Vendetta

One of Warner Brothers' `hard-hitting' social comment dramas of the 1930s, They Won't Forget leaves viewers all riled up – though, today, maybe less at the judicial process in the Deep South than at Mervyn LeRoy's depiction of it in the movie. Based not too loosely on the Mary Phagan murder case of 1913, it updates the events to the late Depression and also advances the victim's age (Phagan was 13; here, the victim – an unrecognizable Lana Turner, in her debut – is a student at a small business college).

It's Confederate Memorial Day, April 26, and the college lets out early, unexpectedly for instructor Edward Norris, a Northerner. But Turner returns for the vanity case she's left behind. Hours later, her body is discovered at the base of an elevator shaft. The town prosecutor (Claude Rains, slinging a Southern drawl) smells a political advantage that might propel him to the state senate, an advantage of no use if the perpetrator is only the illiterate black janitor who found her. Suspicion falls on Norris, and soon the judicial establishment, the press and the townspeople have turned against him. Outside help – a detective and a defense attorney – prove of no avail. Turner is convicted and sentenced to death; when the governor commutes his sentence, he's lynched (as was Leo Frank in the original case). It's fast, brutal and pretty unsentimental.

LeRoy was known for his slam-bang, take-no-prisoners style but here he dawdles at first. Under the credits is a medley of songs of the South, bolstered by quotations from Lincoln and Robert E. Lee to soften up those touchy audiences in Dixie so they won't know what hit them. When he gets up to speed, however, he doesn't slacken, cutting quick to advance the action – his movie's an unstoppable steamroller, just like the judicial railroading of the story (the lynching itself, expressed by a mailbag clipped off its hook by a passing train, is especially and darkly adroit).

But there's a near-fatal flaw in the story. We're meant to harbor persuasive doubts as to Norris' guilt, but the possibility of a suspect other than he is never more than fleetingly entertained. The movie purports to document a miscarriage of justice, but it fails to build an ironclad case.

It begins with a disclaimer that all characters are entirely fictitious, etc. etc., and cites as source material a novel, but you can't fool us: It's the Leo Frank trial of 1915, updated to the then-present-day South and with Frank's Judaism carefully removed. Other than that, the details are surprisingly close to the actual trial, and the downbeat ending chillingly mirrors reality. Warner Brothers, known in the 1930s as the socially conscious studio, had a message to flog, and in this case it goes a bit overboard: No character has more than one dimension, and even that excellent actor Claude Rains, as the DA, snarls and rolls his eyes and gesticulates wildly, overdoing the blind ambition bit. But for its day it's a pretty brave and out-there indictment against mob violence, bigotry, and sensationalism, particularly the latter. Indeed, the message one takes from it today is that the media hasn't really grown worse in the intervening years -- there's just more of it.

A dark haired, southern drawled Claude Rains has an actor's field day as D.A Andy Griffin. Griffin needs to win one sensational court case to move his career foward. He gets it when a Yankee school teacher (Edward Norris) is accused of murdering a high school girl (Fetching Lana Turner in her film debut) Griffin turns the trial into a media circus and a kangaroo court. The ending is grim, and Griffin gets what he wants. Mervyn LeRoy (Warner Brothers' prize director in the 1930's) moves the story along at rocket pace. He gets fine performances out of Rains, Norris, Otto Kruger and a young Elisha Cook Jnr. LeRoy always cut the fat from his films, meaning very rarely will he show an unimportant aspect of the story. (Example: a scene begins with a sobbing janitor calling the police. We see the police leave. Cut to them at the crime scene. Cut to them grilling their first suspect- the janitor- cut to a newspaper headline about the murder. all of this in about 12 seconds) A film far above average.

"They Won't Forget" and neither will you if you've seen this chilling depression-era drama based on an actual murder case. Some of the scenes are so real, they're scary. One look at gimlet-eyed Trevor Bardette with a voice from the grave is like seeing death incarnate and enough to freeze a platoon of marines in their tracks. Then there's hapless Clinton Rosemon, his pleas for mercy so achingly real, they echo across generations of tormented black souls. Also not to be overlooked is the bereaved Gloria Dickson. Her righteous anger at movie's end is so heart-felt, I expect it probably was. Together with the wily District Attorney Claude Rains, there's an uncommon authority to this searing drama of justice gone wrong.

There's also an uncommon richness of detail. The script, for all its sprawl, remains tight and unrelenting, a genuine testament to writers Rossen and Kandel. Then too, producer Le Roy pulled out all the stops and the results show it. No one acts without apparent reason. Everyone has understandable motivations for doing what they do. That's why the upshot is so tragic. It's as though there's an on-rushing train nobody can stop because the momentum is carried by an infernal logic greater than the demands of justice. Despite appearances, it's not an anti-lynching film, though it is that. Rather, it's a down and dirty look at the cynical roots of injustice. From lowly pool hall to lofty city council, no one wants to convict an innocent man, but then no one much cares either. This movie stands as a fine example of why Warner Bros. was the studio of record during the stressed-out 1930's. Anyway, for guys who don't like the gloomy theme, there's always the chance to catch Lana Turner as she juggles two balloons while sashaying up the sidewalk in the film's most famous scene.

All in all-- a classic of 30's social realism, with Hollywood at its unapologetic best.

Mary Clay, played by Lana Turner (living up to her sweater girl fame) very early in her career is a student at a small southern town's business college. She has a crush on her teacher, Professor Robert Hale, played by Edwin Norris. Hale, is a man from the north - not really welcomed in a town that has a parade for Confederate Memorial Day. After the class was dismissed, Mary and a friend went for a soda and Mary forgot her vanity case. She went back to the school and was murdered.

Local newspaper staff bursts into Hale's apartment, tells Hale's wife that he's in jail, and after she faints, newsmen search the apartment, taking a honeymoon photo, searching through drawers.

This movie demonstrates how a quest for political power can taint a trial. Being an "outsider" can make it difficult for a fair trial. Although this takes place in the south, mob justice can and has occurred all over the country during the 1920's and 1930's.