Laura (1944) *****

A film review by Roger Ebert on January 20, 2002.

I’ve seen Otto Preminger‘s Laura three or four times, but the identity of the murderer doesn’t spring quickly to mind. That’s not because the guilty person is forgettable but because the identity is so arbitrary: It is not necessary that the murderer be the murderer. Three or four other characters would have done as well, and indeed if it were not for Walter Winchell we would have another ending altogether. More about that later.

Film noir is known for its convoluted plots and arbitrary twists, but even in a genre that gave us The Maltese Falcon, this takes some kind of prize. Laura (1944) has a detective who never goes to the station [and drinks while he is on duty]; a suspect who is invited to tag along as other suspects are interrogated; a heroine who is dead for most of the film; a man insanely jealous of a woman even though he never for a moment seems heterosexual; a romantic lead who is a dull-witted Kentucky bumpkin moving in Manhattan penthouse society, and a murder weapon that is returned to its hiding place by the cop, who will come by for it in the morning. The only nude scene involves the jealous man and the cop.

That Laura continues to weave a spell — and it does — is a tribute to style over sanity. No doubt the famous musical theme by David Raksin has something to do with it: The music lends a haunted, nostalgic, regretful cast to everything it plays under, and it plays under a lot. There is also Clifton Webb’s narration, measured, precise, a little mad: I shall never forget the weekend Laura died. A silver sun burned through the sky like a huge magnifying glass. It was the hottest Sunday in my recollection. I felt as if I were the only human being left in New York. For Laura’s horrible death, I was alone. I, Waldo Lydecker, was the only one who really knew her.

It is Clifton Webb’s performance as Waldo Lydecker that stands at the heart of the film, with Vincent Price, as Laura’s fiancee Shelby Carpenter, nibbling at the edges like an eager spaniel. Both actors, and Judith Anderson as a neurotic friend, create characters who have no reality except their own, which is good enough for them. The hero and heroine, on the other hand, are cardboard. Gene Tierney, as Laura, is gorgeous, has perfect features, looks great in the stills, but never seems emotionally involved; her work in Leave Her to Heaven (1945) is stronger, deeper, more convincing. Dana Andrews, as Detective Mark McPherson, stands straight, chain-smokes, speaks in a monotone, and reminded the studio head Daryl F. Zanuck of an agreeable schoolboy. As actors, Tierney and Andrews basically play eyewitnesses to scene-stealing by Webb and Price.

This was Clifton Webb’s first big starring role and his first movie role of any kind since 1930. He was a stage actor who refused the studio’s demand for a screen test; Otto Preminger, who began by producing the film and ended by directing it, in desperation filmed Webb on a Broadway stage and showed that to Zanuck. He doesn’t walk, he flies, an underling told Zanuck, but Webb, who had a mannered camp style, impressed Zanuck and got the role. Vincent Price creates an accent somewhere between Kentucky and Transylvania for his character, who is tall and healthy and inspires Waldo Lydecker to complain to Laura: With you, a lean strong body is the measure of a man.

Lydecker is lean but not strong. Webb was 55 when he played the role, Tierney 24. A similar age difference was no problem for Bogart and Bacall, but between Webb and Tierney it must be said there is not the slightest suggestion of chemistry. He is a bachelor critic and columnist (said to be modeled after Alexander Wolcott), and the first time we see him he is sitting in his bathtub, typing. This is after Laura’s body has been found murdered with shotgun blasts, and the detective comes to question her closest friend.

The scene develops with more undercurrents than surface, as McPherson enters the bathroom, glances at Lydecker, seems faintly amused. Then Lydecker swings the typewriter shelf away, so that it shields his nudity from the camera but not from the detective. Waldo stands up, off screen, and a reaction shot shows McPherson glancing down as Lydecker asks him to pass a bathrobe. Every time I see the movie, I wonder what Preminger is trying to accomplish with this scene. There is no suggestion that Lydecker is attracted to McPherson, and yet it seems odd to greet a police detective in the nude.

Lydecker is Laura’s Svengali. In flashbacks, we follow the progress of their relationship. He snubs her in the Algonquin dining room, then apologizes, becomes her friend, and takes over her life, chooses her clothes, redoes her hair, introduces her to the right people, promotes her in his column. They spend every night together out on the town, except Tuesdays and Fridays, when Waldo cooks for her at home. Then other men enter the picture, and leave again as Waldo blasts them in his column. Big, dumb Shelby with his lean, strong body is the latest and most serious threat. Considering this Waldo-Shelby-Laura love triangle, it occurs to me that the only way to make it psychologically sound would be to change Laura into a boy.

The movie basically consists of well-dressed rich people standing in luxury flats and talking to a cop. The passion is unevenly distributed. Shelby and Laura never seem to have much heat between them. Waldo is possessive of Laura, but never touches her. Ann Treadwell (Anderson), a society dame, lusts for Shelby but has to tell him or he’d never know. And Detective McPherson develops a crush on the dead woman. There is an extraordinary scene where he enters her apartment at night, looks through her letters, touches her dresses, sniffs her perfume, pours himself a drink from her bottle and sits down beneath her enormous portrait, which is placed immodestly above her own fireplace. It’s like a date with a ghost.

McPherson’s investigation and his ultimate revelations are handled in an offhand way, for a 1940s crime picture. He is forever leading people to believe they’re going to be charged, and then backing off. Lydecker asks to tag along as the cop interviews suspects; murder is his favorite crime, and I like to study their reactions. Astonishingly, McPherson lets him. This is useful from a screenplay point of view, since otherwise McPherson would be mostly alone.

All of these absurdities and improbabilities somehow do not diminish the film’s appeal. They may even add to it. Some of the lines have become unintentionally funny, James Naremore writes in More than Night: Film Noir in its Contexts,Where ‘Laura’ is concerned, the camp effect is at least partly intended – any movie that puts Clifton Webb, Judith Anderson and Vincent Price in the same drawing room is inviting a mood of fey theatricality [a flamboyant, affected, and sometimes deliberately campy style of performance].

The story of Preminger’s struggle to get the movie made has become Hollywood legend. As he tells it in his autobiography, Zanuck saw him as a producer, not a director, and assigned Rouben Mamoulian to the piece. When the early rushes were a disaster, Preminger stepped in, reshot many scenes, replaced the sets, and fought for the screenplay. Zanuck insisted that another ending be shot; the film was screened for Zanuck and his pal Walter Winchell, a real gossip columnist, who said he didn’t understand the ending. So Zanuck let Preminger have his ending back, and while the business involving the shotgun in the antique clock may be somewhat labored, the whole film is of a piece: contrived, artificial, mannered, and yet achieving a kind of perfection in its balance between low motives and high style. What makes the movie great, perhaps, is the casting. The materials of a B-grade crime potboiler are redeemed by Waldo Lydecker, walking through every scene as if afraid to step in something. [Ebert's rating: 4 out of 4 stars]

Labels: crime, drama, film-noir, mystery
IMDb 79/100 
RottenTomatoes (critics=100, viewers=90) 
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Notorious (1946) [NR] *****

A film review by Roger Ebert on August 17, 1997.

Alfred Hitchcock's Notorious is the most elegant expression of the master's visual style, just as Vertigo is the fullest expression of his obsessions. It contains some of the most effective camera shots in his--or anyone’s--work, and they all lead to the great final passages in which two men find out how very wrong they both were.

This is the film, with Casablanca, that assures Ingrid Bergman’s immortality. She plays a woman whose notorious reputation encourages U.S. agents to recruit her to spy on Nazis in postwar Rio. And that reputation nearly gets her killed, when the man she loves mistrusts her. His misunderstanding is at the center of a plot in which all of the pieces come together with perfect precision, so that two people walk down a staircase to their freedom, and a third person climbs steps to his doom.

Hitchcock made the film in 1946, when the war was over but the Cold War was just beginning. A few months later, he would have made the villains Communists, but as he and Ben Hecht worked on the script, Nazis were still uppermost in their minds. (An opening subtitle says: Miami, Florida, 3:20 p.m., April 20, 1946--admirably specific, but as unnecessary as the similarly detailed information at the beginning of Psycho.)

The story stars Bergman as a patriotic American named Alicia Huberman, whose father is a convicted Nazi spy. Alicia is known for drinking and apparent promiscuity, and is recruited by an agent named Devlin (Cary Grant) to fly to Rio and insinuate herself into the household of a spy ring led by Sebastian (Claude Rains). Sebastian once loved her, and perhaps he still does; Devlin is essentially asking her to share the spy's bed to discover his secrets. And this she is willing to do, because by the time he asks her, she is in love--with Devlin.

All of these sexual arrangements are of course handled with the sort of subtle dialogue and innuendo that Hollywood used to get around the production code. There is never a moment when improper behavior is actually stated or shown, but the film leaves no doubt. By the time all of the pieces are in place, we actually feel more sympathy for Sebastian than for Devlin. He may be a spy but he loves Alicia sincerely, while Devlin may be an American agent but has used Alicia's love to force her into the arms of another man.

Hitchcock was known for his attention to visual details. He drew storyboards of every scene before shooting it, and slyly plays against Grant’s star power in the scene introducing Devlin to the movie. At a party the night her father has been convicted, Alicia drinks to forget. The camera positions itself behind the seated Devlin, so we see only the back of his head. He anchors the shot as the camera moves left and right, following the morally ambiguous Alicia as she flirts, drinks and tries to forget.

There are more famous shots the next morning. Alicia awakens with a hangover, and there is a gigantic foreground close-up of a glass of Alka-Seltzer (it will be paired much later in the movie with a huge foreground coffee cup that we know contains arsenic). From her point of view, she sees Devlin in the doorway, backlit and upside down. As she sits up, he rotates 180 degrees. He suggests a spy deal. She refuses, talking of her plans to take a cruise. He plays a secret recording that proves she is, after all, patriotic--despite her loose image. As the recording begins, she is in shadow. As it continues, she is in bars of light. As it ends, she is in full light. Hitchcock has choreographed the visuals so that they precisely reflect what is happening.

The film is rich with other elegant shots, the most famous beginning with the camera on a landing high above the entrance hall of Sebastian’s mansion in Rio. It ends, after one unbroken movement, with a close-up of a key in Alicia's nervously twisting hand. The key will open the wine cellar, where Devlin (posing as a guest) will join Alicia in trying to find Sebastian’s secret. One of the bottles contains not wine but a radioactive substance used in bombs. Of course, it could contain anything--maps, codes, and diamonds--because it is a MacGuffin (Hitchcock's name for that plot element that everyone is concerned about, although it hardly matters what it is).

The Hecht screenplay is ingenious in playing the two men against one another. Sebastian, played by Rains, is smaller, more elegant, more vulnerable, and dominated by his forbidding mother (Leopoldine Konstantin). Devlin, played by Grant, is tall, physically imposing, crude at times, suspicious where Sebastian is trusting. Both men love her but the wrong man trusts her, and the plot leads to a moment of inspired ingenuity in which Devlin is able to escort Alicia out of the Nazi mansion in full view of all of the spies, and the circumstances are such that nobody can stop him. (There is a point earlier in the film where Devlin walks up the same staircase, and if you count his steps you will find that on the way down he and Alicia descend more steps than there actually are--Hitchcock's way of prolonging the suspense.)

Throughout Hitchcock's career, he devised stories in which elegant women, usually blond, were manipulated into situations of great danger. Hitchcock was the master manipulator, with the male actors as his surrogates. Vertigo treats this theme so openly it almost gives the game away. But look how it works in Notorious, where Devlin (like the Jimmy Stewart character in Vertigo) grooms and trains an innocent woman to be exactly who he desires her to be, and then makes her do his bidding.

The great erotic moment in Vertigo is the one where the man kisses the woman of his fantasy, while the room whirls around him. There is a parallel scene in Notorious, and it was famous at the time as the longest kiss in the history of the movies. It was not, however, a single kiss, as Tim Dirks points out in his essay on the film (http://www.filmsite.org/noto.html). The production code forbade a kiss lasting longer than three seconds, and so Bergman and Grant alternate kissing with dialogue and eye-play, while never leaving one another's arms. The sequence begins on a balcony overlooking Rio, encompasses a telephone call and a discussion of the dinner menu, and ends with a parting at the apartment door, taking three minutes in all. The three-second rule led to a better scene; an actual 180-second kiss might look like an exercise in slobbering.

The choice of Ingrid Bergman for the role was ideal; she subtly combined the noble and the carnal. Consider Casablanca (all of the viewers of Notorious would have), in which she lives with a resistance hero but in her heart loves a scruffy bar owner, and yet emerges as an idealistic heroine. In Notorious, we never seriously doubt that she is the heroine, but we can understand why the Grant character does. She appears to be a dipsomaniac, and besides, she sleeps with Sebastian. But she does it because she loves Devlin. Devlin has difficulty in loving a woman who would do that; one is reminded of Groucho Marx, who refused to join any club that would have him as a member.

So many movies have ended in obligatory chases and shoot-outs that the ability to write a well-crafted third act has almost died out. Among its many achievements, Notorious ends well. Like clockwork, the inevitable events of the last 10 minutes take place, and they all lead to the final perfect shot, in which another Nazi says to Sebastian, Alex, will you come in, please? I wish to talk to you. And Alex goes in, knowing he will never come out alive. [Ebert’s rating: **** out of 4 stars]

Labels: action, drama, film-noir, Ingrid Bergman, romance, spy, thriller

Internet Movie Database 8.0/10 

RottenTomatoes Averages (critics=89, viewers=82) 

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Spellbound (1945) [UR] ****

A film review by Jeremy Heilman for MovieMartyr.com on June 3, 2002.

The first time that Dr. Constance Peterson (Ingrid Bergman) and Dr. Anthony Edwardes/John Ballantyne (Gregory Peck) embrace in Alfred Hitchcock’s suspense thriller Spellbound, an image of a hallway filled with opening doors is superimposed on the screen. It’s a bit obvious that from this point the picture will be giving us more of the same, as Peterson attempts to cure her ailing amnesiac lover. Her attempts to unlock his repressed memories with affection and undying trust probably violate every rule in the psychoanalyst’s handbook, but the film tells us that, women make the best psychoanalysts, until they fall in love. Then they make the best patients. Dr. Peterson is both doctor and cure to her patient and it’s somewhat charming to see her initially icy demeanor melt away as she gets the human experience that her colleagues tell her she lacks. Still, her seeming inability to turn off her constant stream of analysis has to leave the audience questioning whether romance with her would be something that you would even want.

Spellbound’s antiquated presentation of the psychoanalysis that fuels its plot is pleasingly outmoded, in the sense that it allows us to watch numerous expository scenes that explain the radical methods used by psychiatrists, prompting much unintentional humor (these scenes are presumably there since in 1945 psychoanalysis wasn’t a universally accepted science). Every person’s neurosis is a puzzle that can be easily unlocked, and the doctors in this film resemble something far closer to private eyes, looking through their patients’ dreams with a magnifying glass for clues. Whenever two or more of these psychiatrists are together, an insurmountable think tank seems to form, and the truth is always weeded out immediately. As each sickness is dispatched with ease, the cure to what ails the patient always seems easily obtainable. Perhaps that sense of assuredness is why the film is loaded with unprofessional, but witty, repartee that makes light of the conditions of the patients.

To examine Spellbound’s use of therapy while making concessions for its age is much more gratifying, however. The visual manifestations of Dr. Edwardes’ guilt complex are an excellent example of the show, don’t tell style of filmmaking, and make the film feel more cinematically alive than a film with a script this talky might suggest. The key dream sequence, designed by Salvador Dali, is visually exciting, even if the plot requires it to be far too logical for its own good. That the lovely Ms. Bergman is the one spewing the majority of the psychobabble makes its inclusion far more acceptable. She is quite good here and completely anchors the movie. Gregory Peck is a bit too spacey to make much of an impact, even when he’s not deep in a trance. As most of Hitchcock’s films do, Spellbound exudes class. Watching Dr. Peterson as she finally learns to trust her heart instead of her head sounds utterly schematic, but this top-notch production redeems the majority of the clichés. [Heilman’s rating: *** out of 4 stars]

And, yes, Gregory Peck did have a passionate love affair with co-star Ingrid Bergman during the making of Spellbound.

Labels: drama, film-noir, Ingrid Bergman, mystery, romance, rom-drama-faves, thriller

Internet Movie Database 7.6/10 

RottenTomatoes Averages (critics=72, viewers=76) 

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MetaScore (critics=79, viewers=TBD)

Gaslight (1944) [NR] ****/*****

A film review by James Berardinelli for ReelViews.net.

Ingrid Bergman won her first Oscar for portraying Paula Alquist, the vulnerable, insecure heroine of George Cukor's diabolical, atmospheric thriller, Gaslight. Bergman, essaying a much different character from three of her best-known earlier roles (Anita Hoffman in 1939’s Intermezzo: A Love Story, Ilsa Lund in 1942's Casablanca and Maria in 1943's For Whom the Bell Tolls), is alluring and convincing as a woman held captive by her own fears.

The first half-hour of Gaslight is deceptively romantic. We are introduced to Paula, a young English singer living and studying in Italy circa 1885. Recently, however, her attention has not been on her craft, and her wily mentor remarks that he believes that she's in love. When Paula confirms his suspicions, and indicates that she may marry the gentleman in question, Gregory Anton (Charles Boyer), she is released from her studies. Less than a week later, she and Gregory are on their honeymoon.

At this point, Gaslight turns ominous. Gregory wants to live in England, so he and Paula move into a house that she inherited from her late aunt Alice Alquist, a well-known singer who had been murdered a decade earlier. Once there, Gregory's attentiveness acquires a sinister edge. He convinces Paula that she's having delusions, and, as a result, isn't well enough to see visitors. He hires a forthright young maid, Nancy (Angela Lansbury in her feature debut), who holds her mistress in contempt. And he disappears every night on clandestine business of his own.

A local Scotland Yard officer, Brian Cameron (Joseph Cotten), takes an interest in Paula's predicament, but Gregory and Nancy conspire to keep them from meeting. The more familiar Brian becomes with the situation, however, the more convinced he is that Paula's current circumstances are somehow related to her aunt's murder and a cache of missing jewels.

By the convoluted standards of many of today's ultra-slick thrillers, Gaslight may be seen as slow-moving and obvious. But no film like Basic Instinct can match this picture's intricate psychology. Paula's self-doubt builds slowly as her husband meticulously orchestrates her spiral into insanity. Since she's completely in his thrall, she never senses that he represents a threat. And, because Paula is isolated from everyone except Gregory, Nancy, and Elizabeth, the maid (Barbara Everest), she has no point of reference against which to gauge her mental stability.

Beautifully filmed in a gloomy, atmospheric black-and-white, Gaslight exhibits all the classic visual elements of '40s film noir. The attention to detail is more obvious than in many modern films. The benighted streets of London are cloaked with fog, and the large, lonely house where most of the action transpires is filled with shadows and strange noises. The paranoid, claustrophobic world of Paula's confinement is effectively conveyed. Even though we, as viewers, know that her insanity is contrived, we can feel the walls of the trap closing in as the situation grows progressively more hopeless.

In addition to Bergman's fine performance as the harried Paula, Charles Boyer and Angela Lansbury do excellent work. In less than two hours, Boyer's Gregory goes from a suave, debonair gentleman to a cunning, fiendish villain. The success of this transformation is an eloquent testament to Boyer's range. Meanwhile, Lansbury imbues Nancy with an impertinence that makes her Gregory's perfect, albeit unwitting, accomplice.

In many ways, Gaslight is as much a character study as a thriller. And, although tame by today's standards (and even by those of Hitchcock's Psycho), Gaslight is chilling enough to engross even a jaded modern audience. Yes, there are aspects of the story that bear close scrutiny, but this is the kind of effectively-crafted, well-acted motion picture that rises above its faults to earn its classic appellation. [Berardinelli’s rating: *** out of 4 stars]

Labels: crime, drama, film-noir, Ingrid Bergman, mystery, period, thriller

Internet Movie Database 78/100 

RottenTomatoes Averages (critics=79, viewers=82) 

Wikipedia Gaslight (film) 

Wikipedia gaslighting (form of manipulation)

MetaScore (critics=78, viewers=83)
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Wild Things (1998) [R] ***

A film review by James Berardinelli.

Wild Things is a way to steam up an otherwise dreary early spring day… provided, of course, that you’re the victim of a frontal lobotomy. There is, in fact, no doubt about who this motion picture is aimed at: movie-goers in their late teens and early twenties -- the most lucrative target group. This is film-noir for the MTV generation: fast-paced, slick, flashy, gleefully mindless, and hollow to the core. Wild Things is easily one of the five dumbest movies to arrive in theaters during the first eleven weeks of 1998. I’ve seen more convincing drama (with nearly as much bare flesh) on that pinnacle of narrative quality, Baywatch.

Wild Things wants to dupe viewers into thinking it’s a thriller with a real story. What it is, however, is a series of increasingly-improbable and shockingly predictable plot twists. Everything in between those serpentine moments is filler -- a flash of a breast, a spatter of blood, and some of the most idiotic dialogue this side of a Steven Seagal movie. The film tries so hard to surprise its audience that the twists end up being easy to guess -- just take a stab at the most unlikely thing to happen, and that will probably be it. Using this approach, I was right three times and wrong only once. That’s not a good average for a production that wants to keep viewers in the dark about what’s around the next corner.

The ad campaign uses two things to sell this movie: the hot, young cast and the old standby, sex. Both have an abundance of screen time, although I’ll admit that the film’s erotic content is somewhat less impressive than I expected. Nothing about Wild Things is exceptionally risqué. The soft-core sex sequences are generic, and don’t generate much heat. The lesbian kisses can’t hold a candle to those in Bound. Theresa Russell and Denise Richards have only token topless appearances (Neve Campbell, possessing an iron-clad no nudity clause in her contract, keeps her clothes more or less on). The film’s greatest curiosity is a full frontal shot of Kevin Bacon climbing out of the shower. Maybe a few girls will skip seeing a fully-clothed Leonardo DiCaprio for the thirteenth time in Titanic to catch a glimpse of what Kyra Sedgwick (Mrs. Kevin Bacon) is familiar with.

The director of Wild Things is John McNaughton, whose last effort was the finely-tuned psychological thriller, Normal Life. That movie featured copious sex, a pair of real characters, and a powerful script. It’s difficult to believe that something this shallow could come from the same film maker. But I suppose we all need to put food on the table. McNaughton appears to have completely lost his way here, in what is obviously a stab at mainstream success (his previous wide-release picture, Mad Dog and Glory, was a box-office disappointment). Quick cuts and pretty sunrises can’t even begin to cover up this movie’s flaws.

The main character (and I use that term lightly, since no one in Wild Things shows more than an occasional flash of personality) is Sam Lombardo (Matt Dillon), a guidance counselor at Florida’s Blue Bay High School. A student, the deliciously curvaceous Kelly Van Ryan (Denise Richards), has a crush on him. One afternoon, she comes to his house to wash his car, and, when she leaves, her clothing is torn. After confessing to her mother (Theresa Russell) that she was raped, she goes to the police station, where she tells her story to detectives Ray Duquette (Kevin Bacon) and Gloria Perez (Daphne Rubin-Vega). They are skeptical about here claims until another girl, Suzie Toller (Neve Campbell), comes forward with a similar tale. Meanwhile, Sam, convinced that he’s being set up, goes to a shyster lawyer (Bill Murray) for help.

The acting in Wild Things isn’t very good, but none of the principals have much to work with. This is definitely not a character-based motion picture. Not only does the ludicrous screenplay ignore the possibility that someone in the audience may have a triple-digit I.Q., but it doesn’t bother to give any of the on-screen individuals even a hint of depth. The men and women populating the picture are there to look nice, but nothing more. Matt Dillon is given plenty of opportunities to flex his biceps. Neve Campbell gets to model the slutty look. Denise Richards strikes a fetching pose in a see-through, one-piece bathing suit. And nothing in the film gets a rise out of Kevin Bacon. The only one who’s even remotely interesting is Bill Murray, and he seems to think he’s in comedy, not a thriller (maybe he’s got the right idea).

Columbia Pictures has specifically requested that critics not reveal the film’s ending, which prompts the question: which ending do they want kept secret? Wild Things has no less than three (one occurs during the end credits, so stay seated), all of which are jaw-droppingly absurd -- a feat that Joe Eszterhas (the writer of Basic Instinct and Showgirls) would be impressed by. Thanks to Jeffrey Kimball’s polished, kinetic cinematography, Wild Things always looks great, and George S. Clinton’s score keeps it pulsing and throbbing. But, no matter how shiny the superficial sheen is, this is still trash, and, like all garbage, it stinks.

Labels: crime, film-noir, high-school, lesbian, mystery, satire, teenager, thriller

Internet Movie Database 

Metacritic 52/100 

Tomatometer (critics=64, viewers=53) 

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The Big Sleep (1946) [NR] *****

A film review by Michael Reuben for Blu-ray.com on Feb. 26, 2016.

The Big Sleep isn't just a detective film; it's the detective film. The characters are genre archetypes (cynical shamus, dodgy heiress, blackmailed rich man and assorted gamblers, chiselers and goons), and its dialogue crackles with the peculiar mix of wit, intrigue and sexual innuendo that defines hard-boiled. The seedily corrupt atmosphere clings to everything, much like the fetid air of the hothouse where the hero-detective meets his new client. So thoroughly does The Big Sleep cast its spell that it's the rare film which gets away with having an incomprehensible plot. Event by event, the film is so engrossing that you end up not caring who did what to whom. The filmmakers themselves gave up trying to figure out the mystery. During production, director Howard Hawks and his trio of screenwriters famously realized that one of the story's murders had no killer and cabled novelist Raymond Chandler for assistance. As Chandler later said: They sent me a wire . . . , and dammit I didn't know either.

Much of the film's magic derives from the re-teaming of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, whose marriage after Bacall's scorching debut in To Have and Have Not made the pair one of Hollywood's best-known couples. Warner Brothers rushed The Big Sleep into production to capitalize on the Bogart/Bacall chemistry, and the film was completed less than a year later, with scenes clearly intended to echo Bacall's debut (e.g., having her sing with a jazz band, as she did in To Have and Have Not). The trailer proudly announced: That man Bogart—and that woman Bacall—are that way again!

In an unexpected twist, however, The Big Sleep had to be delayed, because the studio wanted to get all of its war-themed releases into theaters before the imminent conclusion of World War II. While the film awaited its turn, Bacall's agent persuaded studio head Jack Warner to expand and enhance his client's role. When The Big Sleep finally reached theaters in August 1946, significant portions had been reshot. Not until the 1990s was a copy of the film's original cut, often known as the Pre-release Version, discovered in the studio archives, allowing scholars to analyze the extensive changes.

The Warner Archive Collection (WAC) has now added The Big Sleep to its roster of beautifully restored black-and-white classics. The film is presented on Blu-ray as it was released in 1946, with a copy of the Pre-release Version included in the extras in standard definition. A detailed comparison of the changes by film archivist Robert Gitt rounds out the extras.

The Big Sleep finds Bogart stepping into the shoes of Raymond Chandler's famous detective Philip Marlowe, previously played by Dick Powell in Murder, My Sweet. Here Marlowe's client is the wealthy and ailing General Sternwood (Charles Waldron), who receives his guests in a humid orchid nursery where he watches them drink the brandy his doctor no longer permits him. Aside from a loyal butler named Norris (Charles D. Brown), the General shares his home with two wayward daughters, who bring him nothing but trouble. The elder, Vivian (Bacall), goes by her married name of Mrs. Rutledge, even though the marriage is over (or, in Marlowe's cynical phrase, it didn't take); Vivian's father describes her as spoiled, exacting, smart and ruthless - a description that would pique Marlowe's interest even if Mrs. Rutledge weren't already sniffing around her father's reason for hiring a private investigator (P.I.). The younger daughter, Carmen (Martha Vickers), combines the worst qualities of a drug addict and a nymphomaniac, greeting every man she meets with her signature catchphrase, You're cute! Marlowe's description sums her up dryly: She tried to sit in my lap - while I was standing up. Carmen is the immediate cause of the General's current predicament; he is being dunned for her alleged gambling debts by a man named Geiger (Theodore von Eltz), who purports to be a rare book dealer but whose real business is blackmail.

Marlowe's efforts to clean up the General's domestic mess drop both the detective and the viewer into a cauldron of intrigue peopled by dubious characters, including yet another blackmailer, Joe Brody (Louis Jean Heydt), a gambler named Eddie Mars (John Ridgely) and an assortment of small-time hoods and enforcers. Aside from Carmen's gambling markers, the case includes incriminating photos, a coded journal of secret information and a dead chauffeur fished from the ocean in a car belonging to the Sternwood family. Meanwhile, a lot of people want to learn the whereabouts of a former Irish freedom fighter and bootlegger named Sean Regan, who used to work for General Sternwood but has now disappeared.

While Marlowe trades notes with his police buddy, Bernie Ohls (Regis Toomey) - another genre staple - he keeps his eye firmly on the elder Sternwood daughter, Vivian, whose intense interest in the investigation marks her as more than just a bystander. Alternately cajoling, insulting, seducing and exchanging wisecracks, Vivian is one of Bacall's most memorable characters, one who is ideally suited to the actress's purring delivery and sloe-eyed insinuations. Still, Vivian has plenty of competition for the P.I.'s attention, because women literally throw themselves at Marlowe. The bookstore clerk (Dorothy Malone) who helps him stake out Geiger, the taxi driver (Joy Barlow) to whom the detective gives the time-honored instruction to follow that car, and even the cigarette girl (Shelby Payne) at Eddie Mars's gambling establishment all light up in the investigator's presence. Detective work may not be glamorous or lucrative, but Bogart gives Marlowe a confident animal magnetism that anticipates James Bond. Even Agnes (Sonia Darrin), the girlfriend/assistant of the despicable Geiger, ends up looking at Marlowe with longing in her eyes.

But just as the trailer promised, it's Bacall's Vivian who has to be the ultimate destination for Bogart's Marlowe, a result that seems predestined from the pair's first encounter, where they survey each other warily, feinting and dodging. The resourceful P.I. does ultimately fulfill his assignment, extricating the Sternwood family from the clutches of assorted villains, handing the cops a neatly packaged bundle and earning Vivian's undying gratitude. Having walked together on the wild side, the couple is finally ready to get serious, after the credits roll. [Reuben’s rating: ****½ out of 5 stars]

Blogger’s comment: Despite glowing critical reviews, I was confused by the incomprehensible plot, which frustrated the original novelist Raymond Chandler, the screenwriters, director, producers, actors and viewers. I mean, really… there’s a murder victim with no perpetrator? 

Labels: crime, film-noir, mystery, thriller

IMDb 79/100 

MetaCritic (critics=86, viewers=74)
RottenTomatoes (critics=96, viewers=91) 

Blu-ray 

Gilda (1946) [NR] *****

A film review by Dr. Svet Atanasov for blu-ray.com, December 21, 2015

Glenn Ford is Johnny Farrell, a petty gambler who makes ends meet by separating fools from their money on the dark and dirty streets of Buenos Aires. It is there that someone tries to kill Johnny, but the wealthy loner Ballin Mundsen (George Macready) saves his life and then hires him to manage his casino.

Soon after Johnny gets comfortable working in the casino, Ballin shows him his latest acquisition – the stunningly beautiful Gilda (Rita Hayworth), who knows how to seduce men with deep pockets. What Ballin does not know is that Johnny and Gilda have a long history together.

Eventually Ballin realizes that Gilda might have had a plan when she agreed to marry him, but he has little time to question her because two German businessmen arrive in the casino and create some tension after they demand that he sign some important documents. A local government agent (Joseph Calleia) further complicates things when he approaches Johnny and reveals to him that his boss' interests extend far beyond his gambling business. All hell breaks loose when Ballin kills one of the Germans and then his private plane crashes into the ocean while he is making his escape from Montevideo.

Charles Vidor's classic noir film, Gilda, works because of three simple reasons. The first is the presence of the stunningly beautiful Hayworth. The camera loves her so much that it frequently feels like it has difficulty spending time with the rest of the actors. Hayworth is fully aware of her sex appeal and loves the attention. The confidence she exudes makes even casual close-ups look breathtakingly beautiful.

The second reason is the terrific script. It is one of the best done for a Hollywood film after WWII. The exchanges between the main protagonists are frequently exceptionally bold yet vague enough not to upset the watchdogs. (Years later, a similar style of writing was mastered by various screenwriters living behind the Iron Curtain, where powerful red apparatchiks would carefully scrutinize their work to make sure that it does not undermine the Party's legitimacy).

The third reason is Jack Cole's music numbers. There is no groundbreaking material here, but everything works to perfection. Looking indescribably sexy, Hayworth sings, dances, and flirts with her audience, and then suddenly takes off the beautiful mask she wears for everyone to see that she is a real woman who wants to be loved, cared for and protected. Indeed, the numbers and the transitions after them are wonderfully choreographed.

Glenn Ford also leaves a lasting impression as the petty gambler who gets a second chance in life. His final character transformation, however, feels a bit premature. Macready looks appropriately cold and unpredictable. Though his time in front of the camera is limited, Steven Geray is simply outstanding as the casino's washroom attendant, Uncle Pio.

Gilda was lensed by legendary Polish-born cinematographer Rudolph Mate. The many music pieces heard throughout the film were orchestrated by Hugo Friedhofer.

In 2013, Gilda was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.

Blogger’s comments:

The fourth reason for the film’s success is the chemistry between Hayworth and Ford. Although both of them were married to other people at the time, Director Vidor was so concerned that they would have an affair that it gave him some sleepless nights. Apparently his concern was not unwarranted. Years later, Ford’s son Peter remarked that his father and Rita Hayworth actually did have an on-again, off-again love affair that lasted forty years.

The fifth reason for the film’s success was Rita Hayworth’s popularity among GIs returning from WW II, which rivaled Betty Grable’s popularity. So, when the film was released in 1946, former servicemen took their wives and girlfriends to see it.

Labels: drama, film-noir, romance, thriller

Internet Movie Database 7.7/10 

RottenTomatoes Averages (critics=80, viewers=80) 

Blu-ray 

Suspicion (1941) [NR] ****

A film review by Andy Webb for TheMovieScene.co.uk

While Alfred Hitchcock made more praiseworthy movies than Suspicion it is one of my favorites. Why? Well it is a combination of things starting with the simple fact that Cary Grant is cast as a charmer, a familiar role but one which thanks to the storyline has ambiguity about it. That ambiguity makes the storyline work and Suspicion has an easy-to-follow storyline which ends up being about whether a gambler with debts and secrets is actually a criminal capable of murder. But what really makes this storyline work is not so much the ambiguity but the realism because there is a lot of truth in the way Grant's character reacts when it comes to hiding his problems and what the mounting level of despair leads him to contemplate.

A chance encounter on a train when Johnnie (Cary Grant) enters a first class carriage with a third class ticket begins an infatuation for pretty but shy Lina (Joan Fontaine). But that chance encounter is followed by another and before she knows it she has been whisked off her feet by the charming and confident Johnnie leading to a quick wedding in a registry office. But on returning home from an extravagant honeymoon to a newly decorated house Lina begins to discover that Johnnie isn't the man she thinks he is as she discovers he has debts and a fondness for gambling. But things get worse as she discovers more of his secrets and when his best friend Beaky (Nigel Bruce), who he had just gone into business with is murdered she begins to question whether Johnnie killed him and is about to do the same to her.

One of the things which really took me by surprise with Suspicion is the level of authenticity when it comes to the story of a man with a gambling problem and secrets. For a movie which in many ways is really about whether or not Johnnie is calculated enough to kill, the way he is portrayed is very true - from trying to hide his mounting problems from Lina to the extent he goes to try and sort them out on his own but only making matters worse. The fact he is a gambler is also well portrayed as while he promises to quit he continues in secret and he has the highs and lows of a gambler, generous with gifts when he has money but desperate and moody when things go badly.

But as I said the real focus of Suspicion is on whether or not Johnnie is either calculated or desperate enough to kill to try and gain money to get out of the financial mess he is in. And this side of the movie works brilliantly because in a slightly playful way there are plenty of clues to suggest he is, which feeds Lina's suspicions over her husband. We have Johnnie's fondness for facts about murder, his constant secret keeping and of course Beaky's death all of which lead Lina to suspect that maybe she could be next, especially as she learns Johnnie has been trying to get a loan on her life insurance. Now this being a Hitchcock movie means that everything is not as straight forwards as it seems and there is a playful ambiguity to about how it ends, leading you to draw your own conclusions.

Joan Fontaine won an Oscar for her performance in Suspicion and there is no question about how good she is as Lina, taking us from shy through loved up to being suspicious and fearful of Johnnie. But in truth it is Cary Grant who makes the movie work and that is because he is playing a familiar role of a charmer, a man with a gift for talking people around and an infectious personality. But because we have this ambiguity over his motives and the occasional mood swing it makes this familiar character so much more interesting and intriguing with Grant selling that ambiguity brilliantly.

What this all boils down to is that Hitchcock made better movies, he made more exciting and clever movies but in its simplicity Suspicion is one of my favorites. It has a mixture of being authentic and ambiguous which makes it so entertaining to follow with both Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine delivering top performances. [Webb’s rating: **** out of 5 stars]

[Blogger’s comment: In the novel written by Anthony Berkeley under the name Francis Iles, Johnnie actually does murder Lina. However, Hitchcock was unable to cast Grant as a murderer, so the screenplay opts for an upbeat Hollywood ending.]

Labels: film-noir, mystery, thriller

Internet Movie Database 7.4/10 

Metacritic 83/100 

RottenTomatoes Averages (critics=77, viewers=74) 

Blu-ray 

Andy Webb’s online review