Boulevard des passions

In Boldon, the corrupt Sheriff Titus Semple (Sydney Greenstreet) rules the town and elects whoever he wants with the support of the powerful group led by the constructor Dan Reynolds (David Brian). Now he wants to elect his deputy Fielding Carlisle (Zachary Scott), who is the son of a former judge, to the Senate. When a carnival is forced to leave Boldon, the dancer Lane Bellamy (Joan Crawford) has no place to go and stays in a tent. Titus sends Fielding to the carnival and he helps Lane to find a job as waitress in a diner and a place to stay. They have a romantic relationship, but Titus sees Lane as a liability to the political career of his protégé. So he forces her boss to fire Lane; he does not let Lane get a job; and he frames Lane to send her to prison. When she is released, she finds a job working for Lute Mae Sanders (Gladys George) in her roadhouse. She meets Dan and soon they get married and move to the fancy Flamingo Road. But the ambitious Titus has different political plans from Dan and his group and wants to elect Fielding as Governor. Dan refuses the request and Titus uses blackmail to force Dan and his group to support Fielding. Dan does not accept and Titus decides to destroy Dan and Lane. Will he succeed?

"Flamingo Road" is a 1949 film that shows how politicians and corruption are a timeless combination. The story holds the attention but the conclusion is deceptive, with the situation being resolved too easily. My vote is seven.

Title (Brazil): "Caminho da Redenção" ("Path to Redemption")

This film is a joy to watch, even if defies logic. The narrative is convoluted, to put it mildly. Joan Crawford as a carnival girl? That's a stretch of the imagination. From the very beginning, watching Ms Crawford and the two other dancing women, the viewer realizes that he has to be kind to this film. Her take on Lane Bellamy is vintage Crawford!

This must have been a vehicle for the star right after her star turn in Mildred Pierce. It has some of the same people behind it, like director Michael Curtiz and Zachary Scott. The dialogue is something to be treasured. They don't make films like this anymore. Just imagine what panache Ms Crawford brought to anything she appeared in.

The cast that was assembled for this film is probably impossible to match. The great Sydney Greenstreet is so good as the evil sheriff Titus Semple, that we stay riveted looking at his every move. David Brian as the man who loves Lane and rescues her from poverty is also an asset. The minor players, Gladys George, Fred Clark and Virginia Huston, among others fit right into the story.

But this is a Joan Crawford's film. She dominates every scene in which she appears. What power she conveys with only an economy of gestures. No one working in films these days can come near to this actress, who left her own imprint in the canon of American cinema, not to be equaled by anyone any time soon.

Over the top melodrama that works, under the steady direction of Curtiz. Crawford is an ex-carnie, and Greenstreet is the corrupt sherrif of a small town she's chosen as her haven. He gets her boyfriend to desert her for a more respectable marriage so he can make him a senator, and after she marries a political player he's associated with, he makes life hard on both of them with a combination of blackmail muscle and frame-up push. Greenstreet is wonderfully grotesque, and all the other leads also hold up well. Nice photography in stark toned B & W.

Despite the noted critic Pauline Kael's unreasonably negative review of this film, it's a lot of fun and a good vehicle for Joan Crawford's talents. Kael described it as overwrought, but in truth it's good old-fashioned melodramatic story-telling with a smart, literate script, and refreshingly quick pacing. The only flaw that bothered me was a musical score that is, at times, laughably incongruous. (The music swells bewilderingly and ominously when Crawford benignly offers Reynolds' Political Boss something for his hangover.)

Sure, you can quarrel with the casting of Shakespearean-voiced Sydney Greenstreet playing a Southern Sheriff, but he's so unrepentently vile and villainous that he's convincing in every role he plays. It is a joy to watch two such formidable actors as Crawford and Greenstreet squaring off in big confrontations.

It's not surprising that, some 30 years later, this became the premise for a night-time soap opera starring, I believe, Morgan Fairchild. It has so many jealousies, manipulations, secret ambitions, double-crosses, plots for revenge - it's just great fun if one doesn't take it too seriously. And clearly, Crawford, Greenstreet, and the director, Michael Curtiz, didn't. They recognized the material for what it was - pulpy entertainment served up with wit and style.

Like a dry Martini with just a tad too much vermouth, garnished with an olive that hasn't been washed of its brine, this one can leave a nasty taste if you're looking for something that goes down smoothly. But if you're not too fastidious, this Crawford star vehicle is almost ridiculously entertaining. Joan might have been just a little long in the tooth to be playing a hoochy-coochy carnival girl in the film's opening sequence but it isn't long before she's on her way up, constantly being tripped on that inexorable climb by one of the slimiest villains that Sydney Greenstreet ever played. Warners trowels on the class "A" production values (except for some glaring back projections at a construction site) and Michael Curtiz's direction is, as usual, briskly efficient, getting the best from everyone in the cast, principal and supporting players alike, except perhaps for Greenstreet who really doesn't look well at all and seems to be struggling against imminent collapse in some scenes. (He made only one picture after this one and died from complications of diabetes about five years later.)

Max Steiner contributes his usual melodically overwrought score (with heavy reliance on the popular song, "If I Could Be One Hour With You [Tonight]"), lushly orchestrated by Murray Cutter, under the musical direction of that Warners stalwart, Ray Heindorf. It's almost too distracting but the frequently crackling dialogue keeps the audience's attention focused on the pulpy proceedings. Ted McCord's black-and-white cinematography is an outstanding example of why not every picture should be in color and I suspect that it was Travilla who was given the task of gowning Crawford once she'd finally crossed over to the right side of the tracks. (Sheila O'Brien, also credited, probably ran up those nifty waitress uniforms and the prison garb Crawford gets to wear not once, but twice!)

They really, REALLY don't make 'em like this anymore, and thank goodness Turner Classic Movies, for instance, trundles a tasty morsel like this out of their archives every once in a while for us to savor once again.