THE GLASS KEY: Blu-ray (Paramount, 1942) Shout! Factory

A triumvirate of Paramount’s rising stars, Brian Donlevy (ever more congenial in life than on the screen), Veronica Lake (infamously, fast garnering a reputation as a real pain in the ass) and Alan Ladd (who gets the living tar knocked out of him), headline Stuart Heisler’s The Glass Key (1942), a fascinating, though not altogether kosher mélange of the American crime drama meets the political potboiler. This was the studio’s second bite at the same apple, having premiered The Glass Key in 1935, costarring Edward Arnold and George Raft. Ladd, riding his newfound crest of popularity as Paramount’s stud du jour, thanks to his strange amalgam of ‘pretty boy’ good looks and steely-eyed sincerity, first exercised to perfection in This Gun for Hire (1942) is a definite improvement on Raft’s lugubrious Ed Beaumont, the faithful as a bird dog sidekick to thug/politico, Paul Madvig (Donlevy). Lake and Ladd had made such a splash in This Gun for Hire, it was inevitable the studio would reteam them again…and, again (7 movies, all told, only 3 to achieve everlasting immortality – the other ‘masterpiece’, 1946’s The Blue Dahlia). As in 1935, this version of The Glass Key is based on celebrated crime novelist, Dashiell Hammett’s second to last full-fledged novel of the same name, rumored to have been the author’s absolute favorite. Jonathan Latimer’s screenplay gets slightly bogged down in Hammett’s quagmire of politics, murder and romance, but pulls out all the stops for a fairly intelligent romp through gangster-land. The movie’s billing is another matter entirely. Determined The Glass Key should propel Ladd to stardom, he appears to prosperous effect in nearly every scene, despite being third listed in the credits. It is even more of a curiosity when one considers, Lake’s involvement in the plot, as Janet Henry, the sultry firecracker, is so slight, she barely surfaces for a total of eighteen minutes (a mere cameo), while Donlevy’s headliner status is largely due to his superior splash in Preston Sturges’ star-making, The Great McGinty two years earlier.

The Glass Key is a diverting mystery with its window-dressing of political fraud, morally loose women, sinister men, crude thug muscle and oily racketeers conspiring against Donlevy’s basically ‘good’ brute. Paul Madvig prefers fists to philosophical debate, and real friendship to the fair-weather kind that nearly threatens to push his shady dealings into the dark shadows as our trademarked film noir baddie. The nimble gambol past a tableau of far less damming political graft, deceit, betrayal and yes, even the stiffened corpse of prominent ne’er do well, Taylor Henry (Richard Denning) is all for dumb show…or rather, to show off Ladd’s infectiously slick deadpan as the ‘too bright for his own good’ wise guy, who takes his lumps – literally – in a truly cringe-worthy scene, pummeled by the meaty fists of William Bendix’s Jeff. In reality, Bendix and Ladd became the best of friends on the set of this picture. Ladd’s Ed Beaumont is a fly-by-his-seat winner in loser’s garb. Other than blind loyalty, he seems to have no genuine motive for subjecting himself to an obvious ambush by Madvig’s rival, Nick Varna (the superb menace, Joseph Calleia), or, allowing himself to be repeatedly outnumbered by Varna’s goon squad, standing firm on his misguided ‘tough guy’s’ persona and principles, knowing well it can only lead to torture and – if he’s not careful - death. So, Ed’s really no good to anyone – especially himself - without the right gal to keep him in line. Too bad, the right girl for the job is Janet, already embroiled in a ‘keep him happy’ subplot perpetuated by her father, Reform Party candidate, Ralph (Moroni Olsen), who is not above leveraging even his daughter’s happiness in an orchestrated bid to have Madvig’s political machinery put him over the top as the state’s next governor.  

In hindsight, The Glass Key is one of those happy accidents that, on the surface, ought not to have clicked, and, in pre-production, narrowly skirted being miscast and/or repeatedly put on the proverbial back burner as Paramount’s executive brain trust scrambled for the best way to promote their ‘new find’ – Alan Ladd.  Head of production, Buddy de Sylva liked the idea of a remake, especially since Dashiell Hammet’s reputation was also on the rise, thanks to Warner Bros. blistering big screen reincarnation of The Maltese Falcon (1941). And Ladd, though decidedly not of Bogart’s ilk, was nevertheless a dynamo, at 5’ 6”, diminutive in physical stature only; a discrepancy easily concealed by some clever studio trickery.  At this juncture, The Glass Key was briefly shelved as de Sylva suddenly had a change of heart, hoping to launch Ladd in an adaptation of Hammett’s Red Harvest, with Latimer to write the script and Fred Kohlmar to produce. Again, fate intervened. Red Harvest fell by the waste side (it would never be made); The Glass Key green lit for immediate production, with Heisler in the director’s chair. As the ‘love interest’, Paramount first considered Paulette Goddard, then Patricia Morison until the dailies began to trickle in from This Gun for Hire, illustrating the potent on-screen chemistry between Ladd and Veronica Lake. Despite her legendary reputation for being difficult, Lake and Ladd evolved a mutual working partnership each sincerely respected. As plans to shoot I Married a Witch (1942) were delayed after Lake’s co-star, Joel McCrea backed out and was eventually replaced by Fredric March, Lake came aboard The Glass Key as the pouty-lipped his gal Friday – but with Lake’s trademarked ‘sass’ intact.  Evidently, McCrea had had quite enough of Lake on the set of Sullivan’s Travels (1941).

Rounding out the cast were Bonita Granville, as Madvig’s impulsive sister, Opal, nicknamed ‘Snip’; Richard Denning, as her ill-fated/sponge/paramour, Taylor Henry, Dane Cook, un-credited as the stool pigeon, Sloss, and, Joseph Calleia, whom Orson Welles considered one of the finest actors alive, herein, playing the disreputable racketeer, Nick Varna. In a small, but distinguishing role, Frances Gifford plays ‘the nurse’ who coaxes Ed back from the brink of his injuries. In hindsight, Gifford is one of those up and coming ‘new faces’ from the 1940’s who ought to have had a far more substantial career in films. Certainly, she had the looks – also, the talent – to succeed. And, after minor roles, including a bit part in the all-star Stage Door (1937) and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), she seemed poised for big things. But then, her record turned spotty: sporadic work done for C-grade Republic Pictures’, as the exotic Nyoka in the serial Jungle Girl, and a silent cameo in Disney’s The Reluctant Dragon (1941). Following The Glass Key, she briefly made the move to RKO for one of Johnny Weissmuller’s lesser installments in the Tarzan franchise; then, under the auspices of an MGM executive, arrived on the doorstep of that most prestigious of all Hollywood’s dream factories, given high-profile co-star billing in Our Vines Have Tender Grapes (1945) and She Went to the Races (1945), where Gifford actually received billing over Ava Gardner. The ‘star treatment’ continued with The Arnelo Affair (1947). And although she teetered on the cusp of breaking through to A-list celebrity status, Gifford’s minor support in the Esther William’s extravaganza, Thrill of a Romance (1945), then another in the Jane Powell vehicle, Luxury Liner (1948) all but sank those chances. For all intent and purposes, a near-fatal auto wreck in 1947 put a period to Gifford’s career.  She sustained massive head injuries that caused her to suffer grave memory lapses and erratic mood swings and was eventually forced into retreat at the Camarillo State Mental Hospital in 1958; spending the next 25 years of her life institutionalized.  

The Glass Key opens with a great main title by Victor Young. We meet all three of our stars virtually at once, as crooked political boss, Paul Madvig arrives at his campaign headquarters, flanked by his wing man, Ed Beaumont and a gaggle of eager reporters, only to be accosted by Janet Henry. She accuses him of spurious dealings and slaps his face in public. Ironically, the girl’s impulsiveness generates an almost immediate sexual attraction, and Madvig makes plans to back Janet’s father, Ralph (Moroni Olsen) in his candidacy for governor. Suspecting Paul is doing his thinking with the wrong head, Ed counsels prudence. But Paul is smitten, and quickly ingratiates himself into Ralph’s inner circle of hoi poloi friends. Ralph is the enterprising sort, not above encouraging his daughter to ‘be nice’ to Paul – at least, until after the election. The Henrys are an interesting family to say the least; son, Taylor, is a rich playboy, presently involved with Paul’s sister, Opal. She is sincerely in love. Taylor, perhaps, merely has plans to use Opal to glean more hush money from her affluent brother. So, when Taylor winds up lying face down on the pavement just outside of the family’s formidable estate, all accusatory glances turn on Paul. Meanwhile, Janet has become enamored with Ed. Owing his loyalties to Paul, Ed resists Janet’s advances, despite feeling the same way about her.   

When Paul informs rival gangster, Nick Varna he has decided to ‘clean up’ by effectively cutting off Varna’s line of protection from the police, Ed begins to fear for his boss’ safety. Indeed, Varna’s first ploy is a shabby blackmail of Paul regarding Opal’s affair with Taylor. Next, Varna tries to lure Ed away from Paul’s employ with the promise of a healthier stipend. When Ed turns down Varna’s generous offer, he gets his thug muscle, Jeff to severely work Ed over. Ed’s brutal torture in this sequence, billed by Paramount publicity as ‘watch William Bendix bounce that Ladd around’ was cause enough for concern in the studio’s front offices, and, in fact, had some minor backlash from audiences when the picture premiered. Ladd, appropriately made up with bruises, burns, a split lip, distorted jaw and near-shut swollen eye, appears to have been put through the ringer by Bendix’s glinty-eyed Jeff, who derives a truly insidious pleasure from repeatedly beating Ed unconscious, only to briefly revive him in a dunk tank and begin the whole process again. While Jeff and his non-participating cohort, Rusty (Eddie Marr) are briefly distracted making breakfast, Ed stages a daring escape; setting fire to the mattress in his room. The smoke and flames attract Jeff and Rusty; Jeff, momentarily tossing Ed onto the kitchen table, before Ed breaks the upstairs window to freedom, plummeting several stories through a glass solarium into the restaurant at street level.

Taken to hospital, Ed, who previously suffered a falling out with Paul after suggesting Paul’s loyalties were being warped by his romantic interest in Janet, now orders the hospital’s staff to send for Paul immediately. Revealing Nick’s plan to destroy Paul’s reputation by hanging him with Taylor’s murder wrap, Ed also learns that Henry Sloss, previously tossed out a window (and into a swimming pool) by Paul, has since become Nick’s ‘star witness’. Knowing there is no truth to this allegation, Paul has Sloss brought in for questioning. However, before the interrogation can commence, and unknown assailant guns down Sloss in the street. Newly recovered, Ed’s first port of call is the lavishly appointed country house of Clyde Matthews (Arthur Loft) the newspaper magnet Varna has in his pocket. Mrs. Matthews (Margaret Hayes) is a bit of a tart, and not above flaunting it in her husband’s face as she and Ed get cozy on the sofa in the living room while Varna and his goons look on. Unable to bear the shame, Clyde later commits suicide in the upstairs bedroom. But Jeff’s attempt to brutalize Ed a second time is thwarted when Paul arrives, evening out the odds.

Nevertheless, Paul is indicted for Taylor’s murder and held without bond. To spare Paul the gas chamber, Ed confronts Jeff inside a seedy watering hole. Half-drunk already, Jeff’s sycophantic/homoerotic attraction to Ed now, repeatedly hugging him, while promising shortly to relish brutalizing him once more, instead results in a showdown between Ed, Jeff and Varna; the latter, arriving just in time to brusquely order Jeff at the point of a gun to keep his big stupid mouth shut. Disarming Varna, Ed stands by and watches as Jeff strangles his boss. Having concluded who actually committed Taylor’s murder, Ed gets the weak-kneed D.A. Farr (Donald McBride) to swear out a warrant for Janet’s arrest. Arriving at the Henrys’ estate with the police and Farr, Ed and Paul quietly observe as Ralph confesses to the crime in his daughter’s stead. In point of fact, he did kill his own son, accidentally; a struggle ensuing and Taylor, slipping on the wet pavement, fatally striking his head on the curb. A short while later, Janet arrives at Ed’s apartment. She professes her love to him. But again, he resists until Paul, having overheard their conversation, gives his blessing for the two to be legally wed – just not to use the rather expensive engagement ring he previously bought for the lady!

The Glass Key is a stylish whodunit with superb acting throughout. Jonathan Latimer’s screenplay is a bit of a convoluted mess (Latimer was a premiere novelist of pulp fiction/crime thrillers in his own right and an exceptional screenwriter besides), but it holds our attention nonetheless. Keen eyes will take notice; the lavishly appointed abode of Clyde Matthews is actually art directors’ Haldane Douglas and Hans Dreier’s creative redressing of sets designed for Paramount’s big-budgeted holiday classic, Holiday Inn (1942); the fireplace where Bing Crosby once sang the iconic, White Christmas for the very first time, and, the bedroom where co-star, Fred Astaire slept off his New Year’s Eve hangover, remaining relatively unaltered, now subbing in for Matthews’ living room and master suite respectively. Owing to the re-usage of this and other free-standing sets on the Paramount backlot, many borrowed from1935’s The Barbary Coast, The Glass Key was made for the relatively paltry sum of just a little over $300,000 – all of it shot on sound stages, even Taylor’s drizzly funeral at ‘Evergreen’ cemetery. So as not to offend any municipality, the actual city – although queerly in step with Chicago’s notorious gangland politics – remained nondescript; Ed, briefly referencing that he intends to leave ‘this crummy town’ for New York – presumably, a bastion for goodness?!?

Incidentally, the title ‘The Glass Key’ explains a term of entrapment for an act or experience that cannot be undone or overlooked; the key, presumably, used only once to ensnare the unsuspecting in a grave situation before shattering. On set, Alan Ladd, who had begun life as a laborer before becoming a film star, greatly admired the technical proficiency of the behind-the-scenes crew, frequently favoring the company of these unsung artisans over that of his fellow players. The one exception herein was William Bendix. After Bendix misguidedly cold-cocked Ladd during their confrontation scene, Bendix expressed such remorse and concern over his co-star’s well-being, Ladd immediately became his best friend. This relationship would endure until Ladd’s wife and manager, Sue Carol made an offhanded remark regarding Bendix’s lack of military service.  For nearly a decade thereafter, the men drifted apart. But in the late 1950’s Bendix and Ladd patched things up. By then, Ladd’s career had imploded and he was fast on track to self-destructing.  Ironically, with a downturn in his own movie prospects, Bendix became a thriving Broadway actor – a lucrative change of venue to continue well into the 1960s. When Ladd passed away of a cerebral edema in 1964 at age 50, brought on by an acute overdose of alcohol and drugs (speculated, though never proven as suicide) Bendix was inconsolable. Shortly thereafter, Bendix’s own health failed. William Bendix would die just before Christmas this same year of bronchial pneumonia, ushered by a chronic stomach condition and malnutrition. He was only 58.

The Glass Key arrives on Blu-ray via Shout! Factory’s ‘Select’ series and their recent alliance with Universal Home Video – the custodians of Paramount’s pre-1950’s back catalog. The B&W full screen image, while not pristine, is fairly impressive; sporting razor-sharp clarity, refined details, good solid contrast and excellent tonality. The flaw is in the reproduction of film grain. It appears slightly digitized rather than indigenous to its source. At times, the gritty texture distracts, especially during close-ups of the velvet-skinned Veronica Lake, pixilated instead of glycerin smooth. Age-related artifacts are present throughout, though only heavy during a few transitions/dissolves. Otherwise, the image is nicely rendered and will surely please. The DTS mono audio is solid and clean; no drop-outs, hiss or pop.  The gravest inconsistency with Shout!’s ‘Select’ series is in the extras. While some discs in this series are afforded ‘new’ conversation pieces and ‘making-of’ featurettes, others barely get a trailer and/or audio commentary. Such is the case with The Glass Key; historians, Alan K. Rode and Steve Mitchell weighing in on the merits of the production and a lot of back story. They get a few facts wrong in their casual discussion (like suggesting all the interior sets were expressly designed for the picture, rather than hand-me-downs) but otherwise, Rode and Mitchell keep the info coming with a swift pace. This adds a great deal to our enjoyment of the movie. Bottom line: The Glass Key is a wonderful noir/crime drama. This Blu-ray is recommended!

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

4

VIDEO/AUDIO

3

EXTRAS

1