They Made Me a Fugitive (1947)

Directed by Cavalcanti; produced by N A Bronsten

Young Clem Morgan (Trevor Howard) just out of both the Royal Air Force and a German prisoner-of-war camp has energy to burn and nothing to set fire to. His chance for excitement comes when he joins a black-market gang, led by the smooth and deceptively comradely Narcy (Griffith Jones). When Morgan rejects the chance to smuggle drugs, Narcy turns on him, and frames him for the death of a policeman. Fifteen years in prison for manslaughter is more than Morgan can stand, and he escapes - but to what end?

A violent and tough British film noir, They Made Me a Fugitive features a good story, equally good performances and a very strong and despicable villain. Though the story is interesting - including an odd character who is as chilling as the principal villain - it is missing one vital element. It is never made clear as to why Morgan escapes from prison. He makes his way back to London - to the man who betrayed him - but it is never explicitly stated what his intentions are.

Aside from this, however, They Made Me a Fugitive is a gripping and entertaining thriller. Howard makes an intriguing lead. I have never found him very sympathetic, even when he is obviously meant to be. Many of his characters seemingly are already wearing chips on their shoulders before they arrive on screen. Despite his aristocratic bearing and refined way of talking, his rôles are often those of someone with a touch of anti-hero. In whatever way that may translate in other films, here it gives the right dash of bitterness to the character.

The other performers do very well, including Jones as a man with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Vida Hope very effectively plays a strange woman Morgan encounters, while Sally Gray is the love-interest. Minor rôles are well filled, and bit parts go to Sebastian Cabot (pre-beard) as the owner of a slummy night-club and Peter Bull as a casual police informant.

The direction is impressive. Shadows and distortions of images are prominent; a startling scene is caused by Narcy’s weird reflection in a mirror - a kind of Dorian Gray moment - and the visit with Mrs Fenshaw is suitably surrealistic. Cavalcanti utilises the limitations of censorship in his era to good effect: a scene in which shotgun pellets must be picked out of Morgan’s shoulder makes one flinch without showing anything but characters’ reactions.

The overall atmosphere of They Made Me a Fugitive is purposefully run-down and shabby, from the gaudy night-club where we first see Morgan, to the funeral parlour out which Narcy runs his operations, to the crumbling hotel where a character hides. Even the the Fenshaws’ home, a comfortable middle-class house, is false and misleading. The settings are perfect for the events and personalities in them.

They Made Me a Fugitive is one of the leading British crime thrillers of the 1940s - and there were a good many to choose from - and can hold its own against any American entry in the genre. Added to this is the bleak atmosphere of post-war austerity and the audaciously unconventional ending, making this picture a must-see for any film noir fan.