JOHNNY COOL (1963)

A surprising box office success, this one-hundred-three-minute film, distributed by United Artists, produced by Peter "Rat Pack" Lawford, and directed by William Asher, has some believability issues and its mix of comedic and criminal elements simply lessens the impact of contract assassins. Borderline tongue and cheek, it is lightyears away from the wallop two years earlier by, Blast of Silence. However, Asher does a fine job with pacing and lending authenticity is location shooting. The film’s violence is not visually brutal, but gets the point across and may have set a new trend for assassins without a moral conscience. Helping sell that point is Henry Silva’s definitive, smirking performance. A Billy May jazz score also provides the right amount of kick when needed. It could be argued Silva did for contract killers what James Coburn did for spies with his Derek Flint character.

Silva certainly carries this film, in the early stages of his typecast career—he was even intimidating as a mobster in the Jerry Lewis comedy, Cinderfella. Silva’s emotionally detached persona advanced the type to a higher violent quotient by the late Twentieth Century. At certain angles or lighting, his facial structure may appear as though he had reconstructive surgery after a serious face plant. A face he will eventually mature into. His eyes seemingly lack any iris, just giant pupils.

Elizabeth Montgomery is believable in an emotionally difficult, roller-coaster role. Witnessing Silva easily dispense with an obnoxious bar patron in a nightclub, she is instantly attracted to the button-eyed Silva in the worst way. Her boredom is quelled by his mysterious aura. This guy’s persona overpowers all her discernment. Danger is always teasingly attractive to Hollywood.

Marc Lawrence is riveting in his opening scene, thanks to years of portraying movie gangsters. As an exiled American gangster living in Sicily, he has bigger plans for Silva than the local contract killer he has become. A look-alike is killed in Silva’s place so Lawrence can reinvent him for the American market as the oxymoron “cultured assassin.” He wants Silva to eliminate—take out—each former associate living across the pond. Lawrence has equipped him with a detailed history of all things underworld. Silva 2.0 has memorized it all, removed his Sicilian “costume” beard, and takes the name of Lawrence’s character, eventually gaining a modified moniker in the process, the film’s title. After establishing himself in New York City, his next “take-out order” sends him to Las Vegas.

Silva infiltrates a Vegas crap game with no real relevance to the plot, only providing the aforementioned levity. Sammy Davis, Jr. wears an eye patch similar to the one he used for a while after his 1954 injury. In real life, long-since fitted with a glass eye, he uses the patch here as a comedic prop. He has a knack for rolling winning numbers. After a few winning rolls in a row, his nervousness demands he lift his eye patch—albeit with Silva holding a gun to his head—just to make sure he is still using the same die. Another Vegas heritage connection, comedian Joey Bishop, takes an amusing turn as a fast-talking Los Angeles used car shyster who prevents Montgomery from getting a word in edgewise during her purchase.

Then there is an amusing “filler” scene involving a Vegas tour bus driver. The local police are looking for a suspicious passenger, now lined up outside the bus. Silva, who already “confessed” his religious views against gambling to the driver, is in a flowery tourist shirt with three cameras around his neck. Looking down the line, the police are convinced by the bus driver that Silva could not possibly be wanted for anything. Just look at him. A guy in line with a cowboy hat is bragging to Silva about the money he won, exclaiming, “Boy I murdered ‘em!” He asks how Silva did and he blandly replies, “I did all right.” It is the cowboy who gets yanked out of line. 

Silva systematically checks off his to-do list. Jim Backus is an unethical contractor, whose day is cut permanently short. John McGiver can play silly or ruthless. He is the latter, here, as a casino owner with limited dialogue after Silva departs. McGiver's confidence man is the then-popular comedic pundit, Mort Saul. In typical comatose acting form, he actually has a purpose in the film by calmly informing Silva that Lawrence is using him like he was used. Murder's delivery boy. Unemotional Saul is aware he faces eternity at the hands of an embarrassed Silva.

Silva and Montgomery are off to Los Angeles where she learns his background, which does not phase her much. In “trial by fire” she unwittingly becomes the getaway driver for Silva’s latest hit on an oil baron, Brad Dexter. With her convertible automobile idling atop an overlook above Dexter’s backyard pool, she hears an explosion then she and her windshield become spotted with chlorine water in rather creepy detail. In somewhat of a panic she drives away attempting to process Silva's detailed instructions about doing ordinary things until her time comes to reconnect with him back in New York City. She goes to a hair salon and pulls curbside. It is clear she has issues with parallel parking. Upon exiting the salon, she notices a patrol officer looking over her 1962 Ford parked at a fifty-five-degree angle from the curb. Guessing “what would Johnny do,” she abandons the poorly parked car. This is a big error. She will never know the officer was only giving her a ticket for an expired parking meter. A second officer hits pay dirt, though, by discovering fragmented pieces in the car's interior, typically used in a homemade bomb. Evidence that is a turning point in Silva’s future.

Silva's killing efficiency may be hard to believe but he is also an expert con artist. Posing as a photojournalist on assignment, he uses a motorized outdoor window washing system to inch his way up to the upper floor skyscraper office of Telly Savalas, a New York mobster. In what would otherwise be a comedic parody scene, Savalas turns to see Silva’s head slowly rising outside his skyscraper window. As surprising as this is, the only thing concerning him is the rifle pointed in his direction. 

Montgomery finally has a reality check while ensconced in Newport Beach. Though still disturbingly attracted to Silva, she realizes he is a despicable human, especially after learning Dexter’s two children were poolside, potentially killing them. Silva's location is revealed and the east coast “brotherhood” puts him in a straight jacket and then explains in very specific detail how his life will slowly and painfully end. Not so cool, Johnny.

Notes: There is a bit of unintentional humor involving FBI agent, Douglas Henderson, with only one tinted eyeglass lens. We have already seen Davis with an eye patch. Now, this. Even if it was caused by natural lighting or reflection, it is strange enough, obvious enough, that the director would ultimately have the character not use eyeglasses or re-position the lighting or camera position. 

James Van Heusen wrote a nearly incoherent title song as if Sammy Davis Jr.—totally without blame—was making up the song on the spot in an attempt to fit in with the orchestra. A song that seemingly could never be duplicated the same way twice. A perpetual motion tune with rambling lyrics by, sorry to say, Sammy Cahn, who seems to have written too many words for Van Heusen's given notes. Were they ever in the same room together?