Friday, 19 June 2026

High and Low (Akira Kurosawa, 1963)

Gondō (Toshiro Mifune) is a wealthy executive in the middle of a scheme to take over the company he works for. 


As the deal hangs in the balance, Gondō is sent a mysterious demand: kidnappers are holding his son for ransom.


Gondō is willing to do anything to save his son - until he realises the kidnappers have mistaken his chauffeur’s son for his and are holding the wrong child.


Gondō is forced to confront a greater obstacle than the kidnappers’ deadline: his own willingness to weigh an innocent life against his own material gain…



Based on a novel by Evan Hunter, High and Low is a study in class, and how that influences society’s sense of crime.  


It was a bit of a shock to see Toshiro Mifune in this setting. Not the contemporary dress, but the style - Gondō is a stuffed shirt, a square.


We meet him at the height of his power - he is attempting a hostile takeover of his company by buying out other shareholders.


This is also built on hubris.


Gondō is at his most vulnerable: He has had to mortgage everything he owns in order to pull off this gambit.


Most of the opening act is set in Mr Gondō’s living room - an open air space that goes from an embodiment of his status as a king of industry, to a glass cage, once it becomes clear the home is under surveillance.


We get a lot of the signifiers that would go onto become conventions of later kidnapping thrillers:


  1. The team of cops (arriving disguised as a cleaning crew) who educate Gondō on the psychology of the kidnapper 

  2. the attempt to trace the kidnappers’ phone call

  3. the ransom drop in a public location


The film even foregrounds the use of recording technology to try and work out the kidnappers’ identity (the in-film camera recording from the train of the kidnappers approaching the drop site).


While these elements are interesting, the real power of the film is the psychological and moral conflict within Gondō as he weighs the life of his chauffeur’s child.


This is where the film’s use of mise-en-scene comes in, in terms of conveying the disparities of economics and power between Gondō and everyone else.


The main character’s white home is on a hill, surrounded on all sides by poorer neighbourhoods. 


We get a glimpse of the kidnapper in his own home, a claustrophobic room with an unobstructed view of Mr Gondō’s house.


Kurosawa frames his POV with other buildings to increase the contrast with open space and panoramic view his enemy has.


As the film progresses, the narrative POV shifts from Gondō to the police as they track down the kidnapper. In a particularly impressive scene, we follow the police as they tail the kidnapper (Tatsuya Nakadai) as he himself follows an oblivious Gondō down a busy street.


When the kidnapper is finally caught, he is revealed as engaging in his own twisted power fantasies, using what position and tools he has to manipulate and abuse. 


Ironically, the kidnapper’s success over Gondō ends up restoring his victim - he has lost his money, but with it, he regains his sense of self.


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The Big Sleep (Howard Hawks, 1946)

Philip Marlowe (Humphrey Bogart) takes on a case. He makes eyes at his client’s mysterious daughter (Lauren Bacall). People die. Marlowe wisecracks. 


I have no idea what is going on.



This is one of those iconic movies I cannot crack.


As I have been slowly making my way through Humphrey Bogart’s filmography, I dreaded going back to The Big Sleep.


I have watched it before, but I do not count it because it was on a plane. I could not remember a thing from that viewing.


While that experience is a wash, this is sadly par for the course with myself and Philip Marlowe.


I have tried reading Raymond Chandler’s books in the past, but always get tripped up. I think I only managed to finish one of his books. His language is fantastic, but only effective in moments. 


In terms of the classic crime pantheon, I leaned more toward Dashiell Hammett and James M. Cain.


The one piece of Marlowe that I enjoyed was an audio cassette featuring a couple episodes of the radio show from the Forties, starring Gerald Mohr.


Going into this rewatch, I knew  that the plot is famously nonsensical (the film was famously re-worked to foreground Bogie and Bacall’s chemistry, which meant the labyrinth plot was cut down).


That knowledge helped somewhat. 


I could spend more time enjoying Bogart’s sardonic, contrarian turn, and Bacall’s smoulder. The couple famously wed between the original production and the reshoots, and their chemistry should be billed as the third lead.


Their dynamic - fraught with sexual tension and paranoia, is the calm centre of the jumbled plotting. 


With the focus on the relationship between Marlowe and his former client/love interest, the film has an emotional centre separate from the convoluted mystery.


The Big Sleep is a great example of a star vehicle. 


In the decades before IP came to dominate Hollywood, stars like Bogart could draw audiences based on their defined persona.


Hence one could watch Bogart play variations of Casablanca in films like Tokyo Joe and Sirocco.


While the lead of The Big Sleep is named Marlowe, one could treat the film as a spiritual successor to the star’s turn as Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon.


The film is filled with great comic business - the scene of Marlow pretending to be a pretentious book collector; the recurring gag of Marlow collecting guns from everyone he runs into.


Marlowe’s womanising is a gag itself.


Unable to show anything more explicit, the film has Marlowe run into a series of women (including Dorothy Malone) who immediately show an interest in him (Watching the scene with Malone’s attractive shopkeeper, I had a moment of deja vu - it is because it is replayed with no Hays Code-era restrictions by Burt Reynolds in 1972’s Shamus, which I reviewed last year).


The plot does become a bit of a problem by the end.


It is not just that I could not follow what was happening, it was that I could not track why it was important.


Best viewed as a vehicle for Bogart and Bacall to verbally spar with each other, The Big Sleep is the prime example of why plot is ultimately less important than what the story is ultimately about.


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If you are new to this blog, I also co-host a podcast on James Bond, The James Bond Cocktail Hour

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The Maltese Falcon (John Huston, 1941)

When his partner Miles Archer (Jerome Cowan) is murdered, detective Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) is fingered as the prime suspect.


Spade’s first port of call is Miles’ last client, Bridgid O’Shaunessey (Mary Astor). 


Spade quickly finds himself in the midst of a conspiracy based around a mysterious artefact.


Will Spade solve the mystery of Miles’ murder?



Back to Bogart, and another classic title I have never seen before.


I think I have avoided this movie because of how well-known it is.


What a joy.


This review is going to be brief - this movie is a bolt of pure entertainment. While it is largely based in sitting rooms, it is a testament to its pace and dynamism that The Maltese Falcon never drags.


Bogart holds the screen from the first second, but the scene which really showcases his star persona - tough, no-nonsense,whip-smart - is the first interrogation scene with the police at his home. 


At once prickly and disarming, Bogart is a marvel. His closing crack asking the cops how he killed Thursby is the punchline on a tour-de-force of uncorked charisma.


This scene sums up the dynamics at play. Spade is the focus of other parties who will stop at nothing to get what they want. 


What is miraculous about the movie is that while the stakes are clear, Bogart’s Spade is so cool under pressure, the question underpinning each predicament he is in, is how he will get out of this jam, rather than if.


Unlike the noir protagonists that would follow him, he seems immune to the charms of the femme fatale - it seems clear he does not believe O’Shaunessey, and is more concerned with working out why she is lying. There is some attraction underpinning their relationship, but unlike a lot of movie PIs, he is too cool-headed to let it influence him.


Fundamentally, what differentiates Bogart’s Spade from the verbose villains around him is that he does not like bullshit.


A sterling debut from writer-director John Huston, and one of Bogart’s best showcases.


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If you are new to this blog, I also co-host a podcast on James Bond, The James Bond Cocktail Hour

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If you enjoy something I wrote, and want to support my writing, here’s a link for tips!

Uncut Gems (The Safdie brothers, 2019)

Howard Ratner (Adam Sandler) cannot help himself to another bet. Obsessed with beating the odds, he has dug himself into a hole with his brother-in-law (Eric Bogosian).

 With time running out to pay him back, Howard pulls out every trick he knows to get out of the red. If he lives long enough...


Jesus H Roosevelt Christ.


Just when you think contemporary blockbusters have forgotten how to get pulses racing, along come a couple of down and dirty independents to show the so-called big boys how it is done.


After the adrenaline rush of their last opus Good Time, the Safdie brothers upped the ante with Uncut Gems. If you thought Good Time was intense, Uncut Gems is that experience on steroids.


I hate watching movies on my laptop, but I was so focused on this movie I did not get distracted by any of the usual noise (like anything relating to the internet). 


I had a conversation with someone who did not like the movie because they did not find Howard likeable.


I will not dismiss this person’s opinion - it is valid to not like something for any reason - but it did spur me to consider what draws me toward a character.


Likability is such a subjective term. It also does not apply in every case. 


I think about a movie like Patton, where the central character is shown to be brilliant at something specific, but is otherwise selfish and self-destructive. 


Or Day of the Jackal, where we are aligned with the perspective of an assassin as he plots murder.


It comes down to what makes this character, and their story compelling?

If the character is presented with specificity, and their motivations clearly defined, then it does not matter if their nature and goals align with the viewer.


If the filmmakers immerse the viewer in the world of a specific character, then we become compelled to watch. 


We want to see if this character will succeed.


We want to see what will happen, and how these characters will react.


It also comes down to the performance, and Adam Sandler is absolutely mesmerising.


With his machine gun patter, Sandler is always moving, always spinning, always selling.


Every time it seems like he could get out of trouble, the film throws Howard another opportunity to make an extra buck, he jumps at it, and the stakes escalate even higher.


By the time he is making his final, unbelievable bet, it feels both frustrating and inevitable.


If you are new to this blog, I also co-host a podcast on James Bond, The James Bond Cocktail Hour

You can subscribe on Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.


If you enjoy something I wrote, and want to support my writing, here’s a link for tips!