O Paraíso Infernal

Cary Grant & Jean Arthur star in this Howard Hawks adventure film from 1939. Arthur is between cities finding herself in Peru where Grant runs a ragtag band of pilots ferreting mail from one dangerous locale to another. When one of his pilots buy it, a new one (who actually caused the death of a co-worker some time before) along w/his wife (an early turn by Rita Hayworth) enter the mix livening the atmosphere for the worse as suspicions mount & the increasing perils of the flight trade begin to take their toll on Grant & the men who look up to him. Now don't get me wrong, this is a good film but it could've been better if the obvious love triangle of Grant, Hayworth & Arthur were better delineated (Arthur sometimes disappears for stretches at a time) but even lesser Hawks is still Hawks. Look for Noah Beery Jr. as the first doomed pilot who would later gain fame as James Garner's dad on the Rockford Files.

This is a great old movie, back in a time when men were men and women were all former showgirls or something. Men flying airplanes, men flying airplanes through obscured mountain passes during violent rainstorms, men dropping nitroglycerin on condors (but just wait, they will get their revenge), men dying, their friends dealing with death the way men should -- with denial and booze. Set in one of those remote, out-of-the-way jungle locales where miraculously everyone crosses paths, kind of like Casablanca but with a lot more rain. The pilot who bailed out and left his mechanic behind to die meets up with the brother of said mechanic, and the brother ain't too happy about it. But through an inevitable turn of events they end up together in a burning plane and have to bail, but one of them can't. What would you do? The pilot's wife is a real looker, Rita something, but our hero is shocked to realize she is the old flame who crushed his heart. Is that really you Judy, Judy, Judy? (yes, this is the movie where Cary Grant never actually says this). There are so many situations that make no sense. The girl from Kansas or Maine or golly geewillikers I'm not sure where spends about 10 minutes getting the cold shoulder from our hero, and then goes on to confide her worries about whether it is right to tie him down. Well, he is Cary Grant, so I guess it is these leaps of sudden commitment aren't too fanciful. When the "Kid" fails his eye test, Cary tells him he is through flying. That's right, there is not a single optician in all of South America.

In short, I loved this movie. Made me want to become a pilot and learn how to smoke. It will have the same effect on you too.

This film is relentlessly male and relentlessly American. It functions brilliantly within the Hawksian "system" where male bonding is key, and where Woman is an outsider. Where romance is a minor part of life and where love is expressed through symbols and not through language. The group of professionals and their easy, jocular interaction is the beating heart of this film and all the group scenes are brilliantly directed. I also like the element of screwball comedy (a genre in which Hawks is one of the few masters) which presents itself in Grant and Arthur's "coffee" scene. It shows how much Hawks trusts his actors and his material in that he knows that such changes of tone can strengthen, rather than weaken, the key drama. I love this film even though its presentation of the world is not the one I'm the most sympathetic to. The film is not incredibly strong in psychological nuances - not when compared to directors like Sirk, Fuller, Welles, N. Ray, etc...and the basic tone is that of a stoicism which occasionally cracks (slightly) under pressure, but which almost immediately reestablishes itself. It's an attractive world view, but not one I'm incredibly comfortable with. There is no place here for ambiguity - not on any deep, non - localized level. I've been reading some Hawks interviews, and I now understand why Hawks was uncomfortable with being labeled an "artist". His attitude towards films and film-making is clearly the same as the attitude of the men in this film towards their work and their lives (and deaths). It's simple: you're either good enough or you're not, and you're only as good as your last flight. This identification between the man (Hawks) and his production (Only Angels Have Wings) helps to illuminate the greatness of the film, but it also explains its emotional and aesthetic limitations.

The best film that Howard Hawks's Only Angels Have Wings can be compared to is Hawks's own Ceiling Zero. The former was adapted from the stage play by Spig Wead and for whatever reason Warner Brothers did not put in the kind of production values the A list cast from that film should have warranted. In my review for IMDb I said it was a photographed stage play.

Hawks seems to have made the corrections for the deficiencies of Ceiling Zero in this film. First of all he wrote the story for Only Angels Have Wings and made sure to put in enough action and he took the action away from the control room of that small airline in an unnamed South American country. He also cast the leads against type, Cary Grant as a cynical, existential Bogart like hero and Jean Arthur as the wise cracking show girl stranded in the tropics. A part that Rita Hayworth would play to perfection later on.

Rita's in this one as well, in the first substantial part in an A picture. She plays the wife of disgraced flier Richard Barthelmess and one of Cary Grant's old flames. According to a recent biography of Jean Arthur, she and Rita did not get along so well. Both of them are retiring types and each thought the other was being snooty to her. Arthur found that out later on and was far more cordial as was Rita. Arthur was also upset that the future glamor queen of America would get all the notice. Rita sure got enough of it.

But there were plaudits all around. Howard Hawks got great performances out of Grant and Arthur, expanding the range of both these talented people. Only Angels Have Wings is both a good character study and has a lot of drama as well.

And Cary Grant was far more successful at a Bogart type role than Bogey was in doing Sabrina.

This movie makes much more sense when you put it in the context of early talkie World War I flying movies like Hawks' Today We Live or The Dawn Patrol or

Dieterle's The Last Flight (starring, not coincidentally, Richard Barthelmess). By 1939, with another war looming, audiences were long since sick of such tales, but by resetting the tale at a South American airport (where Cary Grant runs a mail service which is in danger of losing its contract), it was just barely possible to come up with a credible situation where Grant could again order his flyers to their deaths, and where death would be greeted with the callousness that

comes from knowing you're probably next and your best friend will eat your

steak for you. The reviewers who say Grant doesn't play it serious enough here are exactly missing the point-- his seemingly breezy, actually brittle facade IS the Lost Generation attitude, straight out of The Sun Also Rises.

This is one of the great tough romances, whose real romance is with death itself, which needless to say makes it several steps darker than Hawks' superficially similar To Have and Have Not, let alone Rio Bravo (which reproduces its main

characters almost exactly-- Grant as John Wayne, Arthur/Angie Dickinson as the woman trying to get into the boy's club, Barthelmess/Dean Martin as the guy

with a guilty past of failure, and Mitchell as the guy who age is catching up with/ Walter Brennan, old age fully caught up). In gleaming black and white on the DVD, the foggy, fake studio set and the silver skies might be the dreams of a pilot in the instant before his crash. Too grim a bite of caviar for the general, perhaps, but a testament for a generation that saw more than it could put on film, and one of the greatest works of art to sneak out of the studio system under

disguise of glamorous entertainment.