Steven Keys

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When a former bank robber who traded his gun for a pair of dice, cubes now cold as ice, comes privy to inside info on a big score in race day receipts, he reverts to old form and organizes another heist for more francs than Oscar Meyer (₣800M), then on go day, breaks his vow to place a bet, its payoff starting a miraculous run of luck. Long before Charlie ascended the papacy in Greenwich Village (84), Paris’ Bob Montagné , first in “front wheel drive (bullets),” was winning over Montmartre’s masses. Roger Duchesne stars in the most curious of casting calls, given that the actor / writer / thief had been tagged collaborator in post-war purge, while director Jean Pierre Melville served with the Free French and co-writer Auguste Le Breton the Resistance. The risky roll paid off as there was no actor who could’ve played the gutsy gambler better than the silver haired, steely eyed French paradox whose suave but short tempered Bob might give the shirt off his back or cut you to pieces if crossed. The movie archetype, he is revered for his wins, losses (Rimbaud / Arthur), boldness ("born with an ace in my palm!”), savvy (Lt Ledru), confidence (“Jamais désespérer”), criminal code (anti-pimp), élan (“What a dump!”) and fatherly concern for Paolo (Cauchy), son of a deceased cohort, and Anne (Corey), newest “pavement princess.” A Rol-a-Top resides discreetly in his penthouse, pumped with passion like it smelled of Chanel® but off limits before big bouts (Deauville). Restaurateur Yvonne (Paris) is his grounding, she who waits for a promise that will never come and wishes Lady Luck would get hit by a bus. The ending is a royal flush, writers cleverly getting around the ‘crime never pays’ moral and giving viewers one last pull on Rol-a-Bob who pays off in big charm (“sue for damages”). Subtitled, I stood the entire film in stages to squeeze every drop of nuance. I’d not mind if dubbing made a comeback (oy). And take notice: 1) after spilling the beans, “good girl” Anne bravely bears a slap usually reserved for the fiercest of femme fatales like Suzanne, played by brevity beauty Colette Fleury; 2) though portrayed as one of the most despised of war time rackets, its purveyors punished severely (Papillon), the pimp vibes in flambeur are perceptible (Marc Jean Paolo?); 3) drink in 1950s Paris, much of it now gentrified by profiteers or displaced in humanity’s endless Rol-a-Tide (4★/4).

Roberts: “Very nice coat. Remember, after mink comes sable” A Jewish, New York City youth (Garfield) looking thirty-two yet still possessed of quick hands, a quicker temper, rejects the nickel and dime candy store world of his parents (Revere Smith) in flavor of a boxing career, mom and pop voting a split decision but unanimous approval from his pushy pal (Pevney) and artful girlfriend (Palmer) (“Tiger tiger“). A natural fighter, Charley’s rise is steady and swift, each victory bringing a bigger purse and thirst for “chunks of dough” in subsidy of his new, lavish lifestyle (Brooks) and concert with the criminal element who run the show (Gough). Not dishonest, money is his mojo, yet, taking the title soon has Davis “all mobbed-up.” As debts mount and punches take their toll, his marker gets called in, forcing the local hero to take a dive for the brash up n’ comer. The commies nearly outnumber the capitalists in this one. John Garfield stars in his most famous, if not best role (Breaking), he one of seven (7) artists KO’d by the blacklist, four more actors (Revere Smith Gough Lee), its writer (Polonsky) and director, Robert Rossen. Runs long for the genre (1.75h), mostly in flashback, around midway I was hanging on the ropes, Joe Implausability giving my brain a beating. Sidekick Shorty is a fast shuffle who sells his boy to the local agent (Conrad) with zeal of a girl scout cookie hawk, yet, oddly turns Father Flanagan whenever Mr Reality pays a visit, while slugger’s best gal, Peg, starts supportive (“anything you want”), then too acts like she’s just off the turnip truck when the seedy side sprouts. And mom, she can’t really think her boy is clerk material or has a violin and Joan Crawford in his future. But like a ring judge, you’ve gotta go the distance before filling out your score card. Impressive are the first timers in credit: radio star Virginia Gregg is Peg’s sassy roommate who sculpts in all mediums: “Are you decent? Irma: Not particularly, bring him in!” Veronica Lake look-a-like Hazel Brooks will wow as the sultry hanger-on fronting as a club singer, and Lloyd Gough (Goff) is Roberts, smooth talking promoter who treats fighters like chattel and delivers the film’s best lines with an unsettling persuasiveness (“Everybody dies”). All is captured by noted lensman James Wong Howe (Hud), most the punches landing late in prep for, and during the final bout, action that ranks with that seen in boxing greats The Set-Up (49), Killers Kiss (55), Fat City (72) and Raging Bull (80), De Niro (La Motta) displaying the same volatility and rapid-fire delivery as Garfield‘s Davis. Adding authenticity are the real life pugilists: Uly Williams, Larry Anzalone, Artie Dorrell is final foe Jack Marlowe, Ceferino Garcia (belt) (camp), giant slayer John Indrisano (referee) who coached John among others (Ryan Rooney Tracy Taylor MacMurray Montalbon Grant) and then credited black actor, Canada Lee whose champ-turned-trainer Ben gives a stylish performance on directness (“People don’t matter to you, do they, Mr Roberts?”) and sarcasm (Roberts: “Nobody’s gonna die; Ben: Thank you, Mr Roberts, thank you”). Nominated for three Oscars (actor play edit), cutters Lyons & Parrish taking home the hardware. To the ending, this might be Hollywood’s last dream before realism took firm, Everlasting hold (3★/4).

From the innovative opening titles (Fitzgerald Frankfurt), a series of photographs with shutter sound (Stahl), through a sequence of scenes, starting in bored Bonnie's bedroom, then catching Clyde in the act ("Hey, boy!"), her escape, their stroll, the dare, first heist, getaway, rejection and the pact, the viewer will know from get go, this is not your typical gangster flick. More than "rat a tat tat,” B&C is the bullet noir that broke the mold. In the post war, much was changing, and if it hadn’t, it would soon. Industry Codes that had put a stop to lively dialogue and lovely necklines (30s), punished politics (50s blacklist) and yet, forced creators to master the art of subtlety and suggestion, were, by the late 60s, merely paper pronouncements as makers began opting for realism over the dream (Twelve OClock High, Two Women). B&C didn’t start the trend but gave those Codes a firm, final push over the edge. In production, Warren Beatty chose a true story already romanticized, finally secured a director (Penn), by chance cast the perfect co-star in Faye Dunaway (Wood took a pass) and tabbed strong support in Gene Hackman, Estelle Parsons, Michael Pollard, Gene Wilder, Evans Evans and Denver Pyle as the dogged Texas Ranger. Taboos are handled with surprising honesty, the one act of passion, timely and moving, while the violence is purposeful, not gratuitous, the famous last scene a frenzy of gunfire that begins (eyes lock) and ends in poignancy as the dazed executioners gaze at the bloody result, not in smugness but silent regard and relief at its finality. It should come as no surprise that politics played a leading part in the award galas of 1968. Receiving ten Academy nominations, B&C would win but two categories, Parsons in support and Burnett Guffey in camera. Leads Beatty and Dunaway are superb, securing themselves a place in the pantheon of great cinema couples, right alongside movie icons Gable and Leigh, Tracy and Hepburn, Garland and Rooney, a sore spot for 2017 Oscar planners who, for the film’s 50th anniversary, bamboozled the couple by handing them the wrong envelope for their presentation. This is one of the films that can trigger the age old query, do portrayals of bad acts (murder greed racism) and unpleasant depictions (servility crudeness) encourage the same? Who can really say. What I CAN say is this: Welcome to democracy, a healthy one which will promote art, choice and debate (4★/4) (3.4.20).

Undercover cops from separate camps go south of the border to foil a Mexican mud cartel, both unaware that the other is also wired for justice. It's that rarest of film, the rom com dram, aka, noirgesse (crime drama), consisting of equal parts White Heat (embedded fed), It Happened One Night (rocky road) and Claire's earlier RKO, Murder My Sweet (gabby guy, cool chick). Headliners Fred MacMurray (Johnny) and Trevor (Madeleine) were seasoned professionals at this point in their repective careers and make a rather long movie watchable (90m), if not entirely believable. But there's good action, timely laughs, some spiffy lines ("I also know how to keep my mouth shut in two languages"), warm views (Baja) and a fine time to be had by all (2.5★/4) (12.26.21).

Not all motherhoods are gestational, some come off the veldt on "little cat feet," locking hearts of a different make, yet when they part are sure to break. In Kenya, a British game warden and his wife, played splendidly by real-life married couple, Bill Travers and Virginia McKenna, adopt three orphaned lion cubs, keeping one into maturity (Elsa) and then learning a parent’s pain of having to let go. Based on the true story of George and Joy Adamson, this is a wonderful film to view in any month but especially during the season of giving AND the getting. It is a grand time of year when song (♫) more than anything else will inspirit souls and warm holiday hearts. So too in cinema as John Barry (Goldfinger, Midnight Cowboy, Monte Walsh, Dances With Wolves) scores again to boost Born Free into some of the most beautiful blues (4★/4) (12.21.19).

A dapper but untidy crook with a thin veneer, engages women for money & status, killing as he climbs, always keeping his indulgent partner close at hand. Based on the book Deadlier Than the Male (43) (Gunn), it’s a b&w forerunner to slasher films of the 70s but with better cloths, which may explain its culty state. Bolts out of the blocks but loses the lead fast on a weak story (Macauley Greene) where plausibility plays no part in penmanship, one buoyed by familiar support who get more than ample screen time. Lawrence Tierney stars as the born to be bad, Sam Wilde, LT having made his mark as Dillinger (45), though, this role the one that’ll define his career and characters to follow (Hoodlum) (51), a reactionary type he may’ve felt compelled to emulate among a public who were not willing to accommodate (arrests). Fixture Claire Trevor co-stars, she the busiest femme fatale of the 40s who could read a cereal box sexy, her Helen the one person keen to what makes psycho boy tick. Because the story is thin, support are asked to carry the film, but Esther Howard is bester in small shots (Murder My Sweet), Elisha Cook always has a bullseye on his back, Austrian-born Walter Slezak is a sleazy P/I who knows more than he should, "coffee" excepted, and Isabel Jewell (Two Cities) is just gone too soon. The best performance is from neither man nor woman but beast, a cairn terrier tagged Romeo, real-life Rommy (Step By Step) & off-spring of tiny trouble-maker, Toto (Terry) (Oz). When the body count begins to build, it’s the canine who first arrives in the killer‘s wake, hesitant, then fretting fur-balls when left alone amongst the lifeless bodies. Filmed in fragmented light, it’s a sad, surreal scene well crafted by lensman Robert de Grasse (The Window) and boss Bob Wise who had already mastered the arts of sound & edit at RKO (Citizen Kane), now was showing signs of doing the same in direction (The Body Snatcher, The Set-Up, Blood on the Moon). And keep an eye out for roulette table regular (Gilda) and Three Stooges society swell, Symona Boniface (2.5★/4).

Born To The West on release, re-titled Hell Town and could’ve been called She Picks the Wrong Cowboy, this is your standard short n’ sweet B western (59m), its scoundrels sure to make your blood boil, then have you cheering at their eventual comeuppance. A still rather young John Wayne stars as dude Dare Rudd, seven years after his first major role in the Raoul Walsh epic, The Big Trail (30) and just prior to his breakout film, Stagecoach (39) playing jail jumper and good guy gunslinger, Ringo. Other cast include college football hero Johnny Mack Brown (Tom), marvelous Marsha Hunt (Judy), former Silent star and regular sagebrush sidewinder, Monte Blue (Bart), James Craig as Brady, the double dealing card shark and Syd Saylor plays soulsome sidekick, Dinkey Hooley, possibly the Duke’s perfect pairing. If you like the genre, this one’ll satisfy like cold pop in July (2.5★/4) (12.20.20).

Marriage doesn’t have to end a friendship, but there will be adjustments. And who’d’ve thunk, a band of bridesmaids could be so engaging? Only in Milwaukee. While prepping for a friend’s wedding (Rudolph), a bridesmaid (Wiig), one unexpectedly passed over for the top spot (Byrne), finds her own life in disarray: a bakery dream gone bust, habit in casual sex turned tiresome (Hamm), mean, moronic roommates (Lucas Wilson) and her car takes a hit she can’t afford. Then Annie catches a break, meeting two people she probably doesn’t deserve, a kindly cop (O’Dowd) and co-maid (McCarthy) with “security clearance” who slaps some sense into Miss Walker, literally. Though not officially a remake of The Women (56 / 08), the similarities with MGM’s 39 classic should confer upon it honorary inclusion as marriage and mostly dames are its motif, subject husband (to be) nearly unseen, in-fighting amongst the girls is raucous and the ending, well, let’s just say it’s “the, uh, stuff that dreams are made of (Wilson Phillips) (♫).” Lotsa zany lines (“There’s a colonial woman on the wing .. churning butter!”) and packed tighter on funny bits than a Focker carry-on, including a “pity party” when we discover Megan’s a missle expert (ahem), gown fitting that makes all others ‘pale’ in comparison, a flight that teaches never mix barbs & booze, bridal shower where we witness the murder of a cookie after learning why bleach is the ultimate in hygene, and a visit to Helen’s home, she with a face that could launch a thousand Harley Davidsons but now parent to the ugliest step brats you’ll ever see. Running just over 2 hrs but not feeling nearly that long (good sign), Bridesmaids was directed by Paul Feig with co-writing credits to Kristen and Annie Mumolo who plays the fearful flyer (“Just toss it back”). Also stars Wendi McClendon-Covey (Reno 911), Ellie Kemper (“You’re more beautiful than Cinderella, smell like pine needles and have a face like sunshine!”), Mitch Silpa as flight steward “Stove” and Jill Clayburgh is Annie‘s mom, the 1978 Cannes winner (Unmarried Woman) and 2-time Oscar nominee having died from a long battle with cancer 6 mths before the movie’s release (3.5★/4).

Before gadgets became gods, bicycles were the holy rollers for kids. Hoping to cash in on the craze, 20th Century Fox financed a film that proved to be one of the surprise hits of the 70s. It’s the old, rich kids vs poor kids or eclectic kids (Bad News Bears) or angry kids story, Mike, anyway, one that culminates in a cheesy relay race where you can guess the winners. Pure gorgonzola. Received surprisingly good reviews at release, big receipts ($20M) and awards, a Globe for best picture and Oscar on screenplay (Tesich) in a rather weak field, Alien (1) and Apocolyse Now (2) the only true standouts. B-A’s biggest booster was critic Roger Ebert who gave it a review that simply gushed, as he was known to do. But like they say, one man’s “treasure” can be another’s trash. I recall seeing After School Special’s (1972-97) that held my interest better. How one responsible for movies Bullitt (68) Murphys War (71) and the superb mystery thriller, Suspect (87) (Cher & Quaid) could make this pedestrian picture is not an uncommon conumdrum with good directors. The easy answer: “Nobody’s perfect (Brown).” The last straw was having to see Kelly Leak, one of filmdom’s coolest cats, turned into a guy named “Moocher (oy).” The lone bright spot is a memorable quote. Sent flying off track by some dirty European racers, a dejected Dave (Christopher) bemoans to his dad (Dooley), “everybody cheats.” Not exactly a shocking revelation, even for a teenager, but one that’s good to hear now & then so maybe we actually DO something about it for a change (1.5★/4).