Two Couples Who Murder: “Double Indemnity” Faces Off Against “Body Heat” — And It’s Not Even Close

Left, Kathleen Turner, William Hurt, "Body Heat" (1981).
Right, Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray, "Double Indemnity" (1944).

Warning: Contains Spoilers

By Paul Parcellin

After I moved to L.A. in 2008, I got together with a Meetup group that was going to see a screening of “Double Indemnity” (1944) at the ArcLight Theater in Hollywood. I was chomping at the bit in anticipation of watching one of my all-time favorite films with a group of cinema enthusiasts. I pictured us moving enmasse to the theater’s cafe after the screening and having a long discussion about the film, going over its finer points, savoring the subtlety of Billy Wilder’s direction, analyzing the screenplay co-written by Wilder and consummate grouch Raymond Chandler. Then there were the performances — Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck and Edward G. Robinson — how great was that cast?!

My fellow viewers were younger than me — let’s face it, almost everyone is these days — ranging from early 20s to around 30 or so. After the movie unreeled we drifted into the cafe. I was set for a stimulating, caffeine fueled conversation about classic film, old Hollywood and the like. But the banter took a dark turn. Not dark, as in noir-like shadows of venetian blinds on the wall. Dark as in, “Who the hell saw this coming?” The general reaction, saturated in Millenial social-media-ingrained ennui, was, “So, like, why is that supposed to be so great?” 

MacMurray as Walter Neff, spilling the details of his crimes.

The film’s opening scenes follow the mortally wounded insurance salesman Walter Neff (MacMurray), who makes his way to the office of his boss, claims adjustor Barton Keyes (Robinson) and records a voice memo on a Dictaphone machine in which he confesses to two murders, that of his paramour Phyllis Dietrichson (Stanwyck) and her husband (Tom Powers). It’s an emotional sequence that draws us into the story leading up to the confession, but the discussion went off the rails from the get-go. 

One young woman in the cinema group in her early 20s opined with incredulity, “Somebody shot him and he goes to make a recording? Nobody’s going to do that!”

Another noticed that MacMurray was wearing a wedding ring and the character he plays was unmarried. “Yeah, I noticed that, too!” another added. (MacMurray refused to remove the ring, and it was visible in that scene).

The conversation went on like that for a number of depressing minutes. I didn’t say a thing. Finally, someone noticed I was keeping it shut and asked me what I thought of the film, and I said I think it’s a masterpiece. That got their attention, but not in the way you’d hope. They looked at me with a mixture of pity, curiosity and annoyance, with annoyance being the dominant reaction. 

Explaining myself, I said that the film is witty, dramatic and character driven. It contains dialog that is the very definition of smart noir repartee. I called the script a marvel and, borrowing Barton Keyes’s description of the insurance scam Neff masterminds, noted that it “all fits together like a watch.”

Most of them paused for a nano-second to consider this, then silently dismissed my insightful, cleverly worded summary and began talking amongst themselves. 

A hellish red glow is the backdrop for Hurt and Turner in "Body Heat."

The 30ish guy hadn’t fully bailed on the discussion just yet, and he said he’d seen “Body Heat,” with William Hurt and Kathleen Turner and noticed the similarity between the two movies — “Body Heat” is based on “Double Indemnity.” 

In “Body Heat,” hack attorney Ned Racine (Hurt) kills Matty Walker’s (Turner) husband, Edmund (Richard Crenna), much like MacMurray in “Double Indemnity.” There’s a snag in both killers’ plans, however. In each movie an eyewitness is brought forward for questioning. Both Neff and Racine are present in the same room as their respective witnesses. 

For Neff, a man who saw him at the scene of the crime, and for Racine, a little girl who saw him in a passionate encounter with Matty. The tension has both perps on tinder hooks, but somehow they escape a close scrape with the law, temporarily, at least.

The 30ish guy in the cafe said that “Body Heat” did a better job of depicting that spine tingling encounter with justice, and the “Double Indemnity” version just wasn’t as good. 

Quelling my mounting apoplectic rage, I strongly disagreed, but it was pointless. He joined the discussion with the others about a current super hero film. Case closed.

I resisted the temptation to launch into a heated defense of “Double Indemnity,” realizing that I'd probably sound a lot like the old codger who shouts, “Hey you kids, get off my lawn!” But the encounter also made me think about those two movies.

I’d be the first to admit that Lawrence Kasdan’s “Body Heat” (1981) is a fine film. William Hurt, Kathleen Turner and Richard Crenna, as the unfortunate husband, all put in terrific performances. The script is a tightly modulated work of emotional tension and release, and the twist at the denouement sews up the loose ends ably. 

But better than “Double Indemnity”? I think not.

Ruth Snyder, Henry J. Gray, murderers who inspired James M. Cain's novella.

The film “Double Indemnity” is adapted from James M. Cain’s 1943 novella of the same title. The book is based on a real-life 1927 murder perpetrated by Ruth Snyder, a married woman from Queens, N.Y., and her lover, Henry Judd Gray. They conspired to kill her husband, Albert, and both went to the electric chair at Sing Sing Prison.

Wilder and Chandler crafted a script rich in detail with finely realized characters, including the murderous couple. 

Kasdan crafted the “Body Heat” screenplay, which is rich in twists and turns and includes an erotic encounter between Ned and Matty that could only be hinted at in “Double Indemnity.” But there are big differences between the two that in my not so humble opinion demonstrate why “Double Indemnity” is by far the superior film:

 D.I. — Phyllis and Walter meet by chance; she seems to begin plotting the murder only after their second meeting, when she asks Walter about accident insurance.

Matty has long-range plans in mind.

B.H. — Matty has been playing the long game. She steals and assumes her best friend’s identity, and begins searching for a sloppy, careless attorney with questionable morals. Ned’s name comes up, and she figures out a way to meet him that will seem like a randon encounter — quite a far fetched turn of the plot.

Phyllis and Walter’s meeting is more plausible than that of Matty and Ned. Plausibility is not necessarily the most critical element in a film, but chance and character are all important in "Double Indemnity.” In “Body Heat,” Matty merely fabricates the illusion of a chance encounter to attract Ned into her web of deceit and murder. 

Fate is the big kahuna of film noir, and “Double Indemnity” wins points for its adherence to this existential tenet.

D.I. — “Double Indemnity” has a far greater emotional range than does “Body Heat,” especially in a scene between Walter and Mr. Dietrichson’s daughter, Lola (Jean Heather), that takes place after the murder. Neff’s conscience — yes, we learn that he does actually have one — begins to get the better of him. This is an element that’s crucial to the film’s ending, by the way, but more about that later. 

Phyllis, savoring the moment as her husband is strangled.

Phyllis, however, may as well have Freon coursing through her veins. The depths of her sociopathic personality is beautifully revealed in the gruesome scene in which Neff strangles her husband while she sits inches away from him. The camera cuts away from the film’s most disturbing scene, which government censor would surely demand, to a closeup of Phyllis’s face. She’s not cringing, as any normal person would. Instead, she’s barely able to suppress a smile. 

Wilder’s brilliance shows through here. Rather than waste the cutaway shot, he uses it to give us more information. We see Phyllis’s insanely calm reaction to her husband’s horrible death, but Walter doesn’t see it — he’s busy attending to business. This is the first time in the film in which we have more information than does Neff. His ignorance of Phyllis’s true demeanor allows him to continue on with their plan without reflecting on her abnormal behavior. Later, in voiceover, he says he expected Phyllis might fall to pieces, but is relieved that she’s managed to keep her composure.

Neff and Phyllis, a chance encounter.

Getting back to the disappointing discussion at the ArcLight, I’d answer that young woman’s disbelief that the wounded Neff — Phyllis plugs him before he returns the favor — would take the time to leave a confessional recording, with a clear and simple explanation — the kind that never seems to occur to me in the heat of a discussion:

The reason why Neff returns to record a confession despite the fact that Phyllis popped a cap in his chest, is two-fold.

First, he needs to explain himself to his father confessor, Keyes, who’s about the only one in the film who genuinely cares about him.

Second, he needs to save Nino Zachetti’s (Byron Barr) life. Who is Nino Zachetti? He’s the abusive jerk who’s secretly dating Lola. Neff realizes that Zachetti is the perfect dupe to frame for both murders. Keyes believes Zachetti might be guilty of killing Mr. Dietrichson and that gives Neff the perfect opportunity to keep his trap shut and let Nino go to the chair. 

But he can’t. 

Lola (Jean Heather) makes an unwelcome office visit to Neff (MacMurray)
and his stoic facade begins to crack.

Unlike Phyllis, Neff has a conscience. He’s been fighting off feelings of guilt for killing Lola’s father ever since the day she came to see him in his office. Her appearance throws a monkey wrench into his plan to keep his head down and remain stolid. 

But Neff can’t bear to send Lola’s boyfriend to the chair after all of the pain he’s caused her by killing her father. Instead, he plans to tell the whole truth to Keyes by leaving him a voice recording he’ll hear the following day. By then, Neff plans to be a free man in Mexico. He can’t explain himself to the cops, for obvious reasons, but Keyes is the perfect recipient of the message. There’s as much apology as confession in Neff’s memo to Keyes. He’s finally contrite for his deceptions and horrible behavior. 

So, the reason why Neff drives like a madman to the office and pours his heart out into a Dictaphone machine is because he feels that he must. It’s the final decent act he can perform in his foolishly wasted life. His confession will prevent Zachetti, whom Neff passionately dislikes, from paying for a crime he didn’t commit. It’s a moral judgment that shows us that, in the end, Neff does have a suppressed sense of morality that finally comes to light. But it’s too late to save him from the debt he must pay for his evil deeds.

We don’t see anything close to Neff’s moral journey in “Body Heat,” which is a clever story with a clever ending. But where’s the emotional and moral conflict? Both Matty and Ned are cold and calculating, with no visible remorse. 

Christian Bale is the killer Yuppie in "American Psycho" (2000).

In a sense it’s the perfect adaptation for its time, the early 1980s, when materialism and consumerism were at full dudgeon. Matty and Ned are like remorseless Yuppies who kill, maybe with a greater affinity to murderous investment banker Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) in “American Psycho” (2000) than to Walter Neff. 

“Body Heat” is still fun to watch now and then, but I don’t rewatch it like I do “Double Indemnity,” which I’ve seen innumerable times and will probably continue to do so. 

I wish I’d had all of this stuff in mind when I encountered the “Double Indemnity” doubters at the ArcLight. But if any of them are reading this — highly doubtful — I’ve laid out what I should have said. Not a quick answer, but better late than never. 

Fortunately, there’s always the option to rewatch “Double Indemnity” and give it another chance. I hope that they do.

 

One American Author’s Writings Inspired Multiple Films Noir, Yet His Name Is Less Well Known Than Other Top Noir Storytellers of His Generation

Edward G. Robinson, “Night Has a Thousand Eyes” (1948).

By Paul Parcellin

By any measure, Cornell Woolrich was a virtual human writing machine who cranked out fiction at a feverish pace. He’s credited with 22 novels under his name, 17 more under the pseudonym William Irish, two more as George Hopley (including one of the most memorable, “Night Has a Thousand Eyes”), hundreds of stories and scores of scripts for film, TV and radio.

An American author of crime fiction, suspense, horror novels and short stories, Woolrich is best known for his work in the noir genre, and his stories have been adapted into films such as “Rear Window,” “The Leopard Man,” and “Black Angel.” It’s a quirk of fate that such a prolific, influential writer should dwell in the shadows, behind authors such as Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett and Erle Stanley Gardner. But Woolrich’s life and career were unlike those of his literary peers.

Cornell George Hopley Woolrich was born in New York City in 1903. He was an only child and his parents separated when he was young. He lived for a time in Mexico with his father before returning to New York to live with his mother, Claire Attalie Woolrich. He showed an early interest in writing and began submitting stories to magazines while in high school.

After graduation he worked as a journalist and advertising copywriter. He attended Columbia University but left in 1926 without graduating when his first novel, “Cover Charge,” one of his six jazz-age novels, was published. 

A short story, “Children of the Ritz,” won Woolrich a $10,000 first prize in a competition organized by College Humor and First National Pictures, which led to screenwriting work in Hollywood for First National. But during his tenure there he never managed to get any screen credits. He decided to pick up where he left off as an author, and he and his mother returned to New York. 

When he couldn’t find a publisher for his seventh jazz-age novel he transformed himself into a pulp writer. He began writing novels and short stories under the pen names William Irish and George Hopley. His stories were published in magazines such as Black Mask and Thrilling Mystery, and he also began to publish novels.  

His work was often dark and atmospheric and he explored themes of alienation, guilt and obsession. A sense of dread permeates his work. Some of his heroes suffer amnesia and find themselves in an alien world. A recurring theme is the hero’s quest to discover his true identity. Often what he finds would have been better left unexplored. 

Some are falsely accused of murder but are terrifyingly unsure of their innocence. Most live in a nightmarish world where they struggle for truth while dodging a cloud of persecution hovering over them. At times, paranoid delusions control their very being. The air is rife with elaborate conspiracies in which they’ve somehow become entangled. Surprise plot twists lead to radical shifts in a story’s direction. 

Woolrich was unafraid to hug the line between plausibility and untenable fantasy. His novels and short stories have been called among the finest examples of suspense writing by any American author. The obsessive exploration of dark psychological themes in Woolrich’s work has prompted some to call him the Edgar Allan Poe of the 20th century.

By the 1930s, Hollywood was again interested in his work, resulting in the romantic comedy “Manhattan Love Song” (1934) based on a Woolrich novel, and action film “Convicted” (1938), adapted from a short story. But it would be his pulp crime work that became his hottest properties and the stories for which he’d be most remembered. 

Cornell Woolrich. 

Woolrich began to receive wider recognition in the 1940s. Some of his most famous works from this period include “The Black Alibi,” “Deadline at Dawn,” and “Phantom Lady.”

In later years his writing made him wealthy, but he and his mother lived in a series of seedy hotel rooms, including the squalid Hotel Marseilles apartment building in Harlem, among a group of thieves, prostitutes and lowlifes that would not be out of place in Woolrich's dark fictional world. They lived there until his mother's death on Oct. 6, 1957, which prompted his move to the slightly more upscale Hotel Franconia, 20 West 72nd Street near Central Park.

Of his 58 IMDB credits for films based on his writings, Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window” (1954), adapted from Woolrich’s “It Had to Be Murder,” is probably the most celebrated. Other films based on his work include “The Leopard Man” (1943), “Phantom Lady” (1944) and Francois Truffaut’s “The Bride Wore Black” (1968). 

Top actors of the day played roles in those films. Burgess Meredith in “Street Of Chance” (1942), based on Woolrich’s “Black Curtain”; Edward G. Robinson in “Night Has A Thousand Eyes” (1948), and Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly in “Rear Window” (1954).

Despite his success, life for him was far from ideal. After his mother died in 1957, Woolrich went into a sharp physical and mental decline. A reclusive figure, his personal life was often troubled — he dedicated "The Bride Wore Black," which he wrote under the pseudonym William Irish, to his Remington Portable typewriter. 

After years of depression he’d let a minor foot injury turn into gangrene and had to have the leg amputated. Wheelchair bound and shrunk to 89 pounds, he was found dead in his room at the Sheraton-Russell on Park Ave. on Sept. 25, 1968. He’s buried along with his mother at Ferncliff Cemetery and Mausoleum in Hartsdale, N.Y.

Here is a sampling of films noir and mysteries based on Woolrich’s writing:

Burgess Meredith, “Street of Chance” (1942).

Street of Chance (1942), based on the novel “The Black Curtain”

Frank Thompson (Burgess Meredith) awakens to find that he's lost his memory. He slowly puts the pieces of his life together and discovers that he has a second identity, and that he's been accused of a murder that he can't remember committing.

Phantom Lady (1944) based on the novel of the same title. 

It's a no-no to be seen in public wearing the same accessory as another. Identical chapeaus roil the waters in “Phantom Lady" (1944), a story of murder, gaslighting and fashion faux pas. The film also boasts one of noir's wildest jazz band scenes, to boot.

The Mark of the Whistler (1944) based on a short story. 

A drifter claims the money in an old bank account by impersonating someone else with the same name. Soon he finds himself the target of a man with ties to the impersonated man.

Deadline at Dawn (1946) based on the novel. 

Sailor Alex Winkley (Bill Williams) and dance-hall girl June Goffe (Susan Hayward) spend a long night trying to solve a murder. He woke up with a pocketful of cash he received from the victim. Now he's only got until daybreak to figure it out.

Dan Duryea, June Vincent, Peter Lorre, “Black Angel” (1946).

Black Angel (1946), based on a novel of the same title.

Alcoholic pianist Martin Blair (Dan Duryea) is convinced that a heart-shaped brooch is a crucial clue in the investigation of his ex-wife's murder. Suspicion builds around dodgy nightclub owner Mr. Marko (Peter Lorre). But darker truths emerge.

The Chase (1946), based on the novel “The Black Path of Fear.”

Chuck Scott (Robert Cummings) gets a job as chauffeur to tough guy Eddie Roman (Steve Cochran), but Chuck's involvement with Eddie's fearful wife, Lorna (Michèle Morgan) becomes the stuff of nightmares.

Fall Guy (1947) based on the story “Cocaine.”

Tom Cochrane (Leo Penn'), full of dope (cocaine) and covered with blood, is picked up by the police. Tom only recalls meeting a man in a bar and going to a party. But when the body of a murdered girl turns up, Tom must act fast to clear his name.

The Guilty (1947) based on the story “He Looked Like Murder.”

Two guys sharing an apartment meet twin girls (both Bonita Granville). One's sweet, the other — not so much so. The nice one is murdered and her boyfriend is accused of the crime.

Robert Emmett Keane, DeForest Kelley, “Fear in the Night” (1946). 

Fear in the Night (1947) based on the story “Nightmare.”

Bank teller Vince Grayson (DeForest Kelley) dreams of murdering a man in a room full of mirrors. He investigates and finds that there's ample evidence that he did commit murder. But there may be a shadowy figure lurking behind the scenes.

The Return of the Whistler (1948) based on the story “All at Once, No Alice.”

On the eve of his marriage, a young man's fiancée disappears. He hires a private detective to help him track her down, but soon finds himself entangled in a web of lies, intrigue and murder revolving around his fiancée's dead ex-husband and his wealthy, corrupt family.

I Wouldn't Be in Your Shoes (1948) based on a story of the same title.

Vaudeville hoofer Tom Quinn (Don Castle) chucks his shoes at a noisy alley cat. But when his cash laden neighbor turns up dead, Tom's footprints are at the crime scene. A police detective (Clint Judd) tries to find the real killer.


Night Has a Thousand Eyes (1948) based on the novel of the same title.

Phony mentalist John Triton (Edward G. Robinson) discovers one night that he has developed real supernatural powers, but they bring about little more than misery and alienation from the people he cares about most.

The Window (1949) based on a short story. 

Young Tommy Woodry (Bobby Driscoll) witnesses his neighbors kill a drunken sailor, but no one believes him. When Tommy is left home alone the murderous neighbors pay him a visit. They aim to silence him for good, and he's left to fend for himself.

No Man of Her Own (1950) based on the novel “I Married a Dead Man.”

A pregnant woman adopts the identity of a railroad-crash victim and starts a new life with the woman's wealthy in-laws, but is soon blackmailed by her devious ex.

The Earring (1951) based on the story “The Death Stone.”

When a woman goes to see an ex-boyfriend who blackmails her, she leaves behind an earring and when she returns to retrieve it, she finds that he has been murdered.

The Trace of Some Lips (“La huella de unos labios”) (1952) based on the story “Collared).”

When her father dies mysteriously, a young woman is protected by an acquaintance of his, who takes her to live in his house, where she suffers the abuse of his niece.

If I Should Die Before I Wake (1952), based on a story of the same title.

Young Lucio Santana’s (Néstor Zavarce) dad is a detective working on the serial killings of local children. Lucho makes friends with a girl who tells him that a man gives her free lollipops. She makes Lucho vow never to tell anyone. But then that vow is tested. 

Don’t Ever Open That Door (1952) based on the stories “Somebody on the Phone” and “Humming Bird Comes Home.”

Two separate episodes that have in common the door that separates good from evil. In the first segment, "Alguien al teléfono,” Ángel Magaña tries to avenge the death of his sister, a girl who commits suicide over gambling debts. In the second, "El pájaro cantor vuelve al hogar,” Roberto Escalada is a former inmate who whistles when commits crimes and returns home where he is expected by his blind mother, who believes he has reformed.

Rear Window (1954) based on the story “It Had to Be Murder.”

Recuperating photographer L. B. “Jeff" Jefferies (James Stewart) has nothing to do but watch his neighbors across the courtyard as his leg mends. He notices odd things occurring in Lars Thorwald’s (Raymond Burr) apartment. Sinister things.


Obsession (1954) based on short story “Silent as the Grave.”

Helene and Aldo are trapeze artists in a circus. Aldo is injured and has to be replaced by Alex, his former partner who knows too much about him. Alex is murdered and Helen is convinced that her husband, Aldo, committed the crime. But another man is accused of the crime.

Nightmare (1956) based on a short story.

Clarinetist Stan Grayson (Kevin McCarthy) dreams he killed a man, then awakens to find evidence linking him to his imagined crime. His brother-in-law, New Orleans police detective Rene Bressard (Edward G. Robinson) is skeptical of Stan's story.

One Step Beyond: Film Noir and the Supernatural

Edward G. Robinson, 'Night Has a Thousand Eyes' (1948).

We can all daydream of possessing special powers, because who wouldn’t want greater insight into their life and extraordinary abilities to manipulate the hands of fate? But if there’s one thing that speculative fiction teaches us is that supernatural powers — mind reading, communicating with the dead and other such phenomena — all come with a steep price tag. 

That’s certainly true for mentalist John Triton (Edward G. Robinson) in “Night Has a Thousand Eyes” (1948). He describes his ability to see into the future as something like travel aboard a train. A passenger might see a farmhouse, then a field of corn followed by a pasture of grazing cows. But someone standing on the train’s roof can see all three motifs in one glance. And for better or worse Triton is one who stands atop his own train car as it barrels through the countryside.

That may sounds enticing to some — certainly not to me. But what if those supernatural powers bring about little more than misery and alienation from the people you care about most? That’s a common theme in “supernatural noir,” a blend of film noir and supernatural fiction, two genres that fit together like a dovetail joint. 

In noir, a protagonist is usually alienated from his or her environment and faces crushing circumstances that threaten their very existence. Add unpredictable supernatural forces into the mix and a noir anti-hero gets a double whammy of everyday and otherworldly forces that mean trouble — a dark place to find oneself, indeed. 

As Al Roberts (Tom Neal), the beaten down piano player in "Detour" (1945) says, "Whichever way you turn, fate sticks out a foot to trip you." Noir anti-heroes are destined for failure, and the supernatural  works hand in hand with fate to bring about the flawed character's inevitable downfall.

“Night Has a Thousand Eyes” is one of those noir-tinged leaps into the realm of speculative fiction that in shortened form would fit comfortably in “The Twilight Zone” (1959 - 1964) TV series. Speaking of which, aren’t a lot of “Twilight Zone” episodes especially noir-like?

John Lund, Gail Russell, Edward G. Robinson.

A Charlatan Becomes a Psychic 

It’s odd and somehow fitting that vaudeville mentalist Triton should be gifted with the power to see the future. He’s a fairly successful entertainer with a phony mind reading act who, for unknown reasons, develops supernatural powers. It’s as if  he offended the gods by pretending to be clairvoyant and they are taking revenge by bestowing on him the psychic foresight he’d been faking. Now, he must bear the torment of foreseeing tragic accidents and deaths that befall people around him. That includes not only strangers but also almost everyone in his inner circle. Once it becomes obvious to him that he’s cursed with horrifying powers he begins to wonder whether he’s simply predicting these deaths, or could it be that he’s somehow making them happen? 

Of course, it’s not just tragedy that he foresees. He picks winning racehorses for his piano accompanist and buddy Whitney Courtland (Jerome Cowan) who thinks Triton’s new abilities are just swell. Early on, his powers seem to be a blessing. He helps save the life of a young boy playing with matches who sets his bed afire. But thereafter his predictions grow increasingly grim and depressingly accurate. 

He exists in an existential no man’s land where his “gift” can bring great riches or somehow trigger death and he has little control over which of the two his visions will bring about. Faced with this crisis, he stops using his powers to pick winning racehorses or juicy business opportunities — by and by, Courtland becomes a rich man due to Triton’s psychic insight.

In one of his flashes of foresight he sees doom, and in a panic he abandons his fiancée (Virginia Bruce) and Courtland with no explanation. The only chance of avoiding tragedy, he believes, is to leave and never return. Holed up in a seedy Bunker Hill tenement in downtown Los Angeles, he goes into self-imposed isolation. His room overlooks the Angels Flight funicular that chugs up and down the steep incline. Likewise, he moves through his days with a mechanical repetitiveness, avoiding human contact for it can only bring about tragedy and heartache. 

When finally an opportunity for redemption arrives, it comes wrapped in impending tragedy, so at best Triton can save a life, but in doing so his actions will exact a great cost to himself.

Sidebar:

There’s a handful of noirs with a supernatural theme running through them. They include “Alias Nick Beal,” “Night Tide,” and “Ministry of Fear,” to mention a few — I’m sure there are more. What others am I missing? 

Some, like “Dementia,” "The Seventh Victim" and “Cat People” combine elements of horror, film noir and expressionism. More about them in my next post.

When Works of Art Bewitch, Haunt ... and Judge

Detective Mark MacPherson is mesmerized by the portrait  of Laura Hunt. 

Noir anti-heroes often come from the wrong side of the tracks, and then struggle to brush off the dust from the old neighborhood. Lured by the trappings of the filthy rich — jewels, swell apartments, gorgeous babes — they cross the line into a saturnine world of deceit, plunder and sometimes murder, all in an ill-advised effort to reinvent themselves. And it usually ends badly.

One plaything of the well-heeled seen often in film noir is the painted portrait, a symbol of power and wealth, and sometimes the keystone of the noir drama’s plot. Portraits of women frequently turn up, sometimes echoing a character's desire to isolate and possess the sitter. Other times the subject of a painting seems to lord over a room, casting judgment on those who behold the artwork. 

In Otto Preminger’s “Laura” (1944), police Det. Lt. Mark McPherson (Dana Andrew) falls in love with the eponymous murder victim, Laura Hunt (Jean Tierney), whose portrait hangs over her living room mantelpiece. His frequent visits to the scene of the crime, the dead girl’s apartment, are part of his investigation, so he says. 

But while there, he compulsively sifts through her possessions, listens to her favorite recordings of romantic music and moons over the portrait. All the while Waldo Lydecker (Clifton Webb), a poison-tongued gossip columnist, chides the detective about “falling in love with a corpse.”

But the alluring portrait of the murdered woman has an unmistakable attraction for MacPherson, and the artwork is as much a character in the story as any of the living cast members. It also helps set the stage for a dramatic plot twist that comes halfway through the film. Under Laura's spell, MacPherson is suddenly snapped awake from his reverie as the story takes its unexpected turn. 

Gene Tierney, in 'Whirlpool'

In another Preminger noir, “Whirlpool” (1950), Anne Sutton (Jean Tierney, again), a psychiatrist’s wife, suffers from kleptomania and is hypnotized to treat her condition. Those around her consider her grasp of reality shaky at best.

Echoing “Laura,” a portrait of a deceased woman plays an outsized role in the film. Anne is blamed for the woman’s death, and the portrait, again, hung over the living room mantelpiece, seems to haunt the victim’s former residence — the piercing eyes of justice looking down on Anne, judging her and ready to pass sentence.

Joan Bennett, Edward G. Robinson,  
'The Woman in the Window.'

In Fritz Lang’s “The Woman in the Window,” Prof. Richard Wanley (Edward G. Robinson), a beloved university educator, lectures his students about ethical principles. One night, he finds himself in a quandary that throws his life into turmoil and causes him to question his own principles.

His burgeoning problems begin after he spies a painting of a beautiful woman on display in a gallery’s front window. The story takes a magical turn when the woman in the painting suddenly appears on the sidewalk next to him. 

The heralded professor eventually lands in the middle of a spiraling set of circumstances that threaten to envelop him like quicksand. For Wanley, the woman of his dreams, who seems to materialize out of the painting, is a siren lying in wait, ready to take possession of him.

Edward G. Robinson in ' Scarlet Street'

Likewise, in "Scarlet Street" (1945), Edward G. Robinson plays amateur artist Christopher "Chris" Cross, who gets mixed up with tawdry characters Katherine 'Kitty' March (Joan Bennett) and Johnny Prince (Dan Duryea) who exploit his creative talents. 

Kitty takes credit for Chris's paintings after an art critic gives the works a rave review. Chris, the meek artist, is unable to convince the world that he created the masterworks that are selling for large sums.

Paintings used in these films, however, aren't likely to command whopping prices at auction. In fact, some are hardly paintings at all. The portrait of Laura Hunt, for instance, was actually a varnished photograph of actress Jean Tierney, who played the ill-fated title character. 

Then, there's a downright silly example of art appearing in noir. A portrait, supposedly by Renaissance master Raphael, appears in "The Dark Corner" (1946) (also starring Clifton Webb). It's a left-handed imitation of the artist's work that wouldn't fool a child.

So, let's just call them what they are — movie props that tell a story of their own. They're not great works of art, but part of larger creative works — the films they appear in — that oftentimes achieve greatness in their own wright.