THE NAKED AND THE DEAD: Blu-ray (RKO, 1958) Warner Archive

Made in the sad/bad ole days, as RKO Studios was in the midst of its final and complete collapse (the picture had to be distributed by Warner Bros.), Raoul Walsh’s The Naked and The Dead (1958) takes a gripping page-turner from author, Norman Mailer and transforms it into a gumbo of Hollywood hokum and riveting melodrama, with a few curiously out-of-place action sequences and enough meaningless flashbacks to stock at least two movies. Denis and Terry Sanders’ screenplay sticks relatively close to the thumbnail sketch of Mailer’s no-nonsense critique on American warfare – the good, the bad, and the ugly – but skirts around the author’s more intensely written vignettes (in the book a character named Hennessey defecates in his pants from fear, suffers a complete mental collapse and flees the battlefield, only to be struck and killed by shrapnel from a mortar shell; the movie makes no reference). The Naked and The Dead would be one hell of a good war picture if it did not have to continuously find itself within a pantheon of clichés equating ‘war to ‘hell’ (no kidding) and a studio-sanction affinity for ‘pretty pictures’ and rousing flag-wavers diffusing Mailer’s message – that, in war itself, there are no heroes; just men – some who make it, and others that won’t. In fairness, the Sanders’ do afford at least some of Mailer’s caustic and razor-back wit its due; the ruthless and bigoted Sergeant Sam Croft (played with cement-headed/square-jawed masculinity by Aldo Ray) still calls the diminutive recruit, Roth (Joey Bishop) a ‘lousy Jew’ in a half-ass attempt to motivate the cadet to scale a steep precipice with a badly sprained ankle (this ends badly when Roth loses his footing and falls to his death into a perilous and Kudzu-infested ravine). But on the whole, both the Sanders, and even more curiously, director Raoul Walsh, just seem to be apologizing for the behavior of Mailer’s characters. With each startling act of cruelty, we get long-winded soliloquies devoted to a character’s motivations. And then, there are the totally unnecessary and idiotic fail-safe flashbacks, presumably inserted to justify certain irrepressible behaviors in the present.

As example, when we first meet Croft inside a Honolulu wanna hump-hump burlesque/bar, he threatens to belt one amiable prostitute in the chops and spits a mouthful of warm beer down the cleavage of another before expelling the rest in the eye of the bartender who is serving him. What a pig! Except, somewhere along the way we learn – through flashback, of course – Croft was not such a bad fellow after all, in a former life, planning to share his with disposable plaything, Mildred (Barbara Nichols), who done him wrong with a travelling salesman while he was in the army. So, now Croft hates all women – and the world – and is determined to distinguish himself as one of the truly great heroes of the war, having, of course, utterly forgotten true heroism is not made on the backs of browbeaten men, disobeying every noble and sobering thought they have to charge blindly at his command into obvious perils, just to prove a point. In flashback we also learn Lt. Robert Hearn (Cliff Robertson) was a real-rip-roaring lady’s man, running through a string of sexpots he wooed and screwed before joining the service with more altruistic pursuits in mind. Hearn is at odds with his superior, Gen. Cummings (Raymond Massey, looking careworn and slightly embalmed). Cummings encourages Hearn to govern his men out of fear rather than respect. In their younger years, Cummings and Croft likely could have been bowling partners, or armchair Hitlers dividing the world to suit their personal tastes.

Other notables in the cast include Richard Jaeckel, as Gallagher, who finds out from the company’s chaplain that his seven-month pregnant wife back home has since died in premature childbirth; L.Q. Jones, as Woodrow Wilson, madly in love with the rather beat-up and slightly over-the-hill burlesque queen, Willa Mae ‘Lily’ (Lili St. Cyr) who he will never see again; William Campbell as Brown, a wily lookout and, generally speaking, on Croft’s side; Robert Gist, as the clear-eyed and embittered Red – who sees right through Croft’s machismo and calls him out for it during a pivotal showdown, and Max Showalter (billed as Casey Adams) as Col. Dalleson – the one guy who plays war by the rules and manages, in the eleventh hour of conflict, to make sharp-shooting sense of this thus far badly mangled affair.  The Naked and The Dead would not be such a waste of time if only Walsh had paid a little more attention to the nuances in Mailer’s hard-hitting novel. Instead, Mailer’s limn of epic tragedy is thoroughly shaved of its potency by a screenplay that never goes beneath the surface of any of its characters, and rarely – if ever – offers up more than a passing parade of quota scenes to connect the dots, and, where the participants engage in a sort of anguished parody of the proverbial ‘small talk’.

The Naked and the Dead was original slated to be shot in Panama with Robert Mitchum as its ‘star’ and Charles Laughton to direct after The Night of the Hunter (1955). That picture’s epic fail (though rightly regarded as a classic today), sealed Laughton and Mitchum’s participation – or lack thereof – on this movie. At least, plans for the location shoot survived, The Naked and the Dead populated by 250 real-life U.S. soldiers as extras and another 60 Hawaiians standing in for the Japanese. But Raoul Walsh is out of his element here; strange, since Walsh’s career was made directing male stars in manly pursuits on the big screen. This one ought to have fallen right into his métier, except, I suspect, Walsh had ideas about establishing at least one vaguely heroic figure amid this largely indistinguishable rabble of reluctant fighters, under chronic siege from either the Japanese or their rough and ready high command, the latter squeezing every last drop of blood, sweat and tears to satisfy a personal odyssey.   Displeased with the results, Norman Mailer erroneously claimed Walsh had been dragged off of his death bed to direct the picture. Perhaps Mailer was more whimsically referring to Walsh’s creative stagnation in the picture biz than any looming health concerns, as the ole-time director lived another 22 years before death claimed him, age 93, in 1980.  

Despite Aldo Ray’s top-billing, and his beginning the program with chest-thumping general disdain for women, war and obeying orders that go against his own ‘yahoo’ spirit to kick some proverbial ‘butt’, the story of The Naked and the Dead is actually more concerned with the mentor/mate relationship between Lieutenant Hearn and General Cummings. Cummings, who is remarkably grandfatherly toward Hearn, otherwise believes the only way to command men is to inspire fear, naturally transferring into discipline. Hearn’s distaste for this viewpoint is duly noted.  He would prefer his men look up to him with mutual respect, regardless of their rank. With this in mind, Hearn takes a transfer to lead Croft’s intelligence platoon on a dangerous reconnaissance mission. Naturally, this does not sit well with Croft, who was leading just fine (or so he thinks) before Hearn’s intrusion. Croft’s reputation, however, supports willful cruelty and manipulation to get his own way. He has no compunction sending men to their death or cold-bloodedly assassinating the enemy after they have already surrendered. At one point, Croft and Gallagher come across a Japanese soldier who offers them his wallet. Inside it is a picture of the man, his wife and two young children. Gallagher, as yet unaware his wife has died in childbirth, can relate to this man’s desire to return home to his family. But Croft, after offering the soldier a cigarette, smugly shoots him dead, citing a loose grenade lying next to the body that otherwise would have likely been used to blow them up.

Hearn takes over from Croft, determined the men should be cautious and invested in the mission at hand – not subservient to one man’s overweening ego to attain some sort of rank and sense of power over both them and the enemy. Hearn has been instructed to take the troop through a perilous mountain pass. Very early on however, Hearn wisely deduces the jungle is crawling with Japanese soldiers who outnumber them three to one. In scouting the rocky terrain, Woodrow takes a fatal bullet in the chest and dies without ever seeing his darling Lily again. Pvt. Wyman (Edwin Gregson) dies of snakebite, foaming at the mouth, despite Red’s noble efforts to suck out the venom before it can work through his system. Hearn has had enough bloodshed. Moreover, it is pointless to subject the rest of them to abject slaughter when the odds are not in their favor. Croft disagrees and manages to convince Hearn to make one last stab at crossing the range. Croft suggests sending one man, Julio Martinez (Henry Amargo) – a guide – on ahead, under the cover of night, to scope out the terrain. If he returns and reports there are no enemy soldiers, Hearn can proceed with a clear conscience on their planned mission as before. Reluctantly, Hearn agrees. Secretly, however, Croft orders Martinez to report back to him first with whatever he finds, leaving the message to be relayed to Hearn by Croft.

While skulking about by moonlight, Martinez comes across a Japanese platoon. He dispatches their gunner with his knife, leaving it in the dead man’s side before escaping to Croft with the news. Croft orders Martinez to stand down and remain silent. Croft then deliberately relays to Hearn the coast is clear. They may proceed ahead. Hearn orders the men to make ready for this sojourn. Alas, almost immediately he is severely wounded by the enemy, forcing Croft to reassign two of his lesser recruits (Jerry Paris, Greg Roman), along with Brown as their lookout, the task of carrying Hearn to safety. The inference is made Croft sent Hearn unprepared up the hillside in the hopes he would either be killed outright or be forced to withdraw from a wound – either way, leaving him in complete command of the troop. Without Hearn as their failsafe, the remaining soldiers, including Croft, Red, Gallagher, Roth and Mantelli (John Beradino), proceed up the foggy precipice at grave peril. At one point, Roth badly sprains his ankle and refuses to go on. Calling him out as a ‘lousy Jew’, Croft knows well Roth will make the ill-fated attempt to lunge forward and up the rocky mountainside, merely to prove a point. Instead, he stumbles, loses his footing and plunges to his death as the rest of the men look on.

Having scaled the cliff to relative safety on the other side, Croft is hit by sniper fire; his few remaining men look on from their hidden location as a swarm of Japanese soldiers emerge from the jungle to claim his body. The men manage to get a radio message sent off to base command where Col. Dalleson is eagerly awaiting news to launch a full-scale attack. Without Cummings’ intervention, Dalleson acts with a daring maneuver that diffuses the battle with minimal casualties. Meanwhile, Hearn is successfully carried to a waiting Higgins boat and taken to hospital back at base camp. Confronted by Cummings, Hearn explains now, more than ever, he believes in his theory about governing men during war – not by fear, as the men who saved his life did so out of love.  Begrudgingly, Cummings is forced to admit, if to no one but himself, that the tide has shifted, despite his very best efforts to run the campaign his way. Repeatedly denied this opportunity by destiny and his high command, Cummings is faced with the reality that his days as a commander are numbered. He has already lost the battle inside his own head. Victory has been achieved by men who fought together, morally and physically invested in each other’s well-being; not by a handful of generals, dictating from on high without any regard for the men who must blindly follow their lead.

The Naked and The Dead is an occasionally entertaining picture. Yet, it fails to come alive with the sort of continuity or exhilaration that typifies movies made by director, Raoul Walsh. Moreover, the Sanders’ screenplay completely fails to maintain the grit and grotesqueness of battle Mailer wrote about, largely from personal experiences. It should always be noted that movies are not meant to be books in picture form. Nor is ‘artistic license’ a bad thing when offering a pictorial adaptation of a great novel. Indeed, no book has ever made it to the screen without at least a few crucial changes being made to its structure, character development and plot. Yet, The Naked and The Dead is, at once, straddling an impossible chasm; on the one end, to remain faithful to Mailer’s general gist, yet, on the other, trying much too hard to be its own creation. The flashbacks we get do absolutely nothing to move along the narrative. In fact, they bring it to a screeching halt and for no good reason other than to offer fleeting departures into Hollywood-ized glam-bam that is a complete disconnect with the rest of its storytelling. It is as though a second unit went in after Walsh submitted his rough cut and simply inserted these flashbacks without his consent. In the final analysis, The Naked and The Dead is an awkward picture to get through, its departures from ‘reality’ never quite serving as necessary counterpoint to actually clarify what it is these brave – and occasionally ego-driven - soldiers of war are fighting for or even against.

Warner Archive brings The Naked and the Dead to Blu-ray in a 1080p transfer that is intermittently soft and grainy. We can likely blame vintage film stock for this, as the mastering is impeccable. Despite having been photographed in Technicolor, the palette is sometimes wan and at other times garishly off base; flesh tones turning jaundice yellow and/or ruddy orange at varying intervals, sometimes from shot to shot. Warner has done its level-best to ensure the integrity of this transfer and, when perfect source materials permit, the image is razor-sharp crisp with good solid delineation, excellent contrast and deep, rich and vibrant colors. Particularly impressive is cinematographer, Joseph LaShelle’s use of a magenta color filter to simulate sequences shot at night. Reducing his entire palette to basically deep azure and black, LaShelle manages to capture an impressive amount of fine detail during these sequences, vaguely reminiscent of Leon Shamroy’s work in Rodgers & Hammerstein’s South Pacific (also shot and released in 1958). The 2.0 mono is adequate for this presentation without ever attaining a level of distinction. Dialogue is solidly represented, but SFX have a rather tinny, thin sound – explosions and gunfire sounding more like firecrackers and cap guns going off. Save a badly worn theatrical trailer there are no extras.

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

2.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

0