THE LOST WEEKEND

Billy Wilder, 1945

Starring: Ray Milland, Jane Wyman, Phillip Terry

"One drink's too many, and a hundred's not enough."

Don Birnam, an alcoholic writer, is supposed to go on a long, dry trip with his brother for a four-day weekend in the country. Wick, his brother, and Helen, his girlfriend, come to see him off and are skeptical that he isn’t hiding liquor somewhere. He convinces them everything is fine and the two of them attend a quick concert before Don and Wick’s train ride that evening. While they are gone, Don happens to find $10 hidden in the kitchen and immediately uses it to buy two bottles of alcohol and get a few shots at the neighborhood bar. This results in him missing the trip and going on a weekend-long bender, where he manages to give Helen the slip and hit absolute rock bottom. He is hung over, increasingly sick, steals, and winds up in hospital ward specifically for alcoholics. Will anything be able to make Don stop drinking?

Director Billy Wilder was allegedly inspired to make this film after his work with alcoholic novelist Raymond Chandler on Double Indemnity. His regular writing partner, Charles Brackett, considered Double Indemnity too lurid (though he co-wrote The Lost Weekend). Wilder was able to recognize Chandler’s powerful talent, despite the fact that the two did not get along. He claimed he made The Lost Weekend to show Chandler a portrait of himself.

Though this is not a film noir, I think it belongs in my series because of two elements: the style and the subject matter. First and foremost, the look of the film is incredible. Wilder decided to forgo the studio set and it was shot on the streets of New York with cameras allegedly hidden in empty trucks and in buildings to give the film the most realistic feel possible. It really paid off and The Lost Weekend is an absolutely beautiful, if grimy, alcohol-soaked look at New York in the ‘40s. The wave of postwar realism is certainly a factor in noir films (director Jules Dassin’s work springs to mind) and it is utterly convincing here.

Wilder’s regular collaborators – cinematographer John F. Seitz and composer Miklós Rózsa – are in rare form here. Seitz’s gloomy, atmospheric cinematography rivals the work he did in Double Indemnity and New York is truly a place of terror and defeat. Milland is constantly obscured by shadow, while the camera lovingly frames and caresses a bottle of booze, a shot of whiskey. Rózsa’s eerie score was the first to ever use a Theremin. This incredible work is nightmarish and adds to the dreamlike, occasionally surreal quality of the film. He would use the same instrument soon after on his equally chilling score for Hitchcock’s Spellbound.

The tone is incredibly dark and depressing, hopeless, and nihilistic. Though there are two romantic scenes, they certainly aren’t able to break through the gloom and almost feel pointless. It’s unclear why Helen is so attached to Don, though it’s easy to assume that his charm and intelligent while sober helped to win her over. There are some very disturbing moments, such as when Don wakes up in the hospital – the legendary Bellevue Asylum – and when he is consumed by delirium tremens and hallucinates. A mouse crawls out of one of the walls in his apartment and is attacked by a bat; blood drips down the wall.

This horrific moment is underlined by the feeling – especially during the second half of the film – that violence could erupt at any moment. Part of the genius of the script is that the further Don recedes into his downward spiral, he moves further from a state of civilized humanity. He is somewhat aggressively thrown out of a bar and later robs a liquor store. This escalates to his time in Bellevue, where the other patients become violent. In a terrifying scene, one of them must be removed. The question of whether or not Don will harm himself, a stranger, or even Helen, constantly hangs in the air.

Despite the taboo subject matter, the film was a smash hit and also cleaned up critically. Star Ray Milland (Dial M for Murder) won Best Actor at the Academy Awards and Wilder won Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Screenwriter. At the very first year of the Cannes Festival, the film also won the Grand Prix (the first version of the Palme d’Or) and Milland again won Best Actor.

As with Double Indemnity, Wilder had some trouble casting the film due to the subject matter. A young Ray Milland (Dial M for Murder) eventually took the role and wound up winning an Oscar for his incredible performance. He is wonderful as Don, though Milland himself was practically a non-drinker. Allegedly writer Charles Jackson – the film is based on his book of the same name – gave him some coaching on how to accurately portray alcoholism.

Though the film belongs to Milland, the small supporting cast is excellent. Jane Wyman (Magnificent Obsession) is likable as Helen and not overly saccharine. Don’s stern, worn out brother is played by a fittingly stern Phillip Terry (Born to Kill) and Howard Da Silva (They Live By Night) absolutely shines as the gruff, but understanding bartender.

The Lost Weekend comes highly recommended. It bears certain similarities to Double Indemnity. Both had difficult casting processes, both were nearly shut down by the Hayes Code, and both were created seemingly by Wilder’s sheer force of will. As with Double Indemnity, The Lost Weekend was based on a novel. Though Charles Jackson’s autobiographical book is even grimmer in tone, the film remains largely faithful. The only serious change was in the story’s conclusion, which ends on a tentatively positive note in the film. Though Don appears to have given up drinking, nothing about this feels permanent. The film also leaves out any references to homosexuality or sexual repression, making Don a fairly asexual figure.

The film is available on region 1 DVD, though the release is nothing special. The Masters of Cinema Blu-ray comes highly recommended, though it is only a region B release. Either way, The Lost Weekend is one of the best – and darkest – films of the ‘40s. You owe it to yourself to see this grim, realistic portrayal of a problem that still grips America (and much of the world) nearly 70 years later.

DOUBLE INDEMNITY

Billy Wilder, 1944

Starring: Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, Edward G. Robinson

"I couldn't hear my own footsteps. It was the walk of a dead man.”

Walter Neff, an insurance salesman, is badly injured and begins to relate his tale via Dictaphone in his office late one night. He explains that he met Phyllis Dietrichson while trying to renew her older husband’s insurance policy. She inquires about setting up a life insurance/accident policy without her husband’s knowledge and though Neff has a good idea of what she’s up to, he’s too attracted to her to stay away. They begin to plan her husband’s murder. His leg is broken, so they plan to take advantage of an upcoming train ride. They kill him in the car ride on the way to the train station and Neff poses as Dietrichson long enough to be seen on the train. He jumps off and he and Phyllis throw her husband’s body on the tracks. The insurance policy delivers double indemnity on accidents, meaning twice the policy pay out, so Phyllis will be a rich woman.

Though it seems like the perfect murder at first, there are complications. Keyes, Neff’s coworker at the insurance agency, is sure murder is afoot. Phyllis also begins to double cross Neff, particularly when her stepdaughter, Lola, gets suspicious and reveals that Phyllis has killed before – Lola’s mother and Dietrichson’s first wife died suspiciously when Phyllis was her nurse. What will happen if she and Neff don’t get away with the murder?

Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity was a critical and popular success at the time of its release. While there were other noir films that came out before this – Stranger on the Third Floor and I Wake Up Screaming – 1944 was a year of magic for the newly formed genre. Double Indemnity, Laura, and Murder, My Sweet all came out in a period of two or three months that year. So while Double Indemnity is certainly not the first film in the genre, it is one of the first truly successful and influential films in the series. Many classic noir elements are present: an imposing staircase, a criminal protagonist, voice over narration, a femme fatale, murder, a sense of dangerous sexuality, and no hope for a positive resolution. The beautiful, stark cinematography from John F. Seitz, one of Paramount’s head DPs, certainly helped established the feel of noir. Borrowing from German expressionism, the film is flooded with grim, almost grimy shadows, particularly during moments of violence and suspense.

Based on James M. Cain’s novel of the same name, Cain also wrote the similarly-themed The Postman Always Rings Twice and Mildred Pierce. Both of these were adapted for the screen during the classic noir period. Postman and Double Indemnity are based on the real murder case of Ruth Snyder, a married woman who coerced her lover (a salesman, not an insurance agent) into killing her husband. She first took out an insurance policy on him, one with a double-indemnity clause. They were quickly discovered and both were electrocuted in 1928.

Though Wilder contacted author James M. Cain to work on the script, he wound up with hardboiled novelist Raymond Chandler (The Big Sleep, The Long Goodbye). The two men had a difficult relationship, partly because of Chandler’s alcoholism and inexperience working with a writing partner, but produced one of the best scripts in the history of noir. The script improves upon Cain’s novel in many ways, particularly the ending. Instead of committing double suicide, the ending is far more complex and leaves much more doubt about Neff and Phyllis’s feelings. Originally, the film was supposed to end with Neff in the gas chamber as Keyes watches his execution, but that seems unnecessary. The dialogue and use of double entendre is incredible, but is so fast paced that you practically have to watch the film twice to absorb it all. Wilder explained that he wanted to keep Cain’s dialogue, but Chandler convinced him that it wouldn’t work and wrote most of it himself.

Chandler also has his only film cameo here as a man reading a book. After Double Indemnity, Chandler was taken on as a full time writer by the studio, allowing him and his sick, elderly wife to escape poverty. Wilder’s time with Chandler was actually his inspiration for the film that followed Double Indemnity – The Lost Weekend, about an alcoholic writer on a bender.

The novel nearly wasn’t adapted, because the committee behind the Hays Code considered its subject matter far too inappropriate – murder, sex, infidelity, two love triangles, etc. Sex is never actually shown, discussed, or implicitly suggested on screen. Taken at face value, this is a story about a man who develops an interest in a married woman and suddenly agrees to kill her husband. Of course, because of the time period, it’s understood that a significant amount was removed to keep the Hays Code happy. What makes the affair both plausible and understood is largely the manner of the two leads. Phyllis is not an incredibly beautiful woman. With her cheap wig, thin towel, and ankle bracelet, she’s not the most knockout blonde noir has ever seen. But Stanwyck gives the character an aura of sleaziness, easy sexuality, and a predatory nature. When she flirts with Ness, he could be shocked at her brazenness, but he takes it all in stride, suggesting that he’s been in this situation before.

As with other noir protagonists from the period, there is something likable about Neff, but also something despicable about him. While Phyllis brings out the worst in him, her stepdaughter Lola seems to bring out the best. He is logical, caring, and understanding. His somewhat unexplained relationship with Lola – lover, father figure, or friend – and his close friendship with Keyes are his only redemptive moments. Even though he knows that he is doomed, he wants Lola to have a chance at happiness. Fred MacMurray is perfect for the part, though he was initially reluctant to agree. He was primarily in comedies before this film and was afraid he didn’t have the acting chops to pull it off.

Of course, he is upstaged at nearly every turn by the great Barbara Stanwyck, one of Hollywood’s finest actresses. She is also perfect as Phyllis, though, again, was reluctant to take the role because she didn’t want it to affect her overall career. While there is nothing negative I can say about the film, one reason to watch is surely Stanwyck’s turn as one of noir’s most poisonous, lethal femme fatales.

There are also many other reasons. If you’re new to film noir, this is an ideal place to start. It boasts an excellent use of L.A. sets, all of which are memorable. You really get a sense of what the city was like in the ‘40s and ‘50s and its vibrant flavor comes across despite the griminess of the film. Also keep an ear out for the wonderfully moody score from Miklós Rózsa. Though he had previously collaborated with Chandler, his work here established his career.

Double Indemnity is a must-see and comes with the highest possible recommendation. Pick it up on DVD today and prepare yourself for almost two hours of lust, greed, murder, and an almost total absence of the milk of human kindness.

Billy Wilder (1906-2002)

Born Samuel Wilder in Austria-Hungary (now part of Poland), director and writer Billy Wilder was one of many industry professionals forced to flee Europe during the Nazi regime and seek a career in Hollywood. Wilder began as a journalist in Berlin and later became known for his excellent cinematic writing; many of his films are considered American classics. He won numerous awards, coaxed award-nominated or winning performances from 14 actors, and made a handful of the greatest American comedies and two of the best noir films, Double Indemnity and Sunset Boulevard. This is a comprehensive look at his career, with special focus on his noir films and related efforts.

Wilder got a professional start in Berlin, but fled in the early ‘30s to Paris, due to the rise of Nazism and his Jewish heritage. Nearly all of his immediate family would die during the war: his mother was murdered in a concentration camp near Krakow, his stepfather died at Belzec, the very first death camp, and his grandmother was killed during the liquidation of a ghetto in Poland. Just before Wilder’s fortunate departure, he wrote People On Sunday, a ground-breaking German film involving several key filmmakers who fled Germany for America. Noir specialist Robert Siodmak directed, noir and horror director Edgar G. Ulmer produced, Universal writer and director Curt Siodmak collaborated on the script, and Eugen Schüfftan (Metropolis) handled the cinematography.

During this period, Wilder handled a few more writing assignments, but didn’t make his directorial debut, Mauvaise Graine (1934), until his move to Paris. This first film is a French drama about a playboy who gets wrapped up with a gang of criminals. Wilder allegedly moved to Hollywood in 1933, just before its release.  He got his start in Hollywood as a writer, ultimately working on nearly 80 films, including Lubitsch’s Bluebeard’s Eight Wife (1938), Hold Back the Dawn (1941), Howard Hawks’ Ball of Fire (1941),The Bishop’s Wife (1947), Ocean’s Eleven (1960), and Casino Royale (1967). He had a 12-year writing partnership with Algonquin Round Table member Charles Brackett, the most successful of his career. His second collaboration was with I.A.L. Diamond, which began in the late ‘50s and lasted until the end of Wilder’s career. Wilder wrote or co-wrote all the films he directed.

His first big success was the script for Ninotchka (1939), a screwball comedy from the great German director Ernst Lubitsch. Greta Garbo, known for her tragic roles at this point, was cast against type in this comedy about a communist who travels to Paris and falls in love. This ability to revitalize and reshape the career of a major star would be repeated several times by Wilder during his tenure as a director. This also marked his first nomination for an Academy Award.

Wilder’s first U.S. effort as a director was The Major and the Minor (1942), a wartime romantic comedy starring Ginger Rogers and Ray Milland. In a somewhat uncomfortable plot decision, a young woman pretends to be a 12 year old girl to save money on a train ride and falls under the charge of a soldier. She soon falls in love with him. His second film, Five Graves to Cairo (1942), retained the war setting, but took a darker tone. This thriller stars director Erich von Stroheim. The success of these two films allowed him to branch out considerably for his third film and first classic.

Double Indemnity (1944), co-written by hardboiled novelist Raymond Chandler (The Big Sleep) and based on a book of the same name by James M. Cain (The Postman Always Rings Twice), began to break down the strict Hays Code and controversially portrayed adultery and two love triangles. It is part of the early wave of film noir, hitting screens the same year as Laura and Murder, My Sweet, and Wilder inevitably influenced the genre’s stark, captivating sense of style with a number of incredible nighttime shots. Phyllis, a married woman (Barbara Stanwyck), begins an affair with Walter, an insurance agent (Fred MacMurray), and the two conspire to kill her wealthy, older husband (Tom Powers). Though it first seems like they’ve committed the perfect crime, things begin to unravel thanks to the interference of Walter’s boss (Edward G. Robinson) and Phyllis’s heartbroken stepdaughter (Jean Heather). This is widely regarded as one of the greatest noir films of all time and several generations of film fans would never be able to forget Stanwyck’s performance and the appearance of her oddly seductive ankle bracelet. Marked by shadowy visuals, cutthroat characters, and one of the bleakest finales to grace Hollywood in the early ‘40s, Double Indemnity is one of Wilder’s greatest works.

Though it is not a noir film, The Lost Weekend (1945), is in keeping with similarly bleak, taboo-breaking subject matter. Ray Milland starred as a drunken writer who goes on a particularly grim weekend bender in this first serious Hollywood portrayal of alcoholism. Wilder was nominated for several awards because of this film, but it was another of his works that barely made it past the censors due to the controversial content. I can’t help but wonder if this film was inspired by Wilder’s time working with Raymond Chandler, a particularly heavy drinker with some tragic episodes later in life caused by his alcoholism.

While I’m not entirely sure who is solely responsible for Death Mills (1945), a short documentary about the liberation of a concentration camp, Wilder was credited on the English-language version and had returned to Germany at this time with the U.S. Army. This grim, affecting film was meant to educate civilians – particularly Germans – about what occurred at the death camps. Wilder seems to have had his home on the brain during the period, as he made two films concerned with Germany and Austria in 1948. On a completely opposite note from Death Mills, Wilder’s only musical is the mediocre The Emperor Waltz (1948), featuring Bing Crosby as an American salesman visiting the Austrian court during the turn of the century. Joan Fontaine costars as an aristocrat who falls in love with him.

The superior second films is the Marlene Dietrich-vehicle,  A Foreign Affair (1948), one of Wilder’s only films that directly addresses his home country during wartime. A congresswoman (Jean Arthur) travels to Berlin during the war to investigate a cabaret singer (Dietrich), having an affair with an Army Captain (John Lund). The singer also has ties with the Nazis and the black market underground of Berlin. Banned in Germany, the film’s moral gray areas made post-war audiences squirm and the film was sadly forgotten.

Next, Wilder made the film that is generally regarded as his classic: Sunset Boulevard (1950). This second noir film is one of the classics of the genre and is also a scathing indictment of Hollywood and the American dream. William Holden stars as Joe, a down and out screenwriter who gets a flat tire on Sunset Boulevard at the front gate of an aged film star, Norma Desmond (played by silent film star Gloria Holden). Determined to restart her career, Desmond careens into madness and takes Joe with her when she persuades him to agree to an affair (in exchange for money and gifts) and to write a script for her. Her ex-husband and butler (silent film director Erich von Stroheim) who discovered her years ago, tries to keep things status quo for Desmond, resulting in insanity and murder. Bravely playing a caricature of herself (or what she could have been), Gloria Holden gives one of the finest performances of classic Hollywood and maybe the single best in any noir film. Barbara Stanwyck allegedly kissed the bottom of her dress after the film’s premier. Wilder also takes one of noir’s most beloved conventions – voice over from the protagonist – and gives it a vicious twist, as the film’s narrator is already dead.

Wilder’s third noir film is another bitter look at America culture. Turning away from Hollywood and towards its sibling, the media, Ace in the Hole (1951) is so black, nasty, and claustrophobic that audiences of the period were simply not ready for it. Chuck Tatum (Kirk Douglas) convinces a little Albuquerque newspaper to hire him after he has been fired from several big name papers on the east coast. On an assignment, he comes across a man (Richard Benedict) trapped in a cave allegedly haunted by long-dead Native Americans. Sensing an opportunity, Chuck turns it into the biggest news story in the country and the site turns into a literal carnival. He also keeps the man trapped in the cave to prolong the story, leading to some unexpected results. Though not always regarded as a noir film thanks to its desert setting and lack of immediate crime or murder, Ace in the Hole is yet another of Wilder’s masterpieces that betray the director’s cynical view of humanity. Though initially ignored or disliked by audiences, Ace in the Hole’s reputation has improved with age and is not considered a classic. And while it has a brightly-lit, desert setting, it remains another fine example of Wilder’s work in the noir genre.

Based on a Broadway play, the war film Stalag 17 (1953) featured William Holden again as a particularly bitter and unlikable protagonist. Though more acclaimed than Ace in the Hole, this film has a similarly unlikable, unsympathetic protagonist. Director Otto von Preminger played a Nazi and there are some comic elements, but this has become one of the most beloved prisoner-of-war films ever made.

After this film, Wilder turned his attention almost solely to comedies. First is the relatively lighthearted Sabrina (1954). Audrey Hepburn starred as the titular daughter of the chauffeur to the Larrabee film. She has long been in love with the attractive playboy David (William Holden), though he doesn’t notice her. Her father pays for her to go off to Paris, where she develops into a beautiful, sophisticated young woman. On her return, David falls for her, though his older brother (Humphrey Bogart, playing completely against type) is determined to keep Sabrina from ruining David’s impending marriage, which will benefit the family business. Though well-loved, Sabrina is another film with some particularly cruel, cynical elements.

Though it’s considered one of Wilder’s lesser comedies from the period, The Seven Year Itch (1955) is remembered for a great performance by Marilyn Monroe, one of the best in her career. Again rankling with cynicism, a family man (Tom Ewell) falls for his sexy neighbor (Monroe) when his family goes out of town. Another mediocre effort is The Spirit of St. Louis (1957), a drama starring James Stewart as Charles Lindbergh. Though it relates Lindbergh’s legendary flight across the Atlantic, he’s a much blander figure that most of Wilder’s protagonists. It’s surprising that the director didn’t take more advantage of some of Lindbergh’s more flagrant character elements, which were public knowledge by the late ‘50s (namely the fact that he was a Nazi sympathizer).

Love in the Afternoon (1957) is a sweet, if subdued love story about a young girl (Audrey Hepburn) who falls in love with an older rake (Gary Cooper) and pretends she is far more worldly and experienced than she actually is in order to get his attention. Not one of Wilder’s most loved works; this is still a pleasing, effective comedy with a solid cast and deserves a second look.

Wilder briefly returned to some of his earlier noir stylings with Witness for the Prosecution (1957) based on an Agatha Christie mystery. A famous lawyer (Charles Laughton) is on the mend from a heart attack, but takes the case of an inventor (Tyrone Power) accused of murdering a lonely, but rich old woman (Norma Varden). His wife (Marlene Dietrich) tries to pin the murder on him, but she has hidden motivations. Though this is set in England, it has some noir elements, such as a femme fatale, an ineffectual hero, and a murder mystery. Witness for the Prosecution is mostly worth watching for two great performances from the husband and wife team of Elsa Lanchester (Bride of Frankenstein) and Charles Laughton (Island of Lost Souls). Marlene Dietrich nearly steals the film out from under Laughton and is truly incredible as the duplicitous wife. This was one of her final film roles and it was the last role for Tyrone Power, who died of a heart attack shortly after filming.

Some Like it Hot (1959) is easily his best comedy and was certainly not short of satire or cynicism. Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon play two down on their luck Chicago musicians obsessed with women and booze. They accidentally witness mobsters use machine guns to mow down some men and have to go on the run. They hear about a job for female musicians in Florida and dressing in drag seems like an obvious disguise, so they board the train and hope for the best. The plan is complicated when they meet Sugar Kane (Marilyn Monroe), a beautiful musician with a penchant for drinking, partying, and getting in trouble, and when Jerry (Lemmon) is pursued by a millionaire.

One of Wilder’s best films is undoubtedly The Apartment (1960), which remains among the finest American satire films. Essentially dark in tone, the film concerns Jack Lemmon as an insurance agent hoping to raise his position in the world. He allows several of his bosses to bring their mistresses back to his apartment, though this begins to take its toll on the agent and he accidentally falls in love with the head executive’s mistress (Shirley MacLaine). Covering everything from infidelity to suicide, this is one of Wilder’s most accomplished and enduring works. He also won three Academy Awards for Best Director, Writer, and Producer.

After The Apartment, Wilder’s career began to slow down and he was no longer a critical darling, though he continued to make comedies.  One Two Three (1961) saw James Cagney cast against type as an executive whose boss’s daughter marries a communist. Like all of Wilder’s films, this comedy is apolitical, despite its overt theme of capitalism vs communism, but benefits from his trademark comic gags and rapid fire dialogue. Next, Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine reunited in the romantic comedy Irma La Douce (1963), about a cop who is fired for busting up a prostitution ring. He soon finds a new job: as unlikely pimp and boyfriend for one of the prostitutes (MacLaine), replacing her abusive former pimp. Though the leading role was intended for Marilyn Monroe, she died before casting began.

Kiss Me, Stupid (1964) paired Dean Martin and Kim Novak in a predictable romantic comedy about a famous musician waylaid by two song writers trying to sell him some tunes. They use everything from car sabotage to a prostitute to keep him in their reach. Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau teamed up for one of their first films together in The Fortune Cookie (1966), one of Wilder’s last films of note. A lawyer and his brother-in-law join forces for an insurance scam, but things don’t turn out quite as they expected.

One of my favorite Wilder films is The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970), which was cut to ribbons by the studio and has not yet been fully restored. Fortunately, a Blu-ray release from Kino will put that to rights later this year and maybe it will finally get some of the recognition it deserves. Holmes’ (Robert Stephens) many vices are the focus of this film, where he takes a difficult new case: protecting a mysterious woman (Genevieve Paige) whose husband has disappeared. Watson (Colin Blakely) assists, and their adventure comes to include spies, the British government, and much more.

His final films, made in the ‘70s and early ‘80s, were all comedies and several starred Jack Lemmon and Walter Mathau, including Avanti! (1972). He also made The Front Page (1974), Fedora (1978), and his last film, Buddy, Buddy (1981). All of these suffered from poor reviews. Though they aren’t great films, the critics seem especially harsh and I think Wilder’s later work is worth revisiting for younger audiences.

One of Hollywood’s most memorable filmmakers, Billy Wilder’s work as a writer, producer, and director stands as some of the greatest in the golden age of Hollywood. He was able to find a compelling balance between romantic idealism and a scathing criticism of mankind. Wilder tells a story about how, when writing a script, you can make a man go through a door, but if he goes through a window, it’s far more interesting. His films are full of these memorable, captivating, and writerly flourishes. They are also marked by a pronounced pessimism, whether in terms of the noir films or comedies – characters are morally ambiguous, duplicitous, and self-motivated.

He died of pneumonia and other health issues at age 95. On his grave it says, “I’m a writer, but no one’s perfect.” He's buried near his long-time friends and collaborators Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau.

DETOUR

Edgar G. Ulmer, 1945

Starring: Tom Neal, Ann Savage, Claudia Drake, Edmund MacDonald

“Whichever way you turn, fate sticks out a foot to trip you.”

Al Roberts is a bitter piano player working in New York, but hoping to join his singer girlfriend, who has recently moved to L.A. to find fame. He begins hitchhiking cross country and is eventually picked up by a questionable, but kind bookie, Charles Haskell Jr. He takes undisclosed pills during their time together and has some nasty scratches on his hand, which he says are from a woman he met on the road. One night, during a rainstorm, Haskell never wakes up from a nap and Al discovers that he is suddenly dead. Terrified that the police won’t believe him, he hides the body and takes the car, assuming Haskell’s identity. Unfortunately Al soon picks up Vera, a vicious young hitchhiker who met Haskell and knows that Al is a phony. She begins blackmailing him and Al’s trip becomes a hellish journey with no end in sight.

Incredibly bleak, Detour benefits from its brief shooting time (less than a month in more generous estimates) and sparse sets. The film’s limited actors and basic car or hotel room settings manage to be incredibly claustrophobic. This is essentially a film about guilt and existential despair. The glamour found in many other early noir films is absolutely lacking here and there is nothing special about the film’s central protagonist – a drifter trying to get to his girlfriend in L.A. – or its antagonist – a bitter, dirty, uneducated young woman trying desperately to survive. This isn’t even really a story about people whose lives are destroyed by crime – it’s about ordinary men and women beaten down by life, nothing more and nothing less.

Released by PRC – Producers Releasing Corporation – a poverty row studio known for churning out cheap B-grade horror films, the studio allowed director Edgar Ulmer a certain amount of freedom that went hand-in-hand with the low budget. Ulmer had worked for bigger studios – he began in Germany as an assistant to F.W. Murnau and Fritz Lang and later went on to direct horror classic The Black Cat (1934) with Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff for Universal Studios. Though his career was on the rise in the ‘30s, an affair with a producer’s wife allegedly dashed any further association with a major studio.

Detour has received positive reviews and grown in stature over the years until it was finally recognized as a classic in the ‘70s, around the time of Ulmer’s death. The film is full of flaws, but either overcomes all these or uses them to its advantage. Detour has some things in common with Ulmer’s horror classic, The Black Cat (1934). Both films begin with a journey gone wrong where the protagonist is forced to take up with an unsavory character to continue onward. Blackmail and corruption follow. Though Detour lacks the fantastic spectacle of evil present in The Black Cat, the former film is incredibly grim and nihilistic.

Al Roberts, the protagonist, is the definition of what Thomas Ligotti called “malignantly useless” in The Conspiracy Against the Human Race. Al is ordinary, banal, helpless, ineffectual, and unlikable. He’s not the honorable “Everyman” with a heart of gold that merely wanders down the wrong path, so often played by Jimmy Stewart; he is, in a way, despicable. Using a noir cliché, he’s a piano player working at a bar, but is not successful enough to help support his girlfriend’s career or get himself safely out to L.A. Music also oddly becomes his Achilles’ heel and hearing even one bar of a certain song puts him in a black, foul mood, and serves as a constant reminder of his own failure. Unlike other films from this period that also use a leitmotif, such as Casablanca, the source of this musical anxiety remains unresolved.

Almost everything that happens to Al is ridiculous and somewhat preposterous – two accidental deaths? I think this was an intentional choice meant to alienate us from him and make him seem like more and more of an unreliable narrator, relating events as he wishes they would unfold.  Things don’t quite match up with what we see unfolding on screen. He makes one incredibly stupid decision after another and is impossible to relate to. Actor Tom Neal’s life would make an effective noir tale. After being blacklisted from Hollywood for beating another actor, he went through a handful of marriages, had an affair with married actress Barbara Payton (another person with a crash and burn life story fit for a noir film), and went on to kill his last wife by shooting her in the back of the head. He was only charged with manslaughter.

While Tom Neal is fitting as the weak, unlikable Al, he is upstaged by Ann Savage in nearly every scene they share. She is wonderful as Vera, a twisted and terrifying young woman. Vera is truly one of noir cinema’s most fearsome and desperate femme fatales. From her dirty hair to her acidic, hardboiled dialogue, she’s unforgettable. She’s both sexually threatening and physically repulsive; she is also hovering at the edge of death, thanks to some unknown, though fatal disease.

Based on a novel of the same name by Martin M. Goldsmith (The Narrow Margin), he also wrote the screenplay. As with other noir cinema, there’s a sense of fate or destiny at play, a feeling that everything is going to end badly, no matter what Al tries to do. This is also an early example of what could be described as highway terror. Though spree killer Charles Starkweather wouldn’t begin his rampage of highway violence for another decade, the expanding U.S. highway system was already a place of fear, unpredictability, and represented the best – freedom, industry, and expansion – and worst – murder, poverty, blackmail, and failure – of the American dream.

Detour comes highly recommended, though it may seem a little jarring at first, particularly for audiences unfamiliar with the truly low budget B-films of the ‘30s and ‘40s. Available on DVD in a remastered edition, this has fallen into the public domain. Hopefully it will be restored for Blu-ray sometime soon. 

THE DEMONS (1973)

Jess Franco, 1973

Starring: Britt Nichols, Anne Libert, Howard Vernon, Karin Field

Redemption and Images’ latest Blu-ray release, Les demons aka The Demons (1973), is a welcome addition to their growing catalog of Jess Franco films, which include Nightmares Come at Night, The Awful Dr. Orloff, A Virgin Among the Living Dead, and more. Though it is one of the late, beloved Spanish director’s more obscure entries, The Demons is a welcome addition to any Franco fan’s collection, as it finally presents the complete, uncensored version of the film for the first time in the U.S.

The film opens with the torture of a witch, who is later burned at the stake and curses those responsible for her demise. The plot is convoluted, but it focuses on two orphaned sisters, now adults living in a convent. The blonde and innocent Margaret (Britt Nichols) disapproves of her sister Kathleen (Anne Libert), who masturbates and has sex dreams. A local aristocrat, the Lady De Winter (Karin Field) convinces the convent that Kathleen is a witch and is possessed by the Devil. As such, she must torture her for her confession with the help of her right-hand man, Thomas Renfield (Alberto Dalbés). Renfield quickly falls in love with Kathleen and allows her to escape. Enraged, Lady De Winter insists that Inquisitor Lord Justice Jeffreys ( Cihangir Gaffari) punish Renfield, but he gives the man a chance to bring Kathleen back. Instead, he runs off with Kathleen and the two are eventually caught, imprisoned, and nearly tortured to death.

It turns out that the two girls are the daughters of the witch burned at the stake years ago. The innocent Margaret is visited by the Devil while still in the convent and is raped by him. Now possessed by his diabolical will, she is determined to get revenge on anyone who has punished her sister or mother. She pays a visit to the home of Lady De Winter and quickly worms her way into the Lady’s good graces, which kicks off an orgy of sex and death.

While Franco may have been riding the coattails of Ken Russell’s masterpiece The Devils, The Demons is fortunately not a direct rip off of that film. Early on, it seems like it’s going to be a fairly straightforward nunsploitation film, but dramatically veers from that path into more traditional witch-hunting territory with torture, exploitation, political machinations, and plenty of sex. It actually pairs up more closely with films like Witchfinder General, Franco’s The Bloody Judge, and Mark of the Devil. The Devils notwithstanding, this is probably the most erotic witch-hunting film of the period and puts far more of an emphasis on sex than it does on violence.

As with many of Franco’s other films, there is also a nod to his love of the female revenge film. As with She Killed in Ecstasy, Venus in Furs, and many others, Margaret spends much of the film seducing and then killing anyone she plans to get revenge on, including Lady De Winter. In a somewhat bizarre move, she kills them and then plants a supernatural kiss, so that her victims smoke and dissolve to just a skeleton. Franco never bothers explaining this.

Admittedly, this does have much more of a straightforward plot than a lot of Franco’s other films from the same period with far fewer nonsequitors in the plot. There is an excessive amount of soft-core sex and female masturbation scenes that seem to go on forever, not necessarily helped by the constant use of the zoom lens. As far as gore or violence, the torture scenes are pretty lackluster. The majority of the effects go towards Margaret’s supernatural kisses, which are seemingly thrown in for good measure

This is a period piece really at face value only. The historical accuracy is laughable, particularly where the costumes are concerned. There’s a dash of political intrigue that focuses on William of Orange’s rebellion and subsequent British invasion, but this gets little more than a mention. The real strength of this production is in the acting. Franco regular Anne Libert (A Virgin Among the Living Dead) is lovely as the wanton Kathleen, though she is quickly overshadowed by the incredibly sexy Britt Nichols (The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein), who costars as her murderous sister. Karin Field (The Mad Butcher, Web of the Spider) is lovely and gleefully malevolent as the sadistic Lady De Winter, one of the film’s most compelling characters.

The strong and interesting roles essentially all went to the female characters. Franco regular Howard Vernon (Zombie Lake, Bob le Flambeur) is delightful in a small role, though both he and Cihangir Gaffari (Bloodsport) as the handsome, though callous Inquisitor are essentially wasted. Other Franco regular Luis Barboo (Conan the Barbarian, The Case of the Scorpion’s Tale) and Alberto Dalbés (A Quiet Place to Kill, Cut-Throats Nine) also put in nice performances.

Redemption’s latest Jess Franco release is certainly a more obscure entry, but it looks fantastic. The 1080p HD transfer with as aspect ratio of 2.25:1 is one of Franco’s cleanest looking prints and was transferred from the original 35mm negative. It has certainly aged better than recent releases like Nightmares Come at Night, and suffers from none of the age damage and speckling present in some of his other films from the period. The only real flaw is that the print can occasionally look soft and a bit fuzzy, but I think is more an issue with the cinematography than with the transfer.

The linear PCM 2.0 audio track sounds decent with clear audio and effects, though it is a little underwhelming. The inclusion of the original French audio track is certainly a bonus. There are optional English subtitles included, as well as a German language track. One way Franco’s stamp found its way into the film is with the wild, jazzy soundtrack, with prog rock stylings totally out of place in a medieval period piece. Composed by Jean-Berbard Raiteux (Diary of a Nymphomaniac), there are some frenzied bongos during the sex and masturbation scenes that make it clear this is most definitely a Franco film.

There aren’t an abundance of extras with this release, but Redemption did provide a nice, 16-minute interview with Jess Franco, some deleted scenes, and a handful of trailers. It really would have been nice to have a commentary track, particularly one placing this film both within the witch-hunting and nunsploitation subgenres that were so popular during this ‘70s.

Perhaps because it is one of the most atypical Jess Franco films of the ‘70s, The Demons will likely appeal to a fairly wide range of horror fans. Though this lacks the more surreal, nonsensical, and dreamlike elements of films like A Virgin Among the Living Dead and Nightmares Come at Night, it is a must-see for Franco fans. Anyone interested in witch-hunting films and nunsploitation will also find a lot to love. The film’s arrival on Blu-ray uncut and with the original French language track more than makes up for a lack of special features, and the release comes recommended. Hopefully Redemption and Image will keep up the good work and continue moving through Franco’s catalogue. 

MURDER, MY SWEET

Edward Dmytryk, 1944

Starring: Dick Powell, Claire Trevor, Anne Shirley

A man with bandages over his eyes — Philip Marlowe, a private detective — is being interrogated while temporarily blind. He explains how it came to be: he was hired by a recently released convict, Moose Malloy, to find Malloy’s ex-girlfriend Velma who he hasn’t seen in eight years. First, Marlowe visits the widow of Velma’s former employer, the alcoholic Jessie Florian. She claims not to remember Velma, but hides a picture of a dark-haired dancer with Velma’s name on it. 

Later, well-dressed, preening Lindsay Marriott arrives at Marlowe’s office, hoping the detective will escort him that evening. A friend had a valuable jade necklace stolen, and Marriott is acting as the go-between to buy back the jewels. That night, Marlowe is knocked out and Marriott is killed. He comes to be involved with the Grayle family — a rich older man, his young, beautiful wife named Helen, and Grayle’s adult daughter from his first wife. The necklace belonged to Mrs. Grayle and she hires Marlowe to get it back. But things are not as they seem and soon Marlowe has Moose Malloy, a dangerous psychic, and the cops on his trail. 

This is the second of three adaptations of Raymond Chandler’s novel Farewell, My Lovely. The first, The Falcon Takes Over (1942) with George Sanders, was only loosely inspired by the novel and is more part of The Falcon series than anything resembling a Chandler story. Murder, My Sweet remains the most famous and successful adaptation and was followed several decades later by Farewell, My Lovely (1975) starring Robert Mitchum. 

Murder, My Sweet came out in what was the first important year for noir — 1944 — which also saw the release of Double Indemnity and Laura. The film is surprisingly faithful to the book and uses a majority of Chandler’s excellent dialogue. While noir fans are divided over whether Powell is a great Marlowe or a miss because he’s too comic, there’s little argument about the casting and portrayal of the side characters, all of whom are excellent. Director Edward Dymytryk’s regular collaborator John Paxton (Cornered and Crossfire) penned this script.

Dmytryk made some excellent noir films, including Cornered, Crossfire, The Hidden Room, and The Sniper. He was also responsible for some B-films, such as The Falcon Strikes Back and Universal horror Captive Wild Woman. His career was put on hold when he refused to cooperate with HUAC (House Un-American Activities Committee). He was jailed and eventually complied, producing a list of known communists and sympathizers in Hollywood. Here his direction is masterful and benefits from some stylish black and white cinematography from Harry J. Wild (Gentlemen Prefer Blondes) and a moody, thoughtful score from noir and horror regular Roy Webb (Out of the Past, Notorious, The Spiral Staircase).

The film is very close to the novel, though there are some significant changes — Anne Riordan is an ex-police chief’s daughter in the book and she just happens to encounter Marlowe in a spot of trouble. In the film, this character is turned into Anne Grayle, Grayle’s adult daughter from his previous marriage. There is also the annoying cliche of numerous people turning up to Marlowe’s office, when in the novel there are numerous settings.

The plot is a little confusing, but there is quite a lot of plot in the novel. Chandler’s novels generally follow the same formula. A first mystery is introduced, but Marlowe is unable to solve it. In the meantime, he stumbles across a second crime or mystery. By the end of the novel, the two wind up being connected and are resolved at the same time. Farewell, My Lovely also follows this rough outline, entwining the case of a missing person — Moose’s girlfriend Velma — with the story of a stolen jade necklace, blackmail, and murder. It’s a dark and cynical world full of paranoia, alcoholics, double crossers, murderers, thieves, and criminals. This story (both in the novel and film) is particularly rough on Marlowe and he is repeatedly beaten and knocked unconscious, shot up with dope, imprisoned for several days, blinded, and interrogated. 

There’s a wonderful sense of noir style. In addition to the stylized, eerie, and unnatural shadows that pervade the film, the soundscape is equally moody and disturbing. There are some nice surreal moments that aren’t quite the equal of the excellent noir set pieces, but are welcome additions. Los Angeles is particularly sinister in this film and the majority of the shots take place at night or inside dark rooms with several sweeping shots of the glittering and cruel urban landscape.

With contemporary noir fans, there will always be the debate of Humphrey Bogart vs Dick Powell. Bogart is one of my favorite actors of all time and while I love his portrayals of both Marlowe and Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade, I think it’s impossible to compare the two. Powell started his career as a leading man in romantic comedies and musicals, but reinvented himself at age 40 by scoring the lead in Murder, My Sweet. He went on to star in other noir films — Cornered, Crossfire, etc. The title of the film was changed from Farewell, My Lovely to Murder, My Sweet so that audiences wouldn’t convince it with one of Powell’s musicals. I think he does an excellent job here — he has some of the self-deprecating humor that is one of Marlowe’s trademarks in the novels, but is also able to exude a sense of bitterness and pessimism that’s so essential to Chandler’s hardboiled universe.

Claire Trevor (Key Largo, Stagecoach) is excellent as the femme fatale Helen Grayle and she nearly blows Powell out of the water. My only complaint is that Trevor simply isn’t able to compete with other noir beauties like Lizabeth Scott or Barbara Stanwyck, which makes her slightly physically unbelievable in the role. But once she gets going, the distraction melts away. There are some excellent side actors, including Otto Kruger (Dracula’s Daughter, Saboteur) as a sinister psychic, Miles Mander (Wuthering Heights, To Be Or Not To Be) as the frail Mr. Grayle, and Esther Howard (Detour) in a memorable cameo as the drunk Jessie Florian. Mike Mazurki (It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World) is unforgettable as Moose Malloy, the big thug desperately trying to find his ex-girlfriend. The adorable Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables, Stella Dallas) is likable as Helen Grayle’s stepdaughter and nemesis, though this would be her last role; she retired from acting in her mid 20s.

Murder, My Sweet is out on DVD both as a solo release and in an excellent noir box set alongside The Asphalt Jungle, Gun Crazy, Out of the Past, and The Set-Up. All include commentary tracks and special features. I highly recommended the box set, particularly for noir newbies and Murder, My Sweet comes with a very high recommendation for noir fans and Chandler aficionados. 

CROSSROADS (1942)

Jack Conway, 1942

Starring: William Powell, Hedy Lamarr, Basil Rathbone, Claire Trevor

David Talbot, a newly married French diplomat, is suddenly sent a letter demanding a million francs from a mysterious man demanding that it be delivered late at night in an isolated garden. Talbot has him arrested for extortion and the case goes to trial. There the man, Carlos Le Duc, reveals that David Talbot is actually a crook named Jean Pelletier and the request for money was not extortion, but a legitimate claim. Talbot cannot prove that he is or isn’t Pelletier, because more than a decade prior, he was in a train accident and suffered from amnesia. Le Duc is joined at the trial by a man named Henri Sarrou and a nightclub singer, Michelle. They both claim that Talbot is Pelletier, but recant their statements and the trial ends in Talbot’s favor. But just when he thinks his life is getting back to normal, Sarrou and Michelle attempt to blackmail him, insisting that he is Pelletier and that all three were involved in a murder…

While Crossroads isn’t really a noir film, it is an interesting transitional piece between the light-hearted, comedic detective films of the ‘30s – such as The Thin Man series, where star William Powell made his name – to the darker, more nihilistic noir fare of the ‘40s. Overall, Crossroads is not quite a comedy, but it ends on a light and airy note of positive resolution. It does, however, share some themes with the then developing noir genre. Amnesia – whether real or faked – was used, primarily because identity was such a major issue in noir films. Crossroads could easily have become a noir film if the script had handled Talbot’s amnesia and identity issues slightly differently, though, to the film’s benefit things are kept ambiguous and not resolved until the last few minutes.

Another noir-like element is the inclusion of a femme fatale. Beautiful nightclub singer Michelle is slightly washed up, slightly seedy. She blackmails Talbot and pretends they had a sexual and romantic past, with just enough touch of a broken heart that would make femme fatale stars like Lizabeth Scott and Barbara Stanwyck famous. The film’s handling of sex is practically non-existent outside from the character of Michelle, though there is a somewhat racy opening scene where a beautiful woman interrupts Talbot’s lecture and later gets into his cab and propositions him. It turns out that this is Mrs. Talbot and the two are newly married and very much in love.

Director Jack Conway was known for romantic comedies like The Libeled Lady (1936) and adventures like Boom Town (1940), though literary adaptation A Tale of Two Cities (1935) was his most famous. There are certainly hints of the romantic comedy here. He also made Jean Harlow (Powell’s fiancée until her death) famous with the scandalous Red-Headed Woman (1932). He worked with stars William Powell and Hedy Lamarr multiple times, and they carry the film here. Conway wasn’t known for a large output of mystery or noir films, though he made an early talkie mystery, Arsène Lupin (1932), an adaptation of the famous French novel starring John Barrymore.

I can’t say anything bad about star William Powell, as he is one of my favorite actors of all time. I do think that a more unknown actor would have made the proceedings a bit more anxiety-inducing. I knew for the entire film that nothing bad would possibly happen to Powell. There would undoubtedly be a happy ending where he fires off some sort of cheeky one liner and everything returns to the status quo – and of course this is exactly what happens. On the other hand (SPOILER), if it turned out that Talbot really was Pelletier and/or was faking his amnesia, it would have been a far riskier, much more interesting film. Instead, it is a pleasant, if run-of-the-mill mystery with elements of the noir film, but it’s not quite bleak enough or exciting enough to be considered a classic.

Hedy Lamarr is lovely and assured in the role of Talbot’s wife Lucienne, she just doesn’t have very much to do. Her belief in Talbot is endearing, but it would have been nice if she was given a scene or two where she got to do some detective work on her own. Instead, she is little more than a lovely prop and can’t quite compare with Powell’s long running on-screen partner, another dark-haired exotic looking beauty, Myrna Loy. Lamarr and Powell would reunite for romantic comedy The Heavenly Body (1944) a year later.

Noir queen Claire Trevor (Murder My Sweet) puts in a nice appearance as Michelle. As with Lamarr, she isn’t given quite enough to do, but does impart some menace and sleazy charm into her role. This part was allegedly supposed to be played by Marlene Dietrich – what a sight that would have been. Basil Rathbone is fantastic, as always, and handles his slimy, villainous role as the head blackmailer well. During this period, he was mostly known for playing Sherlock Holmes in a series of films for Universal, so it’s a welcome change.

Writer John Kafka’s (no relation) story had already been filmed in France as the superior Carrefour (1938) with the delightful, versatile Charles Vanel (The Wages of Fear), who looks far more like a scoundrel than William Powell. Unfortunately, Crossroads ends up feeling like a subdued, talkier remake of that film. The script is overflowing with plot holes and drags due to some long, talky scenes, but it ultimately winds up being an entertaining, worthwhile effort thanks to Powell, Lamarr, and Rathbone. Crossroads is available on DVD, though I would recommend a rental or download first.

Finally, I’d like to include a note about the incredible Hedy Lamarr (1914-2000). Born Hedwig Kiesler in Austria, her life story is the stuff of legends or fiction. Though ultimately known as one of the most beautiful women of her generation and a star of MGM’s Golden Age, Lamarr’s life is far more complex. At 18, she starred in German-Czech film Ecstasy (1933), where she shockingly appeared nude and simulated an orgasm. Soon after, she married the industrialist and munitions manufacturer Friedrich Mandl, who worked closely with the Nazi party and Italian fascist government, despite being half-Jewish. He became so jealous and controlling that Lamarr disguised herself as a maid and fled their castle home to Paris and then London. She met Louis B. Mayer and changed her name to Hedy Lamarr, which began her Hollywood career. She starred in more than two dozen films -- everything from Boom Town (1940), Tortilla Flat (1942), White Cargo (1942), and Samson and Delilah (1945) -- before her acting career began to decline in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s.

She wasn’t just a sex symbol – during the war, Lamarr and the wonderful avant garde composer George Antheil teamed up to invent a major communications breakthrough. Known as spread spectrum, they devised a secret communications system meant to bypass the radio frequencies used to send signals and control torpedoes. The radio frequency could be jammed and they wanted to be able to send a signal that could not be tampered with. The Navy did not use this during WWII, but adopted it in 1962 during the Cuban conflict. Though essentially ignored by the scientific community during the War, Lamarr was eventually honored for this achievement and her work has gone on to be the basis for Bluetooth and other wi-fi and wireless forms of communication. Truly incredible. Learn more about her here.