THE LAS VEGAS STORY: should be reported under the Trade Descriptions Act

This 1952 RKO drama should more accurately be titled 'A Story Set in Las Vegas' since it is not a
National Geographic-style documentary but rather a love triangle that happens to play out in Nevada's gambling capital.
Ok, so 'A Story Set in Las Vegas' isn't half as sexy a proposition but it would still boast Jane Russell as one of the names above the title. I can't say I've ever cared much for Miss Russell. Her obvious attractions aside I've always found her rather bland and untalented, but she looks almost spectacularly seductive here. Which is a good thing because she still can't act her way out of a paper bag.
A gratuitous number of very unsubtle extreme close-ups not only offer copious opportunities to drink in her charms, but also plenty of time to study her inability to convincingly register emotion. Whether she's wistful, thoughtful, puzzled, happy or angry her flawless features remain mostly blank.
Thankfully, co-star Victor Mature (whom I've also never cared for much) made a pact with her not to show-up her limited acting abilities because he also fails to convey very much emotion through the course of his many close-ups.
It's like watching two beautifully carved and polished pieces of wood revisiting the scene of a lost love.
The heavy lifting is left to Vincent Price as the sneering, ever so slightly less than masculine, baddie, and the wonderfully laid back Hoagy Carmichael as the piano-playing platonic friend Russell left behind when she ran out on Mature several years earlier. Price thankfully tones down the ham which afflicted many of his performances in the late 40s and early 50s but still fails to provide us with one convincing reason why Russell would have married him, while Carmichael's peerless renderings of 'The Monkey Song', 'My Resistance is Low' and 'I Get Along Without You Very Well' give the film a much needed touch of class.
The story's nothing special but the film has value as a record of a kinder, gentler Las Vegas before it morphed into a collection of mega-resorts each trying to top its neighbour for tacky glamour and

life-size recreations of other parts of the world. There's something almost quaint about the cars parked along Fremont Street outside the small, modestly adorned (by Vegas standards) casinos, and the fact that one could walk into the lobby of a casino and stand there completely unjostled by throngs of senior citizens and drunken stag and hen parties rushing to unload their life savings into slot machines.
Equally quaint is the notion that Las Vegas Police Lieutenant Mature could singlehandedly patrol Fremont Street and The Strip, maintaining law and order in every casino while also finding time to bust underage lovebirds attempting to tie the knot in one of the city's many chapels of love, and to reignite his romance with Russell.
Mostly mundane and rarely memorable, if this film truly were the story of Las Vegas its star would be Circus Circus not Caesar's Palace.

THE SHANGHAI GESTURE: strike a pose

THE SHANGHAI GESTURE is a truly bizarre viewing experience.

It begins with the opening credits which include a card saluting "a large cast of HOLLYWOOD EXTRAS who without expecting credit or mention stand ready day and night to do their best - and who at their best are more than good enough to deserve mention." In all my film watching experience I have never seen a similar acknowledgment, so it naturally made me wonder just what prompted it. As yet I have no answer beyond the possibility that director Josef von Sternberg was simply a big hearted guy who was concerned that everyone received their due. But given everything I've read about him and his method of working that doesn't seem too likely. There's an indication of the size of his ego in the directed by credit which mentions his ASC (American Society of Cinematography) membership. He's the director from chrissake! That trumps any other title on the production crew and undermines the film's credited director of photography, Paul Ivano, by implying that maybe Sternberg was the real innovator behind the camera.
Actually, this latter assertion is borne out by the film which follows. It is undeniably a Sternberg creation, or rather it's a near parody of a Sternberg creation. The distinctive style which he developed during the 1930s in a series of now classic dramas ('Shanghai Express', 'Scarlet Empress', 'The Devil is a Woman') starring Marlene Dietrich is here pushed to ridiculous, garish extremes.

There's not a single sharp edge in the entire story. Every scene is shot in such soft focus that you'll need glasses to correct your vision by the film's end. It's like watching an ornately decorated marshmallow in action. Speaking of which, there isn't a whole lot of action. The entire cast, from Victor Mature, Gene Tierney and Walter Huston to the numerous unnamed but much appreciated extras appear to be acting while in the grip of overwhelming torpor. A sense of weariness permeates their movements, their reaction to events, and their patterns of speech.
This is further accentuated by Sternberg's insistence that the leading characters strike a pose before delivering their lines. It's as if the production's official photographer is on set taking carefully posed publicity pictures while the cast and crew are shooting the scene. Inevitably this acts as a brake on the fluidity of the action, reducing it to a series of turgid set pieces and adding an unhealthy dollop of ridiculousness to the proceedings. Are these people acting out a story or posing for a catalogue?

With Sternberg's earlier films all these elements of his distinctive visual style coalesced to create a magical, memorable and atmospheric whole. His re-imagining of contemporary civil war China in 1932's 'Shanghai Express' is pure Hollywood fantasy - romantic, sensuous and totally intoxicating. Returning to Shanghai 9 years later the magic is gone despite his obvious efforts to recreate it. With the exception of the sumptuous gambling house with it's circular tiered balconies resembling the descending circles of hell, everything else looks threadbare despite the reported $1 million production budget.
All of these factors inevitably impact on the effectiveness and impact of the story being told. And I haven't even mentioned yet Victor Mature's strange performance as an effete poetry spouting Egyptian doctor. Despite his muscular build (which is mostly hidden beneath the curtain-like cloak he wears) his delicate feminine features undermine the plausibility of his portrayal of the gambling house's resident stud whom women find irresistible. Never the most expressive of actors his woodenness is further enhanced by the need to keep a small fez balanced on his head which hinders his ability to make sudden movements.
A very young Gene Tierney as the centre of everyone's attention is stunningly beautiful but prone to overacting, while Walter Huston plays his part with the air of a fine actor who knows the material is far beneath him.
THE SHANGHAI GESTURE has value as an example of what can happen when a director with an ego and faded creative powers, working outside of the support structure of dominant studio system attempts to impose his own peculiar vision on a project that is never going to get past the censor without drastic rewrites and/or cuts.
But if that's not the kind of cinematic experience that floats your boat you're better off finding something else to watch instead.