Noirvember: Stage Fright (1950)

Although I am far from an expert of Alfred Hitchcock, I always like to think that I have seen much of his filmography. I haven't. I think every film fan spends some time exploring his numerous classics, but it's easy to remember just how many films he made. Okay, the silents are easier to overlook, and perhaps less essential (although I have a nice boxset coming my way that will allow me to make up my own mind shortly), but there always seems to be one or two relatively big title that sits in a blind spot for some people. Stage Fright was one of those movies for me. I wonder if it was one I kept forgetting about because of the title being re-used a couple of times in the horror genre. 

Richard Todd plays Jonathan Cooper, a man who ends up on the run when some major evidence points to him having murdered the husband of stage performer Charlotte Inwood (Marlene Dietrich). Relying on the goodwill of a friend, Eve (Jane Wyman), Jonathan tries to stay hidden while police investigate the case and try to locate him. Eve also enlists the help of her father (played by Alastair Sim), ends up in an undercover role working for Charlotte, and starts to develop a bond with Detective Inspector Wilfred O. Smith (Michael Wilding) which could complicate things further.

Adapted from Selwyn Jepson's novel (Man Running AKA Outrun The Constable AKA Killer By Proxy) by the talented Alma Reville and Whitfield Cook, this is a typically dark and delightful feature from Hitchcock, one that has an abundance of dark comedy running in between the moments of tension. In fact, almost any scene with Sim front and centre is on par with anything from an outright comedy of this time (particularly his scene with Joyce Grenfell, who spends a lot of time shouting out "lovely ducks" to encourage people to try their hand at the fairground shooting gallery).

As good as the material is, in terms of the characters and the ongoing attempt to prove the innocence of a man who keeps looking increasingly guilty, Stage Fright is as wonderfully entertaining as it is thanks to the cast. Sim is undoubtedly a highlight, but scenes that show Dietrich performing the routines that make her character such a beloved success are so mesmerising that nobody should really mind the fact that the plot comes to a standstill while we get to enjoy a couple of good songs from the blonde bombshell. Wyman is an appealing lead, but she is overshadowed by the likes of Kay Walsh (playing a housekeeper who hopes to profit from the situation) and the aforementioned Grenfell. As for the other men onscreen, Todd and Wilding are disappointingly bland, but they're essentially pawns being moved around the board until things come to a crucial point when some kind of victory can be celebrated.

In hindsight, it's actually quite easy to see why I kept forgetting to check this out. It wasn't just to do with the title. There aren't any big set-pieces here, the real star turns are mostly tucked away in the supporting roles, and it just lacks that refined Hitchcock brilliance. It still deserves to be seen though, especially if you're a fan of Dietrich, Sim, Walsh, or Grenfell. I had a lot of fun with it, but I suspect I may struggle to remember much of it in a month or two. It has certainly reminded me that I want to watch even more Hitchcock films though, as well as more films featuring the brilliant Dietrich.

7/10

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All That Heaven Allows (1955)

Utilising a lot of the same cast members and the same essence of pure melodrama as Magnificent Obsession, from the previous year, Douglas Sirk delivers yet another wonderful tale of love, pain, and social etiquette with All That Heaven Allows.

Jane Wyman plays Cary Scott, a widow, who ends up falling in love with Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson), a gardener who doesn't seem to care about the same things as everyone else does. After a tentative start, both prepare to present themselves to Cary's adult children and her upper-class friends. Her children are immediately resentful, worrying about the loss of their family home and how their mother will be viewed. As for Cary's "friends", very few seem pleased with her choice.

Based upon a story by Edna L. Lee and Harry Lee, Peg Fenwick has crafted a script that easily sells the love between the two leads before starting to pile up the obstacles, and does so with a constant feeling of melancholy as opposed to misery, although that comes through more in the third act, thanks to the more pointed moments. Whatever is happening, be it happier times or despair, it all feels earned, thanks to the script and performances.

Hudson and Wyman are wonderful, and very easy to root for, and there are solid supporting turns from Agnes Moorehead, Conrad Nagel, Gloria Talbott and William Reynolds (as the daughter and son, respectively, of Cary), and Jacqueline deWit, particularly enjoyable as the nosiest and most gossipy member of the local community.

But this is a Sirk film before anything else, aided by gorgeous cinematography from Russell Metty and some more lovely music from Frank Skinner. It allows him to do what he does best, painting his tale with a gorgeous selection of colours and never once worrying about taking things too far in his attempts to wring every ounce of emotion or drama from a scene.

Much like his other films, viewers can easily decide to close themselves off to the pleasures of All That Heaven Allows. The cynical can see the strings being pulled, the film fan will already know how things are going to play out, and there's at least one too many convenient plot points. But to deny yourself the sheer pleasure of a Sirk melodrama is to deny the beauty and vibrancy that he gives to what should really be TV movie fare. And that is your loss.

9/10

This is another one available in this lovely set.
Americans have that Criterion edition available.

Magnificent Obsession (1954)

To my knowledge, this is only the second Douglas Sirk film that I have seen, and my first was just last week (All I Desire - wonderful stuff). But it's possibly the film that he is best known for, even if it's only being described by people who keep forgetting what the actual title is.

And here's the description for you. Rock Hudson plays Bob Merrick, a selfish, rich playboy who has his life saved by an unselfish doctor. The doctor dies, which leads to Bob trying to assuage his guilty conscience by offering to pay a large amount to his widow, Helen (Jane Wyman). That's not the way to make amends, of course, and things only go from bad to worse. Bob cannot figure out just how he is supposed to lead a better life, Helen is blinded in an accident, and . . . . well, I won't detail the rest of the plot, despite it being so well known to so many people. Suffice to say, it's absolutely preposterous stuff from start to finish.

It's also quite wonderful. I don't know why this worked for me as well as it did, but it REALLY did. All I can suggest is that perhaps the earnest nature of the performers in every scene made it all so much easier to swallow, coupled with the fact that I wanted to go along on this journey of romance and melodrama.

Based on a novel by Lloyd C. Douglas, the script is mainly credited to Robert Blees and Wells Root, and both of them move the narrative forward with great gusto, helped immensely by the obvious charms of Hudson and Wyman, both irresistible screen presences (yes, even when the former is being a selfish asshat during the earlier scenes). And Hudson and Wyman are in turn helped by a supporting cast that includes Barbara Rush, Agnes Moorehead, Otto Kruger, and more.

Sirk looks after everything with a steady hand, often livening up some of the quieter scenes with his usual eye for beautiful, vibrant colours and working well with the script to carry viewers more gently from one step to the next as the more ridiculous plot elements start to fall into place.

It will be all too easy for viewers to go into this and just hate-watch the whole thing from start to finish. If the content puts you off, you probably won't even appreciate the lovely imagery that crops up, the music, the performances, and all of the other technical expertise on display. I implore you to just give in to the magic of it all. You could end up loving it as much as me.

9/10

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Noir November: The Lost Weekend (1945)

Adapted from the novel by Charles R. Jackson, The Lost Weekend is a sensationalistic noir from director Billy Wilder, who also co-wrote the screenplay with Charles Brackett. It's about alcoholism, focusing on a man who already seems to know that he's happiest when at the bottom of a bottle, and there are plenty of obvious touches throughout the film, but when it hits the nail on the head, particularly during the final reel, it remains one of the best studies of alcoholism/addiction fuelled by disappointment and self-destruction that I can think of. Pair this up with Leaving Las Vegas and you'll never be tempted by the demon drink ever again.

Ray Milland is on top form as Don Birnam, the man who has almost everything that his heart could desire, were it not for the fact that his heart always desires one more drink, and then one more, and another one to chase it down. His brother (Phillip Terry) is set to take him away for a weekend that should help him dry out and recover, and the woman in his life (Helen St. James, played by Jane Wyman) is also supportive as he tries to mend his ways, but a thristy stubborn streak turns the whole plan on its head. While his brother and Helen head out for a while, Don takes the opportunity to purchase some alcohol and spend some time in a nearby bar. And then he just tries to keep swimming further and further into whatever pool of alcohol he can get his hands on.

What starts off as a relatively light, fun movie soon turns into something extremely dark, yet Wilder uses the dimmer switch so expertly that many viewers may not feel the true impact of the whole thing until they've had the room lightened again. The script and cast are both a huge help, but there's a lot to be said for his perfect balancing act. Too dark and the whole thing becomes unbearable, too light and it's meaningless.

Milland may show off all the tics and twitches that you'd expect in his role, but he excels in the scenes that show his desperation for another drink, at any cost. This is a character who can pretty much justify every action, no matter how far back he has to stretch, and Milland mixes in cruelty, remorse, cunning, and a healthy dose of pathetic. Wyman, on the other hand, is simply sweetness throughout. The relationship between the two may seem unlikely, yet it never seems completely false, especially as flashbacks show Milland hiding away his drinking habit in the early stages. Terry is very good, Howard Da Silva is a bartender who gives Milland a justifiable bit of attitude, and Doris Dowling is extremely likeable as a happy-go-lucky gal who has a bit of a crush on a man she doesn't see as he really is.

Powerful, at times uncomfortable, incisive and thought-provoking, The Lost Weekend shows just what a slippery slope any major addiction can be, somehow managing to avoid sensationalism and clumsy shock moments for the majority of the runtime. I consider it pretty much essential viewing, especially as a sobering (pun intended) look at the potential dangers of alcohol dependence.

9/10

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