Big Jay McNeely, Los Angeles, 1953

I still remember the first time I saw this photo. It was the mid-late 90's and I saw it, apropos of nothing really, dropped in some empty white space of a Crypt Records catalog. Like he did with most of the catalog's photos, Tim Warren had added his own word bubbles. I don't remember exactly what the guy front and center was saying—something about how he would rather die than have a son that grew up to listen to disco? I better remember an image from the catalog of Link Wray saying "MotherFUCK the Squares!"

Here we are 15 or so years later and judging by its popularity online, the already timeless image has had its life-lease extended yet again. I guess I'm now a small part of that.

Leroi Jones explains:

during the heyday of rhythm & blues, blues-oriented instrumentalists, usually saxophone players, would vie to see who could screech, or moan, or shout the loudest and longest on their instruments.Men like Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis, Illinois Jacquet, Willis "Gator Tail" Jackson, Big Jay McNeeley, Lynn Hope, and many others would have "honking" contests and try to outshout and outstomp any other saxophonist who would dare challenge them. Finally, when most of the "honkers", as they were called, had reached a similar competence, the contests got more athletic. Jay McNeeley used to lie on his back and kick his feet in the air while honking one loud screeching note or a series of identical riffs. The riff itself was the basis for this kind of playing, the saophonist repeating the riff much past any useful musical context, continuing it until he and the crowd were thoroughly exhausted physically and emotionally.

Kerouac described experiencing a similar scene:

Out we jumped in the warm mad night hearing a wild tenorman bawling horn across the way going “EE-YAH! EE-YAH! EE-YAH!” and hands clapping to the beat and folks yelling “Go, go, go!” Far from escorting the girls into the place Neal was already racing across the street with his thumb in the air yelling “Blow, man, blow!” A bunch of colored men in Saturday night suits were whooping it up in front. It was a sawdust saloon, all wood, with a small bandstand near the john on which the fellows huddled with their hats on blowing over people’s heads, a crazy place. The behatted tenorman was blowing at the peak of a wonderfully satisfactory free idea, a rising and falling riff that went from “EE-yah!” to a crazier “EE-de-lee-yah!” and blasted along to the rolling crash of butt-scarred drums hammered by a big brutal Negro with a bullneck who didn’t give a damn about anything but punishing his tubs, crash, rattle-ti-boom crash. Uproars of music and the tenorman had it and everybody knew he had it. Neal was clutching his head in the crowd and it was a mad crowd. They were all urging that tenorman to hold it and keep it with cries and wild eyes; and he was raising himself from a crouch and going down again with his horn, looping it up in a clear cry above the furor. A six foot skinny Negro woman was rolling her bones at the man’s hornbell, and he just jabbed it at her, “Ee! ee! ee!” He had a foghorn tone; his horn was taped; he was a shipyard worker and he didn’t care. Everybody was rocking and roaring. Helen and Julie with beer in their hands were standing on their chairs shaking and jumping. Groups of colored guys stumbled in from the street falling over each other to get there. “Stay with it man!” roared a man with a foghorn voice, and let out a big groan that must have been heard clear out in Sacramento, ah-haa!

The Noirs of Phil Karlson #2

Five Against the House (1955)

The movie begins with four GI-Bill students Al (Guy Madison), Brick (Brian Keith), Ronnie (Kerwin Matthews), and Roy (Alvy Ward) allowing themselves one hour of freedom in Reno during their autumn return to college. Why Reno? Because Reno beat Las Vegas in a bidding war to convince Columbia to set the picture there. Mid-fifties Reno is a character itself—we see it in all its always-the-bridesmaid charm. It's a goofy kind of western earnestness that manifests itself in the attractions the Reno tourism board chooses to highlight in this movie: a casino proudly advertising their display of historic firearms, and long, lingering shots of an automated parking garage. Danny Ocean's Vegas this is not.

The four friends quickly type themselves. Al is literally and figuratively behind the wheel. He was the group's commanding officer in Korea. Even without the uniform, he retains an unofficial authority over them. It's when the other three start scheming behind his back that things start to fall apart.

Brick is the brawny but affable goof.

But, we learn that he has a violent side as well.

Ronnie is the heir of a rich father and he's eager to prove himself as a capable man in his own right.

Roy is quickly recognizable as the low man on this totem pole. Let's face it, when it comes to screentime, he's no match for rugged (Brick), handsome (Ronnie), and rugged & handsome (Al). He spends his camera time spouting wisecracks and singing goofy songs.

The fifth titular protagonist is Kay (Kim Novak) a nightclub singer and Al's girlfriend. She gets a great intro in this picture: She begins her nightclub act in profile, lit from the back, her silhouette sings the first line of her song. She turns to the crowd, the spotlight turns on, and she sings the next line all in one fluid motion. For all the fisticuffs he shot, Karlson knew how to film a woman.

Later in the film, Al has a backstage rendezvous with Kay. He enters the dressing room and is immediately framed in the area between Kay bent leg and the ground. Director's would copy this low-angle frame-within-a-frame for years, most noticeably in The Graduate.

The first half is spent exploring the personalities and relationships of the four friends, particularly the complex bond between Al and Brick. Brick suffered a head wound in Korea while saving Al's life. This injury has left him vulnerable to violent rages—and leaves Al feeling responsible for Brick.  The plot speeds up when Ronnie makes it his goal to rob an "unrobbaable" casino in Reno. He has no desire for the money (in fact, in a dubious interpretation of the law, he thinks no "real crime" has been committed if he returns the loot). His motivation for the heist seems thin—he wants to do "something big." Brick agrees to the plot because he sees no future for himself. Roy follows along because he's a born follower. Al, the maturest of the group needs to be tricked into going along. The script does touch a bit on their greater dissaffection. As Korean War veterans, they are older, more mature, and most importantly, more cynical than the rest of the student body. Unfortunately, this deeper motive is never developed to a satisfying degree.

Ronnie, Brick and Roy manage to convince Al to take a trip to Reno. Al's main motivation is to get to Nevada, where he can marry Kay. Halfway there, Al stumbles onto the casino scheme and convinces Ronnie and Roy of its foolishness. Brick however, is harder to persuade. He sees no future for himself studying Law. He refuses to submit to himself to VA treatment again. He's damaged goods and has reached the point where robbing a casino actually seems like a reasonable life choice. Knowing he can't pull it off without the help of the others, Brick pulls out a gun and forces them to continue to Reno and the stick with the plan.

Once the gang gets to Reno (at night, of course) Karlson keeps the pacing quick and the tension tight. Composing a heist sequence is one of those tasks that forces a director to prove his mettle, and Karlson delivers. They actually manage to pull off the job, but pit boss William Conrad (the angriest fat man/fattest angry man) prevents a clean getaway. Karlson provides the denouement with a callback to the same parking garage the film began in. The Reno Chamber of Commerce seems awful proud of this car elevator/parking garage. Perhaps they hoped the audience would be so awed at this technological wonder they would choose Reno over Vegas for their next vacation.

The final 20 minutes of the film abandon some of the deeper motives that frankly, were weighing down plot: Reflecting on the structure and dynamics of male interpersonal bonding; the wooden courtship dance of Al and Kay; the struggles of soldiers returning home (This is not The Best Years of Our Lives, and Karlson is not William Wyler). Instead it returns to the director's strengths: quick action punctuated by drawn out tension; double crosses; gunplay; plots executed and foiled; chases down rain-soaked streets and shadowy alleys.

Personel Notes:

Screenplay by Stirling Siliphant:

Best known as the creator/writer of the TV series Route 66, he also wrote or consulted for 129 episodes of The Naked City and wrote 11 episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. In 1967, he won an Academy Award for his adaptation of In the Heat of the Night. His most infamous contribution to the screen, large or small may have been a work he did not produce. While scouting locations in Texas, he made a bet with insurance salesman Hal Warren over the possibility of making a low-budget feature. Warren took the challenge and created Manos: The Hands of Fate. So who won the bet? I don't know. I think we all lost.

Based on a story by Jack Finney, author of The Body Snatchers and Time and Again, a time-travel drama that has been stuck in development for decades.

Guy Madison:
Picked from the crowd of a radio show, Madison was the prototypical beefcake star—a clean-cut, All-American hero that stood in contrast to the post-war, rebellious, anti-heroes like Brando or Dean. His agent, Henry Wilson also discovered and promoted Rory Calhoun, Troy Donahue, Tab Hunter, John Saxon, Nick Adams, Robert Wagner, and most notably, Rock Hudson. Madison was married to Gail Russell, one of the saddest stories of all the reluctant starlets, she wound up drinking herself to death. Like many forgotten Western actors of the 50's, Madison's career found an unexpected second wind in European productions of the 60's.

Kim Novak:
This proved to be Novak's breakout role. After proving her box-office draw, roles in bigger productions, like Picnic, The Man with the Golden Arm, and Pal Joey quickly followed. Novak's "starhood" was developed under the heavy hand of Columbia studio boss Harry Cohn, whose public image management extended all the way to the color of her bathroom. Hollywood legend claims that the fatal heart attack struck Cohn down occurred after he read about Novak's affair with Sammy Davis Jr.

Brian Keith:
Perhaps born to be an actor, Keith's first role was at the age of two. He was no stranger to Hollywood tragedy either. His father was briefly married to Peg Enstwistle, the actress most well known for killing herself by diving from the "HOLLYWOOD" sign. After a successful film and TV career, Keith would wind up taking his own life at age 75. One of his daughters would do the same two months later.

John Gilbert

At his silent-era peak, John Gilbert rivaled the star power of even Valentino. By the time of his death in 1936, he was a has-been husk of an actor. Fallen victim of machinations both professional and personal, he is largely forgotten today.

Clean shaven with Fox...

As is the nature with any young and burgeoning industry, the motion-picture business in the teens was composing its customs and structures as it created itself. The now-well-worn paths that actors, directors, and writers take to succeed in Hollywood were still undeveloped. John Gilbert began his career as an extra, and made his way up through the industry by taking the unusual path of accepting writing and directing roles. His work got himself noticed by Fox Studios, who signed him to a three-year contract in 1921. In 1924, Gilbert moved to MGM, where he worked with esteemed directors such as Victor Sjöström, Erich von Stroheim, and King Vidor. 

and MGMustached.

It was also at MGM that Gilbert, began an on-again, off-again relationship with Greta Garbo (did she have any other kind?). They met while making Flesh and the Devil (1926). The studio capitalized on the relationship by casting them in two more silent features, Love (1927), and A Woman of Affairs (1928). In a story that has become mythologized as part of Hollywood legend, Garbo and Gilbert were to be married in a double ceremony along with friends King Vidor and Eleanor Boardman. Garbo never arrived at the ceremony. Wedding guest Louis B. Mayer reportedly told Gilbert, "What's the matter with you Gilbert? Don't marry her. Just fuck her and forget about her." Gilbert responded by flooring Mayer with one punch. The story makes great drama, but it was never confirmed. It packaged so many Hollywood archetypes—Garbo as the icy, callous, Scandinavian femme fatale who could never be tied to only one lover; Gilbert as the perfect fool who kept crawling back to her, mesmerized, for more punishment; Mayer as the boorish, vulgar ass everyone in Hollywood wanted to punch—perhaps the story was destined to become legend. Recently, writers have cast doubt on Garbo really jilting Gilbert at the altar, let alone the altercation afterward. Also, as in love with Garbo as he may have been, Gilbert was never the lonely, heartbroken sort. His first wife left him citing his compulsive philandering. Gilbert was also rumored to be a regular at Lee Francis' notorious Sunset Blvd brothel (Now the site of a restaurant co-owned by Ryan Seacrest and Tori Spelling. So marches progress). 

with Garbo

Regardless of the source of the friction, Mayer and Gilbert did not get along. Perhaps influenced by his background writing and directing, the artistically-minded Gilbert often clashed the bottom-line-conscious Mayer. Nevertheless, the two were yoked together in a six-picture-1.5 million dollar contract. Mayer may have purposely assigned Gilbert poor scripts and sub-par directors in an effort to get him to void the contract.

Gilbert's first speaking role was in the 1929 all-star variety act collection, The Hollywood Revue of 1929. He and Norma Shearer portrayed Romeo and Juliet's famous balcony scene, first traditionally, then in contemporary slang. Gilbert appeared to have crossed the talkie threshold with his career intact and audiences awaited to see his first feature-length sound picture. That film was the infamous His Glorious Night (1929). A weak script, filled with baroque dialogue more suited for a silent picture's interstitials, and an inexperienced director garnered only lukewarm reviews at best. Despite these faults, rumors perhaps started by Mayer, began to spread that the picture's greatest flaw was John Gilbert's voice. The charge has even been made that Mayer purposely had studio sound engineers manipulate Gilbert's pitch to make him sound comically shrill. 

Deserved or not, the blame stuck to Gilbert and marked the beginning of the end for his Hollywood career. Irving Thalberg managed to land Gilbert some choicer roles for his last few contractually-obligated films, but it was not enough to save his sinking reputation. 

In 1934, Gilbert was given one last break. MGM was negotiating with Garbo to star in Queen Christina. One of her conditions was the studio bring back Gilbert to play her lover. Was it a genuine attempt to help an old co-star? A calculated power-play in the game of contract negotiation? Or simply Garbo amusing herself by toying with the heart of an old flame? We may never know. The vagaries of Garbo's notorious romantic life were exceeded only by her inscrutable nature.

Nonetheless, it was not enough to save Gilbert's career, or the man himself. By 1934 his chronic drinking affected his health so severely he never made another film. Two years later, he died of a heart attack at age 38.

The Noirs of Phil Karlson #1

Kansas City Confidential (1952)

The movie opens with an introductory crawl, claiming the following story is even more shocking than any recorded tale in the history of Kansas City law enforcement. It doesn't provide any exposition, just hypes the film to an audience that already bought their tickets. 

Fade to a shot of Kansas City's Union Station. Union Station was the site of the notorious Kansas City Massacre of 1933, in which five local and federal officers and the prisoner they were transporting were shot dead. A group of armed conspirators ambushed the lawmen in a botched attempt to free the prisoner. It was in the aftermath of this shootout, the FBI transformed itself into a full-fledged law-enforcement agency with complete powers of arrest and firepower to match their foes. The now-mythic story of the war between gangsters and G-Men across Midwest America in the 30's was born here. 

Also important to note is the "wide open" reputation Kansas City had, making it a well-suited location for a crime flick. Kansas City was infamous for it's machine politics, jazz venues that disregarded liquor and hours laws, and organized crime factions who warred well into the 1970's.

Karlson uses some nice narrative devices to lead us into the story. First we see Tim Foster (Preston Foster) watching the bank across the street and taking notes on a map of the daily comings and goings. Though were not explicitly told the purpose of his surveillance, we can easily speculate his motives. Next, we're introduced to the gang Foster assembles for his plot. We figure out which archetypes they provide as they meet Foster for the first time.

First is Pete Harris (Jack Elam)—Elam steals every scene he's in, and the last half of the movie suffers from his absence. Harris is a jumpy, twitchy, type, holed-up in a flophouse hotel after killing his boss to avoid retribution for a gambling debt. He paws like a rodent through his cigarette butts and practices his craps toss on the bed, while hiding from both the cops and his former crew. Suddenly the phone starts to ring. Elam makes a great little blink-and-you'll-miss-it grab for his gun.

Karlson draws out the tension by letting the phone ring while the camera is close in on Harris' sweaty face. Elam's one askew eye seems to be constantly trying to look over his shoulder, like Peter Lorre in M. He eventually answers the phone and agrees to meet with Foster, a man who knows about his past. At Foster's hotel, Harris comes face-to-face with this man:

Understandably taken aback, Harris pulls out his revolver and puts up his tough-guy facade. Foster quickly deflates and disarms Harris, revealing him for the feckless sort he really is.

In another device common to the heist film, we learn the details of the plot as the leader (Foster) explains it to the hired-gun (Harris). Harris accepts the gig, and in a demonstrative little aside, tries to convince Foster, the man who just thoroughly emasculated him, that he can be relied upon.

The next two thugs are recruited and characterized in a more perfunctory manner, skirt-chaser Tony Romano (Lee Van Cleef)

and unflappable tough guy Boyd Kane (Neville Brand).

The heist goes down successfully and the crew makes their getaway in a fake flower delivery truck that matches a real one being driven by the patsy, and our finally-introduced protagonist, Joe Rolfe (John Payne). Of course it's Rolfe who the police nab (after some comically unwise gunfire and reckless driving) while the crooks sneak their car into the back of a tractor trailer and slip away.

It's during the getaway, we learn the purpose of masks, Foster wants no man in his crew to be able to identify any of the others, preventing one man from burning another to nab his share, or snitching to cops if he gets caught. He further explains he's going to hold onto the cash until the heat is off. He'll then summon them to collect their share. Foster tears three king playing cards in half. To ensure each man who comes to collect is who he says he is, his half card will have to match the half Foster keeps.

Meanwhile, ex-con (for an unspecified crime involving a gambling debt) gone straight Rolfe gets worked over by the police, and fired from his job. After days of beatings fail to produce a confession, the cops discover the abandoned getaway car and clear Rolfe. 

Out of a job, branded as a thief, and with nothing to lose, Joe takes the task of clearing his name into his own hands. The first name he digs up of course, is the weak link of the crew, Pete Harris. Following the underworld rumors, Rolfe heads to Tijuana where he finds Harris, gambling his cash away in smoke-filled underground casino.

Rolfe gets under Harris' skin by betting against his throws. Harris jumps Rolfe in an alley and again, with a gun in his hand, feels safe putting up a thug pretense. 

Rolfe talks his way out of it, but covertly follows Harris to his hotel room. Again, the hapless Harris gets disarmed, first of his gun, then of a knife.

Humbled, Harris spills everything he knows about the scheme, including the plane ticket for Barados, Mexico Foster just wired to him. Rolfe tells Harris he's coming along to Barados to collect his own share. At the airport, the police get the drop on Harris while he stands at a cigarette machine. Snakebit until the end, he instinctively grasps for the gun Rolfe already lifted from him (the same move he made when the phone rang back in Kansas City), and is shot dead by the police.

Done in by his vices: gambling, smoking, and the seduction of the gun.

Taking advantage of the circumstances, Joe Rolfe takes the name Pete Harris, and heads to Borados to get his cut. Tony Romano and Boyd Kane have already arrived in Borados, and mingle not very inconspicuously among the tourists. Romano spends his time flirting with the locals, Boyd spends his time glaring and chewing gum. Boyd learns of Romano's identity by asking the proprietor of the inn, "Who is that Vaselino?" Foster shows up too, looking much more laid back in his casual resort wear.

In Barados, we learn of Foster's backstory. The heist wasn't a mere cash-grab, his scheme is much more complex. It turns out Foster is an ex-cop who was booted from the force for politcal reasons. He orchestrated the Kansas City robbery for the purpose of ratting Harris, Romano, and Kane to the police. Foster can bring in the thieves who pulled off the Kansas City job, they can never ID him, and he'll collect the reward.

Rolfe arrives, masquerading as Harris. Also arriving in Barados is Foster's daughter, Helen. Complicating Foster's plan, Helen has taken an interest in a man she just met, "Pete Harris." Foster does a great slow burn at the news. 

After a poker game, Rolfe "accidentally" reveals the half-king he lifted from Harris. Romano and Kane, take the bait and Rolfe figures them for the rest of the gang. Foster, the only one who has seen the real Harris puzzles over who this new "Harris" is.

Let's review a construction Karlson uses. First, Foster watches Rolfe from a window to his left. This calls the back the initial shots we saw of Foster in Kansas City, casing the bank from his hotel window. He hears his daughter call to Rolfe, and the camera tracks with Foster to a window to his right. 

Besides being an original way to join the two scenes, Karlson's technique literally and psychologically frames the multiple identities the two men are portraying. In the first image, bank-robber Tim Foster watches the unknown Joe Rolfe. In the second image father and ex-cop Tim Foster watches "Pete Harris" chatting up his daughter.

Rolfe gets jumped by Kane and Romano. It turns out Kane and Harris did time together, so he immediately saw through Rolfe's scheme. Helen unexpectedly drops in and spoils the violence.

Meanwhile, Foster baits his trap to catch the three of them, mailing out the half-kings to each with a letter to meet him at the pier tomorrow to divvy up the loot.

With one night to go, the gang turns on each other again. Romano and Kane try to jump Rolfe, but he gets the best of them. He fills them in, that the cops killed the real Pete Harris, and since he took the fall for the robbery, he deserves Pete's share.

Helen figures that Rolfe is in trouble, but he pushes her away, not wanting her involved in the increasingly dangerous scheme. Her father, knowing he's not who he claims, also wants her to stay away him.

The next morning arrives and Romano, Kane and Rolfe briefly scuffle again. Romano grabs Kane's gun, but before he can use it, Foster drives up. Still clueless to Foster's true role, the three accept a ride to the pier from him. Romano keeps a gun trained on Rolfe.

The reflection should be reversed, but still a nice shot.

Out of the indoor soundstage and shooting on the pier, the picture loses its dark contrast.

With Kane, Romano, and Rolfe making their way to the boat, Foster signals for the police. Rolfe tries to run, but gets cornered in the cabin. Lee Van Cleef is at his weaselly-best here. He shoots Kane to cut him out of the take and then turns the gun on Rolfe.

Foster arrives and gets the drop on Romano. Rolfe figures out the scheme to play the three crooks as patsies and Foster and Romano shoot each other in the ensuing scuffle. The police arrive and before he dies, Foster absolves Rolfe of any guilt. An epilogue wraps up the ends: Joe is cleared of any suspicion, Helen forgives her father, and four dead bodies later, Joe and Helen have found love.

 Final Thoughts:

 

I'd be remiss if I didn't begin with Jack Elam. He would go onto use his walleyed mug for comic relief in future roles, but it undoubtedly works in the shadowy alleys and smoky gambling dens of noir crime films too. He plays the role of the hapless low-man on the totem pole, but Pete Harris also serves as a dark complement to Joe Rolfe. Rolfe was a decorated was hero, Harris was probably 4F. Both Rolfe and Harris got involved in gambling debts, Rolfe does time for his, Harris tries to shoot his way out of his. Every trait that composes the handsome, brave, virtuous Rolfe has a dark analogue in the gangly, spineless, reprehensible Harris.

The two main characters—the protagonist Rolfe, and the flawed protagonist—Foster spend the entire film flipping between their multiple identities. Harris is also one of the many characters in this film who are constantly presenting a false identity. Elam does a remarkable job portraying two different Pete Harris's: The armed, and the unarmed. The former easily puts up a front of false bravado, barking orders, the latter is a shuddering, sputtering mess. You almost feel a bit of pathos for the poor guy—then he tries to stab you in the back. With a gun in his hand, Pete Harris looks straight ahead, fixing both eyes in a menacing glower. After his gun gets knocked away, and he eats a couple slaps, the facade drops and his left eye starts to drift. And about those slaps—is Harris slapped because he's considered not man enough to take the closed-fist punches Rolfe, Foster, Kane, and the police throw at each other throughout the film? Are Foster and Rolfe emasculating Harris by choosing to subdue him with a blow that crime films generally reserve for women?

Finally, Karlson makes liberal use of another noir standard, the man haunted by his past. Foster's bank-robbing plot was motivated by greed, but also his desire to prove he's still a worthy cop whose termination was unwarranted. Rolfe's criminal past is dragged up by cops trying to discredit his alibi. Harris is probably the most haunted, literally hiding from his past. We'll see Karlson use the man-with-a-past device again in Scandal Sheet, and The Brothers Rico.