Unrated, 1 hr. 15 min. Directed By:
Gerald Mayer. Release Date:
Nov 03, 1950.
There’s nothing really wrong with
this movie. At 75 minutes, its run time
is a little short. It’s a quiet, almost
sleepy little movie. My reaction might
actually be caused by the fact that I had meant to watch Archer instead of this, and then well, I found out there wouldn’t
be any Archer. While there’s nothing really wrong with
what I saw here, there wasn’t anything really right. I had a hard time wrapping my head inside
these peoples’ heads. Even when there’s
something that should be exciting, I couldn’t feel it. I’m not really sure what the problem was,
although I’m inclined to blame the icy way Gunther, the main… antihero?
Antagonist? He’s certainly the lead, but
based on the way this character was portrayed, I had a sort of young Ben Stein
with new Botox vibe working.
Actually, Gunther wasn’t the only
character that felt reserved. If a
quiet, non-emotive gunman holds you hostage in a bar, you should be a little
rattled. It’s not like we’re talking
about a setting of Baghdad in the modern day… well, you wouldn’t find a bar in
modern day Baghdad anyway, but you get where I’m going with this. These are good, stolid 50s folks. Dressed to the nines for some inexplicable reason;
(one of the many things I’m thankful for is that the general standard of casual
attire has been in steady decline for the last 60 years or so. If I had to wear a suit or slacks everywhere,
I might lose it.) they shouldn’t be so used to this kind of situation that
there’s barely a crack in the thin veneer of their Jolie-esque facial
expressions.
Speaking of Gunther. There’s a lot I find particularly not right
about him. Usually in these older
movies, the criminals are the ones who don’t quite fit in with the crowd. They’re dressed more casually and
shabbily. Usually they’re not
attractive, packing on some extra pounds, possessed of backne and with messed
up teeth. Gunther looks like the
proverbial boy next door, hair Brylcreamed to within an inch of his life, suit
and tie all pressed and clean. While I’d
accept that in a modern movie, because, well, serial killers look like everyone
else, as Christina Ricci once said, that’s not how bad guys were usually
portrayed, even crazy ones.
I guess this movie’s saving grace,
by my standards, is that it’s blessedly short.
I didn’t make the emotional connection necessary for me to really enjoy
this movie. I couldn’t find much to pick
apart about it either, which will explain both the shortness of this post and
the discrepancy between head and gut.
