Sam Fuller prized efficiency above all in his pictures. "Underworld U. S. A." exposes the flaw in that philosophy. It's so efficient, it dispenses with believable characters, a rooting interest, or realistic suspense.
As a young teenager, Tolly Devlin watches his father killed by four hoods. He may be a hood himself, but he has a sense of honor where his old man is concerned, refusing to "fink" on the killers. He wants the pleasure of offing them himself.
"I'll get those punks my own way," he shouts while still a youngster played by David Kent.
For the rest of this movie, that's exactly what happens. Tolly, now an adult played by Cliff Robertson, manages to infiltrate a nationwide syndicate in which three of the four killers are now crime czars respectively running drugs, unions, and prostitution. Simply by stealing a cartridge box full of drugs, he manages to fool the drug czar, Gela (Paul Dubov) by telling him who he is and that he wants to follow in his father's footsteps. Instead of giving him the same treatment he dished out on Pops, Gela puts Tolly to work for his organization.
"I wish my kid felt about me the way Tolly feels about his old man," Gela muses.
Improbable coincidences abound in this silly, mono-dimensional revenge flick. Fuller was a great pulp director but his tendencies toward fish-slap subtlety and on-the-nose exposition are on violent display.
"It was a pretty tough break you had, being born in prison and your mother dying there..."
"My father told me why you collect these dolls. He said you can't have kids of your own..."
The overall crime boss complains to Gela that he hasn't gotten more of the 13 million kids in the United States hooked on drugs: "Don't tell me the end of the needle has a conscience."
"Underworld U. S. A." moves like Fuller was double-parked the whole time, yet at over 90 minutes still feels bloated. There's an aging woman who loves Tolly, a younger woman who does, too, but plans to act on it ("I want your kids"), and a D. A. who spends much of his screen time eating sandwiches and letting Tolly direct his investigation.
It might have been more endurable if Robertson didn't play his role like an off-the-cuff Cagney, "a collection of tough-guy tics" as Jamie S. Rich notes in his Confessions of a Pop Fan blog. Or if there were any complications in Tolly's pursuit of his mission, like say the bad guys getting wise to him, or else him having second thoughts.
The visuals are sometimes arresting, with moody lighting and off- beat editing. But the only thing that grabbed me was Richard Rust's performance as Gus, head torpedo for the syndicate. Even stuck with a particularly egregious quirk, the need to don sunglasses whenever he kills, Rust plays Gus like someone both dangerous and real, with some shadings around his villainy. He's my 1961 Doe Avedon Award winner for great performance in a bad movie.
And this is a bad movie, never mind the Fuller apologists. He did make great movies like "Shock Corridor," decent if flawed ones like "Crimson Kimono," but also occasionally an all-out tom turkey like this, which serves to lay bare the mold he worked from but doesn't do much either for his reputation or for your enjoyment.
"Almost every shot hits you like a punch," Martin Scorsese enthuses in a DVD extra. Let's just say after a couple of viewings, I was glad to leave the ring to Sam and never looked back.
As a young teenager, Tolly Devlin watches his father killed by four hoods. He may be a hood himself, but he has a sense of honor where his old man is concerned, refusing to "fink" on the killers. He wants the pleasure of offing them himself.
"I'll get those punks my own way," he shouts while still a youngster played by David Kent.
For the rest of this movie, that's exactly what happens. Tolly, now an adult played by Cliff Robertson, manages to infiltrate a nationwide syndicate in which three of the four killers are now crime czars respectively running drugs, unions, and prostitution. Simply by stealing a cartridge box full of drugs, he manages to fool the drug czar, Gela (Paul Dubov) by telling him who he is and that he wants to follow in his father's footsteps. Instead of giving him the same treatment he dished out on Pops, Gela puts Tolly to work for his organization.
"I wish my kid felt about me the way Tolly feels about his old man," Gela muses.
Improbable coincidences abound in this silly, mono-dimensional revenge flick. Fuller was a great pulp director but his tendencies toward fish-slap subtlety and on-the-nose exposition are on violent display.
"It was a pretty tough break you had, being born in prison and your mother dying there..."
"My father told me why you collect these dolls. He said you can't have kids of your own..."
The overall crime boss complains to Gela that he hasn't gotten more of the 13 million kids in the United States hooked on drugs: "Don't tell me the end of the needle has a conscience."
"Underworld U. S. A." moves like Fuller was double-parked the whole time, yet at over 90 minutes still feels bloated. There's an aging woman who loves Tolly, a younger woman who does, too, but plans to act on it ("I want your kids"), and a D. A. who spends much of his screen time eating sandwiches and letting Tolly direct his investigation.
It might have been more endurable if Robertson didn't play his role like an off-the-cuff Cagney, "a collection of tough-guy tics" as Jamie S. Rich notes in his Confessions of a Pop Fan blog. Or if there were any complications in Tolly's pursuit of his mission, like say the bad guys getting wise to him, or else him having second thoughts.
The visuals are sometimes arresting, with moody lighting and off- beat editing. But the only thing that grabbed me was Richard Rust's performance as Gus, head torpedo for the syndicate. Even stuck with a particularly egregious quirk, the need to don sunglasses whenever he kills, Rust plays Gus like someone both dangerous and real, with some shadings around his villainy. He's my 1961 Doe Avedon Award winner for great performance in a bad movie.
And this is a bad movie, never mind the Fuller apologists. He did make great movies like "Shock Corridor," decent if flawed ones like "Crimson Kimono," but also occasionally an all-out tom turkey like this, which serves to lay bare the mold he worked from but doesn't do much either for his reputation or for your enjoyment.
"Almost every shot hits you like a punch," Martin Scorsese enthuses in a DVD extra. Let's just say after a couple of viewings, I was glad to leave the ring to Sam and never looked back.