The Spanish Main (1945)

The Spanish Main

Consider yourselves not so much my prisoners, but my honored guests. It would please me if you were to recommend my piracy to your friends when you return home. Dutch sea captain Laurent van Horn (Paul Henreid) is shipwrecked off the coast of the Spanish settlement of Cartagena with a boatload of refugees seeking freedom in the Carolinas. After being held and sentenced to death, Van Horn and his crew manage to escape. Five years later, Van Horn has established himself as the mysterious pirate known only by the name of his ship: The Barracuda. After infiltrating the vessel ferrying her to her wedding, they capture Contessa Francisca (Maureen O’Hara) daughter of the Viceroy of Mexico, who has been arranged to marry the corrupt governor Don Juan Alvarado (Walter Slezak) whom she has never met. Wishing to avoid further bloodshed aboard the escort ship, Francisca offers to marry Van Horn if he will spare the escort, to which he agrees. Over time Francisca and Van Horn become attracted to each other and set out to defeat the villainous governor Don Juan Alvarado and treacherous pirates Du Billar (John Emery) and Captain Black (Barton MacLane) raising the hackles of pirate Anne Bonney (Binnie Barnes) who has her heart set on Laurent … All I ever hear from you is that every golden minute has 60 golden seconds. Why does it have to have 60 golden seconds? Why can’t it have 30 golden seconds? And why do they have to be golden? Why can’t they be silver? Actor Paul Henreid was not an entirely happy camper at Warners eternally cast as the suave leading man and would go on to become a director (famously directing co-star Bette Davis in not one but two roles – she plays twins in Dead Ringer). He started out directing in TV, working extensively for Alfred Hitchcock after he was blacklisted for speaking out against HUAC. He wrote up a treatment for this swashbuckling pirate yarn and brought the project to RKO where they hired Aeneas MacKenzie to write another treatment then George Worthing Yates to write the screenplay which Henreid hated. He then hired Herman J. Mankiewicz to rewrite the adventure story. There was some to-ing and fro-ing with the cast, notably with O’Hara who was going to be replaced by Laraine Day. That wasn’t the end of the issues as the script called for a slave revolt and the burning of Tortuga but RKO refused to pony up the money and Henreid’s agent Lew Wasserman advised him against funding it. So the ending changed, so upsetting Mankiewicz he wouldn’t write it. Despite that this is a fun outing with Slezak spouting witticisms like there’s no tomorrow. This is a beautifully made production, shot by George Barnes in a thrilling range of colours, with a memorable score by Hanns Eisler and it’s all done with that delicate attention to performance and detail by that great romantic director, Frank Borzage,  The Spanish Main – cruel, oppressive and ruthless, where power alone was a man’s single title to everything he held dear, including his very life. It was, thus, a cruel fate that a peaceful Dutch pilgrim ship should be driven there by torrential waves – and crash upon the rocks immediately outside Cartagena, its most remorseless citadel.

Live and Let Die (1973)

Live and Let Die

Whose funeral is this?/Yours. James Bond (Roger Moore) is sent to New York to investigate the mysterious deaths of three British agents. The Harlem drug lord known as Mr. Big plans to distribute two tons of heroin for free to put rival drug barons out of business and then become a monopoly supplier is also in New York, visiting the United Nations. Just after Bond arrives, his driver is shot dead by Whisper (Earl Jolly Brown) one of Mr. Big’s men, while taking Bond to meet Felix Leiter (David Hedison) of the CIA. Bond is nearly killed in the ensuing car crash. Mr. Big is revealed to be the alter ego of Dr. Kananga (Yaphet Kotto) a corrupt Caribbean dictator, who rules San Monique, a fictional island where opium poppies are secretly farmed. Bond encounters voodoo master Baron Samedi (Geoffrey Holder) and tarot card reader Solitaire (Jane Seymour) who soon becomes a romantic interest. Bond’s fight to put a stop to the drug baron’s scheme takes him to New Orleans … What are you? Some kinda doomsday machine boy? Well WE got a cage strong enough to hold an animal like you here! A jazz funeral in New Orleans. Voodoo. Tarot cards. A crocodile farm. A shark tank. An underground cave. An awesome car and boat chase across the bayou. A cast of black villains worthy of a blaxploitation classic. A villain who is less megalomaniacal than usual who would really like to be James Bond’s friend. A redneck sheriff (Clifton James) to beat all redneck sheriffs, as director Guy Hamilton bragged. A morning ritual cappuccino preparation instead of a martini, a little nod to Harry Palmer, perhaps. And this was Roger Moore’s debutante appearance as the suavest double Oh! of them all, entering the picture in the arms of a beautiful brunette spy in dereliction of her own duty. And his only weapon? A magnetic watch! Come on! It starts in Jamaica, home of Goldeneye, author Ian Fleming’s long-time residence, where he wrote a novel between January and March every year between 1952 and 1964 and it concludes on a train, in homage to Dr No. That’s before we even mention the incredible song composed by Paul and Linda McCartney and performed by Wings. McCartney was so thrilled to do it he paid for the orchestra himself and hired George Martin to do the arrangement. It’s breathless escapism with action sequences moving seamlessly one unto the other, interrupted only by some hilariously silly lines uttered by the urbane agent. Effortlessly performed. Written by Tom Mankiewicz, who even remembered to include some of the original novel’s elements. It made its UK TV premiere in 1980 and remains the most viewed film on British TV . He always did have an inflated opinion of himself

Affair in Trinidad (1952)

Affair in Trinidad

It’s dangerous to presume with the Trinidad lady. Post-war Trinidad and Tobago, a territory under British control. When nightclub performer Chris Emery (Rita Hayworth) discovers that her husband Neil has died in suspicious circumstances, initially thought to be suicide, she resolves to help the local police Inspector Smythe (Torin Thatcher) and Anderson (Howard Wendell) find his killer. Soon she is caught between two men, her late husband’s suave foreign friend Max Fabian (Alexander Scourby), who has designs on her; and her brother-in-law, Steve Emory (Glenn Ford), who arrives on the island and begins his own investigation into his sibling’s death since he cannot take the suicide verdict remotely seriously due to a letter his brother sent him. As evidence begins to point to Max as the killer and her feelings for Steve grow, Chris finds herself in an increasingly dangerous situation with a political plot that threatens the stability of everyone around her, even her homeland of the United States The worst tortures are the ones we invent for ourselves. Reuniting the stars of that perverse noir Gilda, this essays a variation on the theme but this time the S&M is ingrained in the political subtext of Nazis planning an attack on an unsuspecting US from the British-controlled Caribbean. Hayworth was making her comeback after four years away from the screen gadding about with the jet set and getting married and what have you. She is at her most lustrous and dazzling, singing, dancing to calypso and generally slinking around being sexily begowned by Jean Louis; while Ford is befuddled and anxious, as befits the role of the concerned brother-in-law investigating murderous island-hopping foreigners. The script by Oscar Saul and James Gunn is just ringing with memorable lines decently distributed through a wonderfully sinister ensemble nourishing a rich atmosphere. Valerie Bettis snarls vixen-like among the Germans she accompanies; and even Juanita Moore as housemaid Dominique gets her moments – This one is a man. The other is a shadow of him.  The gallows humour doesn’t end there as tensions escalate and intentions are clarified – Even at the risk of dislocating your personality, try to be calm. You’ll recognise the references – Notorious, Casablanca, even All About Eve. Fabulous stuff, nimbly directed by Vincent Sherman and produced by co-writer Virginia Van Upp who devised the story with Bernie Giler. I am just a pawn, a weak man. I am very easily dominated!

Island in the Sun (1957)

Island in the Sun

Santa Marta, an island in the West Indies. Hot-tempered plantation owner Maxwell Fleury (James Mason) is jealous of his wife Sylvia (Patricia Owens) whom he presumes is having an affair with retired war hero Hilary Carson (Michael Rennie). He envies his sister Jocelyn (Joan Collins) who is dating war hero (Stephen Boyd), at home to visit his father, Lord Tempelton (Ronald Squire), Governor of the island. Their mother (Diana Wynyard) and father Julian (Basil Sydney) are concealing family history from them. Mavis Norman (Joan Fontaine) a member of the island’s richest family, becomes romantically involved with islander David Boyeur (Harry Belafonte) who is politically ambitious. Drugstore clerk Margot Seaton (Dorothy Dandridge) is having a relationship with Denis Archer (John Justin) the aide to the Governor. When Carson is murdered, police chief Colonel Whittingham (John Williams) investigates. Meanwhile Bradshaw (Hartley Power) an American journalist is looking into the background of the Fleury family and his scoop that their grandmother was part black may scupper Maxwell’s political hopes… Does it make any difference, having an aim in life? As Caribbean potboilers go, this melodrama of sex, race, class and politics takes some beating. Adapted by the wonderful writer Alfred Hayes from Alec Waugh’s 1955 novel, it was directed by Robert Rossen, a man most of the cast despised for his HUAC stance (after being punished for his silence about membership of the Communist Party the talented writer/director eventually named names and wouldn’t really get his career back on track until The Hustler). It’s a perfectly picturesque production with all the limitations of mid-century censorship and taste yet still conveys a flavoursome spectrum of ideas and plot with some highly suggestive scenes, Fontaine and Belafonte’s interracial kiss being highly controversial at the time. This end of Empire movie graphically illustrates the colonial issues then raging, offering a true insight into identity politics. Mason has a rather narrow range here but Dandridge shines. Shot primarily on Trinidad and Tobago and also on Barbados and Grenada with interiors done at EMI-MGM in England. Produced by Daryl F. Zanuck, Belafonte co-wrote the hit title song with Irving Burgie and it was featured on his album Belafonte Sings of the Caribbean. In the last analysis the great patriots were those who identified personal ambition with the welfare of their country

Fire Down Below (1957)

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When it runs it’s a good little boat. U.S. expatriates Tony (Jack Lemmon) and Felix (Robert Mitchum) cruise around the ocean and eke out a meager subsistence using their small tramp boat to transport cargo around the Caribbean islands in between drinking sessions. When they take on the job of smuggling illegal-immigrant beauty Irena (Rita Hayworth) to another island (from nowhere to nowhere), they find their friendship torn apart by their mutual romantic feelings toward her and a betrayal occurs. After the authorities are on his tail he takes a job on cargo ship Ulysses but gets trapped below deck following a collision and time is running out  What a country America is, everything even rebellion. Irwin Shaw’s adaptation of Max Catto’s 1954 novel is a fantastic star vehicle with sparky characters, ripe and eloquent dialogue  – there are real zingers about Americans abroad and the world of men and women. Well, Shaw knew all about all of that good stuff. Some fantastic setpieces include numerous musical sequences (the harmonica theme was written by Lemmon while the title song is performed by Jeri Southern) and a fiery conflagration to bring things to a head. He and Mitchum have a friendship that is curdled by love for the mysterious Hayworth who is as usual much better when she’s required to move rather than stand still and emote. Lemmon is fine as the cuckold but Mitchum and Hayworth have really great scenes together – after dancing in a huge crowd she returns to their table purring at him, That was wonderful. Wasn’t it, he deadpans back to her. There’s a universe of understanding between them. Herbert Lom shows up as the harbour master, Bernard Lee is a doctor, Anthony Newley is a bartender, producer Albert Broccoli makes a cameo as a drug smuggler, there’s a gunfight at sea and best of all there are three stars doing what they do best in their inimical and idiosyncratic style. Fantastically entertaining. Mitchum would not only make his next film in the Caribbean (Heaven Knows Mr Allison) he recorded a calypso album! Directed on location in Trinidad and Tobago by Robert Parrish. I’m so sad that little dogs howl in desperation when they see me

 

Anne of the Indies (1951)

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Have no fear – you’re under my protection! After Captain Anne Providence (Jean Peters), notorious female pirate captain of the Caribbean, picks up Pierre (Louis Jourdan), he claims he can find a treasure map in Jamaica. Some of her associates think he’s a traitor, but Anne has fallen in love with him. When she sails the Sheba Queen to Jamaica, Pierre goes inland to locate the map but secretly meets with British Navy officers, who have forced him to spy on the infamous Edward Teach better known as Blackbeard (Thomas Gomez ) and Anne.  He is really Captain LaRochelle, a former pirate captain.  When Anne finds out she swears revenge by kidnapping Pierre’s wife  Molly (Debra Paget) and planning to sell her into slavery ...  Blackbeard never forgets an insult. It’s not the best looking pirate film as the colour’s a little clogged and the darkness overwhelms the costuming and tone but it’s a fast-moving, lively affair, with plenty of opportunity for scenery-chewing.  On that front, Gomez takes the cake with Herbert Marshall running a close second as Dr Jameson. There are good sea battles and even a bit of bear wrestling. You’ll fetch one hundred English pounds, at least 99 more than you’re worth! The female rivalry is something to behold, redeemed by a great sacrifice at the fiery conclusion. Fun stuff that could have been a lot longer, given the real-life antecedents. Written by Philip Dunne, Arthur Caesar and Cyril Hume from a story by Herbert Ravenel Sass. Directed by Jacques Tourneur. No man sails with me who no longer respects me

 

Cocktail (1988)

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You get the women, you get the bucks. Ex-soldier Brian Flanagan (Tom Cruise) desperately wants to be a success and after working at his uncle’s bar takes an evening job at a New York City tavern run by Doug Coughlin (Bryan Brown) while studying business at City College by day so that he can get a marketing job. Flanagan is mentored by the cynical Coughlin who tells him to watch out for rich chicks and together their showy tricks and charisma command large crowds and tips at a nightclub where they plan to set up a business together. When they have a falling out over the affections of photographer Coral (Gina Gershon), Flanagan moves to Jamaica to raise enough money to open his own bar and he falls in love with vacationing waitress and wannabe artist Jordan Mooney (Elisabeth Shue) but he takes the bait from honeymooning Coughlin, himself married to a Rich Chick (Kelly Lynch) and gets involved with wealthy Manhattan executive Bonnie (Lisa Banes) ... Coughlins’s Law:  Anything else is always something better. It’s only taken me thirty years to get around to seeing a film I was too snobby to watch when it was trailed in my local cinema. Kids, eh!  Yet it’s one of those that was tailored to confirm Cruise’s superstardom – another tale of a daredevil on the make, this time on the ground (albeit after he’s served his country, perhaps as a Navy flyer). And we’re in materialistic NYC in the Eighties where everyone was promiscuous because nobody ever heard of AIDS. As if.  Yet there is a Faustian story going on which was watered down before being served. There were a lot of re-shoots to make the material more upbeat and incorporate improbable bartending tricks while Maurice Jarre’s original score was replaced. Shue is rather ill-served by a misogynistic narrative, Brown moreso since his worldview permeates the theme albeit it informs the conclusion, but it’s great to see Ellen Foley, Lynch and Gershon in the ensemble. Does it complete me? I’ll get back to ya in another three decades! Adapted by Heywood Gould from his dark semi-autobiographical novel and directed by Roger Donaldson.  I am the last barman poet / I see America drinking the fabulous cocktails I make / Americans getting stinky on something I stir or shake / The sex on the beach / The schnapps made from peach / The velvet hammer / The Alabama slammer. / I make things with juice and froth / The pink squirrel / The three-toed sloth. / I make drinks so sweet and snazzy / The iced tea / The kamakazi / The orgasm / The death spasm / The Singapore sling / The dingaling. / America you’ve just been devoted to every flavor I got / But if you want to got loaded / Why don’t you just order a shot? / Bar is open.

The Tamarind Seed (1974)

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She could be one of our most important agents over here. On holiday from her job in the civil service at the Home Office, Judith Farrow (Julie Andrews) heads to the Caribbean after ending a love affair with married Government minister Richard Paterson (David Baron). On Barbados she is befriended by debonair Russian Feodor Sverdlov (Omar Sharif). The two quickly fall in love despite his married status, but Judith’s feelings are tested when Sverdlov is revealed to be a Russian agent eager to win her over to his cause. Back in London, intelligence officer Jack Loder (Anthony Quayle) is aware of a mole in the Government and is convinced Sverdlov is trying to recruit Judith as a Soviet spy.  She is instructed never to see him again, but can’t shake the attachment and soon finds that both of their lives are in danger … With titles by Maurice Binder and a resonant piano-based score by John Barry, you’d almost think you were in a James Bond film. Blake Edwards’ adaptation of Evelyn Anthony’s 1971 novel is true to its sense of high romance, urgent drama and deep-seated tensions stemming from the clash of ideologies pulsing beneath the lust. Andrews and Sharif are extraordinarily well-matched in this stylish epic, with gorgeous photography by Freddie Young in what is a charged if relatively well-heeled and glossy depiction of the Cold War, with betrayal and assassinations and embassy parties. Perfect for a dull September evening. A few days to convince her that she is doing it for love

Eureka (1983)

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Aka River of Darkness. Once I had it all. Now I have everything. After 15 years of searching on his own, Arctic prospector Jack McCann (Gene Hackman), becomes one of the world’s wealthiest men when he literally falls into a mountain of gold in 1925. Twenty years later in 1945, he lives in luxury on Luna Bay, a Caribbean island that he owns. His riches bring no peace of mind as he feels utterly besieged:  he must deal with Helen (Jane Lapotaire), his bored, alcoholic wife; Tracy (Theresa Russell), his headstrong daughter who has married Claude Van Horn (Rutger Hauer) a dissolute, philandering, narcissistic social-climber; and Miami mobsters Aurelio D’Amato (Mickey Rourke) and Mayakofsky (Joe Pesci), who want the island to build a casino off the Florida coast but Jack is resistant to gambling and their frontman Charles Perkins (Ed Lauter) cannot persuade him to do a deal with them. I never made a nickel off another man’s sweat. When Jack is brutally murdered, his son-in-law, Claude, is arrested for the crime and put on trial … One of Nicolas Roeg’s most underrated achievements, this pseudo-biography is a fascinating portrayal of perversion and power, obsession and dread. The texture of the film, contained in lush colour coding, symbols of the occult and the ever-present stench of sex, oozes corruption and greed, decay and desire. Adapted by Paul Mayersberg from Marshall Houts’ book Who Killed Sir Harry Oakes? an account of that real-life murder in the 1940s, in which the author suggests that Meyer Lansky had Oakes killed [Pesci’s role is based on the gangster albeit this carries the conventional disclaimer], this exhibits all the familiar Roegian tropes. It also has echoes of Orson Welles as character, a director who hit the cinematic motherlode first time off the blocks and spent the remainder of his life in a kind of desperation (or so people would like to think). Hence McCann feels larger than life and is dramatised as such with Wagner soundtracking his great – almost psychedelic – discovery and Yukon poet Robert Service’s words Spell of the Yukon amplifying its myth. It isn’t the gold that he wants so much as finding the gold The allusions to Citizen Kane are clear and the portentous character of prostitute/fortune teller Frieda (Helena Kallianiotes) would appear to have at least superficial similarities with Oja Kodar, Welles’ last companion. One moment of rapture followed by decades of despair. The first line of dialogue we hear is Murder! and there is a structure which suggests destiny is being fulfilled. This is a story about disparate characters connected by blood and a morbid wish for ecstasy which suggests life but actually propels towards death. Russell’s testimony in court is gripping and Hauer as the playboy driven by the Kabbalah and other elements of the supernatural is just as good. Hackman is Hackman – he totally inhabits Jack, this man whose greatness is envied by all but whose happiest time was in the wastes of Alaska so long ago, basking in heat and light now but longing for snow.  It is this man’s ability to function as a totally singular individual that creates the chasm between himself and others, gangsters or not.  Internally he knows it is Frieda who led him to the gold that made him the richest man in the world but he decries notions of luck or superstition. His murder is an accurate depiction of what happened to Oakes and it’s terribly gruesome – sadistic and heartless. The first part of the film could be from silent movies – and the bizarre aphoristic dialogue is laughable except that it sets up the sense of supernature which dominates the narrative. Shot by Alex Thomson, edited by that magician of jagged mosaic Tony Lawson, and scored by Stanley Myers (including wonderful double bass solos composed and performed by Francois Rabbath), if this sometimes feels that it has not fully committed to the melodramatic mode (there are a lot of genres at work), the threads of gold and blood make it a satisfying and disturbing watch, with some extraordinary performances bolstering the overall effect. This is all about signs and meaning.  A mystery. The end of the beginning

Arrowsmith (1931)

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Sinclair Lewis’ great 1925 novel deals with the temptations faced by doctors who could just go on the lecture circuit and pontificate rather than do good. And these days most of them go on vast junkets financed by Big Pharma and peddle their wares to gullible patients who gobble up anti-depressants and their brain functions are rewired  – a Simon Curtis doc would suggest this was a conspiracy with western governments to suppress protests against the fundaments of modern liberal democracies … looks like the meds finally wore off, eh?! Ronald Colman decides to tackle the plague head-on after missing out on a career-enhancing opportunity, making a fatal mistake with a child suffering from diphtheria and his wife, a nurse (Helen Hayes) loses their pregnancy. He takes off to the Caribbean to fight bubonic plague and meets the woman who will become his second wife (Myrna Loy) while all around him succumb. This vastly truncated adaptation by Sidney Howard was directed at warp speed by John Ford because he was kept off the bottle for the shoot. It’s good to see Hayes – some of us only really know this legendary actress from Disney and Agatha Christie in the 70s and 80s [if anyone knows where I can see The Snoop Sisters please let me know!]; and things liven up with Loy, but her part of the story barely happens. Strange pre-Code version of a work of cultural and scientific significance by a writer who seems to have been a seer in consideration of current events, but worth catching for the performances, Alfred Newman’s score and filling any gaps in your John Ford education.