SORRY, WRONG NUMBER (1948)

Paramount Pictures, 88m 44s

An extension of the 1943 radio play written by Lucille Fletcher, producer/director Anatole Litvak’s socially uncompromising SORRY, WRONG NUMBER encompasses many of the themes and motifs central to the American film noir cycle:  women who are something other than what they seem, men who are tempted by the allure of money to commit crimes, a decadent urban setting, flashbacks meant to explicate the present, and above everything else, an irrevocable sense of doom as fate closes in on the major characters. An exercise in sustained tension, from the opening moments time is running out on the bedridden female protagonist. Leona Stevenson (Barbara Stanwyck earned her fourth Oscar® nomination) is wholly dependent on her telephone to send and receive information. Due to a crossed wire connection, she becomes aware of a murder plot set to take place that very evening. Leona eventually comes to suspect she is the intended victim. Trapped in her Manhattan residence alone, can the invalid avoid her fate?

Leona is one of film noir’s most unique femme fatales. The pampered daughter of drug mogul James Cotterell (Ed Begley), owner of the J. Cotterell Drug Co., she is known derisively as "the cough drop queen." That she would garner such a label is not surprising given her lamentable character traits:  she is spoiled, self-centered, manipulative and standoffish. An undesirable combination of petulance and fragility, Leona is all but impossible to engage in conversation. But given her obvious social pedigree as the Cotterell heiress, she maintains at least some appeal despite regular intervals of truculent defiance. Interestingly, Leona is the driving force behind her romance with Henry Stevenson (Burt Lancaster, cast against type), a big strapping young fellow who looks good on the dancefloor at the Matthews College for Women. Their social backgrounds are comically antithetical; he works in a drug store, her father owns a large chain of drug stores. Henry does not understand why Leona would have any interest in someone like him. Her clingy father cannot help but agree. James pleads with his daughter not to marry a financially undernourished man of limited education. Of course she acts against her father's admonitions, and so the Cotterell family merges with Henry Stevenson.

Murder by numbers

For better or worse

Safe house?

That noir moment of recognition

A crucial theme baked into the film noir genre, especially during the classic period that stretches from roughly 1944 - 1950, is that the traditional American family is under strain. It is easy enough to note the absence of family values and the many unsuccessful marriages that distinguish DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), THE SUSPECT (1944), SCARLET STREET (1945), MILDRED PIERCE (1945), THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF UNCLE HARRY (1945), THE STRANGE LOVE OF MARTHA IVERS (1946), ALL MY SONS (1948), WHIRLPOOL (1949) and GUN CRAZY (1950). The preeminent theme that makes SORRY, WRONG NUMBER so perfectly noir is its bleak rendering of its star-crossed couple. In the course of a marriage unfulfilling for both parties, there is no happiness to be found in Leona’s family, only discontent, deception, disappointment, and death. From the outset, there seems to be no way to align the interests of everyone concerned. This theme can be traced back to the mother who died giving birth to Leona. Given the obvious class distinctions and contrasting personalities that polarize Henry and Leona, the husband and wife seem destined for divergent paths. It is not long after her wedding to Henry that Leona discovers a photo of his old flame Sally Hunt Lord (Ann Richards) in his wallet. That discovery instantly creates doubt in Leona’s mind about her choice for a husband. That finding is both revealing and deceptive; Leona is slow to recognize where the actual trouble lies.

Guns pointed directly at her, the mise en scène
suggests a grim future for Leona Stevenson

Henry demonstrates he has the ideal disposition to push the already nervous Leona into endless hysteria. Most important, he possesses a character trait typical of the film noir protagonist:  he thinks he deserves more than what he has and is willing to break the law to get it. What does separate Henry from most other noir protagonists is that he is not an average person trying to make good. Thanks to his unlikely wedding to a woman of significant means, he is fortunate enough to assume a do-nothing VP position at the largest pharmaceutical manufacturer in the country, but finds no satisfaction in his fixed opportunity at his father-in-law's firm. Henry mockingly tags himself "the invoice king," seemingly unaware he signed up for that position alongside "the cough drop queen." Thinking himself a stooge, Henry takes a tragically wrong turn when he goes after what he believes to be his rightful take. In an aggressive act of rebellion, Henry exploits the limited financial success of company chemist Waldo Evans (Harold Vermilyea) to form an underworld partnership. Henry and the milquetoast Waldo become drug traffickers in a raw materials skimming scheme; a plot thread that had to be diluted for Production Code considerations. It was recommended the filmmakers should take special care to avoid any references to an illicit drug trade, yet the drug trafficking angle is hardly an obscure plot thread. Naturally Henry's business model proves unsustainable. When resources are running low, the gangster Morano (William Conrad) recommends Henry goes after his wife's life insurance money!

Henry's immersion into a corrupt atmosphere of nefarious activity stems from frustration with his family, both personally and professionally. Just as Henry is dissatisfied with his work at the family business, he finds no sense of purpose flanked by his domineering wife. He does not harbor any desire to live under the same roof as his wife's father, either (cannot blame Henry for that conviction). Henry's determination to find his path somewhere beyond the clutches of the Cotterells leads to his wife's progressive panic attacks. As her unhappiness heightens, so her body weakens. Leona is confined to her bed much of the time, gradually working herself into a neurotic frenzy. In another familiar film noir theme that adds further complexity to this problematic noir marriage, Dr. Alexander (Wendell Corey) is unable to uncover anything physically wrong with Leona's heart, which implies her issue is purely psychological. Expressed somewhat differently, Leona and Henry are about as wrong for each other as one could imagine. Each makes the other feel worthless. Tellingly, all narrative paths converge in the bedroom, the supposed sanctuary of the married couple. Leona is a prisoner in the bedroom of her own home, trapped on the third floor awaiting her own murder, which was contracted by the husband she handpicked. Ironically, there is nothing about her physicality that should prevent her escape. Her state of paralysis is a product of her fractured psyche, nothing more. Psychological issues inflict anguish on major characters in a vast number of noir films, i.e. CAT PEOPLE (1942), SCARLET STREET (1945), NIGHTMARE ALLEY (1947), POSSESSED (1947), SO EVIL MY LOVE (1948), WHIRLPOOL (1949), WHITE HEAT (1949), THE SNIPER (1952) and WITHOUT WARNING! (1952). Moreover, Leona's limited mobility reflects the noir genre's obsession with broken individuals. Witness the less-than-able-bodied characters that populate DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT (1944), THE BIG SLEEP (1946), GILDA (1946), THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI (1947), ABANDONED (1949), ACT OF VIOLENCE (1949), KEY LARGO (1948), THE HITCH-HIKER (1953), STORM FEAR (1955) and TOUCH OF EVIL (1958). Leona is something of a special case in that her psychological frailty gives rise to her bedridden state of meaninglessness.

Leona not at her best

Chiaroscuro lighting typical of the classic noir era

The individual minimized by his environment

A prescient composition

Beyond its major themes that emanate from a distinctly noir worldview, SORRY, WRONG NUMBER maintains a wide aperture for the genre's many other recurring signposts. What fills most of the 88-minute runtime is a series of flashbacks, even a flashback within a flashback, that combine to form a nightmarish evocation of a relationship that never stood a chance. The standard randomness of the noir environment is in full effect as well. Due to a remarkably random technical glitch (better understood as a condemned individual's fate), Leona overhears a telephone conversation that describes a murder arranged for that night. The operator cannot help her, nor can the police provide any assistance. Leona is ordained to die, but not before the irony of that certainty is brought into focus. After the archcriminal Morano is arrested, there is no reason to pay any debt owed to him, but Henry is unaware of that development while the contract to eliminate his wife remains in effect. She dies at the narrative's conclusion for no reason other than fatalism. Beforehand Leona even expounds her comprehension of the situation to her husband. The film's concern with family matters in fact reaches beyond the relationship between Leona and Henry. For instance, the marriage between Sally and Fred Lord (Leif Erickson) appears to have its challenges. After Fred keeps quiet about the sting designed to imprison her ex Henry, she resorts to spying on her husband to satisfy her natural curiosity. Then there is Henry's childhood recollection of his mother, who he remembers only as a hopelessly overworked domestic figure. In terms of setting, the sin-ridden noir city is an impersonal place in which a normally useful object like the telephone contributes to an alienated individual's sense of helplessness and fear. The noir city even serves as a necessary accomplice to the murder of Leona via one of the natural sounds of the urban milieu (a bypassing train). Visual signals of noir include shadows cast by venetian blinds, a serpentine staircase, and idealized photos that do not even begin to reflect reality. An audio hallmark is the narration that helps cover historical milestones of the connection between Leona and Henry. Despite a structure heavily reliant upon flashbacks, the narrative unspools in inevitable real time. Such structure works to consume the condemned lead protagonists in a painfully slow manner.

The noir protagonist faced with no better alternative

No way out

The killer's timely arrival

The noir marriage knocked over

Lucille Fletcher's 22-minute radio play SORRY, WRONG NUMBER originally aired on SUSPENSE (CBS) May 25th, 1943 with Agnes Moorehead as Leona. It was wildly popular, re-broadcast every year for a ten-year period. In 1947, Hal Wallis hired Fletcher to adapt her radio play for the big screen. Fletcher published a novelization of her radio play in 1948 along with the screenplay adaptation, co-authored by Allan Ullman. The Paramount production was in wide release in the US on September 24th, 1948 and became a financial success that no doubt helped ingrain Fletcher’s original material into the public consciousness. Stanwyck and Lancaster returned to their roles for a Lux Radio Theatre broadcast on January 9th, 1950. Shelley Winters starred as Leona in a CBS television production of the play for the TV show CLIMAX! on November 4th, 1954. Agnes Moorehead reprised her lead role when she recorded her interpretation in 1952 and converted the play into a one-woman act during the 1950s. Loni Anderson starred in the lead role in a TV movie version that aired in 1989.

The Shout! Factory dual-layered Blu-ray edition of SORRY, WRONG NUMBER released earlier this year offers heavy grain level and good contrast, all the better to appreciate the authenticity of atmosphere achieved by cinematographer Sol Polito. Some rather prominent scratches disturb the viewing experience from time to time, but overall the transfer looks strong framed at 1.37:1. Unique to this Shout! Factory project is a fresh audio commentary track by podcasters Sam Hurley and Emily Higgins. Unfortunately, their critique of the film is notable for long patches of silence and sometimes veers into riff territory. Not my cup of tea, at least not for a film I admire.

The other supplements are common to the Blu-ray edition released by Imprint in 2020. The audio commentary by film historian Alan K. Rode is loaded with his usual well-rounded research. Ukrainian-born filmmaker Anatole Litvak purchased the screen rights to SORRY, WRONG NUMBER from Lucille Fletcher in 1946. Litvak sold the film rights to producer Hal B. Wallis, which is how the co-production between the two was conceived. The box office take was $2.85M on a budget just under $1.5M. Barbara Stanwyck earned a healthy $125K for her role, which accounted for the largest production expense. She was the highest paid actress in the business at the time. Wallis should be remembered as one of the top producers during the Golden Age of Hollywood, as well as a skilled contract negotiator. Rode contends Burt Lancaster went after roles that would test his talents, and the emerging star always insisted on having the final say with producer Wallis. Rode points out that the killer getting away with murder scot-free in the radio play was unheard of at the time.

In his introduction (2m 30s) of SORRY, WRONG NUMBER, film noir expert Eddie Muller mentions the source material was the most famous original radio drama ever other than the 1938 radio broadcast of THE WAR OF THE WORLDS, narrated and directed by Orson Welles. The featurette "Hold the Phone:  The Making of SORRY, WRONG NUMBER" (2009, 31m 25s) covers the story's transition from radio broadcast to feature film. Dorothy Herrmann, daughter of Lucille Fletcher and composer Bernard Herrmann, notes that her mother's parents were unenthused about Lucille's relationship with Bernard. Next up is the Lux Radio Theatre radio play (1950, 59m 41s) that returned Barbara Stanwyck and Burt Lancaster to their roles from the 1948 film. Also among the supplements is a filmed performance of the radio play (28m 37s) with Sandy York giving it her all in the featured role of Mrs. Leona Stevenson. The difference in duration between the radio play and its movie adaptation accounts for some distinctions in the portrayal of Leona, who is even more unlikable and unreasonable in the radio play. In the course of an almost 90-minute movie, Barbara Stanwyck's interpretation is at least somewhat sympathetic, if for no other reason than the Leona character is not required to be grating every second. Another difference is the telephone in the radio play becomes a major character in its own right. A theatrical trailer (2m 38s) champions the source material's transition from radio play to vinyl record to novelization to feature film, and a photo gallery (2m 53s) completes the robust collection of bonus material.

FLAMINGO ROAD (1949)

Warner Bros., 94m 43s

The Warner Bros. success MILDRED PIERCE (1945) marked a triumphant comeback for actress Joan Crawford and deservedly is remembered as one of the finest film noirs of its time. Four years later, studio boss Jack Warner looked to recreate that production's magic. The reteaming of Crawford, Zachary Scott and Michael Curtiz along with a familiar array of Warner talent resulted in the rags to riches story FLAMINGO ROAD. Once again Crawford's indefatigable character is determined to defy all odds and elevate her social status while retaining her moral foundation. Compared alongside MILDRED PIERCE, this title might be considered minor league film noir, though FLAMINGO ROAD remains of interest as a gritty woman's picture with the great Crawford at its center. And under the stewardship of executive producer/director Curtiz, his southern gothic noir is notable for its dramatic rigor, well-staged compositions and aggressive critique of unfettered capitalism.

Set in the south within the (fictitious) community of Boldon City, Deputy Sheriff Fielding Carlisle (Zachary Scott) is tapped on the shoulder to foreclose on an insolvent carnival, only to learn the troupe of traveling performers already is bound for the state line. The one exception is Lane Bellamy (Joan Crawford), an undereducated but headstrong woman with three dollars to her name. She has decided against continuing her exotic woman act in the hope of establishing some roots. Fielding takes an immediate interest in Lane and helps secure her a job at the Eagle Cafe, where she cannot escape the scrutiny of the slyly observant Sheriff Titus Semple (Sydney Greenstreet), who has long-term political plans for the meekly obedient Fielding. Titus frowns on his protégé's sudden connection with the "stray cat" Lane and quickly becomes a disruptive force between them. The highly influential, controlling sheriff has a more respectable mate in mind for Fielding in the form of socialite Annabelle Weldon (Virginia Huston).

Evidence piles up throughout the narrative that political corruption is the crux of American society, with the kingmaker Titus as poster child for the undesirable realities of free market capitalism and its insoluble conflicts. His support of Fielding reeks of self-interest and opportunism. Fielding seems custom made for the part. He served in the US Army during WWII and is the son of a prominent judge. Though Fielding failed to finish law school, based on his family name the state's charismatic political boss Dan Reynolds (David Brian) agrees with Titus that Fielding has a future in the public sector. Titus plans for Fielding to serve on the state legislature before ultimately graduating to governor. Toward that venture, Titus wields his considerable authority in the direction of Lane in the hope of exterminating her from Fielding's life.

Given his full-scale assault on Lane's plan to remain in Boldon City, Titus proves he will do whatever it takes to compel her to leave town at high speed. Without warning he gets her fired from her waitressing job. Were that not sufficiently evil, he then has her picked up for prostitution and railroaded into the Women's Prison Farm. Interestingly, and this is where the film really says a lot about what it takes to get ahead in America, it is while incarcerated that Lane is directed to Lute Mae Sanders (Gladys George), proprietor of a popular roadhouse frequented by crooked state politicians. This establishment is where Lane attracts the attention of Dan Reynolds, who enables her rapid ascent to 32 Flamingo Road.

In his audio commentary track for ANGEL FACE (1952), film noir expert Eddie Muller notes the classic noir movement champions the working woman. Time and again the genre's positive female characters participate in the workforce and its worthless dames live off either inherited wealth or the earnings of men. FLAMINGO ROAD provides solid evidence for Muller's observation. A strong role model for Lane and females in general, Lute Mae is an empowered, willful personality who represents what is possible for the ambitious working woman. She admits she is a cynic, especially when it comes to other women. Lute Mae is steadfast in her refusal to be manipulated by Titus, who seems to reluctantly respect her backbone. Certainly she is the antithesis of the cowardly Eagle Cafe owner Pete Ladas (Tito Vuolo), who fires Lane rather than stand up for the waitress he knows is doing a fine job. Along with Lute Mae and Lane Bellamy, FLAMINGO ROAD features a likable supporting group of working women such as the Eagle Cafe's Millie (Gertrude Michael), Lute Mae's Tavern's Gracie (Alice White) and the Reynolds' maid Sarah (Jan Kayne).

FLAMINGO ROAD fully endorses the working woman while it associates masculine endeavors with corruption, compromise, callousness and weakness. Dan Reynolds personifies a political landscape hopelessly awash in dishonest dealings. "I've got a soul that needs lots of purging," he remarks. At the helm of his own construction company, Dan is an industrialist who believes his efforts as a land developer require predictable political alliances. Based upon trial and error, he understands that without the necessary political connections, everything to do with construction moves at a glacial pace. In his view, politics and land development each require the other to function. His involvement in getting people elected remains a troublesome listen to the modern ear:

 

"The people haven't elected anyone in this state for so long they've lost the habit. It's a lot of trouble to go to the polls. Usually it interferes with a baseball game or a fishing trip. When people don't care, they get about what they deserve."

The above notion regarding voter apathy is where FLAMINGO ROAD is especially pessimistic, with elected public officials subservient to corrupt shadow government figures. In such a scenario, do elections really matter? How can a representative democracy serve the greater social good when its politicians are beholden to backers with specific self-centered interests? Over the years Dan has built his syndicate and no doubt made his share of enemies. The impersonal nature of a free market that enriches some and ruins others is emphasized when Dan registers zero emotion in front of a man who says he suffered a devastating loss. Dan has heard it all before. The film's Marxist agenda is underscored when Dan justifies his position to Lane:

 

"...the honest men get eaten up. There are too many other men waiting, watching, probing for the soft spots, the graft. No, it's better to be one of them."

Dan at least displays a point he won't go beyond when he remains committed to George Parkhurst for governor and staunchly refuses to back Titus's stooge Fielding. If nothing else Dan is a man of his word, which helps separate him from the more detestable Titus, a man willing to sink to far lower levels of depravity. Titus rests on the Palmer House porch like a slug when not engaged elsewhere in what appears to be exclusively dishonorable activity. He probably was perched on the front porch when he first dreamed of controlling the entire state with the manipulable Fielding under his thumb. Power-hungry men like Titus prop up men who are strong enough to get elected (sometimes merely based on a family name), but weak enough to be controlled by their backers who stand in obscurity behind the curtain. There is a discernible homoerotic subtext to the sheriff's endorsement of Fielding, who weds Annabelle but in a sense already is married to Titus. After Fielding proves he does not have the stomach for the tactics of Titus, the portly county sheriff shows a propensity for bold violence when he tosses a drunken Fielding out of his own office (the segment is staged like a lover's quarrel). Ultimately Titus double-crosses his own boy's club and confidently positions himself as the next governor. In an especially hypocritical, dirty move, Titus forces Dan's project manager Burr Lassen (William Haade) to put convicts to work without wages to set up Dan for peonage charges. In a moment of honest reflection about the political prominence Titus commands, Dan admits to local newspaper man Doc Waterson (Fred Clark), "...it's men like me that make them possible." Perhaps to discourage a communist interpretation of the film, Doc conveys a more optimistic mindset when he mentions, "...I don't think our form of government's so bad that honest men can't run it." But to emphasize FLAMINGO ROAD's overarching level of cynicism, Titus recognizes his need to at some point get the bothersome journalist under control. The brand of cronyism Titus favors clicks along best with the newsman either passive or a partner.

The noir stairway here implies a position of both danger and power

In film noir mythology, the American family often is depicted in a less than flattering light. That hallmark noir theme in FLAMINGO ROAD starts with the marriage between Fielding Carlisle and the aristocrat Annabelle Weldon at the behest of Titus. Annabelle, depicted as simple-minded and high maintenance, is delighted to marry Fielding, who in truth would prefer the long-term company of Lane to the endless henpecking of Annabelle. As Titus demands, his flunky Fielding becomes a state senator, thanks at least in part to Fielding's union to a socially prominent woman. But it is this same woman who ensures Fielding's downfall when she complains to Titus about her husband. In the course of his marriage, Fielding leans into the sort of full-on downward spiral not uncommon in film noir territory. He develops an addiction to alcohol, loses the support of both his wife and his political backer and allows his own moral decay to lead to his suicide.

As assumptions about capitalism here apply, Fielding falls while Lane rises. But the marriage between Lane and Dan brings about its own heavy baggage, especially in terms of class relations. The society gal Annabelle dismissively refers to Lane as "a woman of that sort." Eventually Dan turns his back on Lane when she reveals exactly why Titus is so uncharitable in his judgment of her. Based upon the film's resolution, we are left in a somewhat uncertain state in terms of where Lane and Dan are headed. Presumably Dan will continue to play the capitalist game, his wife along for the ride, or could there be a significant change in his business mentality after he was manipulated by Titus? Whatever Dan's ethical boundaries might be going forward are left to conjecture. He looks set to stick by his wife, but will he allow his state to be governed by honest men, as Doc suggests is possible?

Marital discord

Bang

The marriage of political expedience meets its conclusion

Now you listen and you listen good

FLAMINGO ROAD was released theatrically on May 5th, 1949 and performed well commercially. Robert Wilder's screenplay was an adaptation of the 1946 play co-written by Wilder and his wife Sally. The play was derived from his 1942 novel. To the modern viewer accustomed to the structure of an 8-to-10 episode TV series, the events in FLAMINGO ROAD play out at an absurdly quick pace, as when Dan declares his strong feelings for Lane after knowing her about a day. The events that play out in this film likely would provide more than adequate material for a 10-hour series these days. The casting of Joan Crawford is another problem point. She was 43 at the time of filming and too mature to play the part of a carnival dancer. Even more problematic is she was almost 20 years older than Virginia Huston, the actress who portrays her rival. And to my ear anyway, Sydney Greenstreet is not the easiest thespian to understand; I flipped on the subtitles during a couple of sequences. Minor reservations aside, FLAMINGO ROAD is a taut, well-written film that rewards repeat viewings with snappy dialog and assured direction from Michael Curtiz.

Earlier this year Warner Bros. added FLAMINGO ROAD to the Blu-ray restorations among their Archive Collection. According to Warner, this new transfer made use of the best film elements available. The new HD master is accompanied by a new 2.0 DTS-HD Master audio track. Black & white contrast shows a nice improvement versus the Warner DVD first issued in 2008. At times whites lack definition, though mostly at times of soft focus. The level of film grain is pleasing to the eye and the film looks really nice in motion. The cinematography is top notch as handled by Ted D. McCord, a frequent collaborator with Curtiz, i.e. THE BREAKING POINT (1950), YOUNG MAN WITH A HORN (1950) and THE PROUD REBEL (1958). Framing is at the theatrical scope of 1.37:1 and honors the integrity of the film elements better than the Warner DVD’s scan, which was compressed to 1.33:1. The DVD scan captures slightly more information at the bottom of the frame, the new HD scan adds slightly more to the top. Fans of FLAMINGO ROAD should consider this Blu-ray disc a worthwhile upgrade. The DVD screen capture below looks hazy by comparison.

Warner Blu-ray

Warner DVD

Most of the new Blu-ray's supplemental material was ported from the Warner DVD. "Curtain Razor" (1949, 7m 17s) is a Warner Bros. Looney Tunes short directed by Friz Freleng. It stars Porky Pig and was originally released on May 21, 1949. This short features gags common to other Looney Tunes shorts; most notably "Show Biz Bugs" (1957) borrows from multiple segments. "Crawford at Warners" (2008, 12m 9s) recalls Joan Crawford's transition from MGM to Warner Bros., where she had about five good years. Crawford pushed away most everything at first, then was drawn to MILDRED PIERCE after her Warner stablemate Bette Davis turned it down. After that film, for which she won the Academy Award, next up was HUMORESQUE (1946), sometimes referenced as her finest role. It was another big hit. Her follow-up was POSSESSED (1947), which was meant for Davis, who was pregnant at the time. Crawford's performance in the role of Louise Howell earned her a second Academy Award nomination. After a string of films that performed respectably at the box office, GOODBYE, MY FANCY (1951) was a box office failure. THIS WOMAN IS DANGEROUS (1952) was considered a derivative production that marked the end of her run at Warner Bros., but she would bounce back quickly with SUDDEN FEAR (1952), an independent feature released by RKO Radio Pictures and one of my favorite film noirs. For her contribution as playwright Myra Hudson she received a third Academy Award nomination. Another selectable bonus feature is the Screen Directors Playhouse radio drama adaptation of FLAMINGO ROAD (23m 38s) that aired May 26th, 1950. Joan Crawford and David Brian resumed their original roles. A theatrical trailer (2m) is included, and this Blu-ray release also includes “Breakdowns Of 1949” (10m 25s), a collection of outtakes from familiar Warner titles.

FLAMINGO ROAD was converted into an NBC TV Series that ran from 1980 to 1982. This adaptation was created by Lorimar Productions, known for producing CBS's popular shows DALLAS and KNOTS LANDING. Ultimately it failed in its timeslot opposite ABC's silly but popular mystery series HART TO HART.

ANGEL FACE (1952)

RKO Radio Pictures, 91m 53s

A film noir experience sure to carve out its place in your memory, ANGEL FACE was directed and produced by Otto Preminger, one of the deans of noir directors with LAURA (1944), FALLEN ANGEL (1945), WHIRLPOOL (1950) and WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS (1950) to his credit prior to the release of the title under review. Though I do not consider ANGEL FACE to be on quite the same level as that fab four, his 1952 effort is a significant title in terms of its allegiance to film noir genre conventions and assumptions. As the opening theme music by Dimitri Tiomkin makes perfectly clear, this is no feel-good picture. An unshakably downbeat tone is maintained from start to finish with its cynical people in a joyless world. This Preminger noir is as good an example as any as to why film noir is not for everyone. Even among classic Hollywood film fans, a certain percentage of viewers is sure to be turned off by this type of material. If made today, ANGEL FACE likely would be manufactured and marketed as a horror movie.

Set in Beverly Hills, California, our story opens on a high hill at a vast estate with opulent furnishings. Paramedics Frank Jessup (Robert Mitchum) and Bill Crompton (Kenneth Tobey) are on the scene, where Catherine Tremayne (Barbara O'Neil) suspects she has survived attempted murder by asphyxiation, though the circumstances of her near death leave the impression of an attempted suicide. Frank pauses before he leaves the Tremayne home when he is intrigued by the piano playing of Catherine's stepdaughter Diane Tremayne (23-year-old British actress Jean Simmons). Given the setup, the viewer instantly pegs Diane as a potentially dangerous woman, positioned like a mythological siren summoning Frank to his doom. Their relationship begins on an alarmingly violent note:  Frank slaps her in an effort to subdue her hysteria, then Diane slaps him back! Later after his shift, Frank heads to a diner where he is a regular only to learn Diane has followed him. As she strikes suitably alluring poses, the mysterious Diane's presence causes Frank to alter his plans that evening with Mary Wilton (Mona Freeman in an exceptional supporting performance). Removed from his auto racing career due to WWII, these days Frank drives an ambulance to make ends meet. But with new business start-up money the Tremaynes obviously have the means to contribute, Frank sees an opportunity to up his game. A veteran who drove a tank during the war, Frank trades a job of clockwork monotony for a seemingly cinchy chauffeur position with the Tremaynes. Little does he suspect cars located at the Tremayne property will prove far more dangerous to him than any wartime combat vehicles he maneuvered or any race cars he drove.

Archetypal females meet:  the good blonde and the bad brunette

In essence ANGEL FACE is a separation of wealth story, with wealth (especially the inherited kind) diametrically opposed to working class ideals. The Tremayne residence makes for a forbidding film noir landscape, a hilltop locale that neatly summarizes the affluent family's obvious social status. The mansion perched near the edge of a precipitous slope also comes equipped with obvious connotations about the Tremayne family trajectory; the very location of the Tremayne place factors in their demise. Beneath the elegant exteriors there is something rotting inside. During the opening sequence a major warning shot is fired that something is wrong:  Catherine and her husband Charles Tremayne (Herbert Marshall) have separate bedrooms. The family matriarch seems to possess a certain emasculating power over her novelist husband, who has slipped into a state of stalled productivity since the day he met her. A kept man, he is a writer who no longer generates anything for publication. Herbert Marshall was an inspired casting option to portray such a man. While serving in WWI he lost a leg and had to be fitted with a wooden leg. His deliberate gait perfectly fits the noir world, where men often have mobility issues that reflect diminished patriarchal power.

A rare femme fatale whose actions do not revolve around money, Diane already is an elite individual, next in line to control the family fortune. Thus material gain does not play a role in her thought process as she acts out her impulses. Her crimes, like those of Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) in Alfred Hitchcock's transitional horror noir Psycho (1960), are of passion, not profit. Especially for its era, ANGEL FACE is undeniably disturbing in its creepy implications about its father/daughter connection. Diane's perverse affection for her father adds an unsettling element to this film noir, though she is not completely unsympathetic:  her mother was killed in an air raid during WWII. Since that time Diane lives a circumscribed existence with an ersatz mother she never wanted and admits she was just 10 years old when she first imagined her stepmother dead. She used to daydream about all of the things she and her father could do were Catherine not part of the equation. Diane is not evil incarnate so much as a sexual pathology case; she clings to her departed father's memory much like a loving widow might. We feel her painful tension and lack of purpose as she reviews artifacts left behind by the father she unintentionally destroyed. No evidence is provided that her fractured frame of mind can be repaired.

Diane plays the piano when she has murder on her mind

Long way to love

"You can be so sweet at times."

A stunning dissolve

When Diane acknowledges her culpability and attempts to atone for her crimes, she is out of step with the moral vacancy that characterizes the classic film noir femme fatale. Diane possesses enough moral fiber to admit wrongdoing, but not without lingering psychic wounds that make her dangerous up to the very end. She first wants to confess while in a hospital bed, but her smug attorney Fred Barrett (Leon Ames) finds her confession to be irrational. In further testimony to the complexity of the film's central female character, the courtroom sequence with Barrett and District Attorney Judson (Jim Backus) is fascinating in that neither lawman reveals any understanding of her crime as it actually transpired. The smartest guys in the room both have it wrong. Later Diane is even more determined to offer herself up for punishment only to learn the law will not allow it (Barrett cites the Double Jeopardy Clause in the Fifth Amendment). The best she could hope for is to be institutionalized. That prospect might actually be an improvement upon her marriage to Frank. Maybe she loves him, but his motivation to marry her is purely to avoid a prison sentence. Their phony kiss-the-bride moment speaks volumes. If Diane's parents were trapped in a meaningless marriage, the union of Frank and Diane is cause for even less celebration. It is fitting that the young noir couple should perish in the identical manner as their elders, neither marriage sustainable on an emotional level.

Robert Mitchum is a foundational figure of film noir given his contribution to the classic period of the mid-to-late 1940s in familiar noir offerings such as THE LOCKET (1946), PURSUED (1947), CROSSFIRE (1947), OUT OF THE PAST (1947) and THE BIG STEAL (1949). His attendance in ANGEL FACE plays no small part in the film's artistic viability. Frank is not an easy guy to like, but Mitchum is even more difficult to dislike, even when he portrays a reprehensible sort. As Frank goes from opportunist to fall guy, Mitchum does not play the character any differently, which makes perfect sense in the fatalistic world the narrative implies. The noir film is noteworthy for its many unlikable, even repellent personalities who are called into action as lead characters. "I've been slapped by dames before," Frank casually confesses early in ANGEL FACE. Not long after that, he coldly stands up his obviously devoted girlfriend, who had prepared a nice dinner for two. He is the brand of noir character who really earns the distinction "lead protagonist." The term "hero" surely does not fit. Clearly Frank is in the game only for himself, though he does not seem to have the drive to reach for anything much beyond what he is. As a rule Frank keeps feverish activity to a minimum. A rare boost to his enthusiasm level comes when Catherine agrees to invest in his auto racing repair & maintenance business model, something he was unable to initiate before encountering the Tremayne family, though in the midst of a chat with Mary he openly questions his association with them ("I've been thinking about quitting. It's a weird outfit. Not for me."). Eventually he becomes insensitive, borderline callous toward Diane, though not without reason. He does not buy her story that Catherine tried to kill her, though he recognizes Diane might want to off Catherine. When Frank follows through on quitting, Diane short-circuits. Frank is probably a better person than Diane, but not strong enough to stay away from her in the first place. He had a good woman in Mary but could not resist the temptress, which makes Frank the narrative's homme fatal, the type of man Mary is best served to avoid. Even the decent woman Mary is not without her share of noir cynicism; after being stood up the prior evening, she is quick to assume Frank found his way into bed with Diane! That revelation provides one of the film's most memorable moments of dialog.

The noir marriage:  arranged by necessity, not mutual love

The idealized film noir portrait often stands for
a person of the past who maintains control over the present

Diane's alienation is emphasized in the film's closing moments

Wait for it...

An adaptation of an original story by Chester Erskine, ANGEL FACE was written for the screen by Frank S. Nugent and Oscar Millard, with an uncredited contribution from Ben Hecht. This team must be credited for the creation of one of the most passionless couples in cinematic history. Compared to the benchmark noir couple in DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), for instance, Diane and Frank never experience the mutual fiery excitement for each other the genre tends to deliver. Nor does Diane get off on her bad behavior like the femme fatales of GUN CRAZY (1950) and SCARLET STREET (1945). Diane becomes one of film noir's walking dead, as dead as the parents she murdered. Frank walks among the dead as well, he is just less aware of it than Diane until the movie climaxes in convincing crescendo to the tune of a 150' descent.

Like the purest examples of the film noir, ANGEL FACE is rich in irony and fatalism. Consider that opening sequence:  had that call for medical assistance been phoned in just five minutes later, Frank would have been off duty! His profession in itself is interesting; he can rescue others, but not himself. Not only that, his fondness for auto mechanics and racing contribute to his (quite literal) downfall. The film's title treatment harbors another irony, revealed when Catherine touches her stepdaughter Diane's face, which instinctively displays the cold emptiness of a heartless killer. Her classical piano playing, though tasteful and skilled, is associated with jealousy and death. And in one of the film's greatest ironies, Diane unintentionally kills the father she so adores.

This year's dual-layered Blu-ray edition of ANGEL FACE released by Warner Archive presents the film in a sharp new transfer that yields excellent contrast. The source material must have been in very good condition. Framed at the original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1, the fluent cinematography of Harry Stradling Sr. is now well preserved for film noir collectors. Compared to the 1.33:1 Warner DVD first issued January 23rd, 2007, this new Blu-ray boasts improved clarity and a more appropriate level of film grain:

Warner DVD (2007)

Warner Blu-ray (2023)

The audio commentary track by Eddie Muller was ported from the Warner DVD. In this unusual case, the commentary is matched to the standard version of the film, which runs 91m 43s. As film critic Gary Tooze reported, the original camera negative contained additional frames absent from the source materials utilized for the DVD transfer. Therefore the old transfer is included here to ensure Muller's comments best match the onscreen dramatics.

This is one of Muller's most perceptive commentary tracks, and he has an assortment of fine work to his credit. From start to finish it is a treat to be a listener. Muller is loaded with insights but never sounds like he is lecturing. He makes it easy to appreciate the film as much as he does. From a cultural/historical perspective, Muller reviews how ANGEL FACE somehow survived all kinds of things working against it. The production was a troubled one, as was often the case with projects engineered by Howard Hughes. A well-documented womanizer, Hughes put Jean Simmons under contract but was interested in more than just a professional relationship. Simmons sued him and agreed to a three-picture deal to get released from her contract. A stipulation Simmons demanded was a tight window for those final three films to ensure Hughes could not prolong the working relationship. The end result was that ANGEL FACE, her final film for Hughes, would have to be completed within an 18-day shooting schedule. Hughes convinced director Otto Preminger to take on the project, for which the filmmaker would be granted complete creative control on a budget of just under $1 million, though Hughes continued to meddle. Hughes showed so much concern for Simmons's hairstyle she chopped off her hair in retaliation, an act which necessitated a number of wigs to make her look more presentable for filming. Preminger called for repeated takes for the scene in which Robert Mitchum slaps Jean Simmons. The director pushed the issue to the point Simmons was in tears, which prompted Mitchum to slap Preminger and ask him if that was the sort of effect he was after. That tumultuous event set the tone for the production's duration. Nonetheless, Muller credits Preminger for elevating what very well could have been a routine potboiler into a well-paced cult classic. Preminger was a master at blocking, with a keen sense for depth in his coordination of foreground, middle-ground and background action. As Muller builds a case for Mitchum as an actor of subtle talent, Muller notes Mitchum's unusual ability to combine confidence with passivity. The actor might have been playing himself much of the time; Muller contends Mitchum as a person managed his personal and business affairs with the identical approach.

In terms of film noir themes, Muller notes the women of the film command most of the power. This theme even extends to the Japanese servants Ito (Frank Kumagai) and Chiyo (Max Takasugi) employed at the Tremayne estate. And in the film's final act, the supporting character Mary takes authority over the two men in her life. With the heiress Diane on the way out, the working girl Mary proves her worth. Muller is in top form as he calls into question feminist film noir studies, in particular film theory that explains the femme fatale's emergence in noir as a reaction to women who took over for men in the workplace as required during World War II. As Muller correctly points out, the film noir suggests good girls work for a living and bad girls do not. That certainly is what is going on in ANGEL FACE, where inherited money defines the femme fatale and workforce participation enforces the constitution of the female worth preserving.

Reviews were less than flattering at the time of ANGEL FACE's original theatrical run, but the time since has been kinder to the film's reputation. None other than Jean-Luc Godard ranked ANGEL FACE at #8 in his "Ten Best American Sound Films" for the French film magazine Cahiers du Cinéma (December 1963 - January 1964 issue).

A theatrical trailer (2m 17s) is the only other supplement.