Last night we saw a tremendous film called "The Glass Wall"(1953), starring Vittorio Gassman as "Peter Kuban", a stowaway on an immigrant ship arriving in New York. He has no ticket, no papers. He doesn't even have a country, being from what's left of Hungary after the war. He spent ten years in Auschwitz and other camps, finally escaped, and with seven dollars in his pocket, he sneaked onto the American bound refugee ship. As the movie opens, he's discovered hiding in a closet and is taken to the on-board immigration official, who orders him deported. Peter tries to explain, in accented English -"If you send me back, they'll kill me." "I'm sorry," says the official. "The law's the law." Peter explains that he too knows the law: "I read your immigration handbook. Exemption #6 says if I fight on Allied side, I am allowed into USA." He tells a tale of rescuing an American soldier. "His name was Tom. He play the clarinet. He say he live in New York, what you call Times Square." "That's too vague," says the official. "There are 8 million people in this city, at least 200,000 Toms and 50, 000 musicians. I'm sorry, you'll have to remain on the ship. In the morning you'll be sent back home."
That won't do for Peter, so he bolts out the door and jumps ship. Remember, he's already escaped from a post-war prison camp (likely Soviet but not specified), so running from American immigration is no problem. However, he breaks some ribs in his jump from the deck, and is hobbled for the rest of the movie.
After limping around the edge of Manhattan, keeping an eye out for cops, he ducks into an all-night cafe, just to sit down for a minute. In there is a young woman, "Maggie" (Gloria Grahame), who's down on her luck. She pours herself some hot water from the waitresses' coffee station, slips a tea bag in the cup, then sits at an uncleaned table with a half-eaten donut still in place. Pretending she's the diner, she sips her tea and eats the donut, then leaves, stealing a woman's coat on the way out. She's seen doing this, and a chase ensues, with a cop, a waiter, and the coat owner in pursuit. Peter runs out of the restaurant too, to assist her. He knows what it's like at rock bottom and helps her hide from her pursuers. Maggie is glad for his help, but thanks him and says "see ya later". She doesn't want any new friends, especially strange men. Peter needs her help, though. He's got those busted ribs; his actions weren't entirely altruistic. He talks his way into her apartment, where she bandages him up. She owes back rent and her landlady threatens to throw her out. Then the landlady's son comes upstairs, a big, belligerent boozer. He offers to "make the rent disappear", if Maggie will sleep with him, and he gets her in a clinch. He's gulping a bottle of hooch, and (drum roll please)...he's Mr. Reeves! Peter comes out of the bathroom where he's been hiding, sees Mr. Reeves accosting Maggie, and knocks him cold! It's gotta be the first time Mr. Reeves has ever lost a punchout. But hey: way to go Mr. Reeves! In this scene he easily holds his own with Gloria Grahame and Vittorio Gassman, Hollywood legends both. Make no mistake, Richard Reeves was a damn good actor himself, and he shows it here. He was our neighbor in Reseda, if you didn't already know.
Much of the plot after that follows Peter's search for Tom, the American soldier he rescued during the war. Peter needs to find Ton so he can prove he's eligible for immigration under Exemption 6. Knowing only that Tom is a clarinetist who lives and works near Times Square, he goes to nightclubs all over that area, searching for "clarinetist named Tom". Walking is no problem, he walked 300 miles after his prison camp escape. But he's got those broken ribs, and now his picture is on the front page of the evening paper. "DP (displaced person) Escapee! Stowaway Loose in the City!" Tom actually finds Peter instead of the other way around, just as he's about to try out for Jack Teagarden's band. Teagarden has a cameo; he was a trombonist and one of the all-time great jazz musicians. Tom gets the gig, but feels guilty because Peter saved his life, so he leaves in the middle of the concert to find him. Peter, on the run again, hides out in a cheezy strip club, after riding the subway for hours, and - exhausted - he falls asleep. The stripper, "Tanya" (Robin Raymond) a fellow "Hunky" (Hungarian), takes him home in a cab to protect him, but her brother, a gambler (Joe Turkel from "The Shining), doesn't want an escapee around. "It'll bring attention from the cops!" He threatens to throw Peter out, but he's already left, on the run yet again. It's now five in the morning (the movie takes place in the course of a single night) and Peter has two more hours, until 7am, to find Tom and prove his case. After that he will become a federal fugitive, wanted by the FBI. By now, Tom has contacted the immigration officials and corroborated Peter's war story. They all go looking for him, Maggie included, and I don't wanna tell you where it all winds up. That, you'll have to see for yourself. It has to do with the title of the movie. In this location, there's a chase, then Peter makes a brief speech that will leave you breathless and have you cheering at the same time. Gassman is one hell of an actor.
In fact, it's a total actors movie, photographed by the great Joseph Biroc, one of the greatest b&w cinematographers in Hollywood history. Two Huge Thumbs Up for "The Glass Wall", a "man against the clock" flick of the highest order. It's an absolute must see, especially for Mr. Reeves, and the picture is razor sharp. ////
The previous night's movie was a strange little Brit flick called "Diplomatic Passport"(1954), starring our Canadian pal Paul Carpenter (forgoing his Sweater and Pompadour combination this time), and - of all people - the great Marsha Hunt, in a performance that can best be described as odd. Carpenter is "Ray Andersen", an American diplomat arriving in London. At the airport, he shows his passport (thereby accounting for the title of the movie), and explains that his wife has hers, too, but is out of commission at the moment. We see her listing in a chair. "She's feeling under the weather from the flight," says Ray, and she remains that way throughout the movie. When they get to their hotel, Ray receives a call that he's needed immediately in Paris. No sooner have they settled in (and Hunt seems drunk or drugged) than he has to leave again. "I'll call you as soon as I get there" he tells Marsha. Marsha, Marsha, Marsha! "It'll probably just be a day or two. Enjoy the city while I'm gone."
Back at the airport, he's informed that there aren't any flights to Paris. "It's all fogged in." Instead, he takes the ferry and drives like a madman to make his meeting. Somewhere in the French countryside, he stops at a gas station because his tire has a slow leak. While the mechanic repairs it, he goes into the attached cafe for bacon and eggs: "Sunny side up, Monsieur." He even shows the cook how to make 'em. By now, we're 16 minutes in, 1/4 of the movie, and wondering when something will develop. Well, it does. There's been a man following him since the London airport, and now, that man, with accomplices (including future Bond girl Honor Blackman), drive up to the gas station and steal his car, with its diplomatic plates.
A one minute scene prior to this has shown us two elderly British gents, sitting in a park discussing a robbery, in the vaguest of terms. The scene feels like an insert, and it was only when I went to IMDB afterward and learned that 13 minutes had been cut out of the print, that I realized we'd lost some crucial plot setup.
Well, now Ray Andersen is carless and trying to get to Paris, so we ditch him and return to London, where Marsha Hunt, still ditzy or hung over (what kind of performance was she trying for?), reads in the paper that her husband and "Mrs. Andersen" (which would be herself) have been killed in a fiery auto accident in France. It's really the car thieves who have died, but they've been burned beyond recognition and are thus unidentifiable. The only I.D. is the car and its plates, hence the cops think it's Ray and June Andersen. She knows she needs to get to Paris, stat, to let them know it's not them, or at least not her. Her husband alluded to a French girlfriend earlier. Could his trip have been a false premise, to see her? And could they have burned to a crackly crunch? June's gotta get there and find out.
But she's still wobbling around or just missing half her brain cells (Marsha! Stop with the mannered performance already!). Normally, she's a top actress. Maybe because the plot was so thin, she tried to inject some color. But boy does it not come off well. Paul Carpenter is doing his usual Casual Canadian Thing. You could transplant it into any of his movies and it wouldn't make a difference, which is not to say he isn't good - he's always great - it's just that this is a ridiculous movie because nothing happens until the 42 minute mark, and the print we're watching has 13 minutes cut out. Had I known that, I wouldn't have started.
The deal is this: some English crooks have been using Ray and June as mules, to schmuggle a giant bag of diamonds into France, per the old British guys on the park bench, who must be the head honchos. The crooks have figured on the Raymonds' diplomatic car not being searched. But none of this gets through to the viewer because we're too focused on sunny-side-up eggs and high tea served to Marsha Hunt in her hotel room. Bad guys wander in and out, starting the occasional punchout, then there's a car chase in the final ten minutes that finally adds some pizazz.
A reviewer on IMDB called this the second worst movie ever made, after "Plan Nine". I say it's not even close. He hasn't seen "Cosmopolis", or "Tideland." Still, it's pretty bad as 65 (or 78) minute British crime flicks go. And yet, it has a certain charm because of its stars. Just as you can't go wrong with Lippert Pictures, you also can't miss with Paul Carpenter, even when he isn't wearing a sweater and has a hat on. And with Marsha Hunt staggering around, you've gotta wonder what the director was smoking not to have reeled her in. She and Paul keep you from falling asleep, though, and you do get ten minutes of a good car chase at the end, so we're gonna give it Two Bigs. The picture is very good. ////
And that's all I've got. I've been thinking about Frank Zappa, so let's do his ten best albums real quick. With almost any other artist (or band), you're lucky if they even made ten albums, let alone so many that you can single out ten best ones, but with FZ, you can. Here they are: 1) One Size Fits All 2) Freak Out 3) We're Only In It For The Money 4) Roxy & Elsewhere 5) Bongo Fury 6) Cruising With Reuben & The Jets (later released in the bitchin' compilation "Greasy Love Songs" which has extra material) 7) Studio Tan 8) Apostrophe 9) Overnight Sensation 10) Zoot Allures. Hot Rats is a good one, but more jazzy. Grand Wazoo also. And I'm not that big a fan of all that Shut Up and Play Yer Guitar stuff his estate released in the 90s. FZ was a good guitarist, but not a whole album's worth, let alone multiple LPs. My favorite stuff is with the original Mothers. What are your ten favorites?
My blogging music is "Bundles" by Soft Machine, my late night is "Gotterdammerung" by Wagner, conducted by von Karajan. I hope you had a nice weekend and I send you Tons of Love as always.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
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