Una faccia piena di pugni

It's easy to pick out Jack Dempsey and Muhammed Ali, but there are many others in the cast. The movie fades in on a tracking shot running the length of a hotel bar, examining the faces of a bunch of retired boxers watching the Clay-Rivera fight on TV. In order of appearance: Alex Miteff (wearing a beret), Abe Simon (with an eyebrow bandage), Gus Lesnevich (holding a cigarette lighter), Steve Belloise (bald guy; he later plays the hotel bar desk clerk in a short exchange with Mickey Rooney), Rory Calhoun (black guy with a beer), Paolo Rossi (big Italian-looking guy with a beer), Willie Pep (wearing a fedora), and Barney Ross (the older guy in the suit, sweater, and tie).

I don't think I had ever seen this movie from beginning to end before but had the chance to do so when it came up recently on a cable channel. One feels, after watching it in its entirety, as one does after having listened to Mahler's 9th symphony - you are emotionally drained and devastated. The movie is Exhibit A in the prosecution's case that movies were better made in the past than today. It is impossible to imagine something this excellent being produced today. The movie makes no plays for cuteness or humor, and never seeks to soften its razor-sharp edges. It is grittily real from beginning to end. Actually, it surpasses reality, as all great art does, in letting us look starkly into the cruel realities of human existence. The acting is absolutely top-notch from all the leads. One is reminded that Jackie Gleason, after all the eye-popping excesses of "The Honetmooners" (as great as that series was, for what it was) was a truly superb actor. I cannot think of a movie in which Anthony Quinn surpassed himself in his role as Mountain Rivera - tough, beaten up, beaten down, loyal, honest and yet with a sensitive core deep within. Mickey Rooney shines just as brightly. The script is brilliant, economical, realistic, and revelatory of the characters; we forget just what a brilliant writer Rod Serling was. Of course one of the reasons the movie could not be made today is that it forgoes the obligatory happy ending (which was used, evidently, in the TV version); the movie follows its dark logic all the way to the final, devastating scene.

This Rod Serling written story originally was televised on the old CBS Playhouse 90 program which was live TV. This film produced by David Susskind sticks pretty much to the Playhouse 90 version with a few variations and a couple of characters. Anthony Quinn seems more like a heavyweight than Jack Palance did for one thing and the individual that Maish Rennick is in debt to is also more colorful than in the Teleplay. Jackie Gleason, Mickey Rooney and Julie Harris are as good in their roles as the actors who were in the Teleplay. The ending is slightly different and I found it to have more stark realism than the Teleplay. Check out the fighter that Mountain is in the ring with when the film starts.

A sad, heartbreaking, and somewhat disturbing story. Quinn is totally believable as Mountain Rivera, a boxer who, perhaps, has been in the game too long and finds himself forced out. While his world-weary cut man (Rooney) is protective of him to an extent, his manager (Gleason) only views Rivera as a paycheck. An unemployment agency staff person (Miller) sees something in Rivera that prompts him to go above and beyond the call of duty to help him get a job. All of the leads are extremely good. It appears that most of the film takes place in the dark, highlighting the seamy side of boxing. The only daytime scene is when Rivera visits the unemployment office, and even then, it appears that the place has no windows to see outside. The office is just as closed up and restricted as Rivera's limited choices after his career ends. The actress who portrayed the underworld figure that Rivera's manager has a connection to was appropriately evil and creepy. The very last scene, filled with a sense of finality and resignation, is powerful.

Rod Serling, of Twilight Zone fame, deserves kudos for this wonderful screenplay about an over the hill fighter played by Anthony Quinn, whose life and legend are at the behest of his corrupt and cynical manager, Jackie Gleason. Trainer Mickey Rooney is the only person in cinematic history who can call Gleason a "fink" and make it sound authentic. When Quinn's character can't cut it any longer, he tries to find meaningful work. However, he's taken one too many blows to the head, and has offered his allegiance to someone willing to betray him for a hint of the glory of the old days. Quinn's performance as the punch drunk fighter is full of pathos and extremely well done -- his finest hour in my opinion. Serling has much to say about the human spirit, love, and friendship gone awry. Beautifully photographed in black and white, this film deserves multiple viewings.