The Walking Hills
The proximity to
Ford’s Wagon Master suggests an
inspiration, the refining fire of Death Valley has its
way with pioneer gold.
The French dub Les Aventuriers du
désert is a work of art.
By the same
token, Huston’s The Treasure of the
Sierra Madre and Hitchcock’s Lifeboat
are indicated.
Variety, “not fully successful due to a slightly
hazy plot structure,” nevertheless praising “John Sturges’
controlled and modulated direction and standout performances.”
The Catholic News
Service Media Review Office points out that it is a “contemporary
Western”, finds it “melodramatic but intriguing” and warns
against “moral muddlement”.
The inspired
filming anticipates Godard on Ray.
The Capture
Banker steals oil
company payroll, inculpating a derrick hand who’s shot and killed, unable
to lift both hands above his head.
The secure basis
of Sturges’ later varieties is laid in a mature technique and something
of a film noir extravaganza.
The two towns of Last
Train from Gun Hill, Niven Busch’s screenplay, instances of the zoom,
the very strange structure (field manager takes the dead man’s place,
having shot him), enigmatic and beautiful, assert the film against critics who
were never there, presumably.
The People Against O’Hara
Following
Benedek’s Port of New York, a
description of the threshold over which the new mob steps to supplant the old.
A quiet New York,
businesslike, the mob is reputed deadly but is heavily invested in legitimacy.
The dope trade passes from Tangier to Chicago via the fish market, a shipment is hijacked.
Losey takes a
different tack with the material in Time Without Pity.
Lumet’s
themes practically begin here.
Bosley Crowther of the New
York Times saw nothing at all, “it creaks... curiously
old-fashioned... padded... slack writing and meandering... moves
ploddingly.”
Variety
saw nothing at all, “a basically good idea for a film melodrama is
cluttered up with too many unnecessary side twists and turns, and the
presentation is uncomfortably overlong.”
The Catholic News
Service Media Review Office, “slack”.
Leonard
Maltin, “middling”.
Halliwell’s Film Guide, “formula drama.”
Escape from Fort Bravo
The history of
the Civil War is essentially recounted.
Confederate
prisoners in the Arizona Territory are kept in a corral or open stockade within
the fort, outside are Mescaleros (this is the familiar story of the red man and
the white man drawing circles in the dust).
The poetic soul
of the Confederacy is cowardly enough to ride a horse to death in escape, but
the contemptuous officer in charge of the prisoners rounds them all up, the
Mescaleros attack.
The feminine
second theme is a forced disaffection.
H.H.T. of the New
York Times thought he had seen all this before, in Wise’s Two
Flags West. Critical appreciation is generally high, considering the
structural imagery of a highly poetic film on impressive locations, very
capably assembled.
Bad Day at Black Rock
The point is
taken from Macreedy’s description of Black Rock, “the rule of law
has left this town, and the gorillas have taken over.”
Guilt by
association, and the impossible counter of innocence likewise, constitute the
ignominy.
The curious story
takes place mainly offscreen (in Italy, Adobe Flat, Los Angeles and points
beyond) as the myriad-minded screenplay details various events while Macreedy
wanders the desert town and environs in late 1945.
Underwater!
The Virgin
beneath the sea, all made of gold, the living woman beyond price, a perfect
vision.
As this follows Bad Day at Black Rock, the significance is
unmistakable.
Perez Prado
supplies the theme, “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White”.
Bosley
Crowther of the New
York Times, “trifling”.
Variety,
“Sturges’ direction is hampered for the first half by more dialog
than the picture can comfortably assimilate.”
The Catholic News
Service Media Review Office, “feeble”.
Jonathan
Rosenbaum (Chicago Reader), “routine”.
Leonard
Maltin, “standard”.
Halliwell’s Film Guide, “flabby”.
Gunfight at the O.K. Corral
From Zinnemann
(the citations of High Noon irked Bosley Crowther no end) to Peckinpah (The
Wild Bunch), with a set of main clues for Morricone.
The Law and Jake Wade
The middle term
of Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Last Train from Gun Hill (the
scenery harks back to Escape from Fort Bravo).
There are the two
towns, and badlands, and the complex ghost town finale (Comanche attack and
shootout), all as background to the gradually-revealed portrait of a nut played
masterfully by Widmark.
This is sometimes
admired, sometimes not (Crowther saw a blank screen before him with an
unintelligible Western).
The Old Man and the Sea
The reader of
these notes will easily recognize the big fish and the sharks, and there is
Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo to put the matter beyond doubt, if any
exists.
Last Train from Gun Hill
The complicated
analysis begins and ends with two towns, Pauley and Gun Hill, the second is
what the first used to be (in fact, the whole film is like the story told by
Pauley’s marshal to several town children at the opening).
Here is the whole
point, never reached by criticism admiring (Variety) or indifferent (New
York Times).
The whole meaning
of the film, then, is the introduction of law where tribal or social orders had
previously held sway.
And now the
various marvels of Sturges’ direction can be taken up and inspected for
their own sake, as every bit of the film bears upon the theme.
Never So Few
Never So Few appears to be where Sturges discovered the style
of his next period, beginning with The Magnificent Seven. It happens
during the long take in the field hospital tent with Sinatra and Lawford,
Sturges has been building up large-scale compositions throughout this
large-scale film, now he dollies forward a foot or two and instantly
establishes the tight architectural rapport that carries him through The
Great Escape.
Variety and Halliwell honestly had no idea what this film
was all about, though it was praised and dispraised by them respectively (or
irrespectively). It is fiercely difficult, but as with any vast structure, it
all boils down to a simple thing, and here it is a Chinese warrant granting a
warlord authority to take preventive measures in defense of the country.
What Halliwell
calls “philosophizing” (in the sense of a book with no pictures) is
a running countertheme of Lollobrigida looking down her expensively-kept nose
at Sinatra, an OSS captain in Burma, because he doesn’t “make deals
in seven languages at all hours” like Henreid.
This is of the
utmost interest, of course, and would have been to the critics as well, if they
could have grasped it.
Sturges’ earlier
compositions include a greenhouse scene with flowers on the CinemaScope left
from foreground to background (with carven Buddha), Sinatra and Lollobrigida
center in front of the door, and monkey cages right to foreground. Even in a
bleachy print effacing the photography, its beauty can be discerned.
Though his later
films tend to concentrate the pure style he discovers here, the action scenes
toward the end are an exhilarating test of its properties, which appear to be
limitless. Again, his earlier compositions show a master hand at work. A
handful of parachutes at a great distance are just seen in the upper right of a
completely azure screen, along whose bottom edge a twin-engine cargo plane
makes a landing somewhat later (and this plane also shows the hairiness of
Burma operations, flying low with a man in the open door preparing to jump). A
jungle ambush has the Japanese suckered into attacking a skeleton crew of
GI’s and Kachin reading comic books while the rest of the unit lies in
wait, and a quick camera movement reveals these latter. Bronson plays a Navajo
who, without explanation, speaks his native tongue on the radio in the famous
code, and tangles with “Sergeant Rich Boy” Jones, who calls him
Hiawatha (Bronson looks down on these Burmese “gooks”, whom Sinatra
explains are his historic ancestors, in a running theme on levels of
prejudice).
The transition
from one style to another is, for Sturges, like moving on from Impressionism to
Cubism, it gives a much tighter structure and a more secure representation to
his images.
Lollobrigida
throws her weight into this part, and Kaufman’s writing is up to it (her
first appearance being a carny guess-your-weight game at a nightclub, in a
manner of speaking). Henreid is a tall celestial operator and a European snob,
quick as that. The casting is so deep that John Hoyt and Whit Bissell have what
amounts to nothing more than a walk-on (as foils at that).
Johnson has a
lovely gag as a monocle-wearing captain explaining to a WAC at the nightclub
that it’s not keeping it in but getting it out that’s difficult.
Sinatra his friend and colleague obligingly demonstrates with a right to the
jaw that sends him sprawling but monocled. Donlevy is the General who carries
out the reconciliation at the close, and McQueen is established in his
technique at this early date, while Lawford has a turn as a rear echelon doctor
pressed into combat service.
Sinatra wears a
goatee in the opening scenes, which he loses for R & R in Ceylon, and a
bush hat with a peacock feather tucked into its band, which he resumes on
returning to combat. It’s a skilled performance, but this is only to be
expected from Sturges, who always lays out his films with the utmost diligence
and ability, and here employs the unusual device of introducing his characters
during the credits in silent clips from their roles, a device apparently
designed to encourage intelligibility throughout the complex interweaving of
his plot, but to little avail it would seem.
“The score
is a notable one,” says Variety, opening with gamelan. The film is
a notable one with no doubt whatsoever.
The Magnificent Seven
The technique
deployed by Sturges is unique to him, and appears further refined in The
Great Escape. It may be described as forcing the image into complete
abstraction of its scenic elements by placing the actors in a foreground
relation to the camera (medium close shot) against backgrounds brought by the
lens into proximal range, so that, especially in interiors, the scene is
articulated structurally rather than pictorially. In the simplest terms, the
expressive elements of a shot are not set dressing but the set itself in its
barest terms, wall jointures, support beams, lintels, windowframes (closed),
architectural features.
The exterior
corollaries of this are first an ongoing depiction of continuous space as
mainly horizontals but also verticals seen as limitless (from the first shot
after the credits), giving pronounced indelibility to occasional properties
seen in isolation, such as the curious hearse or the detail of the train engine
(in a continuous line of cars).
How Sturges
arrived at this may partly be observed in the sheer labors expended in such
films as The Capture, which uses a zoom to diminish the perspective in a
long shot, or Last Train from Gun Hill with its exhaustive variation of
locales as measured distances, but there appears a jump in the discovery of
this technique so marked as to bring to mind David Lean’s stylistic shift
a few years earlier.
The perfection of
style is more than in the camerawork, it’s also in the degree of
preparation and finesse in every shot and sequence. The Western town just over
the border from the main action is constructed in steps on a hill, up which the
hearse is driven to the cemetery. All parts of the construction figure in the
scene, and this is typical of Sturges’ whole approach, nothing is wasted
and yet there is a sense of limitlessness or magnificence (this scene is
remembered in Chato’s Land and Unforgiven, variously).
Nowadays
it’s customary to look down on the three sequels, each of which is a film
of the highest merit, so it’s useful to read the New York Times
review utterly denigrating The Magnificent Seven by comparison with its
original. Time has shown Sturges’ work in its proper light as a flawless masterpiece
from script to score, without taking away from Kurosawa, Kennedy, Wendkos, or
McCowan.
In particular,
the Times reviewer could not understand the reason why a man like Chris
would take this job, which is what the bandit Calvera asks with his dying
breath, the question supplying its own answer in the tersest eloquence. Sturges
is always too subtle for film critics, rare as it is to find one so obtuse.
Sergeants 3
Stevens’ Gunga
Din, which is about all that any critic perceived.
In fact, the transposition
had no effect on journalism, to a man the critics were sure they were at a
Vegas revue, and then dumbfounded that the jokes were more serious than the
circumstances would warrant, in their view.
The Great Escape
The credits
convey a new batch of prisoners to the Luftstalag. High-angle views give a
flavor of the approach to action at the close of Never So Few, and much
of The Great Escape happily capitalizes on Sturges’ discovery in
the latter part of the earlier film, which figures throughout The
Magnificent Seven. This is a close coordination of interiors so that
architectural elements (joists, beams, corners, windows, supports) have a
symbolic role in the drama. The key scene in The Great Escape
demonstrates this, showing SBO Ramsey seated on the right with blind wood
paneling behind him, and the Kommandant standing behind his desk with a sunny
window to his left and framed photographs from his flying days behind him.
This scene
governs the whole film, as Sturges achieves his grand effects by building on
its simple structure, a horizontal opposition (left/right). Shortly after this
scene, the Gestapo arrive, some gathered menacingly around the
Kommandant’s desk (he is now seated), the leader sitting in the chair
previously occupied by Ramsey. The Kommandant’s interview with Squadron
Leader Bartlett (as before) adds the former’s sympathetic appreciation of
the latter’s pain. Much has now been conveyed in these scenes by largely
symbolic means (the Kommandant’s blue Luftwaffe uniform is an element recurring
later), psychological structure and so on, but principally a fixed position of
warder and prisoner in the frame, so that the Gestapo are identified as
prisoners in their origin, and immediately Ramsey and Bartlett repeat the scene
with Bartlett left in front of the barracks window and Ramsey right, expressing
their relative positions.
A complicated
scene like Flight Lt. Blythe’s defense of his blindness shows a
variation. Bartlett (left) forbids Blythe (right) to escape. Flight Lt. Hendley
enters (left), protesting, with Bartlett now on the right and Blythe in the
center. Finally, Hendley (left) in his blue uniform sympathetically faces
Blythe (right), having accepted responsibility for him.
Another variation
is the shooting of Lt. Cmdr. Ashley-Pitt on the station platform, running at an
angle left, shot by soldiers right, and the angle is repeated in the same way
when the fifty recaptured officers are machine-gunned.
Blythe’s
death on the hilltop puts him between an infantryman with a scope rifle (left)
and Hendley (right).
When Capt. Hilts
on his motorcycle is finally caught, he stands in the barbed wire (left) with a
victorious smile at all the enemy soldiers (offscreen right) he’s kept
occupied.
Another
complicated variation has Flying Officer Sedgwick at the French café (with the
staff, left), German officers at a table (center), and a car with Resistance
gunmen (right). Bartlett’s recapture has the German on the left, Bartlett
right, with the same look of helpless pain in the Kommandant’s office.
Finally, the
anguished Kommandant (left), seated at his desk, reports on the murdered fifty
to SBO Ramsey (right), standing with indignation. The finale continues as
Hendley is brought back to the camp. Sturges constructs a monumental opposition
of Hendley (left), incredulous at the news from Ramsey (right). The last word
is given to Hilts locked in the cooler (right), as the sound of his baseball
makes the guard (left) stop in his tracks and look around.
Sturges mounts
these scenes with a precision rarely matched by anyone, even Hitchcock. You
have to look at Beckett’s diagrams for a staging of Waiting for Godot
to see something similar. The action sequences are liberated by contrast, and
show Sturges in the light of acquired experience with long shots and camerawork
of great dexterity.
The antecedents
are La Grande illusion and The Bridge on the River Kwai, also Un
condamné à mort s’est échappée. The technique might have come from a
general observation of Dreyer, and resembles in different ways the organization
of Ray’s King of Kings and Losey’s The Go-Between.
Rosenberg’s Cool Hand Luke shows a direct influence, with the same
sources.
A crucial scene
shows a direct opposition to the general theme in structural terms. Flying
Officer Ives, who is claustrophobic, charges the fence (left) in full daylight
and is shot. This prepares the drama of Flight Lt. Velinski’s
claustrophobia (opposed by Flight Lt. Dickes on the left). Variations of all
these occur dramatically throughout, with differing thematic intent, the scenic
preparations of one forming the basis of the next. In this, Sturges has taken
an important cue from Lawrence of Arabia, the “representation of
fate”, and reduced it to a grammatical feature of an extraordinarily
rich, nimble and expressive cinematic language, which is why Hilts parks his
motorcycle at one point, to pay homage to this source.
The Satan Bug
A Crœsus insinuates himself within a government
installation and acquires essential power, with the intent of destroying the
installation.
This is a very succinct avowal, a science-fiction accounting
of corruption figured in the cartoon titles.
It stands to reason (pace the critics) that a dismissed security
officer who does not follow the line of bullshit will not countenance the trend
nor support the hijacking, therefore he is put back on the case.
The metaphor is germ warfare, a counterpoison does or does
not exist.
Sturges draws upon his final understanding of style in The Great Escape for a Méliès
helicopter expanding into frame, then drops it for a desert construction as
incidental frame or cadre round a central playing space thereby elicited, with
great use at Station 3 (the secret lab) of diverse verticals to shape the
widescreen image similarly.
The Hallelujah Trail
It carries
Philadelphia whiskey and French champagne out West where they’re sorely
needed.
Temperance ladies
and suffragettes, striking Irish teamsters, the freight operator, and Sioux
Indians, have to be dealt with by the Army.
All is lost,
however, and yet something remains of the “precious cargo” or
“vile cargo” to gladden the hearts of men.
A decorous and
refined drawing-room comedy, an all-out farce, a romance, an adventure,
anything you please.
“Frankly,”
said Crowther of the New York Times, “I found but one sequence
that caused me to crack a smile.”
Hour of the Gun
Sturges has the opportunity of the screenplay to depict his
forces of pictorialism and structure in opposition.
This leads him to a tragedy in result, Wyatt Earp’s
gun-battle with Ike Clanton on the plaza in Nogales.
The film’s fame has grown over the years, owing to a
close awareness of this.
The walk downhill in Tombstone past the Epitaph to the O.K.
Corral is a mirror of the uphill ride to Boot Hill in The
Magnificent Seven.
The tragedy is in the nature of the conflict between a
civilization bought and sold, and its abstract rights. This is depicted in the
final shootout with a new church behind Clanton and an old one with a ruined wall
behind Earp.
Siegel’s Dirty Harry soon addressed
the problem, while Peckinpah (who had already foreseen the dilemma in Ride
the High Country) picked up the ride into Nogales (from Aldrich’s Vera
Cruz, no doubt) in The Wild Bunch.
These are a few of the major points. Doc Holliday on the
witness stand in Tombstone sits beside a window shuttered in its lower half, a
corrupt prosecuting attorney hammers this point, the judge with an unlit
lantern like a mace beside him on the wall (exactly as the prosecuting attorney
is seen) nevertheless has Old Glory on his right and the Holy Bible his left to
circumscribe his actions, his verdict is just.
But in Nogales, the very structure of civilization is in
question, the crucifixes that support the roof of the depot platform in
Tombstone are stone columns, the architecture of the ride to the plaza comes
into play. Only the most remote continuance of understanding justifies
warrantless Earp openly challenging Clanton to a showdown.
And then, it may be said, Camus’s injunction is called
into play. A show of force calls for a subsequent retirement.
A direct quote from Zinnemann’s High
Noon (flinging the badge away) decides the question. When the
structure is compromised beyond remedy by assassins with bought position, only
an image remains.
The excellent score by Jerry Goldsmith ought to be
mentioned.
A deliberate memory of Bad Day
at Black Rock, as well as Last Train from Gun Hill, is brought to
bear for the analysis.
Ice Station Zebra
The
matador-and-bull of Lumet’s Fail-Safe is stated somewhat
differently (steer-and-bull), nevertheless that is camouflage.
A journey from
Holy Loch past the Orkneys and underneath the polar cap on a rescue mission
with a classified byplay involving spy film from a satellite.
The main action
navigating undersea ice is one of the greatest passages in cinema, founded on
essential realism in the Navy submarine crew.
The North Star of
abnegation shines sufficiently from just below a weather balloon to consummate
the theme, presented as an equation resolved in a storm on the drifting ice
shelf and then a slow snowfall, like Char’s lepers.
Marooned
The manned space
program has certain limitations, technological, psychological, physiological.
The inevitable raison d’être, manned spaceflight.
The Apollo
program ends amid these considerations.
The structure has
three parts correspondingly, each associated with one of the astronauts,
submissive (Pruett), commanding (Stone), despairing (Lloyd).
Kotcheff’s Fun with Dick and Jane has a very
important analysis of the space program as its basis, intimately associated
with Sturges’ Marooned.
Critics were
unable to perceive any of this, who could?
The failure of
Ironman One, the astronauts’ dialogue with their wives, the rescue
mission, those are the three main movements.
Joe Kidd
The Spanish
Armada in New Mexico, Sinola (they don’t know Sit from), where the author
of The Spanish Tragedy is in jail for poaching, among other things.
Harlan, who
murdered his literate boss because the fellow was orotund and had a big spread
in these parts, comes hunting. Chama, leader of the Spaniards, is persuaded to
turn himself in. Under the guns of Harlan’s men, Kidd runs a locomotive
into the R.R. Saloon (Blood on the Sun, The Gauntlet).
The derivation
from Corbucci’s Il Grande silenzio has escaped notice first and
comprehension second. Chama loses support by sacrificing to his own glory
“nobodies” who thus are “names”. Harlan is an
executioner pure and simple.
The progression
drunk tank-hired killer-faith-reason-law defines the film, upon which general
terms (as well as the particular intricacy of the screenplay, notably in the
opening scenes) Sturges conducts his filming.
A note of The
Maltese Falcon is adduced in the conflict with Lamarr, a gunman of
Harlan’s.
Sturges of the
long eye, with painted skies. The secure technique translates Corbucci back
into the language of De Toth and Mann, to the inestimable advantage of Eastwood
as director.
Chino
The Misfits of John Huston for Chino’s stock of mustangs
in the wild with an English stud. Still more, Losey’s The Go-Between.
Finally the case is put at about the midpoint with the Scarface motif.
Sturges tries the
limits of a certain theorem (Suspicion, Some Came Running), that
the ending of a work of art is immaterial, unless one is to admit the workings
of his equation are as expected, all told.
The technique is
Sturges’ main discovery (Never So Few, The Magnificent Seven,
The Great Escape) deployed in William S. Hart country to all
appearances. The score is nugatory, deliberately, and downplays the action.
An unnoticed late
masterpiece.
McQ
In much the same
way Godard dedicated his early films to Monogram, this is an homage to Quinn
Martin. McQ is an exercise in face value, derived from television.
Sturges takes his mark from films such as Bullitt and Dirty Harry.
The idea is “a succession of images” distilled into language.
The crime is
ultimately simple, a drug ring is hijacking evidence en route to the
furnace, but its trade is interrupted by police officers with the same idea.
The script (which
is the layout for Sturges’ plan) has a cop assassinated by another cop,
who’s killed by a hit man. McQ quickly roughs up the gang boss Santiago,
and is obliged to resign, but pursues the case by attaching himself to a
private investigator.
Life on the
outside is presented visually in a car chase. The drugs are transported in a
linen supply van. McQ follows it, but traffic blocks him on the freeway and he
speeds through alleyways (the car is covered with dust) in a long remove from The
French Connection, stops the wrong van, and sees the real one driving away
on a very high overpass.
He acquires a
novel rapid-fire weapon (his pistol having been confiscated). Old friends are
murdered, new friends are untrustworthy (his car is crushed from in front and
behind by two semis in another alleyway), and in fact the nice young widow is
in cahoots with the million-dollar cop dealers.
McQ is set up to
take the fall, but escapes in a disused squad car. Sturges films the final
chase “between the shingle and the dune” as any television director
would do if he had time and money, and throws in a POV shot from inside
McQ’s car that is a momentary glimpse of personal style, along with everything
else.
The Eagle Has Landed
There’ll
always be an England, these Nazi invaders are simply “more bloody
foreigners.” The Yanks save the day because they’re so bloody good,
even if the Ranger colonel green out of Ft. Benning is a silly ass who gets his
head shot through.
The man in
Hitler’s moon is Winston Churchill, a rabbit out of the hat, he’s
poached on the terrace but only the man in the moon.
A film that
begins where the madness of Cavalcanti’s Went the Day Well? leaves off, pace
Time Out Film Guide.
The mirror variant
is Jarrott’s Night of the Fox.