James Ellroy, "Destination: Morgue!" (2004).

Once again I've returned to the work of the hard boiled L.A.-scribe, James Ellroy. Previously I've read and blogged about The Black Dahlia and My Dark Places. Although there were things about those books that bothered me, I decided that there was enough in the author's work to continue my explorations. Thus I picked up Destination: Morgue! (2004) during a recent spending spree at Half Priced Books. I didn't know whether this title was supposed to be fiction or non-fiction, and after reading it I'm still not sure. That in itself would be no reason to discount the quality of the writing. Ellroy consistently dwells in a netherworld that seems to merge reality and fantasy. Just so, he probably shouldn't be using those kinds of labels.

Destination: Morgue! is broken up into two parts. The first is given the heading "Crime Culture/Memoir", implying that it fits under the True Crime category. If these tales are accurately classified, there are some troublesome associations for the author. I already knew that Ellroy had a tough upbringing, what with the unsolved murder of his mother, and the untidy and untimely death of his Dad. And I knew that the young Ellroy fell into some maladaptive behavioral trends... but I had no idea about the extent of his perversions. It's one thing to be drawn to the seedy and violent side of life if you can contain yourself to voyeurism. It's quite another to get directly involved.

By his own account, Ellroy was (at the very least) a bit of a miscreant. He started off with garden variety shoplifting, and worked his way up to eating Benzadrine inhaler cotton wads, peeping, breaking-and-entering, and stealing panties. Considering his literary (?) obsessions with "hot prowls" and rape/torture/murder, I wouldn't be surprised if the guy didn't flirt with more serious crimes. Even if he was able to hold himself in check, he certainly succumbed to a life of dissolution. After spending time in various forms of incarceration, and ending up close to death from sustained alcohol poisoning, Ellroy "went straight" and got a job as a caddy at an L.A. country club. It was during that period that he was first successfully published.

While Ellroy has a certain facility for describing crimes scenes and investigations in great detail, he appears to have a lot of difficulty keeping his internal and external lives separate. He often conflates his own deeds and drives with those of historical figures, as well as his own creations. What makes this tendency particularly irksome is how self-righteously judgmental Ellroy gets. Despite his own flaws he fails to see the humanity in others (a major disability for a writer). Just one example of his hypocrisy is a completely irrelevant condemnation of Bill Clinton that he tacked on to the end of his own litany of perversion and crime. It's as if he feels justified to label others "good" or "evil" based upon political affiliations (or race, gender, sexual preference, etc.).

Indeed, Ellroy's proclivities are reinforced in Part 2 of Destination: Morgue! Here he presents a trilogy of novellas about a far right wing vigilante cop who enforces justice without regard for civil rights. And he can't restrain himself from peppering his narrative with a string of offensive ethnic slurs of all types (EX: "color coonordinated Tommy Hipnigger"). As if this weren't enough, the author continues what becomes an almost interminable habit of throwing arbitrary alliteration into every single paragraph. Dig the square loner trying to come on hip- "Local louts loitered. Porch punks paraded. They hopped house to house and shared Schlitz malt liquor." You think that's cute? Try 389 pages of that unrelenting crap.

Jim Thompson, "Pop. 1280" (1964).

One major advantage of going to the library is that the selection is generally so broad that I can get the best books of any single author that I am interested in. All I have to do is a quick internet search to find out what works are most recommended. This is especially helpful in cases where a writer is prolific and has an uneven output. It's too easy to pick up something just because it's convenient, only to find that it doesn't suit your interests. I had been in the habit of going to Half Priced Books. I'd scan the shelves for books written by someone I'd heard good things about, and grab whatever was available. It was a cheap method of putting together a reading list, but unfortunately the stuff in stock was not often the best representation of the author.

Such was the case with Jim Thompson. I first discovered his work when a friend lent me The Killer Inside Me (1952). Although this title is often listed among his best books, I found it sort of juvenile and cliche. Perhaps I would have felt differently had I read it around the time of its original release. Nevertheless I don't think it held up very well, and I felt justified in ignoring Thompson for awhile. So I hadn't considered returning to his work until I saw a film dramatization of one of his memoirs. I decided to give the source material a try, and was moderately impressed. I thought that maybe I had simply gotten an unsatisfying introduction to Thompson. Recently I compiled a short list of his fiction to track down.

Pop. 1280 introduces the reader to sheriff Nick Corey, who seems like a nice enough guy, if a bit of a rube. His job is to keep tabs on the small population (see title) of Pottsville County, the most modest territory in the (unidentified Southern) state. Although crime in his jurisdiction is minimal, Nick has his hands full. There are two pimps down by the river "sassin' him". He's got to stand for re-election. And he has domestic issues. In order to resolve the first situation, he decides to pay a visit with a neighboring lawman that he considers a friend. Unfortunately Ken Lacey has the tendency to dole out just as much abuse as advice to his "friends". It's hard to understand why Nick suffers him with such patience. Of course all will be revealed in time.

Meanwhile Nick has got to find a way to make an end run around his harpy of a wife (Myra) and her idiot brother (Lenny). Our hero is a bit of a ladies' man, and he's cookin' up a few dishes on the side. One of his regular bedmates is "best friends" with Myra, and has a truculent husband to boot. That needs dealin' with. And then there's Amy, who Nick had planned to marry before he got bamboozled into connubial hell with Myra. Amy is about the only honest character in the whole book, and that quality presents its own set of problems for good ol' Nick. As "aw shucks" as Nick seems, it turns out that he's not nearly as easy going as the town-folks imagine. Hell, that's the very reason he's been able to hold on to his position as long as he has.

At the very core of his being, Nick is a lot different than he appears. His exterior is precisely cultivated to make him appear innocuous. The best way to beat your enemy is to get him to underestimate you, and Nick is an expert at this. This penchant for subtle irony is the source of much dark humor in the book. Thompson brings the reader along at his own Southern-born pace. It takes awhile for you to get your bearings, and only then do you know what you are really looking at. I was genuinely shocked at the depth lurking beneath Nick and his story. Pop. 1280
excellently illustrates why the often overlooked Thompson garnered such admiration from other authors. Like Nick Corey himself, there's a lot more there than one would ever expect.

Jim Thompson, "Roughneck" (1954).

Jim Thompson was an interesting figure in American literature. He was primarily known as an artist of hard-boiled crime fiction. During his lifetime he wrote more than thirty novels, many of which were published by pulp fiction publishers. Although he only received a little critical attention during his lifetime, he has subsequently been lauded as one of the best writers within his genre. His more refined writing incorporated surrealism and unconventional plot devices that elevated his best work to the status of literature. In fact, many contemporary authors and filmmakers have gone public with their appreciation of his output. Robert Redford, Harlan Ellison, Stephen King and the directors Stanley Kubrick, Sam fuller, Stephen Frears and Steven Shainberg are among the many cultural celebrities who are on record as being Jim Thompson fans.

Thompson was born in Indian Territory (Oklahoma) in 1906. His father was a county sheriff who was forced to leave office due to rumors of embezzlement. While his family lived a nomadic existence, Thompson developed a reputation as a hustler at a young age. One of his first jobs was working as a bellhop in a hotel, where he supplemented his income by trading in bootleg liquor during the prohibition era. This time in his life is documented in the entertaining memoir Bad Boy, and was adapted by Shainberg for his 1996 feature Hit Me. His truck with underworld figures and petty criminals left him plenty of material for the stories he was submitting to a variety of true crime magazines.

Later on he would become an oil field laborer, and then the head of the Oklahoma Federal Writers Project ( a position created as part of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's depression-era New Deal programs). During World War II he worked at an aircraft factory where he was eventually investigated for a brief flirtation with the Communist Party. Out of this experience came the fodder for his first novel, Now and on Earth (1942). Subsequent works became progressively violent and dark, and Thompson slowly built a following. Eventually though, having become frustrated by his lack of commercial success, he turned to writing television programs and novelizations in Los Angeles. He died of a stroke at the age of 71, his health ravaged by alcoholism.

Roughneck picks up where Bad Boy leaves off. It finds Thompson entering the struggles of young adulthood in the rough economic climate of the 1930's. He got married young, but had difficulties finding work to support his wife and child. His memoir chronicles his desperate search for legitimate employment. It tells of his associations with various shady characters, who lure him into schemes and con games. At one point he gets a job as a strong-arm collector for an installment shop that caters to clients with extremely bad credit. Thompson's deep humanity and affinity for the underdog shine most strongly in this account. In the midst of tramping around the country looking for sustenance, he never abandons his dreams to write great books. Unfortunately his family often pays the cost of his determination.

The stories of Thomspon's hardships are often funny, but contain a hint of deep pathos about the cold, implacable nature of life. His tale of trying to extract a derelict oil pipe from a backwoods site dramatizes the almost epic battle between intention and fate. His attempts to negotiate the bureaucracy of the Works Project Administration and write a history of the unions underscores the often unavoidable futility of honest effort. Even his modest bid for domestic comfort seems doomed to failure. Thompson finally finds himself in the position to buy a house for his clan only to discover the structure infested by bedbugs and centipedes. Despite the essentially bleak outlook and the rather scattered narrative, Roughneck is an illustrative reminder of just how tough it has been (and can yet be) to make it in the USA.

A Night of Noir- "Crime Wave" (1954) and "Decoy" (1946)

It was refreshing to get the chance last night to sit down and watch a couple of Film Noir movies, back-to-back. These films are usually under an hour and a half in length, and so it's usually no problem to fit two within the space of three hours. I still had a few flicks from the Warner Brothers Film Noir Classic Collection, Volume 4 set to watch, and so I set in for an evening of easy entertainment. I've written at some length about my appreciation for the genre, but there's an entirely separate emotional component to watching these films that I haven't really touched on. It's a bit tough to communicate the feeling I get when I settle into the couch at night in preparation to take in some classic Noir. I read once about the concept of being nostalgic for a time you've never experienced, and I suppose this comes close to describing what I get from these films. There's more to it, but I'm going to keep it for myself for fear that I'd lose out if I analyzed it to deeply.

The first selection was Crime Wave (1954)- a flick directed by Andre De Toth, and starring Sterling Hayden, Ted de Corsia, a very young Charles Bronson, Phyllis Kirk, and the relatively unknown Gene Nelson. De Toth was a Hungarian immigrant who made the 3D House of Wax (1953), despite only having the use of one eye. He became known for delivering tough flicks with no-holds-barred violence. Of course that meant something radically more restrained than it does today, and so Crime Wave does not stand out for its brutality. But there is a certain cynicism in the role of the top cop (Hayden) that suggests that De Toth was no stranger to the rough-and-tumble tactics of law enforcement in 1940's Los Angeles. It should come as no surprise that Quentin Tarantino is a big fan of Crime Wave.

The studio in charge of production tried to convince De Toth to hire Humphrey Bogart for Hayden's role, but the director was set on his choice. He ultimately delivered the final reel after 13 days of shooting. Crime Wave is exceptional for its gritty atmosphere, as most of the scenes were shot in real locations rather than on a sound stage. The opening scene features three escaped convicts in a penny ante hold-up of a service station. The stick-up job doesn't go as planned, and sets the tone for the rest of the story. An ex-con named Steve Lacey (Nelson) is trying to live the "square john" life, but is interrupted by an appeal to the prisoner's code. Unfortunately his wife is caught up in the mess, and Lacey is forced to pick from a set of unpalatable options. The tale is standard fare, yet the presence of Bronson as a thug, and some of the other bit players make it adequately entertaining.

I followed up with Decoy (1946). Director John Bernhard made the film for a "Poverty Row" studio named Bernhard-Brandt Productions. Because of its low budget, there really aren't any recognizable actors on-screen. That's not to say that the performances are bad- in fact, the performers do pretty good work relative to the standards of the genre. Lead actress Jean Gillie may have been able to put together a high profile career had she not died three years after this film's release (at age 34). She certainly makes an impression as one of the most ruthless femme fatales in the history of Film Noir. Her character (named Margot Shelby) is so adept at manipulating adoring males that she is able to pull off some amazing schemes. The narrative is centered on Margo's quest for the dough stolen by her death-row-inmate-boyfriend. Unfortunately for her, he's not giving up the goods unless he walks out of prison alive, and so she has to put together a plan to make that happen.

When one guy outlives his usefulness to this dangerous dame, he is quickly thrown over for someone who can help her with her next set of objectives. It is for this reason that Margot begins to court an altruistic doctor named Dr. Craig (Herbert Rudley). He is a particularly soft touch for the wily Ms. Shelby, and finds himself ultimately willing to sacrifice his scruples to keep his "love object" happy. It is her relationship with Dr. Craig that most clearly illuminates just how truly sociopathic Margot Shelby is. Her lust for the trappings of material success knows no bounds. And the director's portrayal of her appetites is similarly over-the-top. In fact there is a healthy strain of melodrama underlying the entire running length of Decoy. But rather than spoiling the film, that quality adds a strange hint of surrealism that ends up making the whole affair quite fascinating. That's why if you only have time for one of these movies, I suggest seeing the latter.

Charles Willeford, "The Shark-Infested Custard"

Over the years I've spent a lot of time sifting through Amazon.com, looking for stuff that I might enjoy. In the process I've discovered innumerable items that I have enjoyed. Without this resource there are no doubt many things that I never would have discovered. If you' haven't played around on this site, I recommend trying it out some time. It's the best way to figure out whether or not you'd enjoy a particular CD, DVD or book. All you have to do is search for a product you like a lot, and take in the numerous recommendations that the Amazon search engine, or its many users, have in store for you. I've constructed a lengthy wish list by doing this very thing. The best part of it is that you can buy selections from independent marketplace sellers, often for less than the retail price.

While my experiences with Amazon have been overwhelmingly positive, once in awhile I am led to something I don't like. Obviously no system of recommendations is infallible. In addition one doesn't always know exactly what he/she likes. You have to take the time with the reviews and the various lists to make the best decisions. Over time your tastes may even change. Perhaps that's what happened between the time I identified Charles Willeford as an author worth checking out, and the time I finally broke down and ordered one of his books. I was excited by the prospect of reading The Shark-Infested Custard, and cracked it open soon after receiving it in the mail.

I had actually looked around for a Willeford title for years. For some odd reason I could never find any of his stuff at the Half-Priced Books stores that I frequent. I knew he was prolific, so I kept waiting and searching. It's quite possible that I never saw any of his books because I don't shop in the sections where he is shelved. He is usually categorized as a hard boiled crime/mystery writer. I don't have a whole lot of experience with that genre. Maybe Amazon recommended Willeford because I had reported liking a Jim Thompson book. Or maybe they seized upon my positive rating of Cockfighter- a movie for which Willeford wrote the screenplay.

All I can say with complete conviction is that this was a misfire. I wasn't even minimally impressed by The Shark-Infested Custard. The story (as it is) is told from the perspectives of four young men, who meet each other while living in an apartment complex for singles. They are like caricatures of the typical 70's-era professional American male, and (as such) I had a hard time relating with them from the start. They are shallow and blunt, without any type of sophistication or depth to keep the reader interested. These cartoonish boors display about as much emotional development and insight as the average adolescent frat-boy. I'm not sure whether they were created intentionally to be this baldly regressive or whether their portrayal reflects the personality of Willeford himself.

To make matters even more dire, the writing is poor- with obvious grammatical errors and a half-baked narrative device that seeks to tell the story through each character's perspective in turn. There is no cohesive thread that ties the events of the book together. Without creating any tension, and absent compelling motivation and/or social analysis, reading The Shark-Infested Custard was flat-out boring. That's probably the most grievous sin a writer can commit within this genre. Without pace or interesting interaction... without intriguing circumstances or settings... without the semblance of engaging dialog... there's just no reason to continue reading. I finished this book merely because I wanted to count it on my "reading project" list. I was also curious to see if it would redeem itself toward the end. Unfortunately, it didn't.

James Ellroy, "My Dark Places" (1997).

In November I wrote a review for James Ellroy's Black Dahlia (1987). That piece of hard-boiled crime fiction introduced me to the author's obsessions with the seedy Los Angeles of the 40's and 50's. His subsequent stories of mid-Twentieth Century Southern California were increasingly lauded, and he was touted as the spiritual heir of such Noir writers as Dashiell Hammet and Raymond Chandler. He could never be accused of downplaying the more sensational details in his tales, and several of his books (including L.A. Confidential) were eventually adapted for the big-screen. Ellroy's mix of gritty realism and salacious trimmings owes itself in part to his own experiences growing up in and around L.A.

The tragic plight of Geneva Hilliker is perhaps the defining moment of James Ellroy's life. Hilliker was found in 1958, slaughtered and dumped off on an access road leading into a public school complex. She had been strangled with stocking and cord ligatures, and was partially disrobed. Although the 11-year old James Ellroy seemed to be nonchalant about this event, it would later return to haunt him. Geneva Hilliker was his mother. Ellroy's parents were initially separated by age (his father Armand was over a decade older), and later by hard emotions and thwarted expectations. Because of Armand Ellroy's inability to hold down a steady job in his later years, Geneva was awarded custody of James. Mother Geneva struggled to keep her household afloat in order to provide a decent environment for her child. Meanwhile his father still took him on the weekends, and took every opportunity to poison his son's mind against his mom.

Because of Armand Ellroy's systematic campaign against Geneva Hilliker, James viewed her murder as something of a blessing. He had been convinced that his mother was a drunken whore, and looked forward to spending all of his time with his indulgent father. The younger Ellroy was on such a long leash that he had the run of a string of neighborhoods in downtown Los Angeles. It didn't take him very long to find trouble. He became a peeping tom and a petty thief, and found himself incarcerated more than once during his young adulthood. Throughout his 20's he abused alcohol until his body was just about ruined. Forced sobriety led him to consider the trajectory of his life, and he became a golf caddy and an aspiring author. Eventually he garnered both national sales and critical acclaim.

In the early 90's Ellroy was moved to come to terms with the memories of his mother. He had repressed the meaning of her life and death for way too long. He decided to re-investigate her murder, which had never been solved. He enlisted cops and reporters in his quest, and set out to find the answers that would define the missing parts of himself. Obviously the nearly forty intervening years had left a tremendously cold trail. Ellroy tried to get his hands on whatever records survived from the initial investigation. He identified a list of living witnesses, with the help of his buddies and contacts in law enforcement. He set up a chain of interviews which started in the little bar in which Geneva was last seen, and extended in concentric circles that stretched far across the country.

Along the way Ellroy was forced to confront plenty of unpleasant details about his mother's life. Most of us would probably be indelibly scarred by much of the information he unearthed. Yet this upheaval instead evoked much emotional re-evaluation in the son. The brutal honesty of Ellroy's evolving reflections on the case reveals the author in ways that a dispassionate account could never do. It is often difficult to like James Ellroy, as we accompany him on his harrowing personal journey. Unfortunately his clinical approach and irritatingly repetitive style drags the impact of My Dark Places down into a murky police-procedural mess. But in the gloomy corners of his prose one finds an occasional glimpse of humanity that comes across unexpectedly. If Ellroy had employed a better editor, this might have had the potential to become a classic within the genre.

Nicholas Ray, "They Live by Night" (1948).

As I've worked my way through the 4th box set of Warner Brothers' Film Noir DVDs, I've found the definition of the genre stretched mightily. Some film critics have pointed out that Noir really isn't a cohesive genre at all, but rather a style. Val Lewton's 1940's horror film productions (such as Cat People and The Body Snatcher) have been characterized as having been shot Noir-style (I've recently purchased a collection of these films, but haven't broken into it yet), and there are plenty of modern movies that have earned the label "neo-Noir". The Coen Brothers' Blood Simple is an apt example. So I really shouldn't be surprised that, in the mad rush to capitalize on a popular trend in DVD release, that different studios and production companies are applying the tag of Noir with an obvious lack of discretion.

At first I was fairly disappointed by what I saw as deception in the modern marketing of these old films. If you scour through the archives of this blog, you can probably find some carping on this theme. But the truth is that there have been several films that I would have never taken the chance on had they not been sold as Noir. A perfect example of this would be Joseph Mankiewicz' House of Strangers (1949). Starring the legendary Edward G. Robinson, it is the story of the Italian patriarch of a family of bankers, and the tragic consequences and misunderstandings that result from a mad drive to establish material success. House of Strangers incorporates very few elements of Noir. Twentieth Century-Fox only gets away with its categorization of the film because its star participated in some of the finest examples of Noir (Key Largo [1948], Scarlet Street [1945] and Double Indemnity [1944]) . Regardless, in this case I was happy to be fooled- I loved the movie.

The same thing applies (in part) to They Live by Night (directed by Nicholas Ray). Warner Brothers was certainly on more solid ground when it decided to include the film as part of a Noir set than Fox was with House of Strangers. Ray's film does incorporate the activities of a small pack of thieves and their attempts to elude capture. There is a striking lack of condemnation in the treatment of the characters' sins, as well as a heaping dose of moral ambiguity. It might even be argued that it contains a typical femme fatale. These are all aspects that I expect in the classic Noir genre (or should I say 'style'?). Still, the success of They Live By Night rests on an identification the viewer is likely to make with the young couple at the film's center. Farley Granger is an undeniably troubled youth, who chooses to be in the company of some truly 'bad actors'. But he also embodies a strange innocence that seems out-of-place considering the circumstances of his life.

Granger's love interest (played superbly by the beautifully endearing Cathy O'Donnell) may be initially skeptical of becoming involved with an escaped con- but eventually she demonstrates a level of pure sweetness that is uncommon, if not entirely absent, within Noir films. As the lovebirds take to the open road, the depiction of their relationship would seem more appropriate in a romance-comedy. This doesn't make They Live by Night a failure. To the contrary, the decision to focus on the naive and unsullied nature of the coupling serves to engage us fully in their collective fate. Our level of involvement with Granger and O'Donnell makes the bittersweet ending all the more effective. While the finale is a sad one, it skirts the deep pessimism that we are used to finding in our favorite Noir. The fatalism is tempered with a hint of hope.

Perhaps it's not such a surprise that They Live by Night resists classification. This was Nicholas Ray's first film. Later on in his career, the director would become famous for having made Rebel Without a Cause (1955). That story of teenage angst and rebellion would carry faint traces of Ray's film debut. The filmmaker would put his instincts for melodrama to good use. There's no denying the directorial talent displayed in They Live by Night. Despite some mild disappointment in finding some traditional components of Noir lacking, I had no trouble enjoying the film. I found myself becoming emotionally involved in the plight of the leads- an unusual response for me when it comes to stories of love-on-the-lam. There's a heart at the center of this nominally fatalistic film that betrays an undercurrent of idealism. Still it has enough resemblance to its Noir kin that it can be considered a first cousin.

James Ellroy, "The Black Dahlia" (1987).

Although I've watched scores of films that can be characterized as Film Noir, I haven't read very much Noir literature. The names of the most famous authors of the genre's heyday are becoming increasingly familiar- Cornell Woolrich, Dashiell Hammet, Raymond Chandler, Mickey Spillane, and James M. Cain. These hardboiled fiction writers launched the characters and plots that Film Noir was built upon. Since the classic era, several American authors have been directly influenced by this tradition. Jim Thompson, Elmore Leonard, Charles Willeford and James Ellroy are among the most famous of this group. Of these literary figures I have only read books by the first and the last. In fact my introduction to Ellroy was The Black Dahlia, which I completed yesterday.

Ellroy was born in the midst of the period (1948) that Film Noir first reached popular consciousness. His upbringing (although tragic) set the tone for the type of fatalistic crime story he would become famous for. He was the product of a broken home, and his mother was murdered when he was only ten years old. That crime would never be solved, and would help touch off Ellroy's lifelong obsession with the darker side of life. He would later transfer his unresolved feelings toward his mother on to another famous unsolved murder victim- Elizabeth Short, who was killed about a year before his birth. This 22-year old woman (also known as "The Black Dahlia") met her gruesome end in Los Angeles, and was the source of much mystery and speculation for decades afterward. The extreme mutilation of her body resonated with fanatics of true crime. There were a host of suspects investigated by police investigators, and it is rumored that the lengthy list featured such prominent figures as "Bugsy" Siegel, Orson Welles, and Woody Guthrie.

Almost 40 years after the demise of Elizabeth Short, Ellroy attempted to bring together the loose ends of the case with his novel The Black Dahlia (1987). This work has been credited with bringing serious critical attention to the writer, who had previously been confined to the ignoble ghetto of "detective fiction". He would later follow up with a cycle of three more books that completed what came to be known as his L.A. Quartet. In 1997, L.A Confidential was adapted into film by Curtis Hanson, and Brian DePalma brought The Black Dahlia to the big screen in 2005. The success brought about by increasing media attention was hard earned for Ellroy. For much of his early life he had been an alcoholic, a vagrant, and a petty criminal. After achieving notoriety for his writing, he established a reputation as a slavish defender of the LAPD, a brash political conservative, and a necessary teetotaler. He has since sought to distance himself from the label of "genre writer", and now seeks to create mainstream fiction.

Certainly The Black Dahlia meets several of the requirements for becoming popular art. It has at its center a crime so heinous that it astonished a nation. There is perverse sexuality, violence, gore, and psychological trauma at its core. When constructing the plot of his novel, Ellroy obviously didn't feel constrained by the cold, hard facts regarding the historical Elizabeth Short. He introduces many characters into the story that never existed. The protagonist is an ex-middleweight boxing champion-turned-cop. "Bucky" Bleichert is a hard-bitten warrants officer with a soft center that stymies his ascension to the top ranks of the police department. He is brought into the "Dahlia" case against his best instincts, and gradually becomes infatuated with the dead girl. As he becomes progressively embroiled in the complex world of the case, he latches on to a "Black Dahlia proxy"- a dangerous and manipulative beauty from the ranks of the nouveau riche aristocracy of Hollywood. This association threatens to imperil his life and career.

I couldn't help but be impressed at the exhaustive attention Ellroy pays to the police procedural aspects of his novel. The professional jargon of law enforcement, the crime scene protocol, and the intricacies of investigative technique come off as extraordinarily convincing in the eyes of this (admittedly) shallowly-informed reader. There is also a wealth of period detail that presents a captivating and seedy urban setting for the events that enfold. These elements help to flesh out the often convoluted and twisty contrivances of the plot. Ellroy's evocative skills work to distract his audience from the unreality of his story. In the end, The Black Dahlia bears little resemblance to the historical facts it is based upon. According to the author's own admission, it is a colorfully-imagined attempt at reconciliation that allows Ellroy to come to terms with his own troubled past. It's also a genuinely diverting and memorable read.

John Farrow, Robert Mitchum and "His Kind of Woman" (1951)

The other night I finally decided to break into the Warner Brothers Film Noir Classic Collection #3. I figured I didn't need to let it sit unopened on the shelf any longer because I now have the fourth set, and that package includes ten films. I always like to have a backlog of movies to watch... for some reason it gives me a cozy feeling knowing I've got future discoveries to make here in my very own home. Perhaps it's the American in me. I had to find something to hoard. The first two Warner Bros. Noir sets were very entertaining, and I have to credit them in part for establishing my recent passion for Film Noir. When I scanned the titles in #3, I noticed that there was one featuring Robert Mitchum, and I figured that was an appropriate place to start.

His Kind of Woman was directed by John Farrow, and released in 1951. Along with Mitchum, this Howard Hughes-produced flick starred Jane Russell and Vincent Price. But the star power doesn't end there- the flick also contains Raymond Burr as the arch-villain, and the familiar face of Jim Backus (of Gilligan's Island fame) as a cheesy "playboy" type. The inclusion of Mitchum and Burr in a cast usually means that we are going to be entering true Noir territory. Even Price was known to do some good turns in the genre before he became the Hollywood horror icon that most viewers grew to love later in his career. Check out his performances in the fascinatingly oily roles in such classics as Laura (1944) and Shock (1946). As a young man he seemed to encapsulate an effete, sophisticated charm that worked to confound the typically world-weary and streetwise heroes that tend to anchor the standard Noir entry.

On the other hand, the presence of Backus should have raised the red flag of warning. He's a cliche of comic relief, and plays true-to-form in this ensemble vehicle. Still it would be unfair to blame our thwarted expectations on Backus alone. We've got Jane Russell, who was handpicked by Hughes to become a cheesecake icon. She's simply not able to muster the smoky allure that we are used to seeing in our femme fatales. In fact, next to the seasoned veterans in the cast, she comes off as a lightweight. We're supposed to believe she is an accomplished goldbrick, yet she still stumbles about like a wide-eyed country hick. Meanwhile Price is hamming it up in the guise of a successful actor (a la Errol Flynn) who dreams of an adventure worthy of his on screen persona. Somehow the screenwriter allows him to transform into a backwoods "white knight".

Instead of the gritty streets of the urban wastelands, we are taken to the balmy palms of a posh Mexican resort. We don't get tense stalkings through abandoned factories, but rather a pallid pursuit through the bowels of a large yacht. In truth this film is more Fantasy Island than Out of the Past. Perhaps all of this wouldn't be so disappointing if Robert Mitchum delivered his best work. But what could he do (really) with a script that has him ironing money as a cure for boredom? Is he laconic? Check. Cool under fire? Yup. Nonchalant? Sure. Yet I couldn't help but wonder how much pot he had to smoke to get through this farce of a film. Anyway.. I had to look up the details of his arrest and imprisonment for marijuana usage, and (sure enough) it was a scant two years before His Kind of Woman was filmed.

All of this is not to say that this is a complete waste of time. There are enough hardened professionals in the film to make it interesting- even if everyone has to strain to look busy. The depiction of early-50's, jet-setting tourism was mildly compelling from a sociological viewpoint. And there are a couple of gems within the clumsily-aped patter that the writers tried to pass off as Noir-speak. You could do worse than spending two hours watching this spectacle. You could watch a modern Hollywood crime thriller. But why would you, with the hugely expanded catalogue of movies available on DVD today? If you are a Mitchum or (God forbid) Jim Backus completist, then by all means see His Kind of Woman. Otherwise you're not missing much here.

Robert Aldrich, "Kiss Me Deadly" (1955)

Director Robert Aldrich is famous for having made a number of classics, including The Dirty Dozen (1967), Flight of the Phoenix (1965), What Ever happened to Baby Jane (1962), and The Longest Yard (1974). Born in Rhode Island in 1918, he was the first cousin of former Vice President Nelson Rockefeller. He was known to be rare auteur among filmmakers working in the Hollywood studio system. Despite working in many genres, he was always able to stamp his distinctive mark upon the work. In my opinion there's no better example of this unique facility than Kiss Me Deadly, a late-period film noir starring Ralph Meeker.

While the movie is based upon a story by famous pot-boiler mystery writer Mickey Spillane, Kiss Me Deadly takes the character of private dick Mike Hammer, and adds new hues to his legend. By the time the film was created, the flatfoot detective had been notably portrayed by Biff Elliot in I, the Jury (1953). Later on, actors as diverse as Robert Bray, Stacey Keach, Armand Assante and Spillane himself played the role. Hammer was originally written as a brutally violent, misogynistic, and opportunistic man. While other directors seemed to sand out some of Hammer's rough edges, Aldrich made sure to depict him as Spillane had intended. He's the kind of guy that Dashiell Hammet and Raymond Chandler would have avoided portraying as the "hero".

Meeker seems tailor made for the role. His vaguely thuggish appearance and generally cynical attitude make the events of Kiss Me Deadly seem quite convincing despite the sometimes outlandish plot. While we are used to seeing the flawed protagonist gumshoe in the noir genre, we rarely see anyone quite as unredeemed as this version of Mike Hammer. He basically pimps out a girl that adores him in order to blackmail a series of cheating spouses. He's seemingly willing to sell out any loyalty to advance his own underhanded purposes. Unlike more representative anti-heroes within the genre, Hammer's not even very particularly complex or subtle in his tactics. Throughout the course of the story we see him murder several men without hesitation or reflection. At other times he simply employs violent tactics and threats to get the information he needs. Most notably he has nothing but contempt for law enforcement. Instead of half-heartedly assisting the authorities, he both actively undermines them, and inadvertently mucks up their operations.

Yet at the same time Aldrich's Hammer seems to be a genuine man of the people. It is clear that he extends his social network beyond the conventional parameters of the time. He has associations from multiple minority groups that make us a bit forgiving of his manipulative ways. But through these connections we get an exposure to a fairly wide spectrum of the criminal L.A. underworld. There are crooked boxing promoters, apparently strung-out wenches, garden variety thugs, and wickedly colorful mafioso types. In fact some of the latter group (Paul Stewart and Jack Elam) would look completely at home on an episode of The Sopranos. Even Hammer's cop acquaintance (played by Wesley Addy) looks like he's no stranger to the demimonde.

This entire collection of folks is tied together by the search for an unidentified object of great value. The irony is that so many of the players in this gritty drama experience a range of harsh treatments in the service and pursuit of the unknown. Despite the fact that the most vicious injuries are delivered off screen, we are left with no doubt about the horrific sufferings that are visited upon them. Even without explicit violence, we are left with the impression that Aldrich has pulled no punches in the telling of this story. When we finally discover what everyone has been fighting over, it comes as a complete surprise (which I won't ruin here). Kiss Me Deadly is very much a statement on the contemporary concerns of the period during which the film was made. There is an obvious allegory that becomes clearly drawn by the final scene. And the finale is truly striking.

David Miller, "Sudden Fear" (1952)

Sometimes it seems like media companies make marketing decisions based merely upon whatever is trendy, regardless of the true quality or nature of the product. Often this results in a dissatisfied customer. Occasionally it can lead a consumer to a discovery of something that he/she would not have checked out otherwise. Sudden Fear is a case in point of the latter phenomenon. Released by the Kino DVD publishing outfit as part of their Film Noir - The Dark Side of Hollywood 5-disc set, the film stars screen legend Joan Crawford and Jack Palance in a story of deep betrayal. In my opinion, the movie is a bit misclassified as noir. That genre is a difficult one to pin down, and allows a wide range of films to exist together in a somewhat arbitrary grouping. But when it comes down to it, noir is something amorphous that you recognize the more experience you have with it.

Sudden Fear, in my opinion, is better described as a Hitchcockian thriller. It introduces Crawford as a successful playwright, going about her business in the casting of her latest production. She overrules her producers and partners decision regarding the choice of the lead male actor. The character played by Jack Palance just isn't, in Crawford's eyes, romantic enough. He's a hell of an actor, but doesn't have the attractive looks that Crawford believes necessary for the part. Because of her track record, everyone defers to her wishes and Palance is fired. Crawford takes the responsibility for the decision, and Palance is visibly angry with her as he storms off the rehearsal stage. Things go well with the production, and Crawford's decision is vindicated.

Of course the viewer expects Palance to pop up later. It's too clear that his confrontation with Crawford is central to the developing plot. The two meet once again several weeks later on a cross-country train ride. While Crawford clearly finds this coincidental meeting awkward and embarrassing, Palance seems gracious and is eager for there to be no bad feelings about the past. They spend a lot of time together during the ride, and a new friendship slowly evolves into a budding romance. It appears that Palance has finally convinced the playwright that he is indeed a Casanova.

Soon Crawford is introducing Palance to her well-to-do San Franciscan social set, and all seems well as they court and eventually marry. It's clear that Crawford is absolutely mad for Palance. She adores him beyond any other object. But given the title of the film, we know that the good times can't last the complete running time (I really feel that I'm not giving too much of the plot away here). What is going on soon becomes abundantly clear, but how it will all play out is a different matter. How will the principles react to the shifting dynamics in their relationships? Director David Miller has done his job- he's engaged the audience in a twisted tale, and has constructed a pace that keeps the viewer on the edge of his/her seat. While some of his devices are awfully predictable, the diversionary route the ending wends through is often fascinating. Whether or not the grand finale is ultimately satisfying is a bit beside the point. It's a very entertaining film nonetheless.

One thing does puzzle me though- and it has nothing to do with the intelligent script, evocative cinematography, nor the competent professionalism of the director. It has to do with the casting of Sudden Fear. Did the person in charge of filling these roles truly view Crawford as a captivatingly beautiful actress? Did viewers in the 1950's think Joan Crawford was an ideal romantic lead? Because I found her scary and harsh looking all the way through the film. The choice to put her in the main role is ironic given the story itself. It was uncomfortable for me to watch Palance and Crawford share a series of onscreen embraces. In fact I was nearly disgusted. Was I supposed to feel that way all along? Crawford is clearly an amazing melodramatic actress. I will definitely check out more of her work. But unless I find out that she aged poorly, I never want to watch her kiss anyone again.

Joseph L. Mankiewicz, "No Way Out" (1950)

For some reason, when I saw the Fox Noir release of No Way Out (1950), I thought that it was the original source for the 1987 movie with Kevin Costner. That turned out to be wildly off-base. It's unfortunate that a mediocre action flick by Roger Donaldson was able to steal the thunder from the classic Joseph L. Mankiewicz film. No doubt most modern film viewers haven't even heard of the latter. Starring Richard Widmark and Sidney Poitier, the 1950 film was a socially progressive, riveting, character-based thriller.

With even a cursory understanding of pre-civil rights era social politics, a viewer might expect that the idea of an African-American doctor treating white patients would be beyond controversial. This is indeed the case as Dr. Luther Brooks (Poitier), after completing his internship, finds himself stationed in the prison ward of a county hospital. There the Biddle brothers are wheeled in for emergency care- both with leg wounds incurred while they were plying their stick-up trade. For some reason one is far worse off than the other, despite the similarity of their injuries. Brooks quickly ascertains that Johnnie Biddle is suffering from a pre-existing malady, and moves quickly to address the problem. When he is unsuccessful, and Johnnie dies- Ray Biddle (played by Widmark) blames the death on Brooks. Ray is an inveterate racist, and vows to take revenge.

Fortunately for Dr. Brooks, he has a support system. Dr. Worden (played by Stephen McNally), the head physician at the hospital, has committed himself to seeing that Brooks negotiates the many challenges of being a pioneer. In addition Brooks has a supportive (if weary) family, including a long-suffering but loving wife. Finally, Brooks will find an unlikely ally in Johnnie Biddle's estranged wife. But that won't happen before Ray Biddle sets in motion a plan of mayhem that results in full-blown race riots.

Remarkably, Mankiewicz was able to make an issue film without completely vilifying its characters (other than the fanatically-bigoted Ray Biddle). I was especially struck by the the hardheaded realism displayed in a conversation between Dr. Worden and the executive administrator of the hospital. The theme of integration is examined in admirably complex terms. Almost sixty years later, film-goers can only hope for a treatment of race relations as intelligent as this one. The director was able to portray the dynamics that keep segregated sections of the lower classes fighting against each other. Meanwhile the flavor of the inner city is dramatically accentuated by the exceptional cinematography of Milton Krasner.

Ultimately the viewer is going to be most struck by the amazing performances of the diametrically opposed leads. Poitier is able to contain both strains of insecurity and quietly-borne nobility simultaneously. The true depths of his pain and inner conflict are notably exposed in his last line of the film (which I choose not to disclose here). This final reveal is so gut-wrenchingly telling that it will surely linger in your head. At the same time, nobody can overshadow Richard Widmark. He is so much fun to watch that it doesn't matter that he's gone completely over-the-top. No one could have played this role like Widmark. His performance alone would justify watching this film. But there are plenty of reasons for multiple viewings.