REVIEWSrnThe Whippoorwillrnby J.O.Tatern”The pure products of Americarngo crazy.”rn-William Carlos WilliamsrnRobert Mitchum:rn”Baby, I Don’t Care”rnby Lee ServerrnNew York: St. Martin’s Press;rnS90 pp., $32.50rnThe go-to-hell attitude, unique features,rnand deceptive talent bv whichrnwe know Robert Mitchum (19l’7-1997)rnwere the product of his heredity and experience.rnHis father was a Scotch-IrishrnSoutli CaroHnian with some Amerindianrnblood —he died young in a railroad accident.rnHis mother was Norwegian onrnboth sides, a bohemian woman of imaginationrnwho bequeathed a love of poetrv’,rnliterature, and music to her son. Mitehum’srnanarchic spirit was both inheritedrnand taught by his environment: Bridgeport,rnConnechcut, Delaware, and NewrnYork Cih’, where his older sister went intornshow biz at an early age. As a bov,rnMitchum alreadv- wrote and raised hell,rnand read Jack London and Jim Tullv.rnAt 14, he left home with his mother’srnblessing to discover the big wodd, ridingrnthe rails in Depression America, freezingrnand starving, scrounging and hustling,rnseeing men die, and winding up ratherrnnotoriously on a chain gang in Savannah,rnGeorgia. Mitchum himself declared thatrneerthing in America that is not nailedrndow n winds up in California, so he did,rntoo. Marr’ing his childhood sweetheartrnand moving into a converted chickenrncoop, he worked with no aim in the earlyrn/.O. late is a professor of English atrnDowling College on Long Island.rn1940’s, unhl he found his calling in therntheater. Soon, he was the unshavenrnheax-y for Hopalong Cassid}-, and beforernthe war vsas over, he was a rising star inrnHollywood. He was on his wa, and thernlist of movies stretches for decades. IfrnMitchum never took HolKvvood seriously,rnneither did he turn his back on thernmoney, the chance to travel the world,rnnor the opportunit}’ to exercise his considerablerntalents.rnMitchum was no mere movie actor.rnHe achieved, as some others have done,rnan iconic status —he became a god, asrnParker Tyler would have it, a celluloidrnimmortal. Wlien he was young, the publicistsrnformed a club of the “MitchumrnDroolettes,” so great was his magnetismrnand their vulgarity. One bobby-soxerrngushed, “He has the most immoral facernI’ve ever seen!” (She meant that as praise,rnof course.) Mitchum more than survivedrnthe crisis of a marijuana bust and jailrnterm in I94S —he came out of it with enhancedrnstature. The bad boy had to bernbad, and the public liked him that way.rnBoth the pot and the booze continued tornbe processed for a lifehme. Planting marijuanarnby his mailbox, Robert Mitchumrnshowed an American spirit of defiance atrnodds with our national mythology, butrnnot with our national character.rnRobert Mitchum has today becomernhis movies, save in the memories of familvrnand friends. I suppose that there arernhvo genres for v’hich he is best rememberedrnand America is known around thernworld; certain of those will remain of permanentrninterest. Because of the popularityrnof the Western wheir he began hisrncareer—as well as his own brawny naturern—Mitchum made many Westerns.rnWliile most such films are bad. Pursuedrn(1947) is distincfive as a noir Western —rn”lit by matches,” as Mitchum liked tornsav—and will never be forgotten. Bloodrnon the Moon (1948) is another jewel; T/7ernLust}’ Men (19S2) is the best rodeo moviernever made; and ‘Lrack of the Cat (1954),rnThe Wonderful Country (1959), and LIrnDorado (1967) are also superior works.rnMitchum never looked silly in costume,rnand with his voice, inflecfions, and bodyrnlanguage, he put his own brand on thernhorse opera, forever.rnIn another —and not unrelatedmode,rnMitchum did more than make hisrnmark. Martin Scorsese has declared,rn”Mitchum was film noir.” And he was,rnfrom the get-go. Don Miller has calledrnWhen Strangers Marry (1944) “the finestrnB film ever made,” Out of the Pastrn(1947) is an acknowledged masterpiece,rnthought by many to be the best noir ofrnthem all. At least three of Mitchum’srnRKO movies are still regidarly screenedrnSEPTEMBER 2001/23rnrnrn