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