The Angry Dragon (1973)

MORE EXCITING THAN ENTER THE DRAGON... MORE ACTION THAN FIST OF FURY..!

Nostalgia is a tricky thing. Often times, when you revisit an old favourite song or movie many years after your initial exposure to it, it just doesn’t stand up. You were younger then, you didn’t have a clear conception of just what it was you were watching or listening to. At the time, you thought that this thing was great, but now, with a more experienced head on your shoulders, you may find that the thing you loved so much is actually pretty bad. Well, we’re going to be taking a special journey today. Today’s film is one that I haven’t seen for years. Since I was about 10 or so, and it has genuinely not been out of the box for around twenty years, give or take. I’ve managed to keep a hold of it all this time and I’m returning to that pre-pubescent mindset for another viewing of the 1973 martial arts flick The Angry Dragon.

Chang Hao (Cheung Lik) is a police officer looking to rid the town of the local gang of smugglers. The gang try to get rid of their enemies by kidnapping the daughter of the head of a local martial arts school, and framing a rival school. The plan falls through, so the head of the gang hires two mercenaries to wipe everyone out.

When it came time to actually review The Angry Dragon for this blog, I was actually rather excited about it. Not really because of the whole ‘haven’t seen it in ages’ bit, but because I actually couldn’t find a listing for it on the IMDb. None. I couldn’t even find a listing for the director, Lee Man Kit. I honestly thought that I had something that, as far as the IMDb was concerned, didn’t exist. This was a short-lived feeling. Turns out that the film I know as The Angry Dragon is known elsewhere as Kung Fu’s Hero, with director Lee Man Kit better known as cinematographer Li Wan Chieh. Why these name changes? Beats me. Besides, all of these are pretty minor concerns. Point is, what’s the movie like? As I said, I watched this a lot when I was much younger and always enjoyed it, but would I make of it now? What I still like it? Would I hate it? Would it actually be pretty good?

I’m not too much of a fool, I can see that The Angry Dragon is clearly not a particularly good film. In fact, it’s really quite bad. The story is needlessly convoluted; the acting is quite bad, though some of the dubbing is actually rather decent; the cinematography is very poor, so a fight scene in a forest is virtually impossible to make out; the set design is ugly as all hell; the direction is lousy; and the editing has more clumsy chopping than the fights. So, really, it’s just like every other low-budget martial arts movie to come out of the 1970s destined for the American late night shlock houses.

On that last point – the editing – some of the fault doesn’t fall on the film itself. Some of this is the fault of the BBFC. For those of you that don’t know, back in the 70s, the martial arts craze had something of an effect on the younger populace – everyone wanted to be a kung fu fighter. This meant that every idiot wanted the kind of weapons on show in the movies, specifically nunchaku. It’s a weapon that’s prohibited in many countries, but it also happens to be quite easy to make, which is exactly what people did. The BBFC then made the decision to cut any and all reference to them in the martial arts films that came through, along with any violence onscreen that could be considered easy to imitate. This does put some pretty big holes in things.

There are some big holes in there anyway. Thanks to the bad editing and the very bad direction, there are characters and sub plots that completely disappear without any real resolution, and at least one villain who gets away. Such poor filmmaking also means that we seem to be asked to accept a love story that has absolutely no basis whatsoever. It would be insulting if it wasn’t for the fact that the film is so poorly made that you just take it as par for the course. And the fight scenes are numerous, rarely staged well and go on forever. I’m honestly not kidding when I say that the last half hour of this film is an enormous fight with dozens of people spread over several locations, interrupted only by a car chase… and when I say a car chase, I mean the good guy, on foot, chasing the bad guy, who’s in a car… and catching him. It’s absurd.

All of this being said, I did still rather enjoy it, precisely because it’s meant to be regarded as dumb entertainment. It can all be pretty much summed up by a moment rather close to the beginning. Our hero, Chang Hao, is chasing a pickpocket down a series of alleyways. The pickpocket gets a bit of distance and takes his advantage, shimmying up the wall to the roof of the building next to him. When Chang Hao arrives, he sees the thief waving from that roof, an easy 25-foot above him. So Chang Hao simply leaps up to the roof in a single bound. Nonsense, bobbins, complete and utter BS… but it sure is funny. I actually still quite like Chang Hao as a hero, too. Thanks to an incredibly thin moustache, he always looks 12 years old, but he’s a real good guy. He relentlessly goes after the bad guy, regardless of who it is, and also sees fit to lecture lawbreakers on why they shouldn’t break the law… that’s right, this guy is basically Dog the Bounty Hunter. And some of the fight scenes aren’t too bad. Plus, and this was something that completely slipped my memory, we also see Bolo Yeung here, the big bad guy from Enter the Dragon and Bloodsport, though this was a time when he was still credited as Yang Sze. That was a nice surprise.

The Angry Dragon (or Kung Fu’s Hero, whatever you want to call it) is ridiculous nonsense and badly made on almost every single level. That said, it is still quite entertaining. This is the kind of stupid crap that you can watch and mock and laugh at, and still feel like you’ve been entertained to some degree. Admittedly, it really stretches your patience in the final act, but it’s not as bad what it could have been. I’m not sure I can really recommend it to people beyond the age of 12, but people with a thing for bad martial arts flicks from the 70s might like it, too.

Angels with Dirty Faces (1938)

THE SAGA OF AMERICA'S DIRTY FACED KIDS... AND THE BREAKS THAT LIFE WON'T GIVE THEM!

Coppers and crooks. Sweet angels and dirty rats. Dames, wise-guys, guns that never need reloading and crime waves signified by spinning newspaper headlines. Welcome to the era of the classic gangster picture. Along with westerns, these were morality tales set to show right from wrong, and they were the bread and butter of the moviegoer of the 30s and 40s. From these films, we got some of the greats, like Humphrey Bogart, Edward G. Robinson and, of course, James Cagney. Cagney would achieve great success and acclaim in these kind of pictures, with one of his most enduring pictures being today’s film, Angels with Dirty Faces.

Rocky Sullivan (James Cagney) and Jerry Connolly (Pat O’Brien) were two tough kids who grew up together in the toughest part of New York before each of them goes their separate ways: Rocky gets sent to reform school, where he learns how to be a first class criminal; Jerry goes straight and becomes a priest, working with kids who, like he and Rocky, could end up on either side of the law. Years later, a fresh out of jail Rocky is looking for a safe place to stay until he can resume his old criminal career, which Jerry, for the sake of the boys, would rather he didn’t do.

As I said before, these kinds of films were meant as simple morality tales, whereby the bad guy says bad things, commits crimes and gets gunned down for it in the final reel. This was largely because of the Motion Picture Production Code of the time, known more colloquially as the Hays Code, named for Hollywood’s chief censor, Will Hays. According to this code, amongst many other rules dictating the morals of film, criminals could not be seen to profit or get away with any crimes. It was pretty much part of the dictate that they had to die. What really separates Angels with Dirty Faces from the other gangster pictures of the time is that the script actually takes a look at the reason for this rule: the influence of the wealthy gangster on the impoverished and impressionable youth. The film actually considers the tough reality of getting kids to play by the rules when they’re shown that not doing so will yield better results. This is the dilemma that gets openly addressed in the film, like so:

Jerry: What earthly good is it for me to teach that honesty is the best policy

when all around they see that dishonesty is a better policy? That the hoodlum

and the gangster is looked up to with the same respect as the successful

businessman or the popular hero? You and the Fraziers and the Keefers and all

the rest of those rotten politicians you’ve got in the palm of your hand. Yes,

and you’ve got my boys, too. Whatever I teach them, you... you show me up.

You show them the easiest way - the quickest way is with a racket or a gun.

Rocky: Well, it’s so, ain’t it?

Jerry: Yes, it’s so... God help us.

Therein lies the heart of the whole film. Considering the typical tactic of the day was to simply say ‘if you keep committing crimes, someone’s going to put a stop to you’, this is a far more eloquent and lasting consideration of the difficulty of trying to be moral in an admittedly amoral world. It also knows the importance of a man’s reputation as something of significant value. Rocky gets to be who is because people have heard of him, the things he’s done. It’s exactly why the kids look up to him, his reputation always precedes him. So, it knows full well the sheer magnitude of Jerry’s last request of Rocky, before he gets led to the electric chair, is that Rocky break down and go out like a coward, screaming and crying. It’s the only way Jerry can look out for the kid’s in his care, though it clearly kills him to ask it. Rocky flat out refuses to do so, since his last moments will be what define him. He doesn’t want to cheapen his reputation at the last hurdle. He wants to make those boys proud of him. It’s a genuinely tough decision for him to make.

Michael Curtiz does give some solid direction in the film, with the tone slowly and steadily becoming genuinely darker and more serious in the closing moments. It takes real skill to be able to have such deliberate control over proceedings like this, and Curtiz definitely has it. Also, the manner in which they convey Rocky’s criminal rise from his reform school beginnings to the man he becomes, through a montage of prison enlistment forms and criminal deeds, is very well handled, economical and articulate. Depending on your viewpoint, he may occasionally oversell some moments, like the final shot of the boys in the hideout and the music in the background. It’s not exactly subtle, but I think it still works. Also, the sense of space is somewhat thrown off at the beginning of Rocky’s last big shootout, but you get over it quickly.

There are some performances worth talking about in the film, before we get to the might of James Cagney. Frankie Burke, who plays Rocky as a young boy, does very well effectively playing a young Cagney. Humphrey Bogart, here as Frazier, is on decent form. It’s far removed from the likes of his more famous tough-guy personas, like Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe and Rick Blaine. He’s a shifty, cowardly swine. It’s actually a little disconcerting to watch him like this after seeing how great he was in The Maltese Falcon, but that role wouldn’t come until three years after Angels with Dirty Faces, so it worked a bit better then. Pat O’Brien is solid as Jerry. Even though he’s now a priest trying to set a good example for the kids and protect them from bad, you still see the love he has for his old friend Rocky. O’Brien’s face shows Jerry’s conflict well, always catching himself somewhere between a disapproving frown and the warm smile. The finely underplayed moment as he watches his friend walk towards the chair is really quite affecting. Ann Sheridan is pretty and does well for herself, but the role isn’t terribly well handled in the script. She serves to be the one who ends up being taken in by Rocky’s charms and then she’s just forgotten about. After a single scene of teary-eyed pleading with Jerry, she……

Let’s talk about the Dead End Kids, the gaggle of cherub-faced little goons that the title refers to. These were a young bunch of actors from New York that got their name when they appeared in a play called Dead End, cast because they were able to bring that street-wise attitude to the show. Amongst the many that saw the play were producer Samuel Goldwyn and director William Wyler, who decided to turn the play into a film and keep the same cast. The Dead End Kids were flown to Hollywood and signed to two-year contracts, with the film being released in 1937. Goldwyn clearly regretted his decision, because the Dead End Kids were monsters who ran riot around the studio destroying property and messing with other actors constantly. Goldwyn sold their contract to Warner Brothers, which is how they ended up in Angels with Dirty Faces. The change in studio did nothing to change their ways. They continued to cause mayhem, breaking things and throwing other actors off by constantly ad-libbing. There’s even a story where they backed Humphrey Bogart into a corner and stole his trousers. They stole Humphrey Bogart's trousers! However, it was James Cagney that set them straight, in a typically Cagney fashion. The first time one of the kids threw an ad-lib at him, Cagney broke character and hit the kid square in the face. They behaved themselves from then on. That’s kind of what makes the basketball scene so great. The way Rocky kept a lid on the gang’s bad play was pretty much how Cagney kept a lid on the gang’s offscreen antics. God, James Cagney was awesome.

In this film, James Cagney is superb. It’s actually kind of difficult to appreciate just how good Cagney really is as Rocky Sullivan nowadays. People haven’t really seen his films, like ‘G’ Men or The Roaring Twenties or Yankee Doodle Dandy or Love Me or Leave Me or the superb White Heat. All people have to go on now is the impressions and imitations of Cagney that others have been doing for years, mainly based on his performance in Angels with Dirty Faces, so the power has been somewhat diluted. It's seen more as a thing of comedy now. This is a real shame, because it makes me think that Cagney is already starting to be lost to the world, which I find very disheartening. However, believe you me, Cagney is incredible in this film. It’s in the way he talks through viciously bared teeth, how he stares harshly at whoever he’s talking to, how he holds his whole body as forward as possible. This guy seems physically incapable backing down. All through the film, he’s not someone to be messed with. Despite this, Rocky does have some charm to him. Like most career criminals, he can be a friendly face to people he liked, but you’d still rather not go near him. There’s even times when you like him, like when he’s teaching the kids to play basketball by the rules, but he’s still the same fierce individual he’s always been. Cagney captures all of this wonderfully, setting up a character so solid, but so utterly rotten that you hope that he changes, but can’t ever fully believe that he will.

Angels with Dirty Faces is a great picture and still packs an emotional punch to its ending. The script is great and Curtiz’s direction is well controlled, allowing the film to go from being something relatively light to become something darker and with real weight behind it. Performances are good throughout, with a good deal of credit going to Pat O’Brien, but it’s Cagney’s film here, showing exactly why he was such a draw back in the day and why more people should see his movies.

Angel and the Badman (1947)

HE LIVED ONLY FOR REVENGE... SHE LIVED ONLY FOR HIS LOVE!

John Wayne. The Duke. One of the most resolute images in cinema history. Regularly dubbed “The Ultimate American”, he became an idol to many for his tough presence and heroic nature onscreen. A big step in building this perception in the eye of the public was when Wayne began acting as a producer on his own films. In this way, he could ensure a greater level of control over his screen image and try to make better, more successful films. Say what you want about the guy’s real-life politics, but he understood the system very well. Today’s film was Wayne’s first foray into producing – Angel and the Badman.

A former deputy turned bad guy, Quirt Evans (John Wayne) winds up in the care of a family of Quakers when they find him shot and near death. When he’s better, the daughter Penelope (Gail Russell) starts to show feelings for him. Taken with the girl and her family, Quirt has to decide if he will return to his old ways or leave the behind in favour of a new life with Penelope.

As I said, this was The Duke’s first crack at producing a film as well as starring. Right from the off, he showed a degree of savvy that he rarely gets credited with. James Edward Grant, a popular pulp novelist of the time, wrote the script for Angel and the Badman and it is some fine work. Its central relationship, on which the premise of the piece hinges, is wonderfully developed. Wayne’s character, the amusingly-named Quirt Evans, is well-drawn as a one-time lawman, deputy to Wyatt Earp no less, whose temperament and love of cheap thrills turned him away from the law and towards a less upstanding lifestyle. Similarly, Penelope Worth, played by Gail Russell, is neither the wallflower nor the tomboyish firecracker of other westerns. She’s not weak, but she’s not an over-bearing annoyance either. She’s a firm individual, garnering a good deal of strength from her family and beliefs, and she’s not shy of being the pursuer of the man she loves. It’s precisely because the characters are so well done (certainly for what is generally a B-grade western) that the relationship is actually quite convincing. Rarely does it feel forced (the pair kiss much earlier than they should, but this is more a necessity of the period than anything else), so it has a very natural flow to it.

Wayne also had Grant direct the picture, which turned out to be another wise move. This would also be Grant’s first time in a new role, and he certainly shows some skill for it. He largely left the actual composition of shots to his cinematographer Archie Stout, who turns in some fine work himself (Russell looks especially radiant), which meant Grant could work with his actors more. He’s got a great sense of pace in the film, which feels properly driven, partly due to the script that he wrote, but also due to his good sense as a director. He also captures some of the more sensitive moments with a form of dignified restraint that, in other pictures of a similar ilk, would have been overblown or drowned by sappy music. There are so many instances when he lets Wayne and Russell communicate in glances and things unsaid. His action sequences are equally well done, showing some fine editing (credit to Harry Keller on that) and some genuinely superb stunt work, particularly in the famous bar fight scene.

In the acting stakes, there’s actually very little to complain about. Those that often lamented the awkwardness of Wayne’s style will find that he’s pretty good here. He’s always had a great command of his own physicality, and he carries himself very well as Evans. His body language, the stoop of his shoulders or the nod of his head, show that even The Duke could hold some subtlety about him. You genuinely see some of the inner conflict in the guy, trying to decide what kind of person he wants to be after having met Penelope. With her and her family, he finds life hard, but very fulfilling. When he tries to go back to his old ways, you can see in his face that he finds these things he used to love now rather hollow. Gail Russell makes a better show, managing to show a great deal more texture in her performance. She’s sweet and lovely and conveys so much with the slightest of glances. It’s really not difficult to see why this Badman fell for this Angel. It would be difficult to really shine from under these two performances, but Harry Carey and Bruce Cabot (as Marshal McClintock and Laredo Stevens respectively) both make enough of an impression to stand out, too.

Some may find the religious aspect of the film maybe a little off-putting, what with Quirt being turned away from the sordid life by a pretty girl with a Good Book, but, to be fair, it is a story of redemption. There are several times when it starts to push the boat out a bit far, with the atheistic Dr. Mangram (Tom Powers) being generally regarded by the Worth family as a little confused in his doubts and Quirt’s friend Randy (Lee Dixon) taking Quirt’s new Bible and, after reading a short passage, declaring it to be some “good writing” and “one book I’m sure gonna read.” This may be a little heavy-handed at times (it’s certainly something I noticed), but it doesn’t ever completely fall into didacticism or flat-out preaching.

Angel and the Badman is great western, with good work on all fronts. The script and direction make it stand out by having an actual story going for it, the stunt work is impressive and the acting is good, particularly from Russell. All in all, it’s good fun and a thoroughly well-made western.

...And Justice for All. (1979)

THIS MAN NEEDS THE BEST LAWYER IN TOWN. BUT THE PROBLEM IS... HE IS THE BEST LAWYER IN TOWN.

Today we continue our filmic look into the world of the law, and it continues to be a sad and sordid world for those in the legal profession. For all the idealism of justice being served, the guilty being locked up and the innocent protected from the criminal element, the reality seems to be a far cry from this. The legal system is a maelstrom of legal jargon, bureaucratic jumbling, back-room deals and raging egos. The system is there to dispense justice, but to serve the people who can play the game the best. Here, the guilty get off on technicalities and the innocent get unjustly locked up because their court-appointed attorney couldn’t care less about them. Ethics? Morals? These are bad things for a lawyer to hold onto.

Arthur Kirkland (Al Pacino), an idealistic defence attorney in Baltimore, cares about his clients more than any other lawyer, which frequently puts him at odds with others in the legal system. His rough caseload is weighted further when Judge Fleming (John Forsythe), a by-the-book tyrant Arthur hates, demands that Arthur defend him when he is accused of sexually assaulting on a young woman.

Writers Valerie Curtin and Barry Levinson paint a vivid picture with the script to …And Justice for All. The world they’ve created is populated with a varied swirl of characters, perfectly designed to tell their story. Almost all of the lawyers are amoral sharpshooters, who only want to win the case to keep their game alive; the judges are lunatics and tyrants, given to revel in the amount of power they hold over people; the police are incompetent bullies, taken to making fun of the obviously weaker elements that cross their path. How exactly can justice be won in this kind of environment? It’s almost like a reworking of Kafka’s The Trial, only this time Josef K is represented in Arthur Kirkland, the one honest guy in town. The depth of the legal woes befalling system are directed towards Arthur, who spends virtually all of his time trying to help an innocent man who’s been stuck in jail for over a year, trying to defend a transvestite who’s too afraid of the system to survive in it, trying to defend himself in front of an ethics committee. He’s forced to yell, beg and cajole people into getting help when he needs it. That so much is packed into the film is a testament to the writing on show.

Honestly, Norman Jewison’s direction isn’t really his best work. The opening credit sequence, a short montage of courtrooms and buildings with the American pledge of allegiance as recited by some, no doubt, very cute little kids, sets things up badly. Its cuteness just makes the film seem like a crossover between Law & Order and Sesame Street. The music for the film is also something of a tonal misfire. It’s too jaunty, too whimsical, too much like a lighter episode of Cagney & Lacey. This level of inconsistency is rather obvious throughout. At times, it seems like the hard-bitten legal drama that’s expected, but other times it feels more like a romance of sorts, and other times make it seem like a flat-out comedy. The scene in which Judge Rayford takes Arthur for a helicopter flight is really funny, but is nevertheless a bit out of place in the overall effort. Also, look back up at that tagline at the top, which utterly mis-sells the nature of the film's story. It doesn’t leave you feeling as battered as some other films with the same problem do, but it still compromises the full intention of the piece. And the film itself ends badly, with a rather bizarre bit of humour that completely defuses the big moment of catharsis from only a moment before.

That we are able to really the feel the journey of these characters is not because of Jewison’s direction, but the talent of the superb cast assembled. John Forsythe’s Judge Fleming is a smug, nasty piece of work. He has the look of someone who enjoys the position of power, the ability to dominate those weaker than him. Forsythe is damn good. Jeffrey Tambor, here in his feature film debut, is hilarious and tragic in equal measure. The scene where he arrives drunk at Pacino’s door at two in the morning is played beautifully by Tambor. Jack Warden is great as Judge Rayford, a guy straight out of the Wild West, but utterly suicidal as well. Lee Strasberg and Sam Levene make for superb watching, both of them wonderfully affecting and heartfelt. However, it’s Pacino’s show all the way. In fact, it’s the power of Pacino’s performance that really directs this film, not Jewison. In the hands of someone less capable, the film would feel much more episodic, like a series of legally-themed vignettes. As it is, Pacino is able to play each scene so very well, but is also able to maintain a consistency throughout. It’s superb work from the man.

If there is one thing to hobble the film somewhat, beyond the problems with the direction, it’s the feeling that some people may get that it’s just a bunch of liberal wailing. To be fair, they would have a point. So much of the time is spent saying that there’s something wrong with the system, the system is broken, “You’re out of order! You’re out of order! The whole trial is out of order!” However, there’s little in the way of addressing anything like a solution. Now, of course it’s the point of the film to highlight a serious societal problem in the hope of making a change for the better. That’s what most art tries to do. However, many people watching will find this unwelcome, and more than a little biased. For a film about justice, there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of balance. Cops here are only incompetent; judges are only insane; committees are only useless; only the innocent are imprisoned; only the guilty are freed. Yes, okay, something is clearly wrong here… but only in this world that you’ve created for the film. In reality, not all cops are incompetent, not all judges are insane. You may feel like cheering when Arthur makes his big speech at the end, decrying the system and how it gets used, but some people will just feel like they’re on the receiving end of an unwelcome sermon. If you’re looking to push for change in society, you’re not going to get much done if you instantly alienate half of the audience. The spirit is commendable, but the tactics may backfire.

…And Justice for All. is a rather uneven picture, with Jewison occasionally losing focus on just what kind of picture he’s making. Also, the script, though otherwise a fine work, will turn some off with the rather confused “liberal” bent. However, it’s the acting that really drives the picture, and Al Pacino is on stellar form here. The performances and the genuinely good moments of drama in the picture are enough to warrant the watch, so long as you overlook the tonal shifts.

Anatomy of a Murder (1959)

Otto Preminger is a man who is no stranger to controversial subject matter. Scourge of the Legion of Decency, Preminger directed several films that pushed the boundaries of what was considered taboo and generally okay to talk about in film, many using novels and stage plays as the source. Many said his 1953 The Moon is Blue treated sex in too light-hearted and frivolous a manner; 1955’s The Man with the Golden Arm was one of the first Hollywood films to deal with heroin addiction; and 1962’s Advise & Consent put a light on the subject of homosexuality. However, one of his best, most adult and controversial films came in 1959 with the release of Anatomy of a Murder.

Paul Biegler (James Stewart) is a small town lawyer with few clients. When a murder takes place on the outskirts of town, he is asked to defend Lt. Frederick Manion (Ben Gazzara), who admits to having killed the man who allegedly raped his wife Laura (Lee Remick). It quickly becomes a prominent case, and Biegler must now find a way to win the case despite, or even because of the ambiguity of events.

It should be noted from the beginning that Anatomy of a Murder does not ever really seem to be a film that seeks to be controversial for the sake of doing so. What really lies at the heart of the film is a considered, intelligent, slightly uneasy deliberation on the realities of the legal system. It does so by looking at a case that is, at once, both simple and complex – a man brought to trial for murdering the man who raped his wife. In such a case, certain things will be discussed, certain words will be used. Controversy is simply a by-product of the project. Much of the controversy surrounding the film arose from the fact that it was amongst the first to freely and frequently use words like “rape”, “panties”, “bitch” and “sperm”. The filmmakers even have the foresight to see and address this potential for offence. Some characters seem uneasy using the word “panties” in open court, opting to talk around it with vague references to “undergarments”, somewhat short-circuiting the need for concise testimony. The judge has an aside with the lawyers present as to whether or not they know of any other word that could replace the word “panties” that so many find uncomfortable. It’s a rather well known exchange:

Judge Weaver: What exactly was the undergarment just referred to?

Paul Biegler: Panties, Your Honor.

Judge Weaver: Do you expect this subject to come up again?

Paul Biegler: Yes, Sir.

Judge Weaver: There’s a certain light connotation attached to the word

“panties.” Can we find another name for them?

Mitch Lodwick: I never heard my wife call ‘em anything else.

Judge Weaver: Mr. Biegler?

Paul Biegler: I’m a bachelor, Your Honor.

Judge Weaver: That’s a great help. Mr. Dancer?

Claude Dancer: When I was overseas during the war, Your Honor, I learned

a French word. I’m afraid that might be slightly suggestive.

Judge Weaver: Most French words are.

After this, the judge makes his announcement to all present in the court that the word “panties” shall be used during proceedings. The court erupts into a light, mildly embarrassed laughter. The judge addresses them again, telling them that their laughter is neither welcome nor appropriate, considering the seriousness of the case. Director Preminger and writer Mayes see the potential for offence here and get their point in – we’re all adults here, so let’s damn well act like it.

That’s something that comes through from many aspects of this film. Preminger seeks to tell a grownup story in a grownup manner and, as such, expects his audience to be grownups about it. At one point during court proceedings, Biegler protests that “this is a cross examination in a murder case, it’s not a high school debate.” Indeed, only a grownup will be able to fully appreciate the building complexities of the case, the sly dual nature of many of the characters on show, the relationships between each of them. A juvenile mindset simply won’t get it. Most people will recognise the small-town quaintness of Biegler, but those of the more mature temperament will be able to pick up on the sneakiness of his tactics, the cunning of his mind, the importance that he always be seen as just a simple small-town lawyer. Much goes the same for Laura Manion, whose sweet face and pretty eyes belie how self-aware she is in her ability to attract men, and thus bringing into question her account of the night in question. Likewise for Laura’s husband, Frederick, the man on trial for his life. A soldier, a genuine war hero, but someone who always wears a mild look of disgust on his face, and who’s not exactly mild-tempered.

The intelligence and skilfulness in the handling of the legal aspects being discussed also require a degree of focus to truly understand the thrust of the film’s thematic concern, and that is the reality of the legal system. Early on in the film, when Biegler first discusses the case with Manion, he is told that Manion hoped to rely on the “unwritten law” as justification for his crime. Biegler tells him, “The unwritten law’s a myth, Lieutenant. There is no such thing as the unwritten law, and anyone who commits a murder on the theory that it does exist has just bought himself room and board in the state penitentiary, maybe for life.” The film acknowledges the need in the law for something to be written down, for there to be a precedent set. In fact, there is a small moment of real triumph when Biegler and McCarthy happen upon an old case history, which gives credence to their best defence theory. However, the film also knows that the real backbone of any trial such as this one is in the testimony of its witnesses. It is also here that the film shows this to be its great weakness. Witnesses are expected to be honest and forthcoming and without any hint of deception. However, as we see throughout the film, witnesses can be carefully coached (a violation, but something we do see happen). They can also be discredited, their memories be fuzzy, their own motives unclear, or they can simply lie. Even expert witnesses, like doctors or psychiatrists, can be contradicted by other experts. How can juries be expected to extrapolate the true circumstances surrounding the murder and deliver a clear verdict when the evidence they are given is questioned at every turn? A major tactic of Biegler is to make unfounded, but damning statements about the credibility of a witness for the prosecution, which the judge then instructs the jury to disregard. “How can a jury disregard what it’s already heard?” asks Manion. Biegler answers, “They can’t, Lieutenant.”

What is a very interesting point about the climax of the trial is the feeling one has by the final verdict. I won’t say how it swings, but there is the undeniable sense of uncertainty as to whether or not justice has really been served. Evidence has been entered and questioned, witnesses have been presented and scrutinised, experts examined and cross-examined so much that even we, who have much more information than the jury, are genuinely unsure as to what really took place. The nearest we ever come to being sure of the truth is our initial feelings when we first hear about the case, with little to no evidence or context. If this is really how it is, if the most comfort we feel can be found before we learn more about the case, then how much faith can we really have in the legal system? If the trial, with all its evidence and witness testimony and expert opinion and legal pontificating, serves no purpose beyond bamboozling a potential jury, then what good is it?

It’s not just in its concerns with legal fallibility, or the subject matter being discussed, that the film asks a degree of maturity and sophistication of its audience, but within the craft of the filmmaking on show, too. Preminger’s direction is superb, his predilection for letting important stuff happen in the background, or the other side of the frame, leaves it to the audience to choose where they look, who they side with. There is also a wry degree of whimsy there, too. Look at the scene where McCarthy and Bielger have lunch outdoors, an industrial crane in the background. Notice that, as the pair converse, making points to one another, the crane in the background echoes their back-and-forth discussion. Also, look at the actual trial, itself more of a performance from the lawyers. Preminger picks up on the point, wonderfully illustrated in Mayes’ script, that lawyers must be more like actors in the courtroom, since it’s the best story that usually wins out. The cinematography from Sam Leavitt is also excellent, comfortably subtle with no sudden shifts of light and shadow. Here, black and white is a difficult thing to find. The music is superb, a jazz-soaked score from Duke Ellington that remains catchy and fun, but with the characteristic nuance of the genre, dropping hints as to where the drama and danger lie.

The acting throughout is superb, and a testament to great casting. Only James Stewart could pull off Paul Biegler, the humble small-towner with all the hallmarks of typical James Stewart character. Yet, underneath that is a sharp and devious mind. Lee Remick is great as Laura, effortlessly conveying the feeling of sweetheart and tramp (just watch her bat her eyelids at Stewart on their meeting in his office). Ben Gazzara’s Frederick Manion is someone you feel like you should respect and believe, but you still nevertheless feel like there’s something off about him. Arthur O’Connell is really quite affecting as Biegler’s friend and partner, a former lawyer and still a brilliant legal mind, now trying to drag himself out of the bottle he’s been resting at the bottom of for years. George C. Scott brings with him all the weight and stature of his considerable presence to the role of the big city Assistant State Attorney General Claude Dancer, though this would be only his second feature film. A real treat in the film is the presence of Joseph N. Welch, who plays Judge Weaver, and is an absolute delight to watch. Welch is most famous for the fact that he was the lawyer who took on Senator Joseph McCarthy during the Communist witch-hunts in the 1950s, defending the US Army against McCarthy’s interrogations. Welch, sitting not six feet from him at the time, lambasted the Senator’s conduct, famously asking of him “Have you no sense of decency, sir?” You can find the footage of that and watch it for yourself. It’s bracing stuff. Especially since McCarthy himself says, in court and on film, that Welch is a fine actor who likes to play to a crowd in his work, just like Paul Biegler.

Just as an aside, this perhaps is not the only swing that Preminger takes at McCarthy in the film. Arthur O’Connell’s character is Parnell Emmett McCarthy, who is a recovering alcoholic. Joseph McCarthy himself was an alcoholic, which many believed contributed greatly to his death in 1957, just two years before the release of this film. Also, an early scene has Parnell remark on a brown paper bag that Biegler has just brought in, which clearly contains a bottle, hence his interest. Parnell smilingly says, “I’m everlastingly suspicious of, and/or fascinated by, the contents of brown paper bags.” A famous incident in the early days of the indictment of US soldiers by Joseph McCarthy had him declare that he had evidence of wrongdoing in a brown paper envelope that he would not let others inspect, leading many to believe he either had none or was stalling for time until he got some. That Parnell sobers up turns himself around for the good of the law makes him some reflection of the real life Senator McCarthy.

Anatomy of a Murder is, quite possibly, the best trial film ever. It’s not so much an attack on the legal system as it is a meditation on its inherent flaws and fallibility, and the filmmaking behind it is excellent on all fronts. From the direction to the acting to the script to the cinematography, it’s all woven with rich subtlety and delicacy. If you’ve ever had any consideration on the nature of law, this should be seen.

Amores Perros (2000)

LOVE. BETRAYAL. DEATH.

Remember what Huey Lewis said about love? “It’s strong and it’s sudden and it can be cruel sometimes.” Well, Alejandro González Iñárritu would certainly seem to agree with that last bit. For his first feature film, Iñárritu would consider the stories of several different people, told along three interconnected storylines, and look at just how cruel love can be, particularly when some of those involved seem to be completely ignorant of how cruel they are actually being. Surely it works out that for one person to find happiness, another must find sadness and misery. How cruel can you really be to someone or something that you profess to love, and for what reasons would you really do that? That’s some pretty messed up power that love’s got, Huey.

The lives of three disparate individuals, each from a different social stance in society, become interconnected by a horrific car accident. Octavio (Gael García Bernal) wants to raise enough money so he can run away with his sister-in-law, and decides to enter his dog into dogfighting contests. After a fight goes bad, Octavio flees in his car, causing an accident in the process. Valeria (Goya Toledo)’s career as a model is destroyed when the accident costs her dearly. El Chivo (Emilio Echevarría) is a homeless man who cares for stray dogs and witnesses the collision.

The translation of this film’s title, Amores Perros, is ‘love’s a bitch’. For the characters in this world, it really is. The idea that love is a transcendent drive in a person, making them do bold and crazy things for the one they love, is a pretty common thing in films, particularly the aspirational fare of Hollywood. However, in this film, we look at the bad things people will do for those the supposedly love. Octavio is in love with Susana, the young wife of his brother, Ramiro. Susana already has a child by Ramiro, which is why they got married in the first place, and soon finds out that she’s pregnant again. Susana is also still in school, so relies on Ramiro and Octavio’s mother for help in raising her child. It’s clear that Susana does not get along with her mother-in-law, who rather looks down on Susana for ending up in this situation in the first place. Ramiro himself is also a rather nasty piece of work, an abusive philanderer and an armed robber. Susana can’t even rely on her own mother because she’s a drunk. The only person she can rely on, and has any kind of positive relationship with that we can see, is Octavio. The only times the either one of them seem to smile is when it’s at each other. It’s clear that Octavio likes Susana, and not just because he tells her. The question is whether or not Susana likes Octavio back. When he asks her to run away with him, she seems understandably hesitant. What about Ramiro? Where would they go? Neither of them have any money with which to do so. Octavio has a plan…

Daniel is a man with a family, wife and two young daughters. They seem happy. However, they do occasionally get phone calls from someone who hangs up when anyone answers. Well, not anyone. If Daniel answers, they stay on. We hear from one phone call that he has a mistress – Valeria. Valeria is a model, beautiful and successful, having just become the new spokesperson for a big fashion company’s ad campaign. On television shows and the like, she’s dating a famous actor, but really she’s with Daniel. After one show, Valeria is surprised with a new apartment, which she shall be sharing with Daniel, who tells her that he has now separated from his wife. The apartment could use a little work (a big hole breaks in the floorboards shortly after Valeria enters), but it’s okay because now they are together. Things are really looking up for the couple when Valeria is broadsided in a car wreck. Seriously injured, Valeria is confined to a wheelchair for a while, unable to work and in a declining physical condition, and the tension quickly begins to have a detrimental effect her relationship with Daniel, who is quietly becoming convinced of his mistake in leaving his family.

El Chivo is a homeless man who wanders the streets of Mexico City, where all of our action takes place. From our first viewing of the man, brandishing a machete, he is clearly quite dangerous. Such a view is cemented when we see him shoot a man through a restaurant window. It turns out that this is how he survives, as a killer for hire. We then watch him on two endeavours: he his hired by a business man to kill his partner; and he starts to follow a young woman that we first see at a funeral. We see El Chivo several times throughout the film before we even arrive at his story, but details are always light. We are furnished with more information about his past later on, but he remains, for the most part, a figure of some mystery.

Aside from the bone-shattering car crash we see at the film’s opening (and three more times as the film progresses), there is something else that connects our characters that I have not mentioned – they all have dogs. Indeed, how they treat their dogs tells you a lot about the characters, since the dogs are the most loving creatures in the film. Indeed, what can a dog do but love its master? Octavio’s plan to get money for himself and Susana is to enter his dog Cofi (technically his brother’s dog) into the world of dogfighting, a world in which Cofi becomes very successful. This is where some of the more difficult to watch aspects of the film come in. Indeed, it should say a lot that, like Address Unknown, the film actually opens with the disclaimer that normally comes at the end of the credits, stating that no animals were harmed in the making of this film. These contests aren’t exactly shown in as damning a light as many would like. Now, they never shy away from the aggressive, violent and bloody nature of such events, but Octavio certainly holds no moral pains in winning so much money from such cruelty. No one does. Valeria’s dog, Richie, is never near such horrors, but does suffer somewhat, too. When Valerie is recuperating in her new apartment, Richie chases a ball down the hole in the floor that Daniel doesn’t have the money to fix. The dog becomes lost down there for days, whimpering and scratching and being occasionally utterly silent, at the mercy of the darkness and the rats. Valeria wants him back, but Daniel wants her to rest, saying that Richie will be fine and he’ll come out when he’s ready. The longer Richie stays lost, the more frantic and desperate Valeria becomes. El Chivo is a keeper of several dogs, taking in one more when he finds the severely injured body of Cofi by the roadside after the car crash. Taking him and nursing him back to health, El Chivo is horrified and heartbroken when he comes back one day to see that the behaviour that has been drilled into Cofi has reared up again and been taken out on his other dogs. The dogs themselves essentially becomes direct reflections of each character by film’s end, but I’ll let you see how for yourself if you watch it.

Ultimately, this is what really comes across Amores Perros – love is a weakness, and weakness in a harsh place can get you killed. Octavio’s weakness for Susana brings him into direct conflict with Ramiro, as well as some other owners in the dogfighting circles, which costs him dearly. Valeria comes to question her love for Daniel, and his love for her, as she slowly begins to suspect him of having an eye on the door. After all, it’s not such a crazy notion to think he may be looking elsewhere since that’s exactly how they got together. El Chivo, whom you would almost think is beyond weakness, is hurt deeply when he takes in a dog that has been turned vicious by its previous owner. Consider the city in which the film is set – Mexico City. By the film’s telling, it’s a city of brutality, crime, mistrust, violence… of course weakness could kill you in a place like the one this film shows you. Hell, look back up at the film’s tagline – Love. Betrayal. Death. You get the feeling that there really should be an equals sign between each word.

Although, it is a very bleak and unsettling film, it’s some incredibly brave and vibrant filmmaking. It’s bold, ballsy, raw, shot through with ambition and held together with real power and dexterity. The scope is superb, making three stories feel so layered and rich. The acting is flawless, too. It may be a tough watch, but it’s worth it just for the sheer capability on show.

Amores Perros is a harsh film, sad, brutal and rather cynical, too. Plus, at two-and-a-half hours, it is a bit longer than some people will really be willing to give it. That said, it is also an excellent film, with involving stories and characters and a firm sense of direction from Iñárritu. I will say that, much like Address Unknown, if you’re particularly squeamish about violence to dogs (or any animal, really), you may wish to think twice before sitting down to this one. If you are willing to take it on, though, it is a worthy watch.

Among Those Present (1921)

Another first for the journey: the world of silent comedy. It should be understood that "silent comedy" itself really refers more to a particular style of performance within film, rather than to the technicalities of a lack of sound on film at the time. The big stars of the genre came from a world of vaudeville and so were more attuned to a theatrical style. This style was then adapted for film in the world of silent comedy, developed by producer-directors Hal Roach and Mack Sennett. Harold Lloyd is one of the three best-known and most enduring stars of the silent comedy era, next to Keaton and Chaplin.

Mrs. O’Brien wants to be part of high society, and is hosting a foxhunt as a way of getting in, even though her husband and daughter have no interest in such matters. Mrs. O'Brien wants to invite Lord Abernathy to the hunt. When Abernathy is unavailable, an ambitious young coat-checker is convinced to impersonate him.

To a certain degree, Among Those Present is a pretty good example of the kind quasi-satirical swings that silent comedies were rather known for. With the audience mostly made up of the lower classes (the upper classes still regarded film as a lower form of entertainment, unlike opera or ballet), these films tended to ridicule and satirise the upper classes, with the working class hero always getting one over on the bourgeoisie. This was a big reason that Charlie Chaplin’s Tramp character became so beloved by audiences. Harold Lloyd, by this point in his career actually outselling Chaplin, follows this method here in a story by Hal Roach. Even the title cards echo the kind of sarcastic drollery intended to mock the well-off. That there is a subplot involving a society assistant to Mrs. O’Brien who seeks to steal her fortune by marrying her daughter just goes further to paint the upper echelons as greedy, back-stabbing and dishonest. Naturally, this would go down very well.

Lloyd plays The Boy, a hotel worker with ambitions of affluence who likes to wear the clothes of wealthy hotel patrons. It’s when the society assistant, played by William Gillespie, spots him and his ability to mimic Lord Abernathy that he convinces The Boy to “play a joke” on Mrs. O’Brien. He brings him to the pre-hunt party, where he has to regale the guests with tales of hunting, since Abernathy is a renowned hunter. The stories The Boy tells are very funny, particularly because they get more ostentatious as they go on, since he seems to be getting drunker as he goes on. One particular story sees both him and a bear follow a rabbit into a felled tree hollow, resulting in a fight inside the confined space. The following day’s hunt sees most of the humour derive from the fact that The Boy loses his horse and his trousers, only some of which remains as funny today as it was then.

In amongst all of this, The Boy, having overheard the assistant’s dastardly plans, feels the need to protect Mrs. O’Brien’s daughter, whom he has fallen in love with. The Girl, as she is known, is played by Mildred Davies, whom Lloyd would marry two years later.

Among Those Present is a simple enough film, but still holds some actual laughs and enjoyment to it. It doesn’t quite rest with Lloyd’s better-known classics, and seems more akin to the style of Chaplin, but it’s still worth the watch.