percent of what you want, you won’t get). What I noted about The Crimson Kimono this time was how sharply edited it was, plus dialogue eccentric as ever, terrific atmosphere shot around L.A.’s “Little Tokyo,” Fuller detailing Japanese culture as practiced stateside. There is emphasis on martial arts, so much so that I wish he could have revisited the theme in the seventies when a cycle of such pictures became popular. The fact Fuller films are unpredictable is what makes them easy to revisit. Even if you recall the essential story, details are what grab for repeat rides. There are You Tubes where Fuller’s daughter guides us through her father’s work room, still maintained and all his effects there. Families are what keep many great names alive, and it’s good Samantha Fuller is here to do that job. The Crimson Kimono can be had on Blu-Ray from Twilight Time with good extras.

CRISS CROSS (1949) --- Among grimmest of born loser noirs, Criss Cross is snappy but doesn't amuse, is actionful, but in disquieting ways. Noirs were about serious business but are more fun for increasing distance between our time and theirs. Criss Cross is an exception for pitiless reveal of hard lucks who come to messy finish, no mercy for the doomed nor us with one of the darkest fades ever in noir. Criss Cross had been set for Mark Hellinger's next after the producer's sensational triad for Universal release, The Killers, Naked City, and Brute Force, but Hellinger died suddenly, and properties in development, including Criss Cross, were sold by the estate. Packaging included the story plus services of Burt Lancaster, who had been pledged to Hellinger and did two for the producer. Direction was again with Robert Siodmak, he having come up Universal ranks earlier in the decade. Criss Cross status maintains mostly because he guided it, The Killers' pattern of a caper gone wrong more/less repeated, here an armored car robbery, it understood that these never succeed unless there's an inside man, which made me wonder if that's true for real life. If so, there was a lot of wasted effort on part of criminality in future noirs where armored stick-ups were tried and failed. Universal taking over the property and doing it in-house meant they could further develop Yvonne DeCarlo, an exotic second to faded Maria Montez, and till Criss Cross a saloon or desert wanderer with Rod Cameron or Tony Martin for consorts. She's the fatale here, but with shadings; we figure this girl wouldn't be altogether bad given plenty of cash and a less moody partner than Lancaster, who by 1949 had got monotonous as continual guy behind eight balls. He really needed rescue of The Flame and The Arrow that would come a following year.