Noir City no. 6 (aka Eddie Muller bought me a drink)

"Seems like we always spend the best part of our time just saying goodbye." Angela Vickers

Noir City ended last night with George Stevens' A Place in the Sun (1951). What a beautifully tragic note to end on. As Eddie Muller said beforehand, here are the screen's two most gorgeous people, tormented and suffering and making you depressed. Oh, but those close-ups are worth it. "Tell mama. Tell mama all." 

For me, however, the night didn't end so drastically. I never wanted to blog about personal thoughts or experiences. I wanted this to be strictly a film blog, and I've always been conscious of never crossing that line. However, last night was so special and unexpected, and very closely tied to film and the noir festival in particular that I just have to make an exception. 

As I was getting my ticket outside the theater, dressed in my finest, complete with a black, 1940's hat with veil, and red heels reminiscent of the Victorian Era, I passed by the Czar of Noir himself, Mr. Eddie Muller. We both smiled and he seemed to nod in approval and acknowledgment at my dedication to the evening. The exchange was so quick and brief I didn't have time to thank him for all he has done for classic film. But it quickly dawned on me that that might be a possibility. After all, after attending Noir City for three years now and never running into him once, passing by him now at the start of the evening made another meeting seem not so farfetched. It even seemed to be in the air.

With this hope, my friend Wayde, dressed just as snazzy as I was, and I made our way up to the lounge during intermission. Lo and behold, there was Mr. Muller, who I had never seen in the lounge before. We huddled nearby, waiting for his conversation with another film lover to end. We caught him just as he was on his way back to the stage, and I was able to shake his hand and say thank you. It was rushed, but he listened, and all I wanted to do was say a quick "thanks" anyway. We went back to our seats; I was completely satisfied and expected nothing more of the evening. 

A Place in the Sun was gorgeous and touching and sad, and I wasn't ready for the night to end just yet. So Wayde and I went to a nearby bar and were welcomed by a beautiful interior with a 1940's vibe, and the Andrews Sisters singing "Rum and Coca-Cola" over the speakers. It was perfect, and there were several other fedora wearing customers eager to talk about film once they noticed our attire. One of them joined our table, and not ten minutes later who but Mr. Muller himself came over to us and bought our next drinks. 

He settled down at his own table, directly behind me. We were practically sitting side by side looking in opposite directions, and I had to fight to keep my focus on the rather chatty fellow who had joined Wayde and I. It was quite difficult when I could easily overhear the table behind me discussing Sunset Boulevard (1950) and Raymond Chandler. How close I was to discussing film with Eddie Muller! But I didn't feel right intruding on his party, even if he did buy me a drink. 

It started getting late and Wayde (also my ride home) needed to leave. I was torn. If I wanted to join the party behind me it was now or never. There had already been a quick exchange about this. I admitted I was having trouble ignoring the conversation behind me, and Mr. Muller, who could obviously hear me, suggested I join them. The door was open. After some persistent begging, Wayde (ever the patient and amiable friend) relented and gave me a bit more time-- thank you Wayde! The other fellow at our table and I turned our chairs and were right between Mr. Muller and "The Voice" (sadly, I can't remember his name, but his voice was instantly recognizable). They were discussing the whereabouts of Dashiell Hammett's typewriter. The one, I assume, on which he wrote "The Maltese Falcon". Apparently "The Voice" had actually lived in Hammett's San Francisco apartment at one point, and they were now working to restore it. Perhaps as a literary landmark, I'm not sure. 

Mostly I just listened and enjoyed this moment, hearing these film gurus go through tunnels and down alleyways I hadn't the knowledge or connections to even know existed. There was once a lapse in conversation, and I unashamedly (come on, this was my chance!) asked Mr. Muller what his favorite film noir was. I know he's been asked this question to death, but I wasn't about to pretend originality. I just wanted to know. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "In a Lonely Place". I felt myself smile with approval. I'm not sure if he noticed or not. Wayde and I got up to leave soon after and I thanked Mr. Muller again for the drink. We shook hands, and he said to me, with pure sincerity, "Charmed".

I couldn't have asked for a better finale.

Noir City no. 5: Gloria Grahame

Or, as Noir City called Saturday night's theme, "The Magnificent Gloria Grahame". Lucky enough for this year's noir audience, this was a last minute tribute thrown together when Harry Belafonte pulled out of attending the Odds Against Tomorrow (1959) screening. I assume, then, that this was supposed to be a tribute to Belafonte instead. Don't get me wrong, he's a wonderful performer and hardly difficult to look at, but he's not a noir actor. I can't even think of a film they could have appropriately paired with Odds. Grahame, on the other hand, fits the movement (because noir is much more than a genre) like a glove. Her strong-willed floozies with that hint of neglect and sadness behind the eyes are second to none. When it comes to the noir dame, Gloria Grahame is it. (With Ida Lupino, of course, right behind her. As David Thomson said, "If only she [Lupino] and Gloria Grahame could have played wicked sisters".)

As a Grahame tribute this double bill was a bit disappointing. Eddie Muller himself admitted that a Gloria Grahame tribute should never be an afterthought, or something you simply fall back on. Unfortunately, this was the case, and she was hardly done justice with Odds Against Tomorrow concluding the evening. She has no more than two short scenes in this film, and she's so good that you feel jilted for not getting more. Her opening line, while peeking curiously through a neighbor's door, was something along the lines of, "What's going on in here? An orgy?" And this was 1959.

Fritz Lang's Human Desire (1954), however, was a perfect showcase for Grahame's talent and magnetism. The print was beautiful, Glenn Ford was his usual great self, and Broderick Crawford gave a spark to Carl Buckley that was missing from La Bête Humaine (1938). If only they had paired this with The Big Heat (1953), another Lang-Ford-Grahame collaboration, or In a Lonely Place (1950), the evening would have been pure bliss.

Noir City no. 4: The B's

Nobody did B movies like noir did. They're almost their own industry and genre. They spawned fabulous posters that unashamedly exploited the exclamation point, and ran a quick 60 minutes or less that allowed no time for wandering or soul searching. You know it's a B movie when the plot and the title are one in the same. These are the good guys, these are the bad guys, and this is the dame who everyone wants. Pure and simple, and pure entertainment.

Noir City no. 3: Richard Widmark

Widmark's night started with the rare 1949 film, Slattery's Hurricane. Along with Road House (1948), this film seemed to cement Widmark's future as a psycho jerk ready to explode at any moment. While not so much the lunatic he played in Road House (no trademark maniacal laughter this time around.....although I do recall some drunken singing that came close) Widmark's Will Slattery is a first-rate douche-bag. Although practically engaged to Dolores Grieves (Veronica Lake), he blatantly flirts with the wife of his best friend, Aggie Hobson (Linda Darnell), while the two couples are having dinner. Apparently, unbeknown to their partners, Aggie and Will have quite a history together. You can imagine where it goes from here. Darnell was a bit flat in this role, though she wasn't given much to work with. Widmark was his usual magnetic self, and handled the overdone narration as best he could. But it was Ms. Lake who really shined in this film. A bit older, a bit wiser, and without her signature bob, she gives a wonderfully subtle and stirring performance. She never gives in to the sentimental whims so many other actresses would have exploited to the max, but she's also not afraid to be completely vulnerable. In fact, director Andre De Toth, also Lake's husband, used this role as sort of a therapy session, forcing Lake to confront issues that were present in her own life. The result is a very beautiful and touching portrayal.

Any tribute to Richard Widmark, even if it's limited to two films like this one was, is not a genuine tribute unless it includes his 1953 classic, Pickup on South Street. By this time Widmark had mastered the hard-edged prick so well you couldn't help but wonder about his real character. Thelma Ritter gives a performance of a lifetime as Moe the informer, and I seriously doubt the tart from the wrong side of the tracks has ever been played as great as Jean Peters plays it here. The cinematography is gorgeous, the dialogue is sharp, and after another 50+ years I doubt it will have lost any of its
appeal. This was definitely one of the highlights of the festival.

Noir City no. 2: John Garfield

An excellent tribute to John Garfield saw the pairing of two of his top roles: the lustful Frank Chambers of James Cain's The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), and the instantly doomed Nick Robey of He Ran All the Way (1951). 

Noir City no. 1: Opening Night

"If she's your sister then I'm a boa constrictor in heels."
Shelley Winters, Larceny (1948)

I could compose this post purely of quotes from Larceny, the second feature to kick off Noir City 8, and not only would it be completely, satisfyingly entertaining, but better than any review I could come up with. Sadly, I was too caught up in the savvy screenwriting to grab a pen and paper, and, even more sadly, this film is not available on DVD to hear those brilliant wisecracks again. You will just have to take my word for it, and base my fervent proclomation that this is one of the funnest smack talking noirs I've ever seen on the quote above. (And the fact that Shelley Winters plays said smack-talking dame.)

Now that the festival has officially ended I can safely say this double bill was one of my favorites. I'm not saying these were superbly made films, or on par with classics like Pickup on South Street (1953) or The Big Heat (1953) [what a fabulous year], but they were fun, intriguing, typically noirish in some ways and unconventionally noirish in others, and they were an excellent pairing. Kudos to the programmer on this one.

I admit I was a bit suspicious of Lizabeth Scott playing the good girl for a change (she's just too good in Dead Reckoning (1947). But I was both mistaken and surprised by her convincing subtlety. She and Powell had wonderful chemistry, and Jane Wyatt and Raymond Burr (in an appropriately creepy early role) were strong supporting characters. I'm anxious to discover more Andre de Toth films as his handling of noirish and adulterous themes was both refreshing and well thought out. This is a film that has aged incredibly well; you could tell by the lack of giggles and titters from the audience.

Larceny, on the other hand, was so full of corner-of-the-mouth dialogue you couldn't help but completely let go and enjoy yourself. This was a great pairing, and a fantastic opening night.

Noir City 2010

For months I have been telling myself I would write a new post soon. There's been no shortage of new or repeated screenings worth talking about; namely Ball of Fire (1941), Letter From an Unknown Woman (1948), and Notorious (1946)--the latter at the gorgeous Castro Theatre. Today I was shocked to realize this inner dialogue has been going on, ignored, for almost a year, and while I don't have the time or energy to try to recall the freshness of previous viewings I feel like if I don't post something now, right this second, heavy make-up wearing Germans might be done for. So this post is designed to give me a little kick in the butt, albeit a kick of motivation, and let myself and any of you lurking readers out there (who every blogger fantasizes are there) know that I intend to give more dedication to this thing called blogging. The fabulous poster above should give you a hint as to what's to come in the next few weeks.