The
lively gothic noir programmer STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT marked the film noir debut of pioneering auteur
Anthony Mann, a figurehead of some of the genre's enduring classics, including T-MEN (1947), RAW DEAL (1948) and BORDER
INCIDENT (1949). Those who appreciate Mann's more recognized efforts should
find a lot to like in this Republic Pictures product, which registers keen
awareness of director Alfred Hitchcock's galvanizing contribution to the infrastructure
of the thriller (especially his REBECCA
[1940] and SUSPICION [1941]). In
fact the screenplay engineered by Bryant Ford and Paul Gangelin was based on an
original story by Philip MacDonald, one of the writers credited for the
Hitchcock adaptation of Daphne Du Maurier's 1938 novel REBECCA.
During
his tour of duty in the South Pacific, Sergeant Johnny Meadows (William Terry)
sustains a severe injury to his back. His recuperative power is aided by a
secondhand copy of A. E. Housman's A SHROPSHIRE LAD with a hand-written
inscription from Rosemary Blake, with whom he establishes a correspondence. She
becomes his primary inspiration to return to the states. While Johnny makes his
way to a small California coastal town to meet the pen pal love he never has
seen, her mother Hilda Blake (Helene Thimig) admires the large painting of
Rosemary that rules the family mansion. After Hilda and her browbeaten
companion Ivy Miller (Edith Barrett) drink a birthday toast to Rosemary, Dr.
Leslie Ross (Virginia Grey) pays a visit to announce her arrival as the new
town physician. Hilda is dismissive of Dr. Ross, an attractive, self-reliant
woman of integrity. Without basis, Hilda instinctively fears Dr. Ross is
jealous of Rosemary's flawless beauty.
Despite
a modest runtime that does not quite stretch to an hour, STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT manages to cover many genre facets. Crucial noir tropes emerge during a train ride,
when the marine vet Johnny spots a copy of A SHROPSHIRE LAD held by a woman in
the dining car, who just so happens to be Dr. Ross. In a decision guided by the
enigmatic noir force of fate, Dr.
Ross takes a seat at the table occupied by Johnny. He senses he has met his
true love based upon the book she possesses. His romantic sensibilities are
sound, though he is completely mistaken about the woman's identity. Quite
overtly, Dr. Ross functions as Rosemary's noir
doppelgänger. When both Johnny and Dr. Ross realize they are bound for the same
destination, a narrative-jolting derailment hints of the intense dramatics that
await at the Blake manor, where an atmosphere of disturbing solemnity is
perched on the edge of a precipitous seaside cliff obviously destined to factor
in the film's denouement.
Through
its monstrous feminine Hilda, STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT delves into the
depths of a lonely woman's frail psyche. When walking she requires an assistive
cane, a device often used to conceptualize an incomplete character in the film noir. A pathetic personality (as
opposed to sympathetic), Hilda compensates for her compromised physicality with
domineering treatment of others. On the receiving end more than anyone is Ivy,
who often finds herself castigated for not living up to Hilda's unreasonable
expectations. The grim determinism embodied by the narrative's villainess
anticipates the disturbed female minds that cause chaos in LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN (1945), THE
STRANGE AFFAIR OF UNCLE HARRY (1945), THE
DARK MIRROR (1946), POSSESSED
(1947) and WHIRLPOOL (1949). In her
dark obsession with Rosemary's portrait, Hilda might remind the noir enthusiast of Mark McPherson (Dana
Andrews), the man fascinated by framed perfection in LAURA (1944). There is little doubt LAURA popularized the noir
theme of the idealized portrait, though in truth STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT hit theaters a month earlier. Viennese actress
Helene Thimig contributes a bravura performance as Hilda, a woman ultimately
destroyed by her own creation. Especially in terms of Thimig's role, I have to
believe STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT had
at least some influence on the Hammer Films production DIE! DIE! MY DARLING! (1965), a classic of the hag horror subgenre.
The
antithesis of Hilda is of course the genial Dr. Ross, a new breed of woman
meant to replace relics like Hilda who have fallen out of touch with changing
times. There is a running gag in the film that America is not yet ready to
accept the idea of female doctors, the aging matriarch Hilda among those least
prepared for such a development. Interestingly Dr. Ross reminds us it was
wartime male absence that encouraged women to enter into fields traditionally
occupied only by men. That observation reflects a general theme of the noir movement of the 1940s:there is no going back to the America that
existed before the war. Radical change was baked into the wartime recipe.
As
of this writing, the main plot summary at IMDb.com effectively ruins STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT for the
uninitiated. That is not to suggest any great surprise; I learned long ago the
more I avoid plot summaries and reviews prior to seeing a film for the first
time, the more likely I am to experience the film as the filmmakers intended.
It is never my intention to contribute to that nagging problem on my own blog,
but for the sake of analysis I offer the following observations strictly for
those who already have watched the film. How interesting that, whether he knows
it or not, the credulous Johnny falls for a much older woman through his
correspondence with the non-existent Rosemary. Not only that, he admits he may
not have recovered were it not for her letters! The considerable age difference
between Johnny and Hilda certainly is another factor that contributes to her
otherness, though the nature of the correspondence outside of age separation
remains problematic. To present oneself to another as something other than
one's actual self, to create a persona that exists in writing only, is in
itself unconscionable conduct. Another indication of the damaged woman is the
revelation Hilda was unable to bare children. In light of the truth about Rosemary,
the tour Hilda gives Johnny of her daughter's bedroom is especially creepy.
That Rosemary essentially comes to life in the concluding sequence to take down
Hilda seems completely appropriate, especially as a variation of the FRANKENSTEIN
myth. Ivy's tacit agreement with the creation of Rosemary is another
troublesome matter. The reticent servant's waning convictions come too late in
the game for her redemption.
STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT is
available in a single-layered Blu-ray edition from Olive Films. Framed at the
original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1, the presentation is marred by some
speckles and scratches but overall reflects very good source material. There is
no supplemental material to consider.
The
genre-shifting influence of director Jules Dassin's benchmark docudrama THE NAKED CITY cannot be
underestimated. Literally every police procedural movie and TV show that followed
owes something to this Hellinger Productions creation. From a narrative
standpoint, director Anthony Mann marched down a similar path with the prior
year's T-MEN (1947), but that film
featured the chiaroscuro cinematography of John Alton, known for the sort of
high-contrast lighting setups that characterized the noir look of the 1940s. The era's stylistic grit is conspicuously
absent from Dassin's film, which favors actual city streets over soundstage
setups. The Italian neorealism film movement served as a reference point for THE NAKED CITY more than any American film noir. With the noir film's transition into police procedure comes a discernible
faith in authority and large institutions that had been mostly absent from the
genre.
The
opening narration by producer Mark Hellinger eschews the hopelessness of standard
film noir narration typically
provided by the doomed protagonist. Instead Hellinger's approach stands as
testimony to the authenticity of the production, shot on location in New York
City, home to some 8 million. Appropriately for the genre, our story begins at
1:10 AM. On the surface not a lot is going on at that hour, but in NYC
something is always happening, and that something is not always good. As less
noteworthy events play out, a bitter reality of fast-paced urban life manifests
itself. A blonde is killed in her apartment by two men, one of whom kills his
accomplice shortly thereafter. After housekeeper Martha Swenson (Virginia
Mullen) discovers the lifeless body of Jean Dexter, the investigation of the
Manhattan murder mystery is spearheaded by Detective Lieutenant Daniel Muldoon
(Barry Fitzgerald). His team discovers Dexter was subdued by chloroform before
being placed in her bathtub alive,
where she drowned. Based on physical evidence, Muldoon correctly deduces two
men were involved in the killing of Dexter.
Though
THE NAKED CITY is light on the
atmospheric film noir visuals of the
day, connective tissue to the genre is strengthened by way of familiar themes
and motifs. The differentiation of social classes is at the top of the list.
Lieutenant Muldoon offers a telling comment about his weekly salary of
"fifty bucks.” He struggles to imagine how any person in good conscience
could spend that same amount of money during just one night on the town, as he
learns a person of interest in the Dexter case did. Obviously the filmmakers
are in sympathy with cash-strapped working class people like Muldoon, as well
as those who mop floors, sweep up street trash and clean apartments. Dexter's
estranged parents Mr. and Mrs. Batory (Grover Burgess and Adelaide Klein) are
proud blue collar people who embody a familiar Hollywood formula:the dignity of being poor. Mrs. Batory
laments the fact her daughter was attractive enough to nudge her way into a better
life, which ultimately amounted to a fatal mistake:
"Wanting
too much. That's why she went wrong. Bright lights and theaters and furs and
night clubs. That's why she's dead now."
Indeed
Dexter was living the fast life, popping stimulants during the day and sleeping
pills at night. The fact that Jean Dexter was not her real name draws from the
common noir theme of multiple identities.
Her alternate identity speaks to her vain hope of shedding her skin, to leave
her simple past behind her. In a reliable film
noir trope, Dexter's greed and materialism mark her for death. As her
mother laments, such an outcome would not have befallen an average-looking
person. Dexter is the femme fatale of this narrative; her looks informed her
actions and contributed to her demise. There is testimony Dexter was fired from
her job as a model because she routinely turned-on the husbands of the store's
customers. The dress shop merchant suspects Dexter only would have dated a
wealthy man. She believed money was the key to happiness, which is seldom true
in the movies.
The
married, professional man of respectability who wrecks his life over Dexter is
another multiple-identity case. Dr. Stoneman (House Jameson), also known as Mr.
Henderson, lost his ability to think straight after he fell for Dexter. He and
Dexter hosted house parties that would coincide with robberies at the
residences of their society guests in attendance. In other words, she used him.
The other significant man associated with Dexter is perpetual liar Frank Niles
(Howard Duff), another proponent of the fast life. A loathsome character, he
freely admits he sometimes pimped her out, all while being engaged to Ruth
Morrison (Dorothy Hart), a model acquainted with Dexter.
One
of the city's recurring visual motifs is the bridge and the water beneath it.
Though the various bridges were constructed to connect traffic from one place
to another, one bridge functions in the opposite manner as it traps one of the
area's more disposable inhabitants. With policemen in pursuit of him from both
sides, Willie Garzah (Ted de Corsia) is left with no choice but to climb
towering stairs that lead to nowhere. A strong sense of irony informs this
climactic segment after Garzah planned to hide in the anonymity of the
sprawling urban landscape. Instead he gets into a situation where the police
cannot possibly lose him. Garzah's self-entrapment is suggested earlier when
Pete Backalis (Walter Burke), a known associate of Garzah, is discovered in the
East River by children. His time about to expire, Garzah's final moments take
place above the same flowing waters.
Director
Jules Dassin prefers tightly-wound drama over action. There is very little
action to discuss until almost an hour has passed, but when the drama becomes
more eventful, the filmmakers find a tight rhythm. The final police chase in
particular influenced many a film noir
with its smooth editing and cinematography. Probably in large part due to the
film's climactic sequence, Academy Awards were handed out to William H. Daniels
for Best Cinematography, Black-and-White, and Paul Weatherwax for Best Film
Editing. The mostly concrete environs of the noir urban jungle were captured in New York filming locations that
featured Essex Street Market, Roosevelt Hospital, Roxy Theater, Times Square,
the Whitehall Building and the Williamsburg Bridge. The commercial success of THE NAKED CITY inspired the ABC
television series NAKED CITY, a police drama which ran from 1958–1959 and
1960–1963.
Elaborate staircases factor into most every film noir
This
welcome new Criterion Collection Blu-ray edition contains a new 4K digital
restoration by TLEFilms Film Restoration & Preservation Services (Germany),
with uncompressed monaural soundtrack. With the original nitrate film negative
presumed unrecoverable, the film was restored over a two-year period. The new
Blu-ray version is framed at 1.375:1 and displays minimal artifacts. As these
screen captures confirm, the restoration displays more information on all sides
of the frame compared to the 1.3:1 DVD edition Criterion issued in 2007:
Criterion Blu-ray (2020)
Criterion DVD (2007)
Supplemental
material recycled from the Criterion DVD includes an audio commentary track
with screenwriter Malvin Daniel Wald recorded in 1996. Originally from
Brooklyn, Wald served as the project's principal writer, the creative force who
labored on the script for six months before the film was shot during the summer
of 1947. An amalgamation of many actual crime cases, THE NAKED CITY became a "worldwide sensation" despite a
decidedly unenthusiastic theatrical release from Universal. The studio acted
only out of contractual obligation after the death of producer Mark Hellinger,
who died from a coronary thrombosis December 21st, 1947 at the age of 44.
Apparently studio brass had no idea what Hellinger's team had accomplished.
French
critics noted a new genre had been forged: the police documentary. Wald
mentions two major elements that made the film unique, the first being the
documentary technique from director Henry Hathaway's THE HOUSE ON 92ND STREET (1945) applied to New York City, the most heavily
populated city in the US. Along with the day-to-day-life approach to filmmaking
around the Big Apple, a more modern take on crime investigation was employed.
Heretofore cinematic crimes were resolved by private investigators. But as
revealed in THE NAKED CITY, the
individual has been replaced by a large group of specialists, each bringing his
own unique skill set to the methodical investigation. Detectives are assisted
by coroners, various lab technicians, photographers, sketch artists and police
radio operators in their combined efforts to solve crimes.
The
public's acceptance of the film was followed by many narratives based upon
factual cases. Wald notes the buddy cop subgenre that emerged on movie theater
screens and television programming can be traced back to the commercial triumph
of THE NAKED CITY, in which a
veteran police lieutenant works alongside his younger equivalent Jimmy Halloran
(Don Taylor). Interestingly, it is the younger man who first senses a
connection between two murders. Wald also lists various examples of the buddy
cop television shows that followed his film, including DRAGNET (1951–1959), CAGNEY
& LACEY (1981–1988) and MIAMI VICE (1984–1989). Other police story elements
popularized by THE NAKED CITY
involve tireless legwork on clues, the protracted police chase and the time law
enforcement officials must waste with various crackpots who for whatever reason
attempt to insert themselves into murder investigations.
According
to Wald, at first Academy Award-winning Irish actor Barry Fitzgerald was uninterested
in the part of Lieutenant Muldoon. Wald had to persuade him he would be
effective in the role. The film's title was borrowed from photographer Arthur
"Weegee" Fellig's first book NAKED CITY (1945). Wald insisted on the
title in a conversation with producer Hellinger. Another interesting
observation from Wald is that Hellinger's narration is directed at the fleeing
criminal Garzah in the final act. As Hellinger advises the man responsible for
multiple murders, one is reminded of the producer's good terms with known
gangsters such as Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, Bugsy Siegel and Dutch Schultz. For
his efforts on THE NAKED CITY, Wald
received an Academy Award nomination for Best Story.
Bonus
content continues with a very insightful interview (28m 11s) with film scholar
Dana Polan from 2006. A professor in the Department of Cinema Studies at New
York University's Tisch School of the Arts, Polan is the author of numerous
books in the field of film studies, including POWER AND PARANOIA: HISTORY,
NARRATIVE, AND THE AMERICAN CINEMA, 1940-1950 (Columbia University Press, 1986)
and THE BEGINNINGS OF THE U.S. STUDY OF FILM (UC Press, 2007). Polan breaks
down THE NAKED CITY in terms of the
American man's post-WWII place in a more regimented society. It is no accident
the most noir component of the film,
the murder of Dexter, transpires in the early going. What remains is the police
procedural, which exudes ordered reassurance rather than classic noir chaos and cynicism. The policemen
of THE NAKED CITY have a never-ending
purpose given the nature of crime. There always will be new crime cases, just
as additional paperwork piles up on an office worker's desk or new patients
arrive at a hospital. While a man's workday may seem ordinary, he nonetheless
should maintain a strong sense of purpose and worth. Along with that notion, it
is implied the American worker can possess individuality, even eccentricities,
as long as he works within the larger general system.
Also
conducted in 2006 was an interview (26m 6s) with architect James Sanders,
author of CELLULOID SKYLINE: NEW YORK AND THE MOVIES (Alfred A. Knopf, 2001).
At the time of THE NAKED CITY's
production, New York's Lower East Side was a mythic place, the birthplace of
American culture. The incredible population density visible on the streets was
captured around its peak. As televisions were added to American homes, the type
of animated street life witnessed in THE
NAKED CITY was coming to its conclusion. A strong observation from Sanders
is the film's depiction of the huge city as a basically healthy environment.
Bad things may happen, but those rarities are resolved swiftly. By the 1970s,
police procedural films would make no suggestion that major cities were in good
health.
Following
a presentation of his splendid crime film RIFIFI
(Du
rififi chez les hommes, 1955) at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art
in 2004, Jules Dassin reflected upon his career with Bruce Goldstein moderating
(40m 45s). Dassin champions Mark Hellinger as a producer who stuck by his
director at a time when studio loyalty was suspect ("blacklist was in the
air"). After the premature death of Hellinger, Dassin was disappointed to
see Hellinger's final production become the subject of studio interference.
Also of interest is a stills gallery (5m 42s) full of posters, production stills
and behind-the-scenes photos.
The
Criterion packaging includes an essay by Luc Sante and production notes sent
from Hellinger to Dassin in 1947 in regard to the final chase sequence.
I
caught up with a pair of noir B films
that aired recently on TCM's Noir Alley, hosted by the "Czar of Noir"
Eddie Muller. Held together by an expansive array of noir staples, the content of each production reflects heightened
social anxieties of the post-WWII era. NIGHT
EDITOR gives special attention to the destructive power of the femme
fatale, whereas DANGER SIGNAL
unleashes a dangerously seductive homme fatale figure. Such characters are
presented as highly disruptive to the traditional American marriage and suggest
a general decline of our most basic values. But like so many otherwise cynical film noirs, each feature concludes on a
note of optimism difficult to accept given preceding events.
Based
upon a radio program that was active from 1934 through 1948, NIGHT EDITOR is a noir festival crowd pleaser according to Muller, which makes sense
given the amount of genre boxes checked. One of many film noirs heavily patterned after DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), this low-rent production from Columbia
Pictures was intended to be the first in a series of films that would fail to
materialize. Despite the franchise that was not meant to be, director Henry
Levin accomplishes more in 68 minutes than most modern filmmakers achieve in
120.
Past
and present meld together as NIGHT
EDITOR unspools in mostly flashback mode. At the (fictitious) New York
Star, Johnny (Coulter Irwin) rolls in after another tiring night of debauchery.
During what looks to be a perpetual card game, elder statesman of the newsroom
Crane Stewart (Charles D. Brown) seizes the opportunity to recall the story of
Police Lieutenant Tony Cochrane (William Gargan), who sowed the seeds of his
own ruin when he kicked his family aside in favor of big-league blonde Jill
Merrill (Janis Carter in a feisty turn).
To
easily differentiate Jill from Tony's plain Jane wife Martha (Jeff Donnell),
Jill is introduced via a legs-only shot. As his affair with Jill threatens the
health of his home life (Tony constantly snaps at his wife without reason and
neglects the needs of his son), Police Captain Lawrence (Harry Shannon) informs
Tony he looks like he could use more sleep. Tony realizes enough is enough and
attempts to break it off with Jill while parked at a beachfront lovers' lane.
The situation between Tony and Jill takes a backseat when another man arrives
on the scene with his girlfriend, this man far more prepared to end his
relationship than Tony. TCM host Muller believes only a B film could have
gotten away with a murder scene of this nature, which not only involves a young
woman being bludgeoned to death with a tire iron, but Jill borderline orgasmic
with excitement ("I wanna see her Tony, I wanna look at her!"). As
the murderer makes his getaway, Tony instinctively attempts to do the right
thing (Muller would call this common noir
turning point "the break"), but the police lieutenant allows Jill to
assume control of the crime scene. She reminds him their presence would be
scandalous (they both are married).
Here's to us: Jill Merrill (Janis Carter) and Tony Cochrane (William Gargan)
Other
tenets of noir are stitched together
to create a persistent mood of cynicism. Inequalities that keep America divided
often support the noir plot
structure, and Tony hails from the wrong side of the tracks. He unwisely
overreaches for the white-hot socialite Jill and pays the price for not
recognizing class distinctions intended to keep their lives separate. In its
final act NIGHT EDITOR provides a superb
example of the “walking dead man” pioneered in DOUBLE INDEMNITY, later observed in DECOY (1946), RIDE THE PINK
HORSE (1947), ACT OF VIOLENCE
(1948) and perhaps most famously in D.O.A.
(1950). Tony survives, but only as a fraction of his former self and a lesson
to others, like the young newspaper man Johnny. Tony ceased to exist as the man
he was around the time he was forced to investigate a crime scene without
revealing he was present while the crime transpired (that sequence likely owes
something to THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW
[1944]).
The
most overtly noir component running
wild in NIGHT EDITOR is the
treachery of the femme fatale, whose lack of humanity intensifies as the story
unfolds. Tony proves he knows Jill all too well when he describes her as
someone who must hurt or be hurt. When an opportunistic tramp is fingered for
the murder of Elaine Blanchard (Betty Hill), Jill could care less a man will
fry in the chair for a crime he did not commit (his only crime was to steal
some of the dead woman's personal belongings). Before she attempts to off her
ex with an ice pick (probably inspired by SCARLET
STREET [1945]), she is shown in an embrace with Elaine's killer (Frank
Wilcox). That the killer is a banker might be the noir touch that resonates best today.
Credit
for cinematography is shared by Burnett Guffey and Philip Tannura. Guffey
should be a name familiar to followers of film
noir since he shot some of the most admired genre permutations, including JOHNNY O'CLOCK (1947), IN A LONELY PLACE (1950) and THE SNIPER (1952). He also lensed
important B-noirs like the one under
review, along with MY NAME IS JULIA ROSS
(1945), TWO OF A KIND (1951) and NIGHTFALL (1956). Tannura probably was
responsible for the newsroom footage per Muller. The screenplay written by
Harold Jacob Smith sets a scorching pace for this terrific little film noir.
An
emotionally riveting drama directed by Robert Florey, DANGER SIGNAL stars Zachary Scott as a devious homme fatale, the
counterpart to the femme fatale portrayed by Janis Carter in NIGHT EDITOR. Fresh from his impressive
turn as the utterly despicable playboy Monte Beragon in MILDRED PIERCE (1945), Scott would be typecast for the remainder of
his career. In his first major role he is matched with the vibrant screen
presence of Faye Emerson in the role of a woman pushed to her breaking point by
the existential needs of a confirmed scoundrel. Muller explains Warner bought
the rights to the 1939 novel of the same title by Phyllis Bottome that same
year, but the concerns of the Hays Office kept the adaptation at bay for years.
After the success of Alfred Hitchcock's similarly structured SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943), Warner
decided to get the production off the ground. After the efforts of a great many
writers, ultimately the adaptation was scripted by Adele Comandini and C.
Graham Baker. Cinematography was handled by James Wong Howe, who fueled
American film noir with his
subsequent work on NORA PRENTISS
(1947), BODY AND SOUL (1947), HE RAN ALL THE WAY (1951) and SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS (1957).
The
opening sequence reveals a lot of information about our lead protagonist in
short order. Mrs. Alice Turner lies in eternal slumber while Ronnie Mason
(Zachary Scott) removes her wedding ring and a fistful of her cash. In the
interest of not being seen, he drops out of the room's window, which leaves him
with a leg injury to lie about later. The limping man would become a familiar noir fixture, a suggestion of
masculinity somehow compromised in ACT
OF VIOLENCE (1949), THE HITCH-HIKER
(1953) and STORM FEAR (1955). Ronnie
seeks shelter in Los Angeles, where he is able to leverage his injury at the
family home shared by Hilda Fenchurch (Faye Emerson) and her mother (Mary
Servoss). He explains the bum leg as a direct result of time spent in the South
Pacific while he assumes a new identity (another frequent component of the film noir). Additional untruths pile up
quickly as Ronnie explains he cannot pay rent as an unpublished writer in search
of his first payday (the accurate part of his story does not remain true for
long). He engineers a swift courtship of Hilda, who receives the ring acquired
from the departed Alice Turner. He has the nerve to tell Hilda the ring
belonged to his grandmother! Ronnie's relationship with Hilda fades into
discord after he meets her younger sister Anne (Mona Freeman), whose father
left her a healthy $25K dowry. Gradually the reality of what is going on under
the Fenchurch roof becomes apparent to Hilda, who must confront the darkest
depths of her capabilities as she weighs her options.
Date night: Hilda Fenchurch (Faye Emerson) and Ronnie Mason (Zachary Scott)
The
"woman in peril" noir
subgenre revolves around the plight of female protagonists with offerings such
as NOTORIOUS (1946), SORRY WRONG NUMBER (1948), WHIRLPOOL (1949), WOMAN IN HIDING (1950), CAUSE
FOR ALARM! (1951) and SUDDEN FEAR
(1952). The featured women in these titles are not necessarily equally
sympathetic, but all earn the viewer's support as we root for them to extricate
themselves from some of the most unenviable predicaments imaginable. DANGER SIGNAL's Hilda is an affable
working girl as played by Emerson. Her nicely chiseled countenance is
especially appealing when bespectacled; no wonder Dr. Andrew Lang (Bruce
Bennett) struggles to get his words out when standing in front of her. But
after falling for the wrong man, the public stenographer Hilda proves even the
unassuming girl-next-door type might possess the temerity to plot murder (she
swipes a botulinum toxin sample from a lab and plans to feed it to Ronnie, a
meal he richly deserves). Women may be susceptible to the fast-talking charms
of men like Ronnie, but ultimately end up with more stable, if less exciting,
men like Andrew.
Ronnie's
shabby treatment of the opposite sex is rooted in his immediate family's
history. He blames his mother for ruining his father, who chose to end his life
after he lost everything. Now Ronnie is out to exact revenge on the gender he
abhors. He is the sort of subject studied by Dr. Jane Silla (Rosemary DeCamp),
who specializes in "morbid psychology." Ronnie sets the table for his
own demise with a rigid pattern of behavior highly unlikely to work in his
favor forever. To put that notion in simplified noir terminology, Ronnie's sordid past defines his present and deletes
his future. The film's opening segment finds its echo when Ronnie, playing the
part of frustrated writer of fiction, asks Hilda to write a suicide note. The homme
fatale's lack of imagination, his overreliance on past deceptions, paves the
way for his elimination.
In
the early going it is implied the police force will not be a factor in Ronnie's
comeuppance. After Thomas Turner (John Ridgely) loses his unfaithful wife in
the introductory segment, he is informed by the police that he will need to find additional evidence
to reopen the case. Law enforcement officials are satisfied with the suicide
explanation, despite the widower's insistence the official cause of death was
highly unlikely. Therein lies the noir
notion that policemen are ineffective when it comes to catching seriously
dangerous criminals like the cheap 28-year-old conman Ronnie.
DANGER SIGNAL was
a financial success for Warner Bros. with a global take north of $1 million. In
his afterword, Muller notes Hilda successfully poisons Ronnie in Bottome's
source material. Of course such a conclusion was prohibited by the Production
Code, the other consideration was actress Faye Emerson's engagement to
Brigadier General Elliott Roosevelt and eventual status as daughter-in-law of
President Franklin D. Roosevelt. For the part of Anne Fenchurch, Mona Freeman
replaced Ann Blyth (Veda from MILDRED
PIERCE), who had injured her back while tobogganing.
"Don't
be discouraged, warden. It's a rule in all the best stories:everybody always lives happily ever
after." —Doctor
Walters
By
the definition rendered above, BRUTE
FORCE does not qualify as one of the best stories, though there is little
doubt it is one of the cinema's more important stories. In today's world of
heightened civil unrest, this incendiary film
noir may be more relevant today than it was at the time of its original
theatrical run. Filmed primarily on Universal Studios sound stages, BRUTE FORCE is a stunningly
well-executed cross-genre film, the noir
film tightly shackled to the prison film.
A
vast assortment of time-honored prison movie tropes populate Westgate
Penitentiary:inmates who seem like
basically good men, the mild-mannered prisoner who has made peace with himself
regarding his life stretch, the intellectual who thinks he is about to be
paroled, the highest level of leadership that only wants results, the tough
screw who enjoys his work far too much. Then there is the daily routine of the
prisoner's existence, composed of regimented roll calls, a single-file line in the
cafeteria, where a serving ladle distributes questionable-looking sustenance,
the hospital, where prisoners recover from unjust treatment, the obligatory
visitor segment, movie night (in this case the Universal product THE EGG AND I [1947]), the machine
workshop, where tedious labor is performed and orchestrated violence sometimes
plays out, mind-numbing solitary confinement and the inevitable escape plan.
The noir narrative often is pinned to
some form of entrapment, so a marriage of ideas with the prison film commands
obvious prospects. As the narrative progresses, the isle of detention is
engulfed by swirling noir currents.
The
opening credits are battered by heavy rainfall that accurately forecasts the
story's gloomy trajectory. Along the way, convict Joe Collins (Burt Lancaster)
harbors personal reasons for planning an early departure from the confines of
cell R17, but it will not be easy given the entrenched system that stands in
his way. This prison's power structure echoes imperishable truths about
long-term social concerns that remain unresolved today. When not focused on the
claustrophobic environments dominated by prisoners, BRUTE FORCE accesses the warden's office, where the prison's role
in social reform is debated. Within this setting the carefully marked out
social context of the film is at its most perceptive. Under the assumption that
prisons are an ugly necessity, how exactly might these institutions best
function? The administration of Westgate Penitentiary is riddled with financial
pressures, pesky calls from the press, an overcrowded inmate population (double
what the prison was designed to hold), and above all else, competing thought
processes in regard to prisoner management. Warden A.J. Barnes (Roman Bohnen),
a man with a foam-rubber spine, allows himself to be pushed around by McCallum
(Richard Gaines) and Captain Munsey (Hume Cronyn), who both see the prison as a
house of dehumanizing punishment. Dr. Walters (Art Smith) is the humanitarian,
but a man not built to fight a sustained battle against entrenched power. In a
key sequence that isolates the arrogant Munsey with Walters, the doctor
suggests Munsey is addicted to power, a vice no better or worse than any other.
The exchange between the two men communicates the film's major theme, one that
cements the film forever on noir
ground:kindness and decency are
concepts primed for retirement, like the aging alcoholic doctor, while the
cruel philosophies embodied by the younger man Munsey have gained traction. Any
argument for rehabilitation over discipline loses momentum when Munsey proves
himself the stronger of the two, which results in Walters driven to the office
floor, his liberal ambitions with him. One wonders whether Walters possesses
the intestinal fortitude to follow through on his convictions. The awkward
introductory sequence with Walters provides a clue:as Joe returns from a 10-day stay in
solitary, Walters tells Joe he "meant" to visit him.
Munsey's arm separates the men under his influence from Collins
The known Munsey operative Wilson (James O'Rear) faces extinction
Burt
Lancaster may have been top-billed, but this timeless film noir was constructed around Hume Cronyn's unforgettable
portrayal of Captain Munsey. Listed at 5' 6" at IMDb.com, the diminutive
figure Cronyn (especially when standing next to Lancaster) would seem an
unlikely candidate to play the part of Westgate Penitentiary's most dangerous
man (no prisoner comes close), but he proves himself ideal for the role. There
is a Napoleonic lesson in there:the
seemingly unthreatening man sometimes possesses incredible strength of purpose.
Though slight from a physicality standpoint, Munsey's fascist agenda is the
stuff of nightmares. He is a monster who does not look monstrous, a forerunner
of Norman Bates and the many unstable minds that would dominate the revisionist
horror film output of the 1960s. An unapologetic advocate of Social Darwinism,
Munsey not only is the brute of the movie's title, he preys upon the weaknesses
of the prisoners from a psychological angle. The two tactics are intertwined
closely; Munsey's aggressive mind games with the inmates allow him to unleash
his sadistic side when he feels so inclined. Neither approach allows the
prisoners to gain any ground. Mental torture leads to the suicide of Tom Lister
(Whit Bissell), one of the most innocuous fellows doing time, later Munsey's
physical abuse badly injures Louie Miller (Sam Levene, beaten to death in the
same year's CROSSFIRE). The
interrogation of Louie reveals Munsey at his most appalling; one of the guards
leaves the adjacent room in disgust when Louie is beaten with a piece of rubber
hose while Richard Wagner's "Tannhäuser" plays in the background.
Wagner was one of Adolf Hitler's favorite composers, and references to der
Führer do not end there. The drain pipe project, where at least one prisoner (a
62-year-old!) is worked to death, provides an overt reference to forced labor
in Nazi concentration camps. Not surprisingly, Munsey seems particularly fond
of sentencing prisoners to drain pipe drudgery, a punishment he reserves for
members of the prison community who refuse to play ball. Whether the drain pipe
ever will be completed or have any practical functionality is left an open
issue.
When
Munsey condemns all of cell R17 to the drain pipe, his demeanor seems oddly
emotional, like a jilted lover lashing out at someone he realizes he has lost.
Earlier there is a striking homoerotic connotation to the evil embodied by
Munsey when he visits Tom, alone in his cell at the time, later in Munsey's
office, where he lowers the shades before his violent interrogation of Louie.
The latter sequence anticipates the questionable behavior of Jim Wilson (Robert
Ryan), the hotheaded cop from director Nicholas Ray's ON DANGEROUS GROUND (1951). When Wilson interrogates suspect Bernie
Tucker (Richard Irving), Wilson's words emphasize a sexual subtext
("Alright Bernie, we're alone now."). The film noir commonly equates homosexuality with perverse evil, as can
be witnessed in THE MALTESE FALCON
(1941), BLACK ANGEL (1946), GILDA (1946), THE BIG CLOCK (1948) and STRANGERS
ON A TRAIN (1951). In terms of narrative function, typically such
characters either are discarded or undergo some type of miraculous change that
certifies their ability to re-enter society.
Munsey's
power-hungry tactics are proven untenable when he fails to extract information
from Louie and thus badly misunderstands his mounting prisoner problem. So
confident is Munsey in his methods, he does not have the capacity to consider
the notion another will might be stronger than his. Interestingly, the chaotic
nightmare of the Collins-driven breakout attempt coincides with Munsey's
ascension to the rank of warden. At this juncture social turmoil threatens to
consume the entire prison population by way of bullets and fire (for those who
like to look for recurring film noir
motifs, the prison riot features one of the genre's many dangerous staircases).
BRUTE FORCE concludes on a
pessimistic note of unvarnished truth with Walters framed behind bars, still as
much a prisoner as anyone at Westgate, perhaps more so. Munsey may have been
defeated, his methods ultimately as self-destructive as self-serving, but we
are left to anticipate his inevitable replacement.
"Nobody ever really escapes."
The
characterization of women is worth examination in most any film noir, even one that presents its females in brief flashbacks
that convey how they relate to the men with whom they are connected. Flashbacks
often are employed to add a sense of style to the noir film, though here that trope manifests itself out of
practicality. The imprisoned men not only are physically confined to their
cells, they are locked in sexual prisons as well. All that the guys in cell R17
have for female companionship is a Christmas calendar pinup girl, which
provides the sort of contained feminine image that fuels the fantasies of the
male characters in an assortment of film
noirs. As the cellmates describe for the uninitiated, the portrait under
consideration here represents any imaginable example of the gender,
frustratingly unavailable to the incarcerated man. That the pinup girl
resembles a woman carefully laid to rest probably was no accident. The male
protagonists of the film noir make a
habit of becoming obsessed with a woman somehow completely out of reach, her
likeness often memorialized in art form. That dynamic is crucial to formative film noirs such as LAURA (1944), MURDER, MY
SWEET (1944), PHANTOM LADY
(1944), THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW
(1944) and SCARLET STREET (1945).
Female
archetypes are grounded in the most misogynistic of film noir assumptions. In other words, all of the female characters
come with heavy baggage of some kind. Two of the women are nothing beyond
greedy femme fatales. Flossie (Anita Colby) is the tigress who latches onto
Spencer (John Hoyt). She uses his own gun to rob him before speeding off in his
vehicle. Now in prison, Spencer actually remembers her fondly! Even a memory
like that can be sentimentalized when a man is left without options. The
material desires of Cora Lister (Ella Raines) convert her ostensibly decent,
caring husband Tom into a convicted embezzler. Gina Ferrara (Yvonne De Carlo)
factors in the decline of Robert Becker (Howard Duff), who cannot get out of
his own way after protecting her from a probable murder charge (of her own
father!). Joe's girl Ruth (Ann Blyth) is a cancer patient confined to a
wheelchair, easily the least scandalous of the film's "women on the
'outside'" as they are tagged, but she is weak physically and requires
financial support. The invalid also refuses to undergo a surgical procedure
without Joe near her, which essentially guarantees his ill-fated escape
attempt. On one level or another, all the men who reflect on civilian-life
relationships perish in prison thanks at least in part to their undying
dedication to the fair sex.
The
pre-production development of BRUTE
FORCE found inspiration in the Battle of Alcatraz (May 2—4, 1946), when
armed inmates failed in their attempt to escape from The Rock. The project was
directed with vigor by Jules Dassin, who vividly depicts action sequences,
especially those steeped in brutality. Even today, his film can be shockingly
tough viewing (the steam hammer killing in particular is one hell of a set
piece). A more subtly effective sequence involves the juxtaposition of the
warden's speech and an inmate's suicide. Dassin would become one of the central
filmmakers during the classic film noir
movement, with subsequent contributions to the genre that included THE NAKED CITY (1948), THIEVES' HIGHWAY (1949) and quite
possibly his finest effort NIGHT AND THE
CITY (1950), a towering achievement in film
noir anchored by the performance of the great Richard Widmark. The director
relocated to France in 1953, where he made RIFIFI
(Du
rififi chez les hommes, 1955), a legitimate candidate for greatest
heist film of all time.
Independent
producer Mark Hellinger had established himself as a New York theater critic,
the sort of journalist who would belly up to the bar each day. A syndicated
columnist featured in William Randolph Hearst newspapers, Hellinger was on
friendly terms with guys like Al Capone and Lucky Luciano. Hellinger's considerable
writing skills led to projects in Hollywood, where he would emerge as an
associate producer of trailblazing noir
films for Warner Brothers such as THEY
DRIVE BY NIGHT (1940) and HIGH
SIERRA (1941). Later he would produce THE
TWO MRS. CARROLLS (1947) for Warner. Hellinger would jump ship to Universal
Pictures, where his Mark Hellinger Productions served up THE KILLERS (1946) before BRUTE
FORCE. Hellinger Productions brought us THE NAKED CITY (1948), released after Hellinger's death December
21, 1947. He was only 44. BRUTE FORCE
screenwriter Richard Brooks also wrote THE PRODUCER, a novel based on the life
of Hellinger. Worthy of special mention are some of the cast members. Charles
Bickford is perfect as Gallagher, the aging convict rightly disappointed with
the porous terms of his parole application. Sir Lancelot, so memorable in
director Jacques Tourneur's I WALKED
WITH A ZOMBIE (1943), truly adds something as "Calypso" James.
Jeff Corey is well-cast as Stack, who plans to hide out in the anonymous noir city after his escape from
Westgate. He does not get that opportunity; when Stack is used as a human
shield during the breakout attempt, one wonders if MAD MAX 2 director George Miller is a BRUTE FORCE admirer. Also look for noir icon Charles McGraw, who shows up in an uncredited role as a
mechanic. Jack Overman, who portrays Kid Coy, died at the age of 32 from a
coronary occlusion. The Christmas calendar girl was painted by John Decker,
noted for the paintings so integral to Fritz Lang's SCARLET STREET (1945).
BRUTE FORCE has
been reissued as part of the Criterion Collection's dual-layered Blu-ray
offerings, with a new 4K digital restoration by TLEFilms Film Restoration &
Preservation Services and uncompressed monaural soundtrack. The new
presentation includes an introductory segment that describes the demanding
restoration process, which involved two years of restorative work from 13
separate film elements. Unlike the Criterion DVD released in 2007, this
restored version maintains the original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1.
Looking at the two versions side by side, it appears the DVD compromised the
integrity of the original element to get to 1.33:1.
Criterion Blu-ray (2020)
Criterion DVD (2007)
The
only new supplement is an episode from The Criterion Channel. In "BRUTE FORCE: The Actor’s Tool Kit"
(OBSERVATIONS ON FILM ART NO. 12, 2017, 13m 7s), film scholar David Bordwell
explores the acting styles at work in the feature film. Though an actor's
ability to emote with the eyes, eyebrows and hands might sound like elementary
information, what is less obvious is how all of the other production tools
available to filmmakers combine with the actor to create meaning. Bordwell
cites the importance of blocking and camera position in an intense sequence
between Captain Munsey and Dr. Walters. The result is not realistic in that
people are unlikely to communicate in that manner, but when Walters leans in on
Munsey, the takeaway is what matters most:Walters is dead-on about what motivates Munsey.
Culled
from Criterion's 2007 DVD version is the assiduous audio commentary recording
from noir specialists Alain Silver
and James Ursini. Their commentary is predicated on the sound logic that film noir evolved from a leftist
ideology. As a metaphor for the "creeping fascism" that was a concern
in post-WWII America, BRUTE FORCE is
precisely the type of film that got filmmakers in trouble with the House
Un-American Activities Committee. By the 1950s, many associated with noir productions of the 1940s were unavailable
due to blacklisting (i.e. actors Roman Bohnen, Art Smith). Noir endured, but mutated into something new in its transition to
the docudrama approach that favored naturalism to the more expressionistic look
of the classic era (roughly 1944—1950). Silver explains Dassin frames actors to
illustrate how they relate to one another. Sometimes characters are on equal
ground, sometimes one has an advantage over another. The author sees Lancaster
in the "defeated posture" that recalls his turns in THE KILLERS and CRISS CROSS (1949). Ursini describes Mark Hellinger as a very
hands-on producer and a great negotiator; he had to be to get the machine shop
murder through the film censors. Cinematographer William H. Daniels, Greta
Garbo's preferred DOP, was lured out of semi-retirement for this production. At
the time Daniels was not known for noir,
but MGM epics. According to Ursini, much of Lancaster's acting style is rooted
in the techniques of the silent era; indeed his dialog throughout the film is
minimal. Sometimes his character is trapped in situations in which speaking is
not an option.
Other
material harvested from Criterion's 2007 release includes a 2006 interview (15m
55s) with Paul Mason, editor of CAPTURED BY THE MEDIA: PRISON DISCOURSE IN
POPULAR CULTURE. Despite the obvious restrictions of the genre, Mason does not
consider BRUTE FORCE a typical
prison film. The identification of inmates by names versus numbers in the early
going sets the tone. There does not appear to be a clear need for a prison based
on its population; not one inmate is presented who clearly needs to be there.
Mason opines that those who do not take prisons as a given are viewed as
extremists. The theatrical trailer (2m 14s) seems to market a more exploitative
film, while a stills gallery (3m 56s) neatly assembles production stills,
posters and behind-the-scenes photos. The hefty booklet includes the insightful
essay "Screws and Proles" from film critic and novelist Michael
Atkinson, who delves into the sociological exposition of film noir, "The lower-middle-class civilian has no genuine
antagonist outside of the system, the prerigged establishment designed to
either exploit, enslave, or exile him. The American dream as such is a tissue
of propaganda, a lie invented for crowd control...Noir is Yankee socialism,
textualized for the masses." Also within the booklet's pages are a profile
of producer Mark Hellinger that originally appeared in the SATURDAY EVENING
POST ("The Softest Touch in Hollywood" by Pete Martin, June 28, 1947)
and correspondence between Hellinger and Production Code administrator Joseph
Breen. If Hellinger had his way, BRUTE
FORCE would have been even more brutal.
