Focus Features

Mitchum kicks back in the joint

With the end of World War II, a darkness descended on American movies. The two most representative films from those early post-war years - The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) and It's a Wonderful Life (1947) – are filled with an unease that belies their uplifiting titles.

Those post-war years are pre-eminently the years of film noir, which introduced a host of new actors – especially Burt Lancaster (The Killers, 1946), Kirk Douglas (The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, 1946), and Robert Mitchum (Out of the Past, 1947). 

Of the three, Lancaster had the widest range – moving from the athleticism of his early performances to the gravity of his last films with Luchino Visconti and Louis Malle. Douglas outlived the other two. But Mitchum was the coolest of the three.

Mitchum's career almost came to a halt when he was arrested for narcotics possession.

The following run-down of the case comes from Lee Server's biography of Mitchum:

“Mitchum always insisted that his being caught smoking marijuana had been a 'frame-up,' but the enthusiasm of his lawyer – the charismatic, 'attorney to the stars,' Jerry Geisler – for a courtroom battle began to dissolve when he learned of some potential ammunition the prosecution team had been gathering, evidence of Mitchum's uninhibited lifestyle. The DA's office had a lot of dirt on the boy. Giesler realized he could very possibly win a not guilty verdict and yet the prosecution's evidence and witnesses might still damage Mitchum "beyond hope of rehabilitation." The studio execs felt that a long trial filled with scandalous revelations making headlines every day would be likely to turn the public against him and destroy his movie stardom for good.

In essence, Mitchum's attorney decided to offer no defense and to throw him on the mercy of the court.

Judge Nye sentenced Mitchum to a year in the county jail. He then suspended the sentence and placed Mitchum on probation for a period of 2 years, 60 days of that to be experienced in the confines of the county jail. A recess was called, and as the judge moved out of sight, the crowd moved in. Photographers trampled each other, fans and spectators shouted Mitchum's name, and cried out words of encouragement. Mitchum stood, showing no emotion, bending his head to Jerry Giesler's whispered wisdom. Asked if he had come prepared to go to jail, Mitchum said that he had forgotten to bring a toothbrush. "I travel light, but this is too light."

He was then taken to the jail cells on the top floors of the courthouse. Mitchum exchanged his suit for jail-issue denim blues, though he was allowed under jail rules to keep his own footgear, an expensive pair of brown cordovans. And he exchanged his old identity for a new one: prisoner # 91234. The cell door clanged shut. He sat on the bunk, lit a cigarette and stared down at his cordovans.

At dawn they woke him, gave him a mop and bucket, and told him to clean up. He was finishing up when they let in some reporters and photographers. It was arranged by - somebody. A reporter asked him how he slept. Fine, fine. He was beginning to like it there. No pictures through the bars, boys, that's all I ask. I don't want my kids to see that and get scared. He mopped some more. What did he talk about to the other prisoners? ‘Oh,’ said Mitchum, ‘we just discuss our lives of crime.’ ” 

Extract taken from Robert Mitchum: "Baby, I Don't Care" by Lee Server (Faber & Faber, 2002).

Essential Viewing: Out of the Past [Buy], The Big Steal [Buy], His Kind of Woman [Buy], Pursued [Buy], Crossfire [Buy], Angel Face [Buy], The Lusty Men [Buy], The Wonderful Country, Home From the Hill [Buy], Night of the Hunter [Buy], Cape Fear [Buy], El Dorado [Buy], The Friends of Eddie Coyle [Buy], and Farewell, My Lovely [Buy].

Mitchum kicks back in the joint

With the end of World War II, a darkness descended on American movies. The two most representative films from those early post-war years - The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) and It's a Wonderful Life (1947) – are filled with an unease that belies their uplifiting titles.

Those post-war years are pre-eminently the years of film noir, which introduced a host of new actors – especially Burt Lancaster (The Killers, 1946), Kirk Douglas (The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, 1946), and Robert Mitchum (Out of the Past, 1947). 

Of the three, Lancaster had the widest range – moving from the athleticism of his early performances to the gravity of his last films with Luchino Visconti and Louis Malle. Douglas outlived the other two. But Mitchum was the coolest of the three.

Mitchum's career almost came to a halt when he was arrested for narcotics possession.

The following run-down of the case comes from Lee Server's biography of Mitchum:

“Mitchum always insisted that his being caught smoking marijuana had been a 'frame-up,' but the enthusiasm of his lawyer – the charismatic, 'attorney to the stars,' Jerry Geisler – for a courtroom battle began to dissolve when he learned of some potential ammunition the prosecution team had been gathering, evidence of Mitchum's uninhibited lifestyle. The DA's office had a lot of dirt on the boy. Giesler realized he could very possibly win a not guilty verdict and yet the prosecution's evidence and witnesses might still damage Mitchum "beyond hope of rehabilitation." The studio execs felt that a long trial filled with scandalous revelations making headlines every day would be likely to turn the public against him and destroy his movie stardom for good.

In essence, Mitchum's attorney decided to offer no defense and to throw him on the mercy of the court.

Judge Nye sentenced Mitchum to a year in the county jail. He then suspended the sentence and placed Mitchum on probation for a period of 2 years, 60 days of that to be experienced in the confines of the county jail. A recess was called, and as the judge moved out of sight, the crowd moved in. Photographers trampled each other, fans and spectators shouted Mitchum's name, and cried out words of encouragement. Mitchum stood, showing no emotion, bending his head to Jerry Giesler's whispered wisdom. Asked if he had come prepared to go to jail, Mitchum said that he had forgotten to bring a toothbrush. "I travel light, but this is too light."

He was then taken to the jail cells on the top floors of the courthouse. Mitchum exchanged his suit for jail-issue denim blues, though he was allowed under jail rules to keep his own footgear, an expensive pair of brown cordovans. And he exchanged his old identity for a new one: prisoner # 91234. The cell door clanged shut. He sat on the bunk, lit a cigarette and stared down at his cordovans.

At dawn they woke him, gave him a mop and bucket, and told him to clean up. He was finishing up when they let in some reporters and photographers. It was arranged by - somebody. A reporter asked him how he slept. Fine, fine. He was beginning to like it there. No pictures through the bars, boys, that's all I ask. I don't want my kids to see that and get scared. He mopped some more. What did he talk about to the other prisoners? ‘Oh,’ said Mitchum, ‘we just discuss our lives of crime.’ ” 

Extract taken from Robert Mitchum: "Baby, I Don't Care" by Lee Server (Faber & Faber, 2002).

Essential Viewing: Out of the Past [Buy], The Big Steal [Buy], His Kind of Woman [Buy], Pursued [Buy], Crossfire [Buy], Angel Face [Buy], The Lusty Men [Buy], The Wonderful Country, Home From the Hill [Buy], Night of the Hunter [Buy], Cape Fear [Buy], El Dorado [Buy], The Friends of Eddie Coyle [Buy], and Farewell, My Lovely [Buy].