TCM, the indispensable channel, has been delivering us a raft of old George Raft movies. They Drive by Night (1940) of course, but also such unmemorable noirs as Johnny Angel (1945), Race Street (1948), and I'll Get You (1952) as well as a couple of others so unsubstantial that, although viewed during the past month, they've already evaporated from my tired old brain.
This last while, whenever a George Raft picture began, we'd set a challenge: will Mr. Raft's face show an expression? Any expression! Will he smile, smirk, pout? Will he be angry, contemptuous, happy, lustful, disappointed? Anything at all, any human emotion? After painstaking study, I can now report that although we've examined every single frame, slowly and carefully, not once in any of these films has George Raft exhibited the slightest discernible human feeling. Moreover, on even more diligent examination, I can now affirm that he has delivered every single one of his memorized lines without the least variation in speed, volume, pitch, or intensity. Every sentence, no matter its significance, exits his mouth with the exact same cadence. It's all low affect, all the time.
It's a puzzlement. What was George Raft's appeal? Certainly not his skill as a thespian. Nor his negative charisma. He's not handsome, and because of his oddly short legs, he walks funny (and he walks at exactly the same speed when crossing the nightclub floor to question a "canary" or when prowling a dark alley, gat in hand.
Even more astonishing — in a couple of these movies he's cast as a romantic lead who gets the girl in the last scene — a girl who is younger, prettier, taller, and a much better actor. There's nothing more embarrassing or impossible-to-take-seriously than a George Raft kiss and fade. The End.
George Raft with Ella Raines.

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