NFR Project: “The Man with the Golden Arm”
Dir: Otto Preminger
Scr: Walter Newman, Lewis Meltzer, Ben Hecht
Pho: Sam Leavitt
Ed: Louis R. Loeffler
Premiere: Dec. 15, 1955
119 min.
Otto Preminger, a dictatorial menace of a director, was noted for his willingness to tackle controversial subjects. He had just addressed premarital sex in The Moon Is Blue (1953). Here he was to turn a great, gritty American novel into a slightly more palatable product starring Frank Sinatra in a role that confirms his ability as an actor. (He lost the Best Actor Oscar to Ernest Borgnine in Marty.)
Nelson Algren (1909-1961) was a novelist and short-story and non-fiction writer out of Chicago. He was a “bard of the down and out,” a chronicler of the American underclass, the folks who lived on the fringes of society. Read him; he’s good. He has a kind of tough-guy poesy that puts him somewhere between Chandler and Bukowski.
He is a resolute pessimist, and this is reflected in the original, National Book Award-winning novel, The Man with the Golden Arm, he wrote in 1949. It took a while for his work to percolate into the mainstream, but when it did it hit hard. Preminger, no stranger to controversy, snapped it up.
The resulting script, originally essayed by Algren, was turned over to Walter Newman. The script made tailor-made as a Best-Actor type of project Frank Sinatra could star in. In the novel, the protagonist kills himself. Obviously, this could not be in mainstream cinema. Therefore, the story was altered to give us an equivocally upbeat ending (that doesn’t work, by the way).
It’s the story of addiction. Frank plays Frankie, a would-be drummer in a studio recreation of a blighted Chicago slum. The feeling is gritty, tense; it does evoke the lives of people on the bottom rung of society, the criminals, prostitutes, drug dealers, gamblers who populate Algren’s world. Preminger gives us a wretched aesthetic that magnifies the emotional content of the brutal narrative. It is not Neorealism, but it is as close as Hollywood would ever come.
There in the depths of degradation and despair Frankie dwells with his wife “Zosh” (Eleanor Parker), who is out of her fricking mind. She sits around all day in a wheelchair, as Frankie had crippled her when he was driving drunk. Except she’s not: she’s faking it to keep Frankie around out of guilt!
He really digs Molly (Kim Novak), who works the door at a strip club. She loves him and believes in him, all the more important for him as he’s just returned from the Narcotic Farm in Kentucky, free from his addiction to what is generally regarded, though never specified, as heroin. (In the novel, pointedly, Frankie gets hooked on morphine due to injury in World War II combat.)
Frankie tries to go straight. He joins the musicians’ union, he goes out on an audition (disastrously). He rubs up against the local gambling shark Schwiefka (Robert Strauss), who gets him to deal illegal poker games for him again – as he is known as a genius with cards, “the man with the golden arm.” Meanwhile, the local pusher Louie (a young Darren McGavin) gets him hooked on the stuff again.
Things go from bad to worse. Frankie’s agony over his relapse manifests itself in Sintra’s sweaty, desperate features, lit grimly in a kind of dour “problem picture” style.
Preminger doesn’t preach; he simply follows the increasingly frantic machinations of the hero, Frankie Machine, as he declines into hopelessness. Frankie gets involved in a violent, crooked card game. Louie gets murdered and everyone thinks Frankie did it. Preminger and Newman give him a kind of ersatz redemption. Frank as Frankie gets to kick heroin in front of our eyes.
Surprisingly, it still works. Sinatra really could act, usually in proportion with the quality of the director he worked with (Zinneman in Fron Here to Eternity, Frankenheimer in The Manchurian Candidate). He carries the film and makes us root for him.
He is ably assisted by the immortal Arnold Stang as Sparrow, his sidekick, Parker (an uncharacteristic choice) as his wife, and Novak in a star-making turn (with Picnic the same year).
Frankie gets to walk away in the end . . . but where is he walking to? The ineffectiveness of its contrived ending reduces what came before to mere melodrama. There is no indication that Frankie is on his way to better things, save that he is clean. For now. This provisional view of humanity was about all the censors of the day could stand.
But it was important. It raised an issue that was pernicious and unacknowledged. History has not yet decided whether Preminger was a huckster exploiting the controversies of the day or a sincere pioneer of “problem” cinema in the modern era.
The NFR Project is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: The Phenix City Story.
