THE BIG CLOCK (1948)

Paramount Pictures, 95m 24s

I never have bought into the idea that film noir is a style rather than a genre. Genre is formula, genre is repetition. The classic noir films were constructed on the firm foundation of genre filmmaking, with the same themes and motifs popping up time and again. That is not to suggest the film noir does not have a distinctive visual style, which it certainly did, particularly in the 1940s. But the persistently dark look of the noir film is more than matched by its dark themes and overarching sense of fatalism. The remarkably indifferent noir universe commonly punishes flawed characters who make contemptible decisions, but the noir protagonist need not be an individual of questionable merit. The film noir sometimes delivers a heavy boot to the face of a basically good man.

After an establishing shot of the nocturnal city skyline, THE BIG CLOCK falls into the shadows of DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), DETOUR (1945) and THE KILLERS (1946) by beginning at the end. Respectable-looking George Stroud (Ray Milland) somehow has gotten into horrible trouble and is running for his life. His narration communicates the severity of the situation. "How'd I get into this rat race, anyway? I'm no criminal—what happened, when did it all start?" he questions. The explanation for Stroud's predicament unspools via tried-and-true film noir plot mechanics:  the narrative rewinds from Friday, April 25th, 11:23 PM to Thursday, April 24th, 10:48 AM, when the story begins properly. Stroud is the editor of Crimeways, a periodical devoted to investigative journalism. Dedication to that publication has molded him into a master tracker of wanted men who have gone into hiding. In a sign that the private sector has gotten ahead of the public one, Crimeways has a reputation for finding criminals before the police. Ironically, the skill set Stroud has developed, along with the crack team he has assembled, will threaten his existence as a free man.

A related theme that recurs with regularity in the noir genre is the conflict between family needs and a man's professional sense of purpose. Stroud's wife (Maureen O'Sullivan, wife of the film's director John Farrow) has waited five years for a proper honeymoon, constantly upended by his allegiance to Crimeways. Though a trip to West Virginia has been arranged, George Jr. (B.G. Norman) doubts his father will attend the family trip based on nagging historical precedent. Stroud's incredibly demanding boss Earl Janoth (Charles Laughton) insists on an intense rivalry between professional and private lives when he forces Stroud to choose between his long overdue family vacation and Stroud's accomplished career, as if the two may not coexist. In fact, Janoth promises Stroud will find himself blacklisted and essentially unemployable as a journalist should he put his family requirements front and center. As jagged a pill as that may be for Stroud to ingest, his more pressing problem arrives in the alluring form of Pauline York (Rita Johnson), a temptress brought to him by fate. She shares his disdain for Janoth, and the two build an alliance that leads to a therapeutic pub crawl. Whether the two hook up is left to conjecture (though it is not ambiguous in the novel). Even if their relationship on film is platonic, the noir universe frowns on the man who spends any time with a woman he has not given his surname. The presence of York, this noir's sort-of femme fatale, is linked to severe hardships that dog both major male characters.

Another well-documented film noir tradition is the impersonal urban environment as a critical component of the drama. In this case, the narrative primarily plays out in New York City. Within its vast urban network resides the interminable purgatory of the modern workplace, where Stroud's duties forever conflict with the needs of his family. It is implied strongly THE BIG CLOCK could play out only in a very large city, where a media conglomerate like the one depicted could thrive. With Crimeways, Airways, Styleways, Artways, Newsways, Sportways and Futureways, Janoth Publications appears to have commercialized every possible area of human interest. The elevator scene in the first act neatly captures the hustle and bustle of big city business, as well as a certain decadence of the urban lifestyle. A confident young man informs the female elevator attendant there exists elevators in his building too, where he would be happy to give her "...a free ride." The microcosmic elevator setting will factor into the narrative's final act, when we witness the deserved fall of a man who claimed too much authority over others in an urban landscape that commands more power than any one person inside of it.

With its narrative intensely focused on the hands of time, the film is entitled THE BIG CLOCK for good reason. In the early going, we learn Stroud's time is running out rapidly in a massive structure that features an enormous clock system, the pride and joy of Janoth and symbol of a mechanized international business community (the clock displays real time throughout the world and even attracts sightseers). The vast interior of the immense clock houses the film's key environment where Stroud struggles to preserve his professional and personal lives, which constantly are depicted as at war with one another. The clock even contains a spiral staircase, a common noir accessory that often figures in a protagonist's rise or fall. Over drinks, he has a good rant about the world's overabundance of time, later he goes on the prowl for a green clock, then he purchases a painting of a pair of human hands (that parallel any ordinary clock's pair of hands). In the painting, the hands exchange money, which implies the interlocking of time and money is essential to business. The relentless time element adds to this film noir's overwhelming sense of paranoia. Janoth is even aware of the average amount of seconds that account for a human lifetime, yet unaware of how little remaining time he has.

Janoth Publications is presided over by Earl Janoth, the embodiment of insufferable ruling-class power. Though mainly concerned with the anticipation of trends that may impact circulation, Janoth shows a domineering appreciation for petty details as well. A man of next to no patience, Janoth allows his representatives a mere one minute each to describe potential initiatives to boost readership. Later in an absurd demonstration of micromanagement lunacy, he orders a man's pay docked for careless failure to turn off a broom closet light bulb! In another such tyrannical moment, he fires a man who objects to printing in red ink. Obviously Janoth has become accustomed to a position of considerable control. "Everybody knows me," he comments, and behaves according to that principle. His building is wired to allow him to listen to interoffice communications. Phones are handed to him, and he hands them back when the call has concluded. The attention he requires and his somber demeanor invite comparisons with any number of James Bond movie villains. Janoth maintains a personal assistant named Bill Womack (Harry Morgan, billed here as Henry Morgan) who attends to his boss's various needs. Looming large, Janoth walks into a meeting and is handed a drink, then Womack promptly collects the drink when his boss has had his fill (interestingly, Womack alertly intercepts a female employee's attempt to take the glass). Later the perpetually silent Womack is shown massaging Janoth. Ostensibly the two share a relationship that goes beyond corporate office functions. Steve Hagen (George Macready) is in line to be the next Janoth, and those two also maintain a relationship brimming with homoerotic tensions.

Though his overbearing leadership style may be sufficient cause for comeuppance, it is Janoth's priapic inclinations that will bring about his undoing, while the modern technology of his building works against him. It is Janoth's ability to eavesdrop on his employees that triggers the connection between Pauline York and Stroud. The attractive York has done some modeling for one of Janoth's magazines. Somewhere along the way, Janoth took a special interest in her, and apparently he must pay for her companionship ("singing lessons"). In harmony with the sharp tongue that gets Katharine “Kitty” March (Joan Bennett) iced in SCARLET STREET (1945), York is silenced after she boldly challenges the patriarchal power—and sexuality—of Janoth. And in congruence with the film's oppressive time motif, York's days come to a halt when she is struck with a sundial.

Though the filmmakers show laudable awareness for women in the workforce (i.e. an elevator operator, a newsstand attendant, a stenographer, numerous secretaries), the main female characters on display fall in line with the established patriarchal order. A supporting female character of note is the artist Louise Patterson (Elsa Lanchester, the wife of Charles Laughton). With her peculiar laugh, strange manner and flock of children fathered by a multitude of men, the portrait of the liberal woman is painted as an oddity not to be taken seriously as a threat to patriarchy. Interestingly, even the liberal artist is corrupted by money and fame. It is Stroud's appreciation for her art that prevents her from clearly identifying him as the person of interest in the death of Pauline York. Patterson is set up as a potential foil for Stroud, though the problem she presents is averted without issue, as her painting of two hands seems to forecast.

THE BIG CLOCK boasts undeniably well-written dialog passages, especially those uttered by Charles Laughton. Kenneth Fearing wrote the 1946 source novel THE BIG CLOCK, which had appeared in an abridged version ("The Judas Picture") in THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE (October, 1946). His novel was adapted by screenwriter Jonathan Latimer, who would collaborate with director Farrow on 10 occasions. Three of those efforts were of the noir variety:  NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES (1948), the excellent ALIAS NICK BEAL (1949, starring Ray Milland) and THE UNHOLY WIFE (1957). Director of photography John F. Seitz is a name that should ring familiar to alert followers of film noir. He handled the cinematography for THIS GUN FOR HIRE (1942), DOUBLE INDEMNITY, APPOINTMENT WITH DANGER (1950) and SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950). He worked with Farrow five times, including the film noir NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES. Fearing's novel was adapted later as Police PYTHON 357 (1976), directed by Alain Corneau, and the following decade as NO WAY OUT (1987), directed by Roger Donaldson. The film noir SCANDAL SHEET (1952) would share consistent themes with THE BIG CLOCK and utilize a similar plot structure about a man forced to investigate a murder committed by his own employer.

The new Arrow Academy Blu-ray presentation of THE BIG CLOCK combines an HD transfer from original film elements with an uncompressed mono 1.0 PCM audio soundtrack. The new transfer preserves a healthy amount of grain, and is marred only by occasional scratches that are not overly bothersome. Framed at 1.345:1, the visual superiority of the Arrow Blu-ray compared to the Universal Pictures Home Entertainment DVD released in 2004 is illustrated by the screen captures that follow.

Arrow Academy Blu-ray

Universal DVD

The supplemental material features a new audio commentary track by film scholar Adrian Martin, who honors the directorial skill of John Farrow, a filmmaker known for his commitment to long takes and limited editing. Farrow created technically complex long shots that asked a lot of everyone involved. His minimal cuts convey enhanced meaning due in part to the extended nature of Farrow's extensive, carefully-planned shots. He was supremely skilled in the art of blocking (the arrangement of actors in a frame). Martin cites the pan from left to right in a bar scene as an example of the filmmaker's staging talent. Farrow demanded, and got, tremendous control of his productions. For THE BIG CLOCK, the director reached beyond the conventions of the crime film and incorporated elements of the screwball comedy, as well as other genres. Farrow's desire to blend genres, and thus become less easy to categorize, may explain why he was an underappreciated talent in his day. His capacity as a filmmaker remains undervalued today. In respect to Kenneth Fearing's source material, Martin quotes extended passages, and reviews some of the differences between the book and film, as well as thematic similarities. In both the book and its adaptation, everyone in the Stroud family has the first name George or some variant of George. That sameness emphasizes the average person's anonymity in his or her surroundings. According to Martin, the book goes even further than the film in regard to a corporation's emasculating control of a person's sexuality (this idea is best conveyed in the film by Stroud's inability to go on a honeymoon with his wife due to professional obligations).

Director John Farrow as master of blocking

Note the creeping presence of Bill (Harry Morgan), who lurks in each shot

Next up is the newly-filmed "Turning Back the Clock:  An Analysis of THE BIG CLOCK by Adrian Wootton" (23m 1s). The Chief Executive of Film London, Wootton covers a lot of the same ground staked out by Martin in the disc's commentary option, but with some added details and fresh insights. He notes screenwriter Jonathan Latimer was an accomplished crime novelist before relocating to Hollywood. A specialist in black humor, Latimer deserves credit for some of the wit that informs THE BIG CLOCK, especially during its second act. Producer Richard Maibaum would find great success as the screenwriter who adapted a large number of Ian Fleming 007 novels for the James Bond films. Wootton suspects Maibaum must have contributed on some level to the adaptation of the Fearing novel (an easy notion to appreciate when one considers some of the attributes of the Janoth character). In analytical mode, Wootton makes a great observation when he explains how the Janoth Publications building so importantly factors into THE BIG CLOCK's denouement. The place of employment becomes a prison for Stroud, who must subvert some of the skyscraper's many technical features if he is to find his way out.

Stroud (Ray Milland) shows willingness to separate himself from rotten peers

Another short film completed for this Blu-ray release is "A Difficult Actor:  Simon Callow on Charles Laughton" (17m 31s). The author of CHARLES LAUGHTON: A DIFFICULT ACTOR (1987), Callow sees THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME (1939) as the crowning achievement of Laughton's early career. But by 1940, the actor seemed to lose his way, and perhaps viewed a film role as a paycheck more than a vehicle for artistic expression. As the title of Callow's book announces, Laughton was not the easiest of personalities to work with on the set. The tension between his character in THE BIG CLOCK and the man portrayed by Ray Milland likely was intensified by Milland's disgust that Laughton was a gay man. Though he never may have equaled his work as an actor in the role of Quasimodo, perhaps Laughton's greatest creative endeavor was as director of THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955), in my estimation the most hauntingly beautiful of all film noirs.

Also selectable is the Lux Radio Theatre radio dramatization of THE BIG CLOCK (59m 28s) that originally aired November 22, 1948. Ray Milland returns in the role of George Stroud, and Maureen O'Sullivan reprises her part as Stroud's neglected wife. Also on board is William Conrad as Janoth and William Johnstone as Hagen. Rounding out the bonus material is an original theatrical trailer (2m 21s) and an image gallery that has been divided between posters and press material (22 images) and production stills (a robust 109 images). The first pressing of the disc comes with a booklet essay by Christina Newland entitled "The Inner Workings of THE BIG CLOCK."

Classic film fans are advised to collect this Blu-ray disc while it is still on the market. Buy with complete confidence.

DETOUR (1945)

Producers Releasing Corporation, 69m 5s

"Fate, or some mysterious force, can put the finger on you or me, for no good reason at all."

The above line of narrated dialog closes DETOUR and succinctly summarizes everything that comes before it in director Edgar G. Ulmer's bare-bones film noir, made on the cheap for pipsqueak B-studio PRC. After a man's repeated run-ins with incredibly bad fortune, complicated further by some questionable decisions made in haste, he walks a road in a trance-like state of hopelessness. He is keenly aware that someday the police will collect him; maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. Without any decent prospects for the future, he is an outsider left to imagine how his life may have played out had certain moments of chance not transpired.

As the opening credits run, the background presents not the future, but the past. It is the view from the rear window of a moving automobile. Such backward imagery makes sense in the tortuous context of DETOUR, a bleak study of a man's failed attempt to outrun his past. As he makes his way east via a combination of hitchhiking and hoofing, Al Roberts (Tom Neal) stops at the Nevada Diner, where his surly demeanor quickly establishes the loner as the diner's least likable guest. He becomes particularly upset when he hears a jukebox rendition of "I Can't Believe That You're In Love With Me." It is at this juncture where the filmmakers rely on the plot mechanics of CASABLANCA (1942) to delve into the lead protagonist's history, but the intense chiaroscuro imagery that follows is unfiltered noir. A subjective darkness envelops Al as a series of flashbacks arise. During his piano-pounding days at the Break O' Dawn Club in New York City, he falls for singer Sue Harvey (Claudia Drake). Though a tremendously talented, classically-trained pianist, for whatever reason Al finds himself on the nightclub's schedule, playing for tips from the evening hours until 4 AM. Nonetheless, he considers himself to be fairly lucky. He plans to make an honest woman of Sue, but she is bound for Hollywood and the potential stardom it offers a chosen few. Before long, Al feels a magnetic pull to join his beloved in the land of hopes and dreams. Al sells everything he owns and makes the trip west with only a small suitcase in hand.

An archetypal noir protagonist, Al laments the lack of money available to him, but wouldn't know what to do with it if he had it. Headed for California with precious little cash to his name, Al covers the most ground as a hitchhiker. He is scooped up by Charles Haskell, Jr. (Edmund MacDonald) in Arizona. Charles is a pill-popping bookie with a fat pocket and a nice car, but his right hand is marked by deep scratches. He explains to Al those wounds were the work of, "...the most dangerous animal in the world:  a woman." Charles also bears a large scar on his arm that stands for the family life with which he no longer identifies. The well-established film noir atmosphere thickens when heavy rainfall coincides with the untimely death of Charles! Not optimistic the police would be sympathetic to his cause, Al assumes Charles's identity rather than risk involving the law. Al not only takes the identity of a dead man, he leaves his own personal belongings with the lifeless body of Charles. Such actions never seem to pan out favorably in the unforgiving noir landscape, and Al experiences nightmares that foretell his decline. Charles may have been a cheap chiseler out to dupe his own father, but he probably deserves a better memorial than he is granted.

"Whichever way you turn, fate sticks out a foot to trip you."

Al is assailed by fate again, far more dramatically this time, when he picks up an endlessly acerbic woman named Vera (Ann Savage in an unremittingly theatrical performance). She is the "dangerous animal" that left Charles battle-scarred. A quick study, Vera appraises Al and plans to exploit his tough situation for her own gain. At this point, the ugly downward spiral into which Al has tumbled seems to offer no possibility of an escape route.

"You know how to work it?"

The role of women in film noir has received much critical attention, mostly in terms of the rigid archetypes so many of the genre's female characters embody. Both of the major female characters of DETOUR contribute to the lead protagonist's downfall, even if the disposition of one woman is far more displeasing than that of the other. Things start to deteriorate for Al when the love of his life Sue decides to leave him in search of stardom. The title of the song he associates with her suggests his decision to trail her will be a big mistake, as does the thick fog of the city streets the couple navigates as she explains her desire to pursue her dreams. Most interesting, the downpour that accompanies the death of Charles occurs immediately after Al visualizes Sue performing somewhere in the Los Angeles area. His dream of a reunion with Sue must be very foolish, but Al is unable to decode the indigenous red flags of film noir, even as he goes into self-preservation mode.

Al travels in the direction of one woman, but it is his destiny to be besieged by another along the way. To say fate deals Al a bad card would be about as understated as that idea could be expressed. An unapologetically caustic woman, Vera shoves Al into a corner and does everything within her power to keep him there. Though when they meet Al shows Vera kindness and even senses her inner-beauty, once she recognizes she is in firm possession of the upper hand, her verbal ferocity knows no boundaries. She cares mostly about how much money she can squeeze out of him, and only Al cares that Vera's greed might be the undoing of both of them. She is intuitively defensive and angers easily, but nothing upsets her more than when Al shows no interest in her playful advances (the scene in which Vera throws her shoes out of sexual frustration is a nice touch). At the same time, she knows she is no great prize—she feels "10 pounds lighter" after a bath, and would rather avoid the police based upon her own murky past.

Like a large number of noir characters, Vera exhibits a physical weakness:  in her case, a chronic cough. Al notices this trait and likens her to Camille (LA DAME AUX CAMÉLIAS, 1848), who died of consumption. Despite Al's attempt to establish intellectual superiority, Vera is familiar with his reference. Her existential philosophical position makes sense in light of her apparently terminal condition, particularly when she confesses, "I'm on my way anyhow." Her failing health coupled with her tendency to drink heavily leads to respiratory failure in one of the most famous of noir fatalities. An unlikely cause of death perhaps, yet it seems entirely plausible on grounds of the film noir's fatalistic sensibility. Like Al, Vera appears destined for destruction, unequipped with the capacity to steer in the opposite direction.

It is not only Vera who struggles with communication skills. It appears all forms of communication are strained, ineffective, dishonest or unwelcome. Near the film's exposition in the diner sequence, Al articulates his emotions ineffectively with others. The first time Al reaches out by phone to his love Sue, he speaks plenty to her, and a conversation is implied, but never do we hear her voice. Rather strangely, when Sue is shown with a phone to her ear, she does not say one word. Later when Al is in Hollywood, he again telephones Sue, but this time it is Al who does not speak (due to Vera's omnipresence). Unable to connect with Sue, it is fitting Al makes an emphatic telephone connection with Vera, who fails to drop the dime she had threatened. Charles tried to make a connection of some sort with Vera before she clawed him; most likely it was unwanted touching (the event is discussed but never shown). Then there is the office scene at the used car lot, where Al cannot name the insurance company that covers the car he supposedly owns. What normally would be basic conversations in everyday situations go nowhere in DETOUR.

Analysis of the film noir often involves heavy use of the term "protagonist" since the genre's lead characters seldom could be described as anything else. Only rarely is there someone of untarnished goodness to consider, less often does the story include someone who could be described as a hero. The embittered character Al Roberts, who also serves as the story's narrator, takes that notion a step further when he accuses the viewer of betting against him. "You're going to tell me you don't believe my story about Haskell dying and give me that 'don't make me laugh' expression on your smug faces," he grumbles. Similarly, later he says none of us would accept his account of Vera's accidental death. Of course, the aim of narration in any film is to get the viewer on the side of the narrator. Al's narration indeed requests our sympathy, which he mostly deserves, especially from the standpoint of lost identity. At the film's conclusion, Al should feel relieved. Since he and Vera registered as Mr. and Mrs. Charles Haskell, Jr. at the rental apartment where Vera's body was found, the police are on the hunt for Charles. That reality means nothing to Al, who is neither himself nor Charles Haskell. He is a man of no true identity, from neither east nor west, trapped in noir no man's land, a place where danger cannot be averted. His complete lack of place, except perhaps in a jail cell, makes Al one of film noir's most directionless unfortunates. Based upon his lack of detestable qualities, he is among the more sympathetic of condemned noir figures. Far less sympathetic was the actor who portrayed Al. In one of Hollywood's great ironies, Tom Neal was convicted on November 18, 1965 of involuntary manslaughter after he shot his wife to death earlier that year. He served only six years for the crime, but died shortly after his release from prison at the age of 58.

New to the Criterion Collection, DETOUR has received a game-changer of a 4K digital restoration, framed correctly at the original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1 with uncompressed monaural soundtrack on the dual-layered Blu-ray edition. If this release does not stand triumphantly as the most important film restoration of 2019 it will come as quite a surprise. For those of us familiar with the film's prior home video incarnations, to witness it unfold in such a pristine state is a bit baffling, with the persistent perspiration that covers Al's forehead palpable throughout the presentation. The only hints of the various source materials that comprise this new transfer are a few instances of missing frames.

Criterion Collection Blu-ray

Image Entertainment DVD (2000)

Special features include the documentary feature EDGAR G. ULMER: THE MAN OFF-SCREEN (2004, 75m 36s), which covers a tremendous amount of interesting information about "The King of the B's." Ulmer was noted best for making watchable movies in a small amount of time on limited funding. Peter Bogdanovich says Ulmer's career made quite an impact on future generations of indie filmmakers, who were inspired to believe they too could make something out of next to nothing. Wim Wenders makes the assertion that sometimes the most inexpensive of film productions, despite various shortcomings, actually come closer to the truth of existence than their larger-budgeted counterparts. Other important filmmakers who reflect on the career of Ulmer include Roger Corman, Joe Dante and John Landis, all of whom hold Ulmer in high regard and appear pleased to be participating.

A historical review of Edgar G. Ulmer's professional and private lives is complicated by his tendency to stretch the truth or even lie outright. For instance, he used a letterhead that announced Doctor of Philosophy, a title he never earned. Similarly, Ulmer said he was born in Vienna, a city of prestige, though in truth he was born in Czechoslovakia. He immigrated to Ellis Island in 1923, but like Al in DETOUR, was torn between two different places. Ulmer did not fully embrace America, nor did he completely leave European culture behind. However, World War II prompted Ulmer, a Jew, to remain in the US. Ulmer claimed to have worked on some very famous and influential productions, such as THE CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI (Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari, 1920), METROPOLIS (1927) and M (M - Eine Stadt sucht einen Mörder, 1931). He also took credit for the innovative moving camera sequence in THE LAST LAUGH (Der letzte Mann, 1924). Biographer Noah Isenberg could not substantiate Ulmer's claimed contributions to any of these films.

The Hollywood credits of Ulmer are easier to verify, even if some of the details behind his projects remain open to debate in terms of creative contributions, budgets and shooting schedules. One of his greatest achievements was THE BLACK CAT (1934), shot in 15 days on a $91K  budget. It remains a supremely disturbing watch today, and one of the finest fright films to emerge from Universal Pictures, the studio noted mostly for its quality horror films at that time. A major turning point in Ulmer's filmmaking career transpired when he had an affair with 20-year-old Shirley Castle, his eventual wife, who at the time was married to producer Max Alexander, nephew of Universal Pictures president Carl Laemmle. Ulmer found himself alienated from mainstream Hollywood productions and was forced to move on to "Poverty Row" studios, where he would churn out the type of product for which he is remembered. He boasted a 6-day shooting schedule for DETOUR, though his daughter Arianne Ulmer notes the shooting schedule indicated 14 camera days. Again, the filmmaker's account of things appears somewhat sketchy. Ulmer worked mostly overseas in the 1950s and 1960s, and seemed happy to be there. His final film would be THE CAVERN (Sette contro la morte, 1964), for which Ulmer was in poor health according to John Saxon. Following a debilitating stroke, Edgar G. Ulmer passed away in 1972 in Woodland Hills, California.

"Noah Isenberg on DETOUR" (21m 11s) was recorded in November of 2018 for the Criterion Collection. The author of EDGAR G. ULMER: A FILMMAKER AT THE MARGINS (2014) and DETOUR (2008, BFI Film Classics) chronicles Ulmer's career from front to back. In Europe, Ulmer worked as a set designer for Max Reinhardt, then transitioned to the art department at Universal Pictures after he relocated to Hollywood. His early career was tethered to William Wyler, who churned out 2-reel Westerns at the time. The first feature Ulmer directed for Universal was THE BLACK CAT, shot while studio boss Carl Laemmle was on holiday in Europe. Laemmle returned to discover a product that was far too radical in style for his tastes, and to make matters worse, it was during this production when Ulmer fell for Shirley Castle. The author believes Ulmer was most effective at the margins of the film industry, and would not necessarily have made superior product with higher budgets. DETOUR backs up that argument with heavy use of stock footage, rear projection, a fog machine and reversed negatives (painfully apparent during a hitchhiking sequence). Ulmer's minimalist approach to the material is precisely what makes it impactful.

The story of DETOUR's restoration (11m 2s) begins in 2002, when Arianne Ulmer brought her film and video master collection to the Academy Film Archive. Director Mike Pogorzelski explains ten years were spent in search of the necessary film elements that would make restorative work possible. A 35mm nitrate composite print was discovered in Belgium, but French and Flemish subtitles would have to be removed. A variety of modern digital restoration techniques made the project possible per film preservationist Heather Linville. Pogorzelski believes the Belgian source material was only one generation away from the camera negative.

Also included is a Janus Films rerelease trailer (1m 32s) and a carefully-researched production review by Robert Polito, who concludes DETOUR's framework came into being very late in the filmmaking process, as Ulmer reduced the film's perspective to the fragile psyche of its lead protagonist. Polito does such a fine job in his review of the original screen treatment by Martin Goldsmith that one cannot help wonder about the more elaborate motion picture that another studio might have produced, and whether that product might have been even better than the justly revered DETOUR we know today.

PHANTOM LADY (1944)

Universal Pictures, 86m 55s

A deftly engrossing noir mystery with a splash of horror, PHANTOM LADY is grounded in psychoanalytic theory, a complex urban environment and rigid female archetypes. Like other noir films of the 1940s, it warns of the harsh treatment that may await men who even consider straying from traditional domesticity, no matter how unsympathetic their wives may be. Its working title "Condemned to Hang" reveals a lot about the lead male protagonist in not only this narrative, but so many others of the emerging film noir genre.

Noticeably depressed, 32-year-old civil engineer Scott Henderson (Alan Curtis) walks into a bar with two tickets to a Broadway production for which his original date is not available. He meets a woman who agrees to accompany him to the show under the strict condition the two remain anonymous to each other. That woman is Ann Terry (Fay Helm), whose identity is disclosed long after their ephemeral evening of togetherness. At the show, a flirtatious drummer named Cliff (Elisha Cook Jr.) likes what he sees of Ann, but the event's star attraction Estela Monteiro (Aurora Miranda) is disgusted that Ann wears the same supposedly unique hat the Latino singer features. After a largely improvised evening, Scott returns home to find his 29-year-old wife Marcela dead and himself a murder suspect. Led by Inspector Burgess (Thomas Gomez), the police inform Scott his wife was strangled with one of his own neckties. The cops are plenty confident Scott offed his wife, despite the fact they witness him enter his apartment in conversation with the wife he believes is awake in the bedroom.

Like the same year's DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), the story of PHANTOM LADY has its origin in a marriage without hope, though there is a difference in how those respective marriages are portrayed. In DOUBLE INDEMNITY, Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) is shown to have a jerk for a husband, which helps explain (though does not excuse) her illicit behavior with Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray). The setup in PHANTOM LADY explains less, and Marcela Henderson never is shown alive, other than in a huge portrait that suggests a woman of considerable sexual power. Beyond that image, we know her primarily for the way she is remembered by the men in her life. Scott recalls a time when the couple was happy, but regrets, "...she was too spoiled and too beautiful." Both Scott and Jack Marlow (Franchot Tone) recount being laughed at by her. Though she was an unfaithful wife who refused to go out with her husband to celebrate their anniversary, she would not grant Scott the divorce he requested. One could argue Marcela is the "phantom lady" of the film's title, a woman who was not there for her husband, a person whose behavior cannot be understood completely.

That reading aside, the story revolves around another female of mystery. When a woman with a fancy hat meets Scott, she chooses not to tell him her name, which later is revealed to be Ann Terry. The process of her eventual identification is a frustrating one for Scott, whose alibi depends on the existence of Ann. A bartender (Andrew Tombes) remembers Scott, but has no recollection of a woman with him. Similarly, cab driver Al Alp (Matt McHugh) takes Scott and Ann to the show, but remembers only Scott. Though painfully aware of Ann and her doppelgänger hat in the audience the prior evening, the performer Estela is too arrogant to admit Ann was present. Based on those witnesses, the police are not convinced Ann exists, and even Scott begins to share that skepticism! Could it be he just imagined her existence? That is exactly the type of mental anguish that time and again tortures the noir protagonist.

Another viable "phantom lady" is Carol Richman (the beautiful Ella Raines in a nicely calibrated performance). Carol is a working girl driven to detective work out of devotion to Scott, her boss. Interestingly, this woman of obvious character does not hail from New York City. She is from Wichita, Kansas (Scott affectionately calls her "Kansas"). Though the city man Jack makes the sexist remark that her gender makes her ill-suited to do investigative work, Carol is indeed up to the task, fiercely determined to spare Scott a fast-approaching date with the chair. She even assumes a new, distinctly urban identity (Jeannie) in pursuit of evidence that will free Scott. Commonly in the noir film multiple identities are associated with duplicity and/or criminality, but in this case the Jeannie alter ego is a faux femme fatale utilized to entrap those who have, knowingly or unknowingly, conspired against Scott. The film concludes with the angelic female gaze of Carol, who is ecstatic to learn her feelings for Scott will be returned. Her glow of satisfaction makes sense from an emotional perspective, but betrays the sense of empowerment the film had granted Carol up to that point. Her investigative work now finished, she appears overjoyed to be defined by her relationship with Scott, which is to suggest the working woman would prefer married life to workforce participation.

Psychoanalytic theory was a logical ingredient to the noir film of the 1940s, with plenty of potentially fractured minds under review, i.e. CAT PEOPLE (1942), SHOCK (1946), THE DARK MIRROR (1946) and THE DARK PAST (1948). Certainly not the most mentally stable fellow, Scott's best friend Jack Marlow exhibits many symptoms of the psychologically tormented, inherently dangerous individual. He uses his hands artistically as a sculptor and criminally as a killer, and even registers complete awareness of the obvious conflict, that Frankensteinian notion that hands may be used for both good and evil. Abstract sculptures suggest a deep-seated personality disorder, a mirror hints at a personality split, dizzy spells confirm an enormously troubled man. His anguish is aggravated by his urban environment, where he feels completely alienated, a nobody. The noir city may be home to millions, but many feel little sense of belonging or purpose. It is a place where the object of Jack's affection laughs in his face after he suggests they run off together. In his conversation with Jack, Burgess plays the role of psychiatrist as he emphasizes the importance of understanding the killer's mind. Burgess is convinced the killer is a paranoiac. Similarly, Carol condemns the killer's insanity before Jack, who cannot tolerate such conversation without helplessly falling into his paranoid side.

Parallel to the case of Jack is the mental health of Ann Terry, whose condition has declined sharply since the sudden death of her fiancé. Trapped in self-imposed anonymity, she refuses to tell her name to Scott, who extends the hand of friendship without much response from her. In truth she was a "phantom lady" before she met Scott one fateful evening. She had the hat of the performer Estela Monteiro copied, as if she wished to create an alternate personality for someone who no longer existed. That plan proves shortsighted after Monteiro denies the very existence of Ann. Female archetypes take a beating in the search for Ann, as when hatmaker Madame Kettisha (Doris Lloyd) is shown to be a domineering boss whose meek employee Miss Payton (Victoria Horne) cowers before her. After a lengthy search for answers about a night tarnished by fate, Miss Terry (mystery, get it?) is discovered in a decayed state of despondency, seemingly without much hope for recovery. Her last contribution to humanity may be the copied hat she hands over to Carol.

The female gaze

Set in New York City, there are a lot of indications the PHANTOM LADY narrative could not play out anywhere but a major metropolitan area. At the dingy apartment of a big city guy like the drummer Cliff, a visitor can sense the rats in the walls. En route to his preferred social scene, Cliff leads Carol (in character as Jeannie) down a stairway into the uncertain depths of the city, where a jazz improvisation band provides the soundtrack to a Freudian nightmare. Their musical orgasmatron is purely urban, and presumably not the safest locale for a nice Midwesterner like Carol to spend her time. Staircases that lead up harbor danger as well, where a suspenseful moment at a train stop occurs. This sprawling urban landscape is a place where an everyman like the bartender might consider committing murder. In fact, he probably would have pushed Carol to her death were it not for the sudden emergence of another person at the train stop. That moment he ponders murder is important for viewer consideration when the city streets prey on him a little later. The city's hot August temperature is another critical factor. Scott talks about the city heat the night of his wife's murder, at his trial courtroom spectators look lonesome for air conditioning, and electric fans do their best to keep thirsty patrons cool at the bar.

The recently released Arrow Academy Blu-ray edition of PHANTOM LADY boasts a new High Definition (1080p) transfer from original film elements with uncompressed Mono 1.0 PCM audio soundtrack. Framed at 1.34:1, this presentation appears to have been derived from different source material than the DVD version issued in 2012 by Universal as part of the Turner Classic Movies Vault Collection. A little disappointingly, this version remains loaded with scratches and plays a bit wobbly on occasion. Though the film elements could have used some restorative work, this Blu-ray release benefits from the leap in resolution, with greatly improved contrast and more realistic-looking skin tones.

Arrow Academy Blu-ray

TCM DVD

According to film historian Alan K. Rode, whose fine essay "The Making of PHANTOM LADY:  Film Noir in the Starting Blocks" (2018) is included as a booklet insert, producer Joan Harrison (credited as associate producer) also wrote the screenplay. She hired Bernard C. Schoenfeld merely for assistance, but for whatever reason, only Schoenfeld was credited for the adaptation of the 1942 crime novel of the same title by Cornell Woolrich (under the pseudonym William Irish). Despite recurring instances of studio interference that irritated Harrison, she would produce other notable noir cinema of the decade such as THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF UNCLE HARRY (1945, reteaming director Robert Siodmak with Raines), NOCTURNE (1946) and the excellent RIDE THE PINK HORSE (1947, with Thomas Gomez). Siodmak and cinematographer Elwood Bredell collaborated on another two projects, both film noirs:  CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY (1944) and THE KILLERS (1946).

The Arrow edition's supplements start with "Dark and Deadly:  Fifty Years of Film Noir" (1995, 52m 18s), a valuable documentary produced and directed by Paul Joyce. While the classic noir era of the 1940s and 1950s is examined, the documentary is more concerned with the neo-noir movement of the early 1990s than its inspiration. If film noir of the 1940s can be viewed as a post-WWII reaction, the neo-noir of the early 1990s reflects the end of the Cold War. Filmmakers who discuss their neo-noir projects include John Dahl (KILL ME AGAIN [1989], THE LAST SEDUCTION [1994]), James Foley (AFTER DARK, MY SWEET [1990]), Carl Franklin (ONE FALSE MOVE [1992]), Dennis Hopper (THE HOT SPOT [1990]) and Bryan Singer (THE USUAL SUSPECTS [1995]). Dahl points out that noir allows the filmmaker to uncover the gray areas of humanity, the multiple layers of personalities. Creative forces behind the classic film noir era who reflect on their work include director Edward Dmytryk, who says that his CROSSFIRE (1947), a film that trashes anti-Semitism, actually was considered subversive at the time of its original theatrical run! And it is an absolute treat to hear from quintessential noir cinematographer John Alton, in his mid-90s at the time. In discussion of his book PAINTING WITH LIGHT (1949), Alton reveals he studied great painters like Rembrandt to learn his trade. Alton also comments on the difficulty he faced in his attempt to inject quality into cinema, and how his minimalist approach was disliked by other Hollywood tradesmen, many of whom were unnecessary when Alton served as director of photography. Where some sets might have required 16 electricians, Alton might have needed one.

Another significant bonus feature is the Lux Radio Theater version of PHANTOM LADY (59m 33s) that aired March 27, 1944 with an introduction by Cecil B. DeMille, who hosted the one-hour show from 1936 through 1945. Ella Raines returns as Carol, and Alan Curtis reprises his role as Scott. The two are joined by Brian Aherne, who takes on the part of Jack. A 30-chapter image gallery that pools together lobby cards, production stills, publicity photos, theatrical posters and conceptual art completes this highly collectible offering from Arrow Academy.