Howard Hawks

  • Rio Lobo (1970)

    Rio Lobo (1970)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, October 2021) The obvious attraction in watching Rio Lobo is that this is the last film from legendary director Howard Hawks, who career spanned the 1920s to the 1970s and produced more than a dozen good-to-classic films along the way. Alas, this is not much of a swan song: saddled with an undistinguished plot that echoes previous Hawks “defend the town” westerns, Rio Lobo is further hampered by John Wayne strutting around in self-satisfied fashion, a remarkable lack of humour, not-so-striking female characters and a noticeable lack of whatever made previous Hawks films so compelling. The film’s production history suggests that Hawks himself is to blame for all of this—a script written to be repetitive, bad casting decisions compounded by on-set conflict and a lack of interest in shooting the best sequence of the film. If Rio Lobo is worth a look, it’s solely for its opening sequence, in which a money train is hijacked thanks to grease on the rails and a wasp nest thrown in the cabin. It’s a dynamic, somewhat inventive action set-piece that recalls Hawk’s earlier, better movies—except that film historians tell us that the sequence was shot by the second-unit director and stuntman Yakima Canutt. Ah well—after that, Rio Lobo settles for more of the same western stuff: fans of the genre will like, but Hawks’ uncanny ability to make good movies no matter the genre is no longer perceptible. It makes for a featureless viewing experience, and a disappointing finish to Hawks’ filmography—a dull film made even worse by aping previous better entries.

  • Today we Live (1933)

    Today we Live (1933)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, October 2021) I got interested in Today we Live because I’m trying to complete my Howard Hawks filmography, but not every one of movies is a hit, and this early effort goes right in the bottom tier. On paper, there’s certainly plenty to like about the film and the people it involves. I mean: Directed by Hawks! Dialogue by William Faulkner! Featuring Gary Cooper, Joan Crwford and Franchot Tone! A big romantic WW1 epic! Well, sometimes the ingredients don’t take in the mix: Today we Live has an excruciating first hour of drawing-room conversations set against the WW1 backdrop, with a love triangle between the heroine and two officers laboriously constructed according to familiar conventions. It’s dull in a way that we rarely associate with Hawks movies (even previous ones, such as Scarface). The pacing issues are compounded by a dour tone that leaves no place for Hawks’ usual humour, and even less for capable, vivacious characters. Fortunately, the reason why Hawks took the project becomes more obvious in the second half, with some aerial combat footage (much of it apparently recycled from Hell’s Angels) and characters in peril. On the other hand, the abrupt change in tone and style does give further credence to the idea that the film is a botched blend of creative influences, studio interference and mid-flight corrections—reading about the troubled production history of the film is very instructive. In the end, what’s left is something that feels a lot like a lesser take on material done better in Wings or Hell’s Angels, and nowhere near what Hawks himself would do in later years.

  • El Dorado (1966)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (YouTube Streaming, August 2021) When watching classic western films, I often have the impression of déjà vu, and that’s even more pronounced for El Dorado considering that it seems built from many of the same elements as director Howard Hawks’ previous Rio Bravo. Once again, John Wayne is presented as a hero, as he assembles a group of helpers to help fend off the film’s antagonist. It’s an interesting crew, though: In-between the protagonist (Wayne) being subject to bouts of paralysis due to an injury, he’s joined by an alcoholic sheriff played by Robert Mitchum, an unbelievably young James Caan as a naïve gunslinger and Arthur Hunnicutt playing one of his usually grizzled mentors. That four-man crew is the focus of the various action sequences, occasionally enlivened by a good supporting cast — perhaps the most remarkable being Michele Carey’s eye-catching turn as a vengeful daughter. It’s all conventional, sure, but rather well-executed. If it takes too long for the crew to get together, El Dorado really starts working once they are, and there are a few modest twists on the formula to keep things entertaining. I’m not that enthusiastic about the result, but it steadily gets better as it goes on, and does manage to wrap everything up in a satisfying fashion. I doubt I’ll remember much more than Carey within a few days, though.

  • The Outlaw (1943)

    The Outlaw (1943)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) There’s plenty to be said about Howard Hughes’ various failings and eccentricities in all the facets of his personal history. Even as a film director-producer, his filmography is an amazing collection of disasters: decent movies that came out years after production because he wouldn’t stop tinkering with them (Jet Pilot); movies where he, as a producer, would rapidly clash with directors and go through several of them (also Jet Pilot, but others too); films in which he let his interest in specific actresses dictate aspects of the film (The French Line), and other wonderful stories in which he deliberately courted scandal. But he was primarily an entertainer, and films like The Outlaw (even if Howard Hawks secretly co-directed) show his first-rate instinct. As a story, The Outlaw is a hodgepodge of familiar western elements, centred around one of the most overused common grounds for American Westerns: Lincoln, New Mexico and the associated legacy of Billy the Kid and Doc Holliday. Little of the film is meant to be based on fact, and as it moves forward, it’s clearly written around popular entertainment rather than accuracy. Hughes was a billionaire, but he was also a first-class female form appreciator, and that’s how The Outlaw is often mentioned as a spectacular showcase for Jane Russell’s sex appeal. There’s no way to see the haystack scene and not be impressed — in fact, The Outlaw’s release was delayed for two years, as Hugues tried to deal with the censors throwing apoplectic fits over Russell’s presence in the film. That, as you can imagine, does provide a distinctive flavour to The Outlaw — in a genre often concerned with asexual machismo, it’s a bit of a surprise to see Russell being so blatantly presented as an object of desire. Coupled with the entertainer’s instincts of both Hughes and Hawks, the result is a bit more than yet another dreary rerun through the Billy the Kid mystique. As someone who keeps being fascinated by Howard Hughes and nearly everything surrounding him, I found The Outlaw more captivating than expected, especially for an early-1940s western.

  • Tiger Shark (1932)

    Tiger Shark (1932)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (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.

  • Test Pilot (1938)

    Test Pilot (1938)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, February 2021) It’s interesting to note that movies predate aviation by only a few years — the medium was there to chronicle the way humans learned to fly, and even by 1938, aviation was barely in its third decade as more than a research endeavour. For some reason, I have an enduring fascination for aviation movies, especially the heroic age of aviation. That would be reason enough to watch Test Pilot, which is still widely hailed for its mostly realistic treatment of its subject. But then there’s the classic Hollywood touch: The film features no less than Clark Gable, Myrna Loy and Spencer Tracy, in addition to being built as a classic melodramatic blockbuster according to the timeless standards of the genre. (Fittingly, it was nominated for a Best Picture Academy Award.)  The result is not exactly the most unpredictable of movies: As our cocky protagonist (Gable) keeps getting into self-inflicted trouble, barely held back by the intervention of his level-headed friend (Tracy) and the love of a good woman (Loy), it’s not astonishing when he ends the picture a changed, more responsible man. Test Pilot may have been directed by Victor Fleming, but the script is recognizably from Howard Hawks. In between, well, we get a good look at the state of late-1930s American aviation, with bullet-shaped barnstormers and a peek at the B-17 bomber about to get good use during WW2. The special effects still come across as credible. The result is about as old-school Hollywood as can be imagined, but not in a bad way: high technology, melodrama, manly men, and a sex symbol… who could ask for more?

  • Man’s Favorite Sport? (1964)

    Man’s Favorite Sport? (1964)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2020) Any movie that claims to be directly inspired by Bringing Up Baby gets a fast-track to my affection, and Man’s Favorite Sport has a much stronger claim than others at that distinction, having been directed by Howard Hawks – who apparently tried to get Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn to reprise their roles. He obviously wasn’t able to do so, but getting Rock Hudson and Paula Prentiss instead is really not a bad substitute. The story has to do with a fishing expert having never fished (Hudson) and the woman (Prentiss) who discovers his secret on the eve of a major competition. But the plot is really a driver for a neo-screwball comedy featuring Howard’s typical fast pace running roughshod over absurd comic situations. The film can be especially funny to those with some outdoors experience, as much of it is seeing a befuddled Hudson trying his best at becoming an outdoorsman. Prentiss is cute and vivacious enough, while Hudson is perhaps a bit uncomfortable in a zanier comic persona that was asked of him in earlier romantic comedies. (I have a hunch that Hudson was never able to completely surrender his persona to the ridiculousness of the comedy beats.) There’s a sense that the film wasn’t quite able to get the lightning pace of previous Hawks screwball comedies, but it’s not for lack of trying and the result is that Man’s Favourite Sport is merely funny rather than hilarious – which is still a success.

  • Land of the Pharaohs (1955)

    Land of the Pharaohs (1955)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) Years after the disappointing release of Land of the Pharaohs, director Howard Hawks admitted that he had taken up the job for the opportunity to work in widescreen CinemaScope. He did have a point—it’s impossible to watch the film and not be impressed by the sheer large-scale cast-of-thousands scope of the entire production. The story takes us to the construction of the pyramids, and it practically recreates the effort at scale: the making of the film involved official cooperation from the Egyptian government to unearth the foundations of an unfinished pyramid, and secured the cooperation of the army for the in-camera recreation of sequences with up to ten thousand extras. It’s a mind-boggling production story, one that will never be repeated considering CGI economies of scale, and an effort that is immediately visible on-screen. And yet, despite Hawks orchestrating such a production, Land of Pharaohs feels like a miss—by itself, but also as a piece of Hawks’ filmography. Gone is the whip-fast dialogue, the competent heroine and the sense of urban sophistication: this is a film that, in keeping with the sweeping historical epics of the time, deals in arch fake-profound dialogue, a very conventional role for the heroine, and a weird sense of historical recreation that never feels too far away from Hollywood’s sense of history rather than any real effort to commit to the historical era. The plot, about the pyramid’s architect trying to find a way to make the pyramid robber-proof while escaping being executed to keep its secrets, is fine without being as good as the setting. The eye-popping presentation of the pyramid’s construction far outshines anything in the plot, which doesn’t give as much weight to the rest of the film. The best-known star here is Joan Collins as the female lead, and while she’s very attractive, she’s not that good of an actress. While you can easily justify watching Land of the Pharaohs for its visual aspect, the rest of the film is a disappointment, and perhaps even a double disappointment considering the rest of Hawks’ filmography. This being said, I did find one aspect of the film amusing: as someone whose day job consists of managing “architects” of sorts, I had a load of fun passing on some of the film’s most pretentious lines of dialogue: “I do not intend to punish you, architect, but to reward your skill,” “Work swiftly, architect,” “Well, architect, you sent word you had a plan,” “I did believe in you once, architect,” “You have served me well, architect,” “I will not bargain with you, architect,” “Architect, I understand that you’re ready to start work on the inner labyrinth…”…

  • Barbary Coast (1935)

    Barbary Coast (1935)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (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.

  • I Was a Male War Bride (1949)

    I Was a Male War Bride (1949)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, July 2020) How can anyone resist Howard Hawks reteaming with Cary Grant, with Ann Sheridan as a co-star? While I Was a Male War Bride can be accused of stretching a mildly amusing real-life anecdote over nearly two hours, even its uneven nature doesn’t quite take away from the pleasure of seeing Hawks handle comedy, of having Cary Grant goof off in a solid role, or Sheridan as the foil to Grant’s good-natured willingness to make fun of himself. Much of the film’s first half seems disconnected to the title, as a French officer (Grant) and an American lieutenant (Sheridan) fall in love through a copious amount of romantic belligerence in postwar Europe. The title comes into focus midway through, as the film shifts gears, marries its protagonists and then becomes mired in the bureaucratic nightmare of having our square-jawed hero fall into the provisions made for repatriating spouses (usually women) of American soldiers. Kafka turns comic, as Grant repeatedly tries to navigate regulations made for a woman, going all the way to a gender-bending moment of crossdressing. Grant is a good sport throughout, playing with the assumed gender norms on which rest the fundamentals of this comedy. As usual for Hawks’s movies, his female characters are sharply drawn to be the equal of his male characters (even more obviously so in this case) and his dialogue is as fast as the actors can deliver it. While I Was a War Male Bride does not feature very highly on Hawks or Grant’s filmography, it’s a solid comedy and well worth a look for fans of the director or stars.

  • A Song Is Born (1948)

    A Song Is Born (1948)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, January 2020) By sheer coincidence, I happened to have A Song is Born sitting on the DVR right after seeing Ball of Fire — The first film being a musical remake of the second. Considering how much I liked Ball of Fire, I was both curious and apprehensive about a remake, especially one made barely seven years after the original and by the same director Howard Hawks. Of course, it turns out that there were at least two reasons for the remake: picture and sound. For one thing, A Song is Born is shot in glorious early-colour cinematography, improving upon the atmosphere of the original and making it just a bit more accessible to modern audiences. For another, A Song is Born clearly listened to those who raved about the musical number in Ball of Fire and repurposed the plot to focus on musical elements. Our encyclopedia-writing professors are now putting together a compendium of musical styles, and the lounge singing aspect of the heroine takes far more importance. According to the historical record, production on the film was difficult (Howard Hawks coming back as a director solely for the paycheque, lead actor Danny Kaye being in the middle of a rough divorce) but little of it is visible on-screen as the film bounces from one comic set-piece to another. In many ways, A Song is Born is not as good a movie as Ball of Fire: Danny Kaye is working only at half-speed compared to Gary Cooper (Kaye’s divorce had an impact on the film in that Kaye refused to sing—with the result being a musical in which the lead actor doesn’t sing: strange!), and the set-pieces seem far more deliberate than the first film. Most modern viewers will miss an entire layer to the film that was obvious to late-1940s audiences: the film is crammed with cameos from then-famous musicians. If you’re not familiar with the era, many jokes will fly over our heads –the (admittedly very funny) Benny Goodman sequence being a case in point, as he plays a professor being asked to perform as Goodman would. Still, A Song is Born does have its qualities: it’s very amiable, does change just enough from the original film to feel fresh, and -in its own way—affirms how good the first film was. It’s not quite as good indeed, but I didn’t have the impression that I wasted my time having a look at it.

  • Ball of Fire (1941)

    Ball of Fire (1941)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) I’ll watch anything directed by Howard Hawks, but even I got a bigger surprise than expected with Ball of Fire, a romantic comedy with a few unexpected treats. Gary Cooper stars in his own solid way as an encyclopedist who steps out of his reclusive existence to study contemporary slang… and ends up paired with a lounge singer who needs to lay low after her mobster boyfriend comes under scrutiny. Barbara Stanwyck is at the top of her game as the female lead invading the sanctity of the encyclopedia writers’ refuge, teaching them much and falling for one of them in return. The plot, in typical screwball fashion, makes little logical sense but impeccable comic sense. Before long, we’re in a clash in which bookish old men take on gangsters holding them hostage through science—and win. Along the way, we get a performance out of the legendary drummer Gene Krupa playing the original Drum Boogie (a welcome surprise, given that I was familiar with Swing Republic’s electro house remix), first with his big band and then minimally with two matchsticks (with the expected final flourish). The rapid-fire dialogue is a Hawks trademark (working from a script written by a young Billy Wilder), and having Stanwyck as a typical Hawksian heroine only bonifies the result. I’m not as happy with the film’s clear anti-intellectual skepticism, but much of it simply powers the plot—by the end brawl between Cooper and a mobster, there’s no doubt as to who will triumph. It all makes for a very likable film working from a Snow White and the Seven Dwarves template, with two lead actors at their most sympathetic, and a writer-director combo who clearly knew what they were going for.

  • The Crowd Roars (1932)

    The Crowd Roars (1932)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2019) There’s a blend of familiarity and strangeness at play in The Crowd Roars that I find quite interesting. On the familiar side, this is a racing film, and it’s directed by Howard Hawks. You get much of what we’ve come to expect from both Hawks (action, tough men and articulate women) and from car racing films. The dramatic arc is intensely melodramatic, but we know where we are and there aren’t many surprises along the way. But there’s an alien quality to The Crowd Roars that makes it interesting as well. As one of the first sound films to look at auto racing, it reflects the rougher, sometimes fatal nature of such events—different cars, different attitudes toward accidents as well. It’s clear that the film comes from a Pre-Code time when the grammar of racing sequences was still being defined—there’s some surprisingly good racing footage here, as well as some jarring rear-projection work that does not do any favours to the actors. James Cagney stars as a borderline-unlikable protagonist, but he doesn’t quite fit the role and isn’t as intense here as other films of the era. Ann Dvorak and Joan Blondell are more interesting as the romantic interests (spurned by the men!)  Hawks’ work here is decent but not overly impressive: he gets the importance of thrilling audiences, but his interest in the film doesn’t seem to extend to the dramatic moments. The Crowd Roar is not an essential film—in many ways, it feels like the kind of material that Warner Brothers churned out by obligation at the time. But it does present an interesting glimpse into racing at the dawn of the 1930s, perhaps the best we have captured on film. Given this, it may be worth a particular look for those interested in cars and their portrayal in Hollywood history.

  • Viva Villa! (1934)

    Viva Villa! (1934)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, October 2019) Hollywood has always had a soft spot for grander-than-life outlaws, mostly because it could make portray them as protagonists even bigger than life and (in the name of entertainment) revel in whatever cool crimes they committed. 1930s Hollywood was just as susceptible, as shown by a number of outlaw movies of which Viva Villa! Is only one example. Here we have Hollywood avowedly magnifying the legend of the famous Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa: a woman in every village, an army of thousands, and an American journalist creating his legend. It’s not exactly subtle, and the film’s treatment of the character is not without a dose of racism: clearly, this is an American perspective on a Mexican story (literally—what would Villa be without the American journalist documenting his actions?) rather than an attempt to show the story from his own perspective. Executed with significant production means, the film features hundreds of extras, a lot of location shooting and grandiose battle sequences, which (combined with the attempt to show a charming rogue, helped along by an exuberant performance by Wallace Beery) help keep the film interesting today … even though it would be completely unacceptable as a new movie today. You can see why Viva Villa! was nominated for a Best Picture Academy Award. Fans of Howard Hawks will appreciate knowing his uncredited contribution to the film, even though director Jack Conway completed the film.

  • Come and Get It (1936)

    Come and Get It (1936)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, August 2019) I’m on a mission to watch the entire Howard Hawks filmography, and at this point in the process, having covered most of his classics, I’m starting to get to his lesser-known films. Come and Get It is one of those, and a bit of an oddball title as he was reportedly fired about two thirds of the way through. Adapted from a novel, it’s a complex and occasionally off-putting story of multi-generational infatuation, as a married lumber baron falls for the daughter of the woman he left behind decades previously. There are multiple complications, to the point of resulting in a messy plot that leaves few people happy when it reaches its ending, spurned would-be adulterous protagonist and all. (Note to modern viewers: The Hays Code was slightly more permissive when filmmakers worked from existing novels, but not that much—which helps explain the film’s jerky and unconvincing morals.)  Considering that Hawks didn’t direct all of Come and Get It, it’s hard to pinpoint his exact contribution, but the spectacular footage of old-school logging operations early in the film was enough to warm my French-Canadian heart and certainly resonates with other Hawks movies. Much of the film’s best moments come early on, what with barroom brawling and sharp scenes to establish the characters. It’s afterwards that Come and Get It seems to lose its way, never quite sure whether to commit to tragedy or romance. (Or to say something about environmental matters, which had been one of Hawks’ initial concerns.)  Three good actors manage to make the film better than its confused screenplay: Edward Arnold as the morally ambiguous protagonist, Joel McCrea as the romantic lead, but especially Frances Farmer in a well-controlled dual role. Walter Brennan is a bit annoying, but that’s his character more than the actor. Despite a fair start, Come and Get It ultimately feels aimless and maybe even a bit cut short—it doesn’t completely capitalize on its strengths, and knowing about its troubled production explains some of the issues.