Boxcar Bertha

Part of the Depression era fad inspired by the success of Bonnie and Clyde, Boxcar Bertha (1972) would have faded into obscurity long ago if not for the simple fact that it was directed by Martin Scorsese. Early works by legendary filmmakers, no matter how inconsequential, are rarely discarded; they're dissected for hints of greatness to come. But one would be hard-pressed to find much to brag about in this Roger Corman-produced road movie based on the pseudo-autobiographical account of the fictional character (I'm as lost as you are) Bertha Thompson, a sexually-liberated, revolutionary-minded woman of her time who falls in with a gang of ne'er do wells hoping to outfox the nation's economic disaster.

The plot meanders through a cast of colorful characters: Big Bill Shelly (David Carradine), a union man whose principals are put to the test when it comes to making a living. Rake Brown (Barry Primus), a card shark with a distaste for violence. And Von Morton (Bernie Casey), a black man whose world-weary wisdom might be the most practical of the bunch.

But they all revolve around Bertha, played by an unrecognizably young Barbara Hershey, who accidently murders a politician and sends them all on the run through the Deep South. Eventually they pick up a cause: robbing from the railroad run by H. Buckram Sartoris (John Carradine) and redistributing the money to their union brothers. But their fight against the system is doomed to fail...the only question is who will still be left standing to take the fall.

Boxcar Bertha travels the same back roads as similar Corman-fare like Bloody Mama, but lacks the drive-in appeal of Shelley Winters packing a Tommy gun. It's obvious Scorsese was given a long leash (Corman's only requirement was "You must have a little nudity every 15 pages") and there's a recognizable structure to his dramatic and visual approach, especially in the final fight scene where flashes of future gangland brutality are splashed vividly across the screen. But there's no emotional connection to the material, it's merely an awkward slice of life flick peppered with tasteful sexuality and a re-heated political agenda.

Others certainly disagree. Roger Ebert saw enough potential to give the film four stars upon release. And as a departure from the genre's typically thrill-heavy formula, Boxcar Bertha deserves credit for putting its actors before its stuntmen. But Mean Streets, which Scorsese made the following year, was the film that found the director plugged in to his inspirations. Stacked against each other, Bertha feels like nothing more than a practice film made at Corman's expense; for which, I suppose, we should all thank him!

Critical opinions aside, Twilight Time's 3000-copy limited edition makes a great addition to the hi-def Scorsese catalog, which is still missing a number of pieces (where the hell is After Hours?!). The transfer is excellent, putting the period photography by DP John Stephens (Sorcerer) in a fine light. Extras include an isolated score track, theatrical trailer and flattering liner notes by Julie Kirgo.