Stoker Thompson is always just one punch away from Paradise, an aging washed-up boxer on the wrong side of thirty whose future will be decided in the next 72 minutes. Robert Wise’s direction is impeccable, crafting a nearly perfect violent melodrama without hyperbole, brutish and sweaty, a tale told in real-time that spends much of its time between punches. DP Milton Krasner’s deep focus compositions, long slow tracking shots with minimal edits, the aggressive medium shots within the squared circle as the boxers trade punches, and the close-ups of fans addicted to the bloodlust create a savage frisson. There is no musical score to this film, no overbearing clash of strings or percussion to enhance the impact, only the dull thud of flesh being beaten into pulp and the shuffling roar of the crowd. Fucking brilliant.
The story is simple: Stoker Thompson (Robert Ryan) is last on the fight bill, just another old bum supposed to take a dive against the mob’s newest boy Tiger Nelson (Hal Fieberling). Problem is, Stoker’s manager Tiny (George Tobias) took the $50 payoff and never told him to take the dive, because there is no way Stoker can beat the youngster. Stoker goes into the fight with nothing to lose except his own dignity, as his wife is now an empty seat in the arena. This isn’t a title bout, it’s a cheap slumming fight for a few bucks that no one will remember the next morning, a mere statistic and a few quick bucks. So, Stoker doesn’t know the set-up...but it wouldn’t matter anyway: he fights to the end. And wins.
The lengthy fight scene in the final act is also filmed in real time, so we feel every punch and become fatigued by the fisticuffs. Robert Wise eschews quick cuts and close ups and lets the actors fight it out, punches connecting, sweat and mouthpieces flying, blood clotting as it happens. He cuts to members of the crowd screaming in a frenzy: the well-groomed mother, the obese glutton, the blind man who needs every impact described to him by a friend, as if these people define their own humanity by another’s suffering and cruelty. But it’s the mundane scenes outside the ring that strike the truest chord, as Stoker and his fellow boxers prepare for their bouts, or his wife Julie (Audrey Totter) wandering the crowded streets, trying to see her future with a punch-drunk boxer. Standing on a bridge, her shredded ticket falling like snow towards the busy streets below, city lights converging towards a vanishing point, reflects her own depressed musings. But she comes back from this precipice.
And in the best O. Henry twist of ironic fate, Stoker has his hand smashed to a pulp by the mobster who bet on his own boy, and now that his boxing days are over Julie sheds her own tears of joy. He may have lost this final battle, but she has won the war.
Final Grade: (A)
