MYSTERY STREET (1950)

Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 93m 13s

An early example of a purposefully scientific exercise in police procedure long before such material was commonplace, MYSTERY STREET stands as a foundational forensic film noir. A crime thriller that predates the CSI era by 50 years, the story's brutal crime scene is explained only through meticulous technical study of evidence, with a university intellectual in partnership with a lawman who otherwise would be in way over his head. Especially in light of the narrative's resolution, the day of the rugged flatfoot solving the serpentine case through sheer persistence was transitioning to his necessary partnership with Ivy League university analytical science.

Like so many proper noir stories, MYSTERY STREET begins in the past, which is to say it is obsessed with the past. A distressed blonde Bostonian B-girl who works at a bar called The Grass Skirt, Vivian Heldon (Jan Sterling) senses her elusive significant other wishes to distance himself from her just when she needs him most. Stood up at her place of employment, Vivian instinctively transitions her focus to Henry Shanway (Marshall Thompson), an obviously vulnerable man who has had a few too many. Vivian takes advantage of the situation and steals his car in the interest of meeting up with her mysterious man on a nearby oceanfront beach. That individual is James Joshua Harkley (Edmon Ryan), who promptly puts a bullet through Vivian. After he discards her naked body on the Cape Cod dunes, her skeletal remains are discovered three months later by a local ornithologist (Walter Burke). Portuguese-American Lieutenant Peter Moralas (Ricardo Montalban) from the Boston Detective Bureau finds himself assigned to his first murder case. Inexperienced in such matters but obviously determined, Moralas begins his rather cryptic assignment with only a human skeleton and a lengthy list of missing females for reference. The parameters of the investigation are narrowed by Dr. McAdoo (Bruce Bennett), a forensic criminologist at Harvard Medical School, where cases that are seldom what they seem get solved. Through measured scientific analysis and efficient law enforcement protocol, Vivian's remains are identified correctly. Chillingly, it is also determined she was pregnant.

Steeped in fatalism, the noir film emphasizes the structural power of the past

The doomed B-girl Vivian Heldon (Jan Sterling)

A birdwatcher makes a grotesque discovery

This shot recalls cinematographer John Alton's work in
HE WALKED BY NIGHT (1948), when Richard Basehart's
character disappears into a massive storm sewer system

The healthy compendium of noir themes and motifs is structured around the classic noir "wrong man" concept that had gathered plenty of steam in the mid-to-late 1940s. Such narratives examine the considerable downstream effects of either poor choices or bad luck, sometimes a little of each. Film noir permutations with "wrong man" relevance include genre staples such as PHANTOM LADY (1944), THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW (1944), BLACK ANGEL (1946), THE BLUE DAHLIA (1946), CROSSFIRE (1947), DARK PASSAGE (1947), DESPERATE (1947), HIGH WALL (1947) and THE BIG CLOCK (1948). The "wrong man" premise often comes shackled to an unreservedly conservative viewpoint, and that theme applies here. After the beleaguered Mr. Shanway complains about his perpetual bad luck ("I'm always where I shouldn't be."), he instantly is targeted by an opportunistic Vivian. And in the grandest of film noir traditions, it seems he must be fated to become entangled with this troubled woman. Had he been with his wife like any honorable man should have been, it is implied, he never would have become linked to Vivian's murder case. His wounds are, at least in part, self-inflicted.

Embroidered within MYSTERY STREET's tightly woven storyline is an unmistakably anti-elitist slant. Much of this ideological mood is communicated through Harkley, a yacht designer who personifies the inequalities commonly attached to capitalism. The charmless manner of the arrogant aristocrat emerges upon his introduction, when the socially prominent man coldly eliminates his lover, a woman of far lower social stature. His family business established in 1832, Harkley is a scion of generational wealth and privilege. His class-based sense of superiority is made manifest when Lieutenant Moralas drops by Harkley's office. Under the xenophobic assumption Moralas must be inferior based upon his noticeable accent, Harkley calls attention to his own family's supposedly superior bloodline:  "There was a Harkley around these parts long before there was a U.S.A....but from the way you talk, you haven't been around here long." Rather than leave it at that, Harkley continues, "You know I'm used to respect. People looking up to me." Of course a central idea upon which the United States was built is that each citizen should be treated the same by law. The smug Harkley does not appear to harbor any appreciation for rule of law. He believes in special treatment for elite individuals, that his family heritage sets him apart from other Americans, including the cop investigating him. In truth Harkley is far less an American than the Portuguese-American Moralas.

Re-animated

A sensational headline for any era

The wrong man

John Sturges and John Alton team up for some great minimalist setups, like this one

A routine criticism often wielded at the film noir is that women do not get much in the way of positive representation. With that assumption in mind, let's take an analytical glance at Vivian Heldon. Two weeks behind on her rent, the 24-year-old Vivian is a streetwise B-girl doing her darndest to look out for her impregnated self. That she has resorted to prostitution is not exactly a murky subtext; it is revealed there are 86 mostly male names in her little black book. Ultimately her demand for hush money gets her silenced. In fact she and her unborn child are reduced in social status to about the lowest level imaginable:  skeletal remains in need of identification. Just after Vivian's murder, her lover-turned-killer embraces her lifeless body in an upright position to convey the impression of moonlight romance before a bypassing vehicle. This macabre moment of death imitating life has its correlation to a long list of noir films that generate a "walking dead" theme. In dead-man-walking noir, as I call it, major characters roam toward doom, sometimes already dead or as if already dead, in variants such as DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), THE MAN IN HALF MOON STREET (1944), DETOUR (1945), SCARLET STREET (1945), THE DARK CORNER (1946), DECOY (1946), THE KILLERS (1946), OUT OF THE PAST (1947), RIDE THE PINK HORSE (1947), ACT OF VIOLENCE (1948), ASPHALT JUNGLE (1950), D.O.A. (1950), GUN CRAZY (1950), NIGHT AND THE CITY (1950), SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950) and TOUCH OF EVIL (1958). A similarly morbid connection with Vivian involves a mortician (Willard Waterman) who describes an obviously intimate encounter with her in one of his trade vehicles! The much-utilized "walking dead" noir theme gets a jolting twist in MYSTERY STREET with Vivian in essence restored to life via forensic science, which is to say she must rise back to life for her killer to face justice. Vivian's landlady Mrs. Smerrling (Elsa Lanchester) intimates the presence of Vivian in front of Harkley when she tells him, "Perhaps she's listening to us right now." Smerrling suggests Vivian is still around, or perhaps in some realm between life and death. Though defeated by evil masculine authority, Vivian's pseudo-reincarnation suggests stubborn feminine resourcefulness that should not be taken lightly. Far less appealing than Vivian, Smerrling is the sort of busybody woman nobody likes. She is an eavesdropper, a blackmailer, an alcoholic. Thanks to her self-serving behavior, the hapless Henry Shanway faces a murder charge. Little wonder she is single. But in spite of some pretty undesirable qualities, she is no fool. Smerrling outsmarts the villain on his own turf, though she does pay dearly for it later.

In close conjunction with female noir archetypes is the inference that within noir atmospherics traditional family values are under severe duress. The strained or absent family often serves as one of the crucial dynamics of film noir narrative framework. Notice how the seductive barstool alure of Vivian throws a stick in the spokes of the Shanways, a family already faced with unfair difficulties. Suddenly Henry's wife Grace Shanway (Sally Forrest) must review the character of her husband while recovering mentally and physically from a miscarriage. Though ultimately her husband's reputation is restored, their future in terms of family development remains in question:  women who have experienced a miscarriage are at a slightly higher risk to endure another. In a fascinating parallel in terms of noir family dynamics, it is disclosed Vivian was with child when murdered. Naturally Vivian never had a chance with the elite boat designer Harkley, a married man with three daughters, not that his family will be very well preserved. Harkley's girls are destined to see their father only during appropriate visiting times. His last ship has sailed.

The energetic and very diligent cop Peter Moralas (Ricardo Montalban)

Prison bar blues

Visual entrapment of a killer

Moralas closes in on the worthless aristocrat in a decidedly
blue collar environment:  a railroad car

In terms of scope, ambition and scale, MYSTERY STREET ventures beyond other genre films of its era, but it did not succeed commercially at the time of its original theatrical run. According to The Eddie Mannix Ledger, a reference for budgets and box office receipts for MGM films produced between 1924 and 1962, the groundbreaking forensic film noir earned $429,000 domestically and $346,000 in international box office totals, which was not enough to label it a moneymaker for MGM. Deservedly, its reputation has grown to cult film status over the years, with most critics and noir fans in alignment on the film's artistic merit. MYSTERY STREET was a product of the Dore Schary phase at MGM, a period of major transition for the studio. Schary joined MGM in 1948 as head of production, working for Louis B. Mayer at the time. In direct opposition to Mayer's costly escapist musicals and glossy melodramas, Schary favored gritty social realism that could be produced with modest funding. Along with MYSTERY STREET, other noteworthy film noirs that emanated from MGM under Schary's leadership included BORDER INCIDENT (1949), SIDE STREET (1949), TENSION (1949), THE ASPHALT JUNGLE and CAUSE FOR ALARM! (1951). MYSTERY STREET's semi-documentary approach to police procedure can be traced back to HE WALKED BY NIGHT (1948) and THE NAKED CITY (1948).

Director John Sturges is not remembered for his work in film noir, though he did helm THE SIGN OF THE RAM (1948) and JEOPARDY (1953). He would become far better recognized for his work in meaningful Westerns and action/adventure titles such as BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK (1955), GUNFIGHT AT THE O.K. CORRAL (1957), THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA (1958), LAST TRAIN FROM GUN HILL (1959), THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (1960) and THE GREAT ESCAPE (1963). Sturges should be credited for bringing a deeply noir sense of indiscriminate mortality to MYSTERY STREET, with the Vivian character reduced to a statistic for study. Few film noirs go down quite this cold; a beautiful woman dies young yet there really is no discernible sentiment of loss. The same minimalist sense of compassion is apparent when Mrs. Smerrling gets clunked over the head. The caged bird chirping afterward is a telling touch; no doubt animals have more respect for life than humans. The screenplay credited to Sydney Boehm and Richard Brooks was based upon an unpublished story by Leonard Spigelgass, who earned an Oscar nomination for "Best Writing, Motion Picture Story" at the 1951 Academy Awards. His story was based at least in part on the unsolved case of Irene Perry, whose body was discovered in the summer of 1940 in Dartmouth, Massachusetts. A Harvard Medical School team determined Perry was strangled to death. Fetal bones were present in her abdominal cavity.

Famed cinematographer John Alton brings credibility to any production, though his presence behind the cameras that covered MYSTERY STREET is less obvious than in his more expressionistic work for which he has been memorialized by film noir followers. T-MEN (1947), HOLLOW TRIUMPH (1948), RAW DEAL (1948), BORDER INCIDENT and THE CROOKED WAY (1949) all are characterized visually by dramatic interplay between darkness and light, with a frequent tendency toward oblique camera angles designed to comment on the action. In MYSTERY STREET, Alton leans into more realistic lighting schematics and camera setups, not to suggest his work here is necessarily less expressive or artistic, just less stylized than his previous work that tends to define his Hollywood career. Beacon Hill, Cape Cod, Hyannis, Harvard Medical School and Trinity Station were among the Massachusetts filming locations selected to convey an East Coast sense of verisimilitude.

Leading man Ricardo Montalban is well known to Gen Xers like me for his iconic work in the TV series FANTASY ISLAND (1977–1984) as well as memorable supporting work in STAR TREK II: THE WRATH OF KHAN (1982) and THE NAKED GUN: FROM THE FILES OF POLICE SQUAD! (1988). Before MYSTERY STREET, he appeared in the memorably gritty film noir BORDER INCIDENT, which I recommend highly. Just after MYSTERY STREET he was effective in the boxing drama RIGHT CROSS (1950, also directed by Sturges). Sadly, Montalban's life took a turn for the worse during the filming of ACROSS THE WIDE MISSOURI (1951). He was thrown from his horse and trampled by another horse, which left him with a permanent spine injury. Despite the chronic pain he tolerated for the remainder of his life, he continued to work on television and movie productions with an emphasis on voice work in the last stage of his incredible career. Bruce Bennett, well known to film noir fans for his supporting role in MILDRED PIERCE (1945), is well cast as Harvard medical examiner Dr. McAdoo, the calm voice of reason who employs toxicology, forensic anthropology and spectrographic reporting to steer the police investigation led by Moralas in the appropriate direction (the film concludes with a direct reminder that Harvard ingenuity makes the arrest of dangerous criminals possible). And I always have loved Jan Sterling, a talented film noir veteran who appeared in APPOINTMENT WITH DANGER (1950), CAGED (1950), UNION STATION (1950) and the Billy Wilder genre classic ACE IN THE HOLE (1951). From an appearance standpoint, Sterling had that rare ability to look ordinary and super-hot at the same time.

With gratitude to Warner Archive, we now have a dual-layered Blu-ray interpretation of MYSTERY STREET that film noir aficionados are advised to add to their collections. Framed at the original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1, this new presentation contains more information on the left and right sides of the frame, along with markedly improved clarity compared to standard definition. Supplemental material begins with the audio commentary track by Alain Silver and Elizabeth Ward that was ported from the Warner DVD version issued in 2007 as part of the Film Noir Classic Collection Vol. 4 box set. The commentary flow is informative though sometimes grinds to an occasional halt. With the film audio muted for the duration of the commentary, those moments of silence ring particularly empty. Most of the noteworthy bullet points are voiced by Silver, who observes MGM was a little late to the docunoir subgenre established in earnest by Universal Pictures with the release of THE NAKED CITY. There is a palpable irony in the uneven police work of Moralas, who is unable to find any proof of wrongdoing in his thorough search of Harkley's office. Mrs. Smerrling proves herself more adept at uncovering incriminating evidence during her visit. Silver also calls attention to the career of Betsy Blair, who plays Jackie Elcott, the most durable female character in that she is comfortable around guns. Blair was blacklisted for four years in response to her activism for women's rights. Her husband at the time Gene Kelly was able to leverage her out of professional exile.

Another bonus item culled from the 2007 DVD is the brief featurette "MYSTERY STREET: Murder at Harvard" (4m 54s), which includes archival footage with John Alton and the assertion that MYSTERY STREET was the first fiction film shot in Boston during Hollywood's Golden Age. Rounding out this Blu-ray release are two Tom and Jerry animated shorts from 1950:  "Little Quacker" (7m 11s) and "Tom and Jerry in the Hollywood Bowl" (7m 26s). The theatrical trailer (2m 24s) includes a shoutout to Harvard from actor Marshall Thompson.

THE BIG HEAT (1953)

Columbia Pictures, 89m 46s

As a person born long after the end of the film noir movement, I view everything noir through a retrospective lens. I sometimes imagine what it would have been like to have seen some of my favorite film noirs at the time of their respective theatrical runs. Some of the most dynamic wish list titles that leap to mind include DETOUR (1945), GILDA (1946), NIGHTMARE ALLEY (1947), KISS ME DEADLY (1955), THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955) and TOUCH OF EVIL (1958). I think all of these movies pack a pronounced punch today, so the shared experience of the past must have been exceptional. But perhaps more than any other noir film, I wonder what the general audience takeaway was from THE BIG HEAT, one of the most bitterly cynical and unpleasantly misogynistic of film noirs.

Directed with vigor on a 24-day shooting schedule by the estimable Fritz Lang, our American crime story opens on a tragic note with the suicide of Detective Sergeant Thomas Duncan, which leaves the opportunistic Bertha Duncan (Jeanette Nolan) a widow. Bertha archives Tom's incriminating notes on the area's resident crime boss Mike Lagana (Alexander Scourby) and secures a schedule of blackmail payments. Sergeant Dave Bannion (Glenn Ford in a disciplined performance) is assigned to the case and quickly is faced with conflicting information between Bertha and her late husband's side piece Lucy Chapman (Dorothy Green). After Lucy is eliminated "prohibition style," Bannion is warned repeatedly to distance himself from the case, which of course he does not. His persistence leads to the death of his wife Katie Bannion (Jocelyn Brando) and his suspension from the police department. Now more avenging angel than cop, the alienated, tight-lipped loner Bannion swings a wrecking ball at the fractured system of authority that permits the city to be controlled by an arrogant crime lord.

Life of a gangster moll: Debby Marsh (Gloria Grahame)

Sergeant Dave Bannion (Glenn Ford)

The evil queen

Filmmaker and film historian Paul Schrader recognized there was a difference between the major protagonist of later film noir compared to the noir films produced earlier. With his cornerstone article "Notes on Film Noir" (FILM COMMENT, Spring, 1972), Schrader asserts, "The third and final phase of film noir, from 1949-'53, was the period of psychotic action and suicidal impulse. The noir hero, seemingly under the weight of ten years of despair, started to go bananas." (p. 12) That description applies to the major protagonists who appear in GUN CRAZY (1950), IN A LONELY PLACE (1950), WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS (1950), ON DANGEROUS GROUND (1951) and THE PROWLER (1951). Sergeant Bannion also conforms to Schrader's noir psycho archetype, if not exactly from the get-go. Bannion's placid nature on display early in the film swerves into the pathological after his wife is killed by the car bomb intended for him. His determination to restore order to a compromised city is alluded to when Bannion knocks down the miniature police station constructed by his young daughter Joyce (Linda Bennett, uncredited). The fallen pieces cause the girl to cry, and for good reason:  stabilization of core police department functions and the removal of disruptive crime figures will require considerable female sacrifice.

Apart from the seemingly incorruptible Bannion, the local police force has been emasculated from top to bottom by the ruthless city kingpin Mike Lagana and his brutal shadow government. Both a symbol of cultural decline and the immigrant's perseverance, Lagana maintains a tight grasp on the city's business and political activity. His corrosive influence extends throughout the police department, which ensures an appalling lack of law enforcement ethics. Feckless police officials primarily act out of self-preservation, worried more about their pensions than anything else. Bannion's steadfast professionalism is met with resistance by Lieutenant Ted Wilks (Willis Bouchey), under direct pressure from Lagana. Wilks admonishes Bannion for following basic police procedure and strongly encourages him to forget about a brutal homicide with obvious connections to the Duncan case. After Bannion rightly calls out Commissioner Higgins (Howard Wendell) as a pathetic puppet of Lagana, Higgins immediately suspends Bannion. That sequence of events transforms our lead protagonist into a laconic loner, isolated from his own colleagues, booted to the curb by his superiors. Disgusted by spineless cops on the take, Bannion embodies resilient stoicism when confronted with provocation, a model of composed resolve determined to defeat widespread corruption. In one of the great film noir traditions, bringing down Lagana becomes Bannion's obsession. Director Fritz Lang had presented obsessed main protagonists, both portrayed by Edward G. Robinson, in THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW (1944) and SCARLET STREET (1945), two of the crucial film noirs of the 1940s. Similarly obsessed lead or major characters provide the backbones for many of the most famous of film noirs, including DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), LAURA (1944), GILDA, OUT OF THE PAST (1947), GUN CRAZY, IN A LONELY PLACE and SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950).

Though the period of time Lagana has been a major influence in the city never is specified, it has been long enough for some truly deplorable characters to feel at ease in the system. A city beast of unparalleled nastiness, Vince Stone (Lee Marvin) is a thoroughly reprehensible personality construct that poses a threat to anyone in his vicinity. A top-tier henchman for Lagana with a nonstop proclivity for gambling, Stone demonstrates his impatience and a rotten mean streak at The Retreat when dice girl Doris (Carolyn Jones) grabs the dice too quickly for his liking:  he callously burns her hand with his cigar. One gets the sense Stone is prone to vicious outbursts whenever a woman annoys him. Perhaps he even takes a sadistic pleasure in hurting them. "You like working girls over, don't you?" Bannion cannot help but observe. Stone assumes he can repair his psychopathic outburst with a little bit of money and a kind word. Presumably such compensation has been sufficient to cure his more impulsive transgressions historically. With miserable thugs in positions of power like Stone, an abhorrent psychotic with shocking disdain for human existence, one wonders if there is any going back to how things might have been prior to Lagana's ascension to the rank of crime boss.

Bannion surveys his empty home,
a place rendered meaningless by the Lagana syndicate

Debby repeatedly reviews her obvious charms in the mirror,
unaware she will not make that a habit much longer

This shot implies a rigid division between the humble working class
and the corrupt, expansive urban world under investigation by Bannion

Psychological warfare between rogue cop and the city's creeps:
Bannion addresses the menace presented by Larry Gordon (Adam Williams)

Underworld objectives that incapacitate the city's essential public services bring corresponding complications for the traditional American family and its support structure. A foundational tenet of the film noir is the notion that the nuclear family has passed its expiration date as basic social unit. Sylvia Harvey explored this recurring theme in her essay, "Woman’s Place: The Absent Family of Film Noir" (WOMEN IN FILM NOIR, E. Ann Kaplan, Ed., 1978]). Harvey explains:

"It is the representation of the institution of the family, which in so many films serves as the mechanism whereby desire is fulfilled, or at least ideological equilibrium established, that in film noir serves as the vehicle for the expression of frustration." (p. 23) She goes on to write, "One of the fundamental operations...has to do with the non-fulfilment of desire." (p. 23) and "...if successful romantic love leads inevitably in the direction of the stable institution of marriage, the point about film noir, by contrast, is that it is structured around the destruction or absence of romantic love and the family." (p. 25)

Harvey's observations provide a helpful prism through which to view THE BIG HEAT, a study in urban decadence that offers little room for the sort of domestic way of life portrayed in TV programming of the day like I LOVE LUCY (1951–1957) and FATHER KNOWS BEST (1954–1960).

The status of the noir family crystallizes in the opening sequence, when a suicide brings the Duncan marriage to its abrupt conclusion. To begin the film in such a manner immediately questions the strength and validity of the American household. Then we are brought to the Bannions, the ostensible antithesis of the Duncans and seemingly idyllic family setting, at least upon an initial inspection. But so ideal is the introduction of the Bannion household the viewer senses difficulties must be fermenting. Displayed in a prominent position in their home is a photograph of policemen in uniform, Dave presumably among them, which suggests a permanent encroachment on his private life. Though the couple enjoys dinner together in their modest middle-class home and appear perfectly content with one another, the first sign of trouble emerges when their steak dinner is interrupted by Bannion's police work. The following day, after learning of the murder of Lucy Chapman, Bannion is disturbed enough to bring his work home with him, which his wife cannot help but notice. In another key segment, Dave and Katie share a close moment that might have ended in sex had they not been interrupted by their daughter (kids are never conducive to intimacy). The Bannion marriage appears to be loving and functioning on the surface, but in truth falls short of mutual fulfillment thanks mostly to Bannion's demanding profession, which offers a minimum of separation between his professional and personal affairs. And from an economic perspective, glaring class distinctions isolate the Bannions from an affluent person like Lagana. A place where jokes are made about the limitations of a policeman's salary, the small rooms and low ceiling heights of the Bannion home differ sharply from the materialistic plenty that distinguishes Lagana's lifestyle. The police department even offers public security for private parties at the Lagana home. It feels as if the principles and obligations meant to keep the nuclear family intact allow for far less accumulation of wealth.

In terms of marriage and family, the women who inhabit the fictional American city of Kenport are marked by an unsuitability for that pathway. Moreover, a hefty sample of female sacrifice is required to make the city's transition to moral normalcy possible. Although Katie Bannion is put forward as the supportive, respectable housewife and nurturing mother, she is destroyed by the mob that seeks to keep her bothersome husband in check. Beyond Katie comes a discernible downgrade in female representation. All of humble origins, we have so-called barflies, a mature woman who requires a cane for mobility, the quintessential gangster moll and a scheming widow. Connected with this all-female group is an unrelenting physical disfigurement theme (burns, impaired mobility, victims of gunfire or strangulation). Each of them is somehow less than what they once were, destined for the morgue, or both. Tom Duncan's mistress Lucy Chapman is tortured before she is strangled to death, her discarded body found repeatedly burned by cigarettes. Bannion inadvertently (or perhaps, carelessly) gets her killed. Doris, the dice girl at The Retreat, is savagely burned on the hand by Stone. Selma Parker (Edith Evanson), an administrative assistant at the local salvage yard, bravely agrees to help Bannion's investigation. He absolutely puts her in a dangerous spot in front of a suspected killer, especially when one considers her dependence on a cane. Stone's girl Debby Marsh (Gloria Grahame) is a childish but street-smart urban beauty who defines herself by her attractiveness; every mirror she encounters activates her narcissistic impulses. When not reviewing her appearance, she spends her time making drinks, relaxing on the couch and shopping. Bertha Duncan is also associated with mirrors, though in not quite the same context. The mirrors that reflect Bertha seem to comment on her complexity, her duplicitous, self-serving nature. The implication that seems unavoidable within the text of THE BIG HEAT is that women fundamentally exist in their capacity to serve some masculine need in an ongoing pattern of systemic misogyny. By inference, the most viable family structure might be the ersatz support network created by Bannion's brother-in-law Al (John Crawford, uncredited), who with his old army buddies forms an alternative family of masculine protection that watches over Bannion's vulnerable daughter Joyce, who is left to grow up without her mother. Given the most common fate of the narrative's adult females, what the future holds for Joyce is a troubling thought.

So if women all are subject to the control of egocentric men, one might ask what happens when women are not held in check by entrenched patriarchal power? That answer surfaces when Bannion visits Lagana to review the gangster's well-earned reputation. Bannion soon encounters a depiction of the ultimate monstrous feminine. Lagana's beloved mother, deified within a massive framed portrait, might be considered one of film noir's most malevolent femme fatales. The recently departed Lagana family matriarch, who resided with her son until her death, is positioned well to oversee and no doubt approve of all of her son's sordid business affairs. The woman idealized by her son in THE BIG HEAT might be dead, but her legacy lives on in the form of her likeness and offspring. Interestingly, in a homoerotic subtext probably too conspicuous to be referenced as an undertone, when Lagana is introduced in his bed during the opening sequence, his male servant/bodyguard/companion George Rose (Chris Alcaide) is present. A gay man with a mother complex, Lagana is never shown with a woman (though he does have a daughter named Angela), other than beneath his mother's all-knowing portrait. Otherwise he is the archetypal crime boss surrounded by men. Presented here as both a threat to the basic nuclear family and an invasive criminal force, the homosexual villain was a signature element of the film noir. Such character tropes populate celebrated noir titles such as THE MALTESE FALCON (1941), THE GLASS KEY (1942), LAURA, GILDA, THE BIG CLOCK (1948), FLAMINGO ROAD (1949), THE RECKLESS MOMENT (1949), STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951) and THE BIG COMBO (1955).

Debby sulking in darkness,
a scarred victim of savage patriarchal authority

Debby gets her revenge

Can he do it? Not with the PCA watching his every move

Redemption

THE BIG HEAT is well remembered for its unsettling hot coffee scene, so much so that the (now defunct) boutique label Twilight Time re-issued the film on Blu-ray in 2016 with a steaming coffee pot as the focus of the packaging. The hot coffee sequence deserves review from multiple angles. The scene is set up in an earlier segment when Stone assures Lagana that Debby is out on the street if she ever disappoints her benefactor. Later, after Stone fears Debby has gotten overly friendly with Bannion, Stone douses her with scalding hot coffee. The appalling attack is witnessed by Commissioner Higgins, a regular at Stone's endless poker games. Higgins is a weak, submissive man, monumentally unfit for his job. His embarrassing lack of authority certifies just exactly how in charge the Lagana group has become. Stone is free to leave a trail of dehumanizing violence without fear of retribution, even with a policeman of high rank onsite. Exactly half of Debby's face is scarred permanently by the coffee, evidence that both Freudian female archetypes (Madonna/whore) exist in one female body in roughly equal parts. During her dying moments, Debby's redemption is granted by Bannion, who recognizes her signature vacuity has been overcome by sympathetic thoughtfulness. As she dies, Debby only wishes to know what Bannion's late wife was like. Unfortunately, neither female archetype is able to survive Kenport, where masculine needs reign.

The film closes on an uncomfortable note when Bannion formalizes his commitment to keeping city crime in check. “Keep the coffee hot,” he requests. That line carries some ugly connotations about what likely will be required going forward to prevail against disorder in a volatile urban milieu, a figurative hell, always susceptible to the rising force of another criminal upstart. In such an environment, the coffee never cools. Early in the film it is mentioned "there were four Lucy Chapmans," which is to imply there is more cannon fodder available for the police department's town maintenance. Tellingly, multiple posters are attached to the walls of Bannion's workplace that read "Give Blood Now" and "Blood Means Life." Such marketing signals ongoing sacrifice for the greater good. Although Bannion endangers all the women with whom he communicates, the narrative never vilifies him, his methods never really are called into serious question. In another line of analysis regarding Lucy Chapman's horrific demise, does a certain amount of contributory carelessness facilitate her downfall? How could she talk to a cop at her place of employment, a known gangster watering hole, without worry that she was planing the planks for her own coffin? How could the supposedly streetwise dame make such a catastrophic mistake? In the filmic universe of THE BIG HEAT, only men know how women are supposed to behave.

The film noir movement responded to heightened public awareness of organized crime that resulted from The Kefauver Hearings (1950–1951). Chaired by first-term Tennessee senator Estes Kefauver, the hearings were televised and consumed by a large US audience. Noir films that exploited the public's new consciousness of mob activity were plentiful, including 711 OCEAN DRIVE (1950), THE MOB (1951), THE RACKET (1951), THE CAPTIVE CITY (1952, endorsed by Senator Kefauver), HOODLUM EMPIRE (1952), KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (1952), THE SELLOUT (1952), THE TURNING POINT (1952), THE SYSTEM (1953), THE MIAMI STORY (1954), CHICAGO SYNDICATE (1955), NEW ORLEANS UNCENSORED (1955), NEW YORK CONFIDENTIAL (1955), THE PHENIX CITY STORY (1955) and TIGHT SPOT (1955). I consider THE BIG HEAT the grittiest of this prolific noir subgenre. Erstwhile crime reporter Sydney Boehm's screenplay has its roots in William P. McGivern's Saturday Evening Post serial (December, 1952). The serial was published as a novel in 1953. For the uninitiated, "big heat" is slang for the police bringing the hammer down on crime. But in light of the film's most famous sequence, the "heat" comes in various forms.

Austrian director Fritz Lang built a spectacular resume for himself in both Germany and Hollywood prior to his film noir phase. His early work anticipates the American noir movement in terms of both plotting and visual schemes, i.e. DR. MABUSE, THE GAMBLER (Dr. Mabuse, der Spieler, 1922), METROPOLIS (1927), M (M - Eine Stadt sucht einen Mörder, 1931), FURY (1936) and YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE (1937). Prior to helming THE BIG HEAT, Lang's noir contributions already consisted of some of the key genre entries, including THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW, SCARLET STREET, HOUSE BY THE RIVER (1950) and THE BLUE GARDENIA (1953). Director of photography Charles Lang's achievements in cinematography are vast, with well over 100 films to his credit. He is perhaps best known for comedies that all classic film fans should be familiar with such as THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR (1947), SABRINA (1954) and SOME LIKE IT HOT (1959). Among his noir efforts are two of my longtime favorites:  ACE IN THE HOLE (1951) and SUDDEN FEAR (1952). In THE BIG HEAT, Glenn Ford is just superb as the indefatigable cop pushed to his limits. He delivers some terrific hard-boiled lines, for instance, "Tell that to your mother," and "There aren't gonna be any coming years for you." The incomparable Gloria Grahame proves herself Ford's equal in a role that seems ideal for her, though she was not the studio's first choice (the price tag for Marilyn Monroe was too high). Notable supporting performances include Peter Whitney as the bar owner Tierney, an odious character who truly deserves a punch in the face. Dan Seymour also leaves an impression as scrapyard dealer Mr. Atkins, who puts the safety of his family (wisely, it seems) ahead of Bannion's investigation. And Dorothy Green offers a sympathetic turn in her brief role as Lucy Chapman, a “B-girl” or “barfly" whose job is to encourage male patrons to buy more drinks. As one can imagine, from that job to prostitution must be a short journey.

A tremendous addition to the Criterion Collection, THE BIG HEAT is presented in its correct theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1. This new 4K digital restoration was derived from the original 35mm camera negative along with a 35mm fine-grain master positive. The 4K UHD disc runs in Dolby Vision HDR, the Blu-ray version in HD SDR. All of the screen captures featured in this review were grabbed from the 4K disc. I think these images speak for themselves. This Criterion release benefits from a newly recorded audio commentary track by legendary film noir experts Alain Silver and James Ursini, the authors behind FILM NOIR: AN ENCYCLOPEDIC REFERENCE TO THE AMERICAN STYLE (The Overlook Press, 1979), one of the most oft-referenced books on my shelf. The historians consider Fritz Lang to be the most influential filmmaker in terms of film noir conventions. That is quite a statement considering genre achievements from the likes of Billy Wilder, Otto Preminger, Robert Siodmak, Anthony Mann and Jules Dassin. Silver and Ursini acknowledge the religious symbolism that comes up repeatedly throughout Lang's work, most apparent in THE BIG HEAT when Lieutenant Wilks washes his hands of the Thomas Duncan case, a gesture that recalls Pontius Pilate distancing himself from the crucifixion. Lang's depiction of corrupt politicians like Commissioner Higgins got him in trouble with The House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC). And while the authority of the Production Code Administration (PCA) was waning, Bannion getting others to do his dirty work for him was as much a function of the Code as anything else.

The separate Blu-ray disc houses a variety of new supplemental material, starting with "The Women of THE BIG HEAT" (28m 13s), narrated by film historian Farran Smith Nehme. According to the cinema of Fritz Lang, women often are the essential risk takers and it usually costs them dearly. Marginalized women assist Bannion in his noble quest whereas the apathetic male cops around him remain content with the way things are. "That's what we're all supposed to do, isn't it?" laments Bannion. Conversely, Lucy, Selma and Debby are anything but bystanders. Debby sacrifices her own life to bring down Lagana and his henchman Stone. Nehme notes that in fact a woman (Bertha Duncan) provides the narrative's impetus; it is Bertha's 3 AM call to Lagana that anticipates all ensuing violence.

The bonus material then shifts to vintage audio interview excerpts with Lang, the first conducted by film historian Gideon Bachmann (1956, 16m 8s). Lang left Germany soon after Adolf Hitler rose to power. Minister of Propaganda Joseph Goebbels wanted Lang to run the Reichsfilmkammer (The Reich Chamber of Film), which would have made him the most powerful man in the German film industry. The job offer prompted Lang to flee to Paris. After 10 months, he immigrated to the U.S. Little wonder his entire career Lang maintained interest in the concept of people caught in metaphorical nets. Whether trapped through their own actions or through no fault of their own, Lang felt it is what people do to extricate themselves that makes for great storytelling. The next audio interview excerpt with Lang is administered by filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich (1965, 6m 54s). Never interested in overly stylish visuals, Lang preferred more of a flat documentary look. He believed that approach to the subject invariably led to a more truthful narrative. And like so many influential filmmakers, Lang understood suggestive shock is without fail more effective than anything explicit.

Added supplements were recycled from the Columbia Pictures Film Noir Classics I DVD box set released in 2009, a collection I reviewed for VIDEO WATCHDOG (Issue #161, March / April 2011). In "Martin Scorsese on THE BIG HEAT" (2009, 5m 49s), the respected auteur who brought us such revisionist film noir classics as MEAN STREETS (1973), TAXI DRIVER (1976) and RAGING BULL (1980) observes the flatness of Lang’s cinematography, which encourages objective viewership. Scorsese also recognizes a key noir instance of fatalism when Vince Stone is scorched with hot coffee:  the source of burning-hot liquid is off-camera, as if the fatalistic noir universe itself were in control. With "Michael Mann on THE BIG HEAT" (2009, 10m 58s), the master of the neo-noir (THIEF [1981], MANHUNTER [1986], HEAT [1995]) notes that THE BIG HEAT both opens and closes with the assertiveness of the female. Mann connects this feminine trait with the progression of post-WWII American life, during which women were more willing to speak their minds than ever before. Apart from Bannion and the criminals, the average male citizen of Kenport is shown to be less self-confident than his female counterpart. This was not typical of filmmaking of the early 1950s. The elimination of the Katie Bannion character must have come as a surprise to audiences of that time as well (THE BIG HEAT predates PSYCHO [1960] by seven years). Also selectable is a trailer (1m 44s), and the packaging includes a booklet with the essay "Fate’s Network" by author Jonathan Lethem.

The Academy Film Archive preserved THE BIG HEAT in 1997, and the Fritz Lang noir classic was inducted into the National Film Registry of the Library of Congress in 2011.

HE WALKED BY NIGHT (1948)

Eagle-Lion Films, 79m 4s

My first encounter with HE WALKED BY NIGHT occurred during a theatrical screening of MENACE II SOCIETY (1993). As Caine (Tyrin Turner) recovers from a gunshot wound in a hospital in front of a television, he is captivated by a violent sequence in HE WALKED BY NIGHT ("How about my army discharge? I got it right here."). Whatever old B&W movie Caine was watching, I knew I had to track it down. At the time I was relatively new to the film noir category and had a lot of major titles in front of me. As a devoted noir fan today with countless hours logged, HE WALKED BY NIGHT still leaves an impression on me whenever I revisit it, partly due to the performance of Richard Basehart in the lead role as the criminal convinced he has the smarts to remain a step ahead of the manhunt orchestrated by determined cops. The equally compelling factor is acclaimed cinematographer John Alton's adroit camera angles and moody lighting that merge to emphasize the visual facets of the classic film noir.

A (mostly) true crime story that makes use of locations in and around Los Angeles, HE WALKED BY NIGHT really hits the ground running with its opening sequence. What appears to be a routine police stop suddenly erupts into the slaying of a police officer when Roy Martin (Basehart) opens fire on Officer Robert Rawlins (John McGuire, uncredited). Police Sergeant Marty Brennan (Scott Brady) and Police Sergeant Chuck Jones (James Cardwell) are assigned to the case with the helpful assistance of forensic specialist Lee Whitey (Jack Webb). The case proves to be a highly challenging one. Roy is shown to be technically proficient in electronics and uses radio equipment to listen in on police activity. To eke out a living, he has formed an alliance with Paul Reeves (Whit Bissell), to whom he sells modified stolen electronic gear.

The unequivocal work of cinematographer John Alton

The archetypal alienated noir protagonist, the gat-packing hoodlum Roy is a maladjusted war veteran who has demonstrated complete incompatibility with accepted societal norms of behavior. He lives in a modest Hollywood bungalow, where his dog accounts for his only companionship. Presented as a supremely dangerous individual from the outset, Roy possesses the temerity necessary to gun down a policeman (check out his crazed eyes when he shoots Officer Rawlins!). After Rawlins dies from his injuries, in another outburst of violence the cop killer Roy leaves Sergeant Jones in a state of paralysis. Technically savvy, informed about standard police procedures and willing to shift his modus operandi as required, Roy presents an unusual underworld figure for law enforcement figures to track.

Roy’s personality traits and quirks fit snugly into the pessimistic universe of film noir. Let's start with the alarmingly ironic plot point that he once worked for the LAPD as a civilian radio technician and thus gained insider knowledge of how law enforcement operates. Naturally, the police were reluctant to consider the possibility the criminal they seek could be one of them or have insider connections of some sort. Even more noir is the oddly eroticized scene in which Roy lovingly massages the electronic equipment he has prepared for sale. The implication is clear:  the loner criminal depends upon his crimes as a substitute for sexual release. Perhaps the most uniquely noir trait connected with Roy emerges when he performs bullet extraction surgery on himself. Though Roy is an obvious bad apple who must be contained, the filmmakers allow him a sense of humanity during this scene, which is framed and edited to encourage the viewer to root for him to get that nasty bullet out of his body. Such subjective moments are perfectly at home in the film noir, where those shunned by society are granted more texture than they might be allowed in other genres. Another staple noir quality is the theme of multiple personalities and/or identities, which adds a level of confusion to the police pursuit of Roy, known first to police as Roy Martin before his original name Roy Morgan is discovered. Multiple shots that feature Roy looking into a mirror emphasize tension harbored within a conflicted personality; the seemingly ordinary man capable of killing at any moment.

The background suggests the guillotine might await Roy

It does not get any more noir than this shot

As noted by film historian Imogen Sara Smith, Roy's scene of self surgery is
characteristic of exactly the sort of sequence Anthony Mann helmed -
particularly in his Westerns, the director had a fondness for closeups
of his perspiring characters in obvious pain

The noir underworld

Though assorted film noirs play out in suburban, rural or even open environments—consider THEY LIVE BY NIGHT (1948), ON DANGEROUS GROUND (1951), THE HITCH-HIKER (1953), CRY VENGEANCE (1954), THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955) and NIGHTFALL (1957)—a much longer list could be curated for noirs that primarily unfold in sprawling urban environments. There is a certain practicality about that arrangement given the social problems that become amplified in a big city setting. The film noir delivery system often focuses on bothersome truths about city life, particularly for those who reside on the margins. Percolating problems and complex issues always have the potential to overwhelm the urban population with a vast possibility of combinations, i.e. income inequality, unemployment, overcrowding, segregation, traffic congestion, inadequate public services, pollution, decay, substance abuse and other addictions, corruption and above all else, crime. Such a milieu ostensibly calls for a dedicated police force of impeccable character and work ethic, law enforcement agents bound by a stable system of selfless beliefs. That assumption comes deeply embedded in the police procedural docudrama subgenre of film noir. HE WALKED BY NIGHT adheres to this tradition with the policeman as paragon of patience, his painstakingly tedious work sometimes unproductive. He must walk down many well-travelled paths in an urban landscape that offers limitless places for the criminal to take cover. The various languages spoken by area residents make police work even more demanding, then there are citizens who harbor irrational beliefs (i.e. the paranoid woman [Dorothy Adams, uncredited] who is convinced her milk is being poisoned). In the film noir city, few civilian problems are resolved easily.

Deep in the thicket of the film noir ecosystem lurks an inevitable force of retribution that accounts for sins of the past. This concept of fatalism is what unifies film noirs of many varieties. In HE WALKED BY NIGHT, the LAPD's steadfast dedication to public service dovetails nicely with the searing brand of film noir fatalism meant to restrain unwelcome transgressions like Roy. LA's massive storm sewer system designed to handle flash flooding provides the ideal environment for his containment, one steeped in noir irony. During his crime spree, the drainage system offers a helpful safety net for Roy, but ultimately that same underground arena assures his damnation via an inescapable police dragnet. This climactic segment of the film begins on a rooftop as Roy hides, runs and jumps en route to a sewer inlet. The sequence builds to imply the ultimately cornered noir protagonist has been reduced to animalistic impulses, as can be seen in other quintessential noirs like HIGH SIERRA (1941), THE SET-UP (1949), THE ASPHALT JUNGLE (1950), GUN CRAZY (1950), NIGHT AND THE CITY (1950) and perhaps most strikingly in PANIC IN THE STREETS (1950). The motif of rainwater is another major noir signifier, as certified by Paul Schrader in his essay “Notes on Film Noir” (FILM COMMENT, Spring, 1972). Schrader observes, "...rainfall tends to increase in direct proportion to the drama." How fitting that Roy should find himself drawn to the tunnel system designed to control excessive rainwater.

The fragmented noir protagonist

A production budgeted at just over $300K, HE WALKED BY NIGHT was a good earner for Eagle-Lion Films and producer Bryan Foy, a film industry veteran known as "the keeper of the B's" while employed at Warner Bros. After Warners shut down their B picture unit in 1942, Foy went to work for 20th Century Fox and then Universal Pictures before his stint at Eagle-Lion Films began in 1947. One of his assistant producers at Eagle-Lion was "Handsome Johnny" Roselli, who did time in the can for a scheme that involved the extortion of money from movie industry figures. Journeyman director Alfred L. Werker is not remembered as a great contributor to the film noir movement, though he did helm two other noirs of interest:  SHOCK (1946) and REPEAT PERFORMANCE (1947). The more stylistic sequences that punctuate HE WALKED BY NIGHT routinely are credited to Anthony Mann, whose actual contribution must be left to conjecture at the time of this writing due to lack of production records. What we do know is that Mann collaborated with cinematographer John Alton five other times with similar results:  T-MEN (1947), RAW DEAL (1948), REIGN OF TERROR (1949), BORDER INCIDENT (1949) and DEVIL'S DOORWAY (1950). The Mann/Alton partnership yielded an easily recognizable rhythmic pattern of angular lines, dramatic camera angles and clever interplay between light and darkness. So whenever low camera angles abound or shadows cast by venetian blinds imprison the condemned man, one senses the ingenuity of Mann/Alton. The sewer chase that concludes the narrative has been confirmed as the product of Mann's directing, but I wonder if Roy's initial descent into the vast drainage system was overseen by Mann as well. In any case, Roy sprinting through the huge storm sewer for the first time is a real showpiece, a hallmark of film noir imagery. There is an unquestionable sense of depth and dimension when Roy disappears into black nothingness. As his flashlight accents the area around him, darkness relentlessly follows. Mann also worked with co-screenwriter John C. Higgins on RAILROADED! (1947), T-MEN, RAW DEAL and BORDER INCIDENT. Co-screenwriter/original story creator Crane Wilbur's noir writing accomplishments include CANON CITY (1948), THE AMAZING MR. X (1948), CRIME WAVE (1953) and THE PHENIX CITY STORY (1955). HE WALKED BY NIGHT would mark Richard Basehart's breakthrough performance. His subsequent film noir credits include TENSION (1949), FOURTEEN HOURS (1951) and THE HOUSE ON TELEGRAPH HILL (1951), though film fans likely recall him best for his splendid role as the free-spirited Il matto in Federico Fellini's La strada (1954). HE WALKED BY NIGHT is narrated by Reed Hadley, "the voice of docunoir" as described by film historian Alan K. Rode. The noir narration credits of Hadley include THE HOUSE ON 92ND STREET (1945), 13 RUE MADELEINE (1947), BOOMERANG! (1947), T-MEN, CANON CITY (1948), WALK A CROOKED MILE (1948) and THE KILLER THAT STALKED NEW YORK (1950). Several film noirs that followed in the wake of HE WALKED BY NIGHT bear more than a passing resemblance, especially THE KILLER THAT STALKED NEW YORK, WITHOUT WARNING! (1952) and THE SNIPER (1952). It should also be mentioned the most influential docudrama film noir surely is THE NAKED CITY (1948), though visually Jules Dassin's film has more in common with the Italian Neorealism movement than the noir look epitomized by Alton.

All guns blazing

Expensive trial avoided

The inspiration for this review was provided by the Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray edition of HE WALKED BY NIGHT released last year. This dual-layered disc presents the film via a new HD master from a 16-bit 4K scan of the 35mm Fine Grain. Framed at the original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1, this is the best the film has looked on home video to my eyes. Those considering this Blu-ray as an upgrade might be persuaded to take the plunge given the new audio commentary track recorded by film historian and author Imogen Sara Smith, who specializes in film noir. Smith considers HE WALKED BY NIGHT to be more police procedural than proper noir. The semidocumentary format was blueprinted at Twentieth Century Fox with titles such as THE HOUSE ON 92ND STREET, 13 RUE MADELEINE and BOOMERANG! setting the stage for a new subgenre. In light of the LAPD's containment of the menace embodied by Roy, she contends this type of crime movie meshed well with the Production Code of its time. What's more, Joseph Breen Jr., son of Production Code Administration leader Joseph Breen, was the conduit between Eagle-Lion Films and the PCA, so family ties did not hurt matters given some of the production's content. One of Smith's best observations involves the no-nonsense narration style employed by Reed Hadley. His approach on the mic is diametrically at odds with the narration of the prototypically doomed noir protagonist, i.e. DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), DETOUR (1945) and SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950). Smith also charts steady waters when she notes the healthiest film noir specimens highlight flawed, even dirty cops, the likes of which have no place in the police world suggested in procedural films like HE WALKED BY NIGHT. Moreover, the classic noir exercise flexes the notion that anyone can become a criminal under certain circumstances. Another exceptionally non-noir quality is the lack of moral ambiguity, which provides a cynical dimension to so many noir films. True enough, that theme gives unity to genre classics such as OUT OF THE PAST (1947), THE ASPHALT JUNGLE, NIGHT AND THE CITY and THE BIG HEAT (1953). HE WALKED BY NIGHT is at its most noir according to Smith during the climactic storm sewer chase, a noir labyrinth that leads to a dead end for the doomed protagonist. Smith and I differ only when she advances the notion that film noir is not a genre, but rather a style, cycle, etc. Like a money-making movie monster, that tired old theory just refuses to die.

Also selectable is the audio commentary track that pairs author/film historian Alan K. Rode with writer/film historian Julie Kirgo, recorded for the Classicflix Blu-ray edition released in 2017. This track is more conversational in tone than the scripted approach favored by Imogen Sara Smith. An early incarnation of the "RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES!" method of genre filmmaking, HE WALKED BY NIGHT was based upon the real-life 1946 crime spree of William Erwin Walker, also known as Erwin M. Walker and Machine Gun Walker. Per Rode, the script rearranges the order of events associated with Walker's crimes. Importantly, Rode notes Walker just had to be a PTSD case considering the tragic circumstances of his service as a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army. The World War II veteran was in charge of a radar detachment at Leyte Island in the Philippines. One day Walker returned to his ship per orders. When he returned to the radar site the next day, he learned that an elite Japanese Army paratroop unit had attacked the radar site at sunrise. His best friend John Brake was bayoneted in the neck and disemboweled. Remarkably, Brake managed to survive, but all other members of the unit, all under Walker's charge, were killed brutally and sadistically. No doubt Walker was plagued by survivor's guilt. Walker later worked as a radio operator and police dispatcher for the Glendale Police Department. The film's technical advisor Marty Wynn was one of the detectives who arrested Walker (Wynn also appears briefly in an uncredited role as a police sergeant). Jack Webb meeting Wynn on the set proved to be a catalyst in the development of the DRAGNET radio series (1949–1957) and subsequent television series (1951–1959). Alfred L. Werker directed the bulk of HE WALKED BY NIGHT according to Rode, who is keenly aware of stock footage on display that pops up in a large number of genre films. Rode correctly points out that civil rights are violated routinely during this film and in so many others when policemen go into suspect apprehension mode. And leave it to Rode to recognize the villain's loyal Border Collie would later serve as Rembrandt at the side of Eleanor Johnson (Ann Sheridan) in the film noir WOMAN ON THE RUN (1950). An excellent observation by Kirgo is that the attempt to construct a composite sketch of the criminal as organized by Police Captain Breen (Roy Roberts) serves as a metaphor for the killer's fragmented personality. Kirgo also reminds us the climactic chase through the gargantuan storm sewer predates director Carol Reed's THE THIRD MAN (1949). And based on his sources, Rode assures us Mann should be credited for directing the exciting chase sequence through LA's underground storm sewer.

For the record, William Erwin Walker fared better than his screen counterpart portrayed by Richard Basehart. Walker was paroled in 1974 and lived a quiet life until his death in 2008.