Pickup

On June 18, 1953, Sam Fuller’s film “Pickup on South Street” opened at the Roxy Theatre in New York City. Which is amazing since this is such a raw nasty little flick for a “family“ theatre to show. But the Roxy would and could play this sort of film as it was a step below and down the block from Radio City Music Hall which would never think of showing this sort of a film, but the Roxy would pretty much show anything that came out of studios of 20th century fox in the 40’s and 50’s. I would have loved to have seen it there. With the film was a nice ice stage show and revue that featured the McDonalds, Bobby Blake, (I wonder if this is the Bobby Blake, child actor and future murderer?) the Bruises, (Now how appropriate is that) the Skating Blades and Belles and the Roxy Choraleers. Wonderful. This 1953 Sam Fuller movie contains some of his best work, and its sad that he couldn't continue to get the backing of major Hollywood studios to do his stuff. The story line goes something like this. A tough hard broad (read Prostitute) is riding the subway one hot summer day, and gets her Pocketbook picked (or to use pickpocket slang “dipped) by Skip McCoy. What Skip (and the dame) don't realize is that she is also carrying some microfilm to be passed to commie spies. This opening shot without dialogue, and mostly in tight close-ups is a beaut, and is but one of the many close-ups that Fuller uses throughout the movie. Playing the babe known as Candy is Jean Peters who was once married to Howard Hughes and who was never better nor better looking even when she is battered and bruised by Widmark into unconsciousness. One forgets how beautiful she was, and she handles this role very well. The Pickpocket is played by Richard Widmark, who had already made his mark, and set his style with 1947's Kiss Of Death as Tommy Udo the crazy creep with the creepy laugh who pushed a wheelchair bound Mildred Dunnock down a flight of stairs, and although he's a little "softer" here, he's still scary. These hard edged Characters do have soft spots here and there, but its noir and nasty all the way. The standout performance belongs to the wonderful Thelma Ritter, who Plays Moe the stoolie saving up her dough to pay for her own funeral. Ritter received a well deserved Oscar nomination for her performance, but lost Out to the boring but popular performance of Donna Reed as the B-girl (read Prostitute) in "From Here to Eternity." Hollywood loves it when a good Girl goes bad, and loves to Oscar them even though their performance is usually Awful. See for instance Shirley Jones in "Elmer Gantry. Set among the docks and dives of New York City, with crisp black and white photography by the great Joe MacDonald, and some very good art direction. Especially fine is the set representing the New York City subways and Widmark's shack near the river. Made at the height of the cold war and red scare, the villain of the piece is the ordinary looking commie, played by Richard Kiley who is much more dangerous than the pickpocket who although a criminal is just trying to Make a living and above all is a loyal, truth, justice and the American way American. Almost 20 years to the day that the film premiered Vincent called me on the phone. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you hold on.” “Is this Ira? This is Sam Fuller and I just love your work.” It seems that Fuller was giving a series of talks at the college where Vincent taught and was staying at his home. Vincent had one of my small boxes, bought a year or so earlier and Fuller loved it. “I want to buy one. Send me one at my California address and I’ll send you a nice check.” After saying good bye I floated into my studio and picked out a nice box for him, and I also threw in a lovely drawing as a gift, free of charge I think I wrote in the letter accompanying the piece for making “The Naked Kiss.” I packed the work up real good and the next day I cha cha’d over to the UPS and the sculpture was on its way. How happy was I. I mean come on, one of my favorite directors had just told me how great he thought I was. I was in heaven and told all my pals at the bookstore where I worked about how Sam Fucking Fuller was buying a piece of mine. A few weeks passed and no word or check came. Finally an 8” x 10” envelope arrived. I opened it up and there was an inscribed photo of Fuller to me with his ubiquitous stogie slammed into his mouth and a letter. In the letter he said how much he and Christa his wife loved my piece, and how he was working on a new project and blah blah blah but no check fluttered out to greet me. I was heartbroken and angry. The photo went into the garbage. I was ripped off bamboozled, scammed robbed by Sam Fuller. I immediately wrote him a nasty angry letter telling him how terrible it was that he would rip off another artist. I never heard from him again. He, his family and my box moved to Paris. Vincent felt real bad, after all he had set the deal up, had unknowingly put the scam in motion. Oh I got over it, it took a while but I got over it. I still love his films but not the man. Now switch to the recent present and I have the new Criterion DVD of Pickup On South Street in my paws and I watch it with pleasure, the juices running down my chin it’s still that good. One of the extras is a series of photos and there is one of Francois Truffaut sitting in The Fuller’s living room in Paris, and in the background I can make out my box attached to a shelf on the wall directly behind the great French director’s head. Life imitates art.