A film noir with some eccentricities, The Big Steal (1949), directed by then third time film maker Don Siegel (who would go on to make such greats as Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Dirty Harry, and Escape from Alcatraz), plays like a long chase within a longer chase, while the meeting between gent and femme is something akin to a will they/won’t they screwball comedy. The usually laconic Lt. Duke Halliday (Robert Mitchum) is in quite the conundrum, as he has been robbed of a U.S. Army payroll totaling a whopping three hundred grand by swindler Jim Fiske (Patric Knowles). On the lam in Mexico (a rather rare noir location, also think Ride the Pink Horse and Touch of Evil), Halliday is on his trail... but the problem is, so is his superior – Captain Vincent Blake (William Bendix), who, of course, thinks it was actually the Lieutenant who ran off with the money.
There was always something highly entertaining about the late Patrick Swayze, whether he was having a comedic dance off against Chris Farley on Saturday Night Live, or he was the criminal mastermind of a surfer gang in the action flick Point Break. He always brought a charming, entertaining and realistic human side to the characters that he portrayed. One role that epitomises his varied career is the romantic dramedy Ghost.
Dirty Harry, starring the legendary Clint Eastwood, has to be one of the most iconic characters in film history. Eastwood truly brings the essence of Harry Callahan to life, delivering a gritty performance that captures the hero’s gruff, no nonsense ways and vigilante-style justice. In 1971, the same year Eastwood starred in Dirty Harry, Michael Caine was cast as the lead in a British motion picture called Get Carter, which carries many of the same themes.
Certain novels, and their respective films, capture the beautiful yet complicated nature of the American south. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and To Kill a Mockingbird are two such examples. A third book that has been transformed into a motion picture that illustrates this intriguing subject is Jon Avnet’s 1991 movie Fried Green Tomatoes.
It is interesting to chart the history of how time affects the status of actors, directors and the like. Some stars, though long since passed, have lasted the test of time – their names still bandied about in common conversations and the current lexicon. When watching a thriller, we may quickly reference Alfred Hitchcock, or while enjoying the manoeuvres of a physical comic, our minds may harken immediately to Charlie Chaplin or Chris Farley. Yet, it is equally as intriguing to investigate how certain names that were once so prevalent in their own era have become unknown to the common viewer – where only true film afficionados know their reach and influence. This seems to be the case with the highly talented comedic filmmaker Preston Sturges.
The triumvirate of silent era comedians, in no particular order, are as follows: the ever famous Charlie Chaplin, the oft forgotten Harold Lloyd and ‘The Great Stone Face’ Buster Keaton. As I have already reviewed a film of Lloyd’s and several of Chaplin’s, I thought it would be a good time to visit some of the work of Keaton’s acrobatic and stoic-faced silent era screen personas. To change things up a tad, I also thought it would be fun to look to some of his earlier short films instead of his more iconic full length features like The General.
There is nothing like a memorable entrance/introduction to an onscreen character. The film that I am reviewing today has three. As the camera pans up at the very beginning of the movie, we are nearly hit by voice over narrator Johnny Farrell’s (Glenn Ford) trick dice. As he leaves the sketchy gambling room (after easily winning some cash with his fake cubes), he is held at gunpoint by a robber. In comes his saviour and soon to be boss, Ballin Mundson (George Macready), who uses his ‘best friend’, a walking stick that hides a dangerously long and sharp bayonet to save the nervous man. But it is the third and final entrance that blows the other two away. After Farrell begins to work for Mundson for some time, he learns, upon his bosses return from a trip, that he has gotten married. As the two enter the dame’s bedroom, her husband asks, "Gilda, are you decent?". Rita Hayworth’s title character, after a slight pause, pops up on the screen, and with a sensual flip of her perfect locks, flirtatiously responds "Me?". Dare I say, drama ensues.