HUSTLE (1975) WITH BURT REYNOLDS AND CATHERINE DENEUVE

                                                

    Hustle is a vastly underrated and under-appreciated neo-noir from 1975.  It stars Burt Reynolds as Phil Gaines, a world-weary LA homicide cop and Catherine Deneuve as Nicole, a high end call girl who is romantically involved with Gaines and shares a house with him.  They co-exist in what is called an "understanding" as he is pretends to be ignorant of her side hustle.  

                            

    The movie begins with a school bus full of children stopping at an LA beach on an innocent field trip.  Only what they discover near the water are not sea shells but the body of Gloria Hollinger, dead of a drug overdose.  Just another tragic but all too familiar scene.  A young, misguided teenager comes to LA seeking fame and fortune but finds herself drawn into the seedier side of Tinseltown.  She gets used by older men seeking to satisfy their carnal and perverted desires at the expense of a not so innocent teenager.  Her body is shipped to the LA morgue.  

    Her parents, Marty Hollinger (Ben Johnson) and Paula Hollinger (Eileen Brennan) are there to identify her body and get some information on the what and why.  They meet Gaines, who has been assigned the case.  We get a nice contrast between the heartbreak of a grieving father and the bureaucratic insensitivity of a police department that sees these tragedies every day and treats them the way a lost and found department disposes of a lost umbrella.  The girl's body is pulled from the morgue drawer.  She is draped in a sheet.  The morgue staff worker pulls back the sheet to reveal a bare breasted Gloria.  Marty is asked to identify her.  He does.  He then looks at Gaines and says "you bastard!"  Then POW! he punches Gaines in the face and tells him:  "the least you could have done is cover her up."  Gaines diffuses the situation by telling his partner, not to arrest poor Marty.  Outside the morgue, and after handing Marty her belongings, Gaines tells him "you are right Marty.  They should have covered her up."  Nice way to lower the temperature of an otherwise heated situation.  

    So just another tragic death to be forgotten?  Not so fast.  Marty Hollinger is convinced his daughter was murdered.  He is wrong.  But persisting in that thought is what makes him such an admirable character.  He is a Korean War vet in 1975. He has nothing to show for it.  He is angry.  He sacrificed for his country and ended up with the short end of the stick.  His daughter is dead; his wife does not love him and he thinks everything and everyone around him is fixed and on the take.  Cops especially.  

                                            

He meets with Gaines again to impress upon him that his daughter was murdered.  

To no avail.  But Gaines, the old school seasoned cop, takes a liking to Marty.  Maybe he identifies with him for rejecting all the moral hypocrisy of the1970's permissive culture. Or maybe he knows that Marty might be on to something:  half of the world probably is on the take.  Gaines makes a promise to Marty:  He will investigate the case but Marty has to stay out of it.  Marty agrees.  Or does he?

    Gaines checks around town, making inquiries at the local massage parlors and strong arming the sleaze ball proprietors who know who the lay of the land in that domain.  

 He finds out the truth.  Gloria was not murdered.  She either killed herself or overdosed on barbiturates.  She danced, did porn, sold her body, shot herself up with drugs, and ran with the wrong girls.  A non-stop life of self-degradation.  

    Gaines starts putting the pieces together.  It leads back to Leo Sellers (Eddie Albert), a smooth talking, silver haired local lawyer with mob connections.  And also a customer of Nicole, Gaines' girlfriend.  

                        

Leo is also the local puppeteer running the LA underground smut business on behalf of the mob.  Just by chance, the LAPD intercepts a phone call between Sellers and mobsters at a union headquarters in Cleveland seconds before a bomb goes off in a car at the union building.  Armed with this information, Gaines sets up a get together with Sellers at a bar that is a copycat of Harry’s in Italy.  

                    

Here the conversation zeroes in on what this film is all about.  After some banter about Gloria Hollinger and the phone tap, Sellers gets a bit miffed and directs the conversation to their mutual love interest, seeking to humiliate Gaines.  It goes something like this:

              Sellers:  I hear you and Nicole have taken up house.                        

Gaines:  So?                                                                           

Sellers:  Well, considering what Nicole does for a living, you are a very understanding man.       

Gaines:  Everybody hustles Leo.

A quote that about sums up life.

    Back to our friend Marty Hollinger.  He decides to do his own investigation and it does not end well.  Some low level thugs beat him to a pulp.  Gaines and his partner Louis visits him at his home.  

Gaines later gets the inside scoop on Marty from his wife Paula.  She makes up a story that Marty is out somewhere and she asks Gaines to pick her up at her home as she has something to discuss with him.  They go out for a drink.  

                        

Paula is lonely and miserable.  She is in desperate need to talk to someone.  She confesses to Gaines that she had an affair when Marty was in Korea and the chances are very good that Gloria was not Marty's daughter.  A 3 year old Gloria walked in on her when she was making love to her paramour.  This all comes out when Paula has a drink too many with Gaines and reveals to him what he probably already suspected.  The scene is a stark contrast to a media fed myth about 1950's America being wholesome and pure.  Reality sometimes is like a punch in the face.  Gaines drops her off and she returns to her miserable life with Marty.  Cigarettes and booze.

                                        

    For Marty, his next move is shocking but not surprising.  He knows there is a fixer behind the scenes who was responsible for Gloria's death if not legally, then morally.  Someone who greased the wheels of her downward descent and whose murder would somehow expiate Marty’s guilt of being responsible for a dead daughter.  He finds Gloria's girlfriend and assaults her until she gives him Leo's name.  

 

The rest is predictable.  Gaines' gets a call about shots fired at Leo's home.  He arrives on the scene with his partner, Louis.  Leo is sitting at his desk.  Dead. Gunshot wound to the chest. 

                

On the other side of the desk sits poor Marty, a pitiful lump of humanity.  Gaines, the old school cop, lets his heart get in the way of his head and re-arranges the furniture and shoots Marty in the leg with Leo's gun.  He tells Marty that what “really happened” is that Leo pulled the gun first and shot him and Marty wrestled with him and Leo was accidentally shot and killed.  It was all in self-defense.  The scene sort of sums up the movie:  there is a big difference sometimes between being legally wrong and morally right.  

    The final scene is a surprise.  Gaines and Nicole, played so beautifully by Catherine Deneuve, dreamt of a vacation to Italy to get away from the corruption and sleaze of their own lives.  Gaines is to meet her at the airport.  Unfortunately, he never makes it.  He stops at a liquor store for a bottle of his favorite beverage, Bushmills whiskey. While inside, a gunman tries to rob the place and pulls out a pistol.  

                

Gaines, true to form, intervenes and gets shot dead by the stick-up man.  Instead of being greeted at the airport by her lover, she sees Gaines' partner, Louis, approaching her with a look on his face that tells her all she needs to know:  Gaines is dead.

                    

 

    Hustle never received the credit it deserves.  Maybe it is the era.  America was changing and a neo-noir, even with stars like Reynolds and Deneuve, was not something that sparked interest.  The contrasts are intriguing:  Old World values pitted against 1970's moral permissiveness; a detective who longs for the music of Artie Shaw and decency but lives with a working prostitute, who stands for law and order but has no problem re-arranging a crime scene to get some wretched war vet off the hook.  A quick mention of two supporting roles:  Ernest Borgnine is great as the chief of police, a wise cracking old-timer who interjects some humor into the plot.  And Paul Winfield as Gaines' partner, Louis Belgrave, a tough no nonsense cop who is morally conflicted by all of Gaines' actions.  All in all, a great movie that tries to capture a group of morally conflicted human beings trying to survive in a cesspool of corruption and hypocrisy.

 

A RAGE OF DESIRE

    This book covers all the bases in the pulp genre.  The plot takes a strange turn at the end.  We are treated to something that is a rarity:  a happy ending.  

    The main protagonist, Mitchell Sutton, is an honest, hard working family man in Los Angeles.  He is a used car salesman and does well for his wife Claire, and their twin offspring, a boy and girl.  Claire is a decent looking woman whom he met in Iowa when she was very young.  As with all woman after they marry and have children, middle age sets in and the trajectory of attraction slows to a crawl and then moves downward very quickly.  Claire is no exception and Mitch knows it.  

    To escape the monotony of his mundane life, Mitch frequents a local bar near where he works.  Not a dive joint but a respectable saloon where men could sit, have a drink, and ponder what might have been had they made different decisions in life.  The bartender, Ed, is always there to lend a sympathetic ear.  Sort of a substitute priest in a confessional booth who soothed your conscience with a Scotch and soda instead of ordering you to say ten Hail Marys which you never said anyways.  All harmless in the larger scheme of wandering off the monogamous path of life.

    Enter Jane.  There are so many words that could describe her accurately:  vixen, gold digger, tramp, femme fatale, hussy, and, well, whore.  And she is the type of woman who would wear each label proudly and be the first one to tell you.  She starts a steamy affair with poor Mitch who gets from Jane what his poor wife Claire could never give him:  the taste of eroticism from the wild side.  The type of stimulation that men dream about but never realize.  And the women providing that experience know it.  

    Mitch, of course, has a job and a family to support.  But he cannot resist the temptation.  Jane expects a certain standard from the suckers she beds and Mitch is no exception.  He buys a Cadillac to impress her.  Then a getaway vacation masquerading as a business trip.  You can sense the seams starting to burst.  But not what you would expect.  

    Enter Ernest Worth.  Mitch’s boss and owner of the used car dealership where he works.  An older bachelor who gives his salesmen a lot of leeway so long as they produce.  He is fabulously wealthy.  He decides to take a two week business trip to San Francisco.  On his return he announces to his staff that he has gotten married and wants to introduce the lucky lady to his employees and acquaintances.  And that lucky lass is none other than . . .Jane!! 

    Our poor schlep Mitch is in a state of shock, as he should be.  But no need to worry.  Why let a recent marriage get in the way of calling off an affair.  The hijinks continue.  The only twist is that Jane is now having an affair with Mitch's co-worker.  But Ernest is no fool.  He knew what he bargained for.  He catches Jane and Mitch in pari delicto at his house and calls in a witness to see the entire spectacle unfold.  Jane is of course non-plussed by the whole set-up.  Mitch figures his life as he knows it is over.  But wait!  Ernest blesses the arrangement.  Mitch leaves the house.  He gets a call from a local police officer and is told that Ernest is dead.  Mitch is the chief suspect as the evidence against his is quite damning.  He gets arrested, hires a smart lawyer, admits everything to his wife, and contemplates his life from a jail cell. He gets a visit from Jane, now the beneficiary of a life insurance policy and all of Ernest's money.  There are a lot of twists and turns but by the end, the hard working gumshoes along with Mitch's lawyer agree to set up a meeting with Jane.  The end result is that Ernest committed suicide, Jane found him dead, and played along that it was Mitch's doing so she could inherit his money.  Mitch is free and his wife still loves him.  

    The twists and turns are a bit much but it is worth the ride.  For the genre and that it does not pretend to be anything more than a 1950's pulp novel, I give it five stars.  

Fasten Your Seat Belt

   The Divorce has all the thrills of a roller coaster ride.  The beginning is predictable and even pedestrian.  Then it picks up.  Then it ends.  Or put another way, things are not always what they seem to be.

    Meet Naomi and Jeremy Roth.  A professional, upper middle class husband and wife living in the North Shore of Long Island.  She is a stay at home mom who used to be a doctor (at lease we are led to believe that), and he is an investment banker on the fast track to wealth and success.  They possess all the accoutrements of the social strata that they occupy in a sort of Bonfire Of The Vanities way.  A nice house, Tesla automobile, and, of course, a pampered five year old son named Teddy. Jeremy, in a classic mid-life crisis move, dumps his wife for a younger woman, Veronica or "Ronnie," who appears to want to replace Naomi as Teddy's mother.  This side of the story is told in the first person by Naomi so the reader feels sympathy for her as she is mis-treated and abused by her soon to be ex and his new found arm candy.  Unexplainable things happen to her that make sense only if you believe that Jeremy's new flame is a manipulative, evil vixen.  

    Meet Veronica.  Now we get her side of the story also told in the first person.  And the plot thickens, as they say.   While no angel herself, she is also not the vamp that Naomi believed she was.  Though a former heroin user who dated a junkie, Clay, and had a baby with him, who was kidnapped after Clay crashed his car, she is a sympathetic character.  Through a series of coincidences that are a bit hard to believe, she meets Jeremy at a park and they begin jogging together.  She meets Teddy and immediately suspects that he is her son who vanished a few years ago.  Thus her romance with Jeremy becomes a venture to get her son back.  

    The story goes off the rails in a series of events that are beyond the pale.  Even though not credible, I could not stop turning the pages.  Finally, after hearing from Naomi and Veronica, we are treated to an epilogue by Jeremy.  His level of malevolence makes his wife and girlfriend look like amateurs.  This story starts out slowly but picks up steam and is worth the read and a five star rating!

    

ONE FOOT IN HELL

    Some people are born evil.  And they stay that way.  Meet Larry Crenshaw.  Accountant.  Has all the accoutrements of a middle class American life circa 1960.  Younger wife, nice daughter, house, and a neighborhood that is plucked right out of Norman Rockwell's America.  Except he is a cold blooded murderer who likes to prey on young girls.  The book starts out slowly and is a bit confusing as our protagonist flashes back to when he was a young boy and his mother caught him in an episode of childish sexual exploration with a young auburn haired girl which forever left a psychological scar on his perverted brain.  The girl's name was Lola Riggs.  The experience also left him with a thing for red headed little girls.  Fast forward to his now rudimentary life in a Cincinnati suburb.  He appears to be happy but scratch the surface and the man's homicidal perversions manifest themselves.  The first part of the book tracks his daily existence and the people with whom he interacts.  Boring at times but it picks up very fast once Larry commits not one but two murders of young redheaded girls in the neighborhood who remind him of Lola Riggs.  And speaking of Lola, she, now grown, is living nearby.  Larry seeks refuge with her.  She accommodates him but soon has a come to Jesus moment when the police show up at her house asking questions. It is all downhill from there for Larry.  On a five star scale, I give this book 4/5.  I would have gone a full 5 but the first part of the book is a bit plodding.  A footnote:  the author, Wilene Shaw, is a woman, a bit rare for the genre of the times.  

How To Say Goodbye

One of the most underrated movies ever.  The less you say, the more powerful the message.  

DORIS

                                                          DORIS

                   

She had that look that I loved.  Mature but soft and vulnerable at the same time if that is possible.  Call it experience with a touch of sensuousness.  She was older but she oozed sexual energy.  Her face told me she had been through some rough patches but beneath the surface she was a friendly and decent woman.  The second I laid eyes on her the last chapter had already been written.  And she knew it before I did. One of those women with whom you make eye contact and everything after that is a foregone conclusion.  

She brought back memories of the late 1970’s and early 1980’s when I was young and daring and frequented what were called “cheaters’ bars.”  Older and lonely women looking for a cheap thrill to help them forget their misery. At the same time, though, she was different.

Her name was Doris.  I figured her for late ‘50’s, early ‘60’s.  Short stylish conservative hairdo. Nice, enhanced boobs.  Her eyes were a contradiction.  Like many women her age and temperament, she had the look of experience:  probably married more than once, liked to have a drink, had her heart broken one too many times and hardened because of it and, like many women her age, was now looking for something that probably didn’t exist.  

I met her not at a bar but on a dating site.  Around 2005.  Online dating had its own routine:  exchange messages on the platform, then phone numbers, chat back and forth and then meet for a casual date like coffee or a drink.  If there was chemistry, then let the games begin.  We spoke on the phone and seemed to be compatible.  She invited me to her house.  That was rule number one for women who use online dating.  Never invite a man over until you know him well.  Too many crazies out there.  But the way she said it made it seem natural.  I am about as harmless a man as you can imagine so I agreed to come to her home the next night.  

She lived a few miles from me in a town home development that was neatly landscaped.  They were everywhere in South Florida.  Two stories with a small backyard and security gate where you had to give your phone number and they called the owner to allow you in.  Which I did and was allowed through.  I parked in front of her house.  I knocked on her door.  Waited about ten seconds and she opened the door.  And there she was, as I described her above.  There was an instant attraction.  I hugged her and pecked her on the cheek.  Nothing crazy but the casualness of it all masked what we both felt.  Not to be crude but the look on her face and feeling in my body left no doubt that the night would end upstairs and not with a meaningless hug and kiss on her forehead. 

I brought a bottle of red wine for the occasion.  Not that is mattered but it’s just the right thing to do.  She made a few hors d’oeuvres.  We sat outside for about ten minutes and chatted.  What we talked about I do not remember and it does not matter.  I just could not wait to get my hands on her. Not in a lascivious way but a romantic one.  I offered to help her uncork the wine and pour it.  We went inside to her kitchen.  I lifted the cork and turned to face her.  I kissed her forehead in a sort of platonic way.  And that was the last platonic thing that happened that night.  Within about half a second, we had our tongues in each other’s throats and my hands all over and under her blouse.  She asked if I wanted to go upstairs and I responded: “let’s wait.”  Never appear too eager.  When it comes to handling a woman in such situations, I learned a valuable lesson when I was younger as told to me by a good friend 30 years my senior:  act like you have been there before.  And I did.  We had two glasses of wine and munched on sushi.  While I knew we would finish the night upstairs, as we talked, the thought did not really cross my mind.  She was fun to have a conversation with.  I don’t remember what we discussed; only that it was pleasant.  I was honest with her.  I casually told her I had a girlfriend who lived with me.  She appreciated my honesty and that did not bother her.  Most women don’t really care.  What offends them more is the lying.  

Then we walked upstairs.  It was erotic, romantic, passionate, and real.  Another rule from my elder drinking buddy: a gentleman does not kiss and tell.  Two hours later, I bid her good night.  

Doris and I saw each other quite a few times over the next three years.  It was magical.  Maybe in a different time or place, things would have progressed differently.  I just don’t think I have the character to be with one woman.  Everybody has weaknesses and God knows I have mine.  Doris moved to New Hampshire and lives there with a male friend.  We still speak once a month or so and reminisce about the fun times and speculate how things might have turned out differently.  I loved her and still have feelings for her.  I hope she is happy.  

  

      

Twilight Zone: The Sixteen-Millimeter Shrine or The Tragedy of An Aging Woman

     When it comes to the human female species, there is no sadder spectacle than the march of time.  The aphorism "men age gracefully, women just get old" is, unfortunately, true.  Our society places a premium on youth or at least its appearance.  But only for women.  Men attract more beautiful women the older they get.  Their calling card is maturity and wealth and a certain perspective that dispenses with silliness and emits a level of sophistication that attracts younger women.  The successful older man who still plays the game has learned a lesson about how to be around other people:  act like you have been there before. Think Robert Mitchum or Humphrey Bogart.  But back to women.  Last night I watched episode 4 of season 1 of The Twilight Zone, The Sixteen-Millimeter Shrine.  Ida Lupino plays an aging actress who enjoyed huge success in her younger years.  A matinee idol you might call her.  She spends her days isolated in her mega mansion watching reels of her old movies.  She refuses to accept the rules of nature which, of course, are not kind to her.  She summons her sycophantic yes-man valet, played beautifully by Martin Balsam, to arrange a meeting with a studio head honcho so she can re-live her golden years via a new movie.  The tete a tete does not go well.  The mogul gives her a cold dose of reality and tells her that time has passed her by and she should face reality. This episode is loosely based on Sunset Boulevard with Gloria Swanson, William Holden, Eric Von Stroheim, and  Cecil B. DeMille as himself, but without the Holden angle. In the end, instead of having a corpse in the swimming pool, and in true Twilight Zone fashion, Lupino disappears from her seclusion, nowhere to be found.  But alas, Balsam looks at the movie screen in her hideaway room and there she is, an aged beauty queen and starlet, playing the lead role in one of her films 30 years ago.  Cue the Twilight Zone theme music.