A Law Unto Themselves

There is perhaps no better synopsis of Charlie Chaplin’s first full length feature film, 1921's The Kid, than that provided by the filmmaker himself. As the motion picture begins, we read the Title Card: "A picture with a smile - and perhaps, a tear". Already an international superstar at the time, Chaplin decided to give his iconic character of The Tramp a full length feature. Taking five and a half months to shoot the film, it once again reiterates just how much of a perfectionist the man was (as movies during this time were nearly never granted this sort of shooting schedule). Similarly, like the rest of his projects, Chaplin writes, directs, produces, acts in and composes the music for this one. The loveable vagabond that is The Tramp (Chaplin) this time finds himself with a baby in hand. A Woman (Edna Purviance), having had a child out of wedlock and with nowhere to turn, leaves her newborn in a wealthy family’s car – hoping that they will adopt it. In a piece of unfortunate happenstance, the car is stolen by a pair of criminals. Dumping the baby at the first possible chance, The Tramp then stumbles upon it in a filthy alleyway.

Placing us in the back seat with three escaped convicts, director André De Toth makes us culpable from the very beginning in his 1953 film noir Crime Wave. We know that there is an inevitability to the scene, though at first, we do not know exactly what that is. The three unscrupulous amigos are on a crime wave (who would have thunk it?). Pulling up to a gas station late one night, the attendant finds himself knocked out by the group – they then take their sweet time filling their tank and robbing the store. Soon, a cop drives by, circling around when he does not see his friend at the pump. Things turn ugly, leaving one of the criminals shot and the officer dead with two slugs in his chest. Splitting up, gang leader ‘Doc’ Penny (Ted de Corsia) and his thuggish accomplice Ben Hastings (an early role for Charles Bronson – you can tell this as he is credited as Charles Buchinsky) take off, leaving their wounded compatriot to fend for himself.

Depicting a nightmarish landscape of big city nights, with a mix of brightly flashing neon signs and foggy, shadowy landscapes, the classic 1944 film noir Murder, My Sweet, directed by Edward Dmytryk (The Caine Mutiny), is a feast for the eyes. Our reflective narrator is Philip Marlowe (played by Dick Powell in this one), his eyes bandaged in ominous fashion as he recounts the strange tale of his most recent mysterious cases to the circling sharks that are the police – especially lieutenant Randall (Don Douglas). The iconic private detective is, as he says, "just a small businessman in a very messy business". Dmytryk’s canvas oozes a certain visual panache, a perfect example being the way in which Marlowe meets a new client. Gazing out at the flashing neon signs from his office, in certain lights, he sees a face no one could forget (though at first it feels like some sort of vision or premonition). Soon, he realizes that there is a behemoth of a man standing behind him, named ‘Moose’ Malloy (Mike Mazurki) – he is a tough, thuggish giant who lacks brains, but makes up for it with brawn and a stick-to-it-iveness that is difficult to ignore. Marlowe soon realizes that the confused man won’t take no for an answer, so he accepts the money being offered to him and decides to hear him out.

Upon winning Best Director at the Academy Awards for his 1937 screwball comedy The Awful Truth (the highest grossing film of the year), Leo McCarey took his Oscar, turned to the applauding crowd and uttered the unusual acceptance of "I want to thank the Academy for this wonderful award . . . but you gave it to me for the wrong picture". The movie he was talking about was the powerfully emotional drama Make Way for Tomorrow. A bust at the box office, the film still brought recognition to one of the premier filmmakers of the era. Being a favourite of John Ford, Frank Capra, Jean Renoir, Ernst Lubitsch, George Bernard Shaw and Orson Welles (who called it one of the saddest films ever, claiming that "it would even make a stone cry"), as well as being the inspiration behind Yasujirô Ozu’s classic 1953 picture Tokyo Story, this is a pure piece of emotional film making. Funnily enough, though praised by iconic filmmakers and ardent film fanatics alike, it is probably one of the least known motion pictures out there. Nearly unseen, thankfully Criterion has released it, providing the movie with an avenue to finally reach a larger audience.