For a while, I couldn’t believe what I was watching on television, a pro-Cuban Revolution, anti-Batista Hollywood film made shortly after the revolution and during the post-McCarthy-era’s continuing nationwide harassment of anything hinting at communism.
Pier 5, Havana, a 1959 thriller starring Cameron Mitchell and Allison Hayes, tells the story of the American Steve Daggett (Mitchell) coming to Cuba to find a missing friend and encountering a pro-Batista counterrevolutionary group that has kidnapped his friend to use him to convert airplanes into bombers. Steve finds himself helping to frustrate those efforts and support Fidel Castro’s new government.
It’s amazing such a film wasn’t verboten in an America still reeling from U.S. Sen. Joe McCarthy’s Commie witchhunt. In the immediate years ahead lay Castro’s conversion to communism, JFK’s disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961, and the Cuban missile crisis in 1962 that threatened the nuclear destruction of the world.
Today, after decades of economic sanctions that have kept Cuba stuck in a kind of 1950s time warp, U.S. President Trump is threatening another Cuban invasion and takeover. Given his criminal bombing war against Iran, kidnapping of Venezuela’s president and his wife, and killing of boat crews off the coast of Venezuela, Trump’s threats need to be taken seriously.
What Pier 5, Havana reminded me, however, is the interesting role of film noir—Pier 5, Havana is considered a “neo-noir”—in exposing the dirty underside of American capitalism. Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista’s ties to Big Capital and the mafia in the United States were key to his hold on power. He was a handpicked puppet of the U.S. whose domestic support came from sugar plantation owners and the super wealthy in a country that, then as now, suffered from great poverty.
Robert Aldrich’s 1955 noir, Kiss Me Deadly, is a classic example. Leftwing screenwriter A. I. Bezzerides took the crypto-fascist plot of crime writer Mickey Spillane’s novel and turned it into a fierce cry against the threat of nuclear Armageddon. “This is lousy. Let me see what I can do with it,” Bezzerides told Aldrich after reading Spillane’s novel. Then later: “I wrote it fast because I had contempt for it.”
Noir is full of working class sympathies and righteous indignation against the abuses and exploitation by the 1 percent. The French identified film noir and named it, but it could only have taken root in American soil, where hyper individualism and its offshoots of greed and selfishness are championed. It’s as American as Apple pie and baseball.
Hardboiled writer Jim Thompson, whose books led to several great noirs, was a former Industrial Workers of the World/IWW Wobbly. Dashiell Hammett spent time in prison because of his radical political views and allegiances.
Noir grew out of the hardboiled school of writing in the 1920s and the gangland films of the 1930s. G.I. disillusionment after World War II helped set the stage for the dark films that followed. Those soldiers had fought fascism in Europe and Asia only to return to a nation held captive by the U.S. House for Un-American Activities Committee and Joe McCarthy.
Trump was an understudy of McCarthy crony Roy Cohn. In many ways, he’s a blast from a not-so-good past. Trump’s world provides dark and fertile soil for a new wave of noir, and I hate it as much as I love those old black-and-white movies.








