LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN (1945)

Twentieth Century Fox, 110m 14s

"You know if you'd lived in Salem a hundred years ago they'd have burned you."

Technicolor noir? Well, sort of. LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN probably is best described as a noir-stained melodrama. Though the majority of the action unfolds in flashback form, a trustworthy film noir blueprint, its opening sequence only hints at some of the surprising directions the storytelling will take. On board a train bound for New Mexico, 30-year-old author Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde) is struck by the flawless beauty of wealthy socialite Ellen Berent (Gene Tierney, who earned a Best Actress Academy Award nomination), and she seems similarly enamored with him. She is stunned to note Richard's resemblance to her departed father, and also surprised to learn she has met the author of the book she has been reading. Both are destined for Rancho Jacinto, where Ellen plans to spread her father's ashes in the area mountains. While at the ranch, Ellen continues to see Richard as a tower of strength that recalls her father. She whimsically dumps her floored fiancé Russell Quinton (Vincent Price) in favor of Richard, who learns rather suddenly he is about to get hitched (she proposes to him!). It is Ellen's enthusiasm about the idea that prompts Richard to snap into life-changing action, with minimal reluctance on his part.

The second act relocates the recently married couple to Warm Springs, Georgia, where Richard's younger brother Danny Harland (Darryl Hickman) deals with paralysis from the waist down. This is Ellen's first encounter with Danny, for whom Richard maintains great affection. Danny accompanies the newlyweds to the Back of the Moon Lodge in Deer Lake, Maine, Richard's isolated lakefront location, where his old pal Leick Thome (Chill Wills) serves as the resident caretaker. Ellen senses she has forfeited her honeymoon so Richard can spend time with Leick and Danny whenever writing is not a priority. In a key sequence to what is to follow, Danny unwittingly interrupts Ellen's attempt to get frisky with her husband. Already frustrated with the living arrangements at the lodge, the setting deteriorates further for Ellen when she notices the arrival of her mother Margaret Berent (Mary Philips) and adopted half-sister Ruth Berent (Jeanne Crain) by boat. "I love you so I can't bear to share you with anybody," Ellen confesses to Richard. Little does he suspect how serious she is.

LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN is a production of considerable dramatic force and a veritable showcase for the talents of Tierney, who absolutely proves she is more than just a pretty face in this outing, her first in Technicolor. Various film noir motifs ripple outward for those with trained eyes; for instance, Ellen's obsession with her father and the presence of his idealized, framed image, the likening of Richard to a dead man, a lack of marital fulfillment, an emphasis on nocturnal settings and shadows, various mirrors that imply a woman's duplicitous nature, imagery that suggests entrapment, and one of the obvious examples of a dangerous noir staircase. Those noir trimmings notwithstanding, much of the case for LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN as film noir is grounded in Ellen's remarkable transformation from harmless-looking bookworm to insanely jealous, dangerously disturbed wife. There are hints of her otherness in the early going, but nothing beyond that. Ellen's neurosis is revealed only gradually.

Most likely Ellen suffers from the Electra complex, as outlined by Carl Jung. The more she speaks of her dead father and Richard's striking similarity to him, the more one questions whether the relationship she had with her father when he was alive was healthy for everyone concerned. How odd that fiancé #1 Russell assumed he and Ellen would be married only after the death of her father, which implies the bond between Ellen and her father was unnatural. Once married to Richard, Ellen is plagued by her jealousy of anyone who demands even the smallest increment of her husband's time. Her thoughts become progressively more irrational, to the point she literally will do anything to have Richard to herself. In the film's most infamous scene, the strong swimmer Ellen heartlessly allows Danny to drown, and then pretends to heroically dive to his rescue as Richard arrives on the scene. Later at Bar Harbor, after Ellen has become pregnant with Richard's child, she openly wishes the child were dead, a wish she makes a reality. Thus the selfish femme fatale of LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN kills both of the male figures closest to Richard. "Ellen always wins," Richard’s attorney Glen Robie (Ray Collins) opines at the ranch, long before the extreme danger embodied by Ellen is made evident. In respect to Glen's observation, her eventual flameout threatens to destroy both Richard and Ruth. Even after her death, Ellen manages to maintain a tight grip on those she (wrongly) believed betrayed her. Like the despicable Katharine “Kitty” March (Joan Bennett) in the same year's SCARLET STREET, Ellen causes ruin from the grave.

Though Ellen's pathological behavior is not defensible, she is not entirely unsympathetic, and Richard is not without culpability. He probably lights her fuse without having any idea when he jokes with his little brother Danny that if the boy does not approve of Ellen, she can be discarded easily enough. Later at the Back of the Moon retreat Richard invites his wife's mother and sister to the lodge without consulting Ellen, who already was upset about everyone present other than her husband. Wouldn't any woman want a proper honeymoon, without being surrounded by the distractions engineered by Richard? In another instance of not including Ellen in his decisions, Richard converts Ellen's beloved father's study into a nursery, a questionable move at best. And though his mother-in-law wisely cautions Richard to dedicate all his future novels to his wife, in an especially curious move, he dedicates his latest book to Ruth, which predictably sends Ellen over the deep end. Ellen certainly is the wrong woman for Richard, but less obviously, he is the wrong man for her.

At the time of its original theatrical release, LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN shrugged off a lukewarm greeting from critics to become the highest grossing film of the decade for Twentieth Century Fox. In retrospect critics now consider it one of the great prestige dramas to emerge from the studio system. Studio head Darryl F. Zanuck acquired the film rights for the 1944 source novel of the same title by Ben Ames Williams. After the bidding war that erupted, the price was $100,000, quite a large sum for what was at the time an unpublished work. The dexterous screenplay was adapted by Jo Swerling. Experienced director of photography Leon Shamroy was known for color spectacles such as DAVID AND BATHSHEBA (1951), THE ROBE (1953) and CLEOPATRA (1963), not to mention the cult classic THE GIRL CAN'T HELP IT (1956). The various exterior settings in Sedona, Arizona, Bass Lake, California and Warm Springs, Georgia, among others, are well handled and the processed shots are infrequent enough to seem unobtrusive to the overall presentation. But as always seems to be the case for films of all decades, scenes shot day-for-night are not very convincing, and any matte painting clearly is exactly that. No matter, Shamroy was honored with a much-deserved Academy Award for Best Cinematography, Color. During the span of his career, Shamroy received 18 Academy Award nominations for Cinematography and claimed four statues. Director John M. Stahl was one of the 36 founders of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. His credits as director include MAGNIFICENT OBSESSION (1935), IMITATION OF LIFE (1934) and THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM (1944). The impeccably assembled cast of LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN was well chosen, especially Vincent Price as the jilted lover, who disappears long enough to make his commanding return all the more startling. Price was built from the ground up for energetic courtroom drama.

The United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress selected LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN for preservation in 2018. Restorative work was completed by Twentieth Century Fox, the Academy Film Archive and The Film Foundation. The Criterion Collection's newly released dual-layered Blu-ray edition features a 2K digital scan from a 35mm color reversal internegative, framed at 1.37:1 with uncompressed monaural soundtrack. Judge for yourself in comparison with the 1.33:1 Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment DVD version released in 2004:

Criterion Blu-ray

Fox DVD

Criterion's supplemental material is surprisingly light for a film this revered. The only major extra is an interview with Imogen Sara Smith, the author of IN LONELY PLACES: FILM NOIR BEYOND THE CITY (2011). The interview was filmed in November of 2019 and entitled "Imogen Sara Smith on John M. Stahl's LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN" (26m 34s). Smith builds a sturdy case for Stahl as an influential but underappreciated filmmaker, in part because so many of his feature films have not been readily available for viewing, especially his efforts from the silent era. She points to SEED (1931), BACK STREET (1932) and ONLY YESTERDAY (1933) as Stahl's crucial works of the early 1930s. He was on the side of his central female figures, women who received little in return for their commitment to others. Stahl also possessed a command for the tone of his productions that allowed him to smoothly blend comedy and drama. LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN was a departure from everything he had done previously, and the only movie he made that could be discussed in film noir terms. Smith delivers some excellent insights about the characters of the film, especially in relation to color schemes. Given the elaborate attention to background color and wardrobe choices, it is telling that Richard is color-blind; he cannot see his wife for what she truly is. Another good observation from Smith is her take on Ellen, who is not the usual scheming noir temptress, but rather a "monstrous version of the perfect post-war wife." The disc's only other supplement is a theatrical trailer (2m 13s). The packaging includes an essay by novelist Megan Abbott.

Despite this welcome upgrade from Criterion, fans of LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN would be well advised to hang on to the old FOX DVD (or the Twilight Time Blu-ray edition released in 2013), which includes one of my all-time favorite commentary tracks. It features TIME magazine film critic Richard Schickel and Darryl Hickman, the actor who portrayed Danny Harland. Schickel covers a fair amount of historical data about the film's production, but as someone who worked on the film, Hickman's comments are solid gold and the reason to listen. A child actor named after Darryl F. Zanuck by a mother who always wanted to be an actress, Hickman worked in the film industry for many years, both in front of and behind the camera. As an acting coach in later life, he encounters many mothers who have high hopes for their children. His message for each mother is consistent:  wait until your kid is 18. Hickman learned firsthand that a child actor cannot possibly experience a normal childhood. In the course of filming LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN, he learned an actor must become accountable for his own performance since a director may not be helpful with the encouragement of actors, or even understand what actors are trying to do. It proved to be the most difficult assignment of his already extensive list of film appearances. His memory of director John M. Stahl is almost entirely negative, and Hickman credits cinematographer Leon Shamroy for the rich, textured look and overall quality of the Technicolor product. But according to Hickman, Shamroy was not the easiest guy to like either, and star Gene Tierney gave nothing of herself to Hickman or co-star Cornel Wilde. Whatever was going on with Tierney, Hickman assures us she got no support from Stahl! Looking back on the film, Hickman believes Tierney felt inadequate as an actress and shut herself down emotionally to others.

LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN was remade as TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE (1988), a made-for-TV film that starred Loni Anderson as Ellen Berent and Patrick Duffy as Richard Harland.

TRY AND GET ME! (1950)

(aka THE SOUND OF FURY)

United Artists, 92m 18s

"...some of you guys get out here in California, and the damn place is so crazy you just gotta get something to eat some way, don't you?"

—Johnny Cash, recorded live at San Quentin State Prison on February 24, 1969

Not sure if Johnny Cash knew the story of Howard Tyler (Frank Lovejoy in a gripping performance), but I have a feeling Cash would have felt something for this noir protagonist's unenviable plight. One of the doomed individuals of this high-tension noir thriller, Tyler is the type of character even casual film noir fans should recognize as prototypical:  a basically good guy who goes horribly wrong while down on his luck. Thanks to muscular direction by Cy Endfield, the emotional power of TRY AND GET ME! remains forceful almost 70 years after its initial theatrical run.

The material probably would not resonate quite as well without the performance of Lovejoy, who finds himself ideally cast as Tyler, an everyman who has found gainful employment elusive since he relocated his family to California from Massachusetts. The humiliation of unemployment is taking its toll on Tyler, who proudly gives his son Tommy (Donald Smelick) some spending money dad truthfully cannot afford to squander. And with his sweet wife Judy (Kathleen Ryan) pregnant, Tyler feels increased pressure to become a consistent earner. In a chance meeting at a bowling alley, a demoralized Tyler is befriended by Jerry Slocum (Lloyd Bridges), a flashy, self-assured man apparently doing pretty well for himself. It turns out the two attended basic training at the same location. Almost instantly Tyler is drawn to the smooth talker Slocum, who offers Tyler a job as his getaway driver. Without a doubt Slocum is the homme fatale of this narrative, always fussing over his appearance. He prides himself on expensive colognes and silk shirts. In one of my favorite scenes to emphasize Slocum's vanity, Tyler helpfully holds a mirror while Slocum runs a comb through his product-infested hair.

Annoyingly stuck with no other source of income, Tyler joins forces with the temperamental Slocum, who unleashes a detestable mean streak during his first stickup with wheelman Tyler, who does not witness Slocum preying on a defenseless old couple and their son. It is not long before Slocum sets his sights on a bigger payoff than what petty robberies make possible. Slocum and Tyler kidnap Donald D. Miller (Carl Kent), the son of a wealthy man. In one of film noir's most startling scenes, Slocum bludgeons Miller to death while Tyler grimaces. A man without compassion for anyone else, Slocum never harbored any intention of allowing Miller to survive. At this juncture, one suspects both Tyler and Slocum are in for some sort of serious retribution, but the events of the film's final act came as quite a surprise to me. If there ever were a film to go into knowing absolutely nothing about it, this is it.

TRY AND GET ME! opens with a blind preacher (Emerson Treacy) not being heard, with the local populace in an agitated state for reasons not revealed at the outset. The root cause of all this commotion is the inherent problem of a public service that functions as a for-profit enterprise. Newsman Hal Clendenning (Art Smith) is in the business of frightening readers into buying his Santa Sierra Journal. Given the recent robberies of service stations and liquor stores, the opportunistic Clendenning believes a little scaremongering will boost the publication's circulation. Thus the work of a two-bit hoodlum gets reported as a crime wave, with sophisticated out-of-towners pegged as the suspects. Somehow in the middle of all this is Dr. Vido Simone (Renzo Cesana), the rational voice for an objective press that does not strive to condition public opinion. Interestingly, the film’s man of reason is a foreigner. Simone immediately casts doubt over Clendenning's practice of injecting conjecture into reporting, and reminds ace reporter Gil Stanton (Richard Carlson) of his responsibilities to report fairly and accurately. Essentially Simone tells the viewer what to think, for instance, "...if a man becomes a criminal, sometimes his environment is defective." The filmmakers underscore that sentiment early on when they show the reporter Stanton hanging out at the same bowling alley where Tyler fatalistically encounters Slocum. As Simone strongly suggests, it indeed seems the noir environment factors in the downfall of all three of these men. Obviously the noir psychopath Slocum is positioned as the face of evil (especially in his jail cell), but Stanton and Clendenning are arguably more dangerous due to their influence over the mood of the populace. The most insidious thing about the brand of news reporting endorsed by Clendenning is the shared sense of moral superiority it cultivates in its readers. This film noir dishes out an unsparing review of yellow journalism tactics that stoke public adrenaline in the wrong direction.

In terms of genre compliance, TRY AND GET ME! enlists many of the components that had come to define the film noir approach by 1950. The noir narrative is noted for its darkness in terms of both themes and visuals, and this is a fine instance of nocturnal noir in which evil runs rampant at night. When Tyler's association with Slocum begins in earnest, Tyler tells his wife he has returned to the labor force via the night shift. He is being truthful to some degree since his "work" always takes place at night. The raucous final act also fittingly transpires during evening hours. Prior to this film, cinematographer Guy Roe had completed RAILROADED! (1947), BEHIND LOCKED DOORS (1948), TRAPPED (1949) and ARMORED CAR ROBBERY (1950). Roe's acuity of vision reveals a difference between the two condemned men in the jailhouse sequence, when the caged animal Slocum is photographed completely differently from Tyler, with whom we are meant to sympathize.

Thanks in part to the oft-present femme fatale, the film noir sometimes becomes intertwined with misogyny. That this noir entry will go down that road is apparent in the introductory sequence, when a Wells Truckways driver makes his feelings about women known to Tyler. In reference to Tyler's wife and son, the driver comments, "They sure drop the net over you, don't they?" Later the trucker continues with, "...take my old lady, and I'm not kidding, you want her you can have her." In regard to the typical female, Slocum opines, "...they're all partial to the same color:  green." Then there is the two-timing girl at the rock quarry, who explains to her date Johnny she repeatedly has made excuses with her boyfriend so she could rendezvous with Johnny.

The dates Slocum arranges for the sake of cover do not show much substance, at least when introduced. His girl Velma (Adele Jergens) likes the cash Slocum always seems to have, and he likes her idea of running off to Havana for obvious reasons. Initially Velma's manicurist friend and Tyler's blind date Hazel Weatherwax (Katherine Locke) shows little depth ("I hope he isn't bald.") but proves to be a woman of morals, "saving" herself for the right man who does not drink excessively. She also correctly senses Slocum is not trustworthy. Between her and the tender matriarchal figure Judy, who remains fiscally responsible after her husband starts to bring home some money, it might be argued that female archetypes achieve some balance. But that balance is called into question when the story's most respectable female loses everything; the scene when Judy surprises Stanton with a letter from her husband is heartbreaking. Tyler marches down the wrong path in the interest of helping his wife, and instead he destroys her. Does the narrative blame Judy? To a certain extent, it does.

Another line of analysis implies economic isolation and a propensity toward alcohol abuse combine to drag Tyler into an awful place. In the opening act we learn he owes the local market, and his wife thinks of themselves as beggars since they relocated to California. Tyler demonstrates a bad habit of throwing his money around when he does have it, a trait common to Slocum, but otherwise Tyler seems like an ordinary individual, a decent fellow. It is a lack of income that drives him into his reluctant partnership with the heel Slocum. Alcohol absolutely contributes to Tyler's downward spiral, tellingly during his first encounter with Slocum. In another hallmark noir motif, Tyler badly deteriorates mentally after becoming an accomplice to a brutal crime. While trying to maintain his composure in front of a proud new father (Bob Jellison), Tyler suffers a flashback of the murder he witnessed. His cratering continues during the nightclub sequence, where an onslaught of oblique camera angles encourages the viewer to share in his trauma. Tyler is starting to lose possession of his faculties. His breakdown finds completion at Weatherwax's apartment, where he returns in an edgy state after recognizing he no longer has any proper place at his own home. The absent or broken family is another recurring theme of the noir film, and TRY AND GET ME! concludes with the devastation of the Tyler family, along with full recognition of what an irresponsible press inflamed. This sense of loss is best expressed when Tommy is awakened by nightmares in the middle of mob rule in the story's concluding moments.

Jo Pagano's screenplay is an adaptation of his 1947 novel THE CONDEMNED, which was based upon the kidnapping and murder of Brooke Hart that took place in 1933. The alleged killers Thomas Harold Thurmond and John M. Holmes were lynched by an enraged mob of citizens in San Jose, California. It was the first time in American history that lynch mob activity mutated into a media event. Originally the film was released as THE SOUND OF FURY, but after disappointing at the box office it was reissued as TRY AND GET ME! before falling into obscurity. The same year Cy Endfield directed the film noir THE UNDERWORLD STORY, another indictment of yellow journalism. Both films raised the eyebrows of The House Un-American Activities Committee, and Endfield was declared a Communist Party sympathizer. Faced with the prospect of naming names, Endfield moved to England in 1951, where he continued his filmmaking career.

As a confirmed film noir fan for the past 30 years, it pains me to admit I never even had heard of this vitally important noir permutation until I noticed it in a Facebook post from Eddie Muller. TRY AND GET ME! debuted on Turner Classic Movies last month, with an introductory segment by Muller, a welcome listen given the absence of any supplemental material available on the Olive Films single-layered Blu-ray disc released in 2016, which served as the basis for this review. The Olive Films transfer looks outstanding framed at 1.37:1. The source material I assume is the 35mm print owned by Martin Scorsese that was restored by the Film Noir Foundation back in 2011.

Three other films were inspired by the Brooke Hart case:  Fritz Lang's FURY (1936), the short film NIGHT WITHOUT JUSTICE (2004) and Tim Boxell's VALLEY OF THE HEART'S DELIGHT (2006).

ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW (1959)

United Artists, 96m 40s

This transitional film noir from Harry Belafonte's HarBel Productions makes an ideal viewing selection for any cold, rainy afternoon. As it scratches and claws at old wounds inflicted by stubborn racial tensions, ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW is clouded with uncertainty about human nature. Its subject matter never strays far from the pessimistic title treatment. Produced and directed by the estimable Robert Wise, this would be the filmmaker's final teaming with Robert Ryan, who was so impressive 10 years previously in Wise's THE SET-UP (1949). That film examined the decline of a boxer, this one is rooted in the downfall of a former policeman who has one of those supposedly life-changing heists on the docket. "This is a one-time job. One roll of the dice and then we're through forever," according to the aging but energetic David Burke (Ed Begley), who requires two recruits to execute his simple yet ambitious robbery plan.

Burke seems to deserve his confidence in the vulnerability of the bank he has targeted, but maintains too much faith in the men he enlists for the job. The two-time loser Earl Slater (Ryan) is a bitter, lifelong drifter defined almost entirely by prejudice and bigotry. In the opening sequence, he playfully scoops up a small black girl and calls her a pickaninny. Never again will he be that pleasant with anyone. He needlessly loses patience with a hotel clerk (Ed Preble) and radiates no friendliness whatsoever to a black elevator attendant (Mel Stewart). Probably at his most reprehensible, Slater drops the N-bomb when he realizes Burke's heist requires a black man's involvement. Slater also references an old foreman as a Polack. Apparently not an animal lover either, Slater's first reaction when he notices a harmless rabbit is to open fire without reason. What probably irks him more than anything is that his much-younger girlfriend Lorry (Shelley Winters) supports him, a fact that seems to drain him of whatever positive energy he might possess. One of the most revealing moments built around Slater occurs in a barroom confrontation, when he appears to be well set up to walk away the winner. Instead he manages to leave the scene the loser after quickly dismantling a cocky young military man (Wayne Rogers) who obviously needed to be put in his place. Nonetheless Slater is perceived by onlookers as a bully who let his temper get the best of him. As directed by Wise, the persuasive sequence allows the viewer to reach but one conclusion:  the irritable racist Slater should expect to encounter no apologists.

Burke's other accomplice is much more likable than Slater, yet similarly self-destructive in his own fashion. Johnny Ingram (co-producer Harry Belafonte, top-billed) is a problem gambler, well beyond the point of no return with his major creditor Bacco (Will Kuluva). Ingram's money troubles also involve his ex-wife Ruth (Kim Hamilton), who he claims is even tougher than Bacco, "If that alimony isn't there on the first, the lawyer's there on the second." Ingram persistently shows more compassion for others than Slater, though interestingly, Ingram has his own issues with race, particularly when he condemns his progressive ex for fraternizing with whites. "It's their world and we're just living in it," Ingram preaches. Though Ruth sees a future for their daughter Eadie (Lois Thorne) in an integrated society, Ingram sees himself as a black man in a white world in which nothing changes. No doubt Slater confirms Ingram's suspicions about white folks, but the same could not be said about the more liberal Burke. A disgraced cop turned criminal, Burke treats both Ingram and Slater with respect. But when Slater gets out of line with Ingram, Burke is quick to insert himself between the two men, "...I don't wanna hear what your grandpappy thought on the old farm down in Oklahoma..." It's a great movie moment sure to stick with you.

Gloria Grahame steals a scene

Along with SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS (1957), TOUCH OF EVIL (1958), CITY OF FEAR (1959), PSYCHO (1960) and BLAST OF SILENCE (1961), ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW is one of the significant film noir offerings that marks the end of a motion picture movement that thrived for the better part of two decades. It opens and concludes in the gutter, with the opening shot focused on storm water and trash blowing in the wind. Such a beginning announces Wise intends to wade into noir waters populated with urban bottom feeders. The water motif extends north on the Hudson River to Melton, where the bank job is to occur. Before the bank robbery, Ingram's attention is drawn to a doll entrapped by the Hudson River. Does he imagine his daughter's inevitable entrapment in a dark and murky urban environment?

The civil rights movement was well underway at the time of this film's original theatrical run, but the tellingly-entitled ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW implies a long, tough struggle lies ahead before all men might be considered equal. Slater's lack of faith in the black man Ingram leads to a badly botched heist attempt, as well as the death of the man who attempted to bring Ingram and Slater together, the man who detested old "Civil War" attitudes. The climactic sequence at a fuel depot, though an obvious homage to WHITE HEAT (1949), cleverly mocks the absurdity of racism. After the explosive confrontation between Ingram and Slater, no longer are there any noticeable differences that distinguish them. The concluding shot's sign reads "STOP DEAD END," in case anyone missed the major point about the danger of escalating racial tensions. It is not exactly an opaque outcome.

A great sense of rhythm and timing can be expected of any film helmed by Robert Wise. As he did in THE SET-UP, Wise employs an emphatic time motif, again directing the viewer's attention to a city street's clock. The nightclub sequence underscores the time element, but within the context of musical performance. Ingram commands a consummate musician's sense of time during his initial performance. But after his run-in with Bacco and his cohorts, Ingram takes the stage a second time, when he shows no discernible sense of time (his time is running out rapidly).

Cinematographer Joseph C. Brun's New York is notable for its shades of gray, not the high contrast black & white associated with the 1940s noir cycle. ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW would not be the same experience without its location work in and around New York City. Sequences were photographed in Central Park and Central Park West, Manhattan and Triborough Bridge, Bronx. Hudson stands in for the fictitious city of Melton in upstate New York. The screenplay was written by Nelson Gidding and Abraham Polonsky (front John O. Killens), who adapted the novel by William P. McGivern. As the despondent racist Earl Slater, Robert Ryan offers an inspired performance. Ryan had displayed a talent for the portrayal of similarly venomous characters in CROSSFIRE (1947), ON DANGEROUS GROUND (1951) and BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK (1955).

My first look at ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW was courtesy of the DVD issued by MGM Home Entertainment back in 2003. From a picture definition standpoint, the single-layered Blu-ray version available from Olive Films offers an appealing upgrade, with greatly improved contrast and rich textures. The supposedly correct 1.85:1 framing, however, makes me wonder. Although IMDb.com indicates a 1.37:1 negative ratio versus a 1.85:1 intended ratio, the opening credits suggest this letterboxed version is something other than what the filmmakers intended, with some text at the bottom of the frame noticeably clipped. The screen captures below reveal how much information the Olive Films Blu-ray lacks compared to the old MGM DVD, which was framed at 1.34:1. Until someone marches forward with the definitive interpretation, I will hang on to both home video releases of this essential film noir.

Olive Films Blu-ray

MGM DVD

Berkshire Bank 561 Warren St, Hudson, NY 12534

THE HITCH-HIKER (1953)

RKO Radio Pictures, 71m 13s

Fishing pals Roy Collins (Edmond O'Brien) and Gilbert Bowen (Frank Lovejoy) are on the road from El Centro, California to San Felipe, Baja California. After a stop in Mexicali, the men make a potentially grave error when they incautiously pick up the apparently stranded Emmett Myers (William Talman), an itinerant wanted for murder. With revolver in hand, Myers quickly assumes command of the journey, now destined for the port city Santa Rosalía. Myers offers no grain of hope for the unfortunate roadtrippers. "You guys are gonna die, that's all. It's just a question of when," he promises. In the meantime, there is not a moment without worry for Collins and Bowen. At one road stop, Myers gleefully forces Bowen to shoot at Collins in a cruel target practice session. The outlook for the would-be outdoorsmen seems especially grim when it is revealed Myers never sleeps in the conventional sense.

A compact film noir thriller textured with more than the usual grit, THE HITCH-HIKER plugs along in tight alignment with recurring noir tropes and themes. The far-reaching grip of fatalism that so often informs the noir narrative is pervasive in this instance. Only a truly indifferent universe could funnel a couple of decent guys into a ride share with a callous, sought-after killer like Myers. Another line of analysis might consider a misogynistic explanation for the significant plot points. The recreational trip planned by Collins and Bowen is spoiled after an impromptu detour into the seamier side of Mexican urban life, in memory of "a dame" as Myers puts it. Were it not for a brief look at the night life in Mexicali, perhaps another driver would have had the misfortune to encounter Myers and his outstretched thumb.

The unbalanced noir psychopath's erratic behavior of the late 1940s, best exemplified by the giggling maniac Tommy Udo (Richard Widmark) in KISS OF DEATH (1947), invaded the 1950s in forms as diverse as Chester (Neville Brand) from D.O.A. (1950), the aging has-been Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson) clinging to SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950), the temperamental gunslinger Annie Laurie Starr (Peggy Cummins) who goes GUN CRAZY (1950), the coffee-slinging madman Vince Stone (Lee Marvin) who provides THE BIG HEAT (1953) and the disturbed introvert Leon Poole (Wendell Corey) from THE KILLER IS LOOSE (1956). One of the more contemptible villains on cinematic scorecards, Emmett Myers is the embodiment of the '50s noir psychotic, complete with diabolical laugh. From an appearance standpoint his oily skin, greasy hair and upper eyelid paralysis combine to suggest an individual one would be wise to keep at a safe distance. He shares a certain kinship with Elmo "One-Eye" Mobley, AKA Chickamaw (Howard Da Silva) of THEY LIVE BY NIGHT (1948), another disfigured noir character at large in a post-WWII society riddled with wounded men.

Persistently reckless behavior only confirms any judgment made about Myers based solely on his appearance. He not only heartlessly kills humans, but movie sin of sins, defenseless dogs that bark incessantly. His spoken word is unremittingly gruff; seldom is there any calm to his voice. Myers repeatedly employs a xenophobic attitude about Mexican people despite his plan to hide out in Mexico. And like most memorable heels of the cinema, Myers does not see himself as a social problem. He in fact congratulates himself for not participating in a debt-based society that gets people like Collins and Bowen into tough situations. Myers is proud to declare he does not owe anybody anything, and even reminds Collins and Bowen either of them could have escaped had they not felt indebted to each other. At a certain juncture in the story, Collins walks with a pronounced limp, a common noir motif that implies compromised masculinity. Nonetheless, Collins proves himself a better man than Myers, who despite all of his tough talk reveals himself to be a weak person once secured by authorities.

A criminal mug for the ages:  William Talman

In the tradition of ON DANGEROUS GROUND (1951), MOONRISE (1948) and ACE IN THE HOLE (1951), THE HITCH-HIKER is another reminder the noir film need not have primarily urban settings to create a sense of alienation and despair. When Myers, Collins and Bowen continue their journey on foot once their vehicular option has been eliminated, a Mexican desert provides a daunting noir wasteland. In another movie trend of the time, law enforcement entities prove incredibly efficient and effective. California police and Mexican authorities gladly combine their efforts for the benefit of the public. These days such selfless cooperation dates the film more than the black & white cinematography or occasionally stilted dialog ever could.

An independent production of Filmakers Inc., the company created by Ida Lupino and her husband Collier Young to manufacture social-issue programmers, THE HITCH-HIKER was inspired by the murderous exploits of Billy Cook, who went on a 22-day killing spree from Missouri to California in the early 1950s. It was directed by Lupino, who co-wrote the screenplay with producer Collier Young, by then her ex-husband. The script was based upon a story by Daniel Mainwaring, who was blacklisted at the time and thus failed to receive screen credit for his contribution. Lupino also directed two other film noir offerings, OUTRAGE (1950) and THE BIGAMIST (1953), but surely is best remembered by loyal noir fans for her appearances as an actress in HIGH SIERRA (1941), MOONTIDE (1942), ROAD HOUSE (1948), WOMAN IN HIDING (1950) and the undisputed genre classic ON DANGEROUS GROUND. Director of photography Nicholas Musuraca perfected the visual bedrock of the noir film with his mind-bendingly beautiful cinematography that distinguished director Jacques Tourneur's OUT OF THE PAST (1947). His most visually arresting work in this project comes at the concluding sequence at the docks, nicely illuminated to evoke suspense.

The basis for this review is the single-layered Blu-ray edition released by Kino Classics back in 2013, "Preserved by the Library of Congress Packard Campus for Audio Visual Conservation." Framing is at the correct theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1, though the packaging falsely indicates a 1.33:1 presentation.