Jack Klugman – The Magnificent 60s

Days of Wine and Roses (1962) *****

A touch of Mad Men satire adds a contemporary bite to tale of the destructive power of alcohol. Not since Billy Wilder let loose on The Lost Weekend (1945) did Hollywood finance a no-holds-barred examination of alcohol addiction.

But let’s start with the amoral world of advertising or, in this case, public relations. When we are introduced to executive Joe (Jack Lemmon) he’s little more than a pimp for his client, rounding up a plethora of blondes who can be salivated over by wealthy men on a big yacht. When we first meet Kirsten (Lee Remick) she is initially mistaken by Joe as a blonde worth salivating over only to learn that actually she is the prim, though pretty, secretary of his client to whom the idea of a potential pawing on a big yacht has no appeal, regardless of how wealthy the pawing hands might be.

Romance should never have got off the ground as they insult each other in turn, but in the way of such tales, one of his barbed comments strikes home and she consents to be taken to dinner. Astonished to discover she doesn’t drink, he alights upon her weakness for chocolate as a way of getting her to sample Brandy Alexander (as stiff with chocolate as alcohol). That’s all it takes. While she begins to lose her inhibitions, he, ironically, adopts a principled stance towards the aforesaid pimping and is moved to another account.

After they marry, she stays off the sauce once a baby arrives, he, petulant at taking second place to the baby, gets deeper into the stuff. Eventually, he wears her down, and they have a whale of a time getting drunk and ignoring the child. Meanwhile, he is sliding lower down the company pyramid thanks to his drinking. Matters come to a head when she sets the apartment on fire.

Eventually, jobless, Joe throws himself on the mercy of Kirsten’s stern father Ellis (Charles Bickford) and they manage a good few months on the wagon until in a drunken spree he manages to destroy a greenhouse at his father-in-law’s landscaping business. Joe ends up with the DTs, committed to a sanatorium and determines to mend his ways. But that means admitting his addiction and joining Alcoholics Anonymous. Kirsten, meanwhile, is not such a softie, refusing the believe she is an alcoholic.

Their bright future darkens by the minute as squalidness and selfishness take over. In some senses, this is a case study of the alcoholic, the one who can fight the demons and the one who can’t be bothered to fight anything since the bottle is the easiest cure.

Made at a time when Hollywood was not predisposed to this kind of sharp shock of reality, not even with attractive stars to make the tale more palatable, this is easily the highlight of director Blake Edwards’ career, the comedies and even the romanticised Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961) seeming like so much fluff in comparison. He manages to avoid being either sentimental or sanctimonious and possibly the only time he holds back is when the fire takes place off-screen. Otherwise, it’s light years ahead of The Lost Weekend, whose protagonist seems more easily than humanly possibly to beat the addiction.

If you think Jack Lemmon (How To Murder Your Wife, 1965) is usually a hyperactive character anyway on screen, wait till you see what’s he’s like with a drink in him, just as if he doesn’t know when to stop, consequence never entering his consciousness, as like any drunken maniac he’s living in a fantasy world. But because she starts out on a different dramatic plane, and her slide into incoherence is more sobering, Lee Remick (No Way to Treat a Lady, 1968) beats him to the critical kudos. Terrific performances from both and from those tasked with keeping them in line, Charles Bickford (The Unforgiven, 1960) and Jack Klugman (Goodbye, Columbus, 1969) as the recovering alcoholic trying to get Joe to face up to his condition.

In all the literature devoted to twentieth century humanitarians, you’ll find few busting a gut to highlight the work of Bill Wilson (better known as Bill W), the founding father of Alcoholics Anonymous. But this self-funded organisation that created a community for the addicted probably did more in the last century to cure a terrible disease than any scientist inventing a drug. Incidentally, James Garner played Bill in a television biopic My Name Is Bill W (1989).

Sometimes I think actors take on roles aiming to enhance their reputation by playing difficult unsympathetic characters. But I imagine Lemmon and especially Remick got the shock of their lives on seeing the completed movie because their character disintegration is so total it would have required teams of public relations executives to put a good spin on a picture that shows human beings in such a depressing light, almost disempowered by their addictions. First appearing as teleplay in 1958, writer JP Miller (The Young Savages, 1961), while adding more gloss for the movie adaptation, nevertheless does not shrink of the unpalatable truths.

Superb all-round effort.

The Detective (1968) ****

Perhaps the boldest aspect of this raw look at the seamier side of life as a New York cop is that perennial screen loverboy Frank Sinatra plays a cuckold. Prior to what is always considered the more hard-hitting cop pictures of the 1970s – Dirty Harry (1971), The French Connection (1971), Serpico (1973) etc – this touched upon just about every element of society’s underbelly. Despite an old-school treatment, more a police procedural than anything else, homosexuality, nymphomania, corruption, police brutality, and a system that ensured poverty remained endemic all fell into its maw. And, for the times, several of these issues were dealt with in often sympathetic fashion.

Joe Leland (Frank Sinatra), an ambitious but principled detective gunning for promotion, investigates the murder of a prominent homosexual while dealing with the disintegration of his marriage to Karen (Lee Remick) and colleagues on the take. When other cops want to beat confessions out of suspects or strip them naked to humiliate them, Leland intervenes to prevent further brutality. He is not just highly moral, but takes a soft approach to criminals, not just playing the “good cop” part of a good cop/bad cop double-act but genuinely showing sympathy. Not only does Leland leap to the defense of those he feels unfairly treated, but he trades punches with those meting out such treatment. In addition, he clearly feels guilt over sending to the electric chair a man he believes should be treated in a mental institution.

Although at first glance this appears a homophobic picture, it is anything but, Leland showing tremendous sympathy towards homosexual suspect Felix (Tony Musante) – whom his colleagues clearly despise – to the extent of holding his hand and gently cajoling him through an interview. Later, rather than condemn a bisexual the film shows empathy for his torment. Certainly, some of the attitudes will appear dated, especially the idea of sexual expression as a brand of deviancy, but the film takes a genuinely even-handed approach. Through the medium of Leland’s perspective, it is clearly demonstrated that it is other police officers who have the warped notions.

Having solved the first murder, Leland takes up the case of an apparent suicide at the behest of widow Norma McIver (Jacqueline Bisset), only for this to lead not only to civic corruption on a large scale but back to the original investigation. Leland also has a wider social perspective than most cops and there is a terrific scene where he berates civic authorities for creating a system that perpetuates poverty. The ending, too, casts new light on Leland’s character.

By this point, most screen cops were defined by their alcoholism and ruined domestic lives, but this is altogether a more tender portrait of an honest cop. Leland’s relationship with Karen is exceptionally well done. Normally, of course, it is the man who usually strays. This reversal in the infidelity stakes adds a new element. Karen has more in common with an independent woman like the Faye Dunaway character in The Arrangement (1969).

While playing the good cop would come relatively easy to an actor like Sinatra, carrying off the role of the hurt husband is a much tougher ask. Coupled with his sensitive approach to criminals, this is acting of some distinction, a mature performance by a mature star. This is the last great Hollywood role by Lee Remick (No Way to Treat a Lady, 1968) and she brilliantly portrays a woman trapped by her self-destructive desires.

Jacqueline Bisset (Bullitt, 1969) leads an excellent supporting cast that includes Jack Klugman (The Split, 1968), Ralph Meeker (The Dirty Dozen, 1967), Robert Duvall (The Godfather, 1972), Lloyd Bochner (Point Blank, 1967) and Al Freeman Jr. (Dutchman, 1966).

While Gordon Douglas (Claudelle Inglish, 1961, and Tony Rome, 1967) was viewed very much as a journeyman director, he brings an inventive approach and some surprising subtleties to the picture. He opens with a very audacious shot. It looks like you are seeing skyscrapers upside down, as if a Christopher Nolan sensibility had entered a time warp, until you realize it is the city reflected off a car roof. There are some bold compositions, often with Sinatra appearing below Remick’s sightline, rather than the normal notion that the star must be taller or at least the same height as everyone else.

Oscar-winning Abby Mann (The Judgement at Nuremberg, 1961) adapted the bestseller by Roderick Thorp who achieved greater fame much later for writing the source novel for Die Hard (1988) – Nothing Lasts Forever, a sequel to The Detective. For the Bruce Willis film Joe Leland became John McClane. Sinatra, although 73 at the time, was offered that role first as part of his original contract for The Detective.

In The Detective Sinatra’s wife Mia Farrow was initially contracted to play the part of Norma McIver but pulled out when Rosemary’s Baby (1968) overshot its schedule. Partly in revenge, Sinatra sued her for divorce.

The Split (1968) ***

You could not have a more explosive start. In the wake of the seismic slap Sidney Poitier delivered to an arrogant white man in In the Heat of the Night (1967) heist mastermind McClain (Jim Brown) bursts out of the traps by: picking a down-and-dirty knuckle-duster of a fight with hardman Bert (Ernest Borgnine); ramming a limo driven by Harry (Jack Klugman); locking technical wizard Marty (Warren Oates) in an electronic cell; and bracing marksman Dave (Donald Sutherland). It turns out these are all auditions for a $500,000 robbery from the Los Angeles Coliseum during a football match. Nonetheless, the point is made. Despite explanation for the ferocity it scarcely masks the fact that here was a hero unwilling to take any crap from anybody.

The Split follows the classic three acts of such a major crime: recruitment, theft, fall-out. Gladys (Julie Harris) sets up the daring snatch, entrusting a down-on-his-luck McClain – attempting reconciliation with divorced wife Ellie (Diahann Carroll) – with pulling together a gang with particular sets of skills. The clever heist goes smoothly, the cache smuggled out in a gurney into a stolen ambulance, itself hidden in a truck, and spirited away to Ellie’s apartment until the ruckus dies down.

But someone else has a different plan. The stolen money is stolen again. McClain, responsible for its safekeeping, is blamed for its loss, while he suspects all the others. Adding to the complications is a corrupt cop (Gene Hackman). So it’s cat-and-mouse from here on in, McClain dodging bullets as he attempts to clear up the mess, find the loot and evade the cops.

*British release in a double bill with “Woman without a Face*”
*originally released in the U.S. as “Mister Buddwing.”*

The title refers to the way the way the money is intended to be shared out but it could as easily point to a film of two halves – recruitment/robbery and fall-out. The first section has several stand-out moments – a split-screen credit sequence, Marty’s desperate strip inside the cell to prevent the electronic door closing, an asthma attack mid-robbery, the beat-the-clock element of the heist, Dave’s targeting of tires to create the massive gridlock that facilitates escape. Thereafter, the tension grows more taut, as the thieves fall out with murderous intent.

One of the joys of the picture is watching a bunch of actors on the cusp. Jim Brown (The Dirty Dozen, 1967) was in the throes of achieving a stardom that would soon follow for Hackman (Bonnie and Clyde, 1967), Sutherland (also The Dirty Dozen) and Oates (Return of the Seven, 1966). Brown is tough and cynical in the Bogart mold, a loner with lashings of violence in his locker. Of the supporting cast, Sutherland’s funny maniac, complete with mordant wit, is the pick and he has the movie’s best line (“The last man I killed for $5,000. For $85,000 I’d kill you seventeen times.”) Hackman reveals an intensity that would be better showcased in The French Connection (1971) and Borgnine, Oscar-winner for Marty (1955) reverts to his tough guy persona. Having said that, you only get glimpses of what they are capable of.

Making the biggest step-up is Scottish director Gordon Flemyng whose last two pictures were Dr Who and the Daleks (1965) and Daleks’ Invasion Earth A.D. 2150 (1966). He helms the picture with polish and confidence, allowing the young bucks their screen moments while wasting little time in getting to the action and pulling off a mean car chase.

Crime writer Richard Stark’s (pseudonym of Donald E. Westlake) was careful to sell the rights to his books one-by-one so that no single studio could acquire his iconic thief Parker. That accounted for him being renamed Walker in Point Blank (1967), Edgar in Pillaged (1967) and McClain in The Split, which was based on Stark’s The Seventh (that fraction being the character’s share of the loot).

Goodbye Columbus (1969) ****

Despite being made at the opposite end of the decade to Loss of Innocence – for no deliberate reason I watched these two films back-to-back – this has a number of similarities to the earlier picture.

In the main there is a star-making turn, this time from Ali McGraw in her debut. Though playing a slightly older and much wealthier character, she is also a woman in transition, from puppy love to true love, not entirely in control of her emotions and not willing either to accept responsibility for her actions.

Richard Benjamin, in his first starring role, plays the sometimes gauche, much poorer object of her affections. He’s only connected by religious upbringing to The Graduate’s Dustin Hoffman, far more relaxed with women and comfortable in his own persona.

The camera loved McGraw the way it did Susannah York, but in these more permissive times, and given the age difference, there was much more the screen could show of the star’s physical attributes. I was surprised by McGraw’s performance, expecting much less from a debutante and ex-model (and studio boss Robert Evans’ fiancée) but she is a delight, supremely engaging as a confident character enjoying a life of privilege and engaging in witty repartee with Benjamin.

He plays a more down-to-earth character who doesn’t know what to do with his life except not get stuck with a money-making job. He would much rather help a young kid who likes art books.

It’s not a rich girl-poor man scenario but more a lifestyle contrast and both families are exceptionally well portrayed, Jack Klugman drawing on a lifetime’s exasperation as her father and Nan Martin as the uptight mother with terrific cameos from Michael Meyers as her oddball brother and especially Lorie Shelle as the spoiled-brat younger sister.

It’s a lyrical love story well told. The zoom shot had just been invented so there’s a bit over-use of that but otherwise it zips along.

A major plot point provides a reminder of how quickly men took advantage of female emancipation, the invention of the Pill dumping responsibility for birth control into the woman’s lap, leaving the male free to indulge without the risk of consequence. In other words, it was still a man’s world. Of course, without the Pill, it would be a different kind of story, romance tinged with fear as both characters worried about unwanted pregnancy and stereotypical humor as the man purchased – or fumbled with – a prophylactic.

Acting-wise McGraw is pretty game until the final scene when her inexperience lets her down. I’m not sure I went for the pay-off which paints McGraw in unsympathetic terms and lets Benjamin off rather lightly, but all in all I was surprised how much I enjoyed it.

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