La cible vivante

Despite the title suggesting a comedy Erich von Stroheim actually plays the sort of role Emil Jannings played in the twenties. In the third of a quartet of quickies to pay his medical bills after a serious illness we actually see the famous neck being shaved with a cutthroat razor before going onstage to perform the act with firearms that makes the film worth watching.

It's good to see him share the screen with a young Dan Duryea a few months before the latter clashed with Edward G. Robinson in 'Scarlet Street' in this early film directed by Anthony Mann, which shows flashes of the promise he later fulfilled.

Early in his career, Erich Von Stroheim was well known for his temperament and excesses--so much so that his once celebrated career was practically in ruins by the 1940s. Because his star power had faded so, he was forced to act in a few relatively low budget films that were surprisingly good--much better than you'd expect. Part of this was due to Von Stroheim's acting, but it also was fortunate that he was paired with a young but very talented director (Anthony Mann). Because of his success with films like THE GREAT FLAMARION, Mann went on to direct many wonderful films and Von Stroheim had a mild resurgence in his prospects.

The film begins with a murder at a theater in Mexico. A short time later, a badly wounded Von Stroheim is discovered by the lone person still in the theater and Von Stroheim tells his story about why he committed the murder. Since you know that the murder occurred, there isn't a lot of suspense about the whole thing, but the film did a wonderful job of making the viewer actually care about him and understand why he felt compelled to kill this particular woman. The sweet and lovely Connie, you learn, is one horrible lady and her character is exceptionally interesting and gritty--sort of like an evil Noir femme fatale. She is so compelling to watch that this helps to elevate the film well above the ordinary.

Overall, a very entertaining film that nearly earns an 8. Fascinating character studies and a great script help make this one a keeper.

Directed by the great Anthony Mann, starring the even greater Erich von Stroheim, and including a strong supporting role for a memorable Dan Duryea, The Great Flamarion is a cult film waiting to happen. The fact that it hasn't yet can be put down to the rarity of its appearances on TV (not least in the UK - where there is no DVD available, either) or the poor versions in which it only exists on region one, stateside. Only in France apparently can there be found a decent edition, as over there they presumably know a good thing when they see it.

Anthony Mann's career started in B-movies, where he quickly made a mark for himself with some superlative film noirs such as T-Men (1947), and Border Incident (1949), projects frequently characterised by striking monochrome cinematography as well as taut and assured direction. Appearing a couple of years before this first great period in his output, The Great Flamarion anticipates some of the highlights of the films to follow, as it includes some especially noteworthy scenes with chiaroscuro and expressionistic lighting effects, as well as exhibiting what once critic has identified as a consistent theme of this director: that of a hero haunted by past trauma. In the case of The Great Flamarion it's the turn of the eponymous, dying, theatrical sharpshooter, played initially as a martinet by Erich von Stroheim: a man driven by his most recent betrayal as well as haunted by a doomed romance of some years before.

Von Stroheim's career as a great silent director arguably reached a pinnacle with Greed (1924) before crash-diving through allegations of budgetary extravagance, orgies on set, as well as his own professional disdain for the front office. After Queen Kelly (1929) he never really directed again, instead existing as a character actor or technical adviser in the films of lesser men, his charisma and abilities on screen occasionally granting real star status in such classics as La Grande Illusion (1937). His presence as Flamarion is a masterstroke, as the weight the actor brings to the role, and the sad decline of the proud, arrogant shooting master he portrays is inevitably complemented by the real life pathos of a giant of cinema, reduced Welles-like, to B-movie parts in order to keep the wolf from the door. (A similar feeling attends another, ultimately pathetic, variety turn also essayed by Stroheim: the ventriloquist The Great Gabbo, 1929.) Not that Mann's film is at the poverty row level of inspiration of such other vehicles for the actor as The Lady And The Monster, made two years before. Quite the contrary; but one is still aware of a great man working beneath himself, one whose fall from grace must have been as painful as Flamarion's from the catwalk above. Stroheim was one of a kind. And, as Mann admitted during the production of The Great Flamarion, where he and Stroheim apparently clashed: "He drove me mad. He was a genius. I'm not a genius, I'm a worker."

Von Stroheim apparently took a particular dislike to the flashback structure of Mann's work, perhaps not surprisingly for a silent director famed in his heyday for his realism, thinking that it was crafted to make the film seem 'more important' than it was. Whether or not this is true, the device is typical of film noir a genre to which The Great Flamarion is closely related, through its portrayal of doomed and cheated character types, a splendid femme fatale in the form of Connie Wallace (Beth Hughes) as well as the presence of the archetypal noir fall-guy-come-villain, Dan Duryea. The underrated actor, who plays Wallace's unfortunate first husband, had a fine line in portraying whiners and shifty losers, which his role here allows him to make the most of. As Von Stroheim's alcoholic stage stooge Al Wallace, Duryea is perfectly cast, jealous of his own wife, alternating between self-loathing and marital depression as he cadges his next drink from friends and boss. As in his later noir work, Mann shows his skill in drawing out the perilous moments before violence, a process heightened in one scene here by having the unknowing Wallace act out the part of target on stage in a parody both of real peril and an unfaithful wife caught with her lover.

Of course The Great Flamarion is not so great in all respects; the cuckold-revenge plot is hardly original, and the dialogue in some scenes has been criticised. But if the film is ultimately less than the sum of its parts, then it's not for want of trying, nor for the talents it includes, before and behind the camera. Arguably, Mann would not make a really psychologically acute drama until the start of his great series of westerns with James Stewart in Winchester '73, five years later - also co-starring Duryea - taking advantage of the bigger budget and an altogether better script. Interestingly, as in that film, marksmanship is associated with honour here too, as Flamarion finds himself unable to shoot professionally on stage once his betrayal becomes clear. The crucial difference between the two films is that in Winchester '73 the prized gun is won then stolen, leading to a vengeful Stewart's further wrath, whereas Flamarion's treasured shooters are dispiritedly sold by one whose self esteem is already broken. As the unfaithful wife Beth Hughes is very effective as the cause of that collapse: a woman whose scenes with the initially gun-proud Flamarion have been noted for an undercurrent of the erotic, due to the obvious symbolism of a gun barrel. However, Gun Crazy (1950) showed more persuasively how exciting the incendiary mixture of arousal and arsenal can really be, a B-movie that is even more successful in its own terms. The infatuation between Flamarion and Connie ultimately remains one-sided, a lure that is largely unconsummated, either on the firing range or in the bedroom, and we never see the two in either. Recommended.

The Great Flamarion is directed by Anthony Mann and collectively written by Anne Wigton, Heinz Herald, Richard Weil and Vicki Baum. It stars Erich von Stroheim, Mary Beth Hughes, Dan Duryea, Stephen Barclay, Lester Allen and Esther Howard. Music is by Alexander Laszlo and cinematography by James S. Brown Jr.

Back stage of a vaudeville show and a woman is killed, the perpetrator of the crime escapes up into the rafters. Soon he falls to the ground, and cradled by one of the stage employees, he tells a story of lust, deceit, murder and broken hearts...

Though it falls into a familiar subset of film noir that encompasses the obsessive dupe, reference Criss Cross, The Killers, Scarlet Street et al, Anthony Mann's film has a most interesting structure. Story is essentially told from the mouth of a dying man, his guilt set in stone, we spin to flashbacks and narration as The Great Flamarion (Stroheim) himself clues us in to the dangers of not following your brain, but what's in your underwear.

Flamarion, wonderfully essayed by the acid faced Stroheim, is a sharp-shooter on the vaudeville circuit. Once burned in love years previously, he now lives only for his work and he's friendless, miserable and intolerable to work for. His two assistants are husband and wife team Connie (Hughes) and Al (Duryea) Wallace, he's a drunk and she's out for what she can get, and what she wants at this moment in time spells trouble for Flamarion and Al. So begins a treacherous tale as a once wise and closed off man falls hook, line and sinker for a pair of shapely legs young enough to be propping up his daughter.

Connie Wallace (Hughes excellent) is one of the classic femme fatales, she's not just duping one man, not even two, her capacities for feathering her own nest are enormous. Watching her break down Flamarion's walls is pitch black stuff, as is Flamarion's pitiful descent into becoming a broken man, while Duryea's (another in his long line of great film noir losers) Al roams the edges of the frame as a pitiful drunk stumbling towards doom. The dialogue may not always catch the mood right, but as a story, performed and written, it's clinical noir.

Out of Republic Studios, there's obviously budget restrictions, but Mann was a shrewd director in noir circles and crafts a tight and crafty picture. It's never overtly expressionistic but the all round effect garnered by the lighting techniques pumps the haunting like tale with atmosphere. There's also a gentle pulse of sexual politics in the narrative, and saucy suggestion as well, with the director asking us to peek under the curtain to spy a world of horny sad-sacks and dangerous females.

It's not front line Mann or as good as Scarlet Street (released after The Great Flamarion), but it is a little noir gem. With top performances, pitch black plotting and a message that tells us to never take our eye off the ball, it's very much recommended to the film noir faithful. 8/10

This is a decent little movie with a really nasty woman. She is really quite beautiful, and in the Blue Angel tradition, makes a man twice her age and not all that attractive, fall for her. There's no fool like an old fool and you don't mess with Von Stroheim. I wasn't aware that the great actor/director made some pretty weak films over the years. This one survives pretty well. Von Stroheim plays Flamarion, a trick shot artist, who is in great demand. He gets into the business of an alcoholic and his cheating wife. She uses him, changes him, and then he wants revenge. The story is told by Flamarion as another vaudeville performer holds him in his arms as he dies. It is told in flashback. I have to admit knowing that things had no possibility of working out, yet because of the interesting nature of the characters, particularly the young woman (who is beautiful, even by modern standards). Those of us who have had those yearnings to be young again and have a second chance can easily sympathize as this man makes mistake after mistake; loving too much; trusting too much. I was fairly impressed by the movie.