1. No Way Out (1950)
No, not the 1980s thriller with Sean Young and Kevin Costner -- which is a great flick about the continuation of espionage for a Cold War that was supposedly over.
No -- This "No Way Out" is a landmark 1950 Sidney Poiter melodrama that also features the luscious Ruby Dee as his wife and stately Ossie Davis as his brother. The theme is racism, and for the times, this film was groundbreaking in its portrayal of how hate affects both the hated and the hater. The villain is Richard Widmark, at his most vile as a rabidly racist thug, and Linda Darnell as the girl struggling with allegiances but who ultimately does the right thing.
Sidney is Dr. Luther Brooks, a standup medical professional who has earned the respect of his colleagues at the prison's medical ward. He is called in to treat the wounds of the Biddles, two white punks injured while nabbed for robbing a gas station. When one of the punks dies due to his already advanced brain tumor, his racist brother, Ray, swears vengeance and tries to pin a murder rap on the doctor. Widmark -- who in real life was friendly with Poitier -- is absolutely repugnant as Ray. The bigoted things he says to Brooks -- multiple uses of the n-word not to mention "Sambo" -- are so full of vitriol, it is often hard to watch. Brooks -- played by young Poitier at his most noble -- retains his composure.
As fate would have it, Ray escapes the police and with another brother, who is a deaf/mute, crashes uninvited with their dead brother's estranged wife (Darnell), who wants nothing to do with them. In the process of trying to discredit and harm the doc, Ray enflames the sensibilities of a group of like-minded whites and plans an ambush of the black neighborhood, but Darnell warns the good doctor and the whole thing turns into a race riot. The scene is fantastically filmed, with the African Americans shooting flares into the sky before pouncing from the rooftops to attack their would-be white attackers at the city junkyard. A full-fledged brawl ensues and it is gritty. Injured in the melee, Ray Biddle follows Darnell to the doctor's house with a gun. But he can barely stand, he's bleeding and weak. Though he'd rather die than be attended to by a black doctor, he's too weak to protest. Brooks treats him and saves his life; in these final scenes we see that Biddle is crazed with hatred due to his own insecurities and hardscrabble life. In the meantime, Darnell is able to run out to get the police, thus ending the standoff.
This is an edge-of-your-seat drama that doesn't turn all the whites into villains nor all the blacks into saints. The film is a snapshot of the glacial pace of integration in post WWII America. And sad to say, in many places in the country, race relations haven't advanced much further than this.
2. Lost Boundaries (1949)
This is not exactly a great example of gorgeous black and white cinematography, nor a flick featuring towering feats of great acting. But it is notable as an early attempt by Hollywood to portray the country's growing "Negro problem": the legacy of bigotry kept alive thanks to the "one drop rule" and the attendant issue of "passing." Introduced as a "Drama of Real Life from the pages of Reader's Digest," the title says it all -- implying that we should all stay on our own side of the line or there will be hell to pay. But the tone and point of view is mostly sympathetic to the main characters.
The story starts with a snooze-inducing voiceover about the "secrets" and "legends" of Keenham, New Hampshire. Milquetoast (and milk-white) thespian Mel Ferrer plays fair-skinned African American doctor Scott Carter, who graduates from an integrated Northern medical school and marries another fair-skinned African American woman -- at the campus Kappa Alpha Psi house, no less. Dr. Scott knows he is black and has no issues with living in a black world. But his skintone offers him unique challenges. After rushing to Georgia to intern at a Southern black hospital, he finds himself rejected by the hospital's black chief because his skin color would cause too much of a row.
Dr. Carter moves north but finds he cannot gain a position as a black doctor and his wife is now pregnant. The family moves to New England to be closer to his wife's relatives, who are already passing, and against his better judgment, Dr. Carter takes a position at a local hospital without divulging his race. He is assumed to be white, and no one is the wiser. He is a success at the hospital and well-regarded in the New Hampshire town, and he and his wife raise a son and daughter. It's hard to believe that the Carters wouldn't at least let their children in on the news, but they keep them in the dark for 20 years. (The daughter even has some racist epithets for her brother's black friend.) Shock of shocks, when Scott Jr. decides to become a Navy officer, a background investigation (his father's military records) reveals the truth. You too are a "Negro," kid.
Junior does not handle the news well. Not only is his career as a Navy commissioned officer scuttled, his entire future as he envisioned it is out the window, including the loss of the lily white girlfriend he planned to marry. And where does someone in the Northeast go when they have just discovered they are black? Stereotypically, right to Harlem. As if there will be any answers or a grand homecoming awaiting him there. Let the jazz saxophones wail and the temptation to crime, drugs, and alcohol do their worst -- because to Hollywood that's what being black is, isn't it? (As in Showboat and Imitation of Life, the tragic mulattos run to the bad side of town and take up drinking -- Hollywood standing firm in its view of African Americans as lowlifes.) Junior wallows in the streets, lost and confused, until he is picked up by the police and returned to the bosom of his family.
As the news spreads in their community, the neighbors attempt to close ranks against them, until their local preacher reminds them that we are all children of God and there is a "Kumbaya" moment.
3. La Belle et La Bete (1946)
OK, OK -- I know it's in French and it's all artsy fartsy. And possibly you are so cool that you're already hip to this. So many people fall into the "God, I hate reading subtitles" camp, or the "this is ancient foolishness" camp. Either way, put aside your preconceived notions and spend some time with this masterpiece of filmmaking, directed by French artist and poet Jean Cocteau. Because the film is 1. breathtakingly beautiful, 2. startlingly innovative, and 3. the original "beauty is only skindeep" parable for loving past surface appearance.
"La Belle et la Bete" is the basis for Disney's hella popular "Beauty & the Beast" franchise, which includes the animated film and stage musical (the concept has also inspired at least three live-action TV versions). Disney "borrowed" much of what Cocteau brilliantly presents in terms of characterizations, costuming, and special effects, but the animated version is nowhere as original, haunting, ironic, fantastic, and profound as this black and white masterpiece. Many of Cocteau's shots are copied exactly to the Disney work, but because the original is live action, Cocteau's special effects (fades and wipes for disappearing or morphing characters, flying, "living" statuary, smoke effects, other inanimate objects that move and "speak" by themselves) are astounding. This is especially so because it was filmed decades before there were the standard Hollywood crutches like computerized special effects, sophisticated makeup, camera dollies, and the like.
The basic story is the same: In 17th Century France, a beautiful peasant girl's family must sell everything for money. She spurns a marriage proposal from the local brawn-for-brains, Avenant, who is having money problems of his own, and endures the taunts of her awful sisters, who treat her like Cinderella. On the way back from a bad-news business trip, Belle's father stumbles onto the grounds of a mysterious castle. Amazingly, he finds his every need magically met. On the way out, he sees a rose and picks it for Belle. He is confronted by a well-dressed but hideous Beast (who is truly frightening looking -- like a Hellcat Creature from the Black Lagoon who stuck his finger in an electric socket for good measure), who tells him that the price of stealing his roses is death, but if he sends one of his daughters back to him in three days, he will spare his life. Frightened out of his mind, the father gallops home on the Beast's enchanted horse. Only Belle is brave enough to return to the castle on the horse.
And what a return! When not at the Beast's castle, the film is fairly conventional; inside, the fantasy elements run rampant and the eyes can scarcely register so much wonder. Belle runs in slow motion, cloak billowing, through an entryway lined with sconces made of human arms -- an image from a fever dream. She floats up a stone staircase and plunges down another hallway, her feet not touching the ground in an early (and far superior) version of the trolley shot much used, and reviled, in numerous Spike Lee flicks. Belle drifts past a series of open windows fluttering long white curtains -- another effect that has been copied in countless films because of its ethereal beauty. She pauses before a door, and as the arm-sconces lean in, a voice whispers "je suis le porte du votre chambre" (I am the door to your room). The door opens to reveal a fantastic bedroom, filled with plants, flowers, drapery and statuary. A full-sized nymph on a fountain turns and nods, the faces carved into the mantelpiece blink, even the mirror speaks to Belle. When the covers slide off the bed by themselves, Belle returns to the stable to flee. The Beast appears. "Where are you going?" he demands. The sight of him sends her into a faint. The Beast carries her back to the beautiful bedroom and when he lays her on the bed, her clothing magically changes to the elaborate gown and headdress of a princess.
We all know the rest. The Beast -- under a spell from a malevolent fairy -- asks her nightly to be his wife, and every night she refuses. Belle doesn't flinch from the Beast, but tells it like she sees it. Through their talks she becomes fond of him, and earns his trust. Embedded in this tale on one end of the spectrum are the countless "opposites attract" romances, and on the far end, the fascination with human/vampire love stories. Belle comes to understand that this Beast needs to kill and eat animals to survive. After he has killed, the Beast's body is literally smoking and his bloodlust is a danger to her as well. French actor Jean Marais (who also plays Avenant) is marvelous -- his physicality tells us how miserable and tortured it is to live under this spell, and how much Belle's presence means to him. When Belle begins to address him as "Ma Bete," or "My Beast," there is so much love in those words. In this film -- far more than in the Disney reboot -- we can see the soul of this beast, who is always courteous and considerate of Belle (apart from the fact that he is holding her hostage).
To experience this film is to be caught up in its fantastic details. The cinematography is very soft-focus, as if sketched in smudged charcoals, making the scenes in the castle particularly intimate in feel. Yes, it is a fairy tale. But it will weave its magic around you and remind you of the purity of promises, and that true love is not dependent on beauty or riches.
4. Ascenseur pour l'échafaud (1957)
"Je t'aime. Je t'aime," coos a woman passionately from a phone booth on the street (remember those?).
"Je t'aime," affirms the man from a phone in his Paris office, moments before he dons a pair of gloves, grabs a rope, and slips out of the office window onto the ledge.
Thus, with murderous lovers swearing their allegiance, the plot of this stylish noir thriller glides into motion.
Yes, another French flick! Get over it. This early Louis Malle film is better known for its brilliant use of jazz giant Miles Davis' taut score. But it stands on its own as a tense depiction of the "perfect" crime gone horribly, horribly wrong.
Elevator to the Gallows (sometimes "Elevator to the Scaffold") concerns Florence and Julien, who plot to kill Florence's husband, a wealthy industrialist, who is also Julien's boss. Julien enters the boss' office unseen, shoots him dead, arranges it to look like suicide, and escapes over the balcony. (Director Malle neatly shows us a black cat crouching on the railing outside to signal impending doom.) But as Julien is about to drive away, he realizes he left the rope dangling outside the window. Leaving his car running, he goes back to retrieve the rope and becomes trapped in the elevator as the building shuts down for the weekend, leaving Florence to agonize about what has gone wrong. Meanwhile, a young punk and his girl -- Louis and Veronique -- see the convertible coupe idling and steal it for a fun weekend in the country. Impersonating the car's owner and his wife, the pair commit a few ugly crimes of their own. The two couples' fates become entangled as they race to stay ahead of the police and each other. The cinematography captures the kinetic thought processes of two sets of loose cannons, and the busy trumpet solos by Miles underscore their desperation as well. The film also showcases a great performance by French acting treasure Jeanne Moreau, whose surface composure as the murdered businessman's wife slowly unravels. This was Malle's first directorial effort; he went on to direct Pretty Baby, Atlantic City, Damage, and My Dinner With Andre.
5. A Hatful of Rain (1957)
One of my favorite black and white films from this era is actually the well-known drama The Sweet Smell of Success, which in addition to the best Tony Curtis performance of his career, boasts a lot of night shots of midtown New York during the 1950s: the legendary luncheonettes and nightclubs (21, Birdland, Sardi's, Schrafft's, Nedick's) of the era. That story concerns the backbiting and underhanded wheeling and dealing of the well-heeled Broadway types, with a Clifford Odets script that snaps.
Meanwhile, down on the Lower East Side, is this other little story from the same year. The crisp black and white photography shows us what it's like to live in one of New York's housing projects, and gives a few angles on the Brooklyn Bridge and lower Broadway. While the story isn't quite as smart or witty as Sweet Smell, it boasts plenty of grit and a great cast.
Don Murray (the lunky cowboy who wins Marilyn Monroe in Bus Stop) plays Johnny Pope, a soldier who returns to New York after being injured serving in Korea and released from a military hospital. He reunites with his wife Celia (Eva Marie Saint), and his brother Polo (Tony Franciosa), who all live in a housing project apartment at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. Celia begins to despair as Johnny stays out to all hours of the night; she's pregnant and wonders what their future together will hold if he is having an affair. (The one hole in the plot: How did she become pregnant if her husband was gone?) To complicate matters, Johnny and Polo's dad (played by veteran Lloyd Nolan) has come to town for a visit expecting an all-American family scene, while Polo confesses to his sister-in-law that he's in love with her.
What Johnny is keeping from his family is a serious heroin addiction, developed when he was given morphine for pain in the hospital. Now he owes a goodly sum to the drug-dealing gangsters -- led by "Mother" (Howard da Silva, whose film resume includes playing Asians, Indians, Native Americans, and Italians) -- and they're not waiting any longer for their money.
This was an early portrayal of how soldiers were affected by drug addiction in trying to reacclimate themselves to civilian life.
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