Little Caesar (1931) – DVD

***/**** Image B+ Sound B+ Extras A-
starring Edward G. Robinson, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., Glenda Farrell, William Collier, Jr.
screenplay by Francis Edwards Faragoh, based on the novel by W.R. Burnett
directed by Mervyn LeRoy

by Travis Mackenzie Hoover At first glance, Little Caesar doesn’t appear to have too much going for it. Its dramatics are primitive, its style is unremarkable and hobbled by early sound limitations, and its supporting cast plays things so broadly as to strain credulity. But none of this matters. The incomparable Edward G. Robinson renders glorious the immorality of gangster Caesar Enrico Bandello, and his cruel, conceited portrayal is cinema enough for this critic. The shortish, nasal actor would seem the unlikeliest subject for demimonde glamour if that weren’t exactly the point: he’s every brutal schemer with nothing going for him but drive and a lack of scruples–and his terrible triumph is twisted inspiration for everyone else on the outside looking in. Robinson flaunts his lack of matinee grace, opening your eyes to the joy of beating the system.

Robinson single-handedly holds you in this iconic but somewhat sketchy genre-definer. Usually seen with a cluster of people around his spellbinding corpus, he makes his murderous arrogance attractive–no mean feat for someone who manipulates everyone he encounters and even forces his friends into positions they never wanted. Starting from nothing and eager to rise, he finds angles wherever he can get them, here using buddy Joe Massara (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.) to rob the nightclub where he works, there steamrolling over Diamond Pete Montana (Ralph Ince) when he feels slighted. We know he’s more wrong than wronged, but Robinson impels you to shut up and watch–largely through telling you to shut up and watch, if you know what’s good for you.

The actor has the ideal medium for his commanding presence in Little Caesar. This is the sort of gangster that could only exist in the age of mass media: he’s not just interested in money and power, but in being known as having money and power, too. Clearly (and perhaps too obviously) patterned after Al Capone, he lives to get on the front page despite the fact that it makes him a juicy target for crusaders and police, and he chooses the obvious show of force of his pistol over the safer and less conspicuous route of buy-offs and diplomacy. Of course, this serves as delightful spectacle and Achilles Heel at the same time, but sorting out the ambiguities becomes secondary to revelling in the photogenic Robinson and his despicable rampage.

Though it’s perhaps disrespectful to blow off one of the crucial moments in the ’30s gangster cycle as a single actor’s showcase, Robinson’s clenched fury sells the lines like few actors could, elevating Rico to the status of romantic icon and the film itself from a ripped-from-the-headlines story picture to an object of compelling fascination. Robinson always has some wonderfully slangy line to deliver and barks orders and insults as though this were his last opportunity to do so. And the spare nature of the narrative gives him a mythic potency that a more complicated script might lack. It’s a sight to behold, this performance, transforming Little Caesar into something worth watching as more than just a film-school museum piece.

THE DVD
Part of their “Gangsters” collection, Little Caesar looks as good as can be expected on Warner’s DVD release for a film dating back to the talkie’s nascency. The full-frame image has its share of defects–mostly intermittent scratches–but the actual transfer is unimpeachable, with as much sharpness and clarity as the print will allow. While the Dolby 1.0 mono audio is somewhat tinny, this is probably the best they could do considering Vitaphone source. A mountain of captivating extras accompanies the film, breaking down as follows:

Commentary by Richard Jewell
The esteemed scholar fills in background details, from the real-life models for many of the characters to the picture’s status as gangster Ur-text and its myriad censorship problems. Occasionally a little obvious, but well aware of Little Caesar‘s aesthetic limitations and peppered with fascinating tidbits.

Little Caesar: End of Rico, Beginning of the Antihero (17 mins.)
An impressive array of experts (including Andrew Sarris, Robert Sklar, and Martin Scorsese) deconstruct the allure of Little Caesar‘s genre-defining gangster, from his unlikely personification by genteel Edward G. Robinson to his resonance with Depression-era audiences. Though a bit too reverent and a tad abbreviated, for novices it’s a solid starter course in gangster chic.

1954 Re-release Foreword (45 sec.)
A brief title crawl extolling the relevance of Little Caesar and The Public Enemy that pompously declares their heroes “a problem that sooner or later we, the public, must solve.” Followed by 78 minutes of delicious violence.

Another re-creation of the period’s moviegoing experience, with shorts, trailers, and newsreels for all. As usual, they can be watched separately or as a continuous ‘night at the movies.’

Introduction by Leonard Maltin (4 mins.)
Leonard fills in the blanks on the selection of shorts. Not quite as informative as his other intros, but no tragedy, either.

Trailer: Five Star Final (2 mins.)
Robinson plays an unscrupulous tabloid publisher seeking to ruin an innocent woman’s reputation. Blink and you’ll miss a shot of unbilled Boris Karloff from the same year as his breakthrough role in Frankenstein.

Newsreel (2 mins.)
An interview with “Kiki” Roberts, ex-moll of recently-slain gangster Legs Diamond. The supposed moral of the story is to live clean and obey your parents, but Roberts’s enthusiasm is less than overwhelming.

Dramatic Short: The Hard Guy (6 mins.)
A pre-stardom Spencer Tracy stars as a destitute family man who wants to buy his daughter a doll; after leaving the house with his service revolver, his wife suspects him of a reported shooting. If the writing is pretty flimsy stuff, because it confines itself to one shabby apartment, The Hard Guy is an astoundingly potent indicator of Depression misery.

Animated Short: Lady, Play Your Mandolin
A delightfully anarchic musical cartoon about a fox-like creature who visits a Mexican saloon and exhorts a dancer to play that mandolin. Much jumping and singing all around; the animators were fugitives from the Disney factory, which explains the Mickey-esque features on the hero.

Rounding out the package: Little Caesar‘s trailer.

78 minutes; NR; 1.33:1; English DD 1.0; CC; English, French, Spanish subtitles; DVD-9; Region One; Warner