Ace in the Hole

ACE IN THE HOLE              A                    

aka:  The Big Carnival

USA  (111 mi)  1951  d:  Billy Wilder

This Billy Wilder film was so tough and brutal in its cynicism that it died a sudden death at the box office, and they re-released it under the title ‘Big Carnival,’ which didn’t help.  Chuck Tatum is a reporter who’s very modern—he’ll do anything to get the story, to make up the story!  He risks not only his reputation, but also the life of this guy who’s trapped in the mine. 

—Martin Scorsese

A grim and pitiless portrait of media manipulation through fake news or yellow journalism that accentuates the most vile human instincts, becoming one of the most scathing indictments of American culture ever produced by a Hollywood filmmaker and a candidate for the most cynical film of all time, with capitalism never looking so heartlessly corrupt, yet this strange phenomena that draws crowds to accident sites or raunchy scandals has never been more grotesquely captivating onscreen, basically indicting spectators for their own voyeuristic tendencies.  Like professional wrestlers that change their persona from bad guys to good guys literally overnight when the right financial offer comes around, Kirk Douglas did pretty much the same thing, starring as an amorally driven villain early in his career before becoming that recognizable heroic figure on the screen.  Billy Wilder draws out his burning intensity, driven by copious amounts of unscrupulous ambition, literally staring into the void of a dark and desperate soul, where his charisma and personal magnetism light up the screen, providing a performance for the ages, where one would be hard-pressed to find a better and more edgy performance throughout his legendary career, though my personal preference leans towards a calmer and much more likable persona in LONELY ARE THE BRAVE (1962), which is reportedly the actor’s favorite as well.  Written by Wilder, Lesser Samuels and Walter Newman, there are some who suggest that the film is humorless, that Wilder dropped his uncanny knack for comedy, but Wilder’s satire is so savagely brutal that many simply overlooked the small treasure troves happening right before their eyes.  Wilder’s acerbic wit and gift for dialogue are legendary, as witty a wordsman as there ever was in the business, yet the film’s opening is an infamous sight gag, with Douglas calmly reading the newspaper in his convertible car while he’s being towed into town, notifying the driver to pull over in front of a newspaper office, as if he’s riding a cab, and telling him to wait while he steps inside for some unfinished business.  Douglas is Chuck Tatum, a morally dubious newspaper reporter charged with nefarious deeds who’s been kicked out of a multitude of offices stretching all across the country from New York to California, now finding himself in the dry desert vacuousness of Albuquerque, New Mexico pleading for a job.  Out of money and out of options, he sells himself to newspaper owner and editor of the Albuquerque Sun-Bulletin, Jacob Q. Boot (Porter Hall), as if he’s getting the greatest deal of his life, willing to work at a major discount.  Promising to make the editor $200 bucks, his logic sounds strangely self-serving, “Mr. Boot, I’m a 250 dollar a week newspaperman.  I can be had for $50.”  Notice the small touch of Boot returning his nickel (the price of a paper) when Tatum criticizes the paper for its anemic coverage, and the embroidered motto hanging on the wall, “Tell the truth.”  Among the more humorous lines, Tatum describes Boot as a cautious and conservative man who takes no chances, “I’ve done a lot of lying in my time.  I’ve lied to men who wear belts.  I’ve lied to men who wear suspenders.  But I’d never be so stupid as to lie to a man who wears both belt and suspenders.”  While this is small-time America, land of redemption and opportunities, Boot takes a chance with Tatum and offers him a job, but remains skeptical of Tatum’s hustler tactics, where the man knows how to sell a story, more of a snake oil salesman and renowned huckster than an accurate reporter.

Tatum feels like a caged animal locked up in this dead-end town that feels like he’s been sentenced to a wasteland, calling it a “sun-baked Siberia,” a city reporter at heart, moaning about missing the bright lights of the big city where there’s always something important happening to write about, complaining about everything under the sun in this blistering diatribe, Ace in the Hole (2/8) Movie CLIP - Small Town Blues (1951) HD YouTube (2:42), before being sent out of town on assignment to cover a rattlesnake hunt, bringing along young cub photographer Herbie (Robert Arthur), but they get sidetracked along the way.  The tone of the film shifts radically once they pull into a gas station that doubles as a tourist trap selling burgers and Indian trinkets, resembling a trading post, where the sign says it’s free to enter to search for Indian artifacts in the nearby caves of ancient Navajo cliff dwellings, with a police vehicle speeding to the site, which attracts Tatum’s attention, meeting Lorraine (Jan Sterling) who is bringing blankets and coffee for her husband, quickly discovering Leo Minosa (Richard Benedict), owner of the establishment that bears his name, is trapped inside a cave-in while searching for hidden treasures, stuck under giant rocks blocking his exit, buried several hundred feet underground.  Tatum immediately takes charge, smelling a big story, pushing the young deputy out of the way and heading into the cave himself, bringing Herbie and the blankets along with his camera, where falling dirt and debris is a constant in the make-shift mine shaft that has been all but deserted for years.  Tatum befriends Leo, encouraging him, offering him hope, while behind the scenes prolonging what should be a one-day rescue operation into several days by copping an exclusive deal with a corrupt local sheriff (Ray Teal) while his story makes headlines around the country, all drawing attention to this lone man’s plight, luring tourists and other interested gawkers from miles around, making this the biggest story in the country.  Tatum’s ferocious drive to string this story out for days is nothing less than mind-boggling, throwing out all journalistic integrity, describing Leo as his “ace in the hole,” while he lies, cheats, and intentionally misleads the public, creating a public charade, like intentionally organizing a planned train wreck promising none of the passengers would be hurt.  His pushy, big city charisma allows him to coerce the rescue team to change their tactics, luring them with overtime dollar signs, convincing them to place a drill on the top of the mountain directly overhead, traveling a much greater distance through solid rock (it sounds utterly disastrous when they finally break through, leaving the victim totally exposed to flying debris), which should take them nearly a week instead of shoring up the flimsy walls with needed support at the cave opening that would take less than a day.  Literally overnight, what was once free now costs 25 cents to enter, eventually rising to a dollar, declaring proceeds will go to the “Leo Minosa Rescue Fund,” or straight into Lorraine’s pockets, creating a sprawling open-air circus environment as radio and TV crews arrive with live reports, songs are written and performed just for the occasion, while thousands of tourists set up camp with trucks hauling in amusement park rides, creating a carnivalesque spectacle of hyped media exploitation, all at Leo’s expense, shot with an unvarnished look of a documentary film by Charles Lang, growing unrelentingly grim, painting an uncompromising portrait of human nature at its worst, suggesting everyone has the potential to be corrupt. 

With that relentless drill pounding away at the mountain top, as if digging into the deep recesses of the subconscious in search of the last traces of Tatum’s vanishing humanity, an important figure in the film is Lorraine, the noirish femme fatale character, who happens to be a mirror image of Tatum, expressing no love lost for her husband, actually seething with contempt, threatening to leave him several times in the past, bored with her life in the middle of nowhere, pretty much despising the desolate emptiness, preferring the immediate gratification of big city enticements.  The extent to which she shamelessly shows little concern for Leo’s predicament contrasts mightily with his own parents, as Papa Minosa (John Berkes) helps feed the rescue team and remains a constant presence while Mama Minosa (Frances Dominguez) continually prays at a religious shrine, laboriously keeping the candles lit, an expression of her devout religious faith.  Tatum and Lorraine are rogue figures that operate alone in a moral vacuum, thinking only about what’s in it for them, thinking the rest of the people are saps to be taken advantage of, showing no faith whatsoever in humanity.  The story is inspired by real news events, one referenced by Tatum himself, an incident in 1925 when cave explorer Floyd Collins, heralded as “The Greatest Cave Explorer Ever Known,” was trapped inside a Kentucky cave following a landslide, with a Louisville newspaper sending a reporter, William Burke “Skeets” Miller, to the scene, where his coverage became a media sensation (The 1925 Cave Rescue That Captivated the Nation | Mental ...), with throngs of sensation-hungry tourists descending on the cave site, where the atmosphere resembled a county fair, selling hot dogs while offering amusement rides for kids, all but forgetting about the personal tragedy that drove them there in the first place, turning the incident (which lasted 18 days) into a nationwide event, winning himself a Pulitzer Prize.  The second event took place in 1949 a year before the film’s release when a 3-year old, Kathy Fiscus, fell into an abandoned well just outside Pasadena, California, with a television news reporter following the rescue attempt live on the air for more than 24 consecutive hours, creating such a stir that thousands of people arrived on the scene to watch the action unfold.  In both incidents, the victims died before they could be rescued.  Additionally, Wilder was sued for plagiarism by screenwriter Victor Desny, who claimed he called Wilder’s secretary in November 1949 to propose a film based upon the story of Floyd Collins.  While the historical event was public knowledge, hardly protected by copyright laws, the initial decision in 1953 ruled in Wilder’s favor, but Desny won on appeal in 1956 when the California Supreme Court ordered Wilder to pay $14,350 (equivalent to $135,000 in 2019).  It all makes for a strange saga.  This savagely depicted satire, a predecessor to Kubrick’s Granddaddy of black comedy DR. STRANGELOVE OR:  HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE BOMB (1964) and Sidney Lumet’s nightmarish Network (1976), was largely ignored by the viewing public, excoriated by the American press (“Fuck them all,” said Wilder, “It is the best picture I ever made”), while winning an International award in Europe at the Venice Film Festival, released into a lengthy period of obscurity for half a century until resurrected by a DVD release in 2007, making it one of the rare Wilder misfires at the box office, who, to his credit, refused to sugarcoat the subject matter, yet the scathing, no holds barred approach by the director has been heralded over time and now stands as one of Wilder’s best films, brutally honest and way ahead of its time in conveying the media circus surrounding a tragedy.  Among the best known examples in the past century are the Scopes Monkey Trial of 1925 pitting Darwinian science against religious fundamentalism, the Lindberg baby kidnapping trial of 1935, dubbed the trial of the century, the 1963 Kennedy assassination and accompanying funeral procession, the bipartisan Watergate hearings from 1972 to 74 ultimately leading to a Presidential resignation, the prolonged, daily grind of the 9-month O.J. Simpson murder trial in 1995, and the hype surrounding Princess Diana’s funeral in 1997, all of which received sensationalist, wall-to-wall media coverage, completely occupying the mindset of the nation and even the world for a brief period of time.  

Time never lies, and 'Ace in the Hole' is by no means a blank ...  Cinephilia & Beyond

The Post

Washington Post Publisher Katharine Graham (left) and Executive Director Ben Bradlee leave the U.S. District Court

Daniel Ellsberg

THE POST                  B-                   

USA  (115 mi)  2017  d:  Steven Spielberg                Facebook official page

A recollection from the halcyon days of journalism, like a golden oldie surging back to life, though in the modern era there is nothing like the backdrop of Vietnam, a continuing war with a rising body count of weekly casualties, all of which add to public dissent, which becomes a staple in the headlines, with polls indicating a growing unpopularity of a foreign war that reaps little rewards, that seems more trouble than it’s worth, yet massive funding continues.  By now, nearly everyone knows someone personally who has perished in this effort, supposedly to stop communism, but the more it drags on the less effective this argument becomes, with America paying too high a price, that only gets worse when the President starts lying about it, not only to the public but to Congress, knowing the military operation would fail, but expanding the war anyway, where the overriding reason (70%), we discover, was to avoid a humiliating U.S. defeat, claiming for a year that we were not anywhere in Laos or Cambodia, yet that turned out to be a blatant fabrication because President Lyndon Johnson knew the nation was not ready for an expansion, though secret military operations enlarged the scope of its actions, none of which was reported in mainstream newspapers.  At the heart of this cover up was an extensive military report (later called “The Pentagon Papers”) ordered by Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, who wanted an encyclopedic history of the Vietnam War written as it happened, going back to the Truman era, using active-duty military officers, academics, and civilian employees within the defense department, but failed to inform either the President or the Secretary of State about the existence of this on-going report that actually had its origins in the summer of 1967 and might have played a significant factor when a change in leadership occurred in the 1968 Presidential elections, as Democratic candidates Kennedy and McGovern were adamantly against the war, Humphrey was more of a centrist, while Republican candidate Richard Nixon was a strong advocate.  When Nixon was elected, McNamara left the Defense Department in February 1968, while his successor, Clark M. Clifford, received the finished study on January 15, 1969, five days before Richard Nixon’s inauguration, though Clifford claimed he never read it.  The study itself was comprised of 3000 pages of historical analysis and 4000 pages of original government documents, totaling 47 volumes that was classified as “Top Secret – Sensitive.”  Only 15 copies were distributed.  

Enter Daniel Ellsberg (Matthew Rhys), a military analyst who in the mid 60’s accompanied military troops in combat, documenting the Vietnam military activities in reports written for McNamara.  On a return flight home, Ellsberg overhears McNamara’s own assessment to President Johnson that the war was unwinnable, yet once faced with reporters on the ground, McNamara repeats his beaming confidence in the overall war effort.  This duplicitous face of the government eventually haunts Ellsberg, seen years later secretly photocopying the classified report, which is an immense undertaking, leaking 43 of the volumes to New York Times reporter Neil Sheehan in March of 1971, who began releasing a series of unflattering front-page reports in June, basically an exposé of the government’s long-running deception of the American public.  However, Nixon’s White House finds the release of classified documents as acts paramount to treason, obtaining a court injunction forcing The New York Times to halt to any further publication after three articles.  What this film dramatizes is a pending decision about what to do by The Washington Post, specifically Katharine Graham (Meryl Streep), owner and publisher, and Ben Bradlee (Tom Hanks), editor, who agonize about whether or not to publish.  What’s particularly galling is the extent to which publishing and business was exclusively a man’s world, with board rooms looking like men’s clubs, as the presence of women was not taken seriously.  As the sole woman in the room, Graham was well aware of her deficiencies, a woman of wealth and privilege, as she was known more for her gracious hosting of parties with access to important dignitaries than for her business acumen, as she inherited the newspaper after the death of her husband, whose grandfather was the publisher before that, running what was viewed as a family-run paper, but she is in the midst of transitioning the paper into a public corporation beholden to stockholders.  What’s clear is Graham’s anxiety about the business aspect, lacking actual experience, which was her husband’s specialty, deferring to more assertive men that work for her, including the indispensable advice of the paper’s Chairman Fritz Beebe (Tracy Letts), her operations manager Ben Bradlee, and board member Arthur Parsons (Bradley Whitford).  Bradlee fumes under the shadow of The New York Times, always getting the major scoops, where his competitive instinct is to turn that around and compete on the national landscape.  This court injunction offers him a window of opportunity to fill the void, but first he has to get his hands on the report.  Like an unfolding mystery, assistant editor Ben Bagdikian (Bob Odenkirk) is successful in tracing the material to Daniel Ellsberg, eventually obtaining the same documents as The New York Times, with the ultimate question looming:  what are they going to do with it?    

With the White House threatening to sue the paper at the same time Graham was opening the company to public stock options, doomsday scenarios ensue, like a heavy dose of cold water, so the paper sends in its inordinately dour legal team, overly cautious men frought with dire predictions, some suggesting Graham and Bradlee could end up in jail, with the possibility that the paper itself could fold due to catastrophic events.  Fritz is against it, as is Parsons, feeling the need to protect Graham and the paper from the vindictiveness of Nixon in the White House, known for utilizing dirty tricks, reiterating Nixon’s nickname “Tricky Dick.”  Bradlee on the other hand is all guns blazing, believing the essence of a good newspaper is defending free speech, without which they don’t have much of a newspaper.  Racing against time, Bradlee has a date with destiny, scouring through the documents, placing two of his best reporters on writing front page stories, churning out a morning edition that will be ready to go, but held in limbo until Graham makes the final call.  There are some questions raised about professionalism and friendships, as Bradlee was a friend of the Kennedy’s, which gave him accessibility but also exclusive information, based on his close working relationship.  Would he have maintained that close relationship had he written scathingly critical articles?  Did that friendship prohibit criticism?  Graham was asked to do the same with McNamara, who was a close personal friend.  Would she betray that friendship with a revealing exposé?  There’s an interesting dialogue between the two as they discuss the fracturing viewpoints about the war, like how could he continue to send young men and women into combat for nearly a decade knowing their situation was hopelessly unwinnable?  Once Graham gives the decision to print, the film turns into Sam Fuller’s jingoistic PARK ROW (1952), an expression of Americana and patriotism released during the McCarthy era, with the press laying the groundwork of the moral fabric of the nation.  With Nixon’s own paranoid voice heard on telephone calls, the film telegraphs its true target, the sitting President in the White House, categorizing journalists as ‘fake’ or ‘dishonest’ in his attempts to delegitimize mainstream media outlets, ordering his attorney general to crack down on government whistleblowers, a man who views the Justice Department, the Pentagon, and all his cabinet members, as well as every member of his own political party as exclusively serving him, protecting the President’s interests, pledging allegiance to him, viewing himself as an absolute monarchy, like a man who would be king. 

Not only The Post, but fifteen other newspapers received copies of the report and began publishing as well.  Moving quickly to the Supreme Court, in a 6-3 decision, reading from the majority opinion:  “In the First Amendment the Founding Fathers gave the free press the protection it must have to fulfill its essential role in our democracy.  The press was to serve the governed, not the governors.”  While the message is clear, the problem with the film is just how old-fashioned it feels, with a John Williams musical score that reeks of ordinary, where the credibility of the war sequences, the street demonstrations, or even the bad hair and make-up, are reduced to pure artifice and cliché, resembling movies shot on back lots, without expressing an ounce of reality.  As a journalistic exposé, this isn’t even in the same universe as Tom McCarthy’s much more compelling Spotlight (2015), though Josh Singer co-wrote both.  Ever the moralist, Spielberg turns this into a melodramatic tearjerker, placing all the emphasis on turning Graham into a feminist role model, creating a wall of women completely in awe on both sides of her as she walks down the steps of the Supreme Court, typical heavy-handed stuff from this director, known for telegraphing his emotional intent, anointing yet another patriotic hero image, or in this case heroine.  It’s not until the end of the film that Graham actually stands up to the men protesting her decision as reckless, including Fritz and Parsons, finally finding her own footing.  At the time, few women had run nationally prominent newspapers in the United States (According to “The Status of Women in the U.S. Media 2017, women today run three of the top 25 newspaper titles in the U.S. and only one of the top 25 around the world), women were barred from even receiving press credentials at the White House until 1971, yet the subsequent newspaper coverage of escalating national events quickly changed all that, ushering in a new era, with The Washington Post winning 47 Pulitzer prizes, nearly all of them coming after the period covered in the film, including the infamous Woodward and Bernstein reporters that broke the Watergate scandal, with a bungled Watergate burglary depicted at the end of the film, exactly where Alan J. Pakula’s ALL THE PRESIDENT’S MEN (1976) begins.  It should be noted, however, as the film avoids this story completely, that the Pulitzer Prize in journalism for the year 1971 was awarded not to The Post, but to The New York Times for their publication of “The Pentagon Papers.”