Movie Review: The Carpetbaggers (1964)

A business-and-romance drama, The Carpetbaggers is fueled by a tortuously obsessed personality.

In the 1920s, Jonas Cord Jr. (George Peppard) inherits his father's chemical business, and proceeds to build an audacious empire centred on the burgeoning airline and film industries. His long-term associates include ex-cowboy Nevada Smith (Alan Ladd), who raised Jonas from a young age, level-headed lawyer McAllister (Lew Ayres), and airplane pilot Buzz Dalton (Ralph Taeger).

A driven workaholic, Jonas also has a tumultuous lustful relationship with his father's young widow Rina Marlowe (Carroll Baker), and eventually turns her into a movie star. He marries - then ignores - Monica Winthrop (Elizabeth Ashley), before courting starlet Jennie Denton (Martha Hyer). Along the way Jonas tangles with sleazy agent Dan Pierce (Bob Cummings) and studio boss Bernard Norman (Martin Balsam). 

Inspired by Howard Hughes, The Carpetbaggers adapts Harold Robbins' novel into an effective cinematic experience. John Michael Hayes wrangles a cohesive but still epic 150 minute screenplay out of the book, and Edward Dmytryk hustles the sprawling narrative along, never dawdling or pausing to contemplate. The outcome is a sustained rhythm mixing business compulsion with warped romance, both propelled by voracious character traits.

The film tackles business issues head-on, and presents Jonas as never likeable but nevertheless fascinating, a demanding cut-throat overachiever and impossible boss, but also a willing and constant learner. The emotional underpinnings for his behaviour are only hinted at, until the suitably bombastic final act revelations. George Peppard fits the role well, his stone cold expressions capturing an antipathy only satisfied when exerting control and achieving domination, consequences be damned.

Dmytryk infuses the aesthetics with the gaudy look of greed and lust, and most of the romantic scenes are dripping with undertones of conquest and egomaniacal seduction. With a lot of ground to cover, the editing demonstrates a preference for bold brevity bordering on choppiness, powered by Elmer Bernstein's brass-and-drums dominated music.

The supporting cast is impressive, from the friendly stoicism of Lew Ayres to the scheming of Martin Balsam and Bob Cummings. Carroll Baker (manipulative), Elizabeth Ashley (hopeful), and Martha Hyer (opportunistic) create a triangle of naturally flawed women grappling with Jonas' troubled psyche. Most notable is Alan Ladd in his final screen role, providing the one robust anchor in a stormy life.

Embracing boardroom and bedroom lubriciousness, The Carpetbaggers crackles with connivance.



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Movie Review: The Glass Key (1942)

A delicately convoluted film noir, The Glass Key mixes politics, corruption, crime, romance and divided loyalties into a steaming brew.

Shady political boss Paul Madvig (Brian Donlevy) wants to continue his rise from humble beginnings to the top of the influence ladder, with fixer and advisor Ed Beaumont (Alan Ladd) by his side. Paul falls in love at first sight with the feisty Janet Henry (Veronica Lake), the daughter of political reformist Ralph Henry (Moroni Olsen). To Ed's surprise, Paul joins forces with Ralph for the upcoming election, just to get close to Janet. 

Janet has limited interest in Paul, but the chemistry between her and Ed is instantaneous. Soon Paul is confronted with two other big problems: Janet's gambling-addicted brother Taylor (Richard Denning) is found dead, and rumours circulate that Paul is responsible. And a falling out with political rival Nick Varna (Joseph Calleia) results in violence. Ed has to navigate the turmoil to try and save his long term friendship.

An adaptation of a Dashiell Hammett book, The Glass Key (a reference to a coveted but fragile invitation to the inner sanctum of the elite political class) is almost overrun by characters and events. In addition to Janet, Ralph and Taylor Henry and Nick Varna, Paul's naive sister Opal (Bonita Granville) and Varna's goon Jeff (William Bendix) also circle the chaotic lives of Paul and Ed, not to mention a district attorney, a newspaper publisher, and a witness-in-hiding. With a running time of just 85 minutes, director Stuart Heisler works frantically to cram everything in, and the break-neck pacing threatens to spiral out of control.

But at its essence, this is a compelling story of friendship and loyalty. Paul and Ed are partners on a winding path to the top of the sordid political heap. Paul is the fast-talking, always smiling if smarmy public face, while Ed is the dour behind-the-scenes operative clearing out obstacles and hiding the wreckage. Paul is never short of a long story, while Ed counters every nascent threat with a condescending sneer. Now their friendship crashes against multiple concurrent tests, starting with both falling for the same woman.

Ed also fundamentally disagrees with Paul's opportunistic support for Ralph Henry and is perturbed by the unnecessary chasm between Paul and Nick. Their bond of trust is further tested by anonymous rumours insinuating Paul killed Taylor, the type of dirt Ed is an expert at suppressing if he wasn't distracted by the erosion of the friendship fundamentals. Ed's willingness to sacrifice is at the heart of The Glass Key, and the loyalty theme overcomes the excesses in Jonathan Latimer's script.

In a grey world filled with power-hungry individuals, a strong cast overcomes the lack of sympathetic characters. Brian Donlevy is first-billed, but star-on-the-rise Alan Ladd grabs the spotlight, and Heisler gradually establishes Ed Beaumont at the centre of the drama. Ladd responds with a spiky performance, creating in Ed a man with the mouth and guile to back his belief that he is smarter than everyone around him. The sparks between Ladd and Lake jump off the screen, Heisler again quick to capitalize with sly camera positioning to capture their dangerous flirting.

The Glass Key may be heavy with a touch too much plot, but it never stops clicking.



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Movie Review: Whispering Smith (1948)

A thoughtful western tackling themes of friendship and lost love, Whispering Smith packs action, tension and drama in a zesty package.

Rail company detective Luke "Whispering" Smith (Alan Ladd) reconnects with his old friend Murray Sinclair (Robert Preston) while on a mission to track down the Barton Brothers gang. When he finally catches up with the bandits at a telegraph office, Smith is wounded but kills two of the three outlaw siblings. Smith recovers at Murray's house, reigniting his passion for his lost love Marian (Brenda Marshall), who is now Murray's wife.

Smith doggedly goes after Blake Barton, the sole surviving brother, and finds him hiding under the protection of influential landowner Barney Rebstock (Donald Crisp) and his gunslinger henchman Whitey Du Sang (Frank Faylen). Smith starts to suspect that his friend Murray, who runs the rail company's local wrecking crew, may be involved in sordid business with Rebstock. With his allies Bill Dansing (William Demarest) and George McCloud (John Eldredge), Smith starts investigating Murray and Rebstock, creating a deep rift in a lifelong friendship as well as romantic complications.

Based on the often-adapted novel by Frank H. Spearman, Whispering Smith is a superior western, buoyed by an almost perfect mix of action, character conflict, romance, secondary depth and high production values. Directed in rich Technicolor by Leslie Fenton, the film is a feast for the eyes. Paramount constructed a large western town complete with an active railway for Whispering Smith, and the set became a much-used stage for many later productions. Here Fenton creates a bustling environment nestled against mountains and lush nature, with several highlight scenes featuring 1870s-era trains up close and at their noisy best.

The heart of the film is a love triangle complicated by an established friendship and greed, and the complexities of the human relationships transcend what is expected in most westerns. Luke and Murray absolutely care for each other, but start to drift apart over Murray's less than honest dealings at the train wreck sites and his alliance with Rebstock. The resulting imbalance opens the door for Marian and Luke to start imagining a different future, but here again the character depth shines through: Luke cares about doing right by Murray just as much as he cares for Marian, meaning there are no easy decisions.

Alan Ladd, Robert Preston and Brenda Marshall bring the three central characters to vivid life. The acting is admirably stoic yet nuanced enough to carry the narrative weight. Ladd in particular portrays a range of emotions mostly through the intensity level of the fire in his eyes, while Preston is more emotive, capturing increasingly frantic attempts at self-delusion. In her penultimate screen role, Marshall shines as the dignified wife potentially losing a husband but regaining a true love.

A large part of the film's appeal resides in well-developed secondary characters adding plenty of texture. Donald Crisp has rarely been more intimidating as a land baron running his own black market. By his side is Frank Faylen, delivering a simply chilling performance as bloodless albino gunslinger Whitey Du Sang, his dead eyes always fixated on his next victim-to-be. William Demarest, Fay Holden and John Eldredge ensure that there is talent in every role that matters.

Fenton stumbles a bit in staging the action scenes, most of which appear hurried and awkwardly edited when it matters most. Otherwise Whispering Smith is a western that speaks softly but leaves an impressively loud impression.

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Movie Review: Paper Bullets (1941)

A B-movie crime drama, Paper Bullets (also known as Gangs, Inc.) packs too many characters into too much plot and loses all focus.

Young Rita Adams is orphaned when her stool pigeon father is gunned down. She grows up at an orphanage, forming friendships with Mickey and Bob. Mickey (Jack La Rue) grows up to be an underworld nightclub manager, while Bob (John Archer) becomes an aeronautical engineer. The grown-up Rita (Joan Woodbury) and her roommate Donna (Linda Ware) scrape together a living, but Rita has to serve a stint in prison after she naively agrees to take a hit-and-run rap for her no-good boyfriend Harold, the son of powerful businessman Clarence DeWitt.

After Rita's release, Mickey gets his hands on evidence that DeWitt was involved in falsely incriminating her. Meanwhile the police force is under pressure to act against the underworld, and Jimmy Kelly (Alan Ladd) is recruited to infiltrate the criminal syndicate controlling the protection and gambling rackets. When DeWitt reveals his political ambitions, Rita makes her move to seek revenge, and audaciously teams up with crime bosses to get a cut of the criminal action.

Filled with sub-plots that go nowhere, characters that drop in and out of the story with dizzying speed, and some external car chase scenes too dark to be comprehensible, Paper Bullets lives well within its miniscule budget. Filmed in 6 days by director Phil Rosen and released by poverty-row studio Producers Releasing Corporation, the movie is mostly known as the debut production effort for the King Brothers (here still known as the Kozinskys), who went on to cobble together a string of low-budget but sometimes not-bad efforts through to the late 1960s.

Paper Bullets also features Alan Ladd in a relatively small but pivotal role, although the importance of his character depends on whether or not the convoluted plot makes sense to anyone. The film was later acquired by competing B-movie studio Eagle-Lion films and re-released as Gangs, Inc., with the now-famous Ladd ridiculously given top billing in the opening credits.

As for what made it onto the screen, there is plenty to try and follow. Rita's story heads in many different directions, and it is all crammed into a breathless staccato-style, hammer-down storytelling package. While the first half is engaging enough, with Joan Woodbury delivering a more than decent performance, once Rita's revenge narrative takes off the film starts to completely unravel. The numerous criminal types, the many enforcement folks, the parade of victims, hangers-on and romantic interests, and the wannabe politicos all converge into a mess of a story hurtling away from logic at breakneck speed.

Paper Bullets wraps up in a rough and tumble 72 minutes. While there is easily enough plot for another 30 minutes, sadly there wasn't the budget to go there.

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Movie Review: Thunder In The East (1952)

A war drama and romance set in India, Thunder In The East aims for a Casablanca vibe but settles for methodically mixing the ingredients without any of the magic spices.

It's 1947, and India has just won independence from the British. Jaded American arms trader Steve Gibbs (Alan Ladd) lands his plane loaded with machine guns and ammunition in remote Ghandahar province, intending to sell the weapons to the local Maharaja. A local rebel group under the leadership of the elusive Newah Khan is threatening to seize power, but Prime Minister Singh (Charles Boyer) believes in Gandhi-like peaceful negotiations and blocks Gibbs' sale, instead impounding and storing the weapons.

The stymied Gibbs mingles with a group of foreigners caught up in the violence, and starts to fall in love with blind British woman Joan Willoughby (Deborah Kerr), the granddaughter of local priest Dr. Willoughby (Cecil Kellaway). Seductive French woman Lizette Damon (Corinne Calvet) throws herself at Gibbs to try and win a seat on his outbound plane. But with Khan's men making rapid progress and Singh refusing to authorize the use of heavy weaponry in defence of the government, options to evacuate the city start to diminish, and Gibbs reveals his true colours.

Alan Ladd tries his best to channel his inner Humphrey Bogart, the character of Steve Gibbs intermittently aligning with Bogart's emotionally independent mercenary persona. But the Thunder In The East script, based on the novel The Rage of the Vulture by Alan Moorehead, patently lacks the bright spark and sharp wit needed to ignite the drama and romance around its cynical anti-hero. The film settles into average territory and oscillates between an awkward love-hate relationship between Gibbs and Joan as the romantic anchor, while Singh's internal conflict, his abhorrence of violence confronting increasingly desperate surroundings, represents the dramatic counterweight.

In support of Ladd, Deborah Kerr flirts with abject boredom as the too-pure Joan who may have enough angelic dust to save Gibbs' soul, but certainly doesn't offer anything else of interest. Charles Boyer just about overcomes the bizarre spectacle of a French actor playing an Indian Provincial Prime Minister.

Director Charles Vidor does a decent job of creating an exotic India location out of the Paramount Studios sound stages, although some of the backdrops are painfully clear paintings and rolling footage. Vidor conjures up a modest sense of overlapping sweaty crises and subplots, with relatively minor characters like Lizette, the retired General Harrison (John Williams) and Dr. Willoughby adding welcome depth in several sequences. The action-oriented scenes of siege, shoot-outs and explosions are mostly held in reserve until late in the proceedings, and then handled proficiently.

With the situation desperate, Thunder In The East finds a surprisingly potent emotional crescendo, but then lands a bewilderingly abrupt ending. Once the bullets start to fly with steely intent, there is apparently not much more to say.



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Movie Review: Saskatchewan (1954)

A fairly routine Western, Saskatchewan (also clumsily known as O'Rourke Of The Canadian Mounted) examines tensions with native tribes from the Canadian perspective.

The setting is Western Canada in the 1870s. Thomas O'Rourke (Alan Ladd) was orphaned as a child and raised by the peaceful Cree tribe. Now a member of the Mounted Police, he is a soul brother of Cajou (Jay Silverheels). Together they stumble across Grace Markey (Shelley Winters), the only survivor of an attack on a wagon convoy by the aggressive American Sioux tribe. Empowered by their recent stunning victory over General Custer, the Sioux are planning to expand their influence northwards.

O'Rourke clashes with his new stuffy commander Benton (Robert Douglas), whose hard-nosed approach to the Cree creates an opening for the Sioux to bait the Cree into a warmongering alliance. Meanwhile US Marshall Carl Smith (Hugh O'Brian) arrives to arrest Grace, who is accused of killing her lover, who happened to be Smith's brother. With help from good natured scout Batouche (J. Carrol Naish), O'Rourke has to figure out a way to avoid a bloodbath and broker peace when all around him are agitating for a fight.

Filmed in rich, gorgeous colour in Banff National Park, Alberta, and directed with galloping efficiency by Raoul Walsh, Saskatchewan is proficient and also rather uninspired. Unlike the scenery, the characters are for the most part monochromatic, and the stock dialogue is delivered in clipped, read-the-damned-lines mode. Shelley Winters serves up flagrant sex appeal in low cut tops, her sub-plot stuck in neutral as O'Rourke bashes Marshall Smith at regular intervals to demonstrate turf supremacy.

Walsh does better staging the larger action scenes, finding enough extras for impressive legions of Mounted Police in resplendent but not-safe-for-battle redcoats and native tribes to stalk each other and occasionally charge. Despite a couple of impressive explosions the bloodshed is kept to respectable levels, the film's premise hinging on highlighting the relatively better relationships built with the natives in Canada compared to the United States.

In addition to the various levels of enmity between the white man and the natives, there is also enough within the main plot to tease out rivalries between different tribes as well as tensions inside the RCMP as clueless by-the-book commanders ignore the wisdom of trail-smart troops. Walsh rides his story to a climax somewhere between rousing and clunky, but the real highlight comes earlier in a most Canadian wrinkle for a standard western: a canoe chase.

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The Movies Of Alan Ladd

All movies starring Alan Ladd and reviewed on the Ace Black Movie Blog are linked below:

Citizen Kane (1941, uncredited)

Paper Bullets (1941)

The Glass Key (1942)

Whispering Smith (1948)

Thunder In The East (1952)

Shane (1953)

Saskatchewan (1954)

The Proud Rebel (1958)

The Carpetbaggers (1964)

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Movie Review: The Proud Rebel (1958)

An appealing post-Civil War western, The Proud Rebel is a family-friendly story of a father from the south finding both lingering resentment and the welcome of strangers as he tries to help his son.

Immediately after the Civil War, southerner John Chandler (Alan Ladd) is travelling north from town to town, looking for a doctor who can help his mute son David (Alan's real-life son David Ladd) talk again. The clever sheepdog Lance is David's close companion. In Aberdeen, Illinois, Dr. Enos Davis (Cecil Kellaway) suggests that a Minnesota-based expert may be able to help. Before John can set out again he tangles with rowdy sheep ranchers Jeb and Tom Burleigh (Harry Dean Stanton and Tom Pittman) and their father Harry (Dean Jagger) after they try to steal Lance. John is found guilty of instigating a brawl, but farm owner Linnett Moore (Olivia de Havilland) saves him from prison by paying his fine in return for John working her land.

John and Linnet establish a good rapport and David enjoys the stability of life on the farm. But the Burleighs are a constant menacing presence, seeking to drive Linnet off her land to expand their herding territory. Meanwhile, John is desperate to raise the money needed for the Minnesota trip, and an opportunity arises when a local dog breeder offers a lot of money to buy Lance.

A resizing of Shane to appeal to a younger audience, The Proud Rebel hits all the amiable notes. Directed by Michael Curtiz and well-served by a deep cast, the film carries enough edge to avoid sentimentality and despite a rather clumsy ending maintains focus on a shifting western landscape where the wounds of war are slowly healing. Often beautiful colour cinematography, making exquisite use of red skies and silhouettes, adds to the film's quality.

The character of John Chandler as a steadfast yet proud man dedicated to his son and seeking to avoid conflict allows all colours of society to swirl around him. Dr. Enos and Linnett represent the more mature residents of the north eager to help close the war chapter. The crude Burleighs are at the opposite end of the scale, condescending towards Chandler just as they are keen to chase Linnett off her farm. And Judge Morley (Henry Hull) who hurriedly convicts Chandler for his part in the brawl is somewhere in between: he offers at least a modicum of due process for a rebel from the South, and allows Linnett's generosity to trump the court's half-baked version of justice.

Alan Ladd delivers a stoic performance as John Chandler, a man who lives a principled life where resolute actions speak much louder than words. Olivia de Havilland slips easily into the role of the farm owner stubbornly holding onto her land and staring down the Burleighs, de Havilland displaying plenty of breadth to combine determination with lurking passion for a family. Dean Jagger and Harry Dean Stanton contribute suitably despicable villains, and Cecil Kellaway adds colour to the role of a Quaker doctor.

The triangle of emotions between John, Linnett and David resides at the heart of the film, and allows a warm glow to seep through the drama. John is still grieving the death of his wife and until he finds a cure for his son there is no place in his heart for any other quest, as much as Linnett is emotionally available. And young David is dedicated to his father and but also quick to accept Linnett as a mother figure, creating a conflict for John since moving on will mean tearing his son away from an essential new bond. The resourceful dog Lance is the glue holding David's life together, and John faces his biggest test when the sale of the dog offers a possible route to heal David.

On his search for a cure, The Proud Rebel will find conflict and resolution in unexpected forms, for both father and son.

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Movie Review: Shane (1953)

A classic Western, Shane perfectly blends all the genre elements into a monumental package. The story of a mysterious gunman helping homesteaders defend their land against evil cattlemen captures the mythology of a changing landscape, with one lifestyle expiring and another setting down roots.

In rural Wyoming, Joe and Marian Starrett (Van Heflin and Jean Arthur) are working hard to create a home for themselves and their young son Joey (Brandon deWilde). A soft-spoken loner known only as Shane (Alan Ladd) passes by and witnesses the Starretts being intimidated by cattleman Rufus Ryker (Emil Meyer) and his rough band of cowboys, including Chris Calloway (Ben Johnson). Rufus believes that homesteaders are unwelcome invaders, opportunistic latecomers to land tamed by cattlemen, disrupting the landscape with fences and crops.

Shane is attracted to the life of domesticity, and accepts Joe's offer of a job. He hangs up his gun and tries to adapt to life helping out on the farm. Young Joey quickly sees Shane as a hero and starts idolizing him. Ryker tries all combinations of threats and promises to scare off the Starretts and the other homesteaders including the particularly headstrong Frank 'Stonewall' Torrey (Elisha Cook Jr.), but the stubborn Joe does not yield and repeatedly inspires the others to stand firm. In desperation Ryker brings in notorious gunslinger Jack Wilson (Jack Palance) to threaten the farmers with abrupt violence, setting off a seminal confrontation.

Meticulously directed by George Stevens with exquisite care to achieve perfect framing and perspective, Shane is an engaging story presented as a feast for all the senses. The tension is introduced early on through the eyes of young Joey, and the confrontation between two lifestyles underpins an exploration of manhood and contrasting visions of the future.

The themes are grand and given suitable room to evolve in the breathtakingly beautiful landscape. Shane is based on a 1949 novel by Jack Schaefer and inspired (although it is not mentioned) by the infamous Johnson County War. Joe Starrett and Rufus Ryker cannot both thrive in the future, and no less than the destiny of a nation is represented in their struggle of wills. Starrett represents hope that there is room for families, children, settlements and a lifestyle not governed by guns and violence. Ryker is threatened by fences, rows of crops, limits on where and when he can drive his cattle, and cannot fathom a West parcelled off and sold out to farming families.

The one thing Shane is sure of is that gunmen like himself and Wilson will have no role to play in whichever future unfolds. The days of disputes being settled by gunfights are drawing to an end, and Shane is already making his way to nowhere when the film opens. He desperately tries to fit into the Starrett's way of life, enjoying Joe's friendship, Joey's hero-worship and Marian's more coy but also unmistakable signals of attention. But he also sees his negative influence on Joey, the boy naturally attracted to gunmanship and violence, and in his own way Shane is just as incompatible with Joe Starrett as Ryker is.

Shane: What's your offer, Ryker?
Ryker: To you, not a thing.
Shane: That's too bad.
Ryker: Too bad?
Shane: Yeah, you've lived too long. Your kind of days are over.
Ryker: My days! What about yours, gunfighter?
Shane: The difference is I know it.

The action set-pieces are magnificently staged. Shane's opening entrance and Wilson's later first appearance are brilliant examples of men drifting across the landscape to impose their will on the winds of destiny. There is a memorable bar fight between Shane and Chris Calloway that expands into a brawl. Stonewall trudges through the mud of a barely defined civilization with Wilson towering over him. And the final stand-off to settle the conflict once and for all is an echo from the past that will cascade into the future.

Alan Ladd as the gunman with a conscience and Van Heflin as the homemaker with an intractable dedication to his land deliver career defining performances, while Jack Palance creates quite an intimidating, almost soulless villain. Through no fault of his own, the performance of youngster Brandon deWilde has not aged well. The script saddled him with annoying lines of dialogue and endless whiny questions, with almost every single phrase out of his mouth containing Shane's name. In his one miscalculation Stevens includes endless reaction shots of young Joey's face, and the child actor was simply not up to the task.

Otherwise, Stevens' direction and editing is masterful. Filming near Jackson Hole, Wyoming with the imposing Grand Tetons providing a stunning backdrop, the film is filled with spectacular scenery. The choice of perspective is frequently dazzling, with the camera often placing seemingly peripheral children, wives and faithful family dogs at the centre of the screen while heated adult confrontations unfold. The men are settling the future, but it is the families who will live and die with the outcomes.

The audio effects are equally impressive. There are few shots fired in the film, but Stevens carefully recreated the deafening aural impact of every single shot, a rare instance where the startling impact of each bullet is emphasized to drive home the implications of life and death at the mercy of a gun.

Shane: I gotta be goin' on.
Joey: Why, Shane?
Shane: A man has to be what he is, Joey. You can't break the mold. I tried it and it didn't work for me.
Joey: We want you, Shane.
Shane: Joey, there's no living with, with a killing. There's no going back from it. Right or wrong, it's a brand, a brand that sticks. There's no going back. Now you run on home to your mother and tell her, tell her everything's alright, and there aren't any more guns in the valley.

Shane is the perfect ode to a remote west emerging from lawlessness, where a clash of ambitions defined the soul of a fledgling nation.

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