When Fritz Lang moved to America, he did his best to understand the place in all its diversity, riding trains, hobnobbing with taxi-drivers and even spending six weeks with a group of Navajos. With Fury, his first Hollywood picture and one of the few for which he took a writing credit, you can see he is doing his damndedest to speak about American society in the way he spoke of German society in M or the Mabuse films.
Unfortunately Lang no longer had the input of Thea von Harbou, who despite being a nazi stooge was very good at shaping Lang's more fantastical ideas into coherent stories. Instead he gets Bartlett Cormack, who rose to some sort of prominence penning several of Cecil B. DeMille's worst-written features. Oddly, the original story is by the comedy-writer Norman Krasna (who was Oscar-nominated for it), and while structurally it's fairly tight it is marred by Cormack's trite dialogue and Lang's simplistic characterisation.
But really, it wasn't Lang's business to be a great screenwriter. He was an incredibly powerful and expressive visual director, and surprisingly much of his formal style has survived intact. He may no longer be able to have the nightmare architecture and cast of uber-hams that make his German films so unique, but Fury is still recognizably Langian. The picture actually begins in fairly typical Hollywood style, with plenty of conventional camera angles and straight acting. Once the story moves out to the hick town however we are suddenly transported into Lang country, with shot compositions of bold diagonals, actors playing straight into the camera and a rogues gallery of bizarre characters. The switch in style is fairly effective, although as with M the hysterical tone doesn't fit with the real world subject matter. One very effective bit of Lang technique though comes in the form of two lengthy point-of-view shots, one from the perspective of Tracy when he is stopped in his car, the second from that of the mob as it approaches the jail. Putting the audience into these two opposing positions at such crucial moments elicits sympathy for both parties.
Where the movie really falls apart is in the second act, and all the business with the trial and Tracy's revenge. It's full of plot holes and stretches of credibility. For example, we know the footage used as court evidence was shot by amateurs from a balcony, yet it impossibly features low angles. Tracy becomes a huffing and puffing caricature, both as written and as played, with the only example of bad acting I have ever seen from him. This exaggerated sketch of a man mad with revenge may make a good point but it makes weak drama.
Lang's tendency towards over-the-top performances may have harmed his more serious pictures, but at least here he gets a good line-up to do the job. Highlights include Walter Brennan as the shotgun-toting deputy, and silent star Raymond Hatton as the "muderous impulses" barber. Edward Ellis (the sheriff) is great too. He reminds me of Victor Meldrew from One Foot in the Grave. Fury has its share of bad hams as well though, such as those two jokers playing Tracy's brothers. Sylvia Sidney is the only member of the cast who is really allowed to play it straight all the way through, and she does a fine job, although I have seen her do much better still (in Dead End, for example).
After this, Lang made a few more attempts at writing and producing in Hollywood, it seems in the genuine hope of creating something of profound meaning for the American people, for which I admire him. In the end though he was passed from studio to studio and lumbered with b-pictures, in which he simply retreated into his personal style of shot composition. These efforts tend to be poorly scripted and appallingly acted, but at least you can play "spot the diagonal shadow". And it was also touching to see the innocent enthusiasm with which he approached genres like the western or the war flick. Fury on the other hand, for all its good intentions, is a mediocre mishmash, and a very disappointing watch.
Unfortunately Lang no longer had the input of Thea von Harbou, who despite being a nazi stooge was very good at shaping Lang's more fantastical ideas into coherent stories. Instead he gets Bartlett Cormack, who rose to some sort of prominence penning several of Cecil B. DeMille's worst-written features. Oddly, the original story is by the comedy-writer Norman Krasna (who was Oscar-nominated for it), and while structurally it's fairly tight it is marred by Cormack's trite dialogue and Lang's simplistic characterisation.
But really, it wasn't Lang's business to be a great screenwriter. He was an incredibly powerful and expressive visual director, and surprisingly much of his formal style has survived intact. He may no longer be able to have the nightmare architecture and cast of uber-hams that make his German films so unique, but Fury is still recognizably Langian. The picture actually begins in fairly typical Hollywood style, with plenty of conventional camera angles and straight acting. Once the story moves out to the hick town however we are suddenly transported into Lang country, with shot compositions of bold diagonals, actors playing straight into the camera and a rogues gallery of bizarre characters. The switch in style is fairly effective, although as with M the hysterical tone doesn't fit with the real world subject matter. One very effective bit of Lang technique though comes in the form of two lengthy point-of-view shots, one from the perspective of Tracy when he is stopped in his car, the second from that of the mob as it approaches the jail. Putting the audience into these two opposing positions at such crucial moments elicits sympathy for both parties.
Where the movie really falls apart is in the second act, and all the business with the trial and Tracy's revenge. It's full of plot holes and stretches of credibility. For example, we know the footage used as court evidence was shot by amateurs from a balcony, yet it impossibly features low angles. Tracy becomes a huffing and puffing caricature, both as written and as played, with the only example of bad acting I have ever seen from him. This exaggerated sketch of a man mad with revenge may make a good point but it makes weak drama.
Lang's tendency towards over-the-top performances may have harmed his more serious pictures, but at least here he gets a good line-up to do the job. Highlights include Walter Brennan as the shotgun-toting deputy, and silent star Raymond Hatton as the "muderous impulses" barber. Edward Ellis (the sheriff) is great too. He reminds me of Victor Meldrew from One Foot in the Grave. Fury has its share of bad hams as well though, such as those two jokers playing Tracy's brothers. Sylvia Sidney is the only member of the cast who is really allowed to play it straight all the way through, and she does a fine job, although I have seen her do much better still (in Dead End, for example).
After this, Lang made a few more attempts at writing and producing in Hollywood, it seems in the genuine hope of creating something of profound meaning for the American people, for which I admire him. In the end though he was passed from studio to studio and lumbered with b-pictures, in which he simply retreated into his personal style of shot composition. These efforts tend to be poorly scripted and appallingly acted, but at least you can play "spot the diagonal shadow". And it was also touching to see the innocent enthusiasm with which he approached genres like the western or the war flick. Fury on the other hand, for all its good intentions, is a mediocre mishmash, and a very disappointing watch.