Film Review: THE OUTSIDE MAN (1972, Jacques Doray)

Stars: 4 of 5.

Running Time: 105 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Jean Louis Trintignant (THE CONFORMIST, AMOUR, Z, MY NIGHT AT MAUD'S, THE GREAT SILENCE), Ann-Margret (TOMMY, BYE BYE BIRDIE, GRUMPY OLD MEN), Roy Scheider (JAWS, ALL THAT JAZZ), Angie Dickinson (BIG BAD MAMA, THE KILLERS, DRESSED TO KILL), Georgia Engel ("Georgette" on THE MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW, THE CARE BEARS MOVIE), Umberto Orsini (THE DAMNED, LUDWIG), Ted de Corsia (THE KILLING, THE NAKED CITY), Jackie Earle Haley (THE BAD NEWS BEARS, LITTLE CHILDREN, WATCHMEN), Michel Constantin (LE TROU, LE DEUXIEME SOUFFLE), Alex Rocco ("Moe Green" in THE GODFATHER, DETROIT 9000, THE FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE), Talia Shire (THE GODFATHER, ROCKY). Music by Michael Legrand (SUMMER OF '42,   Co-written by Jean Claude Carrière (THE DISCREET CHARM OF THE BOURGEOISIE, BELLE DE JOUR). Cinematography by Silvano Ippoliti (CALIGULA, NAVAJO JOE, SUPER FUZZ) and Terry K. Meade (a camera operator on RIO BRAVO and THE LAST PICTURE SHOW).

Tag-line: "If you kill the most powerful man in organized crime, they've got the rest of your life to get you."

Memorable Quote:  "Paris?! You mean, Paris, France?"

Only now, on the Fourth of July, did it occur to me that I needed THE OUTSIDE MAN in my life. Picture it: a down n' dirty '70s Los Angeles crime flick directed by a Frenchman (Jacques Doray), with a screenplay co-written by surrealist master Jean Claude Carrière, and with the alienating, fatalistic atmosphere of LE SAMOURAI, THE MECHANIC, or DETOUR. You could even compare it to Camus' THE STRANGER or THE PLAGUE.

Our antihero is an "Outside Man," a French hitman (Jean-Louis Trintignant) who arrives in L.A. to kill a mobster. After performing the hit, he finds his passport has been stolen and he is relentlessly pursued by another hitman––the great Roy Scheider in a role that is essentially a jockish, dickish enigma.

(Obviously, Scheider nails it.)

Jean-Louis may be a hitman, but he's a Continental. He's an aesthete. He's on an existential journey. In the States, he's an Outside Man. He's awash, adrift in a consumerist wasteland of highway cloverleafs and frozen food and prefabricated homes and hot pavement and hazy skies. If Jean-Paul Sartre says, "hell is other people," then THE OUTSIDE MAN has a bolder, more nuanced thesis. It says hell is the Sunset Strip on a Wednesday night. Hell is kidnapping a mother-son duo played by Georgia Engel

and Jackie Earle Haley,

and, even though the Outside Man has the power and the gun, he's the true prisoner, eating TV dinners with them and watching STAR TREK reruns.  Hell is Jackie Earle Haley pouring ketchup all over the TV dinner's mockery of boeuf bourguignon.

Hell is dive bar wine.

Is that Ripple?

Hell is hippie hitchhikers who wind up being closet Jesus-freaks. Hell is itchy wigs. Hell is denim jackets in the summer.

Hell is bus stations.

Hell is smoggy sunshine criss-crossed by power lines and palm trees. Hell is storm drains. Hell is living in a storm drain.

Hell is abandoned lots and crispy, brown, dead grass. Hell is diet Coca-Cola. Hell is this apartment building.

Hell is a gum-chewing Roy Scheider hiding in your shower with a gun. Hell is faux-wood paneling. Hell is that bedspread.

Hell is sun-tanning. Hell is shaving in a public restroom. Hell is using a communal razor in a public restroom. Hell is paying to use a communal razor in a public restroom.

Hell is drive-in theaters in the daytime.

Hell is that shade of orange. Hell is diner coffee that's been left in the pot overnight.

Hell is having nothing to do but watch TV in a shitty motel room. Hell is kidnap victims being saved by the police but first asking, "where are the television cameras?"

Hell is palm trees covered in garbage. Hell is abandoned boardwalks. Hell is getting a splinter from an abandoned boardwalk.

I guess we could just cut to the chase. We could say: "Hell is L.A." We could even say: "More like 'Hell-A,' amirite?" Hey, guys, I didn't say it, THE OUTSIDE MAN did.

The dual cinematographers––Silvano Ippoliti and Terry K. Meade––definitely present an L.A. that's of a piece with the L.A.s of Don Siegel's THE KILLERS or John Carpenter's THEY LIVE. There is a lot of nice, surreal imagery with a workmanlike finish, even if it's ugly as sin. After watching this film for an hour and forty-five minutes you feel like you've lived your entire life out of anonymous motel rooms with ceilings yellowed by cigarette smoke. You can't remember what air smells like without a soupçon of exhaust fume. You feel like you're in a parked car on a hundred-degree day without A/C: it's suffocating, and smacks of melted plastic.

On this existential journey, we meet a rogue's gallery of 1970s supporting players, including Umberto Orsini as the late mobster's sleazy son and Angie Dickinson as the mobster's wife (who's possibly making a move from père to fils, if you know what I mean).

They have a pool.

There's Alex Rocco (who seemed to have an entire career based on the fact he played "Moe Green" in THE GODFATHER) doing his mobster schtick

and Talia Shire (!)

This is before she moved to Philly to work at a pet store.

as a winsome mortuary attendant who's on screen for about twenty-five seconds. We have the aforementioned wholesome mother-son team of Georgia Engel and Jackie Earle Haley who seem to have stumbled in from a network sitcom (to great effect).

Finally, there's Ann-Margret as an exotic dancer who, through a series of unimportant events, essentially becomes the Outside Man's sidekick.

Here, Ann-Margret's never quite let "off the chain," so to speak, and thus we are denied an orgy of the amazing, over-the-top acting we know she's capable of (because we saw TOMMY). I'd say that, by and large, the performances (with the exception of Roy Scheider, who is permitted a streak of douchey élan)

are, by design, very static and stilted, almost Bressonian, indicative of the director's vision of America as a colorless, prefabricated consumerist wasteland. However, since we never see Europe in the film and are not afforded the contrast, it's sometimes hard to tell if it's "anti-American," or merely "anti-human."

Also, did I forget to mention that this is––in near-entirety––accompanied by whacka-whacka guitar licks throughout, worthy of a basement porno?

Anyhow, it all ends with a shootout at a church funeral, which definitely gives the whole production that nice post-Melville, pre-John Woo vibe.

I liked this quite a bit, even though I can understand the criticism I've heard, detailing it as a kind of dreary, lifeless slog. Which is kind of the point. Hey, it's all part of the Existentialist experience, man!  Four stars. (And happy existential Fourth of July!)

Film Review: NATION AFLAME (1937, Victor Halperin)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 74 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Directed by Victor Halperin (WHITE ZOMBIE, PARTY GIRL). Story by Thomas Dixon, Jr. (THE BIRTH OF A NATION, MARK OF THE BEAST). Starring Noel Madison ('G' MEN), Lila Lee (BLOOD AND SAND, THE UNHOLY THREE), Harry Holman (MEET JOHN DOE, BARBARY COAST), and Douglas Walton (MURDER MY SWEET, BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN).
Tag-lines: "Exposé of a Hooded Menace!"
Best one-liner(s): "Boy, the suckers will eat it up!"

In what's coming to be a regular feature of this blog, I find myself writing about American hate groups, fascists, and their cinematic depictions. Today's film happens to be written by Thomas Dixon, Jr., whose early novels celebrated hate and formed the basis for the racist, denialist 1915 epic THE BIRTH OF A NATION, which casts the Ku Klux Klan as the heroic saviors of the South during the "dark days" of Reconstruction.

However, sometime in the 1930s (upon witnessing the revived Klan and the rise of European fascism) Dixon underwent an apparent evolution of character. In NATION AFLAME, his final work, he delivers a formidable condemnation of the Klan, American Nazism, xenophobia, and political hucksterism that's more than worthy of our attention in 2017. If Thomas Dixon's mind can be changed––a mind that was directly responsible for the second wave of the Klan in the 1920s––then truly the sky is the limit: NATION AFLAME is as remarkable in this aspect as it would be if Steve Bannon were suddenly to produce a film denouncing the white nationalist movement.

Allow me to begin by offering a rundown of the plot, which unfolds with the simplicity of a fable across a slim, 74-minute runtime.

Enter: Roland Adams, the political huckster. A rich, aging clown-prince who has a certain way with crowds, and rules them with the wave of his jester-faced scepter: he wears the absurdity of this persona as a badge of pride.

With his eldest daughter reining in his more outrageous peccadillos, Adams once was Mayor of a typical middle-American city.

Against his daughter's wishes, however, he has made some dangerous friends; career criminals who know that the the huckster's power over the uneducated mob can be exploited, a fast lane to power and riches. His new right hand man is an Italian immigrant named Sandino who has re-fashioned himself as "Sands," and, in a believably hypocritical path to personal agency, becomes a true master of the xenophobic rhetoric that was once leveled against his friends and family.

He becomes Adams' brain, his attack-dog, his Richelieu. Adams' daughter has very little power over him now, though it pleases her to pretend. Sands and Adams make their xenophobic, "America First" pitch at a political cocktail party, and while it fails to impress the intelligentsia, the seeds are planted for a Populist campaign. The following clip is well worth watching:
And so the Avenging Angels are formed; a "grassroots" organization subsidized by gangsters and protected by corrupt politicians, whose members wear black hoods (patterned after the Black Legion and the second-wave Klan) and commit acts of political, racial, and anti-intellectual violence.

 Sands lays out their mission in a manner that is straightforward and unfortunately prescient:

"The only way that we can save the youth of our nation is to organize them in one single group, and through them, enforce the precepts of 100% Americanism! Corruption and politics must go! Civic virtue and patriotism must be our goals! We must enforce a reverence for our flag and our Constitution!  And what is more, protect our American womanhood, and guard the sanctity of our homes! We must guarantee that the wealth of America must be shared only by real Americans! To maintain and declare absolute boycott against foreigners is our only salvation!"

We are treated to extensive scenes of Adams, Sands, and their cronies practicing their bluster as an acting exercise, repeating the same lines over and over again until they feel they've attained the proper patriotic fervency.


"Boy, the suckers will eat it up!" says Adams. And they do. The gang is able to enrich themselves financially and politically, selling Avenging Angels memberships and apparel for $25 a pop.


"For twenty-five dollars, be true Americans!"

It should come as no surprise that Adams rides this wave of hate to ascend to a fresh political office: the Governorship. Under his rule, and amid a mosaic of domestic terrorism, the Avenging Angels beat to death reporters who dare to criticize them.

Now Governor Adams has the Oval Office in his sights, an idea planted by Sands, who grows more power-hungry by the day. Sands doesn't care much about the scandals and inquiries piling up at the Governor's doorstep, because he operates in secrecy and will still wield the full power of the Avenging Angels no matter Adams' fate. Adams' daughter makes regular visits to his office in an attempt to save his soul:

"Daddy, I'd rather see you resign than be impeached," she says...

But Sands always visits afterward, and the Governor happens to be the kind of man to take the advice he's heard most recently.

With political opponents closing in, Adams eventually decides to buck his gang and forge his own path. This, unfortunately, is short-lived as he is immediately assassinated by Avenging Angels who, at Sands' insistence, believe he has betrayed them.



Governor Adams is dead, his jester-faced scepter smashed. And the power of the Angels lives on, vindicated by the destruction of those who were not pure enough; those who were less than "100% American."

Adams' daughter aligns herself with the Angels' progressive foes and is burned in effigy amid growing misogynistic rhetoric.


Fearing her reputation already ruined, she sacrifices her remaining stature to take out Sands, entrapping him in a sex scandal that, in 1937, proves to be enough to sink the Avenging Angels for good. The end.

For me, NATION AFLAME film can only reframe Dixon's body of work, not rehabilitate it. However, like other films of the era such as BLACK LEGION and LEGION OF TERROR, it is very much the product of 1930s American Progressivism, fearful of fascist movements in Germany, Italy, and Spain worming their way into the American South and Midwest. That it comes to us courtesy of a man who never would have described himself as a progressive, and in fact publicly wore the mantle of "white supremacist," is staggering. I suppose this is evidence that even the harshest, most monstrous ideologue can have a breaking point: a crisis of conscience. This is something we must bear in mind.

Only now does it occur to me... WISE GUYS

Only now does it occur to me...  four quick things.  WISE GUYS is a sorta mediocre mobster comedy from Brian De Palma starring Danny DeVito and Joe Piscapo.  Laugh-worthy and groan-worthy moments appear in equal measure; approach at your own risk, depending on your tolerance level for zany Italian-American hijinks.  But here are four quick things that I appreciated:

#1.  "The De Palma Shot."  One of De Palma's trademark shots is the composite of two different shots so that characters in the foreground and the distance both appear in focus without sacrificing the depth of field he likes.  Danny DeVito at this point in time was most famous for playing a character on TV's TAXI named "Louie De Palma."  So here, in all of it's glory is Louie De Palma in a De Palma movie in a De Palma shot:

That's a lotta De Palma, but that's the way I like it.

#2.  DeVito's De Niro impersonation.  Because no comedy would be complete without a groundbreaking send-up of the "You Talkin' To Me?" sequence from TAXI DRIVER.  Ordinarily I'd roll my eyes at this– but DeVito's De Niro is actually pretty good!

#3.  The many loves of Rhea Perlman.  WISE GUYS features real-life Perlman husband DeVito, as well as fictional husband Dan Hedaya (who played "Nick Tortelli" on CHEERS).  How 'bout that?

#4.  WISE GUYS features a scene which I shall describe without comment:

A mob Fixer (wrestling's "Captain" Lou Albano) throws a profanity-laced hissy fit in the presence of casino owner Harvey Keitel.

 Keitel shuts him down by saying this isn't Newark and he should watch his language,

which leads to the exquisite mortification of Captain Lou

 

 and the shit-eating brilliance of Harvey Keitel.

 

Carry on.  WISE GUYS, ladies and gentlemen.