The Great Gatsby (1949)

The second screen adaptation (after the tantalizingly lost 1926 silent version) of F. Scott Fitzgerald's celebrated novel, this 1949 version -- directed by Elliott Nugent -- is an offbeat film, with its '40s post-war sensibility striking an uneasy balance with the '20s Jazz Age setting. Fitzgerald's novel is re-worked here as a rise-and-fall narrative more typical of the '30s gangster film, combined with elements of post-war crime dramas. Gatsby is portrayed as a hardworking young man who develops a thirst for wealth and the power it brings. But his meteoric success is ultimately undone by his misguided devotion to the woman for whom he has carried a torch over the years. It's no wonder that this version is often talked about in terms of '40s film noir, both for its emphasis on Gatsby's tragic rise and fall, and for its often shadowy, high-contrast visual style.

Alan Ladd is an interesting choice for Gatsby. He is able to convey the naive, almost childlike qualities of the character, as well something darker, even somewhat sinister, under the surface. The casting of Ladd, a staple of Paramount's series of dark crime dramas of the decade (This Gun For Hire, The Glass Key, The Blue Dahlia), further places the film's interpretation of Gatsby within post-war noir's long line of tragic protagonists. One of the more frustrating results of this approach, however, is a reductive morality imposed on the story, which undermines some its power. Nowhere is this more glaringly obvious than in the frankly trite and unnecessary prologue, which has Nick Carraway and Jordan Baker (now married) visiting Gatsby's grave in the present day, and reflecting back on the tragic events that led to his downfall.

Paramount's 1949 version of The Great Gatsby ultimately, and perhaps inevitably, fails to convey the spirit of the Jazz Age zeitgeist that Fitzgerald captured so well in his novel, but it is, also inevitably, revealing as a glimpse of that era as viewed through the very different sensibilities of the time in which it was produced.

He Walked By Night (1948)

An atmospheric, tightly-paced police procedural, directed by Alfred Werker and an uncredited Anthony Mann, and groundbreaking at the time for its use of actual events from the case files of the LAPD. The plot follows the investigation into the murder of a policeman, and the search for the killer, an ex-police radio operator who uses his knowledge of the department's operations to stay one step ahead of the cops. Well-acted by Richard Basehart, Scott Brady, Roy Roberts and Jack Webb (whose own, later procedural TV series "Dragnet" was inspired by this film). It remains one of the best post-war police dramas, thanks largely to Basehart's intense performance as the criminal, its extensive use of LA locations (most memorably the complex underground sewer system, which is used quite effectively in the film's climactic chase sequence), and for its stunning, high-contrast B&W photography by the great John Alton. One of the best films of its kind.

The Bribe (1949)

High-gloss, late-studio era film noir from MGM, about a Federal agent (Robert Taylor) sent to South America to arrest a group of crooks who have been defrauding the government by selling recycled war plane motors on the black market. When he arrives in the town of Carlota, he gets involved with a sultry, mysterious nightclub singer (Ava Gardner), who happens to be married to the chief suspect in his investigation.

This is one of those films that is so well-made at every level, with such care and precision typical of the studio system, that every strand of hair, every bead of sweat seems to be arranged perfectly in its place. Yet this does not detract from its dark and menacing tone. Directed by longtime MGM stalwart Robert Z. Leonard, it's a highly effective mystery-thriller, greatly aided by the performances of Vincent Price and Charles Laughton as the villains. This is not one of Laughton's greatest roles, but he still does his usually fine job as the fat, pathetic crook who has turned to crime just to get by.

Even at 98 minutes, the plot drags a bit at times, though it is consistently entertaining, with nice cinematography by Joseph Ruttenberg and an atmospheric (if at times a little too busy) score by Miklos Rosza. The highlight is a climactic showdown between Taylor and Price amidst a shower of fireworks, a visually stunning set-piece, though it is Laughton who quietly walks away with the film's great, last line.

Detour

“Whichever way you turn, Fate sticks out a foot to trip you.” So says Al Roberts, the doomed protagonist of Edgar G. Ulmer’s classic of film noir, “Detour”. Now legendary for its style and technique achieved on a “Poverty Row” budget, Ulmer reportedly shot the film in just several days on a miniscule budget. It manages to pack more punch into its lean, 65 minute running time than most Hollywood films before or since.

Tom Neal stars as Al Roberts, a born loser who plays piano in the Break O’ Dawn Club in New York for the nightly crowds. His girlfriend, Sue Harvey (Claudia Drake) sings with the club’s band, and performs the film’s haunting musical theme, “I Can’t Believe That You’re in Love With Me”. One night, Sue announces that she’s leaving to try to her luck in Hollywood. Al decides to hitch-hike out West to be with her, but he’s picked up by a traveling salesman, Charles Haskell Jr. (Edmund MacDonald), who-lucky for Al-is heading all the way to Los Angeles. But Haskell dies under mysterious circumstances in the car that night during a rainstorm. Al panics and, fearing the police will accuse him of murder, assumes the dead man’s identity. Just when Al thinks he’s gotten past that obstacle, he picks up a young woman he finds hitch-hiking near a gas station, who turns out to be Vera (Ann Savage), who just happened to ride with Haskell several days earlier, and who immediately spots Al as an impostor. Blackmailing him for a murder he didn’t commit, Al surrenders whatever control he has left over his own life, and takes a detour onto a one-way road to Hell.

Ulmer frames this story in flashback, with Al sitting in a seedy Nevada diner where the jukebox plays “I Can’t Believe That You’re in Love With Me”, almost taunting him about the life and love he has lost forever. What really sells “Detour” is its incredible visual style, all the more remarkable considering the rushed, low-budget production history of the film. Ulmer had been trained at the UFA Studio in Germany during the 1920s, where he worked as an art director for directors such as Fritz Lang and F.W. Murnau. He brings his Expressionist style to this film with memorable results. When Al begins telling his story, for instance, the background of the scene falls dark while a loan spotlight hovers around his eyes, perfectly capturing his sense of isolation from the world. Perhaps the most striking stylistic moment is in the final scene, in which the camera pans around the hotel room, racking in and out of focus on various objects lying around the room. Shot in a continuous take, the shot is a marvel of camera technique, and must have surely taken a considerable amount of time to execute, all the more remarkable when considering the extremely tight shooting schedule of the film. The story of “Detour” came from a novel by Martin Goldsmith, and the extensive use of voice-over in the film, while no doubt also an effective cost-saving measure, gives it a powerful “stream-of-consciousness” style to its storytelling. The film was produced and distributed by Producers’ Releasing Corp., one of the smallest of the “Poverty Row” studios that could be found in the underbelly of Hollywood, co-existing with the major studios during the studio era. The gritty, cheap and low-rent atmosphere suits the film perfectly.

“Detour” is perhaps the most engulfing cinematic nightmare ever captured on film. From the film’s opening titles, which roll over a long tracking shot of a lonely, deserted highway at night, to the film’s end, its protagonist is a lost soul, doomed to wander the lonely highways of the Southwest for all eternity.

The Naked City (1948)

Finally saw this film after reading much about it, and I have to admit I was rather disappointed in it. I heard that it was based on a photo spread by Weegee detailing New York crime scene photos, and that it was shot entirely on location in the streets and apartments of New York. For some reason, I have also heard this film frequently touted as one of the best film noirs, though I couldn't see anything in it that resembled any of the characteristics of noir.

My biggest disappointment was that it opened with that terrible narration (by the producer, no less) that the better filmmakers were already trying to avoid at that point. It's that smarmy, cutesy narration that ruins the atmosphere. I would have found a Sterling Hayden-type voice much more appropriate if narration were needed at all, which I'm not actually sure it was-it appeared at times that the narration was only used to further the story when the filmmakers had to shoot without sound because of the locations (mostly the exteriors).

Barry Fitzgerald (whom I love) was good but seemed entirely out of place. He would have seemed much more "at home" in a studio-bound Hollywood film, in which his slightly exaggerated performance would have felt much more natural. As it is, he comes across as giving far too much a "performance" when the gritty setting seems to call for a more naturalistic performance. The rest of the cast is okay, not particularly memorable, although some of the performances (especially the housekeeper of the murder victim, who bursts into tears every five minutes) seem entirely over-the-top, and again, at odds with the film's more naturalistic settings. There's also an annoying tendency to insert cute and comical relief bits that add nothing to the film and only seem unnatural and forced, further killing the effect that the film was supposedly striving for.

I've read that Stanley Kubrick worked as a still photographer on this film, and I can't help but think what he could have done with the material (I've enjoyed his "Killer's Kiss" and "The Killing" very much).I wouldn't be so critical except that the film went out of its way to be something different but was so ordinary in every aspect other than its use of locations that it hardly seemed worth it. I would be very interested to know why this film is frequently cited as an example of film noir (it's a crime drama, yes, but really more along the lines of a "Dragnet"-style police instructional). I see that Criterion is releasing the film soon, and in their notes call it a benchmark of film noir too. Dassin's "Night and the City" (a genuine noir) is far superior, in my opinion.