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The sides of the eternal romantic triangle are the ignorant armies alluded to in the title, or perhaps the seagulls and seals vying for a bit of fish in the opening sequence. (Monterrey at dawn, full nets out of the sea and swift conveyor belts at the cannery, cf. Hawks' Tiger Shark.) "Big ideals, small results" sums up the path of the weary roamer (Barbara Stanwyck) back in the old neighborhood, "home is where you come when you run out of places." Nothing like ten years in the wilderness to make "a man who isn't mean and doesn't hate women" look good, thus the lunkheaded skipper who offers domesticity (Paul Douglas), his opposite is the sexy misanthrope changing reels at the movie theater (Robert Ryan). "Does it sound sordid? All right, it sounds sordid." Clifford Odets' Anna Christie, as it were, filmed by Fritz Lang with vital naturalism in direct contrast to the compressed stylization of Rancho Notorious that same year. (The Forties noir of Scarlet Street is consciously adjusted to Fifties heat, beating Kazan at his own game.) The heroine's hard-boiled front cracks for a second or so as she pours coffee in a suburban kitchen, minutes later her hand is reaching greedily under the shirt of her husband's pal during their illicit kiss. "Love is rotten when it happens like this, the hard way." Papa (Silvio Mincioti) insists on a Sicilian work ethic in his dotage, Uncle (J. Carrol Naish) is a moocher who turns into Iago when needed, the fun-loving chiclet (Marilyn Monroe) has an amorous tangle of her own with the local lout (Keith Andes). Babies are left to die under bridges or live to gaze at the moon, naturally the projection booth accommodates the climactic scuffle. (The interloper had previously offered to cut up the "celluloid angel," Lang wouldn't want it any other way.) Cinematography by Nicholas Musuraca. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |