Little Caesar (1931) 9/10
Caesar Enrico Bandello (Edward G. Robinson) works his way up through the gangs of Chicago, bringing along his old friend Joe Massara (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.). As Rico rises in the ranks, Joe becomes less interested in crime and more interested in his dancing career and his girlfriend Olga (Glenda Farrell).
Little Caesar is remarkable on a number of levels. First is simply its raw energy. This is a gangster movie that simply bursts onto the screen. Robinson, as Rico, is a primal force of pride, avarice, and violence. Robberies and murders happen quickly and often off-screen, showing us brutal sketches of the criminals rather than the crimes. Next is the acting, primarily Robinson’s. He is truly iconic. It’s amazing to me that in this, his most parodied performance, a role that is as much reminiscent of Bugs Bunny as of anything else, he still manages to convince.
And then, halfway through the movie, I discover that this is the most homoerotic movie the 1930s ever produced. Forget James Whale, this is the real deal!
The light goes on when gang member Otero (George E. Stone) gazes lovingly at Rico and gets into bed with him. Yes, indeed. Rico is laying down, Otero tells him how wonderful and tough and cool and fabulous he is, while laying down next to him. The next scene has Rico being fitted for a tux. He stands up on a table to see into the mirror, and Otero stands in front of him on the floor, so that his head is exactly in blowjob position. Otero grooms him while Rico preens. Holy cow, is this ever blatant!
The key, though, is how profoundly jealous of Olga Rico is; he is compelled to compete with her for Joe’s affections. Joe has virtually left the gang, and Rico wants him back. He tells Joe he will kill Olga unless Joe returns to his side. In a moment of paranoia, he tells Otero he must threaten Joe because otherwise Joe and Olga will turn him in. But only after the threat is made do Joe and Olga realize they have no choice but to do so. This is classic jealous lover behavior (and atypical, I think, for a gang boss, who wouldn’t give people with such dangerous information so much leeway). This is, at its heart, a love story.
The movie is laughable about gangs in a way that simply delights me. In Little Caesar, gang violence exists in a vacuum, it just is; following its own rules that are disconnected from the real world in a way that is like nothing so much as little boys playing Cops & Robbers. In a way, this is part of the gay game; it’s not really a gangster movie, you see, so there’s no need for the gangsters to be real. Contrast this movie with The Public Enemy (1931), which shows something like a cultural context for becoming a criminal, or with Scarface (1932), which has a much firmer grasp on the real results of violence.
In Little Caesar, Rico takes over the gang by telling the gang boss he just doesn’t have it anymore. That’s it. The boss caves. There are no repercussions from the higher echelons (eventually, he is rewarded), no betrayals from within, nor thought of reprisals. He just decides to take over, stakes his claim, and it’s done. I love this! Because, y’know, gangsters aren’t so tough if you just talk tougher.
This is, of course, part of the love affair the film has with Rico. He gets to take over because he’s so hot when he does.
