THE DESPERATE HOURS (1955)

Paramount Pictures, 112m 32s

A home invasion thriller set in the heart of Midwestern suburbia, THE DESPERATE HOURS employs the idyllic middle-class American family as organizing principle of the film noir. Intelligently sustained by producer/director William Wyler, hostile intruders take up residence in an otherwise stable household, where routine family matters suddenly become anything but routine. The family is tested to the max by the destabilizing force of the trespassers, but ultimately proves its resolve, bravery and long-term viability.

After family patriarch Daniel Hilliard (Fredric March) leaves his wife Ellie (Martha Scott) at home to tend to daily housekeeping rituals, the Hilliard family is left vulnerable to members of quite a different social stratum:  the Griffin brothers, recently escaped from the Indiana State Prison. In an instructive instance of film noir fatalism, the outfit's leader Glenn Griffin (Humphrey Bogart) targets the Hilliard property as a suitable hideout when he notices a kid's bicycle accents the otherwise unsullied front lawn. Glenn's safe assumption is that responsible parents never would take any chances with the safety of their children always in check. And so the unwelcome Griffin crew occupies the Hilliard property, where they challenge the strength and togetherness of the Hilliard family.

Good neighborhood gone bad

A mirror speaks to the duality of man:  the family
patriarch must access the side of himself normally suppressed

Pretty as a painting:
all the hallmarks of a carefully-staged William Wyler composition

Predictably, the social pariahs led by Glenn cause an instantly repellent disruption to this normally safe, antiseptic family environment situated in Marion County, Indiana. The three escaped convicts desecrate the neatly arranged family dwelling without much delay, their actions often characterized by the expected absence of moral constraints. A corpulent, clumsy oaf, Sam Kobish (Robert Middleton) is the most obnoxiously intrusive and upsetting to the established family framework. He starts trashing the Hilliard place minutes after he is inside. In contrast, Glenn's younger brother Hal Griffin (Dewey Martin) is too envious of the Hilliard home to cause the sort of upheaval Kobish accomplishes. Glenn falls somewhere between Kobish and Hal in his lack of refinement, as when he deposits his cigar in a teacup or stomps out a cig on the floor. It is as if the house itself is being challenged, not just the family that resides there. Before long the Griffin gang converts the Hilliards into servants within their own home.

The narrative is intensified by a Hilliard family in a state of transition. During the early moments of the film, the two children show signs each would like to break free from the family system and its somewhat regimented aspects. Little pipsqueak Ralphy Hilliard (Richard Eyer) wants to be treated more like a man, starting with being addressed as Ralph. Comically assertive, he is emboldened by the danger the gang represents, too youthfully energetic to recognize danger as he should. Ralphy's teenage sister Cindy Hilliard (Mary Murphy) takes a glance at her blossomed female physique in the mirror and deems herself ready for marriage. Neither of the siblings yet understands the complexities of maturity, that the transition to adulthood involves tough decisions that sometimes come with unexpected or wildly unfair consequences. Each energized by a certain amount of gumption, Ralphy attempts a daring escape and Cindy (tagged "spitfire" by Glenn) sinks her teeth into Hal's hand, but neither of the Hilliard children proves to be equipped to confront the menace exhibited by the unshackled convicts.

Night terror

Caught

The man who knew too much

The Hilliard family is headed by Daniel, a man of quiet demeanor who must face his antithesis in Glenn. Much of the narrative's momentum revolves around the question as to whether Daniel is able to protect his family and expel the unwelcome criminals from his home. In a crucial sequence, Daniel admits to his impressionable son he is dealing with fear. Nobody is more aware of Daniel's internal struggle than Glenn, who openly mocks Daniel's masculinity. A major turning point transpires when Daniel acknowledges his potential to become a killer, to think exactly like Glenn should there be no better alternative. Glenn acknowledges the base similarities the two men share when he declares Daniel would make a great confidence man. Like a transcendent mythological figure who must cope with adversity and grow stronger, Daniel becomes a different man by the end of the film compared to who he is at the outset. That he must somehow defeat the threat embodied by the Griffin band, however, is not to say he must harness his most primitive impulses, as sometimes plays out in such stories. Instead he must outthink both the hardened criminal and the seasoned crime fighters who seek the escaped inmates. His ascendancy is made possible through quick thinking, not from getting immersed in the gutter with his adversaries. A beacon of unmuddied reasoning and clarity of purpose, Daniel outlasts the chaos presented by Glenn through mental fitness, not force, all while putting the safety of his family ahead of his own.

As Daniel and his family are pressured to prove they belong in their home, so the Griffin party reveals they have no proper place in such surroundings. While the Hilliards cope with the unenviable circumstances that cause them to become prisoners of former prisoners, they must adapt and change in ways they likely never considered would be necessary. The archetypal middle-class family unit strengthens as the Griffin outfit gradually unravels. The gang is dysfunctional by comparison, unable or unwilling to demonstrate the same sense of unity. Much of their conversation results in disagreements and outright arguments. Glenn is sometimes crude in his expressions, a victim of his own self-limiting belief system. Perhaps he is too old and battle-scarred to do anything other than what he has done in the past. His brother Hal shows his lack of maturity when he acts childish once in possession of the Hilliard family handgun. Hal's determination to be his own man, to break from his family unit, will ensure the gang's destruction. The uncouth Kobish acts like an undisciplined little kid that seems to legitimize the maturity of young Ralphy. In elementary school, Kobish might have been that poor kid who just could not do anything right; the type of misfit who couldn't tie his own shoes or follow the most basic set of instructions. As an adult, he is a childish brute who is far too mean to earn any of the viewer's sympathies, especially when he foolishly risks his own neck to encourage a vehicle's collision with a loose dog. To solidify his outcast status, Kobish later guns down "local trashman" George Patterson (Walter Baldwin), an obviously harmless man. Ultimately the outdated criminal family led by Glenn proves itself more error-prone and less cohesive than the stable and supportive Hilliard family.

If a sense of fatalism brings the Griffins and the Hilliards together, the hand of fate also is in effect when Glenn's moll Helen gets pulled over for a traffic violation. No longer en route with Glenn's cash, she arranges to mail him the money, which causes the gang to remain at the Hilliard residence much longer than originally planned. Glenn and the boys could have departed with the fistful of cash Daniel forks over, but the notion additional funds are in transit ensures the gang will remain right where they are at. It is nothing more than greed, that essential noir motivator, that keeps the Griffin bunch hanging around past their expiration date.

Idealized family photos emphasize a man's priorities

Road kill

This composition implies a divide between the gang members

A time of social cohesion and financial discipline, the entrenched family-based ideology of the mid-1950s was at odds with classic film noir pessimism that persistently questioned the feasibility of the family. Consider the vast array of crucial noir films that challenge the very concept of marriage and its traditional family structure, i.e. SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943), DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN (1945), MILDRED PIERCE (1945), THE STRANGE LOVE OF MARTHA IVERS (1946), THE BIG CLOCK (1948), CAUGHT (1949), SUDDEN FEAR (1952), ANGEL FACE (1953). With its focus on the sturdiness of the traditional American family and the human gravity embodied by its family patriarch, in terms of family values THE DESPERATE HOURS seems to signal the end of the film noir movement. As the noir film moved from the 1940s into the 1950s, its skepticism in regard to the American family's enduringness was at odds with the new normal:  the American rate of divorce was lower in the 1950s than the prior decade. Historically speaking, the America of the 1950s was known for social conformity and its stable, idealistic nuclear family, epitomized by popular television programming like I LOVE LUCY (1951–1957), THE ADVENTURES OF OZZIE AND HARRIET (1952–1966), FATHER KNOWS BEST (1954–1960) and LEAVE IT TO BEAVER (1957–1963), all enriched with moral lessons intended for broad public consumption. How interesting that the front of the Hilliard home was utilized for LEAVE IT TO BEAVER! Notable films of the mid-1950s that were more cynical about the supposed strength of the nuclear family tend to fall within the emotional excesses of the melodrama category, i.e. ALL THAT HEAVEN ALLOWS (1955), REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE (1955), BIGGER THAN LIFE (1956), WRITTEN ON THE WIND (1956). It is probably fair to assume the vibrant color palettes of the Sirkian melodrama displaced the film noir in some respects, especially in terms of the genre film as manifestation of the dark side of the American Zeitgeist.

In harmony with the times, THE DESPERATE HOURS repeatedly validates the importance and resilience of the family as a team. Family members can be counted on to look out for each other, unlike the criminal family, which is shown to be undisciplined and less structured in comparison. The common criminal still might be able to eke out his livelihood in the big city, though that type of individual is shown to have no ideological place in the suburban world depicted in THE DESPERATE HOURS, where consequential family values crystallize with a collaboration of law enforcement officials in the shared interest of delivering a kick in the pants to the criminal minded. But even the finest of families can invite danger into their lives through complacency, a theme repeatedly underscored by references to Ralphy's bicycle left conspicuously in the front yard. One cannot take suburban middle-class safety for granted. No matter, the Hilliards confirm they can stick together when it matters most, as when Cindy instinctively returns to her home base. Conversely, when Hal acts on his instincts to abandon his family, his reward is a gun battle with the law that leaves him in the path of a punishing semi-trailer truck. In other words, the first of the Griffin gang to part ways with his family is the first to be exterminated. Though the difference in Hal's lifespan well might have been academic, it is implied he and his mates would have been better off had he remained with his group, its emotional emptiness notwithstanding. Even the Griffins are better off together than separated.

Window surveillance shots often underscore the classic noir
chiaroscuro visual style while implying a sense of entrapment

The home invasion story is intertwined with police procedure intended to reinforce the ultimate triumph of patriarchal family values, though competing pressures create conflict between the lawman and the citizen. Policemen are highly motivated to capture the fugitives at large, especially after one of them kills a local man. Daniel must be more concerned with the preservation of his family than whatever happens to Glenn and his men. That understandable concern causes Daniel to be reluctant to involve the police. What if the cops lose control of the situation and bust into his home all guns blazing? Indeed the final resolution to the social problem presented by the three convicts supports Daniel's concern that a police presence on his property could cause irreparable harm to his family. As it turns out there is no rehabilitation program in the future for the members of the Griffin gang. In testimonial to their collective lack of worth, all three gang members are gunned down by the police, not arrested. Along with the moral goodness represented by the Hilliard family comes a validation of the law-abiding citizen who makes it possible for the police to move in on nefarious forces:  it is the discovery of the registered Hilliard handgun that works to restore law and order to the Hilliard family home (unregistered firearms could bring about no such positive outcome).

Screenwriter Joseph Hayes also wrote the novel (1954) and the play (1955). The novel was based on actual events that began on (of all dates) 9/11 of 1952, when the Hill family of Whitemarsh, Pennsylvania was invaded by three escaped convicts. The Hills were held hostage by the trio for nineteen hours. Later in 1952 LIFE magazine dramatized the story, which resulted in a lawsuit that had right to privacy implications; the Hills did not appreciate that the terror they experienced became fodder for entertainment. Moreover, they claimed the magazine article was an inaccurate portrayal of the events that transpired. In 1967 the U.S. Supreme Court sided with LIFE magazine, which made the Hill lawsuit an important First Amendment victory for media outlets. The Hill case might have inspired numerous variations on the home invasion thriller; a number of such films cast in the noir form populated the 1950s and some of them came before THE DESPERATE HOURS. Noir films that explore the invasion theme include HE RAN ALL THE WAY (1951), SPLIT SECOND (1953), BLACK TUESDAY (1954), SUDDENLY (1954), WITNESS TO MURDER (1954), CRASHOUT (1955), THE NIGHT HOLDS TERROR (1955) and VIOLENT SATURDAY (1955).

The stage version of THE DESPERATE HOURS made its Broadway debut February 10, 1955 at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre. It ran for 212 performances and featured Paul Newman as Glenn Griffin and Karl Malden as Dan Hilliard. On October 12, 1955, master filmmaker William Wyler's adaptation of THE DESPERATE HOURS was in wide release in the United States. Wyler’s modes of expression sometimes remind us the stage version came first, though his coverage is always cinematic and imparts craftsmanlike thought on the part of the man at the helm of the production. There are nice little touches along the way, as when Chuck Wright (Gig Young) lifts up the armrest of his convertible in the hope his date Cindy wants to snuggle up to him (she doesn't, and he fails to realize it). A creepy Wyler moment plays out when Kobish rises from the darkness, his sexual appetite stirred by the appearance of the attractive young Hilliard daughter. And in one of my favorite Wyler sequences, Hal observes the assembly of fun-loving young people in the neighborhood. Hopelessly detached from basic human wants and needs, on the outside the escaped prisoner remains on the inside. The only error in judgment that leaps out at me is the way Glenn repeatedly says "clickety clickety click" to Daniel (the reference is to Daniel's brain on overdrive trying to outwit the ruffians). The phrase grows stale by the second reel. Though his filmmaking career covered 45 years from the silent film into the New Hollywood era, Wyler was not noted for extensive work in the film noir genre. He did direct DETECTIVE STORY (1951), another noir narrative ported from the stage, and THE COLLECTOR (1965), a noirish captivity narrative with a claustrophobic sense of alienation. Director of photography Lee Garmes is probably the bigger name in terms of experience with noir productions. His most important credit in that vein undoubtedly is NIGHTMARE ALLEY (1947), and he also handled the cinematography for CAUGHT (1949), THE CAPTIVE CITY (1952) and Wyler's DETECTIVE STORY.

Low-angle shots work to close in on the gang led by Glenn Griffin

Trapped

The Hilliard home minimizes Glenn,
even as he attempts to make a last stand

Reduced to a news story

Of course the Wyler interpretation of THE DESPERATE HOURS benefits from the presence of film noir royalty in Humphrey Bogart, one of the foremost figures to inhabit the genre from beginning to end. After starring in the two genre-shapers HIGH SIERRA (1940) and THE MALTESE FALCON (1941), Bogart left his charismatic mark on the 1940s with CONFLICT (1945), THE BIG SLEEP (1946), DEAD RECKONING (1946), DARK PASSAGE (1947), THE TWO MRS. CARROLLS (1947) and the superb KEY LARGO (1948). He would grace the 1950s with IN A LONELY PLACE (1950), one of the most iconic of all noir films, and follow up with THE ENFORCER (1951), DEADLINE - U.S.A. (1952), THE DESPERATE HOURS and his final project THE HARDER THEY FALL (1956). Before all of that, Bogart found his star-making vehicle in THE PETRIFIED FOREST (1936) thanks to his inspired performance as gangster Duke Mantee. The following year, DEAD END (1937) was directed by William Wyler and featured Bogart as "Baby Face" Martin. Roughly 18 years later, Wyler's THE DESPERATE HOURS brought the curtain down on Bogart's gangster persona. Obviously a lot of time had passed since Bogart's gangster films of the 1930s, and that passage of time is apparent within the actor's appearance. The lines that accent his facial features have deepened, etched with an accelerated aging process one might associate with the frequently incarcerated (and the heavy smoker). One gets the impression his Glenn has been beaten with the hammer of oppression all his life. As forces opposed to Glenn converge toward him, Bogart's dour mug conveys a deadening sense of purpose as a life marked by existential choices grinds down. On the wrong side of a handgun brandished by Daniel, Bogart's Glenn makes his existential declaration:  "What are you waiting for?" The viewer is met with the feeling it is not just a character recognizing the end of the line, but a genre personality drained of his vitality. We are witness to the exhaustion of a tradesman who’s walked a genre from beginning to end. Indeed Bogart would pass away just a few years after his memorable turn in THE DESPERATE HOURS. In retrospect the genre died with him, at least in terms of film noir as a highly active Hollywood filmmaking formula. Somewhat surprisingly, THE DESPERATE HOURS also accounted for the only occasion Bogart and Fredric March worked together.

Thanks to a highly questionable casting decision, Gig Young seems light years out of place in his supporting role as Cindy's suitor Chuck. Young was about 18 years older than Mary Murphy, which strains credulity in terms of his relationship with the vulnerable Hilliard daughter. As time marched on, Young would be an odd choice for another reason to portray the man invited into the Hilliard home during the narrative's concluding scene:  on the 19th day of October, 1978, Young and his wife were found dead in their Manhattan apartment. It was believed Young shot his wife before turning the gun on himself. Other supporting roles allow some familiar faces to lend credibility to the proceedings, especially among the law enforcement crew, which features Arthur Kennedy as Deputy Sheriff Jesse Bard, Whit Bissell as FBI Agent Carson and Ray Collins as Sheriff Masters. Beverly Garland also appears in an uncredited role as Miss Swift (a schoolteacher).

Arrow Video issued a "Limited Edition" dual-layered Blu-ray edition of THE DESPERATE HOURS in the fall of 2023. Framed at 1.85:1, this new restoration was completed by C Films from a 6K scan of the original VistaVision negative. Paramount's proprietary widescreen film process, the VistaVision format ran film horizontally through the camera instead of vertically. This process allowed for a larger image area and thus higher image resolution that became apparent when projected on large theatrical screens. The restorative work results are easy for the home video collector to appreciate; this is one of the sharpest Blu-ray versions of a film noir a genre fan is likely to encounter. I did notice a glitchy moment around the 75m 33s mark, either an editing imperfection or perhaps some frames were missing. The restoration also features the original lossless mono audio. THE DESPERATE HOURS was the first black & white film shot in VistaVision. The difference between the Arrow Blu-ray and the DVD issued by Paramount Pictures in 2003 is downright shocking:

Paramount DVD (2003)

Arrow Blu-ray (2023)

The impressive Arrow Video presentation of the feature film gets an added boost from an informative range of supplemental material. The newly-recorded audio commentary track by filmmaker and film historian Daniel Kremer covers the penultimate Humphrey Bogart film from a variety of angles. Kremer explores the trademarks of director William Wyler, which include deep focus cinematography to best capture his "stacked staging." There is always a lot going on in a Wyler frame. His carefully considered blocking suggests a seasoned filmmaker at work who takes his job very seriously. Wyler always maintains a perspective as he guides the viewer into a perception; the audience is meant to experience a setup a predetermined way. Wyler was noted for making his actors perform many, many takes. This was especially true for Fredric March, whom Wyler wanted to beat down enough to look appropriately frazzled. In one of my favorite moments of the film, March's efforts as an actor reach their apex when his character finally reclaims his family home. In terms of auteur theory, THE DESPERATE HOURS follows a recurring Wyler template in which non-violent people are forced into action. The March character is on common ground with pacifists who rise to the occasion in FRIENDLY PERSUASION (1956), THE BIG COUNTRY (1958) and BEN-HUR (1959).

The supplements continue with "Trouble in Suburbia:  José Arroyo on THE DESPERATE HOURS" (38m 51s, 2023), which provides a thoughtful cultural/historical look at the feature film, along with a deep dive into some of the film's major thematic elements. The Associate Professor in Film and Television Studies at the University of Warwick, Arroyo reviews the dealmaking that led to the production of THE DESPERATE HOURS. Its origin rests in Liberty Films, the independent production company founded by Frank Capra and Samuel J. Briskin in April of 1945. Filmmakers George Stevens and William Wyler soon became partners. The debut offering from Liberty Films was Capra's IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE (1946), which lost $400K, a hefty amount at that time. Suddenly in a perilous position, Liberty Films was acquired by Paramount Pictures in May of 1947. As part of the deal, Capra, Wyler, and Stevens received five-picture contracts at Paramount. Each Wyler film was budgeted at $150K. Looking back, the result was a rather impressive assortment:  THE HEIRESS (1949), DETECTIVE STORY, CARRIE (1952), ROMAN HOLIDAY (1953) and finally THE DESPERATE HOURS. His noir thriller was a modest success, but not the smash hit Paramount hoped it would be. Humphrey Bogart's production company Santana Productions had bid for the rights to make THE DESPERATE HOURS, but ultimately lost out to Paramount. An excellent Arroyo observation is that Hal likes to touch things in the Hilliard home that represent the type of lifestyle he could never have. So for Hal, with generational gang membership comes the recognition of displacement and an accumulation of resentment. Arroyo is on to something when he discusses the film as a reaction to the House Un-American Activities Committee hearings. With Daniel Hilliard anxious about both the criminal gang and the police, there is indeed a sense of paranoia to the atmosphere. In terms of Wyler compositions, Arroyo notes the director positions Glenn Griffin in setups that comment on his position of strength. As Glenn's prospects weaken, so does his presence in terms of compositional emphasis, which is systematically reduced as the narrative unspools.

Next up is the featurette "The Lonely Man" (14m 54s, 2023), a visual essay written and narrated by Eloise Ross, co-curator of the Melbourne Cinémathèque. Ross examines the consistent, expressive persona of Humphrey Bogart across a wide body of work, in particular as the "ambiguous hero." The featurette also focuses on class distinctions that add texture to the drama that plays out in THE DESPERATE HOURS. "Scaled Down and Ratcheted Up:  An Interview with Catherine Wyler" (11m 47s) gives a voice to the daughter of director William Wyler. She recalls her father very much wanted Spencer Tracy in the role of Daniel Hilliard, but neither Tracy nor Bogart would accept second billing. Catherine explains her father's tendency to demand repeated takes from his actors was driven by his wish for the actor to discover the best approach to an acting problem from within, rather than be instructed by the director how to play the scene. She suggests the title THE LIBERATION OF L.B. JONES (1970) is the Wyler film most deserving of rediscovery. Also selectable is a theatrical trailer (2m 19s) and a lobby cards gallery. The Blu-ray packaging features a reversible sleeve with original artwork by Jennifer Dionisio. Also included is a booklet with essays by film historians Philip Kemp and Neil Sinyard.

THE DESPERATE HOURS was remade as a TV movie in 1967 directed by Ted Kotcheff (WAKE IN FRIGHT [1971], FIRST BLOOD [1982]). George Segal portrayed Glenn Griffin and Arthur Hill played Dan Hilliard. I have not had the opportunity to watch this version of the story. The more readily available remake DESPERATE HOURS was released in 1990, directed by Michael Cimino (THE DEER HUNTER [1978], HEAVEN'S GATE [1980]). The Cimino interpretation of the source material written by Joseph Hayes was among the first of numerous titles that resurrected film noir themes and motifs released in the early-to-mid 1990s. These neo-noir thrillers include AFTER DARK, MY SWEET (1990), SHATTERED (1991), BASIC INSTINCT (1992), FINAL ANALYSIS (1992), ONE FALSE MOVE (1992), RESERVOIR DOGS (1992), RED ROCK WEST (1993), ROMEO IS BLEEDING (1993), THE LAST SEDUCTION (1994), PULP FICTION (1994), SEVEN (1995) and THE USUAL SUSPECTS (1995). Also in the mix were a number of remakes such as CAPE FEAR (1991), A KISS BEFORE DYING (1991), GUNCRAZY (1992), NIGHT AND THE CITY (1992), KISS OF DEATH (1995) and THE UNDERNEATH (1995). DESPERATE HOURS of course falls into the remake bucket, but unfortunately stands as one of the least impactful of the group. It is as if the premise engineered by Hayes were forced at gunpoint to move from 1955 to 1990. More plot-driven than character-driven, the Cimino film lacks the character development necessary to gain the viewer's commitment. The family in peril is ill-conceived, with Anthony Hopkins and Mimi Rogers combined to form one of the genre's least plausible couples. Another problem is the casting of Mickey Rourke as the leader of the home invasion team. Rourke at times seems to have emerged from the set of another production. Whatever motivates his lawyer Nancy Breyers (Kelly Lynch) is particularly hard to follow. Worst of all is with Cimino at the helm, the basic themes that were so central to the Wyler original become murky at best. If all of that were not disappointing enough, Cimino should be ashamed of the highway sequence that highlights young actresses obviously selected for their ability to fill out skimpy jean shorts.

At the time of this post, the Arrow Video release of William Wyler's THE DESPERATE HOURS is still available through online retailers and should be purchased by film noir fans without hesitation.

CAUSE FOR ALARM! (1951)

Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 74m 45s

Behind the white picket fence of suburban tranquility lies a fractured marriage in CAUSE FOR ALARM!, a longtime favorite programmer-length film noir of mine. Led by director Tay Garnett, the creative team synthesizes the woman's picture with film noir mechanics, in particular the "downward spiral" theme so prevalent in noir formulas. Our lead protagonist falls deeper and deeper into trouble through no apparent fault of her own, other than perhaps having fallen in love too quickly. But other than her disastrous selection of a husband, there is no evidence offered the good-natured lead protagonist deserves to endure such a veritable noir shitstorm.

The grasp of film noir sometimes reaches beyond its traditional urban environment to wreak havoc on the heart of suburbia, in this case at a home located in a seemingly idyllic Los Angeles neighborhood. As the film noir fan has been calibrated to expect, the misaligned couple that resides there is out of step with the stable sense of community suggested by the handsome homes and well-manicured front yards. Routinized housewife Ellen Jones (Loretta Young, top-billed) is an upbeat but somewhat frustrated woman trapped in a dispiriting marriage to George Z. Jones (Barry Sullivan), a bedridden man with a heart condition. For reasons never made entirely clear, George has slipped into a deep state of despondency. He wrongly believes his wife is planning to run off with Dr. Ranney Grahame (Bruce Cowling), his old friend and family physician, after the two get rid of him. George expresses his misguided thoughts in writing to the local district attorney and tricks his wife into mailing the letter. Ellen learns of the letter's content just before her husband drops dead. Faced with a probable prison sentence, Ellen is determined to retrieve the letter by any means necessary.

This means not welcome

Diary of a madman

Recollections of a better time

As the narrative unfolds, the hot July temperature has its impact on the townspeople, who make reference to the devastating heat from time to time. It is safe to assume the heat affects nobody more than George, who embodies the antithesis of healthy male vitality. His relationship with his wife has eroded thanks to his excessive jealousy and wrongheaded suspicions. Film noirs that revolve around jealousy are numerous:  consider LAURA (1944), LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN (1945), GILDA (1946), THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE (1946), POSSESSED (1947) and SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950), just to name a few. Locked inside an irredeemable marriage with no breathing room, Ellen inhabits a household torn asunder by endless conflict instigated by George.

"...a man wrapped up in himself makes a very small package."
—Aunt Clara Edwards (Margalo Gillmore)

The burden of masculinity is a heavy weight on the narrow shoulders of George, whose porcelain state of mind exacerbates his heart condition. He embodies the archetypal fallen veteran displaced since the conclusion of World War II. That character type is well traveled within the framework of the film noir, on record in THE BLUE DAHLIA (1946), CROSSFIRE (1947), RIDE THE PINK HORSE (1947), ACT OF VIOLENCE (1948), THE CLAY PIGEON (1949), THE CROOKED WAY (1949), SOMEWHERE IN THE NIGHT (1946), THE SNIPER (1952) and THE KILLER IS LOOSE (1956). Certainly the embittered George is a lesser man than he was at wartime, when he served as a Navy pilot. Now he is psychologically defeated and socially incapacitated, an irritable portrait of stubborn male attitudes. Aunt Clara even comments that George had issues before he met Ellen, which seems to absolve Ellen from any blame for her husband's disturbing decline. Dr. Grahame believes George would benefit from a session or two with a psychiatrist. Given George's endlessly brooding frame of mind, it is tough to argue with that contention. He is persistently callous in all communication toward his wife and downright creepy when he tells her a story about beating another kid when he was a boy. George makes it all too apparent she might be in for the identical treatment; he would rather destroy his wife than cede her to Dr. Grahame. In an unnerving punctuation of his dark memories, George threatens Ellen while he touches her throat! Later he declares he will kill the wife he has (erroneously) determined to be faithless. George's paranoid jealousy even extends to the neighborhood kid Billy, AKA "Hoppy" (Brad Morrow). Mostly confined to his bed (though he can move around when it suits him), the irascible, worthless husband George does not trust anyone.

In terms of the unlikable invalid noir personality, George shares an obvious kinship with Barbara Stanwyck's detestable Leona Stevenson from SORRY, WRONG NUMBER (1948). But there are many instances of male film noir characters who are in some way rendered immobile, i.e. THE GLASS KEY (1942), DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), THE BIG SLEEP (1946), KEY LARGO (1948), ACT OF VIOLENCE, CRISS CROSS (1949), HOUSE BY THE RIVER (1950), THE BIG COMBO (1955), TOUCH OF EVIL (1958). Such characters obviously reflect historical realities. Many of our veterans returned from combat with irreversible physical damage. With his frequently hostile outbursts, George reminds us that psychological issues were part of the equation as well and might in fact have been worse than anything physical our soldiers experienced. An unpleasant side effect of this sort of drama causes the viewer to wonder what the filmmakers think of our veterans in general. George debases himself whenever he opens his mouth, so much so that when his heart finally gives up on him, one feels a sense of relief, not sympathy. His inability to muster up the strength to gun down his wife before he expires is kind of pathetic, a gutless account of an ex-soldier with nothing left to offer humanity. I suppose the limitations of the B film are at least in part responsible for this treatment; perhaps a 90-minute film might have offered a more layered version of George, whose death might have had some tragic implications.

I'd wanna marry her too

Awww, how cute

A bewildered Ellen in front of a paranoiac

Other male characters who populate CAUSE FOR ALARM! reinforce various masculine stereotypes as required to confirm our allegiance to Ellen. The postal carrier Joe Carston (Irving Bacon) is the dutiful public servant who will talk at length to anyone whose ear he can bend. He also constitutes male fragility as he complains at length about his tough lot in life. Joe also stands for the rigidity of bureaucratic systems such as the United States Postal Service. The USPS superintendent (Art Baker) validates the importance of the system over sympathetic individuals like Ellen, who deserve more flexibility under the circumstances than the system can offer. The local druggist Mr. Phillips (Louis Merrill, uncredited) is suspicious of Ellen (George accidentally spilled his last prescription; Ellen had nothing to do with the sudden need for more drugs), and so is Mr. Russell (Don Haggerty), a notary whose afternoon visit catches Ellen off guard. Then we have the distinctly male conviction of the handgun as universal problem solver.

If the unstable, displaced veteran George personifies an archetypal noir character, Ellen also represents a signature noir staple:  the woman in distress. A persona that emerges in different forms, such a woman might be a simple character of limited texture or a more complex figure. With varying degrees of anxiousness, vulnerability and culpability, variations of this female archetype can be witnessed in DANGER SIGNAL (1945), MILDRED PIERCE (1945), NOTORIOUS (1946), SORRY, WRONG NUMBER, THE ACCUSED (1949, also starring Loretta Young), MANHANDLED (1949), THE RECKLESS MOMENT (1949), WHIRLPOOL (1949), IN A LONELY PLACE (1950), WOMAN IN HIDING (1950), THE HOUSE ON TELEGRAPH HILL (1951), SUDDEN FEAR (1952), THE BIG HEAT (1953), THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955) and TOUCH OF EVIL. Stuck with a husband with whom it is impossible to reason or even converse, Ellen earns a special place among these imperiled noir women. When she is introduced during the film's opening sequence, the Midwest gal Ellen appears as devoted to her troubled marriage as one could wish, despite her mild disappointment children are not yet part of the equation. The plot mechanics lunge forward mostly through husband-induced traumas experienced by Ellen. Despite the presence of an increasingly irrational George, Ellen maintains a sense of loyalty to her abrasive husband. Other women on the scene exist largely to strengthen our sympathies for Ellen. There is the buttinsky neighbor Mrs. Warren (Georgia Backus), her eyes always wide open to anything unusual, along with Aunt Clara, an endless talker who neither Ellen nor George are excited to welcome.

Full-on breakdown mode

Somebody somewhere is out to get me

Please stop

Ellen questions her circumstances via narration, a customary storytelling device utilized frequently in film noir exercises. Her narration dovetails nicely with a flashback that helps explain her present-day existence in which she questions her union to George while she tries to cling to optimistic thoughts. From a practical point of view, especially for a B film of limited runtime, the flashback allows filmmakers to cover a lot of ground quickly, in this case why a nice woman like Ellen got hooked up with a headcase like George. During WWII, Ellen worked as a nurse at a naval hospital, where she first encountered George, a friend of Dr. Grahame's. Before the couple-to-be even met, a warning shot was fired when George commented that women derive pleasure from "...shoving a man around." Even more tellingly, the relationship between Ellen and George got started via deception as George played the role of patient in need of a nurse's care. After a problematically brief courtship, Ellen ended up married to George. This is where the flashback becomes something beyond a way to expedite the plot in this film noir and many others:  it is impressed upon the viewer that Ellen's marital difficulties are grounded in the past, a notion that informs many of the most significant noirs. The assumption that unsolvable problems are rooted in past events that cannot be undone makes the film noir the most pessimistic of Hollywood genres. What makes the genre darker still is the strong sense of fatalism that energizes the majority of noir narratives. Given the structure of CAUSE FOR ALARM!, one is left with the impression it was fate that led Ellen to George, not bad luck. That explanation is given credence during the flashback segment, when Ellen admitted to Dr. Grahame she had no way of knowing for certain if George was the right man for her. She described her attraction to George in emotional terms beyond her control:  "...it's just something you feel...you can't do anything about it."

If the random nature of the noir universe brings Ellen and George together, an atmosphere rich in irony emphasizes their fatalistic connection. In perhaps the best example, years after George playfully pretended to be in need of Ellen's nursing, she eventually does have to care for George the sickly husband. Interestingly, George's concerns about his wife's loyalty are not completely without merit. Before he laid eyes on Ellen, Dr. Grahame expressed hopes of developing a relationship with her, though he seemed to agree with her assumption that his attentiveness to countless war-related injuries prohibited a courtship of any kind (that scenario indeed played out in a scene at the beach). That point notwithstanding, Ellen seemed unaware of how disappointed Ranney was in her long-term choice of his friend George. With the film's restorative conclusion comes the ultimate irony that cruelly mocks George:  his letter of condemnation is returned for insufficient postage! So much for the power of the patriarchal system.

An ill-fated marriage about to go up in smoke

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

CAUSE FOR ALARM! was shot in two weeks. Location footage was captured on residential side streets near Melrose Avenue in Hollywood. US and Canadian box office receipts totaled $518,000, along with $250,000 in other territories. The end result was a loss for MGM, a shame considering how well the film holds up after so many years. Director Tay Garnett (THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE, THE RACKET [1951]) brings nothing stylish to the production, which always is stated with economy, but he does imbue the narrative with palpable tension and a punchy sense of rhythm ideal for a film of this length. As one might expect, it appears most of the setups were conceived with the goal of making the production's female star look attractive. The unadorned cinematography by Joseph Ruttenberg (GASLIGHT [1944], KILLER MCCOY [1947], SIDE STREET [1949]) reflects the filmmaking industry's transition to authenticity and realism that would distinguish the 1950s noir movement from the more expressionistic look that characterized the noir film of the 1940s. Co-screenwriter Mel Dinelli was something of a specialist when it came to women and children in jeopardy; the first three films to his credit were THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE (1946), THE WINDOW (1949) and THE RECKLESS MOMENT. Co-screenwriter and producer Tom Lewis was married to Loretta Young at the time of production. The source material was the radio play by Lawrence B. Marcus. Warner Bros. spoofed the title with "Claws for Alarm" (1954), one of the very best Merrie Melodies cartoon shorts.

Released earlier this year by ClassicFlix, CAUSE FOR ALARM! finally made its Blu-ray debut in a newly restored edition worthy of the film noir fan's investment. The presentation begins with this note about the restoration:

The difference in source material is evident at times but not overly distracting. Minor scratches are minimally invasive and the level of film grain looks appropriate to my eye. Contrast is solid.

An original theatrical trailer (2m 1s) is selectable, along with trailers for five other titles available from ClassicFlix.

THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET (1944)

Paramount Pictures, 92m 24s

One of the more obscure Hollywood productions to cover the topic of immortality, THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET made its official worldwide home video debut late in 2023. As marketed by boutique label Imprint, this cross-genre specimen incorporates both science fiction and film noir genre tropes. Frankenstein noir might sound like a winning combination, though to be honest I do not admire this title as much as I wish I did. Suspense comes in oddly small doses based upon the sensational subject matter; the plot summary on hand at Turner Classic Movies [SYNOPSIS] suggests more emotional heft than the film ultimately can provide. My disappointment notwithstanding, THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET offers solid production value, takes established genre tropes seriously and features actress Helen Walker, a name that should make film noir fans sit up straight. Still available as of this writing, the Imprint Blu-ray promises long-term collector value with its production limit of 1500 units.

Our preservation of youth story is set in London during the mid-1920s within a regimented society of class privilege. The featured protagonist is Dr. Julian Karell (Nils Asther), an amoral man with an eternal life mindset. A scientist with a penchant for painting portraits, his canvas depiction of Eve Brandon (Helen Walker) looks suspiciously like the work of an artist who was active a half-century ago according to a guest at the home of Sir Humphrey Brandon (Edmund Breon), Eve's father. Stranger still, Lady Minerva Aldergate (Aminta Dyne, uncredited) converses with Julian and recalls an affair she had with a man who could have been—must have been—Julian's grandfather. Julian would like to marry Eve, but first must endeavor to retain his appearance. He is 90 years old but claims he is 35 (actor Nils Asther was in his late forties at the time of the film's production and looks to be in exactly that age bracket). Julian's modified presentation of himself requires the surgical transfer of suprarenal glands from another human being every 10 years, which is to say a decennial murder is necessary to prolong his bid for immortality. He seems to have found his next guinea pig in the form of Alan Guthrie (Morton Lowry), a troubled young medical student with a gambling addiction, the sort of fellow that might go unmissed if he disappeared. Julian prevents Alan's suicide attempt and convinces him to participate in private scientific experiments, but the slightly belated arrival of endocrinologist and surgeon Dr. Kurt van Bruecken (Reinhold Schünzel) amounts to a huge setback. Julian recognizes Kurt no longer has the capacity to perform the 10-year surgeries on Julian as has become tradition since 1865. Kurt is actually younger than Julian, yet appears dramatically older as he hobbles about in an obvious state of decline. Despite the unforgiving encroachments of the aging process, Kurt's mind remains sharp as he admonishes Julian for arrogantly marching down the wrong path. Kurt is energized by a moral compass that Julian lacks.

After many years of practice...

A little too familiar?

"Men like us must always walk alone."

—Dr. Kurt van Bruecken

Though undoubtedly a science fiction film first and a film noir second, THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET possesses an indisputable noir soul. This Paramount title can be contextualized as dead-man-walking noir. As Julian witnesses his options to maintain his youthfulness disintegrating, the walking dead theme stands out as the most prominent of any of the film's themes and motifs. The walking dead man is one of the most unambiguous of film noir tropes, as emphasized repeatedly in DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), the most influential of all noir films in terms of prevailing themes. The walking dead man would wander through a wide assortment of important noir films that would follow DOUBLE INDEMNITY, as seen in SCARLET STREET (1945), THE DARK CORNER (1946), DECOY (1946), THE KILLERS (1946), OUT OF THE PAST (1947), RIDE THE PINK HORSE (1947), ACT OF VIOLENCE (1948), ASPHALT JUNGLE (1950), D.O.A. (1950), NIGHT AND THE CITY (1950), SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950) and TOUCH OF EVIL (1958).

A noirish night

The juice of life

A vivid illustration of the alienated noir protagonist, Julian has survived for decades as an outcast and criminal. His sense of displacement is grounded in the reality that he cannot live in the real world as an ageless man forever. Thus his sense of alienation is self-imposed, forever connected to the selfish choices he has made. The woman he would like to marry comes with a reminder of the impossibility of keeping his immortality quest a secret. A ladyfriend of any significance does not correspond well with such a plan; Kurt reminds Julian a woman could never be in the cards for such men of science. How can a man maintain a relationship with a woman if she ages normally and he remains the same age? Indeed Julian's interest in a woman sets his downfall in motion. That places Eve among the most unwilling and unaware of film noir femme fatales to bring about a man's downward spiral. She is both the cure for his lack of belonging and the catalyst for his destruction. If Julian's relationship with Eve amounts to an insurmountable long-term impracticality, then a traditional family life is an absolute non-starter. That theme comes deeply embedded in many films noir, characterized by suspect family values and downright hopeless marriages to be found in DOUBLE INDEMNITY, THE SUSPECT (1944), SCARLET STREET, MILDRED PIERCE (1945), THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF UNCLE HARRY (1945), THE STRANGE LOVE OF MARTHA IVERS (1946), ALL MY SONS (1948), SORRY, WRONG NUMBER (1948), WHIRLPOOL (1949) and GUN CRAZY (1950).

"All we are fated to learn we know already."

—Dr. Kurt van Bruecken

The film noir often is distinguished by a fixation on past events that cannot be undone, choices made in the past that prevent the major protagonist from moving forward in a positive way. It is not unusual to find evidence of that theme within noir title treatments, i.e. CORNERED (1945), OUT OF THE PAST (1947), THEY WON'T BELIEVE ME (1947), THE DARK PAST (1948), ABANDONED (1949), THE RECKLESS MOMENT (1949), TOO LATE FOR TEARS (1949), TRAPPED (1949), NO WAY OUT (1950), ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW (1959). A closely related noir theme involves idealized images that embody an irretrievable past. How fitting that Julian enjoys painting portraits as a hobbyist, since the portrait is meant to preserve a moment in time. From the moment a portrait is completed, it represents a past that cannot be restored. As such, his artistic endeavors are at odds with the prospect of immortality. On another level, could the subject of the painting ever live up to Julian's expectations? Recall Mark McPherson (Dana Andrews) falling for the framed woman in LAURA (1944). One wonders if Julian fell in love with Eve or her idealized, ageless likeness. Indeed his marriage proposal comes only after the unveiling of her portrait. Or maybe Julian's fondness for Eve and her inquisitive nature is best explained as fate. An atmosphere rich in fatalism is perhaps the purest of all film noir tropes, the support structure that gives rise to narratives engulfed in bitterness and cynicism like DETOUR (1945), SHOCK (1946), THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI (1947), REPEAT PERFORMANCE (1947), CRISS CROSS (1949), ANGEL FACE (1952) and THE KILLING (1956). Another related and crucial component of the noir equation is irony. One of the deep ironies at work in THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET is that a discredited surgeon like Dr. B.A. Vishanoff (Konstantin Shayne, uncredited) is necessary to continue Julian's life, a respected man like Dr. Henry Latimer (Paul Cavanagh) can be of no assistance. Deep in the noir underworld, sometimes the unprincipled social pariah is of more value than the man of integrity.

Kurt and Julian as pioneering men of science —
an idealized past that no longer exists

Youthful vanity versus aging frailty

The dead next door

The Thames gives up its dead

A tale of two paintings

Admittedly THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET does not adhere to all film noir traditions, especially in terms of what noir expert Eddie Muller calls "the break;" that moment when the lead character considers the moral choice and then decides against it. That milestone marks a major turning point in the life of the protagonist, who possesses at least some moral fiber to find himself at a moment of internal debate. If Julian ever had a moment like that, it must have occurred long ago. As he desperately schemes toward another life-extending surgery, his motivations are completely egocentric. Julian is concerned only about the preservation of his deceitful image, not the overall benefit to mankind his colleague Kurt had sought. Julian has more in common with the crazed noir psychos of the 1950s than the average people of 1940s noir who make bad decisions or trip over some rotten luck. Julian's obsession with self-preservation anticipates the misguided villainy that would invade film noirs like GUN CRAZY, SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950), ANGEL FACE, THE SNIPER (1952), THE HITCH-HIKER (1953), THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955) and A KISS BEFORE DYING (1956).

Going downhill fast!

THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET is rooted in Barré Lyndon's 1939 West End play. Screenwriter Charles Kenyon had extensive writing credits in the 1920s and 1930s, and Garrett Fort, credited with the adaptation, contributed to DRACULA (1931, play), FRANKENSTEIN (1931, co-screenwriter), DRACULA'S DAUGHTER (1936, screenwriter), THE DEVIL-DOLL (1936, co-screenwriter) and AMONG THE LIVING (1941, co-screenwriter). As directed by Ralph Murphy, this adaptation views a little stagy in terms of coverage, with the level of intrigue kept to a frustrating minimum. The London setting fits this cross-genre exercise well, the fog of noir well captured on Hollywood soundstages by Henry Sharp, who also was responsible for the cinematography of some of film noir's more unrenowned entries such as JEALOUSY (1945), THE GUILTY (1947), HIGH TIDE (1947) and VIOLENCE (1947). My favorite visual conceit is the glowing elixir in the lab, which obviously recalls the mysterious glass of milk homme fatal Johnnie Aysgarth (Cary Grant) carried up the stairway in Alfred Hitchcock's SUSPICION (1941). I also like the imprisoning shadows that accompany the arrival of Julian's houseguest Alan, who would have been better off had he been left to drown. The impressive score was the work of Miklós Rózsa, who also composed the music for DOUBLE INDEMNITY, THE LOST WEEKEND (1945) and SPELLBOUND (1945).

Helen Walker's life story would provide immense subject matter for a lengthy biopic. The talented and uniquely attractive actress's career went off track irrevocably on New Year's Eve of 1946 after she picked up a trio of World War II veterans. A horrific accident killed one of her passengers and left everyone else with injuries. The men who survived said she was driving under the influence, recklessly at that. Though acquitted, she garnered a lot of negative press, which hurt her reputation. Her tarnished public image left her well suited to play femme fatales in noir films such as NIGHTMARE ALLEY (1947) and IMPACT (1949). She also appeared in CALL NORTHSIDE 777 (1948) and THE BIG COMBO (1955). In 1968 she died of cancer. She was only 47.

This region-free, single-layered Blu-ray edition of THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET released by Imprint is the product of a fresh 2K scan. Framed at 1.37:1, the film looks respectable enough in motion, with scratches and artifacts infrequent and not at all distracting. A welcome supplement, and an appropriate reason to invest in this disc, is the audio commentary track by seasoned film historian Tim Lucas, who recognizes THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET as the last of Paramount's horror/sci-fi releases of the 1940s. He correctly notes the quality of Paramount genre product was a notch above what was churned out over at Universal in terms of production value, actor performances and layers of subtext. This genre film owes an obvious debt to Robert Louis Stevenson's 1886 Gothic novella STRANGE CASE OF DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE and the screen versions it had inspired up to that point:  Paramount's DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE (1920) and (1931), as well as Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's interpretation (1941). Lucas also covers relevant films that broach the subject of immortality that preceded or followed THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET, including SHE (1935), THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY (1945) and THE WASP WOMAN (1959). He also mentions episodes of THE TWILIGHT ZONE that revolved around immortality and everlasting youth such as “Walking Distance” (October 30, 1959), “Long Live Walter Jameson” (March 18, 1960), “Kick the Can” (February 9, 1962) and “Queen of the Nile” (March 6, 1964). The character Dr. Julian Karell was inspired by French surgeon and biologist Alexis Carrel, a pioneer in vascular suturing techniques, organ transplantation and thoracic surgery. Lucas points out that Dr. Julian Karell was much more of a sadist in the stage version of the story; in the play Julian preys upon youths and disposes of them in acid after he is through with them. Lucas also calls attention to the homoerotic subtext between Julian and his suitable glands donor Alan (Morton Lowry appeared in THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY later the same year). Homoerotic themes are prevalent in some of the most significant of noir productions, including THE MALTESE FALCON (1941), THE GLASS KEY (1942), GILDA (1946), THE BIG CLOCK (1948), THE LINEUP (1958) and THE BIG COMBO.

The 1959 Hammer Films remake, distributed theatrically by Paramount Pictures, was entitled THE MAN WHO COULD CHEAT DEATH. The Hammer effort comes with its own strengths and weaknesses, but both films share the same thematic concerns. In each film, close attention is paid to a Frankensteinian hands motif. Human hands have the potential to both commit horrific murders and perform remarkable surgeries that halt the normal aging process. Interestingly, the hands also provide the first hint of aging when another surgery is overdue. The motif is given further emphasis with the trembling hands of an elderly surgeon who no longer can be depended upon to perform glandular transplants every 10 years. It seems the positive things human hands are capable of are cancelled out by the negative qualities. Director Terence Fisher keeps essentially the same material moving a little more briskly with his version clocking in at just under 83 minutes. But Anton Diffring gives an erratic performance in the lead role of Dr. Georges Bonnet, and I actually find the transformation sequences more convincing in the original filmed version of the story.

I have not seen the HOUR OF MYSTERY hour-long TV episode “The Man in Half Moon Street” that aired June 22, 1957 on British television. This interpretation also featured Anton Diffring in the lead role and Arnold Marlé as Dr. Ludwig Weisz. The anthology television series was produced by ABC Weekend TV and broadcast on the ITV network.