The Tattooed Stranger (1949)

Directed by Edward Montagne; produced by Jay Bonafield

The discovery of a woman’s corpse in a New York park begins a police inquiry that leads investigators Corrigan and Tobin (Walter Kinsella, John Miles) into the mean streets and crumbling buildings of the city’s slums. They must discover not only who killed the woman and why, but who she is. All they seem to have to go on is a tattoo on the victim’s wrist.

The Tattooed Stranger is an interesting movie with a glaring flaw that, while puzzling, nonetheless doesn’t eliminate the entertainment value of the film. That flaw is the terrible continuity in the movie. To be more accurate, the terrible discontinuity. Aside from the visual faults - when the detectives enter a diner a man is seen eating a meal; when they leave, though no one else had arrived or departed, it is clearly a different man, eating ice cream - the writing ignores itself.

The victim is supposedly shot in the face with a shotgun. One policeman says grimly, “Shotgun? It looks more like a bazooka!” Yet a photograph of the dead woman, obviously taken at the morgue, shows her face completely undamaged. The photo cannot have been an editing problem, since it is used repeatedly to question witnesses about the woman’s identity. There is also the fact that the victim’s tattoo is mentioned by Corrigan before he and Tobin are told that she had one.

If one skips over the intimation at the beginning that the cause of death also disfigured the victim, the rest of the screenplay makes more sense. But even so, how can The Tattooed Stranger be recommended? The setting, direction and supporting players make this movie worth watching.

The movie makes excellent use of real-life New York of the day. It is shot on-location. In many movies, even as late as the 1950s, the slummy districts of a city would be artificial constructs on a sound-stage. Here, we see parts of Brooklyn and the Bronx that probably disappeared in urban renewal within a decade of The Tattooed Stranger’s release. Corrigan and Tobin visit clapboard terrace-houses and chase villains through hard-scrabble back gardens that I’ve not seen in movies previously. The tattoo-parlours of The Bowery are featured prominently.

Secondly, though the principal actors are adequate, it is the supporting players, the witnesses, the business-owners, who add to the authenticity suggested by the locations. Tattoo-shop managers, diner-owners, passers-by, all have the feel of people who lived in the ramshackle districts the police visit; it’s as if the casting director saw an interesting face in the crowd and offered $10 for a few lines. Yet these realistic bit-players are credible actors.

Added to this is the detail of the investigation. The writing, for all its mistakes, does a good job of combining the two elements of modern detective work: science and leg-work. Hours of telephoning restaurants and employment agencies, and miles of streets walked interviewing people are shown beside analyses of unusual grasses and studies of types of stone.

Lead actor John Miles made no more movies after The Tattooed Stranger. He had appeared in nineteen films in the previous six years, mostly in small, uncredited bit-parts. Ironically, his first starring role was in his last film. Why he quit movie-acting at only 27, and if he continued his profession elsewhere, i have not been able to discover. Jack Lord has a small part as a crime-analysis detective.

While The Tattooed Stranger has an inexplicable problem with its script, it does not prove fatal to the enjoyment of the film which, aside from being a pretty good police procedural, will also be of interest to film buffs and social historians. If you like all three elements, as I do, then this is a must-see movie.

Locke (2013)

Directed by Steven Knight; produced by Paul Webster, Guy Heeley

Ivan Locke (Tom Hardy) is driving from Birmingham to London, abandoning the preparations he is meant to oversee for the biggest non-military, non-nuclear concrete pour in European history, so that he can be present at the birth of his child. The child’s mother, however, Bethan, is not Locke’s wife, but a relative stranger with whom Locke had a one-night stand. Nonetheless, Locke is determined not to desert the child, as his hated late father did to him. Though it may cost him his job, his marriage and everything he values, he wants to do the right thing by his new child.

An intriguing and risky premise that pays off due in large part to the bravura performance of Hardy, Locke is filmed almost entirely in the character’s car. Except for a few faceless extras at the beginning, he is the only person shown through the movie’s 85 minutes, the other characters being those on the other end of some of the three dozen telephone calls of which Locke is a part. The rest of the credit goes to the writer/director.

One would not think that much drama could come from telephone discussions but, when one thinks of it, most drama in life appears to stem from what people say, or don’t say. There are no explosions, shoot-outs, or car chases in most people’s lives, yet they are often filled with drama, nonetheless, whether they want it or not. This is the sort of tension that is created in Locke.

Suspense is made by the unfolding situations, and by Locke’s reactions to them. He is both cause and effect. More than a construction foreman, his passion is concrete, and such is his dedication to his job that he continues to supervise the preparations for the pour remotely, arguing with and cajoling his deputy - who is clearly out of his depth - into doing what is necessary, even though he, Locke, has already been fired by his boss, with whom he also maintains reluctant contact through the drive. In the meantime, he has to tell his wife, Katrina, why he is not coming home to watch a football game with his two sons. Lastly, and most importantly, he is in continual touch with Bethan, the woman who is having his child.

There is also great interest created by Hardy’s interpretation of Locke. Nothing is explained all at once. We find out about Locke as the evening progresses. He turns out to be a dedicated man, dedicated to everything in his life, yet willing to sacrifice much so that he will not repeat the mistakes of his father - whom he imagines in the car with him from time to time. Several characters tell Locke that he is not himself, that he’s behaving strangely; yet we begin to see that he is, in fact, behaving perfectly in character; he’s just not had such a demand made on him before. He is also an uncompromising man in some ways, yet also sensitive, someone who knows the tragedy of what he is doing.

There are some aspects that viewers may find a bit contrived. For instance, would a man confess to infidelity to his wife over the telephone? Yet, because of who and what we find Locke to be, we can believe it of him, such is his need to be truthful on this night. Another example of the latter is his insistence while talking to Bethan’s doctor that he, Locke, is the father of the baby, and not Bethan’s partner. And it must be remembered that all events are happening because of what Locke has done, so, though some elements may be contrived, they were deliberately set in motion by the character himself.

The contributions of the voice-actors (most of whom are ‘face-actors’ in their careers) should not be under-estimated. They include Ruth Wilson, Olivia Colman and Tom Holland, and have a difficult job, as all of their actions, reactions and emotions are related by sound. Hardy is aided by his expressions, both facial and bodily.

For the viewer who finds his drama in the human condition, Locke is a rewarding hour and a half, and a film - unlike most - that benefits greatly from being seen on the small screen.

The House Across the Lake (a.k.a. Heat Wave; 1954)

Directed by Ken Hughes; produced by Anthony Hinds

Mark Kendrick (Alex Nicol) is a successful author whose success has run out. Stuck in a bungalow on Lake Windermere, trying and failing to write a novel that has already been promised to a publisher, Kendrick is invited to a party hosted by Carol Forrest (Hillary Brooke) at her house on the other side of the lake. Kendrick quickly falls victim to Carol’s charms, despite becoming friends with her husband, Beverly (Sydney James). But Carol has plans that don’t involve Beverly, and Kendrick isn’t sure they involve him, either.

A lukewarm illicit-romance blends with an equally lukewarm crime story to make The House Across the Lake merely mediocre. Some reviews have stated that the film wants to be Double Indemnity, or The Postman Always Rings Twice. While I don’t believe it was trying to be even reminiscent of those better movies, The House Across the Lake nonetheless offers nothing new to the genre.

One of the problems is that Carol is meant to be the sort of woman who captures a man immediately and absolutely. The implication is made that obsession with her is a popular pastime among men. While obsession, like love or hate or any emotion, is subjective, and thus one person cannot always understands what drives another, movies put themselves in difficult positions with such premises. The audience needs to feel or see something of what motivates the subject of the obsession. It has to be credible.

Partly, it’s the writing’s fault. Nothing Carol does is particularly attractive, and much of what she does is repulsive. There is a scene in which Kendrick, narrating the story in flashback, states that he eventually saw a side of the woman at which he had not guessed. The viewer sees a little of it, but there is nothing there that would appeal to anyone. On the other hand, Hillary Brooke does not have the presence or talent to bring such appeal to the screen. She is adequately attractive physically, but not unique. There is no indefinable element that other actresses have given similar roles.

Nicol, for his part, plays Kendrick rather blandly. His personality is the sort that is useful, rather than exciting, and the movie does not adequately convey his writing talent or former success. He comes across as an advertising executive or a chummy salesman, rather than a writer. In fact, making Kendrick a writer with writer’s block is almost pointless. It would have been better, I think, to have allowed his relationship with Carol to impel him to better, more passionate writing, and thus provide a psychological reason why he could not stop seeing her.

The other actors are good, though James may be considered slightly miscast. His working class speech doesn’t fit with the upper class name his character bears. (Beverly, like Vivian and Evelyn, were originally men’s names, given as tributes to people with those surnames, which in turn ultimately derive from places.)  Alan Wheatley, an accomplished stage and radio actor, and who would become reasonably famous as the sheriff of Nottingham in tv’s The Adventures of Robin Hood the year following The House Across the Lake, does very well as a detective inspector.

The location filming helps a little, but isn’t used enough. There is no particular reason why the movie needed to be set in the Lake District. The direction is good but Hughes would do better. In short, The House Across the Lake is ordinary fare that doesn’t offer what many similar but superior movies do.