The Killers
The Killers (1946) is an excellent film noir. It is based on an Ernest Hemingway short story published in Scribner’s in 1927. In rough drafts, Hemingway had called it “The Matadors,” and his concern, apparently, was how to die like a man. Although Hemingway got equal billing with producer Hellinger and director Robert Siodmak, the 1946 film version is more concerned with why than how the protagonist died. Thus The Swede (Burt Lancaster in his break-through role) is murdered in the first few minutes of the film. The insurance investigator, played with zest by Edmond O’Brien, just won’t rest until he has solved the puzzle. He has that old-fashioned quality that the British call “an enthusiasm.” The investigator unravels The Swede’s past, his failed boxing career, his powerful and instant attraction to Kitty Collins (Ava Gardner), his involvement in a huge payroll heist, and the aftermath of double crosses. It is a classic case of the burden of the past. The film adds a new wrinkle: The Swede does not even quite know everything about the past that is pressing in on him. His classic line “I did something wrong once” is true but not the whole story. The cinematography is wonderful. The opening shot by Siodmak and cameraman Elwood Bredell is an over-the-shoulder shot of two hit men in dark suits driving at night, the headlights glaring off the pavement leading them to The Swede. As the killers walk from the diner to The Swede’s boarding house, they walk unsettlingly in and out of pools of bright light and inky shadows. The clothing is classic. The men sport suits with wide lapels, and sometimes a handkerchief peaking from the breast pocket. A bright white shirt with a darkish tie and cuff links contrasts. A fedora is pulled down over greased back hair. The only weak spot in the movie is Ava Gardiner’s acting. This is unfortunate because as the “femme fatale,” she plays a prominent role. I put “femme fatale” in quotation marks because, as I am discovering as I watch more film noir, most of these roles are not the stereotypical femme fatale, that is, a woman who seduces a man and employs her magnetism to use him for her own purposes, thus ruining his life. When The Swede first sees Kitty Collins, she is sitting at a piano, and he is drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and she merely sits at the piano. When she realizes he has fallen for her without a word spoken, she begins to act seductive, and Ava Gardner mainly looks and sounds awkward as she tries to sing a romantic song in a hushed voice. The Swede and Kitty become an item while her “man” is in jail. One day while Kitty and colleagues eat in a restaurant, she is nabbed for theft. The Swede walks in on the scene and with nothing but poor-acting tears from Kitty he falsely says he, not she, stole the jewellery, and so, with no encouragement from her at all, he takes the fall and spends three years in the slammer. When he gets out, Kitty is, of course, back with her “man,” but when The Swede sees her in the hoodlums’ hangout, he is instantly drawn to her again. She simply reads a magazine. I will not give away the ingenious ending to the movie, but I will say that Kitty and her man set The Swede up, and it is entirely unclear how much of the scheme was his idea and how much hers. Unfortunately, as Ava Gardner reveals the truth behind the heist, instead of looking distraught, or cornered, or desperate, or guilty, she has almost a twinkle in her eye as if she is having fun and cannot get into the role. In the final scene, she sobs hysterically and ludicrously in melodramatic overacting in stark contrast to the understated performances by the other characters. A solid film that stands the test of time.
Jim Bell