Rainer Werner Fassbinder (1945-1982)

“Love is the best, most insidious, most effective instrument of social repression.“

–Rainer Werner Fassbinder

Director, actor, and writer Rainer Werner Fassbinder is generally remembered for his incredibly fast-paced and brilliant cinematic output, as well as his controversial life. In less than 15 years, he produced 40 feature films, a few short films, two television series, and plays. In addition to his work as a director, he acted in nearly 40 films (some of his own), did the design work, editing, and cinematography for much of his output, and ran a theater group. His films were always meant to shock and provoke, which kept him continually in the limelight, despite the fact that the German media did not take him seriously until after his premature death.

One of the leading figures of New German Cinema alongside directors like Volker Schlöndorff, Wim Wenders, Werner Herzog, Alexander Kluge, and Margarethe von Trotta, Fassbinder examined the state of contemporary German life and the impact of WWII and its many lingering ghosts. Inspired by the French New Wave, New German Cinema was the most important national film movement since the German Expressionists in the Weimar period thanks to Nazism near-successful eradication of a vibrant national cinema in the ‘30s. Most of Fassbinder’s films explore themes that caused so much horror and terror during the years under Hitler’s reign: cruelty and indifference, racism, bigotry, and the effects of exploitation, usually a combination of economic, sexual, and emotional.

His important characters act as both victim and perpetrator, and they are nearly always caught in the mundane though horrifying web of daily life, from which there is no escape. He attacked intolerance in all its forms, suggesting that there is a rotten core to human nature. The same impulse that made the Holocaust possible did not go away; it merely submerged itself, or changed forms. He incorporated these themes across numerous genres, including melodrama, romance, gangster films, sci-fi, black comedy, and more. No one was spared, not even Fassbinder himself. He targeted everyone from bourgeois Germans to racists, rightwing extremists, socialists and communists, the promiscuous, and those who followed conventional morality. His films were particularly controversial because of his inclusion of biographical elements, such as his bisexuality, abusive relationships, libertinism, and drug use.

Born in Bavaria mere weeks after the Allies liberated the country, Fassbinder was born into a bourgeois, though loveless family. He was a child of divorce and was shuttled around between family members, and was often ignored by his parents. He later claimed that the cinema was his only real family and that that’s where he spent most of his days. He gravitated toward the theater study in Munich, where he began writing plays, learning about filmmaking, and where he met several of his key actors, including Hanna Schygulla. He made three short films: the lost This Night (1966), The City Tramp (1966), and Das kleine Chaos (1966), which plays out like a dry-run of his first film, Love is Colder Than Death.

By 1967, he was head of the Munich action-theater (merely a few months after joined) and worked as director, actor, and writer. The group he worked with here – including Schygulla, Kurt Raab, Peer Raben, and others, become the stock company he would use repeatedly throughout his film career. These relationships were often unhealthy, abusive, and torturous. It complicated matters that his romantic partners were often cast in his films and these relationships had a tendency to end badly. The Moroccan El Hedi ben Salem (Ali: Fear Eats the Soul) hanged himself in 1977, though the news was hidden from Fassbinder until just a few months before his own death. Armin Meier (Germany in Autumn) also hanged himself, this time in his and Fassbinder’s home. Fassbinder‘s lover Günther Kaufmann (Whity) was married, but accepted wildly expensive gifts, including several Lamborghinis, and film roles.

Though he primarily identified as homosexual, he also had relationships with women. Fassbinder had three important female relationships that lasted much of his adult life. An important early relationship was with his secretary Irm Hermann, who he forced to act. Their relationship was particularly chaotic, and she reported later that it involved emotional degradation and physical abuse. He was married to actress Ingrid Caven for two years and apparently discussed marrying Juliane Lorenz, his long-time editor and last romantic partner. She was the one who found him dead in their apartment in 1982. He had close physical, emotional, and working relationships with all three women and remained close to Hermann and Caven even after their romantic relationships ended. Lorenz has run his estate in the years since his death, which includes an extensive website, film rights, a book, and a documentary.

With his mustachioed scowl, untidy hat, black leather jacket, and dark glasses, Fassbinder was an unmistakable presence in 20^th century cinema. Surrounded by a media firestorm for much of his life, he wasn’t really taken seriously in his home country until after his death. He had begun using drugs and alcohol to keep up the relentless pace of his work in the last few years of his life, and this eventually killed him in 1982. He died of an overdose of cocaine and barbiturates while working on the script for an upcoming film about socialist martyr Rose Luxemburg.

Though he was inspired by the melodramas of Douglas Sirk (a fellow German), namely All Heaven Allows and Imitation of Life, as well as the plays of Bertolt Brecht, and the films of Pasolini and Godard, Fassbinder synthesized his influences and life experiences to create a breathtaking, innovative, and introspective body of cinema. His work is finding wider audiences, thanks to regular Fassbinder-themed festivals and new releases from companies like Criterion. Thanks to a recent two-part retrospective at the Film Society at Lincoln Center in New York, you can pick up a cheap digital anthology full of articles and interviews, or a Fassbinder tote bag or t-shirt.

I hope you’ll watch along with me.

The Stark Early Films: 
Love is Colder Than Death (1969) — This nod to the French New Wave, concerns an odd triangle between a pimp, his prostitute girlfriend, and a gangster.
Katzelmacher (1969) — A group of bored, friends with complicated sex lives react badly when a Greek immigrant comes to town.
Gods of the Plague (1970) — This noirish gangster film focuses on complicated sexual relationship and has some subversive elements of homoeroticism.
Das Kaffeehaus (1970) — A made-for-TV theatrical production, this basic, black-and-white film is an adaptation of a play about domestic and sexual intrigue.
Why Does Herr R. Run Amok? (1970) — A family man with a good job eventually begins to crack under the pressure and boredom of domestic life.
The American Soldier (1970) — Another stark, Brechtian early effort from Fassbinder, this is one of his few films modeled on American film noir.
The Niklashausen Journey (1970) — This odd, visionary film follows the life of a musical shepherd who has a sudden religions vision.
Rio das Mortes (1971) — In this made-for-TV movie, a pair of deadbeats find a South American treasure map and try to find a way there.
Pioneers in Ingolstadt (1971) — Soldiers arrive in a small village, which disrupts the sexual and emotional lives of several young women.
Whity (1971) — This mix of Gothic melodrama and western follows a dysfunctional, if not outright deranged family.
Beware of a Holy Whore (1971) — This final, hyper-theatrical black-and-white work is an autobiographical film about a stubborn filmmaker and his close knit troupe.

Middle Period and Melodrama:
The Merchant of Four Seasons (1971) — The first film in Fassbinder’s melodrama cycle, this examines an unhappy marriage and unhealthy family dynamic and was his first real success as a filmmaker.
The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (1972) — One of Fassbinder’s most beautiful films, this concerns the destructive love triangle between three women.
Bremen Freedom (1972) — This bitter black comedy concerns a widow’s vengeance, which is enacted by poisoning people in her small town.
Jail Bait (1973) — This tale of teen angst is yet another look at the oppression, claustrophobia, and frustration found in domestic life.
Eight Hours are Not a Day (1972-73) — This five-part, made-for-TV domestic drama is focused on the lives of a working class family.
World on a Wire (1973) — This surreal, three+ hour TV series is Fassbinder’s only attempt at science fiction.
Nora Helmer (1974) — Fassbinder’s adaptation of Ibsen’s A Doll’s House is claustrophobic and black-hearted.
Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974) — Inspired by Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows, this tragic love story about a Moroccan immigrant and older German woman helped skyrocket Fassbinder to international acclaim.
Martha (1974) — This nasty satire of marriage concerns a seemingly charming relationship that hides a sadomasochistic underbelly.
Effi Briest (1974) — This lovely and subversive period melodrama concerns a woman who begins to feel confined by her marriage and comfortable lifestyle.
Fox and His Friends (1975) — An innocent carnival entertainer wins the lottery, but is soon taken advantage of by his upper class boyfriend in this bleak, depressing tale.
Like a Bird on a Wire (1975) — Inspired by variety-show television, this is a satirical look at the economic boost in ‘50s Germany.
Mother Küsters Goes to Heaven (1975) — A mother is dissatisfied with her frustrating family life in this black comedy.
Fear of Fear (1975) – Influenced by Douglas Sirk, this domestic melodrama concerns a housewife who reaches a sudden crisis and begins a descent into madness.
I Only Want You to Love Me (1976) – Another domestic melodrama, this concerns a man who buys a house for his parents, because he desperately wants their love.
Satan's Brew (1976) – Influenced by Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty, this unusual film concerns an avant-garde poet with a frustrating home life.
Chinese Roulette (1976) – In this experimental Gothic thriller, a handicapped young girl brings her parents and their lovers together at an isolated country house.

Final Phase and Innovation: 

Women in New York (1977) — This made-for-TV movie focused on the urban lives of women, marriage, aging, and infidelity.
The Stationmaster's Wife (1977) — The melodrama between a stationmaster and his unfaithful wife is another of Fassbinder’s films set at the dawn of the Third Reich.
Germany in Autumn (1978) — An omnibus film made by 11 different German directors, this concerns the “German Autumn,” which involved murder, kidnapping, and terrorism.
Despair (1978) — Fassbinder’s first English-language film is set in ‘30s Germany and follows a Russian émigré’s descent into madness.
In a Year with 13 Moons (1978) — This film about a transsexual remains Fassbinder’s most personal work, made in the aftermath of a  lover’s suicide.
The Marriage of Maria Braun (1979) – In the first of his acclaimed BRD trilogy, a housewife harnesses her ambition and becomes a businesswoman.
The Third Generation (1979) – Fassbinder’s most topically political film, this work is concerned with German radicals and terrorists who kidnap a wealthy family.
Berlin Alexanderplatz (1980) – This 14-part, made-for-TV miniseries is an adaptation of one of Fassbinder’s favorite novels, about a man who killed his girlfriend.
Lili Marleen (1981) – A star cabaret singer falls in love with a Jewish songwriter during WWII in this romantic melodrama.
Theatre in Trance (1981) – Fassbinder’s only documentary examines a Cologne theater festival and his observations on performance art.
Lola (1981) – In the years following the war, a cabaret singer is caught between a moral bureaucrat and a lascivious businessman in this second entry in the BRD trilogy.
Veronika Voss (1982) – The final entry in the BRD trilogy concerns a former Nazi star without work or friends and addicted to morphine.
Querelle (1982) – Fassbinder’s last film is an adaptation of Jean Genet’s novel about an amoral sailor and his complicated relationships.

Fassbinder’s Friends: 
Fassbinder was also a fairly prolific actor, having appeared in 44 films – some directed by Fassbinder himself and some by his friends. Several of these are worth examining alongside his filmography.
Baal (Volker Schlöndorff, 1970) – New German Cinema director and Fassbinder’s friend, Schlöndorff helmed this made-for-TV movie adaptation of Bertolt Brecht’s first play about a drunk, lascivious poet, played by Fassbinder himself.
Tenderness of theWolves (Ulli Lommel, 1973) – Fassbinder acted and produced this disturbing film based on the life of WWI-era serial killer Fritz Haarmann.
Shadow of Angels (Daniel Schmid, 1976) – Starring Fassbinder and based on his play The Garbage, the City, and Death, this is about a prostitute’s difficult romantic and family life.
Kamikaze '89 (Wolf Gremm, 1982) — In this futuristic/noir/detective story/cyberpunk thriller, Fassbinder stars as a detective. It was released just after his death.

And check out this article about Fassbinder's music.

To learn more about this beautiful genius, visit the Fassbinder Foundation, which is run by Lorenz, and check out these books: The Anarchy of the Imagination: Interviews, Essays, Notes – Rainer Werner Fassbinder edited by Michael Toteberg and Leo A. Lensing; Fassbinder's Germany by Thomas Elsaesser; Fassbinder Film Maker by Ronald Hayman; and Chaos as Usual: Conversations About Rainer Werner Fassbinder, edited by Juliane Lorenz.

DER VERLORENE aka THE LOST ONE

Peter Lorre, 1951

Starring: Peter Lorre, Gisela Trowe, Karl John

Dr. Rothe is doing experiments for the Nazis during WWII. In a series of flashbacks, he relates how he discovered that his fiancé was selling government secrets to the Allies. He murders her and his friends help him cover it up so that it looks like suicide by hanging, rather than strangulation. He becomes increasingly paranoid thanks to his work, his depression, and the overbearing attentions of his landlady, who also happens to be his dead fiancé’s mother. He commits a few other murders and eventually goes into hiding under an assumed name after the war — until he runs into a former colleague.

Der Verlorene was Peter Lorre’s sole effort as writer and director, and he also starred in this bleak, melancholic poem about the horrors of Nazism and war. Lorre is one of the key figures of both noir and horror from his career-making performance in Fritz Lang’s M — which makes an excellent companion piece to Der Verlorene — to later efforts like noir-wartime dramas such as Casablanca and Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much. Der Verlorene is one of the few German films that could be considered film noir and it is a uniquely depressing entry with an overwhelming sense of defeat, perhaps more than any other film noir except Detour. 

Though the film is obsessed with death, wartime destruction, and decay, Lorre doesn’t overtly depict Nazism. There are plenty of veiled references to the war, such as air raid sirens, the refugee camp setting, and bombing late in the film. The evils of Nazi bureaucracy are shown in the scene where Hösch and Winkler — respectively a fellow scientist and a Nazi leader — help Rothe cover up his fiancé’s murder and joke about her alleged suicide. Due to health, romantic, and financial issues, Lorre’s life was bitter and difficult during the making of the film — at the time, Lorre was suffering from a morphine addiction and had spent time in a sanatarium where she received such traumatic treatments as electroshock therapy. He temporarily fled a frustrating career in Hollywood and hoped to help revitalize the German film industry. It had suffered since around 1933 or earlier, when the Nazi censorship yoke came down hard and filmmakers and actors — such as Lorre himself — had fled.

Lorre had worked with some of the world’s greatest directors — Fritz Lang, G. W. Pabst, Josef von Sternberg, Alfred Hitchcock, John Huston, and more, and that obviously paid off on Der Verlorene. This blend of horror and noir benefits from some German expressionist-influenced cinematography from Vaclav Vich. The city is a skeletal, gray place on the brink of death. Lorre uses a complex and somewhat confusing narrative structure that builds the sense of dread and paranoia with flashbacks and disturbed memories. Is this Rothe’s paranoid fantasy or a violent reality? Either way, Rothe’s plight is symbolic of the psychosis and perversion experienced during Nazi Germany. Like Lang’s M, much of the film’s plot is partially based on a real-life crime. Though it was influenced by Guy de Maupassant’s “The Horla,” it’s also inspired by a news story about a Hamburg doctor who murdered his assistant and committed suicide.

This is one of Lorre’s finest and most personal performances, and certainly one of the most restrained. Disturbingly, Lorre spends much of the film smiling serenely. It’s a sad, empty smile and the character seems constantly on the verge of giving up, admitting defeat, and committing suicide. He speaks of death for much of the film, both his own, Germany’s, and the deaths of the women around him. There are equally solid performances from the five women in the film — Renate Mannhardt (Roberto Rossellini’s Fear) as the fiancée, Johanna Hofer (Possession, Veronika Voss) as her mother, and Lotte Rausch, Eva Ingeborg Scholz, and Gisela Trowe. Karl John (Sorcerer) and Helmuth Rudolph (Teufel in Seide) also have memorable performances as the deplorable Hösch and Winkler.

While Der Verlorene shares thematic content with Lang’s M, it shares a history with Charles Laughton’s The Night of the Hunter. Both are the one-time directorial efforts of renowned actors, and are powerful films ignored in their time that later rose to classic status. Der Verlorene was hated upon its release in Germany — likely because Germans were desperate to forget about the war and their role in it — but it eventually became popular in Europe. Lorre never released it in the United States and it still mains unavailable there. Kinowelt released a really nice special edition, German-language DVD, and hopefully Criterion will eventually release a quality region 1/A version. The film comes highly recommended and is a must-see, unusual effort from a talented man. Those interested in the film can find it online, though the subtitles are a bit shoddy. Also recommended is the sole English-language biography of Lorre, Stephen D. Youngkin’s extensively researched The Lost One, which borrowed its title from this sadly neglected film.

THE SMALL BACK ROOM

Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1949

Starring: David Farrar, Kathleen Byron

A group of British scientist work in a cramped room in London. Sammy Rice, one of the specialists, is bitter because he’s in constant pain from an undisclosed injury that cost him part of his leg, and because he feels the scientific office is being mismanaged. Alcohol is his only balm, though his girlfriend Susan, who works as a secretary in the same office, tolerates his behavior and tries to encourage him to solve the latest problem. Small bombs are being dropped by the Nazis that are disguised as innocent every-day items. Four people, including some children, have been killed. After Susan leaves Sammy and he is at rock bottom, he’s called upon to diffuse one of the bombs, risking his own life in the process.

Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, known as the Archers, made 24 films together in the joint roles of director, writer, and producer for a dual career that lasted nearly 30 years. The Small Back Room marks their return to producer Alexander Korda after their previous film, the colorful and tragic The Red Shoes. The Small Back Room is its opposite in nearly every way. Though the former has become one of their most powerful masterpieces, the studio they worked under, the Rank Organisation, was convinced it was a failure. This sense of bitterness was clearly transferred to the tense, nihilistic, black-and-white The Small Back Room, one of their only films that can be considered a psychological drama.

Based on the novel of the same name by Nigel Balchin, The Small Back Room didn’t perform well at the box office simply because audiences didn’t want another war film when it loomed so large in their memories. However, by making the film after the war ended, Powell and Pressburger were able to make a statement about wartime life without government interference and the pressure to make a propaganda piece. The film brilliantly portrays the frustration — and even evil — of bureaucracy through the character of Waring, most interested in political games and the rise of his own career than he is in the lives of British men and women. Jack Hawkins (Lawrence of Arabia) is solid as the unlikable Waring, a misogynistic, classist, and amoral man, one who could easily stand-in for a studio executive as a military figure.

However, it is Kathleen Byron and David Farrar that make the film as Sammy and Susan. They have excellent chemistry together and a sense of familiarity that does wonders for their characters. Both actors also appeared in Powell and Pressburger’s Black Narcissus (1947) and Byron’s offscreen relationship with Powell was also a contributing factor in her divorce. The camera certainly loves her here. The way Susan’s constant presence in Sammy’s flat is justified is that she lives across the hall, a clever device meant to get around the censors. Susan inexplicably puts up with a lot from Sammy — in many ways, he’s unlikable. He complains without striving for change, is stagnant, bitter, and grumpy. 

Due to his missing leg and constant suffering, there is the sense that he’s a martyr in some way. He perfectly conveys the sense of anxiety and paranoia in the film and there’s a wonderful, hallucinatory scene where Sammy seems to experience delirium tremens, likely influenced by Billy Wilder’s The Long Weekend. It is one of the film’s most powerful moments and is a fine example of Christopher Challis’ German expressionist-influenced cinematography. The small spaces that populate the film are made darker and more threatening as Sammy attempts to battle his inner demons, but fails. Later, there is a parallel sequence set up in the anxiety-inducing conclusion. In this dazzling sequence, Sammy has to diffuse one of the bombs on an isolated beach. The camera switches between a desolate, chilling setting and claustrophobic closeups of Sammy’s sweaty face. There is the visual implication that the bomb — and the thrill and the danger it provides — is a stand in or potential replacement for the whiskey bottle. The experience of diffusing it certainly represents a gauntlet that Sammy passes through successfully. After which he is promoted and reunites with Susan.

The Small Back Room may be an understated, quiet gem without the splendor that generally accompanied Powell and Pressburger’s films, but it comes highly recommended. Fortunately available from Criterion, it was released as Hour of Glory in the U.S. Keep your eyes out for some great supporting performances, particularly from Michael Gough (Batman) as Captain Stuart and Cyril Cusack (Harold and Maude) as Corporal Taylor, a man shaking and stuttering with anxiety. An example of one of the film’s moments of pathos and desperation, he passionately loves his wife, though everyone knows she is two-timing him behind his back. Film noir fans will also want to take note that this is a rare British noir effort to feature that staple of late ‘40s and ‘50s noir/crime cinema in the U.S.: the jazz night club sequence.

THE THIRD MAN

Carol Reed, 1949

Starring: Joseph Cotten, Alida Valli, Orson Welles, Trevor Howard

Holly Martens, an American writer of pulp novels, travels to post-war Vienna searching for his friend Harry Lime, who has sent him a job offer. It seems that Lime has been killed — hit by a car — and Holly arrives just in time for the funeral. Vienna is occupied by British and Russian forces and he meets two British officers, Sergeant Paine (a fan of Holly’s western books) and Major Calloway. Calloway gently suggests that Lime was a criminal and that Holly should leave town. But he’s determined to find out what happened to Harry and clear his name, especially when he gets some hints that his old friend just might still be alive.

After The Fallen Idol, this was director Carol Reed’s second partnership with writer Graham Greene and remains their most successful work and one of the most enduring triumphs of British cinema. The black-and-white, German expressionist-influenced cinematography from Robert Krasker is incredibly famous, as are Reed’s dizzying Dutch angle shots that pepper the film. The Third Man, despite the fact that it’s a portrait of the decay and corruption in postwar Europe, hasn’t aged a day and remains relevant. Harry Lime is one of cinema’s best villains — or antiheroes, depending on your perspective — and Reed and Greene use him to examine the hazy morality that surrounds any war. Lime’s worst crimes, including stealing medicine reserved for children to sell on the black market, are compared to what presumably good people did during the war — bombing thousands of innocent civilians, all just anonymous dots on Harry’s map.

Moral hypocrisy is at the heart of this bleak film packed with moments of black humor. The Third Man seems to lambast all nationalities — British, German, Russian — though especially Americans through the ridiculous, foolish Holly, ignorant of what life during (and after) wartime is really like. Compared to Lime, Holly and most of the other characters are pale and desperate, living an approximation of life. Lime is simply bursting with life and sensuality. Though other actors were considered to play him, Orson Welles — famous for his love of excess — is perfectly cast. He overwhelms the frame, seeming larger than life, and despite his dubious morality and criminal activities, it’s immediately apparent why both Holly and Anna, Harry’s girlfriend, are drawn to him and why they remain loyal.

Harry Lime was such a compelling figure that Welles went on to take part in a radio drama, The Adventures of Harry Lime (The Lives of Harry Lime in the U.S.), with narration by Welles, who wrote several of the episodes himself. It was also followed by a television spin-off starting in 1959. I haven’t seen the show yet, but the radio show comes highly recommended and is available in its entirety online. Rumors that Welles directed some of the film seem to be false — the most he did was hold up production by arriving late and suggest some excellent, impromptu dialogue, such as the quote about how war and strife have brought out the best in different societies, while all peacetime Switzerland did was invent the cuckoo clock.

Welles is tremendous here, but his regular Mercury Theater collaborator, Joseph Cotten (The Abominable Dr. Phibes), is also excellent as Holly Martins. He’s supported by solid performances from Alida Valli (Eyes Without a Face, Suspiria) as Lime’s girlfriend Anna, British staple Trevor Howard (Green for Danger) as Major Calloway, and many other actors including Bernard Lee, Erich Ponto, and Ernst Deutsch. Vienna is also a character of its own here, with many breathtaking scenes shot on location; this was one of the first British films shot primarily on location and outside of the studio. The scene at the Vienna Ferris Wheel, where Harry and Holly finally meet up, is unforgettable, as is the classic chase scene through the city’s immense network of sewers.

The Third Man comes with the highest possible recommendation. Everything is wonderful, down to the assured directing and cinematography, solid script, and excellent performances. Last but certainly not least is the unforgettable zither score from Viennese composer Anton Karas, which is strange and unsettling, but absolutely perfect. If you can find the out of print Criterion release, that is well worth buying, otherwise you can find it on DVD and Blu-ray.

THE FALLEN IDOL

Carol Reed, 1948

Starring: Ralph Richardson, Bobby Henrey, Michèle Morgan, Denis O'Dea

Philipe, the young son of a diplomat, is often left alone by his busy father and has developed a close relationship with the butler, Baines. Baines tells him fabricated stories about his dangerous life in Africa and tries to spare the boy from Mrs. Baines, his cruel, jealous wife also employed by the family. Baines tries to leave her — he is having an affair with a younger woman — and she pretends to go out of town to spy on him. She finds him with Julie, his girlfriend, and the quarrel violently. She falls to her death accidentally, which Philipe misinterprets as a murder. In his attempts to help Baines, he further incriminates the man.

Like director Carol Reed’s Odd Man Out, The Fallen Idol has been shunted to the side in favor of The Third Man, which is really a crime in both cases. Shown primarily from the perspective of a child, the film has a haunting quality found in the best films about children on the verge of a developing adult consciousness (Spirit of the Beehive comes to mind in this category), but who fundamentally perceive the world differently. There are plenty of fairy tale like moments — Mrs. Baines is an obvious stand-in for the wicked stepmother — and the palatial house becomes a character all its own. The film was set inside a foreign embassy (most likely French) in London, which would the family to have sufficient wealth to warrant a large house and the employment of a household of servants.

The house is both immense and ominous, as well as a child’s playground. Philipe has the space to play lengthy games of hide-and-seek and to escape from Mrs. Baines. But the mansion is also a place of isolation and foreboding, essentially a prison. Being born into wealth and luxury means a life of loneliness and isolation for the child, as his parents are largely absent. His father appears once at the start of the film and his mother shows up only in the last seconds of the conclusion. Philippe desperately searches for companionship and surrogate parents, which he finds with abundance in Baines. The idea of wanting freedom, of wanting to escape from domestic confines that plague Baines and his young charge, is symbolized by the house, where they are both trapped without love or intimacy.

The Fallen Idol has a deeply noir sense of style with German expressionist-like lighting, Dutch angles, and the unforgettable staircase — that centerpiece of film noir. Georges Périnal’s cinematography and Vincent Korda’s set designs turn the house into a place equally fitting for childhood fantasy, illicit affairs, jealous rages, and violent death. The film was based on a story, “The Basement Room,” written by Graham Greene. This marks the first collaboration between novelist Graham Greene and director Carol Reed. They would go on to adapt Greene’s The Third Man and Our Man in Havana, though this is apparently the work that Greene was the most happy with. There were several changes, mainly that Baines apparently pushed his wife to her death, while in the film she falls and dies accidentally after she continues to try to spy on him.

There are a number of excellent performances, namely Ralph Richardson (Time Bandits, Doctor Zhivago) as Baines. The lovely Michèle Morgan (Port of Shadows) puts in a decent performance as his young girlfriend, Julie, while Sonia Dresdel (The Trials of Oscar Wilde) is memorable as the foul-tempered but not wholly evil Mrs. Baines. Bobby Henrey is transcendent as Philipe, possibly because Green allows him to act like a child. A series of lies, fantasies, and incorrectly witnessed or interpreted events rack his childlike mind and he is desperate to do what’s right, to help exonerate Baines regardless of whether or not the butler really killed his wife. The moment the boy tries to tell the truth — explaining away a piece of evidence that clears Baines of all charges — would have actually damned Baines yet again. But by this time, no one believes him. Philipe soon gives in to the childlike craving for attention and becomes incredibly annoying, which actually serves the story well and ends with him being plunked in a chair, out of the way of adult conversation. 

The Fallen Idol comes recommended and has aged remarkably well. It might sound like a tiresome story about a wealthy brat and an uptight British butler, but it has far more too offer, including a sense of mystery and wonder. Fortunately, Criterion released it and gave it a much-deserved restoration, even throwing in some special features.

ODD MAN OUT

Carol Reed, 1947

Starring: James Mason, Robert Newton, Cyril Cusack, Kathleen Ryan

Johnny, the leader of a resistance group in Ireland, has escaped from prison and has been hiding out at the home of Kathleen and her grandmother. Kathleen is in love with him and tolerates the group meeting there. They plan a heist on a local mill to raise money for their group, which Johnny reluctantly agrees to take part in. Everything goes wrong and Johnny is shot in the arm and falls out of the getaway car. He is left to hide on his own in the city, while slowly bleeding to death. The police, Johnny’s gang, and Kathleen each begin a desperate for search for him as the night grows colder and it begins to snow.

Based on F.L. Green's novel Odd Man Out (1945), this is one of Carol Reed’s finest films, though it is somewhat underrated because it has been more difficult to see than this famous film, The Third Man. Odd Man Out would actually be a fitting double-feature with The Third Man. Though they are very different films, both are set in war-torn cities where the police search for a criminal who is fleeing because of a single crime gone wrong. Both criminals — Harry Lime of The Third Man and Johnny from Odd Man Out — are immoral. While Harry’s crime is arguably worse, Johnny is a gang leader having doubts after a prison sentence. Both are charismatic anti-heroes, two of Reed’s finest characters.

Odd Man Out was also something of a dry run for the famous, German expressionist-influenced cinematography of The Third Man. Odd Man Out was shot by Robert Krasker and has some truly beautiful scenes of the city at night. Roger Furse and Ralph Binton's production design is excellent and was clearly influenced by French poetic realist films like Pépé le Moko (1937) and Port of Shadows (1938). There is also a sense of Greek tragedy and Catholic martyrdom to Johnny’s character, whose irrevocable doomed is clear from the start of the film. This is just as much film noir as religious tragedy, where Johnny becomes a sort of symbolic sacrifice. He wanders through the city, bleeding out, and has encounters with a variety of strange people — giving the narrative a vignette-like feel — from housewives and artists, to bums and barmen. He eventually moves so close to death that he begins hallucinating and recites parts of Corinthians just before his death: “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.”

James Mason gives an incredible performance, certainly one of his best, but Johnny isn’t actually given the bulk of screen time. The equally sound supporting cast was from Dublin’s well-known Abbey Theatre, including actors like Cyril Cusack (Harold and Maude), Robert Beatty (2001: A Space Odyssey), and Dan O’Herlihy (Halloween III: Season of the Witch). Robert Newton (Oliver Twist) made a memorable cameo as a drunken artist trying to paint death, with the dashing first Doctor Who, William Hartnell, appears as a frustrated bartender not sure whether he should throw Johnny out on the street or give him solace. Kathleen Ryan (Give Us This Day) is here in her first feature film as Johnny’s love. And last, but certainly not least, the Abbey Theatre’s founder, W.G. Fay, appears as the kind Father Tom.

Odd Man Out comes highly recommended and is a noir-crime masterpiece. Reed mostly succeeds in being apolitical and not taking with or being specifically against the IRA, which Johnny’s organization is clearly meant to represent. There are many wonderful surreal moments, which increase as Johnny moves closer to death on his urban, yet mythic journey. The sense of doom and loss is heightened by a wonderful score from William Alwyn, which I would like to own separately. Odd Man Out is currently only available as a region B Blu-ray, though Criterion are allegedly giving it their fantastic treatment sometime in 2015.

BRIGHTON ROCK (1947)

John Boulting, 1947

Starring: Richard Attenborough, Hermione Baddeley, William Hartnell, Carol Marsh

"You can't conceive, nor can I, the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God.” -Graham Green

At Brighton’s race track, in seaside resort in England, a teenager named Pinkie takes over a small gang after the leader is killed. Partly, this is due to a story written by a local reporter, Fred, so Pinke and some of his men take care of Fred, killing him at the local carnival. He gets one of his men, Spicer, to make sure there is no evidence that the gang was responsible — the police think it was actually a heart attack — but Spicer blunders this and leaves behind a clue that is found by an innocent young waitress, Rose. Pinkie intimidates Rose, but she also falls in love with him. He decides to marry her so that she’ll never be able to testify against him, but he is foiled by Ida, a performer in a touring troupe. Briefly friends with Fred before his death, Ida is determined to get to the bottom of things and follows Pinkie’s trail even though the police ignore her.

With a script by acclaimed British novelist Graham Greene — based on his own novel — and Terence Rattigan (The Prince and the Showgirl, The Browning Version), this is certainly one of the best adaptations of Greene’s works. Adaptations of his novels include such classic thrillers as The Third Man, The Ministry of Fear, The End of the Affair, The Fallen Idol, and more, but Brighton Rock is perhaps the most faithful of all these, changing relatively little of Greene’s plot (except the ending, thanks to studio interference). It’s also one of the finest instances of British film noir, blending elements of the gangster film popularized in the U.S. in the ‘30s with a German expressionist influence and an undeniably British sensibility.

Along with such filmmaking teams as Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, known as the Archers, and Sidney Gilliat and Frank Launder, the Boulting Brothers are a staple of British cinema. Twins John and Roy traded off the roles of director and producer, though John served as director here. His work is understated, but excellent, and it’s a shame they didn’t make any further noir-styled efforts. Thanks to his talents and some wonderful cinematography from the skilled Harry Waxman (The Wicker Man, The Day the Earth Caught Fire), the Brighton location becomes a character of its own. Known as a popular real-life vacation spot, the carnival and resort itself — a seaside paradise — is here depicted as a hell or at best a purgatory for many of its citizens.

Brighton’s depiction of ease and luxury hides a thin veneer of crime, filth, despair, and violence packed into the carnival, race track, cheap boardinghouses, dark alleyways, and bars. Greene’s novel was apparently based on real gangs that plagued the area between the two world wars and there is the same sense of poverty, amorality, and desperation found in Weimar-era narratives. In Brighton Rock, this revolves around Pinkie, one of Britain’s best villains. The late, great Richard Attenborough was fresh off reprising his stage role as Pinkie and is perfectly cast here, a combination of cherubic and diabolic traits. The Catholic Pinkie believes seriously in supernatural forces. He’s anxious and neurotic, a convincing face of evil despite the fact that he’s just a teenager.

The crux of the plot revolves around his neuroses coming down hard on the gang. Though Pinkie is able to kill Fred — a chilling scene set in the carnival fun house — he is gripped by paranoia that someone will discover his crime, even though the police have immediately closed the investigation as death due to a heart attack. It is perhaps a secret, hidden guilt that causes Pinkie to obsessively worry about evidence, which he has his followers track down and stamp out for no logical reason. His marriage to Rose seems to be a way to keep her close without admitting that he has feelings for her — it’s possibly these feelings of love within himself that Pinkie hates, rather than Rose herself. It is also likely that Rose — young and Catholic, like himself — is a living reminder of his guilt, his act of murder. He could easily murder her too, a far simpler task than marrying her to keep her quiet, but he chooses to keep her close.

Aside from Attenborough’s incredible performance, there are some great side roles. Hermione Baddeley is wonderful as the stubborn Ida, a frumpy, somewhat annoying performer who is inexplicably desperate to discover Fred’s murderer. This is presumably because of his one act of kindness towards her — an act fueled sheerly by desperation — which adds to the pathos of her character and the grim tone of the film. Future first Doctor Who William Hartnell is quite dashing as Dallow, while Carol Marsh (Horror of Dracula) is lovely as Rose.

Brighton Rock is available on Blu-ray and comes with the highest recommendation. Though the ending was forced on Boulting by the studio, I think it sums up the overall air of the film — incredibly cynical — and shows that hope is a lie, optimism and faith are always misplaced, and the Catholic way of looking at the world is often strange and cruel.