1951: His Kind Of Woman

His Kind Of Woman (1951, Farrow) 5/10

"Whenever I have nothing to do and I can't think, I always iron my money (Dan Milner)
What d'ya do when you are broke? (Lenore Brent)
When I'm broke, I press my pants (Dan Milner)

Throughout her two decade career, controversy seemed to follow Jane Russell. Not for risqué behaviour, but rather as documented in Martin Scorsese's The Aviator, the protruding extent of her cleavage. Unlike other similar popular sex symbols of the period, Russell's off-screen life was not filled with scandalous behaviour or psychological difficulties that blighted the private lives of Lana Turner or Rita Hayworth.

Signed to a seven-year contract with Howard Hughes in the early Forties, Russell's career infamously became linked to Hughes' attempts to demonstrate her physical attributes, rather than her acting talents. Yet, in films such as Howard Hawks' Gentleman Prefer Blondes, Russell proved adept at playing wisecracking, strong women unafraid to insert their views or stamp their authority upon a situation.

While her later career was fraught with a slew of forgettable films and flops such as Nicholas Ray's Hot Blood and Norman Taurog's The Fuzzy Pink Nightgown, her mid-period, particularly alongside imposing actor Robert Mitchum in a pair of oddball Noirs- 1952's Josef von Sternberg film Macao and John Farrow's 1951 His Kind Of Woman- demonstrated her ample skills.

In 1951, Howard Hughes earmarked His Kind Of Woman to be a showcase for Russell. An eccentric romantic-adventure-comedy draped in the chiroscuro clothing of Noir, His Kind Of Woman is a sprawling mess: as entertaining as it is infuriating. Set in Mexico, the picture involves Dan Milner (Robert Mitchum) as a down and out professional gambler, who is offered $50,000 by a group of his underworld colleagues to await orders. Along the way, Milner meets Lenore Brent (Jane Russell), a socialite-cum- chanteuse who is flying down with Milner to Morro's Island.

Despite its beginnings in typical urban Noir settings such as cramped apartments, dining cars, cavernous mansions and Mexican bars, the film jettisons to the un-Noir-like Frank Lloyd Wright inspired Art Deco surroundings of Morro's Island: a resort for wealthy eccentrics including ham actor Mark Cardigan (Vincent Price), a chess-obssesed writer in Martin Krafft (John Mylong) and a gambling insurance salesman named Winton (Jim Backus).

While others lap up the sun and the alcohol, the teetotal Milner finds out the true nature of his mission from Lusk (Tim Holt): a federal agent tracking the mysterious involvement of several of the hotel's guests in an attempt to bring exiled gangster Nick Ferraro (Raymond Burr) back into the United States.

His Kind Of A Woman is a misleading title. Despite the steamy air of mystery which follows her, Russell's Brent is not a typical Noir femme fatale. Her intentions are always benevolent and never concealed. Her reason for swooning with the nouveau riche is simply to solidify the trans-national relationship between her and longtime lover Cardigan. She never feels any ill will toward Milner, but rather goes out of her way to protect him: supplying him with weapons, securing assistance and so forth. Her passion for Milner stems out of Cardigan's disregard for her emotional platitudes in favour of hunting; unlike Milner whose veiled remarks and body language suggest the possibility of a relationship.

It is this interplay of characters which signifies the film's opening hour. The plot leisurely adapts to the tropical surroundings in the first half of HIs Kind Of Woman. There is little that genuinely thrills in His Kind Of Woman as the film's first hour is more of a laid back meditation on identity and personality. We learn about the existential nature of the characters themselves and why they are here? And who are they with? Yet, little of the film's plot reveals itself in these sequences beyond a few verbal skirmishes between an investigative Mitchum and the resort's heavy Thompson (Charles McGraw).

The film thus strongly infers a typical Noir theme of identity throughout. Mitchum's character knows little of why he is at the resort, but is desperate to consolidate a reason for his colleagues' hefty investment. Despite her acclaimed riches, Lenore Brent is not exactly the woman she appears to be, as a guitar player in the resort's band attempts to inquire into her veiled past. Ferraro's approach to identity is even more diabolical, as he wishes to take Milner's physical identity through the type of bizarre plastic surgery which Georges Franju would later make famous in his poetic horror film Eyes Without A Face.

Furthermore, nobody in His Kind Of Woman seems willing to self-analyze their personal crises. Rather they need the form connections with others in order to solve their discrepancies. This can be seen in the young couple, who are gambling away their life savings. After Milner intervenes at the silent wish of the young bride, the couple regain their finances. Cardigan is equally perplexing. While Lenore believes he has been divorced for several months, the actor's wife like something out of Fellini's 8½ stumbles back into his domain, whilst he is on vacation. Cardigan's reflexive and quizzical behaviour begins to find a purpose in his attempt to save Milner from Thompson and Ferraro.

As noted earlier, gambling is also a prevalent theme. Milner retorts that he only engages in games were the outcome has already been decided; yet he is known to have been repeatedly unlucky across Southwestern California: hence his desperate acceptance of the enigmatic $50,000. The theme of games and gambling extends to Krafft's solitary chess matches, Winton's aggressive tactics against a hapless newlywed and Mitchum's surreal insertion of a leather shoe into the winner's pot at a game of poker.

Cardigan's lust for hunting and fishing further expands the theme, yet it also takes on a symbolic turn in Russell's animalistic pursual of Price's bumbling actor and his attempt to turn a duel with McGraw's Thompson into masculine sport. Yet, women are excluded from this realm in which notions of male mental skill and intelligence are demonstrated. The film's female characters are more obsessed with money. Their intellectual acumen is used to preserve their financial state such as the young bride stopping her husband and both Lenore Brent and Helen Cardigan desperate to seek out Mark Cardigan.

Yet, the sultry, slowly cooked atmosphere of the film's first half gives way to jarring slapstick humour and acts of brutal sadism. Whereas the film's first half showcased the brilliant modes of sophisticated sex comedy Russell and Mitchum were capable of together, the film's latter half is devoted to an unsettling blend of devious violence and farce. The latter is filtered through Price's Shakespeare-spouting Cardigan and was expanded at the behest of producer Howard Hughes who adored Price and the Cardigan character. This queasy potpourri of humour which plays upon racial stereotypes and sight gags is more akin to Frank Capra's Arsenic and Old Lace than to Mitchum's great Noirs such as Out Of The Past.

Combined with the vicious nature of Raymond Burr's Ferraro, the film's last hour unbalances an already uneven film. The film's latter third was completely re-shot by director Richard Fleischer ( The Narrow Margin; Compulsion) at Hughes' behest and sits uneasily alongside the lazy, slow-building tension built by Farrow. Running at least half an hour too long, the film's final half stretches out Mitchum's torture scenes and Price's boggled rescue past their limit. These scenes extend notions of masculinity earlier explored through gaming in the film. Despite her persona as a tough brunette, Russell spends almost the last hour of the film locked in a closet. The only other available female character in Mrs. Helen Cardigan (Marjorie Reynolds) remains true to her feminine leanings and stays at home.

Cinematographer Alfred J. Wild applies his earlier tutelage under Gregg Toland in producing a low-angle shot, ceiling-filled maze of images that compliments both the film's somewhat Noirish leanings and its scope as a romantic-adventure. The scenes in which we first meet Russell in a Mexican cantina should be noted for the extreme lack of height in comparison to the voluptuous ceilings of scenes in a Hollywood mansion. Wild's cinematography along with the excellent, snappy banter between Mitchum and Russell are some of the few highlights to this aloof entry in Hollywood history. Although the film was surprisingly a hit, today it is often better known for Vincent Price's offbeat performance which defines the film's latter half. Yet, within the sex-dripped dialogue espoused by Russell and Mitchum, one can imagine how delicious the film could have been without studio interference.

* His Kind Of Woman is available through Warner Home Video in their Film Noir Collection V3 boxset

Copyright 2007 8½ Cinematheque