Category: Films

In the only film directed by Charles Laughton, The Night of the Hunter, we have an example of the danger of applying a template approach to establishing a picture as a film noir. Expressionist lighting and criminality – tick. But these elements alone do not a noir make. The Night of the Hunter is a gothic tale of good versus evil: there is no ambivalence nor an inversion of traditional values. Good triumphs over evil and the story ends.

This is not to say Night of the Hunter is not a great film- it assuredly is.  A tale about a psychotic and murderous Southern preacher terrorising two children who know the whereabouts of a loot of stolen money is not without flaws, but great nonetheless. The compelling screenplay, first class acting, atmospheric cinematography, and an enthralling stylised mise-en-scene from a first-time director make it great.

The editing is not fluid however, and the narrative flow suffers. Whether this is due to cuts made after completion of the preview version is uncertain. In a new book on the making of the movie, author Jeffrey Coachman says Laughton re-interpreted James Agee’s script, which itself was based on the first novel of Davis Grubb. The original Agee script surfaced in 2003, and out-takes still exist and have been viewed by Couchman. Also certain studio scenes clash jarringly with on-location shots.  Scenes in a small town near the end of the film are so obviously set-bound, that the drama takes on a theatrical tone which weakens the ‘reality’ of the story. The ending steers perilously close to sentimentality, but is saved by the luminous acting of Lillian Gish.

Other weaknesses relate to a certain moral relativism. The opening scene that establishes the story arc is not as strong as it should be – a weak performance by Peter Graves as the father on-the-run with the loot is redeemed only by the young actors playing his children. The father is caught and hanged, after sharing his cell with the evil preacher played superbly by Robert Mitchum, who learns that the loot has been hidden but not where. In the cell, disturbingly, the father justifies his crime, and presumably the killing of two people during the robbery, by saying he did it so his kids would not suffer during the hard times of the depression. After the hanging, the hangman is shown going home to his wife and young children and his remorse is clearly established. Yet at the end he is shown gleefully anticipating the hanging of another man – the preacher. An elderly married couple who are friends of Grave’s widow and portrayed as the salt of the earth in their generosity and concern for the woman alone struggling to raise her two children, at the end of the movie are transformed into unhinged rabble-rousers screaming for revenge and leading a lynch mob.

These weaknesses aside, there are stunningly elegiac scenes as the story unfolds. The most compelling is of the murdered widow still sitting upright in a car submerged in a river.

I start viewing each Humphrey Bogart picture with a heightened anticipation, so strong is the Bogart persona in any movie.  Alas, Dark Passage is one of the few  Bogart pictures that disappoints.  Bogart goes through the motions of an escaped con on the run trying to clear himself of a murder charge, and Lauren Bacall look great, but for a thriller the whole affair is flat.

Based on a story by David Goodis, the screenplay relies on too many implausible coincidences.  The pedestrian direction of Delmer Daves (The Red House) constrains the  camera of cinematographer Sid Hickox (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Possessed, White Heat), and the Franz Waxman score is sadly undistinguished.  You don’t see Bogart’s face  for the first half of the movie, with the camera taking a point of view angle – it didn’t work in Lady in The Lake (1947) and it doesn’t work here.  The ending is lame, and the climax is ho-hum even though a dame falls out of the window of an apartment building!

Deep focus outdoor scenes on the streets of San Francisco sustain visual interest, and the hilly topography results in some great angled shots.  Snappy lines of dialog enliven some static scenes, and there are interesting bit-roles that to a limited extent mitigate the film’s overarching weaknesses.  Agnes Moorehead is entertaining as a closet psychopath, but her camp characterisation is out-of-place in an otherwise earnest scenario.   A veteran bit-player with an  expressively craggy visage, Houseley Stevenson, is great as an eccentric  bootleg plastic surgeon.  Tom D’Andrea as a helpful cab driver,  Clifton Young as a small-time hood turned blackmailer, and  Tory Mallison as Bogart’s only friend, contribute immensely in roles that are pivotal to the story.  To give Daves, who adapted Goodis’ novel, due credit, the taxi cab scene is great – with Bogart’s “old” face in shadow in the back seat working so much better than the POV gimmick.

As for Dark Passage being a film noir, I suppose at a stretch you could say that there is an underlying theme of entrapment, but there are no noir atmospherics or motifs.

“You had something on him
What was it?
…
Doctor Talbot was a respected member of the community
He lived in the same house on the same street
Year after year
Every one admired him, looked up to him
But then something happened, he did something
Something that gave you a hold over him
What was it? What was he hiding? What did he do?”

According to the Motion Picture Herald, of the 298 top-grossing films for 1945-56, only nine were noirs (Spicer, Film Noir, 2002 ,p41). One of those movies was Nora Prentiss.  As a Warner Bros a-feature it ran for 111 minutes and though largely studio-bound, featured top-draw production values.

Though slow in the beginning, Nora Prentiss, once the noir scenario is established, develops into a dark melodrama of tortured loyalties and thwarted passions.  Steady direction from Vincent Sherman (The Damned Don’t Cry, The Unfaithful, The Garment Jungle) with the fluid camera of James Wong Howe,  and a brilliant pulsating score from Franz Waxman, deliver classy Hollywood melodrama.  The lovely Ann Sheridan as always is truly engaging as Nora, and the rather stolid Kent Smith despite his limitations delivers a solid performance as the noir protagonist.

A doctor, Richard Talbot,  living the “father-knows-best” dream in a San Francisco suburb is catapulted into the dark chasm of noir angst, when he falls for cabaret singer Nora.  The film opens with a twist on the classic noir flashback narrative.  A guy who we only see in profile has been arrested for the murder of  the doctor and refuses to talk even to his lawyer. We move from the suspect in his holding cell to a delightful Spring morning in a Frisco bungalow  where a comfortable upper middle-class family sits down to breakfast.

Dr Talbot is settled in a successful career and lives a scheduled orderly passionless existence.  One evening a young woman is knocked over by a car as the doctor is leaving his surgery for the evening – he goes to her aid – enter a sassy uninhibited Nora.  Richard is free the for weekend, with his wife and kids away – you get the picture.  The affair blossoms into love, but Richard hasn’t the resolve to leave his wife. One evening a very ill patient arrives at the surgery after-hours. The camera and lighting have gone to noir: an irrevocable decision born of desperation unleashes a maelstrom of dark deeds, deceit, and tragedy. Fate is truly majestic in retribution with a twist that seals the good doctor’s doom.  As bleak an ending as any noir before or since.