Kiss of Death ****

Make no mistake; there are downsides to being a film critic. For example, you have no idea how many ice cube I had to see suffer and vanish in my various gin and tonics while some studio flunky tells me about the next big thing – whether it be a movie or star. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand these guys are nothing but a lot of talk in a bag, but every once in a while…

One early afternoon in late 1947 after suffering through the endless screenings of two movies that hopefully burned in some tragic fire, I decided to ease my pain with a sandwich and several gin-and-tonics at the Brown Derby. Before the glass even hits my lips, I hear “here’s my guy. The world’s greatest film critic.”

I didn’t need to turn around. I knew Freddy Kohlmar’s booming voice anywhere. His actual title was producer, but in actuality, he was just one of Sam Goldwyn’s stooges. I was about to tell him off when I saw he was with someone. He had a young face and a receding blond hairline, which made him look anywhere from 25 to 40. Plus, the skin appeared to be stretched tight across his broad forehead that gave him a slight look of menace despite the forced smile across his face. Freddy had been dragging this poor lad across town.

“Yes, Fred,” I said trying to control my temper with few monosyllabic words.

“Jimmy, my boy,” Freddy said, knowing I hate when people call me Jimmy. “This is the next big star. Right here. Just made his debut. Gonna be real big.”

“What movie?” I asked.

“The new Mature film.”

Victor Mature was a serviceable actor, especially when he was in a supporting role like in My Darling Clementine, but he never did much for me as a leading man. He just lacks a heroic quality that was necessary for leading men of those days. The movie in question was “Kiss of Death,” which I had not scene. I actually wasn’t going to until I saw that Benny Hecht wrote it, so I figured I give it a try.

Little did I know that the movie would actually be quite remarkable and the biggest reason for that would be the odd looking man that Kohlmar introduced me to that early afternoon – Richard Widmark.

In years to come, Dick would make quite a name for himself playing the luckless schnook surviving by the skin of his teeth in a long series of Westerns and Noirs. He also lacked that heroic quality, but he compensated with a marvelous everyman approach that would have made him quite successful today (think Tom Hanks).

I’ve always said that acting is far less important than casting, but there are exceptions to that rule. Kiss of Death would be Exception Number 1. After meeting this quiet young former high school drama teacher, there is no way in God’s Green Earth that I would have guessed that he could pull off the role of Tommy Udo. Up until that time and maybe up until today, Udo might have been the most sadistic and psychopathic character to grace the silver screen. The plot of the movie was about Udo trying to get revenge on a former prison cellmate, but who cares. The fun of this movie is watch Dick storm through around and over the screen, chewing up scenery the whole way.

Over fifty years later, people still talk about the time that Widmark (in character, of course) threw the wheelchair-bound old lady down a flight of steps, cackling while the lady screamed and the metal on the chair banged down each step. That may have been the single most shocking moment I’ve ever seen in a film. And what sold the whole thing was that cackle – that high pitched giggle that Dick perfected as he raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes.

Years later, Dick told me that the director, veteran Henry Hathaway, didn’t want to use him, said he didn’t have the right look. Of course, I laughed. How ridiculous is that? I knew he was perfect for the role all the time.