Out of the Past (1947)

Directed by Jacques Tourneur

Often regarded as one of the quintessential film noirs, if not the film noir, Out of the Past is a movie I have a difficult time watching despite its bona fides. Perhaps it is because of them.

From its femme fatale to the way it is shot to the sense of a hero moving inexorably to an end that won’t be good and that character’s doomed desire to escape his past, this movie has everything noir is suppose to have — including its weaknesses.

I’ve tried watching this movie three times recently and each time I’ve found the first half difficult to get through. This is partly because it is largely exposition.

Robert Mitchum as Jeff Bailey, whose real name is Jeff Markham, reveals his past to his romantic interest, Ann Miller (Virginia Huston). It’s done in flashback on an all-night drive to Tahoe.

"And then I saw her, coming out of the sun, and I knew why Whit didn't care about that 40 grand."

Despite having a great entrance by Jane Greer as the femme fatale Kathie Moffat (“And then I saw her, coming out of the sun, and I knew why Whit didn’t care about that 40 grand …”), this 40 minutes of flashback drags. I think there are a couple of reasons for this.

To begin with, much as I love Robert Mitchum and his indifferent, laconic style (which strictly speaking is perfect for the role), it allows the movie to drag, or feel that way.

Similarly, as wonderful as the noir imagery is, it feels as if the film is so concerned with its tone it forgets to pick things up and get moving along.

It’s style takes precedence over everything. (Cigarette anyone? They smoke to beat the band in this movie.) This is also reflected in the dialogue where the word “Baby” either precedes or ends every line directed at a woman.

Robert Mitchum as Jeff Bailey/Markham and Jane Greer as Kathie Moffat.

Once we return to present time, things pick up, at least to a degree. The story gets more convoluted but it also gets more energy (although Mitchum continues to appear to be on the verge of nodding off from boredom).

Oddly, all these flaws are also what make it a near perfect film noir. Frankly, I really don’t understand why or how this happens, though I appear to be alone in feeling as I do about the movie.

It makes me think of something Cesar Milan (the Dog Whisperer) says every so often about dogs: sometimes you are dealing with the dog and sometimes you are dealing with the breed. In Out of the Past, it strikes me that the breed (or genre) takes over and the dog (the movie) gets lost.

It’s a great example of genre; it’s not so great an example of a movie.

Jeff Bailey is locked out from the kind of life he would like to have.

Asides:

Roger Ebert has a fascinating bit of information on the writing of the script, which is credited to Daniel Mainwaring and based on his novel Build My Gallows High:

… The critic Jeff Schwager read all versions of the screenplay for a 1990 Film Comment article, and writes me: “Mainwaring’s script was not very good, and in one draft featured awful voice-over narration by the deaf-mute. Cain’s script was a total rewrite and even worse; it was totally discarded. The great dialogue was actually the work of Frank Fenton, a B-movie writer whose best known credit was John Ford’s ‘Wings of Eagles.’”

2) The 1990 movie The Hot Spot, directed by Dennis Hopper, owes its central idea to Out of the Past — a man who can’t escape who and what he is. In the Hopper movie, we see Virginia Madsen playing a character very much like Greer’s Kathie Moffat and Don Johnson plays a character with the same conflict as Mitchum’s Jeff Bailey.

Directed by Jacques Tourneur

Often regarded as one of the quintessential film noirs, if not the film noir, Out of the Past is a movie I have a difficult time watching despite its bona fides. Perhaps it is because of them.

From its femme fatale to the way it is shot to the sense of a hero moving inexorably to an end that won’t be good and that character’s doomed desire to escape his past, this movie has everything noir is suppose to have — including its weaknesses.

I’ve tried watching this movie three times recently and each time I’ve found the first half difficult to get through. This is partly because it is largely exposition.

Robert Mitchum as Jeff Bailey, whose real name is Jeff Markham, reveals his past to his romantic interest, Ann Miller (Virginia Huston). It’s done in flashback on an all-night drive to Tahoe.

"And then I saw her, coming out of the sun, and I knew why Whit didn't care about that 40 grand."

Despite having a great entrance by Jane Greer as the femme fatale Kathie Moffat (“And then I saw her, coming out of the sun, and I knew why Whit didn’t care about that 40 grand …”), this 40 minutes of flashback drags. I think there are a couple of reasons for this.

To begin with, much as I love Robert Mitchum and his indifferent, laconic style (which strictly speaking is perfect for the role), it allows the movie to drag, or feel that way.

Similarly, as wonderful as the noir imagery is, it feels as if the film is so concerned with its tone it forgets to pick things up and get moving along.

It’s style takes precedence over everything. (Cigarette anyone? They smoke to beat the band in this movie.) This is also reflected in the dialogue where the word “Baby” either precedes or ends every line directed at a woman.

Robert Mitchum as Jeff Bailey/Markham and Jane Greer as Kathie Moffat.

Once we return to present time, things pick up, at least to a degree. The story gets more convoluted but it also gets more energy (although Mitchum continues to appear to be on the verge of nodding off from boredom).

Oddly, all these flaws are also what make it a near perfect film noir. Frankly, I really don’t understand why or how this happens, though I appear to be alone in feeling as I do about the movie.

It makes me think of something Cesar Milan (the Dog Whisperer) says every so often about dogs: sometimes you are dealing with the dog and sometimes you are dealing with the breed. In Out of the Past, it strikes me that the breed (or genre) takes over and the dog (the movie) gets lost.

It’s a great example of genre; it’s not so great an example of a movie.

Jeff Bailey is locked out from the kind of life he would like to have.

Asides:

Roger Ebert has a fascinating bit of information on the writing of the script, which is credited to Daniel Mainwaring and based on his novel Build My Gallows High:

… The critic Jeff Schwager read all versions of the screenplay for a 1990 Film Comment article, and writes me: “Mainwaring’s script was not very good, and in one draft featured awful voice-over narration by the deaf-mute. Cain’s script was a total rewrite and even worse; it was totally discarded. The great dialogue was actually the work of Frank Fenton, a B-movie writer whose best known credit was John Ford’s ‘Wings of Eagles.’”

2) The 1990 movie The Hot Spot, directed by Dennis Hopper, owes its central idea to Out of the Past — a man who can’t escape who and what he is. In the Hopper movie, we see Virginia Madsen playing a character very much like Greer’s Kathie Moffat and Don Johnson plays a character with the same conflict as Mitchum’s Jeff Bailey.

Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison

Directed by John Huston

I have always like Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison. It stars Robert Mitchum and Deborah Kerr and is directed by John Huston and it is characterized by restraint and warm humour.

You can’t help but like the characters Mitchum and Kerr play.

Those two characters, Corporal Allison (Mitchum) and Sister Angela (Kerr) are the whole of the movie – the only two actors with speaking roles in it, I believe – and yes, Mitchum plays a Marine and Kerr plays a nun stranded on an island in the South Pacific at the height of World War II.

Given that it is set during war time, and bombs and guns go off frequently, it is a remarkably quiet film. I think this is a very specific directorial decision Huston must have made. The war elements are minimized and restricted to setting context rather than being a focus for action and providing the film energy.

Sister Angela (Deborah Kerr) and Corporal Allison (Robert Mitchum).

Huston’s drama relies entirely on his two characters and what they say and do.

In that way, and a few others, it is very similar to his The African Queen, made several years earlier (1951). There are also significant differences, however.

Huston is attracted to the idea of disparate characters thrown together.

What will they do? How will they get along? What kind of relationship will develop between people who are apparent opposites?

One of the keys for Huston, and present in Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison is in finding that while the characters seem to be opposites on the surface they are at the core very similar.

Robert Mitchum as Corporal Allison adrift in a raft prior to arriving at the island.

Mitchum as Corporal Allison, in a beautifully understated performance, plays a man who is parentless, was a child of orphanages and as a young man lost and in trouble with authorities, until he found the Marines. They gave his life meaning and so at the time we see him in the film, his life is entirely about being a Marine.

We get a similar sense with Kerr’s Sister Angela, though her background isn’t detailed in the movie to the same degree as Mitchum’s character. But her life only has meaning with the Church. She is devoted to Christ, without whom her life has no meaning.

Both having found purpose and stability in their respective commitments are now faced with something outside those foundations that provide meaning. That something is a fundamental human relationship – love, sexuality, family and so on.

The characters each retreat into their chosen lives when the relationship between them develops and throws them off kilter. Both are faced with a struggle between what they find in the other and the thing that gives their life meaning.

Deborah Kerr and Robert Mitchum in the two actor movie Heaven Knows, Mister Allison (1957).

And it is all done so quietly; it is all so understated.

You can’t help but admire the movie’s restraint. In a sense, it’s a minimalist film.

I also found it a beautiful movie to look at. The DVD transfer I have is excellent with great contrasts and gorgeous blue sea and skies and lush greens. I wasn’t expecting it to look this good.

Although so may people love The African Queen, I have to say I prefer Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison. However, despite some surface similarities (like a religious character and a secular one thrown together), they are very different and make for intriguing companion pieces.

The other day, it was yet another noir …

Murder, My Sweet (1944)

Directed by Edward Dmytryk

This murder mystery is, for me, itself a mystery in that I cannot fathom why they would change the title of Raymond Chandler’s book, Farewell, My Lovely to the far less subtle, Murder, My Sweet. I know it had something to do with not wanting to confuse the public with lead actor Dick Powell’s previous roles as a kind of song and dance man, but that doesn’t seem a very credible reason to me.

I suppose it’s not very important in the larger scheme of things, but it makes me shake my head. As for the movie …

When you go over reviews of this movie, as well as other movies based on Chandler’s books, you see one topic continually pop up: who was the best Philip Marlowe? It is probably not surprising to find there is not a great deal of consensus.

It strikes me that Marlowe is a kind of variation on Hamlet in that everyone has to play him, or a variation on him, and we decide who does it well, who doesn’t, and who’s Marlowe we buy into. On the DVD case cover, it tells us Dick Powell, who plays Marlowe in Murder, My Sweet, was author Raymond Chandler’s favourite. Of course, others have different opinions. Bogie comes to mind.

For many people Humphrey Bogart (The Big Sleep) is the Philip Marlowe. But just today I came across a review where the writer was claiming the best Marlowe was Robert Mitchum in 1975’s Farewell, My Lovely.

I admit that when I first saw Murder, My Sweet a few years ago Powell bothered me, but that had less to do with his performance than the fact I had Bogie so drilled into my head, from The Big Sleep but also similar characters, like Sam Spade from the The Maltese Falcon.

But I watched Murder, My Sweet again last night and I liked Powell much more. His gestures and speech fit the character nicely and he seems very natural as Marlowe. And the more I think about it, the more I think, “Yes, I like Powell’s Marlowe.” (That’s sort of like saying, “I like Plummer’s Hamlet.”)

As for the movie as a movie … It has a lot of what you would expect from a film of this kind: a lot of uncertainty as characters appear to be good, then bad, then good again, and then bad once more. Marlowe seems to think one thing then it’s shown he was only pretending, although a later scene shows he actually does think and feel that way.

In other words, the movie twists quite a bit and in many cases the twists are arbitrary for the sake of being a twist and to sustain the mood. But they don’t make a lot of sense. Yet in a film noir, you can often get away with that because the movie is less about plot and more about atmosphere, characters, character relationships … and lighting and camera focus.

I’ve read the book this movie is based on but don’t recall it, so I can only assume the movie stays roughly true to it and, if that’s he case, the filmmakers can thank Chandler for writing them an opening that is a nicely baited hook.

Told almost entirely in flashback by Marlowe, it begins with him in a police station being questioned and telling his story. That wouldn’t be much except we’re shown that he can’t see; his eyes are completely bandaged up. So as he’s is grilled and finally starts telling his story, we’re already hooked on the mystery of what happened to his eyes even before we’ve had an inkling of the real mystery.

Being film noir, we also get a femme fatale. Claire Trevor is Mrs. Helen Grayle, aka Velma. Director Edward Dmytryk introduces her to us legs first, underlining the character’s sexual nature and involvement with the story. But the there is also Anne Shirley as Ann Grayle, step-daughter and enemy of the second Mrs. Grayle (Velma). It’s easy to see why.

Ann Grayle loves her father (Miles Mander), who is much older than his new wife. He also seems frail by comparison to everyone else in the film, even impotent. And he’s married to a woman who doesn’t appear to cover up what she’s interested in:

Helen Grayle: I find men very attractive.
Philip Marlowe: I imagine they meet you halfway.

But the movie isn’t just about this. It begins with a man named Moose (Mike Mazurki), who is just out of jail and looking for his Velma.

Chandler books, and movies of this variety, are peppered with characters, most of whom are types, and give the storyline places to go and people to engage with as well as scenes to play out before getting to an end.

I liked how this one plays out. I like Dick Powell as Philip Marlowe and Claire Trevor as a femme fatale. And I’m pretty sure I’ll be watching this one again.

Directed by Edward Dmytryk

This murder mystery is, for me, itself a mystery in that I cannot fathom why they would change the title of Raymond Chandler’s book, Farewell, My Lovely to the far less subtle, Murder, My Sweet. I know it had something to do with not wanting to confuse the public with lead actor Dick Powell’s previous roles as a kind of song and dance man, but that doesn’t seem a very credible reason to me.

I suppose it’s not very important in the larger scheme of things, but it makes me shake my head. As for the movie …

When you go over reviews of this movie, as well as other movies based on Chandler’s books, you see one topic continually pop up: who was the best Philip Marlowe? It is probably not surprising to find there is not a great deal of consensus.

It strikes me that Marlowe is a kind of variation on Hamlet in that everyone has to play him, or a variation on him, and we decide who does it well, who doesn’t, and who’s Marlowe we buy into. On the DVD case cover, it tells us Dick Powell, who plays Marlowe in Murder, My Sweet, was author Raymond Chandler’s favourite. Of course, others have different opinions. Bogie comes to mind.

For many people Humphrey Bogart (The Big Sleep) is the Philip Marlowe. But just today I came across a review where the writer was claiming the best Marlowe was Robert Mitchum in 1975’s Farewell, My Lovely.

I admit that when I first saw Murder, My Sweet a few years ago Powell bothered me, but that had less to do with his performance than the fact I had Bogie so drilled into my head, from The Big Sleep but also similar characters, like Sam Spade from the The Maltese Falcon.

But I watched Murder, My Sweet again last night and I liked Powell much more. His gestures and speech fit the character nicely and he seems very natural as Marlowe. And the more I think about it, the more I think, “Yes, I like Powell’s Marlowe.” (That’s sort of like saying, “I like Plummer’s Hamlet.”)

As for the movie as a movie … It has a lot of what you would expect from a film of this kind: a lot of uncertainty as characters appear to be good, then bad, then good again, and then bad once more. Marlowe seems to think one thing then it’s shown he was only pretending, although a later scene shows he actually does think and feel that way.

In other words, the movie twists quite a bit and in many cases the twists are arbitrary for the sake of being a twist and to sustain the mood. But they don’t make a lot of sense. Yet in a film noir, you can often get away with that because the movie is less about plot and more about atmosphere, characters, character relationships … and lighting and camera focus.

I’ve read the book this movie is based on but don’t recall it, so I can only assume the movie stays roughly true to it and, if that’s he case, the filmmakers can thank Chandler for writing them an opening that is a nicely baited hook.

Told almost entirely in flashback by Marlowe, it begins with him in a police station being questioned and telling his story. That wouldn’t be much except we’re shown that he can’t see; his eyes are completely bandaged up. So as he’s is grilled and finally starts telling his story, we’re already hooked on the mystery of what happened to his eyes even before we’ve had an inkling of the real mystery.

Being film noir, we also get a femme fatale. Claire Trevor is Mrs. Helen Grayle, aka Velma. Director Edward Dmytryk introduces her to us legs first, underlining the character’s sexual nature and involvement with the story. But the there is also Anne Shirley as Ann Grayle, step-daughter and enemy of the second Mrs. Grayle (Velma). It’s easy to see why.

Ann Grayle loves her father (Miles Mander), who is much older than his new wife. He also seems frail by comparison to everyone else in the film, even impotent. And he’s married to a woman who doesn’t appear to cover up what she’s interested in:

Helen Grayle: I find men very attractive.
Philip Marlowe: I imagine they meet you halfway.

But the movie isn’t just about this. It begins with a man named Moose (Mike Mazurki), who is just out of jail and looking for his Velma.

Chandler books, and movies of this variety, are peppered with characters, most of whom are types, and give the storyline places to go and people to engage with as well as scenes to play out before getting to an end.

I liked how this one plays out. I like Dick Powell as Philip Marlowe and Claire Trevor as a femme fatale. And I’m pretty sure I’ll be watching this one again.

Directed by Charles Laughton

I think it’s fair to say 1955′s The Night of the Hunter is one of the oddest films to ever come out of Hollywood. According to many, it’s also one of the greatest. This may be true; I’m not sure. But it’s definitely worth seeing a time or two to decide for yourself.

The Night of the Hunter is the one and only film directed by actor Charles Laughton (Mutiny on the Bounty, Witness for the Prosecution).

A kind of weird cross between noir and fantasy, it’s a movie he described as “a nightmarish sort of Mother Goose tale.”

That’s a pretty accurate description. A frightening film, it’s characterized by a fable-myth, fantastic quality.

Robert Mitchum as Harry Powell.

A desperate man, anxious to support his impoverished family, particularly his children, kills two people while stealing $10,000. He hides the money then makes his children swear to keep the location secret from everyone.

He’s then captured, tried and convicted. Sentenced to death, he meets a preacher while in prison, prior to his execution.

During their short time together, the preacher becomes aware of the man’s theft and that the money is hidden. But he doesn’t know where.

He does, however, know it has something to do with the man’s family. He leaves the prison then goes out seeking them and the money.

Billy Chapin as the boy, John Harper. The preacher's presence looms over the children throughout the movie.

But he’s not a genuine preacher. He is evil; twisted and murderously misogynist. (And he’s portrayed brilliantly by Robert Mitchum.) On the fingers of each hand the words are printed, “love” and “hate” (one word on each hand).

It’s interesting how the film shows that part of his dysfunction is manifested through an angry, repressed sexuality that evokes an extreme Puritanism about sex.

As the movie progresses, he becomes increasingly threatening to the children, the older child of which has been skeptical of the him from the start.

Again interesting, the film seems to associate a health sexuality with innocence, such as in their mother’s initial relationship with the preacher and later with another young girl-woman, Ruby.

Shelley Winters as Willa Harper comes to a bad end.

In fact, the film appears to be about the corruption of innocence, or at least the attempt to do so. While the children embody this innocence it is by no means exclusive to them. Some of the adults (like the mother, or Ruby who is on the verge of womanhood) also have some of this innocence.

Despite its noir-ish storyline and look, the movie keeps weaving into the fantastic.

It has a bit of the look and feel of Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast, 1946 (La belle et la bête), or Children of Paradise, 1945 (Les enfants du paradis), by Marcel Carné. It works as an allegory of good and evil.

Each time the story begins to take on a sense of realism of any sort, each time it begins following a traditional Hollywood film narrative approach, it swings back into this fantastic realm.

The children in their boat on the river.

For instance, there is the sequence when the children flee the preacher and set off in a boat on the river. Once on the river, the look alters to something more fantastic and starry, evoking the film’s strange opening.

This is also a movie about very strong, deliberately self-conscious imagery. From that strange, starry opening to the shots of the preacher’s tattooed hands to the river sequence with it’s shots of nature (i.e., frogs etc.) and to the shadowy shots of Mitchum in his hat, Laughton and cinematographer Stanley Cortez have carefully informed the movie with intriguing, meaningful shots.

While he only directed one movie, Charles Laughton made it a dandy. Is it one of the greatest American films ever made, as Roger Ebert says? I don’t know. But if it isn’t, it’s damn close.

One of the things you discover watching older movies, especially Hollywood movies, is that some of the tricks and strategies we see now are not so new. They’ve been used many times before.

For example, 1968′s Five Card Stud could almost be a contemporary film in that it attempts to be at least two types of movie at the same time and makes a big mess doing it. It’s a strategy generally used when there are no ideas left, which appears to be the case with this movie.

This ain’t no Rio Bravo. Or El Dorado, for that matter. It’s a western that tries to be a murder mystery as well. The result is a movie that doesn’t know what direction it’s going in. (I think this movie might even be trying to be a comedy, though it has all the humour of asphalt.)

The problems just aren’t in the script though. The characters are all cliches – which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, actually, given the western and mystery forms.

But there has to be at least something more to them, even if just a smidgeon. Even if only the merest hint of someone or something behind the lines.

You can’t help wondering why anyone bothered casting Dean Martin or, more particularly, Robert Mitchum. Anyone could have played these roles since there is really nothing to play. As for Inger Stevens … if ever a movie used an actress as window dressing, this is the movie. Why is she there?

Compounding things is the annoying, over-the-top soundtrack. Good grief! Hearing it, you can’t help but wonder if the director was making one film and the composer was scoring another.

So what do we have … a western that tries to be a mystery (or vice versa). Possibly a comedy, though if so, an extremely lame one. And a soundtrack for a soap opera.

What a mess!

What was discouraging for me was the fact I really was in the mood to see an old style western. Well, this ain’t it. Frankly, I don’t know what this is other than a huge waste of time, money and talent.

(Originally posted in 2003.)

For a variety of reasons I’ve had difficulty lately getting back into my movie watching routine which used to be almost a movie a night. The reviews I’ve written account for only a small number of the movies I’ve actually watched. I had the best intentions but I never did write about a great movie, The Contender (2000). Or do that review of all three Bourne movies.

I tried to kickstart things last night by watching The Seven Year Itch (1955). Bad idea.

I was hoping to watch something fabulous to reinvigorate my movie watching habit. It didn’t work out that way. My choice was poorly made. A bad decision. Although, there is the possibility it worked in an “end around” kind of way. Maybe it will kickstart things by focusing me on finding something fabulous. God knows, I know they are there. I think I’ll try again tonight. If you’ve any suggestions on what to watch, feel free to pass them along in the comments. In the meantime …

I did post a few reviews, including one I wrote this morning on the above mentioned movie. Those reviews are:

• The Seven Year Itch (1955)
• River of No Return (1954)

A couple of notes … if you’re not aware, you may be interested to know The Seven Year Itch was directed by Billy Wilder, script by George Axelrod and Wilder. And River of No Return stars Marilyn Monroe and Robert Mitchum.

This is by no means a great movie but, for some reason, I like it. For one thing, I love the song. It’s horribly corny, but … well, I like it. Go figure.

I think I’d call River of No Return a comfort movie. Like another movie I get the same feeling from, Father Goose, it’s just feels comfortable watching it and I don’t tire of it. At the same time, I can’t help having qualms because I know it’s not a particularly good film. It’s not bad, either, it’s just a middlin’ kind of movie.

And very cornball. Marilyn Monroe is a honky tonk floozy in a town in the Northwest. Robert Mitchum is a guy with some land he’s working out in the wilderness. Because of a bad guy and Indians (yes, Indians) they’re forced to take a raft down river.

Well, there’s a lot more than that. Essentially, this is an old-fashioned adventure movie with a romance thrown in. Robert Mitchum looks a bit more clean-cut than he normally does, and Marilyn is … well, Marilyn in tight jeans, saloon singer corsets and so on.

Despite this wishy-washy review, there are a couple of really nice elements to the film. One is Marilyn’s singing.

She does quite a bit of it (including a nice rendition of that cornball song I love, River of No Return) and it demonstrates what a nice voice she had and her talents as a singer.

The other element of the film that stands out is the second-unit work. The scenery and the shots that incorporate it are wonderful. Shot in British Columbia I believe, the natural backdrop is quite stunning and the cinematography is top-notch.

As part of the Marilyn Monroe: The Diamond Collection II, the film has gone through the restoration process and the image is fabulous. Maybe a little too much so.

The problem with having such a good image is you get to see some major continuity problems, such as the changes from on location work to studio. This must have been a rushed, low budget affair as a very poor job has been done matching lighting and other elements, and it’s really quite obvious.

You also get to see some omissions in the restoration process. During dissolves, you see one quality of image then, just as the dissolve ends, the quality of the image, particularly the light element, jumps to a much higher quality.

It’s almost as if once the dissolve ends, someone turns on the lights.

I don’t recall noticing this the first time I watched the disc. But I did the second time. And, not being a tech guy, I’m guessing the problem is in the restoration.

However, given the poor job in the filmmaking, perhaps its in how the film was originally made.

Either way, there are some technical issues with this movie that stand out.

So … This is a troubling film. I can see so many problems with it. Yet, despite that, I like it.

There’s no accounting for some people’s tastes.

(Originally posted in 2003.)

Directed by Fritz Lang

Now this is what a noir film should be. Good guys, bad guys, and a lot of dubious ground between them. (Mind you, it’s not a noir film in the strictest sense.)

Perspective is everything, I suppose, and perhaps that is why (for me) noir works best in black and white. It’s how I came to know them when I was younger. This doesn’t mean more recent, colour noir movies don’t work (just look at Chinatown and L.A. Confidential), but black and white just seems more appropriate.

Maybe it’s the sense of shadow and gray that comes across. It reflects the heart of these stories, an uncertain, dangerous world where it’s hard to tell who is on your side, or even what side you’re on.

As in Gilda, the casting of Glenn Ford is perfect. He plays these parts well. He’s the hero, but not so heroic as to be unbelievable. In fact, the type of hero he plays here is the same type Clint Eastwood got so much mileage out of for so long. He’s the ambiguous good guy.

Then there’s Gloria Grahame who gives a wonderful performance as Debby, the gangster’s girl.

But where The Big Heat really excells is in casting Lee Marvin, an actor who gives Robert Mitchum a run for his money as one of the meanest s.o.b.’s to appear on screen.

Marvin’s explosive and sadistic temper come across as so natural you would be afraid to meet him anywhere but on the screen.

In many ways, The Big Heat is a template for certain types of films (though it certainly wasn’t the first to use this pattern). This is a revenge story. But watching it from this point, over 50 years after it was made, it’s easy to forget that some of the set-ups and patterns were not established in the way they are now so, while in some ways they appear to have a certain stale, over-used quality, the truth is they were fresh and even alarming in 1953.

For example, there is the set-up scene where the domestic life of the Ford character is shattered. The scene becomes the catalyst for the character’s later actions. This pattern has been used over and over again since (again, particularly by Eastwood).

Regardless whether it’s perceived as new or cliche, it works. From start to finish The Big Heat holds you and carries you through its dark unwinding. To be perfectly true to the noir genre, Ford’s character is not as corrupt as he should be (though his revenge could be considered a form of corruption, I suppose). But this is quibbling. It certainly has the noir feel and that is far more important. Noir is really about atmosphere; it’s about tone.

This one is highly recommended.