EACH DAWN I DIE: Blu-ray (Warner Bros. 1939) Warner Archive
Director, William Keighley’s Each Dawn I Die
(1939) is a minor programmer leant some major cache by the acting chops of
James Cagney and George Raft – two superb actors from the Warner Bros.
‘murderer’s row’ stable, whose careers were to be negatively impacted by the
institution of Hollywood’s Production Code after 1933. For Raft, the ramifications
were more severe. And Raft, who had pulled himself up from the mire of Hell’s
Kitchen, first as a ballplayer, then, an erotic taxi dancer, and finally, legit
Charleston hoofer to make it to Broadway, eventually came to the movies on the
encouragement of a friend, but also to escape the jealous husband of a gal he
was dating at the time. His breakout in 1928, as the ‘hot’ stepper of a
stagecraft called, ‘Night Club’ may seem like an odd springboard, but
the notices he received were enough to get Raft into supporting roles playing ‘what
else?’ gangster sidekicks. 1932’s Scarface proved a major turning
point in Raft’s career, given a substantial part and landing him a contract at
Paramount. After the institution of the Code, Raft’s career took a decided hit.
He seemed rudderless without the advantages to play the slick, tough guy – even
though he steadily turned down offers to be typecast as ruthless ‘gangster
types’ – having already been branded in the press as someone with ties to
organized crime. But Raft steadily illustrated a decided lack of wherewithal to
recognize other opportunities as they came his way. Indeed, fellow Warner Bros.
contract player, Humphrey Bogart would go on to thank Raft for giving him his
career, Raft - turning down High Sierra, The Maltese Falcon (both
in 1941) and Casablanca (1942) – three of Bogie’s biggest and most
memorable pictures.
As for James Cagney, even at a diminutive 5 ft. 5
inches, by 1939, the red-haired/blue-eyed dynamo had carved an enviable niche
in the picture-making biz. Like most early ‘stars’ of his generation, the
movies were an afterthought. Cagney had previously bounced around as a
bartender, amateur boxer, telegraphist, junior architect, bellhop, and copy
boy. He also proved himself a valiant scrapper in street fights. With his nose
to the grindstone, Cagney committed himself to a failed dream of playing pro
baseball. But his fascination with acting, while visiting an aunt who lived
near the Vitagraph Studios in Brooklyn, eventually led to a brief stint behind
the scenes. At this juncture, Cagney’s fortunes would change forever after his
brother, Harry fell ill, forcing Cagney – who had a photographic memory for
line memorization - to replace him in rehearsals. His flawless performance was
noticed. And although Cagney’s mother would have preferred him to seek a more
stable career, the acting bug had already bit too hard. Thus, Cagney’s
ambitions now became telescopically focused on becoming a star. In only his 5th
movie for Warner Bros. – 1931’s The Public Enemy – it happened. Cagney
cemented his reputation as a rough and tumble, pintsized, powerhouse. There
was, however, so much more to Cagney than toughness. After the institution of
the Code, while gangster roles dried up, Cagney found opportunities to
diversify his trademark with the public.
Each Dawn I Die casts Cagney as the good guy,
framed by a corrupt politician and wronged by a justice system he so dearly
believes in while working the system from the outside. Now, a prisoner of the
state, Cagney’s crusading reporter, Frank Ross suddenly begins to realize
justice is not only blind and not a given, even when a man is decidedly
innocent, but rather, grotesquely naïve in perceiving him to be guilty as
charged. It’s a role that, as written, could have so easily devolved into
self-pitying cliché, with a slam-bang finish for a prison break gone wrong. But
in Cagney’s hands, Frank Ross emerges as a fully evolved figure of a man, to
have begun his journey from dedicated news hound to public enemy with the
fervent belief he could expose graft on its own level of corruption, only to
realize the odds have been rigged not in his favor, but rather to dismantle,
not only his reputation, but also all the hard work committed to the cause of
‘truth, justice and the American way’. If nothing else, Each Dawn I Die
is a sobering indictment of the flawed judicial system that would so completely
brand an innocent man as a threat to his community, as to systematically aim at
breaking his psyche down to bedrock, to ‘turn’ him from goodness into a career
criminal. And Cagney, apart from acting the hell out of the role, truly lets
the pain of disillusion and fear show through the character’s once cocky
exterior. Frank Ross suffers a terrible breakdown, and, an even more sobering
conversion. His confidence eroded, his options for appeals – dwindling – Ross
turns to career criminal, ‘Hood’ Stacey for vindication, a flawed alliance,
nearly to cost him everything, including his freedom.
In any other year, Each Dawn I Die might have
been considered a Cagney classic – lesser, perhaps, than some, but still a very
fine installment in his body of work. Alas, in 1939, Hollywood’s ‘golden year’
with such heavy-hitting entertainments to emerge from the dream factories as Gone
With The Wind, The Wizard of Oz, Gunga Din, Goodbye Mr. Chips, The Adventures
of Sherlock Holmes, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Beau Geste, The Private Lives
of Elizabeth and Essex, Wuthering Heights, Stagecoach, The Rains Came, The
Roaring Twenties, The Women…and on and on…Each Dawn I Die is
more the footnote than a competitor for the best Tinsel Town had to offer then –
veritable tin to the gold being spun elsewhere. As a stand-alone entertainment,
however, the picture is on exceptionally solid ground, and, thanks to Cagney as
the conflicted optimist, bloodied but unbowed, Each Dawn I Die holds up
remarkably well today. Like all Warner product from this period, the supporting
cast are not only worth mentioning, but one of the decidedly strong selling
features of the program. Jane Bryan, whom the studio was grooming for
super-stardom, is Joyce Conover, a fellow reporter and Cagney’s tearful ‘love
interest’ – at intervals, the only one left who truly believes, not only in his
innocence, but in the promise of his eventual exoneration from the crime of
manslaughter. Bryan ought to have had a brilliant career ahead of her. Instead,
she wed a drug store magnet in 1940 and retired from the movies. Also featured,
George Bancroft as an empathetic warden, John Armstrong, Maxie Rosenbloom as
‘sweetheart’ pug-ugly, Fargo Red, Victor Jory, as the cruel and calculating W.J.
Grayce and finally, Joe Downing as stooge, Limpy Julien, the right-hand goon of
Jesse Hanley (Thurston Hall).
Each Dawn I Die is the benefactor of some
excellent work behind the scenes too. Keighley’s tight direction is only one
virtue, keeping the pace, while never sacrificing on the talent or emotional
content of the story; Arthur Edeson’s exquisite B&W cinematography, and,
Max Steiner’s memorable music cues punctuate the suspense. Our story begins on a
windswept/rain-soaked evening as reporter, Frank Ross sneaks into the Banton
Construction Co., witnessing Jesse Hanley’s goon squad, fronted by Grayce,
destroying the ledgers in the company’s furnace. For Ross, it is an affirmation
Hanley has been up to no good. Moreover, Ross is certain his exposure of graft
will wreck Hanley’s chances as governor of the state. Ross’s editor, Patterson
(Selmer Jackson) is not entirely convinced – that is, until he receives a threatening
phone call from Hanley. As the paper and Ross refuse to back down, Hanley sets
about an insidious plan to frame Ross in a drunk driving incident. Grayce and
his men knock Ross unconscious, spill booze all over the car, before letting
the hand brake slip. Alas, the careening car with an unconscious Ross in the front
seat is responsible for killing three innocent people. Framed for manslaughter,
Ross maintains his innocence, but is tried, convicted and sentenced to 20-years
hard labor.
In the big house, Ross is introduced to gangster, ‘Hood’
Stacey, serving a 199-year sentence. The boys work in the twine-making room.
When Ross refuses to expose Stacey for the murder of fellow inmate, Limpy,
Stacey finds himself in Ross’ debt. Meanwhile, Patterson, along with Ross’ best
girl, Joyce, work tirelessly to seek an acquittal. Alas, their efforts are
hamstrung by Hanley’s clout and the eventual appointment of Grayce as the new
D.A. On the inside, Stacey agrees to help Ross prove he was framed, but only if
Ross will aid in Stacey’s daring escape from the courthouse. So, Stacey has
Ross finger him for Limpy’s murder. Ross also follows through with the escape
plan. Alas, in bringing his buddies from the press to the proceedings, Ross
angers Stacey who later reneges on their deal. Mercifully, Joyce is not about
to let the double-cross go unnoticed. With the aid of Stacey’s crooked
attorney, Joyce confronts Stacey, demanding satisfaction and justice for her
lover. Meanwhile, Ross is implicated in Stacey’s escape, beaten by the guards,
then locked in solitary confinement for five long months. The stint nearly
breaks his spirit. Indeed, Ross has begun to turn into a criminal. Appointed to
the parole board by Hanley, Grayce denies Ross his chance. He will serve
another five years before he can apply for parole again. Now, Stacey pulls a fast
one. He turns himself in, determined to get even with Hanley’s thug muscle, Carlisle
– a.k.a. Polecat (Alan Baxter), the jailhouse informant responsible for Ross’
frame-up on the outside.
At this juncture the prisoners revolt, carrying out a
daring prison break with guns smuggled into their workhouse. As the Warden has
been taken hostage, Stacey gets Polecat to admit in front of Armstrong he was
paid by Hanley to derail the career of an innocent man. Having done his due diligence
by Ross, Stacey forces Polecat out in the open where he is gunned down, thereby
allowing his confession to stand. Now, Stacey attempts his own Houdini
disappearing act, surrounded by armed guards, police and members of the
military. Instead, he too dies in a hailstorm of bullets. A short while later,
Ross is released from prison with Armstrong’s blessing. Governor Hanley and
Grayce are indicted for murder. As Ross leaves prison on Joyce’s arm, he is
reminded of Stacey’s loyalty and a certain kind of honor among thieves. Ross
and Joyce depart prison, knowing how terribly close Ross came to spending the bulk
of his life there.
Each Dawn I Die is a movie that aspires to many
things. On the one hand, it is a buddy/buddy movie with Cagney and Raft, a
winning combination with real bro-mantic chemistry. On the other, the picture
harks all the way back to the pre-Code Warner gangster flick and the prison
break sub-genre spawned from it. There is also a winning romantic angle,
supplied by Jane Bryan’s wounded and teary-eyed gal/pal. And, finally, there is
the ‘crime doesn’t pay’ angle as a bona fide actioner with Grade ‘A’ production
values to boot. With so much to recommend it, the curiosity remains Each
Dawn I Die owes more to a ‘poverty row’, ‘B’ programmer than an A-list,
top-flight entertainment from one of Hollywood’s majors. In 1939, Cagney also
appeared in another gangster movie, The Roaring Twenties, an infinity more
intense and expertly scripted yarn about the bootlegging class, while Raft and
Bryan made the even more forgettable programmer, Invisible Stripes,
co-starring a barely recognizable William Holden. In retrospect, Warner Bros. had
already turned a corner – more interested in promoting ‘the female Cagney’
– Bette Davis, in four spectacular movies: Dark Victory, Juarez, The Old
Maid, and, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex. And
while the studio would continue to use Cagney as ‘the heavy’ in various
movies (he even returned to the gangster class with 1949’s White Heat, a
movie as searing as its title), his biggest success of the decade was undeniably,
Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942), Warner’s handsomely-mounted tribute to
composer, George M. Cohan.
Lost in the shuffle of 1939, Each Dawn I Die remains
a solid little movie with excellent performances all around to recommend it. It
will suit Cagney completionists most directly. And for those who have yet to
discover what a powerhouse Cagney was in his prime, Each Dawn I Die is a potent
reminder of what true star power is, and, could make of material that, today,
would not even cut the mustard as a half-hour drama. Warner Archive’s (WAC)
new-to-Blu is impressive. Like everything else the Archive does, this one is
pretty much as perfect as you would want it to be. The gray scale here is
gorgeous, perfectly realized. The tired old DVD had some built-in flicker, since
eradicated in 1080p. A note about grain. While it is detectable, it somehow
lacks refinement. Too much digital scrubbing? Difficult to condemn as fine
details are extraordinary, and, with none of the ‘waxy’ look to suggest someone
was asleep at the controls or tinkering to make film look digital. A few brief
shots are soft. But this is likely due the source material, rather than any
fault of the remastering efforts. Contrast is a bit anemic in a handful of
shots too. Otherwise, there is really nothing to quibble about here. The 2.0
mono sounds fantastic. This Blu is packed with extras. Virtually, all of them
are hold-overs from the DVD, at a time when Warner Home Video did ‘Warner
Night at the Movies’ – padding the program with vintage newsreels and short
subjects, likely to have appeared on the bill when the picture was released
theatrically. We also get a featurette on ‘Gangsters in the Movies’ with
various historians commenting on the cycle of crime movies so wildly popular in
the early to mid-1930’s. Please note: none of these extras have had their video
masters upgraded and all are presented in 720i, looking quite careworn. Bottom
line: Each Dawn I Die may not be top-tier Warner Bros. It is top-flight
Cagney and Raft - two troopers, giving everything, they own to their art. Well
worth a second glance – if not entirely a third bite at the same apple.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
3
VIDEO/AUDIO
4.5
EXTRAS
4
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