Way down in the hole: Kirk Douglas as Dax.
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The two faces of Kirk Douglas: Billy Wilder’s Ace in the Hole and Stanley Kubrick’s Paths of Glory

Two reissues show the actor in contrasting roles, one in Stanley Kubrick’s moral drama set during the First World War, another as a hungry reporter bored witless at a small-town American paper. 

This week, audiences will have the chance to see the two faces of Kirk Douglas. Both have a dimple in the chin. Stanley Kubrick’s Paths of Glory, which is back in cinemas from Friday, and Billy Wilder’s Ace in the Hole, recently released on DVD and Blu-ray, share an unforgiving analysis of complacency and corruption. In each film, human life is reduced to collateral that can be used for professional advancement. Douglas is positioned on opposite sides of the ethical divide in these pictures. In Paths of Glory, he exudes grizzled nobility as Dax, a colonel in the French army. (Yes, this is one of those movies in which we must suspend our disbelief higher than the Eiffel Tower and accept that American actors are playing foreign characters. Go with it. It’s worth the trouble.)

The film’s re-release now is occasioned by the centenary of the First World War. But while this is set during the third year of that conflict, and is inspired by actual events involving General Réveilhac, who ordered an attack on his own men in Souain, it would be a misrepresentation to call it a war film, or even to claim that it is primarily concerned with war. Conflict is merely the arena in which moral fallibility is exposed.

However, Dax’s principles are steadfast and non-negotiable. He can sniff out the weasels in the officer class and he isn’t afraid to make them pay for their cowardice. He is one of only two characters who appear in both of the film’s key locations: the French army’s trenches, where Kubrick’s Steadicam floats smoothly along the grubby arteries while the anxious and the shell-shocked wait to fulfil their duty as cannon fodder, and the magnificent ice-palace of a château in which the top brass bargain and barter over the extent of acceptable casualties.

We have seen at the start of the movie that the château is a moral vacuum, a place in which carpeting and cognac take precedence over compassion or ethics. General Broulard (Adolphe Menjou) arrives there to persuade General Mireau (George Macready) to order an advancement to a German position known as the Anthill, a move which will in all likelihood decimate the infantry. Mireau is aghast. He couldn’t possibly do that. Broulard accepts what he says, and takes him gently by the arm. He leads Mireau around the luxurious room as they talk softly together. Their perambulations—circling a vase of flowers here, strolling toward the bright windows there—suggest a manipulative choreography that has been re-enacted over centuries by their callous forebears. It’s a dance of death. When it is over, Mireau has had his mind changed and his head turned by flattering enticements. The blood of his men is ready for the spilling.

Near the end of the film, when an unforgivable injustice has been visited upon the humble foot-soldiers by their superiors, Dax is summoned to the château for breakfast with Broulard and Mireau. During this meeting, he too is offered a bribe. No one who has got more than five minutes into the film will need a spoiler alert to avoid knowing that Dax wouldn’t accept gold as payment for the blood and bone of his men. Chuck Tatum, on the other hand, would have bitten off Broulard’s arm at the elbow if he had offered him so much as a tin sheriff’s badge. Tatum is the former big-time reporter played by Douglas in Ace in the Hole. “If there’s no news, I’ll go out and bite a dog,” he snarls. But after a year at a dusty Albuquerque daily, he’s going stir crazy. No wonder he leaps at the discovery of a looter who has become trapped in a cave while digging around for Native American artefacts. Tatum manages to reach the poor sap, Leo Minosa (Richard Benedict), and promises he’ll do everything he can to get him out. First, though, Tatum manoeuvres his camera through a gap in the rock and takes a snap for the next day’s front page.

Tatum wants to own the story, to have access denied to his old colleagues from the cities who will inevitably come flooding into town, and he makes a deal with the local sheriff to that end—he even gets his own tin badge. But that isn’t the worst of it. From the moment he gets the first intoxicating whiff of copy, he starts shaping reality for his own gain. Imagine if Leo were rescued too soon: that wouldn’t do. So Tatum prolongs his ordeal, directs the supporting players (such as Leo’s wife, who had been planning to leave him) and keeps the story moving. It could run and run—just so long as Leo can’t.

Douglas shot Ace in the Hole in 1951 six years before Paths of Glory. It may as well have been sixty. Both Dax and Tatum are wind-beaten souls but in the earlier film (made when he was 35), Douglas still has a softness about him which undercuts his blunt instrument of a face; he’s like a marshmallow anvil. In Paths of Glory, as befits the part, he is transformed into a piece of weaponry. The miracle of his performance lies in his ability to convey the humanity thriving within Dax. Distance from the nitty-gritty of conflict has inured the warmongers to the suffering it entails—just like the squabbling puppetmasters of the nuclear age in Kubrick’s later Dr Strangelove (which is really Paths of Glory with the satire dials cranked to Maximum). But after all that time with a bayonet in his hands, Dax remains more man than killing machine.

Three decades separate the action of these pictures but both employ at times a similar tone of appalled comedy. If Dax and Tatum were to somehow come face to face, it would be quite the stand-off. Neither man would be dissuaded from the positions they hold, though Chuck Tatum might at least get some sizzling copy out of the encounter.

Paths of Glory is on release from 2 May. Ace in the Hole is on DVD and Blu-ray now in Eureka! Entertainment’s Masters of Cinema series. 

Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards.

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No, J J Abrams – Star Wars was never “a boy’s thing”

Women love things that are “for boys” because these things are actually “for humans”.

In 1977, millions of people went to cinemas to see Star Wars: A New Hope, and afterwards, a good portion of them were suddenly rendered invisible. It didn’t matter that they rushed to line up for the sequels; it didn’t matter that they were eager to buy and play with the toys; it didn’t matter that they grew up to read the novels and explore the expanded universe and sit through the prequels and introduce their children to something they had loved as a child. They’re a group that overlaps with the invisible force that haunts comic book shops, or plays a lot of video games, or makes up nearly half the audience for superhero films, or, to one New Statesman staffer’s persistent, possibly-only-half joking incredulity, liked Doctor Who long before Russell T Davies got his hands on it. 

With less than three weeks before J J Abrams’s rebooted Star Wars hits screens, the director went on Good Morning America yesterday to talk in vague, broad strokes about his turn with the franchise. But the otherwise-unremarkable interview made headlines because of one segment, when Abrams was asked who he most excited to hear from about the film. He said:

“Star Wars was always about, you was always a boy’s thing, and a movie that dads take their sons to. And though that’s still very much the case, I was really hoping that this could be a movie that mothers can take their daughters to as well. So I’m looking forward to kids seeing this movie and to seeing themselves in it, and seeing that they’re capable of doing what they could never imagine was possible.”

That invisible group of Star Wars fans, who love that well-known “boy’s thing”? Women, who have spent the past four decades loving the franchise just as much as all those fanboys, even if no one else – the fanboys themselves in particular – seemed to take much notice. Abrams’s offhand remark coincided with recent headlines like Bloomberg’s “‘Star Wars’ Toys Aren’t Just For Boys Anymore as Rey Takes Over”, a reference to the female lead of The Force Awakens, portrayed by Daisy Ridley. Across the web, aside from stirrings by the now-mandatory Internet Outrage Machine, the overwhelming response seemed to be one of sad and somewhat resigned frustration, with women sharing memories of falling in love with the series, essentially saying, “We’ve been here this whole time.” My friend Lori Morimoto, in “An Open Letter to J J Abrams”, wrote, “I’d like to tell you the story of a girl who became a Star Wars fan. I hope you can suspend disbelief over my existence long enough to make it to the end.”

Star Wars is a universe populated by complicated gender politics, on and off screen. The three original films fail most facets of the Bechdel test (I laughed out loud here seeing the suggestion that A New Hope deserves a pass because the only two named female characters could have talked offscreen). Princess Leia’s enslavement and escape (and the bikini she wears while doing it) is a cultural touchstone that’s launched a complicated feminist dialogue over the decades. And it is perhaps because of the mostly-male cast in the films – and the long-held assumption that science fiction is a primarily masculine property – that the franchise has long been marketed exclusively to boys, despite the massive and loyal female audience.

But the modern Star Wars empire is helmed a woman, Lucasfilm president Kathleen Kennedy, and when she revealed that two-thirds the story team behind the newest film was female, she also pledged that there would be a woman in the director’s chair before too long. And since one of the leads in The Force Awakens is a woman, her character, along with a black male lead – portrayed by John Boyega – sparked anger from the reactionary white guy corner of the internet in recent months (sorry that the SJWs ruined your movies, guys!). For films that once portrayed a place so alien that only white men were allowed to speak to each other, the widening of representation in this reboot apparently looks to some like a political – or, to them, a politically correct – act.

The welcome diversity of the leading cast highlights all the good intentions in Abrams’s statement: that this new film promises more than a panoply of white guys, that girls and people of colour can see themselves reflected back in these new heroes. All the girls who thought the movies weren’t for them because they only saw men onscreen, or the endless line of male action figures on the shelf, have a point of entry now – that’s what representation means. And that’s certainly worth cheering for, even if it only took us 40 years to get there. But it’s hard for all the people who aren’t white men who’ve found other points of entry over the years, who managed to love it without seeing themselves there. I can speak from personal experience when I say that a lifetime of media about white guys hasn’t stopped me from finding characters and stories to fall in love with.

Here’s a theory: you might not have noticed that you were surrounded by female Star Wars fans all these years because you were the one who rendered them invisible. Women who like things such as Star Wars, or comics, or anything else that leads journalists to write those painful “not just for boys anymore” trend stories, have had to take it from all sides. Enthusiasm for something seen as the province of men clashes with mainstream perceptions of femininity. Even women liking this stuff in the context of traditionally feminised fan spaces, like fanfiction, find themselves fending off assumptions from men and women alike, perhaps the accusation that they are sexualising something too much, or they are placing too much weight on the emotional elements of a storyline. Basically, that they’re liking the thing the wrong way.

But women’s enthusiasm for perceived “male” spaces is always liking the thing the wrong way. The plainest illustration of this is the Fake Geek Girl, in meme and in practice: the barriers to entry are raised immeasurably high when women try to join in many male-dominated fannish conversations. The wonderful Noelle Stevenson illustrates this beautifully – and then literally, when a guy challenges her on her work. I’m sure that just by writing about Star Wars, I’m opening myself up to the angry gatekeeping-style pissing contests that men like to toss at women who claim to like the things they like. (Let’s get it all out in the open here: Star Wars isn’t my fandom. I saw the three original films on dates with my first boyfriend – our first date: Star Trek: First Contact, because we were clearly the coolest kids in town – and upon rewatches as an adult nothing grabbed me. But I am also a fandom journalist, so that’s kind of how this works.)

There’s a persistent myth – and I say persistent because I keep seeing these deluded boys get mad in new viral posts – that women who claim to like geeky things are just pretending, the somewhat confusing notion that they are doing it for attention. (And then there’s the inevitable anger that in this supposedly desperate plea for attention – why else would a woman claim to like their beloved characters?! – these women still don’t want to sleep with them.) And what never seems to occur to any of these gatekeepers is that these women were there all along, liking these things just as much – and are finally being given the cultural space to be open about their interests and passions. But that space is given haltingly; plenty of women, tired of waiting, are going out and taking it. The result is the tension (and, at times, outright hostility) that has marked certain corners of the fannish world in the past few years.

Women love things that are “for boys” because these things are actually “for humans”. There are many reasons that people love Star Wars, and most of them are universal things: the themes, the characters, the archetypal struggle of good versus evil. Most of the time we default to the white guy; he struggles with things we all struggle with, but somehow, he is deemed most relatable. Abrams, Kennedy, and everyone behind the new films should be applauded for their efforts to give non-white guys a turn at the universal story – I think these are incredibly valuable choices, and certainly will make the films vastly more accessible, particularly to children.

But we don’t just need Rey on screen and Rey dolls on the shelves for mothers and daughters – those same mothers and daughters have found plenty to love without many women to look to on their screens. We need boys to love the female heroes as much as we’ve loved the men over the years: we need universal to be truly universal. And when we express that love, the default reaction shouldn’t be a challenge: not, “You don’t like this thing as much as I do,” or, “You don’t love this the right way.” Isn’t it easier to say, “Oh, I’m so glad that you love this, too!”

Elizabeth Minkel is a staff writer for The Millions, and writes a regular column on fan culture for the New Statesman. She is on Twitter @ElizabethMinkel.