Burt Lancaster was certainly a bonafide super star of the highest order; he scaled the highest of heights possible in the Hollywood of his day. But what truly distinguished him from all of the other superstars of his generation was the body of work he left behind as an independent producer, including groundbreaking films he either appeared in or simply produced. He, in fact, was among the very first mainstream artists to utilize his well earned leverage to promote what turns out to be the very first smaller art-house films this nation had ever experienced.

But of all the films that got made under the Hecht-Hill-Lancaster banner the most emblematic of Burt's unique and highly evolved aesthetic is The Sweet Smell of Success, a film that was daring, to say the least, when it first appeared in 1957, but has grown in stature in the eye of the true film devotee over the course of time. It currently appears on more best film lists than can be expressed. It boasts what this viewer considers the greatest dialog ever to be filmed, emanating from a stunning collaboration of Ernest Lehman and Clifford Odets, making one of his rare forays into screenwriting. Then there are the performances, led by the mind blowing characterizations of Tony Curtis as the smarmy public relations agent Sidney Falco, and Burt himself as the inimitable columnist JJ Hunsecker, a characterization consisting of biting cruelty, turning a phrase as if turning a knife, and without resembling in any way any other character that Burt ever played. Under the watchful eye of director Alexander Mackendrick and with stunning black and white photography provided by the brilliant James Wong Howe, The Sweet Smell of Success represents everything that is mind-blowing about cinema.

While I was working on post production on The Island of Dr. Moreau (1996), I noticed John Frankenheimer, rather than presiding over the session, had his head buried in what appeared to be rather compelling book. When I questioned him about it he said that his obsession with reading was something he learned from Burt Lancaster, with whom he made five films. Burt, he told me, liked to read almost a book a day. That's when the light bulb went on for me; it explained Burt's keenly evolved love of smart literature. Not bad for a self educated kid that grew up on the mean streets of New York.

by Ron Perlman