THE ASPHALT JUNGLE epitomizes Film Noir. It's dark, grim and it's not afraid to show us seedy, down-and-out characters who are nevertheless complex and deeply human. This film has men and women who inhabit the underworld, that 'city under the city'. Most of their needs are spelled out, and the backgrounds are painted in memorable detail.
We see little men like Cobby (the late Marc Lawrence in a sweaty, realistic performance) and Gus (James Whitmore); a woman with nothing but a romantic illusion to cling to (the great Jean Hagen as Doll); men whose lives have been crippled by crime and who persevere only through their own folly-laden dreams: Doc (who sets it all in motion, expertly played by Sam Jaffe) and Dix (Sterling Hayden). There is also family-man safe-cracker Louis Ciavelli (Anthony Caruso), whose motivations are understandable to us all and whose desperation is painful to watch at times. While Dix is often seen as the central protagonist in JUNGLE, he really shares that position with Alonzo Emmerich. Emmerich is a corrupt lawyer: a formerly wealthy, urbane man reduced to the same doomed schemes as his cohorts, men to whom he feels superior and whom he ultimately intends to double-cross. Emmerich is almost tragic in the Greek or Shakespearean mold: he has farther to fall than Dix and the rest, but he has already met the ground halfway as the film begins. He's broke, and no more debts can be called in to support the new scheme. Unlike the younger men, who could possibly take other paths, there is really nowhere for him to go but down. Emmerich's scenes--rendered immortal by Louis Calhern's performance, the greatest in the film--are the most interestingly complex. He pretends he is smarter than everyone else, but he knows that hubris has brought his life past the crisis point. He is painfully aware that neither the money from the stolen jewels, nor the foolish romantic escape with his mistress (Marilyn Monroe) will ever redeem him.
The robbery sequence, around which the film ostensibly revolves, is very brief and anti-climactic. This is surely Huston's intention: it's all over in a few minutes and nobody actually gets what they want. The stolen jewels are brought to Emmerich and a violent scene leads to a foil of the rich man's double-crossing scheme. In the end, everyone can see that this particular gleaming treasure--like the gold dust in TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE or the 'black bird' in THE MALTESE FALCON--is ultimately worthless: the jewels are too hot and no one dares fence them. So Doc ends up with most of them in his black bag. He begins pursuit of his dream of a tropical isle, surrounded with dancing girls and ends up in a roadside bar where he feeds nickels into a jukebox as a pretty teenager bops around for him. The waiting cops close in quickly, and all is over for Doc. Emmerich, too, is soon caught. The alibi plan with the mistress doesn't hold water. And the police make a direct connection to him and his dead henchman Brannom (Brad Dexter). Making short work of it, he goes into his private office and shoots himself in the head.
Other characters meet their ends behind bars (Cobby and Gus) or with ironic justice (corrupt detective Barry Kelley, who tries to play both sides), or in death (Ciavelli). At the close of the film, we are left with a mortally wounded Dix, driving toward his dreamed-of horse farm. At his side is the faithful Doll, who knows the jig is up. Dix has never given up his illusions, where the other characters probably never believed their own. He dies, with poetic rightness, in a field surrounded by curious horses, as poor Doll is left to her own devices. The film, which opened on a dim stretch of urban asphalt, closes on a sunny rural vision.
What makes THE ASPHALT JUNGLE a great Film Noir? The wide array of doomed characters and a persistent feeling of encroaching doom go a long way to take it in that direction. In this way, the film exemplifies the strong fatalism that is essential to Noir. Along the way, we hear some of the most intelligent, yet convincing dialog in all of Noir (by Huston and Ben Maddow) characters who sound real, who say what someone might actually say or be thinking.
This realism is enhanced by the look of the film, starkly, yet vividly shot in black-and-white by Harold Rosson. It's worth noting that Rosson uses some sophisticated camera techniques, such as deep focus and and the extreme foregrounding of a single character. If, while watching, the viewer imagines a B-movie version of this story, with conventional camera work and a lackluster cast and script, the greatness of THE ASPHALT JUNGLE becomes even more evident. The consummate technical work and artistry involved elevate the film far above any genre or pulp limitations.
Underlining the bleakness of Huston's vision right from the opening credits is the music score by Miklos Rozsa (who also scored CRISS CROSS) in a departure from from his scores for DOUBLE INDEMNITY and SPELLBOUND, Rozsa places his cues sparingly. The score only calls attention to itself under the main titles and during Dix's wild death ride. As for the robbery scene, Rozsa provides no music for it, and dialog is minimal. While it's far briefer, we can see this scene as the true precursor of the robbery scene in Jules Dassin's RIFIFI (1955), famed for its nearly complete silence.
But John Huston himself may deserve the lion's share of credit for this film. Taking the advice of an older director he had known (possibly Josef Von Sternberg?), he directs each scene as if it were the most important one in the film. This gives every scene its own sense of urgency and keeps a consistent tone, making the film one long, tragic descent into doom.
We see little men like Cobby (the late Marc Lawrence in a sweaty, realistic performance) and Gus (James Whitmore); a woman with nothing but a romantic illusion to cling to (the great Jean Hagen as Doll); men whose lives have been crippled by crime and who persevere only through their own folly-laden dreams: Doc (who sets it all in motion, expertly played by Sam Jaffe) and Dix (Sterling Hayden). There is also family-man safe-cracker Louis Ciavelli (Anthony Caruso), whose motivations are understandable to us all and whose desperation is painful to watch at times. While Dix is often seen as the central protagonist in JUNGLE, he really shares that position with Alonzo Emmerich. Emmerich is a corrupt lawyer: a formerly wealthy, urbane man reduced to the same doomed schemes as his cohorts, men to whom he feels superior and whom he ultimately intends to double-cross. Emmerich is almost tragic in the Greek or Shakespearean mold: he has farther to fall than Dix and the rest, but he has already met the ground halfway as the film begins. He's broke, and no more debts can be called in to support the new scheme. Unlike the younger men, who could possibly take other paths, there is really nowhere for him to go but down. Emmerich's scenes--rendered immortal by Louis Calhern's performance, the greatest in the film--are the most interestingly complex. He pretends he is smarter than everyone else, but he knows that hubris has brought his life past the crisis point. He is painfully aware that neither the money from the stolen jewels, nor the foolish romantic escape with his mistress (Marilyn Monroe) will ever redeem him.
The robbery sequence, around which the film ostensibly revolves, is very brief and anti-climactic. This is surely Huston's intention: it's all over in a few minutes and nobody actually gets what they want. The stolen jewels are brought to Emmerich and a violent scene leads to a foil of the rich man's double-crossing scheme. In the end, everyone can see that this particular gleaming treasure--like the gold dust in TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE or the 'black bird' in THE MALTESE FALCON--is ultimately worthless: the jewels are too hot and no one dares fence them. So Doc ends up with most of them in his black bag. He begins pursuit of his dream of a tropical isle, surrounded with dancing girls and ends up in a roadside bar where he feeds nickels into a jukebox as a pretty teenager bops around for him. The waiting cops close in quickly, and all is over for Doc. Emmerich, too, is soon caught. The alibi plan with the mistress doesn't hold water. And the police make a direct connection to him and his dead henchman Brannom (Brad Dexter). Making short work of it, he goes into his private office and shoots himself in the head.
Other characters meet their ends behind bars (Cobby and Gus) or with ironic justice (corrupt detective Barry Kelley, who tries to play both sides), or in death (Ciavelli). At the close of the film, we are left with a mortally wounded Dix, driving toward his dreamed-of horse farm. At his side is the faithful Doll, who knows the jig is up. Dix has never given up his illusions, where the other characters probably never believed their own. He dies, with poetic rightness, in a field surrounded by curious horses, as poor Doll is left to her own devices. The film, which opened on a dim stretch of urban asphalt, closes on a sunny rural vision.
What makes THE ASPHALT JUNGLE a great Film Noir? The wide array of doomed characters and a persistent feeling of encroaching doom go a long way to take it in that direction. In this way, the film exemplifies the strong fatalism that is essential to Noir. Along the way, we hear some of the most intelligent, yet convincing dialog in all of Noir (by Huston and Ben Maddow) characters who sound real, who say what someone might actually say or be thinking.
This realism is enhanced by the look of the film, starkly, yet vividly shot in black-and-white by Harold Rosson. It's worth noting that Rosson uses some sophisticated camera techniques, such as deep focus and and the extreme foregrounding of a single character. If, while watching, the viewer imagines a B-movie version of this story, with conventional camera work and a lackluster cast and script, the greatness of THE ASPHALT JUNGLE becomes even more evident. The consummate technical work and artistry involved elevate the film far above any genre or pulp limitations.
Underlining the bleakness of Huston's vision right from the opening credits is the music score by Miklos Rozsa (who also scored CRISS CROSS) in a departure from from his scores for DOUBLE INDEMNITY and SPELLBOUND, Rozsa places his cues sparingly. The score only calls attention to itself under the main titles and during Dix's wild death ride. As for the robbery scene, Rozsa provides no music for it, and dialog is minimal. While it's far briefer, we can see this scene as the true precursor of the robbery scene in Jules Dassin's RIFIFI (1955), famed for its nearly complete silence.
But John Huston himself may deserve the lion's share of credit for this film. Taking the advice of an older director he had known (possibly Josef Von Sternberg?), he directs each scene as if it were the most important one in the film. This gives every scene its own sense of urgency and keeps a consistent tone, making the film one long, tragic descent into doom.