Cut up in various states including Pennsylvania, banned in the South for years, it's hard to see how this movie managed to be made. I'm not even sure they could do it now in our oh-so-sophisticated new century. The "N" word became taboo after it played such a prominent part in the O. J. Simpson trial. And the other racist name calling we would I think find equally offensive. "Sambo"? And others that aren't "obscene" by any dictionary definition but which people still wouldn't feel comfortable reading here.
Skipping over much of the plot -- Poitier is a doctor accused by Widmark of deliberately killing Widmark's brother -- the acting is fine on everyone's part. Poitier was one of the best dramatic actors of his generation. Widmark gives a performance that slides from paranoid wariness to hysterical hatred. There's never a moment when he doesn't seem ready to pop like a zit. Linda Darnell has never impressed me much as an actress, although she was a nicely virginal teenager in "The Mark of Zorro," but she delivers the goods here as a mature and embittered woman. The supporting players are all stalwart. Many of the faces are familiar. Even Jack Kruschen has a few seconds on screen.
If there's a weakness in the film it's the battle in the junkyard. It's well staged but overdone, with rabid white racists slamming bicycle chains against stoves, eyes bulging, shrieking racial epithets. We really didn't need it. The drama is in the interaction between the characters.
But that's minor. It's a well-done and courageous movie. The screenplay is brave enough to keep the African-American community within the bounds of human possibilities. They aren't saints. Poitier's grandma clearly hates whites. The black actors don't all look like fashion models, and the men stage what now would be called a "preemptive" attack on white bigots who have not yet done what they've planned to do. In the end, it's sensible enough to encourage our sympathy towards Widmark's insane and suffering racist criminal. Widmark winds up crumpled on the floor, bleeding and weeping abjectly from a mixture of hopelessness and self pity.
Skipping over much of the plot -- Poitier is a doctor accused by Widmark of deliberately killing Widmark's brother -- the acting is fine on everyone's part. Poitier was one of the best dramatic actors of his generation. Widmark gives a performance that slides from paranoid wariness to hysterical hatred. There's never a moment when he doesn't seem ready to pop like a zit. Linda Darnell has never impressed me much as an actress, although she was a nicely virginal teenager in "The Mark of Zorro," but she delivers the goods here as a mature and embittered woman. The supporting players are all stalwart. Many of the faces are familiar. Even Jack Kruschen has a few seconds on screen.
If there's a weakness in the film it's the battle in the junkyard. It's well staged but overdone, with rabid white racists slamming bicycle chains against stoves, eyes bulging, shrieking racial epithets. We really didn't need it. The drama is in the interaction between the characters.
But that's minor. It's a well-done and courageous movie. The screenplay is brave enough to keep the African-American community within the bounds of human possibilities. They aren't saints. Poitier's grandma clearly hates whites. The black actors don't all look like fashion models, and the men stage what now would be called a "preemptive" attack on white bigots who have not yet done what they've planned to do. In the end, it's sensible enough to encourage our sympathy towards Widmark's insane and suffering racist criminal. Widmark winds up crumpled on the floor, bleeding and weeping abjectly from a mixture of hopelessness and self pity.