John Huston Thursdays: ‘The Asphalt Jungle’

This is one of those films that makes me happy about doing a retrospective on John Huston. Just when I think it’s going to get boring, I stumble on a movie like The Asphalt Jungle, and it blows me away.

The Asphalt Jungle, for a cinemaphile today, is a study in influence—not what it was influenced by, rather what it influenced later and still influences now. I can’t think of any other Huston film I’ve seen that so readily ignites callbacks (call-forwards?) to so many films I’ve seen before seeing this.

If I were pitching it to a studio today, I’d say, “It’s like Reservoir Dogs meets The Seven Samurai meets David Mamet.” You can’t watch it without hitting your head and saying, “So that’s where that’s from.”

And to say this is Huston at the height of his powers” isn’t enough. You must say, “This is Huston at the height of his powers in the 1950s.”

And it is. Structurally, Jungle is air tight. It takes chances, but they’re carefully controlled to provide maximum shock, at least retrospectively—I can’t know how shocking they were in 1950, but I do know that in the context of the film they’re surprising and clearly deliberate—the gun falling on the floor and nailing one of the gang members, the abrupt execution of the double-crosser, the delightful close-up of teenage boobies…

Is this the same guy who made The Maltese Falcon? It doesn’t quite feel that way. Falcon seemed a little tighter, more rigid. Here Huston feels more relaxed—the dialogue isn’t a rapid-fire barrage of quips and one-liners. The characters aren’t as grotesque—they seem a little more human.

Here’s a quick recap: Several men of various means and personalities join together to pull off one big score that will set them for life.