Der weisse Schatten

This is a perfect little film noir, it's everything a film noir is supposed to be. Lucille Ball is great (I echo the sentiments of the person who said she should have done more of this type of film.) She's not a femme fatale, she's a completely innocent heroine; perhaps a little unusual in film noir, but it works. The use of light and dark, some terrific camera angles, and a somewhat confusing plot make this a superb example of this genre. One wonders why this film is not better known; it should be.

Mark Stevens plays Bradford Galt, a depressed, New York City private investigator who is trying to forget his troubled past. But someone is tailing Galt for reasons unknown. Lucille Ball adds charm and flair to the story as Galt's faithful, resourceful secretary who invites herself into the detective's dilemma, which eventually leads to a wealthy art collector named Cathcart, played by the suave, and always engaging, Clifton Webb. It's a sordid tale of deceit and murder, expressed visually in typical 1940's film-noir style.

Galt's surroundings are drab and dreary, in marked contrast to the lush, opulent environment of Cathcart and his elitist friends. Director Henry Hathaway leaves no doubt as to where his sympathies lie. It's the late 1940s, and the proletariat class, represented by Galt, is honest and hard working, and up against society's corrupt rich.

In contrast to other film detectives of that era, like Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade, Galt is somewhat plaintive and vulnerable, but these traits make him more sympathetic, even though he can deliver a mean punch when called for.

The film's high-contrast B&W cinematography is striking. It emphasizes harsh lighting, deep shadows, and two-dimensional silhouettes. This visual style, together with occasional sounds of jazz, conveys a dissonance we would expect in a post-WWII environment of the urban underworld. When combined with a story of one man up against sinister forces, these cinematic elements, taken as a whole, communicate a philosophy of existentialism.

For viewers who like heavy-duty 1940's noir films with interesting characters, good acting, and striking cinematography, "The Dark Corner" is one of the better choices.

Mark Stevens a couple years earlier had played a sweet-voiced singer (small role in "Rhapsody in Blue," 1943-45). So when Fox Studio in '46 cast Stevens (4th in name order) as the hard-boiled private detective, they probably hoped Dame Fortune would smile on Stevens the way she did on Dick Powell (former sweet-voiced singer) when he was cast against type as the hard-boiled private detective in "Murder My Sweet" (RKO '44). Not to speak of minor actor Alan Ladd, who had been cast (only 4th in order) as the hard-boiled anti-hero in "This Gun for Hire" (Para. '42) -- and became a super-star overnight. Evidently the 3d time was not the charm, and Mark Stevens didn't strike it rich, the way Dick Powell and Alan Ladd had done... Speaking more positively, I would like to credit what to me is one of the best scenes in the film, combining high drama with plausible psychology. Detective Stevens, totally desperate to find the true culprit before the police catch him, tries a shot in the dark. He visits the "Cascara Gallery," with which he's totally unfamiliar (he's never been there). Awaiting gallery owner Clifton Webb in the latter's office, Stevens encounters a young woman (Cathy Downs), unknown to him, who turns out to be Webb's wife. From this point on, the desperate Stevens must improvise (think on his feet), trying to get the truth out of Downs. With believable uncertainty and hesitation (plus audience suspense), he does improvise, in a way that is dramatically quite satisfying. It's as if director Hathaway went back to the film pioneer D. W. Griffith (celebrated for "photographing thought"), and did the same thing in this one brief scene. Watch this part of "Dark Corner" and judge for yourself. -- Steven P Hill, Cinema Studies, University of Illinois.

It's a loss to the noir cycle that Lucille Ball never got to exercise her widely underestimated acting (as opposed to comedic) skills as a femme fatale; she might have gained entry to the Bad Girls' Club. She did, however, lend her welcome presence to three film noir: Two Smart People, Lured, and, the first and best of them, The Dark Corner.

She plays the new, spunky receptionist to private eye Mark Stevens (and gets top billing; logically the star, Stevens comes only fourth in the titles). Once framed into a manslaughter charge in San Francisco, Stevens has come east to start over with a clean slate. But he's being measured for an even bigger frame. White-suited William Bendix is the cat's-paw in a plot to goad Stevens into murdering the old partner who set him up (Kurt Kreuger).

Kreuger, however, isn't even aware that Stevens is out of prison and in New York; he's too busy romancing the young wife (Cathy Downs) of rich art-gallery owner Clifton Webb (she sits around bored, listening to `his paintings crack with age'). Webb is the puppet-master behind the elaborate scheme to eliminate his younger, more virile rival. When Stevens comes to on the floor of his apartment with a poker in his hand and Kreuger bludgeoned to death next to him, he, with Ball's help, must race against his inevitable arrest to find the real killer.

The story flits between two Manhattans: The shabby cityscape of penny arcades under the El and flats that open up onto fire escapes, populated by Stevens, Ball and Bendix, and the haut monde of ritzy galleries and high-ceilinged, richly upholstered apartments inhabited by Clift, Downs and Kreuger. Spanning the gap is the unholy alliance between the coarse Bendix and the p***-elegant Webb, reprising his Bitter Old Queen number from Laura and The Razor's Edge (though again, as in Laura, we're asked to swallow his obsession with a beautiful...woman half his age).

While maintaining a deft balance, the plot weighs in as quite a brutal one (Webb's quick dispatch of Bendix proves quite startling). Despite this role and The Street With No Name, Stevens never quite became the noir icon - like Ladd or Bogart or Mitchum (or even like Powell or Ford or Ryan) he seemed destined for, but he's persuasive enough as a man strained to the limit by forces he can't fathom.

Henry Hathaway directed, but the black magic comes courtesy of cinematographer Joe MacDonald. He ably lighted a number of estimable noirs (Street With No Name, Call Northside 777, Pickup on South Street), but here his work surpasses itself. When Ball and Stevens embrace, he turns a two-shot into a four-shot by placing them in front of a fireplace mirror; we see her face in the foreground, his in reflection. In plot, writing and direction, The Dark Corner falls just short of the finest entries in the cycle. But in its strikingly composed photography, finely filigreed with shadow, it could be shown at a gala opening in Webb's high-priced gallery.

On paper, a run-of-the-mill film noir, with familiar plot exposition and stock characters but executed well enough to make the whole an above-average thriller. The story has all the pulp-fiction hallmarks you would want, including a smooth womanising playboy who lives dangerously as he cuckolds an older wealthy businessman by having an affair with his young, pretty wife, a tough-talking private eye assisted by his sassy, attractive secretary and a tough "heavy" to give us the obligatory fight scenes too. Okay, so the main characters appear to be facsimiles of A-movie prototypes, with Clifton Webb not quite as venal as Claude Rains, Mark Stevens not quite as hard-boiled as Alan Ladd and Lucille Ball not quite as alluring as Lauren Bacall but they commit so well to their characters that a fairly preposterous narrative becomes gripping and involving throughout. Much interest of course will come from perusing the young and surprisingly attractive Lucille Ball in an early role, before her looks became slightly hawkish in her later years and of course she developed that voice! In a high-class acting ensemble, she just about takes the plaudits. Seasoned director Hathaway further elevates matters with some choice flourishes of his own, with effective use of trademark noir devices as reflecting shots in mirrors, dark interiors and obligatory interplay of shadow and light, particularly a scene where the adulterous couple are caught out by the husband in silhouette. The dialogue again isn't quite up to Chandler standard and modern-day viewers aware of "Austin Powers" will smile at the innocent, occasional use of the word "shagging" throughout, but the actors bite into their words with conviction as the twisting plot reaches its satisfactory "loose ends all-tied-up" conclusion. As a devotee of film noir, I was pleasantly surprised and not a little pleased to discover this little known gem hiding away in the early hours of extra-terrestrial TV.