Movie Review: Sweet Smell of Success, starring Tony Curtis and Burt Lancaster (1957)

Tony Curtis and Burt Lancaster in Sweet Smell of Success, 1957

Sweet Smell of Success, starring Tony Curtis and Burt Lancaster, is a classic film noir portrait of New York City in the 1950’s. Despite not being a success on its initial release in 1957, the film has gone on to become recognized as a classic, and it features two Hollywood legends delivering amazing performances.  

Burt Lancaster was one of the first actors to form his own production company, Norma Productions, in 1948, which eventually became Hecht-Hill-Lancaster. Starting his career in the post-war era, Lancaster didn’t want to be tied down to one studio—he had contracts with producers Mark Hellinger and Hal Wallis, but Lancaster was never a contract player at a studio the way many actors of the 1930’s and 1940’s were. Forming his own production company was an opportunity for Lancaster to achieve more independence in his film work. Sweet Smell of Success was developed and produced by Hecht-Hill-Lancaster and distributed by United Artists. The end credits also tell us that the movie was a Norma Production, as well as a Curtleigh Production, the company that Tony Curtis formed with his then-wife Janet Leigh.   

Sweet Smell of Success focuses on the denizens of Broadway at night. Curtis plays Sidney Falco, a press agent who is chagrined that his clients have been shut out of J.J. Hunsecker’s newspaper gossip column for several days in a row. Hunsecker had ordered Falco to break up Hunsecker’s sister’s relationship with a jazz guitarist, but Falco failed at this. We watch as Falco tries to slither his way back into Hunsecker’s good graces.  

There’s a lot of buildup to Hunsecker’s appearance in the film, and Burt Lancaster does not disappoint. As Hunsecker, Lancaster fires his lines like missiles, making it unmistakably clear that he is in charge. Lancaster was able to vary his looks remarkably from film to film. Lancaster was only 43 years old when he played Hunsecker, and one of the most handsome and attractive movie stars, but he’s not attractive as Hunsecker. Lancaster didn’t achieve this transformation through makeup; it’s all done through his acting, and the browline glasses that he wears. The legendary cinematographer James Wong Howe lit Lancaster’s face so his glasses become almost like a shield, protecting him from the rest of the world. Hunsecker is often filmed from below, which just magnifies Lancaster’s imposing physical presence, and his impossibly broad shoulders.  

I’ve always been impressed with the way that Lancaster could change according to the role he was playing. Think of him in movies like The Rainmaker and Elmer Gantry: his charisma is cranked up to 11; he commands your attention. But in movies like Sweet Smell of Success, he’s able to turn that remarkable charisma off. He still commands your attention, but in a totally different way. It’s one of the reasons why I find Burt Lancaster to be such a great actor.  

Tony Curtis gives perhaps the best performance of his career as Sidney Falco. Curtis was an extremely handsome man, with thick dark black hair and piercing blue eyes, and Sweet Smell of Success might be the absolute peak of his handsomeness. Curtis wanted to prove that he was more than just a pretty face, and Sweet Smell of Success was the perfect opportunity for him to show off what he could do. Curtis and Lancaster were both New Yorkers: Lancaster grew up in Harlem, Curtis in the Bronx. They knew the characters they were playing and the world they inhabited, giving their performances an extra bit of effectiveness.  

Lancaster and Curtis had previously teamed up for the 1956 movie Trapeze, which also starred the lovely Gina Lollobrigida. Trapeze was one of the highest-grossing films of 1956, a Technicolor spectacular about life in the circus, with Lancaster, who had worked as a circus acrobat, doing most of his own stunts. It’s hard to imagine two films more different from each other than Trapeze and Sweet Smell of Success.  

Sweet Smell of Success was based on a novella by Ernest Lehman. The screenplay was written by Clifford Odets, who had been a hugely successful playwright during the 1930’s, but whose reputation was tarnished by his 1952 testimony before the House Committee on Un-American Activities. Odets was writing the script as they were shooting it. Gary Fishgall wrote in his biography of Lancaster, “Final edits were made on the set, with the producers, the director, and the actors participating.” (Against Type: The Biography of Burt Lancaster, p.161) Considering the chaos around the filming, it’s remarkable that the movie turned out as well as it did.  

Adding to the cost of the production was director Alexander Mackendrick, whose painstaking perfectionism played a pivotal role in the budget ballooning to $2.6 million, a huge amount of money for a black and white film noir that was only 96 minutes long. (Cost of the movie from Fishgall, p.163)  

The movie features an excellent soundtrack by Elmer Bernstein, as well as music from the Chico Hamilton Quintet. In the movie, Martin Milner plays Steve Dallas, a jazz guitarist who is part of Hamilton’s Quintet. According to Wikipedia, Sweet Smell of Success was the first movie to spawn two separate soundtrack albums: one with Bernstein’s score, and the other with Hamilton’s music.  

Hunsecker’s newspaper column, titled “Eye on Broadway” features a closeup of Lancaster’s eyes behind his glasses, and it reminded me of the all-seeing eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg from The Great Gatsby. The eyes in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel are found on a billboard, and we don’t see the rest of the face, only the glasses and the eyes, just like in Hunsecker’s column. There’s also the similarity of names: J.J. Hunsecker, T.J. Eckleburg, both initials followed by a last name dominated by the sound of “eck.” In Gatsby, George Wilson compares the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg to the eyes of God, and that’s an apt comparison to the eyes of J.J. Hunsecker, who is the God of his domain on Broadway—Hunsecker is all seeing, all knowing.  

There’s another curious connection to The Great Gatsby in Sweet Smell of Success. In the film, there’s a comedian that Hunsecker mentions in his column. Seeing the column before it runs in the newspaper, Falco goes to the theater to meet the comic in order to persuade him to hire Falco as his agent. The comic is played by Joe Frisco, a vaudeville comedian who is mentioned by name in The Great Gatsby. At the party scene at Gatsby’s house at the beginning of Chapter 3, this sentence appears: “Suddenly one of these gypsies in trembling opal seizes a cocktail out of the air, dumps it down for courage and moving her hands like Frisco dances out alone on the canvas platform.” (p.45) Coincidence, or a deliberate reference? I don’t know, but both Gatsby and Sweet Smell of Success share as a key theme the rotting core of American capitalism.  

Another excellent performance in the movie is given by Susan Harrison as Susan Hunsecker, J.J.’s much younger sister. Presumably Mama and Papa Hunsecker have shuffled off their mortal coils, as J.J. is Susan’s guardian, and she lives with him. J.J.’s interest in his sister’s love life, and his attempts to break up her relationship with Steve Dallas, are frankly just kind of weird. Lancaster and Harrison play it perfectly, so without anything too sordid being revealed, the viewer just feels this off-kilter sense of unease about J.J.’s obsession with Susan. And viewers should note the huge 8x10 glamour photo of Susan that adorns J.J.’s desk at his home office. Harrison did a great job, and I was surprised to learn that she only made one other movie, a 1960 film called Key Witness with Jeffrey Hunter and Dennis Hopper.  

Sweet Smell of Success was released in July 1957, and for fans of Curtis and Lancaster it must have come as quite a shock to see these actors playing such unheroic characters. For Lancaster’s fans it must have seemed like whiplash, as only a month earlier, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral was released. Starring Lancaster and Kirk Douglas, Gunfight was an excellent Western, but a very different movie from Sweet Smell of Success. In Gunfight, Lancaster plays heroic, stoic Wyatt Earp, a far cry from the amoral J.J. Hunsecker. I know that back in 1957 studios didn’t pay so much attention to release dates, but Sweet Smell of Success just doesn’t feel like a summer movie—I would have released it in the fall if I had been making the decision.  

There are many great lines throughout the movie, and one of the best is Hunsecker’s line to Falco: “I’d hate to take a bite out of you. You’re like a cookie filled with arsenic.” That’s an apt description of the movie itself. 

Movie Review: Le Samourai, Starring Alain Delon, Directed by Jean-Pierre Melville (1967)

 

The cover of the Criterion Collection Blu-Ray of Le Samourai, starring Alain Delon, directed by Jean-Pierre Melville.

Poster for the 1972 US release of Le Samourai, titled The Godson.

Alain Delon, as the stylish hitman Jef Costello.

Delon wearing the iconic trenchcoat and fedora combination that he sports throughout much of the film.

Alain Delon kisses his real-life wife, Nathalie Delon, on the set of Le Samourai, 1967. Director Jean-Pierre Melville is behind them, wearing sunglasses.

Director Jean-Pierre Melville and actor Alain Delon on the set of Un Flic. Here you can see the distinctive way that Melville wears his wristwatch.

Le Samourai is one of Alain Delon’s most iconic roles. As the trench coat wearing hitman Jef Costello, Delon delivered a cool, detached performance that is a classic of screen minimalism. Directed by Jean-Pierre Melville, Le Samourai is one of the masterpieces of the French New Wave of the 1960’s.

I first saw Le Samourai when it was re-released in the United States in March of 1997. The first U.S. release of Le Samourai was in 1972, 5 years after it was released in France. Capitalizing on the success of The Godfather, it was released in the U.S. as The Godson. Ironically enough, the 1997 re-release of Le Samourai occurred just weeks before the 25^th anniversary re-release of The Godfather.

I was at least aware of who Alain Delon was before I saw Le Samourai in 1997. I may have already seen Delon as the pilot in The Concorde Airport ’79. (I was oddly obsessed with the Airport movie series, probably because the spoof Airplane! has been one of my favorite movies since I was a little kid.) I knew that Alain Delon was a handsome French leading man. Then I saw Le Samourai, and Alain Delon became the coolest, most handsome guy I’d ever seen.

Le Samourai was heavily influenced by American film noir, and even though Le Samourai was filmed in color, Melville’s color palette is so limited that it’s almost a black and white film. The movie opens with a shot of a room, and Delon blends in so much with his surroundings that we barely even notice him lying on the bed. Jef’s room is all black and gray, and it looks like it could be the bleak setting of a Samuel Beckett play. I don’t know if Melville was influenced by Beckett or not, but Le Samourai exhibits a fatalistic minimalism that wouldn’t be out of place in Beckett’s work.

The first word of dialogue isn’t spoken until 10 minutes into the movie. Yet the film pulls you in, and the first 10 minutes are a great example of establishing character and mood without using dialogue. We don’t need any dialogue, we just watch Jef, and Delon’s eyes tell us everything we need to know about his character.

Alain Delon is fantastic at conveying so much emotion without words. In Le Samourai, La Piscine, and Plein Soleil, (Purple Noon) Delon draws the viewer in with minimum effort. Yes, Delon commands attention because he’s extremely good-looking, but he’s much more than just a pretty face. In Le Samourai Delon has pared everything down to the bare minimum. There are no extraneous movements or busyness in Jef’s actions or movements. It’s a remarkable performance.

To discuss the plot of Le Samourai would be superfluous, since it’s really all about the style of the film. The supporting performances are excellent, including Delon’s then-wife Nathalie Delon, making her film debut. Nathalie Delon looks gorgeous—there’s something about those mid-60’s European women with their long, straight hair that gets me every time. Nathalie’s character wears a brown leather coat to the police station at 4AM, looking impossibly sexy.

Another newcomer to film was Cathy Rosier, a fashion model who plays the pianist in the nightclub. Rosier does an excellent job, as she needs to be interesting enough to draw the attention of the solitary Jef.

Francois Perier plays the police superintendent, and he’s fantastic. He brings a bustling energy to the role that contrasts sharply with Delon’s minimalism. The lengths that the superintendent goes to try and track down Costello are ridiculous.

The Criterion Collection Blu-Ray of Le Samourai is a gorgeous presentation of the film, and there are a generous selection of extras. There’s an interesting 1970 interview with Melville in which he says: “I’d like viewers to come away from my films unsure whether they’ve understood them. I want to leave them wondering.” That’s an interesting statement for a director to make—elsewhere, Melville talks of the filmmaker’s obligation to make popular art. But maybe part of what Melville meant is that he wants people to discuss his movies after they’ve seen them—he wants to give them something to think about on the way home.

Melville was obsessed with hats, and one of his assistant directors tells us that he and Delon spent an hour going over the exact gestures with which Jef would put on his fedora and run his hand over the brim. They practiced until it became not merely an actor repeating a gesture, but the inevitable performance of a ritual for Jef.

As I was watching Le Samourai, I noticed that Delon wears his wristwatch on his right wrist, with the watch face on the inside of his arm, rather than the outside, as most people do. I notice things like this because I’m left-handed, and I wear my watch on my right wrist, as most left-handed people tend to do. I was filled with excitement for a brief moment—is Alain Delon left-handed, just like me? A quick Google search confirmed that he’s not. Delon signs autographs with his right hand, and most of the time wears his watch on his left wrist, like most right-handers do. But the extras on the Blu-Ray showed me that Jean-Pierre Melville wore his wristwatch on his right wrist, with the watch face on the inside of his arm. For a director as attuned to detail as Melville was, he no doubt instructed Delon to wear his watch that way. I’m not sure if Melville was left-handed or right-handed, though.

Le Samourai was the first movie Delon made with Melville, and they made two more movies together: 1970’s Le Cercle Rouge, and 1972’s Un Flic. One of the documentaries included was a 2011 short film titled Melville Delon: Of Honor and Of Night, directed by Olivier Bohler. One of Melville’s nephews tells the story that Delon and Melville had a falling out after the filming of Un Flic. When Delon heard that Melville had suffered a heart attack, he wanted to fly back to Paris, but the weather was too poor. Instead, he had his chauffeur drive him back to Paris. When Melville’s nephew told Delon that Melville was dead, Delon collapsed in tears. Delon helped Melville’s widow and family after Melville’s death, indicating the strong bond that the two men shared.

Le Samourai is a cinematic masterpiece, and it’s one of the key movies in the screen career of the legendary Alain Delon.