Out of the Blue and into the Black

The Blue Dahlia: written by Raymond Chandler; directed by George Marshall; starring Alan Ladd (Johnny Morrison), Veronica Lake (Joyce Harwood), William Bendix (Buzz), Howard Da Silva (Eddie Harwood), Doris Dowling (Helen Morrison), and Hugh Beaumont (George) (1946): A rare case of hardboiled detective great Raymond Chandler writing a new story expressly for the screen, The Blue Dahlia also shares a history with one of the most infamous Hollywood murder cases of all time.

Eight months after the film's release, the mutilated body of an aspiring actress named Elizabeth Short was discovered. Her nickname was 'the Black Dahlia,' and forever after the movie and the still-unsolved case would be mentioned whenever the other was mentioned.

The movie involves the efforts of now-retired bomber pilot Alan Ladd's Johnny Morrison, just home from the Pacific theatre,  to discover the identity of his wife's murderer. And he'd better. He's on the run from the "coppers" because he's the prime suspect.

Ladd looks and acts polished and sharp throughout, though his character can also be stubborn and hot-headed at times. Given that he's returned home to find an unfaithful wife and a son killed as a result of her drunk driving, and within 12 hours she's been murdered...well, that can wear on a man. Especially when he flew 112 successful bombing missions. Screw those lightweights and their 50-mission caps.

The narrative twists and turns, to the extent that even though I'd seen the movie twenty years ago, I couldn't remember who the killer was. Veronica Lake is beautiful and cool, as is Ladd, and William Bendix is believable as a wounded, shell-shocked comrade of Morrison's who really hates big-band music and flowers. Apparently, Veterans' Affairs wasn't any better after WWII at looking after the wounded than it is now.

Some casual gunplay in somewhat unlikely locations will probably raise a laugh or two, as may Morrison's amazingly hard head. He's the Bruce Campbell of 1946. The direction is workmanlike, the script sparkling with tough/sentimental dialogue and weird little bits, including a scene involving a hood with a broken leg that seems like the Ur-Moment for all those scenes of talkative criminals in Quentin Tarantino movies. Recommended.

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Sullivan's Travels: written and directed by Preston Sturges; starring Joel McCrea (John Lloyd Sullivan) and Veronica Lake (The Girl) (1942): Sullivan's Travels seems weirdly unaged in its concerns. Hollywood comedy and musical director John Sullivan decides to make a serious social drama entitled O Brother, Where Art Thou?. His studio bosses aren't happy about it. Sullivan decides that in order to understand poverty in America, he needs to go on the road and pretend to be poor. And away we go.

The movie still seems fresh in its satiric targets because those targets are, if anything, more prominent in 2012 than they were in 1942. We've now had another seven decades of actors doing odd things to themselves so that they can get into a role. We've now had another seven decades of generally well-meaning celebrities trying to understand how the other 99% lives through various, sometimes unintentionally demeaning ways. Sturges's satire of a Hollywood in which charity and the almighty buck always walk hand in hand, sometimes with self-delusion as an unintended third, still rings true.

Sullivan's travels (and travails) come at us with great good humour and kindness, two hallmarks of a Preston Sturges satire. Joel McCrea is terrific as the handsome, well-meaning, and totally out-of-his element Sullivan. Veronica Lake is lovely and funny as the failed actress he meets along the way. There are also marvelous character bits from a host of actors in small roles. For a 90-minute movie, Sullivan's Travels packs a lot in. Highly recommended.