Exploitation Season: The 1930’s. Movie #6 ‘The Cocaine Fiends’ AKA ‘The Pace That Kills’ (1936)

The infamous tale of Jane Bradford ‘The Cocaine Fiends’ aka ‘The Pace That Kills’ (1936) is a rather high quality affair. The sets are quite resplendent and the performances higher than one might initially expect from one of the ‘Cautionary Tales’ that we have been watching sofar. The gangsters are well presented James Cagney types, all trilbies and loose ties, the best kind.

We follow the story of two ladies, both of whom have hooked up with the wrong individuals. Falling foul to lines such as: ‘Say, I know a fella that’ll put you in a show right away’, the girls enter what they believe to be a glamorous world, but its murky undercurrents do not take long in revealing themselves.

Both of the heroines are given cocaine under alternate pretences at the start, but soon realise what they are becoming addicted to. The movie then examines the easy spread of the addiction, with a soda pop waitress supplying some to a naïve co-worker who is complaining of tiredness. It is this couple that remain the most riveting to watch for the duration of the feature. It begins, as all drug stories, on a whirlwind high, as our pair attends some rather debonair nightclubs. The impression being given is that this is an affliction that is penetrating every area of society. In fact, the introductory reel states very clearly that it is up to the viewer to spread awareness of this terrible sickness.

‘The Cautionary Tales’ fit into the Exploitation genre because they stood as a moral compass for the masses. The true intentions that lay behind the productions were to scandalise and depict socially unacceptable behaviour (drugs, nudity, prostitution etc) in extremely graphic detail. Whilst some of the scenes contained in them may seem somewhat tame in our desensitised times of apathetic audiences, some still pack a significant punch.

One such scene in ‘The Cocaine Fiends’ is when, after losing their jobs through their problem, our ex service staff are now living in a squalid bedsit (and behind in their rent). He writhes on the bed and proclaims: ‘I gotta have dope, I’m a hophead, I’d sell my soul for just one shot’.

She looks deeply into his swollen, blackened eyes and then walks slowly to a mirror and readjusts herself. She may not have a soul left to sell, but she does have a body. The streetwalking scene is so swift that it is over in an instant, but through its use of shadows is a brilliant exercise in the art of ‘what we don’t see’.

She brings him his shot. It transpires that he is Jane Bradford’s brother, who came to town in search of his missing sister. The family are shown at home, in small town America, fretting for the disappearance of their daughter, who is embroiled in a destructive relationship with her gangster boyfriend and is being kept captive by some form of madam.

The boiling kettle is used as a focal point in later scenes, symbolic of the building tension and uncontrollable nature that resides within our characters. It spirals quickly into rough territory, displaying just what an ambitious little film it is.

As a bonus, there is a scene in which our heroine goes to score at an Asian opium den, where there is both a midget and a monkey buzzer. The circle is complete.

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