Imagine if Out of the Past ended not with Jane Greer's death but with her capture. Imagine if she went to prison and was released on parole years later. And imagine if her parole officer was kindly blonde Virginia Huston, the one who played Robert Mitchum's good-girl lover in that film.... These thoughts came to mind at this screening because Greer's character in the second film is rather similar to that in the first, though she takes the cynicism to much more interesting and personal levels. She's still tough and contemptuous, but her inner shame and self-loathing at having turned out the way she has is equally clear -- and very compelling. Lizabeth Scott, meanwhile, looks, sounds, and behaves very much like Virginia Huston in Out of the Past. Not seeing Out of the Past right before this film, one might not notice the similarities, but seen together, they are striking.
If The Company She Keeps can be called "noir," it's in how Greer feels trapped by her former prison life. She is unable to function like a normal human being and is given to great paranoia. She feels everyone is judging her and thinks less of her because of her past. It's as if in her mind she's still in a noir movie where the world is out to get her, while in reality she is in a normal world that wants to help her. There is more of a plot, involving Greer stealing away Scott's reporter boyfriend (film noir fixture Dennis O'Keefe), but the film is really driven by Greer's character issues.
Greer is excellent in one of her best performances. Scott is fairly sexless and even lifeless in her role, all polished on the outside with little energy on the inside. She doesn't put up much of a fight when she learns her parolee is stealing away her man! The Company She Keeps is definitely worth a look, given the chance.
This viewer, alas, was unable to attend the three biggest rarities of the first festival weekend: Fly-By-Night (1942) from director Robert Siodmak, and two obscure Fox pictures, Roses are Red (1947) and Smooth as Silk (1946). But I was able to catch another: Six Bridges to Cross (1955), a Universal title shown in a newly struck 35mm print. It's not a noir in any way, shape or form, and it's rather talky and flatly directed by Joseph Pevney, but it's notable for Tony Curtis's strong, very affecting performance and also for Sal Mineo's big-screen debut, which is excellent.
Mineo plays the child version of Curtis' character in a tale that spans the Depression era to the modern day (1950s), following the evolving relationship between a Boston cop (George Nader), who works his way up in the force, and a Boston street kid (Mineo), who grows up to be a criminal played by Curtis. Their friendship waxes and wanes over the years. Nader likes Curtis (as everyone does) and tries to help him stay on the straight and narrow, but then gets fed up when Curtis doesn't stay true to his new path and falls back into his old patterns.
Co-starring as Nader's wife is Julie Adams, who was there at the screening and was interviewed afterwards on stage. Adams is spry and energetic at 82, still a working actress, and she had only general memories of Six Bridges to Cross, which she hadn't seen since its release.
The picture was largely filmed in Boston, relatively unusual for a movie of this era, and the locations provide a freshness to a just-OK narrative. Ultimately, the performances of Mineo and Curtis are the best reasons to stick with the film; Curtis in particular, with his hyper desperation, seems to be giving a hint of things to come in Sweet Smell of Success (1957), in which he would deliver perhaps the performance of his career as Sidney Falco.
Convicted
The prison noir Convicted (1950) is the kind of movie one loves to discover at this annual festival of film noir. It's no masterpiece but simply a tough, compelling, well-acted film that is relatively obscure but was presented here in a sharp new 35mm print. Let's just say Convicted goes down real easy.
The third American film version of a 1929 Martin Flavin play (the first two were The Criminal Code [1931] and Penitentiary [1938]), Convicted stars Glenn Ford as a war veteran who accidentally kills a man who was harassing a girl at a nightclub. Ford slugs him but the guy hits his head in the fall and dies. Everyone knows it was an accident, including prosecutor Broderick Crawford, who tries hard to present the case in court in such a way that he will lose and Ford will walk. But Ford's inexperienced and idiotic lawyer blows the case, and Ford is convicted and given a 1-10 year prison term.
After a few years, Ford is still in prison, and Crawford reenters the story as the new prison warden, who moves to the facility with his kind-hearted daughter (Dorothy Malone). As Crawford tries again to help Ford, other inmates plan a breakout and then a murder of another prisoner who ratted on them. Ultimately, Ford must choose whether to give up information that could help set him free but would also break the code of silence all the inmates live by.
What makes Convicted a film noir are the two psychological qualities that mark most noirs: fatalism and alienation. For the first half of the movie, Ford is a classic noir victim of fate -- punished unjustly for a crime he did not commit (or in this case, not to the degree indicated). The world seems out to give him tough breaks for no apparent reason other than that's what the world is like. But then in the second half, when it becomes clear that he will indeed pretty soon get out of prison, the main thrust of his character changes to alienation. He knows he'll be out soon, but who will hire an ex-con? What will he do and where will he go? Suddenly the world just looks uncaring and hopeless.
Such subject matter gives Convicted the opportunity for greatness and profundity, but for that a better director than the mediocre Henry Levin would have been needed. A better filmmaker would have concentrated more on the fatalism of Ford's situation and his ensuing despondence. He would have kept the focus much more on Ford rather than allowing the story to drift into other side plots.
Still, Convicted is good stuff. Much credit has to be given to screenwriter Bill Bowers (one of three credited writers), whose razor-sharp tough-guy talk and flair for comedy writing is unmistakable. His touch is evident from the very opening scene of two detectives humorously arguing over present and past ballplayers, newspapers, and the like. (Their exchange plays like a model for the dialogue in Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction [1994].) Later, when inmate Millard Mitchell tries to dissuade another prisoner from breaking out, he says, in an obvious and vivid Bowers line: "I've seen it before. They bust out eager and come back dead."
Bowers' dialogue and fast-moving story suit Broderick Crawford well, who displays his full no-nonsense persona. Ford, too, delivers one of his usual and excellent studies in quiet fury. He was always good at showing rage behind a calm façade, and Convicted is a good vehicle for him.
With an enjoyable supporting cast of Millard Mitchell, Frank Faylen, Will Geer, Whit Bissell, and Ed Begley, Convicted delivers the goods. If only the intensity of Ford's story had been allowed to develop more oomph!
by Jeremy Arnold
