Review #1,396: 'No Way Out' (1950)

Despite possessing all the handsome features expected of a male star in the 1950s, actor Richard Widmark ended up playing some of the most loathsome and outright disgusting characters of his era. After his star-making turn in Henry Hathaway's terrific Kiss of Death, Widmark found himself typecast as villains and anti-heroes in the subsequent years, before reinventing himself as a hero later in life. Looking back at Widmark's career, his performances are savage even by today's standards, and he perhaps never played a character so utterly vile as that of mobster Ray Biddle in Joseph L. Mankiewicz's No Way Out. Biddle is both gangster and racist, the worst type of person, and starts the film being wheeled into a hospital with his brother after a robbery gone wrong.

The Biddle brothers have both been injured in a shoot-out with the police, but elder brother Johnny (Dick Paxton) is more seriously ill than it would appear. Tasked with taking care of the hoodlums is Dr. Luther Books (Sidney Poitier), an intern who has just earned his license to practise medicine and the first African-American doctor to work at the hospital. Concerned with Johnny's slurred speech and erratic behaviour, Brooks suspects a brain tumour and starts a spinal tap, only to be bombarded with racist abuse from Ray. Johnny dies soon after, and Ray naturally accuses Brooks of murder. After consulting with chief medical resident Dr. Wharton (Stephen McNally), they both agree on the diagnosis, and also that an autopsy is the only way to know for certain. But state laws only permit an autopsy with a family member's approval, and Ray isn't going to give it. With racial tension across the city brewing, Brooks and Wharton visit Ray's ex-wife Edie (Linda Darnell) in the hope that she can make Ray see sense.

By keeping the majority of the story within the hospital setting, Mankiewicz and co-writer Lesser Samuels (who would go on to pen the great Ace in the Hole for Billy Wilder) keep the animosity at a personal level. The film would go on to earn an Oscar nomination for Best Writing, Story and Screenplay. Brooks must remain stone-faced as he is abused by Ray after genuinely trying to save his brother's life, and Poitier is magnificent in an very early role. His relationship with Ray, who refuses to see sense even when given proof, is incredibly raw even by contemporary standards. Ray is the catalyst for the trouble at the film's centre, and his actions cause a rippling effect throughout the surrounding neighbourhoods, with the inhabitants of an-all black area gearing up for a fight with the whites from Ray's neck of the woods. This highlights the fact that the themes the film is keen to explore aren't just confined to the hospital, but represent a problem of a much wider scale. It's a film that is sadly still relevant today, over 60 years later, and Widmark's ferocity only makes the experience all the more powerful.


Directed by: Joseph L. Mankiewicz
Starring: Richard Widmark, Sidney Poitier, Linda Darnell, Stephen McNally, Harry Bellaver
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #878: 'Cinderella' (1950)

Walt Disney's Cinderella, directed by Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson and Hamilton Luske, reinvigorated the House of Mouse's box-office power after the devastation of World War II, while at the same time marking the end of their 'golden era'. This was, critically, their final 'classic' film (although fans of Beauty and the Beast (1991) and The Lion King (1994) may disagree), and some of the art on display here is some of the finest animation Disney has ever produced. It also helped Walt Disney's huge ambitions, which was to take Disney to the new medium of television, bring children's dreams vividly to life by opening Disney World in 1971, and for Disney to become a global franchise in its own right.

Cinderella (voiced by Ilene Woods) spends her days and nights tending to the many needs of her two bitter stepsisters, Drizella (Rhoda Williams) and Anastasia (Lucille Bliss), and her wicked stepmother Lady Tremaine (the wonderful Eleanor Audley, who would later voice Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty nine years later). When it is announced that the King (Luis Van Rooten) has organised a ball, inviting every maiden in the land to attend in a search to find a bride for his son Prince Charming (William Phipps and Mike Douglas), Lady Tremaine gives her blessing for Cinderella to attend. However, on the night of the ball, Cinderella's stepsisters destroy her dress, leaving her distraught and humiliated. But with the help of her Fairy Godmother (Verna Felton), she gets to attend the ball with the help of a pumpkin carriage, some mice-turned-horses, and a pair of glass slippers.

The main draw of Cinderella, apart from the gorgeous animation, is the lead character herself, who is a truly sympathetic character and far less annoying that the usual Disney princesses. Tremaine and her daughters are truly ghastly creations, and their cat Lucifer - responsible for many laugh-out-loud moments as he tumbles with the mischievous residing mice - is no better. It's the plight of Cinderella that gives the film its backbone and emotional edge, rather than relying on musical numbers (though there are a few catchy tunes) and scenes of soppy romance, In fact, Prince Charming barely appears, but when he does it is short and all the more magical for it. It's also very funny, with the ensemble of animals on show providing many inspired comic set-pieces. Deserving of respect from both fans of animation and fans of classical film-making.


Directed by: Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson, Hamilton Luske
Voices: Ilene Woods, Eleanor Audley, Verna Felton, Rhoda Williams, Lucille Bliss, Luis Van Rooten, James MacDonald
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #502: 'Panic in the Streets' (1950)

When an immigrant is found shot to death in the docks, the cause of death is given as gun shot wounds. The coroner, however, notices signs of something far more sinister - the pneumonic plague. Lt. Commander Reed (Richard Widmark), a doctor with the U.S. Public Health Service, is brought in to investigate the matter and contain any possible signs of infection. With the backing of the mayor, Reed faces scepticism from the police, and namely Captain Tom Warren (Paul Douglas), with whom he is forced to conduct the investigation with. With a prediction of 48 hours until the disease starts to spread, Reed and Warren are forced into a desperate rush to find the killers with next to nothing to go on.

In contrast to the usual genre traits of film noir, Panic in the Streets makes the fine comparison between crime and disease, being very much one and the same. In order to prevent a deadly outburst, Reed must trace the dead body back to the intimidating Blackie (played with chiselled brooding menace by Jack Palance, he credited as Walter Jack Palance), who in the climatic scenes, scuttles across the floor as he desperately tries to evade the pursuing police like the rats that brought the bubonic plague to Europe in the 1300's. It's almost a strange subject to tackle within the confines of film noir, but if anything, heightens the intensity of the film, and with Elia Kazan's fine direction, the film becomes a fine metaphor for inner-city crime spreading like a cancer.

Coming three years after his shockingly evil turn in Henry Hathaway's Kiss of Death (1947), that earned him an Oscar nomination, here Widmark is our hero and the man standing in the way of mass infection. Rather than the quick-tongued, hard-drinking and chain-smoking anti-hero's of most noirs, Reed is the one voice of sanity, fighting the system and finding comfort with his wife (played by Barbara Bel Geddes) at home. The few scenes that see Reed talk with his wife are a stark contrast and a welcome break from the documentary-style realism of Reed's investigations, a technique carried on from Jules Dassin's ground-breaking The Naked City (1948). Beginning with a smoky card-game played out with sweaty heavies (including Zero Mostel in a fantastic slimy role), the New Orleans' streets are shot in high contrast black-and-white, with sweeping cinematography that brings to mind the majestic tracking shot from Touch of Evil (1958).

Although it pains me to say it - given his unforgivable outing of his friends and colleagues in the House Committee on Un-American Activites as being communists, leading to the black-listing and career deaths of many great artists - Kazan is a master of his medium. Yes, it's far from being one of the all-time great noirs, but Panic in the Streets is simply a finely polished and expertly paced thriller, squeezing out tension from the tiniest of moments, and bringing real originality to the genre. This is the not the Hollywood noir of Humphrey Bogart, but an honest and gravelly depiction of a city from the mayor down to the scum, with a apprehensive lone hero beating at its heart.


Directed by: Elia Kazan
Starring: Richard Widmark, Paul Douglas, Barbara Bel Geddes, Jack Palance, Zero Mostel
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #470: 'Los Olvidados' (1950)

After his exile from his native Spain, director Luis Bunuel moved to Mexico in 1946, gaining citizenship in 1949. It was here where he would make his more generic films (by his standards), as he honed his own directorial skill while never straying too far from his surrealistic background. After the success of his comedy The Great Madcap (1949), he was commissioned by producer Oscar Dancigers to make a serious film about child poverty in Mexico City, and out of it came Los Olvidados, or The Young and the Innocent, to give it it's American title. Bunuel apparently spent months disguised as a homeless amongst the poverty-stricken children of the slums in order to research, and if that tale is true, it certainly came off, as Los Olvidados is one of the best and most realistic depictions of the innocent turning to crime in a fit of desperation.

The film follows three children in the same slum. Pedro (Alfonso Mejia) is a young tearaway who wants to change his ways and work, in order to help out his mother who neglects him due to her constant work. 'Little Eyes' (Mario Ramirez) has been abandoned by his father, and is adopted by the blind beggar Don Carmelo (Miguel Inclan), a bitter man who frequently voices his opinions on the young criminals of the city. El Jaibo (Robert Cobo) has just been released from prison and immediately sets about gaining revenge of the boy he thinks ratted him out. Jaibo and Pedro corner the boy, only for Jaibo to bludgeon him to death, and the two boys flee. Pedro struggles to keep himself out of trouble and leaves home after being accused of stealing a knife, only to find his and Jaibo's paths repeatedly crossing.

At its heart, this is pure neo-realism, sharing its tone most obviously with Vittorio de Sica's masterpiece The Bicycle Thieves (1948) in exposing poverty and class divide as the main cause of criminality, due to the ill education and the hopelessness of the young. Although, out of nowhere, comes a surrealistic dream sequence so beautiful, and so haunting, that you know you're watching Bunuel, and his artistic creativity seems to bulge from the screen. Best known for his mocking of the upper-classes (the bourgeois were clearly as fascinating to Bunuel as they were repugnant), here he stays in the slums, promoting as much sympathy for its filthy lead characters as hatred.

Jaibo is a true monster, raised without parents, he bullies his way through life, grasping any opportunity that presents itself (he even manages to seduce Pedro's lonely and overworked mother, and rob a legless man). It is Pedro who is the beating heart of the film, especially when he leaves home and we witness the state of the lower-classes from his eyes and how they are viewed (in one powerful sequence, an upper class man obviously propositions him for sex, but we only see their exchange, as we watch them through a window). Bunuel then manages to deliver not one, but two sensational endings, that manage to move and shock as much as the famous and upsetting climax to Bicycle Thieves. Bunuel would go to France to create his greatest works, but Los Olvidados displays many of the attributes that made Bunuel one of the most important directors in the history of film, as well as being a great film in its own right.


Directed by: Luis Buñuel
Starring: Alfonso Mejía, Roberto Cobo, Mário Ramírez, Miguel Inclán
Country: Mexico

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #369: 'The Magnet' (1950)

This post-war British film from the great Ealing studios, is a charming tale of innocence lost, and particularly the idea of childhood guilt, brought on by a small incident and exacerbated by fear and misconstrued information. Johnny Brent (a young James Fox - billed as William Fox), a 10 year old wanderer, cons a younger boy into giving him his magnet. After feeling guilt (and particularly the fear of being caught out) he hands the powerful magnet to a charity organiser, feeling that he would be rid of his culpability. His imagination - coupled with his stricken conscience - takes over, as the boy with the magnet becomes of interest to the local authorities.  He overhears and misinterprets some information he believes is connected with the boy he stole from. Fearing that he has caused the death of the boy, Johnny runs away.

The Magnet is full of genuine charm. It almost perfectly captures those moments of childhood where we believe we have done great wrong - a usual emotion of guilt, but particularly it is the acquisition of information in these situations that are fundamentally ingrained on our conscience. Johnny's father, Dr Brent (Stephen Murray), is a Jungian Psychoanalyst who attempts to interpret the unusual behaviour of his son, which leads to some interesting asides - this could possibly even be a criticism of this form of psychology, and it's intrinsic hypotheses that all strange behaviours are connected to the parents.

This is by no means the greatest of Ealing Studios output, but it is a delightful story of youth, with a good lead performance from Fox. It is always irresistible to watch old British films, and see an autonomous country that looks individual, before the signs and signifiers of American consumerism invaded and changed the landscape forever.


Directed by: Charles Frend
Starring: Stephen Murray, Kay Walsh, James Fox
Country: UK

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #68: 'Francesco, guillare di Dio' (1950)

Heralded as "the most beautiful film in the world" by Francois Truffaut, and "amongst the most beautiful in Italian cinema" by Pier Paolo Pasolini, Roberto Rossellini's landmark work was actually poorly received upon release. It is based on two books - Little Flowers Of St. Francis, a 14 century piece of literature, and The Life Of Brother Juniper, which both focus on the work of St. Francis and the early Franciscans. The former is composed of 78 chapters which, rather than tell one overarching story, focuses on small stories and incidents which sum up the ideals and attitudes of the Franciscans. Rossellini adopts the same approach, albeit in only 9 chapters, each with an introductory title card.

St. Francis (played by an uncredited real-life monk Brother Nazario Gerardi) lives with his fellow Franciscans in poverty, working what they can from the land and giving as much as they can to the poor and needy. It is a belief that has elevated St. Francis into such a popular religious figure, as his philosophy was that those who lived the most difficult of lives would be the closest the God. Among the nine stories that are told, they range in purpose and tone. Some of the greatest are Francesco accepting a half-crazy old man with open arms into the Franciscan order, one of the monks unwittingly stumbling upon an army only to be sentenced to death and then powerfully overthrowing a ruthless general, and Francesco's encounter with a leper, a scene which I will discuss in a bit more detail shortly.

Although not a practising Catholic himself, directed Roberto Rossellini fell in love with the sentimental teachings of faith, which seemingly had no place in the increasingly corporate and money-loving world. It made me fall in love with the idea. I'm not religious either, but the way the Franciscans are portrayed here, almost as poor farmers who are happy to give away as much as they earn, it made me almost warm to religion. It doesn't try to preach and instead delivers its message on a smaller scale. The monks preach with love and generosity.

The film was summed up in the scene where Francesco, out in a field alone late at night, cries as his love for God overcomes him. He is awoken from his prayers by the sound of clanging bells. As he checks out the noise, he sees a lone traveller in the field. As the traveller turns to face Francesco, we see he is a leper; his face rotting and disfigured, and his body hunched. Francesco approaches him and starts to kiss the man, in awe of his suffering. Even though the leper repeatedly pulls away from Francesco, he keeps following him. Eventually, Francesco embraces the leper and lets him go on his way. It is quite possible the most powerful scene I have ever scene in film history. Initially quite shocking when we first see the face of the leper, Francesco's pursuit and eventual embrace is such a profound sentiment.

Co-written by Italian master Federico Fellini, the film maintains its neo-realistic tones while managing something more prophetic and dreamlike. It feels like you are there with Francesco, being preached to, and living amongst the colourful characters in the beautiful location where the Franciscans have settled. It manages to squeeze so much beauty and power, along with some touching comic moments, into a slim running time that never feels short, and doesn't suffer for it.


Directed by: Roberto Rossellini
Starring: Aldo Fabrizi, Gianfranco Bellini, Severino Pisacane
Country: Italy

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie