HAIL! MAFIA (1965)

This low-budget, French-Italian film with its quirky title—delivered during mafia club meetings—is a "prototype" leading up to the subject’s peak in The Godfather. The more creatively designed European poster is on the left. It took no less than three production companies to put this eighty-eight-minute film in the can. The dominant element is not acting, but its period-specific jazz score that was apparently recorded in a parking garage. Without Hubert Rostaing’s score, however, this would be a dull movie. Yet it almost intrudes on some scenes as if playing in the same room you are watching television, and you wish someone would turn it down a bit. Expect some abrupt film edits. One, in particular, has the camera jumping from a train to a city street to an arcade in a mere two seconds. Superimposed sporadically are titles to identify the location or the time of day. This film has been rightfully forgotten since its premiere. For your approval, here is the trio of restrained characters, each with a competent performance.

It is a rare occasion when two left-handed actors are in the same mafia film. Eddie Constantine, at the peak of European popularity, provides the cryptic opening voice-over narration describing his lot in life as the viewer watches him outwit an assassin in a Paris parking garage...er...recording studio. His single voice-over is rather meaningless, only acting as a device to introduce his persona. There are no additional voice-overs to help carry his character or the story. The other lefty, Henry Silva, found his niche in gangster films. His facial structure may give the impression of possible reconstructive surgery. Anyone familiar with him at this stage in his career knows he was essentially a supporting B-movie or television actor. Celebrating him in recent years does not make him one of the greats because he is still alive, as of this writing. Thankfully, he is always interesting to watch. He and fellow mafia club member, the right-handed Jack Klugman, have never been on an “assassination run” before. Klugman was adept at displaying pessimistic or disgruntled characters. So he makes a believable hitman with a lot of angst. Ever so cool, Silva tells him to relax and do what he tells him to do. Their road trip is a psychological study of how paid assassins' friendships can be so fleeting. Both are off to Paris to assassinate Constantine before he can testify against a mob boss indicted in America.

Minor characters are confusingly introduced, initially without a name. Elsa Martinelli has an insignificant role as a secretary or love assistant to Constantine. Micheline Presle is a French informer for Silva, who drives a 1965 Plymouth Fury through the streets of Paris. It becomes Silva’s loaner as he travels “invisibly” among Citroens and Volkswagens. Do not expect much suspense until the very end, which extends too long. Expect a twist or two as the truth is revealed about Constantine.

Note: There is a poorly edited sequence as the duo heads toward Constantine’s hideout, providing a bit of confusion. It is irrelevant to the plot, but I am compelled to mention its subtlety. Silva navigates the “SS Plymouth” into a service station for petrol. As Silva walks to the (apparently) self-service pump, Klugman gets out and says he will be right back. With seemingly no time elapsing, Silva gets behind the wheel and drives away. There is no definitive evidence that Klugman ever returned. What might be missed in the two-second snippet is the slight bounce of the car as Klugman gets seated, and his split-second silhouette is visible at the extreme right of the screen. Once on the highway, however, Klugman is now driving!

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, Miss Montgomery's third husband, has some believability issues, and its mix of tongue-in-cheek humor with gangster elements simply lessens the impact of contract assassins. It could be argued that Silva did for contract killers what James Coburn did for spies with his Derek Flint character. It is light-years away from the wallop two years earlier by Blast of Silence. However, Asher does a fine job with pacing and the authenticity of location shooting. The film’s violence is not visualized, but it gets the point across and may have set a new trend for assassins without a moral conscience. A Billy May jazz score also provides the right amount of kick when needed. Why this popular poster has three people in the crosshairs who are not targeted is, at the very least, misleading.

Henry Silva 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. 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. His persona overpowers all her discernment. She is all-in for Silva. Danger is always teasingly attractive to Hollywood. 

Marc Lawrence is riveting during the opening scenes, thanks, in part, to years of portraying movie gangsters. As an exiled American gangster (the original Johnny Cool) living in Sicily, he has bigger plans for Silva than the local mercenary 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 take out each former associate residing in America. Lawrence has equipped him with a detailed history of all things underworld. Silva 2.0 has memorized it all. He removes his mismatched costume beard and takes the name of Lawrence’s character, eventually gaining the modified moniker of 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. Sammy Davis, Jr. (as "Educated") 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 subtle comedic prop. Davis has a knack for rolling winning numbers. After a few winning rolls in a row, his nervousness demands he lift his eye patch—since Silva is 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.

Montgomery is seriously abused by two thugs posing as police officers. The originally filmed violent assault ended on the editing floor for 1963 audiences. Sliva crosses their path after they exit their vehicle in town. With their laughter and exchanged words, Silva makes a miraculous assumption that she is the subject of their "fun." After checking on her, he returns to the duo's car and knifes them both. Back to his "to-die list," ruthless casino owner John McGiver, is up next. Also not leaving the room is his confidence man, the then-popular comedic pundit, Mort Saul. He provides an eye-opener for the hitman. He calmly informs Silva that Lawrence is using him like he was used. Murder's delivery boy. Unemotional Saul is aware he faces eternity by the trigger finger of an embarrassed and angry Silva. Jim Backus plays an unethical contractor whose day is permanently cut short with a briefcase mix-up. When off camera, leaving a scene, Backus provides his "Mr. Magoo" laugh. I am not sure why, other than the cartoon was popular at the time. Very silly.

Then there is an amusing “filler” scene involving a Vegas tour bus driver. The local police are looking for a suspicious passenger, one of several 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 and Montgomery are off to Los Angeles, where she learns his background, which does not faze her much. She is the getaway driver for Silva’s latest hit on an oil baron, Brad Dexter, treading water in his pool. With her convertible idling atop an overlook, she hears an explosion, and then she and her windshield become spotted with blobs of chlorine water in a rather creepy moment. They drive away, and she attempts to process all of 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 up curbside. It is clear she has issues with parallel parking. Upon exiting the salon, she noticed a patrol officer looking over her 1962 Ford parked at nearly a fifty-five-degree angle. Guessing “what would Cool do,” she abandons the 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 by discovering fragmented pieces in the car's interior, typical of a homemade bomb. 

Silva's killing efficiency may be hard to believe, but JC 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 kingpin. In what would otherwise be a comedic parody scene, Savalas turns to see Silva’s head slowly rising outside his window. As surprising as this is, the only thing concerning him is the rifle pointed in his direction. Smartly edited out is Silva's slow getaway descent.

Joining friends for a Newport Beach yacht party, Montgomery finally has a reality check. Though still disturbingly attracted to Silva, she realizes he is a despicable human. She reveals Silva's location, and the East Coast “brotherhood” puts him in a straitjacket and then explains in very specific detail how his life will slowly and painfully end. Not so cool, Johnny.

Notes: 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. 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. 

Finally, there is a mystery involving an FBI agent, played by Douglas Henderson (above), with only one tinted eyeglass lens. We have already seen Davis with an eye patch. Now this. It would be strange that the director would suggest this. It is not explained. I chalk it up to another quirk of the film.