Lady in a Cage

Thriller has some contrivances but also enough touches of reality to make it unsettling and disturbing. Olivia is effective as she works up to different levels of hysteria at a believable pace rather than going full bore from the beginning. Ann Sothern is a sad blowzy mess managing to engender sympathy for her character even though she does some disreputable things. James Caan is full of menace and an uncomfortable sexuality in his feature film debut, his simpleton comrades are frightening in their careless disregard for humanity. This is economically directed with a minimum of wasted scenes and a talented cast but the theme of home invasion is to real to provide much in the way of escapist entertainment.

Olivia de Havilland is a "Lady in a Cage" in this 1964 film also starring Ann Sothern, James Caan (in his debut), Jennifer Billingsley, Rafael Campos, and Scatman Crothers. de Havilland is an elegant, wealthy poetess who is recovering from a broken hip and is dependent on an elevator in the house - one of those European types that looks like a birdcage. After her son Malcolm has left for the weekend, an accident outside knocks out the power as she is going upstairs in the elevator. Though she hits an outside alarm, no one who can help hears it. The only ones that hear it? Any thief within a 5-mile radius. A homeless alcoholic (Jeff Corey) is first on the scene; he steals a toaster and alerts a cheap hustler, Sade (Ann Sothern, who resembles Suzanne Pleshette in this film). However, they're no match for the next bunch, played by James Caan, Jennifer Billingsley, and Rafael Campos, who seem like early Mansonites and decide everything is theirs. (Later a third group shows up, and they're the toughest yet.) All the while, the lady of the house sits in the elevator, powerless to do anything about the destruction around her.

This is a harrowing movie, very '60s in its music and the messages are familiar: the urban jungle, druggies, man's inhumanity to man, people not stopping to help, putting themselves and their own agendas first. The de Havilland character is driven to drastic measures - the movie will glue you to your TV set.

The beautiful de Havilland is excellent - as she always is - as the trapped woman who not only has to deal with enemies at the gate but the fact that one of the crooks finds an accusatory note from her son which ends with a suicide threat - and she has no idea there was a problem. "He sounds gay," one of them (Campos) says. James Caan is appropriately frightening, and so hairy it looks as if hair was taped onto his body. Jennifer Billingsley is good as his whacked out, drug-laden girlfriend. Sothern's story has a big continuity hole; it's never resolved. It's always a treat to see her in anything, and she plays this down and out loser very well.

Without de Havilland, this would have been a fairly lousy movie; with her, I think it's a cut above the horror films of other aging, classic film actresses like Crawford and Davis. If there is one thing de Havilland can always bring to a role besides great acting - and I write in the present tense because she's still alive - it's refinement, beauty, and class. Let's hope there's still a role she will agree to play.

Olivia de Havilland looks a little uncomfortable in this shocker, a debut feature from a director who had previously worked in TV suspense shows (including 'The Untouchables', also criticised for its violence). Not only does she have to perform for most of the film from a lift cage, but has to contend with a purple script, and participate in scenes of violence and degradation entirely alien to her screen persona to date.

This is a film angry and ugly in equal measure. Jet planes fly overhead unconcernedly as Mrs Hilyard is tormented, just as cars have already driven past blind to the dead dog laying outside her house. A young black girl runs her skates up the injured legs of a fallen drunk. Women are either helpless (Hilyard), nympho druggies (Elaine) or faded whores (Sade). Men are drunks (Brady), mummy's boys (Malcom) or worse. It is a world full of indifference to the plight of others, of strangers who are casually cruel, of heat, claustrophobia and malice. Mrs Hilyard herself does not deserve her ordeal, but her snobbery (and self satisfied addiction to appalling verse, principally of her own composition) and expressed distate for the "offal of the welfare state" is hardly attractive. Clearly Grauman intends her predicament to be an allegory both of her personal and social isolation as Hilyard's experience occurs amidst an ominous backdrop of current events (at one point she thinks the bomb has dropped). Now and again the world intrudes through a broadcast or passing plane which places the action in a larger context. This of course is lost on Mrs Hilyard. She is just as much out of touch with with society at large as with her son's emotions. Ultimately her captivity by the Randall gang is merely a physical realisation of what, morally, has long been the case. There's a shot which emphasises this: the masked Randall, Elaine and Essie stare fixedly at Mrs Hilyard over the banisters. The camera pans over from their silent and still faces to the victim's, then over to the window through which the sun appears as a burning globe. Their presence it seems is a permanent, and as harshly pervasive as elements of nature.

This was Caan's debut, and his is quite a presence, stalking panther-like, around the looted home. His sadism and shallow greed, and complete lack of redeeming features, make the greatest impact in a film which is full of such gestures. When burping his contempt for his captive, Caan expresses in a few uncouth noises ("I *am* an animal" he proudly confesses at one point) more than much of the other speechifying put together. The ironic equivalent of Hilyard's poetry, his grunts sum him up as neatly as Mrs Hilyard's affected and dated poeticism does her.

Paul Glass' score is a standout and makes for a stunning opening titles sequence. Its discordance and violence reflecting exactly the film's aggressive, alienated tone - one which, as has been noted by other viewers, anticipates that of 'Clockwork Orange' a few years later. Interestingly during the titles the director's credit appears on a conditioning unit, as if he intends his work to let some fresh air in on the foulness he will uncover. Whether or not he succeeds is up to the viewer to decide, but it doesn't make for an easy ride, and one banned in Finland and Australia. Interestingly his next film was the much more restrained and conservative '633 Squadron' until after a couple more obscure films he retreated back to TV.

The presence of big-name Hollywood stars does not guise the fact that this is one of the most flagrant mainstream movies of the 1960s. Surprisingly professional treatment is applied to the very sordid thrills at hand, most notably in the leads' performances which range from entirely believable to wonderfully unrestrained. Exceptional, also, is the film's score which erupts occasionally into a semi-experimental, wild beat-jazz type of noise(particularly effective in punctuating the cool opening credits, an interesting Saul Bass-inspired merging of film and frozen shots with linear animation). I can only imagine how some viewers must have reacted to this at the time it was released...a grimy urban nightmare with implied taboo sex, doped-up punks, and some highly disconcerting graphic violence and cruelty for the time.

Many of the most cherished leading ladies of Old Hollywood's glory days turned up in very lurid lo-budge vehicles during the 60s, and LIAC would be exemplary of that trend for its inclusion of DeHavilland and Sothern. Both actresses are in top-form here, and their professionalism veils somewhat the meretricious nature of the material(DeHavilland an urbane, mollycoddling mother sidelined by an injury who becomes trapped between floors in her home elevator, and Sothern a wearied but soft-hearted cyprian/burglar taking sheepish advantage of DeHavilland's perdition). Making a memorably heady debut is James Caan(channeling Brando), in his joyously immoderate portrayal of a sociopathic and frighteningly cunning young criminal who strikes terror into the heart of helpless DeHavilland. As he gradually comes to understand this woman's patrician, maternal nature, a very personal and pitiable hostility ignites within him. She is the embodiment of all the love and nurture he's been denied throughout his tragic life, and this becomes his chance to settle the score.

Classic must-see stuff for fans of singular 1960s B films within a vague realm which might include WHO KILLED TEDDY BEAR, WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE, THE NAKED KISS, and BUNNY LAKE IS MISSING.

8/10

"Lady In A Cage" was far ahead of its time. Compared to the rest of the lurid shockers produced in the early 1960s featuring aging Hollywood stars (including de Havilland's other 1964 appearance in "Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte") this film, along with "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" transcended the genre. But while "Baby Jane" had a lot to say about the price of fame, "Lady In A Cage" rightly predicted the impending chaos of a rapidly changing society.

Nothing about the basic premise (a middle-aged woman trapped in her house is terrorized by vagrants and thugs) suggests a deep sociological study. What elevates the ensuing events are the sharply observed details: the neighborhood in transition, the alienated masses isolated by endless traffic, the hoodlums' utter lack of conscience, and most of all, de Havilland's expert performance as the lone representative of the civilized world. Her undoing serves as a cautionary tale for a society on the brink. de Havilland makes this otherwise unsavory film exceedingly watchable. As her secrets are uncovered, she finds herself culpable as well. Everyone is caught in the inexorable downward spiral.

Despite the heavy themes, the film is highly accessible, even fun, if you take a jaundiced view. Not quite as campy as "Baby Jane" perhaps, but on some level, just as iconic. It's a film that stands up well to repeated viewings. Great graphic title sequence reminiscent of Saul Bass, compelling modern score by Paul Glass, sharp- focus black and white photography. Overall, fine work by everyone involved.