His Kind of Woman (1951)
Directed by John Farrow, Richard Fleischer

Film Review

His Kind of Woman is a film which just shouldn't work. It has all the right ingredients but the recipe is completely wrong.  It's a schizophrenic monster of a film that starts out as a classic slow-burning film noir and ends up struggling with the mother of all identity crises, part rough and graphically suggestive thriller, part over-egged comedy with gags that would not be out of place in a Laurel and Hardy film.  RKO's earlier attempt at a film noir comedy, The Big Steal (1949), has a logic and coherence to it that His Kind of Woman manifestly does not, but somehow the latter is by far the more enjoyable and likeable film.  Why?  Vincent Price.

It's hard to believe but the film which had originally been conceived as a lavish vehicle for RKO's two most valuable assets, Robert Mitchum and Jane Russell, ended up being offered on a plate by RKO supremo Howard Hughes, to Vincent Price.  Hughes' megalomaniac tendencies led many an RKO film to be butchered beyond recognition in the editing suite but His Kind of Woman suffered more than most from executive interference.  Hughes was so unimpressed with the first cut of the film that he insisted on major alterations.  These necessitated substantial changes to the script, the shooting of additional scenes and, most significantly, the beefing up of Price's comedy role.  Director John Farrow was dismissed and Richard Fleischer hired to film the new scenes.  It's as mad as it sounds and the result should have been an unmitigated disaster.  Had Hughes favoured a far less capable and engaging actor than Price His Kind of Woman would almost certainly have sunk without trace.  As it is, bloated, uneven and wildly eccentric, the film went on to turn a profit at the box office and has since acquired a cult status.  Maybe there was a method to Hughes' apparent madness.

It would be an interesting exercise to see how His Kind of Woman would fare if all of Vincent Price's scenes were removed.  By straining the imagination a little, you can readily convince yourself that the result might have been one of the grittiest and most seductive film noir thrillers of the 1950s.  Mitchum and Russell are well-matched and spark off one another as well as any classic film noir leads you care to mention, and both actors bring gravitas and a wicked sense of the absurd to the film, with Mitchum doing his damnedest not to be intimidated by his co-star's timezone-spanning cleavage.  Best of all, the film has a supremely sadistic climax, in which Raymond Burr (never has he looked so sinister) revels in the mental and physical torture he subjects a bare-chested Mitchum to as he salivates on the prospect of his demise.  Richard Fleischer directed these scenes with a flair and intensity rarely glimpsed in his other work, and it is amazing how they ever got past the censor.

Meanwhile, in another part of the studio, our friend Vince is busy banking the laughs that will help to take the audience's minds off Burr and Mitchum's nasty S&M session.  Somehow the comedy is just about kept at bay until the fateful moment when Price is called upon to shove Miss Russell into a cupboard (he doesn't actually say 'Get out, bitch, this is my film', but the intention is clearly there), after which the comedy  juggernaut is in full throttle and rampaging down the highway.  This is a surprising departure for Price, who was then an established serious actor, admirably well suited for playing melodramatic roles in such films as Laura (1944), Dragonwyck (1946) and The Web (1947).  In His Kind of Woman, Price plays the kind of O.T.T. character that he would positively relish and become most fondly remembered for in his later years, a vain, hammy actor who had grown contemptuous of his profession.   The histrionic grotesques that Price played so memorably in Theatre of Blood (1973) and Madhouse (1974) are not so far removed from the self-loving film star he plays in this film, although his performance is far more measured and convincing.  How quickly we forget the peril Robert Mitchum is in as he falls into the clutches of a rabid, blood-spitting psychopath.  It's velvet-voiced, carpet-chewing Vince we end up routing for, every inch of the way.  Flawed it may be but this has to be one of the most enjoyably daft of all film noir send-ups.

Film Synopsis

In Naples, Dan Milner, an unsuccessful gambler, is offered 50,000 dollars if he agrees to undertake a special assignment for a mysterious client.  A chartered plane takes him to Morro's Lodge, a remote holiday resort in Mexico, where he is to await further instructions.  On the way, Dan meets Lenore Brent, an attractive bar singer who passes herself off as a millionaire.  Lenore has been having an affair with the immensely popular Hollywood star Mark Cardigan, who, as luck would have it, is taking a break in Morro's Lodge as he mulls over getting a divorce.  An undercover agent for the American immigration service contacts Dan and warns him that the notorious mobster Nick Ferraro plans to steal his identity so that he can gain admission to the United States.  Ferraro has in his employ a plastic surgeon who can give him a passable likeness of Dan's face, after which Dan will be surplus to requirements.  Tired of only playing the hero in films, Cardigan embraces the opportunity to assist Dan in his attempt to thwart Ferraro and his trigger-happy henchmen...