Seven (More) Obscure Movies That I Curiously Remember

Karkoff or Karkov?

1. Terror in the Wax Museum (1973) - Listen to this cast: Ray Milland, Elsa Lanchester, Louis Hayward, Broderick Crawford, John Carradine, and Patric Knowles. I know that veteran stars sometimes get stuck in bad movies, but what a shame that this combination of Jack the Ripper and a wax museum setting is...well...lifeless. Did I mention it includes a hunchback billed as Karkov in the credits, but Karkoff on the poster?

2. Little Fugitive (1953) - A six-year-old boy, believing that he has shot and killed his older brother, runs away to Coney Island. This independent feature boasts no major stars, but features an incredibly natural performance from Richard Brewster as little Lennie. This sweet, wholesome film plays like a home movie from the 1950s--you can almost taste the boardwalk hotdogs. It pops up occasionally on television, so it's less obscure than others on this list. I highly recommend it.

3. Outlaw Blues (1977) - Peter Fonda plays a ex-con who writes a catchy country song that's stolen by a famous singer. When he confronts the singer, the latter is accidentally shot and Fonda becomes an outlaw. Outlaw Blues reminds me of one of those entertaining drive-in pics that eventually made Burt Reynolds a star (e.g., W.W. and the Dixie Dancekings). Fonda and Susan Saint James make an appealing pair. The title tune was written by John Oates of Hall & Oates.

Judy as the white Mewsette.

4.  Gay Purr-ee (1962) - Judy Garland and Robert Goulet provide the voice of the feline lovers in this colorful, non-Disney animated musical. The songs were composed by Harold Arlen and E.Y. Harburg, who worked with Judy on another musical you may know (that'd be The Wizard of Oz). The script was written by Dorothy Webster Jones and her husband, celebrated Warner Bros. animator Chuck Jones. According to some sources, Warners terminated Chuck for his involvement since Gay Purr-ee was made by rival studio UPA. Rhino Records re-released the soundtrack in 2003 with several never-before-heard demos.

5. Love That Brute (1950) - Paul Douglas stars a lovable gangster that falls for a charming governess (Jean Peters). He tells her that he is a widower with a son--which means he has to find a son! I'm a fan of comedies in which a simple lie (is there such a thing?) cascades into an elaborate deception that's certain to come crumbling down. Given the popularity of Peters and Douglas, you'd think this would be shown much more often than it is. It's supposed to be a remake of Tall, Dark and Handsome (1940), which I have not seen.

That's Dr. Lauren Bacall!

6. Shock Treatment (1964) - A writer (Stuart Whitman) goes undercover in an insane asylum to discover the whereabouts of $1 million in stolen loot. If this sounds like a bad idea, you're right. Whitman heads a fine cast consisting of Lauren Bacall, Carol Lynley, and Roddy McDowall. It's a lurid tale at times, but better than Samuel Fuller's more celebrated Shock Corridor.

7. Beyond a Reasonable Doubt (1956). Director Fritz Lang's last U.S. film (and one of the last of his career) stars Dana Andrews as a novelist who frames himself in order to make a statement on capital punishment. Neither Lang nor Andrews are in top form here, but Beyond a Reasonable Doubt is an absorbing "B" picture with a twist that genuinely surprised me when I saw it as a teenager.

The Five Best Fritz Lang Films

In listing director Fritz Lang's best films, I struggled with whether to consider his entire career or differentiate between his work in German and American cinema. He was probably the most successful European (non-British) filmmaker to relocate to Hollywood during World War II. In the end, I opted to consider his full filmography--but solely because I didn't want to set a precedent.

Lorre as the killer.

1. M (1931) - A visual and thematic masterpiece, M tells the story of a child murderer sought by both the police and the underworld. Like Hitchcock, Lang cherished multi-layered villains and M doesn't disappoint on that level. Peter Lorre, in a star-making performance, creates a quiet, unassuming, genuinely disturbing killer. Equally interesting are the city's other criminals, who revile Lorre's killer as much as the public; they may commit horrible crimes, but they do not murder children. M also features one of the most chilling murder scenes in cinema history--although Lang shows nothing but a rolling ball that the victim had been playing with--leaving the rest to the viewer's imagination. 

2. Metropolis (1927) - A film that virtually defined science fiction cinema, Metropolis continues to thrill audiences today with its fabulous sets. However, its reputation rests equally on Lang's fully-realized vision of a future ruled by a privileged class. Thea Von Harbou, Lang's then-wife and frequent collaborator deserves some of the credit, too. In his Movie Home Companion, Roger Ebert called Metropolis "one of the great achievements of the silent era, a work so audacious in its vision and so angry in its message that it is, if anything, more powerful today than when it was made."

Marlene Dietrich, Mel Ferrer, and
Arthur Kennedy.

3. Rancho Notorious (1952) - This complex tale of “hate, murder, and revenge” played a key role in the development of the “adult Western” in the 1950s. Like many of Lang's films, Rancho Notorious depicts an honest man who, through the intervention of events beyond his control, becomes morally ambiguous. In his quest for vengeance, Vern (Arthur Kennedy) helps an outlaw escape justice, participates in a bank robbery, and shows a willingness to kill in cold blood. In some Lang films, his protagonists suffer retribution or somehow reestablish their faith in humanity. In Fury (1936) and The Big Heat (1953), the vengeance-minded characters played by Spencer Tracy and Glenn Ford pull back from the brink of a meaningless world. However, Lang wasn't afraid to portray what happens when good men lose their moral compass, as in Scarlet Street and Rancho Notorious.

4. Ministry of Fear (1944) - I'm sure I'll take some heat for including this highly-entertaining film over more celebrated Lang film noirs such as The Big Heat (1953) and Human Desire (1954). However, Ministry of Fear is a tense, atmospheric espionage tale loosely adapted from a Graham Greene novel. There are several brilliant scenes: Ray Milland winning the cake at the village fair; the "blind" man on the train; the bomb in the suitcase; and the rooftop shoot-out. However, the film's strongest element is how Lang conveys the uncertainly and fear felt by Milland's protagonist, who has just been released from an asylum. I've often thought Ministry of Fear would make a fascinating double-feature with Hitchcock's Spellbound, which was released the following year.

Robinson--his face says it all.

5. Scarlet Street (1944) - Its lapse in the public domain has probably made Scarlet Street the most viewed Fritz Lang film--and thats a good thing. In a career filled with fine performances, Edward G. Robinson gives perhaps his best one as Chris Cross, a lonely, meek cashier that falls prey to a femme fatale (Joan Bennett) and her scuzzy boyfriend. They lead him down a dark road filled with deception, larceny, and ultimately murder. However, despite the enforcement of the Motion Picture Production Code, Chris gets away with murder (but only in a Fritz Lang kind of way). Though it's a textbook film noir, there are elements of dark comedy in Scarlet Street (e.g., Chris achieves artistic fame only when Kitty takes credit for his paintings). It's a complex film that work on several levels and improves with multiple viewings.

Honorable Mentions:  Dr. Mabuse, the Gambler (the first of Lang's supervillain series); Spies (think of it as a silent 007 film); the mythic Die Nibelungen (both parts); Fury (the word is "memento"); and Hangmen Also Die! (in which one of the villains squeezes a pimple--a scene not easily forgotten).

3 on 3: Film Noir

Each week this month, the Cafe will present a "3 on 3 panel" in which three experts will answer three questions on a single classic film topic. This week, the Cafe poses three questions on film noir to: Gary Cahall from MovieFanFare!; Dorian from the blog Tales of the Easily Distracted; and Sheri Chinen Biesen, author of Blackout: World War II and the Origins of Film Noir.

1. What is your definition of a film noir and what film do you consider the prototype--the one that best exemplifies the genre?

Stanwyck and MacMurray in
Double Indemnity.

Gary: Film Noir is the accidental love child of German silent expressionist cinema and Warner Bros.’ 1930s crime dramas, raised in an atmosphere of World War II heroism and Cold War paranoia. Along with the requisite shadowy streets (big city or small town) and shadowy deeds (premeditated or accidental), a successful noir picture often has a protagonist who is walking the fine line between good and evil, and who--if it’s a male--is just as likely to kill or be killed by the female lead as he is to kiss her at the movie’s close. And no matter how many characters are in the film, the one constant presence is Fate.

I know it’s not the most daring of choices, but to me the picture that best captures these elements is director Billy Wilder’s 1944 thriller Double Indemnity, starring Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, and Edward G. Robinson. A seemingly smart guy in over his head, a seductive and amoral temptress, and a “fool-proof” murder plot that’s not as simple as it appears...all with whip-smart dialogue from Wilder and co-scripter Raymond Chandler, of Philip Marlowe fame.

Dorian: I’d define a film noir as a story in which the bleakest aspects of humanity keep trying to get the upper hand, and the protagonist(s) keep trying to thwart those aspects against all odds. Those “bleakest aspects” can range from one character’s problem to an overall tough situation affecting many characters.

Peter Lorre in Stranger on
the Third Floor.

Sheri: The antihero in Stranger on the Third Floor complains, “What a gloomy dump. Why don't they put in a bigger lamp?” Paul Schrader defines noir as “Hollywood films of the 1940s and early 1950s that portrayed the world of dark, slick city streets, crime and corruption.” Film noir is a series of atmospheric black-and-white wartime-postwar Hollywood crime films known for shadowy style, doomed antiheroes, lethal femme fatales and cynical hardboiled worldview. Literally, “black film” or “dark cinema,” film noir was coined in 1946 by French critics discovering dark wartime Hollywood films they were seeing for the first time. This dark film trend was recognized in the U.S. In my book Blackout: World War II and the Origins of Film Noir, I explain how wartime Hollywood blackouts and censorship influenced film noir. Double Indemnity is an exemplar of noir style.


2. If you had to single out one director that influenced film noir than any other, who would it be?

Gary: Austrian-born Fritz Lang, who presaged the noir style with such films as M and the Dr. Mabuse movies in Europe before fleeing to America when Hitler came to power. His first Hollywood project, the 1936 lynch mob drama Fury with Spencer Tracy, contained a number of noir sensibilities, as did his 1941 “let’s kill Hitler” thriller Man Hunt. Within the noir demimonde itself, Lang’s resume includes The Woman in the Window, Scarlet Street, The Big Heat, and a picture that’s my answer to question #3.

MacMurray and Robinson in
Wilder's classic film noir.

Dorian: Of all the talented directors who’ve influenced film noir, I’d single out Billy Wilder because of his gleefully jaundiced view of humanity. Even Wilder’s comedies have a strong undercurrent of cynicism, so it’s only natural that his dramas and suspense films would fit so well in the noir universe, including Sunset Boulevard (1950), Ace in the Hole (1951), and of course, my personal favorite, Double Indemnity (1944).

Sheri: So many fine noir directors. Tough choice. . . .While Fritz Lang is very important, as is Robert Siodmak, one of the most influential noir auteurs was émigré writer-director Billy Wilder (Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, Lost Weekend, Ace in the Hole).


3. What is your favorite underrated film noir, the one film that doesn't get the attention it should?

Gary: While the City Sleeps, a later (1956) genre entry that’s part “psycho killer” suspenser and part hard-boiled newspaper drama. A serial murderer dubbed “The Lipstick Killer” is preying on women in New York City, and Vincent Price, the ne’er-do-well son of a deceased media mogul, offers a promotion to whoever among his top newsmen can break the story and bring the maniac to justice. The suspense comes not so much from trying to guess the murderer’s identity (we see him “in action” before the opening credits), but from watching how far reporter Dana Andrews, photo editor James Craig, city editor Thomas Mitchell, and wire service head George Sanders will go—from office politicking and backstabbing to using their wives/girlfriends (Rhonda Fleming and Ida Lupino, among others) as “bait”—to win Price’s contest. Oh, and Lang clearly shows that one of the things driving the “mama’s boy” madman into his flights of homicidal rage is EC horror comics.

Dorian: I’ve always felt that Henry Hathaway’s The Dark Corner (1946) was an underrated noir. It covers so many classic tropes that it’s almost like “Film Noir’s Greatest Hits,” in a good way! One of the things I like most about it was Lucille Ball’s character Kathleen. She’s warm, loving, and practical, yet also strong and able to think on her feet and help save the day when hero Mark Stevens is up against it.

Elisha Cook, Jr. in Phantom Lady.

Sheri: Many underrated noir films. . . . Double Indemnity is more influential than many realize in spurring the film noir trend recognized in the U.S. film industry during the war. More modest early underrated noir include Stranger on the Third Floor and Phantom Lady (which needs to be released on DVD and Blu-Ray). Lang's Ministry of Fear is underrated with beautiful noir style shot during wartime blackouts just before Siodmak filmed Phantom Lady and Wilder shot Double Indemnity. Dead Reckoning, Out of the Past, Act of Violence and Tension are also great.

Man vs. Machine in Fritz Lang's "Metropolis"

The Metropolis is a huge, expansive city with skyscrapers and elevated railways. This is where the rich live lavishly and play in beautiful gardens, carefree and content. Well below where the wealthy reside is the “workers’ city,” where laborers work long, hard hours to maintain the city above them. Fredersen (Alfred Abel), “Master of Metropolis,” runs the city with cold determination. His son, Freder (Gustav Fröhlich), enjoys his buoyant lifestyle, but one day, he follows a young woman to where the workers work underground. Horrified by an accident which leaves a number of laborers deceased, Freder hurriedly tells his father what he has witnessed. Fredersen, however, is upset that he’s been informed of the incident by his son (in lieu of an employee) and is more concerned with “plans” that a foreman discovered on two of the dead workers. The papers found are actually maps to a place in the city’s catacombs, where workers congregate to listen to Maria (Brigitte Helm), the woman with whom Freder has become obsessed.

Meanwhile, Freder returns to the workers’ city and swaps places with one of the laborers. As Maria tells the workers that a “Mediator” will essentially be the savior and establish balance between the planners and the laborers, Freder believes that he is to be the Mediator. Fredersen convinces inventor/scientist Rotwang (Rudolf Klein-Rogge) to make his Maschinenmensch (“machine-man”) in the likeness of Maria, to instill doubt among the workers’ faith in the woman. Rotwang, however, has a sinister purpose, as he and Fredersen were once in love with the same woman, who married Fredersen and died giving birth to Freder. Rotwang sends the Maria-machine to spark a revolution among the laborers, hoping to destroy Metropolis and murder Fredersen’s son.

One of the most significant qualities of Fritz Lang’s 1927 silent film, Metropolis, is a bleak view of capitalism. It is doubtless from the beginning that the extravagant metropolis could not exist without the work of the men below. These are not men who go into work each day, heads held high. In fact, they literally hang their heads and hide their faces, a slow march to and from work. The movie opens with a shift change, and the audience follows the men unto what looks to be a freight elevator and leisurely descends into the depths of the city. The workers appear to be on their way to prison, which, in many respects, they are. After one of Fredersen’s men is fired, Freder rushes to the man’s side and stops him from putting a bullet into his head. Such an act implies that, without employment, however burdensome, death is the only viable option.

A common fear that is frequently expressed in sci-fi films (e.g., James Cameron’s Terminator series) is a general uneasiness of machines taking over the world. Metropolis makes such a somber concept even darker with a man who intentionally creates a machine to destroy his own kind. And in the end, potential destruction is not at the hands of the machines, but the hands of the men, as the Maschinenmensch is instructed to coerce the workers into destroying themselves. This coincides with an image Freder has following the accident, one of Moloch, a machine to which the laborers are sacrificed. It’s a frightening idea not just because of the implication of men working to their deaths, but, in Freder’s vision, the men willingly walk up the steps into the mouth of Moloch.

There are men vs. machine comparisons throughout Metropolis. In addition to the Maria and Maschinenmensch duality, the men, in the process of labor, are staged and choreographed to look like machines. Their movements are sharp and precise and, most notably, monotonous, to the point where, if watched long enough, the men will truly resemble machinery. This goes back to an appraisal of capitalism, in that the political ideal is not a construction of equality, but a hierarchy, with the wealthy high in the sky and the laborers nothing more than cogs in the machinery.

Klein-Rogge is the titular doctor of Lang’s Dr. Mabuse films (1922 and 1933), the first film which also featured his Metropolis co-star, Abel. Although she is completely unrecognizable, actress Helm was actually playing the part of the Maschinenmensch. There are various prints of Metropolis with multiple running times. This is partly due to some of the footage reportedly being lost after its premiere in Germany, but also from the speed of the frame rate (or frames per second), long a source of debate among film historians and enthusiasts.

Metropolis is a much loved sci-fi classic, and deservedly so. When the film was released in 1927, the year of the movie’s setting, 2026, was nearly a century away. Now, in 2010, we are much closer to the time of Metropolis, and the film’s impact has not diminished in the slightest. It’s an expression of societal classes that can be applied to what is happening in the present, as well as a fear that may still lurk in our hearts today.

Clash by Night (1952) - Noir or Noir-ish

There is an ongoing debate regarding the status of Clash by Night as a true representative of the film noir genre. It does not have a crime at its core; however there is the lingering threat of an explosion of violence from one or more of the characters. It is effectively filmed in black and white by noir veteran cinematographer Nicholas Mucurasa, and directed by the legendary Fritz Lang, who took three superb actors and drew from them performances crackling with frustration, self-loathing, disappointment, desperation, the aching need for and the paralyzing fear of love. The film is based on a play by Clifford Odets, which appeared on Broadway in 1941.






This story centers around the character of Mae Doyle (Barbara Stanwyck), who has come home to the small fishing village of Monterey California after years on the East Coast where she was involved with a married politician until his death. He provided for her in his will, but it was successfully contested by his family and she returns reluctantly to what essentially is the only place she can go. She is not exactly welcomed with open arms by her fisherman brother (Keith Andes), but is warmly accepted by his girlfriend Peggy (Marilyn Monroe). Mae has escaped the asphyxiating and restrictive bonds of her hometown, seeking a more independent and perhaps unacceptable existence where she could follow her own instincts and desires. Happiness is not part of her vocabulary, but confidence is a major factor in her search for security. She needs a man who will give her confidence in herself and love does not necessarily play a part in this equation.

Still beautiful and alluring, Mae is courted by the simple, kind, goodhearted fisherman, Jerry who has fallen in love with her. He wants to marry her, although she warns him off, telling him that she will be no good for him and will ultimately hurt him. But Jerry is persistent and Mae starts to imagine that she could change, that domestic life would not be the locked cage that she imagines it to be. At the same time she's introduced to Jerry's best friend Earl, a drunken, woman hating, sexually charged and potentially violent man who works as a projectionist in the local theater. When they meet, the chemistry starts percolating immediately. Jerry is totally oblivious to this attraction between Mae and his best friend and he continues to have Earl in his life not knowing how combustible the situation is. Mae realizes she's made a mistake almost from the beginning and that Jerry's bearlike physical appearance of strength does not guarantee that he will be the one to keep her safe and inspire her with confidence. Mae has a child with Jerry, but this does not solidify the relationship and she is once again beset by a sense of imprisonment in the domestic life she has chosen with Jerry. It is almost painful to watch Mae conforming to the domestic duties of a housewife, hanging sheets. washing blouses, even her interaction with her child. Clearly she is not ready for this way of life.

Ultimately there is an eruption of violent passion between Mae and Earl. The intensity of their kisses seems almost brutal in their need to satisfy the raging sensual hunger that consumes them both, most particularly when Mae places her hand beneath Earl's undershirt, flesh against flesh, in an attempt to intensify the electric current coursing through them. Earl begs Mae to run off with him, declaring that he can't live without her and vowing to become whatever she wants him to be in order to please her; however, these entreaties have a sinister undertone of power and control not associated with the love that he professes. Jerry still pathetically unaware of the betrayal going on around him is finally enlightened by the innuendos of his uncle Vince, a man who bears a grudge against Mae. in a manner eerily reminiscent of Iago's deadly whispers to Othello about Desdemona. Jerry confronts the couple and Mae admits that she is going away with Earl. Jerry is profoundly disgusted by their actions, referring to them as animals who should be kept in cages away from human beings. Emotionally devastated, he storms out of the room. Vince continues his vitriolic rantings about Mae to a drunken and vulnerable Jerry, whose gentle demeanor is ruptured by an uncontrollable rage that leads him to nearly strangle Earl, in another reference to Othello.

When Mae returns to her home she finds her baby girl missing from her crib and realizes that Jerry has taken her. The shock of this situation forces Mae to acknowledge that the intensity of her relationship with Earl would burn out quickly and she opts for a safe life with Jerry. She seeks him out in an attempt to gain his forgiveness and redeem herself in his eyes. In spite of all the pain Mae has inflicted on him, Jerry is willing to take her back and thus offers her the redemption she seeks.

Barbara Stanwyck gives one of her finest performances as Mae, delivering lines in the natural and unadulterated fashion that made her one of the great screen actresses. Odets' dialogue becomes on-target, rapid machine-gun fire in the hands of this most talented actress. Robert Ryan, one of our great underrated film actors, perfectly embodies the brutal code of life by which Earl lives. As Jerry, Paul Douglas, an experienced stage actor, is a revelation capturing all aspects of Jerry's emotional roller coaster, from naive and trusting soul to a murderous husband scorned. Director Fritz Lang utilized the elements of film noir in his dazzling camerawork and lighting and guides his actors to believably natural performances, never removing them from the realities of the emotional anguish that permeates their everday lives.

Defining this film as genuine or faux noir does not diminish my reaction to its honest portrayal of complex characters trying to find a way to defeat the various demons that possess them and still manage to emerge from that battle with enough strength and hope to continue the search for that elusive defense tactic that will finally give them peace.

Forget the noir debate and see one of the finest films of the fifties, compelling, brilliantly directed and photographed, with superb unflinching performances which lay bare the self-inflicted wounds of failed attempts to live life according to one's own rules, no matter whose "throat is cut" during the process.

Fritz and Marlene Play Chuck-a-Luck in "Rancho Notorious"

Fritz Lang's complex tale of “hate, murder, and revenge” played a key role in the development of the “adult Western” in the 1950s. Films such as Rancho Notorious, Anthony Mann's The Naked Spur (1953) and Nicholas Ray's Johnny Guitar (1954) featured brooding, driven characters who struggled to maintain their morality in a violent world. They presented quite a contrast to John's Ford's dignified Western heroes, as embodied by John Wayne (She Wore a Yellow Ribbon) and others.

The “hero” of Rancho Notorious is Vern Haskell (Arthur Kennedy), a lovesick cowpoke only eight days away from marrying Beth (Gloria Henry). The couple's idyllic dreams are destroyed when an outlaw named Kinch (Lloyd Gough) rapes and kills Beth. Obsessed with revenge, Vern devotes his life to finding Beth's killer. His only clue, obtained from the dying lips of Kinch's partner, is the name of the killer's destination: Chuck-a-Luck.

In the ensuing months, Vern learns that Chuck-a-Luck has something to do with Altar Keane (Marlene Dietrich), a once popular dancehall queen. He also discovers that Altar's alleged lover, famed outlaw Frenchy Fairmont (Mel Ferrer), was captured while trying to purchase a bottle of perfume. Vern gets himself thrown into jail with Frenchy and then, through good luck and his sharp wits, helps Frenchy escape. The grateful Frenchy takes Vern to Chuck-a-Luck, a ranch hideout for outlaws operated by Altar Keane. It is here that Verne hopes to find and execute Beth’s killer.

Lang's original title for the film was Chuck-a-Luck, but RKO executive Howard Hughes changed it because he thought European audiences would not understand the title (Lang's alleged response: “But they would know what Rancho Notorious is?”). While Hughes' title certainly has more flair, Lang's Chuck-a-Luck is more appropriate. Chuck-a-Luck is not only the name of Altar's ranch, but it's also a game of chance that's integral to the film's plot. When Altar and Frenchy first meet, she is playing her last $20 piece on a rigged Chuck-a-Luck wheel (which can best be described as vertical roulette). Frenchy pushes the crooked Chuck-a-Luck dealer aside and spins the wheel himself, ensuring that Altar wins big.

Some film critics go so far as to suggest that Lang structured the film like a Chuck-a-Luck wheel. Vern's search for Altar’s ranch, shown through several montage sequences, represents the spinning of the Chuck-a-Luck wheel. The montage stops—just as the wheel does—whenever Lang wants to show an important event, such as the barber shop fight where Vern learns about Altar Keane or the flashback where Frenchy meets Altar for the first time.

Like many of Lang's films, Rancho Notorious depicts an honest man who, through the intervention of events beyond his control, becomes morally ambiguous. In his quest for vengeance, Vern helps an outlaw escape justice, participates in a bank robbery, and shows a willingness to kill in cold blood. In some Lang films, his protagonists suffer retributions or somehow reestablish their faith in humanity: In Fury (1936) and The Big Heat (1953), the vengeance-minded characters played by Spencer Tracy and Glenn Ford pull back from the brink of a meaningless world. However, like Vern in Rancho Notorious, it's too late for other Lang characters like Henry Fonda's petty criminal in You Only Live Once (1937) and Edward G. Robinson's henpecked husband-turned-murderer in Scarlet Street (1945).

Rancho Notorious has never achieved the classic status of Lang's most revered works, such as Metropolis (1926), M (1931), and the Dr. Mabuse movies. However, in the late 1960s, when film writers began to view Lang as an auteur, they elevated it to the status of an essential work in Lang's legacy. And, though rarely rated as a must-see Western (the stagy sets don’t help), Rancho Notorious remains a favorite among genre fans due to its influence on other dark 1950s Western dramas such as The Hanging Tree. Even the funky “Legend of Chuck-a-Luck” ballad begins to grow on you after a few viewings.

A Month of Mysteries: The Police and the Underworld Seek the Same Killer in Fritz Lang's M (1931)

This Cafe Special was written by Kim Wilson.

The original title of this classic 1931 German film was Murderers Among Us. Though Hitler had not come to power yet, his little friends, the Nazis, had achieved great success in recent Reichstag elections. So, when they saw this title they naturally assumed it was about them--you would think this admission would have had a bigger effect on the German population. Anyway, they tried to derail director Fritz Lang’s production, via, not surprisingly, death threats. Though they weren’t right about many things, the Nazis and their reliance on mob mentality were essentially a key underlying theme. In the end, the name was simply changed to M. Two years later, with the Austrian madman fully in charge, Lang thought it best if he leave Germany. Unlike the Nazis, he was right.

Based on the real-life case of the Monster of Dusseldorf, Peter Kurten, this German Expressionistic film about the hunt for a child killer is Fritz Lang’s greatest talking picture. Not only was it provocative storytelling at its best, it was also one of the biggest influences on the development of film noir. Darkness, both internal and external, is at the core of this picture.

Peter Lorre plays Hans Beckert, a pathologically-driven serial killer of children. In the beginning of the film we learn that 8 children have been murdered over the past year. We see a blind man (Georg John) selling balloons and a little girl, Elsie Beckmann, taking the hand of a whistling man who buys her a balloon. A ball, the simple toy of a child, rolls down a hill and comes to a rest—and so has little Elsie. The murder takes place off-screen, but Lang uses Elsie’s balloon to show us all we need to see: now separated from her empty hand it ends up ensnared in telephone wires.

With angry parents demanding justice, the police begin to feel threatened and turn their investigation toward the seedier side of town: the criminal underworld. Seeing their activities strongly scrutinized by the police, the criminals, led by Shranker (Gustaf Grundgens), must now join in the search for the killer to ensure their own survival. Lang uses intercut scenes to show how both police and criminals plot strategies to get the killer—in essence saying there is no difference between the two groups. They decide to place those least likely to be noticed to set up surveillance: beggars. Again, Lang is making a social comment, especially when you consider what was going on in Germany at this time.

When the balloon seller hears a man whistling Edvard Grieg’s “Hall of the Mountain King” he remembers that a man was whistling the same tune the day of Elsie Beckmann’s murder. He tips off a nearby beggar, who follows Beckert leading a girl into a candy store. After When Beckert throws an orange peel on the sidewalk the beggar pretends to slip on it. Catching Beckert as he slips, he places a “M” on Beckert's shoulder, via his chalked palm. Beckert is now, literally, a marked man. In addition to this, the police have now tracked a postcard sent to the newspaper by the killer to Beckert’s apartment. When they search his room they find clues that link him to the crimes: Ariston cigarettes and a red pencil.

When the little girl he’s about to kill notices the “M” on his back and offers to wipe it off Beckert realizes he’s caught and runs into an office building. Schränker sends his men to search the building. Not knowing what is happening, a night watchman sounds the alarm. Just before the police arrive, the criminals find Beckert and leave the building—all except Franz (Friendrich Gnass), who now becomes the suspect. To save his own skin, Franz tells the police his friends have taken Beckert to an abandoned distillery to stand trial.

At his trial, Beckert attempts to explain that he can’t be held accountable for his actions because he does them unwillingly. It is an evil inside him that compels him to kill. He utters the classic line, “Who knows what it feels like to be me?" I find it especially interesting that his judges, the criminals, are wearing long leather coats instead of robes—another nod to the Nazi’s? Yet, before the criminals can inflict their brand of justice, the police arrive and take Beckert away. At his “real” trial, crying mothers await the verdict of the killer of their children and one says, “One has to keep closer watch over the children. All of you." No wiser words were ever uttered in Germany in the 1930s!

There are very few German films of the 1930s (with good reason) that capture the sense of doom that looms during this period. Lang uses lighting, specifically chiaroscuro, and high-angle shots to emphasize the evil that looms above. It is a menace that can’t be seen, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist. It is foreshadowing (literally) at its best.

It is apt that Lang would use Edvard Grieg’s “Hall of the Mountain King” from Peer Gynt to identify Beckert to his victims and the viewers. As this opera is all about identity crisis. I suppose Lang took great pride in the fact that he himself was the actual whistler of this tune, since Lorre couldn’t do it himself.

Finally, the choice of Peter Lorre, with his bulging, sad eyes and strange ability to make sympathetic (and creepy) grimaces, was a wonderful choice for Beckert. This role elevated his career, but also typecast him as the villain for years to come. He, like Lang, had to flee Germany and the Nazis.

A must-see on many levels: cinematic, societal, and historical.


Be sure to check out Kim's new blog 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die.