EXPERIMENT PERILOUS (Jacques Tourneur, 1944)

(Directed by Jacques Tourneur from a script by William Duff adapted from Margaret Carpenter’s 1943 novel; starring Hedy Lamarr, George Brent, Paul Lukas, Albert Dekker, and Carl Esmond. Released 29 December 1944; watched 2023w36 via Criterion Channel)

Heretofore unknown evocative – especially the snow, both in NYC and on the fateful train journey there – and provocative (it was GASLIGHT at the same time as GASLIGHT and is, for me, the more interesting telling of a similar theme) offering from one of my favorite directors, Jacques Tourneur (CAT PEOPLE / OUT OF THE PAST). Excellent performances throughout, especially from the trinity of leads George Brent, Paul Lukas, and the luminous Hedy Lamarr (if anyone could be believable as someone everyone falls in love with, it's Lamarr); and, while PERILOUS isn't the seminal work that those films are (it's a little too saccharine for my taste in its tacked-on happy coda), it is, as with most of Tourneur's work, time well spent.

DEATH OF A CYCLIST (Bardem, 1955)

(Written and directed by Juan Antonio Bardem; starring Lucia Bosé, Alberto Closas, Otello Torso, Bruna Corra, Carlos Casaravilla, and Manuel Alexandre. Released 09 May 1955; watched 2023w25 via Criterion Channel)

Tycherion powers of random, activate: finally returning to something of a cinema-watching regimen, utilizing a timespace that I had, heretofore – and stupidly – neglected; lucky (In some ways) that Tycherion tends to pick crime films from countries I would otherwise have never associated with the genre (Spain – as to why I never associated Spain with the genre, I'm going to blame my own blinders, in spite of a longstanding effort to make the world seem bigger than my tiny, 3.2 mile circle would otherwise lead me to believe).

While there are things that I do, indeed, love about this film – all of the performances (especially Carlos Casaravilla channeling Peter Lorre at his smarmiest and notching it up by about twenty); the general thrust of the narrative; the gradual revelations of the past between Juan and María José; the pervasive sense of paranoia and suspicion brought to visceral life by stunning cinematography and jarring, discordant transitions from scene to scene – it lost me in the last 25 minutes, the "everybody dies" (spoilers) ending which felt as though it was one of those "I wrote myself into a corner and can't figure any other way out" endings.

One caveat WRT the above: I watched the film across two days, loving the first day, not loving the second day (the final 25 minutes) so it was watched by two different iterations of me separated by exhaustion and mood.

Worth watching, though – and someday I might rewatch in one go and see if that changes anything.

IN A LONELY PLACE (Ray, 1950)

(Directed by Nicholas Ray from a script by Andrew Solt and Edmund H. North, adapted from the 1947 novel by Dorothy Hughes; starring Humphrey Bogart, Gloria Grahame, Frank Lovejoy, and Martha Stewart . Released August 1950; watched 2023w17 via Criterion Channel)

As a Bogart fanatic, that I hadn't seen LONELY PLACE until this week is among my great shames – at least when I remember having not seen it. Now that I've seen it, my shame is both eliminated and magnified: along with TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE, this is Bogart at his finest, his underrated talent as an actor – like Harrison Ford, his closest modern corollary (there's a reason why Ford played Bogart's role in the SABRINA remake), Bogart has a tremendous range and can inhabit almost any role: he is an artist of far more talent than the roles that made him iconic allow him to be – on full display.

As for Gloria Grahame? One of the best: Laurel oozes sex in her first appearances and expertly plays it as layer by layer the truth of herself is revealed in what has to be one of the most toxic and tragic relationships ever captured on film (as great as Bogey and Bacall were in their on- and off-screen pairings, I doubt this film would be as much of a classic had Bacall played the part of Laurel – though never underestimate Lauren Bacall); I'm not a relationship counselor, but I can confidently say that meeting by providing an alibi for your unknown and volatile neighbor accused of murder isn't among the healthiest ways to meet.

One thing that really stands out and defines the film: each of the doomed turns was from a shit/dickish decision Bogart made: to give Mildred cab fare instead of taking her home himself – let alone read the book himself; to ignore that last phone call because of his paranoia and rage, a phone call that could have saved – though probably not – a whole lot of trouble. She told you not to rush her, Dix.

So so good; a cinephile's shame is at an end.

THE HITCH-HIKER (Lupino, 1953)

(Directed by Ida Lupino from a screenplay by Lupino and Collier Young; starring Edmond O'Brien, Frank Lovejoy, and William Talman. Released 20 March 1953; watched 2023w07 via Criterion Channel)

As an avowed sucker for small casts and minimal locations, THE HITCH-HIKER is eveything I want in a noir: Lupino wastes no time, not a single frame –this thing MOVES. Career-best performances from O'Brien (need to rewatch DOA at some point), Lovejoy, and Talman – Talman especially: the "you can't tell when I'm sleeping" scene is one of the most unsettling in recent memory, noir or otherwise. While possessed of its fair share of shadow dark, it's THE HITCH-HIKER's use of the wide-open desert that makes it special: proof that it doesn't have to been dimly lit and shadowy to underscore the shadow of our souls; sometimes it's the inexhaustible light that casts the darkest pall.

watching/20230212

NIGHTMARE ALLEY (Goulding, 1947)

(Directed by Edmund Goulding from a script by Jules Furthman based on the novel by William Lindsay Gresham; starring Tyrone Power, Joan Blondell, Coleen Gray, Helen Walker, and Mike Mazurki. Released 09 October 1947; watched fri/20230120 via Criterion Blu-Ray. )

While (I'm loathe to base my notes on a film on a fleeting comparison between it and its remake) GDT's version had a more powerful final third (mercifully devoid of the Zanuck-required hope for redemption that hampered this version's finale), that not only does Goulding's telling have none of the fat of Stan's backstory – his motivation for being such a shit is immaterial – but features commanding, visceral – and possessed of none of the sense of homage that took me out of 2021's story (exceptions being Rooney Mara and Richard Jenkins) – performances from Power (who played it as though he had everything to lose), Joan Blondell, Ian Keith, and Helen Walker (and Mike Mazurki, still my favorite on-screen Dick Tracy villain, 1945's Splitface) makes it, for me, the best. Wish I'd seen this one first – the Blu's been on my stack since it came out, months before GDT's landed in theaters, so I only have myself to blame.