Allen Baron’s Blast of Silence is basically a film noir, which is interesting because coming as it did in 1961, it missed the genre’s golden age by at least five years and precedes it’s post-modern resurgence by about three decades. This is okay though because on the one hand, film noir may be the most wildly overrated of film genres and on the other, the genius of Blast of Silence lies in moments when convention gives way to the unexpected—the film ultimately works because of the ways in which it appears to get so many things “wrong.”
The story follows Cleveland hit-man Frankie Bono as he arrives in Manhattan at Christmastime to execute a mid-level gangster named Troiano. The movie’s opening sequence, in which the camera presents the viewer with the point-of-view of a train as it negotiates a long tunnel—the tiny point of light growing gradually as it jerks about the center of the otherwise pitch-black frame—reveals a visual and narrative aesthetic that is pulled straight out of the comics medium. In case the tunnel-as-vagina metaphor is too subtle, Lionel Stander’s whiskey-soaked narration pops in with:
“Remembering, out of the black silence, you were born in pain (the sound of doctor’s hand violently meeting baby’s buttocks and the baby’s attendant wails follow this declarative).”
Of course by comparing Frankie’s entrance into the city through one of the myriad underground train tunnels to an infant’s violent introduction to the world, the film is basically letting the viewer know that the hero is doomed and this is actually a good thing because it allows events to unfold organically, eschewing artificial suspense for a feeling of ruthless inevitability.
The sense of mistakenness or wrongness, which pervades the movie, is centered in the character of Frankie. In casting himself in the role, Baron contrasts his own non-professionalism as an actor with the studied meticulousness with which Frankie carries out the preparations for his job. The effect of this is curious as you get the clear sense that while Frankie is indeed a professional and performs his job well, he is ultimately temperamentally ill-suited to his métier. The impression is cemented by the narrator’s commentary:
“The wind is cold as you approach the ferry, but the palms of your hands start to sweat. This is the first bad moment. There’s always a few on every job when you’re not alone.”
These comments, as with much of the film’s narration, serve to beat Frankie down, pointing out his many inadequacies. Furthermore, the second-person perspective of the narrator adds to the sense that the viewer is witnessing something he shouldn’t—like when you happen to catch a neighbor’s conversation in progress on an old cordless telephone.
Another amazing thing about Blast of Silence is the way in which the notion of the girl is handled. In a typical movie of this type, the girl either serves as the hero’s fatal flaw, dragging him down right at the moment when it seems he may escape from his existential cage, or as a symbol of an unattainable redemption. The moment when Frankie barges into Lori’s apartment, explaining that she was right that he needs to find a girl and that she is that girl, only to find her boyfriend shaving in the bathroom reveals the fallacy of Frankie’s notion of a second chance. That he gets the first inkling of this “second chance” at the party to which he was invited by Lori and her brother Pete, when Pete announces to the crowd that "Twenty years ago I won a great contest and just to prove my manhood I’m going to do it again. Frankie, I hereby challenge you to another peanut-pushing contest with the nose. Come on, Frankie, I’m giving you a second chance. Very few people get that in their life," deepens the moment's absurd irony. When Lori approaches Frankie at the party and admits she’s “always wanted to dance with Frankie,” Frankie apparently fails to register the man at her arm, who encourages him to accept, saying, “Come on. Go ahead. We’re all friends here.”
There is a lot more to like in Blast of Silence, including Larry Tucker’s performance as the corpulent firearms dealer Ralphie. Tucker is known for his absurdly over-the-top turn as the mad tenor Pagliacci in Fuller’s Shock Corridor. Tucker is the perfect comic book heavy, wheezing disgustingly as he gnaws on a barbecued rib, wiping his fingers directly onto his t-shirt. The bizarre combination of cowardice and menace that Tucker brings to the moment in which he and Frankie negotiate the price of a handgun encapsulates his decadent evil counterpoint to the film’s moral framework.
The story follows Cleveland hit-man Frankie Bono as he arrives in Manhattan at Christmastime to execute a mid-level gangster named Troiano. The movie’s opening sequence, in which the camera presents the viewer with the point-of-view of a train as it negotiates a long tunnel—the tiny point of light growing gradually as it jerks about the center of the otherwise pitch-black frame—reveals a visual and narrative aesthetic that is pulled straight out of the comics medium. In case the tunnel-as-vagina metaphor is too subtle, Lionel Stander’s whiskey-soaked narration pops in with:
“Remembering, out of the black silence, you were born in pain (the sound of doctor’s hand violently meeting baby’s buttocks and the baby’s attendant wails follow this declarative).”
Of course by comparing Frankie’s entrance into the city through one of the myriad underground train tunnels to an infant’s violent introduction to the world, the film is basically letting the viewer know that the hero is doomed and this is actually a good thing because it allows events to unfold organically, eschewing artificial suspense for a feeling of ruthless inevitability.
The sense of mistakenness or wrongness, which pervades the movie, is centered in the character of Frankie. In casting himself in the role, Baron contrasts his own non-professionalism as an actor with the studied meticulousness with which Frankie carries out the preparations for his job. The effect of this is curious as you get the clear sense that while Frankie is indeed a professional and performs his job well, he is ultimately temperamentally ill-suited to his métier. The impression is cemented by the narrator’s commentary:
“The wind is cold as you approach the ferry, but the palms of your hands start to sweat. This is the first bad moment. There’s always a few on every job when you’re not alone.”
These comments, as with much of the film’s narration, serve to beat Frankie down, pointing out his many inadequacies. Furthermore, the second-person perspective of the narrator adds to the sense that the viewer is witnessing something he shouldn’t—like when you happen to catch a neighbor’s conversation in progress on an old cordless telephone.
Another amazing thing about Blast of Silence is the way in which the notion of the girl is handled. In a typical movie of this type, the girl either serves as the hero’s fatal flaw, dragging him down right at the moment when it seems he may escape from his existential cage, or as a symbol of an unattainable redemption. The moment when Frankie barges into Lori’s apartment, explaining that she was right that he needs to find a girl and that she is that girl, only to find her boyfriend shaving in the bathroom reveals the fallacy of Frankie’s notion of a second chance. That he gets the first inkling of this “second chance” at the party to which he was invited by Lori and her brother Pete, when Pete announces to the crowd that "Twenty years ago I won a great contest and just to prove my manhood I’m going to do it again. Frankie, I hereby challenge you to another peanut-pushing contest with the nose. Come on, Frankie, I’m giving you a second chance. Very few people get that in their life," deepens the moment's absurd irony. When Lori approaches Frankie at the party and admits she’s “always wanted to dance with Frankie,” Frankie apparently fails to register the man at her arm, who encourages him to accept, saying, “Come on. Go ahead. We’re all friends here.”
There is a lot more to like in Blast of Silence, including Larry Tucker’s performance as the corpulent firearms dealer Ralphie. Tucker is known for his absurdly over-the-top turn as the mad tenor Pagliacci in Fuller’s Shock Corridor. Tucker is the perfect comic book heavy, wheezing disgustingly as he gnaws on a barbecued rib, wiping his fingers directly onto his t-shirt. The bizarre combination of cowardice and menace that Tucker brings to the moment in which he and Frankie negotiate the price of a handgun encapsulates his decadent evil counterpoint to the film’s moral framework.
Blast of Silence is among the best of films noirs in that it confirms the genre’s conventions by shattering them. While some might interpret the inevitability of Frankie's demise as nihilistic, Frankie’s ill-advised attempt to extricate himself from his role as harbinger of death ultimately confirms his freedom, even at the moment that it seals his destiny. That the film was produced by a first-time director for roughly $20,000 was nothing short of remarkable for its time. Though it is a shame that Baron’s career subsequent to Blast of Silence comprised episode after episode of television serials, most filmmakers will never make a single movie as good as this one and I gather we can all be grateful for it.
