DVD Review: CROSSFIRE / Edward Dmytryk (1947)

November 15th, 2008 by Scott Marks

Let’s go bobbing for Roberts!

Crossfire (1947)
Directed by Edward Dmytryk
Written by John Paxton from Richard Brooks’ novel The Brick Foxhole
Starring: Robert Young, Robert Ryan, Robert Mitchum, George Cooper, Gloria Grahame, Paul Kelly, Sam Levene, Jacqueline White and Steve Brodie
Running Time: 86 min.
Aspect Ratio: 1.33:1

Rating:

With a star-powered trio of Roberts (Ryan, Mitchum and Young) sharing the one-sheet for a film noir produced by the studio that helped define the post-war style, Crossfire really should be a lot better than it is. Only one of the three same-named leads is put to good use. Robert Young’s Captain Finlay chews his pipe as he doggedly hunts down a brutal, anti-Semitic thrill-killer. In his office, Finlay appears trapped in a cage. At night, the window panes behind him mimic jail bars; even the bottom center pipe stems in their holder visually reinforce the air of incarceration. As Sgt. Peter Keeley, Robert Mitchum spends a lot of time in the background apparently waiting for the lunch bell to sound. He is wasted, and probably in more ways than one. Only Robert Ryan, in his first full-blown unveiling as a psycho-killer, rises to the occasion. Unbalanced Bob is not the only reason to see this picture, just the best.

The subject of Richard Brooks’ The Brick Foxhole was homosexuality, a public menace that privately made its way into board rooms and bungalows throughout Hollywood in the 40s. You could personally partake in so-called deviant sexual behavior, just don’t put it in the pictures.On the other hand, degrading someone on the basis of ethnicity or skin color had long been standard practice among studios. All this gay talk, and the filthy thoughts it would ultimately plant in audiences’ heads, had to go. Up the road, Fox was producing Gentleman’s Agreement, a film aimed at blowing the lid off the heretofore taboo subject of anti-Semitism. The solution was simple: substitute Judaism for homosexuality! While blue noses would undoubtedly upturn at the thought of murder in the name of wanton sodomy, surely even the most censorious among us could find room in their heart to sanction murder based solely on religious affiliation.Quickly assembling their cast, the R.K.O. production helmed by Eddie Dmytryk, was pushed through in record time and the minor-major released their version to theatres a full three and a half months ahead of the competition.

We begin on action as Sgt. “Monty” Montgomery (Robert Ryan) shadowboxes a “Sammy” to his death. The only possible witness (and fall guy), Cpl. Arthur “Mitch” Mitchell (George Cooper) lies passed out in a drunken stupor and has to be carried through the door by Monty. Much to the surprise of Capt. Finlay, the next morning finds Monty returning to the crime scene and doing his best not to acknowledge the previous night’s activities. As soon as he’s in the presence of the law, Monty instantly shatters the cardinal rule of psychopaths by offering answers to questions he wasn’t asked.

A junior member of the staff spoke up and timidly asked whether this film was released before or after Kurosawa’s Rashomon. We all had a good laugh at his expense, but the point remains a valid one. Crossfire prefigures Rashomon in it’s use of contrary flashbacks. Both Monty and Mitch are given ample screen time to present their sides of the story. Monty’s narration squarely points the finger in Mitch’s direction (and predates Hitchcock’s Stage Fright with its use of a lying flashback), while the framed G.I.’s interpretation is clouded by drink. The good news is in each version we get to see Monty overreact when his hillbilly chum Leroy (William Phipps) spills a drink on Sammy’s girl.

Gloria Grahame, Jacqueline White, Robert Young and Paul Kelly.

There’s a moment in Blake Edwards’ S.O.B. where William Holden asks if he’s ever violated a close friendship with a lie. He did and his defense goes something like “the fact that I’m telling you that I lied proves that I’m not a liar.” This form of cockeyed logic has never been put to better use than in what ostensibly appears to be a throwaway sequence featuring veteran character actor Paul Kelly. Kelly plays the part of Mr. Tremaine, a discharged soldier with a bum ticker. His young, estranged wife Ginny (Gloria Grahame) met Mitch at a local dance hall and is his sole alibi. As Mitch dries out in her (their?) apartment Mr. Tremaine, a quizzical Everyman with a world weary demeanor softened by a mischievous streak, returns unannounced to add a touch of surrealism to the day’s events. Tremaine is one of the most fascinating characters in all film noir. After every declarative statement, he pauses and confesses, “That’s a lie.” His contrary personal testimony, while in no direct relation to the murder, infuses the picture with more social relevance than either killer, victim or motive can supply. This oddball and strangely affecting scene is a standout that anticipates David Lynch by decades.

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