TOUCH OF EVIL (1958)

Universal Pictures
Preview Version: 108m 54s
Theatrical Version:  95m 19s
Reconstructed Version:  110m 35s

 

A film that has been lavished with praise, TOUCH OF EVIL is an unquestioned classic and "film noir's epitaph" according to Paul Schrader in his seminal essay "notes on film noir" (FILM COMMENT, Vol. 8, No. 1 [SPRING 1972], pp. 8-13). Directed and written for the screen by the great Orson Welles, TOUCH OF EVIL was based loosely on the 1956 novel BADGE OF EVIL by Whit Masterson (a pseudonym used by the authors Robert Allison “Bob” Wade and H. Bill Miller). The source material is quite a page-turner and arguably superior to the famous film noir it inspired, more richly detailed and comprehensive than the adaptation possibly could be, and more clear and direct in purpose. But just as easily it could be argued the unclear elements, particularly those instances open to interpretation, provide the strongest suit of the Welles interpretation. A filmmaker with a sense of style like nobody before or since, Welles exaggerates most of the boilerplate noir themes such as moral decay, corruption, the labyrinthine city, cold-blooded murder and inescapable fatalism. Familiar noir stylistic motifs like low camera angles and dark shadows cast by venetian blinds are played up to a claustrophobic degree. The result is an unforgettable noir experience, a true visual feast, regardless of which of the three versions of the film are under review.

TOUCH OF EVIL was Mr. Welles's first Hollywood effort as director in 10 years. Already attached to the film in an acting capacity, Welles was suggested to direct by the film's star Charlton Heston. In a plan to get back in the good graces of Hollywood decision-makers, Welles re-wrote the existing Paul Monash script in just a week and agreed to direct for no salary. As usual, Welles was at odds with studio officials during production, especially after principal photography had been completed and he had moved on to his next ambition. He already had a reputation for going over budget, defying studio demands and abandoning films before they had been edited to the studio's satisfaction. TOUCH OF EVIL would be the final Hollywood effort from Welles as director; he wanted a level of artistic freedom available only outside of the major American studios. Like KISS ME DEADLY (1955), TOUCH OF EVIL is a film noir that views much more like a modern movie than the genre films that preceded it, with a minimum of antiquated language that instantly dates so many noir films.

THE NOVEL:

Assistant District Attorney Mitchell Holt finds himself under political pressure to give high priority to the murder of Rudy Linneker, a prominent local industrialist killed in his home by a dynamite explosion. The death of Linneker has commanded the notice of Captain Loren McCoy and Sergeant Hank Quinlan, long-term partners with legendary status for their ability to collect evidence that leads to convictions. In the early going, McCoy and Quinlan feel confident that Linneker was murdered by his daughter Tara Linneker and her fiancé Delmont Shayon. Initially Holt accepts the solution to the crime suggested by McCoy and Quinlan, too easily for Holt's wife Consuela ("Connie"). Indeed Shayon, a shoe salesman by trade, was the perfect potential husband for Tara to disappoint her father, who doubtless would not approve. But in the course of his investigation, the savvy Holt fairly quickly comes to believe Tara and her fiancé are innocent. Holt's trusted colleague Van Dusen discovers the young couple has a perfect alibi which could not have been planned. A shoebox that contains five sticks of dynamite is found at Shayon's place, but based upon what Holt knows, he seriously questions the legitimacy of this evidence.

In a surprise turn of events, disgruntled former Linneker employee Ernest Farnum confesses to the killing of Linneker. Shayon is released, though a question remains about the contents of that shoebox. In yet another shocker that stuns Holt, Farnum changes his story and says he planted the dynamite at Shayon's residence. This radically contradicts Farnum's original feeling that he could not stomach the idea of an innocent person imprisoned for his deed. To Holt anyway, everything comes together when he learns McCoy is on record as a purchaser of dynamite! Even more damning for the police department, Holt explains to his superior James Adair that McCoy and Quinlan have a long history of discovering convenient evidence vehemently denied by the defendant. At this point Holt is convinced the famous police team planted the dynamite to frame Shayon, but Adair is not inclined to believe Holt's theory. Not only is Holt at odds with his boss, a shotgun blast takes out Holt's picture window in what appears to be a scare tactic designed to get him to back off on McCoy and Quinlan. Chief of Police Russell Gould suggests the shotgun work was staged, but additional gunfire is aimed in the direction of Holt, this time with bad intentions. Eventually Holt reaches the conclusion McCoy acted alone all these years in terms of the framings.

Holt's investigative efforts suffer another blow when Farnum hangs himself. After the death of Farnum, Holt realizes he needs a recording of McCoy admitting his guilt. If that were not sufficient pressure, Holt's wife Connie is booked for possession and use of narcotics. Consequently the press turns on Holt, his supposed political ambitions crushed for the moment. Holt suspects his handgun now rests in McCoy's hands—could another frame-up be in the works? In a desperate move, Holt convinces Quinlan to wear a wire and attempt to get the truth out of McCoy, who indeed justifies framing people based upon intuition. McCoy then shoots Quinlan with Holt's gun. Ultimately McCoy is defeated, though it requires the deaths of Rudy Linneker, Ernest Farnum and his longtime partner Hank Quinlan to make it happen. Rather than face justice, McCoy shoots himself dead. He had a plan to set up Holt for Quinlan's murder, but must have decided it was hopeless.

The Whit Masterson novel forges an opposition between the intuition of McCoy and Quinlan versus the evidence sought by Holt. Without question Holt is the story's noir protagonist, however devoid of human flaws that so often define such characters in traditional film noirs. Never is there a moment when he considers doing the right thing and then elects to do the wrong thing ("the break" as coined by film noir expert Eddie Muller). Holt is an honorable man who only wants to perform his job properly and be a good father and husband. The chaotic world around him refuses to cooperate. At the outset he sees himself as emotionally detached from the verdict—not a crusader—happy just to know he did his best. That trait changes as the story unspools.

Holt claims neutrality while doing detective work ("I'm in nobody's corner.") and possesses a strong conscience; he would never ask a jury to return a verdict contrary to his own beliefs. He is accused of using the Linneker case for political utility when he holds no such aspirations. When underworld personality Dan Buccio offers to aid Holt in his investigation work, Holt flatly refuses the offer. Holt has too much character to accept assistance of any kind from the likes of Buccio. Holt also rejects help from his brother-in-law Oscar, who seems too eager for a gunfight. In a theme that would find expansion in the movie adaptation, Holt defends his Mexican wife while acknowledging America's ingrained racism.

One of the novel's predominant themes involves the underlying presumption that men wish to be perceived as better than they really are. Roughly halfway through the novel that point is made clear when Holt learns his wife's father has not killed all of the trophies he proudly displays; some of them were purchased to convey the impression of a superior hunter. "He's a good hunter but he'd like everybody to believe he's even better than he is," notes his daughter Connie. Holt wonders if such behavior is driven by external pressures, as in the case of McCoy and Quinlan, who perhaps "...found themselves in a position where they had to produce—or else."

Another key theme to the novel concerns the preservation of entrenched systems. District Attorney James Adair worries the story of McCoy and Quinlan framing people over a long period of time, a truthful account or not, would be devastating to law enforcement credibility. For his efforts in pursuit of justice, Holt is nearly killed, his wife is jailed on trumped-up drug charges, his daughter Nancy is sent across the US border for her own protection. The more the ethical man Holt endeavors to do the right thing, the more those who represent the establishment push back at him. The police, the press and even his own boss make Holt's pursuit of justice far more difficult than it should be. To lobby against deeply-rooted institutions in which everyone looks out for each other amounts to an incredible challenge that surely would discourage the average person.

To the present-day reader, the novel surveys numerous social issues that remain stubbornly relevant, for instance gun control. Similarly, BADGE OF EVIL reveals bias in the mainstream media is not an issue unique to modern society, though many people probably assume that. When Holt realizes his best option for assistance with his investigation of McCoy and Quinlan is to go to the press, only one of three newspapers is a realistic option. And though the novel does nothing to encourage the idea, the fact that Ernest Farnum hangs himself in his jail cell seems suspicious. Did McCoy get Farnum out of the picture? That possibility is in no way at odds with the narrative material that surrounds it.

THE FILM:

The Welles adaptation simplifies the plot mechanics of the novel's detective work and minimizes the characters involved while adding a stable of new supporting players (many had collaborated with Welles previously). The setting is transported from California to the Texas–Mexico border, while an interrupted honeymoon substitutes for a perpetually delayed vacation. The novel's Consuela ("Connie") Mayatorena Holt is a "full-blooded Mexican" woman, her husband is Assistant DA Mitchell Holt, a Californian. The film's equivalent couple is represented by Mexican man Ramon Miguel "Mike" Vargas (Charlton Heston), Chairman of the Pan-American Narcotics Commission, and his amicable wife Susan (the lily-white Janet Leigh), an American citizen. Welles builds the book's narcotics component into a major plot thread, with Susan framed to look like a junkie to discredit her ambitious husband. What's more, in the film a man's wife is not just positioned to look like a drug addict, the crooked cop sets her up for a murder rap. An implication from the novel that did not make it to the film is Rudy Linneker, a widower, was in some sort of unhealthy relationship with his daughter. Taken from the first chapter:

"The snack bar was set with a light dinner for two because he had dared his daughter to join him in a mid-winter swim that night and she generally did as he suggested. So he loafed and thought what a comfort a girl was to a man in his prime. Occasionally he cocked his head like an elderly lovebird and listened for the sound of his daughter's step descending the wooden stairs on the bluff behind his private floodlighted beach."

Perhaps the above was a bit much to translate into what was supposed to be a commercial, mainstream movie.

The film opens in Los Robles, a fictional Mexican border town. A deadly explosion occurs immediately after the honeymooners Vargas and Susan cross the border and kiss! The thematically-timed car bomb claims the lives of construction magnate Rudy Linnekar (Jeffrey Green) and his stripper girlfriend Zita (Joi Lansing). The fact that the explosive device was planted on the Mexican side of the border complicates matters for law enforcement agents on both sides. "All border towns bring out the worst in a country," Vargas explains to his wife. That kiss, a celebration of love between a "mixed" couple, sets the tone for a film concerned with racial tensions.

As with Welles's CITIZEN KANE, often noted as the greatest cinematic achievement ever, TOUCH OF EVIL depicts the fall of a respected man due to his own ego. Police Captain Hank Quinlan (Welles), an amalgamation of the novel's McCoy and Quinlan, is guided by his intuition when it comes to making arrests. Quinlan does not respect Vargas; that much is obvious shortly after they meet. Quinlan walks with a cane for assistance, like the Quinlan of the novel and any number of hobbled individuals who populate film noirs such as ABANDONED (1949), GILDA (1946), THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI (1947) and STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT (1944). Broken bodies in film noir tend to reflect fragile or fractured minds. Welles's Quinlan might be the ultimate seedy American villain, the racist, sweaty southern cop epitomized. He is an obese, unshaven cigar-smoker with a predisposition for coffee, donuts and sweet rolls. The picture of perfect health. Unflattering low camera angles emphasize Quinlan's considerable bulk. He shows disdain for miscegenation when he wonders out loud why Susan, married to Vargas, is obviously not a Mexican woman. A vanity project this surely was not.

During a tense interrogation sequence, we are able to get to know Quinlan even better. Murder suspect Manelo Sanchez (Victor Millan), a shoe salesman, lives in an apartment provided by his lover, Marcia Linnekar (Joanna Moore), whose father was blown to smithereens. Sanchez is concerned Quinlan will rough him up as part of the veteran cop's reputed interrogation tactics. Sure enough, Quinlan contemptuously slaps Sanchez for his repeated attempts to speak in his native language. After Vargas comes to Sanchez's defense, Quinlan condescendingly questions whether Vargas might require assistance with an American telephone. The openly racist Quinlan believes Sanchez murdered Rudy Linnekar because Linnekar wasn't too keen on the prospect of a Mexican son-in-law (Quinlan assumes the elder Linnekar must have shared his values). Congruent with the novel, a corrupt cop attempts to railroad the man he believes is guilty of murder while a younger, far more scrupulous man encounters heavy resistance when he suggests evidence was planted (in the film, Vargas knows from his own eyesight evidence somehow materialized that had not existed previously). When Vargas merely recounts his clear observation, Quinlan accuses him of siding with his countryman. In another theme lifted from the novel, somebody's reputation has to be destroyed, either that of Vargas or Quinlan.

Quinlan's sorrow over his wife's death at first would seem to be a screenwriting attempt to prevent him from being totally unsympathetic, but in fact the opposite meaning is achieved when Quinlan describes his wife's strangulation in a disturbing manner. He tells listening ear Police Sergeant Pete Menzies (Joseph Calleia), "Strangling is the smart way to kill—clean, silent...you don't leave fingerprints on a piece of string...That half-breed done it, of course...That was the last killer that ever got out of my hands." Should Quinlan be considered a reliable narrator? Based on the dynamite that suddenly appears in a shoebox, what motivation does the viewer have to believe what Quinlan says about anything? And why would he go into such sordid detail about the murder of his wife? Most likely his wife was having an affair with a "half-breed" and that discovery pushed Quinlan over the edge. The sequence thus serves several functions:  we learn Quinlan has been framing suspects for years, his potential to kill is made evident and his dislike for the relationship between Vargas and Susan is given some background. Through research of public records, Vargas discovers the Linnekar case is just the latest occasion Quinlan has gone the extra mile to make sure someone who he sees as guilty does not escape conviction.

The best element of Quinlan's life is his friendship with Tana (Marlene Dietrich), a fortune teller. At some point after (or before, who knows?) the death of his wife, Quinlan would shack up with Tana for days at a time with a case of whiskey. His professional reputation about to blow up in his face, Quinlan returns to Tana, as well as the bottle after a dozen years on the wagon. Or has he been drinking all along? Perhaps Quinlan's stubborn world view reflects his disappointment with his lifetime achievements. After 30 years on the force, what does he have to show for it? Not nearly enough if you ask him. Despite his curmudgeonly, non-progressive attitudes, Quinlan nonetheless emanates a strong sense of entitlement.

Like many film noir detectives Quinlan has his own moral code, but his is attached to an ignoble history of framing those he deemed guilty based on sheer gut-level instinct. "I'm just going on my intuition," Quinlan remarks. Admittedly his impressions are often correct. He prophetically tells his best friend Pete, "Pretty soon you'll be flapping your wings like an angel." And ultimately Quinlan's feeling about Sanchez provides some vindication for the fallen cop. He says he framed "nobody that wasn't guilty." For all we know, he might be right about that. Certainly Quinlan's final hunch is right on the money:  Vargas is tailing him and Pete is wired. Ever the opportunist, Quinlan hopes to frame Vargas after his gun is used to stop Pete, but Pete survives to eliminate Quinlan, the man he always had admired. So, is Quinlan beyond redemption? Not according to Welles, who allows Tana to comment pensively on Quinlan's death:  "He was some kind of a man. What does it matter what you say about people?" But even before that succinct summation, Welles makes a point of repeatedly capturing a "JESUS SAVES" neon sign that shines on the same road as the Ritz Hotel, where Quinlan kills "Uncle" Joe Grandi (Akim Tamiroff) and sets the table for his own demise with a forgotten item.

The harassment of Susan loomed large in Universal's marketing campaign for TOUCH OF EVIL. Provocation begins early when she is led to the Ritz Hotel, where strobing lights in the area suggest uncertainty. Initially not all that intimidated, Susan derisively names one of the young Grandi crime family members "Pancho" (Valentin de Vargas) and shows little concern for him or his uncle. Later she chucks a light bulb at a pesky flashlight-wielding stalker. In spite of her recent marriage to a Mexican man, Susan's prejudices emerge again when she tells her husband she would feel safer at an American motel. Obviously that assumption does not play out; Susan finds herself in no position to take on the role of feisty heroine during the siege sequence at the Mirador Motel. Instead she plays the part of damsel in distress during a slow-burn assault that assembles all of white America's fears about foreigners (Donald Trump's “bad hombres”) and the LGBTQ community, which are presented as one and the same. It is implied Susan was gang-raped ("Hold her legs."). Did Vargas provoke the attack after targeting Grandi's brother in Mexico City, or did Susan encourage the attack with her dismissive attitude about Mexicans? Whatever the reason, Welles forces us to consider an ugly implication, despite a character's statement made after the fact that Susan was not touched in that way. I don't buy it; I think that line of dialog was inserted to cover up the horrible sexual crime that obviously transpired. In so many ways this is a film about people believing what they want to believe, and that extends to the viewer as well. Welles arranges for several plot threads that are open to interpretation. The Mirador sequence is the most disconcerting of the bunch, the "touch of evil" alluded to by the film's title treatment. Welles proves he was not above exploiting xenophobic fears, but to halt the analysis there would be to miss the more disturbing point:  the Grandi gang that menaces Susan does so in coordination with a celebrated American lawman. It is precisely the sort of partnership citizens should fear most. Welles stages the partnership cleverly; as Quinlan forms an alliance at a bar with Grandi, who has criminal ties on both sides of the border, Quinlan sits with his back to the bar's jukebox in indifference to the music linked to the Grandi youths that will terrorize Susan.

"Your future is all used up."

—Tana

When Quinlan stands before a strung-out Susan at the Ritz, a flashing light accents his present state of mind as he follows through on his latest frame job. As Quinlan strangles the Mexican clan's ringleader Grandi, the scene is filmed to suggest a rape-like assault, probably in harmony with what occurred behind a closed door at the Mirador and most assuredly a bitter man's re-enactment of what happened to his departed wife. For someone with such a notable history for framing people, it is ironic Quinlan subconsciously frames himself by leaving his cane in the hotel room where he strangled a man to death (Welles gives us a close up of the "Forget Anything?" sign on the hotel room's door to tip us off as to Quinlan's destiny). How fitting, and fatalistic, the same methods that earned Quinlan his lauded reputation as a detective precipitate his downfall.

Quinlan believes Mike Vargas and "idealists" like him are what is wrong with the world. Vargas is positioned as the incorruptible, opposite pole of the eminently corrupt Quinlan. With a Mexican character serving as the film's moral compass, the differences between Vargas and Quinlan ignite racial tensions. It is commented, "This Mexican is bringing criminal charges against one of the most respected police officers in the country," as if Vargas's nationality cancels any credence to his story. In a theme echoed throughout motion picture history, Vargas is compelled to become tougher and tougher as formidable forces oppose his ideals. After his wife is assaulted and framed for murder, Vargas aggressively goes after the Grandi hoodlums. After Grandi's nephew Pancho blows smoke in Vargas's face (a move that has its parallel when Quinlan plays the upper hand in his interrogation of Sanchez), an enraged Vargas rams the head of Pancho through the bar room jukebox ("I'm a husband now, not a cop."). From there he continues to employ the same sort of tactics favored by Quinlan in an effort to incriminate the master of set-ups. The transformation of Vargas, who must modify his approach in order to entrap Quinlan, speaks to masculine provinces posited as universal under certain circumstances. Vargas must wade through a literal cesspool to bring about Quinlan's downfall. As Vargas tells Quinlan:  "A policeman's job is only easy in a police state."

The Mexican border provides appropriate terrain for rugged noir stories, as explored in OUT OF THE PAST (1947), RIDE THE PINK HORSE (1947), THE BIG STEAL (1949), BORDER INCIDENT (1949) and THE HITCH-HIKER (1953), to name just several. In TOUCH OF EVIL, the windy Los Robles area is put forward as a corrupt, tawdry community where neon lights, sleazy hotels and strip clubs merge to form a suitable backdrop for corruption and decadence. Streets are mostly deserted, save for the occasional shadow of someone following somebody. The location footage accumulated by Welles and his director of photography Russell Metty in Venice, Los Angeles is almost otherworldly in atmosphere, the high-contrast B & W cinematography always complimented by meaningful blocking that comments on the characters. The virtuoso camerawork, lighting and editing come together with slick precision, save for the occasional conventional sequence inserted by the studio. The scenes for which Welles was not present really jump out at you; his camera never stands still for long, so static shots are always suspect. Welles even demonstrates there is a time and place for shakycam, an overused trope of modern filmmaking I have grown to despise. That famously uninterrupted opening segment, sustained for 3m 28s before we see a cut, is well summarized by Dale Thomajan in his book FROM CYD CHARISSE TO PSYCHO:  BOOK OF MOVIE BESTS (1992, p.142):

"Words are incapable of adequately describing the sophistication of this historic exercise in spatial architecture or fully capturing its excitement; it's the kind of thing that makes youngsters want to become filmmakers and makes established filmmakers want to retire in envy and frustration."

One of Welles's cinematic compulsions this time out is trash blowing around everywhere, symbolic of the dirty tactics embodied by his Quinlan. At times the area’s waste seems to envelop him (think Pig-Pen from Charles M. Schulz's PEANUTS comic strip). Los Robles is a dirty, rowdy environment that matches Quinlan so well, one gets the feeling the town developed into what it is as Quinlan aged into what he is. It is no place for the squeamish; the impact of the opening sequence's explosion prompts one of the film's more morbid quotes, "I guess that's my father." The brutal damage done to Linnekar's stripper escort Zita is referenced later when a gang member tosses acid in the direction of Vargas, who is able to avoid the substance as it disfigures a poster of Zita (a "sizzling stripper" as she and her coworkers are marketed). Also Quinlan comments on a shoe that was discovered with a foot in it following the explosion, the probable inspiration for planting incriminating dynamite sticks in a shoebox. The two ideas parallel perfectly when Quinlan conveys a strange fascination with the post-explosion body part among the litter that clutters Los Robles.

TOUCH OF EVIL concludes as the racist cop's time expires (a nice idea, but almost 65 years later the stuff of fantasy, not reality). Nonetheless the film remains a cynical viewing experience, probably more grounded in the real world than the Whit Masterson source novel. With no equivalent to the book's Ernest Farnum confession (Farnum is converted into a peripheral character), the film wraps up on a decidedly more pessimistic note, regardless of the viewer's interpretation:  either Quinlan's intuition was 100% accurate, or Sanchez confessed after being tortured by cops (at one point Quinlan gives instruction over the phone to "break" Sanchez). Neither explanation could be considered a positive takeaway. If Quinlan was correct about Sanchez, he might have been right about everyone he helped convict in the past. To consider TOUCH OF EVIL in film noir terms, I prefer that reading and the rich noir irony associated with the disgraced, dying cop floating in filth, forever unaware his suspicion about Sanchez was on the money. Let's face it:  Sanchez probably was mostly after Marcia's money and was willing to kill her father to get his hands on it, and Linnekar probably wasn't ecstatic about his daughter's choice for a significant other.

The production boasts a tremendous supporting cast, mostly thanks to the presence of Welles as writer/director. A notable character unique to the film is Marlene Dietrich's Tana, the noir antithesis to the Susan character. Other peripheral players that create an impression include Zsa Zsa Gabor, Joseph Cotten, Ray Collins, Mercedes McCambridge (as a butch gang member) and especially Dennis Weaver as the quirky Mirador Motel night manager, no doubt an influence on the Norman Bates character played by Anthony Perkins in director Alfred Hitchcock’s noir horror classic PSYCHO (1960). Of course Janet Leigh's Susan is impossible to watch without thinking about Marion Crane's fate in the Hitchcock film. Leigh is best remembered for portraying two of the American cinema's most memorable women in peril. Similarities between TOUCH OF EVIL and PSYCHO are interesting enough:

• Like the isolated Bates Motel, "the Mirador is hard to find, with the new highway branching off the way it does."
• Pancho tells Susan, "You're the only guest we've got here."
• Susan's name is not found in the register book.
• Low camera angles imprison Susan in her motel room.

Kino Lorber’s recent 4K Ultra HD release of TOUCH OF EVIL is a must-own addition to their impressive Studio Classics product line. The collection includes three separate triple-layer UHD100 discs, each dedicated to one of three versions of the feature film, all granted crisp new 4K transfers. To my eye, the new Dolby Vision HDR Master of the theatrical cut looks the best of the three versions. The rendition of TOUCH OF EVIL perhaps most familiar to the public gets a fresh audio commentary treatment from film historian Tim Lucas, my erstwhile editor when I was a contributor for his VIDEO WATCHDOG magazine. A veteran of over 150 commentaries, Lucas seems well aware of every possible connection between TOUCH OF EVIL and other film productions. He offers extensive information on all of the relevant players in front of and behind the camera, and also references the similarities and differences between film and novel. For Welles, the adaptation was an opportunity to demonstrate he could complete a commercially-viable film on time and within budget. Unfortunately, the film went over budget and was not a profit center for Universal Pictures. Lucas notes the bravura opening scene, uninterrupted by cuts, is briefer than the one-shot crime investigation sessions at Sanchez's apartment, which run 6m 21s and 5m 27s respectively. That first (longer) shot involving the grilling of Sanchez was born out of a filmmaker's wish for control more than a desire to make an artistic statement; the no-editing approach put the film one day ahead of schedule and kept studio meddling at bay, for a while anyway. An excellent observation from Lucas involves the multiple canes present when Vargas uses a blind shopkeeper's telephone, something I never had noticed. But what best separates Lucas from other film historian voices is his consideration of the film that might have been. As he often does, here he offers specific examples where the theatrical release could have benefitted in terms of continuity and narrative clarity. But despite the studio interference that "mangled" the finished product, Welles maintained this version came the closest to matching his original vision. The disc also includes a murky theatrical trailer (2m 11s) as well as the 2008 audio commentary from writer/filmmaker F.X. Feeney.

For the next disc, film historian Imogen Sara Smith was tapped on the shoulder to record a new audio commentary track for the reconstructed version of TOUCH OF EVIL that first surfaced in 1998. 48 changes were implemented into this rendition of the film with the intent of restoring the original Welles vision. The most apparent revision comes early, with the removal of the credits and Henry Mancini's theme music from the opening shot. The movie's wild border-town tone is better established with strictly diegetic music, transitioning from Latin jazz to rock and roll. That update integrates well with the film's other diegetic music and what it signifies. Rock and roll is associated with the leather-clad Mexican hoodlums on the American side of the border; a conservative's nightmare I suppose, the two ideas combined. Similarly, up-tempo rock music blasted within the Mirador is connected with narcotics. Nobody working in film analysis today breaks down a scene more carefully and convincingly than Smith, who I always can count on to identify things I am ashamed I never noticed about a film I've seen repeatedly. For instance, when Susan unexpectedly is photographed with Pancho, the concept of her being framed is introduced. This motif recurs throughout the narrative. Another valuable insight from Smith is the desert as crucial film noir setting, the inverse of the crowded urban milieu. Though ostensibly polar opposites, each setting offers its own unique blend of alienation and precarious situations. In the case of TOUCH OF EVIL, the Mexican side of the border is embodied by the city, the American side is represented by the desert. In the context of film language, an essential skill Welles commanded was his ability to create juxtapositions ("rhyming shots") that emphasize something unknown to one of the characters. "Evil Lost and Found" (17m 5s) chronicles the piecing together of the reconstructed cut based upon the long memo Welles authored in reaction to the preview cut. Another audio option is the 2008 commentary track with Charlton Heston, Janet Leigh and Reconstruction Producer Rick Schmidlin.

The third disc contains the preview cut that runs about 14 minutes longer than the theatrical cut. The legacy audio commentary track (first issued in 2008) features Orson Welles historians Jonathan Rosenbaum and James Naremore, who note the preview cut was discovered in the mid-1970s. It includes additional footage shot by Welles along with studio-imposed footage intended to make the film easier to follow. Rosenbaum and Naremore indicate TOUCH OF EVIL might be the least tampered with of any of Welles's American productions; a stunning assertion when one reflects upon it. Technically speaking the preview cut plays darker and with heavier grain than the theatrical cut, particularly during the film's many nocturnal sequences. Tagged by the commentators are the Harry Keller-directed reshoots, all of which were completed in one day in the studio's attempt to clarify the supposedly serpentine plot. All of the new scenes were injected after Welles went MIA before the final cut was delivered. The featurette "Bringing Evil to Life" (2008, 20m 59s) reviews the feature film's production history.

For those classic film fans who have not committed to a 4K Blu-ray player, this 3-disc set is as good an excuse as any to take that step.

Commemorative mural by artist Jonas Never [23 Windward Ave, Venice, CA, 90291]

THE ACCUSED (1949)

Paramount Pictures, 100m 58s

An independent feature produced by Hal B. Wallis, THE ACCUSED was the eleventh film released from Hal Wallis Productions, as well as his fifth film noir in a row. This title is all-out Freudian noir with its lead character in the wrong place at the wrong time. THE ACCUSED also stands as one of the genre's preeminent "woman in peril" permutations, among them DANGER SIGNAL (1945), NOTORIOUS (1946), SORRY WRONG NUMBER (1948), WHIRLPOOL (1949), WOMAN IN HIDING (1950), CAUSE FOR ALARM! (1951) and SUDDEN FEAR (1952). Furthermore, it is one of many film noirs patterned after co-writer/director Billy Wilder's DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), in which Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) finds himself in uncomfortably close proximity to those investigating the murder he committed. Similarly, Dr. Wilma Tuttle (Loretta Young) of THE ACCUSED must endure firsthand reminders of an investigation closing in on her. The narrative not only revolves around the staple noir theme of mental trauma, but intertwines its psychological angle with physical abuse and physical manifestations from a fragile state of mind.

Set amid the California Coastline, the hallmarks of the noir story are plentiful: low camera angles, an obsession with mirrors, horizontal shadows cast by Venetian blinds, compositions that suggest entrapment, a flashback that reveals our lead protagonist's dire situation, and so on. Above all else, THE ACCUSED calls into question the role of psychology in American society. Is the person who represents the tenets of psychology someone to be respected? Any survey of the genre likely would suggest the answer commonly is "no." In example, consider the heel psychologists that populate CAT PEOPLE (1942), SHOCK (1946) NIGHTMARE ALLEY (1947) and WHIRLPOOL (1950).

Originally from Kansas, Dr. Wilma Tuttle is an uptight Associate Professor, Department of Psychology, at a local university. A complex, textured personality worthy of the viewer's attention, she serves as analyst and is the subject of analysis, posited as both victim of fate and unwitting femme fatale. She is anything but one thing, the byproduct of a post-WWII America still coping with where the woman belongs within a patriarchal system that might not be down for the count, but could be on the ropes. In the opening sequence along California's Pacific coast highway, truck driver Jack Hunter (Mickey Knox) tells Tuttle the last woman he encountered on the road robbed him at gunpoint. Hunter then quickly recognizes why he has happened upon Tuttle:  her choice for a date could have been contemplated better. Especially considering what we eventually learn about exactly why Tuttle was in need of a lift, an uncertain climate for both men and women can be grasped from this segment. It is implied America of the late 1940s has become a dangerous place where nobody may be what they appear to be, where neither gender has a right to feel safe.

A star vehicle for Loretta Young, THE ACCUSED cries out for a gender study reading. Though the film is progressive in certain respects and is mostly in sympathy with Young's character Tuttle, upon inspection Tuttle is defined primarily by the men that surround her. Throughout the proceedings, there is a conflict between Tuttle as elegant, sexual woman and woman of substance, as if the two cannot coexist without social disruption. In the classroom this theme is energized early, when the professor Tuttle's pencil takes on a phallic representation in direct view of Bill Perry (Douglas Dick), her bewitched student who eagerly returns the visual favor. Without a current man in her life or any suggestion of past lovers, Tuttle shows obvious signs of sexual frustration and clearly desires Perry. At the same time she judges Perry to be a brash, self-indulgent young man, though she absolutely admires his intellect. His relentless pursuit of Tuttle batters down her every defense mechanism. When he describes his interest in marine mollusks, he unknowingly compares these seemingly harmless invertebrate animals to Tuttle ("They can really get you."). America may be a place fraught with danger, but both Perry and Tuttle demonstrate they are attracted to danger, even if that fascination in either case is of the unconscious variety.

The male gaze

Perry drives Tuttle to an isolated Malibu cliff some 75' above the shore, where he forces himself on her to the point she repeatedly asks him to stop hurting her arm. Undeterred, Perry is convinced Tuttle in truth is turned on by his brutish behavior. In response to his rape attempt, Tuttle beats Perry into a permanently non-aggressive state. Though Tuttle acts in self-defense, she fears the events of the evening easily could be misinterpreted and bring about career-wrecking scandal. Tuttle is indeed the "cyclothymiac cutie" of Perry's essay, the unassuming woman talked into an impromptu date with him on what will be the last evening of his life. He correctly describes her as a sexually-repressed woman struggling with unfulfilled desires. So accurate is his assessment of Tuttle that his essay, ironically ordered by Tuttle, acts as the catalyst for her potential downfall. There is compelling evidence Perry understood his subject well when Tuttle's psychic trauma attacks her body; at one point she lands in the hospital with pneumonia, at another she collapses into a piece of office furniture. And while enveloped by the bloodlust of ringside fans at a boxing event, her faculties break down completely when she envisions the unwelcome visage of Perry in the ring. It is unsurprising that the truth just has to come tumbling out; all along we sense Tuttle has too much character to live with her concealed crime forever.

Though Tuttle is a respected professor who projects upward mobility, at the same time she is objectified and lives at risk of the men who would like to contain her, as when Warren Ford (Robert Cummings) announces their imminent marriage without bothering to consult her on the subject. Whether she is to be blamed for that fateful night at a precipitous cliff is a difficult question, though in light of the last close-up of Loretta Young, it seems axiomatic the filmmakers stand firmly on her side. That the jury would be sympathetic to Tuttle based upon her crime's circumstances is laudable, particularly with the first-hand knowledge of that terrible seaside night the viewer is granted. Unfortunately, we are left with the impression Tuttle will be set free thanks to her enchanting good looks, which hardly implies the equality of all citizens in the courtroom or any sense of fairness. The other major takeaway is equally troublesome:  the intelligent woman is more capable of deception and thus should be considered the most threatening type of woman. Interestingly, Tuttle's capacity to kill does nothing to discourage the attention of homicide officer Lieutenant Ted Dorgan (Wendell Corey), who finds Tuttle irresistible, even in the courtroom! Her beauty has a borderline hypnotic command over him; again it isn't just Tuttle who is drawn to danger. The implication is disconcerting; the more dangerous Tuttle might be, the more attractive she becomes. Tuttle the professor has no suitable male callers begging for her hand, Tuttle the murderess has options! Is dangerous living really that entrenched in American life? Dorgan seems to understand that possibility best when he sets Ford straight about homicide investigation work:

"You want the illusion that youth means innocence? Today kids kill their parents, their grandparents, children killing children. Sweet sixteen. They murder their lovers."

Susan Duval (Suzanne Dalbert), an immigrant student, is one of the peripheral characters that reflects Dorgan's cynical life philosophy. She very much likes Perry, but he treats her poorly, to the extent she says she could kill him (it is not directly stated, but strongly implied Perry impregnated Duval).

If Tuttle is contextualized in terms of the male gaze, the male characters are united by a fairly consistent train of thought about a woman’s place. Although the narrative is constructed around an ambitious, career-oriented woman, that character is observed through an unmistakable prism of antiquated patriarchal power. There is evidence that men are both empowered and weakened by the female, especially when the woman happens to be alluring. Dorgan confesses a "blind spot" that sometimes gets the best of him. Naturally that flaw is a fondness for beautiful women, whose distracting charms and tendency to be "gabby" interfere with his professional duties as a homicide investigator. Similarly, Ford admits he fell for an accused female in the past without any clue he is wandering down that identical path with Tuttle. He also suggests beauty and brains should not (or perhaps cannot) exist within the same feminine body. Even the truck driver Hunter flirts with Tuttle; no man can seem to help it. And then we have Perry, another of noir’s decidedly negative psychiatrists given his rather self-serving analysis of his “cutie” instructor.

THE ACCUSED is based on the 1947 novel BE STILL, MY LOVE by June Truesdell. The adaptation for the screen was written by Ketti Frings, an eventual Pulitzer Prize winner. For whatever reason there were uncredited contributions from six(!) contract writers (Jonathan Latimer, Barré Lyndon, Allen Rivkin, Robert Rossen, Charles Schnee, Leonard Spigelgass). This is an unusual film noir in that both the source material and its script were credited to women. It was directed by William Dieterle, who would helm additional noir productions for Paramount Pictures such as ROPE OF SAND (1949) and DARK CITY (1950), again for producer Hal B. Wallis, and THE TURNING POINT (1952) for producer Irving Asher. Cinematographer Milton R. Krasner's noir credits include many of my favorites:  THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW (1944), SCARLET STREET (1945), THE DARK MIRROR (1946), THE SET-UP (1949), HOUSE OF STRANGERS (1949), NO WAY OUT (1950), DEADLINE - U.S.A. (1952) and VICKI (1953). There is a lot to like about the supporting cast installed around Loretta Young, especially Wendell Corey, who excels as Lieutenant Ted Dorgan. Robert Cummings also was an inspired choice as Warren Ford, Perry's legal guardian and attorney. Douglas Dick is suitably slimy as the well-documented womanizer Bill Perry, another of film noir's unstable veterans. Sam Jaffe (THE ASPHALT JUNGLE [1950]) is in his element here as Dr. Romley, and even in a small role, it is always reassuring to see Henry Travers (HIGH SIERRA [1941], SHADOW OF A DOUBT [1943], IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE [1946]). The billboard for the Macdonald Carey / Gail Russell movie "Murder" is injected cleverly, though the title referenced is fictitious.

This single-layered Blu-ray release from Kino Lorber was derived from a somewhat bespeckled print, congested with scratches and various artifacts. Contrast is average at best, but despite the less than perfect source material, the movie looks solid in motion with an appropriate level of film grain. Bottom line this is an important film noir and yet another notable addition to the Kino Lorber Studio Classics product line. Framing looks correct at 1.37:1.

The audio commentary track by film historian Eddy Von Mueller is new to this Blu-ray edition of THE ACCUSED. Von Mueller notes the film was released at a time when long-term attitudes about social norms were being challenged. THE ACCUSED is rooted firmly in the time of its creation, a time of "horrific moral decay," with a telling reference to the Black Dahlia (the gruesome, still unsolved murder of Elizabeth Short in 1947). Von Mueller recognizes brainy women historically are presented as a problem in cinema, particularly when they occupy a position of power over men. The Tuttle character challenges every man she encounters one way or another. Despite the fact her violent actions were only out of self-preservation and understandable under the circumstances, her narration reveals a split in her consciousness, a variation on the doppelgänger theme that distinguishes numerous film noirs, quite overtly in SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943), PHANTOM LADY (1944), THE DARK MIRROR (1946), STRANGE IMPERSONATION (1946), STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951) and BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT (1956). Both Tuttle and Dorgan make direct reference to the theme of doubles, and the recurring mirror motif hammers down the same point.

Von Mueller's commentary is not without its memorable sound bites, as when he critiques outrageously sexist dialog, "'Your brains don't show a bit.' Jesus. This is the good guy, folks!" Another winner comes as he recalls that Mickey Knox's wife's sister Adele Morales was married to Knox's good friend Norman Mailer, who almost stabbed Morales to death. "Norman Mailer was a dick," summarizes Von Mueller. He concludes his excellent, highly professional track with an extraction from the courtroom sequence, dialog that encapsulates the very essence of film noir, "It's always a fine line between what we cause to happen and what happens to us."

A theatrical trailer collection includes a trailer for THE ACCUSED along with trailers for a host of other comparable titles available from Kino Lorber.

STEP BY STEP (1946)

RKO Radio Pictures, 61m 51s

A lively film noir programmer from good ol' RKO, director Phil Rosen's STEP BY STEP makes for an entertaining Saturday afternoon diversion. Set along California's coastline, this taut noir plunges the viewer into post-WWII malaise, with rogue Germans still very much a nuisance to American ideals. Stuart Palmer's screenplay, based on an original story by George Callahan, exploits the concern that Nazism has metabolized into the country's social and political structures. In its implication that evil never can be entirely defeated (it just regroups and starts over), the atmosphere advanced in STEP BY STEP is no place for the weak-kneed or the uninformed. Though the war may be over, the isotropic tension of aggressive Nazism might manifest itself in person, via listening devices or through one's own compromised employee.

At his seaside home, Senator Remmy (Harry Harvey) suggests his newly-hired secretary Evelyn Smith (Anne Jeffreys) enjoys the beach while he awaits the arrival of James Blackton (Addison Richards), a government operative who possesses a list of 200 Germans whose day-to-day actions deserve monitoring. On her way to the beach, Evelyn draws the hungry eye of Johnny Christopher (Lawrence Tierney), recently discharged from the United States Marine Corps after being stranded in the South Pacific. The two have a friendly conversation, but nothing happens beyond talk. Evelyn returns to the Remmy beach house and eventually is followed by Johnny, who is floored to be greeted by another blonde (Myrna Dell) who claims to be Evelyn!

STEP BY STEP qualifies as a film noir thanks mostly to its unstable environment where the order of things is questioned and ordinary people inspire doubt. Our lead protagonist Johnny stands among a vast array of noir characters who served their country only to encounter continued opposition back in the states. This theme pervades the narrative early when a motorcycle traffic cop (Pat Flaherty) accuses Johnny of being a shell-shocked veteran whose perceptions cannot be taken seriously. An unhelpful public servant, the cop does not buy into the former Marine's story and is outwitted easily by the Nazis led by Von Dorn (Lowell Gilmore) who have assembled at the Remmy estate. The battle-tested noir doppelgänger theme is emphasized by this German crew that substitutes for Remmy and Evelyn without much resistance. Effectively the Nazis put Johnny and Evelyn on the run, with the couple sought by both police and criminals.

Particularly for film noirs of this period, the woman of mystery is one of the accepted genre conceits. It is hinted at very early in the proceedings that Evelyn Smith might not be who she claims to be in terms of work history. On a related note, she is an outsider from the east. Though not a femme fatale per se, from the opening segment there is question as to who she is and why she suddenly has become a secretary for Senator Remmy. In fact she eventually reveals she was selected for the job based on false credentials, and thus never should have been in a position to attract Johnny with her fetching swimwear. Interestingly, Evelyn proves she is capable of spider woman detail when she tricks the chauffeur Norton (Phil Warren) into admitting his treachery just before he gets iced.

The requisite heterosexual union (well, sort of)

Ultimately the Nazi fugitives are expunged as Hollywood conventions of the time required, although the cathartic concluding sequence strains credulity to the limit, with law enforcement firepower responding to a wildly implausible S.O.S. signal engineered by Johnny. Overall the plot seems heavily dependent upon coincidence rather than the preferred film noir power of fate. STEP BY STEP reunites Lawrence Tierney and Anne Jeffreys from DILLINGER (1945), though it should be mentioned this vehicle is hardly the forum for the unique talent of the real-life bad boy Tierney, who was so effective the following year as the heavies in THE DEVIL THUMBS A RIDE (1947) and BORN TO KILL (1947). Myrna Dell's character Gretchen is branded repeatedly as far less attractive than Evelyn, as if Dell were some sort of ugly duckling. Not only are Nazis engaged in nefarious activities that threaten our basic freedoms, the viewer is to understand their women are homely to boot.

This Blu-ray presentation is derived from outstanding source material and looks smooth and crisp in motion, framed at the original theatrical scope of 1.37:1. Two bonus features are selectable. The first is THE TRANS-ATLANTIC MYSTERY (1932, Warner Bros., 21m 40s) with Ray Collins, who would later appear as Boss Jim Gettys in CITIZEN KANE (1941). John Hamilton from STEP BY STEP is also part of the cast. The second supplement is “The Great Piggy Bank Robbery” (1946, Warner Bros., 7m 33s) a surreal animated short starring Daffy Duck.

NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES (1948)

Paramount Pictures, 80m 56s

After a man acquires the power of second sight, he comes to understand his inexplicable ability as more of a curse than a blessing. He becomes a loner, effectively closed off from the world around him. When he realizes he may be able to alter one of his visions, he senses such intervention may cost him his life. If that brief plot summary brings to mind director David Cronenberg's THE DEAD ZONE (1983), based on the novel by Stephen King, it should. One wonders if King found some inspiration for his story in director John Farrow's NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES, or perhaps in that film's source material written by Cornell Woolrich. After screening the Farrow film, it occurred to me that THE DEAD ZONE might best be discussed in film noir terms, but that will be an essay for another day.

NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES is among the best calibrated of noir films that focus on an alienated individual doomed to a bleak outcome. Like many noirs of this period, it begins at the end, but then journeys backward in time to shed light on what brought the major characters to where they find themselves. In this case the flashback takes us back 20 years to 1928 Louisiana, where John Triton (Edward G. Robinson) makes his living in a "first-class phony" mind reading act. Billed as "Triton, the Mental Wizard," he is flanked by his fiancée Jenny (Virginia Bruce) and his close friend Whitney Courtland (Jerome Cowan). Each night the trio stands before appreciative spectators, all primed to believe in Triton's reputed clairvoyance. One night Triton is inclined to believe it too after he learns his sudden impression of a boy in danger proves stunningly accurate. Then a 10-1 longshot comes through at the horse track per Triton's intuition. Triton grows increasingly fearful of his forewarnings after the death of a newsboy (Georgie Nokes), but Courtland repeatedly reaps pecuniary rewards. Winning bets on horse races lead Courtland to stock market success and tracts of land rich with oil in Oklahoma. After a particularly disturbing vision drifts through his consciousness, Triton abandons Jenny and Courtland. "I'd become a sort of a reverse zombie. I was living in a world already dead, and I alone knowing it."

As Courtland rises to the top of society thanks entirely to Triton's incredible powers of precognition, Triton is absorbed into oppressive noir nothingness within Los Angeles, where he lives alone and operates the Triton Novelty Co., a small mail order service. The mentally traumatized film noir figure was a common sighting in noir output of the late 1940s, almost a prerequisite, i.e. HIGH WALL (1947), NIGHTMARE ALLEY (1947), POSSESSED (1947), MOONRISE (1948), SO EVIL MY LOVE (1948), THE CROOKED WAY (1949) and WHIRLPOOL (1949). The psychologically haunted protagonist of NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES is Triton, a man who once had a place in society when he pretended to be a mentalist. In one of the genre's most darkly ironic twists, Triton comes to possess actual paranormal power only to be destroyed by it after two decades of misery. Some of his dialog is instructive as he describes his life of anonymity in the Bunker Hill neighborhood using absolute film noir verbiage:

"It was an odd part of the city, but I liked it. It was a strictly 'no questions asked' area; people minding their own business and letting you mind yours. Even after 15 years my social conversation didn't exceed 25 words a day...it was a lonely life..."

Other than significant financial gain for his friend Courtland (a dubious benefit as it turns out), there is no plus side for Triton that comes from his foresight. He has no control over his premonitions, which strike without warning and always seem to bring the worst imaginable news. Triton effectively forfeits his fiancée Jenny to his friend Courtland in the hope of altering his vision of her death, nonetheless she dies during childbirth. Triton eventually envisions Courtland's death by plane crash, but is unable to prevent it, try as he might. Then Triton foresees the imminent death of Jean (Gail Russell), the daughter of Jenny and Courtland. Ultimately both Triton and Jean join the ranks of film noir's walking dead, those unenviable folks who can see their own demise. This was another common film noir trope of the mid-to-late 1940s, as seen in THE DARK CORNER (1946), THE KILLERS (1946), OUT OF THE PAST (1947), RIDE THE PINK HORSE (1947) and ACT OF VIOLENCE (1948).

Portrait of Jenny

In a sequence that connects the main protagonist directly to the viewer, Triton posits he is not that different from anyone present at the Courtland estate:

"You've been there, all of you. You've had experiences:  telegrams that you knew the contents of before you opened them, places that seem familiar though you've never been in them before, and under the emotional stress of tragedy, have you noticed how everything becomes disturbed and unreal as the mind tries to escape into time? And in dreams, it escapes too; not always into fantasy, sometimes the dreams come true."

By inference, none of us are much different than Triton as he attempts to explain how unremarkable he believes himself to be. The notion that the lead protagonist could be anybody is a powerful attribute for any film noir; it allows the audience to identify with people who are not always likeable, though it is easy to sympathize with Triton as he copes as best he can against unyielding film noir doctrines. Later at the police station, he reminds us of the absurdity of his position, how powerless he is within the context of film noir conditions:

"This gift, which I never asked for and I don't understand, has brought me only unhappiness."

That moment of recognition extends to Elliott Carson (John Lund), the oil geologist. The man of science maintains a skeptical attitude throughout the film, but ultimately comes to a certain respect for the fatalistic noir universe and its mysterious functions. He admits scientists indeed are conducting studies in the area of second sight, which in itself seems to legitimize the possibility of such phenomena.

A diagram of interconnected film noir themes and motifs is created through an emphasis on darkness, low camera angles, elaborate staircases, mirrors, an idealized portrait and an overwhelming sense of dread. Repeatedly Triton's grim prognostications are associated with rainfall. Of course rain-soaked streets provide a film-friendly terrain for noir sequences, but there is a deeper meaning attached to water, which is linked symbolically to ominous transitions in film noir narratives such as DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW (1944), MILDRED PIERCE (1945), BRUTE FORCE (1947), PORTRAIT OF JENNIE (1948) and SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950).

The noir mirror

A veteran of some of the genre's undisputed classics, including DOUBLE INDEMNITY, THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW, SCARLET STREET (1945), THE STRANGER (1946), KEY LARGO (1948), HOUSE OF STRANGERS (1949) and ILLEGAL (1955), Edward G. Robinson is at his most affable here as a man plagued by what many would assume to be a wonderful gift. Director of photography John F. Seitz possessed a noir credit list arguably as impressive as Robinson's, including DOUBLE INDEMNITY, CALCUTTA (1946), THE BIG CLOCK (1948), APPOINTMENT WITH DANGER (1950) and SUNSET BOULEVARD. The compositions captured by Seitz for NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES now can be appreciated in the recently released single-layered Blu-ray edition from Kino Lorber. The new 2K master does look a little darker than what I would have preferred, though grain level is appropriate. Minor speckles, scratches and artifacts are evident throughout the presentation, but none of these little annoyances detract from the viewing experience in any significant way.

The new Blu-ray disc features an audio commentary track recorded by Imogen Sara Smith, a voice to be trusted on all things Hollywood. Her research is so thorough it really poses a problem for those of us trying to take notes; this commentary in particular made me appreciate the pause button on my remote control. Smith approaches the film from every imaginable angle. She notes that the supernatural element is uncharacteristic of the film noir; consequently the lead protagonist is not the fraud Stan Carlisle (Tyrone Power) is in the prior year's NIGHTMARE ALLEY. Also unusual for a noir exercise is that none of the major characters are motivated by greed, lust or hatred—only fear of their own mortality. Noir stories often are concerned with the power of the past over the present, and that is true to some extent in this film given the textbook flashback format. But the more meaningful focus is on Triton's unpleasant premonitions about the future, which makes this film noir especially cynical in its thematic structure. Something that seems like a gift in reality is a heavy cross to bear. Smith observes the adaptation (by screenwriters Barré Lyndon and Jonathan Latimer) is not particularly faithful to Cornell Woolrich's source novel (NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES, 1945, written under the pseudonym of George Hopley). Triton was not the lead character in the novel, which is even more obsessed with the inevitability of death than the film version. The doom-laden novel was constructed around Courtland and his daughter Jean, with Triton as a secondary character.

The film's second reel comes with a somewhat incongruous change in tone thanks in part to the presence of William Demarest, who portrays the wisecracking Lieutenant Shawn of the homicide division. Demarest was an actor noted more for his work with director Preston Sturges than film noir productions. As the action plays out at the Courtland home, there is more of a comic flair to the proceedings than noir fans might expect or want. Smith suggests this might be explained by the fact this film is a product of Paramount, a studio not known for gritty films. Thus the stable of actors called upon for supporting roles are more notable for their achievements in genres other than film noir. At this point director John Farrow is best remembered for his work in film noir, i.e. CALCUTTA, THE BIG CLOCK, ALIAS NICK BEAL (1949), WHERE DANGER LIVES (1950), HIS KIND OF WOMAN (1951) and A BULLET IS WAITING (1954). His noir films are united by consistent themes that include control, manipulation, loss of identity, fatalism and absurdism. He favored the complexity of long takes with multiple actors in the frame. This approach was more demanding of everyone involved, and demanding he was. Farrow had a reputation for being a tyrant on the set with a horrible mean streak. He also was "a chronic philanderer" according to Smith. The House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) impacted almost every film for which Smith has submitted a commentary track. HUAC really hurt Edward G. Robinson's career; NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES came toward the end of his run as an A film actor. The story of Gail Russell is far more tragic; the underconfident actress drank herself to death at the age of 36. Smith points out Angels Flight in the Bunker Hill district of Downtown Los Angeles was a landmark film noir setting that formed the backdrop for genre entries such as SOMEWHERE IN THE NIGHT (1946), ACT OF VIOLENCE (1949), M (1951) and the great KISS ME DEADLY (1955). The usual assortment of theatrical trailers for discs available from Kino Lorber completes the supplemental package.

The song "The Night Has a Thousand Eyes" was composed by Jerry Brainin, with lyrics by Buddy Bernier. Since the movie made its theatrical run, the song has become a jazz standard, recorded by a vast assortment of artists such as John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins, Horace Silver, UAB SuperJazz (featuring Ellis Marsalis), Harry Belafonte, Paul Desmond (with Jim Hall), Toshiko Akiyoshi, Pharoah Sanders, Irene Kral, Harry Beckett, Petula Clark, Gloria Lynne, and Carmen McRae.