Quatro Confissões

If you're going to do a movie with multiple flashbacks told from different points of view, the ground covered in those flashbacks better be damned interesting. Such is not the case here. Each witness' version of the events in question becomes progressively more pedestrian until the final one is played for laughs. This is the movie's point, of course, that people would rather believe well-spun myths which confirm their own preconceived notions about human nature than a banal truth that won't conform. All fine and good, but it's a danged self-destructive way to tell a story. Especially when James Wong Howe's apocalyptic visuals (those rain-drenched scenes at the isolated train station are almost Blade Runner-ish in their darkness and despair) are gearing you up from the first moment for some grimly powerful examination of evil.

The sad fact is that Laurence Harvey and Claire Bloom, as the victimized husband and wife at the heart of the film, do not come across as terribly noteworthy or distinctive. You keep waiting for some explosive revelation that might account for the idealistic Parson (played by William Shatner - young and fresh-faced but overly-mannered even then) to be so shattered by the incident that he loses his faith, but no luck. Edward G. Robinson is excellent as the old con artist with no illusions about mankind, while a close to unrecognizable Paul Newman does an entertaining Anthony Quinn impression as the dastardly bandito.

The train station segments are sensational, film-making at its best, but the endless flashbacks are flat and tedious as hell, making this film a uniquely disappointing experience.

Newman's fifth film for Martin Ritt, "The Outrage" was based on the classic Japanese film "Rashômon," but Ritt transplanted the tale to the South Western U.S. following the Civil War…

Carrasco has been convicted of raping a woman (Claire Bloom) and murdering her husband (Laurence Harvey), but four eye-witness accounts conflict… All agree that the bandit raped the woman, but only one asserts that he committed the killing…

Sadistic, defiant, and challenging, Carrasco snarls, sneers, and walks with macho arrogance, to hide the fact that he can only be strong by tying a man to a tree and raping his wife…

The role allowed Newman to give a bravura performance, not unlike Toshiro Mifune's in the Kurosawa film, and the stylization would fit the story if everybody else weren't playing it so straight… As it is, the performance seems too showy, easily understandable, exaggerated

I am familiar with Kurosawa's "Rashomon", which is original work interestingly remade in Hollywood by Martin Ritt. Those who have seen both works will be able to note the obvious virtues of the original. Yet, I saw this film with no prior knowledge of the fact that this was a remake of Rashomon.

What struck me within minutes of opening of the film was the unusual camerawork of James Hong Howe, that takes pleasure in close-ups and tilted shots that are reminescent of European cinema of the sixties. It is so far removed in style from Hollywood.

Reams of paper have used to write about Akutagawa's story immortalized by Kurosawa. So I have nothing to add on the brilliant story that obviously attracted Ritt and the playwrights Kanin.

What is unusual is Ritt's treatment. His choice of actors are interesting--Claire Bloom is a fine choice as she has a range of emotions to display with credibility; Laurence Harvey's role is limited even though he occupies a long screentime gagged and bound but he has to show scorn for a brief period the gag is removed without speaking--and when he speaks his face is not visible; Edward G Robinson is a perfect choice for a snake oil salesman and so on...

Ritt's use of the soundtrack is again non-Hollywood in style. He uses music and uses silence with great effect while characters talk to underline the emotions. Kurosawa did it to the extreme limits that makes it odd for the non-Japanese viewer.

Ritt is an interesting director. I have always admired his choice of subjects to film. I prefer his black and white films to his color projects because of the subjects that he chose to film--"Edge of the City" being one of my favorite Ritt works. The second reason I admire him is for his choice of actors, especially for the major female roles. He has derived great performances as he did here with Bloom.

This film will never be talked about because it is a remake of a classic. However, in my view it stands out as unlike John Sturges' "Magnificent Seven," which was also a remake of another Kurosawa work in Hollywood, this film adopted a different style closer to Europe and Japan. It is essentially a fine work of depicting a play on film somewhat like nuggets of celluloid gold found among the works of the American Film Theatre series.

Paul Newman plays a Mexican bandit so convincingly in "The Outrage" (Martin Ritt, 1964) that it's extremely difficult to recognize Newman at all. Far from being a star vehicle, the Paul Newman "persona" isn't recognizable here in the least. I must admit that for quite a while, I kept wondering when Newman was going to finally arrive on the screen, before it dawned upon me that Newman was playing the bandit. I wouldn't deem his amoral, animalistic, lusty performance brilliant because it constitutes a rather stereotypical caricature of a Mexican bandit. Nevertheless, Newman disguises himself so dramatically, to the point where "Paul Newman" is almost invisible, that his performance becomes noteworthy just the same.

Overall, Martin Ritt's Western remake of Akira Kurosawa's landmark and legendary "Rashomon" (Kurosawa, 1950) is worth viewing despite some obvious flaws. Ritt doesn't add anything new to Kurosawa's famous study in subjective truth and point-of-view prejudice, and at times, "The Outrage," which was also taken from a then-recent Broadway play, appears a bit flat and copied. Indeed, it occasionally seems as if Ritt grows bored with the story that he's copying from Kurosawa and Broadway and that he's yearning for comedy and satire in his otherwise straight remake. However, those alternative tones are never fully developed and as a result the film fails to make a dynamic impact. That same year, over in Spain, Italian director Sergio Leone remade Kurosawa's Samurai classic "Yojimbo" (1961) as a Western, but he did so with epochal results, largely because he brought a whole new visual style (a patient, rhythmic balance of stunning panorama and extreme close-ups) and directorial slant (a fluid study in operatic nihilism and surrealism) to Kurosawa's story. In other words, Leone remade a Kurosawa film and in doing so, he transformed it into something vastly different. In "The Outrage," Ritt fails to pull off the same trick.

That said, there are some aspects that recommend "The Outrage" to the viewer, and Newman's chameleon performance is just one of them. All of Ritt's remarkable directorial trademarks are on display here: his ambiguity; his objectivity; his refusal to condescend to the audience; the moral shadiness that he evokes; his rejection of black-or-white moral simplicity; his implicit and unstrained social commentary (in this case revolving around the holy trinity of race, class, and gender, not to mention regionalism); his spare, ominously striking visuality; his meditative pacing. Perhaps most noteworthy is James Wong Howe's haunting black-and-white cinematography, which reflects an ominous glow and projects an apocalyptic sensibility rather than Western grandeur. Instead of macrocosmic vistas, Howe's compositions capture a sense of claustrophobia, moral confusion, and subjective truth thanks to their low-angle and eye-level confinement. Through his camera-work, the Western landscape becomes not a romantic frontier or an open-air arena, but instead an entangling thicket where honor and honesty descend in a squalid ravine. Most remarkable are the crepuscular, stormy, forbidding shots of a forsaken railway station during a desert thunderstorm. It is here that three observers (one of which is deliciously played by the always memorable Edward G. Robinson) discuss the different versions of truth while refraining from spelling out the implications for the audience. Ritt, as usual, forces the viewer to think for him or herself. And what Ritt reveals are the human motivations—pride, vanity, contempt, guilt, shame, distrust, lust, cowardice, avarice, survival—that color the notion of truth and ultimately render it subjective. Unfortunately, as a straight remake, "The Outrage"'s presentation of these themes is a little too flat and perfunctory to leave a fresh impact. Still, the film is compelling and curious, standing as an artistic, sobering Western and the most obscure oater that Paul Newman ever starred in. And of course, Newman virtually obscures himself by becoming another.

This remarkable 1964 film has many virtues, among them a strong script, fine photography, and a pre-Kirk William Shatner (whose idiosyncratic acting style is already well-developed, however).

The story is a Westernization of "Rashomon", the story of a rape and murder told from the points of view of three participants and an outsider. The contrast between the subjective stories (told by the bandit, the husband, and the wife) and the story told by the miner who witnesses what really happens is both hilarious and thought provoking.

Everyone is in fine form, but DaSilva's miner and Edward G. Robinson's snake oil salesman are especially fine. Newman's portrayal of the Mexican bandit is often over-the-top, but always interesting.

This is one of those movies that makes one wonder if Mr. Maltin saw the same thing. I think that it is one of the better films of the 60's, a decade that produced a great many of the best movies ever made.