As John Huston
was preparing 1946’s The Big Sleep,
based on Raymond Chandler’s pulp fiction detective thriller, he was faced with
a baffling question. Who killed the Sternwood’s chauffeur, Sean Regan? Unable
to find closure from his team of writers, Huston contacted the author himself
who promptly informed the director that he really hadn’t a clue. Indeed, like
Hitchcock and his MacGuffins, the murder in Chandler’s novel was incidental to
the interplay between his fictional hero, Philip Marlowe and the nefarious
characters met along the way. Chandler’s great strength as a writer was, is and
will forever remain his crackling dialogue and ability to create fascinating
situations in and of themselves. But from a purely narrative perspective
Chandler tended to get lost in his stories. Not that it made any difference to
his readers. In fact, perusing Chandler’s writing today one remains struck by
its readability in spite of its lack of cohesion.
Chandler’s
popularity was arguably not lost on author Ross Macdonald, who inherited the
mantle from Chandler in the late 1960s and proved to be as cryptic in his crime
writing prose as his predecessor. Director Jack Smight’s Harper (1966) is therefore The
Big Sleep of its generation: a thoroughly convoluted story of abduction,
murder and spousal betrayal. Like The
Big Sleep, Harper is a movie of
immense style; its stunning use of California locations spectacularly
photographed by Conrad L. Hall, and its ensemble cast, featuring some of the
best in the business, working overtime to throw the film’s protagonist, P.I.
Lew Harper (Paul Newman) completely off
his game. For most of its 121 minutes the audience is just as disoriented as
our hero. The strength of the piece is not the ‘who’ in this who done it,
but in the man himself: Lew Harper - much too tough for the fellas, while
remaining way too sexy for the ladies.
By 1966 the
detective/thriller, a main staple throughout the 1940s in American cinema, had
lost much of its appeal with audiences. Indeed, nothing quite like Harper had been attempted on the screen
for a very long while. All the more reason to admire Harper for its slick and stylish resurrection of this subgenre;
with its hard-edged hero, flirtatious sex kittens and unscrupulous villains
creating a milieu of danger and social deviants out for all they can get. Harper slinks across the screen with
its modish trappings and hairpin plot twists like a pulp fiction masterpiece;
soaking up the California sunshine even as it casts a spurious pall over
everything.
William
Goldman’s screenplay is an enigma. Who kidnapped millionaire Ralph Sampson gets
buried beneath a much more fascinating series of unfortunate events. Our story
opens on a typical day in the seemingly unglamorous life of Lew Harper, who
awakens in his undershirt and boxers inside his rundown apartment/office, blinded
by the mid-morning sun, and thereafter rescuing yesterday’s stained coffee
filter from the garbage to brew a fresh pot. From this rather inauspicious
debut we delve into the alternative universe of Bel Air; a moneyed playground
where the ultra-rich laze around poolside all day without a care in the world.
Except on this particular day the physically disabled egotist, Elaine Sampson
(Lauren Bacall) has discovered that her husband Ralph (whom we never see) has
disappeared without a trace.
Elaine, who is
not nearly as concerned as she ought to be, nevertheless finds it prudent to
inform the family’s milquetoast attorney, Albert Graves (Arthur Hill) about
Ralph’s absence and Albert, in turn, pawns the assignment off on his close
friend, Lew Harper. Harper wastes no time interviewing Elaine, who is both
flirtatious yet strangely aloof, suspecting that Ralph is off with another
woman. Harper then finds Ralph’s daughter, Miranda (Pamela Tiffin) frugging in
a bikini by the pool while the missing millionaire’s private pilot, Alan
Taggert (Robert Wagner) casually looks on. Harper nicknames Alan ‘beauty’
because of his bronzed Apollo appeal. Miranda wants to be ‘Beauty’s girl’. If
only he didn’t view her as just another rich little diversion to pass the time.
‘Beauty’ takes
Miranda and Harper to Ralph’s private bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel to
search for clues. She feigns a seduction toward Harper that ends when Harper
pretends he’d be willing to take advantage of her inside Ralph’s bedroom – a
garish nightmare fancifully decorated in violent purple and cheaply golden
astrological signs. Finding a glamorous photo of ex-movie star Fay Estabrook
(Shelly Winters) among Ralph’s belongings Harper inquiries, “Whatever happened to her?” to which
‘Beauty’ laughingly declares, “She got
fat!”
Pretending to
be an adoring fan from Texas, Harper fakes an ‘accidental’ rendezvous with Fay
at a nightclub. He quickly gets her drunk on flattery and cheap booze, taking
Fay home where she promptly passes out. Searching her bungalow in haste, Harper
intercepts a telephone call meant for Fay’s husband, Dwight Troy (Robert
Webber) from Betty Fraley (Julie Harris) – a drug addicted lounge singer who
forewarns that ‘someone’ (Harper) is skulking around their past. When Harper
reveals that he is not Troy, Betty abruptly hangs up and Troy, who has been
hiding in the bungalow all along, emerges to shoo Harper away at gunpoint.
Harper tracks
Betty down at the beatnik nightclub where she sings and directly threatens to
turn her in to narcotics after observing fresh needle marks on her arm. But
Betty gets one of the bouncers, Puddler (Roy Jenson) to carpet-haul Harper into
the alley behind the club instead. ‘Beauty’ intervenes, knocking Puddler
unconscious with Harper’s gun. The two hurry back to Fay’s bungalow where
Harper continues his search while ‘Beauty’ keeps watch outside. Hearing
gunshots, Harper rushes outside and attempts to stop a truck that is speeding
away from the property. He narrowly averts getting run over.
The next day
Harper collects Miranda for a trip to the mountaintop temple that was
bequeathed by Ralph to Claude (Strother Martin) presumably for the purposes of
establishing a religious retreat. Harper isn’t fooled by Claude’s re-born
piety, recognizing the familiar tire treads from the same truck left in the
dust just outside the religious compound. Meanwhile, Elaine is sent a ransom note
written in Ralph’s hand, asking her to cash in a half million dollars in bonds.
Harper deduces that the kidnapper is an insider. With Beauty and Albert’s
complicity he attempts a fake drop off at an abandoned oil refinery. Instead a
struggle ensues and one of the kidnappers (Tom Steele) plummets to his death. Harper
finds a matchbook inside the dead man’s coat pocket for a bar called ‘The
Corner’ and plies his craft to pump the waitress and bartender for more
information. He quickly learns that the deceased was Eddie Fraley – Betty’s
brother who also made a long distance call to someone in Vegas three nights
before using The Corner’s payphone.
Harper then
identifies the same truck that tried to run him over parked just outside.
Waiting for the driver, Harper tails the truck to Claude’s temple where he is
ambushed by Claude and Troy who have been using it as a front to smuggle illegal
immigrants. Taken to an abandoned shack to be further pummeled by Puddler,
Harper instead manages to break free, kill Puddler and escape. He arrives at
his estranged wife, Susan’s (Janet Leigh) bungalow a disheveled mess. Although
bitter over their breakup, Susan takes pity on Harper. The two share an
intimate night together and Harper – true to form – runs out on her the next
morning.
On the pretext
of needing to borrow a clean shirt, Harper confronts ‘Beauty’ about his involvement
with Betty Fraley. The two are involved in Ralph’s kidnapping. ‘Beauty’ admits
as much, but then draws a gun on Harper whom he intends to murder. Instead,
Albert bursts in, shooting and killing ‘Beauty’. Harper races over to Betty’s
home in Castle Beach where she is presently being tortured with cigarette burns
applied to the bare soles of her feet by Troy as Claude and Fay look on. Betty
confesses the whereabouts of the hidden ransom. Harper breaks through one of
the window, killing Troy, knocking Claude unconscious and locking Fay inside a closet.
Harper then rescues Betty, who tells him that Ralph is being held captive inside
an abandoned oil tanker. Next, Harper telephones Albert to meet them at the
shipyards.
All, however,
does not go according to plan. Leaving Betty to wait in his car, Harper rushes
into the tanker where he is promptly knocked unconscious by an unseen attacker.
Arriving late to the scene, Albert revives Harper only to discover Ralph
murdered inside one of the ship’s compartments. Harper learns that Betty has
stolen his car. He and Albert make chase in Albert’s car along a narrow
hillside. In her zeal to get away Betty loses control and plummets to her
death. Harper telephones Elaine with the news of Ralph’s demise that seems to
satisfy her immensely.
On the drive
back to Elaine’s Harper confides in Albert that he suspects him of Ralph’s
murder, citing that anyone involved in the heist would have searched his pockets
for the key to the locker – something Harper still has on him. Albert confesses: he thought Ralph a
despicable man who toyed with people for his own amusement. Pulling up to
Elaine’s, Harper informs Albert that he intends to give her back the ransom
money and that the only way Albert can hope to escape prosecution is by
shooting him in the back. Albert draws his pistol on Harper as he slowly walks
toward the front door. But at the last possible moment both men have a change
of heart – presumably out of their mutual friendship.
Right from its
opening, through its jigsaw puzzle plotting, until its morally obscure ending, Harper isn’t so much complex as it
remains perplexing. Like The Big Sleep
the pieces simply do not add up. Also like The
Big Sleep, Harper proves an engaging riddle with no easy explanation. Both
films are immeasurably blessed with strong leading men: Big Sleep’s Bogart vs.
Harper’s Newman – an entirely different, though arguably just as ambiguous anti-hero.
Both Bogart’s Philip Marlowe and Lew Harper know how to perpetuate the game on
their suspects and women alike and each finds sadistic pleasure derived from
their seedy profession.
But Paul
Newman’s Lew Harper is a man of few words, so perfectly timed they elicit a concise
snapshot that makes him immediately loveable. How much of Lew Harper’s appeal is based on
our appreciation of Newman’s own persona is debatable, and in truth Newman has
never entirely been able to eschew his own presence on the screen to ‘become’ any character. Like Cary Grant, he is ever
present as himself - or a reasonable facsimile that we, the audience, assume is
really what Paul Newman in the flesh, and out of the spotlight, must be like.
However, this assessment of Newman – the star – does not negate the pleasure of
watching him work. On the contrary, the observation of the man apart from his
craft, or perhaps in spite of it, is a sheer delight. Newman is a star – period
- and stars of his caliber are as rare among our contemporary ilk of
celebrities as the ghost flowers from that golden vintage in Hollywood’s
history when movies really were larger than life.
The other half
of Harper’s enjoyment is quelled
from the elegant roster of solid talents amassed to back Newman up. Lauren
Bacall, Julie Harris, Shelly Winters, Robert Wagner, et al. provide a sort of Around the World in 80 Days ‘look who’s here’ experience, giving off
the necessary ‘built-in’ feel good viewing. We look forward to what come next because of ‘who’ comes next in the lineup. The last
great good fortune visited upon the film is Conrad Hall’s lush cinematography,
as much a time capsule of swingin’ 60s California mod as it provides a lavishly
appointed backdrop in all its high key lighting and interesting camera set ups.
Claude E. Carpenter’s set decoration and Alfred Sweeney’s art direction take
off as a gold coast travelogue. Because
of its many assets, not only does the lack of cohesion in William Goldman’s
screenplay not sink the picture; but it doesn’t make any difference at all. Harper’s ‘what me worry?’ approach to storytelling is mirrored in the
character’s laissez faire attitudes toward his profession and life itself and
in director Jack Smight’s casual aversion to clarifying the story any further. In
the final analysis, Harper is a
valiant successor to The Big Sleep
in practically every way. Its success at the box office briefly resurrected the
appeal of detective thrillers on the big screen. Predictably, none that
followed it matched Harper as a
class act.
Warner Home
Video’s DVD is fairly impressive, though I would prefer the studio get around
to giving us a new 1080p Blu-ray in 2013. I won’t hold my breath, however. What we have is a very fine looking DVD
indeed; anamorphic widescreen with bold, refined colors. Flesh tones are
extremely natural. Colors in general, but particularly reds and greens, pop.
Fine detail is strongly represented and contrast levels look as they ought to:
solid, deep blacks and very clean whites. Either the original film elements
were in very good condition to begin with or Warner Home Video has done some
serious restoration work on this title because everything is as it should be.
Age related artifacts are all but nonexistent and film grain looks very good
overall. The audio is 5.1 Dolby Digital, dated but strong, with good spatial
separation. Harper also gets an
audio commentary. William Goldman isn’t all that comprehensive in his thoughts,
yet it is nevertheless fascinating to hear what he has to say. Bottom line: highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
2
No comments:
Post a Comment