Edward G. Robinson

  • Larceny, Inc (1942)

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) You wouldn’t necessarily expect a gangster movie featuring Edward G. Robinson, Anthony Quinn and Broderick Crawford to be any funny, but that’s exactly the kind of bet Warner Brothers made when it went forward with Larceny, Inc. A small-scale comic caper in which the plans of criminals are threatened by a carnival of freak occurrences, the film was another attempt to capitalize on Robinson’s impeccable credentials playing criminals. The narrative features three hoodlums with a simple plan: Occupy a building next to a bank, and set up some plausible front that will allow them to dig into the neighbouring vault without being disturbed. Except that the drilling hits snags (such as an oil line), and that the front, a luggage store, proves conventionally profitable by itself. (If this sounds familiar, it’s that other films have used more or less the same comic premise.)  It all escalates, of course, and the film being set during the Christmas period allows for some unusual sights. It’s not great material, but director Lloyd Bacon knew what he was playing with, and the film he delivers is entertaining enough. Robinson is very good here and the film’s expansiveness of gags masks its origin as a theatrical play. While Larceny, Inc isn’t a holiday classic, it’s decently enjoyable—and a great showcase for Robinson in a slightly different persona.

  • The Red House (1947)

    (On Cable TV, October 2022) Given that I’m easily amused, I’m still smiling at the irony of black-and-white films named after a colour. But that’s roughly the last funny thing about The Red House, a sombre film-noir era horror thriller featuring, yes, a red house but also a grumpy farmer, a plucky boy, a dangerous forest and about as close a femme fatale as a rural thriller can get. Edward G. Robinson, predictably enough, plays the cranky farmer. Convinced by his adoptive daughter to hire some help, he’s not pleased when his overeager helper starts poking around the forest at the edge of the field, and seems determined to stop him from entering. What’s in there? Well, the red house, of course. As for the rest, the film gets us dark secrets, a love quadrangle, a psychotic break and murder before everything is through. It takes a while to get going (the opening act is heavy on atmosphere and not so much on plot) but it’s not bad when it’s in the thick of its own story. Lon McCallister and Judith Anderson are not bad as the young couple in the middle of the story, but a special mention belongs to Julie London, who brings the femme fatale to the farm. That rural turn is what helps The Red House feel fresh in a sea of mansion gothic thrillers and urban film noir of the same period. There’s a lot brewing under the surface of the script as well, and it seems less coy than many contemporaries in setting up a nightmare. Not a bad pick at all.

  • Bullets or Ballots (1936)

    (On Cable TV, September 2022) The main draw of Bullets or Ballots is right there above the marquee—Humphrey Bogart and Edward G. Robinson. This would not be the only or their best pairing, but it was the first, and considering how it came before Bogart’s persona-defining superstardom, it’s remarkable to see how assured and, yes, Bogart-ish he feels here. The story itself won’t feel particularly distinctive to fans of 1930s gangster movies: Robinson plays a tough police detective who gets “fired” from the force before joining the mob, while Bogart is a gangster convinced that the newcomer’s allegiances are still with the police. To say that it’s from Warner Brothers would be redundant, so closely does it follow the Warner gangster film formula. Still, it’s moderately entertaining: with Joan Blondell as an attractive moll, the film has all it takes to do what audiences at the time expected. It still works—a bit rough around the edges and clearly dated to a period sheen, but still effective when it counts. Bogart and Robinson would meet a gain a few times, but with Bogart’s status rising higher and higher each time.

  • The Biggest Bundle of Them All (1968)

    (On Cable TV, August 2022) While my appreciation for 1960s crime caper The Biggest Bundle of Them All remains temperate, the film has appreciated slightly in time because it’s a wholly average example of something that has also appreciated in the intervening decades. It’s not a new phenomenon—the Tarantino-clones of the late 1990s are far more interesting now that we’re not deluged with them; the classical musicals of the 1950s are still great fun now that we’re not as tired of the genre as audiences were at the time. So, anyone in the mood for a 1960s crime caper comedy is on rather firm ground with The Biggest Bundle of Them All, especially considering the wild casting of the film, its European style (courtesy of its setting, its English director Ken Annakin and having been shot in Cinecittà) and pop-optimism. It pairs well with the later The Italian Job (despite not being in the same league) in how it plays with lucrative violence-free crime and ironic punishment. The casting spans decades of celebrities, with old-school titans such as Edward G. Robinson and Italian neorealist director Vittoria de Sica (!) rubbing shoulders with then-newer actors such as Raquel Welsh and Robert Wagner and black cinema pioneer Godfrey Cambridge. Welsh is clearly the sex-symbol hook on which much of the film was sold at the time—and The Biggest Bundle of Them All doesn’t pass an occasion to showcase her assets, even in a small part. It’s risky to call the film funny—overdone in many ways, a bit lame in others, it’s perhaps more accurate to call it “light-hearted.” There’s untapped potential in the final result: the film doesn’t quite manage to capitalize on its assets, leaving viewers amused but dissatisfied. It probably does play better now to anyone who’s a fan of those 1960s crime comedies.

  • Tight Spot (1955)

    (On Cable TV, July 2022) Ginger Rogers is not usually associated with film noir, but like many actresses active during the 1940s–1950s, her filmography does include at least one related title. She’s the lead in Tight Spot, a film that makes more sense the more you know about the organized-crime trials of the early 1950s, where some witnesses had an unfortunate tendency of dying before testifying and when gangster moll Virginia Hill left an indelible impression on the national psyche after her appearance in front of the Kefauver Committee. But even if you’re not aware of this, Tight Spot still has some appeal. Much of the action is focused on a hotel suite where Rogers, playing a high-value witness, is cajoled by police (led by a character played by Edward G. Robinson) in agreeing to testify against a mob boss. But the big complication is the crooked cop (Brian Keith) in their midst, weighing his growing attraction to the witness against orders from the mob to facilitate her murder. Part of the film is familiar, but it works rather well—and you can’t underestimate the interest in seeing Rogers go for a hard-boiled moll with a smart mouth. A good leading cast, combined with a fun script and some efficient direction from Phil Karlson, combine to make Tight Spot a decent-enough thriller of the noir era—not perfect (it could have been a bit snappier in the middle) and maybe a bit too sparse in its characters, but still something worth watching to the end.

  • The Last Gangster (1937)

    (On Cable TV, January 2022) As the story goes, Edward G. Robinson was getting tired of playing gangsters but was remodeling his house and needed the money. An offer from MGM (rather than his usual Warner Brothers) later—voilà, one more gangster role in The Last Gangster, albeit one that greatly benefited from Robinson’s experience in lending depth to what could have been a caricature. More significantly, it offers a singular film in which Robinson, in his prime, plays an ascendant James Stewart—two recognizable actors going at each other with their own styles. Stewart is quite good (even with an unusual moustache) as an urbane, compassionate newspaperman who rivals Robinson’s gangster for the affection of his ex-wife and son. It all escalates, providing Robinson with a few showcase sequences and a heroic guns-blazing finale with an even worse criminal. Executed by the professional standards of the time, The Last Gangster is not quite as grandiose as its title suggests, but it’s a nice actor’s showcase and the best opportunity to see two screen legends on opposite sides. (They’d later reunite on Cheyenne Autumn, but not as direct opponents.)

  • The Cincinnati Kid (1965)

    The Cincinnati Kid (1965)

    (On Cable TV, October 2021) My disadvantage in watching poker movies is that (and hush, because this passes for a dishonourable secret), I don’t really understand poker. Not being a gambler nor having any poker-playing friends to entertain, I get the basics of the game and some of the better hands, but don’t ask me to explain the finer details of the game. And yet, the paradox is that I generally like poker movies: you don’t have to know exact odds to be fascinated by bluffs and high stakes. It helps that The Cincinnati Kid has plenty to offer even to non-poker players: Steve MacQueen in fine roguish form as a hotshot player about to rub shoulders with the best; Ann-Margret as a seducer; Edward G. Robinson in a great late-career performance as a notorious card shark; a rather convincing portrayal of New Orleans’ atmosphere. The period detail is interesting as well, but it quickly fades into the background once the cards are dealt and we’re back with the timeless high stakes of romance, cheating, deception and showmanship. Classic Hollywood legend Joan Blondell shows up in a small but memorable role, while director Norman Jewison marks this film as the one that broke him out of light comedies into the unpredictable blend of genres that marked the rest of his career. The similarities with the near-contemporary The Hustler are numerous, but despite knowing a lot more about pool than poker, I like The Cincinnati Kid best: the colourful cinematography is more appealing, MacQueen outdoes Newman in this specific case, and the ending seems gutsier and more meaningful as well. While not as compelling or steadily entertaining as other similar films, The Cincinnati Kid has nonetheless aged rather well, and remains accessible even to those who can’t quite distinguish their flushes from their suits.

  • Tiger Shark (1932)

    Tiger Shark (1932)

    (On Cable TV, July 2021) Hollywood is arguably at its best when combining the familiar in slightly intriguing doses, an approach that finds its drawbacks when imitators pile up. From a contemporary perspective, there’s something well-worn to much of Tiger Shark, as it creates a love triangle between a tough man (Edward G. Robinson, playing a tuna fisherman who loses a hand in an accident), his wife and a man closely associated to them both. It all takes place in a dangerous, high-risk, manly environment, clearly fitting with director Howard Hawks’ career-long preoccupations. At a slim 77 minutes, Tiger Shark does make in brevity what it never really possessed in originality, but again it’s all about how the elements are combined. Hawks is playing to his strengths by taking a sometimes-documentary approach to men in a dangerous job — there are some fascinating moments here as we get a look at 1930s commercial fishing, echoing the later Come and Get It look at lumberjacks. Robinson goes all-out playing a rough and quick-to-anger character and the result does add quite a bit to the already decent film. The only two Hawksian trademarks that don’t quite fit in this early film are the Hawksian woman (Zita Johann is remarkably tame here) and the fast-paced comic dialogue, although let’s be reasonable: Hawks was still a few years away from hitting the heights of screwball comedy. The result is a bit more laborious than Hawks’ upper-tier films, but still a bit more action-packed and faster-paced than similar films of the era. Tiger Shark doesn’t have much to its title in terms of distinction, but it’s not a bad example of the form.

  • A Bullet for Joey (1955)

    A Bullet for Joey (1955)

    (On Cable TV, March 2021) You would think that the single biggest reaction to a film titled A Bullet for Joey would be “Who is Joey and why does he deserve a bullet?”, but after watching the film, the first thing that comes to mind is “Wow… Edward G. Robinson as a French-Canadian policeman?”  A cold war thriller chiefly concerned with communists kidnapping a nuclear physicist, it brings Robinson as “RCMP Inspector Raoul Leduc” (A French-Canadian name is there’s one, despite Robinson making no effort at playing French Canadian) tracking down the miscreants and saving the west from a crucial brain drain. As a Canadian, the film is probably far more interesting than to American viewers, especially as it’s largely set in Montréal without actually showing anything distinct about Montréal — it might as well be any other Midwestern American city so little does it take advantage of what makes Montréal such a unique place. But if you keep to the script’s guns-and-girls portion, the film becomes an average genre entry, a bit dull on the sides and not really worth any sustained attention. Robinson plays opposite George Raft as a criminal manipulated into helping the communists, and the much more interesting Audrey Totter as a better-written love interest. There are a few shocks along the way (the best, or worst, being what happens to a shy sweet secretary who becomes a pawn in the larger game), but otherwise A Bullet for Joey is a routine film with noirish overtones and some occasionally decent dialogue. Canadian fans will get more out of pointing and chuckling at the film’s “Hollywood, Canada” setting.

  • It’s a Great Feeling (1949)

    It’s a Great Feeling (1949)

    (On Cable TV, March 2021) As much as I’ll take any occasion to recommend classic Hollywood movies to everyone, there are a few movies that are best seen once you’re a few hundred titles deep in the Golden-Age Hollywood back-catalogue. Many of them are films that are best classified as parodies, satires or ensemble comedies poking fun at the other movies churned out by Hollywood at that time. It’s a Great Feeling is a crystal-clear example of that form, as it tells viewers a tall tale about a young actress being discovered by a studio that becomes eager to feature her on the big screen. The point of the film, however, isn’t as much the plot as selling, in colour!, the fantasy of the studio system at the end of the 1940s, and more specifically Warner Brothers’ stable of contract actors. Doris Day, in one of her earlier, more free-wheeling roles, plays a cafeteria girl with big dreams who tries to make nice with the director and lead actor of an upcoming prestige production… but things soon turn awry when they have to get studio head approval. Nearly everyone here plays themselves, at the exception of Day, the studio executive and a few character roles. From the first moments of It’s a Great Feeling (featuring directors Vidor, Curtiz and Walsh turning down a project), there are many, many cameos and finding them funny is a litmus test on your knowledge of circa-1949 Hollywood. The best of those cameos has to be Joan Crawford, throwing a hissy fit as the protagonists because that’s what she does in every film. Also funny is Edward G. Robinson convincing a security guard to play up his image as a tough guy. More conventional comedy segments (such as a still-funny series of technical mishaps sabotaging a screen test) are interspaced between a few musical numbers to showcase Day’s singing talents. The clever script, written by frequent Billy Wilder collaborator I. A. L. Diamond, spoofs Hollywood without quite criticizing it (polishing its mythology in doing so) but keeps its most iconoclastic joke for the end, as Hollywood life isn’t for our protagonist… and then immediately flips that joke on its head with a quick final cameo that may or may not work as a comedy capstone depending on whether you recognize Clark Gable. In some ways, it does feel like a backlot-budget version of other better musicals of that time, but the style of comedy here is very specific and quite specifically dated to 1949. These days, It’s a Great Feeling works best as an inside joke for classic Hollywood fans — spot the celebrities, bask in the idyllic portrait of studio contracts and smile at the not-too-satirical take on something that was intensely familiar to everyone involved in the film’s production.

  • The Sea Wolf (1941)

    The Sea Wolf (1941)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) Let’s see: A Jack London maritime adventure novel brought to the big screen by director Michael Curtiz, and starring no less than Edward G. Robinson as a sadistic sea captain, John Garfield as a hero protagonist and a beautiful Ida Lupino as the love interest? Oh yes, there’s ample reason to have a look at the 1941 adaptation of The Sea Wolf. Reportedly the best of the numerous film version of the novel, this one does get a crucial element right: Robinson as the antagonist, a formidable presence for an equally fearsome character. Lupino is certainly an asset as well, but the film’s execution through a foggy studio set means that the atmosphere of the seagoing ship is appropriately claustrophobic and oppressive. The plot goes a bit further than an already-interesting adventure story to become a small-scale illustration of the dangers of fascism, which adds quite a bit to the result. Good special effects (for the time) and tons of atmosphere complete the portrait. While it has the clunkiness of the technical means available to studio-bound 1940s filmmakers, The Sea Wolf is nonetheless a good adaptation and a fair adventure story in its own right.

  • The Prize (1963)

    The Prize (1963)

    (On Cable TV, September 2020) Nothing, exactly nothing about The Prize makes any sense—least of all the plot, which is rather embarrassing for a narrative-driven thriller. The beginning sees an alcoholic, womanizing American author somehow winning the Nobel Prize for Literature (based on, what, a corpus of one novel?) The action begins after he flies into Stockholm to receive the prize, and meets the other winners. A lovely young Scandinavian (Elke Sommer, in an early role) is assigned to him as hostess, and his meetings with the other winners show an eclectic group of intellectuals. But as various strange events occur, we stumble onto a premise that only made sense at the height of the Cold War: a dastardly plan by the Soviets to replace the Nobel Prize winners with lookalikes so that the lookalikes can denounce the western world in their acceptance speeches and then “defect” to The Soviet Union. Trying to even pretend that this premise makes sense is tiresome, so let’s skip to the overall impression left by the film: it’s about as scattershot as its premise in blending comedy, young-punk protagonist, some danger from the spying team at work in Stockholm, Paul Newman in the lead role, Edward G. Robinson in one of his late-career performances, a scene set at a nudist convention, and many more idiosyncrasies than you’ll know what to make of. The film was a success upon release, but newer viewers are more likely to be perplexed by the ungainly blend of ill-fitting elements. At least Newman is quite likable, despite a character not necessarily written to be so. He’s almost enough to make us forget a plot that wouldn’t make sense even at the protagonist’s most drunken state.

  • Five Star Final (1931)

    Five Star Final (1931)

    (On Cable TV, August 2020) Considering today’s issues with social media, it’s either comforting or dispiriting to realize that every era has had its problems with then-new communication mediums… and that cinema has been there to chronicle the issues since the 1920s. Five Star Final takes us in the heated tabloid newspaper scene of the big city 1930s, when newspapers published multiple editions per day, and raced hard to outdo the competition in circulation. If sleaziness was the way to boost readership, then the answer was obvious. Here we have Edward G. Robinson as a two-fisted newspaper editor, not comfortable with the sensationalistic direction that his publisher requires, but reluctantly dragged into a sordid tale of public shaming with real consequences. Boris Karloff also appears in a few scenes as a menacing reporter. The film, being from the everything-goes pre-Code era, is markedly more interesting than many newspaper movies of later decades (and I say this as someone with an inordinate fondness for newspaper movies)—not to spoil anything, but characters don’t necessarily make it out alive of this story, and the attitude toward tabloid journalism is decidedly critical. Mervyn Leroy’s direction is relatively fast-paced, and there are a few flourishes here and there—most notably the use of split screen and fancy special effects at the time. It does make for a compelling movie, more for its time-capsule experience than a story that has been done in more recent years (albeit not from the Code years from 1935 to 1955) but still interesting, and not simply because it was nominated for a Best Picture Oscar.

  • Barbary Coast (1935)

    Barbary Coast (1935)

    (On Cable TV, July 2020) It feels weird to talk about Barbary Coast as a western, considering that it takes place in the largely urban setting of 1850s San Francisco. But it does feature many elements of the western thanks to the gold rush that serves as its backdrop. There’s an air of a wild frontier to it all, as much of the action initially takes place in a saloon of sorts, then runs out for life away from the city in a gold mining camp. So, let’s call this an “urban western” and try not to think too much about the contradiction. As such, it’s not bad: this two-fisted thriller shows life in San Francisco during the gold rush, with a wealthy villain (Edward G. Robinson) running the town while everyone else cowers. Director Howard Hawks brings his characteristic touch to the result (not as refined as his later films, but still effective) and the whole thing is rather fun to watch even as it deals in clichés and rough plotting. While technically of the Production Code era, the script still has enough echoes of innuendos to stay interesting. Even if some of the characters can be cartoonish, Barbary Coast is still a convincing trip to a specific time and place. Watch it as a double feature with 1936’s San Francisco disaster film for a wild Hollywood dive into the city’s history.

  • Blackmail (1939)

    Blackmail (1939)

    (On Cable TV, June 2020) Edward G. Robinson takes a break from gangster roles in Blackmail, a story that has him play an expert firefighter with a dark past. That past gets exposed when an ex-con chances upon the protagonist, which eventually sends him back to a chain gang. Escape and revenge follow, in a film heavier on social themes than you’d expect. Robinson is as good as ever, although the film’s most memorable role goes to Gene Lockhart as a slimy blackmailer who takes over the protagonist’s empire after sending him back to prison. Blackmail is certainly watchable, and it is bookended by surprisingly engaging sequences revolving around oil fire blowouts. Robinson didn’t become one of the biggest stars of the 1930s for no reason, and even in a utilitarian role like the one here, you can see his ability to command audiences effortlessly.