Le fils du pendu

Normally, I would think when you pitched a film idea to Republic their first question would be "OK, what does this have to do with Westerns or John Wayne?" And here is a film from that studio that involves neither.

In a small Virginia town, Danny Hawkins' father is hanged for murder when Danny (Dane Clark) is just an infant. The result is that, for his entire life, other kids have tormented him for being the son of a man who was executed. Like he had any control over that anymore than he had any control over how tall he was. Thus is the nature of bullying. But I digress.

One night at a dance, out in the woods, Danny and his tormenter since childhood are having a fight. Jerry Sykes (Lloyd Bridges) is the tormenter, and when the fight turns against him, he picks up a rock. Bad idea. Danny gets the rock away from him and does to Sykes what Sykes was going to do to him - bashes his skull in repeatedly, with a lifetime of anger over this guy's bullying swirling in his head. Realizing what he has done, he throws Sykes' body into the swamp and goes back to the dance like nothing has happened.

The rest of the town is about as likeable as Sykes was - judgmental, snobby, a hive mentality. But those characters are largely kept at a distance as part of the crowd. The ones you get to know are likeable and sympathetic people - a retired brakeman living in the woods (Rex Ingram), Sykes' girl whom Danny unfortunately loves (Gail Russell), and believe it or not the sheriff, playing against stereotype for the lawman of a southern town of the era. Oh, and it turns out that Sykes was not that great a guy - he owed lots of money and he stole lots of money from dad's bank to pay his debts.

Given Sykes' bad character there might be any number of suspects, and given the decomposition of the body by the time it is found and the primitive nature of forensics as it was in 1948, Danny might not even be a suspect if he played it cool. But he does just the opposite of that, drawing the attention of the whole town by his suddenly bizarre behavior.

This is practically a one man show and probably the best performance Dane Clark ever gave as his character wrestles with bitterness, anger, guilt, and fear of the town that hanged his father and thus would probably never believe his own story of partial self defense. The costar of the film is the fantastic cinematography by John L. Russell, with beautiful black and white shading, with many important scenes being shot in the moonlight.

Directed by Frank Borzage and adapted from the novel by Theodore Strauss, Moonrise sees Dane Clark playing Danny Hawkins, the son of a man who was hanged for his crimes. Tormented by his father's past and bullied about it as a child, Hawkins grows into a confused and resentful man. Striking out at anyone foolish enough to cross his fractured state of mind, tragedy is quick to strike, sending Hawkins deep into the Southern mire. Can solace come in the form of Gilly Johnson? (Gail Russell) or is it simply too late to rejoin the human race?

We open with a hazy reflection that merges into the feet of walking men, men walking to the gallows as Danny Hawkins' father is hanged. The mood is well and truly set for Borzage's dreamy film noir. It's something of an oddity in many ways for it most assuredly is film noir, certainly in texture and on the technical issues it is, yet an overtly poetic heart and a distinctly less than broody ending almost steer it to being fanciful fluff. Borzage and his cinematographer, John L. Russell (in one of his first prominent assignments), do wonders with the atmosphere of the piece. Set in the steamy South, shadows and darkness are a constant and rewarding part of proceedings, while swinging lights and conversations filmed at midriffs further enhance the skew whiff state of Dane Clark's protagonist. Also of note is that some scenes showcase why Borzage was rightly held in high regard back in the day, a Ferris Wheel, a car crash and a Racoon tree top sequence (that upset and engrossed me simultaneously) are just some of the reasons why this is a must see for Borzage enthusiasts.

Coming as it does out of the Republic Pictures house of "B" moviedom, it's natural to expect some low budgetary issues. However, this is a splendid production belying its "B" movie worth. The cast are fine, with Clark particularly doing well as his character battles with anger and warmth issues, and the sets and location work are effective and benefit the story greatly. Thankfully, and even though it has no restoration, the picture quality is very good, the sound mix is a bit down at times, but by and large this one has transfered well to prints being shown on British TV. With a support cast containing Ethel Barrymore, Allyn Joslyn (excellent), Henry Morgan, Harry Carey Jr and a brief Lloyd Bridges, this is a recommended film of course. But I can't, and will not, vouch for the ending appeasing all comers. 7/10

MOONRISE shines. Borzage brings expressionist silent movie technique to bear on what is really more a melodrama than a film noir, a tale of guilt and redemption ultimately close to his romantic concerns. The difference is the degree of psychological angst we have to go through with the protagonist in order to reach it. Borzage's technique brings us into the hero's mind, from the stunning opening (flashbacks within flashbacks) to the hero's guilty visions. That opening is one of the finest I've ever seen, building up an unbelievable pressure in the first couple of minutes of the picture, leading to a thirst for revenge which the hero, and the audience, can spend the rest of the film regretting.

Plagued by his father's crime and ridiculed by others, Danny Hawkins (Clark) confronts an outcast's life in a small southern town.

When old Mose addresses the dog as Mr. Dog or the guitar as Mr. Guitar, we realize a long suppressed desire for human dignity and respect. If the black man Mose (Ingram) can't get that from the larger community, at least he can create his own little world where all worthy things get respect. I think that's why he lives alone. But despite his estrangement, he hasn't lost perspective. As he says, he wants to rejoin the human race, and it's easy to suppose the larger community needs to change by rising to his level, rather than vice-versa. Then too, when he says dogs should not be used to hunt humans, there's a veiled echo of Jim Crow, covert Hollywood style.

It's only natural that another outcast Danny Hawkins would be drawn to Mose, his only friend. Their scenes together are beautifully performed and sensitively scripted. Note how the subject of "bad blood" and free will comes up elliptically. Danny is haunted by his father's crime and fears it has become his own destiny (the Sykes murder). In Danny's eyes, it's as if he's fated by the blood he's inherited. But Mose knows something about the racial aspect of "bad blood", and insists that blood is no more than "red" and doesn't tell you "what you have to do". This means Danny must overcome the spectre of genetic determinism by becoming his own person and taking responsibility for his own actions. It's only then, by acknowledging a sense of free will, that Danny can escape the burden of inherited guilt.

Of course, it's through Gilly's (Russell) unconditional love that Danny finds the redemption he needs. By releasing himself to that bond, he experiences an emotion strong enough to overcome the haunting sense of inherited fate. At the same time, he can only overcome the anguish of personal guilt for the crime he has committed by owning up to the crime, and confronting the inevitable I-told-you-so's". In Mose's terms, there's a heavy price he must pay for rejoining the human race.

The character of Billy Scripture (Morgan) is often overlooked, but remains a mysterious and profound presence. A simple-minded mute, he's another outcast and frequent figure of ridicule. However, unlike Danny, he remains sweet-tempered and forgiving despite the provocations. Even when nearly strangled by a desperate Danny, he responds with a difficult yet forgiving smile, a touching and unforgettable moment. In his own mute way, he appears to understand an underlying theme—that anger and alienation are symptoms and not causes. His name, I believe, is no accident.

In terms of the movie itself, the cast is superb. Clark may not have been director Borzage's first choice; nevertheless he comes up with a vivid and nuanced performance. Catch his many anguished expressions. Just as importantly, he doesn't look like a Hollywood leading man, nor does he bring the associations of a big-name star to the role. In short, he's perfect. Also, the famously edgy Russell shows none of that here. In fact, she projects one of the rarest qualities found in any love story, namely, genuine warmth. Her ethereal good looks also fit perfectly into the plot, and it's no stretch to see Danny changing his life for her sake. Then there's the quiet dignity of Ingram's Mose. His sterling character now looks like evolution from the caricatures of the 1930's to the assertive civil rights movement of the 50's. Too bad, the actor is largely forgotten. I guess my only reservation is with Barrymore. Her grandma strikes me as too stagey and "grand" (an apt term from another reviewer). Still and all, it's a fine, colorful cast, even down to bit players.

Now, as good as these elements are, it's because of director Borzage that they're lifted into the realm of cinematic art. From hypnotic opening to pastoral close, the visual enchantment wraps around like an enveloping dreamscape— (the eerie sets are also a testament to lowly Republic's art department, the glittering impressionist photography to John Russell). Borzage's enclosed world is a world of artistic imagination that's at once both mesmerizing and compelling. But just as importantly, he's a filmmaker who clearly believes in the material. As others point out, he's that rarest of the breed, a director who genuinely believes in romantic love and its redemptive power, and not merely as a movie cliché. At the same time, it's the power of that vision that merges the movie's elements into a single dynamic whole.

There are so many memorable moments and characters—the "hep-cat" soda jerk, the Methuslah old man, the gallery lined-up for arriving trains. But, I guess the high point for me is when Danny must shake the raccoon from the safety of the tree, seeing his own fate in the hapless animal and knowing that if he doesn't he may betray his own guilt. Here, script, acting, and direction come together brilliantly to create a truly shattering moment. All in all, the film may not rise to the level of a masterpiece, but it does stand as a work of considerable artistic achievement, and one that's stayed with me since I first saw it as a boy. And I'm glad the internet provides an opportunity for me to share that appreciation in a public way.

Moonrise (1948)

A small rural town is the setting for a man struggling with an ambiguous crime he has committed. It's a psychologically loaded movie, and the clues start with the first abstract frames and last through every scene to the end. There is enough simplifying going on to keep it from being a classic or having the inventive flair of some contemporaries (or like "Night of the Hunter" a few years later), but I was impressed again in this second viewing.

One of the strengths here is certainly the mood created by all the richly blackened night scenes, both in the town and in the woods. The camera moves with unusual elegance and boldness through the scenes, or you might say through the shadows. The heightened angles and lack of faces in the first few shots is a sign of the atmosphere to come.

The little known leading actor, Dane Clark, is almost perfect in his role, partly for doing a great job and partly for letting his awkwardness bleed through into the character's. You come to feel his circumstance as an utterly ordinary guy. The sheriff is a restrained character and the man's girlfriend has a wonderful simple presence as well.

The real meat of it all is the trauma this man goes through bearing the guilt of his actions. He isn't so much pursued as just haunted by the thought of being caught. It's like the secret we all have had at some point and we get away with it for awhile, but it wears you out from inside until something has to give. One of his solutions finally it to run for it, and he has one last turning point near the end with his grandmother played by Ethel Barrymore. The folksy philosophy gets a little thick, I suppose, but by this point you go along with it because it's true. And it's not what you might think.

If you don't like old movies this will feel clumsy at times. But if you do already have a hankering for film noir and other crime dramas, even ones with mostly unknown actors, give this a try. And keep your eyes open for some great photography by John Russell, who is as important as anyone in this production. On some level it's truly great stuff.