Two Flags West

1950 was a seminal year for Westerns. The genre turned towards darker fare: The Gunfighter and Winchester '73 deconstructed the gunslinger myth, while Broken Arrow and Devil's Doorway extoll Indian rights. John Ford's brilliant Wagon Master showed traditional Westerns could still provide a kick. Lost in the shuffle was Robert Wise's Two Flags West (1950), a serviceable Civil War Western.

In 1864, Confederate POWs led by Colonel Tucker (Joseph Cotten) agree to join the Union Cavalry fighting Indians. These "Galvanized Yankees" arrive at Ft. Thorn, New Mexico, where Tucker immediately butts heads with untrusting Major Kenniston (Jeff Chandler). The friendlier Captain (Cornel Wilde) pines for Elena (Linda Darnell), Kenniston's widowed sister-in-law. Tucker and his men consider escape, goaded by Rebel agent Ephraim Strong's (Harry Von Zell) plans to stir up rebellion in California. Tucker makes his choice when hostile Apaches attack Ft. Thorn.

Story writer Frank S. Nugent explored North-South reconciliation in Ford's She Wore a Yellow Ribbon but makes it Two Flags West's major theme. Mutual loss generates tension among characters: Tucker led the Rebels who killed Elena's husband at Chancellorsville, while both Tucker and Kenniston served in POW camps. Tucker has no interest in reconciliation, having lost his farm to Sherman's March. Ultimately Wise falls back on the old expedient of Americans uniting against a common enemy, forging a national identity slaying Apaches.

Two Flags West might interest film-goers for its influence on future Westerns. John Sturges's Escape From Fort Bravo (1953) borrowed the setting and north-south tensions for a routine action flick. Sam Peckinpah grafted whole scenes onto Major Dundee (1965): Dundee's recruiting speech, Tucker's obsessive loyalty, a Dixie-Battle Hymn of the Republic singing duel originate here. Henry Sibley's New Mexico Campaign, mentioned in passing here, became the focus of Sergio Leone's The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966).

Robert Wise provides efficient direction, with expressive photography and a thrilling end battle. The movie's crisply paced yet seems to cram in a few too many plot strands. We're intrigued by Harry Von Zell's Rebel agitator yet his subplot comes to nothing. The Apache are goaded to violence by Kenniston's stubbornness (shades of Fort Apache) but soon revert to pop-out savages. At least Wise provides an unconventional resolution to the climax. Western fans will enjoy Two Flags' straightforward action but its ambitions seem frustrated.

Joseph Cotten is fine as the conflicted Colonel Tucker. Jeff Chandler gives the standout turn, a cruel martinet who reveals nobility under fire. Cornel Wilde is likeable in a secondary role and Arthur Hunnicut steals his scenes as Tucker's right-hand man. Linda Darnell makes an appealing love interest; if nothing else, it's nice seeing her play a non-stereotyped Latina.

Two Flags West is an enjoyable Sunday afternoon film. A masterpiece it isn't, but those seeking an undemanding oater should enjoy.

The Desert Rats

The Desert Rats (1953) serves as a prequel to The Desert Fox (1951). Director Robert Wise delivers an efficient programmer, using a pro cast and exciting action to carry a routine plot.

In 1941, Erwin Rommel's (James Mason) German Afrika Corps besieges the 9th Australian Division at Tobruk in Libya. As Rommel prepares his final attack, hardass English Captain Roberts (Richard Burton) takes command of an Aussie company and whips them into shape. Roberts slowly bonds with his men, including Tommy Bartlett (Robert Newton), his former schoolmaster-turned-rake. He leads them on a series of daring raids against Rommel's troops - but German numbers gradually wear them down. Will the Aussies hold long enough for relief to arrive?

Where The Desert Fox was a talky biopic, The Desert Rats is a schematic combat picture. The film has a big budget but the phony sets and lack of historical details (German soldiers clearly tote Tommy guns at several points!) undercut it. Richard Murphy's script sticks to basics, with the stuffy commander learning to love his rough-and-tumble men, etc. Wise's no-nonsense direction proves the saving grace, with a large-scale tank battle (concededly augmented with stock footage) and exciting commando raids moving things at a brisk clip.

Richard Burton plays an archetypical "stiff upper lip" Captain without much panache. Robert Newton (Oliver Twist) serves as the film's emotional anchor, making his silly archetype into an effective personage. James Mason briefly reprises his role as Rommel, with regrettable German accent. Australian actors Chips Rafferty (Mutiny on the Bounty), Charles Tingwell (Breaker Morant) and Michael Pate (Major Dundee) feature in supporting roles.

The Desert Rats won't be on many lists of all-time classics. Aussies told their own war stories much better in Gallipoli and The Lighthorsemen, but this is a respectable old-fashioned war movie.

Robert Ryan Noir Extravaganza

On Friday, TCM had a day-long tribute to Robert Ryan, that gifted yet underappreciated actor, and I took advantage of the opportunity to see some of his less widely-available flicks. Here reviewed are a trio of his early films, films noir from top-notch directors where he made his name as one of Hollywood's premiere tough guys.

(Also perused were two of his Anthony Mann collaborations, Men in War (1957) and God's Little Acre (1958), films of different genres which may or may not get their own article.)

Crossfire (1947, Edward Dmytryk)



Ryan's breakout film, Crossfire is a somewhat awkward cross between a noir and a social message film. Its attack on biogtry and intolerance may have been groundbreaking in its time, but the film seems rather stilted and preachy today.

Jewish GI Samuels (Sam Levene) is murdered, and detective Finlay (Robert Young) believes some of his service mates to be responsible. Finlay initially suspects Private Mitchell (George Cooper), who conveniently cannot remember the night in question, but with the reluctant help of Sergeant Keeley (Robert Mitchum), Finlay turns his attention towards Montgomery (Robert Ryan), a loudmouth who slowly reveals a nasty strain of anti-Semitism.

Leftist director Edward Dmytryk (later one of the Hollywood Ten) really wants us to know that prejudice is bad. Unfortunately, the point is made in a regrettably hamfisted way. The movie takes the easy route of stressing that Samuels was a great guy and there was no reason to kill him. An eloquent speech by Finlay portrays all intolerance as one and the same, a gross, patronizing oversimplifcation of a complex issue. It's especially telling that the biggest and most pervasive intolerance of post-war America - racism - is not once mentioned; it's much easier to show that the intolerance practiced by Nazi Germany is bad, I suppose. What may have seemed daring and provocative in 1947 now seems very much a product of its time.

As a straight noir, Crossfire is decent enough. Dmytryk's direction is rather unremarkable, although he makes fine use of Harry Gerstad's interesting editing, with its distinctly dreamlike flashbacks. The story is straightforward but its moral ambiguity is interesting: the soldiers are reluctant to help Finlay's investigation out of service solidarity, and peripheral characters - especially a call girl (Gloria Grahame) and her obsessive husband (Paul Kelly) - seem equally seedy. Without employing gangsters or usual genre cliches, Dmytryk successfully creates a rather disquieting and cynical view of '40s America.

Ryan excells in his star-making turn: no one can play a charming creep better than him, even if his guilt is never really in doubt. He would play a nearly-identical character in Bad Day at Black Rock eight years later, which did a somewhat better job with a similar story and the same issues. Robert Young (Western Union) is the nominal protagonist, and he's good if rather stiff. Robert Mitchum has a rather weak secondary role and doesn't make much of an impression. Gloria Grahame (It's a Wonderful Life) gets a meaty part as a hard-nosed call girl.

Act of Violence (1948, Fred Zinnemann)



A noir by the great Fred Zinnemann (A Man for All Seasons), Act of Violence also makes use of post-WWII America as a setting, with tormented, guilt-ridden GIs as protagonists. A bit uneven in its plotting, its central story is superb, and fine direction and acting make it a must-see.

Frank Enley (Van Heflin) lives a seemingly-idyllic life as a building contractor in Middle America, with a beautiful wife (Janet Leigh) and child. Into the picture limps Joe Parkson (Robert Ryan), a crippled WWII vet who knows service buddy Frank's secret: as a POW, Enley betrayed an escape attempt which led to a massacre. Frank flees to Los Angeles to escape the vengeful Joe, getting mixed up with a woman of doubtful virtue (Mary Astor) and a gangster (Berry Kroeger) who determines to bump off Joe. Joe's girl (Phyllis Thaxter) tries to convince her beau to call off the hit, while Frank wrestles with his own conscience.

Act of Violence is a wonderfully ambivalent movie. It seems like an odd cross between The Best Years of Our Lives (veterans struggling to adjust to civilian life) and A History of Violence (idyllic family man whose past comes back to haunt him), but has a darker tinge than both. The film refuses to make its morality easily codified: Frank provides a noble "excuse" for his wartime treachery, but it seems just as likely that cowardice motivated him. Joe comes off as a psycho at first, but he has a justification for his actions, and the film provides a loyal and loveable girlfriend as a foil. Frank, eager to forget the war, easily rejoined society while Joe remained a neurotic outsider obsessed with the past; when the two strands cross, it's hopelessly messy. Do we cheer for the past traitor and present model citizen, or the war hero-turned-psycho?

Zinnemann's direction is fine, with appropriately-moody photography by Robert Surtees heightening the tension. The story takes an odd sidetrack when Frank gets mixed up in with criminals; it seems as if Zinnemann and writers Robert L. Richards and Collier Young feared the main plot was too thin. Still, this development sets the stage for the wonderfully surprising finale, which really spins the film's moral compass out of whack.

Van Heflin (Shane) gives one of his best performances; Frank is never less than likeable but Heflin makes him convincingly complex and guilt-ridden. Ryan is equally good: he's dependably creepy early on, but Zinnemann makes him gradually more sympathetic as the film develops. A remarkably unglamorous Mary Astor (The Maltese Falcon) and Berry Kroeger (Gun Crazy) ably represent the seamy underbelly of post-war America. Janet Leigh (The Naked Spur) and Phyllis Thaxter (Jim Thorpe - All American) sweeten the deal as likeable "nice girls."

The Set-Up (1949, Robert Wise)



The real gem of this group is Robert Wise's (The Sand Pebbles) take on the crooked, grimy world of professional boxing. Ryan gives probably his best performance (with all due respect to Billy Budd and The Wild Bunch) as the tragic Stoker Thompson, a past-his-prime boxer who career - and life - are pulled out from under him by his supposed friends.

Stoker Thompson (Robert Ryan) is an aging heavyweight champ due to fight against up-and-comer Tiger Nelson (Hal Baylor). Stoker's manager Tiny (George Tobias), however, agrees to throw the fight without telling Stoker; he's so sure his charge will lose that he doesn't bother to cut Stoker in. Stoker gives the fight his all and somehow manages to win, leaving him to face the wrath of tough guy Little Boy (Alan Baxter) and his goons.

Filmed roughly in real-time, The Set-Up is a wonderful little film. The story is pretty straightforward but plays out like an epic tragedy: Stoker's playing against a rigged deck but doesn't realize it, and he has to pay the consequences for his manager's perfidy. Wise's sparse direction adding a documentary-real feel to the proceedings, bringing the seedy world of boxing to vivid life. It's a remarkably grim and downbeat film, showing a horribly amoral and destructive world in chilling detail.

This has to be Ryan's best performance. He rarely got to play sympathetic characters but he really shines here, convincing as the proud, aged boxer and the man betrayed. Audrey Totter adds a welcome glimmer of humanity as Stoker's girlfriend. The supporting cast is filled out by a dependably seedy bunch: Alan Baxter (Abe Lincoln in Illinois), George Tobias (Mildred Pierce), Hal Baylor (Sands of Iwo Jima), James Edwards (Patton) and Wallace Ford (The Man From Laramie).

The Sand Pebbles

Robert Wise's The Sand Pebbles (1966) is a highly ambitious if flawed attack on colonialism, conveniently produced just as the Vietnam War was kicking into high gear. The film presents a complicated political situation - China in the grip of Nationalist Revolution circa 1926 - and with the exception of a few broad strokes does it in a nuanced, sophisticated manner one would not expect from a Hollywood epic. Only in some of its subplots does it falter - when focused on the affects of imperialism on conquerors and conquered and of men under extreme strain and durress, it's near-perfect. If nothing else, it features Steve McQueen's best performance and one of the best battle scenes ever filmed.

1926. China is in the grip of a Civil War with Chiang Kai-Shek's Nationalists struggling to overthrow the corrupt government - while the Communist party waits in the wings. None of this much matters to Jake Holman (Steve McQueen), an introverted ship mechanic who has been transferred to the USS San Pablo, a US Navy gunboat patrolling the Yangtze River. Holman finds that the ship uses Chinese coolies for all tasks, including cooking, washing, and running the engine, and immediately butts heads with the lazy and bigoted crew (Simon Oakland, Ford Rainey, Joe Turkel, Gavin McLeod) and the routine-obsessed martinet Captain Collins (Richard Crenna). Holman and his crewmates find the nascent political unrest creating problems on shore leave - while Holman's pal Frenchy (Richard Attenborough) begins a doomed romance with Maily (Marayat Adriane), an articulate prostitute. An outcast among the crew and disgusted with what his uniform represents, Holman wants to desert and join pacifist missionary Jameson (Larry Gates) and his beautiful young charge Shirley (Candice Bergen) - but when the situation breaks out into all-out war, this proves impossible.

The Sand Pebbles is, first and foremost, a mediation on imperial politics. By 1926, imperialism was already a relic of an era gone by, though Britain, France and the United States still hung onto their share of far-flung possessions. The corrupt, lazy life of the American sailors, whose every menial task is taken over by the coolies onboard, represents the rotten and corrupting effect imperialism has on both occupiers and occupied, reducing the former to lazy and complacent malcontents and the latter to second-class citizens. When the coolies desert the ship, they find themselves entirely unable to function and turn on each other. The film doesn't entirely succeed in distinguishing Communists, Nationalists, and other factions among the rebellious Chinese, but the film's overall feel of the situation is wonderfully nuanced and pertinent: this is a messy situation, a bloody and confusing scrum amongst the locals, and no good can come from America (along with Britain, France, Russia and Japan) interfering. The final confrontation between Collins and Jameson exemplifies this; both men are deluded, with naively simplistic worldviews (blind militarism and naive pacifism) that end up killing both.

The movie's depiction of men-at-arms in an impossible situation, their fates and actions determined by politics they can't control or understand. Revolutionary China is a politically charged climate, and they are present as a tortured gesture: they represent imperialism but aren't able to enforce it (even when one of their servants is brutally murdered and they are pelted with garbage), and trapped in this intolerable situation they quickly go mad. Captain Collins' rigid attitude might be acceptable on a battleship at sea, but in the politically-heated climate he's in, it's completely inappropriate; his ignorance and terrible misunderstanding of the situation (sending soldiers ashore on liberty while the ship is under siege, obsessively refusing to fire on Chinese) only fan the flames of unrest, while frustrating and alienating the crew as well. In most films, when Collins threatens to fight the Chinese to the death over Holman, the crew would rally around the Captain; but in this case, the crew are so sick of these two that they'd gladly through their colleagues to the wolves. No wonder Collins throws his ship into a bloody battle without orders; after all the stress they'd been under they need to vent their frustrations in one way or another.

Perhaps the strongest aspect of the film is the characterization of its protagonist. Jake Holman pretty much exemplifies the typical draft-age American of the time, and is a wholly relatable characters. Forced into the Navy due to juvenile delinquincy, he really has no choice in what he does, but finds his one love in the engine - something he knows how to do, and to do well. Despite initial prejudice, he does make earnest attempts to connect with the Chinese, beyond the sex and servitude desired by his shipmates. His plans to escape the situation and join the missionaries come to naught; for all his cynicism, introspection, and reluctant heroism, he is simply a very small cog in a large machine, and his fate is out of his hand.

The film does stumble a bit at times. The film runs just over three hours with intermission and overture and not all of the material is strictly necessary. The most obvious is the Frenchy/Maily romance: it diverts from the main story, goes on too long, and when it ends in tragedy no one is really surprised. Similarly, the scenes in the brothel/bar tend to go on too long, and continue long after the point has petered out. Some of the political commentary is a bit obvious - several of Collins' and Jameson's speeches wreak of spelling things out for the audience, and especially Jake's constant regret of killing Chinamen in the river battle - but it's generally well-handled. In the end, though, the film can be faulted most for its cliched and dated metaphor of America as a squabbling nation united through battle (represented through some glaring symbolism in the final battle); as expressed in my Major Dundee review, such thinking may have been fine after World War II, but Vietnam would quickly make such a view an anachronism.

Wise shows a fine directorial hand; he's an old Hollywood pro whose mixture of diversity (his last two films were the hugely successful musicals West Side Story and The Sound of Music) and talent has rarely been equalled. The film's locations look beautifully authentic (the film was shot on location in Taiwan), and are well-captured by ace cameraman Joseph MacDonald. The rip-roaring final battle between the San Pablo and a boon of Chinese river junks, a bloody, rough-and-tumble hand-to-hand affair, is one of the best, most intense set-piece battles in any film I've seen. If nothing else, it's a great release for both the characters and the audience after 150 minutes of build up; so effective is it, indeed, that the protracted finale in the mission courtyard seems an unnecessary extra beat. Jerry Goldsmith provides a suitably dramatic score that balances the exotic with the emotional.

Steve McQueen gives a career-best performance. He portrays Jake as an Everyman caught in an impossible situation, successful mixing his usual rebellious persona with the brooding of a Paul Newman. If he hadn't been up against Paul Scofield's masterful turn in A Man for All Seasons, he almost certainly would have nabbed an Oscar. The supporting cast is mixed: Richard Crenna does well as Collins, but Richard Attenborough's performance is pretty obvious Oscar-baiting, and his character never becomes as sympathetic as the script wants us to find him. A very young Candice Bergen is unbelievably beautiful, but as would prove the case through most of her career, she isn't much of an actress. Mako's memorable turn as the tragic Po-Han provides some of the film's best moments. Supporting roles are generally well-played but none really stand out.

Despite its flaws, The Sand Pebbles is a fine movie that still holds up reasonably well forty-three years later. It may not be an out-and-out masterpiece, but it's one of the finest cinematic representations of Americans abroad.

Rating: 8/10 - Highly Recommended

Citizen Kane

So, after a rewatch on TCM this afternoon I turn to the 900-pound gorilla of American cinema, Orson Welles' Citizen Kane (1941). Consistently rated the best film of all time for the last fifty years, it's a movie whose reputation is constantly challenged by both the ignorant film plebs and a certain breed of snob who seem to think that their own tastes represent an objective opinion. How in the hell is Citizen Kane the greatest movie? Isn't The Godfather better? 8 1/2? Lawrence of Arabia? The Seven Samurai? 2001? Transformers? (Wait... nevermind that last one.) What gives?

Well, I'm not going to argue for or against this position, as that would be an exercise in futility. The whole idea of the greatest movie of all time is completely subjective, and no two people will agree on any list of great films. I myself can think of 50 films off the top of my head that I think are better than Kane, and many more if we're delving into the even murkier concept of films I like better. But it's a film fully deserving of such a title, even if, in my humble and solitary opinion, it doesn't quite obtain that status. It is an undisputed masterpiece, with brilliant aristry and plot and character depth that reveals itself more and more with each viewing - the mark of a truly great film.

We all know the basic story of Citizen Kane - it's a cultural touchstone, much like Casablanca and Gone With the Wind, where everyone is familiar with at least some of the cliches - Rosebud, the deep focus photography, Xanadu, Orson Welles, the opera scene, the slow clap. The story of its making, its struggles in production and then release against the critics and the studios and William Randolph Hearst's media empire, are just well-known, and no less dramatic than the film itself.

Of course, Citizen Kane is primarily a character study of an empty man. It's not so much how Kane is portrayed that's fascinating, but the way he is. Established by an overlong newsreel introduction establishing him as a great if controversial power-player, it seems no one really knows him - he's just a big name in a newspaper headline. As the cub reporter (William Alland) finds out, Kane cannot simply be pinned down. The movie seems to go with Jed Leland (Joseph Cotten)'s idea that Kane was simply an unloved man desperate for people to adore him, which allows us some degree of sympathy with Kane, but even this seems incomplete. To be horribly reductive myself, however, the film is about a man in love himself and unable to connect with others. A tragic figure, but one whose downfall is largely his own doing.

It's hard to have a lot of sympathy for Kane, when his biggest and most consistent character trait is his willingness to destroy and use others for his personal gain. Kane's second wife Susan (Dorothy Comingore) is perhaps the most obvious example; forced into a career as a singer that she never wanted, she must humiliate herself night after night for the sake of her husband's ego (the scene where Kane half-heartedly applauds his wife's performance shows what a hollow lie the whole thing is). His attempts to comfort her lead only to more disappointment; Susan is a bird trapped in a gilded cage, unable to experience the world or get any benefit out of being rich or married to such a wealthy and powerful man. Kane is satisfied so long as everything is exactly as he wants it; he doesn't demand much, but merely, in Jed's words, "love on (his) own terms".

Susan is the most obvious example, but the entire cast is a victim of Kane's whim. First wife Emily (Ruth Warrick) is used more for her political connections - as the niece of a President - than love. Kane's guardian and benefactor Thatcher (George Coulouris) is thrown under the bus, his business ruined, for Kane's personal whims. Jed Leland is reduced from Kane's best friend and confidante to a cynical drunkard, his honesty betrayed and undermined by Kane's overweening narcissism. In this light, even the evil Boss Gettys (Ray Collins) is given a glimmer of humanity - he is humiliated by Kane's smearing him for political gain. If we could believe Kane did have a political cause, it might be excusable - but it seems merely an extension of the same egomania and misanthropy that trapped Jed and Emily and Susan. Kane's is the story of the American Dream gone sour, a reverse Horatio Alger - if a man makes it all the way to the top without friends, lovers or happiness, then what has he really achieved? He dies alone, a pathetic man haunted by emptiness, loneliness and despair. The characters around him reap the often unhappy results of Kane's obsessive egomania, but at least they aren't Charlie Kane.

Orson Welles is simply remarkable. Just 27 years old at the time, he delivered an absolutely brilliant trifecta as director, actor and co-writer of the film. He plays Kane perfectly, keeping him sympathetic and likeable at times, but never afraid to shy away from the character's unsavory side. Viewing the film in light of Welles' subsequent life and career - struggling to stay afloat in Hollywood, then being exiled to work as a struggling director and bit actor in Europe - is irresistible and cliche, but in the end it makes the whole thing more poignant and pertinent.

What Kane is best-remembered for, however, is its cinematography and direction. Gregg Toland's gorgeous deep-focus photography is easy to point out, and remains quite striking. There are many other aspects to Toland's work, however, that are deserving of praise. His and Welles' (and art director Van Nest Polglaste)'s use of space is remarkable - the impossibly cavernous and labrynthian Xanadu - in this movie, the choreography, the art direction, the arrangement of everything is as important as the camera work itself. Scenes like Kane seemingly towering over Jed Leland, before walking up to him and being brought down to size, the wonderfully shot political rally, and Susan's descent into the distance through a never-ending series of doors, are absolutely brilliant touches - they've been copied any number of times but rarely if ever bettered.

The film doesn't get nearly enough recognition for its brilliant editing, by soon-to-be director Robert Wise (The Sound of Music, The Sand Pebbles). The film experiments with "jump" and "match cuts" that wouldn't become common place for almost twenty years. The slow dissolves between scenes - leaving part of an image intact as the next scene begins - are quite striking, adding immeasuribly to the film's effect. The film makes brilliant use of montage - particularly the amazing sequence where Kane and Emily's marriage unravels via a series of increasingly somber and quiet breakfasts. (This isn't even to mention Welles' and Herman Manckwiez's screenplay, or Bernard Herrman's elegant score, but with such a film we could list everyone on the film set, down to the clap loader, as deserving of praise.)

Welles' use of non-star actors - the Mercury players - as his supporting cast pays great dividends as well. Of the main cast, only Agnes Moorehead and Joseph Cotten would go onto any particular acclaim outside of Kane, but all play their roles perfectly. All the actors give professional performances, not lacking in theatrical flair but completely convincing, all natural screen actors; it's hard to guess that none of them had appeared on screen prior to this.

Is Citizen Kane the greatest film of all time? Probably not, but such distinctions are subjective and arbitrary anyway. It's unquestionably an important, innovative and artistically brilliant film, regardless of how you perceive it. And it's damned entertaining, to boot. So, I can't say I have much problem with giving it the title of greatest film.

Rating: 9/10 - Highest Recommended

The Curse of the Cat People

Today I complete my trilogy of Cat People reviews - after the brilliant original and the atrocious remake - with a look at the 1942 sequel The Curse of the Cat People, notable as the first film directed by then-editor Robert Wise (later of West Side Story, The Sound of Music and The Sand Pebbles, among many other noteworthy titles), co-directed with Gunther Von Fritsch. This isn't really a horror film at all, but a psychodrama and meditation on childhood fantasy. (I only provide the Horror label to this post in order to connect it to the other films.) As such, it's very well-done, although there are a few elements of the film that are almost bafflingly out-of-place.

The plot picks up a few years after the events of the first Cat People. Oliver Reed (Kent Smith) and Alice (Jane Randolph) are now happily married, having moved on from their tramatic experiences with Irena (Simone Simon) but not forgotten them. Oliver's paternal anxiety and memories of are stirred by his daughter Amy (Ann Carter), a marked introvert who finds day-dreaming and fantasy much more interesting than having friends at school. When Amy starts seeing a "special friend" - who happens to be Irena - Oliver grows doubly worried, thinking that his daughter is falling into the same dementia that possessed Irena. Amy's dalliances with an eccentric old actress (Julia Dean) - and the actress's resentful daughter Barbara (Elizabeth Russell, the "Cat Lady" from the original) - provide more cause for concern.

The story abandons any pretense of horror pretty quickly, as the film becomes a character drama very quickly. The film's biggest strength is that, as in the original, the characters are real people who we like and can perhaps even relate to, rather than plot devices or walking, talking symbols. As Oliver, Kent Smith surpasses his somewhat stiff turn in the original; he's very convincing as the concerned but loving Father. Jane Randolph's Alice isn't quite as interesting as the first time around, but she's still a likeable enough character even if one misses her vivacious chuminess from the first film. Amy especially is a very believable, even (for me at least) relatable character, a child who allows her fantasies to take hold of her and thus isolating her from eithers. I can certainly relate to that, and Ann Carter gives a very strong performance, very convincing as a six year old girl.

One thing I have a hard time understanding why Irena of all people is chosen to be Amy's friend. It provides an interesting link to the first film, but Irena is such a happy and benign presence that she doesn't square at all with the tormented character we saw in the first film. Perhaps one can read it as Irena as being at peace now that she's dead, and comforting a child going through the same things she did - but since she never speaks of her experiences in the first film, what can we make of it? Simon gives a wonderfully warm performance (and is absolutely ravishing in her ghostly fantasy outfits) so the viewer doesn't really mind, but it still seems out of place given the last film.

The whole subplot with the Ferrens - eccentric mother Julia and rejected to the point of insanity Barbara - also seems rather odd. Amy's relationship with Julia is interesting if rather underdeveloped, but Barbara seems like a refugee from a Hitchcock film, lurking in the background but doing little, and the denouement of her character arc is just a head-scratcher. I'm not entirely sure what the film was trying to get at with the inclusion of these two, to be honest; they don't seriously detract from the film but neither do they contribute much.

Its flaws aside, Curse of the Cat People is an interesting character driven drama and works for the most part. It helps to know what one's getting into, though.

Rating: 7/10 - Recommended