Compulsion (1959)

Compulsion is a 1959 noir thriller based very faithfully on the infamous murders perpetrated by Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold, two sons of vast privilege living in Chicago in 1924, who were as obsessed with Nietzsche as they were each other; both of them were prodigies and Nathan Leopold was in grad school before the age of 21. They gleaned their sense of superiority from reading Nietzsche's idea of the "Ubermensch" or "Superman," who was "beyond good and evil," and who doesn't have to play by the conventional dictates of a morally-ordered world. The Superman, being far advanced over the "brainless, vociferating herd" (as Ragnar Redbeard called them). This is the Darwinian inversion of traditional Christian ideals, so that instead of "turning the other cheek," Superman becomes unfeeling, coldly calculating exploiter of "lower beings," who can use and cast aside whoever and whatever he wishes, to cross the abyss of Nothingness, and realize, on the other side of that, his True Destiny. Even if that end is destruction in the name of the "transvaluation of all values." Amor fati, Nietzsche would say. Or, "Love your fate."

Or something like that.

I awoke with no plans to watch Compulsion again, except that it appeared, as if by Divine Decree, on my list of videos suggested from YouTube, and it was too much to resist. The intense performance of the Late Dean Stockwell, who seems as if he is on the verge of an emotional meltdown, even as he condemns the sentimentality of a young woman, pining unknowingly over the murder of a boy she does not know her friend is responsible for having killed. The names have been changed here: the late Dean Stockwell plays "Judd," an ornithologist and arrogant, seemingly cold, and overly rational adaptation of killer Nathan Leopold, while Bradford Dillman plays "Artie," a take on the slick, psychopathic Richard Loeb (who was killed in prison trying to rape a fellow inmate). The victim, real victim, 14-year-old Bobbie Franks is also referred to by another name.

Artie and Judd become obsessed with committing the "perfect crime." To that end, they kidnap a young boy, beat him while driving around until he is dead, then dump his body near a culvert. They then use an old-fashioned typewriter with a bent key to write his family a bogus ransom note and think themselves quite clever. Unfortunately, Superman Judd accidentally drops his glasses (a unique pair with a special hinge sold to only three people in all of Chicago--narrowing down the list of suspects to just him), alongside the body, where they are quickly discovered. The Birdman becomes increasingly unhinged, while his partner Artie, a much more self-assured antisocial psychopath, thinks that they are still in the clear.

It doesn't take long before investigators, though, led by the State's Attorney (played by E.G. Marshall) get around to questioning the two suspected thrill killers, and they get a story that the boys were "out with a couple of chippies," a "couple of crows" (is this a pejorative for black?) and that, they lied about their whereabouts because "do you know what my old man would do to me if he found that out?"

Their story that they went to a lake to make out with "a couple of dames," doesn't hold water (no pun), when Marshall finds out from the servant that the Stutts Bearcat (a luxury sports car popular with the sons of the privilege of that era, a two-seater no less) was in the shop when it was supposed to be carrying FOUR warm bodies to a trysting place. They question Judd, and he starts to crack, the tempestuous emotional fear and rage within lashing out, revealing all, and the Birdwatcher starts to sing--like a canary.

Quickly charged with the "Murder of the Century," their wealthy, well-connected parents secure the legal aid of "Johnathan Wilk" (Orson Welles, who plays the part with a somber gravitas), a fictional stand-in for Clarence Darrow; who, fresh from the Scopes Monkey Trial, came forward, not to secure the release of his young, murderous clients, who had already confessed to the crime (Marshall's character fears at first that Wilk will try and enter a "not guilty" plea by reason of insanity), but to save them from the ultimate punishment--the death penalty by hanging, which he unalterably opposes.

To that end, he makes a final summation, in what has now become a courtroom drama, citing the history of man as "one long epoch of slaughter" (not an exact quote), and proclaiming that if he thought the execution of Judd and Artie could bring their victim back to life, he'd "let them both go." To the gallows, he means.

"This is a Christian community," he finally states. "Is there any doubt that these two young boys would be safe in the hands of the one who founded the Christian religion?"

When they are sentenced to life without parole, instead of the death penalty, neither boy can hardly be said to be grateful. But what did they expect? Previously, during his closing argument, Wilk states, "Maybe the parents had too much money." This is a class-conscious film in many ways, exposing the entitled mentality of the two young psychopaths, who use their rank and privilege, and the writings of Nietzsche, to justify their sense of entitled superiority. But Wilk has a few surprising words for young Judd on his way out of the courtroom.

Wilk, the "famous atheist", confesses he is more agnostic and "speculating" about the nature of God and cosmic justice, and he tells Judd, "If God didn't drop those glasses in that field, you might ask yourself: who did?" Of course, he means Judd was responsible, but, had it not been the Will of God for him to be brought to justice, would Judd have managed to lose his unique set of birdwatcher's glasses at just such a crucial time and place? So that their discovery would finally lead to his undoing?

Questions to ponder.

(Incidentally, Nathan Leopold ("Judd") was eventually paroled and moved to Puerto Rico to practice medicine among the poor. Supposedly reformed, he authored his memoirs 99 Years to Life, and unsuccessfully attempted to sue the makers of Compulsion for "defaming his reputation." Which is irony as rich as losing a pair of glasses at the scene of your greatest, most infamous crime.