Brute Force (1947)
(Edited 9–2022)
I thought I knew what to expect when I picked Brute Force on TCM. I expected a Warner Brothers B-picture prison movie, something like what Humphrey Bogart was in before he really became a star (see San Quentin or You Can’t Get Away with Murder). The characters would be stereotypes, and everything would be alright in the end. The protagonist wouldn’t really be a bad guy, and the guards would be evil but unthreatening. I did not receive that. You see, Brute Force does have irritating ‘40s prison movie stereotypes, like a weak prison doctor and the innocent girl on the outside, but it also has an unexpectedly dark storyline, and frightening menace in the form of Hume Cronyn’s Captain Munsey.
Before we get to the movie, some backstory: the story of Jules Dassin, the director, is almost as interesting as the movie. Dassin directed noir classics like Night and the City, as well as heist films Rififi and Topkapi, two films that influenced Mission: Impossible (1966–1973). Dassin was blacklisted after being named by many witnesses before HUAC and being linked to multiple Communist front organizations. He left the United States in 1953, and would return only briefly to the land of his birth.
Brute Force’s supporting cast is excellent, from Art Smith as the doctor to Whit Bissell as weak convict Lister. But the real strength of Brute Force is Burt Lancaster as Joe Collins and Hume Cronyn as sadistic Captain Munsey. Lancaster displays every inch of why he became a star after his first film. He hates magnificently. He’s believable in whatever the script calls for: cold leader of bank robbers, tender lover of an invalid woman, and a convict who will kill at least four men before the end of the movie. However, Hume Cronyn is why I watched this movie. I don’t want to say he lights up the screen, because that’s too positive for what he does. Every urbane torturer, every soft-spoken SS officer pales next to him. Compared to 6’2” Lancaster, 5’6” Cronyn looks almost delicate. (Not that Cronyn was fragile in real life: he was recommended for the 1932 Canadian Olympic boxing team.) But he’s delicate in the way a black widow spider is delicate; he uses his intellect and words to control others. He’s responsible for more deaths than all the actual criminals combined. I don’t use the word sadist lightly, but Munsey gets joy from causing pain.
Brute Force begins in the rain, with an overwrought orchestra playing. It reminded me of every other “suspenseful” opening in every other classic movie I’ve seen. We see the fictional Westgate Penitentiary and are introduced to the supporting cast. They are Spencer (John Hoyt), “Soldier” Becker (Howard Duff), “Freshman” Stack (Jeff Corey), Tom Lister (Whit Bissell), and “Kid” Coy (Jack Overman). But where’s Burt Lancaster as Collins? He’s being escorted from solitary by Captain Munsey (Cronyn), and we first see him as he stops to pay his respects to the hearse carrying Munsey’s latest victim.
At the beginning, I wasn’t expecting much from Munsey. To me, he seemed like another evil prison guard: if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. San Quentin, Crime School, Cool Hand Luke, The Shawshank Redemption… Lancaster could pick him up and twist him into a knot. Surely, he’s not scary. Surely. Collins returns to his (very cramped) cell, where the others tell him that they’ve “made arrangement” about the stool pigeon that got Collins thrown in solitary. What’s going to happen? Are they going to beat the stoolie up?
Now we see the convicts in line for breakfast. Joe gets a second helping from the trustees. Everybody likes Joe. Then we see the stool pigeon, Wilson, who framed Joe. Nobody likes the stool pigeon. He’s running hither and yon, trying to get protection. This is the scene that changed my view of the movie. Wilson’s not running around because he’s a sniveling weakling. He’s running around because he’s afraid Joe is going to murder him in cold blood. No one will help him, not even his boss Munsey. When Munsey enters, the entire room stills. He languidly strolls around, greeting inmates and patting them on the back. It’s the creepiest thing. This is a room full of hardened convicts and this guy’s acting like a freaking bed and breakfast host. Munsey accidently knocks into Lister, and Munsey’s bodyguard starts to beat Lister. Lister was the one walked into, but go off, you psycho. Munsey then does something very strange, that I had to watch twice to make sure I saw it correctly. He grabs his arm, preventing him from hitting Lister. He says “What are you doing? It wasn’t his fault.”
It’s not dwelled on, it’s over in fifteen seconds (like most violence). And it made this movie a whole lot more interesting.
We move to Joe visiting with his lawyer. He tells Joe about his girlfriend (wife? fiancée?), who will not undergo a life-saving operation without Joe. He’s even keeping the fact that he is in prison from her, which I found intensely ridiculous. Even in the forties, you couldn’t be sentenced to prison in a short time. She had to notice he’s missing. What does she think he’s doing? Did he get lost on the way to get groceries? Did she not notice her boyfriend in the newspapers? Just get the operation done, then you can, you know, wait for your man without the risk of dying. Collins is understandably distressed, but he can’t do anything inside, can he? He goes to the doctor’s office and asks him about the progression of cancer. He also makes sure the doc knows the time he was there.
We now go to the machine shop, and see the cons of Cell R17 pass along the message “Wilson, 10:30.” What could this mean? Well, we see what it means, when, at 10:30, the entire machine shop starts a brawl. And we see Soldier, Coy, and Spencer push the stoolie into a stamp press. They turn this dude into a puddle on screen in 1947!
Good God, no wonder the studio had a cow about this movie. Collins is still in the doctor’s office when he gets the news. They begin a cynical conversation.
Doctor: “A prisoner just killed.”
Collins: “Yeah?”
Doctor: “Well, this is one rap they can’t hang on you, Collins. I’m your witness. Important thing, witnesses. Lucky you asked me before exactly what time it was.”
Collins: “Yeah, who was it?”
Doctor: “Fella by the name of Wilson.”
Collins: “Tough break. Accident?”
Doctor: “Positively. Witnesses.”
Collins, you cold-blooded killer. Well. Our heroes just murdered a man for revenge, folks. Not something you see often in the forties.
Our heroes leave for movie night, (having just killed a guy!) leaving Lister alone in the cell. He starts to reminisce about how he came to be in prison.
Lister’s recollections are interrupted by the arrival of Captain Munsey. You know, Cronyn, Bissell, and Olan Soule were three actors I had trouble telling apart for the longest time. They all had similar statures, were similar in age, did similar officious, fussy roles, and even had unusual names. He comes in and sits very close to Lister.
Munsey’s giving off some bad touch vibes as he tries to get poor Lister to spy on his cellmates. Lister won’t, of course, and Munsey spitefully ruins his life. Cronyn’s delivery of what follows chilled me. You’re not quite sure what he’ll say next, but you know it’ll be something awful.
Munsey: (softly) “I get quite a kick out of censoring the mail. All these letters you write home, for example. And the answers you never get.”
Lister: “Please, Captain. Let me alone.”
Munsey: “She’s the most important thing in the world to you, isn’t she? Well, you’ll come up for parole soon, if your conduct’s good. I’m the one who decides that. I’m the only one who can help you. No one else.”
Lister stands up, full of resolve.
Lister: “Captain, I’m a cheap thief, and I know I’m a failure. But I’m not an informer.”
Munsey’s face barely twists.
Munsey: “That’s what I like to see in a man. Stability. Fidelity. You’re right, Lister, we’re both wasting our time. Me by talking to you and you by writing to your wife.”
Lister: “Captain, you’ve heard from her!”
Munsey: “By mail, this morning.”
Lister: “Please, please, Captain, tell me!”
Munsey: “In a way, Tom, you’re a free man. She’s divorcing you.”
Munsey walks out, leaving Lister to weep. We fade to the movie room, where the warden addresses the prisoners over the intercom. He makes some bravado-laden pleas, and says that if there’s another incident, there’ll be no more privileges like visiting hours or parole. And immediately, Lister is discovered having killed himself, which counts as an incident. Munsey comes into the cell again, saying that he suspects the cellmates of having killed Lister, like they killed Wilson. Because of this, he’s moving them to the punishing drainpipe.
At this point, Collins is desperate. He can’t get parole, and he’s going to the drainpipe, where his strength will soon be broken. He has to get out.
We move to a meeting between Munsey and the doctor, where Munsey is espousing his fascistic theories about life.
Munsey: “[The warden] doesn’t know that kindness is actually weakness. And weakness is an infection that makes a man a follower instead of a leader.”
Doctor: “Seems to me a very great leader once said the meek shall inherit the earth.”
Munsey, sneering: “Science contradicts that, Doctor. Nature proves that the weak must die, so that the strong may live. Authority, cleverness, imagination: those are the real differences between men. I walk amongst these convicts, these thieves and murderers, alone, unarmed. They respect me. They fear me.”
(cont.)
Doctor: (Animated, now) “Did he ever order you to crucify the prisoners? Were you ordered to make convict Lister hang himself?”
Munsey: “What are you talking about?”
Doctor: “You were seen going into Lister’s cell and you were seen coming out. What happened in between? Did you censor his mail? Wouldn’t he give you any information? Or did you tell him a few lies about his wife?”
Munsey: (Icily) “You should stop drinking, doctor. Your imagination is working overtime. Visiting cells is part of my job…I can control them.”
Doctor: “Control them? You mean torture them, don’t you? The more pain you inflict, the more pleasure you get. That’s why you’d never resign from this prison. Where else would you find so many helpless flies to stick pins into?
Munsey: “You talk to me like that-If I didn’t keep you here, you’d be starving. You surgical butcher.”
Doctor: “For me it’s the last stop anyway. For you it’s just the beginning. Isn’t it? Why, you’re Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Caesar! Look at you in the warden’s chair. Caesar trying out his throne.”
Munsey quickly stands up.
Munsey: “That’s enough.”
Doctor: “Caesar cries enough? Come, come, you’re obvious, Munsey. Your every move is obvious. You’ve cheated, you’ve lied, you’ve murdered. You’re worse than the worst inmates of this prison. You’re the psychopath here, not they-”
Munsey slaps the doctor, sending him to the floor. He crawls back up, smiling.
Doctor: (Mockingly) “That’s it, Munsey. That’s it. Not cleverness. Not imagination. Just force, brute force. Congratulations. Force does make leaders. But you forget one thing: it also destroys them.”
That’s probably the best title drop I’ve seen. Nice job, Mr. Dassin.
We then move to an elaborate game of cat-and-mouse between Munsey and Collins. Munsey knows about the escape, but Collins knows that Munsey knows. This culminates in a very disturbing torture scene where Munsey beats an innocent prisoner to the Tannhauser Overture.
Look! This guy has a huge, framed photo of himself in his office.
What the hell is wrong with this dude? You know, I’m impressed that the Production Code let this happen, but I suppose I shouldn’t be considering that Richard Widmark got to push a wheelchair-bound lady down the stairs the same year.
I just have so many questions. Who built this thing? Is there an attic full of torture devices in this place? (Considering what went on in prison in the late 19th and early 20th century, I honestly would not be surprised. See the early lives of Carl Panzram, Charles Manson, or Pee Wee Gaskins.)
Collins goes ahead with the escape attempt, even though he knows Munsey is waiting. And what happens next has the aura of a nightmare. The prison is decimated, with Gallagher, Collins, Spencer, Soldier, Coy, Stack, at least five guards, and Munsey all dead.
We then fade out to the cell block, where we see the empty R17 and the wounded prisoners. The doctor starts to speak about why men attempt to escape prison.
Doctor: “…and the others, all those others. Why do they do it? They never get away with it. Alcatraz, Atlanta, Leavenworth. It’s been tried in a hundred ways from as many places. They’ve always failed. But they keep trying. Why do they do it?”
This dark ending is fitting for a movie that was probably one of the bleakest to come out of the forties. There’s no resolution to this conflict. The prisoners will suffer under another captain more or less like Munsey, another warden more or less capable. They will still come out worse than they came in. It’s telling that there are no solutions proposed to fix this. Even the doctor, the conscience of the movie, can only offer more patience, more understanding. And there are no solutions for us. I appreciate the lack of millenarianism so common to the 20th century. They don’t have faith in a future generation to solve this problem. If they did, we would have disappointed them.
