CROSSFIRE (1947)

RKO Radio Pictures, 85m 38s

As a man is beaten to death in a dialog-free opening sequence, the sometimes savage climate of film noir comes to light quickly and mercilessly in CROSSFIRE. The remainder of the narrative is concerned with how such a thing could occur, under what circumstances another man would feel compelled to kill someone with his bare hands. The success of the production is in its reduction of social complexities to the raw simplicities of human nature. The first major film to deal openly with anti-Semitism, CROSSFIRE is also among the most dimly lit of all film noirs, which provides a suitable backdrop for the social content at the forefront. As a man who has from childhood to adulthood witnessed many spontaneous fistfights, often ignited by the consumption of alcohol, this RKO feature rings especially true to me. Put a few guys in a barroom with varying backgrounds, beliefs and levels of education and stand back. Things can escalate extremely quickly, sometimes with the ringleaders of violence themselves unable to explain what caused the commotion. Such randomness falls well within film noir parameters, where being at the wrong place at the wrong time can have grave consequences.

Film noir emerged from the ashes of WWII, when our soldiers returned to a homeland that was in a state of transition. Some veterans found it no easy task to reintegrate. Such men are the focus of this noir, in which social paralysis results from the collision between soldier and civilian. The demobilized servicemen of CROSSFIRE push this theme in a nocturnal urban no-man's-land, neither at war nor at home, cooped up in area hotels where activities are limited. Thus men in uniform are on nightly pub crawls en masse, trapped in a roundabout of drinking, skirt-chasing, card games and good-ol'-boy stories. That directionless state works to trigger the primordial fears and anxieties of certain men, some of whom become a danger to others, some mostly to themselves. According to Sergeant Peter Keeley (Robert Mitchum), "Soldiers don't have anywhere to go unless you tell 'em where to go. When they're off-duty they go crawling or they go crazy."

The man most impacted by crazy behavior is Joseph Samuels (Sam Levene), killed at the film's exposition. Via flashbacks a gradual portrait of Samuels comes into being. His needless death is investigated by Captain Finlay (Robert Young) a man who collects facts, though he admits most of them are not helpful to his cause. This case he finds particularly puzzling. Why would anyone want to kill Samuels? No obvious motive is apparent. While Finlay surveys the crime scene and hears from Miss Lewis (Marlo Dwyer), who says Samuels was drinking with some military men the prior evening, Montgomery (Robert Ryan) arrives on the scene. Having returned from deployment only two weeks ago, Montgomery reveals a lot of qualities that make the viewer suspicious. He was a cop for four years in East St. Louis, which likely fomented a disdain for people who were somehow different from him. During a partially-true flashback directly related by Montgomery, he expresses contempt for civilian types in the military after reprimanding his fellow soldier Leroy (William Phipps) for clumsiness. In the course of a brief barstool conversation, Samuels tires of Montgomery's attitudes and poor grammar and gravitates to Corporal Arthur Mitchell (George Cooper). When Montgomery realizes Samuels quietly has relocated from a seat next to him, Montgomery's reaction instantly makes his a suspect, but that noticeable response is revealed only to the viewer, not Finlay. Montgomery sees Samuels as a coward who stayed home while real men fought for their country overseas. Unsurprisingly, that assessment proves completely inaccurate. Especially to a modern audience, Montgomery's repeated use of the derisive moniker "Jewboy" tells us everything we need to know about an intolerant man who condemns those who for whatever reason do not subscribe to his rather limited worldview.

The fatal physical beating that marks the film's opening segment is accented be the psychological abuse absorbed by characters who labor through an endlessly difficult noir obstacle course. Of particular note is the mentally tormented Mitchell, the most sensitive of the soldiers profiled, who probably has struggled the most with adjusting to his return to the states. Mitchell is the antithesis of Keeley, who has not seen his wife in two years and seems indifferent. Mitchell is not that sort of man, he is an artist with an artist's sensibility. Sought by police, he cannot remember exactly what happened the night Samuels was killed. True to classic film noir form, his disoriented memory is related through his hazy flashback. After Mitchell leaves the Samuels place, he wanders the uncertainties of noir terrain, as his narration confirms:

"I must have started to walk. I don't remember. I remember a street sign. I couldn't read it. I don't know how far I walked. It must have been a long way."

Later Mitchell relates his state of mind to Keeley more directly:

"...what's happening? Is everything suddenly gone crazy? I don't mean just this. I mean everything. Or is it just me?"

The streets walked by the innocent Mitchell, one of noir's many "wrong man" cases, lead to Ginny Tremaine (Gloria Grahame), a dancehall girl and obvious prostitute. Ginny is the noir woman best avoided, her good looks betrayed by her endlessly standoffish personality. Though her demeanor renders her unsympathetic, one might consider her another casualty of the noir landscape, a woman doing the best she can under the circumstances. Within her apartment is an important ancillary figure to this film noir, a living testimonial to what happens to men who fall for women like Ginny, to men who lack that essential tough guy mentality. The individual portrayed by Paul Kelly is defined entirely by his varying accounts of his relationship with Ginny. He first introduces himself as Ginny's husband as he recalls plans the couple made together that never materialized. One gets the feeling he has told such stories repeatedly, probably to anyone willing to listen, even those who could care less. Perhaps those plans were discussed with Ginny, perhaps not. Such ramblings may not matter to anyone else, but the important element in the context of the film noir is how much his ambitions matter to him. Despite every indication Ginny is an exasperating little tramp, he is obsessed with her anyway, and seems powerless to do anything about it. Hopes and dreams conceived in the past have little value in a post-WWII world that has undergone radical change. As Ginny's long-term suitor attempts to relate his history with her to Finlay and Mary Mitchell (Jacqueline White in the role of the Grahame character's polar opposite), the two leave the apartment in tuned-out disinterest. The character tellingly listed in the credits only as "The Man" could appear in most any film noir and be in good company. His unhealthy fixation with an unattainable woman is the basis for an existence without purpose.

The noir staircase has its role in a nightmarish descent into chaos

Seriously, you remind me of my wife

One of CROSSFIRE's many minimalist lighting effects

If at home we must confront the same ideological struggles for which our servicemen fought overseas, how ironic that CROSSFIRE's story of intolerance revolves around a veteran. Fittingly, the eventual collapse of Montgomery is due to his increasingly unsteady psychological condition. Based on the word of a country boy from Tennessee he always held in low regard, Montgomery is compelled to investigate whether a man he knows he killed somehow remains alive. In the process Finlay cleverly allows Montgomery to incriminate himself by using the racist's memory of murder against him. A bad-tempered man whose instincts and impulses consistently have been shown to be wrongheaded, it feels appropriate Montgomery should be brought down by a lie communicated by the simple man Leroy. The end of the line for Montgomery—gunned down in the dark of night by Finlay—certainly plays differently today than it must have back in 1947. There is also a bit of a preachiness factor that dates the film; Finlay might as well be looking into the camera's lens when he delivers his speech about the realities of prejudice and bigotry. An Irish character, Finlay serves as an emblem for our country's long history of racism and hostility toward foreigners. There is no doubting the sincerity of the filmmakers, though, and of course the message remains an important one. Montgomery is a byproduct of entrenched systemic racism. When a group is denied basic human rights (to join a club, to live in a community, to get a job), Montgomery and others like him derive a sense of empowerment. Sooner or later, civil liberties will be violated more violently. As the great American writer and activist James Arthur Baldwin recognized, to be thought of as equal to another is not an exciting concept for the average person. The notion that an individual might be better than someone else is entirely different.

Producer Adrian Scott and director Edward Dmytryk considered CROSSFIRE part of a trio in conjunction with MURDER, MY SWEET (1944) and CORNERED (1945). In fact a poster for CORNERED is displayed outside the movie theater where Mitchell furtively attends a screening. I think it is fair to say Dmytryk and Scott hoisted film noir to a higher level with these tremendous contributions to the genre, all of which rightly are held in reverence by film noir fans. Dmytryk also helmed THE SNIPER (1952), one of the most crucial noir films of the 1950s and a direct influence on director Martin Scorsese's neo-noir TAXI DRIVER (1976). CROSSFIRE was created on a modest budget yet was ambitious in scope, a social justice story with broad-ranging implications. It was also executive producer Dore Schary's first film at RKO, where he served as head of production for a brief while before defecting to MGM. A low budget production shot in 20 days with less than 150 setups, CROSSFIRE was completed for approximately $250,000 and made a nice profit of $1,270,000. It also received unstinting approval from critics. The screenplay written by John Paxton was an adaptation of the 1945 novel THE BRICK FOXHOLE by Richard Brooks, his debut, optioned for the screen by Scott. In one of the source material's subplots, the hate crime victim was a homosexual in the U.S. Armed Forces. The Production Code did not allow for the homosexual theme, which shifted to an anti-Semitic angle in the Dmytryk film, though something from the original material remains in Sam Levene's portrayal of Samuels, who absolutely seems attracted to Arthur Mitchell in the barroom sequence that so visibly upsets Montgomery. Then consider the fact Samuels invites Mitchell to his apartment while the woman with Samuels leaves the two of them alone. Brooks was a sergeant in the U.S. Marine Corps when he wrote his novel. Robert Ryan was also a Marine when THE BRICK FOXHOLE was published and told Brooks he would like to play Montgomery on the big screen. As a screenwriter, Brooks made his way into the noir arena numerous times, with writing credits for BRUTE FORCE (1947), KEY LARGO (1948), MYSTERY STREET (1950) and STORM WARNING (1951). He would become a filmmaker of interest as well, with a diverse assortment of impressive titles to his credit that includes DEADLINE - U.S.A. (1952), BLACKBOARD JUNGLE (1955), CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF (1958), ELMER GANTRY (1960), THE PROFESSIONALS (1966) and IN COLD BLOOD (1967). Cinematographer J. Roy Hunt utilized various lenses to better capture the increasing menace of Montgomery. Precious little light is speckled throughout the movie; a technical necessity that binds perfectly to the film's pessimistic worldview. Low-key lighting was necessary to distract the viewer from the austere sets. A cinematographer of 200 credits at IMDb.com, Hunt managed the camera for a couple of films that should be of interest to noir fans:  I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE (1943) and THE DEVIL THUMBS A RIDE (1947).

In 1947 the Academy Award for Best Picture went to director Elia Kazan’s GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT, which also dealt with anti-Semitism. CROSSFIRE actually was released theatrically first, a few months prior to GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT. The Edward Dmytryk film also got award attention with five Oscar nominations, including Best Picture (the first ever for a B film), Best Director, Best Writing, Adapted Screenplay, Best Supporting Actor (Robert Ryan) and Best Supporting Actress (Gloria Grahame). Going forward both Ryan and Grahame would long be associated with playing similar characters.

Caught

Thanks to Warner Archive, CROSSFIRE has been made available on Blu-ray by way of a new 1080p HD Master, sourced from a 4K scan of the original camera negative. Framed at the original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1, the wow factor is high—this new scan looks nothing short of amazing and should be considered a mandatory add for noir collectors. Ported from the Warner DVD issued in 2005 is the audio commentary track by Alain Silver and James Ursini, with interview excerpts courtesy of director Edward Dmytryk. The film historians review the careers of producer Adrian Scott and director Dmytryk, who both were among the Hollywood Ten, all cited for contempt of Congress and subsequently blacklisted for their refusal to answer questions in regard to reputed ties to the Communist Party. Both Scott and Dmytryk did prison time. As Dmytryk recalls what it was like to work during the Cold War, he explains his confrontation with the House Un-American Activities Committee effectively took four years out of his life. According to Dmytryk, leftist liberals stopped backing those under fire from Congress during those years, which was upsetting to him. Ultimately Dmytryk was encouraged to speak before the American Legion to demonstrate he was a changed man. That event helped to untangle him from the blacklist. Ironically the most liberal man on the set of CROSSFIRE per Dmytryk was none other than Robert Ryan, the man who played the detestable racist and brutal bully Montgomery. In regard to Gallup poll data that was accumulated before and after preview screenings in Denver, Dmytryk notes the incidence of anti-Semitism dropped 15% once people had seen the film, which speaks to the power of film to shape public opinion. RKO initially wanted nothing to do with CROSSFIRE. Dmytryk and Scott had to convince the studio to take a leap of faith.

Warner Blu-ray

Warner DVD

The commentary track is loaded with useful information to those interested in learning more about film noir. A valuable assertion from Ursini is that character motives are not always clear in the noir universe. The lead protagonist endeavors to discover the truth in an ambiguous world. Another good lesson for students of the genre is what Ursini labels "psychological dysfunction." Noir characters like Mitchell are absolutely correct to feel unfairly embattled, yet his somewhat distorted account of the evening that claimed Samuels is the closest to reality. Another interesting point raised by the commentators is that the filmmakers make no direct references to the odd notion soldiers like Montgomery fought against institutionalized racism overseas.

Also revived from the DVD is the informative featurette "CROSSFIRE: Hate Is Like A Gun" (8m 58s).

THE SUSPECT (1944)

"Well, here's to love grown cold."

—Gilbert Simmons

Set in London's suspiciously innocuous-looking Laburnum Terrace in the early years of the 20th century, THE SUSPECT revels in the sort of hard truths about humanity often explored in the film noir. Numerous trials test our lead protagonist's sense of right and wrong, none more prominent than the dour countenance of a divisive wife contrasted with the unbounded delight of a youthful brunette. By the time the final act is in motion, every imaginable noir force seems arrayed against Philip Marshall (Charles Laughton).

A conscientious shopkeeper with an air of gravitas, Philip is the trusted employee who shuts off the lights and locks the door at the close of each business day at Frazer & Nicholson, retail purveyors of tobacco. At home his position is noticeably less stable. His agonizingly high-maintenance wife Cora (Rosalind Ivan) drives an attention-getting opening act when she chases their son John (Dean Harens) off to Canada. John notes the final straw was when his mother incinerated hours of his work during one of her tantrums. This incendiary family event prompts Philip to relocate his sleeping quarters from the master bedroom to his son's vacated room, a move that infuriates Cora. While at work Philip encounters Mary Gray (the always radiant Ella Raines), a trained stenographer in search of employment. Philip expresses no need for her services, but reveals empathy for Mary when he later finds her sobbing on a park bench. The two become friends and begin to spend time together, an obvious problem on multiple levels, especially given the extreme personality type Cora has registered.

One of film noir's most significant recurring themes is that the institution of marriage is at risk. The major plot mechanics of DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944) provided a compelling reference point for noir films that followed, including SCARLET STREET (1945), MILDRED PIERCE (1945) and THE STRANGE LOVE OF MARTHA IVERS (1946). All of these titles and many others question the viability of marriage and whether long-term gratification for either party is realistic. THE SUSPECT adheres to the identical formula with destabilized marriages next door to each other. In the opening sequence, it is clear Cora has stretched Philip to his breaking point. In testament to the violent potential bottled up within him, he lets her know it is probably best she has no way of knowing exactly what sort of thoughts are bouncing around in his brain. When Cora stalks her husband on a foggy nocturnal street, the atmosphere recalls the unsettling bus sequence of director Jacques Tourneur's horror-noir CAT PEOPLE (1942), another film of the era that seriously questions the notion of the mutually fulfilling marriage. Interestingly, another suspenseful segment that comes toward the end of THE SUSPECT involves a cat. After the stalking segment, Philip discloses his marital status to Mary during what he proclaims will be their final date (ironically, Mary anticipated his proposal). In an attempt to create a fresh start for both parties, Philip speaks honestly as he asks Cora for a divorce:

"...we've never been happy together...not once all the years we've been married."

Cora refuses to suffer the indignity of divorce; the very idea of being viewed as a woman who could not hang on to her husband enrages her. Despite his admirable effort to end a relationship that was platonic anyway, at home Philip again is confronted with an irate Cora, who believes her husband was fraternizing with a "hussy." Cora promises to expose the affair on Christmas Day(!) and unleash life-wrecking scandal for both Philip and his "loose woman" on the side. The combat between husband and wife ends with the unseen death of Cora, who meets her demise at the bottom of her home's staircase, a structure that always seems to function as noir's danger zone.

At the next-door neighbor's residence, another marriage is in dire straits. A man of many shortcomings, Gilbert Simmons (Henry Daniell) is a hard-drinking, good-for-nothing husband to his perfectly pleasant wife Edith (Molly Lamont), who shows classic signs of being physically abused by the man she supports with her allowance. Aware Philip is in an awkward position in regard to the death of Cora, Gilbert attempts an open-ended blackmail scheme. "Hurt or be hurt in this world," theorizes the detestable Gilbert. And yet another bad marriage appears to be in the making:  John is matched with Sybil (Eve Amber), whose insufferable laugh surely has the capacity to make any relationship implode.

Another noir theme central to THE SUSPECT is the emphasis given to the way male characters are perceived by others. In a table-setting sequence planted early, Philip chastises the young boy Merridew (Raymond Severn) for demonstrating the classic behavior of the future embezzler. Philip's ability to wear the mask of moral rectitude is boosted by the local townsfolk who see Philip as a dignified man. Most of the film's details are intended to align us with Philip, especially within his home. He does not appear to deserve the non-stop verbal abuse Cora dishes out on a daily basis (admittedly few men would merit such mistreatment). The viewer is meant to side with Philip throughout most of the narrative, though a turning point is inserted with the introduction of a detective, a borderline requisite character in film noir of this vintage. Inspector Huxley (Stanley Ridges) of the Scotland Yard is quick to deduce Cora easily could have been murdered, despite a coroner's verdict of accidental death. Huxley stages a convincing re-enactment of what the viewer must assume really happened that Christmas Eve. The determination of Huxley ultimately shifts Philip into full-on downward spiral mode. Fittingly as Philip attempts to escape to Canada, Merridew reappears to wish his elder farewell. The boy says his mother sincerely wishes he one day will mature into a fine man like Philip! This scene nicely encapsulates the film's pessimistic take on masculinity, that every man has the potential to emulate Philip. The redemptive concluding sequence implies that, in spite of a powerful confluence of noir forces acting against him, Philip's plight was self-inflicted.

The relationship between Philip and Mary does not come without a strain on credibility:  Charles Laughton was roughly twice the age of his on-screen romantic partner portrayed by Ella Raines and probably not half as good looking. Why a woman who presumably could get any man she wants would be so lonely and immediately interested in Philip is a tough sell. I realize I describe an age-old problem of the movies hardly unique to film noir, and seldom if ever was Raines matched with her physical equal. That is to say Raines could not help but exude some of the traits of the noir femme fatale, even when her character was not overtly evil or seductive. But deliberately of not, Mary is the character who lures Philip into a treacherous noir landscape where danger lurks around every corner. Though the filmmakers do not point the finger at Mary for Philip's eventual destruction, there is no argument that her introduction serves as a catalyst for all the unfortunate events that follow.

1944 was a banner year for the emerging genre of film noir, giving us the aforementioned DOUBLE INDEMNITY as well as DANGEROUS PASSAGE, DARK WATERS, DESTINY, LAURA, MINISTRY OF FEAR, MURDER MY SWEET, STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT and WOMAN IN THE WINDOW, among others. Director Robert Siodmak did not limit his noir output to THE SUSPECT:  his CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY and PHANTOM LADY also hit theaters that year. Siodmak continued to contribute heavily to the genre over the following years, which saw the release of his undisputed classics THE KILLERS (1946) and CRISS CROSS (1949). As for the film under review, THE SUSPECT performed well at the box office and inspired positive critical assessment. Working from the 1939 novel THIS WAY OUT by James Ronald, the adaptation was credited to Arthur T. Horman while Bertram Millhauser wrote the screenplay. Cinematographer Paul Ivano teamed with Siodmak again for THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF UNCLE HARRY (1945) and CRISS CROSS. Ella Raines worked with Robert Siodmak three other times:  PHANTOM LADY, THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF UNCLE HARRY and TIME OUT OF MIND (1947). Rosalind Ivan would portray another memorably shrewish wife in Fritz Lang's SCARLET STREET (1945). To promote THE SUSPECT, Universal condensed the material into a 30-minute radio dramatization that featured Orson Welles in the role of Philip Marshall. The Lux Radio Theatre presented a 60-minute adaptation on April 9, 1945, with Laughton, Raines and Ivan on board.

Inanimate objects granted more emphasis than the protagonist

The Blu-ray version of THE SUSPECT now available from Kino Lorber is on par with their consistently high standards. The dual-layered BD50 disc boasts a new 2K master scan framed at 1.375:1, which looks appropriate and solid in motion. Film historian Troy Howarth contributed the new audio commentary track. His energetic review of this noir condemnation of an essentially decent man is particular strong when focused on the career of Charles Laughton, an actor not remembered as an important film noir contributor, but who appeared in John Farrow's stellar THE BIG CLOCK (1948) and directed the outstanding noir film THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955), sadly underappreciated in its day. Howarth identifies THE SUSPECT 's various ironies, as when Philip offs his wife not to protect himself, but to preserve the reputation of Mary. Howarth also observes it is Huxley, the film's major law enforcement official, who is responsible for the underlying dynamics that spur Philip to commit his second murder. In a related irony, the resolution to both murders comes only after Huxley compels Philip to look inward.

Especially for a film set in 1902, Howarth points out an unusual theme for this era of filmmaking: domestic abuse may lurk behind what seems to be a peaceful exterior setting. Furthermore, the viewer is left to consider whether homicide is sometimes justified. David Lynch would stake out similar territory more famously with BLUE VELVET (1986), especially in terms of sunny appearances versus dark realities, but Robert Siodmak (among others) broke that ground. Howarth builds a credible case for Siodmak as auteur, despite the fact the filmmaker was a contract director assigned to helm projects with the assistance of varying cinematographers. Be that as it was, an auteur element to Siodmak's creative process always is in evidence. There is a persistently shadowy, moody look to his films that extends from his Hollywood output to his later European productions. Even some of his work best defined within the context of other genres maintains noir elements, i.e. SON OF DRACULA (1943) and THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE (1946).

A collection of trailers serves as an advertisement for related titles available from Kino Lorber.

SO EVIL MY LOVE (1948)

Paramount Pictures, 108m 48s

"Wickedness abounds...it's as universal as love."
—Mark Bellis

Film noir might be the most contested genre in cinema history in regard to what accounts for its composition, or what might constitute the best examples and why. Every now and then a casual movie fan asks me, "What is film noir, anyway?" I never know where to begin, and I doubt if I ever have answered the question the same way twice. Yet the hallmarks of the noir structure are easy enough to discern, as they are in SO EVIL MY LOVE, a so-called "gaslight noir" set in Victorian London. A dialectical opposition between classes contributes to a darkly ironic, fatalistic atmosphere where conditions for mutual human benefit do not seem to exist. People of virtue appear to be rare commodities, and true to form for any noir permutation, the past maintains a tight hammerlock on the present. As directed with fastidious care by Lewis Allen, perhaps the most prominent noir theme that distinguishes SO EVIL MY LOVE is the psychological anguish that comes to torture its major characters.

On a ship bound for Liverpool, a missionary's widow named Olivia Harwood (Ann Todd) fatefully encounters Mark Bellis (shifty-eyed Ray Milland), a delirious malarial patient who lives off women. Sought by police on three continents, his essence is revealed early when he learns of Olivia's inherited property, a revelation that causes him to perk up before he instinctively shields his face from area law enforcement. An eminently predatory male, Mark's behavioral mechanisms are energized by greed and self-preservation, nothing more. He becomes a lodger at Olivia's bed and breakfast in Kensington, where he relies heavily on his practiced skills as a player to develop a parasitic attachment to the vulnerable blonde widow. Olivia soon finds herself trapped in a situation in which Mark constantly asks more of her, despite the fact she is not a wealthy woman. She is betrayed by her own persistent feelings for the despicable trickster.

In an inversion of the idealized likeness theme so common in film noir that followed LAURA (1944), Mark's painting of Olivia works to awaken her missed opportunities. She looks at her portrait and sees only unrealized potential. That nagging feeling of disappointment works in favor of Mark's agenda as he reminds her a lifetime of giving to others has done nothing to enrich her own life. He skillfully inculcates her with a sense of entitlement. That coupled with Mark's immutable appetite for money consistently coerces Olivia into making bad decisions, even though she only desired togetherness. The piano instructor Miss Shoebridge (Muriel Aked), a troglodyte tenant who leaves the Harwood house in a huff, suspects Olivia is possessed by the devil. Could be—Mark's acts of deception know no boundaries. After Olivia steals financial assets due to intense encouragement from Mark, he boldly hides 40% of the income realized from the sale!

A man of multiple identities (Mark, Robert, Gilbert, Kenneth), always the badge of the noir cad, the homme fatale Mark recalls similarly odious film noir schemers such as Charlie Oakley (Joseph Cotten) in SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943) and Ronnie Mason (Zachary Scott) in DANGER SIGNAL (1945). Though a painter of some talent, Mark has no qualms about stealing paintings and eventually overcomes his reluctance to sell imitations of famous artists. In a speech that lays the groundwork for art forgery, Mark expresses concern that appreciation for art is locked in achievements of long ago. He thinks it highly unlikely a new artist could be discussed alongside the accepted greats, and even if it happened, the best one could hope for is posthumous acclaim. That accounts for his somewhat uneasy criminal allegiance with Edgar Bellamy (Raymond Lovell). It is never revealed exactly what past events bind Mark with Edgar, though it is inferred if one goes to the gallows, so does the other.

Much of film noir is grounded in a cynical assumption about human nature:  people like Mark derive a satisfying sense of superiority through manipulation and control of others. Henry Courtney, Esq. (Raymond Huntley), a tyrannical purveyor of entrenched patriarchal values, is another such individual, especially with the added presence of his icy mother (Martita Hunt). An annoyingly condescending and chauvinistic husband, he threatens to commit his troubled wife Susan Courtney (Geraldine Fitzgerald) to a sanatorium. Susan is a jittery neurotic in desperate need of a helpful support network, but probably not the sort her husband has in mind. She shows her humanity when she scrapes up twenty pounds for Olivia, but of course the funding is turned over to Mark in short order. Unable to provide her husband an heir (probably through no biological fault of her own, though Henry's potency is called into question), Susan progresses from a fragile psychological state to borderline madness, thanks mostly to the combined efforts of a domineering husband and a false friend. Everyone who should care for her turns on her. The indifferent noir universe really has it in for Susan, shown to be on unsteady ground when we first meet her, and unable to stand by the film's final act. She even comes to believe those who see guilt in her must be correct.

SO EVIL MY LOVE is steeped in moral ambiguity, with no character dramatically better than another. The dynamic between Henry and Olivia illustrates that notion perfectly. Henry hires Olivia to keep a watchful eye on the dipsomaniacal Susan, but ironically his incessant cruelty intensifies Olivia's allegiance with Mark as she removes valuables from the Courtney estate. When she seemingly seizes the upper hand against Henry, Olivia relates her unprecedented feeling of empowerment to Mark:  "It was a wonderful sensation. I've never had it before." Such are the words of a woman long accustomed to patriarchy as society's dominant ideology. Interestingly, Henry expresses only mild annoyance when confronted with her £5000 blackmail attempt. In the film noir, to exert or absorb such pressures is to be expected of everyone concerned.

The concluding sequence implies female sacrifice is necessary to topple entrenched patriarchal power, even in a house of worsening male health. That takes "a brave woman" according to the private investigator Jarvis (Leo G. Carroll), who serves as the morality mouthpiece ("...the things you'd find in the most respectable neighborhood you'd be surprised..."). The impotent barrister Henry embodies aristocratic decay, the mean man with (naturally) a weak heart, chronic sickness clinging to power. It is worth noting Henry actually outwits Olivia's blackmail maneuver; it is her physical vitality that leads to his defeat, not her prep work. As for Mark, his shallow woman on the side Kitty Feathers (Moira Lister) unknowingly activates his comeuppance. Through the return of an item originally owned by Susan, Olivia learns the hard truth:  the widow has been both victim and victimizer. The narrative's power struggle triggers mental trauma episodes that recall the type of psychological hell promised for wrongdoers in the nightmarish conclusion of Fritz Lang's SCARLET STREET (1945). Mark questions everything about himself and Olivia is plagued by deeds that cannot be undone. Far worse off is Susan, left in the wreckage of one of film noir's many fruitless marriages. Though the most reprehensible men of the film are unable to avoid the sting of retribution, the all-male jury that judges Susan reflects an aging last bastion of male privilege unlikely to go quietly.

Die by the sword

To topple patriarchy, a woman must fall

An Anglo-American co-production between Paramount's Hal Wallis Productions and Denham Studios in England, SO EVIL MY LOVE is an adaptation of the 1947 novel FOR HER TO SEE by Gabrielle Margaret Vere Campbell Long (published under the pseudonym Joseph Shearing). Certain plot elements may have been derived from the unsolved death of barrister Charles Bravo in 1876, as well as the death of Cesar Young in 1905. The pleasingly literate screenplay was written by Ronald Millar and Leonard Spigelgass. Cinematographer Mutz Greenbaum's virtuosity with camera placement is apparent at all times; there is a logical elegance to the simplicity of coverage that breezes effortlessly through a world of endless deceit.

The Kino Lorber dual-layered Blu-ray edition released recently serves up a new 2K master and looks very good in motion, various scratches be damned. Framing is approximately 1.38:1. The disc includes a new audio commentary track from incisive film historian Imogen Sara Smith, who appraises classic film as well as anyone. For an old-school film fan like me, one must come prepared with a quality pen and a lot of paper when Smith is talking; there is much to note. One of her best findings is that none of the many transgressions seem justified or are likely to evoke a sympathetic response from the viewer, yet somehow one is able to empathize with the principal characters, however unappealing they may be. Indeed the film noir specializes in the presentation of such patterns of criminal behavior. Part of the package is a level playing field; the lower class is depicted no better than the upper class in terms of a moral compass. Also according to Smith, the film noir under review provides a rare glimpse into a relationship between women with its "...believable if ugly portrait of female friendship..."

A trailer gallery includes the featured film and several other related titles available from the ever-reliable Kino Lorber.

PORTRAIT OF JENNIE (1948)

Selznick Releasing Organization, 86m 27s

"There's something different about that child."
—Eben Adams

At times my random movie selections yield unexpected parallels and pronounced contrasts. The day prior to viewing PORTRAIT OF JENNIE my choice was SOUL (2020), the latest creation from Pixar Animation Studios. The Pixar film presents a jazz pianist in search of his big break, that special performance that catapults a musician into the public consciousness for good. By way of an incredible adventure, he learns a person's life should not be defined by a narrow pursuit. Life is about living each moment for all it is worth, savoring all of the little day-to-day things our wonderful world has to offer. In its story about a struggling artist in search of the recognition that has eluded him, the hybrid romantic fantasy / film noir PORTRAIT OF JENNIE makes precisely the opposite point.

At The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City hangs a painting entitled "Portrait of Jennie," completed in 1934 by local artist Eben Adams (Joseph Cotten). After the introductory segment attests to the importance of what we are about to see, we meet the as of yet unsuccessful artist Eben in the winter months of 1932. With an affectless voice, he presents some of his landscape paintings to Matthews (Cecil Kellaway) and Miss Spinney (the always credible Ethel Barrymore). Matthews registers no interest in Eben or his work, but Spinney sees something in him and makes a purchase against the better judgment of Matthews. Eben then encounters an oddly enchanting teenage girl in Central Park named Jennie Appleton (Jennifer Jones). After some mysterious dialogue, she vanishes. Taken with the girl, Eben pulls an all-nighter to sketch her to the best of his memory. He later discovers a newspaper that was in Jennie's possession was printed in 1910.

NY through a canvas

A young woman from the great beyond?

Thanks to the encouragement of his buddy Gus O'Toole (David Wayne), Eben lands a job painting a bar mural of Michael Collins for pub proprietor Moore (Albert Sharpe), but all of Eben's thoughts are with the enigmatic girl Jennie. Spinney buys his sketch of her, which seems to confirm Eben's promise as a serious artist. He honors his contract with Moore, but shows no pride in unveiling his finished project as the artist makes a quiet exit from the noisy pub. A far more important assignment awaits with his ethereal vision Jennie, who fires-up Eben to believe his portrait of her will bring him an international audience. If Eben's early paintings lacked passion, there is nothing emotionally hollow about his devotion to Jennie and his rendition of her likeness.

As is too often the case in Hollywood cinema of all eras, the age difference between the two leads is rather off-putting (about 14 years, complicated by the fact Cotten looked a bit older than he was and Jones looked younger). More troublesome is Eben's fascination with Jennie as a child; at least Jennie does not enter Eben's apartment until she is able to announce her status as college freshman. By the time she graduates, Eben wishes to marry his muse. Eben's feelings for Jennie are buoyed by his friendly relationship with the older Miss Spinney, which suggests a certain timelessness about human affection.

The inspiration of a lifetime emerges from darkness

Based upon the 1940 novella of the same title by Robert Nathan, PORTRAIT OF JENNIE is a product of The Selznick Studio, with plenty of flourishes that announce the fact. William Dieterle was an inspired choice to direct for Selznick. The director of THE DEVIL AND DANIEL WEBSTER (1941), Dieterle shows great awareness of depth in his compositions; often the viewer's eye is compelled to review information in the foreground, middleground and background. Dimitri Tiomkin's musical score, based upon themes of Claude Debussy, sometimes becomes overly intrusive, especially when it needlessly alerts the viewer we are in the presence of the fantastic. Ultimately the production's budget would tailspin out of control due to a revolving door of writers (Leonardo Bercovici, Paul Osborn, Peter Berneis, Ben Hecht), an extended shooting schedule, the addition of a Magnascope process with green tint for the lighthouse sequence and the high costs associated with extensive location work. The result was a box office failure that had a chilling effect on Selznick's career as a producer. Nonetheless PORTRAIT OF JENNIE would win the Academy Award for Best Effects, Special Effects. Cinematographer Joseph H. August, who died shortly after the production's completion, received a posthumous nomination for Best Cinematography, Black-and-White. His occasional shots through a painter's canvas memorably add to the film's dramatic momentum.

The perfect balance:  foreground/background composition

Though doubtless intended a romantic fantasy first, the filmmakers tap into a noir palette for their overarching theme of irreversible tragedy. The noir film often insists current events are dominated by something significant that happened in the past. That notion is embedded in the very titles of some of the genre's well-known classics, i.e. OUT OF THE PAST (1947), THE DARK PAST (1948) and TOO LATE FOR TEARS (1949). With the spectral character of its title, PORTRAIT OF JENNIE shares a connection to those films, and even reaches beyond them in the way it conflates the past with the present. When Eben first meets Jennie, she talks about the past as if it were the present. We discover she has no choice, she is a tragic noir character forever trapped in a time passed.

The film noir sensibility of PORTRAIT OF JENNIE is immersed in water, which factors in the death of Jennie, who interestingly reappears surrounded by snow and ice. In his "notes on film noir" (FILM COMMENT, Vol. 8, No. 1 [SPRING 1972], pp. 8-13), Paul Schrader observed:

"There seems to be an almost Freudian attachment to water. The empty noir streets are almost always glistening with fresh evening rain (even in Los Angeles), and the rainfall tends to increase in direct proportion to the drama. Docks and piers are second only to alleyways as the most popular rendezvous points."

The water motif that trickles through the film is absorbed in two other crucial noir themes:  obsession and fate. Eben's pursuit of Jennie is a story of hopeless obsession, a search in vain for an unattainable woman. Mother Mary of Mercy (Lillian Gish) reveals the impossibility of Eben's desire to be with Jennie, last seen near Land's End in Cape Cod some 10 years ago. The fate element is underscored when Matthews' dog makes a beeline for Eben. Matthews explains his dog gravitates to strangers who are in some sort of danger zone. An animal's instinct proves sound when fate leads Eben to a climactic sequence in New England that seems to mark him for death, in many ways the most logical conclusion for the narrative. Indeed it would be more appropriate for Eben to lose his battle with the raging storm that seems brought about by Jennie herself. Eben's existential determination is curious; not only what looks to be certain oceanic death deters him from a woman who no longer exists. From a casting standpoint, noir credibility is well established with the sturdy presence of Joseph Cotten, who appeared in CITIZEN KANE (1941) and SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943), films that would influence the noir form considerably. He also appeared in WALK SOFTLY, STRANGER (1950), an underrated noir gem that deserves critical reassessment (did film critic Bosley Crowther ever get it right?).

Rainfall follows Jennie's departure

The dual-layered Blu-ray edition available from Kino Lorber Studio Classics is framed at 1.33:1, in disagreement with the original theatrical aspect ratio of 1.37:1 (according to IMDb.com). Though generally acceptable, the source material reveals a fair amount of scratches and various artifacts. The audio commentary track is courtesy of film historian Troy Howarth, perhaps the most affable voice working today. As always, he shows both deep knowledge and passion for the film under review. His standout observation is the inherently humanistic quality of PORTRAIT OF JENNIE; all of the film's characters are basically good people. With the occasional exception, such food has been eliminated from Hollywood's modern menu. Indeed there are some "creepy undercurrents" to the romance as Howarth puts it, but I agree the filmmakers make no attempt to nudge the viewer's thoughts in that direction. The driving force behind the film was producer David O. Selznick, whose production goal was a lasting tribute to the love of his life. Those who subscribe to the auteur theory tend to point to directors exclusively, though Howarth considers Selznick one of those rare producers who might be considered in such terms.

Howarth dives deeply into the background information of all of the major contributors, and even offers good details about some of the bit players. Howarth cites Berkeley Square, a play by John L. Balderston that premiered in 1926, as a work that likely influenced PORTRAIT OF JENNIE. The portrait around which the plot revolves was painted by artist Robert Brackman, who required multiple attempts to produce a product in harmony with Selznick's conception.

The disc also includes a trailer gallery.

The noir staircase

Finished portrait of Jennie, unveiled in three-strip Technicolor