Towards the end of High Sierra (1941)
the protagonist (Humphrey Bogart) runs up into the mountains of eastern
California to evade police pursuit. The ending of this classic heist movie
parallels a much more recent heist movie: Hell or High Water (2016).
Both climax with a police sharp shooter ending a stand off between cops and a
robber holed up in the mountains. It’s clear the filmmakers of Hell or High
Water were inspired by High Sierra which is also an early example of
film noir.
One of the great joys of watching older
films is discovering where many modern filmmakers got their ideas. Or (less
cynically) seeing later filmmakers recognize the lineage of a given genre and
consciously pay homage. But in the age of remakes and “reboots” it’s hard to
not be cynical about contemporary motivations. Indeed, Hollywood films recycle
past ideas and use cliche as a matter of course. Quentin Tarantino’s entire
oeuvre is a puree of bits of other films and genres served up as something new
and original. Sometimes newer movies use just a scene, and sometimes they use
the whole idea. For example: James Cameron’s The Terminator (1984) was
born from Michael Crichton’s Westworld (1973) (which inspired the HBO
series). Besides appropriating from other films, movie makers have used books,
articles, comics, mythology, or real life. In an American culture that
historically idealized bank robbers and outlaws, filmmakers had no difficulty
finding subjects for stories like High Sierra. Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow’s crime spree in the 1930s was
the source for Joseph H. Lewis's Gun Crazy (1950) and Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and
Clyde (1967). The film and lives of the
couple served as a wellspring for subsequent films. Examples include: Terence Malick’s
Badlands (1973), David Lynch’s Wild at Heart (1990), Tony Scott’s True
Romance (1993), Dominic Sena’s Kalifornia (1993), and Oliver Stone’s
Natural Born Killers (1994). The 90s was a high tide
for crime couple films apparently.
The obsession with crime in Hollywood is
a reflection of the novelty of crime in the American experience. At once glamorized
and crusaded against, crime in the bastion of private enterprise has always
captivated public attention. The kinds of crimes depicted, bank
robbery, bootlegging (or drug dealing e.g. Scarface (1983)), are an
avenue to get rich by any means, usually pursued by the lower classes which
adds another layer of popular appeal. That kind of unadulterated capitalism is
an implicitly appealing fantasy to American citizens and immigrants alike.
Hollywood and the press understood this and used real life as fodder for their
respective enterprises. Since the 20th century Americans have
debated whether the romanticization of crime and criminals inspires more crime
and criminals. That debate will never be settled. High Sierra’s Roy Earl
(Bogart) is clearly derived from John Dillinger who was shot dead on a Chicago
street just seven years before the film (the same year Bonnie and Clyde were
killed). Bogart sports a similar haircut and has the same sly smirk we see in Dillinger's mugshots; this must have excited the
audience when the memory of Dillinger was still fresh.
Dillinger’s popularity revealed a moral
dilemma for the United States in the 1930s and later years. How could a
ruthless criminal be so admired by ordinary Americans? The depression era allowed
for this contradiction. The extreme wealth disparity in the U.S. and the
ruthlessness of American capitalism made ordinary people suspicious of
authorities and any appeals to the virtues of state power in a time of soup
lines and lost farms. Disillusion developed in the American economic system and
the hope for upward mobility. Legality and morality were no longer the same
thing in the eyes of many victims of the economy. Criminals like Dillinger
appealed to the fantasy of so many to claim that promised American prosperity
at any cost. Bogart’s Roy Earl embodies much of the allure of the era, and the
allure is extended to Bogart himself. An unlikely star, Bogart rose to become
an icon of classic Hollywood. Bogart’s ordinary looks betray a natural charisma
that makes his character sympathetic even though he’s a criminal.
Based on W.R. Burnett’s novel, High
Sierra is directed by Raoul Walsh and co-written by the legendary John
Houston. On its face, the film is a run of the mill crime story, but it’s the
way it deals with right and wrong that make it worth more attention. Roy Earl’s
release from jail is arranged by a crime boss for the purpose of leading a
heist. Earl is hardened by a life of crime and time in jail but he still has
some humanity. On his way westward towards his assignment, he encounters the
destitute family of Pa Goodhue (played endearingly by the fatherly English
actor Henry Travers) who are also on their way west in their jalopy in search
of work. Pa’s granddaughter, the young and beautiful Velma (Joan Leslie),
catches Earl’s eye. Here we have an explicit reference to the economic hardship
and disenchantment of the depression and its connection to crime. We later
discover that Velma is hobbled by a clubbed foot that could have been easily
corrected but for lack of money. Earl decides to pay for the procedure and
hopes to marry the young Velma who is the symbol of goodness and purity, but
after Velma’s successful operation she rejects Earl’s proposal.
Roy Earl’s tragedy is his desire to redeem
himself, to “crash out” as he calls it – to free himself from the stream of
circumstances that have dictated his life so far. Crime was never a choice for
him, or even a moral decision. In the amoral world of “haves” and “have nots”
entertaining philosophical questions like this are not part of life’s equation.
But at the same time Earl is continuously forced to make decisions based on
morality. When he arrives to take over the operation of the planned heist from
two lower level criminals he encounters Marie Garson (played by Ida Lupino) an
abused girlfriend of one of the crew. His initial instinct to remove her from
the gang’s plans is thwarted by her direct appeal to him. Her desire is to not
go back to LA and the dance-hall girl life she desperately wants to leave
behind. Earl’s pity displays his human sympathy and opens the door for Marie to
fall for Earl, a man who could offer her a path towards happiness and
protection. Earl wanted more than Marie who represents the life he too wants to
leave behind, but he takes her on as a love interest warning her that nothing
substantive could come of it. His relationship with Marie, much like his life
of crime, comes about because of circumstance as opposed to choice. When he
chose Velma he was rejected so the only avenue left was Marie. Despite his
efforts, Earl’s life is dictated to him and he rolls with the punches hoping
things will eventually work out for him. Many Americans at the time (and today)
would recognize this lack of agency and the imposed compromises that are made
in life.
Marie, in all her naivete, doesn’t
realize the commanding and daring Earl can’t possibly offer any kind of
normalcy. Earl confronts her abuser after she's assaulted and his alpha status
in the group is unquestioned. But his use of violence is never gratuitous,
never sadistic, always borne out of necessity. He fires his gun only after
being fired upon, he uses force only when his freedom is jeopardized. The pity
he takes on Marie is mirrored in the pity he takes on an ownerless dog named
Pard who is said to be an omen of bad luck according to Algernon (Willie Best)
the local handyman. Earl even allows Pard to tag along for the heist which
doesn’t go well. Even though the robbery is successful Earl shoots a cop and
his two accomplices are killed. While hiding out with Marie the newspapers
blare the headline that the search is on for “Mad Dog Roy Earl.” It’s easy to
sympathize with Earl, we know he’s not a “Mad Dog,” we saw him have sympathy
for Velma, Marie, and even for Pard. Throughout the film when Earl could have
made safe, selfish decisions, he made sympathetic ones. It’s that sympathy that
dooms him and is the tragic heart of the film. If he was a cold blooded “Mad
Dog,” he could have been more successful.
The muddy morality of the film gives the movie
depth that forces the viewer to consider larger questions. Most crime films of
the era depicted criminality as a social ill, with criminals paying for their
choices. High Sierra is more ambiguous, maybe even cynical because
the lesson one could derive is that it doesn’t pay to be a good person. That
might be a reflection of the pessimism of the depression in which good people
were not rewarded and bad people never paid a price. This outlook seems to be a
constant theme in American politics and history (see the recent great recession
and lack of criminal culpability). The starkness of the message is betrayed by
Bogart who’s acting and presence embody the seemingly contradictory American
impulse to be independent but also have ties to other people. He is quite
capable of being ruthless and efficient but he also wants love, from Velma then
Marie, and then also from Pard. One interpretation of Earl is that his weakness is his
humanity.
Marie arrives with Pard at the stand off
at the end of the film. Earl’s recognition of Pard’s barking draws him out of
his safe hiding spot and gives the sharp shooter a clear shot.
