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First as tragedy (The Maltese Falcon) then as farce, then again tragedy (The Mackintosh Man) and farce (Prizzi's Honor). The Yank (Humphrey Bogart) was once rich, now he cools his heels in Italy like a bewildered actor in a troubled production. Uranium in colonial Africa is the MacGuffin, fellow stranded expats include rotund schemer (Robert Morley) and German-accented leprechaun (Peter Lorre), "so many bad characters nowadays." The English twit (Edward Underdown) is married to a self-described "witch," Jennifer Jones tinted blonde and with an impish gleam never displayed before or after. ("An unqualified liar?" "Well, let's say she uses her imagination rather than her memory.") International scoundrels under the Mediterranean sun, "one has to try and bridge the gulf." A nice long piss on imperialism, Great Britain's and Hollywood's, a sustained sour jape by John Huston. The bullfighter's limo is big enough to stand in, off the cliff it plummets so the hero's wife (Gina Lollobrigida) briefly becomes "a very touching figure" in mourning blacks. (Her specialty is leaning over in low-cut gowns to serve tea and crumpets.) "The Galloping Major" (Ivor Barnard) admires dictators and keeps a dagger inside his cane, his bristling mustache is the kind of shape Huston likes in his cramped frames, like Marco Tulli's hawk nose and Bernard Lee's stiff upper lip. At the hillside balcony the camera cranes up from a couple to Lorre beneath a statue's nipples, aboard the adrift vessel it dotes on apoplectic captains and wisecracking pursers. "Shall I get out the hymn books?" These identities in flux and deaths and resurrections proceed as if pieced together before your eyes from Truman Capote's typewriter, a veneer of polish over chaos. The put-on spectacle builds to an Arab official's shrine to Rita Hayworth, and from there to Mr. Arkadin is Welles' delight. With Manuel Serrano, Mario Perrone, Giulio Donnini, Saro Urzi, and Juan de Landa. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |