Crime, Appropriation, and Moral Ambiguity in High Sierra (1941)

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 20^th 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.