This month, Old Academy Anew explores an intriguing classic: Sweet Smell of Success, a film that keeps many guessing to this day. Sixty-nine years in, and people continue to debate the real meaning behind the rapid-fire words and intense stares. Who wanted Whom and Why? What lurked under the surface of every sentence— behind every gesture? Let’s travel to 1950’s Big Apple and meet the original influencers. You won’t find pseudo-posh Mid-Atlantic accents here; the leads are pure New Yorkers.
THE POWER OF WORDS
A jazzy number pervades the intro credits. We take a short night ride with a newspaper delivery truck. Flashy neon signs escort us until a stack of cargo ends on the side of a busy street. Now the soundtrack is the rapid chatter of people milling about. Here we meet one of our protagonists (Tony Curtis) as he gets his paper from the newsstand. He seems worried, navigating a crowded diner for a stool to check the news and eat his hot dog.
The film cleverly introduces the other protagonist, J.J. Hunsecker (Burt Lancaster), via a picture on his Broadway Column. Curtis reads with increasing dismay until he drops his half-eaten hotdog on the counter. The barely inspected newspaper dives into a trashcan, and Curtis speeds to places unknown.
SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS INTENDS TO TELL YOU A STORY. WHAT THAT STORY TRULY IS— IT’S ANYONE’S GUESS.
Curtis enters one of the private eye doors with the name SIDNEY FALCO and PUBLICITY taped on. Now we know the character’s name. As he enters the office, his secretary is on the phone. In the span of less than five minutes, we learn that he lives in his office; the client on the phone wants to break his arm; Hunsecker has kept Falco’s clients out of the news for five consecutive days; and his secretary has a major crush on him.
Falco waits for a different client on the phone; he unleashes the first of many wacky sentences that had become the staple of this particular film. “Watch me run a 50-yard dash with my legs cut off.” The worried, almost angry, demeanor turns into sunshine and capable representative as he interacts with his nightclub owner client.
That conversation doesn’t go well, and the client hangs up. Wordlessly, Falco goes back to worried/defeated mode. I’ve never seen a movie where the other person doesn’t add something after someone hangs up before. Falco and his secretary have a very tense conversation in his living quarters. She wonders why Hunsecker is being a bitch to Falco. And he tells her.
Hunsecker’s sister’s heart needs some breaking, and Falco is the instrument for it. Now, if you’re thinking Falco wooing the Sis (Susan Harrison) is the ticket, you’re mistaken. I mean, it’s fucking Tony Curtis, but that ain’t the plan. You see, Sis is in love with a Jazz musician (Martin Milner), and Hun-sucky-secker ain’t a fan.
IT’S NEVER CLEAR IF SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS IS ABOUT A BROTHER WANTING TO PROTECT HIS SISTER OR A MAN INCAPABLE OF WITNESSING OTHER PEOPLE’S HAPPINESS.
Falco goes back out to the club where Jazz Boyfriend’s playing. He has tried sneaky underhanded ways to break the couple to no avail. Well, the time for subterfuge is over; it has come to bazooka time because Hunsecker is fucking with his livelihood. But before that, he interrupts the love birds after Boyfriend proposes, taking Sis back to Bru-sucker. In the cab, they have an interesting exchange. Sis wonders why Falco dislikes Boyfriend. Falco says it’s because BF thinks Hunsuckeinstein is a monster. Her reply is succinct yet cryptic, “Don’t you?”
Falco turns to her, offended. “J.J. happens to be one of my very best friends.” The back and forth continues until she says, “Who could love a man who makes you jump through burning hoops like a trained poodle?” At face value, the question is for Falco. As the movie progresses— we wonder if she was also asking that question to herself. They reach their destination, and she leaves Falco with a message for her Bro. “Boyfriend is the first real man I’ve ever been in love with.”
At this point, we aren’t privy to the depths of that message, but the film takes it seriously. Falco not only looks terrified, but the soundtrack sails into horror flick desperation as he runs to find Hun-cock-blocker. And the film will continue to swerve between innocent comedy visuals and Hitchcockian aesthetics.
Lording over a different nightclub, Hunsecker dismisses Falco with another clever ditty. “You’re dead, son. Get yourself buried.” So far, Falco has acted as a cunning hard-ass, barely softening his demeanor to manipulate Sis. The press agent we’ve been following would’ve barked something clever or caustic back. This impersonation? Swallows it down with a fearful gulp.
THE POWER IMBALANCE BETWEEN FALCO AND HUNSUCKER SEEMS BEYOND THE TRANSACTIONAL. SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS HINTS AND WINKS BUT NEVER GIVES AWAY THE WHOLE PICTURE.
SURVIVAL VERSUS INTEGRITY
Dismissed via operator from within the nightclub, Falco still picks up dregs of dignity and navigates to his master. Hunsecker entertains a senator, a showbiz manager, and a blonde managee thing at his table/office. This won’t be the last time a woman is referred as a thing in this movie. A sign of the times or the script emphasizing something?
Falco moors himself wordlessly behind Hunsucker. With a cutting remark and not deigning to look at him, the columnist calls security to remove the intruder. Falco throws his anchor, “I have a message from your sister.” Hun-fukken waves security away. Falco, wagging his tail, grabs a chair. The senator inquires about the newcomer; Falco’s unctuous MO surges easily, even if filtered by Hunsucker’s current disdain. What’s supposed to be a decent conversation continues to be peppered with Hun-asshat’s acidic observations. We tread into weird waters when the lady mentions she thinks Falco’s an actor because he’s “pretty.”
Oh, Hun-thulhu does not like that. “Mr. Falco, let it be said at once, is a man of forty faces— not one. None too pretty, and all deceptive.” And he keeps going and going and going. Mind you, the columnist ain’t screaming or huffing; he’s simply stating facts. Facts turn around to everyone at the table, each getting easily torpedoed. The meeting ends with a clear winner. Hun-gis Khan leaves the table with Falco trailing behind.
Outside the club, a “cop who owes Hun-fukken a favor” is foreshadowed. Falco’s put on the NYC finest radar for future shenanigans if needed. More rapid-fire exchanges between our leads, deciphered by a handy thing called close captioning. Sister’s actual message is never delivered, but the proposal bomb gets revealed.
A TICKING CLOCK’S ESTABLISHED, AND, INTERESTINGLY ENOUGH, SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS REVOLVES AROUND A MEAGER FORTY-EIGHT HOUR TIME FRAME.
To do the right thing or do the right thing for you is the ready question from now on. Falco needs Jazz Boyfriend out of the way before morning when Sis will “inform” Hunsecker about the proposal. We find ourselves in another congested nightplace to enlist a weapon. Falco tries to trigger that weapon via blackmail. The threat does nothing but spectacularly burn a bridge. Luckily, that wasn’t the only columnist, sorry, weapon available. Because Falco has only run out of luck with Hun-fuckface, the Fates give him another chance within the current locale.
The same item to unleash the blackmail turns out to be perfect to sweeten the deal in a different front. Who needs enemies when Falco is your friend? Gaslight meets Gamble, and both pay off. Giddily, Falco calls Hun-sucky-secker. “You sound happy, Sidney,” the asshole says. “Why should you be happy when I’m not?”
Falco speaks in code. “The Dallas (Jazz Boyfriend) skull is badly dented. Starting today, you can play marbles with his eyeballs.” The conversation ends with “Sidney, don’t use this phone anymore. I have a nervous sister.” Since we need more instances of Hunsecker being a fucking creep, he watches Sis sleep. He then goes and establishes a balcony for later in the movie.
A new day dawns, and we accompany Falco to buy a newspaper. He confirms the fruit of the previous night endeavor. Smiling, he dunks the paper in a trash can. Pasting on his Charming Flirty Boy mask, Falco makes Hun-pukken’s secretary drop her metaphorical panties. Armed with information not-yet-available-to-the public, our “hero” goes to acquire a new client.
DO YOU NEED TO ABUSE KNOWLEDGE AND ACQUAINTANCES TO SUCCEED? THAT’S THE QUESTION SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS CONSTANTLY POSES AS WE FOLLOW FALCO.
Let’s stop here, so you can check the film if you feel inclined.
ZERO-SUM GAME LIE
Hollywood, social media, and our fucking egos have muddled our understanding of what it means to win. Apparently, you need to either interfere or directly fuck other people over to succeed. You need to put others down, so you can go up. I’m gonna make them look stupid, so I seem smart in comparison. The short content format agenda ain’t subtle. Snipers are subtle; this bullshit is loud and obnoxious.
Can we remake a movie like Sweet Smell of Success in 2026? Are you fucking serious? First of all, anyone with a smartphone and a social media account thinks they can break the news. And by news I mean someone’s cancellation. How are you gonna do the dunking of newspapers in trash cans with tablets? Remember, we are in an era of literal people; imagination, subtext, and subliminal message are alien concepts.
This is a movie about men controlling media; about women only serving as commodities. The clutching of pearls and surging of badly centered protest signs would be immediate. Never mind our esteemed Hollywood writers exacerbating the homoerotic undertones until they take over the whole story. I mean— the eternal bachelor and the fuckboy? C’mon. That’s content paradise if I’ve ever seen it. And you cannot gender-swap Hunsecker; he’s the bad guy… Well, there’s no good or evil anymore… However, making Falco a woman and still doing everything he does? Geesh.
SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS DOESN’T HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY OR THE EMOTIONAL RESTRICTIONS WE HAVE TODAY.
Can you imagine the fukken writing for this thing? Holy shit. The cleverness and inventiveness of the dialogue would be lost in slop and therapy speech. I can totally see them turning Jazz Boyfriend into a woman. Now it can be about a bigoted brother instead of a possessive/creepy one. What would his job even be, conservative newscaster slash conspiracy podcast guy?
At the end of the day, this film is a tragedy. Fucking someone over won’t end with you on top. It doesn’t always work. Nevertheless, Hollywood would find a way to Romeo & Juliet the fuck out of it. Or do a shitty blow-by-blow Disney remake with pathetic visuals. We don’t need to rehash the lack of Muse Manifestations today.
Sweet Smell of Success seems to operate under a harsh motto: “You use, or you get used.” My question remains, “Is it a choice?”
7 out of 10. I still don’t know if I’m supposed to be scared of or turned on by Hunsucker. I blame Romantasy BookTok.
Sweet Smell of Success is now streaming on Tubi