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See the moon—see the stars—all for one thin dime
I have been recharging with TCM tonight, meaning I just finished watching a nice little B-movie by Jean Negulesco called Nobody Lives Forever (1946). John Garfield stars as Nick Blake, a demobbed grifter whose homecoming is as sweet and loving as can be expected in a film noir universe—his torch-singer girlfriend not only forgot to send him a dear-John while he was overseas, she failed to mention she started a nightclub with her new man and used Nick's savings to do it. Abandoning New York and its bad memories for the deceptive sunshine of Los Angeles, Nick falls in with old compatriots and old enemies and reluctantly agrees to become part of a long con involving wealthy widow Gladys Halvorsen (Geraldine Fitzgerald), and you will not be played for a sucker if you bet that true love will eventually interfere with the best-laid plans of crooks and cynics, but the film gets in a pleasing amount of caper/noir in the meantime. The romance plays out with all the offstage strings and softly-lit close-ups a three-hanky special could wish for, but the rest of the cast are a gallery of character actors and they regard the relationship with dawning horror, either as a double-cross in the making or a horrible professional slip-up. They may be types, but they're all so perfectly sketched: George Coulouris as the twitchy, touchy former high-roller constantly choking on his resentment of the rough diamond he's had to import into his plans; Walter Brennan as Nick's wry once-mentor, a stubbed-out cigarette of a man reduced to picking the pockets of drunks in a ten-cent telescope scam; George Tobias as his right-hand shlep, the genial, resigned sort of second banana who gives up on the slot machine he's been feeding all night just in time to see it cash out for the next fellow. There's a bellhop who used to be a jockey in Florida and clocks all the con men as they come in, an all-night diner proprietor who'll really blow his stack if one more customer calls him "pal." A pair of supporting hoods are named Windy and Shake. There was more of a shootout at the end than I was expecting, but the last few seconds dodge the fade-out kiss and give the closing lines to Tobias and his sarcastic Brooklyn honk. I will watch most things by Negulesco; he's the only director who ever gave Peter Lorre a romantic leading role. I am quite seriously considering Humoresque (1946), which would finish around four in the morning. It has Oscar Levant.
In any case, it reminded me that several months ago I found a photograph of John Garfield and never posted it, although I was very struck by it at the time:
I didn't know he'd ever looked like Edward G. Robinson.
In any case, it reminded me that several months ago I found a photograph of John Garfield and never posted it, although I was very struck by it at the time:
I didn't know he'd ever looked like Edward G. Robinson.
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Three Strangers (1946). It's one of my favorite movies nobody's heard of. I wrote it up when I first saw it; I am not sure it's the world's greatest writeup, but you should at least see why I love the film. The studio wanted someone like David Niven or Robert Montgomery for the role of Johnny West: Negulesco held out for Lorre. It's not, of course, available on DVD.
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I'm afraid not; I think the last Kubrick film I discussed was Lolita (1962) over the summer. I was just linked to some of his photography for Look, though.
I have actually seen about half of his films, which is more than I'd thought—not his early film noir, Barry Lyndon (1975), Full Metal Jacket (1987), or Eyes Wide Shut (1999). Do you have thoughts on any of these?
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I wouldn't rank it among the best unknown film noir I've seen, but it was a very nice thing to sack out on the couch and stare at. I did stay up for about an hour of Humoresque, which was fascinating—I kind of liveblogged it to
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I agree that was for the best.
Fortunately, it has Joan Crawford, so it's on DVD.
I have a magnet of her picture that bears the inscription "Don't make me go all Joan Crawford on your ass!" Which... yeah.
She's... right here...
She's... looking at me.
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I saw it in
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The lighting is one of the reasons I'm interested in seeing it—I can't think of many naturally-lit period films that aren't also by Peter Greenaway. It also has a character-actor cast, which always attracts me.
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why aren't you writing screenplays? You come up with the best lines.
a stubbed-out cigarette of a man evocative and perfect. I can see him now.
I *so much* enjoy vicarious film watching with you.
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They may be types, but they're all so perfectly sketched...
This is a great line, and descriptive of a type of characterisation I recognised instantly, but have never quite thought about that way before. I'd be very satisfied if I were ever to get a comment like that.
That's an excellent photograph. Thanks for sharing it.
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. . . Because I have no idea how to structure a film? Besides, these are all narrative lines, and I think voiceovers have gone out of fashion these days.
I *so much* enjoy vicarious film watching with you.
Hah! Thank you. I like sharing things I like. Probably some of it is the impulse to retell—I'm still not satisfied with my description of Tobias' Al Doyle. He's a big man and he's more of a comic character than Garfield's Nick, especially with his wisecracks, his plaintive drunk scene and his hard-luck experience with various inanimate objects, but he's not stupid, or he wouldn't be Nick's go-to guy, and he can be a hard man when he has to with barely a change of face. There's more between the lines of these archetypes than first appears. It's hard not to feel something for Coulouris' hangdog Doc Ganson, who used to be a top-flight racketeer and lives mostly now in the back room of a smoky bar, banking on the next score that will put him back on his feet: he's like a man playing the part of a con artist, always a touch hollowly as if he doesn't really believe it himself, or he has to remember every time how it's done. He's overblown when he's on top and vicious when cornered, and there is at nearly all times that doubting edginess that is close to paranoia, but he's not just a heavy. He's a parody of himself now, swinging between extremes. He would not have been an unimpressive figure in his heyday. And now I'm shortchanging Walter Brennan, who was playing old-timers by his mid-thirties—he puts some nice shadings into "Pop" Gruber, who'll do his best to look out for his old protégé and his new flame, but Ganson can still put the screws on him. Richard Gaines polishes his glasses expertly as Gladys' financial advisor, who in another movie would have been stuffy and flustered and is here merely a very honest, genuinely polite man who can't spot a shark at twenty paces. You should see the film yourself if you get the chance!
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Thank you! I might still have been thinking about archetypes from One Man, Two Guvnors. That show is a perfect commedia dell' arte, but it works even if you've never heard of Arlecchino or Pantalone in your life—and if you do recognize the characters, you can appreciate them down to their zany finger-ends all the more.
That's an excellent photograph. Thanks for sharing it.
You're welcome. Let's hear it for Ashkenazi genetics.
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So yes. That's one thing.
You should see the film yourself if you get the chance!
If we lived in the same city, I'd drop in on you one evening (but never without calling ahead) and watch one.
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I'm not quite sure how your reply ended up on top of its comment—I edited it, but that shouldn't have caused any kind of topological shift—but in any case Joan Crawford is one of those actors I know by reputation far more than by her actual work. Off the top of my head, I know I've seen her in Grand Hotel (1931) and The Women (1939) and just the beginnings of the second half of Humoresque (1946), and then I'm hard-presssed to think what else. Several films in which I thought I'd seen her turned out to be either Bette Davis or Barbara Stanwyck. And I do not think she was without talent. Something else to remedy.
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I consider that a very serious compliment. Thank you.
If we lived in the same city, I'd drop in on you one evening (but never without calling ahead) and watch one.
You would be welcome.