THE PRIZE: Blu-ray (MGM, 1963) Warner Archive

In 1959, buoyed by his determination to see if he could write ‘the Hitchcock thriller to end all Hitchcock thrillers’, screenwriter, Ernest Lehman conceived the elegant, North by Northwest. The Long Island-born, six-time Oscar bridesmaid (who shamelessly never won), Lehman’s career marks one of the best examples of proficiency and versatility in Hollywood, with 1954’s Sabrina, 1956’s The King and I, and, Somebody Up There Likes Me, 1957’s Sweet Smell of Success, 1961’s West Side Story, 1965’s The Sound of Music, 1966’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and 1969’s Hello Dolly! among his formidable hit-making roster of bona fide classics. If copycatting remains the highest form of flattery, then arguably, Lehman is cribbing from the best with The Prize (1963); borrowing rather heavily from his finer treatment of that aforementioned Hitchcock masterpiece, though on this occasion, not altogether successfully. The Prize is an interesting, though sincerely flawed blend of politics, international intrigues and repeatedly delayed flagrante delictos; Lehman and director, Mark Robson, transparently hoping to rekindle the exhilaration of that ‘other’ caper – this one, set in Stockholm and capitalizing on the reputation of Nobel to generate interest. The Prize stars stud du jour, Paul Newman as Andrew Craig, an arrogant American author who becomes embroiled in the treasonous kidnapping plot of German scientist, Max Stratman (Edward G. Robinson) – the latter, replaced with a near-perfect clone, just prior to the presentation ceremonies.

Problem #1 for Lehman: Paul Newman is no Cary Grant. Problem #2: Mark Robson is not Hitchcock. The Prize lumbers through its politically-charged blunders; Robson, delaying – and even deflating the edginess as Newman’s rather boorish one-note man-about-town bumbles his way through several patently analogous vignettes that only serve to remind us how much better Lehman’s work was under Hitchcock five years earlier. It’s curious too, since Robson is an accomplished director in his own right. He not only edited three of producer Val Lewton’s greatest thrillers (1942’s Cat People, and 1943’s I Walked with A Zombie, and, The Leopard Man), but also shot for Lewton, The Seventh Victim (1943), Isle of the Dead (1945) and Bedlam (1946) with nail-biting tenacity. Arguably, it’s Lehman’s own parallels between The Prize and North by Northwest that hurt the picture the most: inescapable and, arguably, badly achieved; Andrew Craig’s disruption of a nudist colony’s annual meeting, painfully reminiscent of Cary Grant’s superbly played interference at an art house auction in North by Northwest, switched for Newman’s frenzied pleas to be taken seriously while clutching a towel, or later, being pursued – fully clothed, mind you, by a marauding Mercedes down a narrow bridge, the counterpart to Grant’s iconic fleeing from a diabolical crop duster.

Newman’s career during this period relied heavily on the actor playing against type; subverting his good looks behind a sullen façade, perhaps taking the work a wee too seriously as the proverbial ‘serious’ actor:  a very narrow tightrope with zero options to play light comedy. Alas, at intervals throughout The Prize, Newman is expected to be the charming bon vivant, to enjoy the cream of the jest no less, by poking fun at himself and others with a boulevardier’s light – if lascivious touch. Alas, most of the sporty one-liners Lehman affords Newman fall flat, as Newman substitutes a sort of morose pomposity for congeniality. He also seems rather ill at ease, as the suave romantic, opposite Elke Sommer’s glacial sexpot, Inger Lisa Andersson, or even Diane Baker’s more mischievous, Emily Stratman – who may or may not be out to do him harm. Newman’s Andrew Craig is not charming, but a boozy brute; just the sort that the ‘Me Too’ movement would delight to castrate for taking liberties with the opposite sex. Baker matches Newman’s caustic comedic tone tit for tat. So, their chemistry ought to have started a three-alarm blaze of kinetic sexual frustration. In point of fact, their all too brief ‘cute meet’ does crackle with precisely the type of badinage Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint possessed in North by Northwest, as Baker’s Emily playfully usurps Andrew’s prized male initiative with a faux invitation to take her home. But then, Emily’s motives grow shadowy and Andrew becomes suspicious; the plot, such as it is, veering into a dangerous conflagration of half-baked chases, too much skulking around, and a truly implausible slam-bang finish, predictably to tie up all loose ends far too conveniently.   

The other hurdle for The Prize is Mark Robson’s ‘slow as molasses in January’ direction. The real story, Max Stratman’s kidnapping, takes far too long to get off the ground; Lehman’s screenplay, kick-starting with an extended, and fairly dull, prologue whereupon two hotel porters, Hilding (Karl Swenson) and Oscar (John Qualen), are in screwball competition for grazing rights to deliver trays of goodies to the suites of the various Nobel laureates. Meant to introduce the audience to the picture’s weighty international cast, what we actually get is a boatload of red herrings. Most of these high-profile names immediately take the proverbial backseat to Andrew Craig’s aforementioned amateur sleuthing. Even Edward G. Robinson (playing Max, and ‘an actor’ impersonating his twin brother, Walter) gets D-listed in this bum’s rush. So, is it any wonder the likes of Kevin McCarthy (as Dr. John Garrett), Sergio Fantoni (Dr. Carlo Farelli), Micheline Presle (Dr. Denise Marceau) and, Gérard Oury (Dr. Claude Marceau) are utterly wasted as set dressing? Presiding Master of Ceremonies, Count Bertil Jacobsson (Leo G. Carroll) is a chronic worry wart and with good cause. Dr. Garrett is certain Dr. Farelli stole his earlier findings to advance his own research; both men awarded the Nobel for the same medical discovery. Meanwhile, owing to Andrew Craig’s penchant for women and wine, Jacobsson has assigned Inger Lisa Andersson as a sort of attaché (babysitter, is more like it), to keep tabs on the man of the hour and see to it his vices do not get the better of him while he is in Stockholm.

Checking into his hotel, Craig is introduced to another laureate, Dr. Max Stratman, a German-American physicist, accompanied by his niece, Emily. Unlike Craig, Stratman is elated to be recognized for his work. Craig takes notice of Stratman’s ebullient personality and his willingness to have his picture taken for the papers. However, when Craig meets Stratman a second time during the press conference, Stratman has no memory of their earlier encounter; nor is he eager to entertain the press for photographs. Craig is confused, and ought to be, as two nights before the real Max Stratman, after being approached by East German agent, Hans Eckhart (John Wengraf), ordering him to renounce the Nobel Prize and defect from the United States, has been forcibly kidnapped and replaced with an actor pretending to be Stratman. Emily is quite aware of this bait and switch, but has been as fooled into believing the man she is presently squiring around town is Stratman’s brother, Walter – playing the part to ensure Max’s safe return. While the fake Stratman’s interview with the press is short and direct, Craig uses his opportunity to discount not only his prize for literature, but also the press’ interest in him for having won it. He openly admits that none of his novels have made him a dime, and, after years of writer’s block, he has all but given up on his highly anticipated next project, Return to Cathage, instead, supporting himself under a nom de plume, writing lurid and pulpy detective stories. Pressed for an example of how one creates a detective story, Craig lays his cards on the table, suggesting a scenario: that Stratman is an impostor. While marginally amused by this premise, virtually no one at the conference takes Craig seriously.

Having been awarded the Nobel for chemistry, husband and wife researchers, doctors, Denise and Claude Marceau are on the verge of divorce, thanks to Claude’s philandering with his secretary, the sultry Monique Souvir (Jacqueline Beer). Deviating from the central narrative even further, Denise tempts Craig in a ploy to win Claude’s affections by feigning a romantic entanglement between them to make her husband jealous. Inexplicably, Craig, who is usually disinterested in his fellow man, now takes an even more invested interest in learning why Stratman failed to recognize him at the conference. His curiosity is peaked by a rather cryptic phone call from make-up artist, Oscar Lindblom (Sven Hugo Borg). However, upon arriving at Lindblom’s squalid apartment, Craig discovers Oscar murdered and his assailant, Daranyi (Sacha Pitoëff) lurking behind drawn curtains. Pursuing Daranyi to an elevated platform, Craig is fooled, then pushed over the edge by his attacker, plummeting several stories into the river and narrowly run over by an approaching tugboat. Squaring things away with the police, Lisa is unimpressed by Craig’s explanation; more so when, arriving at Lindblom’s apartment again, the couple, accompanied by the police, are greeted by a woman (Alice Frost) claiming to be the late man’s wife (yet, another scene excised wholesale from North by Northwest). Besides, it is all just too, too fantastic.

Sometime later, Lisa agrees to act as Craig’s date for an elegant soiree given in the hotel’s ballroom for the various laureates.  There, Craig recognizes Daranyi, playing the part of a waiter. Openly questioning Daranyi, Jacobsson assures Craig he is mistaken about the man’s identity as every hotel employee has been heavily pre-screened to assure safety. Craig makes a valiant, but bungled attempt to tail Daranyi, but winds up being pursued by East German spy, Ivar Cramer (Don Dubbins) and Daranyi, who now mean to do him harm. Pursued down a narrow bridge by Cramer and Daranyi, Craig scurries on foot to a nearby arena, ducking inside, only to realize a chapter meeting of a local nudist’s colony is in full swing; virtually, all of its participants, naked. Craig is forced to strip down, but repeatedly interrupts the speaker to press the matter of his imminent peril. When no one takes him seriously yet again, he sets about to create such a disturbance that the speaker has no choice but to send for the police. Again, Lisa is unimpressed. Only this time, Craig is convincing enough that she is willing to take pity on him. To silence Craig from blabbing the truth to the press, Daranyi takes Lisa hostage to the nearby shipyards, boarding a vessel unloading brand new Mercedes from its cargo hold. Exploring the bowels of the ship, Craig finds Lisa nursing a badly enfeebled Stratman. With Lisa’s help, Craig manages to smuggle Stratman inside one of the Mercedes; he and Lisa, following in another.

Reunited on the docks, Craig car-jacks one of the cars, driving Stratman and Lisa back to the hotel. Meanwhile, the presentation ceremonies are getting underway. Emily learns she has been used. But Stratman, having been deprived proper food and care these past several days, now suffers a near-fatal heart attack. Lisa fetches doctors Garrett and Farelli, who burst into the suite to find Stratman unconscious and without a heartbeat. Tearing off the wires of a nearby lamp, Farelli, against Garrett’s strenuous objections, makes the executive decision to shock Stratman’s heart by applying these live leads to the old man’s chest. The experiment works and Stratman is saved. Garrett now realizes Farelli’s research was not embezzled from his own and the two doctors regard one another with mutual appreciation. Despite his precarious health, Stratman rises to the occasion, dressing in his tux in record time to collect his prize. This sends the actor playing Stratman into a tizzy and he flees the podium. As Daranyi too has come to the ceremony to silence the old man with his switchblade, he mistakes the actor as his intended victim and fatally stabs him. As Lisa and Emily comfort the dying man, he strips away his mask to reveal himself to them. Craig makes chase after Daranyi to the rooftops. The men struggle, Daranyi fatally pushed off the edge and to his death as Craig quickly returns to the presentation ceremony to collect his award. In the audience, a sweaty-palmed Jacobsson gives himself a silent pat on the back. Quite unaware of what has only just transpired, his voice-over suggests all his worrying was needless.

The last twenty minutes of The Prize are a frenetic race against time with director, Robson picking up the pace a little too late to make much of an impact. If anything, the penultimate rescue of Stratman is incidental to the, as yet, incomplete showdown between Newman’s amateur sleuth and the East German goon, Daranyi who segues from ruthless and beady-eyed killer to bumbling incompetent. The biggest problem with The Prize is it sets up far too many dead-end subplots to effectively integrate any of them into the complex fabric of this otherwise thoroughly convoluted whodunit. The Marceau’s problematic marriage, Claude’s affair with his secretary, Lisa’s marginal interest in Craig, and, Craig’s burgeoning passion for Emily are nothing more substantial than reflections in a fun house full of smoke and mirrors, clumsily crafted by Lehman to repeatedly throw the audience off. While all points to Lehman’s expertly crafted North by Northwest expertly converged on the tragically mis-identified Roger Thornhill (Cary Grant) and his ill-fated love affair with Eve Kendall (Eva Marie-Saint), the love angle between Baker’s Emily and Newman’s Craig is so slight in The Prize one sincerely wonders why Lehman even bothered to include it, especially since, for a brief wrinkle in act three, it appeared as though Craig and Lisa were being prepped as the item du jour.

Lehman appears to have fallen in love with the cloak and dagger of it all – gone too far down the proverbial rabbit hole in his writing to find his way out without cutting at least a few corners before the film’s 2 hr. 14 min. allotment runs out. The nudist scene, then heavily promoted as ‘daring’ for its time, is actually quite tame; a lot of taut and tanned male bodies, hairy-chested and muscled, shot from the waist up, with a few supple female forms, photographed either from the shoulders up, or with a towel artfully placed to conceal. This is about as far as 1963 could go, and frankly, about as far as any movie should that is not set in a nudist colony just for kicks and giggles. The action sequences are rather laughably bad, particularly Craig’s toss off the elevated platform; shot with Newman in extreme close-up, arms flailing about, against a rear projection plate of the fast approaching river, dizzily spinning out of control. Craig’s near-death encounter on foot with Daranyi and Ivar driving after him along the narrow bridge also lacks the necessary exhilaration to sell it with all the ferocity of a Cary Grant being mercilessly hunted down by a biplane in a cornfield. Finally, Stratman’s daring rescue from the boat is hampered by Craig and Lisa having to drag this weakened elder statesman as though rigor mortis had already set in. It’s all meant to be scary, sexy good fun, but in the last analysis, this movie is certainly no prize!

The Prize arrives on Blu-ray via the Warner Archive (WAC). I have stated it before and will state it once again. I sincerely wish WAC would start getting around to releasing more of their embarrassment of riches still MIA in hi-def, than wasting time, energies and money on B-grade fluff like The Prize. There is no point listing a choice few of the deep catalog classics that may or may never see the light of day. WAC knows what its holdings are and how much work is involved in remastering a lot of them for Blu-ray. But the work needs to commence, folks – and soon. While The Prize will appeal to Paul Newman completionists, it is a middling effort by the star, the screenwriter and the director. Want a true Newman classic released to Blu? Try Somebody Up There Likes Me. Want a bona fide Edward G. Robinson movie? Pick 1939’s Confessions of a Nazi Spy; Mark Robson…I Walked with a Zombie, The Seventh Victim; Ernie Lehman? How about 1954’s Executive Suite? You get my point. WAC has tons of goodies that would have better represented these talents in hi-def than The Prize.

But what of The Prize on Blu? Well, to my eyes it looks just a shay less refined and ‘perfect’ than WAC’s usual commitment to Blu-ray. The MetroColor/Panavision image suffers from intermittent color fading; not to egregious levels, though nevertheless quite obvious. Flesh tones toggle between relatively natural and slightly orange. Contrast is mostly solid, although the right side of the frame, in certain scenes, suffers from light bleeding. Film grain is nicely resolved. Age-related artifacts have been eradicated. Overall, a solid effort. Just not perfect, which has always been WAC’s modus operandi and fallback to explain away why a lot of their great movies are not being released to Blu-ray as yet. So, how is it The Prize escaped such scrutiny? Hmmm. The DTS mono is adequate and in keeping with the original theatrical release. As The Prize is primarily a dialogue-driven movie with very few instances to exercise a more aggressive sound field, what is here is just fine. Save a badly worn theatrical trailer there are NO extras. Bottom line: The Prize is a fairly disposable movie with a few intermittent bright spots, but otherwise, forgettable to a fault. Although WAC has done a really good job on the transfer, I buy movies for their content as much as for their image quality. Perhaps, more so. A bad movie in a good-looking 1080p transfer is still a bad movie. You can pass on The Prize without regrets.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

2.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

1