Last night, we watched The Killing at the home of my friends who shall remain nameless.
I bow to no man in my admiration for Stanley Kubrick. I will happily engage in physical combat with John Gruber and Jim Coudal simultaneously to determine which of us is the greater Kubrick fan, if it comes to that.
I realize The Killing is early Kubrick. I expected it to be a little rough around the edges, and I think it is an important work to watch, Kubrick fan or non-fan. (The Killing pioneered some tricks that you see in more modern movies, such as the non-linear timeline.)
But there’s one big huge problem with the movie: Marie Windsor.
I feel bad about saying this. I’m sure Ms. Windsor was a very nice woman, and she certainly had a long career. But she sucks the life out of The Killing in Every. Single. Scene. She’s. In. Every moment she was on screen, we were thinking “Get this woman off the screen!” The setup and execution of the racetrack robbery is compelling, but Ms. Windsor’s scenes with Elisha Cook drove me bugnuts crazy. They don’t work well as a couple, and Ms. Windsor’s dialogue in particular is just awful; it shoot for smart and clever, and misses by a mile.
This may not have been entirely Ms. Windsor’s plot: Jim Thompson co-wrote the dialogue, and I can easily believe he was drunk off his hind end the entire time he was writing it. But even if the writing is bad, Ms. Windsor’s delivery of it still sets my teeth on edge. I think Lawrence came very close to pulling the pin on this one, solely because Ms. Windsor was driving him crazy as well.
Spoiler space:
Also, I want to point out what I consider to be the main moral of The Killing: buy quality luggage.