The Weekly Gravy #46

Ride the Pink Horse (1947) – ***½

A man comes by bus to the town of San Pablo. It’ll be rather a while before we discover precisely what he’s up to, but arguably, it’s even longer before he fully realizes what his path will be. But from the very start, we know he’s prepared for trouble, as he tucks a pistol inside his jacket. And we know he’s clever and methodical, as he rents a locker, tosses a small piece of paper inside of it, locks it, then buys a pack of gum and chews a piece, so he can use it to stick the key behind a map on the wall. All of this plays out in a single three-and-a-half-minute take, establishing how clever methodical Robert Montgomery is, both as director and star, since he plays the man in question.

Montgomery is looking for a hotel. He asks around, but it’s a strange young Mexican girl (Wanda Hendrix) who finally leads him there, giving him a good-luck charm before she leaves. The hotel is completely filled up thanks to San Pablo’s annual fiesta, and Montgomery uses some trickery to find the room of a man named Frank Hugo. He goes to the room, forces his way in, beats up Hugo’s secretary, and only after Hugo’s mistress Marjorie (Andrea King) arrives – and is unshaken at the sight of the secretary on the floor – does he learn that Hugo won’t be in town until the next day.

After leaving Hugo’s room, Montgomery is confronted by a man named Retz (Art Smith), who identifies him as Gagin, reveals how much he knows about what Gagin’s been doing, and discloses that he works for the government and is trying to get his own hands on Hugo. Gagin isn’t interested in working for or with him. He’s got his own path to follow. Looking for a room, he goes to the Tres Violetas cantina, where the girl – whose name, we learn, is Pila – is sitting alone out front. Inside, he tries to order a drink, but runs into difficulty when the bartender can’t make change for a twenty.

So Pancho (Thomas Gomez), a carousel operator, enters the picture, and suggests that Gagin buy him and his friends a drink to make up the difference. Gagin agrees, and they all get quite drunk, after which Pancho takes him back to his (very) humble home, cheerfully telling Gagin his own philosophy of life:

Some peoples only happy when they got money. Me, I’m only happy when I got nothing. Nothing and a friend. So long as Pancho, he’s got somebody he can tell ‘Amigo, I love you.’ That’s enough. They can keep everything else. Keep the whole world. Give Pancho…only Pancho.

Pila arrives on the scene, and Gagin convinces Pancho to let her ride on the carousel, suggesting she ride the pink horse. After this, Retz shows up and tells Gagin that Hugo’s men are looking for him, offering him shelter in his own room. Gagin declines, Retz leaves, and the motley trio of Gagin, Pila, and Pancho finally call it a night.

At this point, we’re around a third of the way through the film; we have yet to meet the villain and yet to learn Gagin’s scheme. But perhaps we’ve had the real theme of the film established for us; the value of friendship, and moreover the primacy of friendship over material wealth. We soon learn that Gagin means to blackmail Hugo, and that he’s doing so in retaliation for the murder of an old friend. But as it becomes obvious just how ruthless Hugo is, Gagin starts to realize that simply soaking him – or trying to – isn’t the way to get his revenge.

The power of friendship might seem an odd theme for a noir, but Ride the Pink Horse is a very strange noir, all the more so because it manages to have a humane theme and a fairly happy ending without becoming sappy about it. That strangeness comes in part from the slippery nature of Gagin himself, underlined by Montgomery’s performance, at times echoing his comic turns in films like Here Comes Mr. Jordan while never straying too far from the darkness and determination that have us wondering if Gagin will make it out of the story alive – and if not, how many others he’ll take with him.

Like many noir protagonists, Gagin isn’t terribly likable; he treats Pila pretty harshly at times, making numerous racist jokes at her expense and scorning her appearance. But just as we’re never quite sure if he wants revenge for his friend or just wants to make a quick buck, so his relationship with Pila develops throughout the film in surprising, even touching ways; I don’t think it’s much of a spoiler to say they don’t end up together, but they’re both better for having spent what time together they have. Compare their relationship to Hugo’s chilly relationship with Marjorie, or Gagin’s friendship with Pancho to Hugo’s purely transactional connection to his associates; it’s Gagin’s ability, however strained, to connect to others and value them as people, that puts him above men like Hugo.

To be sure, we never do get the best idea of what Hugo’s business is, or why exactly the instrument of Gagin’s blackmail – an apparently incriminating check – is such a big deal. Either I missed something or it’s a total MacGuffin, and I’m leaning towards the latter. Ride the Pink Horse isn’t really about blackmail or even about its story as much as it’s about character and mood. And while it does fall short of true greatness in part because it meanders when it should luxuriate in atmosphere, it comes awfully close because the atmosphere and characters are so well rendered.

As noted, Montgomery is a rather intriguing anti-hero, balancing the comedic and dramatic aspects of his performance while making his third-act incapacitation – he spends most of the last act on the verge of passing out and delirious from pain – wholly convincing. Gomez earned an Oscar nomination (the first Latin American performer so to do), and he really is quite good, lusty and full of life but never losing sight of Pancho’s humanity, making the scene where he endures a beating to keep Gagin safe all the more affecting. And Smith might be even better as the wily Retz, who’s friendly, even folksy (“I like to eat with my hands. Gets me closer to the food”), but is nobody’s fool, least of all Gagin’s.

As Hugo, Fred Clark takes a while to appear, but when he does, his odd energy, a kind of deadpan sliminess (if the film was ever remade, Roger Guenveur Smith would be an ideal casting choice), more than makes up for it. He’s cold and calculating, yet with a dry, prickly sense of humor that’s great fun to watch, especially in the climactic scene where he tries to have a coherent conversation with the delirious Gagin. He also does some fine prop work with Hugo’s hearing aid, one of the earliest films that I know of to depict such a device; it becomes a distinctive part of the character without feeling like a gimmick.

I have more mixed feelings about Hendrix’s performance as Pila; her brownface makeup and accent (along with the broken English she speaks) are awkward to behold nowadays, but she’s convincing as a figure of genuine innocence who learns a thing or two about the world but doesn’t lose her integrity in the process. King, however, is a fine femme fatale as Marjorie, doing her damnedest to rope Gagin into her schemes but running up against his implacability. Like Hugo, she can’t quite comprehend that Gagin might ultimately care about something more than money.

Montgomery’s direction is smart and straight-forward, with the few really showy touches only adding to the atmosphere and characters; for example, when Hugo’s men beat up Pancho, we see things from the perspective of the carousel, with the fight only fleetingly visible as we whirl past but with the painful sounds always audible. It’s a stark contrast to Montgomery’s previous effort, Lady in the Lake, which was shot entirely with subjective camera (not, apparently, all that successfully). Russell Metty’s cinematography is quite effective, less heavy on the chiaroscuro than your typical noir but with some very graceful movement throughout.

And the script, by Ben Hecht and Charles Lederer from the novel by Dorothy B. Hughes, revels in the quirks of character and setting which transcend the fairly standard storyline, while touching deftly upon themes like the disillusionment of veterans and the intersection of cultures. It all makes for the kind of offbeat little gem which easily could’ve been totally overlooked – and for many years was largely unavailable – but now sits comfortably in the Criterion Collection, ready to intrigue and baffle a whole new generation of viewers.

Score: 85

Werewolves Within (2021) – **½

Werewolves Within is the kind of film which will either convince you of its cleverness and sweep you up in gales of laughter, or will convince you of its overwhelming self-satisfaction and leave you grimly unamused. Not unlike Jojo Rabbit, I found myself surrounded by people who were delighted by what they saw and heard, whilst I scarcely cracked a smile. Jojo at least had some good acting and worked decently well in its dramatic moments, but Werewolves, two solid leading turns of its own aside, peaks early and gradually slides into a muddle of unlikable and uninteresting characters, generic plotting, self-conscious filmmaking, and tiresome humor. It’s not really that bad – maybe the problem was at least partly on my end – but it really didn’t click for me at all. Your mileage may vary.

Finn (Sam Richardson) is a Park Service ranger newly assigned to the secluded New England town of Beaverfield. He soon makes friends with mail carrier Cecily (Milana Vayntrub) and learns about how the community is split over whether or not to support a pipeline which Parker (Wayne Duvall) wants to build. The same evening that a severe snowstorm knocks out the power and leaves Beaverfield cut off from the outside world, a mysterious attack on the life of a small dog, followed by the discovery of a local man’s mutilated corpse, spurs fears among the townsfolk that a werewolf may be afoot. As night falls, the question of when the werewolf might strike again, and who it might be, inflames the existing tensions in the community, such that they may be in more danger from each other than the werewolf. Finn does his best to get to the bottom of things and stop the carnage.

First, the positives: Richardson is quite good as Finn, being a protagonist we can root for and a funny comic lead, even if the script saddles him with a bit too much “awkward” humor. And Vayntrub is a fun and sprightly as Cecily, who’s a bit too good to be true, but also fits perfectly within the heightened context. And there are a number of amusing moments sprinkled throughout, mostly courtesy of Richardson and Vayntrub, although Glenn Fleishler also has some nice moments as the bestial Emerson (imagine a more feral Ron Swanson).

Most of the funny scenes, however, come before the story firmly shifts to horror and the emphasis is more on the quirky behavior of the Beaverfield townsfolk and the sweetly goofy dynamic between Finn and Cecily. Once the werewolf makes its presence known, however, there’s a lot of hammy screaming and associated hysterics, a lot of smash-cuts that are so obviously meant to be hilarious they land with a thud, and a few dashes of eye-roll-inducing topical humor, which turns into a full-on deluge in the final scenes (with some stale meta-commentary for good measure).

I simply grew tired of the characters, of the acting, of Mishna Wolff’s script (based on a videogame!) and Josh Ruben’s direction, both so enthralled with their own supposed witty precision, of the twists which draw the film out to a suitable length and are likewise supposed to amuse us, but didn’t really amuse me. I was over the jabs at rural conservatives and urban liberals, over the gay stereotypes, redneck stereotypes, and the general atmosphere of paranoia and recrimination.

Maybe I just watched it on the wrong day – as I said, the rest of the audience seemed to like it pretty well, and the reviews have been quite good. But it’s a bit like Willy’s Wonderland, in that I can see how it might provide ample gross amusement, but it simply fails to click with me at all. It’s the kind of film that makes my eyes glaze over as I try to sift through my memories in order to review it. But maybe it’ll be to your taste. It just wasn’t to mine.

Score: 58

Girlfriends (1978) – ***

There’s an intriguing ambiguity at the heart of Girlfriends, reflected by the film’s very title and how it’s rendered. In the film itself it’s definitely one word, but on the poster and some home video releases, it’s two words. Likewise, before actually seeing the film I was never entirely sure if Susan (Melanie Mayron) and Anne (Anita Skinner) were romantically involved in any sense. Partway through the film, Susan decisively says Anne was “my roommate, not my lover” in response to another woman’s advances, but her feelings of abandonment and betrayal after Anne abruptly moves out to marry Martin (Bob Balaban) are enough to keep you wondering if Susan might’ve at least had romantic feelings for Anne. That Mayron herself is a lesbian only deepens the ambiguity, but in the film her depicted relationships are all with men.

In 1978, Girlfriends was quite well received, making the NBR Top 10 list, earning newcomer-award nominations for Mayron (from the BAFTAs) and Skinner (from the Globes), and being praised by none other than Stanley Kubrick. But since then it’s fallen into comparative obscurity, and was fairly hard to find until it was added to the Criterion Collection (which is how I saw it). It doesn’t help that, despite earning much notice as one of the relatively few female directors in the industry at the time, director Claudia Weill only made one more theatrical feature (the totally forgotten It’s My Turn) before moving into television direction for the rest of her career. Making an impact is one thing, but making a living is quite another.

It also might not help that, in the decades since its release, scores of independent films have trod the same ground as Girlfriends, and some have done it better; many viewers have noted the similarities in tone and subject matter between Girlfriends and Frances Ha, also about two devoted roommates who are pulled apart by impending marriage, leaving the other to find her way, both professionally in the New York art scene (Susan is a photographer, Frances is a dancer), and romantically. I haven’t rewatched Frances Ha since I saw it in theaters, but I remember quite liking it, especially for Greta Gerwig’s performance.

What I don’t quite remember is if Frances Ha is as totally episodic as Girlfriends proves to be. In under 90 minutes, Girlfriends covers what seems to be at least a year and a half, maybe more, often presenting flashes from Susan’s life with comparatively little context. Supporting characters come and go, sometimes rather abruptly; for example, Ceil (Amy Wright), an aspiring dancer and hitchhiker Susan picks up, moves into her apartment, makes herself rather comfortable (and tries to make advances towards Susan), and after Susan suggests she move out, is never seen or referred to again. Other elements, like Anne’s pregnancy, are glossed over; we go from her revealing she’s going to have a child to her daughter being at least a few months old, with very little sight of her in between.

The effect is that we never get to know the characters to quite the degree we’d like, and although Weill captures the milieu of 70s New York pretty well (she was an experienced documentarian, which doubtless helped), we’re not really drawn into the story, since there’s really not that much of a story, simply the passage of time. Susan’s romantic entanglements, first with an older rabbi (Eli Wallach) and then with a young teacher (Christopher Guest), provide much of the through-line, along with her efforts to get her work noticed, but the film’s approach means we get tantalizing glimpses and well-observed details without the real emotional absorption that would make for a truly distinctive experience.

To be sure, it’s well done, nicely directed by Weill and with some fine details in Vicki Polon’s script, well acted, especially by Mayron and Wallach, but with solid turns from Skinner (who made exactly one other film, the horror-thriller Sole Survivor, before vanishing from the industry) and Balaban. And Michael Small’s score is rather lovely, drawing heavily upon klezmer music to develop the Jewish atmosphere. Indeed, the theme of Jewishness adds some intriguing layers to the film, especially in Susan’s relationship with the WASPy Anne and her bond with Wallach, which provides some of the film’s sweetest and most fully realized scenes, like when she discusses her own childhood interest in becoming a rabbi, and he says she’d have been a good one.

All in all, Girlfriends is a likable little film and an important milestone in the histories of American independent film and films written, directed, and about women. But for better or worse – mainly better, I should think – the films which came in its wake reached greater heights and explored their characters with greater nuance. There’s a tricky balance in recognizing that which came first while acknowledging it isn’t quite the best. But it’s more worth seeing than not.

Score: 74