One Man’s Strange Fascination with Hugo Haas: Part 3

In case you found this page by accident, this is number three of a four-part article on the American films of director Hugo Haas. To go to the next chapter, click on the link at the very bottom of this page.

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Edge of Hell and other curios

Hugo Haas never shied away from outrageous symbols or heavy-handedness to make his point- and a definitive example of that is the deceptively titled Edge of Hell (1956), which may be his masterpiece. This Runyon-esque fable is by turns hilarious and tragic, culminating into a finale, which is outrageous, but not logically wrong.

Haas stars as Valentine (rhymes with “teen”), a vagrant who lives in the basement of an apartment house, and makes a meager living performing on street corners with his dog Flip, and always one step ahead of the law. Like many of Haas’ characters, Valentine has fallen from grace: he was once an actor and vaudevillian. As the story progresses, he redeems himself upon being hired to perform with his dog at a child’s birthday party in the estate of wealthy Mr. Hawkins (John Vosper), arranged by Valentine’s neighbour Helen (June Hammerstein) through her chauffeur boyfriend Freddie (Jeffrey Stone). 

The refined Hawkins takes an instant liking to the earthy Valentine. A delightful sequence in which the tramp performer entertains Hawkins with stories while the men share cigars and drinks is reminiscent of the moments in Chaplin’s City Lights (1931), where the Little Tramp is invited out by a drunk millionaire. Thankfully, there is no scene where Valentine is turned out on his ear. However, Hawkins exercises his rich persons’ belief that money can buy anything when he offers an absurd amount of money to purchase Flip, since his kid won’t stop crying about wanting the dog. Of course, Valentine turns down the proposition. With the money that he made from the birthday party engagement, however, Valentine decides to share his wealth by throwing a party in his basement flat, in a truly wonderful scene that recalls the Frank Capra films of another era. Indeed, the sentimental movies that Haas would make in the twilight of his career would seem out of the time in which they were made- more married to the tradition of 40s programmers than those of the late 1950s.

However, I doubt that even Capra had concocted such a fascinating collusion of social class than this affair. Throughout the film, Valentine’s hobo friends who live under the bridge are seen as aristocrats in tattered clothing. They discuss their earnings from panhandling in a patter similar to tycoons discussing stocks. It is a joy to see these disparate characters thrown together in this party sequence—even the swarthy characters, like the slinky French girl Jenette (Francesca De Scaffa) and her shifty boyfriend Billy (Ken Carlton) are equally welcome to share in Valentine’s good fortune. Even at this soiree, the tramps (doubling as doormen) talk business like oil magnates, while the others drink and dance to phonograph records. Still, the jibes against power and capital pervade the conversation. (“Are you proud of your grandson?” “He could be worse- he could be a politician.”)

Up until this moment, one wonders why the film is called Edge of Hell. The title is justly earned after this wonderful scene, as the movie quickly changes in tone. (Even the overall look of the film, shot by Eddie Fitzgerald, becomes darker). After some time passes, we learn that Valentine has asthma (ironically, Hugo Haas would die of complications with asthma in 1968), and hasn’t been able to earn money on the streets. He is eventually forced out of his home for non-payment of rent, and takes residence under the bridge with his hobo friends. Meanwhile, Flip becomes ill, and Valentine realizes he is no longer able to take care of the dog properly, so he reconsiders selling the canine to Hawkins. However, since Valentine is so desperate to get Flip a good home, he leaves with whatever small amount of money the butler had on hand at the moment. Once Billy discovers that Valentine has sold the dog (knowing that he was once offered a tidy sum for Flip), he assumes that Valentine is loaded with money, and plots to rob him. Helen and Jenette learn of his plan, and race to save Valentine in time. 

The progression from light-hearted whimsy to tragedy is expertly maintained, culminating into a climax that is truly heart-pounding. Throughout the film, Valentine often associates his panhandling routines with acting. Even in his final moments, he utters: “Don’t cry darling, I’ve been an old ham all my life; what can be greater for an actor than a death scene, don’t spoil it.” The film however ends on an outrageous turn, smacking of “writer’s convenience” that would cause an uproar in Screenwriting 101, as Valentine and Flip die at exactly the same moment. While obviously contrived, this moment summarizes how Valentine and Flip are meant to be together for eternity. Further still, Haas adds a bizarre finale, in which the man and his dog appear in front of a starry background, with liberal use of dry ice in the frame. “Lord, can I show you some tricks?” Roll of thunder. “Eternal life contract with no options.” The background lights up, the music swells, THE END.

Haas was never so blatant with his spiritual overtones. His supporters and detractors alike would have to agree, upon viewing this finale, that Hugo Haas was absolutely fearless in his pursuits. Not only was he successful in making commercially viable movies while still filling them with his personal themes, no device was too heavy-handed enough to communicate his ideas. 

In the late 1950s, the studio system began to change. In order to compete with television, movies became bigger with the introduction of widescreen. The cheap second feature was being rendered obsolete, when people could watch for free on TV a similar, inexpensively produced effort. One senses that Hugo Haas began to rethink his strategy that was quoted in the 1951 Time magazine article, as in the latter half of the decade, he directed two films, which appear to be “for hire” jobs. Lizzie and Night of the Quarter Moon are noteworthy as rare American films in which Hugo Haas had a decent budget, and as such, should eliminate any doubt that he is a competent filmmaker.  One would also assume that he was attracted to these films, as their subject matter as unusual as his own mini-epics. 

Hugo Haas casts himself in a supporting role as the neighbour Walter, in Lizzie (1957), an adaptation of Shirley Jackson’s novel, The Bird’s Nest, written for the screen by Mel Dinelli. This film predates the Oscar-winning The Three Faces of Eve (released later the same year), in its depiction of multiple personality disorder. Eleanor Parker gives a remarkable performance, credibly playing three different women trapped in the same body. Elizabeth is a mousy librarian, who lives with her alcoholic, gambling aunt Morgan (an over-the-top portrayal by Joan Bennett)- the antithesis of her prim and proper lifestyle. Elizabeth gets letters from Lizzie, who is threatening to kill her. Lizzie is revealed to be her second personality, a sexually aggressive barfly whose liberal demeanour is too much even for the library stud, or her aunt. Elizabeth of course has no recollection of any time spent as Lizzie, and realizing she is losing her mind, seeks professional help. Hypnosis reveals a third woman in her psyche: Beth is the ego who attempts to balance Lizzie’s id and Elizabeth’s superego.

This condition stems from a traumatic incident in Elizabeth’s childhood, when she was sexually assaulted by her mother’s drunken boyfriend. These flashback scenes are uncomfortable to watch, especially in the way they are staged to make young Elizabeth even more defenseless. (Why would she run upstairs and allow herself to be trapped by her assailant when she’s right by the front door?)

Modern day viewers may be surprised to see macho actor Richard Boone as Dr. Neal Wright, who attempts to cure Elizabeth, but this role was before his Have Gun Will Travel TV series. Likely his earlier series, Medic, was the inspiration for his casting in this role. But the film is truly a showcase for Ms. Parker’s talents. In one remarkable, single-shot sequence, Elizabeth is in front of a vanity mirror, proceeding to fix her hair and makeup so violently that it resembles self-abuse, until she finally frowns at her reflection in self-realization of her complex personality.

Presumably because of a larger budget, Hugo Haas allows himself more visual experimentation than seen in his smaller epics. Especially interesting is the dream sequence in which she runs around in the museum, pounding on the glass display windows, and screaming in front of a vanity with… three mirrors. On a side note, Lizzie also features a young Johnny Mathis as a piano-playing singer in its nightclub sequence, where he plays his hit, “It’s Not for Me To Say.” Amusingly, it is with his higher-budgeted studio affairs that Hugo Haas would feature musical numbers. In his next effort, Nat King Cole would act as well as sing.

As a Hugo Haas production, Night of the Quarter Moon (1959) is even less noteworthy. Although it depicts unusual subject matter like his earlier works, this film more bears the personality of its eccentric producer, Albert Zugsmith, the 1950s exploitation king who would make sensationalist films on such hot topics as drugs, mad youth, sexual assault, and in this case, miscegenation. The producer’s penchant for oddball casting is emphasized in the improbable choice of Julie London as the Mexican girl Ginny, who marries socialite Chuck Nelson (John Drew Barrymore, previously in Zugsmith’s masterpiece High School Confidential). A public scandal erupts once it is discovered that she is a quadroon (one-quarter black). Although she confessed this early in their relationship, it is with the public pressure (and that of his domineering mother, Cornelia, played by Agnes Moorehead) that he seeks to annul the marriage, on the grounds that he had no prior knowledge of her race, leading to a courtroom battle.

This film may have been controversial in its day, and a half-century later, it is still chilling to see the societal outrage at a mixed marriage. It was based on a true-life case where the wife had to bare her breasts in court to show there was no way the husband couldn’t have known of his spouse’s ethnicity- but it now seems like a timid affair. Perhaps even the exploitation master himself was thwarted by studio heads for approaching the material with anything more than a superficial level. Despite her earnestness, Ms. London looks ridiculous- exhibiting nothing more than a bad suntan to suggest any exotic features. Instead the film becomes a silly affair where the viewer can instead look for Zugsmith’s stock company in minor roles (Ray Anthony as a hotel manager, Jackie Coogan as a desk sergeant, Charles Chaplin Jr. as a neighbour).  The biggest virtues of this film are in the casting of Nat King Cole (who also sings) as Ginny’s brother-in-law, and the excellent James Edwards (star of the racial war drama Home of the Brave) as her attorney. This film is merely a footnote in Hugo Haas’ career and instead would warrant further discussion only in a study of Albert Zugsmith.