Cell 2455, Death Row: A Condemned Man’s Own Story (1954) is the film biography, allegedly based on the man’s own autobiography, of Caryl Chessman, executed in 1960 for multiple kidnapping convictions, and presented as a cautionary tale. We follow his life as his mother is badly injured in a car accident, and he becomes a bad boy, ending up in reform school after joining a gang pulling minor mischief. From there he moves on to multiple stays in prison, interspersed with various crimes which escalate in violence. From what I’ve read, his father tried to commit suicide, twice – I don’t recall if that was in the movie.
But we also see his loyalty to the woman he loves, as well as loyalty to his fellows in crime, which brings a measure of humanity to a film which would otherwise be mostly the hollow bravado of a narcissistic street criminal, convinced of his own invincibility to the point of suicide. When he is caught and put on trial for the kidnapping charges which will be his eventual undoing, we see him choose to take on the job of defending himself, rather than leaving it to a public defender, and, in a fairly shallow scene, his realization that he cannot convince a jury, merely on his say-so, of his innocence of the charges.
As the movie was made before his execution, we’re not privy to the controversy he stirs up with his literary efforts, and how his execution became integral to the effort to abolish the death penalty in California. This is unfortunate, as it deprives us of a deeper exploration of the moral questions of incarceration and execution, with that peculiarly emotional storm which must accompany each side of the question, and is such an important part of the temporary solutions we have for that controversy.
All that said, this movie starts slowly; we nearly didn’t get beyond the first half hour (at least of this TV version), and for that I blame some fairly flat acting in combination with a story that was perhaps told a little too straightforwardly. It might have benefited from compression, or from a more sophisticated use of chronology. But then we get away from just acting, moving onward to action, and then prison, where Chessman develops a lot of swagger, not to mention a haircut reminiscent of the King. This brings the movie to life. But the action is just to get the adrenaline going; it’s his interactions with those with whom he’s cast his lot which are most interesting, as they define his character best – from valuing friends and colleagues in crime on the high end, to his base impulsivity towards those he despises.
But a few critical questions remain open. Why did he stay in California once he had a good stash? Did he want to get caught? Or was his resentment of authority such that he felt it necessary to taunt the police as if he was invulnerable? Perhaps these are answered in the autobiography, but the answers are not clear in the movie.
And I must admit I was a little jarred by the unlikely ending in which he takes full responsibility for his crimes. It’s not other people, or society, or anything else at fault, his character narrates. It’s himself who is at fault. And even if he truly came to this realization, does it matter? Did he really have a choice, given the cards dealt to him? There is a certain emotional satisfaction at his admission of fault, but does it really mean anything?
Hard to say.
