Confissão

So, why does war hero Johnny Drake (William Prince) take a fast train away from the nation's highest military honor. It's an intriguing premise and the next 90 minutes tells us why. The movie's got noir icons like Bogart, Lizabeth Scott, and Morris Carnovski, plus a mysterious past, a smoky night club, and a barbecued corpse. In short, this ought to be classic noir, but in my little book it's not.

I've got two basic gripes. First, Scott may look the part, but she's no Jane Greer (Out of the Past. 1947). Above all, noir's spider women have to be good actresses so that we never know their true feelings. That trickiness means we can get suckered along with the hero. But it also means we get suckered against our better judgement because we and the hero suspect their sincerity all along. Scott's performance lacks that crucial element of trickiness-- hers is essentially a one note performance with no hint of a gap between how she feels and how she behaves. Thus, there's no real revelation at the end because she looks and acts the same as before. As a result, the betrayal is all in the script and crucially not where it belongs-- in the performance.

Speaking of the script-- the banter is too cute by-half. Practically every line out of Bogart's mouth shouts clever writer's device, whether it's baseball metaphors (strike one, strike two, etc), car metaphors, or the various other false rhetorical notes. For me, it gets tiresome, Bogart or no Bogart. Then too, Carnovski's queasy racketeer is made to enunciate his lines with perfectly parsed diction. Of course, that makes him a more interesting character and criminal mastermind. But, this again amounts to a device that calls attention to the words being said instead of to who is saying them or how the plot is helped along. It seems to me that a good script carries a story without competing with it.

These are my two main gripes. There are other reasons I think the movie doesn't get beyond second-rate noir, such as uninspired direction (whether Cromwell's name is elevated above the title or not), overly long love scenes (after the point has been made), and menacing figures who don't really menace (Carnovski & Miller). Together these undercut the strong points, such as the train scenes (how Prince & Bogart have bonded) or certain good story points (the unidentifiable corpse, the poignant last scene).

In passing-- this is not a gripe, but I suspect Columbia was using Bogart to build Scott into another Lauren Bacall. The two look somewhat alike, sound somewhat alike, and both built careers on appearance and attitude rather than ability. Here Bogart ends up calling Scott's character "Mike", just the sort of sidekick affection he shows for real life wife Bacall in their several movies together. Nothing obvious hangs on this, just a surmise that the movie may have been shaped for more than one purpose. However that may be, the movie amounts to okay but unmemorable noir entertainment.

Dead Reckoning appeared too early to have worn out and begun to recycle film noir's conceits and conventions, but already it has a tired, seen-it-all feel to it. Its director, the generally reliable John Cromwell (who three years later was to helm the great-grandmaw of women-behind-bars pix, Caged) works here with a by-the-numbers detachment that keeps the movie as limp and soggy as its "Gulf City" locale.

Returning vet Humphey Bogart, en route to Washington with a war buddy who's about to be awarded some Big Medal, is baffled when said buddy suddenly takes it on the lam. His investigation into what happened and why takes him to a seamy town on America's south coast where, in a morgue, he finds his friend's body, charred beyond recognition. He also meets up with Lizabeth Scott (as Coral Chandler, or "Dusty," or, even, "Mike"), a canary in a local nitery run by heavy Morris Carnovsky. It seems she and the late pal were something of an item, and she teams up with Bogart to get to the truth.

Or does she? The most problematic aspect of the film is that dealing with Scott -- game blonde or femme fatale? It's as if the scriptwriters or studio heads couldn't make up their mind about her, or as if alternative endings were contemplated, or even filmed. This doesn't help the viewer, whose empathy seems always to be out of kilter with what's happening in the plot. And this can't be written off as a teasing ambiguity -- it's a gross failure of filmmaking. So the sentimental, "redemptive" ending in the hospital ward, with high-flown talk of parachute jumps, tries to have it both ways. Well, it can't.

One of Bogart's best, a brutal Film Noir with a surprising ending, & filled with sharp, witty dialog. Lizabeth has never looked more beautiful than here, & although her acting ability is overmatched by Bogart, she would improve in her later films & she's adequate in this role. There's glimpses of the basic "Maltese Falcon" plot here: Bogey searches out & seeks revenge for his partner, even some of the dialog is similar in that respect. If you like Bogart or if you like Film Noir, you can't go wrong with this one! And by the way, this is a REAL Film Noir, not in the newer use of this phrase (recently, people have been calling any B&W crime drama made in the 1940s a "Film Noir"). This film has all the classic Film Noir elements: lots of shadows & stark contrasts (in the beginning, Bogart speaks from shadows so dark that one can hardly see his face), a spoken narrative, a "hero" who works outside the law, a murder mystery, & a heroine who may not be a heroine.

If Humphrey Bogart had ever decided to film one of Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer thrillers, it would have turned out something like 1947's DEAD RECKONING. Although it's not actually based on a book, John Cromwell's tautly-directed film noir owes more than a little of its plotting and characterization to earlier classic crime novels-turned-classic Bogart movies. Indeed, when my husband Vin entered the room while the film was on, he began watching it with me and soon asked, "Is this THE BIG SLEEP, or THE MALTESE FALCON?" However, DEAD RECKONING is steeped in the kind of bitter post-war viciousness that distinguished Mickey Spillane's writing -- not that there's anything wrong with that! :-) Bogart commands the screen as Rip Murdock, a former Army paratrooper (lots of colorful references to parachutes and jumping here) and one of the most misogynistic good guys he ever played (not that you can blame Rip, after the wringer he's put through in this film). Captain Rip starts out trying to find out why his Sergeant and pal Johnny Drake (William Prince) has a Yale pin with the name "John Joseph Preston" on it, and more importantly, why Johnny bolts rather than accept the Congressional Medal of Honor for his wartime heroism. Rip's investigation leads him to Gulf City, Tropical Paradise of the South (don't take my word for it, check out the neon sign in the upper right-hand corner of the screen in the opening establishing shot :-), where he's quickly sucked into a whirlpool of secrets, double-crossing, murder, and such inventive mayhem as tossing napalm-powered Molotov cocktails at sinister smoothie Morris Carnovsky and his psycho henchman Marvin (THE MILLIONAIRE) Miller to make them talk. Standing in for quintessential Bogart leading lady Lauren Bacall (and original leading lady Rita Hayworth, who was hung up making THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI) is Lizabeth Scott as mysterious chanteuse Coral Chandler, the kind of dame guys go gaga for against their better judgment (she's got so many pet names from her various beaus that the first time I saw the film, I wasn't quite sure if her name was "Coral," "Dusty," or, of all things, "Mike"!). While Scott's no Bacall (don't get me wrong, Scott fans, I like her, but to my ears, her husky voice always sounds more phlegmy than sultry. Every time Scott speaks, I half-expect someone to offer her a cough drop!), she's certainly chock full of luminous blonde beauty, plus Scott has an air of wounded vulnerability that makes me empathize with her in spite of myself. Sometimes the film is gloriously, deliriously nutzoid. For instance, Bogart's speech to Scott early on about how men should be able to reduce women to pocket-size when necessary, and Scott's interpretation of this theory, must be heard to be believed. But when DEAD RECKONING works, it's dynamite (literally, when Bogart and Scott join forces with safecracker/explosives expert Wallace Ford)! Even when things get ugly, this movie is always gorgeous to look at, thanks to the stunning use of shadows and light in Leo Tover's black-and-white photography. If you love Bogart and you like your film noir grim yet glamorous and over-the-top at times, DEAD RECKONING is well worth a look.

This mediocre film noir, involving the usual tangle of murder and deceit, is notable mainly for Bogart's presence. He's an army captain who sets out to solve the mysterious circumstances surrounding the death of a buddy. There's the usual quotient of danger and deceit and, of course, a femme fatale, well played by Lizabeth Scott who seems to have been born for this kind of part. Many of the plot points are either hard to follow or hard to swallow, and it's all much too talky, but it does have a memorable closing line! Worth seeing for genre buffs.