Classics: A Review of In a Lonely Place By Lauren Ennis

Moral ambiguity, suspicion, smoldering femme fatales, and the ever present threat of menace are just a few of the features that have become synonymous with film noir. The 1950 noir classic In a Lonely Place twists these familiar elements to create a unique entry in the genre that remains startlingly fresh nearly seventy years after its release. Equal parts 50’s kitchen sink drama and 40’s whodunit, the film takes noir off of the mean city streets and into the supposed comfort of the home as it explores the ways in which a murder upends a couple’s life. Easily one of the most haunting entries in the noir genre, In a Lonely Place turns genre and social conventions inside out in a way that will leave viewers questioning the darkness lurking within us all.

Love means never calling the homicide unit

The story begins with former hit screenwriter Dixon Steele (Humphrey Bogart) descending into alcoholism and depression as he struggles to revive his fading career. He reluctantly accepts an assignment to adapt a trashy bestseller, but refuses to read the book, opting instead to hire the hat-check girl at the local watering hole to summarize the plot for him. The girl, Mildred Atkinson (Martha Stewart), happily obliges and accompanies Dixon to his apartment, but is promptly sent on her way the moment that her summary is complete. When the police discover Mildred strangled to death on the side of the road the next morning, Dixon becomes the prime suspect in her murder. Fortunately for him, however, his sultry neighbor, Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame) saw Mildred leave his apartment and provides him with an alibi. After meeting at the police station Dixon and Laurel strike up an acquaintance that quickly surpasses neighborly as she becomes his muse and consuming obsession. Even as the couple grow closer, however, Mildred’s unsolved murder remains an unspoken but palpable barrier between them. When continued pressure from the police causes Dixon’s notorious temper to resurface Laurel begins to question if the man she loves could be capable of murder.

In a Lonely Place stands out from its fellow noirs by subverting the conventions of its genre and era to reveal the dark side of post-war America. The film takes viewers on a twisted journey from almost its first frame as Humphrey Bogart appears on the screen in what appears to be another of his signature world-weary hero roles. As the film continues, however, it becomes apparent that the trademark Bogart cynicism is actually an indication of something far more disturbing, as Dixon careens through an evening marked by drunkenness, belligerent arguments, and bar fights. When Mildred Atkinson’s body is found just minutes into the film, audiences are already questioning if he might be the villain after all. As his character falls under the spell of Gloria Grahame’s captivating Laurel, however, Bogart’s familiar charm resurfaces, leading viewers to further question Dixon’s actions and motives. Through its warped portrayal of the persona that made Bogart a lasting cinematic icon the film calls into question not just viewers expectations, but also the cynicism and vigilantism consistently promoted in noir as a whole. Similarly, the film calls gender roles and sexual double standards of its era into question through its sympathetic portrayal of Laurel in spite of her checkered past. As the film progresses, Laurel evolves from the brassy moll role that Grahame was so often typecast as to something far more substantial; a complex and tormented woman. As the story’s focus shifts from Mildred’s murder to its effect upon Dixon and Laurel, the film toys with viewers yet again as the central question becomes not who committed the murder, but how vast a shadow can one crime cast over a community. By the time that the film reaches its emotionally shattering conclusion the notoriously warped film noir genre will look more distorted than it ever has before or since.

Does this mean I might not get the girl in the end?

Even with its superb script, the film easily could have become just another b-thriller if not for the brilliant work of its cast. Frank Lovejoy’s sympathetic portrayal of Dixon’s friend sergeant Nicolai highlights his character’s inner conflict. Ruth Gillette lends the film much needed comic relief in her role as the couple’s sassy housekeeper, Martha. Art Smith imbues his performance as Dixon’s agent and confidante with an essential warmth and good humor. Martha Stewart approaches her brief role as Mildred with an infectious enthusiasm which ensures that her character resonates as more than a mere plot device. Even while surrounded by apt supporting performances, Bogart and Grahame own every frame in which they appear. Bogart captures the nihilism beneath the surface of Dixon’s charisma in a brilliant inversion of the cynical brand of cool that he made famous. Grahame is every bit his match as she portrays Laurel’s outward confidence and inner vulnerability with equal skill. Together, the pair expertly bring their characters to life in a way that makes each fracture in their damaged souls achingly real.

In a Lonely Place captures the isolation and disillusionment concealed beneath the surface of post-war America with a poignancy that sets it apart from other noir films of its era. Through the combination of its intelligent script and raw performances the film more than earns its status as a classic. For a visit to the not so good old days, join Humphrey Bogart and Gloria Graham for a haunting journey In a Lonely Place.

Classics: A Review of Diary of a Lost Girl By Lauren Ennis

Louise Brooks was an American actress who, while relatively unknown during the height of her career, has become synonymous with the glamour, decadence, and social change of the 1920’s. While the majority of her career was spent in Hollywood and on Broadway, today she is best remembered for three films that she made in Europe; German expressionist films Pandora’s Box and Diary of a Lost Girl and French production Prix de Beaute (a/k/a Miss Europe). This week the spotlight will be turned on one of the most unusual and daring of Brooks’ films, G.W. Pabst’s Weimar morality tale Diary of a Lost Girl. Acting in many ways an answer to Pandora’s Box’s noir-esque celebration of Berlin’s underworld at its most debauched, the film casts a critical eye upon the hypocrisy of German high society while exploring the desperation and hopelessness that was driving Weimar-era Germany onto the path of self-destruction.

Who are you callin' lost?!

The story begins with idealistic schoolgirl Thymian Henning (Louise Brooks) celebrating her confirmation, only for the festivities to be dampened by the dismissal of her beloved governess. Thymian’s girlhood ideals are soon shattered when she learns that her governess, Elisabeth (Sybille Schmitz), had been dismissed after she had become pregnant as a result of her affair with Thymian’s pharmacist father (Josef Rovensky). When it is revealed that Elisabeth drowned herself after losing her job, Thymian turns to her father’s drug store assistant (Fritz Rasp), who betrays her trust by using one of the drugs in her father’s store to drug and date-rape her. When her assault results in the birth of her illegitimate daughter she is presented with an ultimatum by her family; marry her rapist and legitimize her child or enter reform school. When she refuses to follow her parents’ plan she is disowned by her family (who seize custody of her daughter) and then forced into a brutal home for wayward girls. After reaching her breaking point she teams up with one of the girls at the home (Edith Meinhard) to plan an escape, which leads them into the sordid world of prostitution. In a stark break with social norms of the era, the film then reveals how entering the sex trade ultimately puts Thymian on the path to her salvation as she reclaims her sexuality, becomes a shrewd businesswoman, and even finds love with a fellow outcast (Andre Roanne).

A toast to Louise Brooks!

While the plot follows the melodramatic conventions common in silent film, Diary of a Lost Girl also contains valid social criticism of its era. In its portrayal of the double life of Thymian’s publicly moral but privately corrupt father, the film highlights the hypocrisy of society in Weimar Germany. Similarly, the film is careful to show that while Thymian routinely faces cruelty at the hands of supposedly respectable citizens such as her father and his assistant, she finds acceptance amongst her fellow outcasts in the city’s underworld. The film also calls women’s limited rights and restricted roles in society into question through its portrayal of its heroine’s journey. By portraying its heroine as a ‘fallen women’, albeit through no fault of her own, the film calls the sexual double standards of its era into question and calls for tolerance. The script further reinforces its call for women’s rights by showing that it is only when Thymian reclaims control over her finances and sexuality that she is able to move forward and lead a productive life of her own choosing. While the film does veer toward sentimental moralizing in its final act, its damning critique of Weimar society was nothing short of astounding for its time and foreshadowed the ways in which the Weimar Republic’s failure would ultimately lead to the rise of the Third Reich.

The film’s cast provide an adequate portrayal of the script, but much of the acting is limited by the excesses common in silent cinema. Josef Rovensky aptly captures the outward rigidity and private decadence of Thymian’s father. Fritz Rasp is appropriately sleazy in his portrayal of Thymian’s father’s predatory assistant, Meinert. Edith Menhard infuses her role as reform school student, Erika, with an endearing feistiness. Even while surrounded by apt performances, the film truly belongs to Louise Brooks, who portrays Thymian’s heartbreaking vulnerability as a betrayed young girl and guarded hardness as a world-weary woman with equal skill.

Far more than just a piece in the cinematic legend of Louise Brooks, Diary of a Lost Girl is an apt social critique of both the social excesses and constrictive social norms of the 1920’s. The film defied the censors of its era by not only sympathetically portraying an ordinary girl’s fall from grace, but also showing the ways in which, with a little tolerance and kindness, she and others just like her can still triumph. For a look into the dark side of the 1920’s, take a peek at Diary of a Lost Girl.