I’m about to confess something that might get my noir card revoked: I love when His Kind of Woman completely abandons any pretense of being a hardboiled thriller and lets Vincent Price run wild with a bullwhip. This isn’t the tight, economical RKO noir that Howard Hughes spent millions trying to create. His Kind of Woman is something far more entertaining: a glorious mess where Robert Mitchum’s world-weary cynicism crashes headfirst into Jane Russell’s sultry charm and Vincent Price’s theatrical ham, all set against a Mexican resort that feels like a fever dream designed by someone who’d never left Los Angeles.

Warner Archive has finally brought His Kind of Woman to Blu-ray, and watching this restoration feels like discovering a lost civilization of Hollywood excess. This is peak Howard Hughes madness, where a simple 90-minute programmer ballooned into a 120-minute epic through endless reshoots, rewrites, and the kind of obsessive tinkering that only a billionaire with his own studio could afford.

What started as a straightforward adaptation of Frank Fenton’s unpublished story “Star Sapphie” became something entirely different through Hughes’ meddling. The original noir plot about a gambler hired to impersonate a deported gangster gets hijacked by increasingly bizarre detours involving Shakespeare-quoting ham actors, Mexican revolutionaries, and enough double-crosses to make your head spin. His Kind of Woman shouldn’t work, but somehow the collision of tones creates something uniquely entertaining.

When Howard Hughes Plays God with His Kind of Woman

The production history of His Kind of Woman reads like a cautionary tale about studio interference, except the final product is so deliriously entertaining that you can’t really call it a failure. Hughes bought RKO in 1948 with dreams of creating prestige pictures, but his obsessive nature turned every production into an ordeal. His Kind of Woman started filming in March 1950 under John Farrow’s direction, wrapped in May, then sat on the shelf while Hughes ordered extensive reshoots that wouldn’t complete until February 1951.

The original cut ran about 90 minutes and played as a straightforward noir. Test audiences liked Mitchum and Russell but found the movie predictable. Hughes’ solution? Add more Vincent Price. Specifically, add entire sequences where Price’s character Mark Cardigan stages impromptu Shakespeare performances and leads swashbuckling rescues that feel imported from a completely different movie. Richard Fleischer was brought in to direct the new material, creating the fascinating tonal whiplash that makes His Kind of Woman such a singular viewing experience.

Robert Mitchum later claimed he spent more time waiting around for Hughes’ decisions than actually filming. The reshoots doubled the budget from $850,000 to nearly $1.7 million, astronomical for what was meant to be a program picture. Jane Russell was under personal contract to Hughes, who seemed more interested in showcasing her considerable assets than maintaining narrative coherence. The miracle is that His Kind of Woman emerges from this chaos as something genuinely special.

I’ve always believed the best B-movies happen when A-movie ambitions collide with B-movie resources and sensibilities. His Kind of Woman reverses that equation: B-movie material elevated through A-movie excess until it transcends both categories. The film exists in its own universe where noir fatalism, screwball comedy, and adventure serial heroics coexist without ever quite reconciling their differences.

The Setup That Launches a Thousand Double-Crosses

His Kind of Woman opens with professional gambler Dan Milner (Mitchum) at the end of his rope in Los Angeles. He’s broke, beaten up, and facing worse if he doesn’t clear out of town. A mysterious offer arrives: $50,000 to travel to a Mexican resort and wait for further instructions. Milner knows it’s probably trouble but figures anything beats staying in L.A. with a target on his back.

The resort at Morro’s Lodge becomes the film’s primary setting, a tropical playground for rich Americans that feels simultaneously glamorous and seedy. Director John Farrow and cinematographer Harry J. Wild create an atmosphere of languorous menace where everyone seems to be playing angles beneath the paradise veneer. Into this environment comes Lenore Brent (Russell), a singer whose connection to wealthy playboy Mark Cardigan (Price) might be strictly professional or might be something deeper.

His Kind of Woman’s plot mechanics involve deported crime boss Nick Ferraro (Raymond Burr) planning to kill Milner and steal his identity to re-enter the United States. But the machinations feel almost beside the point once the film’s competing energies take hold. Mitchum plays Milner with his trademark weary cool, a man too tired to be surprised by betrayal but still capable of rousing himself for survival. Russell brings warmth and intelligence to what could have been a decorative role, creating genuine chemistry with Mitchum despite the production chaos.

The revelation is Vincent Price as Mark Cardigan, a ham actor whose pretensions to culture barely mask his cowardice until circumstances force him to become the hero he’s always pretended to be. Price was still primarily known for sophisticated supporting roles in 1951, years before horror films made him a household name. His Kind of Woman lets him unleash the theatrical flamboyance that would later become his trademark, stealing every scene through sheer force of personality.

Mitchum and Russell: Chemistry That Money Can’t Buy

I could watch Mitchum and Russell trade dialogue for hours, and His Kind of Woman nearly lets me do exactly that. Their scenes together crackle with the kind of natural chemistry that can’t be manufactured through star power or studio publicity. Mitchum’s laconic delivery plays perfectly against Russell’s knowing sass, creating a romantic dynamic that feels both era-appropriate and surprisingly modern.

Mitchum was deep into his RKO contract when His Kind of Woman was made, churning out noirs and westerns with professional consistency. But even in assembly-line productions, he brought a unique presence that elevated formulaic material. His Dan Milner feels like a man who’s been disappointed too often to expect much from life but hasn’t quite given up hope entirely. It’s a beautifully calibrated performance that anchors the film’s wilder flights.

Russell was only 29 but already a Hughes favorite since The Outlaw made her a controversial star. His Kind of Woman uses her more intelligently than most Hughes productions, allowing her to be both seductive and sharp. Lenore Brent could have been just another torch singer batting her eyes at the hero, but Russell invests her with intelligence and agency that makes her feel like Milner’s equal rather than just his prize.

Their best scenes together happen in quiet moments between the plot mechanics. A conversation on the beach about their pasts and futures carries more weight than any of the thriller elements. When Lenore sings “Five Little Miles from San Berdoo,” it’s not just a musical number but a revelation of character, Russell’s warm vocals expressing the yearning that her tough exterior tries to hide. His Kind of Woman understands that noir works best when we care about the people caught in its web.

Vincent Price Steals His Kind of Woman (And Everything Else)

The secret weapon of His Kind of Woman is Vincent Price’s gloriously unhinged performance as Mark Cardigan. What starts as comic relief evolves into something more complex and ultimately touching as this Shakespeare-spouting dilettante discovers unexpected reserves of courage. Price plays every moment with absolute commitment, whether he’s reciting the Bard while wielding a bull whip or leading a yacht raid like Errol Flynn’s bookish cousin.

The character shouldn’t work within the noir framework His Kind of Woman initially establishes. Cardigan is everything Milner isn’t: verbose where Mitchum is taciturn, theatrical where Mitchum is understated, cowardly where Mitchum is stoic. But Price finds the humanity beneath the ham, suggesting a man who’s spent so long playing roles that actual heroism catches him by surprise.

His Kind of Woman’s most delirious sequence involves Cardigan recruiting the resort’s guests and staff for an improvised rescue mission. Price delivers rallying speeches with Shakespearean fervor while Mexican groundskeepers and American tourists prepare for battle. It’s completely ridiculous and absolutely sincere, the kind of tonal shift that would sink most films but somehow enhances this one. When Cardigan finally gets his heroic moment, Price makes you believe this pompous actor has found his calling.

I’ve watched His Kind of Woman dozens of times over the years, and Price’s performance still surprises me. He finds grace notes in throwaway moments, like the way Cardigan’s bluster falters when real danger appears, or how his pretentious quotations gradually give way to genuine emotion. This was still early in Price’s career, but His Kind of Woman demonstrates the range that would make him one of cinema’s most beloved character actors.

A Resort Paradise with Noir Shadows

The Morro’s Lodge setting gives His Kind of Woman a unique atmosphere within the noir canon. While most crime films of the era unfold in urban shadows or rural wastelands, this one traps its characters in a tropical paradise that becomes increasingly claustrophobic. Cinematographer Harry J. Wild, who shot dozens of RKO productions including Murder, My Sweet, creates images that contrast sunny exteriors with shadowy interiors where real business gets conducted.

The resort represents a liminal space between America and Mexico, legality and crime, civilization and wilderness. His Kind of Woman uses this setting to explore themes of identity and performance that run throughout the narrative. Everyone at Morro’s Lodge is playing a role, from Milner’s pose as a carefree gambler to Cardigan’s theatrical self-aggrandizement to the various criminals and federal agents circling each other in the background.

Production designer Albert S. D’Agostino and art director Jack Okey create a believable world of poolside loungers and smoky cantinas that feels both glamorous and slightly tawdry. The contrast between the resort’s public spaces and its private rooms mirrors the gap between appearance and reality that drives the plot. When violence finally erupts, it feels like the inevitable result of too many secrets in too small a space.

His Kind of Woman benefits enormously from actual location shooting in Mexico, unusual for RKO productions of this budget level. The authentic exteriors ground the melodrama in physical reality while providing scope that studio-bound productions couldn’t match. When the climactic yacht battle occurs, the genuine ocean locations add immediacy that process shots could never achieve.

RKO Craft at Its Finest Despite Studio Chaos

Despite the production turmoil, His Kind of Woman showcases the technical excellence that characterized RKO’s output during its peak years. The studio might have been smaller than MGM or Paramount, but it employed craftspeople who could maximize limited resources through creativity and skill. Every department contributes to making His Kind of Woman feel bigger and more expensive than its eventual budget might suggest.

Harry J. Wild’s cinematography deserves special recognition for maintaining visual coherence across the original production and extensive reshoots. His noir credentials were impeccable, having shot Gentleman’s Agreement and The Big Steal, and he brings that expertise to His Kind of Woman’s unusual genre hybrid. The night scenes shimmer with menace while daylight sequences capture the seductive laziness of resort life.

The editing by Frederic Knudtson performs miracles in combining footage shot nearly a year apart into something resembling narrative coherence. That His Kind of Woman flows as smoothly as it does testifies to Knudtson’s skill in finding rhythms that accommodate the film’s tonal shifts. The pacing never flags despite the extended running time, building tension even through comic interludes.

Leigh Harline’s musical score bridges the gap between noir atmosphere and adventure serial excitement. His compositions support the shifting moods without calling attention to the seams, whether underscoring Mitchum and Russell’s romantic scenes or building to crescendos during Price’s heroic moments. The integration of Russell’s musical numbers feels organic rather than obligatory, another testament to the craft involved.

When Stars Align in His Kind of Woman

The supporting cast of His Kind of Woman reads like a who’s who of character actors who would define the 1950s. Raymond Burr, years before Perry Mason made him a household name, brings genuine menace to Nick Ferraro. His physical presence and cold delivery make him a worthy antagonist for Mitchum’s world-weary hero. The scenes between Burr and Mitchum crackle with tension as two professionals size each other up.

Charles McGraw, noir’s quintessential tough guy, appears as one of Ferraro’s henchmen. His gravelly voice and granite features made him perfect for these roles, and His Kind of Woman uses him effectively in limited screen time. Tim Holt, taking a break from westerns, plays an undercover federal agent whose allegiances remain unclear until the final act.

The female supporting roles deserve mention for adding texture beyond the usual noir archetypes. Marjorie Reynolds as Mark Cardigan’s neglected wife brings unexpected depth to what could have been a throwaway part. Her scenes with Price hint at a marriage built on mutual disappointment that’s found an comfortable equilibrium. When she chooses to help the heroes, it feels motivated by character rather than plot convenience.

Even smaller roles are filled by recognizable faces who bring professional polish to brief appearances. His Kind of Woman benefits from RKO’s contract player system, where even bit parts were filled by experienced performers who understood how to make impressions quickly. The cumulative effect creates a lived-in world where every character feels like they have a story beyond what we see on screen.

The Technical Marvel That Warner Archive Delivers

Warner Archive’s Blu-ray presentation of His Kind of Woman represents a massive upgrade from previous home video releases. The 1080p transfer, sourced from preserved film elements, reveals details in Harry J. Wild’s cinematography that have been obscured for decades. The clarity allows full appreciation of the production design, costume work, and location photography that Hughes’ money made possible.

The black and white photography gains tremendous depth from the high-definition presentation. Shadow detail improves dramatically, important for a film that often plays with light and darkness to create mood. The contrast between sun-bleached exteriors and noir-shadowed interiors now registers with proper impact. Fine details in fabric textures, set decoration, and facial expressions emerge with new clarity.

The DTS-HD Master Audio 2.0 track presents His Kind of Woman’s soundtrack with impressive fidelity. Dialogue remains clear throughout, important for a film that depends heavily on verbal interplay between its stars. Leigh Harline’s score gains dynamic range that was compressed in earlier releases, while sound effects like gunshots and ocean waves achieve proper impact. Russell’s singing voice sounds particularly good, warm and present in the mix.

Most importantly, the transfer maintains the film’s original grain structure and photochemical qualities. His Kind of Woman looks like a movie from 1951, not a digitally scrubbed simulation. The occasional age-related speck or minor damage remains, but nothing that distracts from the viewing experience. This is preservation done right, respecting the original while maximizing what modern technology can reveal.

Special Features That Tell the Whole Story

Warner Archive includes a selection of extras that provide valuable context for His Kind of Woman’s unique place in film history. The audio commentary by film historian Richard Jewell offers extensive detail about the production’s troubled history, Hughes’ interference, and how the film reflects larger trends in post-war Hollywood. Jewell’s research is impeccable, drawing on production documents and contemporary accounts to separate fact from Hollywood legend.

The real treasure is “His Kind of Director: Richard Fleischer Remembers ‘His Kind of Woman,'” a 15-minute featurette where the director discusses his experience salvaging Hughes’ pet project. Fleischer’s candor about the challenges of incorporating new material into an existing film provides fascinating insight into Hollywood problem-solving. His respect for the original director John Farrow comes through even as he explains why additional scenes were necessary.

The original theatrical trailer demonstrates how RKO marketed His Kind of Woman as a more conventional noir than the actual film delivers. The emphasis on Mitchum and Russell’s star power and the crime plot downplays the comedy and adventure elements that make the film special. Contemporary audiences must have been surprised when Vincent Price hijacked the third act, though probably not disappointed.

A selection of other RKO trailers from the period provides context for how His Kind of Woman fit within the studio’s output. The inclusion reminds us that genre mixing wasn’t unusual for RKO, even if few films took it to these extremes. These glimpses of contemporaneous productions help situate the film within its original exhibition context.

His Kind of Woman Endures as Glorious Excess

Watching His Kind of Woman today, I’m struck by how modern it feels despite being firmly rooted in 1951 Hollywood conventions. The genre mixing that seemed radical then has become standard practice, though few films balance their competing elements with such cheerful disregard for consistency. This is a movie that trusts its audience to keep up with tonal shifts that would send modern test audiences running for the exits.

The performances have aged beautifully. Mitchum’s minimalism feels contemporary, while Russell’s combination of sensuality and intelligence transcends pin-up girl stereotypes. But it’s Vincent Price who seems most ahead of his time, creating a character whose self-aware theatricality anticipates postmodern approaches to acting. His Mark Cardigan knows he’s ridiculous but commits anyway, finding dignity through dedication to the performance.

What makes His Kind of Woman essential viewing is how it captures Hollywood in transition. The studio system that created it was already dying, undermined by television, antitrust decisions, and changing audience tastes. Hughes’ RKO represented both the old Hollywood’s excess and hints of the independent spirit that would emerge in the following decades. His Kind of Woman stands as a glorious last gasp of classical Hollywood’s ability to transform routine material into something special through sheer force of personality and craft.

Warner Archive’s Blu-ray makes the strongest possible case for His Kind of Woman’s significance. The presentation quality allows modern viewers to appreciate the film on its own terms rather than through the haze of poor transfers and cultural distance. This is Hollywood entertainment at its most purely enjoyable, unconcerned with significance beyond providing two hours of stars being fabulous in an exotic location.

The Legacy of His Kind of Woman Lives On

His Kind of Woman occupies an odd position in film history, too messy to be considered a classic but too entertaining to be forgotten. It doesn’t fit neatly into noir canonization despite featuring key genre elements. The comedy seems to disqualify it from serious consideration while the crime plot prevents full appreciation as comedy. But this categorical confusion is exactly what makes the film fascinating decades later.

The influence of His Kind of Woman can be traced through films that similarly refuse genre boundaries. The Coen Brothers’ approach to mixing noir with screwball comedy owes something to this film’s cheerful disregard for tonal consistency. When The Big Lebowski veers from stoner comedy to noir pastiche to musical number, it’s following a trail His Kind of Woman blazed. Modern filmmakers who treat genre as a starting point rather than a destination are Howard Hughes’ spiritual children, whether they know it or not.

For Vincent Price fans, His Kind of Woman represents a crucial transitional performance between his early character work and the horror stardom that would define his later career. You can see him discovering the performative style that would make him an icon, learning how to modulate theatrical excess for camera intimacy. Every horror host who’s ever introduced a B-movie with Shakespearean pretension owes a debt to Mark Cardigan.

The film also stands as one of Jane Russell’s best vehicles, proving she was far more than Howard Hughes’ discovery. Her natural rapport with Mitchum creates one of noir’s great romantic pairings, while her musical numbers showcase talents beyond her famous physical attributes. That Russell never quite achieved the stardom her talent deserved makes His Kind of Woman more precious as evidence of what might have been.

Why His Kind of Woman Demands Your Attention

I’ll make the case plain: His Kind of Woman is essential viewing for anyone who loves movies that swing for the fences. This isn’t a perfect film, but perfection is overrated when you can have Vincent Price reciting Shakespeare while leading a midnight yacht raid. It’s the kind of movie that reminds you why we fell in love with Hollywood in the first place, when star power meant something and genres were suggestions rather than straitjackets.

Warner Archive’s Blu-ray provides the definitive home video presentation of this gloriously eccentric entertainment. The technical quality allows full appreciation of RKO’s craftsmanship while the special features provide context for understanding how such a unique film came to exist. For Mitchum fans, Russell admirers, or Price devotees, this release is essential. For anyone who simply loves movies that entertain without apology, His Kind of Woman is a discovery waiting to happen.

Revisiting His Kind of Woman for this review, I’m reminded why physical media matters for film preservation and appreciation. Streaming services bury catalog titles like this under algorithms that favor recent content. But films like His Kind of Woman deserve to be discovered by each new generation of viewers who can appreciate its particular brand of Hollywood magic. This Blu-ray ensures that possibility remains alive.

His Kind of Woman teaches us that sometimes the best films are the ones that shouldn’t work but do anyway. When talent, craft, and sheer movie-star charisma combine, logic becomes secondary to entertainment. Howard Hughes may have driven everyone crazy with his interference, but the resulting film justifies every delayed shooting day and blown budget. This is Hollywood at its most excessive and most purely enjoyable, preserved now in a presentation that does justice to its ambitions.

So pour yourself a drink, settle in, and prepare to visit Morro’s Lodge, where nothing is quite what it seems and Vincent Price might quote Shakespeare at any moment. His Kind of Woman awaits, ready to demonstrate why golden age Hollywood still matters. Trust me, this is one resort you’ll want to check into again and again.

His Kind of Woman is now on Blu-ray from Warner Archive and available at MovieZyng.