Even four years after 'The Jazz Singer (1927),' Hollywood was still adapting to the "talkies." Mervyn LeRoy's 'Little Caesar (1931)' along with 'The Public Enemy (1931)' and 'Scarface (1932)' was one of the pivotal films in the development of the gangster genre {popular in the 1930s, and later a considerable influence on film noir}, but it also suffers the pitfalls of many early sound films. This rocky transition between mediums is still seen in the film's occasional use of explanatory intertitles, a vestigial remnant from the silent era. However, despite exhibited the drawbacks of its contemporaries limited use of sound, unremarkable visuals LeRoy's film could never have succeeded as a silent film, for the bulk of its power stems from the remarkable performance of a young-ish Edward G. Robinson. Though seemingly unintimidating as a short, plump petty criminal, Little Caesar has a nasty scowl, and a cocky drawl that shows that he means business. This might be the earliest case (that I've come across) of an actor using words to create a truly memorable character.
'Little Caesar' is about a man who, tired of being a nobody, strikes out for the top. Less sinful characters in cinema have used this premise as a springboard for success in noble political, sporting, and artistic endeavours, but not Rico (Robinson) he's a small-time crook, and his dream is to be the biggest crook in town. Rico's ascent to power, probably modelled on the real-life rise of Al Capone, has served as a template for countless subsequent gangster films, including 'The Godfather: Part II (1974),' 'Scarface (1983)' and 'American Gangster (2007)' {indeed, "Little Caesar" novelist W.R. Burnett also worked on Howard Hawks' 'Scarface (1932)'}. As Little Caesar, Robinson completely dominates the film, and fortunately we rarely stray from his footsteps. Douglas Fairbanks Jr., as a reformed criminal-turned-dancer, does adequately in an uninteresting role. Thomas Jackson, as Sergeant Flaherty, invents a offbeat, ignoble sort of law-enforcer, speaking with a sarcastic, contemptuous whine that suggest utter disdain for his quarry.
Many of W.R. Burnett's films involve characters who are ultimately brought down by their all-too-human weaknesses: Tony Camonte in 'Scarface (1932)' is brought down by his (incestuous) jealousy over his sister; Raven in 'This Gun for Hire (1942)' is too proud to abandon his planned assassinations; the heist thieves in 'The Asphalt Jungle (1950)' each have their respective vices. Likewise, Rico is toppled by a moment of compassion towards an old friend. Alcohol and women the two most popular pitfalls hold no regard to Little Caesar, who dismisses both as mere distractions from his power. But what I found most interesting is that, unlike the other examples I just mentioned, Rico is brought down by his only lingering morsel of virtue. This helps breed a sliver of audience sympathy towards a man who had formerly exhibited little but contempt for humanity, converting Rico's rise to power into a fully-fledged tragedy; of a man who wanted it all, but to his disbelief couldn't quite wrap his fingers around it.
'Little Caesar' is about a man who, tired of being a nobody, strikes out for the top. Less sinful characters in cinema have used this premise as a springboard for success in noble political, sporting, and artistic endeavours, but not Rico (Robinson) he's a small-time crook, and his dream is to be the biggest crook in town. Rico's ascent to power, probably modelled on the real-life rise of Al Capone, has served as a template for countless subsequent gangster films, including 'The Godfather: Part II (1974),' 'Scarface (1983)' and 'American Gangster (2007)' {indeed, "Little Caesar" novelist W.R. Burnett also worked on Howard Hawks' 'Scarface (1932)'}. As Little Caesar, Robinson completely dominates the film, and fortunately we rarely stray from his footsteps. Douglas Fairbanks Jr., as a reformed criminal-turned-dancer, does adequately in an uninteresting role. Thomas Jackson, as Sergeant Flaherty, invents a offbeat, ignoble sort of law-enforcer, speaking with a sarcastic, contemptuous whine that suggest utter disdain for his quarry.
Many of W.R. Burnett's films involve characters who are ultimately brought down by their all-too-human weaknesses: Tony Camonte in 'Scarface (1932)' is brought down by his (incestuous) jealousy over his sister; Raven in 'This Gun for Hire (1942)' is too proud to abandon his planned assassinations; the heist thieves in 'The Asphalt Jungle (1950)' each have their respective vices. Likewise, Rico is toppled by a moment of compassion towards an old friend. Alcohol and women the two most popular pitfalls hold no regard to Little Caesar, who dismisses both as mere distractions from his power. But what I found most interesting is that, unlike the other examples I just mentioned, Rico is brought down by his only lingering morsel of virtue. This helps breed a sliver of audience sympathy towards a man who had formerly exhibited little but contempt for humanity, converting Rico's rise to power into a fully-fledged tragedy; of a man who wanted it all, but to his disbelief couldn't quite wrap his fingers around it.