Deadline - U.S.A.

A throwback to the social-justice pictures Warner Brothers churned out in the 30s, Deadline U.S.A. casts Humphrey Bogart as the editor-in-chief of a big-city newspaper. Between trying to reunite with his ex-wife and stave off his paper being sold for parts he crusades to expose a gangster. The plot may be a near-ridiculous concoction of populist drama, but the execution shines.

Consider our introduction to the newsroom. Director Richard Brooks, who’d later direct In Cold Blood, has the camera pan across an open, smoke filled floor. A cacophony of typewriter clicks and conversations reverberates. Despite the room’s considerable size, it feels cramped as we pan over scores of men at small desks pounding out stories. Groups huddle around editors’ desks, discussing assignments. Copy boys rush back and forth as cries of “Boy” ring out. The energy of the room crackles. We feel the room’s pulse.

Next we meet Bogart, reviewing a story with his editors about credit controls and inflation. He asks, “What does this tax program mean to the average man and woman? Not billions, that’s an impossible figure. Here, break it down. What’ll it cost the housewife for groceries? How much more for a car? A radio? Fifty bucks? A hundred? How much?”

Then another reporter asks about a story involving a dead nude woman. The reporter says he’s got some “very interesting” photos. “Put ‘em on postcards and send ‘em to Paris,” Bogart retorts. “Second section. Play it down. No pictures.”

These two exchanges prove a master class in screenwriting efficiency. They show us everything about Bogart’s style and competence as an editor. A beat later and the script places him in a familiar position when a young reporter asks to stay on a story seeking to expose a Caponeesque gangster. The reporter thinks he can prove the gangster guilty. Bogart cautions, “It’s not our job to prove he’s guilty. We’re not detectives, and we’re not in the crusading business.”

Of course, a few scenes later, Bogart gets into the crusading business, but tinging his character with cynicism makes him a reluctant hero and marries this role to the iconic Bogart persona dating back to his performance in Casablanca.

The second act comprises a “man on a mission” movie with Bogart mobilizing the paper’s resources against the gangster, and a Hawskian “professionals at work” picture as his various reporters execute. The script’s contrived machinations see Bogart send his sports writer to sweat a potential murder witness. Laughable, but the stacked supporting cast packs enough charisma to whitewash such concerns.

Paul Stewart plays the aforementioned sportswriter. His perpetual half-grin—like he’s chuckling at the plot—seems natural on a sportswriter, just as his crackling line delivery does on a journalist.

Jim Backus turns up as an entertainment reporter, a twinkle of cynicism behind his easy smile.

And Audrey Christie, playing the lone female reporter, conveys a perfect mix of professional pride and personal regret in a scene where the staff holds a barroom wake for the soon-to-be-sold paper.

“I gave it the best 14 years of my life,” she says. “And what have I got to show for it, huh? Eighty-one dollars in the bank, two dead husbands…” a beat then, “and two or three kids I always wanted but never had.”

“I’ve covered everything from electrocutions to love nest brawls. I’ve got fallen arches, unfixed teeth, and you wanna know something, I…” she trails off for a beat, shocked by her own realization, “I never saw Paris, but…”

Then gathering her strength, she finishes, “But I wouldn’t change those years. Not for anything in this world.”

With dialog this good, the populist melodrama goes down easy.

And topping it off, Ethel Barrymore plays the paper’s founder’s widow and surrogate mother to Bogart. Their scenes brought a smile to my face. Bogart half-flirts with Barrymore in a way meant to flatter her—and perhaps the only way his character could show how much he cares for her. In a script filled with choice lines, Barrymore gets some of the best. When she announces she’ll buy the paper herself and her daughters scoff, asking what good it will do, she replies, “You’ll be happy to know that stupidity is not hereditary. You’ve acquired it all by yourselves.”

Yes, the plot gets more contrived. Hired goons posing as police officers infiltrate the paper and shoot a witness who dies atop the printing press. Bogart makes an impassioned courtroom speech. When an attorney interrupts, saying it’s an irregular procedure, Bogart barks, “So is the murder of a newspaper!” The deus ex machina ending sees a character show up at the paper instead of the police because, “I do not know police. I know newspaper.”

And yes, it posits a reductive, idealized version of the free press, where editorial integrity trumps commercial concerns or personal politics. The script tries to gloss over this, with Bogart saying, “A newspaper has no political party. We support men for office—Some good, some bad.” But framing the paper as incorruptible ignores the human fallibility of the men and women who run it.

But the film moves so fast we haven’t time to consider such inconsistencies. Clocking in under ninety minutes, it never idles. When the end title appears, it’s almost surprising in its abruptness. But upon reflection, it’s the best ending the film could deliver. Anything more would have halted the momentum, leaving the film to crumble under its populist pretension.

And I haven’t even mentioned the sub-plot involving Bogart’s ex-wife, played by Kim Hunter. It offers a great scene, where a drunken Bogart turns up on her doorstep in the middle of the night. She makes up the sofa for him, but he proves oblivious, staggers into the bedroom and falls asleep in her bed, leaving the sofa for her. Her delivery during this exchange conveys a relatable mix of concern, anguish, and frustration.

So what to make of the picture? It straddles a turning point in American cinema. Compared to that year’s best picture winner, Cecil B. DeMille’s The Greatest Show on Earth, Deadline - U.S.A.’s verisimilitude feels gritty and modern. Yet compared to A Streetcar Named Desire, released a year prior, Deadline - U.S.A.’s reductive populism feels trite and dated.

It’s a turning point for Bogart too. It marks his last great leading man role. He’d deliver other fine performances, but these were either character roles (the paranoid Queeg in The Caine Mutiny), or opposite comparable co-stars (Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina, Rod Steiger in The Harder They Fall). His later leading man roles (Battle Circus and The Left Hand of God) lack the energy present here.

Thus, the film ranks as a must-see for Bogart fans. But Howard Hawks fans will appreciate the “professionals at work” style, and everyone should enjoy the crackling dialog and charismatic performances, making for an easy recommendation.

If you’re still on the fence, consider this early line from Bogart when one of his lieutenants asks with disbelif if the paper’s going to be sold. “The heirs and the lawyers are up in the dome right now, waiting to explain the nature of their crime with facts, figures, and falsehoods,” Bogart says, then pauses a beat—thinking to himself—and adds with a wry grin: “One more ‘f’ and they won’t be drafted.”