Headshrinker Noir: 10 Films With Mind Games, Crime

Ingrid Bergman, "Spellbound" (1945).

From Dedicated Healers 

to Evil Control Freaks,

Noir Psychiatrists 

Want to Pick Your Brain

By Paul Parcellin

Do all psychiatrists intentionally drive their patients insane and force them to commit awful crimes? In real life it’s unlikely … probably. But in film noir it’s a 50-50 bet. Not that all noir psychiatrists are the same, but they tend to fall into specific groups. One variety is the saintly crusader who tends to be hyper dedicated to healing the afflicted — he or she not only eases troubled minds, but fights crime, too.

Another type is the bumbling screwball, who may be well meaning but often does more damage than good.

Blonde Ice (1948).

Then there's the diabolical narcissist who uses his powers to tap into a patient’s subconscious for wicked purposes. He preys on the vulnerable, who are easy to influence and can be set up as patsies for murder or made to commit crimes. Hypnosis, psychoanalysis and drugs are the tools an evil psyche uses to pry open heads and sprinkle toxic dust inside.

Here is a handful of noirs with shrinks, good and bad. There are many other noirs that focus on psychiatry and mental anguish. Feel free to suggest titles in the comments:

The Good Doctors

Robert Paige, Leslie Brooks, “Blonde Ice.”
She’s full of surprises, none of them good.

“Blonde Ice” (1948)

The film’s icy blonde femme fatale, a shameless gold digger, mercilessly strings along a masochistic suitor. In a moment of clarity he describes her succinctly when he blurts out, “You’re not warm, you’re cold, like ice.” Ignore the hackneyed dialog because he’s got a point. But “cold” doesn’t begin to describe this fair-haired heart crusher. “Psychopath” is a better fit.

She’s a classic femme fatale who uses her womanly charms to get what she wants. When she enters a room the guys’ tongues are hanging out. She’s a dish and she knows it 

But a former police psychiatrist is hip to the blonde’s true self. He’s seen oodles of charming cutthroats like her. She’s neurotically fixated on power and wealth, a kind of one-woman wrecking crew lacking a shred of moral fiber. She compulsively pursues men of stature and wealth and then disposes of them. Her ebony dresses remind us of a black widow spider. 

Did she have a rough childhood? You betcha, and it may have molded her into the ruthless she-wolf in a mink coat that she’s become. As for the good doctor, he unmasks her and that makes her mighty unhappy, and when she’s unhappy, bad things occur. 

Barbara Bel Geddes, Robert Ryan, “Caught.”

“ Caught” (1949)


A car hop gets a taste of the sweet life and it turns to ashes in her mouth. She dreams of a life of mink and diamonds, then meets an overbearing wealthy businessman who dates her but has no intention of making a commitment. That is, until his psychiatrist points out his tendency toward flirtations that never lead to anything permanent. The mogul’s contrarian attitude leads him to marry the girl simply to prove the psychiatrist wrong. Wedded life thereafter is miserable for both parties, and it gets worse when she lands a job as a receptionist for a pediatrician and gets involved with the doc. Here are two takeaways from all this: Don’t do anything rash just to prove your shrink wrong, and secondly, listen carefully to the good advice that you’re paying for. It could save you a lot of trouble.

William Holden, Lee J. Cobb, “The Dark Past.”

“The Dark Past” (1948)

A police psychiatrist recounts a harrowing experience he had when an escaped convict held the psychiatrist and others hostage in a country home. The documentary style film is told in flashback as the psychiatrists recalls why he decided to leave the teaching profession and work with the police. Over the course of one evening the psychiatrist analyzes the escapee’s childhood trauma and manages to cure his recurring emotional disorder. The film makes a case for early psychiatric intervention for youthful offenders, claiming that delinquency can be nipped in the bud when proper treatment is applied. It seems to work well in the movie, at least. 

The Quacks

Dana Andrews, Lee J. Cobb, “Boomerang!”. 

“Boomerang!” (1947)


A police psychiatrist plays a marginal role in a preliminary hearing for an accused murderer. The story begins when someone shoots a priest point blank in the head for no apparent reason, although the film offers a theory on the killer’s identity. Flashing back to a time before the murder took place, the clergyman tells a mentally troubled man that he intends to have him committed to an institution. He’s probably the trigger man, but that question is never fully answered. Presented documentary style, the film is based on a true story of a murder in a Connecticut town. An innocent man is arrested and brought to a preliminary hearing where the psychiatrist and others testify, and it looks like the defendant’s goose is cooked. A state’s attorney investigates and finds that there are troubling holes in the prosecutor’s case. Although he plays a minor role, the psychiatrist gets a demerit here for a flimsy evaluation of the accused man. He’s more than willing to rubber stamp the man as guilty without a thorough examination. The film is more about small town politics than psychological motivations behind crime. Suffice it to say that it’s best to steer clear of this quack.

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

“Night Has a Thousand Eyes” (1948)

A phony psychic suddenly gets true psychic premonitions and his newfound power brings him only misery. He can foresee the deaths of others and that makes him a suspect in the murder of his former vaudeville partner. After predicting the death of the former partner’s daughter, the psychic becomes the focus of a police investigation. A pair of university psychologists are brought in to evaluate the seer, but they can’t rule out the possibility that the psychic has genuine extrasensory powers. They remain skeptical, but they’re unable to explain the weird predictions that come to pass.

Bad Sanitariums

Lucille Bremer, Richard Carlson, Douglas Fowley, “Behind Locked Doors.”  

“Behind Locked Doors” (1948)

Evil psychiatrists employed in mental institutions are a subset of headshrinkers. Like their office and couch brethren, they possess a frightening amount of power over those in their care. In “Behind Locked Doors,” a newspaperwoman hires a private detective to be committed to a sanitarium. Inside the locked ward, a corrupt judge on the lam from justice is holed up, and the newswoman means to flush him out. As the private dick soon learns, in this institution psychiatry is a tool of the corrupt, where a patient can be kept on ice after stepping on the wrong sets of toes. The sanitarium director, terrified that his aiding and abetting of a criminal could end his career, is nevertheless beholden to the judge, whose political pull got him his job. 

The very real danger for a mole inside an institution is that the psychiatrist is also his jailer. It’s easy and tempting to keep a patient under observation for the financial benefit of it. Sane or not, you may have a long wait for release.

Peter Breck, “Shock Corridor.”

“Shock Corridor” (1963)

Journalist Johnny Barrett aims to expose poor conditions in an institution for the mentally ill, and he also intends to identify a killer at large in that sanitarium. But he’s not entirely motivated by altruism. He wants a Pulitzer, and he’s willing to have himself committed to a sanitarium to earn it. He uses a psychiatrist friend to help him prep for an undercover operation, walking him through drills that will help him convince doctors that he’s mentally ill.  

Like the sanitarium director in “Behind Locked Doors,” this one uses his power as a doctor to keep a lid on a big secret. Driven by the fear of tarnishing the institution’s reputation and losing any of the joint’s lucrative patient population, the sanitarium director covers up the murder of a patient named Sloan. 

Johnny’s exotic dancer girlfriend is dead against the undercover scheme, but reluctantly aids him. She poses as his sister and both pretend that he harbors an unnatural sexual attraction to her. She swears out a complaint against him and sees to it that he’s committed to the institution where the murder took place.

She worries that the punishing tests he’s subjected to will drive him insane, and she’s not wrong. Here, we have a facility overseen by a corrupt director and managed by an immoral staff where the treatments are as damaging as the trauma that brings patients to the facility in the first place.  

Leo G. Carroll, Gregory Peck, Ingrid Bergman, “Spellbound.”  

“Spellbound” (1945)

In making “Spellbound,” Alfred Hitchcock employed a psychiatric advisor and hired Salvador Dali to create a dream sequence, making it a richly detailed film about mental illness, psychiatry and sanitariums.  

The setting is a sanitarium, and we meet a sadistic and seductive female patient who tries to sweet talk an attendant before gouging his hand with her sharp nails. Other patients include a suicidal man with delusions that he killed his father. Both cases, a charming predator and a man paralyzed with guilt are two personality types upon which the story is built.  

The outgoing director of the sanitarium has been dismissed after showing signs of senility, and he’s to be replaced by Dr. Anthony Edwardes. The new director gets off to a rocky start with his inappropriately angry outburst. Dr. Constance Petersen, an attractive, buttoned-down staff psychiatrist, uses the tines of a fork to draw a diagram on a snowy white table linen. Edwardes inexplicably loses his cool and makes a bit of a fool of himself. 

Petersen is a reserved rationalist. She deflects another colleague’s advances and he refers to her as the human glacier. She keeps her emotions in check and puts the brakes on when Edwardes nearly immediate attempts to woo her. But it doesn’t take long for him to break through her wall of resistance. 

The trouble is, Edwardes’s emotional outbursts are signs of deeply repressed memories and amnesia, and before long both he and Petersen will be questioning his true identity. To make matters worse, there’s been a murder committed and Edwardes is the likely culprit. 

Kleptomaniac Patients

Robert Mitchum, Laraine Day, “The Locket” (1946).  

“The Locket” (1946)

Kleptomania is just one of the psychological afflictions taking center stage in “The Locket,” a story about a woman with sticky fingers for shiny objects who just can’t be trusted. On her wedding day her psychiatrist ex-husband steps forward to unmask her as a sociopath before she can exchange wedding vows. Her fiancé listens incredulously as the shrink fills him in on the lady’s history. It turns out that swiping rich ladies’ jewelry isn’t the half of her misdeeds. Charming and manipulative, she commits a heinous act and leaves a falsely accused domestic servant holding the bag. The upshot is that she’s such a highly polished liar she fools her psychiatrist husband. 

The film is a marvel of complex flashbacks, nested within flashbacks. The psychiatrist tells the groom a tale that we see in a flashback. In it, a visitor tells him of his association with the bride to be, and in that flashback she tells of her traumatic childhood, and we see that in yet another flashback. According to her version of the story, wealthy, abusive high society types (one of whom is the source of her childhood trauma) are the villains. 

Each flashback offers a new layer to ponder, but we don’t witness a story taking place in the present, we hear others’ recollections of the facts which may or may not be reliable. Still, the story we see is enough to give you pause on your wedding day.   


 José Ferrer, Gene Tierney, “Whirlpool” (1950).  

“Whirlpool” (1950)

Psychiatrist Dr. William Sutton is in a battle with smooth-talking hypnotist David Korvo over the well being of the doctor’s wife, Ann. She has the embarrassing habit of shoplifting goods from local stores, and one day she gets caught. Korvo happens to be on the scene and he fast-talks her out of the jam and persuades her to let him treat her neurosis. 

The quack therapist hypnotizes Ann, allegedly to treat her insomnia, and he promises to address her kleptomania, as well. Although her husband is a highly respected psychiatrist, she’s embarrassed to tell him about her problems, and Korvo offers her a way to keep it all on the down low. 

Both she and Korvo are alike, in a way. They both share a disdain for the people who tend to their needs, the waiters and housekeepers whom they order around with little tact. Ann lives a comfortable life, and her rough treatment of the domestic help seems more a byproduct of her inner turmoil than a mark of entitlement. Korvo, on the other hand, is mean and manipulative when none of his wealthy clients are watching. He can turn on the charm at will when there’s a fat pocketbook to be picked, and all the while he plots sinister ways to take advantage of Ann’s weaknesses.

“Whirlpool” is a cautionary tale about the pitfalls of seeking help from a charlatan, and reassures us that genuine psychiatry offers legitimate treatment. 

After enduring a life threatening ordeal, Ann and her husband get to the bottom of her psychological conflicts, although it happens too quickly and easily to be believed. But after escaping Korvo’s clutches she’s earned the right to a happy ending. 

New Year’s Noir: 8 Crime Films Bring You Dark Tidings

Allen Baron, “Blast of Silence” (1961). Noir for the year's last day.

Was that a popping cork or the report of a firearm?

By Paul Parcellin

Why is it that a lot of noirs take place around Christmas, but not so many focus on New Year’s Eve? Granted, New Year’s doesn’t carry the same weight as Christmas — it’s just not a family holiday, with all of the sentimental memories (or emotional baggage) that you may find in Yuletide festivities. 

But starting a new year can bring more than a wisp of heartfelt reflection, sometimes quite unexpectedly. Anticipation of a fresh start mixed with pangs of regret about the year gone by often make it a bittersweet occasion. It marks the end of the holiday season and is among the early days of the winter ahead.

Like an abbreviated Mardi Gras, it allows us one night to party before facing the grayness of the coming season. 

In the noir universe a new start can mean different things — unsavory things. In noir, a new start often means the beginning of the end. Noir new starts take time to develop and blossom while endings are often abrupt and unmerciful. 

Here are some noirs (and other kinds of crime stories) with a New Year’s theme. They may not all include party hats and streamers, but in each the new year is more to be feared than welcomed:

Sue Moore, William Powell, Jack Adair, “After the Thin Man.”

“After The Thin Man” (1936)

OK, so it’s not a noir, more like a murder mystery wrapped in a screwball comedy. But it’s got a lot of noir atmosphere, fedoras, double breasted suits and femmes fatale in furs. Plus it’s based on the writings of Dashiell Hammett. A goodly chunk of the film does indeed take place on the eve and day of the new year, a fitting holiday for a Thin Man mystery. It’s also a comfortable setting for the story’s hero, Nick Charles, who approaches life as if it’s one long cocktail party. It’s the second boozy installment in a series of six Thin Man movies made between 1934 and 1947. Popular for the fizzy chemistry between Nick and wife Nora, the couple inevitably becomes embroiled in criminal cases despite Nick’s insistence that he’s retired from the private detective biz. 

As bleary eyed as the famous sleuth may be — he seems to be the toast of whichever town he happens to be in, here, it’s San Francisco — he’s the one who figures out the complex ins and outs of a mysterious murder and brings the perp to justice. 

Don’t go looking for any symbolic meanings in this New Year’s romp. Instead, do something more useful, like searching for some gin, a bucket of ice and a cocktail shaker.

Edmond O’Brien, Viveca Lindfors, “Backfire.”

“Backfire” (1950)

When you land in a military hospital with spine injuries, as did World War II vet Bob Corey, you hope that the worst is behind you and normalcy will return. Not so, for Bob. He’s been planning to go into business with a military buddy— they’re going to become ranchers. But things begin to take an odd turn on Christmas Eve, when Bob is awakened by a strange woman with some unsettling news. But was it just a dream? He’s released from the hospital on New Year’s Day, and morning gets off to a horrifyingly bad start. It seems his would-be business partner has gotten himself into trouble and is nowhere to be seen. The police want information, but Bob has none to offer, except for that spooky visit from the lady in the middle of the night — and no one’s buying that.

Allen Baron, "Blast of Silence,"

“Blast of Silence” (1961)

It’s a drag to have to work over the holidays. Still, hitman Frankie Bono is on the job and taking care of business. An overly ambitious Mafioso is getting coal in his stocking, so to speak, and Frankie is playing the role of bad Santa. But things get complicated. Frankie meets a girl and his outlook on life begins to change. He calls his employers to tell them that he wants to quit the job. It does not go over well, and they give him until New Year's Eve to perform the hit. There’s precious little joyful revelry here. The waning days of the year grow bleak for Frankie. He’s desperate and struggling to change his ways and make a fresh start. “Blast of Silence” is less about fresh starts and more a meditation on loneliness, and Frankie is in what must be the loneliest profession known to mankind, save for the Maytag repairman.

Edward G. Robinson, “Little Caesar.”

“Little Caesar” (1931)

New Year’s Eve marks a turning point in the career of Caesar Enrico Bandello, a small time hoodlum with an insatiable thirst for power. He organizes a nightclub holdup as patrons ring in the new year. While he and his gang make their exit, the small, paunchy criminal kills the city’s crime commissioner who happens to be a guest at the club. For Bandello, it’s both the start of his meteoric rise in the mob and the beginning of the end for him. As high as he rises in the organization he’s unable to wash the blood off his hands. From that day forward he’s a marked man and doomed to fail. Some viewers compare him with captains of industry who resort to any means necessary to ensure their advancement. In fact, Bandello’s rise from the gutter to prosperity is the stuff of the American dream — but an extremely skewed version of it.

Frank Sinatra, Peter Lawford, Richard Conte, “Ocean's Eleven.”

“Ocean’s Eleven” (1960)

Because it’s a heist movie set on New Year’s Eve, this one makes the list. The Rat Pack, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Joey Bishop and Peter Lawford, play veterans who served together in World War II and are set to knock off a Las Vegas casino. They mean to handle the heist with the precision of the military operations on which they were once deployed as a team. On the plus side, the movie begins with the always delightful Saul Bass (“Psycho,” “Vertigo,” “The Big Knife”) animated opening titles, which set the film’s bouncy mood. Beyond that, it’s all about Sinatra and company simply playing their affable selves — what else could they do? Richard Conte and Angie Dickinson round out the cast. As you might expect, no one seems to be taking it all so seriously, and neither should we.

Louis Hayward, Joan Leslie, “Repeat Performance.”

“Repeat Performance” (1947)

This is a story about do-overs, and in this case, a really big do-over. Talk about getting off on the wrong foot, Sheila Page kills her husband on New Year’s Eve, then gets her wish to redo the entire year. The seeds for this deadly event were planted in the previous months. So logically, if you can change the events leading up to the unfortunate circumstances things will change and hubby will be saved. Murder averted. No stripes, numbers or noose. But the question is whether or not certain events are in the stars or avoidable. In this case, circumstances leading up to the big event change, but fate has a curious way of grabbing hold of the wheel and taking us all on a wild ride. This may be the ultimate New Year’s Eve noir because we get not one, but two nights of celebration taking place a year apart. That’s nothing for Sheila to get excited about. As celebrations go, both are memorable, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.

Gloria Swanson, William Holden, “Sunset Boulevard.”

“Sunset Boulevard” (1950)

Who can forget the cringe-worthy New Year’s Eve celebration that Norma Desmond cooks up for Joe Gillis? He’s expecting a gala event, but Norma has planned a champagne toast for him and herself alone, followed by tangoing for two. Her sprawling, decrepit mansion, a monument to decadent Hollywood, is the fortress in which the once-famous silent screen star has hunkered down, refusing to see that the parade passed her by decades ago. It’s all too much for Gillis, a screenwriter whose sputtering career and naive outlook brought him to Norma’s door in the first place. Since then, he’s been a kept man. But as the new year dawns he finally sees Norma’s smothering embrace for what it is, and he bolts. But if he thinks he’ll get away from her that easily, he’s mistaken. Norma is the one who gets to write the third act.

Joseph Cotten, Alida Valli, “Walk Softly, Stranger.”

“Walk Softly, Stranger” (1950)

An amorous relationship blooms between a socialite and a crook in a film that’s part romantic drama, part film noir. Joseph Cotten is the gambler and con man who maneuvers his way into a comfortable position in an Ohio town. An unlikely romance between Cotten’s criminally motivated grifter and his boss’s daughter finally takes root on New Year’s Eve. It’s the story’s high point and the con man’s fortunes begin a steady decline from that evening on. This is a story about the redemptive powers of love, a theme atypical of noir. In fact, you might say it’s an anti-noir point of view. But when you’re drawing lines between what’s noir and what isn’t, consider that there are degrees of noir, despite what purists insist. It’s not an all or nothing proposition, and “Walk Softly, Stranger” has the necessary ingredients that allow it to fit snugly within the noir canon. 

Scrapped: The Original Opening Sequence of “Sunset Boulevard” was Even Stranger than the Final Cut, and Audiences had a Peculiar Reaction to It

Erich von Stroheim, William Holden, Gloria Swanson,
"Sunset Boulevard" (1950).

Test Audiences Were Stunned, Amused and Confused

Joe Gillis (Holden), a life cut short.

By Paul Parcellin 

At the start of "Sunset Boulevard," hapless screenwriter Joe Gillis (William Holden) floats face-down in a swimming pool with several bullet holes punched into his torso. He’d been the long-term houseguest of deranged former silent screen siren Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson) until, in a fit of grief and jealous rage, she used him for target practice.

She’d hired Gillis to polish a hopelessly disorganized screenplay written by and for the delusional Norma as a vehicle to reignite her long-dormant career. Of course, things didn’t work out that way. By the film’s end, we learn that Norma’s return to the klieg lights is on permanent hold and she’s about to be hauled off to a sanitarium. Meanwhile, cops are fishing Gillis out of the pool with pruning hooks. So much for Hollywood endings.

For those who’ve never seen the film, that’s hardly giving too much away. Almost everyone has at least heard of the gruesome setup that puts the story in motion. As the film opens, we see the police and a caravan of news reporters speeding down Los Angeles’s Sunset Boulevard toward the scene of the crime as daybreak washes over the City of Angels. Angelenos will immediately sense that this story is fictional – Sunset is all but traffic-free. Even in the early morning hours in 1950, that’s pure poppycock.

Norma Desmond (Swanson)
in a hysterical rage.

But the opening sequence that appears in the final cut wasn’t the first one that director Billy Wilder had in mind. Preview audiences viewed a quite different and even more bizarre opening, and their reaction was not the one Wilder anticipated. 

The sequence in question was quickly re-edited into the version we’re all familiar with. All that remains of the original are a few short clips without sound and some still photos. Consequently, few have ever seen the completed original opening and it appears that no one is sure if copies of the entire sequence still exist.

However, surviving script pages outline the remarkably strange introduction that ended up in the dust bin. It opens with shots of the coroner’s wagon speeding along the streets, delivering the earthly remains of Joe Gillis to the city morgue. 

The body is taken into the sterile facility, toe-tagged, and wheeled into a room temporarily housing other recently deceased unfortunates. But ethereal music fills the air and a strange glow emanates from beneath a bed sheet covering the cold, still dripping wet Gillis. Suddenly, he reanimates, as do his new roommates, who begin to chit-chat among themselves. 

Each has a tale of woe about the circumstances leading up to their demise – a truck crash here, an accidental drowning there. Gillis is a bit of a curiosity to the others due to his Hollywood connections and because he was murdered. So, he begins telling his story, and thus, narrating the rest of the movie from beyond the grave, or in this case, the slab.

Preview audiences in Evanston, Illinois, and Poughkeepsie and Great Neck, N.Y., laughed at the morgue sequence and were unsure whether the film was a comedy or drama.

Enroute to the city morgue.

After the opening credits, when the story moved down Sunset Boulevard and into the L.A. County Morgue, spectators were stunned. Years later Wilder recalled, “When the morgue label was tied on Mr. Holden’s toe, they started to scream with laughter. I walked out of the preview, very depressed.”

The revised cut shows the arrival of police and reporters. Next, we’re assaulted by a complex and eerie view of the corpse that appears to be filmed from the bottom of the pool. From our vantage point, we look up at Gillis and see his lifeless face. The cops are poolside, looking down at the dead man and they seem to be looking down at us, too, as we gaze upward from the depths of Gillis’s watery grave.

Getting that one shot took a good deal of work and planning. First, since there was no swimming pool at the location, Paramount had to dig one. After much experimentation, art director John Meehan set up the shot. At the bottom of a portable process tank, he placed an eight-by-six-foot dance rehearsal mirror.

 After sinking the tank to the bottom of the pool, he placed a muslin canopy behind the police and news photographers, which, shot in black and white, would mimic the dawn sky. With those elements in place, cinematographer John F. Seitz could light the scene effectively in a short time. The camera was set up alongside the pool and Seitz pointed it down at the mirror on the bottom of the tank and filmed Holden’s bobbing reflection. 

According to Meehan, the shot “turned out to be a simple, inexpensive way to get through-water or underwater shots” by removing the need to use expensive underwater equipment. Meehan noted that the water had to be well filtered for clarity and kept at a low temperature of about 40 degrees because at higher temperatures the natural gases that build up in water would cut down on light transmission.

It’s unclear, however, how long Holden, face down in the frigid water, had to keep his eyes open and how he managed to stave off hypothermia.

A grim end for Gillis.

Despite the efforts to smooth over the original segment’s jagged edges and tone down its comedic content, the revised opening still caused a stir. In Hollywood, Paramount arranged a private screening for the various studio heads and specially invited guests. 

While many were appreciative of the film, MGM studio boss Louis B. Mayer was incensed by the cheeky sendup of Tinsel Town. He allegedly shouted at Wilder, “You bastard! You have disgraced the industry that made and fed you.” The outraged movie mogul tried to buy the film so that he could bury it. Fortunately, he failed to do so.

Critical response was positive and box office receipts were good, making “Sunset Boulevard” an undisputed hit. But Gillis’s snappy, matter-of-fact voice-over narration, a sardonic mix of blunt fact, barely restrained venom, and self-deprecation didn’t sit well with all reviewers. 

Thomas M. Pryor wrote for The New York Times that the plot device of using the dead Joe Gillis as narrator was “completely unworthy of Brackett and Wilder, but happily it does not interfere with the success of ‘Sunset Boulevard’.” Taking a more hostile tone, The New Yorker described the film as “a pretentious slice of Roquefort,” containing only “the germ of a good idea.”

According to Sam Staggs in his book Close-Up on Sunset Boulevard, no audience has seen the morgue sequence since 1949, although Wilder did save the footage.

When Sherry Lansing, head of Paramount, approached Wilder about including the deleted sequence as an addendum to the DVD version of “Sunset Boulevard,” he refused. Although Wilder sometimes claimed to hold the missing sequence, he told director Cameron Crowe, “I don’t know who has it now.”

This article was originally published in the Dec. 2023 issue of The Dark Pages. Check out The Dark Pages newsletter at: www.allthatnoir.com/newsletter/

An American Story: Murder In the Living Room

Left: Gloria Swanson, William Holden, "Sunset Blvd. (1950)
Center: Gene Nelson, Phyllis Kirk, Sterling Hayden, "Crime Wave" (1953)
Right: David Janssen, "The Fugitive" (1963).

By Paul Parcellin

The first time I saw a film noir I didn’t know what I was watching. Sure, I could tell that it was a crime film, a detective story, a mystery, but no one I knew called those movies “film noir.” The term did exist back then, but it was used by French critics, vintage film fans and the literati. To me, they were just movies. 

I didn’t see noir in an art house theater, either. These black and white prints were shown on television — “Dialing for Dollars,” if you want to be specific. It was a weekday afternoon broadcast in my berg and on any given day you might see a war picture, a western or a romance. Sometimes you got straight-ahead crime and gangster films, and those were the ones I liked best.

The show’s gimmick was a cash jackpot that lucky viewers could win. During breaks for station identification the host picked a random number out of the phonebook and dialed it. If he reached someone — usually no one picked up the phone on the other end — and they knew how much money was in the jackpot they’d win the cash. It was often a measly amount of dough, around 25 bucks or so and hardly anyone ever won.

If you could put up with commercial breaks and station identification you could see scratchy prints of old movies, and that’s where my film education began.

If you were lucky you might see William Holden’s car get a blowout with automobile repo men in hot pursuit. Holden ditches them by turning into a stranger’s driveway. He thinks he’s in the clear but his troubles are just beginning (“Sunset Blvd.” 1950).

Then there was Sterling Hayden as Det. Lt. Simms, chewing on endless numbers of toothpicks, one after another, as he sweats down suspects in L.A.P.D. headquarters. A compulsive smoker, Simms got the bum news from his doctor: Drop the coffin nails. So he chews toothpicks instead, hundreds and hundreds of them (“Crime Wave” 1953). Incidentally, Lt. Simms was James Ellroy’s inspiration for L.A.P.D. Det. Bud White in “L.A. Confidential” and other crime novels he authored.

Even though I didn’t see any connection between these films, it was clear to my youthful eyes that there was something different here. They weren’t like the spoon-fed pablum that was going out over the airwaves. The stories were darker, the characters were more desperate — these movies seemed to create an alternative universe where all hope goes to die. I was intrigued.

Gloria Swanson, "Sunset Blvd." (1950).

My afternoon movie oasis showed other noir titles, the details of which are blurred by the passage of time. Of course, I had no way of knowing that I’d be seeing those films again one day, except in later years there were crystal clear restored prints. And they’d be shown in theaters with large screens and good sound systems. Hell, you could even own a copy that you could watch at your leisure. But that was a number of years off.

In that pre-Internet era, “Dialing for Dollars” was our YouTube and Archive.org, offering an opportunity to see films that weren’t being show in many movie houses, certainly not in my town. But all was not lost. 

Little did I realize that a lot of the prime time TV shows, some dating back to the 1950s, were short noir movies with dozens of episodes each season.

When noir’s classic period peaked near the end of the 1950s, and fewer noir titles were shown in theaters, radio and television had already absorbed the genre and was broadcasting noir influenced shows with dark themes, intricate plots and moody cinematography. Notable examples include “Dragnet" (1951-’59) a pioneering police procedural series that showcased gritty urban landscapes and complex investigations. It helped set the tone for future TV crime dramas. Also influential was "The Twilight Zone” (1959-’64) and “The Outer
Limits” (1963-’65), both of which skillfully blended science fiction with elements of noir, creating thought-provoking narratives that reflected the moral ambiguity often found in noir. 

Jack Webb, "Dragnet" (1951-'59)

Other early TV shows that contributed to the evolution of storytelling by incorporating the shadows and mysteries of film noir include: “Johnny Staccato,” “The Man With a Camera,” 
“77 Sunset Strip,” “Naked City” and “The Untouchables.” Yes, this is nothing like a complete list of noir-influenced TV. Tons more were broadcast, not to mention the noir influenced episodes of anthology series that broadcast various kinds of stories including noir-like faire. Like early soap operas, these anthologies were broadcast live and so viewers were treated to the occasional boom microphone swooping into the picture and corpses that awoke from the dead and walked off camera.

But getting back to the weekly shows captured on film, one noir-laced series, “The Fugitive” (1963-’67), caught the viewing public’s attention and was perhaps the first such network drama that ended with a finale episode that brought the series to a conclusion. 

“The Fugitive” demanded a satisfying denouement. Each chapter of the story seemed to point toward an inevitable outcome and the show delivered on that promise. The last episode was ratings dynamite, with 78 million people tuned in. 

Based on the true story of Dr. Sam Sheppard, who like the fictional character Dr. Richard Kimble (David Janssen), was wrongly convicted of murdering his wife. Sheppard was later acquitted after spending years in prison.

The fictional Dr. Kimble isn’t quite so fortunate. He’s convicted and sentenced to execution. But the train carrying him to the death house goes off the rails and wrecks. Riding with him is Lt. Philip Gerard (Barry Morse), the officer responsible for his arrest. Kimble escapes and stays on the lam for the remainder of the series while Gerard pursues him with the obsessiveness of Capt. Ahab hunting the great whale.

Ed Asner, David Janssen, "The Fugitive" (1963-'67).

Why single out “The Fugitive” among a sizable array of noir-influenced crime shows? With the possible exception of “Run for Your Life” (1965-’68), the story of a terminally ill man who has two years to live, “The Fugitive” may be the most noir of all 1960s American TV shows. Yes, there are other mind-benders, such as the British series “The Prisoner” (1967-’68) that inspired a cult-like legion of fans and became a favorite of stoners everywhere. Like “The Prisoner,” “The Fugitive” considers the plight of a man who has lost his identity. Both tend to land in some tight spots, but for very different reasons. 

As a fugitive from justice, Kimble cannot return to his normal life and must assume false identities, labor at minimum wage jobs and somehow remain invisible as he searches for the man who killed his wife. 

In one shot, foreshadowing the doctor’s unexpected transformation into a drastically different persona, he’s on the train bringing him to his execution and is seated next to the window. A cloud of cigarette smoke swirls around him, adding to the scene’s surreal quality. We see him and his reflection in the glass. The double image is the first indicator that he’s about to experience a split in identity.

He’s transformed into a loner who can never become attached to people or locales. Each day he risks discovery, and discovery means a return trip to the death house. 

Because of his precarious existence, existential dilemmas crop up. In the pilot episode a relationship between himself and a woman (Vera Miles) he meets begins to blossom. She’s married to an abusive man (Brian Keith) whom she’s trying to leave, but he won’t have it. Kimble knows he must protect her, but by doing so he’s taking his life into his hands.

Patrick McGoohan, "The Prisoner" (1967).

Like “The Prisoner,” Dr. Kimble’s misadventures are one long story told in multiple episodes. It’s something akin to an hours-long movie and it held the viewing public’s rapt attention for several seasons. The show wrapped at a good place in its run. After all, how long can a fugitive flee without getting caught?

No, it isn’t a private eye show or a police procedural, but “The Fugitive” gets to the heart of noir — loss of identity, alienation from society and the victimhood of the individual who is railroaded into paying for a crime for which he’s innocent. It's nightmarish stuff — the stuff that noir is made of.

 

Touring Scenes of the Crime (Film)

You can still see some of the hauntingly familiar locations where film noir scenes were shot in the 1930s to '50s. For instance, the rooming house at the intersection of Franklin and Ivar (1851 North Ivar Ave.) in Hollywood. Early on in Billy Wilder's masterpiece, "Sunset Boulevard," hapless screenwriter Joe Gillis (William Holden) taps out pages and puffs Luckies at the residence. Gillis, the struggling scribe with a couple of B pictures to his credit, plays gigolo to faded silent-screen legend Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson). As we all know, things go badly for the writer. But Gillis does end up getting the in-ground swimming pool he always wanted.

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