The time is once again approaching for a top 50 list to stagger out of the gate, with the 1990s due for consideration in a few short weeks. Things are starting to solidify, but some holes still have to be addressed. There are also those movies that I haven’t seen since they were first released on, gulp, VHS. I can’t trust that version of myself entirely so certain films, like Carl Franklin’s Devil in a Blue Dress, really should be given fresh viewings.

As most probably know, Devil in a Blue Dress began life as a Walter Mosley novel in 1990. It introduced the character of Ezekiel “Easy” Rawlins, a black World War II veteran living in Los Angeles who, in this story, sort of stumbles into becoming a private investigator. Mosley has recently retired Rawlins after writing a dozen books featuring his most famous character.  I’ve met Mosley and own a copy of one of the Rawlins books, but haven’t read any of them. Without question, this is due to a lack of time and not a lack of interest.

The film version of Devil in a Blue Dress, released in 1995 to good reviews but poor box office, was written and directed by Carl Franklin as his follow-up to the rough gem One False Move. It would seem that Franklin, like Mosley, has an interest in noirish plots, as he later made the slightly disappointing Out of Time, a movie that still manages to persuasively evoke its black and white B-picture roots. Such reverence is impressive and completely evident while viewing Devil in a Blue Dress. I would imagine that the line of influence also runs through the work of Raymond Chandler. The classic film noir that Franklin’s film most reminded me of was probably Howard Hawks’ The Big Sleep, based, of course, on the Chandler book. A couple of years after Devil in a Blue Dress shriveled out of cinemas, essentially ruining any chance at keeping the same personnel for future film versions of the Rawlins stories, L.A. Confidential came out and was hailed up, down, and sideways as the heir apparent to Chinatown, etc. While I do prefer L.A. Confidential to Devil, the Chinatown comparisons really fit Franklin’s film far more and it’s partially because they both owe a huge debt to the noirs of the past. L.A. Confidential ideally should be viewed as a period crime epic with sprawling characters neatly situated inside an extremely tight piece of plotting. You’re stuck mostly with superficialities (period, city, corruption) when likening the two.

Indeed, regarding Devil in a Blue Dress, some of its appeal is in how much it resembles the classic film noir archetype without seeming like, as Chinatown did, a direct echo beholden to homage. That reverence is still a strength for Chinatown, but, as with all of the postnoir and neonoir that followed Touch of Evil, no new ground was broken. Devil has a distinct advantage in its concern with race, specifically African-Americans since there were no black protagonists in film noir. The casting here is flawless, taking Denzel Washington to play Easy during perhaps his most impressive period as an actor. There’s a hunger clearly visible throughout most of Washington’s performances of the ’90s that has unfortunately gotten lost this decade. His very even keel portrayal of Rawlins works because it gives the character the necessary patience as well as an intelligence that would be essential to his success. As we see in the film, he’s hardly perfect - starting off early on with letting alcohol-infused lust overtake common sense - and, yet, Washington seems to play him with a precision that allows Easy to be somewhat unfettered, to the point where he becomes the ideal guide.

His intermittent narration, thus, serves its purpose well as a bridging of an obvious gap between what the audience sees and what’s boiling gently beneath the surface. There’s little doubt that Devil in a Blue Dress is partially concerned with ideas of race in America, particularly in a well-defined area of the country and at a certain point in history. Rawlins is a war veteran in 1948, though he’s treated largely like a just-freed slave. He has his own house, but it becomes a virtual revolving door for the gallery of undesirables, including cops, who populate the film. Even though he keeps his nose clean, Easy gets taken in to the station by plainclothes detectives for three or four hours of interrogation. He’s even lost his job. At every turn, it’s glaringly obvious that, regardless of Rawlins’ behavior, his skin color precedes him. That little bit of additional angst informs the film in ways other pictures of this ilk can’t begin to approach. Mosley comes across as a writer bent deliberately in the direction of racial commentary to supplement his main plot, and I think Franklin’s adaptation maintains just enough of that frustration without it ever resembling a diatribe.

With those ideas clearly secondary, there’s ample room for a damn fine story. Let’s see - Los Angeles, period setting, a single male protagonist, a case of intrigue that isn’t as it appears, political corruption, female with a secret, complicated plot. The Chinatown comparisons should be obvious, right? I’m hardly in favor of dependently weighing films against each other, but you’d think that Devil could at least ride a bit on Chinatown’s coattails. It hasn’t happened, and that’s fine, I guess. For now, the latter film seems like an occasionally sniffed treasure that only a certain few have fully appreciated. The sense of confusion predictably reported by viewers of both films might even be the main aspect in common. One of the strongest attributes of Devil in a Blue Dress lies in how uncompromising the unfolding of the narrative is, and while the layers aren’t quite as dense as Chinatown, the actual plotting may be even less accommodating. Devil isn’t one of those films that lets the viewer stay one step ahead of the characters. And, yet, it’s not intentionally bewildering or poorly plotted either. While another olive branch or two might’ve added some overall cohesion to the plot, everything really is there if you pay close enough attention. Franklin’s adaptation certainly retains the feel of a great mystery in novel form, albeit significantly sped up. No time for much in the way of digesting each piece of the puzzle here.

One aspect entirely worth savoring in Devil is the kinetic breakthrough performance of Don Cheadle as Easy’s attenuated and violently crazy friend Mouse. I’d seen Cheadle as the bland district attorney in Picket Fences when this film came out so his transformation into such a disturbingly hilarious creature couldn’t have been more unexpected. He quickly built up a strong series of supporting roles in Boogie Nights, Out of Sight, and Bulworth, among others, after Devil, but this was absolutely the launching pad. It also remains one of the more inexplicably unrecognized performances by the Oscar voters since it wasn’t even nominated that year despite universally good notices from critics. There’s a sense of urgency and derangement in Mouse that Cheadle hasn’t really tapped into again. The humor particularly stands out, and not just because it’s funny (which it is). His entire characterization, given only a few minutes of screen time, is remarkable in how broad but also how effective it is to let the viewer fully grasp Mouse’s eccentricities.

Cheadle’s presence certainly provides an energetic jolt when he shows up an hour into the picture, but Franklin still maintains a rhythmic coolness from start to finish. As each little bit of the plot is gathered up, with no piece ever obviously given more emphasis than the last, the tone of the picture remains calm, assured in Washington’s almost disguised star turn. If there’s a weak link, it’s Jennifer Beals, who struggles to provide both the sensuality and the mystique necessary to keep us caring. She looks the part, but she doesn’t act it well enough. The comparisons with The Big Sleep pick up steam here, I think, as a convoluted main arc nonetheless seems beside the point and hardly a detriment to the overall enjoyment to be had from scene to scene. That would be a contrast with Chinatown, which stands as strong or stronger in the whole as in overall spirit. Different films for different times, though, and Devil in a Blue Dress has its own ambitions separate from any obvious influences.