Edge of Hell (USA, 1956) 78 min B&W DIR-PROD-SCR: Hugo Haas. MUSIC: Ernest Gold. DOP: Eddie Fitzgerald. CAST: Hugo Haas, Francesca De Scaffa, June Hammerstein, Jeffrey Stone, John Vosper, Ken Carlton. (Universal)
The Czech-born Hugo Haas (1901-1968) was a highly regarded actor-writer-director in his native land, who fled to America when World War 2 broke out. Because he didn’t have conventional movie idol looks, the brawny Haas played supporting character parts in Hollywood, often as villains or exotic roles, in such classics as Douglas Sirk’s Summer Storm, or 1950’s King Solomon’s Mines). Then Haas turned his attention to writing, producing, directing and co-starring in B-budgeted potboilers with such tantalizing drugstore paperback titles as The Other Woman, Pickup or One Girl’s Confession). The writer-director would often cast himself as the unlikely lead, who would have a doomed affair with a deceitful blonde woman (often played by Cleo Moore) who had a young beau on a string, with Svengali-Trilby plot devices that further aggrandize his own roles. (To his credit though, Haas always gave good performances.)
Hugo Haas never shied away from outrageous symbols or heavy-handedness to make his point- and one of the definitive examples of that is in the deceptively titled Edge of Hell, which may be the masterpiece of his thirteen American films as director. It is a departure from the “deceitful femme fatale” formula that he visited far too often. Instead, we have a Damon Runyon-esque fable that is by turns hilarious and tragic, culminating into a finale, which is outrageous, but not logically wrong.
Haas stars as Valentine (rhymes with “teen”), a former actor and vaudevillain who now lives in the basement of an apartment house, and makes a meager living performing on street corners with his dog Flip, and always one step ahead of the law. Like many of Haas’ characters, Valentine has fallen from grace, yet he redeems himself upon being hired to perform with his dog at a child’s birthday party in the estate of wealthy Mr. Hawkins (John Vosper), arranged by Valentine’s neighbour Helen (June Hammerstein) through her chauffeur boyfriend Freddie (Jeffrey Stone). The refined Hawkins takes an instant liking to the earthy Valentine. A delightful sequence in which the tramp performer entertains Hawkins with stories while the men share cigars and drinks is reminiscent of the moments in Chaplin’s City Lights (1931), where the Little Tramp is invited out by the drunk millionaire. Thankfully, there is no scene where Valentine is turned out on his ear. However, Hawkins exercises his belief that money can buy anything when he offers an absurd amount of money to purchase Flip, since his kid won’t stop crying about wanting the dog. Valentine turns down the proposition. With the money that he made from the birthday party engagement, Valentine shares his wealth by throwing a party in his basement flat, in a truly wonderful scene that recalls the Frank Capra films of another era. Indeed, the sentimental movies that Haas made in the twilight of his career –Born to Be Loved (1959) and Paradise Alley (1962)- would seem out of the time in which they were made.
However, I doubt that even Capra had concocted such a fascinating collusion of social class than this affair. Throughout the film, Valentine’s hobo friends who live under the bridge are seen as aristocrats in tattered clothing. They discuss their panhandling earnings in a patter similar to tycoons’ discussing stocks. It is a joy to see these disparate characters thrown together in this party sequence—even the swarthy characters, like the slinky French girl Jenette (Francesca De Scaffa) and her shifty boyfriend Billy (Ken Carlton) are equally welcome to share in Valentine’s good fortune. Even at this soiree, the tramps (doubling as doormen) talk business like oil magnates, while the others drink and dance to phonograph records. Still, the jibes against power and capital pervade the conversation. (“Are you proud of your grandson?” “He could be worse- he could be a politician.”)
Up until this moment, one wonders why the film is called Edge of Hell. The title is justly earned after this delightful scene, as the movie quickly changes in tone (even the look of the film, shot by Eddie Fitzgerald, becomes darker). Some time has passed since the party, and we learn that Valentine has asthma (ironically, Hugo Haas would die of complications with asthma in 1968), and hasn’t been able to earn money on the streets. He is forced out of his home for non-payment of rent, and takes residence under the bridge with his hobo friends. Meanwhile, Flip becomes ill, and Valentine realizes he is no longer able to take care of the dog properly, so he reconsiders selling the canine to Hawkins. However, since Valentine is so desperate to get Flip a good home, he leaves with whatever small amount of money the butler had on hand at the moment. Once Billy discovers that Valentine has sold the dog (knowing that he was once offered a tidy sum for Flip), he assumes that Valentine is loaded with money, and plots to rob him. Helen and Jenette learn of his plan, and race to save Valentine in time. The progression from light-hearted whimsy to tragedy is expertly maintained, culminating into a truly heartpounding climax.
Throughout the film, Valentine associates his panhandling with acting. Even in his final moments, he utters: “Don’t cry darling, I’ve been an old ham all my life; what can be greater for an actor than a death scene, don’t spoil it”. The film however ends on an outrageous turn, smacking of “writer’s convenience” that would cause uproar in Screenwriting 101, as Valentine and Flip die at exactly the same moment: a contrivance that summarizes how they are meant to be together for eternity. Further still, Haas adds a bizarre finale, in which man and dog appear in front of a starry background, with liberal use of dry ice in the frame. “Lord, can I show you some tricks?” Roll of thunder. “Eternal life contract with no options.” The background lights up, the music swells, THE END.
Haas’ films often have spiritual overtones, but none so blatant. One concedes that Hugo Haas was absolutely fearless in his pursuits. He made commercially viable movies that were still very personal; no device was too heavy-handed enough to communicate his ideas.
Because Hugo Haas’ work has been out of circulation for so many years (save for scattered television play dates), a lot of misconceptions about his work have grown, and the inability to see his work in proper channels has allowed its unfairly negative reputation to grow. If one looks beyond the poor production values, there is a genuine personality and richness to be found in his art. Imperfect though they may be, the American films of Hugo Haas are worthy of re-discovery.
