This keeps getting itself referred to as a film noir. It's part of a boxed set, "Film Noir Collection Number Five." But I don't know exactly what's "noir" about it. Yes, it takes place at night, it's in black and white, there's a murder, cops, gangsters -- but that's Charlie Chan territory too. At the least, in a film noir, I expect an air of resigned despair, a femme fatale, and some expressionist imagery, none of which is apparent here.
Bill Williams is an RM2 in the Navy, a second-class petty officer with a rating of radioman. Now this is a demanding rank and rating. Only the best, the brightest, the most industrious and committed survive the grueling training program. I know this because I was one of them.
Anyway -- oh, yes, Bill Williams awakes in New York from a drink-induced blackout to find that he has a wad of money stuffed into his wallet. He runs into an unhappy dance hall girl and innocently tells her about this other woman, whose apartment he was in, and that's all he remembers. It must be her money so he wants to return it.
Despite her sour attitude towards life, the dance hall girl, Susan Hayward, decides to accompany him when he returns the money, but when they enter the apartment they find the young woman strangled. Paul Lukas, a philosophical cab driver, stumbles into the plot and offers to help. They can't call the police because, for all Bill Williams knows, he's guilty of the woman's murder, so they try to track down the real killer.
And here Cornell Woolrich's pulp plot follows the usual trajectory. They track down various people who knew the victim, or might have known her. There are a lot of red herrings. The sailor, the dance hall girl, and the cabbie are all over New York. It's the middle of the night and still everybody of interest is wide awake and fully dressed. Improbable. It reminded me of "Crime and Punishment", a novel in which everyone of all social stations seemed to know EVERYONE ELSE in Petersberg, as if the city had a population of only a few hundred.
In any case, it's an interesting story. We know that ONE of these diverse characters must have killed the icy babe -- but which one? The ending falls completely apart as the murder and his motive pop up out of nowhere like a stage magician appearing in a puff of smoke. Woolrich was a hard-boiled writer but writing under deadlines can produce slapdash structure.
What the movie DOES have is a couple of good performances. Bill Williams is a little old for his part and he doesn't look like the "innocent kid" he's supposed to be, but he gives a fine impression of being both dazed and naive. Susan Hayward is professional, and cute too.
Maybe the most enjoyable element of the film is Clifford Odet's screenplay. It's filled with tag lines. He couldn't help himself.
"Now, wait a minute, let's pause for station identification." And, "This is New York, where hello means good-bye." And, "Was that your last dollar? Busticated?" And, "If you hear a noise, it's my skin creeping." And, "Remember, speech was given to man to hide his thoughts." Some of the lines could have come from Woolrich's novel but, really, he wasn't given to grace notes.
Two minor points. Bill Williams' blouse is tailored. And the most prominent purveyor of orange drinks in New York was Nedick's, which has here been changed to Redick's.
Bill Williams is an RM2 in the Navy, a second-class petty officer with a rating of radioman. Now this is a demanding rank and rating. Only the best, the brightest, the most industrious and committed survive the grueling training program. I know this because I was one of them.
Anyway -- oh, yes, Bill Williams awakes in New York from a drink-induced blackout to find that he has a wad of money stuffed into his wallet. He runs into an unhappy dance hall girl and innocently tells her about this other woman, whose apartment he was in, and that's all he remembers. It must be her money so he wants to return it.
Despite her sour attitude towards life, the dance hall girl, Susan Hayward, decides to accompany him when he returns the money, but when they enter the apartment they find the young woman strangled. Paul Lukas, a philosophical cab driver, stumbles into the plot and offers to help. They can't call the police because, for all Bill Williams knows, he's guilty of the woman's murder, so they try to track down the real killer.
And here Cornell Woolrich's pulp plot follows the usual trajectory. They track down various people who knew the victim, or might have known her. There are a lot of red herrings. The sailor, the dance hall girl, and the cabbie are all over New York. It's the middle of the night and still everybody of interest is wide awake and fully dressed. Improbable. It reminded me of "Crime and Punishment", a novel in which everyone of all social stations seemed to know EVERYONE ELSE in Petersberg, as if the city had a population of only a few hundred.
In any case, it's an interesting story. We know that ONE of these diverse characters must have killed the icy babe -- but which one? The ending falls completely apart as the murder and his motive pop up out of nowhere like a stage magician appearing in a puff of smoke. Woolrich was a hard-boiled writer but writing under deadlines can produce slapdash structure.
What the movie DOES have is a couple of good performances. Bill Williams is a little old for his part and he doesn't look like the "innocent kid" he's supposed to be, but he gives a fine impression of being both dazed and naive. Susan Hayward is professional, and cute too.
Maybe the most enjoyable element of the film is Clifford Odet's screenplay. It's filled with tag lines. He couldn't help himself.
"Now, wait a minute, let's pause for station identification." And, "This is New York, where hello means good-bye." And, "Was that your last dollar? Busticated?" And, "If you hear a noise, it's my skin creeping." And, "Remember, speech was given to man to hide his thoughts." Some of the lines could have come from Woolrich's novel but, really, he wasn't given to grace notes.
Two minor points. Bill Williams' blouse is tailored. And the most prominent purveyor of orange drinks in New York was Nedick's, which has here been changed to Redick's.