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A strong shot of tawdry rotgut on arrival in 1962, J. Lee Thompson’s sleazy thriller is much less explicit and baroque than Martin Scorsese’s repellent remake (my candidate for that great director’s worst film). It’s also much, much scarier — thanks entirely to Robert Mitchum’s bare-chested, insolent aura of sexual menace. Mitchum, carnal lust personified, plays the brutal rapist who gets out of prison and makes a beeline for prosecutor Gregory Peck and his defenseless womenfolk (Polly Bergen and Lori Nelson). In the Scorsese version, Robert De Niro’s Max Cady was a braying sideshow barker, a cigar-puffing cartoon; Mitchum is all coiled, sinewy, transfixing threat — a copperhead in no hurry to wolf down his prey. It’s a terrifying performance, and a great one. Adapted from a John D. MacDonald novel, it plays The Belcourt’s “Weekend Matinee Classics” series for three days only (including a Monday-night show).
March 20-22, 2010
March 20-22, 2010
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