If you enjoy the camera-as-paintbrush quality of a film noir from 1947, then Born to Kill is a distinctive, effective and stylish film. If you require a more strict standard for wit, plausibility and consistency in what had better be an interesting plot, Born to Kill is unconvincing and forgettable. The former is written on my DNA, not to mention a constant source of fascination and thrill for me. Even so, it's difficult to get past the stressful, awkward experience of watching a categorically difficult Tierney, constantly hoping to glean what beautiful, wealthy women like Claire Trevor and Audrey Long find so irresistible about him.
Tierney plays an incomprehensible character named Sam Wild, a psychopathic slum kid, a former boxer and rancher, with a no-good personality and a scalding temper, who somehow manages to marry a rich and classy newspaper heiress, in the plush blonde form of Long. Her adopted sister, in the form of the darkly alluring Trevor, begins to stir up troubles of infidelity and even murder, of course, with this treacherous character for what we can only suppose is the excitement of it. Otherwise, there is nothing to go on. There's zero charisma emanating from anywhere near Tierney at any time, much less an amount that would read on the privileged radar of such a high-born young woman. That leads me to not only how little they know each other by the time we're supposed to believe that sparks are flying, but also how little connection they have socially, economically or geographically. In the opening minutes, he kills a friend out of possessiveness for the girl between them and hops a train from Reno to San Francisco. On this train is where he meets Trevor, who just got a divorce and is returning home. Already, they're both changing their plans in their heads.
For what earthly reason would that happen? And yet, one wonders this question at the same time the refreshing surprise of Tierney's opening murder is only beginning to wear off. The handling of the scene by the adept, multi-talented director Robert Wise is surprisingly modern, scoring the brawl in a middle-class kitchen to big-band tunes incidentally blaring from the radio in the other room and employing a level of contrast between light and shadow that's high even for most B noir of the time. However ill-prepared the plotting and characterization seems to be---and I know that's the stuff that really matters---the movie's got style. But sometimes, style can be your downfall.
The most charming moments essentially arise from old-hand character actor Walter Slezak, whose performance as a private investigator deserves more screen time. Elisha Cook, Jr. comes in on his doorstep with his performance as the devoted lackey who for some totally unfathomable reason would even kill for friendship. And a thankless job that turns out to be, but why should we care when the guy had no reason to do the things he did except that it befits what we except of Elisha Cook, Jr.? Also by behaving so clownishly, Esther Howard makes another identifying mark of the material drawing no psychological links whatsoever between its characters and the events of the plot. Though it's a worthy enough surprise when she shows some nerve by spitting on Trevor.
So, one does not come away with much when all is said and done. But in the moment, Wise's direction is that of both an expert, ahead-of-the-vanguard artisan of an expressionistic canvas and an outsider, working in a milieu he understands intellectually, but just not emotionally. Needless to say, he would soon begin to make films that used his talent not as a study of insects but as a study of emotional, adventurous humanistic characters.
Tierney plays an incomprehensible character named Sam Wild, a psychopathic slum kid, a former boxer and rancher, with a no-good personality and a scalding temper, who somehow manages to marry a rich and classy newspaper heiress, in the plush blonde form of Long. Her adopted sister, in the form of the darkly alluring Trevor, begins to stir up troubles of infidelity and even murder, of course, with this treacherous character for what we can only suppose is the excitement of it. Otherwise, there is nothing to go on. There's zero charisma emanating from anywhere near Tierney at any time, much less an amount that would read on the privileged radar of such a high-born young woman. That leads me to not only how little they know each other by the time we're supposed to believe that sparks are flying, but also how little connection they have socially, economically or geographically. In the opening minutes, he kills a friend out of possessiveness for the girl between them and hops a train from Reno to San Francisco. On this train is where he meets Trevor, who just got a divorce and is returning home. Already, they're both changing their plans in their heads.
For what earthly reason would that happen? And yet, one wonders this question at the same time the refreshing surprise of Tierney's opening murder is only beginning to wear off. The handling of the scene by the adept, multi-talented director Robert Wise is surprisingly modern, scoring the brawl in a middle-class kitchen to big-band tunes incidentally blaring from the radio in the other room and employing a level of contrast between light and shadow that's high even for most B noir of the time. However ill-prepared the plotting and characterization seems to be---and I know that's the stuff that really matters---the movie's got style. But sometimes, style can be your downfall.
The most charming moments essentially arise from old-hand character actor Walter Slezak, whose performance as a private investigator deserves more screen time. Elisha Cook, Jr. comes in on his doorstep with his performance as the devoted lackey who for some totally unfathomable reason would even kill for friendship. And a thankless job that turns out to be, but why should we care when the guy had no reason to do the things he did except that it befits what we except of Elisha Cook, Jr.? Also by behaving so clownishly, Esther Howard makes another identifying mark of the material drawing no psychological links whatsoever between its characters and the events of the plot. Though it's a worthy enough surprise when she shows some nerve by spitting on Trevor.
So, one does not come away with much when all is said and done. But in the moment, Wise's direction is that of both an expert, ahead-of-the-vanguard artisan of an expressionistic canvas and an outsider, working in a milieu he understands intellectually, but just not emotionally. Needless to say, he would soon begin to make films that used his talent not as a study of insects but as a study of emotional, adventurous humanistic characters.