NIGHTMARE ALLEY (1947)

Twentieth Century Fox, 111m 39s

"Film noir is the most American film genre, because no society could have created a world so filled with doom, fate, fear and betrayal, unless it were essentially naive and optimistic."

—Roger Ebert (January 30, 1995)

The social spectrum of the film noir discloses uncomfortable truths about American society, the sort of reporting many of us would rather not encounter. In social terms, NIGHTMARE ALLEY is one of the most unequivocally American of all film noirs, its nightmare forcefully embedded in long-held American sensibilities and ideals. Hollywood likes to memorialize human perseverance stories, but this noir tour de force serves as a tale of caution about a man who "reached too high," the square-jawed hero gone rogue. An aggressive man armed with good looks and an inspired idea rises to the top of his trade, then falls to a place far lower than his humble beginnings. His unenviable career trajectory acknowledges a grim reality of American upward mobility. Though a capitalist system makes uncapped riches possible, this film noir suggests to reach beyond one's place is an exercise in futility.

Set in the heartland of the US, NIGHTMARE ALLEY is constructed around the history that binds Zeena Krumbein (Joan Blondell) and Pete Krumbein (Ian Keith), a married couple and once top-billed vaudeville act thanks to an arcane code known only to them. Thanks to the complexity of that code, Zeena appeared to possess inexplicable powers as a seeress. These days Zeena and Pete perform a diluted version of their act in a carnival sideshow, with Pete barely functional due to chronic alcoholism. Despite his shaky condition, Zeena remains intensely loyal to her husband, at least in a caretaker sense. Our lead protagonist is a noir survivor named Stanton "Stan" Carlisle (Tyrone Power), a sycophantically charming but always covetous charlatan. While Zeena and Pete have accepted their best days are behind them, Stan hopes his time has yet to come. His talents all involve the manipulation of anyone standing in front of him, whether they are coworkers, audiences or even his wife.

A selfish personality may not make for good company at the family dinner table or a company event, but that type of individual sometimes thrives in our free-market economic system. The ideological challenges and thematic oppositions of capitalism permeate film noir time and again, with the genre serving as clearinghouse for the inherent flaws of private enterprise. While the market economy allows great celebration for some, film noir tends to focus on those whose invitations to the party got lost in the mail. Noir characters often feel economic constraints have been imposed on them. Income inequality seems to have a preferential place in the noir narrative, particularly when one of the major characters plans to do something about it. Laws will be broken and people will get hurt, some irrecoverably. The human cost associated with Stan's aspirations is manifested quickly; he essentially sentences Pete to death with the gift of a full bottle of moonshine, which turns out to be wood alcohol. Stan was unaware of the accidental bottle switch, but it makes little difference. Clearly his thoughts were in place:  get Pete out of the way, get working with Zeena on her secret code ("Over my dead body..." Pete had mentioned in an earlier scene when Stan was getting inquisitive about the code). In other words, one man's agonizing decline marks the ascent of another man, which is to say Stan prospers after the death of Pete. That basic dynamic reinforces one of the more unappealing assumptions of capitalism, that for every material world success someone (or, more likely, a large group) is left out in the cold. Pete stands for the displaced man in an economic system unsympathetic to his affliction.

"Son, that's the gospel truth."

With Pete out of the picture, Stan absorbs the proprietary code and works effectively with Zeena before entranced onlookers. Next something even more remarkable transpires:  Stan flaunts his seemingly limitless potential as a mentalist when he manipulates a man of the law (James Burke). With Stan cleverly at work under the guise of civility, borderline as a man of God, the scene is played for laughs on one level, but on another level rests the unfunny suggestion the lawman need not be a barrier to the ambitious. If Stan can subvert an experienced local law official, especially a crusty old doubter, perhaps he can bend anyone's will to his liking.

Armed with the same code once employed by Zeena and Pete, Stan aggressively pursues big-city fame and fortune. With a fair amount of initial success, he enters an upper class world where entry is reserved for a chosen few. Perhaps the most noir thing about NIGHTMARE ALLEY is the manner in which its charismatic lead extends his magnetic pull to the viewer. Who wouldn't want to evolve from smalltime carny into The Great Stanton?  In spite of Stan's many dubious qualities, regardless of his connection to the death of Pete, we find ourselves pulling for a man of moral ambivalence. It is not difficult to empathize with him in a general way; his ambitions are not dramatically different than anyone else's, the only difference is the lengths to which he will go to execute his plans. His underprivileged background is another critical factor that makes him more likable, if not morally defensible. Stan's upbringing does not evoke pleasant childhood memories:  he was beaten routinely in an orphanage before graduating to reform school. With a background like that, his drive to ascend into a higher social stratum comes off as a bit more palatable. Or maybe interminable greed is ingrained in his DNA? Stan briefly discusses his egocentric tendencies during a private conversation with Zeena:  "I wonder why I'm like that...never thinking about anybody except myself." He seems aware he has reached his genetic destiny when he accepts employment at the very bottom of the carnival trade during the film's concluding sequence. He ironically states, "I was made for it." If indeed Stan was somehow pre-engineered for his final role, that means he was not born to walk among Chicago sophisticates.

However one might want to account for Stan's rise and fall, NIGHTMARE ALLEY's cynical take on the American dream is along for the ride. In his journey from unremarkable carny to prominent mentalist to stigmatized outcast, our most optimistic notions about endless riches for dogged determination are defeated with Stan. His illusion of propriety ultimately exposed, Stan goes from seemingly limitless upward mobility to a wretched place of immobility, with absolutely no potential for realignment with the upper class he once navigated with supreme confidence. From a Marxist school of film criticism, the story provides a stark reminder of the rigidity of American socioeconomic boundaries.

The decadence represented by the carnival creates a befitting noir backdrop in this film noir and numerous others, including touchstones such as GUN CRAZY (1950), ACE IN THE HOLE (1951) and STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951). The commotion of carnival life intentionally blurs the line between illusion and reality, what we see and what we do not see, what we believe and what we do not believe. Such uncertainty blends well with the genre's overarching mood of pessimism. That the carnival travels from one place to another works to convey a relentless, ubiquitous noir atmosphere, unsparingly omnipotent. Such a climate is encapsulated fittingly by Zeena's tarot cards, which persistently provide prescient warnings while Stan looks askance.

Closely intertwined with the carnival's noirish conditions emphasized by the tarot cards is Stan's progressively unsteady psychological state. His distressed frame of mind is suggested by the "inhuman" geek's cries of anguish that plague him at several crucial turning points. He cannot seem to escape the threat of being reduced to the lowest level of entertainment, a tragic Id case to be fed live chickens for public amusement. Likely what invigorates the geek in Stan is his humbling recognition he has become the semi-functional drunkard Pete, the man he wanted to replace all along! Consumption of alcohol largely contributes to Stan's torturous downward slide into existential purgatory, where he looks like a bum and smells like a whiskey bottle. The noir film frequently positions alcohol as a harmless vice, but not always, as we witness here and in other instances that include BLACK ANGEL (1946), CROSSFIRE (1947), TRY AND GET ME! (1950) and IN A LONELY PLACE (1950).

A woman's gaze looms large in the opening segment, when Zeena confirms her sexual interest in the younger Stan. To analyze the film in terms of gender representation, disparate female characters help empower Stan, but in due course those same women unplug him, his reduction certified in writing when an emphatic newspaper headline announces he is sought by police. He makes his first major mistake when he turns his back on Zeena, the woman who installed his enhanced capabilities as a mentalist. Stan never considers the possibility that same person could foretell the removal of the skill set she set in motion. After Stan's relationship with Zeena no longer matters to him, the homme fatale moves on to the ingénue Molly (the genial-looking Coleen Gray), who becomes his wife and work wife (partner in their act). As his reputation as a mentalist grows, thanks in large part to encouragement from Zeena and Molly, Stan's belief in himself balloons to epic proportions. His carnival days seemingly long behind him, he preys upon the fragile state of the society woman Addie Peabody (Julia Dean), who desperately misses her departed daughter. In awe of Stan's visions, she financially backs him in the hope he brings others the identical "spiritual comfort" he brought her. In search of even larger stacks of money (no amount is sufficient of course), Stan targets the skeptic Ezra Grindle (Taylor Holmes), a ruthless tycoon who gets over his suspicions and arranges a $150K capital injection for Stan. Assured Ezra is susceptible to further acts of treachery, Stan swoops in for the kill by staging an ethereal appearance of Ezra's deceased sweetheart. Having advanced to the stage of full-blown noir sociopath, Stan makes the catastrophic error of coercing his principled wife Molly into playing along. As so many noir films have echoed, the portrait of marriage as an institution of longevity is questioned in NIGHTMARE ALLEY. Molly has too much character to become Stan's accomplice, Stan has too much self interest to go along with his wife's better judgment. His inability to function as a good husband and decent man makes him susceptible to Molly's antithesis, the deviously capable femme fatale Lilith Ritter (Helen Walker), a psychologist. Lilith’s disruptive nature is apparent when Stan first visits her office, where imprisoning shadows imply a lethal trap has been set. Lilith and the schemer Stan form a sleazy noir partnership for the ages, with the headshrinker tapping into personal patient information for astronomical profit. When their alliance expires, Lilith proves herself by far the superior con artist. She plays his game, washes her hands of him and walks away the winner. Thus Stan is brought down by a combination of feminine control, both benign and malignant.

The psychology theme is another vital noir angle, with a psychologist character sometimes shown in unflattering light, i.e. CAT PEOPLE (1942), SHOCK (1946), WHIRLPOOL (1950). Lilith is a psychologist both psychologically complex and conniving, as much competent professional as willing trickster. The most decisive moment for Stan occurs when he seeks Lilith's therapeutic services after again being tormented by the screams of the geek. He reveals his vulnerability during the therapy session, which paves the way for his downfall. The only consolation for Stan at the film's resolution is a reconciliation of sorts with his wife, but that reunion comes at a costly price. That is the ideological function of film noir more often than not:  even the redemptive ending has an incurably somber tone. By all accounts the conclusion was intended to soften the landing of the even more downbeat source novel of the same title, but I am not sure Stan's position improves a great deal. Whether he is the new geek (novel) or the new Pete (film) his destiny will be to drink himself to death.

Director Edmund Goulding had helmed Tyrone Power's prior star vehicle, THE RAZOR'S EDGE (1946). Here Goulding delivers one of the most enduring of all film noirs, a production that looks more impressive the more I look at it. It is absolutely loaded with cinematic language that speaks to those who want to listen, with the iconography of film noir particularly vocal in the form of shadows that create visual instability. One of my favorite moments of the film is Goulding's introduction of the villainess. As the camera pans to follow the sweetness portrayed by Coleen Gray, the tracking halts abruptly to focus on the dangerous intellectual played by Helen Walker. Cinematographer Lee Garmes also worked on PORTRAIT OF JENNIE (1948), which shares an indisputable kinship with NIGHTMARE ALLEY in relation to how a female specter is presented. The imposing presence of Mike Mazurki never seems to do any harm to a film noir, and other notable supporting performances are contributed by Ian Keith, James Burke and Taylor Holmes.

NIGHTMARE ALLEY has arrived on dual-layered Blu-ray as part of The Criterion Collection. The new 4K digital restoration is framed at 1.37:1 and was derived from a 35mm nitrate composite print. Compared to the DVD released in 2005 for the Fox Film Noir DVD series from Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, more information is conveyed on all four sides of the frame. Alongside other film noirs of that era that have been resurrected on Blu-ray, i.e. OUT OF THE PAST (1947), KEY LARGO (1948) and NIGHT AND THE CITY (1950), the transfer looks a little soft, but the overall visual impact is more than acceptable and a fine upgrade for owners of the Fox DVD.

Criterion Blu-ray

Fox DVD

The new Criterion Blu-ray offers a slew of supplemental material, starting with the audio commentary track recorded in 2005 for the Fox DVD. Commendable film noir experts Alain Silver and James Ursini stress NIGHTMARE ALLEY was matinee idol Tyrone Power's project; 20th Century Fox studio chief Darryl F. Zanuck did not aid in the film's promotion. Power wanted it, he made it happen. His hope was to step away from romantic leading roles to something that would allow him to demonstrate his talent range as an actor. Though an obvious success from an artistry standpoint, NIGHTMARE ALLEY was not a financial winner; audiences did not accept Power as the lead in this type of project. The source material was written by William Lindsay Gresham, whose debut novel NIGHTMARE ALLEY was published in 1946. An alcoholic, Gresham was abusive to his wife Joy Davidman, who later married C. S. Lewis. Gresham would kill himself at the Hotel Carter, Manhattan, the identical hotel in which he wrote NIGHTMARE ALLEY. Gresham was once a member of the communist party, which was by no means unusual for a writer during this era, but that piece of information is interesting given the nature of the material under consideration. Silver makes an excellent point that the moral code of behavior is more strict in the carnival than the outside world, especially in comparison with the upper class. My favorite observation from the commentators is that Stan struggles to come up with enough ink to write the word "wife." It is a terrific moment in the film, so subtle yet so telling.

New bonus material includes an interview (31m 52s) with film scholar Imogen Sara Smith, who has her gameface on, as always. Smith explains the Gresham novel was condemned widely on grounds of blasphemy, so much so the pending film adaptation prompted letters of protest from an outraged public. The alcoholic Gresham was himself the subject of psychoanalysis, so it is fair to surmise he wrote NIGHTMARE ALLEY at least in part from self experience. New evidence suggests the author may have received a terminal cancer diagnosis before he chose to end his life in 1962. Producer George Jessel and screenwriter Jules Furthman were brought in to downplay the deeply cynical tone of the book, as well as make the film a little more Production Code ready. Plot elements scrubbed from the source material include the botched back alley abortion that kills Ezra's love and the sexual relationship between Stan and Lilith (in the movie he shrugs off her advances, preferring they focus on their business affairs). I did not think about it while watching NIGHTMARE ALLEY three times in one week, but Smith observes this is one of the few film noirs to not feature guns. "All of the torments are internal," according to Smith. I agree this is a purely psychological film noir, as opposed to the more visceral style of noir favored by filmmakers such as Phil Karlson, Anthony Mann and Nicholas Ray, who did not shy away from featuring violent situations. Another compelling point raised by Smith is that interest in spiritualism is always strongest after times of war, when people want to connect with friends and family lost in military conflict.

Also fresh for 2021 is "Step Right Up! Todd Robbins on the History of the American Sideshow" (19m 17s). The author of THE MODERN CON MAN: HOW TO GET SOMETHING FOR NOTHING (2008) tracks the evolution of the carnival and sideshow from a world's fair held in Chicago in 1893. Fans of NIGHTMARE ALLEY will be interested to hear Robbins confirm how a geek was manufactured. The hopeless alcoholic or mentally deficient man (or both I suppose) merely pretended to devour a chicken's head in return for a daily bottle and a place to sleep. Eventually the sideshow boss would demand the chicken's head be bitten off for real or no more bed and bottle. Completely dependent on the regular alcohol dose and without any better options to get it, the geek complied. The sideshow declined as rides became more prevalent in the traveling carnival and improved prenatal care minimized the birth of “freaks.”

"Coleen Gray on NIGHTMARE ALLEY" (12m 41s) was recorded in 2007 and appears here courtesy of the Film Noir Foundation. Gray recalls working with Darryl F. Zanuck, Tyrone Power and director Edmund Goulding. The actress credits Goulding for encouraging her to control her emotions when her instincts were to give too much as an actress. In the 1971 audio excerpt (9m 36s) with Henry King, the filmmaker describes how he convinced Zanuck to feature the young unknown Power in LLOYDS OF LONDON (1936). While reviewing the dailies, Zanuck informed King the director’s instincts were correct about Power. A trailer (2m 30s) is also selectable, and the packaging includes an essay by film critic and screenwriter Kim Morgan, who along with Guillermo del Toro co-wrote the screenplay for the remake, currently scheduled for release December 2021. Another nice add within the packaging are six tarot cards. I took care not to allow any of them to fall to the floor.

THEY WON'T BELIEVE ME (1947)

RKO Radio Pictures, 94m 57s

“Man plans and God laughs.”

—Yiddish proverb

Marital dissatisfaction and infidelity inform a vast array of film noirs, but that is not to imply all cases are stamped from the identical template. The major protagonists who stray from their partners in DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), THE SUSPECT (1944), SCARLET STREET (1945), MILDRED PIERCE (1945) and NOTORIOUS (1946) may not always be entirely sympathetic, but their respective spouses are depicted in a far more negative light. Such a dynamic allows the viewer to support or at the very least understand the motivations of the character defaulting on his or her wedding vows. It is less easy to back Larry Ballentine (Robert Young), the inveterate philanderer of THEY WON'T BELIEVE ME, directed by Irving Pichel. For all the healthy benefits married life provides Larry, his preferred regimen demands women on the side.

As the narrative commences, the 34-year-old stockbroker Larry is on trial for murder. His rustic attorney Cahill (Frank Ferguson) suggests Larry was led astray by a woman, but of course there is much more to it than that. As Larry takes the stand, the film assumes customary noir flashback form. We land in a New York restaurant, where Larry awaits the arrival of his mistress Janice Bell (Jane Greer), a journalist. Her damaged cigarette case prompts his purchase of a gold replacement case, but the gesture is not meant to be. When Larry arrives home, he learns he has forgotten his five-year anniversary with his wife Greta (Rita Johnson). Trapped with no better alternative, he gives the recently-purchased gold cigarette case to Greta, thus confirming his heel personality. Tired of her role as the other woman, Janice announces her transfer to Montreal, but Larry hopes to hang on to her. His plans are thwarted when Greta reveals she has discovered his affair. Despite proof positive her husband is a no-good cheat, Greta is a woman of almost limitless tolerance. Rather than lose her mate to the charms of Janice, Greta arranges to move her marriage to Los Angeles, where she has secured new employment for her husband in a minority partnership in a brokerage business headed by Trenton (Tom Powers). A new home in Beverly Hills is part of the sweet package.

In spite of Greta's many virtues, for whatever reason Larry finds his wife dull as cereal for breakfast. Most any man would find much to admire about her:  she is rich, nice looking, smart, articulate, attentive, cultured, classy. Larry values her financial resources for certain, but those other attributes do not seem to hold much ground with him. Her only apparent deficiency cannot be helped:  she only can be the woman she is, and her competition in the form of Janice is sleek, elegant and some 10 years younger. After about six months in LA, Larry's base compulsions continue when he meets the flirtatious Verna Carlson (Susan Hayward), an attractive employee at his new workplace (an environment meant to cure him of such urges—ironically, she comes on to him). Verna is a self-described gold digger but oozes too much sex appeal for Larry to deflect. The two begin a relationship, despite Larry's marital status and Verna's romantic connection with 75% majority owner Trenton. Marital discord between the Ballentines returns when Greta finds out about the "tramp" Verna. Greta's plaintive struggle to keep her husband out of the arms of younger brunettes resumes when she again relocates her shaky alliance, this time to an isolated Mexican ranch house in a mountainous area far from the many temptations the big city provides, the sort of place where horseback rides replace taxis. Greta even goes so far as to have the house's telephone connection removed in the interest of preventing further indignities.

With this ring...

THEY WON'T BELIEVE ME anticipates film noirs such as ROAD HOUSE (1948), THE ASPHALT JUNGLE (1950), CRY VENGEANCE (1954) and NIGHTFALL (1957) that illustrate film noir concerns are not exclusively urban. Noir stories of the 1940s often culminate in a harsh urban landscape, but THEY WON'T BELIEVE ME forges a path beyond the city, where the spreading specter of noir forces collides with Larry, Verna and Greta. Larry gets tangled up in the same web of deceit regardless of his home's location. The non-monogamous choices he makes may be his own, but his fate is determined by that familiar existential noir force, one that has followed him from one place to another. Interestingly, the story's calamitous turning point occurs after Larry and Verna mutually reject a plan they had developed to siphon money out of a joint checking account. Regardless of more honorable plans for the future, past decisions made by Larry, Verna and Greta have piled up beyond redemption. Especially for those with a long history of questionable moves, to hit the reset button does not necessarily grant the desired result in the unforgiving land of noir.

In terms of other genre themes and motifs, identity swaps of any kind seldom work out well in the context of the film noir narrative. See DETOUR (1945), NORA PRENTISS (1947) and THE NAKED CITY (1948) for convincing evidence. Larry makes that unadvised error when he flips Verna's identity with Greta's, which hastens his downward spiral. The random indifference of the noir atmosphere sometimes puts the finger on the basically good, but Larry does not meet that standard. He is an unworthy kept man who attempts too late to extricate himself from the woman he married only for her considerable wealth. The film's stunner of a conclusion is steeped in irony while wholly appropriate. Larry judges himself correctly, whether the jury did or not is largely irrelevant.

A precipitous cliff

Director Irving Pichel scored a notable debut feature with THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME (1932), the first and arguably best of the many adaptations that would follow of Richard Connell's original story, first published in 1925. Pichel also has another noir movie to his credit, the entertaining QUICKSAND (1950). Producer Joan Harrison built her reputation on screenwriting contributions for Alfred Hitchcock:  JAMAICA INN (1939), REBECCA (1940), FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT (1940), SUSPICION (1941) and SABOTEUR (1942). As a producer she left an impression with some of the finest of film noirs, such as PHANTOM LADY (1944), THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF UNCLE HARRY (1945), NOCTURNE (1946) and RIDE THE PINK HORSE (1947). THEY WON'T BELIEVE ME might be the most hard-hitting of that distinguished group, though PHANTOM LADY packs quite a punch as well. Eminent director of photography Harry J. Wild certainly knew how to handle the noir production, with an ample amount of genre entries to his credit. Just some of the film noirs he worked on include MURDER, MY SWEET (1944), JOHNNY ANGEL (1945), CORNERED (1945) PITFALL (1948), THE THREAT (1949) and WALK SOFTLY, STRANGER (1950), an unfairly underrated noir. Screenwriter Jonathan Latimer made a similar mark on the genre with his contributions to THE GLASS KEY (1942), NOCTURNE, THE BIG CLOCK (1948), NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES (1948) and the sublime noir fantasy film ALIAS NICK BEAL (1949).

"Care to identify her?"

Sourced from a 4K scan of nitrate preservation elements, the dual-layered Blu-ray edition of THEY WON'T BELIEVE ME recently made available by Warner Archive is framed at 1.38:1 and looks outstanding. Though the disc is void of supplemental material, this new HD transfer reinstates the film's original theatrical length, as Eddie Muller alerted noir fans via Facebook on 4/6/2021. According to Muller, "It has been decades since the original 1947 cut of this film has been seen. The film was cut in the 1950s for reissue on double bills and that's the only version that has circulated in recent years. I only saw it complete years ago in Zagreb, a print loaned by the Belgrade Film Archive. Almost 15 minutes has been restored."

Destined to be one of the year's most important Blu-ray restorations, this disc should be an automatic add for film noir collectors.

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).

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