Devil in a Blue Dress

 

Director Carl Franklin

Franklin on the set with Denzel Washington

Novelist Walter Mosley

DEVIL IN A BLUE DRESS                         A-                                                                         USA  (102 mi)  1995  d: Carl Franklin

It was summer 1948, and I needed money.  After goin’ door-to-door all day long, I was back again at Joppy’s bar trying to figure out where I was gonna go looking for work the next day.  The newspapers was goin’ on and on about the city elections – like they was really gonna change somebody’s life.  But my life had already changed when I lost my job three weeks before.         —Ezekiel “Easy” Rawlins (Denzel Washington)

Recalling the Raymond Chandler film noir style of criminal murkiness surrounding Los Angeles in the works of Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity (1944), Howard Hawks’ THE BIG SLEEP (1946), Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye (1973), or Roman Polanski’s CHINATOWN (1974), this is an early example of Denzel Washington’s rising star power, demonstrating a commanding screen presence, bringing a sexual swagger to one of his most compelling performances, coming on the heels of GLORY (1989), MO’ BETTER BLUES (1990) and MALCOLM X (1992), but years before he’d win a Best Actor Oscar for portraying a rogue cop in a deeply corrupt LA police department in TRAINING DAY (2001).  Directed by Carl Franklin, who began his career as an actor, working in theater before moving to television and a few movie roles, enrolling in the AFI Conservatory in Los Angeles where he obtained a Master’s degree in directing, with an opportunity to direct several Roger Corman films before getting his big break with the critically acclaimed neo-noir One False Move (1992).  Adding depth and social realism to a film noir aesthetic, beautifully captured on 35 mm by Tak Fujimoto’s elegant camerawork, including a magnificent opening crane shot, the film’s opening credit sequence plays out over the backdrop of Archibald John Motley Jr’s 1949 painting of Bronzeville By Night, a depiction of a South Side Chicago street at night during the 1940’s, offering a safe haven for blacks migrating from the South, displaying vibrant lights and colors to depict a bustling black entertainment district, filled with a jazz and blues infused soundtrack and an original score written by Elmer Bernstein.  Exploding off the screen, the film is transformed into a South-Central neighborhood in Los Angeles that is equally energized in motion, setting the stage for what follows, scandal, blackmail, racial turmoil, and a mayoral race with sinister implications, with one candidate mysteriously dropping out, yet bad luck seems to follow the protagonist in a convoluted plot of murder and intrigue, turning into a self-styled detective mystery, where solving the crime himself is the only way of keeping him from being charged for multiple murders, with cops typically blaming the nearest black man as the fall guy instead of actually solving the crime.  That’s just the way it works.  Adapting a 1990 hardboiled mystery novel by Walter Mosley, Ezekiel “Easy” Rawlins (Denzel Washington), providing his own noir voiceover narration, is a war veteran transplanted from Houston, Texas, part of the migratory tradition of blacks from the Deep South of Texas and Louisiana heading West to Los Angeles after the Great Depression and the war in search of jobs while escaping the Jim Crow South, finding good paying work in the shipping and aircraft industries, where Easy is a machinist who has taken advantage of the GI Bill and is one of the few blacks owning his own home at the time, a product of the American Dream and a continued source of pride, as property ownership wields power (largely confined to whites), “That house meant more to me than any woman I ever knew,” yet the film opens just as he’s losing his job, putting him in a precarious position.  Mixing humor with scenes meant to unsettle and disturb, the film openly intends to challenge perceptions on race and interject a black realist sensibility, largely by advancing an intelligent narrative seen exclusively through the eyes of a strong black protagonist, taking us on an odyssey through the moral cesspool and racial fault lines of greater Los Angeles, as alienation, political corruption, and a cynical view of human nature were central to the postwar film noir aesthetic, yet with the notable exception of No Way Out (1950) or Odds Against Tomorrow (1959), noir films always ignored the rampant racism of the times, where the law shelters and protects wealthy whites, no matter how despicable their crimes.  Set primarily in the black community of Watts in 1948, the film eloquently depicts the everyday oppression and harm that comes to black Americans simply living ordinary lives in the postwar years after WWII, a marked difference from the noticeable exclusion of black characters and black communities from the classic noir films from the era that conveniently highlighted white neighborhoods.  Evading the poverty and crime-infested life in Houston’s 5th Ward, Easy moved West only to discover that the same miseries are inflicted upon blacks in Los Angeles.  Securing a job at one of the many aircraft plants, he purchased a house and settled into a working-class neighborhood, but was fired for refusing to work overtime, acknowledging that whites routinely refused, yet he was the one fired by a white boss who felt threatened by a black man standing up for himself, recalling a similar scene in Michael Roemer’s Nothing But a Man (1964), quickly discovering his mortgage is nearly two months overdue.  While sitting in his local bar reading the classified ads in the newspaper, the bartender Joppy (Mel Winkler), an ex-boxer also from Houston, invites him over to meet a friend, DeWitt Albright (Tom Sizemore), who turns out to be a sleazy white businessman who does “favors for friends,” handing out $100 just to find someone, a missing white woman known for frequenting black establishments, apparently hiding out in the black juke joints along LA’s Central Avenue.  Against his better judgment he accepts the job, acknowledging “It was easy money, too easy,” but he’s in no position to find a better offer.  

It was the success of Franklin’s earlier film One False Move (1992) that paved the way for someone like Jonathan Demme to help produce the film, having worked with actor Denzel Washington in his acclaimed yet heavily criticized film PHILADELPHIA (1993), the last movie where Washington did not have a starring role.  Following in the footsteps of Steve McQueen’s Bullitt (1968), Paul Newman’s HARPER (1966) and THE DROWNING POOL (1975), the Coen brother’s Blood Simple (1984), William Friedkin’s To Live and Die in LA (1985), or Michael Mann’s Thief (1981) and HEAT (1995), this film subversively navigates a predominantly black milieu in search of a missing white woman, with Easy finding himself contending with crooked cops, sleazy politicians, and an increasing number of dead bodies that he will be accused of murdering, yet the film surprisingly failed at the box office despite critical acclaim, perhaps a fallout from the nonstop, yearlong media coverage sensationalizing every minute detail of the O.J. Simpson trial (2016 Top Ten List #4 O.J.: Made in America), leaving viewers oversaturated with bombshell racial implications and needing a break, where it didn’t help that the film opened the same week as the verdict, also contending against the massive popularity of David Fincher’s Se7en (1995), and eventually overlooked by the overwhelming success of L.A. Confidential (1997), an all-white perspective and one of the “whitest” films ever made, which in 2008 was voted the best film set in Los Angeles in the last 25 years by a group of Los Angeles Times writers and editors (L.A.'s story is complicated, but they got it - Los Angeles Times).  A complex and otherwise engrossing story that is fabulously entertaining while also a social critique, this movie might have been franchised, with Franklin acquiring the rights to the first three Mosley-written installments, proposing a series of films, but it never happened, though novelist Walter Mosley, reportedly President Bill Clinton’s favorite novelist, wrote 15 popular crime fiction novels based upon the Easy Rawlins’ character, earning him the National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters in 2020, making him the first black man to receive the honor.  What immediately stands out is that Easy makes an enormous effort to avoid breaking the law, priding himself in living a respectable and morally principled life, easily interacting with his neighbors, conveying a sense of community, where it’s clear he hasn’t yet become a detective, but is just a guy who’s constantly pulled into a criminal underworld, drowning in a subterranean network of dishonesty and moral hypocrisy, caught up in a white power struggle that has a way of eliminating marginalized figures, lured into unjust fates, which only reflects their lowly position in society, as the black community has felt powerless for generations, deprived of basic human rights, which is only exacerbated in the film noir genre, living like shadows, unseen by the majority white population where they literally don’t exist.  Blacks hoped to find a sense of empowerment by serving in the armed forces in WWII, but returning home, no matter how hard they worked, they still ended up at the bottom.  In postwar film noir, there are distinct color lines, as Los Angeles is divided into forbidden zones for blacks, where venturing into those areas, especially after dark, they run the risk of being physically attacked by racist whites or being singled out by the police as potential thieves or burglars, where racism and abuse of power are cut from the same cloth.  The film delves into different facets of white oppression, blatantly exhibiting a fear of miscegenation, with the absurdity of anti-miscegenation laws, where it’s easy to link whiteness to black deaths, exuded in the contaminated characters of his white employer at Champion Aircraft, expecting blacks to be completely subservient, obeying each and every employer request, Albright, a ruthless white gangster who does the bidding of more powerfully connected whites, routinely resorting to unethical practices and cold-blooded violence, the threateningly corrupt white LAPD homicide detectives (Beau Starr and John Roselius), whose whiteness is sanctified by the law yet they routinely commit the most flagrant acts of violence against blacks, or plant evidence against innocent victims, with blacks demonstrating a futile yet all-consuming helplessness in the 40’s and 50’s, having no legal recourse against unending atrocities, Todd Carter (Terry Kinney), a wealthy and well-connected white businessman and mayoral candidate who throws his money around to ensure his white privileged status in the community is protected (ironic that the character most associated with cowardice would attain the highest political power), and even casual encounters with racist white youths, who see Easy as a threat to white womanhood, defined as the exclusive domain of white men, viewed as their own personal possession.  It’s the film noir narration that offers insight into Easy’s viewpoint as a black man, worldly in ways viewers are not accustomed to, as blacks are routinely targeted for crimes white people commit, not shocking or earth-shaking, common knowledge in black communities, where social justice is equated with moral outrage and contempt, meaning something entirely different than anything perceived by whites, having never experienced the uniquely different historical perspective of American blacks.

Daphne Monet (Jennifer Beals) is the entitled femme fatale character who sets the entire narrative in motion, the object of Easy’s search, fiancé of the mayoral candidate Todd Carter, yet also runs with Frank Green (Joseph Latimore), a black hoodlum with a fondness for a blade, quickly caught up in a disastrous web of lies and crime, as he’s easily hoodwinked into believing he’d found her, thrown off by the sultry sexuality of Coretta James (Lisa Nicole Carson), the girlfriend of Dupree Brouchard (Jernard Burks), both old friends from Houston.  As a friend of Daphne, she withholds information, deflecting the truth, instead luring Easy into a steamy sexual encounter while Dupree is drunkenly passed out in the next room.  Albright arranges for a meeting with Easy at the Malibu Pier, an exclusive white neighborhood where he’s accosted by racist youths for talking to a white girl, but Albright comes to his defense, pulling a gun on one of the kids and scaring him senseless, yet by the time he arrives back home the next morning, he’s greeted by a team of white detectives who savagely beat him during an extensive interrogation, where Easy knows they’re not after the truth, just someone to convict, claiming he’s the last one seen with Coretta before she was brutally murdered, but no charges are filed.  Immediately afterwards, he’s ordered inside a car of Matthew Terell (Maury Chaykin), another mayoral candidate, understandably hesitant, but his driver insists, “If he wanted to hurt you, he would have done so already.”  This certainly sets an underlying mood of deeply agitated tension in the air, fertile grounds for Daphne to finally contact Easy, meeting at the Ambassador Hotel, having a bellboy escort him up a side entrance, as blacks are not allowed on the premises, growing more worried about being in a white neighborhood after dark in the company of a white woman when she asks him to drive her to Laurel Canyon in the Hollywood Hills to meet Richard McGee (Scott Lincoln), a white man seen earlier at the club who’s apparently in possession of a very important letter, but they discover he’s been brutally murdered, with his house ransacked.  Daphne panics and takes off, leaving Easy behind, finding his way home by the next morning when Albright is waiting for him, pulling a knife, none too pleased that the information passed along turned out to be bogus, but having seen Daphne gives Easy one more chance to get it right.  Feeling threatened, as people keep breaking into his home, he sends for a friend back in Houston before confronting Joppy about his so-called friend who nearly took his head off, getting him involved in an underworld of unscrupulous criminality, the exact kind of people Easy had been working so hard to avoid in his new life in Los Angeles.  He heads into the luxurious, upscale neighborhood of Todd Carter, learning that Albright was actually hired by Terell, while Carter thought Daphne was miles away (paid by his family to leave town), delighted to hear she was nearby, offering him money to find her, yet when he gets home, he’s jumped by Frank Green, pulling a knife and quickly getting him to the ground and is about to slit his throat when Mouse (Don Cheadle) intervenes, his trigger-happy friend from Houston, a career criminal with homicidal tendencies, shooting Green in the shoulder while trying to get him to talk, allowing Frank to escape, “You only been in my house five minutes, and you already done shot someone.”  Mouse is the kind of friend who shoots first and asks questions later, and can be hilariously menacing, stealing nearly every scene he’s in, always one step over the edge while wearing a particularly dapper style of suit.  Easy is morally upright and thinks things through, while Mouse quickly resorts to violence, like a defense mechanism, yet clearly he’s there to help Easy, which he appreciates, but he’ll also screw things up in a heartbeat, leaving Easy responding in horror, which plays out in due course.  Questioned again by detectives who are ready to arrest him for murder, he pleads for one more day to actually find the killer, leading to a whirlwind finale that takes us through a twisted and circuitous path, discovering hidden truths about several of the major players, turning into murky, atmospheric revelations in the style of CHINATOWN, exposing a seedy underbelly where Los Angeles is viewed as a breeding ground for sin and moral depravity, viewed fatalistically through a noir lens, with little hope for change.  Straightjacketed by the race issue, black expression is suffocated and stifled, confined to their limited space, while political payoffs allow much bigger crimes to flourish, poisoning the waters of the future.  Franklin does an excellent job recreating images of the 40’s and 50’s, using racial dividing lines as a litmus test for moral transgressions, where Easy can’t rely upon any white authoritative control, but must set his own standards for principled justice, serving as his own moral compass.  One attribute of Easy is that he has untrustworthy friends, like Coretta supplying him with bad information, or Joppy setting him up in business with dangerous company, or Mouse’s sheer sociopathic instability, despite being one of his most trustworthy friends, yet at the end of the film, sitting with a friend on the porch in front of his home, he ponders, “If you got a friend that you know does bad things, I mean real bad things, and you still keep him as a friend even though you know what he’s like, do you think that’s wrong?”  The unequivocal reply is “All you got is your friends.”  

Carl Franklin Interview with Eddie Muller - Pt 1 - YouTube (8:57)  Recorded onstage at the Music Box Theater during the 2018 Noir City Film Festival in Chicago, August 17, 2018

Carl Franklin Interview with Eddie Muller - Pt 2 YouTube (13:58)

Carl Franklin Interview with Eddie Muller - Pt 3  YouTube (12:29)

One False Move

 

Director Carl Franklin

Bill Paxton

Cynda Williams and Billy Bob Thornton

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE FALSE MOVE       A                                                                                                           USA (105 mi)  1992  d: Carl Franklin

Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel gave me a career.  I get a little choked up.  What happened was that IRS Media was primarily a straight-to-video company and weren’t really equipped to market films theatrically.  They didn’t really have a lot of faith in “One False Move.”  What happened is that my wife, Jessie Beaton, who produced the film, got it booked and Anne Thompson saw it at the Palm Springs Film Festival and John Hartl saw it in Seattle.  Then Sheila Benson saw it and took it to the Floating Film Festival.  That is where Roger Ebert saw it and he and Gene Siskel just became champions for it and talked about it on whatever show. They single-handedly became our marketing.                                                                           —Carl Franklin, Carl Franklin, Director of ONE FALSE MOVE – rogerebert.com             

Released just days after the Los Angeles uprising following the Rodney King beating by police, when all four police officers were acquitted on charges of using excessive force, in direct conflict with the publicly viewed videotape that proved otherwise, this film offers a new twist on Robert Siodmak’s Oscar nominated film noir THE KILLERS (1946), coming on the heels of the Coen brother’s Blood Simple (1984), suggesting film noir is back with a vengeance in this strikingly original neo-noir work transporting the setting to the American South, which allows novice black director Carl Franklin to provide a commentary on unresolved American race relations.  Made on a shoestring budget, part of the indie movement of the 90’s, the film deals with the question of violence and race in some really powerful, problematic, and disturbing ways, listed as the #1 film of the year by Gene Siskel, Gene Siskel: 1969-1998, and #2 on Ebert’s list, Roger Ebert: 1967-2006, both fervently advocating for a socially relevant film that was initially targeted for a very limited release before heading straight to video.  Opening in an urban setting, the sight of some shockingly gruesome murders, the escape takes us through a meandering odyssey of desolate country roads, cheap motels, and diners, yet every move calls attention to that horrific atrocity opening the film, where the brutal savagery of the crime is simply staggering, and by extension, the violent history of the nation itself.  Co-written by Billy Bob Thornton and Tom Epperson, while exquisitely shot on 35mm by James L. Carter, much of it in Cotton Plant, Arkansas, a mostly black small-town with a population of just over 500, and home of gospel singer extraordinaire Sister Rosetta Tharpe, about two hours from Hot Springs, where Thornton grew up, at times with no plumbing or electricity, bringing authenticity to the screen, yet what’s perhaps most effective is the stripped-down simplicity of its style, with a director in full command of character and mood, where the quiet moments render the most emotional weight, offering a surprising turn, as the film is chock full of Southern charm and intricate small-town detail that might surprise viewers, as they don’t expect to be taken into this vastly unexplored landscape in film noirs, which made their name in the 40’s and 50’s through gritty urban environments.  Eddie Muller, founder of the Film Noir Foundation and programmer of the Noir Film Festival, impressibly describes the film as “one of the best crime movies made in this country in the last 50 years.”  Something of an extension of Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989), with more of an emphasis on a contaminated white immorality, at the time of release few knew the director was black, as most simply assumed he was white, yet what’s so subtle are the slowly developing racial inferences, largely revealed through white characters, yet this film traverses where few others are willing to go, exploring how white privilege perpetuates generations of hidden racism, from taking advantage of special perks that only whites can experience, to refusing to accept responsibility for their mixed-race children, typically denying paternity and moving on from them, leading completely separate lives, pretending as if they simply don’t exist.  Playwright Sam Shepard explored the idea of separate families in Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas (1984) and Robert Altman’s Fool for Love (1985), yet neither explored any racial connotations, setting this into a unique realm, adding a racial dimension, where the full force of the subject creeps up on you, with viewers having no idea where this is heading, as the crime spree captures all the attention, getting all the headlines, while this little aspect of the story only really comes into play at the end, punctuated by a devastating emotional finale that is simply chilling.  While the opening is easily one of the more disturbing moments anyone could possibly experience in a theater, bordering on a snuff film, where a pleasant party atmosphere of casual drinking and dancing is interrupted by a ferociously violent home invasion, leading to a monstrous serial killing carried out by two guys with no moral compass whatsoever, the profanity screaming Ray Malcolm (Billy Bob Thornton in a ponytail), his knife-wielding, silent assassin partner in crime, Pluto (Michael Beach), while Ray’s girlfriend Fantasia (Cynda Williams, who got married to Thornton after filming was completed, but divorced before the film was released two years later) passively watches the murders of her friends while an eerie video of the party revelers filmed just moments earlier plays in the background in what turns out to be a spectacularly heinous drug theft, stealing a hidden stash of cocaine and money, immediately getting high and hitting the road. 

With terrific performances and a brilliantly written screenplay that explores the humanity in everyone, Los Angeles homicide detectives Dud Cole (Jim Metzler) and John McFeely (Earl Billings) are the salt and pepper cops assigned to the case, quickly identifying the perpetrators from the party video left behind, hearing Fantasia say she was heading for Star City, Arkansas, as she has family and a small child there.  Calling the local sheriff there, we’re immediately transported into an alternate universe, as Dale “Hurricane” Dixon (Bill Paxton) has that eager, enthusiastic charm of the good ol’ boy network, seemingly having all the time in the world as the LA cops can’t get a word in edgewise on the phone, but they do discover Dixon knows Fantasia from her past days in Star City, trying to warn him that these diabolical killers may be on their way there, and that they would be joining him shortly.  Most of the film actually takes place in a sleepy, small-town hamlet where little ever happens, with Dixon introducing the jaded city cops to an entirely different lifestyle, skipping out on his breakfast bill, stealing candy bars from behind the counter, while acting like the entire town is at his own personal disposal.  The two LA cops are literally dumbfounded at how blithely routine police procedures are ignored, as Dixon barnstorms his way wherever he goes, announcing himself and his companions long before they get there, removing any element of surprise, showing little comprehension for just how dangerous these abominable criminals have revealed themselves to be, fully admitting that he’s never once had to pull his gun in his entire career.  Nevertheless he invites the detectives to his home, sharing a home cooked meal, meeting his wife Cheryl Ann (Natalie Canerday), who announces she’s never seen her husband more excited, where they are treated like local celebrities, with the proud sheriff showing them off wherever he goes.  Where they would advance with extreme caution, Dixon simply barges his way in, impulsively jumping into family gatherings, asking an old, near-deaf uncle if he’s heard from Ray, or whether the mother has gotten word from Fantasia, exposing their entire reason for being there.  Dixon easily diffuses a domestic dispute, where an out-of-control, axe-wielding husband is drunkenly threatening to kill his wife, with the LAPD guys pulling their guns, but Dixon restrains him simply by talking like a friend, showing no aggressive demeanor, and the man quickly gives up without resorting to any violence.  It’s quite a contrast to the urban style of police encounter, guns drawn in anticipation of a far messier outcome.  Despite his natural spunk, the LA guys make fun of him behind his back, overheard one day, as they’re ridiculing his naïveté, colloquial speech, and lack of professional training.  In spite of his innate ineptitude, Dixon can’t wait to work on the case, where his recklessness and unbridled enthusiasm brings an endearing Southern charm, where his brash humor and infectious delight have a positive effect on viewers, yet as McFeely points out, “Hurricane is waiting on the bad guys the way a kid waits for Christmas.”  Paxton plays the role with a great deal of charisma, given a certain misguided nobility, viewed as the luckiest guy in the world, as he has a good job, a wife, a family, a home, where his heart is in the right place, even as he blunders into a situation and makes it worse, often interjecting terms like “colored boys” and “niggers,” completely unreflective and oblivious to the crude offensiveness of the language, especially in front of black officer McFeely, who is consistently slighted in favor of his white partner Cole.  Moving from an uncompromising crime genre to a more intimate character study, many may relate to this down-home aspect of his character, believing these are minor indiscretions, but by the end of the film they help create a fuller picture of just what kind of impact he actually has.

Coinciding with the portrait of small-town life, the camera also followers the killers on the run, going through a psychological meltdown after they quickly run through the cocaine, with Pluto cutting off the supply, wanting to have enough to make some money when they get to Houston.  After stopping in a convenience store where a state trooper is chatting with the cashier, that same trooper stops them on the highway while viewing their out-of-town plates, but as he pulls the two men out of the car, Fantasia walks up from behind and shoots him dead, where the store surveillance footage puts a face on them, confirming their identity.  What happens in Houston is equally problematic, yet another drug transaction gone wrong, as they are leaving dead bodies behind wherever they go, running out of options, splitting up however, allowing Fantasia to head home to meet her family (stealing their money before she leaves), while they will meet up with her there.  Fantasia turns out to be Lila Walker, having grown up in Star City, with the cops visiting her mother and brother Ronnie (Kevin Hunter), who have been taking care of her 5-year old son Byron (Robert Anthony Bell).  One thing Franklin emphasizes is a Christian aspect to Southern life, suggesting this is part of the white privilege imposing itself on blacks, often distorting their lives, repeating the negative stigma of blacks easily falling into a life of crime, yet excusing their own role, with the film openly challenging the role whites play in undermining black lives by refusing to support economic needs within that community, like providing jobs or medical care, or devoting adequate tax dollars for structural repair commensurate with white communities, something that simply doesn’t happen even when the majority population is black.  After generations of neglect, a moral rot may set in, where the everyday mindset is that blacks are simply viewed as inferior, opening the doors to white supremacy.  This film provides an alternative moral vision that suggests racist beliefs can negate black growth and cause severe harm which may be at the root of black crime, as there are so few viable options.  When Lila slips into town and meets her brother, she tells him, “I already look guilty.  Looking guilty is being guilty for black people; you now that,” suggesting criminality is not so much a choice but an unavoidable fate for many black Americans.  The grotesque brutality of the opening suggests this moral vision is not only deeply ingrained in the American South, but modern urban centers like Los Angeles, where blacks continue to live under a presumption of guilt, as only whites can be presumed innocent.  Dixon has been eyeing Lila from afar, finding her staying in an abandoned home outside of town, with her brother bringing her son for a visit, but once they leave, Dixon moves in, apparently having a history with her, as it soon becomes clear he’s the father of her child, something he refuses to acknowledge, taking advantage of her as a teenager caught for shoplifting, where “helping her” turned into having a sexual affair with her, underaged and a virgin at the time, so there is no question who the father is.  Still, he ignores the child, living an alternate “white” reality where blacks aren’t welcome, yet this single incident may have led her to flee the vicinity.  As they wait, she sensually appeals to his manhood for special favors, while he also discovers a handgun in Lila’s purse, setting her up as a typical femme fatale, a damaged soul down on her luck, trying to use her wit and guile.  Her compelling backstory is revealed slowly and calculatingly, offering a completely different view of Dixon, who is hardly the choir boy he appeared to be, yet the more time they spend together the more viewers come to realize Dixon’s role in why the killers are heading for Star City.  In the course of the evening, Lila reveals that she, her brother, and her son are all the progeny of absent white fathers, staining their lives in indescribable ways, inflicting psychological damage, producing shame, a subject discussed in Toni Morrison’s first novel The Bluest Eye, which may explain her poor choice in boyfriends, eventually hooking up with Ray, a perverted “white trash” criminal lowlife who routinely abuses her, a reflection of her own low self-esteem, yet part of a tradition that was passed on from mother to daughter.  In fact, Lila’s experience mirrors that of America, as black women have been historically terrorized by white men since the days of slavery, having no recourse or legal protection, yet the “white” twist on what amounts to rape is to call it “helping,” part of a long history of patriarchal white privilege that allows them to abdicate their responsibilities.  The extent of Dixon’s own contribution to Lila’s downfall comes as a shocking surprise, a devastating revelation that powerfully elevates the dramatic weight of the story.  Knowing the other two killers are coming to meet her, he agrees to let her free if she lures them into his trap where he’ll be waiting, alone, with no back up, an underdog sheriff finally having the opportunity to mix it up with the big leagues.  The bold finale has a slow, cinematic lead-in that amps up the tension, juxtaposing the arriving car carrying the killers, the police vehicle searching for Dixon’s whereabouts, and a black man playing a blues harmonica, with an accompanying blues-tinged theme played on electric guitar by child prodigy Eric Gale, one of the great session musicians who unfortunately died not long afterwards.  This masterful sequence leads to a stunning climax, which may leave some breathless in the elegance and graceful simplicity of the captured moment.