Calcutta Film

[Melissa Alvarado]

Inpost-World War II Asia, three American pilots, Neale Gordon (Alan Ladd), Bill Cunningham (John Whitney) and Pedro Blake (William Bendix) fly a route from Chungking, China to Calcutta, India. They live at the Hotel Imperial in Calcutta. When Neale and Pedro's aircraft is forced down in a mountainous area, Bill comes to the rescue.

Bill's fiance, Virginia Moore (Gail Russell), at an engagement party tells Neale and Pedro that Bill has been strangled. Nightclub singer Marina Tanev (June Duprez) says Eric Lasser (Lowell Gilmore), the nightclub owner canceled the engagement party on the night Bill was killed. Tearing an expensive diamond necklace from her neck, Neale confronts Virginia making her confess she was not in love with Bill.

During a flight to Chungking, Pedro meets Indian merchant Mul Raj Malik (Paul Singh) who tells him to visit him at his import-export shop. In Calcutta, Mrs. Smith (Edith King), a jewellery merchant reveals Bill bought Virginia's necklace and deposited a $7,000 check before he died. Neale is still wary of Virginia's involvement in his friend's death and when he discovers a bag of jewels in the floorboards of one of their aircraft, he has to fight for his life.

Giving the jewels to Pedro, Neale returns to the hotel, hoping to catch the smugglers but Malik confronts him but is shot as he leaves the room. When Neale shows a jewelled brooch to Marina, she warns that Virginia knows more about the night Bill died. Going to her room, Neale finds it has been ransacked and Virginia is missing.

British police officers led by Inspector Hendricks (Gavin Muir) arrive to arrest Neale for Malik's murder. Pedro claims the gun that was used in Malik's murder was his. Neale is released and he pledges that he will find the real killer. Virginia contacts Neale and tells him she loves him, but he is still suspicious of her motives. When the hotel desk clerk (Benson Fong) who was there the night Bill was murdered contradicts Virginia's story, Neale wrings the truth out of her. She was part of the smuggling ring, with her role to get close to the pilots who were flying in and out of Calcutta, until Bill got wise to the scheme. She held a gun to Bill's temple but it was Lasser who strangled him.

Lasser bursts in, and Virginia tries to shoot him but is disarmed by Neale who kills Lasser during their struggle for the gun. Neale then calls in Hendricks who arrests Virginia, still professing her love for Neale. Later, when Marina goes to the airport, she tells Neale that tangling with mountains is safer than his dealing with women. The two embrace and kiss with Neale then setting off on his next flight.

Calcutta had frequently been in the news with reports of the war and Paramount decided it would make an ideal setting for a film. Production of the movie was announced in late 1944. It was based on an original story by Seton Miller who also acted as screenwriter and producer.[4]

Alan Ladd and William Bendix, who had just appeared in Two Years Before the Mast for Miller, were announced as stars, playing pilots who flew over the "hump" from Calcutta to Chungking.[5] Howard da Silva, who had co-starred several times with Ladd, was announced as a co-star but ended up not being cast.[6][7] John Farrow, who had made two films with Ladd, was chosen to direct.

Filming took place in June and July 1945. Four people were hired as special technical advisers: Joe Rosbert (a member of the Flying Tigers who crashed on "the hump"), Major Whyte (a veteran of the Eighth Burma Rifles), Mrs Madge Schofield (a former resident of Calcutta) and Dr Singh (a resident Hollywood expert on Indian affairs); the last two had small roles in the film. Of the other cast members, June Duprez had suffered a career slump since moving to Hollywood following her appearance in The Thief of Bagdad but had been restored to some popularity since appearing in None But the Lonely Heart. Gail Russell had previously made Salty O'Rourke with Ladd. John Witney was from Little Theatre and was a protege of Alan Ladd. Edith King, who had just appeared in Broadway in Othello, made her film debut.[8] 200 Indian seamen from the British Indian Navy were used as extras.[9]

There is just so much that an actor can do on his own to make a character interesting and then he must depend upon the scenarist to provide him with dialogue and situations which will keep the spectator on edge. In Calcutta, which opened yesterday at the Paramount. Alan Ladd is going through an all-too-familiar exercise. While the actor is giving a competent performance and is nicely abetted by William Bendix, the story by Seton I. Miller, who also produced the film for Paramount, is a sorry mess indeed.[10]

John Farrow's Calcutta is a fast-paced old-fashioned adventure yarn, shot entirely in Paramount's backlot. Seton Miller does the screenplay. It's an entertaining potboiler, though a minor work ... Ladd gives an icy action-hero performance as someone who revels in his disdain for women as untrustworthy companions. By Ladd's politically incorrect moves, he takes on the characteristics of the film noir protagonist--which gives this programmer its energy. Ladd quotes an ancient Hindu saying 'Man who trust woman walk on duckweed over pond,' which tells us all we want to know about how he has stayed alive for so long while in the company of dangerous women, ones like Virginia, while Bill so easily succumbed to the beauty of the femme fatale.[12]

When Ladd rips a pendant from her neck or slaps her around, it makes him appear all the more impervious to women. Their interaction holds this film together and demonstrates the misogynistic strain of hard-boiled fiction; it is a strain implicit in much of post-war American society as well.[13]

Buy the DVD set from Barnes and NobleBuy the DVD set from Barnes and Noble FacebookXReddit David Blakeslee David hosts the Criterion Reflections podcast, a series that reviews the films of the Criterion Collection in their chronological order of release. The series began in 2009 and those essays (covering the years 1921-1967) can be found via the website link provided below. In March 2016, the blog transferred to this site, and in August 2017, the blog changed over to a podcast format. David also contributes to other reviews and podcasts on this site. He lives near Grand Rapids, Michigan and works in social services. Twitter / Criterion Reflections

CALCUTTA, India--I have been here at the Calcutta Film Festival for five days without once hearing the word "Miramax." No one has discussed a deal. There has been no speculation about a film's box office prospects. I have not seen a single star. I have been plunged into a world of passionate debate about film--nonstop talking about theory, politics and art. For the visiting American, dazed and sedated by the weekly mumbo-jumbo about the weekend's ten grossers, this is like a wakeup plunge into cold water.

Festival films are showing all over Calcutta, and every house for every film, no matter how obscure, is sold out. The focus is at Nandan, the West Bengal Film Centre, where movies screen in vast auditoriums and small rooms tucked obscurely away under the eaves. Panel discussions run nonstop at the same time.

Still blurry with jet lag, I am on a panel titled "Film-Telefilm-Films: A Spielberg Phenomenon." The six panelists spend much of their time trying to worry out the meaning of this subject. The Indian director Ashoke Viswanathan goes right back to the beginning, explaining why still photos projected at 24 frames a second seem to be moving. The Australian director Paul Cox, inspired by a question about the greatest living directors, announces, "The greatest living directors are all dead."

Just as I am clearing my throat to begin by own profound remarks, Ansu Sur, the head of the festival, announces a break, and we all repair to a room next door to sip tea and eat cookies, and gaze on a exhibit of still photos from the works of Hitchcock.

Calcutta is said to be the intellectual center of India. Bombay is the film center, and "Bollywood" produces more films every year than Hollywood. But Calcutta is the home of Satyajit Ray, the greatest Indian director and patron saint of Bengali film lovers. "In Bombay it is all business, in Delhi it is all politics, in Calcutta it is all philosophy," I was told by a young man behind me in line at the Pepsi stand.

The grounds of Nandan are chockablock with dozens of little private refreshment stands, offering Pepsi, coffee, tea, snacks, and Indian fast food, vegetarian or non-vegetarian. There is also an open-air book bazaar, a dozen of so dealers with their wares displayed on tables. There are more books about Ingmar Bergman than anyone else. There are no books about Austin Powers.

The grounds of Nandan are filled with conversation. On the grass, students in threes and fours sit in the sun with the festival program, discussing the films they have seen. On railings and benches, older people nod in earnest debate. Nobody asks me about Tom Cruise but I am closely examined on "Battleship Potemkin." I was told to expect beggar children in Calcutta, hanging on my sleeve, but there are none here. Instead, every time I show my face outside a screening, I am urgently required to lend my presence to a discussion forum, immediately. "But I have to go to another movie," I tell the man from the Association of Film Societies. "If only for a moment or two," he says, obviously gauging how long it will take me to download my best insights.

Every evening we official delegates gather at dinner parties, in the Calcutta Club, the Bengal Club, the Cricket Club. I find myself seeking out Tahmineh Milani, the feminist heroine of the new Iranian Cinema, whose "Two Women" is about a woman of genius who feels trapped and discouraged by her country's cultural revolution. She and her architect husband talk not about agents and deals, but about making films under a regime that imposes religious restrictions, but seems to be growing more flexible.

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