Ivan the Terrible Parts I & II (1944 & 1958)

 

To Have and Have Not (1944) **

Very, very loosely based on Ernest Hemmingway’s novel of the same name, To Have and Have Not (1944) was the first of four films that Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall made together.  Bacall had been “discovered” by director Howard Hawks after his wife, Nancy “Slim” Keith, showed him Bacall’s cover photo on Harper’s Bazaar and was cast in the film at the age of nineteen, having had no previous movie experience. I expect the reason To Have and Have Not has endured over the years is due to Bogart and Bacall’s sexual chemistry and a few famous lines. I say this because anyone who’s ever seen Casablanca (1942) will tell you that To Have and Have Not is a poor, although somewhat altered, imitation of the classic film starring Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.  Not to be disrespectful, seeing as Bacall just recently passed away, but Bacall was no Bergman when it came to acting ability.  You combine this unfortunate fact with a lackluster script (penned at one time or another by Hawks, Hemmingway, William Faulkner, and Jules Furthman) and you have a motion picture that stands on nothing more than sexual tension.

Set in Martinique (not Casablanca’s Morocco, or Hemmingway’s Cuba) following the Fall of France in 1940, the plot revolves around fishing boat captain Steve Morgan’s (Bogart) reluctant assistance to the French Resistance.  A tough-talking American who just wants to make money and hang out with his friend and co-worker, Eddie (Walter Brennan, in one of the few roles I can’t stand him in), Steve finds himself pulled into two unexpected relationships.  The first finds him aiding a French freedom fighter (Walter Surovy) and his wife (Dolores Moran, who saw her role dramatically shrink after Hawks realized he’d struck gold when sparks started flying between Bogart and Bacall) against the Vichy authorities (most notably Dan Seymour, who also appeared in Casablanca).  The second is a romantic relationship with a fast-talking, loose woman named Marie (Bacall) who is nicknamed “Slim” by Steve.  How will Steve save the day? Who knows—the ending is completely ambiguous.

So, I don’t dislike To Have and Have Not, but I don’t think it’s anything special, either.  Of Bogart and Bacall’s four films together, this one probably had the weakest script.  Trying to cash in on Bogart’s success in Casablanca by having so many similarities between the two stories was probably a bad idea—shortcomings are so much more glaring when compared to a superior product.  It doesn’t help that the most memorable things about the film are two questions: “You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow” and “Have you ever been stung by a dead bee?”  While one of those questions is amusing, the other, after being asked countless times, becomes excruciatingly annoying. 

There’s no denying that Bogart and Bacall sizzle when they are on-screen together.  From the moment she asks, “Anyone got a match?”, you know that Slim is going to be trouble for Steve.  Their relationship works because she’s just as tough as he is and she isn’t afraid to show it. I think a lot of people who watch this can see why the couple fell in love off-screen, and this is probably the main reason that To Have and Have Not is considered a classic by many film fans.  I don’t know if I would go so far as to label it as such, but even I have a soft spot for the movie that launched one of Hollywood’s legendary love affairs.

Overall, To Have and Have Not is all about the sexual chemistry between Bogart and Bacall. Once you get past that, the story is lackluster and makes you long to watch a much better film about aiding the French Resistance—Casablanca.

Gaslight (1944) ***

(There may be spoilers in this post.)

What man would choose jewels over Ingrid Bergman? Liberace does not count…

Director George Cukor’s Gaslight (1944) is a taut drama filled with suspense and anxiety.  Blessed by a spectacular cast of Hollywood heavyweights, Cukor, with the help of MGM’s suppression team, totally eclipsed the 1940 British film version of Patrick Hamilton’s play Gas Light, which was called Angel Street on Broadway. Nominated for seven Academy Awards, Gaslight is an excellent example of what a tight script, good acting, and superb art direction can do to create a truly memorable movie.

Screenwriters John Van Durten, Walter Reisch, and John L. Balderston’s adapted screenplay tells the story of Paula Alquist Anton (Ingrid Bergman), a young bride driven to believe she’s going insane by her manipulative, murderous husband Gregory (Charles Boyer).  It is a dark tale of one man’s obsession with finding Paula’s aunt’s jewels at any cost.  What I most admire about the story is that you don’t know exactly what Gregory is up to until the last 20 minutes of the film. Is Paula really going insane or is Gregory gaslighting her? Gaslight is one of those films that when you see it for a second time you pick up on all the clues that point to Gregory’s true intentions.  I’m not sure this is exactly a good thing, because some people might get miffed when the clues aren’t as obvious the first time they watch.  Personally, it doesn’t bother me because I like suspense films that aren’t so clear-cut that you can figure out the mystery in the first 20 minutes. 

Who better to play a fresh, young bride driven to the brink of insanity than Bergman—with her angelic beauty and sweet temperament (mind you, this was pre-Rossellini)? Bergman was so enthralled by the Broadway play that she lobbied her Hollywood captor David O. Selznick to loan her out to MGM so that she could play the part of Paula. Whatever poor Ingrid had to do to convince Selznick paid off, as she won her first Best Actress Academy Award for her searing performance.  As someone who has watched first-hand as someone goes off the deep end, I have to say that Bergman’s fluctuations between rational and irrational behavior are spot on.  When a person starts to believe that they are losing their grip on reality they fluctuate between extremes.  The best example of this is when Paula confidently decides she is going to the music recital.  Once there she is tricked into believing that she has stolen Gregory’s watch and bursts into hysterical tears. 

Boyer plays his suave conniving part well, too.  It took a lot of restraint not to play Gregory too darkly, as this would have hindered the suspense of the story.  Instead, Boyer straddles the line between being a concerned husband and a ruthless manipulator.  Personally, I would have liked to have seen him be a bit more menacing at the end of the film, because it would have added credibility to the idea that he’d strangled Paula’s aunt to death years before.

And then there’s an 18-year old Angela Lansbury, playing the couple’s impertinent maid Nancy in her film debut. If her Cockney accent doesn’t surprise you, then the saucy way she plays the flirtatious maid will.  What a way to start a career—giving Bergman dirty looks and engaging in light-sexual banter with Boyer.  Cukor said that from Lansbury’s first day on the set it was obvious that she was a born actress. She earned a Best Supporting Actress Oscar nomination for a part that was supposed to be quite small, but Cukor had it expanded when he saw her acting potential. 

Joseph Cotton and Dame May Whitty fill out the rest of the cast.  While Cotton’s Brian Cameron plays an integral part at the conclusion, his role is a rather minor one.  Whitty, for her part, plays the stereotypical nosy neighbor Ms. Thwaites.  I’m not exactly sure what purpose she serves other than mild comic relief. Still, as with any Cotton or Whitty performance, they make their presences known.

Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the Oscar-winning black and white art direction of Cedric Gibbons, William Ferrari, Edwin Willis, and Paul Huldschinsky.  The plot is Gothic in tone and dressed in Victorian décor, which creates a cluttered, creepy essence.  Their use of fog to literally and metaphorically mask Gregory’s shady behavior is inspired, and their set decorations—especially the over-decorated home—are wonderfully thought out, too. 

Overall, Ingrid Bergman’s strong performance and the engaging script are the main reasons I enjoyed Gaslight.  Still, the vagueness of Gregory’s intentions could be off-putting to some.  And, while cinematographer Joseph Ruttenberg earned an Academy Award nomination for his work, I believe the film falls a bit short when it comes to its overall photography. 

Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) **1/2

(This article is from guest contributor The Lady Eve and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

One of the most charming and potent portrayals of Americana to ever grace the screen, Meet Me in St. Louis tugs at the heartstrings as powerfully today as it did 65 years ago when it was first crafted by MGM's "Freed Unit" and released in 1944.

The film's wondrous perfection is the work of producer Arthur Freed, director Vincente Minnelli, a bravura ensemble cast, an ace artistic and technical team, songwriters Ralph Blane and Hugh Martin and...Technicolor.
This is one of my all-time favorites...
Meet Me in St. Louis was adapted from a series of reminiscences by Sally Benson that first appeared in The New Yorker in early 1942. Told from the perspective of five-year-old 'Tootie' Smith, Benson's memory pieces, though rich in warmth and humor, were light on plot and conflict. A more defined storyline was developed, the characters were strengthened and 17-year-old Esther Smith (played by Judy Garland) became the pivotal character. The story evolved into a "year in the life" of an idealized American family and was comprised of vignettes set in each of the four seasons with its dramatic climax, a family crisis, set at Christmastime.

The Smith family home at 5135 Kensington Avenue was the film's central interior and Minnelli made the decision to build a continuous set with interconnecting rooms, just like an a actual house. He reportedly wanted the entire picture to have the look of a painting by Thomas Eakins (1844 - 1916, above is his Baby at Play) and art director Preston Ames' assignment was to recreate a St. Louis neighborhood, circa 1904, as evocatively as possible. Ames did so spectacularly, creating a full block of Kensington Avenue (at a cost of $200,000) on Metro's back lot.

Focused on the film's visual look and intent on accurate period detail, Minnelli supervised every aspect of set and production design. He brought in top Broadway set decorator Lemuel Ayres and, in addition, spent time with Sally Benson who described to him every feature of her girlhood home in St. Louis. To handle costume design, he turned to Irene Sharaff, another recent Broadway-to-Hollywood transplant. Sharaff researched the historic era carefully, even using a 1904 Sears & Roebuck catalog as a reference.

Minnelli and cinematographer George Folsey, a master of fluid camera work, took such pains with the film's colors and textures that many scenes do resemble period paintings. This was the first MGM film to be fully shot in Technicolor, and Folsey and Minnelli proved to be adept at the use of color, even managing to capture subtle changes in seasonal light.

The songwriting team of Ralph Blane and Hugh Martin composed three very special songs for Judy Garland: "The Boy Next Door," "The Trolley Song," and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." Each became a standard in Garland's later repertoire and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" remains a holiday classic today. To add more period flavor, Blane and Martin also reworked popular tunes from the turn of the century - "Meet Me in St. Louis," "Skip to My Lou" and "Under the Bamboo Tree." Up to this time, most films had music inserted arbitrarily, but the songs in Meet Me in St. Louis were integrated into the action and dialogue to help advance the plot.
With such meticulous preparation and skilled collaboration, Vincente Minnelli's genius for utilizing and showcasing light, color, form and movement was able to soar.

Meet Me in St. Louis was an immediate hit, the highest grossing film of 1944. It turned out to be just the tonic a country at war needed to lift its spirits. The film firmly established Minnelli's reputation as a top director, provided Judy Garland with a solid push to the next plateau of her career and toward her ultimate status as a legend, and it ushered in a golden age of Hollywood musicals.

There is much to love about Meet Me in St. Louis. For me its charm is that, though nostalgic, the sentiment isn't heavy-handed. The film beguiles gently, taking one on a fanciful, many-faceted trip back...into a golden epoch. The turn of the century in America is depicted as a languid time before the World Wars and the Great Depression, an era when multi-generational families lived under the same roof...when mothers made vats of ketchup every summer in large, window-filled kitchens...when horse-drawn ice wagons regularly clattered down neighborhood streets...and when a young lady might easily fall in love with and dream of marrying a boy who lived right next door...

As Esther Smith, Judy Garland glows as the film's heart and soul. She is at her best - wistful and endearing, spunky and warm, her voice at an early peak.

Margaret O'Brien, as the high-spirited young 'Tootie,' adds a delightful dimension of childhood mischief and carries the imaginative Halloween sequence almost entirely on her own. She takes another precocious star turn during the climactic Christmas scenes with Judy Garland.
Leon Ames blusters as the bombastic but good-hearted family patriarch, Alonzo Smith. Mary Astor effortlessly inhabits the genteel yet womanly 'Mrs. Anna Smith.' Lucille Bremer is winning as Esther's demure older sister, Rose. Harry Davenport shines as crusty but lovable 'Grandpa' Smith.

Marjorie Main adds spice as the cantankerous maid, Katie. Tom Drake is affecting as awkwardly appealing 'boy next door' John Truett. Very fine in fleeting roles are Chill Wills as Mr. Neely and a young June Lockhart as Lucille Ballard.

As I write, an image of Judy Garland drifts through my mind...it's a wintry night...she and Margaret O'Brien lean together, framed by a bedroom window...and Judy sings...

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Let your heart be light,
From now on
Our troubles will be out of sight.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on
Our troubles will be miles away.
Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore,
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more.
Through the years
We all will be together,
If the Fates allow,
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Murder, My Sweet (1944) **1/2

To say that sweet songster Dick Powell was cast against type in this 1944 Edward Dmytryk film would be an understatement. Powell was best known for his light comedic abilities and his crooning voice, which he exhibited in films such as the Gold Diggers series, 42nd Street, and In the Navy. Gritty was not an adjective often used to describe his performances before Murder, My Sweet (which is also known as Farewell My Lovely in England). Yet, gritty is exactly what he delivered as detective Philip Marlowe.

Kim Newman writes in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die that “no other film so perfectly encapsulates the pleasures of film noir, as director Edward Dmytryk deploys shadows, rain, drug-induced hallucinations (‘a black pool opened up’), and sudden bursts of violence within a cobweb of plot traps, slimy master crooks, worthless femme fatales, gorilla-brained thugs, weary cops, and quack doctors.” Her assessment is quite correct, as this film is one of the darkest and wryest film noirs I have ever seen.

The story begins with a police interrogation of private detective Philip Marlowe (Powell). When we first see Marlowe his eyes are wrapped in bandages and he’s trying to shake himself out of a drug-induced haze. Berated by accusations and questions from Lieutenant Randall (Don Douglas) about a string of murders, Marlowe recounts (via flashback) a sordid story that only Raymond Chandler could write. It all started when a man aptly named Moose Malone (Mike Mazurki) hired him to find a redhead named Velma. Moose had lost touch with Velma, as he’d spent the last eight years in prison—reason number one to turn the case down. They travel to a nightclub called Florian’s, where Velma used to work, but no one even recalls knowing her.

Later, Marlowe pays a visit to Jessie Florian’s (Esther Howard) house to question her about Velma. A lush, Jessie denies ever having known Velma. When describing Mrs. Florian to the police Marlowe says, “She was a charming middle-aged lady with a face like a bucket of mud. I gave her a drink. She was a gal who'd take a drink, if she had to knock you down to get the bottle.” Mrs. Florian soon changes her tune when Marlowe finds a photo of Velma hidden in a filing cabinet. Jessie goes from not knowing Velma, to saying that the girl is dead. When Marlowe mentions that he’s working for Moose, Jessie becomes visibly upset but doesn’t share any information with him. As soon as Marlowe leaves, she makes a frantic phone call which Marlowe views from outside—reason number two to turn the case down.

Back at his office Marlowe meets a new client: “Pretty Boy” Lindsay Marriott (Douglas Walton). He needs Marlowe to go to a secluded canyon with him to deliver a ransom for stolen jewels. Really, you took this case, too? While attending to this job, Marlowe is knocked out—not a surprise, I’m sure. When he awakens he finds a woman standing over him. After she promptly runs away he also finds “Pretty Boy” dead in the car. When the police arrive, Lieutenant Randall is incredulous about Marlowe’s story. Then, showing Grade-A police work, he warns Marlowe to stay clear of another suspect named Jules Amthor (Otto Kruger), a quack doctor.

Perhaps Marlowe should just stay away from his office, because on his next visit there he is greeted by a woman pretending to be a reporter. In reality she’s Ann Grayle (Ann Shirley) and she’s looking for her stepmother’s stolen jade necklace. Wanting to meet the stepmother, Marlowe has Ann take him to the family house. Once inside the sprawling estate, Marlowe doesn’t need a picture drawn for him: Mr. Grayle (Miles Mander) is an old man and his wife, Helen (Claire Trevor), is a bright, young thing. Evidently Mrs. Grayle was robbed at gunpoint for her $100,000 necklace and “Pretty Boy” (a close personal friend, of course) was asked to pay the ransom. Marlowe starts to see a connection when Mrs. Grayle tells him that “Pretty Boy” was a patient of Jules Amthor. Oh, and guess who shows up for a visit just about this time: Amthor.

Stepmother and stepdaughter don’t like one another—not difficult to see as Mrs. Grayle could be Ms. Grayle’s slightly older sister. Ann Shirley plays her character like a slightly-sexed up librarian. By far the best role of her career, it was also her last, a child actor since infancy she retired at the ripe old age of 26. It is interesting to me that her last role would have “mommy-issues” since she herself had the mother from hell. Anyway, both women vie to hire Marlowe to track down the necklace. In the meantime, Marlowe meets up with Moose again, who is working with Amthor, and they go to Amthor’s apartment. Once there, Marlowe accuses the “doctor” of cooking up a blackmail scheme with Marriott and then getting rid of his partner. When he sees that Marlowe doesn’t have the necklace, he knocks the detective unconscious and then proceeds to lock him up in a room and pump him full of drugs.

After escaping, Marlowe pretty much falls down a flight of stairs and finds a gun in another doctor’s office and then stumbles out into the street where he meets Moose. After telling Moose that Amthor is the key to finding Velma, Marlowe is helped into a cab, which he takes to Ann’s apartment. Once there, he tells Ann that he knows she was the woman he saw in the canyon. She admits being there and taking Marlowe’s card off Marriott’s dead body, but she didn’t kill anybody. When they go to her father’s house they find him perturbed by the news that Marriott had been living in his beach house without his knowing it—Mrs. Grayle, however, did know. Feeling like a cuckolded husband, Mr. Grayle asks Marlowe to drop the case. But Marlowe must clear his name and so he and Ann take a trip to the beach house. Things turn romantic between the slightly-less librarian-esque Ann and Marlowe and they share a kiss, but she thinks he’s just after information. While they are arguing Helen appears and the two women trade insults—I specifically remember hearing the words gold digger and something about a slip showing before an insulted Ann stormed out. Now our cheating wife is left with Marlowe to confess her infidelities (evidently there’d been many) and that she was indeed being blackmailed by her analyst, Dr. Amthor—can anyone say malpractice? Exhibiting her skill in infidelity, Helen kisses Marlowe and asks him to help her get rid of Amthor by luring him to the beach house the next evening. He agrees.

When Marlowe goes to speak with Amthor, he finds the doctor with a snapped neck. He also finds a signed photo of Velma on a desk just as Moose appears in the room—Big hands, small neck…you do the math. Moose claims that the woman in the photo is not his Velma. Marlowe, however, promises to reunite Moose with his Velma and takes him to the beach house and has him hide outside. Inside the house, Marlowe finds Helen with the necklace—surprise, she had staged the robbery. Oh, but Marlowe has his own surprise when he calls her Velma and informs her that she killed Marriott when he refused to kill the detective. Evidently she didn’t want to be found and had learned from Mrs. Florian’s drunken call that Moose and Marlowe were looking for her. Had it not been for Ann stumbling on the scene in the canyon, she would have killed him, too. Surprise—Helen has a gun and she shows it to Marlowe. Ah, but the cavalry has arrived—Mr. Grayle and Ann emerge just as Marlowe is about to say hello to Helen’s little friend. Mr. Grayle promptly shoots his wife, which brings Moose rushing into the house to find his Velma dead. When Moose comes after Mr. Grayle, Marlowe steps between them and when the gun goes off he is blinded. All he can hear is gunshots. Who made it out alive? Well, obviously Ann did because Lieutenant Randall tells him that she has corroborated everything he said—except of course, that both Moose and Mr. Grayle were dead, since he couldn’t see that part of the melee. In one of the stranger film noir endings (a happy ending?), Marlowe is being guided out of the police station by Randall and he keeps talking about how sweet a girl Ann is without knowing she is right behind him. When he’s put in a cab she joins him. And, putting the clues together, namely the smell of her perfume, he gives her a kiss.

Dick Powell is stellar as wry detective Marlowe. The wisecracks that emerge from his mouth are laugh out loud funny. For example, when discussing Mr. Florian, he says: “He died in 1940, in the middle of a glass of beer. His wife Jessie finished it for him.” Another strangely funny scene is when he plays hopscotch at the Grayle mansion on the marbled floor. I also enjoyed watching him use Cupid’s derrière to light a match. Powell plays Marlowe with the right combination of street-smart toughness and wicked mischievousness. In my opinion, his Marlowe is the most balanced of all that have graced the silver screen.

I often wonder what happened to Marlowe and Ann. Did he later learn that after her father killed Moose that she then killed him so she could inherit everything and have Marlowe as well? I mean, that would have been the more appropriate ending for a film of this sort. She’s the one who said she hated men and she didn’t seem overly upset that her father has just been killed. Yet, she’s smooching it up in the back of a cab not long after a triple homicide? I’m just saying…

Double Indemnity (1944) ***

When it comes to the ultimate femme fatale you need only think of one name: Phyllis Dietrichson. Many have tried to surpass her—many have failed. In her first unsympathetic villainess role, Barbara Stanwyck set the bar so high that you can’t even measure how short other actresses have fallen trying to be as good a femme fatale as she was in Double Indemnity (1944). One of the great travesties in  Academy Award history is that Stanwyck, who was nominated four times for Best Actress, never won an Oscar. She was nominated for this film in 1944, but lost to Ingrid Bergman in Gaslight. Many film critics believe this was a glaring oversight by the Academy, citing the outright nastiness and amoral nature of her character as the reason she was snubbed. Quite frankly, Hollywood wasn’t ready for Phyllis Dietrichson. And, when you think about it, who could ever be ready for such an evil force of nature?

Legendary auteur Billy Wilder directed this penultimate film noir, which was nominated for seven Academy Awards: Best Picture, Best Actress, Best Director, Best Screenplay, Best Cinematography (black and white), Best Sound, and Best Score. It won none. Perhaps a film about an adulterous murder plot to collect insurance money was just too much for a country at war.

With the help of the great detective novelist Raymond Chandler, Wilder adapted the James M. Cain novella Three of a Kind into one of the greatest screenplays of the Golden Age of Hollywood. Chandler and Wilder’s dialogue is searing and sharp and the overall storyline is a taut, thrilling ride down a boulevard of betrayal. In a film noir staple, the film is told in the past tense, via voiceover. The story involves a very unsatisfied (I suspect mostly in the Biblical sense) housewife (Stanwyck) and an easily enticed insurance salesman. While carrying on a licentious affair, the couple kill the husband to claim a double indemnity clause in his accidental death policy. What follows the murder is suspicion, guilt, double-crosses and bullets.

Aided by the deft cinematography of John Seitz (whom Wilder worked with on several films), Wilder captured the unseemly nature of Hollywood, incorporating several locales into the film—most notably the Hollywood Bowl and the Glendale train station. Roger Ebert has said that Seitz’s photography in this film “helped develop the noir style of sharp-edged shadows and shots, strange angles and lonely settings." Countless “venetian blind” shots are used.

The film opens with injured, Pacific All-Risk Insurance Company salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray in a rare bad-guy role) staggering into the company’s building one early Los Angeles morning to record, via Dictaphone, how and why he committed the “perfect crime” for a woman wearing blonde bangs, honeysuckle perfume and an anklet. It all started innocently enough when he accidentally met bored housewife Phyllis Dietrichson at her faux-Spanish mansion while stopping by to get her husband to renew his car insurance. In one of the more memorable film entrances, Stanwyck enters the screen wearing only a towel and a flirtatious smile. When she emerges next to “properly” meet Neff she’s wearing a revealing dress and her signature anklet. For those of you who don’t know, the old theory was that women who wore anklets were loose women. Her use of her legs as a diversionary tactic in this scene is something that Sharon Stone would use in Basic Instinct—of course Stanwyck was wearing panties…I hope. A double-entendre conversation ensues between them about speeding cars, where Neff makes it clear he’s interested in insuring he sees her again. That is soon arranged, as Phyllis asks him to come back the next evening to speak to her husband about the policy.

Later that day Neff introduces us to by-the-book claims investigator Baton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson), a man consumed with getting every detail right and uncovering shady insurance claims. (Keyes is the man for whom Neff is recording his crimes.) While in his office, Phyllis calls and changes their appointment for the next afternoon. Strangely enough when he arrives the next day, Mr. Dietrichson (Tom Powers) is not at home again and it’s the maid’s day off. In addition, Phyllis seems very concerned about the dangerous nature of her husband’s work (he spends a lot of time in oil fields). So much so, that she asks about buying an accident policy without her husband knowing about it. Shocked by the suggestion and angry that she thought he was so stupid that he couldn’t see what she was planning, Walter huffily walks out on the blonde bombshell.

Yet, later that night when he finds Phyllis standing in his doorway (returning a hat she doesn’t seem to have) he doesn’t exactly slam the door in her face. Perhaps it was the clingy sweater she was wearing, or even the scent of wafting honeysuckle in the air. After explaining she doesn’t want him to get the wrong impression about her and that her life with Mr. Dietrichson is horrible, Walter grabs her and plants a “red-hot” kiss on her lips. Later, Phyllis explains that she often fantasizes about killing her husband with carbon monoxide poisoning in the garage. To Neff there are three bonuses to this plan: $1000,000, beating the insurance game, and having Phyllis all to himself. Presumably after they have consummated their newfound relationship (he smokes a cigarette and she reapplies her makeup), Neff agrees to help her kill her husband and make it look like an accident, but everything had to be “straight down the line” as he doesn’t want there to be any mistakes for Keyes to find.

A few days later Neff arrives at the Dietrichson house to have Mr. Dietrichson renew his auto insurance policy. Leading the unknowing husband to believe he must sign duplicate forms, Neff gets him to sign his own death warrant. The next part of the plan concerns having Mr. Dietrichson take the train instead of his car on his next trip to Stanford. The double indemnity clause pays twice as much for a death that occurs on a train. They use the local grocery store as their clandestine meeting place to plan their crime. A monkey wrench is thrown into their plan when Mr. Dietrichson breaks his leg, but only temporarily. When Mr. Dietrichson decides to take his trip after all, using crutches to get around, Neff and Phyllis hatch a plan where he takes the place of the injured husband on the train. Disguised as the soon- to-be dead husband, Neff hides in the back of the Dietrichson car while Phyllis drives Mr. Dietrichson to the Glendale train station. When she honks the horn three times he pops up from the back seat and breaks the husband’s neck. While the murder isn’t shown on screen, Wilder uses a close-up of the unflinching face of Phyllis staring straight ahead as her husband is being murdered on the seat beside her to convey the vileness of the murder. Taking the husband’s place on the train, Neff later jumps from the train when it slows down and he and Phyllis put Mr. Dietrichson’s body on the tracks. Now they just had to wait.

Although the police don’t suspect foul play, the insurance company wants to investigate to see if they can get out of paying the double indemnity clause. Keyes is assigned the case and told by the company president that they want him to find out if Mr. Dietrichson killed himself. In a meeting with Phyllis, the company president explains the situation and offers to make a smaller settlement to her. Pretending to be unaware of the policy, Phyllis feigns fury and storms out. Meanwhile, Keyes doesn’t think suicide by slow-moving train is very likely and tells Neff that the case seems like a legitimate one.

Later, with Phyllis on her way to his apartment, Neff opens the door and finds Keyes. Something just popped into his head about the case: why hadn’t Mr.Dietrichson filed an accident claim when he broke his leg? Perhaps, Keyes believes, because he didn’t know about the policy but that Phyllis did. Luckily for the dastardly duo Phyllis can overhear Keyes from the hallway and she hides behind the door until he leaves. Cracks begin to appear in their relationship as Phyllis is angry that Neff suggests they not see each other while the investigation is taking place. In addition, Mr. Dietrichson’s daughter, Lola (Jean Heather), suggests to Neff that Phyllis not only killed her father but her own mother as well when she was her nurse. Oh, and by the way, step-mommy is sleeping with her ex-boyfriend, Zachetti (Byron Barr), as well. Feeling sorry for the girl and wanting to keep her quiet, Neff begins spending time with her as a substitute for Phyllis.

After putting the pieces of his investigation together, Keyes reveals to Neff what really happened in the Dietrichson case: the husband was killed by his wife and her lover. He explains to Neff every step of the crime correctly, but he doesn’t suspect Neff. Nervous, Neff and Phyllis meet yet again at the supermarket. Phyllis is highly suspicious when Neff suggest she not sue for the insurance claim and is even more suspicious about the time he has been spending with Lola. She coldly reminds Neff that their in it “straight down the line.” Neff starts to think that things would be better if Phyllis were dead, especially after Keyes determines that Zachetti was Phyllis’ accomplice. And, so the fateful 11 'o’clock meeting is set at the mansion.

With Zachetti as his fall guy, Neff determines to rid himself of the one person who can connect him to the murder: Phyllis. Shadowed by venetian blind slats, a living room of death awaits the final showdown between Phyllis and Neff. Oh, but Phyllis has her own suspicions that the double-cross is on. So, after unlocking the door for her accomplice, she sits down in a chair with her pearl-handled gun hidden under the cushion. When Neff arrives he informs Phyllis of his plan to off-her and frame Zachetti for everything. Really? How stupid can you be? Phyllis informs him she has her own plans and they don’t involve her death but his own. In an excellent climatic scene, Neff closes the living room blinds and when the room goes black a shot rings out. The next thing we see is Neff staggered by a bullet and Phyllis standing over him hesitating to finish him off. In a strange twist, Phyllis surrenders to her love for Neff and allows him to take the gun from her. While vulnerably embracing him some form of intelligence returns to her brain when she feels the barrel of the gun pointing at her chest. Two point blank shots to the chest and it’s “goodbye baby”. Really? I don’t like this ending at all, but it was Hollywood 1944, so what can I expect?

The final scene of the film finds Neff in his office with Keyes, who is shocked by what his friend has done. When Neff asks him to give him four hours before calling the police, Robinson delivers the great line: “You’ll never make the border…you’ll never even make the elevator.” He was right.

The twists and turns of this thrilling film noir are enough to make your pulse race. You pair the stellar storyline to the raw sexuality that Stanwyck brought to her role as Phyllis and this is a wonderful film to just sit and absorb. While both Fred MacMurray and Edward G. Robinson do great jobs with their respective characters, this film belongs to Stanwyck. This was, without a doubt, her greatest dramatic role. She was so good in this role that countless male fans who had loved her before seeing this film actually started to dislike her after seeing it. She and Double Indemnity are a “straight down the line” treat to watch.

Laura (1944) **1/2

Machiavelli wrote that “it is better to be feared than to be loved.” The title character of this film should have read more about political philosophy and less about fashion. Too many people just loved her to death…or at least tried.

A classic psychological film noir, Laura is one of the best films Otto Preminger ever made. Yet, the plot of Laura seems quite simple when you compare it to the behind the scenes plot that unfolded daily at 20th Century Fox. First Preminger was to direct; then studio head Darryl Zanuck fired him and replaced him with Rouben Mamoulian. Then Mamoulian was fired (nothing new for him) and Preminger was rehired. Then they argued over the cast. Zanuck wanted John Hodiak to play Detective McPherson and Preminger wanted Dana Andrews. Zanuck also tried to put the nix on Clifton Webb (who ended up being nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar) and first-time cinematographer Joseph LaShelle (who won the film’s only Academy Award for his photography), who replaced Lucien Ballard after Mamoulian was fired. In the end, Preminger won most of the battles and his film garnered five Academy Award nominations, including Best Director, Best Art Direction (Lyle R. Wheeler, Leland Fuller, and Thomas Little), and Best Screenplay (adapted from the Vera Caspary novel of the same name by Jay Dratler, Samuel Hoffenstein and Betty Reinhardt).

There are many elements that make this a prime example of a film noir. Parasitic and morally bankrupt characters run (well-heeled) rampant through the posh drawing rooms of New York City while an unconventional detective tries to unravel the sordidness of it all. There is a chilling theme song, “Laura” (which was inspired by a Dear John letter that composer David Raksin’s wife left him), that is unforgettable. And then there is the pristine black and white cinematography of LaShelle, which incorporates both shadows and an ethereal essence. And to top it all off, you have some of sharpest and outright acidic dialogue ever imagined. All of these elements combined make it one of the best film noirs ever.

The film opens with that haunting theme song and a shot of an even more haunting portrait of a woman we soon learn, via voiceover by society columnist Waldo Lydecker (Clifton Webb), was named Laura Hunt (Gene Tierney in a role turned down by both Jennifer Jones and Hedy Lamarr)—was being the key word, as she is now dead (sort of). After waxing poetic in his bathtub about his relationship with the recently murdered beauty, Lydecker invites Detective McPherson (Dana Andrews) in for a friendly chat, where Lydecker nominates himself as the most logical sidekick in hunting down the murderer (even if he himself is a suspect!).

Next suspect: Laura’s rich, spinster Aunt Anne Treadwell (Judith Anderson). We soon learn that Aunt Anne has a thing for Laura’s would-be fiancée Shelby Carpenter (Vincent Price), a Southern gentleman who deposits a lot of checks with the the aunt’s name on them. A classic line from Lydecker suggests the proper aunt lost money playing craps, but it is quite obvious to the audience that she pays for Shelby’s favors. On cue, Shelby enters and is insulted by Lydecker, who reveals that Laura was rethinking “throwing her life away on a male beauty in distress.” Thoroughly insulted (and insinuated as yet another suspect), Shelby accompanies Lydecker and McPherson to Laura’s apartment. At the deceased’s residence we find two identical items from Lydecker’s apartment in Laura’s apartment: a grandfather clock and that eerie portrait of Laura.

Later, Lydecker and McPherson head off to dine at Waldo and Laura’s special table, where Lydecker reminisces (via flashback) of happier days. They’d met five years earlier when career-minded Laura had asked him to endorse a pen promoted by her advertising agency. At first he had snubbed her, but then he changed his mind and not only endorsed the pen but decided to make her his protégé. From that point on, Lydecker was in the business of molding Laura into the most unforgettable woman ever. The problem was he didn’t want to share her with anyone, so if someone came into the picture he got rid of them. First, it was the portrait painter Jacoby, whose artistic talent (or lack thereof) Lydecker ridiculed in his column. Then, there was Shelby, who Lydecker found utterly reprehensible and suggested to Laura that she look into his background before marrying him. It was soon revealed that Shelby was a cad of the first order, carrying on an affair with Diane Redfern, a model at the agency, and also cozying up to Aunt Anne. Soon after these revelations, Laura decided to go to her country home to reconsider her marriage plans. Alas, it was the last time Lydecker heard her voice.

Back at Laura’s apartment, McPherson encounters the maid, Bessie Clary (Dorothy Adams), who reveals she found a cheap bottle of whiskey in Laura’s bedroom the night she was killed. He also encounters the gruesome threesome who have come to determine what belongs to whom. Lydecker wants a few things back that he “lent” Laura: an antique fire screen, a “priceless” vase, and the same grandfather clock he already has in his own apartment.

As time passes, McPherson, who has taken to sulking in Laura’s apartment alone, starts to become obsessed with the portrait. On one of his many visits, Lydecker accuses the detective of falling in love with a dead woman and predicts that he’s headed for the asylum. Oh, but wait…she’s not dead, as we and the detective soon learn when she returns to her apartment one stormy night to find a strange man asleep in a chair next to her portrait. She is surprised to learn that she is dead, since she seems to be still breathing. Evidently the face that had been blown off by the shotgun wasn’t hers. But whose was it? Well, when Laura finds one of Diane Redfern’s dresses in her closet the obvious choice seems to become clear. Now, Laura is a suspect for the murder of Diane. McPherson orders Laura not to contact anyone, but like any “dame” she does the opposite and calls Shelby. This tips McPherson off to the fact that Shelby might be the killer and he follows him to Laura’s country home, where he finds him with a shotgun in his hands. Shelby admits that he took Diane to Laura’s apartment to break it off, but that he was out of the room when the doorbell rang. Whoever was at the door Diane answered was the killer.

The next day at Laura’s apartment, Lydecker is in for a shock when he finds Laura alive and well. It’s such a terrible shock that he faints straight away. Soon after being revived a party is planned, where all the depraved guests suspect one another of murder. Yet, only one is arrested: Laura. Escorted to the police station by McPherson (who is obviously obsessed with having her to himself), Laura finds herself given the standard bright light interrogation. The problem is McPherson only wants to find out if Laura is in love with Shelby. Really!!! Once he ascertains that she’s not, they leave. Really!!! The lighting in this scene is marvelous and conveys oodles about both McPherson and Laura’s motivations. First, the use of the two bright lights spotlight the intense beauty of Laura. Then, after the lights are turned off, Gene Tierney just seems to glow.

While McPherson is checking out Lydecker’s apartment and finally realizing that the grandfather clock in Laura’s own apartment might hold the murder weapon, Laura is being verbally reprimanded by Lydecker in her apartment for her possible attraction to the detective. So, when the detective arrives at her apartment and Laura gives Lydecker the heave-ho, Lydecker is politely furious. When he leaves the apartment he casts a large shadow on the wall—foreboding? As soon as Lydecker’s gone, McPherson checks Laura’s clock and finds the gun. Setting off to arrest Lydecker, McPherson leaves Laura with a kiss and tells her to get some sleep. Believing the detective gone, Lydecker (who has been hiding in the hallway) creeps back into the apartment to murder Laura. For some reason, the detective put the gun back in the clock! Anyway, as he’s reloading the gun he hears his own voice on Laura’s radio; it’s his broadcast on History’s Great Lovers. With the cops beating down the door, Lydecker points the gun at Laura and says they will be together forever…fortunately for Laura she has good reflexes and she deflects the gun as it goes off. What I find particularly odd about what transpires after the police fatally wound Lydecker is that Laura runs to his side to console him. Really? This man has tried to kill you twice and you run to him? Anyway, with Lydecker’s dying words, “Goodbye, Laura. Goodbye, my love” and another haunting still shot of the Laura portrait the film ends.

The story itself is marvelous. You have a case of mistaken identity with the murder and the shocking reappearance of the murder victim. I would have liked to have been in the audience when Gene Tierney turned that light on back in 1944—I’m sure it startled some.

Besides the wonderful plot, you have a no-nonsense detective who becomes obsessed with his beautiful dead victim and a whole cast of venomous creatures. The callousness of Judith Anderson’s Aunt Anne is both appalling and delightful to watch. Vincent Price’s interpretation of a Southern ladies man is quite comical. Gene Tierney plays the femme fatale well by exuding an icy coolness that just scorches the screen at times. And, when it comes to Clifton Webb, it is difficult to believe this was his first sound film. Webb is just delightful as a bitter, homosexual who hates all masculine men and will stop at nothing to keep them away from his Laura. There are many ways to look at his obsession with Laura. Personally, I think he created her to be the woman he wished he could be (his other self) and didn’t want anyone to come between them because he would be separated from his one true love: his feminine self. But that’s just my theory, I’m sure you have your own. Whatever may be the case, this is a classic film noir.