The Jericho Mile (1979, Michael Mann)

The Jericho Mile plays a little like a truncated mini-series. The first hour of the film introduces the characters, the ground situation, and does an entire arc for six characters. There’s a minimal subplot about prison psychologist Geoffrey Lewis trying to convince seemingly super-fast-running inmate Peter Strauss to open up in therapy. Lewis then gets the idea to have Strauss run against some college runners; the subplot involves warden Billy Green Bush and track coach Ed Lauter, but it’s all just set up for the second half.

The first hour is all about Strauss and best friend Richard Lawson. Strauss is the quiet, obsessively working out white guy, Lawson’s the affable Black guy. They stay away from the Nazis (Brian Dennehy, Burton Gilliam, and Richard Moll), and they stay away from the Black Liberation Army guys (Roger E. Mosley and Ji-Tu Cumbuka). They’re just friends, and it’s a beautiful arc. Both Lawson and Strauss get epic monologues, with director Mann showcasing the performances. Mile’s technically uneven for a TV movie—there’s clearly different film stock, and the sound’s terrible—but Mann, Strauss, and Lawson were definitely approaching the film as an acting showcase. It’s almost stagy, but never in a bad way, just Mann spotlighting the acting well.

Lawson needs to bump up a visit from his wife and newborn baby, and only Dennehy can get it done, which pisses off Mosley. It feels like a short story, but immediately after, there’s this sports movie about Strauss’s Olympic possibilities uniting the prison behind him. The first hour directly informs the second half—Strauss’s reasons for trying to compete, for example—but there’s also all the ground situation to build on. Mann opens the film with a five-minute montage of life on the prison yard. Mosley’s pumping iron, Dennehy’s holding court, Miguel Pinero and the Mexican gang are playing handball, Lawson and Strauss are running. There’s this great prison newspaper sports page narrative device to kick off Lewis’s interest in Strauss (only not really because Strauss was on his radar already). It goes nowhere in the second half, which is weird, but Mile runs out of track in the third act, so it’s not a surprise….

Anyway.

The wide-reaching character development arcs in the second half all build off material Mann subtly baked into the film. Mile’s exceptionally well-directed. It’s a shame Rexford L. Metz’s photography and, especially, Michael Hilkene and James E. Webb’s sound isn’t better because it ought to be a sublime viewing experience. Mann directs it; budget and circumstance don’t allow it.

The problems all come as the big race approaches. It’s a sports movie, after all, there’s got to be a big race. There are some existing problems, like Bush busting ass as the warden and never being good enough. The part’s written like a reformer with political ambitions, but Bush plays it without motivation and then makes some bombastic choices like he ought to be wearing a novelty hat. In one shot, Lauter appears just as confused by Bush’s behavior as I am.

And some of the performances aren’t as good as the best performances—Strauss and Lawson—but the movie’s all about showcasing those performances. Mosley, Dennehy, and Lewis are all solid as the main supporting players, but their parts are limited. They exist to react to Strauss and other events, to provide fisticuffs to delay the race.

Everything’s going along just fine until they need to resolve Strauss’s therapy arc, which they create right at the end of the second—it’s running and then, wham, great Strauss monologue—and then resolve two or three scenes later after the race. It’s so fast, and there’s none of the promised character development for lifer Strauss going outside the prison. Instead, it’s just the second part of his therapy breakthrough monologue.

It feels like they had three one-hour episodes; they kept the first one, then cut the second two hours down to one. The second act’s bumpy at times too, but Mann nails the sports movie, so it’s okay. But the finale’s just too messy.

Excellent performance from Strauss, a really good one from Lawson. Strauss gets better writing (script credit to Mann and Patrick J. Nolan).

Jimmie Haskell’s music is interesting. About a quarter is great, a quarter is bad, another quarter is just there, and then the rest is Sympathy for the Devil but in a non-copyright violation-y way. The movie’s theme music is Sympathy for the Devil, which is on the nose considering it’s about a sympathetic prison inmate.

Still. Jericho Mile’s beautifully directed, with some phenomenal performances and strong writing.


This post is part of the World Television Day Blogathon hosted by Sally of 18 Cinema Lane.

Scream Blacula Scream (1973, Bob Kelljan)

Scream Blacula Scream has a dreadful moment during a crucial sequence, and even though the film takes the hit, it somehow can build up almost enough goodwill—in mere seconds—it could easily succeed. The ending’s a little too confused, though, with a very questionable end credits song and design. But the film’s excellent throughout, surviving a bold, misguided attempt at camp and then a wishy-washy seventies finish.

The film’s got five spectacular elements. First, there’s lead William Marshall. He gets to play a tortured vampire, but without a subplot about reuniting with a reincarnated wife. He’s just trying to get by in 1973, and he’s willing to manipulate, maim, and murder to do it. Scream takes almost right until the third act becomes a cop concerned about his girlfriend hanging out with a vampire and decides to do something about it. Until then, it’s Marshall’s movie, with the deliberate script giving him a lot of space to just act his way through.

Second spectacular element is director Kelljan. While Scream’s scary when it needs to be and generally disquieting when tasked, Kelljan also directs the heck out of the actors, starting with Marshall. After Marshall, Kelljan’s attention is mainly on leading lady Pam Grier, but Kelljan pays attention to everyone. He takes all the victims seriously, and there are so, so many victims in Scream. The first movie didn’t show Marshall building his army of the undead; this one does so in detail, with Marshall’s mistreatment of his “soldiers” being part of his character development.

Third spectacular is Grier. She’s either playing brainwashed, naive, or infinitely altruistic. Grier’s a voodoo priestess, and Marshall wants her to exorcize him. She can’t say no to him, even as the body count around her starts rising. Marshall’s come across Grier through his first victim, her voodoo “cult” rival, Richard Lawson. Lawson’s fourth lead, though Grier’s usually alternating with her ex-cop boyfriend, Don Mitchell.

Mitchell’s the only weak performance in the film. He’s not unlikable; he’s just not good.

However, once the fourth spectacular shows up, Mitchell becomes a lot more welcome because it means more Michael Conrad. Conrad is the police lieutenant (credited as a sheriff in the end titles, like they forgot they weren’t taking place in L.A. again), and Mitchell was his star detective. The latter retired young to get into African cultural studies or something. It’s unclear why Mitchell’s incredibly wealthy.

Conrad’s an absolute delight, and he enthusiastically lifts Mitchell in their scenes together. Conrad doesn’t believe in vampires, while Mitchell can’t think of any other explanation. Well, there’s a brief period they’re investigating Grier, Mitchell’s girlfriend, because of the voodoo, but it gets quickly forgotten thanks to vampire antics.

The last spectacular is a shared one because caveats—Isidore Manofsky’s photography and Fabien D. Tordjmann’s editing. Manofsky’s photography is absolutely fantastic and wonderfully complements Kelljan’s direction. Except for the day-for-night shots. They’re terrible, and there are way too many of them. So, caveat.

Tordjmann doesn’t have quite the same caveat because the editing’s never inadequate or inept like the day-for-night. It’s just okay. Then the third act has some breathlessly cut sequences.

Add them together, and they’re spectacular.

Good music from Bill Marx, nice supporting turn from Lynne Moody.

Scream Blacula Scream’s good. It’s nearly really good, but it’s still damned impressive.