The Man I Love (Raoul Walsh, 1947)

Ida Lupino and Robert Alda in The Man I Love

Cast: Ida Lupino, Robert Alda, Andrea King, Martha Vickers, Bruce Bennett, Alan Hale, Dolores Moran, John Ridgely, Don McGuire, Warren Douglas, Craig Stevens, Tony Romano. Screenplay: Catherine Turney, Joe Pagano, based on a novel by Maritta M. Wolff. Cinematography: Sidney Hickox. Art direction: Stanley Fleischer. Film editing: Owen Marks. 

The Man I Love is a rather scattered and melodramatic film noir laced with music. It gives Ida Lupino one of her best roles, and she takes charge of it with such authority and intensity that it's not surprising that she collapsed during the filming. She plays Petey Brown, a lounge singer who decides to come home for Christmas, only to find her family embroiled in a number of crises. Her brother, Joe (Warren Douglas), is involved in some shady business and her sister Sally (Andrea King) is dealing with the hospitalization of her husband, Roy (John Ridgely), a shell-shocked veteran. Sally and her other sister, Ginny (Martha Vickers), spend a lot of time looking after the infant twins of their neighbors, Gloria (Dolores Moran) and Johnny O'Connor (Don McGuire), partly because Gloria is a boozy tramp to whom Johnny is devoted. Joe works for nightclub owner Nicky Toresca (Robert Alda), so Petey goes to work as a singer at his club, partly to keep her eye on her brother. When Joe gets involved in some kind of scuffle, Petey goes to bail him out of jail and discovers that the other guy arrested in the dust-up was San Thomas (Bruce Bennett), a pianist well-known in the jazz circles in which Petey travels. While the womanizing Nicky is making a play for her, Petey is falling for San, giving her another problem: managing two men. Raoul Walsh manages to keep all these plot threads from getting too tangled, but not without some loss of credibility. Fortunately, there's some good music to listen to, including the Gershwin song that gives the movie its title. (Lupino's singing was dubbed by Peg La Centra.) But mostly the movie is a showcase for Lupino, whippet-thin and sharp of tongue.  

The Revolt of Mamie Stover (Raoul Walsh, 1956)

Jane Russell in The Revolt of Mamie Stover 

Cast: Jane Russell, Richard Egan, Joan Leslie, Agnes Moorehead, Jorja Curtright, Michael Pate, Richard Coogan, Alan Reed. Screenplay: Sydney Boehm, based on a novel by William Bradford Huie. Cinematography: Leo Tover. Art direction: Mark-Lee Kirk, Lyle R. Wheeler. Film editing: Louis R. Loeffler. Music: Hugo Friedhofer. 

Me and My Gal (Raoul Walsh, 1932)

Spencer Tracy and Joan Bennett in Me and My Gal

Cast: Spencer Tracy, Joan Bennett, Marion Burns, George Walsh, J. Farrell MacDonald, Noel Madison, Henry B. Walthall, Bert Hanlon, Adrian Morris, George Chandler. Screenplay: Arthur Kober, Philip Klein, Barry Conners. Cinematography: Arthur C. Miller. Art direction: Gordon Wiles. Film editing: Jack Murray.

Why have I never seen Me and My Gal before? Is it because it's not an easy movie to pigeonhole, being not quite romantic comedy, not quite screwball, and not quite crime drama? Or because it's one of those pre-Code movies that teeter on the edge of seriousness and back off from it in sometimes uncomfortable ways? It starts with an old man about to drown his dog and ends with the police detective protagonist fudging the truth to protect the not entirely innocent. And in between it's wall-to-wall wisecracks, most of them delivered by a never-better Spencer Tracy and Joan Bennett, who does the gum-chewing dame as well as anyone, even Joan Blondell. Tracy plays Danny Dolan, a cop whose attitude toward those he's supposed to protect and serve is summed up in his response to someone telling him there's been another bank robbery: "Oh, who'd the bank rob now?" And when told that it was the bank that got robbed, retorts, "Ah, turned the tables on 'em, eh? Smart!" There's also a slapstick drunk, a well-staged bank break-in, and even a parody of the Clark Gable and Norma Shearer movie based on Eugene O'Neill's Strange Interlude (Robert Z. Leonard, 1932), which Dolan remembers as Strange Inner Tube. Much of the credit for turning potential chaos into a thoroughly entertaining movie has to go to Raoul Walsh, one those Hollywood tough-guy directors who seem not to get the recognition they deserve today. 

The Thief of Bagdad (Raoul Walsh, 1924)

Douglas Fairbanks in The Thief of Bagdad

Cast: Douglas Fairbanks, Julianne Johnston, Anna May Wong, Snitz Edwards, Sojin Kamayama, Brandon Hurst, Tote Du Crow, Noble Johnson. Screenplay: Lotta Woods, Douglas Fairbanks, Achmed Abdullah, James T. O'Donohoe. Cinematography: Arthur Edeson. Production design: William Cameron Menzies. Film editing: William Nolan. 

Back when Bagdad was synonymous with flying carpets and not prolonged international conflict, Douglas Fairbanks produced what is either a magical romp or an example of Orientalism at its worst, depending on your point of view. But for the purposes of film history, let's suspend political and social consciousness and appreciate The Thief of Bagdad for what it accomplished: an amusing spectacle, with marvelous sets and (for the time) remarkable special effects. Add to that Fairbanks's energetic performance -- if you can endure the balletic pantomime he often slips into -- and you've got a classic for the usual kids of all ages. It holds up well even today, in part because it's all spectacle: Sound would be superfluous. And yes, Sojin Kamayama's Mongol prince adheres to the "yellow peril" stereotype, a foreshadowing of Flash Gordon's Ming the Merciless, with Anna May Wong slinking around as his partner in malfeasance, but we're treating this as camp, right? Julianne Johnston's princess is a little vapid, not quite the astonishing beauty who's supposed to sweep the thief off his feet and turn him away from larceny toward love. The movie is a shade too long, and it loses some momentum when the thief goes off on his quest to find the thing that will win the princess's love. Even though it helps him save Bagdad from the Mongol hordes, I found his box of magic powder (if that's what it is -- the movie is a little vague about it) less impressive than the Persian prince's (Mathilde Comont) flying carpet, the Indian Prince's (Noble Johnson) crystal ball, and the Mongol prince's golden apple that gives him power over life and death. But even when the story lags, there's always something fun to watch.   

The Roaring Twenties (Raoul Walsh, 1939)

Gladys George and James Cagney in The Roaring Twenties

Cast: James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, Priscilla Lane, Gladys George, Frank McHugh, Jeffrey Lynn, Paul Kelly, Abner Biberman, voice of John Deering. Screenplay: Jerry Wald, Richard Macaulay, Robert Rossen, Mark Hellinger. Cinematography: Ernest Haller. Art direction: Max Parker. Film editing: Jack Killifer. Music: Ray Heindorf, Max Roemheld. 

The Roaring Twenties feels like a kind of valedictory to the golden age of Warner Bros. gangster movies, featuring as it does such specialists in the genre as James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, and the always welcome tough dame Gladys George. But they're not quite enough to overcome the presence of the inexplicable Priscilla Lane and the charisma-free Jeffrey Lynn, or the dogged hectoring of the voiceover narration. The movie seems out to prove that gangsterism didn't exist before Prohibition and that it disappeared magically once it was repealed. There are some good moments of action, but they're overwhelmed by the repetitions of such tired oldies as "Melancholy Baby" and "It Had to Be You," both on the soundtrack and sung (blandly) by Lane. The story is the old one of three guys who meet in a foxhole in World War I, then have trouble adjusting to civilian life. We know that Bogart's George Hally and Lynn's Lloyd Hart are going to go in opposite directions when, just on the brink of the armistice, Hart holds off on shooting a German he has in his sights because "he looks like a kid, about 15 years old," whereupon Hally picks the German off and sneers, "He won't be 16." Cagney has a more complex role, as Eddie Bartlett, a mechanic who can't find work and gradually shifts into bootlegging, teaming up with Hally, but falling in love with the virtuous Jean Sherman, who eventually marries Hart, now a lawyer. After helping Bartlett with the legal end of his illegal business, Hart goes straight and joins the district attorney's office, leading to threats from Hally to keep him quiet. It's the Cagney-Lane-Lynn love triangle that mostly drags the picture down.

White Heat (Raoul Walsh, 1949)

James Cagney and Margaret Wycherly in White Heat

Cody Jarrett: James Cagney
Verna Jarrett: Virginia Mayo
Hank Fallon aka Vic Pardo: Edmond O'Brien
Ma Jarrett: Margaret Wycherly
Big Ed Somers: Steve Cochran
Philip Evans: John Archer
Cotton Valletti: Wally Cassell
Trader Winston: Fred Clark

Director: Raoul Walsh
Screenplay: Ivan Goff, Ben Roberts
Based on a story by Virginia Kellogg
Cinematography: Sidney Hickox
Film Editing: Owen Marks
Music: Max Steiner

It still baffles me that Raoul Walsh's terrific crime thriller White Heat received only one Oscar nomination, and that one for the scenario devised by Virginia Kellogg, which was notoriously revised not only by Kellogg but also by the credited screenwriters Ivan Goff and Ben Roberts with much uncredited help from James Cagney and his friends Humphrey Bogart and Frank McHugh. Where were the nominations for Walsh's no-nonsense direction, Cagney's superbly over-the-top performance (especially the scene in which Cody Jarrett goes berserk on learning of his dear old mother's death), Margaret Wycherly's tiger mom, or even Virginia Mayo's tough broad? Mayo was one of the more underrated blond bombshells of the era. She could have been a rival to Dorothy Malone and Gloria Grahame for tough-girl roles, but under contract to Samuel Goldwyn, she got stuck in forgettable musicals and comedies in which she played the foil to fellow Goldwyn contract player Danny Kaye. The good reviews she got for playing Dana Andrews's cheating wife in William Wyler's 1946 The Best Years of Our Lives showed that she had more acting talent than Goldwyn had revealed, but with a few exceptions -- White Heat being the most notable -- she got stuck in movies that played off her beauty more than her acting ability. Edmond O'Brien also shines in the part of the undercover detective who buddies up to Cody, and a good deal of the suspense of the film hinges on his hair-breadth avoidance of having his cover blown. It's to the credit of Walsh, the supporting players, and the fleet of screenwriters that although Cagney's performance fires the film, it never completely burns it up -- there's always someone or something else to watch.

High Sierra (Raoul Walsh, 1941)

Ida Lupino and Humphrey Bogart in High Sierra

Roy Earle: Humphrey Bogart
Marie: Ida Lupino
Red: Arthur Kennedy
Babe: Alan Curtis
Velma: Joan Leslie
Pa: Henry Travers
Louis Mendoza: Cornel Wilde
Big Mac: Donald MacBride
"Doc" Banton: Henry Hull
Algernon: Willie Best
Jake Kranmer: Barton MacLane
Healy: Jerome Cowan

Director: Raoul Walsh
Screenplay: John Huston, W.R. Burnett
Based on a novel by W.R. Burnett
Cinematography: Tony Gaudio
Film editing: Jack Killifer
Music: Adolph Deutsch

Ida Lupino gets first billing in High Sierra, an indication of where Humphrey Bogart's career stood at the time. He had labored for Warner Bros. for more than a decade as a supporting actor, usually in gangster films and occasionally miscast in roles like the Irish stablemaster in Dark Victory (Edmund Goulding, 1939). High Sierra would be a breakthrough into leading man roles, establishing his persona as a tough guy with a soft heart, as in films like Casablanca (Michael Curtiz, 1942) and To Have and Have Not (Howard Hawks, 1944). He owes his role in High Sierra in large part to its screenwriter, John Huston, who as a director would emphasize the tough Bogart over the softie: the brutal Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon (1941) and the vicious Fred C. Dobbs in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948). In High Sierra, however, although Roy Earle has just been released from prison and is off to pull another caper, he's full of nostalgia for his childhood as a farmboy and along the road adopts a family heading west, where Pa hopes to get a job and help his granddaughter, Velma, get surgery for her clubfoot. Roy gets soft on Velma and pays for the operation, but his proposal is turned down. Just as Roy has a soft side, Velma is at heart a party girl and wants to go back east and hook up with her ne'er-do-well boyfriend. High Sierra is full of reversals like that. Lupino, for example, plays a party girl who goes soft on Roy and turns into a stand-by-your-man accomplice. And there's even a cute little dog who turns out to be a jinx and rats on Roy at a crucial moment. There's a good deal of silliness in the plotting of High Sierra, as well as some lamentable racist shtick forced on the fine comic actor Willie Best, who is usually caught napping and awakens with his eyes crossed. But at its best, especially in the climactic chase scene along winding dirt roads in the Sierra, the film is a good vehicle for Bogart's leap into superstardom.

Sadie Thompson (Raoul Walsh, 1928)

It's sad that most people know Gloria Swanson only as the gorgon Norma Desmond in Sunset Blvd. (Billy Wilder, 1957). Or that Swanson's deft parody of silent movie acting in that film constitutes many people's impression of what it was like. The survival of Sadie Thompson, even though it's missing its last reel, which the restorers piece out with old stills and title cards, shows what a formidable force Swanson could be on screen, generating enough heat that it's surprising she didn't ignite the nitrate film stock. The story is the familiar one of the San Francisco prostitute who comes to Pago Pago, where she clashes with a bluenose reformer who threatens to return her to San Francisco and the hands of the police. The reformer is Alfred Davidson (Lionel Barrymore in full ham), who was a clergyman in Somerset Maugham's short story, "Miss Thompson," and the play, Rain, that was based on it, but becomes a layman here to please the Hays Office. Fortunately, Sadie has the support of a sturdy young Marine sergeant, Timothy O'Hara, played by director Raoul Walsh, who before turning director full-time had been an actor in the early days of silents; he played John Wilkes Booth in The Birth of a Nation (D.W. Griffith, 1915). This brief return to acting was a one-shot: Walsh was planning to direct himself again in In Old Arizona (Irving Cummings, 1928), but lost his right eye in a freak auto accident while on location preparing to shoot the film; Warner Baxter took over the role and won an Oscar for it. Swanson was nominated for an Oscar for Sadie Thompson, as was cinematographer George Barnes, whose nomination included his work on two other films: The Devil Dancer (Fred Niblo, 1927) and The Magic Flame (Henry King, 1927). In fact, Barnes did only a week's worth of filming on Sadie Thompson before Samuel Goldwyn insisted he fulfill a contractual obligation to him; he was replaced by Robert Kurrle and Oliver T. Marsh.