Desert Fury

Back in the forties, when movies touched on matters not yet admissible in "polite" society, they resorted to codes which supposedly floated over the heads of most of the audience while alerting those in the know to just what was up. Probably no film of the decade was so freighted with innuendo as the oddly obscure Desert Fury, set in a small gambling oasis called Chuckawalla somewhere in the California desert. Proprietress of the Purple Sage saloon and casino is the astonishing Mary Astor, in slacks and sporting a cigarette holder; into town drives her handful-of-a-daughter, Lizabeth Scott, looking, in Technicolor, like 20-million bucks. But listen to the dialogue between them, which suggests an older Lesbian and her young, restless companion (one can only wonder if A.I. Bezzerides' original script made this relationship explicit). Even more blatant are John Hodiak as a gangster and Wendell Corey as his insanely jealous torpedo. Add Burt Lancaster as the town sheriff, stir, and sit back. Both Lancaster and (surprisingly) Hodiak fall for Scott. It seems, however, that Hodiak not only has a past with Astor, but had a wife who died under suspicious circumstances. The desert sun heats these ingredients up to a hard boil, with face-slappings aplenty and empurpled exchanges. Don't pass up this hothouse melodrama, chock full of creepily exotic blooms, if it comes your way; it's a remarkable movie.

Sporting a title that is better suited to an exotic Western or an Arabian Nights romp, it is small wonder perhaps that this noir-ish melodrama turns out to be more of a glossy soaper. This combination – and, indeed, the plot itself – seems to indicate an attempt at another MILDRED PIERCE (1945) but the end result is certainly less rewarding. In fact, all-powerful businesswoman/mother Mary Astor gets to experience her student/daughter Lizabeth Scott's hard-headed ungratefulness with the appearance of ex-flame John Hodiak. Local cop Burt Lancaster (third-billed in his third movie) is enamoured with Scott himself and does not take Hodiak's unwarranted attentions sitting down. Unfortunately, for most of the time, the film resolves itself into a series of clashes between these four characters but, thankfully, Paramount's unusual decision to film 'in glorious Technicolor' (to use the famous advertising term) makes the rather dreary proceedings more easy on the eye than they would otherwise have been. This is not to say that the film is without interest: Lancaster is always worth watching, Mary Astor is fine in a character role not too far removed from her trademark role of the scheming Brigid O'Shaugnessy in John Huston's THE MALTESE FALCON (1941) and Miklos Rozsa's musical accompaniment is typically brooding. Besides, to counter the (no pun intended) somewhat colorless central relationship between Scott and Hodiak, we are treated to the highly ambiguous one between Hodiak and his long-suffering sidekick (an impressive turn from a debuting Wendell Corey): not only is Corey relegated to doing the house chores while Hodiak sunbathes topless but, in the admittedly strong climax, we see the reality of their interchangeable personalities two decades before Ingmar Bergman's PERSONA (1966) and Cammell-Roeg's PERFORMANCE (1970)!

The main town used in this movie is Cottonwood AZ, I know because I live here. My husbands family are pioneers of Sedona and the Verde Vally area. Cottonwood is about bout 5 minutes from where the bridge scene was used at (Tuziegoot)filming was actually at lower Clarkdale area by the Verde River. The Jail, Drugstore, main street, Purple Sage(was Rusty's Bar in old town Cottonwood, in fact Rusty changed the name of his bar to the Purple sage after that movie was filmed there). Scenes of the ranch and out on the roads are at West Sedona, and Big Park by Sedona. We also have a street named Chuckawalla because of this movie. It's really amazing to see what it looked like compared to now days. They give historical tours in old town and Desert Fury is on their pamphlet. It was a big bootlegging town in the prohibition days that made it so popular. Cottonwood was called "the biggest little city in Arizona".

This is one of the only examples of film noir in color. Burt Lancaster and luscious Lizabeth Scott headline a stellar cast in this twisted romance/thriller. John Hodiak and Wendell Corey's "special" is sorely tested when Hodiak falls hard for bombshell Scott. Scott's mother Fritzi (played by hard as nails Mary Astor) tries to protect her "baby" from falling into the wrong hands (namely Hodiak's) while good guy Lancaster valiantly attempts to rid the town of no-goodniks like Hodiak, Corey and sometimes Astor. It's a two-fisted Technicolor knockout of a film and a classic example of late 40's "adult" fare. See it with somebody you lust after.

Desert Fury is directed by Lewis Allen and adapted to screenplay by A.I. Bezzerides and Robert Rossen from the novel Desert Town written by Ramona Stewart. It stars Lizabeth Scott, John Hodiak, Mary Astor, Burt Lancaster and Wendell Corey. Music is by Miklós Rózsa and cinematography by Edward Cronjager and Charles Lang.

My my, what do we have here then? Desert Fury is a sort of collage of film noir and melodramatic shenanigans played out in splendid Technicolor saturation and set in amongst spanking vistas. Plot in short form finds Scott as Paula Haller, a late teenager who has quit school and returned to Chuckawalla in Nevada. There her mother, Fritzi (Astor), runs the town casino and has powerful friends. Coinciding with Paula's arrival is that of Eddie Bendix (Hodiak), a one time Chuckawalla racketeer who left town under a cloud when his wife was killed in an accident. Town copper Tom Hanson (Lancaster) has the hots for Paula, so when Paula gets the hots for Bendix he is not best pleased - and neither is the mighty Fritzi nor Bendix's "live in chum" Johnny Ryan (Corey).

Pic is absolutely pungent with psychosexual tension, where lead character's sexual orientation is purposely murky for devilish story strand dangles. Dialogue is often noirishly brisk, ripe with innuendo, all as dark secrets and past revelations boil over into glorious character histrionics. Though the powder keg of frustrated human beings is simple in plot structure here, these characters are rather fascinating, there's quite a bit going on beneath the catty and machismo veneers. Past mistakes and missed opportunities hang heavy, the search for more in life also. The reoccurring theme of the bridge that book ends the story is a structure that is either impossible to cross to freedom, or conversely a route back to the safe haven of Chuckawalla. Road to nowhere?

It's not a great movie exactly, it has evident flaws for sure. Hodiak is a touch unconvincing as a heavy mob like dude, a bit too by the numbers, which is a shame because he was often great in noir styled pics (see Somewhere in the Night for example). Now I don't have a problem with Scott, a poor woman's Lauren Bacall she may well be, but some of the scorn she receives is unfair. She's hard to accept as a late teenager here though, especially with her husky voice and delivery of ripe lines belying her supposed youthfulness. Lancaster was at the start of his film career and is utterly wasted, which when it comes alongside his work at this time in The Killers and Brute Force is even more unforgivable. But to offset the acting missteps there's Mary and Wendell...

Astor is on fire, playing a battle axe domineering mother with obvious sexual kinks and life hang-ups, she is both moving and edgily scary. Yet even she is trumped by Corey, in what is his film debut he brings Johnny Ryan to vivid life. Ryan is a ball of man love fire, with a clinical jealousy simmering away, you just know he has it in him to kill should the need arise. Lewis Allen rightly has a mixed reputation, and his bad trait of sinking into melodrama when not required is evident here, but he brings out frothy turns from his principal players. Two excellent cinematographers on show here, both Cronjager (I Wake Up Screaming) and Lang (The Big Heat) delight in using the Technicolor for snazzy sheen value, while the locales in their hands are a sight for sore eyes. Rózsa has done better compositions in his sleep, but his searing strings fit the tone of plotting superbly.

I loved this, in the way I love Johnny Guitar and Slightly Scarlet. Hardly a genius piece of work or a pic that everyone simply must see, but for those who like noir, Westerns or mellers with bends and kinks, then this you should enjoy. 7.5/10