Contract on Cherry Street (1977)

          Notwithstanding a two-year hiatus from showbiz, legendary entertainer Frank Sinatra spent most of the ’70s on music, letting his Oscar-winning movie career go fallow. That was probably wise, given the diminishing returns of such projects as the forgettable comedy Dirty Dingus Magee (1970). By the time Sinatra resumed acting for this telefilm, however, the wiry swinger of yesteryear had been supplanted by a lethargic, middle-aged fellow wearing an iffy gray toupee. At least Sinatra’s performance here in Contract on Cherry Street not as distractingly halfhearted as his drab turn in the 1980 theatrical feature The First Deadly Sin, which marked the final starring role of his acting career.
          A grim and slow-moving melodrama about cops working outside the law to gain the upper hand on criminals, Contract features Sinatra as Deputy Inspector Frank Hovannes, the boss of an elite NYPD organized-crime unit. After seeing one too many crooks escape justice by bribing officials, Frank and his people embrace a dangerous idea—why not murder a crook, frame another crook for the hit, and start a war in which bad guys kill each other? Naturally, this is easier said than done, so the cops face obstacles ranging from sketchy informants to an unstable member of their own team. Additionally, the criminals are more clever than the cops anticipated, so the more the cops stir up trouble, the more they risk exposing their own scheme.
          There’s a nasty little potboiler buried inside this storyline, and someone like Sidney Lumet could have made a crackerjack thriller by collapsing the events down to a shorter running time (Contract runs two and half hours) while giving the leading character more emotional shading. Unfortunately, bloat and shapelessness keep Contract mired in mediocrity, and some of the ego-stroking indulgences associated with Sinatra’s participation hurt the movie. It’s one thing for Sinatra to have his own glamour lighting during closeups. It’s another to burden the movie with various scenes of the protagonist’s wife all but begging him for sex. (Sinatra was 62 when the picture was broadcast.)

          For all its flaws, however, Contract on Cherry Street is basically watchable. Extensive New York location photography lends a sense of place, and some of the supporting performances are strong. Reliable players Martin Balsam, Harry Guardino, and Henry Silva play cops, as does fresh-faced Michael Nouri, although Steve Inwood steals the movie as a twitchy informant/junkie. Having said that, his gritty work is probably more suited to the imaginary Lumet-directed version than this so-so slog.

Contract on Cherry Street: FUNKY

1980 Week: The First Deadly Sin

          A grim policier noteworthy for containing Frank Sinatra’s final leading role—he relegated his acting appearances to cameos and guest roles for the remainder of his life—The First Deadly Sin is a peculiar piece of work, because even though the technical execution is first-rate, the story is hopelessly enervated. What’s more, Sinatra’s manner of depicting his character’s world-weariness comes across as disinterested acting, a problem exacerbated by his character’s murky motivations. The movie also suffers an imbalance because leading lady Faye Dunaway’s scenes are needlessly attenuated, given the underwritten nature of her role, and because most of the central investigation comprises a quest to identify a murder weapon, rather than a murderer. As such, the protagonist lacks emotion, the key secondary character lacks substance, and the main narrative thrust lacks a human element. It says much for the skills of everyone involved that The First Deadly Sin is relatively watchable despite all of these shortcomings.

          Sinatra plays Edward Delaney, an NYPD detective on the cusp of retirement. At the very moment a challenging murder case lands on his desk, Edward’s wife, Barbara (Dunaway), suffers a seizure while hospitalized and undergoes emergency surgery. Furthermore, Edward’s combative new supervisor, Captain Broughton (Anthony Zerbe), orders him not to investigate crimes with connections to other precincts. This set of circumstances creates an existential quandary for the diligent detective—even as his wife’s health becomes more and more precarious, he must defy his supervisor’s orders if he wishes to bring an elusive killer to justice. Eventually, this situation resolves into a scenario of Edward seeking to impose morality onto a capricious universe before impending tragedy strips life of its meaning.

          Director Brian G. Hutton’s pacing is very slow, resulting in myriad shots of Sinatra loitering onscreen with various gloomy facial expressions. The love story between the Delaneys never clicks, partially because the 26-year age gap between Dunaway and Sinatra is so glaring. Furthermore, the hero enlists nonprofessional helpers to aid his investigation, and these folks never face danger; come to think of it, we never really fear for Delaney’s welfare, either. So as a thriller, The First Deadly Sin fizzles. Every so often, however, the movie sparks thanks to a zesty addition from a character actor. George Coe is suitably loathsome as a doctor who lacks empathy, David Dukes contributes twitchy work as a deranged killer, James Whitmore lends amiability and crustiness to his role as a coroner, and Joe Spinell is wonderfully crass playing a doorman who can be bought cheaply.

The First Deadly Sin: FUNKY

That’s Entertainment! (1974) & That’s Entertainment, Part II (1976)

          Made to commemorate Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer’s 50th anniversary, That’s Entertainment! is a documentary in name only, since the picture comprises clips from old movies that are introduced—through new, scripted footage—by a group of movie actors closely associated with the MGM studio. Anyone looking for behind-the-scenes gossip or insight will be disappointed, but, as the film’s title suggests, providing information isn’t the point. Rather, That’s Entertainment! offers a massive array of show-stopping musical numbers, including such classic moments as Fred Astaire’s graceful dance duet with Cyd Charisse in The Band Wagon (1953), Judy Garland’s plaintive rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” from The Wizard of Oz (1939), Gene Kelly’s exuberant performance of the title song in Singin’ in the Rain (1952), and dozens more. The picture also spotlights rarely scene clips, including Clark Gable performing “Puttin’ on the Ritz” in Idiot’s Delight (1939), and features montages celebrating the work of such Golden Age stars as Lena Horne, Ann Miller, and Esther Williams.

          The clips are nearly all dazzling, running the gamut from outrageous Busby Berkeley-directed spectacles to simple vocal performances, and the film’s seven editors did a remarkable job of organizing the material into logical sections while also creating a smooth flow. Writer-producer-director Jack Haley Jr.’s use of MGM stars as hosts works, too, because their participation validates the piece; furthermore, seeing the passage of time through their aging faces and physiques amplifies the nostalgia of recalling a magical era from the past. (Accentuating this effect, many of the hosts are shot walking through decrepit sections of the long-unused MGM backlot.)

          The impressive roster of hosts includes Fred Astaire, Bing Crosby, Gene Kelly, Peter Lawford, Donald O’Connor, Debbie Reynolds, Mickey Rooney, Frank Sinatra, James Stewart, Elizabeth Taylor, and the late Judy Garland’s daughter, Liza Minnelli, who presents a sweet segment about “Mama.” Each host offers a canned anecdote or two, and then narrates a few minutes of clips, so Haley creates the illusion of old friends sharing memories at a reunion. That’s Entertainment! is total fluff, but it lives up to its title and, in a cheerfully superficial sort of way, provides a history lesson simply by cataloguing the best output from one studio.

          Alas, the film’s first sequel, That’s Entertainment, Part II, is not nearly as charming. Kelly took over the directing chores, and he co-hosts the entire film exclusively with fellow song-and-dance legend Astaire. (Songwriter Sammy Cahn makes an ineffectual appearance during one quick bit.) Kelly and his team cast a wider net for different types of clips, since most of MGM’s best musical numbers were used in the previous film. As a result, this picture features random montages about great movie lines, plus such extended comedy bits as the Marx Brothers’ classic “stateroom” scene from A Night at the Opera (1935). Combined with the lack of organization—the movie jumps around between eras and genres—the inclusion of nonmusical scenes makes That’s Entertainment, Part II confusing and unfocused. Worse, Kelly stages all of the hosting bits as musical numbers. While it’s fun to see Astaire and Kelly hoofing together, their age and a general lack of inspiration makes these original production numbers seem second-rate when juxtaposed with classic clips. Nonetheless, the franchise soldiered on with a quasi-official follow-up called That’s Dancing In 1985 and then an official, made-for-TV threequel called That’s Entertainment III in 1994.

That’s Entertainment!: GROOVY

That’s Entertainment, Part II: FUNKY

Dirty Dingus Magee (1970)

Grating and unfunny, this spoof of movie Westerns pales beside the inspired lunacy of Blazing Saddles (1974) and even the lighthearted silliness of Cat Ballou (1965). Worse, the movie overcompensates for its shortcomings by smothering nearly every scene in cloying music straight out of a Disney cartoon, and by relying on vulgar stereotypes like ignorant Native Americans, moronic Cavalry soldiers, and sex-crazed frontier women. In other words, rather than actually satirizing the clichés of the Western genre, Dirty Dingus Magee merely recites the clichés and adds the cinematic equivalent of lounge-comic rim shots. A bored-looking Frank Sinatra stars as small-time outlaw Dingus Magee. After robbing a bankroll from his dim-bulb pal Hoke (George Kennedy), Dingus retreats into the wilderness, where he becomes lovers with a horny squaw, Anna Hot Water (Michele Carey). Hoke seeks assistance from the mayor of a frontier town, who is also the local madam, Belle (Anne Jackson). She appoints Hoke sheriff so he can chase Dingus. However, the U.S. Army is threatening to close a nearby military base, so Belle asks Hoke to stir up an Indian uprising as a means of persuading the Army to stay. Using these plot elements, plus a few other stupid contrivances, producer-director Burt Kennedy constructs an hour and a half of noisy farce. Typical high jinks include a running gag of Hoke getting bopped on the head to the accompaniment of cartoonish sound effects, and Anna Hot Water repeatedly asking whether it’s time for her and “Din-goose” to “make bim-bam.” Sinatra wears a floppy black wig that makes him look like a middle-aged reject from Beatlemania, and Kennedy pulls so many bug-eyed faces that it’s surprising he got through production without an aneurysm. Both should have been embarrassed by their participation in this misfire. (Available at WarnerArchive.com)

Dirty Dingus Magee: LAME