Dark Pictures Project

For a film featuring Bacall and Bogart, its rather surprising Dark Passage is a flat, uninteresting and forgettable film. The first dozen minutes of the film are told from the point of view of Bogart’s character as he escapes from prison, and finds a surgeon who’ll give him a new face. While something of an inspired way of cutting funds, it’s not wholly successful. Compare this sequence to that of Mamoulian’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde made nearly twenty years beforehand and you’ll understand what I mean. While there is some intention in the decision, there is no creativity or interest. The rest of the film only falls more after this point.

I have to outright say, I am not a fan of Lauren Bacall. Outside of Hawks’ films where he obsessively crafted her entire persona and every miniscule action of hers to create his vision of the perfect woman, she always falls flat. She’s never quite as alluring or interesting as she is in those first two Hawks films. The rest of her career is flat, the only other director to be able to draw something of interest from her was Douglas Sirk in Written on the Wind, and this is only in exploiting her dull persona compared to the brilliance of Dorothy Malone (ironically, this is one of two films Malone steals the film from Bacall). Here, not even her chemistry with Bogart seems enough to ignite the film. The only shining spot in an otherwise dull noir adventure is Agnes Moorehead. She is menacing, funny and exhibits actual passion compared to everyone else involved. Best to avoid this dud unless you’re really big on Moorehead.

A noir about a young woman who’s dreams come true when she marries rich. Her dreams crumble apart when he becomes an insensitive brute, the role is played expertly by Robert Ryan who was supposedly channelling Howard Hughes. She eventually leaves him and tries to make her own living, where she meets a young doctor Larry Quineda whom she quickly falls for, making her life all the more complicated. The film is unfortunately not very good, a lot of this is due to Barbara Bel Geddes who just doesn’t have the acting chops for the role. Although I’m not big fan of Joan Fontaine, nor her typical withered woman role, she would have been much better for the part. Enough to elevate the film to minor classic status. Bel Geddes’ greatest fault perhaps is her inability to interact with those around her, there is no real connection with her and the other actors. It’s only supporting player Curt Bois who draws interaction from her, as a rather obnoxious assistant to Ryan’s millionaire.

Ophuls’ own visual style adds interest to the rather meandering plot, as the camera moves through walls, and characters who are probably standing within feet seem like they’re in different worlds. Space is emphasized greatly, in a very way. The homes of the rich are opulent, large and empty. They are not homes, they aren’t lived in, they aren’t enjoyed. This contrasts with the cramped existence of the doctor’s world, where there never is enough room, but there is so much joy and living going on that it feels more at home than any of the mansions. The contrast is emphasized when Ryan enters this world, and is shocked, even disgusted by it. He even remarks about his wife’s tiny apartment that only someone who never saw the rooms he lived in could be able to bear living there. A strange irony as his wife had decided to leave that world, and was determined not to return to it. Speaking of Ryan, he absolutely carries the film. His performance is grandiose and wonderful, one of his best… although he is very consistent. This combined with the visuals are enough for me to mildly recommend it, but still.. just barely.

Cape Fear, a film about a violent sexual predator, was made at a night when you could not say rape onscreen. The action is clearly implied, but the question is avoided almost to the point of absurdity. The main failures of the film revolve around this issue of censorship that creates a relic of a time rather than a truly involving thriller. Even the attack of the outsider sexual presence is only half effective because there is no sense of reciprocation or curiosity in the family being attacked. Compared to a similar narrative structure like in Shadow of a Doubt, or even the Desperate Hours, because the victims sympathies, or outright love the culprit drama and meaning is heightened. Without having seen Scorsese’s remake, I understand he tried to create this more effective balance in establishing the relationship between attacker and victim.

While these definitely drag the film down, I don’t think it’s entirely ineffective as a thriller, or noir. I would still call it a good film, just a squandered opportunity to break barriers. There are interesting concepts at work, but were better explored in the 1940s by Hitchcock (notably in Shadow of a Doubt), or even in the films of Frank Capra, where the threat of big government and urbanity threatened small town communities and families.

Without Robert Mitchum and a competent director the film would have been utterly useless. Mitchum, as I’ve suggested in the past, has an incredible sexual energy that is often exploited onscreen. He does not have to do much to feel threatening and simultaneously alluring. This works wonderfully here, as he’s a sufficient enough presence and threat that it sustains the mystery and the tension of the rest of the film. The director exploits this in many ways, and most of the more frightening scenes exclude him entirely. Rather they suggest his presence, and really his existence alone is enough to send Peck’s family into a frenzy. The best example of this is Peck’s daughter wandering around after school when she believes she’s being followed. It’s an incredibly effective scene, using sound and careful editing to suggest a threat that actually doesn’t exist at all.

The best scenes have that kind of energy, or else Mitchum is actually present. As I said, I don’t think it’s a bad film, but it’s a far cry from a great one. Watching Bergman’s The Virgin Spring that was made just two years before, the cultural and social gap in terms of social and artistic understanding is phenomenal. Considering the delicate balance of the film industry of the time, this film could have pushed for more and yet it didn’t. Unfortunate.

Born to Kill is not so much about the evil within all of us, but the moral consequences of what happens when you let it overrun you. By the time the film starts, the two main characters are so overrun by their own darkness, greed and desire that from the get go there is no hope for them. There is however a sense that deep down inside, there might actually be some good in Helen (Claire Trevor), or perhaps that is all because she has worked so hard to conceal the corruption of her soul. She is more focused on survival than Sam, whose strength and violence, which is enough to get him what he wants. She has bigger ambitions and realizes that crime is not the way to achieve her goals.

The moral implications of the film, and their interaction are interesting enough to sustain this film. Both leads are magnetic and have intense sexual energy. However, the cinematography and overall development of the film is lacking. Compared in particular to Robert Wise’s later noir, The Set-Up, this film is rather flat aesthetically. Only in the first twenty minutes when the pivotal murders take place that the visuals and audio are truly compelling. The rest of the film veers off, although the quality of the editing remains consistent.