His Kind of Woman (1951)
His Kind of Woman is one of those old-school nonsense pictures that Hollywood no longer seems capable of producing without an accompanying shot of self-congratulation; every light little thing now comes packaged with a twinkle in the stars’ eye to assure everyone that they know they’re above it and most assuredly don’t MEAN it, which diminishes the fun by half (an exact figure). That was my issue with the later Steven Soderbergh Danny Ocean pictures, Soderbergh’s fear of being mistaken for a mere entertainer was palpable, and led to the assumption that an incoherent trifle would be less of an offense to the Great Filmmakers’ Code of Conduct than an enjoyable one.
I’m not as far off track as it may appear, His Kind of Woman is, like the Danny Ocean movies (either past or present), an excuse to transport several stars and character actors to a beautiful setting and stage a series of flirtations, near death escapes and exchanges of sideways movie-star banter, all under the flimsiest pretense of some larger story, which, in this case, has something to do with a deported gangster’s efforts to get back into the States and enjoy his illegally gotten gains. The gangster sets up an on again/off again gambler, Dan Milner (Robert Mitchum, who should’ve just been called Robert Mitchum from picture to picture, no writer could invent a name more apt for that man) to take the fall so he can make off with Milner’s identity and get back on U.S. soil. That’s the plot, and it doesn’t kick in for real until about the ninetieth minute. Milner’s in the dark for the majority of the picture, knowing only that he’s to take a fat paycheck and hang out and absorb the pleasures of the island until someone steers him in the right, or any, direction. There has to be self-satire in there somewhere.
His Kind of Woman, produced by Howard Hughes, directed by Richard Fleischer (credited to John Farrow, though Fleischer evidently re-shot most of it) also boasts Vincent Price in a generous, charismatic, humorously unconvincing turn as a famous actor; Charles McGraw (memorable in Fleischer’s significantly tighter The Narrow Margin) as a baddie ; Jane Russell’s breasts as the chief love interest, Tim Holt as a supposedly drunk, late night bearer of exposition, and, why not?, Raymond Burr as the gangster pulling the strings.
The film rests on Mitchum’s no, I really, truly, don’t give a shit charisma (Otto Preminger exploited that apathy to effective, perverse extremes in the Hughes produced Angel Face) as well as the other stars’ game for anything spirit. The picture is never thrilling, rarely truly funny (though it has a few lines that snap) but everything taken together has an unruly appeal that is intensely pleasurable to experience and look back upon later. Films where stars are clearly having fun aren’t always fun themselves, but this is an exception. The chief appeal of His Kind of Woman lies in its determination to follow its characters’ whims with no regard to the constraints and requirements of the genre, allowing for human little moments of tenderness, cleverness, and sensuality. This picture has conviction in something more important, in this case, than story: a lolly-gagging, roundabout, distinctly Hollywood utopia of movie stars screwing around. This is a truly escapist picture, and you won’t find yourself whispering that word under your breath as if you’re in confession: the film wears it proud, and so should you.
★★★
May 2nd, 2008 at 10:04 am
Fabulous review, Chuck. I’ve seen this twice and each time I found it bogged down by its many flaws, but nevertheless, it has just enough star wattage appeal to maintain my interest… The two and only Jane Russell doesn’t hurt any.
And, sheesh, you’re dead-on right about Mitchum–he should always have just been called Robert Mitchum in his movies, because that name is so perfect for him, that, with the notable exception of one of the GREATEST films ever made, Out of the Past–in which he ironically has two names–I never remember any of his characters’ names because I always just think of him as Robert Mitchum.
I have mixed feelings about Vincent Price in this one. On one hand, he’s called upon to steal the picture from everybody else and in some ways he succeeds. Here’s a ham playing a ham and having a lot of fun but plenty of his scenes kind of drag and make the film even more airy than it really needed to be (particularly since most of his screentime seems to be in the latter stretch of the film when things should be becoming more intense with regards to Mitchum and the gangster played by the cast-to-type Raymond Burr).
Also, good call on how Preminger brilliantly utilized Mitchum’s no-nonsense, couldn’t-care-less charisma in Angel Face.
Though, again, the film that really engendered the Mitchum “persona” for the actor, I think, is Out of the Past (1947), my favorite noir of them all, by Jacques Tourneur. (It also features my favorite femme fatale, Jane Greer, and probably my favorite “gangster” character, Kirk Douglas.)
I always forget Tim Holt is in this thing. I think that happens with a lot of people, and it’s kind of why he never became as big of a star as it seemed like he should have been/was on paper. The only film I ever directly him to in my mind is Treasure of the Sierra Madre, despite his appearances in Stella Dallas, Stagecoach and My Darling Clementine. (Yes, I just looked at IMDB… Like I said, I can’t remember him in anything but Treasure of the Sierra Madre.)
May 4th, 2008 at 9:30 am
I love Out of the Past too. And Tim Holt was a wonderful straighter man to the eccentrics of Treasure of the Sierre Madre, one of my favorite films of all time. You did neglect to mention The Magnificent Ambersons, in which Holt was memorably strong and unsentimental, a wonderful performance in a great even though it was fucked with film. I need to re-watch Ambersons, haven’t seen that in a while.
May 4th, 2008 at 11:30 am
Ah, yes, The Magnificent Ambersons. Now you’ve gone and embarrassed me, Chuck.
You’re right, and he’s definitely quite good in that film. Probably his best, subtlest work, actually.
Like you, I need to re-watch Ambersons, which I haven’t seen in a few years now.