WE'RE NO ANGELS: MOD-Blu-ray (Paramount, 1955), Paramount Home Video

Director, Michael Curtiz’s We’re No Angels (1955) is a movie for which the time-honored adage about ‘no good deed going unpunished’ might very well have been written. The picture is a tour de force for some great comedic styling from three showbiz switch hitters not necessarily known for their work in frothy, and seemingly feather-weight ‘feel goods’ like this one. In 1955, two Hollywood icons came together for their fourth and final teaming; actor, Humphrey Bogart and director, Michael Curtiz. The alliance forged nearly two decades earlier, first on Angels with Dirty Faces (1938), a picture to cement Bogey's reputation as Warner Bros.’ most trademarked ‘heavy’ of the infamous ‘murderer’s row’ class, blossomed in 1942 when Curtiz and Bogey rewrote those rules to remake Bogart over as the suavest romantic lead to come along in a while in Casablanca, earning Curtiz an Oscar, and Bogart, an entirely new lease on his career.  Two years later, Bogart and Curtiz were at it again; this time, with Passage to Marseille (1944, where Bogey first donned prison garb as an escapee from Devil’s Island). On the surface, We’re No Angels does not seem like the sort of movie either Bogart or Curtiz would be interested to make. For one thing, Bogey isn’t the star. A headliner – yes, but part of a triumvirate of deliciously devious convicts on the lam, the other two played with exquisite finesse by Peter Ustinov and Aldo Ray. Bogey too illustrates a yen for playing the enterprising sort with a quirky glimmer of petty larceny, running counterpoint to his subdued cynic. We’re No Angels is, at a glance, a very unusual picture. It ought not to have suited Curtiz’ métier, except that Curtiz – like William Wyler, Billy Wilder, George Cukor and Victor Fleming before him – was a chameleon of the cinema, and, could do anything. Adding a comedy to his repertoire fulfills the unexpected for Curtiz – a director, more caustic than caring on the set, and frankly, not altogether possessing an easily identifiable sense of humor.

Perhaps, this is why We’re No Angels remains unlike any other comedy from Hollywood’s golden era.  Its subtleties are…well…subtle, sneaking up on the first-time viewer, even as this trio of cons, skulk and sweat in redressed and reconstituted sets, cobbled together from the Columbia Inn, and Novello Florida sets, built for Paramount’s White Christmas the year before. Even more refreshing, the cons here do not possess proverbial hearts of gold. Nor do they desire to be reformed or find redemption. They like being cons. Indeed, for much of the run time, Ray’s Albert – a dim-witted skirt-chaser, who once murdered his uncle with a fireplace poker (a crime for which he was never expected to depart from his incarceration on Devil’s Island) has his eyes on seducing the ingenue, Isabelle Ducolet (Gloria Talbott), while Ustinov’s Jules, and Bogey’s Joseph ham it up as enterprising deviants, the former a safe-cracker with a very light touch; the latter, an expert forger. No, these hoods come to their good deeds not by practice, or even some saintly plan, but as a byproduct of their innate and conspiring desire to be up to no good. Even their appreciation for Isabelle’s father, Felix (Leo G. Carroll), the underdog and put-upon shopkeeper, dogged by a callous cousin, Andre (Basil Rathbone, coming out of retirement for his first movie since 1946’s Dressed to Kill), and, his as despicable offspring, Paul (John Baer), and, Felix’s dutiful wife, Amelie (Joan Bennett – back from the dead after a three-year hiatus due to the very public sex scandal involving her ‘then’ husband, producer, Walter Wanger, pumping a bullet into Bennett’s lover, Jennings Lang and, in a place where Lang would not be able to continue consummating their affair) stems from the cons ability to see flashes of their own predicament in the people they inadvertently end up to help.

The trick and the charm of the piece is to be derived from its well-crafted performances. Given We’re No Angels was shot in Paramount’s patented VistaVision ‘motion picture high fidelity’ format, it is rather odd not a stitch of it was actually shot outdoors, much less on location to take full advantage of the widescreen process’ ultra-clarity. So, the sets appear even more artificial at a glance. Here is a view of the tropics with virtually no sun filtering through its dense foliage, no soft breezes to stir the garden, full of plastic plants – not even, carefully situated arc lamps and wind machines to suggest the illusion. Loyal Griggs’ cinematography is colorful, but rather pedestrian. He seems incapable of shooting anything except in medium shot, occasionally to punctuate with a close-up. The camera does not move all that much within any given scene, Griggs positioning his actors to take full advantage of his static tableau, as though irreverently to emulate the stage play, perfectly filling the frame with carefully composed shots of his three stars locked in self-deprecating debate.  Even with a script as good as Ranald MacDougall’s – cribbing from Albert Husson’s play – this sort of verbal tennis match can get very boring/very fast. The wonder of it all here is that it never does - not for a second. Ustinov, Bogart and Ray – whose performance here is earmarked as the standout – are superbly cast as the conniving raconteurs, Bogey’s dead pan, expertly played off Ustinov’s elfin guile and Ray’s chronically simple-minded bewilderment. 

Husson’s French play, La Cuisine des Anges is, in fact, about three escapees plotting to rob and murder an unsuspecting husband and wife, Felix and Amelie, who run a not terribly successful emporium in French Guiana.  Alas, it’s Christmas, and the cons are just not ‘into’ their work. Nor do they desire to draw undue attention to themselves and face incarceration again by the local authorities.  Never to be reformed, these cons set aside their wicked intensions to help the shopkeeper re-establish his dwindling concern, threatened by Andre and Paul. Joseph suggests Felix cook his books to illustrate for his greedy cousin an enviable net profit, sure to keep him in business for many years yet to come. Alas, before Joseph can fix the ledgers Andre asks to see them and is appalled to learn merchandise has disappeared from the inventory, even as profits dip. Fate intervenes, as Albert’s pet snake stings the miser, causing him to die in bed. We’re No Angels meanders – seemingly, through a series of delightful, though rudderless vignettes: Isabelle’s school girl’s infatuation with Paul, deflated when she discovers he is to marry the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner at his uncle’s behest; Albert’s never-to-be-fulfilled desire to possess Isabelle for his own, and, a rather portly patron, happily named Mme. Parole (Lea Penman), who frequents the shop only to bear the brunt of Joseph’s condescension and meddling, selling her second-rate plunk as fine wine, much to her chagrin.

It’s all rather delightful, if outwardly inconsequential. The performances, however, are pure gold. Even if the tale only begins to simmer, though never quite sizzle, after the arrival of Rathbone’s marvelous baddie. The rather quick dispatch of Andre, fatally bitten by Adolph – the snake, is cause for amusement among the cons; ditto for Paul’s similarly fated finale, as he reappears to them after having checked his uncle’s body, presumably for hidden wealth, but also stung by Adolph, who has been hiding in the pocket of the old man’s dressing gown. Prior to this, Paul could not wait to inherit, even though Joseph forged Andre’s ‘Last Will and Testament’ to suggest he had divided his formidable estate equally between Paul, Felix, Amelie and Isabelle. The comedy also kicks into high gear as Joseph, Jules and Albert struggle to learn what has become of Adolph after fulfilling their wildest dreams, but also, to encourage any one of the family members, or even Mme. Parole, into ‘innocently’ discovering the bodies, thus getting them off the hook for any wrong-doing. Eventually, Paul finds Andre’s remains before he too is stricken by the poisonous venom of the serpent, unconscious and dragged to the ‘summer house’ where he once wooed Isabelle, discovered, quite dead, by Isabelle shortly thereafter. As the cons are determined to leave Felix and Amelie in better shape than when they arrived, they steal only three suits for themselves, presumably to establish themselves as ‘gentlemen’ in a new start, but leave the couple otherwise with Andre’s sizable fortune, and Isabelle, in the arms of Arnaud (John Smith), the dashing medical officer come to investigate Andre and Paul’s deaths.  However, as Joseph, Jules and Albert depart for the docks, they suddenly come to the conclusion life on Devil’s Island was not nearly as complicated or awful as they once perceived it. So, instead of sailing on the moored clipper bound for freedom, they elect to return to prison – ever so slightly as ‘reformed’ men – a trio of halos (and a mini halo for Adolph) following them as they stroll out of camera range.

We’re No Angels may not be Michael Curtiz’s finest hour as a director. In point of fact, it’s not. I can think of at least a dozen catalog titles from this man to testify to his formidable talents behind the camera. And certainly, no one could confuse this picture with a Bogart classic – despite Bogey being at his most cynically charming.  On set, Bogey proved a real prankster, slipping raw liver into Ustinov’s sandals between takes. Ustinov, who did not care for this chronic joke, was nevertheless a very good sport. And he and Bogart became very good friends as a result of making this movie together. In his emeritus years, Ustinov would recall the making of We’re No Angels with warm affection, but likened his appreciation of Hollywood to that of “a gigantic World's Fair they haven't had time to tear down.” Interesting to consider the remainder of each actor’s career, after this picture’s release. Despite bearing a copyright for 1954, We’re No Angels was not released theatrically until the following year, timed for its Christmas theme. By then, Bogart had only 3 pictures left to make, none particularly memorable, before dying of lung cancer in 1957. Aldo Ray, who had shown such promise in pictures like Pat and Mike, and, The Marrying Kind (both released in 1952), increasingly was relegated to playing either dewy-eyed simpletons or stoic hunks in forgettable fluff, his real/reel low point coming in 1979, performing ‘soft core’ in the porno/western, Sweet Savage. Something of a raging alcoholic, his newfound sobriety in the early eighties came too late to spare him a malignant tumor, eventually to claim his life in 1991, age 64. Ustinov, one of the wittiest raconteurs of his generation, massively accomplished outside his profession, would continue to appear in quality fare well into his early 70’s, and become a beloved on the talk show circuit, famous for his graceful and humorous accounts of his life in totem. He died in 2004, a true gentleman to the last, age, 82.

We’re No Angels is not the ‘high water’ mark in any of these stars’ careers. And yet, they are all so damn good in it, it is impossible not to, almost immediately, fall in love with all three. Paramount’s new to Blu release affords viewers this luxury. But it short-changes the experience in several ways. First, Paramount has released We’re No Angels as part of their MOD-disc program. Why Paramount should continue to partake of Blu-rays not legitimately authored is, frankly, beyond me. If the Warner Archive has found a way to make the process efficient and profitable, why can’t Paramount? Good question. Alas, no answer from the mountain is forthcoming. Believe me, I’ve tried! The next oversight is Paramount’s decision to offer nothing by way of an upgrade to these original film elements, transferred to digital some time ago, but with all of their age-related artifacts retained. There is even a moment when an annoying hair caught in the gate frenetically flutters back and forth on the left side of the frame. Dirt, scratches, light speckling, and, other anomalies are also present, though miraculously, do not distract. Colors are mostly satisfying, although several shots sport flesh tones that appear as unhealthy pinkish/purple. Given the age of this movie, and, Paramount’s lack of due diligence to properly preserve it in HD, We’re No Angels fares admirably – although, I must confess, watching the iconic VistaVision logo expand across the screen, advertising ‘motion picture high-fidelity’ while some annoying vertical scratches dart about, is rather counterintuitive to the claim itself. Contrast is solid. Minor gate weave persists, as does some minor, but still very annoying, built-in flicker during several scenes. The 1.0 DTS audio is adequate for this dialogue-driven movie.

Real quick n’ cheap, Paramount affords this one NO extras.  Even more quick n’ dirty, whoever was cutting the slip cover paper inserts never stopped to align the cutter properly. So, I have a slip cover with a sizable and crooked white band running along the top.  Bottom line: I would sincerely encourage Paramount to re-think their strategy when releasing deep catalog to hi-def home video. Note to Andrea Kalas – SVP in charge of the studio’s asset management. 

Dear Ms. Kalas – your present archival program has done film lovers no favors. While much of Paramount’s catalog remains MIA in hi-def, with such high-profile MIA titles as Ordinary People, The Greatest Show on Earth, The Country Girl, A Place in the Sun, The Matchmaker, William Wyler’s Carrie, Blue Hawaii, etc. the product your studio has deigned to put out on disc so far is a hodge-podge of halfcocked efforts (like The Sons of Katie Elder, The Day of the Locust and We’re No Angels) that fall well behind Blu-ray format’s capabilities, and certainly, well below the bar of acceptable work being done by other studios on similar catalog from their illustrious history. If you plan of preserving Paramount’s history for future generations to study and admire, a more aggressive campaign of film restoration and preservation needs to be instituted in support of the studio’s rich and enduring filmic legacy. Respectfully, these are my wishes. PS- madam, in this I know I am very much NOT alone! Bottom line for We’re No Angels: recommended, but with caveats.

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

3.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3

EXTRAS

0