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Thursday, 31 July 2014

Mate Bram ('Suspense' radio episode)

Finally got round to listening to this one.  Well you don't want to get through them all at once do you?  And this was worth waiting for.  It's not only a ripping yarn and played brilliantly (of course) by RW as the eponymous sailor, but, it turns out, it's also a true story.  The theme of a man getting drunk and waking to find that murder has been committed is of course a staple of horror and suspense and in fact it was used in another episode starring RW "Too hot to live".  But Mate Bram is unresolved and leaves you shouting at the radio (or computer in this case) what happened???  Sadly, if Mr Bram ever recalled his memory, he never said.   See below for the grim details.

http://www.escape-suspense.com/2011/07/suspense-mate-bram.html


Suspense - Mate Bram

Studies in MurderSuspense's "Mate Bram" was loosely adapted from the true story of Thomas M. Bram chronicled by librarian/writer Edmund Pearson in his 1924 groundbreaking study of American crime, Studies in Murder. Instead of staying true to this Victorian horror tale of murder on the high seas, Suspense turned it into something similar to a 1940's noir.
Edmund Pearson's account of the true story of Mate Bram details the the events of a triple murder onboard the barkentine Herbert Fuller in 1896. The ship's captain, his wife, and the second mate were ax murdered by an unknown assailant in the middle of the night. The crew sailed the ship to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and ultimately, Mate Bram was accused of the crime. The case was transferred to Boston where, he was tried for murder not once, but twice, and found guilty by a jury both times. Bram served fifteen years, was paroled, and then granted a presidential pardon. 
You can read more about the case of Mate Bram, and other interesting true stories, on the website of the Center on Wrongful Convictions, Northwestern University School of Law. 
Suspense's version skips over all that, and portrays Bram as an alcoholic who lusts after the captain's younger wife. She lures him into her cabin with wine, and while he is lost in an alcholic blackout, three people are murdered. Since he can't remember what happened that night, he is blamed for the crime. All of this has nothing to do with the true story, but their version provides some memorably tawdry lines of dialogue like these:
Mate Bram: "...I stayed on because she was compelling, with a bold look...and because a man is always a hunter."
__________________________
Mate Bram: "Why does a young woman marry with a man like that and go sailing off on a ship with him...and eleven other men. No lady would do that, would she?"
__________________________
Mate Bram: "You are a married woman, Mrs. Nash."
Captain's wife: "I think that makes more difference to you than it does to me. Why are you so good?" 
__________________________
Captain's wife: "Whether I'm married or not, I'm a woman. Am I not?
Mate Bram: Yes, yes you are.
Captain's wife: And, I...deserve to have the company that I like. I...brought a bottle of wine.
_____________________________
"Mate Bram" was adapted for radio by Gil Doud and produced/directed by Elliott LewisRichard Widmark starred. Also appearing were Joan BanksJoseph KearnsRoy Glenn,Lou MerrillRobert NorthSteve Roberts, and Ben Wright. This episode aired on April 14, 1952.

http://www.law.northwestern.edu/legalclinic/wrongfulconvictions/exonerations/federal/thomas-m-bram.html

Thomas M. Bram

Unguarded remark construed as confession to triple ax murder

Thomas M. Bram was convicted and sentenced to death in federal court in Boston in 1896 based on what was deemed an “inferential confession” to a triple murder aboard a U.S. merchant ship on the high seas — even though he emphatically denied that he had committed the crime.
A little after 2:00 A.M. on Tuesday, July 14, 1896, the Herbert E. Fuller was 750 miles and five days into a voyage from Boston to Argentina with a cargo of lumber when the captain, Charles I. Nash, his wife, Laura A. Nash, and the second mate, August W. Blomberg, were hacked to death with an ax in the vessel’s after house, the structure housing a chart room and officers’ quarters near the stern.
Lester H. Monks, a Harvard University student who had joined the voyage as a passenger, was awakened by a woman’s scream. Armed with a revolver, he rushed to Mrs. Nash’s cabin, where he found the door ajar and her lying dead in a pool of blood. In an adjoining room, he found the captain, not yet dead but unable to speak.
Monks cautiously made his way forward, emerging onto the deck through a hatchway near the main mast, where Bram, the first mate, was on duty. Seeing Monks holding a revolver, Bram picked up a plank and threw it at him. The plank missed Monks, who shouted, “Come below, the captain has been murdered! Come below, for God’s sake!”
Bram and Monks went below, examined the bodies, and returned to the deck, where they stood back to back, each armed, ostensibly in fear of mutiny. The only other man on deck was Francis M. Loheac, who was at the wheel of the ship. Just minutes before Monks discovered the bodies, Loheac had relieved the man who would become Bram’s principal accuser — a seaman who went by the name Charlie Brown but whose real name was Justus Leopold Westerberg.
As daybreak approached, the ship’s steward, Jonathan Spencer, emerged from the forecastle, where the crew was quartered. When Monks and Bram told him that the captain and Mrs. Nash had been slain, Spencer ventured into the after house, where he discovered Blomberg’s body.
Spencer, Monks, and Bram questioned Loheac, who said he had heard nothing out of the ordinary during his turn at the wheel. Suddenly, Bram pointed across the deck and exclaimed, “There is an ax. There is the ax that done it.” Spencer picked up the ax, but Bram took it from him. “Shall I throw it overboard?” Bram asked. “Yes,” Monks replied, as he would explain under oath, “for fear the crew may use it against us.”
“No,” Spencer shouted — but it was too late. Bram had thrown the ax into the ocean. “You shouldn’t have done that,” said Spencer.
The crew then was summoned to the deck. Although the killer presumably would have been splattered with blood, none was found on anyone. Bram placed Westerberg second in command and set sail for Halifax, Nova Scotia, which was not the nearest port but was favored by the prevailing winds.
The next day, Westerberg came under suspicion when crew members reported that he had changed clothes after leaving the wheel. When questioned, Westerberg acknowledged that he had changed, but insisted he had done so only because he was cold. Bram, professing disbelief, ordered Westerberg manacled and proclaimed that the killer was in custody.
Four days later, Westerberg accused Bram of the crime. Westerberg claimed that while at the wheel, which was directly behind the after house, he had heard a noise in the chart room and, peering through a skylight window, had seen Bram strike Captain Nash with what was now presumed to be the ax Bram had thrown overboard.
As dubious as Westerberg’s accusation might seem — coming as it did from an accused man five days after the fact — the crew seized and shackled Bram. Spencer assumed command, and Herbert Fuller proceeded to Halifax, arriving on July 21 with both suspects in irons and the victims’ bodies in a small boat towed astern.
Westerberg’s version of events apparently rang true to Halifax Police Detective Nicholas Power, who led the investigation. Power’s suspicion of Bram may have been heightened by his pernicious disposal of the murder weapon, which of course might have borne fingerprints.
Although fingerprinting had yet to be employed forensically, the potential had been popularized by Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi and Pudd’nhead Wilson in the 1880s. Racism also may have been at play. Bram was of mixed race and had a swarthy complexion darkened by exposure, whereas Westerberg was white, as were the victims.
In any event, whatever Power’s considerations may have been, by his own account he presumed Bram guilty from the start. Power would testify that he prefaced his interrogation of Bram: “Your position is rather an awkward one. I have had Brown [Westerberg] in this office, and he made a statement that he saw you do the murder.... Now, look here, Bram, I am satisfied that you killed the captain, from all I have heard from Mr. Brown.”
According to Power, Bram responded, “He [Westerberg] could not have seen me; where was he?” “He states he was at the wheel,” said Power, and to that Bram was quoted as replying, “Well, he could not see me from there” — an assertion that lawyers in the case would call an “inferential confession.”
Power related the substance of what Bram allegedly had said to the U.S. consul in Halifax, who transferred jurisdiction of the case to Boston. There, on October 29, 1896, a grand jury — relying solely on Westerberg’s purported eyewitness account — returned an indictment charging Bram with the three murders.
Bram’s trial opened on December 14, 1896, before a jury and, under a procedure peculiar to maritime cases, two federal judges, Le Baron B. Colt and Nathan Webb. The prosecutors were Sherman Hoar, the U.S. attorney for Massachusetts, and his assistants, Jonathan H. Casey and Frederick P. Cabot. Two able court-appointed attorneys, James E. Cotter and Asa P. French, defended Bram, who was indigent.
The prosecution case relied primarily on Westerberg’s purported eyewitness account, which the defense attempted to undermine by eliciting on cross examination that Westerberg had been confined to a mental institution in Rotterdam five years earlier following a violent psychotic episode. The prosecution of course also called Spencer and Monks, who described how Bram had thrown the ax overboard. And Monks described how Bram had thrown a plank at him, although this hardly seemed sinister, given that Monk was pointing a revolver at Bram.
The only other prosecution witness of consequence was Detective Power, who described what he said to Bram and what Bram said to him during the interrogation in Halifax. On cross examination, Power acknowledged that Bram’s words could be construed innocently — Bram’s might have been saying simply that it was impossible to see into the after house from the wheel.
When the prosecution rested, Bram took the stand to deny the crime.
Bram was followed on the stand by an expert witness — Hugh G. Messenger, a ship carpenter, who testified that he had examined the Herbert Fuller at the behest of the defense and determined that Westerberg, from his vantage point behind the wheel, could not have seen what he claimed to have seen.
The prosecution had not arranged an inspection of the ship, which was at sea during the trial, and thus had no expert to counter Messenger. The defense also recalled Monks to the stand to testify that, in the seconds between Mrs. Nash’s scream and his encounter with Bram on deck, Bram would not have had an opportunity to change clothes — a crucial point, given that the killer’s clothes would have been blood splattered.
The case went to the jury on New Year’s Day 1897. That evening, the jurors conducted an experiment, ostensibly to verify Messenger’s claim that Westerberg could not have seen the attack. Using napkins to cover parts of a window in the jury room, they created an opening the size of the skylight through which Westerberg would have peered. Then, guided by a diagram prepared by Messenger, the jurors looked through the window from the approximate distance of the ship’s wheel to the after house and concluded that it would have been possible for Westerberg to have seen what he described.
Some jurors continued to harbor reasonable doubt, however. It took some ballots for the jury to agree on a guilty verdict, which was returned on January 2. When Bram’s lawyers learned of the unauthorized experiment, they moved for a new trial, but on March 9 the motion was denied and Bram was immediately sentenced to death by hanging — the only sentence permissible for murder under federal law at the time.
“If I have to die,” Bram tearfully told the court, “I thank God I shall die an innocent man.”
Bram’s execution was set for June 18, but it was stayed pending appeal directly to the U.S. Supreme Court. The oral argument spanned two days, October 18 and 19, 1897, with French arguing for Bram and U.S. Solicitor General John K. Richards for the government.
Of sixty-seven issues aired in the appeal, by far the most extensively briefed and argued was the admission of Power’s testimony. And it was based on that issue that the court, by a six-to-three vote on December 13, granted Bram a new trial. The majority held that Power’s confrontation of Bram had called “imperatively for an admission or denial” by Bram, thereby rendering his response involuntary.
“A plainer violation ... of the letter and spirit [of the Fifth Amendment] could scarcely be conceived of,” Justice Edward Douglass White wrote for the majority.
Bram’s second trial opened on March 16, 1898, before the same judges, and with the same lawyers, and same witnesses as the first trial, except, of course, for Power, whose testimony had been barred by the Supreme Court.
There were two other differences between the trials. First, shortly after the first trial, Congress had approved an act authorizing juries in federal murder cases to find a defendant guilty but to specify “without capital punishment.” Second, the Herbert Fuller, which had been at sea during the first trial, was anchored in Boston Harbor for the second and, on the motion of the defense, the jury toured the vessel.
On April 20, the jury found Bram guilty, but spared his life. Bram was sent to the federal prison in Atlanta. He did not appeal the verdict, but was released on parole on August 27, 1913.
Meanwhile, Mary Roberts Rinehart, an acclaimed mystery writer, had become convinced of Bram’s innocence. She based a 1914 novel, The After House, on the case, portraying Westerberg — “Charlie Jones” in the novel — as “a madman, a homicidal maniac of the worst type.”
Rinehart’s advocacy was instrumental in persuading President Woodrow Wilson to grant Bram a full pardon on April 22, 1919. Although the pardon was not expressly predicated on innocence, it is hard to imagine any other basis for pardoning a man twice convicted of a triple ax murder.

— William S. Warden

A Gathering of Old Men

I watched this DVD with no preconceptions, and no knowledge of what it was about.  That was probably just as well.  I'm not sure yet that I know, but I certainly enjoyed it.

Now anyone with a better working knowledge of US geography and history is going to have to excuse me; I will apologise now.  Because as far as know, the film is set in the Deep South, seems to be Louisiana (which I thought was near Texas) possibly New Orleans (which I thought was towards the East, though I'm possibly getting mixed up with Florida).

OK, to save myself further embarrassment I've just googled it, and New Orleans is where I thought it was and Louisiana isn't.  Though it is near Texas.  Moving on....

The film seems to be set in the 1960s - certainly post 1963 with the deaths of Kennedy and Martin Luther King which are referred to in passing - and racial tension is certainly running high.  To the backdrop of lovely melodic swooping bayou music we see an African-American pursued by a guy on a tractor with a shotgun.  Whoever might be in the wrong here, it doesn't look good.  Sure enough, white (Cajun) farmer guy ends up dead, as, we are lead to believe, he richly deserves.  But does he?  The sins of the white man against the black go back decades, when even the farmer's father was a young man.  And are they counted as being whites?  This is where an English person probably misses some nuances.  When the other son goes on about wanting to be 'all-American' - does that mean he doesn't think that he is already because he's Cajun?  I don't know the answer to that.  If he does, you have three groups of people here all set against each other; the group of blacks (the eponymous Old Men all doing the 'I'm Spartacus' thing and claiming to have shot the farmer), the whites represented by the young girl who owns the land and stands with her black workers, her boyfriend, and the Sheriff (Widmark in a laid-back role at the age of 73) and the Cajuns, a large family gathering with a bit of a Mob mentality.

It's a very well done film, more theatrical than movie-like: you can imagine this being done very successfully on stage.  And it doesn't end badly as it so easily could have done, and that's good too.  Though next time, I might watch it with subtitles because those accents are very...regional. 

Sunday, 27 July 2014

Yeats poem

I saw this ... and thought of RW (the last two lines sum it up). 

FATHER AND CHILD - W B Yeats 


She hears me strike the board and say
That she is under ban
Of all good men and women,
Being mentioned with a man
That has the worst of all bad names;
And thereupon replies
That his hair is beautiful,
Cold as the March wind his eyes.

Friday, 25 July 2014

A Tribute For Richard Widmark - Jim Ridley, 19.08.2008

A Tribute For Richard Widmark

A softie in real life with a career as a noir baddie

The late Richard Widmark, who died in March at age 93, was revered offscreen as one ofHollywood's true gentlemen and staunchest liberals. It is entirely to his credit that in his most indelible roles—a gallery of giggling killers, sleazy hustlers, and ramrod martinets—he came across as neither. He might have apologized profusely between takes for the racist bile he had to spew at friend/co-star Sidney Poitier in the 1950 pressure-cooker melodrama No Way Out—but for the duration of those takes, he owned every hissed mad-dog slur.
That willingness to take a high-dive plunge into the degenerate and not come up for air distinguished Widmark in his very first screen role, as the effete, sardonic psycho who gives a wheelchair-bound old lady the Odessa Steps treatment in Henry Hathaway's 1947 Kiss of Death. (Widmark's Tommy Udo, the original Joker, so caught the country's perverse postwar fancy that the character actually inspired fan clubs.) That early noir isn't part of BAM's three-day salute to the late actor, but the three movies in the series capture the same range that Fox chief Darryl F. Zanuck saw in Widmark's screen presence: the boyish features that could shift with a trick of the light into a leering death mask.
The death mask shifts back in Samuel Fuller's 1954 Cold War yarn Hell and High Water(August 25), long enough for Widmark's mercenary sub captain to romance Zanuck protégé-slash-mistress Bella Darvi on an improbable rogue nuke-busting mission. Presiding over a scurvy crew crammed like stowaways into Fuller's CinemaScope stateroom, Widmark fills his heroic lead with surly Han Solo panache. If he's not the weaselly wonder he was the previous year as the pickpocket antihero of Fuller's Pickup on South Street—where he cuts through the feds' "flag-waving" hoo-hah with bracing self-interest—he's still a strikingly mercurial commander, and Widmark nails the captain's ever-changing moods from grinning swain to grieving leader.
Richard Widmark, at his noir best, in Night and the City
Photofest
Richard Widmark, at his noir best, in Night and the City
Widmark's capacity to summon the rat in each role was best suited to noir. Pity Mark Stevens, the hero of William Keighley's kiss-ass FBI tribute The Street With No Name(August 27), who goes deep cover as a hood by slant-smoking and checking into flophouses. He's wiped off the screen the instant second-billed Widmark shows up as his quarry, a germophobic gangster who tends his nostrils with a gardener's care. The 1948 feature swaps laughably starchyDragnet docudrama and hey-you-mugs mob theatrics, but Widmark's pungent hair-trigger paranoia seeps into the Skid Row milieu like rotgut pouring down a storm drain.
In Harry Fabian, the scroungy small-time wrestling tout of Jules Dassin's great 1950 noir Night and the City (August 26), Widmark has his best role, one that shows how supple and emotionally versatile an actor he really was. Shepherding that most doomed of noir taxonomies, the sure thing, through a London underworld that narrows into a mousetrap, Widmark skids from elation into desperation at ramming speed. His performance is pure jazz: drumming with his hands, rehearsing his cons, improvising wheedled entreaties to suckers and creditors. Another character cruelly but fairly sums up Harry as "an artist without an art"—an observation you could never make of the man playing him.

http://www.villagevoice.com/2008-08-19/film/a-tribute-for-richard-widmark/ 

NY Times review - The Trap - 29 January 1959

Movie Review

The Trap (1959)

January 29, 1959

Screen: Chase in the California Desert; 'The Trap' in Premiere at the Capitol Widmark and Lee J. Cobb Head Cast

Published: January 29, 1959

THE Southern California desert, which has been the blasted heath of many an exhausting Western, is the locale of "The Trap," a highly Technicolored melodrama that opened at the Capitol yesterday. And its tale of a conscience-smitten shyster nabbing a contemporary fugitive badman and bringing him in, against grueling opposition, is in the Western vein.
It is not in the high tradition. After a promising start, in which the shyster transforms from a mouthpiece for the fugitive into a self-appointed deputy for his sheriff father, who gets killed, it settles down rather flatly into an ordinary "chase," with the shyster attempting to get the badman by automobile to Barstow, 120 miles away.
True, his opposition on this journey is not only the badman's pals but also his own accompanying brother, who is an undependable rat. And this makes for vexing complications. It is tough enough for the fellow, as it is, with the badman's pals setting up roadblocks and flying around overhead in a scouting plane, without having to worry about that brother shooting him in the back. But the brother's pretty wife is some solace. Sure, she gets mixed up in it, too.
However, for all its pattern plotting and its heavy reliance on the guns, it comes off a fairly taut picture in the outdoor action frame. Norman Panama, who, with Melvin Frank, produced it, directed it and helped to write the script, has seen to it that there's no waste motion and that the pressure is on all the time. The pressure may not all be too logical, especially that of the henchmen's lurking out there in the dark, but again Mr. Panama has seen to it that you have little time to think.
He has also shot most of it outdoors, on the desert, where the scenery is good, and he has got some nice menacing performances from his experienced cast.
Richard Widmark snarls grimly as the good guy, Lee J. Cobb plays the badman mordantly and Earl Holliman snivels and twitches, and gulps booze avidly as the brother-rat. The unhappy wife of the latter is represented a bit too majestically by Tina Louise, and the sheriff father of Mr. Widmark and Mr. Holliman is played ramrod stiffly by Carl Benton Reid.
No, "The Trap," which is a Paramount picture, doesn't waste too much fragrance on the desert air, but it gives off a strong mingled odor of gunsmoke and agonized sweat.

The Cast
THE TRAP, screen play by Richard Alan Simmons and Norman Panama; directed by Mr. Panama; produced by Mr. Panama and Melvin Frank and Richard Widmark's Heath Productions for Paramount Pictures. At the Capitol. Broadway and Fiftieth Street. Running time: eighty-four minutes.
Ralph Anderson . . . . . Richard Widmark
Victor Massonetti . . . . . Lee J. Cobb
Linda Anderson . . . . . Tina Louise
Tippy Anderson . . . . . Earl Holliman
Sheriff Anderson . . . . . Carl Benton Reid
Davis . . . . . Lorne Green
Mellon . . . . . Peter Baldwin
"Police officer" . . . . . Charles Wassil

http://www.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9F04E7D6153DE53BBC4151DFB7668382649EDE

Sunday, 20 July 2014

New York Times review of Alvarez Kelly - 17 November 1966

Alvarez Kelly (1966)

Review Summary

William Holden stars as Alvarez Kelly in this Civil War actioner. While transporting 5,000 head of cattle to the Union forces, Holden is captured by Confederate officer Richard Widmark. Threatened with instant execution if he doesn't cooperate, Holden sets about the train the raw rebel troops to become cattle drovers in order to transport the herd below the Mason-Dixon line. Widmark turns out to be the least of Holden's problems when he tries to negotiate the cattle through Indian territory. ~ Hal Erickson, Rovi

"ALVAREZ KELLY" is a good picture—nice and crisp and tough. For this trimly entertaining Civil War drama that loped into neighborhood theaters yesterday we can hail Columbia Pictures, a cast headed by William Holden and Richard Widmark, the director Edward Dmytryk and a thundering herd of 2,500 steers. And let's not forget Franklin Coen, the writer, for blueprinting a fresh idea, and salting it with some tingling, unstereotyped behavior and gristly dialogue.
Based on a true incident, the idea is this (and how it ever eluded John Ford beats us): With all those healthy cattle delivered from Mexico to Union troops near Richmond, the hungry Confederates plan to filch the herd through enemy ranks. And this they do, of course, in a churning, rootin'-tootin' climax that provides a field day for everybody, steers included.
Naturally, two tough hombres like Mr. Holden and Mr. Widmark square off early, in roles cast and played to sardonic perfection. The former is an Irish-Mexican war profiteer who originally delivers the cattle and is kidnapped by the Rebs and forced to help them. As a one-eyed colonel, Mr. Widmark is his captor-tormentor who at one point airily shoots off the other's finger. Mr. Holden's revenge is his crafty dalliance with a bland Richmond belle he describes as "a female not a crinoline saint," played accordingly — and well — by Janice Rule.
The salt extends to a logical, cryptically amusing sequence in a "house of joy," a fact, that should veto the film for children.
But Richmond almost takes "Alvarez Kelly," for while this middle section of the film kindles the festering two-man feud and considerable color and tension—cutting from the suspicious Blue troops to the Gray capital city—it also dawdles. The other flaw is a nagging, standard musical score by Johnny Green, who should know better.
But the picture perks up beautifully in the ripely-detailed homestretch, as the determined Confederates sneak through the woods for the cattle prize and pound the herd hell-bent into the very teeth of the enemy, with Messrs. Holden and Widmark still at each other's throats. As various Blues and Grays, Patrick O'Neal, Victoria Shaw. Roger C. Carmel, Richard Rust, Arthur Franz, Donald Barry, Duke Hobbie, Harry Carey Jr. and Howard Caine all make incisive contributions. The color is first-rate.
Put down "Alvarez Kelly" as a cynically cut but well-seasoned side of beef, at its best on the hoof.

Nice, Crisp, Tough

ALVAREZ KELLY, screenplay by Franklin Coen; directed by Edward Dmytryk; produced by Sol C. Siegel for Columbia Pictures. At neighborhood theaters. Running time: 149 minutes.
Alvarez Kelly . . . . . William Holden
Col. Tom Rossiter . . . . . Richard Widmark
Maj. Albert Steadman . . . . . Patrick O'Neal
Liz Pickering . . . . . Janice Rule
Charity Warwick . . . . . Victoria Shaw
Capt. Angus Ferguson . . . . . Roger C. Carmel
Sergeant Hatcher . . . . . Richard Rust
Captain Towers . . . . . Arthur Franz
Lieutenant Farrow . . . . . Donald Barry
John Beaurider . . . . . Duke Hobbie
Corporal Peterson . . . . . Harry Carey Jr.
McIntyre . . . . . Howard Caine

http://www.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9B02EFD81338E43BBC4F52DFB767838D679EDE

Review of Take the High Ground! (New York Times 20 November 1953)

Review Summary

"You guys will never be soldiers!" With these words, Richard Widmark opens and closes Take the High Ground. Widmark plays tough drill sergeant Thorne Ryan, whipping his recruits through basic training in preparation for shipment to Korea. Merton Tolliver (Carleton Carpenter) is the standard-issue private who just can't seem to cut it, despite Ryan's (Widmark) relentless special attention. To prove that the behemoth sergeant has a tender side, the script contrives a romantic triangle involving Ryan, Julie Mollison (Elaine Stewart), and Sgt. Laverne Holt (Karl Malden). The film is an amalgam of rugged realism and Hollywood hokiness, withWidmark terrific as the topkick you love to hate. Filmed at Fort Bliss, TX, Take the High Ground utilizes several real-life soldiers in the drill sequences (you can recognize the real ones; they aren't afraid of Richard Widmark). ~ Hal Erickson, Rovi

MOVIE REVIEW

Take the High Ground (1953)

THE SCREEN IN REVIEW; ' Take the High Ground,' With Richard Widmark, Opens at Mayfair Theatre

Published: November 20, 1953
The pleasures and satisfactions that a young man is likely to derive from basic military training make a pretty tough bill of goods to sell, and respect for a hard-as-nails drill sergeant is slightly difficult to put across, too. But Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer has boldly tried it in a big, booming Ansco-colored film that goes by the name of "Take the High Ground" on the Mayfair's enlarged and widened screen. Individual response to its persuasions will depend on how susceptible one is to the old spit-and-polish tradition, march music and sentimentality.
For those are the rousing inducements that are worked to a blazing fare-thee-well in this obvious job of underlining the necessity of preparing for war. Masculine horseplay in the barracks, grim performance on the drill and training fields and the inevitable griping of soldiers at unmerciful orders and rules are flavored with tangy portions of rugged romancing with a girl and a bit of terminal tear-dropping over the soft-heartedness of good old Sarge. And all of it is ordered to the strong strains of a Dimitri Tiomkin march that whispers or booms with frank emption over the might and glory of the infantry.
Set at Fort Bliss, Tex.
As a recruiting poster or a preface to greetings from Uncle Sam, this is as able an achievement as a practical-minded critic can conceive. The script by Millard Kaufman is an assembly of simple episodes that have color, colloquial humor and straight, ready-made character. The setting, arranged by Dore Schary on the actual Texas base of Fort Bliss, provides for authentic exhibition of military training in detail. And the acting by all and sundry under the direction of Richard Brooks has the slickness and precision of movement of a well-geared machine.
Richard Widmark as the hardboiled sergeant who approaches his trainees with disdain but develops a choking fondness for them as the difficult weeks go by plays the No. 1 character in the picture, and he wrestles both manfully and well with the complexities of schooling soldiers and conducting his own off-base battle with a girl. Karl Malden stands up straight and stoutly as his slightly less hard-pushing pal, and Elaine Stewart is slinky and voluptuous as the interestingly crazy, mixed-up girl. Russ Tamblyn as a sharp, wise-cracking gymnast, Carleton Carpenter as a loose-limbed Texas kid and William Hairston as a poetry-reading Negro are conspicuous in the ranks of the trainees.
There are unabashed bits of hot heroics scattered here and there and the whole picture seems to urge indifference toward the intrusion of the female sex. Both of these are characteristics that may be disturbing, variously. But it does move with vigor and excitement. The Texas training base is colorful And that march of Mr. Tiomkin's—well, it does cause a ringing in the ears.

TAKE THE HIGH GROUND,story and screen play by Millard Kaufman; directed by Richard Brooks; produced by Dore Schary for Metro-Coldwyn-Mayer. At the Mayfair.
Sgt. Thorne Ryan . . . . . Richard Widmark
Sgt. Laverne Holt . . . . . Karl Malden
Julie Mollison . . . . . Elaine Stewart
Paul Jamison . . . . . Russ Tamblyn
Merton Tolliver . . . . . Carleton Carpenter
Lobo Naglaski . . . . . Steve Forrest
Elvin Carey . . . . . Jerome Courtland
Daniel Hazard . . . . . William Hairston
Donald Quentin Dover IV . . . . . Robert Arthur
Franklin D. No Bear . . . . . Maurice Jara
Soldier . . . . . Chris Warfield
Sgt. Vince Opperman . . . . . Bert Freed

http://www.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=990DEEDC1031E53BBC4851DFB7678388649EDE

A Star Who Mastered a New Moral Ambiguity - New York Times, 29 March 2008

AN APPRAISAL

A Star Who Mastered a New Moral Ambiguity

Published: March 29, 2008

Of the generation of leading men who emerged in the aftermath of World War II, quite a few began their careers playing villains. Kirk DouglasAnthony QuinnRobert MitchumJack Palance and Lee Marvin were among the postwar stars who served apprenticeships — some long, some short — as outlaws gunned down in the last reel of westerns or as hoodlums crumpling under police fire in crime pictures. Richard Widmark, who died at 93 on Monday, was another.

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Richard Widmark in his film debut in “Kiss of Death.”
Universal Pictures
Mr. Widmark, center, with Harry Guardino in “Madigan.”
Photofest
Richard Widmark, as a former Naval officer, and Bella Darvi in “Hell and High Water” (1954).
Unlike many of his contemporaries, Mr. Widmark never quite shook the dark associations of his early roles, even after his studio, 20th Century Fox, rehabilitated him as a leading man. The obituaries that followed Mr. Widmark’s death almost invariably began by evoking his first and still most famous film appearance, as the psychotic killer Tommy Udo in Henry Hathaway’s 1947 film noir, “Kiss of Death” — a role that required Mr. Widmark to giggle and grin as he bound an old woman (Mildred Dunnock) to her wheelchair and shoved her down a flight of stairs.
The sadistic, unhinged Udo was something new in American movies, and the impression he left was indelible. “Mr. Widmark runs away with all the acting honors,” The New York Times said, and Mr. Widmark was rewarded with an Oscar nomination for best supporting actor — the one and only time the Academy took notice of him. (On Friday night, Turner Classic Movies is set for a Widmark triple feature: “Alvarez Kelly,” “Take the High Ground” and“The Tunnel of Love.”)

Mr. Widmark, then 33, had fourth billing in “Kiss of Death”; his Oscar nomination earned him better billing but similar roles in three 1948 films: William Keighley’s “Street With No Name,” Jean Negulesco’s “Road House” andWilliam Wellman’s “Yellow Sky.” Only with Hathaway’s“Down to the Sea in Ships” (1949) did Mr. Widmark get a heroic role and his name on top, but the public didn’t seem interested in this bright, blond, squeaky-clean figure: they wanted their morally flawed, unpredictably violent Widmark back.

And so, through much of the 1950s, Mr. Widmark moved back and forth — shuttling between heavies and heroes — with a freedom mostly unknown to other performers of the period. He was a selfless Public Health Service doctor searching for a gangster (Jack Palance) infected with plague in Elia Kazan’s 1950 “Panic in the Streets”; that same year found him as a racist street punk taunting a black doctor (Sidney Poitier) in Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s “No Way Out.”
Mr. Widmark’s richest roles were those that placed him somewhere in the middle — in that great swamp of moral ambiguity that four years of active conflict and a shadowy new cold war had made Americans ready to acknowledge.

In Samuel Fuller’s “Pickup on South Street” (1953) Mr. Widmark is Skip McCoy, a New York pickpocket who unknowingly lifts a microfilmed roll of government secrets from a fallen woman (Jean Peters) working for a cell of Soviet agents. Smirkingly antisocial to the last (Skip has learned to taunt cops into hitting him, as a way of invalidating arrests), he ends by lending his criminal skills to the side of law and order, motivated less by patriotism than by a desire for revenge.

In “Hell and High Water” (1954) Mr. Widmark again worked with Mr. Fuller, and the film helped to move Mr. Widmark’s screen personality in a different direction. In this slightly mad cold war fantasy, he is a former Navy officer hired by a group of civic-minded scientists to pilot a submarine to the Arctic Circle, where, they suspect, the Red Chinese are constructing a nuclear missile base. The military lent a new context to Mr. Widmark’s moral equivocality: in films like “Halls of Montezuma,” “The Frogmen,” “Take the High Ground!” and “Destination Gobi” Mr. Widmark played hard-bitten commanders whose apparent coldness and cruelty masked a deeper concern with the safety of their men.

His psycho killers and military leaders shared one prominent character trait: callousness, a quality Mr. Widmark portrayed with disdainful ease. From the mid-’50s on, his filmography was filled with colonels, captains, lieutenants and even a couple of generals.
In Robert Aldrich’s 1977 “Twilight’s Last Gleaming” Mr. Widmark had his last great role, as a senior officer whose job it is to persuade a renegade general (Burt Lancaster, Mr. Widmark’s contemporary and fellow recovering gangster) to relinquish control of the nuclear missile silo he has taken over as a political protest. The casting is impeccable: here are two actors whose careers have run in parallel, just as their characters’ lives have.

As an actor, Mr. Widmark fell between the presentational style of prewar filmmaking and the inner-directed, psychological focus of the Method actors, who came into vogue in the 1950s. With his prominent teeth and tight skin, his face had a certain skull-like quality that suggested Conrad Veidt in the German Expressionist films of the ’20s, yet there was a watery, vulnerable quality in his large blue eyes that could sometimes make him seem almost childlike.

The role that best combined these two sides of Mr. Widmark was, perhaps, that of the naïve American boxing promoter, Harry Fabian, who is devoured by the London underworld in Jules Dassin’s 1950 noir masterpiece, “Night and the City.”

It’s hard to imagine another tough-guy actor of the period allowing himself to come as close to tearful impotence as Mr. Widmark does at the end of that film, at the moment his character realizes that there is no escape from the vengeful associates he has betrayed. Running toward the camera, as well as toward his death, Mr. Widmark allows his face to go slack and his limbs to loosen; he seems to become a panicked child before our eyes, shrinking into infantile helplessness. A jump cut might take us to the opening scene of“Rebel Without a Cause,” when James Dean’s drunken teenager collapses on the sidewalk, playing with a toy monkey.

A great star, perhaps, is someone who embodies a cultural moment while nudging us on to something new, to feelings not yet explored and contradictions not yet expressed. By that definition, as well as by many others, Richard Widmark was a great star.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/29/movies/29Widmark.html?_r=0