Noirvember, 2019: Kiss Me Deadly (1955)

Wrapping up Noirvember with what just might be the best of all Noirs?  Or, at least my favorite (of all the ones that I've seen).  I'm not sure how many "great" Noirs followed up this one (and we're excluding anything that's ever been labeled as a "Neo-Noir") but this is the perfect capper to the genre.  The one that took the basics of the form, expanded on them, and then literally blew it all up.  There was no reason to go forward after this one.  "Kiss Me Deadly" is a great noir but also a great cold war thriller.  Whereas most Noirs tended to focus on a micro-story this one started that way until it's revealed that the fate of the world itself was dangling off the precipice.  The stakes in these films have never been higher than they are here.  While the genre certainly didn't begin here I think it's safe to say that this is where it finishes (or should have finished).  Robert Aldritch, the director, has made some other pictures that I love ("The Dirty Dozen" being my own personal stand-out) but I'm not sure he's ever topped this one (someday, maybe I'll find out for sure).

The movie opens with a woman, at night, stumbling her way down an desolate road trying to flag down a car.  The car that stops, and then starts our story, is one driven by Mike Hammer (Ralph Meeker -- just tremendous), Private Dick.  You may know the name of Mike Hammer, a creation of author Mickey Spillane, from either the books or, more likely, the 80s cop show appropriately called "Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer" and starring....Stacey Keach?  I'm not sure it aired for very long.  Also, never read the books.  Anyone read the books?  Not sure if this is based on one of the books or if they just used the rights to the character.  Anyway, Hammer stopped and picked up the frantic woman.  He implied (wait, not implied, outright said) that the only reason a woman would be out here alone is if she pissed off her man.  Good ol' Hammer.  The thing that struck me were the sounds she made as they drove through the black.  He drove a convertible.  The woman, still out of sorts, pants...and breathes, heavy.  It's sexualized.  Hammer's intrigued.   He tried to pry some information from her, his car started to veer right, stopped at one of those middle-of-nowhere auto-shops to get it fixed, brush stuck in the axle from when he went off-road (he went a bit off-road to pick her up).   With Hammer unaware, the woman (he finally learned her name -- Christina) handed a letter to the repairman, asked him to put a stamp on it, drop it in the mail (postage was not yet at a rate where that guy might feel put out).  Back on the road, Christina asked Hammer to "remember me".  Then an accident, not caused by them.  Black out city.  They're in a strange room.  Hammer completely out of it.  Strange men, we only see their feet.  The scene was shot at feet level.  A struggle, some screams, increasingly muffled.  Christina's feet in the closet, three feet of empty space beneath them.  They're placed back in the car, guided down a ravine.  Christina's dead.  Hammer woke up in a hospital bed, his doting assistant, Velda stood over him as he woke.  What's going on here?

So, basically we got a pretty standard set-up for these types of pictures.  Guy meets woman, woman disappears (or worse), guy looks for answers.  It's always the guy, right?  I guess some new Noirs might go on to reverse the genders here but I'm not really aware of any.  Anyone aware of any?  Anyway, after getting his car fixed by his preferred local guy (guy named Nick -- holy shit, what a performance by this guy named Nick who also happened to be played by a guy named Nick -- a caricature of a loving, doting, Hispanic car guy) he starts to dig deep into Christina's past.  We got a former roommate (a miss Lilly Carver) who seems...well frightened, paranoid, a bit insane, etc.  His search also leads him to the thugs that abducted them at the beginning of the story (one of them played by the great character actor, Jack Elam -- I also think his name was Jack).  There's a great scene where Hammer searched them out at a beach house and, in a bit of a twist in these type of pictures, beats the ever loving shit out of Jack and his buddy after they attempted to jump him.  Lots of scenes like that one (including another one involving a guy and his switchblade).  Hammer's got a pal on the force, proves to be not much help beyond the usual "don't get in over your head here, you don't know what you're dealing with....also, Manhattan Project blah blah blah..."  Ok, yeah, there's a box, a mysterious box, everyone wants that fucking box.  Christina knew about the box.  Got her killed.  Where is it and who has the key?  Wait till you find out.

So, I've battled all my life with how to label something a masterpiece.  I've been guilty of overusing it, myself.  I'm not sure one guy/gal is even allotted more than one of them in his/her lifetime.  You get one masterpiece, maybe a few great ones, couple of duds, a stinker or two....maybe in your later period a couple unintentional self-parodies, etc.  This one has gotta be Aldritch's masterpiece?  I'm not sure I've earned the right to make that declaration, however.  This thing just crackles from start to finish.  The performances (including the first appearance by Cloris Leachman as Christina) are all dynamite.  The thing that elevates this (over something like "Baby Jane" or even my own beloved "The Dirty Dozen") to the level of incredible (I've decided, no masterpiece label here, as of yet) is the apocalyptic ending.  I didn't see that shit coming, even after the box started to glow a bit.  Hell, the first time Hammer came into contact with it, I wondered if he was dragging ass a bit due to whatever was in the box, that fucking box.  Ok, I'm sure you can make an educated guess, still did not see where this thing ended up.  All the best filmmakers steal I'm told and I'd be fucking shocked if Spielberg wasn't thinking about the end of this picture when he had his Nazis open the Ark of the Covenant.  Shit, anyway...check this one out.

Noirvember, 2019: Sunset Boulevard (1950)

Is Billy Wilder the most versatile director that's ever lived?   It's quite possible.  The man has made films across a multitude of genres and, not just films, but masterpieces at that.  Films that make the AFI top 100 list.  Those type of films.  He's got three films in the top 30 alone ("Double Indemnity" at 29,  "Some Like it Hot" at 22, and this one at 15).  That's kind of amazing.  Only two other guys have two in the top 30 (Hitchcock and Coppola).  Note: I scanned the list...I didn't study it so don't get angry if I missed a guy (another note: After scanning the list a 2nd time I missed Spielberg and Capra who both also have two films in the top 30).  Anyway, the point is that this guy Wilder probably deserves to be on the short list for greatest film director of all time.  And this film, "Sunset Boulevard", while deservedly recognized as a classic, might be just a bit too high on that list?  I don't know this is a good one.  Hell, wait, check that.  It is a great one.  Not many films open the way this one does...with a dead man in a pool narrating, from beyond the grave, how he came to be the dead man in that pool.

The film opens in Hollywood with a struggling screenwriter (William Holden as Joe Gillis, future dead man in pool) trying to sell a screenplay while saving his car (also, his home -- some things haven't really changed all that much?).  His script is rejected by a script reader (gal named Betty) and that's as far as it will go on the Paramount lot ("it's trite and flat" she says matter-of-factly).  So, Gillis upset at having his script rejected by the lowest level of the studio system (a script reader -- a glorified secretary is what I'm sure he must have been thinking and -- as he would later think and know -- someone in bed with the producer -- though to be honest, this seems more like a gatekeeper-ish type position so maybe Gillis -- and I -- are wrong in our assessment) becomes increasingly desperate as he flees some repo men (his car is his home, after all) into the Hollywood hills (Is Sunset Boulevard in the hills?  I honestly have no clue, felt like it to me -- might as well have been on another planet -- felt isolated anyway) where he conceals his car in some bushes near what appears to be a long-ago-abandoned mansion.  Turns out, not abandoned at all.  It's occupied by the once famous star of the Silent Film era, Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson -- once famous star of the Silent Film era) and her butler Max.  Max leads Gillis inside.  Swanson urges him to help her with her own script (some terrible religious epic), her attempt to reclaim the prestige she once held.   Gillis takes a job, a live-in job, with her as a script doctor and well, her would-be lover, "would-be" being the proper phrasing.  He doesn't sign up for that part.  Max, himself (played by another Silent Film legend, director Erich Von Stroheim) holds some interesting secrets.  Here's a hint, the casting in this thing is really fucking meta.  So, desperation all around I guess.

I don't have much of a connection to the Silent Film era, to be honest.  Who does these days?  What little I've seen was seen in class.  King Vidor's "The Big Parade", "The Cabinet of Dr. Calgari", "Nosferatu".  Bits and pieces of others.  Some Chaplin.  It's an era that's slowly but surely with few exceptions disappearing.  Now let's talk about how Marvel is the culprit here.  Ok, now that I have your attention....the style of acting (big and broad, over-emoting so the guy sitting in the back of the theater would get it, just like stage acting, actually) didn't really translate to sound pictures that well.  And who knew if their voices were even acceptable to general audiences once we knew what they actually sounded like?  Well, thankfully this was not really an issue with Swanson who gives a big, bold, and ultimately sad performance as Norma.  There is a scene where she crashed the set of a new film by Cecil B. Demille (played by himself) that will break your heart by cringe-ing it to pieces.  After having sent the edited script of her religious drama to a Paramount producer and being constantly rebuffed by that producer, Norma and Max drove to the lot where Demille was filming another picture.  She barged onto the set, not rudely exactly...more in the way of actually belonging...and confronted Demille who respectfully demurred talk of her script.  It's clear Demille revered her, loved her pictures, had no plans on putting her in one of his films or even looking at her script.  Turns out Paramount did want to use her car in a picture though.  I mean, it's a pretty cool car.   To his credit (and maybe discredit), Demille exclaimed "Tell (the producer) to forget the car, I'll get another".  It's not worth causing such heartache in even asking.

Things proceed to get sadder.  Norma has a big New Years bash, with a lush orchestra, champagne, rows of tables, wait staff, etc.  Gillis is the only guest to show.  Also, Max.  There's allusions to suicide attempts by Norma as well.  Gillis leaves.  Called back by Max (another suicide attempt).  Norma's desperation to be loved turns into love for Gillis.  She becomes dependent on him, not just him, but his presence.  It could be anyone.  I've got to wonder how old Max feels about all this?  As Gillis slowly begins to put his life back together, things only get worse for Norma who fears, more than anything, being used up and left behind.  As Gillis, William Holden is great in transforming from the desperate sad-sack we meet as the picture begins to the "shit, this might really happen for me" guy he becomes...before ultimately becoming the dead guy in the pool.  He starts a thing with the script reader from the beginning ("I don't want to be a script reader for the rest of my life"), steals her from the producer.  Ok, "steals" may be a bad choice of words.  It's her decision too and all.  Conned her from?  Holden's voice-over narration is probably the noir-est thing about this picture.  Also, the dead guy in the pool.  Like a lot of these noirs, everything is so god damned sad.  Flights of happiness, ultimately destroyed by waves of depression, anxiety, murder, etc.  So, this is a great one, definitely a masterpiece.  Knowing where the thing ends was initially the reason I considered docking this a few spots from #15 on the AFI list (yes, I have that power apparently).  Why?  Because I wasn't surprised by the outcome?  That's a product of an overabundance of 21st century films in my diet...and also being an idiot at times.  Of course, a good-to-great movie is never about what happens...it's almost always about how it happens (to paraphrase Roger Ebert).  And this one covers the "how" in spades.

Noirvember, 2019: They Live By Night (1948)

"They Live by Night" is the first feature directed by Nicholas Ray ("Rebel Without a Cause") and with this one he entered the scene like gangbusters.   This is a small story about two star crossed lovers, Bowie (Farley Granger) and Keechie (Cathy O'Donnel) whose paths cross when Bowie and some other cons (Chicamaw "One-Eye" Mobley and Henry T-Dub Mansfield) break out of prison and hole up in the house of Chicamaw's brother (the brother is just called Mobley, he's the father of Keechie).  I suppose you could say this is a story of nurture versus nature but it's much more than that.  Ray has created a world of outcasts, characters cast off by society.  For the most part, these are characters hardened by the world they've grown up in.  "One-Eye" and his brother frequently escape into the bottle.  T-Dub is tender one moment and despicable the next.  Bowie, all 23 years of him, was sent to prison at the age of 16.  He was a carnie, got mixed up with the wrong crowd, the wrong scheme, resulting in a murder.  He's a good kid for the most part but he, like most characters in these noirs, cannot outrun his past.  Just like the previous film in this series, "Night And The City" he finds a woman that loves him and, ultimately, will be devastated by him.  Unlike the main guy from "Night And The City", Bowie might actually deserve that love.   The problem is starting over was never going to an option for him, especially once things start to circle the drain.

The unique thing about this picture is the sympathy Ray seems to have for most of these characters.  You can make the argument, I suppose, that Chicamaw and "T-Dub" (the names in this thing!) are the true villains but I don't think that one holds much water.  The villain seems to be the society that has born out these misfits and then, later, tries to destroy them.  The film opens with our three escaped cons hijacking a car and, later, abandoning it after it breaks down.  They savagely beat the driver (the beating obscured by the car itself -- I assumed they killed him, later revealed he lived) and make off on foot.  Bowie, with a broken foot at this point, is left underneath a billboard where he awaits rescue (his two cohorts make off for Chicamaw's brothers house where some money awaits).  Later that night a car appears to bring Bowie back, a car driven by Keechie.  They banter a bit but mostly Bowie wants and needs to rest.  Back at the house, a plan is hatched.  They'll rob another bank in the neighboring town.  T-Dub's sister in-law (Mattie -- a wonderful Helen Craig) gets involved.  She'd like some money to help get her husband out of jail.  They all have their motives.  Bowies plan is to secure some money, hire a lawyer, and overturn what he believes was an unjust conviction.  He's an idealist.   He truly wants a new start.   He's not the smartest guy in the room.

The robbery goes pretty well.  Until the car carrying both Chicamaw and Bowie has an accident (caused by a drunken Chicamaw).  Chicamaw shoots a police officer that stops to investigate the accident (another brutal act of violence that takes place on the other side of the car, obscuring the viewer from the killing -- This film is really well shot).  So now our escaped convicts have a murder on their hands.  The murder of a police officer.  Not something any of these guys can overcome.  Chicamaw drops Bowie off with Keechie and then flees with T-Dub.  Keechie keeps Bowie hidden for a while and then they start talking...and fall in love.  It happens pretty fast.  He still talks about moving to a new town, getting a fresh start and living the life of a good person.  She buys into it wholesale.  They hit the road.  At first by bus.  We see some good in Bowie as they make their getaway, in the way he calms a screeching baby on the bus, the fun dialogue he and Keechie share, the sad dialogue they share ("I wish we could take a chance, go into town and see a movie together.  I've always wanted to hold hands with a girl at a movie"), but these moments are too often broken by reality (upon re-boarding the bus, to Keechie "do you mind sitting by the window"?).

What we got here is a Bonnie & Clyde type deal, lovers on the run from the law and also the past.  Along the way they even get married ("Twenty dollars for a wedding?  Oughta be a law" -- Bowie).  They weigh their options ("I've always wanted to see a big city" but then again that Justice of the Peace did speak fondly of Mexico?).   They settle on a town, even make fun of people in unison (look at those butts bob up and down on the horses), hit the local nightclub where, again, reality smacks them in the face.  Not the law.   The gangsters in town make Bowie immediately, tell him to leave by midnight.  They don't need more heat than they're already producing, themselves.  He's famous apparently.  Regionally famous is still famous.  The local newspapers referring to him as "Bowie the Kid".  So, what choice is there but to leave?  They do.  News travels fast but maybe this new car they bought can travel faster.

The character of Mattie is set up as a villain but she's not that all all, in the end.  She just wants her husband back.  Her "villainy" brought on by circumstance and desperation.  When Bowie and Keechie show up, begging her for a place to stay she relents.  The cops have their mitts all over her, however, and her betrayal, while awful, is understandable.  The lead detective, upon presenting her with the deal (trade in Bowie for her husband) is perplexed by the look on her face ("everyone always has that look when they make this choice").  Again, there are no bad characters in this picture.  The baddest character is probably Chicamaw.  His fate occurred offscreen, involved a failed liquor store robbery.  Ultimately destroyed by his main vice.  I don't know, not much else to say about this one.  I'm not sure I've said much of anything, to be honest.  I enjoyed it and was moved by it.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit choked up by the way this thing wrapped up like "Night and the City" with a man done in by fate and the woman that loved him (a noble, earned love unlike "Night") broken by fate.  "Night and the City" is the better picture but this is certainly the more human one.

Noirvember, 2019: Night And The City (1950)

Well, I promised I'd write up a series in November where I highlight some of Hollywood's greatest noir films, of the 40s and 50s.  Here we have a masterpiece of desperation called "Night and the City" directed by Jules Dassin.  Well, I've already lied.  Why?  This isn't a Hollywood film.  Dassin was kicked out of Hollywood, after the McCarthy hearings, moved to Paris where he resumed his career.  His other films, such things you're heard of like "The Naked City" and "Riffi", remain unseen by me (after this one, I'll hopefully be rectifying these oversights shortly).  Anyway, I've always had an appreciation for the genre due to its use of shadowy cityscapes (in this case, London) and even shadowier characters (pretty much everyone, except for Mary -- Gene Tierney --, more on her character in a bit).  While I've seen a few ("The Big Sleep", "Maltese Falcon", "Out of the Past") there are many more that have been swallowed up to time (in other words, I'm getting older and I keep rewatching shit I've already seen).  So, the point of all this is to hopefully gain a better understanding of the genre while helping myself to remember the shit I've actually seen.

"Night and the City" is the story of Harry Fabian (Richard Widmark -- in a tremendous live-wire performance) as a two-bit hustler always looking for the next big thing, never settling to appreciate what he already has.  As the picture opens, he's running through the streets of London, thugs in hot pursuit.  He owes money from a previous botched "score".  Rather than try to fix things from his past, make amends, he's always running right into his next score.  His scores involve racetracks, big wrestling, and etc.  Never content to settle on the little thing, Fabian wants to control the rackets, all the rackets.  Problem is he's not equipped for it.  He's a dreamer, for sure.  Has some skills (his memory and eyesight, stand out) that he's always using for the wrong things, in his search for "a life of ease and plenty".  His circle includes Mary (the sweet woman that loves him despite his constant abuse), Phil Nosseross (the man behind the desk, owner of the Silver Fox nightclub, husband to Fabian's ex-wife), Helen (the ex-wife, I suppose the Femme Fatale of the picture, though she wants what everyone wants -- to matter), and Gregorius the Great (a wonderful, heartbreaking turn by Stanislaus Zbyszko as an aging Greek Wrestler who gets roped into Fabian's scheme to steal control of London's wrestling circuit out from under Gregorius' own son, Kristo).  Also, lots of fringe-y derelicts, Anna the drunk smuggler, Figler (a leader of lowly, wayward criminals -- let's face it, this is where Fabian fits in), and Googins (a master -- but not so masterly -- forger).

Herbert Lom ("The Pink Panther", "The Ladykillers") is Kristo, ruler of London's underworld.  A subdued, incredible performance (this film is overflowing with incredible performances).  After Fabian gloms onto his father (his power is to overhear bits of dialogue -- or pay a driver to give him bits and pieces of overheard conversation -- and then use it to lure his mark into friendship, ultimately destruction) he uses him to a) keep Kristo at bay and b) wrench a bit of power he's always longed for in his direction.  Fabian's a user, he uses everyone.  He's certainly not a villain, in the traditional sense.  Sure, he pushes Mary to the ground every now and then (usually after she accuses him of stealing from her), betrays his "friends" constantly, but his intentions (not actions, of course) are always noble, at least noble-adjacent.  Finish this one thing and he'll never have to do any of this shit ever again is what he always says after the last thing.

So, after drawing in Gregorius (and his son, Nikolas -- another wrestler, the one they're supposed to champion) he's able to accrue enough money (again, he screws his "friends') to open up his own gym and eventually lock up a fight with London's #1 wrestler, known as The Strangler (odd wrestling name, but whatever).  The Strangler (and his handlers, under the employ of Kristo) subscribes to a new school of wrestling which is predicated on showmanship, acting, performance....you know, basically the wrestling of today.  This disgusts Gregorius (to the profound disappointment of Kristo) who wants to bring wrestling back to its roots, its beauty (he's of the Greco-Roman school).  So, here we have it.  Kristo wants to have Fabian killed but can't do it with his father (whom he loves, deeply) working with him.  Along the way, we've got double crosses, side crosses, back dealings, and even side dealings.  Oh, and one of the greatest fight scenes (and, honestly it's great and heartrending) I've ever witnessed in a picture (yeah, I'm throwing "modern" films into this mix as well).  Seriously, this fight is incredible.

Well, that fight..it occurs in Fabian's gym between Gregorius (this guy is ancient, by the way) and The Strangler (after Nikolas -- who was intended to fight The Strangler -- has his wrist broken when he's thrown out of the ring).  This is not the officially sanctioned fight, as had been planned.  Nothing happens as planned in this picture.  The fight takes forever.  It's brutal.  It's sweaty.  It's a thing of beauty.  These are real fighters.  Nikolas, broken wrist and all, admirably coaches his father from outside the ring.  Kristo walks in and witnesses the thing with a mixture of awe, anger, and sadness.  Fabian, meanwhile,  watches with dread.  If anything happens to the old man, Fabian's days are numbered.  You figure out how this shit turn out.  I'm guessing it ends with some running, some hiding, some pleading, etc.

By the time the credits hit the screen everyone is ruined or worse in the wake of Hurricane Harry.  There's his ex-wife Helen, whose dream of owning her own night club (out from the enormous -- ok he's a large guy -- shadow of her husband Phil) is shattered by one of Harry's many false promises.  There's Gregorius who believed in Harry's lies enough that it ripped his own family to shreds.   There's Kristo who is certainly not left satisfied even as the picture ends in the way it was always going to end, with his satisfaction.  And then there's poor Mary, the woman who loves Harry despite all the shitty things he rains down upon her.  Her refusal to betray him in the end and the repercussions of that refusal (fuck, this guy was a classic abuser -- just do it Mary) leave her ultimately destroyed.  Even when Harry believes he's doing the right thing (not much self awareness with this guy) it's always the wrong thing.  So, this one's a real pick me up I guess.

Schlocktober Fest, 2019: Volume IX -- The Final Chapter

OCTOBER 31, 2019

Les Diaboliques (1955)
Movie #32
Director:  Henri-Georges Clouzot
Length:  117 minutes
Platform:  Criterion Blu-Ray (own collection)

And here we have it, the final film of Schlocktober, a bonafide classic, "Les Diaboliques".  The only other Clouzot picture I had taken in was "Wages of Fear", another masterpiece.  Perhaps, I should check out more of his shit.  This is the story of Christina (Cricri as her husband, not so lovingly refers to her) and Nicole (same husband's mistress) who plot his murder, carry it out, and then have to deal with the complications involved with carrying out, and covering up, that murder, including "wait, is he actually dead?"  All capped off by a shocker of an ending (and the scene that probably catapults this thing into the realm of horror).

So, this husband (Michel) is a real piece of shit from the beginning.  He married Christine after she inherited a boarding school, even appointed himself Principal.  Christine (wonderfully played by Clouzot's actual wife, Vera) is a sickly sort, prone to agoraphobia, coughing fits, and feinting.  Nicole (an incredible femme fatale turn by Simone Signoret) is the too-cool-for school type.  She's a teacher, smokes wherever, wears sunglasses indoors and is the only one willing to put Michel (she's having an affair with him, after all) in his place.  One thing I loved about the picture is that Christine is no dumb dumb.   She knows about the affair.  In fact, Nicole knows she knows about the affair.  They both can agree on one thing, at least:  Michel is a real fucking asshole.  There's a scene that takes place during a school dinner where Michel, in the span of a few minutes, prevents Mr. Drain (he's like another teacher or something) from having another glass of wine ("you've already had two") and also, to the discomfort of his entire table forces his wife to swallow her food, even though she appears to be taking ill.  So, this is just a taste of his shittiness.  The murder plot now makes sense.

The murder plot itself?  Well, it's weird.  Nicole and Christine leave the school, by car, and head out to Niort (a city hundreds of miles away -- the school is located in the outskirts of Paris) where Nicole has access to an apartment.  From there, Christine calls Michel and informs him she wants a divorce.  They bank, rightly, on him saying "fuck that shit, I'll be there tomorrow" and then hopping the first train, bound for Niort.  Upon his arrival, Nicole makes herself scarce while Christine and Michel "hash out" their differences.  He drinks some doctored brandy (I assume it's brandy, it's always brandy) becomes dizzy, takes a nap.  Nicole, now in the bathroom, runs a bath.  Michel gets carried into the bathroom, placed in the full bathtub (the scenes of the upstairs neighbors complaining about the rattling pipes..."who runs a bath at this hour?"...wonderfully break up the tension).  He drowns, they weigh him down with a statue.  Let the fun begin.

I'm sure we all have nightmares about disposing of a body, am I right?  Well, our murder related anxiety might be a little easier if we committed that murder before forensics became a big thing.  Like, get the body outside in the middle of the night, dump it in a river, leave town.  And...done.  Well, these woman decide to put the body into a large wicker basket, put the wicker basket in their car and drive it all the way back to the fucking boarding school, hundreds of miles away.  Once there, a few tense scenes along the way, dump it in the school pool...and make it look like a suicide I guess. I suppose he must have told no one he was off to Niort for the day, paid for that train ticket with cash (I mean, duh...1950s).

I said Vera Clouzot was wonderful as Christine and I wasn't kidding.  Overcome with anxiousness pre and post-murder, Christine reaches her breaking point when the body won't surface from the pool (the pool is filthy, visibility a mere inches beneath the surface).  She demands, of the caretaker, that it be drained, tells Nicole "my heart is going to explode".  Hell, most of the tension arises from the body not turning up.  It's not in the pool.   After reading a headline about a body found in the Siene River, Christine heads to the morgue to hopefully make a positive identification.  Here's a tremendous scene where we follow a coffin making its way up from the bowels of the mortuary to a room where Christine, always breaking, waits impatiently.  This is not the kind of scene, the mundaneness of a couple of guys simply doing their job (moving a coffin from point a to b, up an elevator, etc) that is typically terrifying, or at least dread inducing but, alas, here we are with some edge-of-your seat stuff.

I never had this picture spoiled for me, thankfully skipped the 90s remake so I had no idea what I was in store for.  The last 20 minutes or so, an absolute masterclass in building dread, terror through shadows, sounds, and various ghostly shit.  I'll heed the disclaimer that appeared prior to the end credits "please don't spoil this for your friends" (it went on and on but that was the gist).  Apparently, Hitchcock was a couple hours away from having optioned the rights to this one himself.  I'm not sure it works as well with a guy we're familiar with in the Michel role, we can't take the extra baggage.  He needs to be a fucking asshole, not that Jimmy Stewart or Cary Grant can't play fucking assholes.  They can, for sure, but they'd be likable fucking assholes.  Check this one out.  See you next year, I hope.