The Suspect (1944)

Directed by Robert Siodmak; produced by Islin Auster

Philip Marshall (Charles Laughton) is the kind and decent manager of a tobacco shop in 1902 London. He is liked and respected, but his marriage to self-pitying, selfish, unfeeling Cora (Rosalind Ivan) is dead. He is content to continue it, though, for the sake of his grown son and for appearances. When he begins an innocent friendship with young Mary Gray (Ella Raines), he is revitalized. This happiness - and Mary herself – is threatened when Cora discovers the platonic relationship.

An interesting and rather genteel film noir, The Suspect is carried by Laughton, but not quite high enough to lift it above its faults. Laughton could easily play sympathetic – as he does here – or malicious, and though it is clearly implied that he is a murderer, even if it is not as clearly shown, the audience will be on his side in this movie. He portrays Marshall as a good man who tries to make work a bad marriage with a horrible person, and whose homicidal intentions even come across as altruistic.

Also of note is Ivan as Cora. Her behaviour, especially her delight in ruining lives, puts her personality beyond shrewish, and one can’t but think that all those who knew her felt relief at her demise. It is a persuasive performance on Ivan’s part, as is Henry Daniell’s as a conniving neighbour.

The problems with The Suspect come from other than its cast, and partly arise from the movie’s own gentility. It is set at the beginning of the twentieth century but, except for a horror of divorce evinced by Cora – a horror which would have been felt by many even in the 1940s – there is no necessity for the time period. (Evidently the movie’s publicity department felt likewise: Raines is depicted on the poster in contemporary attire.)

Indeed, The Suspect is not entirely convincing in placing the story in 1902. Though prosperous and, at this stage of their lives, middle-class, the Marshalls have no servants. This in an era when domestic service produced employment for a huge section of the poorer classes; even well-off working class households often boasted a servant. The behaviour of the characters doesn’t reflect the Edwardian era any more than it does later times, despite references to ‘revealing’ bathing suits and the refusal of the tobacconists to sell cigarettes to ladies.

The crimes are ironically treated. The weakness in more than a few films noir is that a police investigation looks superficial to viewers from later periods and, sometimes, comes across as amateurish even in its contemporary context. Bullets are not compared to the firearms that fired them, injuries are dismissed as accidental when they patently may be homicidal, etc. Here, the problem is the reverse. The intelligent Inspector Huxley (Stanley C Ridges) investigates Cora’s death seemingly on a hunch. A fall down a flight of stairs known to be damaged is questioned, as is the demise of an habitual drunk, whose body is found in a canal. If there is one death that might have been glossed over as accidental, it is that; yet the implication is that an autopsy was performed. The fact is that Marshall seems cornered more by the writers than by the evidence.

Beyond the story, there is a problem with the direction. Siodmak, a masterful director who helped create one of the most famous films noir in The Killers, and helmed other high-quality movies such as The Phantom Lady, The Spiral Staircase and Cry of the City, seemingly can’t do much with The Suspect. There is little suspense, despite the title, though there are good moments, such as when a hidden body may be uncovered. But it’s as if the film’s direction followed the mood of the quiet, suburban setting, and found it rather comforting.

Despite first-rate work by Laughton and others, The Suspect is a very minor entry from all concerned.

 

Rififi (1955)

Directed by Jules Dassin; produced by René Bezard, Henri Bérard, Pierre Cabaud

Tony le Stéphanois (Jean Servais) has just been released from prison, after a five-year term for jewel thievery. He’s reluctant to start any fresh caper, even with his good and trusted allies Jo le Suédois (Carl Möhner) and Mario Ferrati (Robert Manuel). But after a confrontation with his former girlfriend, Mado (Marie Sabouret), who took up with another man the week after Tony’s sentencing, he counts himself in. But the simple smash-and-grab Jo and Mario envisioned isn’t enough: instead of a few gems from a shop-front window, the three associates determine to rob the safe inside. But though they may get away with the jewels, their troubles will only be starting.

Even as a drama, Rififi is an excellent film, with well-defined characters, well-written dialogue, excellent performances and direction that brings it all together. The men and women who populate the movie are realistic, their actions and reactions are realistic. The underworld depicted is not a deep study of the power-politics behind organised crime, but a slice of the lives of a small group of crooks, men and women who live by theft, assault and blackmail. Nonetheless, the four main characters come across as sympathetic, largely due to their loyalty to one another.

Servais is the lynchpin of the cast, as he makes Tony a tired, middle-aged hood, seemingly ready to get out of the life in which he’s always lived, but unable to resist a good caper. This type of character may be common in crime-films, but when it’s done well, it’s always fresh. Jo and Mario are happier men, each with his family life (Jo’s young child is Tony’s godson), and there is interest in seeing criminals (whose activities are, after all, largely part-time work) enjoying the bosom and joys of home. A contrast to this is Tony, whose prison stretch excludes him from such bliss. In each case, the actor creates a convincing portrait.

The dialogue doesn’t delve into the personalities of the characters much; these come out in their actions. Spoken words stick very closely to carrying the plot, except at the beginning, as when we learn that Tony’s five years in jail spared Jo any prison-time. Aside from such introductions, we must glean what we can from what we see done.

The direction by Dassin, who also excellently plays (under the pseudonym Perlo Vita) Cesar the safe-breaker, is top-notch. One would expect no less from the director of Brute Force, Night and the City and The Naked City. Special attention must have been given to the extras involved; their faces and attitudes go a great way to creating atmosphere.

And on the subject of atmosphere, Dassin’s use of locations is well-conceived, showing a slight distortion of the Paris that many might expect: there is the unmistakable architecture, the broad boulevards, the cafés – but mostly in a type of gloom that isn’t just the result of black-and-white photography. It’s no coincidence that many of the scenes are wet with rain, dark with night or dim with clouds. Despite Jo’s glad home-life and Mario’s hilarity, the world these people inhabit is more in keeping with Tony’s frowning and slightly tubercular grimness.

The centre-piece of Rififi is the heist itself. Like many aspects of the movie, it is treated radically different than the novel that inspired the film. The scene runs more than half an hour and is without music or words. Yet it neither drags nor loses interest: half the time the viewer is wondering why the crooks are doing something – we are not privy to their detailed plan, after all – but moments later, we are enlightened. The scene is as instructional as it is entertaining.

Though the heist is what most talk about when discussing Rififi, there is an equally exciting scene at the end, when Tony races to return his godson to his home. What is astonishing about this sequence – also almost without dialogue – is that there is no question how it will end, yet it remains tense until its final seconds.

Rififi is a drama and a caper-film, film noir and character study, fashioned by a master movie-maker and presented by a first-rate cast and crew.

Murder in Reverse? (1945)

Directed by Montgomery Tully; produced by Louis H Jackson

Tom Masterick (William Hartnell) is a contented man, working on the London docks as a stevedore, and living with his wife, Doris (Chili Bouchier), and daughter, Jill. Masterick’s world falls apart when he learns that Doris is having an affair. He attacks the other man, Fred Smith (John Slater), whom Masterick is convinced survives, though the rest of the world believes is killed. Masterick is tried for murder and sentenced to life in prison. Fifteen years later, he is paroled, and determined to prove his innocence.

A well-used plot is the device by which this movie examines the conundrum of a man convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, who can then prove his case. It has been done numerous times and, unfortunately for Murder in Reverse?, usually better, most notably in The Long Memory (1953), reviewed on this blog in February of 2021.

The problem in Murder in Reverse? isn’t the acting, which includes a solid performance from Hartnell (listed as ‘William’ in the opening credits, and ‘Billy’ at the end), most famous in movies for playing British Army sergeants and the like, and in television as the first Dr Who. He does a good job here, convincingly portraying a man in the vigour of healthy middle age as well as a decrepit individual hobbled by years of prison. His interpretation of Masterick is especially good in creating someone who seems reasonable, and only to be asking for justice, but whose obsession foreshadows tragedy.

Providing support is Brefni O’Rourke (credited as Brefni O’Rorke) as a sympathetic newspaper editor and Jimmy Hanley as his carefree reporter; these two have a good rapport and would have made an amusing team in a movie series. Complimenting them is Dinah Sheridan (then married to Hanley) as the editor’s daughter and the reporter’s love-interest. Also of note is Bouchier, whose performance as the pitiful Mrs Masterick fifteen years on is excellent. A young Petula Clark portrays little Jill Masterick.

A major problem, however, is the script, adapted by the director from a novel. There is a credibility gap in the survival of Fred Smith (which is never really in doubt.) When it is learned that Smith lived through the attempt on his life, and is, fifteen years afterward, managing a pub in Gravesend, there is raised the question of why Smith did not come forward to exonerate Masterick. Given that they were enemies, the answer is straightforward. But there is no urgency or indignation displayed by the other characters over the fact that Smith allowed Masterick to suffer. He is simply asked to present himself to the authorities - with little indication that he himself may face jail-time for his silence.

Further, Smith is still living under his own name. In fifteen years, no one considered Smith and said, “Say, aren’t you the bloke who was supposed to have been murdered?…” In a decade and a half, not one person who knew Smith or Masterick or both either learned where Smith was or told the police about it. To own and run a public house requires licenses, regular visits by police, etc., yet no one thought to connect Smith to Masterick. This is especially unbelievable when we know that the Masterick trial was famous, even a cause célèbre, and that his release fifteen years later was well-known. One would have thought that Doris, embittered by being eventually rejected by Smith, would have been the sort to exact revenge on him by contacting the authorities.

It may be a small thing to damage a movie, but since the movie depends on that angle, it looms large. If the story simply had Smith alter his name, credibility would have been restored. As it is, it forces Murder in Reverse? into the category of a film in which one asks, “Well, why didn’t they just…?” And when audience members are much smarter than characters, there is a problem. In addition, when the lawyer who prosecuted Masterick learns that he was innocent and his own efforts ruined a man’s life, there is not even any concern shown by the lawyer for his own career, never mind Masterick’s fate; it becomes for the barrister an academic exercise. Though I understand what the writers were attempting, it comes across as quite unrealistic.

So while Murder in Reverse? benefits from its actors, it suffers from its writers, and fatally so.

Riot in Cell Block 11 (1954)

Directed by Don Siegel; produced by Walter Wanger

The convicts in cell block 11 are the worst in the prison, and the most desperate. In a bid not to escape but to improve conditions, they seize control of the block, inspiring other prisoners to go on the offensive. Guards are captured as hostages, and demands are made. But even within the tense stand-off that follows, each side fights to avoid making matters worse, as the warden (Emile Meyer) defies the prison commissioner (Frank Faylen) and the prisoners’ leader (Neville Brand) tries to suppress more violent rivals.

With its title, and coming from Allied Artists, formerly known as Monogram Pictures, a leading inhabitant of Hollywood’s ‘Poverty Row’, Riot in Cell Block 11 might be expected to be a straightforward exploitation/action flick. But it’s surprisingly, and commendably, more than that.

Firstly, the film has a semi-documentary feel to it. This is helped by a prologue that describes a spate of riots and take-overs of American prisons in the early 1950s. As it turns out, these were real, as were the resultant hearings and the short excerpt of an interview with Richard McGee, the then director of California’s Corrections Department. This prologue leads straight into the plot.

Secondly, though the producers may have wanted bigger names, the lesser known actors contribute to the realism - since there are clearly no Hollywood types here - while their talent is good enough not to diminish the drama. The best known actor is probably Neville Brand, whose resume included many criminal depictions; thus, he fit the type of the hardened, violent convict. While Brand may have been more famous as a heavy, Leo Gordon, playing ‘Crazy’ Mike Carnie was the real thing: a former felon and prison inmate. Meyer looks like a loading dock foreman, yet portrays a soft-spoken but tough warden, and character actors William Schallert and Whit Bissell portray, respectively, a reporter and a very unpopular prison guard.

Thirdly, the setting is realistic. It should be: it was Folsom Prison, made famous by the Johnny Cash song (written the year before the film and released the year after). The institution had been the subject of an earlier movie (Inside the Walls of Folsom Prison (1951)), though in Riot in Cell Block 11, it is not named (though mentioned prominently in the credits.) The operations of a then-modern prison are shown incidentally but in detail.

One of the most striking features of the movie is that it is a social commentary, as well as a suspenseful drama. A note of sympathy with the prisoners, and frustration and even anger with the lack of prison-reform, is struck at the start, and carries through the story. The warden has been trying to change the system for years, and has to cope with manpower shortages and lack of funds. The prisoners are driven not by a desire to escape but to improve their conditions. This viewpoint does not let the prisoners off lightly. They are seen as violent, vengeful, antagonistic; yet even Brand’s character, labelled a psychopath, does his best to keep a lid on the boiling pot, despite his bitterness and harsh nature. His performance makes the ending particularly strong.

A well-written, realistic drama, which gets its purpose across without sacrificing tension or action, Riot in Cell Block 11 is one of cinema’s better prison movies.