Melvin Purvis: G-Man

Matt Clark and David Canary

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed Dan Curtis' Melvin Purvis: G-Man, a made for television movie that premiered in April of 1974. Like many American TV movies of that era, it was released abroad theatrically and, because Purvis is relatively unknown overseas, the title was changed to The Legend of Machine Gun Kelly. The film come at the end of a mini-boom in Depression era gangster films that was sparked by the 1967 success of Bonnie and Clyde. The film was a joint production of AIP and Curtis' production company. Curtis had had an overnight success when his daytime vampire soap Dark Shadows, briefly, became a hit. Both Melvin Purvis and Dark Shadows aired on ABC, the upstart of the then three major American television. It was more prone to display exploitation fare than the more staid CBS and NBC.

Part of my interest in this film is the discernable impact John Milius had on the production. He is credited with the story, shares credit for the screenplay with William F. Nolan, and is listed as the flick's creator. The project was originally intended to be a spin-off of Milius' feature debut Dillinger in which Purvis was portrayed by Ben Johnson. There was conflict between Curtis and Milius and the latter spent the rest of his days castigating both Curtis and television production in general. Dale Roberson ended up being cast as Purvis, but the script's right wing slant, violence, and male camaraderie remain as hallmarks of Milius' efforts. This is not a film that passes the Bechdel Test.

It is also a film that stands as a Thermidorian rebuke to most of the Depression era gangster films of this period like Bonnie and Clyde and The Sting which glamorized criminal behavior. Milius, a law and order reactionary, has Purvis provide an opening narration in which he describes the film's miscreants as psychotics and punks. The G-Men are not totems of virtue, they cadge cigars and booze from a kidnapped millionaire, but they are definitely the good guys in this film's cosmos. After his aide-de-camp (a note perfect Steve Kanaly) complains about dealing with the press, Purvis replies that their interest is an opportunity to shift public sympathy away from the desperadoes and put it firmly behind J Edgar Hoover and his minions. 

None of this would matter if Melvin Purvis was as clumsy and poorly acted as most exploitation fare. However, Curtis keeps things rolling along, the film is a brisk 75 minutes, and the ensemble acting is superior to most American A features from 1974. Robertson keeps within his range, portraying Purvis like the droll sheriffs he played in numerous B Westerns and on television's Death Valley Days. Harris Yulin is somewhat miscast as Machine Gun Kelly, but he deftly reveals his character's psychosis. Margaret Blye, as Kelly's domineering wife, is even better and makes me wonder why she didn't nab more challenging roles. The scene where she vents her class resentments at the kidnapped millionaire is a highlight of the film. That smarmy dilettante is well embodied by Dick Sargent, best known as the second Darren on Bewitched.

There are an array of small scene stealers in the film: John Karlen, Woodrow Parfrey, Don Megowan, and the ubiquitous Eddie Quillan. Best of all are familiar faces Matt Clark and David Canary as a duo with more guts than brains. The byplay between the two is lively and they are given the film's most dramatic exit. Dan Curtis made all sorts of disparate crap, mostly for television. However, The Winds of War and especially Melvin Purvis: G-Man makes me want to check out more of his work. It is probably more dross than diamonds, but Melvin Purvis is the kind of find that will keep me searching. It was so successful that a sequel of sorts was made: The Kansas City Massacre, also featuring Dale Robertson and Harris Yulin.