CRISS CROSS (1949)

Universal Pictures, 87m 43s

Why are some people compelled to do the wrong thing when they know they are doing the wrong thing? The driving force behind director Robert Siodmak's uncompromisingly downbeat film noir CRISS CROSS is life's painful predictability in the face of supposedly random events. Good or bad, randomness gives shape to our lives, both in terms of insignificant things as well as how our days might come to an end. The way human lives interlock may be based largely on chance, but the resulting decisions people make probably are not. A pure distillation of the noir form, CRISS CROSS explores how fate might dovetail with genetic destiny.

In the film's opening segment, Steve Thompson (Burt Lancaster) and Anna Dundee (Yvonne De Carlo) meet clandestinely in the parking lot of the Round Up Café owned by her husband Slim Dundee (Dan Duryea). Later inside the club, an argument between Steve and Slim almost turns violent, but when policeman Pete Ramirez (Stephen McNally) arrives on the scene, all witnesses go silent. Steve and Slim have an armored car robbery in the works, and do not want personal differences to spoil the potentially massive take.

Successfully pulling off this type of heist is thought to be an impossibility by the film's characters that are schooled in such matters. It is said an armored car holdup has not been attempted in 28 years, and those involved all got the chair for their efforts. What makes this battle plan different is the band of criminals is led by Steve, who recently has returned to his old job as a driver for Horten's Armored Car Service. Once the caper is in motion, the inside man Steve reflects upon the curious past events that led to his involvement with known criminals he dislikes. While he is driving the vehicle scheduled for robbery, the film dissolves into flashback form. "It was only eight months ago that I came back," he recalls.

Two faces of Anna

Steve drifted around the country before his instinctive return home, where he knew he would find his ex-wife Anna. After a sustained attempt to forget her, he succumbs to his hardwired attachment to her. Clearly in a state of denial, he tries to convince himself and others he has come home to assume a head-of-household role in the family home. It's a lie. Like a soldier coming home from war in a foreign land, he has returned to reclaim the woman he lost, even though on some level he understands they are not meant for each other (both recall constant bickering). But in respect to film noir's most dominant axiom, the power of fate cannot be bargained with, and Steve is aware of that, too. "It was in the cards, or it was fate, or a jinx, or whatever you want to call it—but right from the start." Soon after his return to LA, Steve surveys the rumba club for his former wife, with whom his obsession persists. He finds her. They start dating again, but before long she turns her back on him in what looks to be a permanent move. Anna's self-serving ways frustrate Steve, but his emotional investment in her never fades for long. He seems all too eager to serve as a scratching post for Anna. Via narration, he reveals awareness for his hopeless addiction, and even pleads for the viewer's empathy:  "Every place you go, you see her face. Half the girls you pass are her. Did it ever happen to you?"

Anna is introduced as an unfaithful wife, and her character does not improve much as the story unspools. Steve's marriage to her yielded seven months of wreckage. His mother openly dislikes Anna, as does his old friend Pete. When she displays evidence of being physically abused, whether one should take her side or not seems open to debate. She is concerned only with taking care of herself. What's good about her? Well, as portrayed by Yvonne De Carlo (yes, Lily Munster), Anna is one of the most luscious-looking film noir femme fatales, especially on the packed dance floor at the rumba club, where her irresistible combination of awkwardness and sex appeal is apparent (notice an uncredited Tony Curtis as her dancing partner in this sequence). The bond between her and Steve is sex, nothing beyond that. Despite all their squabbles, they both enjoyed "the making-up part" as Anna describes it. But in the end, "You always have to do what's best for yourself," she summarizes.

CRISS CROSS opens with Anna's vision of a bright future for her and Steve. Because this is film noir, even the first-time viewer is sure to be suspicious of that prediction. Steve believes her, and thinks he knows Anna better than his family and friends do. Of course he will be dead wrong. Throughout the film, characters read other people with confidence, only to be proven wrong more than right. Steve mistakenly assumes the robbery take will win him Anna for good. A front-page newspaper story christens Steve a hero, which he most certainly is not. Steve thinks Mr. Nelson (Robert Osterloh) has a concealed weapon under his jacket, which he doesn't. That discovery prompts Steve to believe Nelson is on the level, though he isn't. Pete is correct when he assumes Steve has returned home looking for Anna, but later badly misunderstands Steve's level of involvement in the heist attempt. Pete errs again when he envisions Anna and Slim united after the heist. Pop (Griff Barnett) suppresses his better instincts and tragically follows Steve, who leads them into a doomed operation. Steve feels he has assurance Pop will not be hurt, another error in judgment. Bartender Frank (Percy Helton) figures Steve for a "checker" (an investigator for the state liquor board). Barstool babe (Joan Miller, credited as "The Lush") makes the same flawed deduction, and later mistakes Steve for a racetrack loser; she claims she can size up anyone. Like most people in the film, her perceptions prove either misleading or completely inaccurate in an upside-down post-WWII society.

The photoplay is rich with exterior footage around Los Angeles, including Angels Flight Railway, Bunker Hill, Commodore Schuyler F. Heim Bridge and Union Station. Director of photography Franz Planer (credited here as Frank Planer) makes the most of set designs as well, with the scenes at the club among the most atmospheric. I particularly like the use of low camera angles in the club's entrance area, which work well to emphasize a sense of entrapment when Steve returns to his old stomping grounds. Some of the other noir motifs are more subtle. For example, there are multiple instances of men walking with canes, an important component of film noir grammar (compromised masculinity). In terms of dialog, good lines aplenty were baked into the screenplay by Daniel Fuchs, who adapted the 1934 novel of the same title written by Don Tracy. Casting is superb from top to bottom, with Burt Lancaster locked in as Steve, another of his great film noir protagonists along with the characters he portrayed in THE KILLERS (1946), BRUTE FORCE (1947), I WALK ALONE (1947) and the fascinating SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS (1957), in which he portrayed one of the genre's great villains. The always reliable noir icon Dan Duryea (THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW [1944], SCARLET STREET [1945], TOO LATE FOR TEARS [1949]) offers one of his most controlled performances as the story's least admirable male character.

Newly released on dual-layered Blu-ray from Shout! Factory as part of their Shout Select product line, CRISS CROSS is reissued by way of a new 4K scan of the original nitrate negative, framed at 1.35:1 (though the packaging states 1.37:1). The transfer is acceptable, but falls a little short compared to alternate Blu-ray releases of this title, as documented by physical media analyst Gary Tooze [Criss Cross (1949)]. The Shout! Factory incarnation reveals its limitations most obviously during the heist sequence, when protracted instances of tiling and ghosting noticeably corrupt the presentation. The screen captures below compare the surprisingly soft look of this new Blu-ray edition to the Universal Pictures Home Entertainment DVD released in 2004. This Blu-ray disc hardly offers a quantum visual leap. I actually prefer the more textured look of the DVD presentation.

Shout! Factory Blu-ray

Universal DVD

A worthwhile supplement from Shout! Factory is the commentary track by film historian Jim Hemphill, though it too has technical problems. On three separate occasions, Hemphill calls for cuts that for whatever reason did not take place. Those imperfections aside, Hemphill shows a lot of passion for a film noir title he rightly ranks highly. He sees the character Steve as more of a self-destructive personality than a victim of fate; perhaps all of Steve's fatalistic notions are nothing more than convenient excuses. That is a fair reading, though I see Steve's behavior as more of a genetic issue; he is predisposed to follow Anna and there is nothing he can do about it. Another good line of analysis from Hemphill is that Anna does not always look the glamorous noir vixen. When she wears slacks, the wardrobe transition adds a dose of realism to the story. A student of the Robert Siodmak oeuvre, Hemphill correctly notes the filmmaker's work often featured strong women and weak men, i.e. PHANTOM LADY (1944), THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF UNCLE HARRY (1945) and THE KILLERS (1946, Lancaster's debut). Other bonus material includes a theatrical re-release trailer (2m 19s), an immense collection of production stills (14m 8s) and a poster & lobby card still gallery (6m 9s).

The same source novel by Don Tracy was called upon for THE UNDERNEATH (1995), directed by Steven Soderbergh and starring Peter Gallagher, Alison Elliott and William Fichtner. As Hemphill mentions, a different director adds new dimensions to the same basic story material, while many similarities to CRISS CROSS remain. I encourage fans of the film noir classic to seek out the Soderbergh interpretation, another classic in its own right.

LAURA (1944)

Twentieth Century Fox, 87m 6s, 88m 9s

"...she had something about her, that girl."

—Waldo Lydecker

Produced and directed by the prolific Otto Preminger, LAURA delivers a substantive mystery above its film noir substratum. The adaptation of Vera Caspary's novel was the first major commercial success for the famously ill-tempered filmmaker Preminger. In a year that included DOUBLE INDEMNITY, MURDER, MY SWEET, PHANTOM LADY and THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW, LAURA remains one of the standout film noirs of 1944, and over the years has become the subject of effusive critical analysis. Rich with evocative dialog and impressive visual schemes, the Preminger feature offers a spirited clash between the cultured upper class and the no-nonsense working class.

LAURA is set in New York City, though it was filmed on a soundstage, which was the norm for Hollywood movies at that time. Homicide Detective Lieutenant Mark McPherson (Dana Andrews) is on the trail of the person who shot Laura Hunt (Gene Tierney), an undeniably beautiful young woman who was admired—and desired—by many. Prime suspects begin with well-known columnist Waldo Lydecker (Clifton Webb making his screen debut in sound film), an urbane but contemptuous personality who spent many platonic evenings with Laura. Of perhaps equal interest is a bit of a player named Shelby Carpenter (Vincent Price), an enigmatic fellow who planned to marry Laura. The two major suspects harbor intense dislike for each other, and understandably so, since each suitor hoped to win Laura's affection. It is made clear there were other men who had designs on Laura. When it comes to attractive, elegant women, such men always exist.

Though Laura Hunt is not by any stretch of the imagination a good example of a film noir femme fatale, her ability to command the attention of all the major male characters is noteworthy. So commendable were Laura's many positive attributes in life, she continues to maintain an uncanny power over people after her death. The film uses a flashback structure to reveal her social ascent, as recalled by the egocentric Waldo, who must admit he only tweaked what already was present in her character. He explains some of her appeal and potential for upward mobility to be genetic ("innate breeding," "authentic magnetism"). Laura goes from anonymous working girl at a large advertising agency to a woman of considerable creative control, especially for that time in American history. In a montage sequence, Waldo's protégé rapidly climbs the career ladder, seemingly at ease in all business and social situations. Her large portrait in her home celebrates this idea. The framed portrait of the idealized woman, whose real-life inspiration proves more complex than her likeness, would become a recurring theme in the film noir, and in fact was also a key element to the same year's THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW.

The most influential portrait of film noir

In contrast with the lifestyle of high social standing embodied by Laura and her many friends is the working class idealism represented by the detective who is determined to bring in her killer. In the film's opening sequence at Waldo Lydecker's apartment, Mark McPherson could not be any more the opposite of Waldo and the columnist's acerbic tongue. Mark smirks in amusement at Waldo's wall of decorative masks, which perhaps are meant to conceal the sullen countenance of their owner. Mark has no use for such artifacts. Repeatedly he relies on a pocket baseball game to keep himself even-keeled, much the way many of us habitually call upon a smartphone to achieve the same purpose today. In the course of his investigation, Mark becomes yet another man with a keen interest in Laura. The worth of Laura is endorsed by her grief-stricken maid Bessie Clary (Dorothy Adams, skilled at playing domestic types). Like Mark, the loyal servant Bessie honors the dignity of working class people as she instinctually guards the reputation of her beloved employer. Bessie even continues to work for Laura after having learned of her death. "I'm paid up for the week and I'm working, regardless," she comments.

The crucial sequence to establish footing on a noir path occurs after Mark has become frustrated with the case. In the midst of a torrential downpour, often used to signify some type of transition in the noir setting, Mark returns to Laura's apartment one evening. He studies her portrait. He invades her bedroom, smells her perfume and inspects her dresser drawer and closet. In recognition that he is not behaving in any sort of professional capacity, he pours himself a drink and studies Laura's portrait again. It is a creepy sequence, as pointed out directly by Waldo, always about when a man may have designs on Laura. Waldo has learned Mark placed a bid on the portrait that has captivated the detective. Indeed when Waldo accuses Mark of falling for a corpse, the writer definitely has a point! But on another level, Mark gradually falling for the murder victim emphasizes her pedigree. He may have been struck by the painting of her likeness (who wouldn't be?), but it is the detail he learns about her character that affirms his true feelings for her.

Throughout the narrative, the effeminate man Waldo Lydecker stands in obvious contrast with the meat-and-potatoes guy Mark. Importantly, Waldo's slight frame is introduced in the bathtub, where nobody could be considered in a position of strength. The embodiment of tactlessly outspoken, snobby upper class decay, Waldo is better associated with things than people. He resides in a "lavish" apartment, adorned with monogrammed towels and lovingly decorated with "priceless" items he has accumulated. A constant annoyance to those around him, he dines alone. Even when clearly in the wrong, Waldo appears incapable of apologizing for his surly demeanor without a prompt from Laura. After he aids her transformation into a business and a social magnate, he shadows her whenever her plans do not include him, and routinely assassinates the character of any man who descends upon Laura's private life. Though Waldo cultivates Laura, she eventually turns from the conniving elder man of high culture. In one of the narrative's major turning points, Waldo is both literally and figuratively out in the cold the night he observes Laura in her home window with an artist named Jacoby (John Dexter), about whom Waldo authors a disparaging article. Later Waldo is marginalized when Laura begins to spend time with Shelby Carpenter, and ultimately Waldo aims his jealousy at Mark. Waldo accuses Laura of falling only for men who appear physically strong, in conflict with the intellectual's own frailty (which proves to be more mental than physical).

The suspicious behavior of socialite Shelby Carpenter keeps him high on Mark's list of potential murderers. Shelby is a rather disreputable man, especially as portrayed by the always guilty-looking Vincent Price. Though clearly a man of some social rank (in the past, he derived income from an estate), Shelby is unemployed when he first encounters Laura, who agrees to hire him. In a moment reserved for one of the story's heels, it is revealed Shelby pawned an expensive cigarette case he received as a gift from Laura. Insultingly, he pawned the item in the name of another woman he had been seeing during the same time he was romantically involved with Laura. Ann Treadwell (Judith Anderson, who portrayed the shrewish Mrs. Danvers in Alfred Hitchcock's REBECCA [1940]) outwardly maintains great love for Shelby, even though she admits he would be capable of murder. She even tells Laura that she entertained thoughts of offing her. At various intervals, Ann and Shelby touch each other with affection. The implication is they were made for each other, though only Ann seems to have accepted the notion completely. Shelby is always on the lookout for someone else.

This standard-looking shot contains the solution to a murder mystery: 
note the position of Waldo's umbrella handle in relation to the clock

Laura's image defiantly stands between her startling return and the man investigating her

A noir image if ever there were one

Waldo framed within the context of the framed Laura, whose beauty he failed to capture.
Man's inability to contain female beauty would become closely identified with noir

In regard to film noir themes and motifs that would galvanize a burgeoning genre, the opening narration from Waldo is significant. Ultimately it is the voice of a dead man. Variations on this convention would be used again, perhaps more famously in Billy Wilder's SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950). Although LAURA's featured murder occurs offscreen, it is especially gruesome:  a lovely woman dies from a shotgun blast to the face! The film noir movement surely pushed the envelope in terms of what would be considered acceptable violence in American cinema. The flashback device was pivotal to the genre's development, and the fact that so many noir stories begin at the end certainly adds a heightened sense of helplessness to the proceedings. Film noir suspense seldom involves the gradual reveal of some important event. Instead that event is revealed in the early going, and suspense is created in the eventual explanation of why that event occurred. The noir hallmarks of LAURA include numerous nocturnal sequences, atmospherically captured by director of photography Joseph LaShelle, who earned an Academy Award for Best Cinematography, Black-and-White. It would be the lone victory for the 8-time Oscar nominee.

The source novel by Vera Caspary originally ran in COLLIERS from October-November 1942 as the seven-part serial "Ring Twice for Laura." The material was republished in book form the following year, and Caspary sold the film rights to Twentieth Century Fox. LAURA was adapted for the screen by Jay Dratler, Samuel Hoffenstein and Elizabeth Reinhardt. As the past and present intermix, the fairly complicated plot structure never confuses without reason. One wonders if everything is a dream after Mark falls asleep in Laura's apartment, only to be awakened by the reappearance of the woman whose murder he has been investigating. That convention was used in the same year's THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW. Caspary's source novel would be adapted later as the German made-for-TV movie LAURA (1962) directed by Franz Josef Wild, and then as an American TV movie in 1968 helmed by John Llewellyn Moxey. A Lux Radio Theatre version aired February 5, 1945, and another interpretation was presented February 1, 1954. A stage version first emerged in 1947.

The 1080P dual-layered Blu-ray edition of LAURA released in 2013 by 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment is absolutely loaded. As I write this review, the disc still can be had for around $10. Along with the original theatrical cut (87m 6s), there is an extended version that runs a little longer (88m 9s). The extended cut includes an expanded montage of Waldo cultivating Laura. The presentation is framed at 1.33:1, which is interesting since both IMDb and TCM list 1.37:1 as the original theatrical aspect ratio.

Supplemental material is mostly common to the Fox DVD issued in 2005. The first audio commentary track features David Raksin, the composer who scored LAURA, and Jeanine Basinger, who for years served as the Corwin-Fuller Professor of Film Studies and Founder and Curator of The Cinema Archives at Wesleyan University, Middletown, Connecticut. Basinger reminds us that, like so many classic films, the LAURA we know today almost did not happen. Its life began as a B picture before it was upgraded to an A. The original concept would have been directed by Rouben Mamoulian, with John Hodiak in the role of Detective McPherson and either Hedy Lamarr or Jennifer Jones as Laura. Laird Cregar was being considered for the part of Waldo. Original director Mamoulian's wife painted a portrait of Gene Tierney that was to be used in the film, but that painting was switched to a blown-up photograph after Otto Preminger stepped in as director. Tierney was complimentary of Preminger, a filmmaker well-known for being incredibly demanding of everyone involved in one of his productions. She noted he pushed himself as hard as he pushed the cast and crew. Initially Tierney was unenthused about the role, which in her view lacked screen time. Preminger always directed with tremendous faith in the intelligence of his audience. He had filmed alternate endings, but what exactly he shot remains imprecise. According to the composer Raksin, the scene probably best remembered by noir fans almost was eliminated by David O. Selznick. Raksin convinced Selznick to allow the composer to score the sequence in which Mark appears to have fallen in love with the portrait of a woman he believes to be dead. To think this scene almost hit the cutting room floor! Raksin's other noir credits are an impressive assortment that includes FALLEN ANGEL (1945), FORCE OF EVIL (1948), WHIRLPOOL (1949), SUDDENLY (1954) and THE BIG COMBO (1955).

The commentary track by film historian Rudy Behlmer traces LAURA through its many steps from play concept to screen classic. Per Behlmer, his recording has its basis in a chapter of his book BEHIND THE SCENES: THE MAKING OF... (1990), which was the culmination of extensive research and interviews he conducted in the 1970s. Though both commentary tracks are worthwhile, the Behlmer track is the more compelling of the two, especially in terms of the historical background of all things LAURA. Vera Caspary decided to sell the screen rights rather than endure the stress of a theatrical adaptation. Her novel was sold for $30K, and allowed Caspary to retain rights to a stage production. The story of the 1944 film adaptation is riddled with the sort of complexity that seems appropriate for the background of a seminal film noir. A screening room presentation of KIDNAPPED (1938) resulted in a dramatic falling out between director Otto Preminger and Darryl F. Zanuck, who had become VP in charge of production at Fox in 1935. So upset was Zanuck he assured Preminger that he could forget about ever directing again. Screenwriter Jay Dratler finished the first draft of LAURA in 1943, and Zanuck made a lot of notes on it. Zanuck sounded the alarm for more distinct characterizations, and was especially underwhelmed with the way Laura was drawn. He could not imagine any major actress being hungry to portray her (and Tierney was not excited about being a second choice after Jennifer Jones turned down the role). Most important, Zanuck's elaborate feedback confirmed the LAURA property would be elevated to A status. According to various accounts of the production's history, Laura was offered to director Lewis Milestone, who declined. Then John Brahm declined, as did Walter Lang before Rouben Mamoulian accepted. The production got off to a shaky start when Zanuck was disappointed with the initial work completed by Mamoulian. Going back on his threat, Zanuck removed Mamoulian and installed Preminger as director. That decision did not necessarily sit well with the actors. In fact, Dana Andrews described Preminger as too "Germanic" in his direction of people and unsuccessfully tried to get out of his contract to play Detective McPherson. Behlmer draws attention to the contribution of director of photography Joseph LaShelle, whose camera follows the action to great effect. He moves in and out of close-ups in such an effortless way traditional editing technique is limited. It does appear Mamoulian was completely excised from the project; LaShelle recalls Preminger telling him none of the Mamoulian footage would survive after reshoots. Behlmer also reviews what is known of the film's alternate conclusion.

If you are not familiar with the troubled private life of Gene Eliza Tierney already, the A&E Biography presentation "Gene Tierney:  A Shattered Portrait" (1999, 44m 9s) will break your heart. She was born November 19, 1920 in Brooklyn, New York, and raised in Westport, Connecticut. Her upbringing was strict as administered by Howard Sherwood Tierney, an insurance broker. At the age of 17, the young Tierney was approached by Warner Bros., but her parents did not approve. In 1939, at the age of 18, she found success on Broadway. Then in 1940, Tierney caught the attention of Darryl F. Zanuck, who got her to sign with 20th Century Fox. In an attempt to lower her speaking voice, she took up smoking, which surely factored in her death from emphysema on November 6, 1991 at the age of 70. Tierney married Oleg Cassini, a costume designer, June 1, 1941, and in 1943 she was top-billed in HEAVEN CAN WAIT. Later she was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress for her role in LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN (1945).

Though everything on the surface seemed to be going perfectly well for Tierney, her Hollywood stardom coincided with her long battle with mental illness and manic depression. There were many events in her life that must have factored in the state of her mental health. In a failed attempt to resuscitate his business, her father stole from the Belle-Tier corporation he had set up for her. Tierney was left with nothing. She gave birth to a daughter, Antoinette Daria Cassini, who was born prematurely, deaf, partially blind and mentally challenged. Tierney was devastated to realize her stardom caused a fan with German measles to seek her out, which likely caused Tierney to contract the disease while pregnant. She blamed her fame as an actress for her daughter's fragile condition. As fate would have it, Tierney's next starring role would be in LAURA, the part for which she is best remembered.

Though Tierney would remain friends with Oleg for the rest of her life, he was unfaithful to her, and the couple would separate. In 1946 she would become romantically involved with John F. Kennedy, who would not marry her because of his political aspirations. Her romance with Prince Aly Khan in 1952 met with resistance from his father, Aga Khan III. By 1954, Tierney was having a hard time remembering her lines. At the age of 34, she collapsed due to a viral infection and began to experience hallucinations. She reluctantly agreed to electric shock therapy. At the age of 39, she married Texas oilman W. Howard Lee in 1960, but soon suffered a miscarriage. According to Tierney's daughter Christina Cassini, her mother was never the same again after repeated stays at various institutions. Tierney's former husband Oleg ends the documentary appropriately when he describes his ex-wife as, "...the unluckiest lucky girl in the world."

Gene Tierney:  perhaps the most stunning countenance in Hollywood history

Also on hand is the A&E Biography episode "Vincent Price: The Versatile Villain" (1997, 44m 3s). Described as "a modern Renaissance man," Vincent Leonard Price, Jr. (May 27, 1911 – October 25, 1993) was a lifelong collector of art. An English major at Yale, he graduated in 1933. Later he studied in Europe, where he became obsessed with the theater. After he returned to the US, at the age of 24 he starred in VICTORIA REGINA, a Broadway hit that made the cover of TIME magazine in 1936. Broadway fame led to a contract with Universal Pictures, where he played bit parts in a number of films. His movie career got a boost after he signed with Twentieth Century Fox in 1940. His talent for portraying malevolent characters was confirmed on the stage when he played Mr. Manningham in ANGEL STREET, which opened in December of 1941 and ran for a year. Audiences hissed at his character, and Price recognized he had found his calling. On the screen, Price established himself as the bad guy in DRAGONWYCK (1946), and was top-billed in SHOCK (1946), the production that proved he could play the lead. Though from a budget standpoint SHOCK was a B movie, it was screened as an A title.

By the 1950s, Price was known as much for his knowledge of art as he was for his acting. When HOUSE OF WAX (1953) reignited the horror genre, Price found himself bound to the horror category for the remainder of his career. He is well-remembered for his role in THE FLY (1958), as well as his appearances in the William Castle films HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL (1959) and THE TINGLER (1959). In the 1960s, Price starred in a series of films for American International Pictures that began with HOUSE OF USHER (1960), produced and directed by Roger Corman. Other productions based on the writing of Edgar Allan Poe followed, including PIT AND THE PENDULUM (1961), THE RAVEN (1963) and THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH (1964), each produced and directed by Corman. The late 1960s and early 1970s brought him three of his greatest roles in WITCHFINDER GENERAL (1968), THE ABOMINABLE DR. PHIBES (1971) and THEATER OF BLOOD (1973). Beyond the world of cinema, Price made a great many television appearances, memorably as Egghead on BATMAN (1966-1967). He worked as an art spokesman for Sears-Roebuck from 1962 to 1971, when Sears offered original art for sale by artists such as Rembrandt, Picasso, and Dalí. Price was also a gourmet cook and the author of multiple cookbooks. In the late 1970s, he performed in 300 cities as Oscar Wilde in the one-man stage production DIVERSIONS AND DELIGHTS.

Price was married three times. He married Edith Barrett in 1938, and divorced her in 1948. His second wife was Mary Grant, whom Price wed in 1949. They were divorced in 1973. His third wife Coral Browne was married to Price in 1974, and remained his wife until her death from cancer in 1991. Price fathered two children:  Vincent Barrett Price, born August 30, 1940 and Mary Victoria Price, born April 27, 1962.

An archival featurette (2005, 12m 36s) covers LAURA from a film noir perspective, with film historians Alain Silver and James Ursini providing insights. I particularly enjoyed the contribution from filmmaker Carl Franklin (ONE FALSE MOVE [1992]), who does not buy into Shelby Carpenter's story about why he was in Laura's apartment with Diane Redfern. The scene that was shortened for the theatrical cut may be watched separately (2m 36s), with optional commentary by Rudy Behlmer. The theatrical trailer (2m 31s) features camera coverage not used in the final cut.

THE BIG CLOCK (1948)

Paramount Pictures, 95m 24s

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arrow Academy Blu-ray

Universal DVD

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

Director John Farrow as master of blocking

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

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

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

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

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

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