In Celebration of Robert Aldrich’s Dark, Apocalyptic World

Last year’s discovery of “Kiss Me Deadly’s” original ending has resulted in new interpretations of director Robert Aldrich’s apocalyptic film noir. Though the film’s final outcome may still be in doubt, there’s no doubt that the longer climax emphasizes Det. Mike Hammer’s will to survive. It’s the key to understanding not only “Kiss Me Deadly” but all of the films by this underrated maverick, who began as an assistant director on such films as Charlie Chaplin’s “Limelight.”

Fortunately, with the American Cinematheque honoring Aldrich this month at Raleigh Studios, we can reexamine the breadth of his tough talents, which made him much more than an action director. (He was, among other things, one of the very first independent filmmakers to emerge from the crumbling studio system.)

The 13-film series begins Friday with Aldrich’s second film, the rarely seen “World for Ransom,” a down and dirty noirish precursor to “Kiss Me Deadly” (also playing this weekend). With its ill-fated characters and tawdry atmospherics, this very low-budget 1954 film is a perfect introduction to Aldrich’s violent world of moral decay.

Dan Durea, uncharacteristically playing an idealistic detective, hustles his way through sleazy Singapore in search of a kidnapped nuclear scientist. But Durea’s gallant attempt to save his corrupt best friend (Patric Knowles) for the sake of the man’s seductive wife (Marian Carr), an exotic dancer who used to be his lover, descends into a demoralizing nightmare. “The Great Whatsit” here turns out to be the realization that physical survival becomes small consolation in the face of emotional collapse.

As a sympathetic fortuneteller says: “Love is a white bird, yet you cannot buy her.” Reminiscent of Aldrich’s early TV work (five episodes of which will screen Feb. 13) yet pointing ahead to more polished and daring films, “World for Ransom” displays a visual dexterity as well as a naked truth about relationships and identity.

“Aldrich cultivated an image of a maverick by staying at the table and taking a posture,” explains Alain Silver, co-author of “Whatever Happened to Robert Aldrich?” “He portrays us as violent and quasi-dysfunctional. People spend their lives trying to accomplish something and wind up dead. Yet he’s a die-hard optimist.”

However, one is hard-pressed to find much optimism among these 13 films; most characters do indeed wind up dead or disillusioned. Take Jack Palance in “The Big Knife,” “Attack” or “Ten Seconds to Hell.” He’s suicidal as a movie star, soldier and demolitions expert. Or Burt Lancaster as the doomed scout in the allegorical western “Ulzana’s Raid.” Or Bette Davis and Joan Crawford in “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” Or Lee Marvin, who’s left squeezing that rubber ball in “The Dirty Dozen,” Aldrich’s most popular film (which won’t be screened because a decent print could not be found).

The glaring exception, though, is “The Flight of the Phoenix” (screening Feb. 20 in a brand-new print), a magnificent film from 1966 that improves with each viewing. The film is literally about survival, as Jimmy Stewart, Richard Attenborough and Hardy Kruger lead a group of male misfits stranded in the desert. Stewart plays the stubborn, guilt-ridden pilot; Attenborough plays his alcoholic co-pilot; and Kruger plays an egotistical aircraft designer.

Typical of Aldrich’s films, “Phoenix” contains an angry conflict between two individuals with opposing philosophies. Stewart, the burned-out, by-the-book American, dwells on their misfortune with metaphysical paralysis. Kruger, the young, progressive, methodical German, swiftly moves into action with a fantastic plan to rebuild the plane. Stewart thinks he’s mad, especially when he learns that Kruger has designed only model planes.

What’s so refreshing about “Phoenix” is that Kruger prevails (as a surrogate artist, if you will) and not the star, despite his selfish and unorthodox methods. The climactic image of the survivors pulling together as a group, each overcoming weakness in delirious excitement, is, without a doubt, the most hopeful moment of any Aldrich film.

There’s little hope at all in another rarity, “Emperor of the North Pole” (screening Feb. 21). It’s a weird Depression-era drama from 1973 that takes place in Oregon, with Marvin as a complacent train-hopping hobo pitted against Ernest Borgnine as a monstrous hammer-wielding guard. Keith Carradine plays a cunning stowaway who’d like to be emperor without actually fighting for the honor.

“Emperor” lacks the dramatic urgency of Aldrich’s best films. Still, it’s a fascinating failure. Once again, Aldrich builds to an angry confrontation. And, as always, Marvin is a pleasure to watch. His angry transformation during the brutal battle with Borgnine stems just as much from his displeasure with Carradine’s dishonorable tactics as from his rediscovered pride.

Certainly the angriest Aldrich of them all, “The Legend of Lylah Clare” (screening Feb. 20), is also the rarest and most personal. His twisted take on filmmaking involves another maniacal test of wills, and this time the tyrant loses.

Peter Finch portrays a demented down-and-out director who casts an unknown actress to star in a bio-pic about his dead wife, a Dietrich-like icon, whom she amazingly resembles. Kim Novak performs “Vertigo”-like double-duty once more in this horrifying portrait of Hollywood blood-sucking, hero worship and emasculating identities.

This is one of those grotesque pleasures that probably seemed dated back in 1968. No matter. It’s essential Aldrich (even in its faded print), if for no other reason than its vicious ending: a dog food commercial about our dog-eat-dog society. (Incidentally, the 1969 short film, “The Greatest Mother of ‘Em All,” a promo reel from an aborted project about another scandal-plagued director played by Finch, will screen Feb. 21.)

“What’s going on in these pictures is that they work as drama, and they were more nuanced than they were given credit for,” Silver adds. “For Aldrich, survival isn’t about moral values. It’s the ones who lose their idealism who survive by insulating themselves from these forces. Aldrich was one of the most existential of all directors.”

BE THERE

American Cinematheque’s Robert Aldrich retrospective, running Friday through Feb. 21 at the Raleigh Studios, Chaplin Theater, 5300 Melrose Ave., Los Angeles. For information call: (213) 466-3456 Ext. 2, or Showtixx (818) 789-8499. Tickets are $7 for non-American Cinematheque members and $4 for members.