No Way Out (1950)

Joseph Mankiewicz (left), Linda Darnell, and Sidney Poitier

Sidney Poitier and Mildred Joanne Smith

NO WAY OUT                      A                    

USA  (106 mi)  1950  d:  Joseph L. Mankiewicz

Ain’t that a lot to ask of us — being better than them when we get killed proving we’re just as good?

—Lefty Jones (Dots Johnson)

Joseph L. Mankiewicz comes from a distinguished family, as his older brother Herman was a co-writer of CITIZEN KANE (1941) along with Orson Welles, while he is the great uncle to Ben, a regular host introducing films for TCM.  A prolific writer, director and producer, he was one of Hollywood’s most literate and intelligent filmmakers, winning Best Director Academy Awards two years in a row for A LETTER TO THREE WIVES (1949) and ALL ABOUT EVE (1950), the second director to accomplish that following John Ford’s awards for The Grapes of Wrath (1940) and HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY (1941), though Mankiewicz is the one and only writer/director to win successive Academy Awards as both a screenwriter and director for the same films.  He built a successful career as a screenwriter in the 30’s and 40’s for Paramount and MGM before getting the opportunity to direct in the mid 40’s for 20^th Century Fox under Darryl Zanuck, where his films developed a smart reputation for distinguished wordplay, where he had a lifelong affection for the New York theater scene.  By the time he made this film, Mankiewicz was also President of the Screen Director’s Guild during the rise of McCarthyism and the Hollywood blacklist of 1947 when the industry was attempting to eradicate Communists from their ranks.  He opposed mandatory loyalty oaths for Guild members, which led to an attempted coup by Cecil B. DeMille to have him recalled from office (DGA Quarterly Magazine | Spring 2011 | Features - Loyalty Oath), but the bid failed.  Few members opposed the oath, which was eventually written into the by-laws the following year, but they resented the compulsory aspect of it.  Nonetheless, it played a significant role in Mankiewicz refusing a second term and deciding to leave Hollywood the following year.  For whatever reasons, in a career that spans from 1929 to 1972, his name is not usually included in the pantheon of great American directors, where he is heralded more in Europe than he is at home, honored with a lifetime achievement award and an accompanying film restrospective at the 1979 Venice Film Festival.  Made at the height of his success, career-wise, what distinguishes this picture is the direct assault on the invidious effects of racism, hiding nothing, as it’s not shrouded in subtlety, where the N-word and all variations of heinous racial slurs are brazenly on display, opening the floodgates for vicious race hatred, one of the few Hollywood films to deal so realistically on such a sensitive topic, especially since black filmmakers have been virtually absent from Hollywood after the 1940’s.  Richard Widmark gets top billing as an avowed white supremacist spewing racial vitriol throughout the film, most of it targeting a single black doctor at a hospital, where the horrendous verbal assault is so incredibly offensive that nothing like this could be made in films today.  Few other directors would ever attempt to do what Mankiewicz, to his credit, excels at, co-written by Lesser Samuels, who was also a co-writer on Billy Wilder’s equally devastating ACE IN THE HOLE (1951), basing the material on his son-in-law’s experience of being a lone black doctor at that time, mirroring Jackie Robinson’s experiences breaking the color barrier in baseball, having to endure a constant stream of vicious racial attacks.  Under Mankiewicz’ direction, Widmark isn’t viewed so much as a criminal sociopath, but an extreme reflection of a larger community, which makes the film more compelling.   While Hollywood had taken a few stabs at movies depicting racism, like Elia Kazan’s PINKY (1949) or Stanley Kramer’s HOME OF THE BRAVE (1949), both of which represent liberal attempts to sympathize with the black plight, but at the expense of realism, as these are clearly white views on the black experience that reveal much more about the white perception.  Mankiewicz’ film is far more complex, notable for being the screen debut for actor Sidney Poitier (who has an uncredited role in an earlier film), who lied about his age to get the part, claiming he was 27 when he was only 22, playing a black doctor fresh out of medical school, and the object of Widmark’s ire. 

   

Interestingly, the film also features a deaf character, whose limitations figure prominently into the storyline, requiring several actors to learn sign language in order to communicate.  Despite the care and precautions in shaping the story, the film was banned outright or scenes cut out in order to be shown in certain cities around the country, fearing racial unrest, playing well in big cities, but failing miserably in small towns, while most theaters in the South refused to screen the picture under any circumstances.  Wasting little time, the film gets right into it, with white doctors at the County Hospital led by chief medical resident Dr. Daniel Wharton (Stephen McNally) seen congratulating the first black doctor at the hospital and welcoming him to their ranks, Dr. Luther Brooks (Sidney Poitier, who is really the lead character, but receives fourth billing), who just passed the state board examination to earn a license to practice, signing on as a junior resident for another year at the hospital where he trained.  Eager to work his first night shift in the hospital’s prison ward, two brothers are brought in after getting shot trying to rob a gas station, Johnny and Ray Biddle, Dick Paxton and Richard Widmark, both shot in the leg.  While Johnny is more gravely wounded, seemingly disoriented, unable to feel a lit cigarette lying on the palm of his hand, Ray is adamantly against treatment from a black doctor, immediately hurling startling racial epithets at him, the likes of which we rarely hear in movies.  First examining his eyes, thinking he may have a brain tumor, the patient dies on the table when Brooks attempts to administer a spinal tap, with Ray immediately blaming the black doctor for his brother’s death, calling it outright murder.  The ferocious tone of hatred and contempt is stark and to the point, so potently realistic that Brooks begins to question his own actions, wondering if perhaps the relentless assault to his character threw him off momentarily.  Wharton warns him not to second guess himself, reminding him that he acted professionally, but doesn’t go as far as saying he would have done the same thing, suggesting there may have been other factors.  Feeling slighted by the character assassination, Brooks wants to perform an autopsy to confirm his diagnosis, but Wharton indicates state law requires consent by the family.  When the two doctors approach Ray, he grows wildly agitated at the thought, claiming the doctors are in cahoots with one another, that they would mischaracterize the results just to get Brooks off the hook, reiterating he’s nothing more than a murderer.  Just a decade after the film was made, the theme of the 60’s was racial tolerance, with school integration a focal point in alleviating the vast economic disparities, but now since the election of Trump the sentiment has changed 180 degrees, where the theme of the modern era is back to racial intolerance.  It’s confounding how much a picture made 70 years ago brings to light a fresh perspective on a longstanding issue that still plagues us today, as Widmark’s ingrained white supremacist views, with a susceptibility to believe in unproven conspiracy theories, are perfectly in line with the most vociferous Trump supporters of today, especially those wielding automatic weapons while shouting anti-government slogans, mirroring Trump’s cry of “Fake News,” which is how the Ku Klux Klan has altered and resurrected their inflammatory fanaticism, shrouding their abominable racial views in anti-government rhetoric.  With the slogan “Make America Great Again,” Widmark’s voracious anti-black views are precisely what many of the most ardent Trump followers have in mind.  It’s impossible to watch this film today and not think of all the vile white supremacists who have crawled out from every rock and crevice in the past few years, where there has been a surge in white nationalist violence (White nationalist hate groups have grown 55% in Trump era ...).  For them, Widmark’s Ray Biddle is their proud spokesperson and role model. 

Seeking other family members who might  consent to an autopsy, Wharton and Brooks discover from police records that the deceased was married to Edie Johnson (Linda Darnell), openly suspicious of the visitors, but their kindness towards her takes her by surprise.  Darnell actually steals the film, claiming this was the only role in her lifetime that she was proud of, also appearing in John Ford’s MY DARLING CLEMENTINE (1946), but Darnell loathed Westerns, with unfortunate circumstances following her throughout her career, plagued by extortion letters, a fraudulent business manager that stole her money, her reputation tainted from ugly tabloid fodder provided by her own mother, largely exploited by the industry, living a sad life that included a longtime affair with the director, who never left his wife, so she never received the kind of appreciation and respect she was seeking, yet she is excellent in this film, carrying herself with a little attitude and swagger that no one else exhibits, and it’s apparent immediately.  Edie actually divorced Johnny over a year ago and has no love lost for the entire family, having grown up in a white slum neighborhood on the wrong side of the tracks called Beaver Canal, feeling it never leaves you even after you escape, as it has a way of making people feel cheap.  Ironically, the music playing on the radio in her rented single room is the sophisticated black jazz of Duke Ellington.  She visits Ray to persuade him to order the autopsy, but his twisted mind brings her back to her old worthless life, including an ill-advised affair they had together under his brother’s nose, telling her the doctors played her for a “chump,” as they only want it to cover up their crime, that Johnny never would have died with a white doctor, instructing her to contact Rocky (Bert Freed) in Beaver Canal, who stirs up racial animosity, planning a race riot that evening in the black neighborhood they describe as “Niggertown.”  Brooks has a sympathetic wife Cora (Mildred Joanne Smith in her lone movie appearance), living with his mother (Maude Simmons), sister Connie (Ruby Dee) and brother-in-law John (Ossie Davis), married in real life, the first picture that they worked together.  When blacks get word of what’s in store that evening, they make their own plans to initiate an attack to catch the white rabble rousers off guard.  The confrontation leaves plenty injured, with Brooks tending to a white patient at the hospital until a white woman orders him to “Keep your black hands off my boy” before spitting in his face.  After a dramatic pause, a stunned Brooks exits the premises and disappears.  Edie, meanwhile, shows up at Wharton’s doorstep in a state of drunken dismay, tended to by Wharton’s black housekeeper Gladys (Amanda Randolph, superb in her role), angry that she’s black, but too drunk to do anything about it.  By morning they’re best of friends, as Gladys simply exudes personality and has a folksy way of putting anyone at ease.  This relationship is at the heart of the film, as it reveals quite simply that once fears and differences are set aside people from differing backgrounds have a lot more in common than they suspect, finding it easy to like each other, so Edie actually represents positive growth, exhibiting signs of hope.  The same can’t be said for Ray, whose venomous hate drives his every action, escaping from the police, then kidnapping Edie, beating her into submission to call Brooks and set him up at a place where Ray will be waiting.  While there are some contrivances, it’s important to realize how well this material was actually handled in an era when no one else displayed half the insight or artistic dexterity with such a provocative subject matter.  In the same year that Mankiewicz was showered with a record 14 Academy Award nominations for ALL ABOUT EVE, winning six awards, this little film fell under the radar and is rarely mentioned, yet it’s dramatic impact is stunning, with Widmark and Poitier, friends in real life, offering stellar performances that hold up over time, portraying the opposite ends of the spectrum, both angered and frustrated by their limited influence, with circumstances challenging their manhood and self-respect.  Poitier’s dignified performance shattered stereotypes, but he wasn’t playing that idealized black man so early in his career, instead remaining conflicted, filled with exposed insecurities and flaws that leave him more human, making this a rare film experience, told intelligently and with bold assurance from Mankiewicz, who is perhaps the only American writer/director who could do justice with this material, allowing multiple revelations at every turn.  Along with John Cassavetes’ Shadows (1959), Michael Roemer’s Nothing But a Man (1964), Howard Alk’s The Murder of Fred Hampton (1971), Charles Burnett’s Killer of Sheep (1979), Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989), Julie Dash’s Daughters of the Dust (1991), and more recently Raoul Peck’s 2017 Top Ten List #3 I Am Not Your Negro, this belongs on a short list of the best films ever made about being black in America.   

Winchester '73

WINCHESTER ’73              A-                   

USA  (92 mi)  1950  d:  Anthony Mann 

From films like T-MEN (1947) and RAW DEAL (1948), Anthony Mann brought his textbook film noir stylization to the American western, bringing along Frank Capra’s American everyman Jimmy Stewart to boot, the first of five westerns they would make together, giving him a piece of the take in lieu of a salary that he could not afford to pay, turning the lovable Stewart into a man with a tortured past, obsessed, angry and bitter at having spent the last few years of his life chasing after his nemesis, the man who shot his father in the back.  Along with a more hard-edged, psychological view, Mann also preferred to shoot on location, which adds an element of realism and authenticity to the look of the film, while still carrying over insulting American stereotypes about Indians, where none other than Rock Hudson makes an early appearance as an Indian chief, uttering that stupifying “Injun” lingo to add insult to injury, not to mention that exact same portrayal of Indians in battle that John Ford initiated in STAGECOACH (1939), sending wave after wave of Indians on horseback senselessly to meet their deaths while few if any whites get shot, actions that by any standards would be considered sheer idiocy.  Nonetheless, this film helped bring about a new wave of westerns that once again took another stab at re-inventing the West, this time at least making an attempt at being more truthful.  

A unique twist in this film is introducing the actual weapon, a Winchester 1873 repeating rifle, that the opening title credits indicate “won the West,” as Indians were never able to match weapons with a repeating rifle that did not need to be reloaded after a single shot, their ultimate undoing, and then turning one such rifle into a character in the film, as the story seems to follow whoever’s carrying the gun.  Set on the 4th of July in Dodge City, Kansas in 1876, Marshal Wyatt Earp (Will Geer) holds a shooting contest where the winner is awarded a rare "One of One Thousand" edition of the rifle, a valued weapon that draws together Stewart as Lin McAdams, along with his loyal sidekick High Spade Frankie Wilson, the always low key Millard Mitchell, and the volatile Dutch Henry Brown (Stephen McNally), the man McAdams has been trailing.  When they spot each other, their reaction says it all.  But they can’t kill each other, as the law disarms everyone entering town in order to keep the peace, so they go through the motions of simply hating one another.  The shooting contest is interesting, as it goes into what’s ironically called sudden death overtime to determine the winner, McAdams—was there ever a doubt?  But within minutes, Brown and his gang have bushwacked McAdams and stolen his gun.  A pursuit follows, where the gun is at the heart of plenty of action, which takes them to a legendary card game between Brown and an Indian trader, John McIntire, full of swagger and especially creepy at outsmarting others, a gun deal gone wrong between the trader and Young Bull (Hudson), an eventful buggy ride between saloon girl Lola Manners, one of Shelley Winters best roles, sensuous and tough at the same time, never seen with a speck of dirt on her, her hair never out of place, seen earlier being unsolicitously thrown out of town by the Marshal in order to give the town an appearance of being clean and orderly for the festivities, and her fiancé (Charles Drake) just as they are attacked by Indians.  This buggy chase is memorable when the guy confoundingly halts the buggy and bolts away on a horse leaving Winters to fend for herself, a stupifyingly cowardly act, only to discover a small group of Cavalry around the bend, so he returns and brings her to temporary shelter, though as they soon discover, they are surrounded by Indians.   

One clever sound device is listening to the singing of the Indians, who make eerie, highly distinctive animal calls in the night, while also getting the sound of the rifles right.  McAdams and his partner join this little party as well, telling war stories about the Civil War, where incredulously, McAdams is not only aware of the Custer defeat while riding out on the range, which happened in late June of the same year, but he’s also well informed on the Indian’s military strategy on how to attack repeating rifles, which one would have to conclude would be impossible since there were no witnesses.  Again, this is typical of American mythmaking in westerns, which continues through John Wayne’s portrayal in John Ford’s legendary THE SEARCHERS (1956), considered by many to be the best western ever made, where the lead whites (Wayne and Stewart) are not only the most skilled marksmen, but they’re also the wisest military tacticians on the planet, offering a mythologically superior view of whites contrasted against Indians who can’t hit the broad side of a barn.  This exact same scenario has played out in dime store novels, comic books, newspapers, books, as well as movies, always the same, where Indians are just plain dumb, where westerns established the seeds of historic racism that may never be rectified.  Since this is one of the iconic westerns, and seen as a turning point towards more realism, this is painfully hard to swallow.  Nonetheless, the whites are attacked at first light (perpetuating another myth that Indians never attack at night) and wave after wave of Indians are slaughtered before our eyes, including Young Bull and his infamous rifle.  Discovered on the battlefield, the rifle is ironically turned over to Drake for his courage under fire, but he soon loses it as well. 

Enter Waco Johnny Dean, Dan Duryea as a preening lunatic playing his part in the physically exaggerated style of Brando, where his theatricality seems amusing even to Lola whom he abducts and abhors everything that he stands for, but she’s caught by his unorthodox, near caricature of a psychotic outlaw.  He joins up with Dutch Henry Brown, as outlaws always seem to do, and the rest is history.  McAdams stands down Waco Johnny in a manic scene of pure madness, where Stewart had never been seen before savagely fuming with such venom, before he and Brown hightail it out of town for the inevitable final showdown.  We soon discover in a Cain and Abel story that Brown is the bad seed brother to McAdams, whose been tracking him down ever since he shot their father in the back.  They end up in a shootout just between the two of them in a rocky canyon with bullets flying off the rocks, a delirious gunfight that is all about family honor and personal vengeance.  In the end, despite a nicely crafted edginess to a movie that delivers the goods with plenty of action, taut editing, crisp dialogue, some interesting characterizations, and exquisite location photography by cinematographer William Daniels, especially the silhouettes on horseback riding at the top of the hills, copied by none other than Ingmar Bergman for the finale to THE SEVENTH SEAL (1957), the resolution comes all too quickly as the moral lines are drawn hard and fast in this movie.

Postscript:
Largely a response to the extensive comments left below by Andrea Ostrov Letania who has her own website here:  ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA

I'm afraid this response may not do justice to your stated concerns, as differing views may be just that, but it's an attempt to clarify possible misconceptions.  Racial depictions are prevalent in Westerns, along with societal inequities and historical injustices, so they need to be evaluated along with the film.

“John Ford initiated in STAGECOACH (1939), sending wave after wave of Indians on horseback senselessly to meet their deaths while few if any whites get shot, actions that by any standards would be considered sheer idiocy.”

To clarify, the idiocy isn't what happened, that Indians (or Chinese Boxers in one of your examples) were shot down in droves, but the way this was portrayed onscreen, where the whites not only shoot the Indians, but also their horses out from under them - - all in a single shot.  This is utter lunacy, yet it is the key to understanding John Ford's mythical creation of a continually escalating visceral thrill onscreen, where the camera is placed low to the ground looking up at the Indian on the horse as they both die, falling simultaneously to the ground, all from a single bullet.  This happens repeatedly, as the fast-paced movement actually creates tension and drives the action.  Why few critics have questioned this outrageously racist depiction is beyond me, as whites are always depicted as not only militarily, but morally and intellectually superior, as if this is a known and undisputed fact, continually portraying Indians as savages and never as the culturally developed people that they were, who did not ravage and destroy the earth, understanding they were dependent upon it to survive.  These images degrade the viewer's understanding and appreciation for Indians and their place in American history, as they were more often the victim of genocide and untold atrocities by the U.S. Cavalry and Defense Department that attempted to wipe them off the face of the earth in order to make way for the white settlers.  It is this fictitious and mythical view of supposed white superiority, as projected in the movies, that continues to plague this nation, reflected by the equally hostile and racist attitudes of many misinformed American soldiers when they are sent to foreign lands.    

I'm not suggesting the Indians (or the Boxers) were stupid, only the invented version of Indians as savages as created by whites in movies, which shows no understanding whatsoever of Indians or Indian culture, something altogether missing in these films.  My point here is to clarify how Mann at least attempted to add a look of realism, including psychological depth and complexity to the Western, but continued to project the same racist "Indian as savages" viewpoint depicted by Ford.  Both added to the common misconceptions, yet both are revered for their supposed authenticity and historic attention to detail in their depiction of the West.  Someone needs to point out how racist and degrading their supposed portrait of authenticity really is.  They allowed white characters to be psychologically complex, but never Indians.

When looking at John Ford, he is a man whose cinematic visualizations are renowned, but his hatchet job of American history is equally legendary, as he insists on perpetrating the same racist myths about Indians that have been in effect for the past 100 years, which makes his historic vision as a filmmaker no better than the dime store novelist that originated these misconceptions.  Ford has always portrayed Indians in the least desirable light, showing them to be less than human, vicious savages, terrible shots, poor military strategists, and little more than pathetic wretches of humanity, so little sympathy is ever shown when a gazillion Indians are killed onscreen, such as in STAGECOACH (1939). 

Compare that to the elevated sympathy offered to two white women escorted by a cavalry troop through hostile Indian territory in SHE WORE A YELLOW RIBBON (1949), an overreaching drama that opens in 1876 just as news is spreading about the defeat of General Custer at the hands of the Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapahoe, sending waves of anxiety and fear throughout the West, where a newsreel style narrator misinforms the audience straightaway, probably exactly as the newspapers speculated in that era, believing various Indian tribes were gathering together in great numbers to purge the West of white settlers.  In reality, Indians were gathering in record numbers to defend themselves against the inevitable advance of the whites into their territory.  After the Custer debacle, however, rather than remain a fighting force of multiple tribes united in opposition, as is suggested here, they split back up into smaller tribes, each going their own separate way, as they had always lived, reflective of their nomadic lifestyle of living off the land.  But that’s not the way the movies tell the story, instead projecting a view of the white settlers as victims of random and indiscriminate Indian violence, overlooking the genocide initiated against Indians by the U.S. cavalry throughout the West, ordered to militarily defeat one tribe after another, rounding up all free Indians in a form of ethnic cleansing, eventually forcing them into submission, legally requiring that they live away from their traditional hunting grounds, forcing them to live in isolation on desolate reservations, subject to rampant disease and the rotted food of government rations where more than half died within the first few years.  Ford conveniently leaves out all references to the true story of “American” history and instead recounts the same mythological racist lore that turns Indians into savages while the whites are noble heroes. 

While you may perceive Indians as clever in THE SEARCHERS (1956), this is a film about a racist and bitterly hateful man, perhaps the most racist film ever made, where Wayne's character is the ultimate Indian hater who rides for years harboring the racist view that whites raised by Indians are better off dead, as his captive niece has been irredeemably "soiled" by the experience, a view he reluctantly revises when he later rescues the daughter of the one woman he loves.  But this view recurs in Barbara Stanwyck's role in yet another Western portrayal, TROOPER HOOK (1957), where she is so scorned by the townsfolk just for having been an Indian's woman, her fall from grace is so severe that she is forced to live outside any society, white or Indian, much like Wayne at the end of THE SEARCHERS.  Wayne would also rather kill buffalo and leave it to rot on the plains than allow Indians to have food to eat, while the director Ford includes a despicable scene, also Aldrich in ULZANA'S RAID (1972), where whites raised by Indians are depicted as having been raped into insanity.  With Wayne typically the hero that audiences always root for, they are NOT apt to question this horrendous depiction of Indians and the generational harm these images cause both in planting the seed of ignorance in the brain and then having to re-learn how to reject such negative stereotypes, not when there is near unanimous praise for the film and the filmmaker. 

There is no question that in any John Ford/John Wayne movie, but in particular STAGECOACH (1939), SHE WORE A YELLOW RIBBON (1949), and THE SEARCHERS (1956), together they forged a tough guy persona as the good guy, a lone man who harbors private secrets from a life filled with experience, adding a touch of intrigue and mystery, not to mention power to his character, personifying the freedom that is associated with the West.  In each, Wayne is viewed as the hero and will inevitably be the most skilled practitioner with a gun or rifle, but also in devising strategy whenever he and/or his men get caught in a tight situation.  It's also safe to say that James Stewart was known for his likeability which continued throughout his career, becoming one of the most beloved figures in American cinema, and that Mann used this trait against type in several of his Westerns, starting with this one. 

Indian strategy is at least mentioned in WINCHESTER '73, but the Jimmy Stewart character is already, in just a matter of weeks, well informed on the Indian military strategy in defeating Custer, displaying a kind of superhuman intelligence.  Again, what's racist is the demeaning and racially restricted view that only whites have a capacity for intelligence, as Indians are never depicted as having knowledge and skill, or powers of analysis, or exhibit a sense of humor or a concern for others, or any capability for being human. These qualities, in both Ford and Mann films, are only allowed for whites, just like a white-only neighborhood, or a drinking fountain, or a rest room.   

I'm not suggesting all Westerns need to be revisionist, this was the 50's after all, a time when Americans found Communists lurking under every rock, and call me an anti-racist if you will (I've been called worse!), but I will call them out on their misrepresented portrayal of Indians, as enough is enough, and Westerns are among the worst offenders of a culture plagued by race and culture hatred, so it's about time someone sought to eradicate some of the harm done by these damaging and misconceived historical perceptions which only cloud and distort reality, further leading to an ill-informed populace.