Die Gläserne Mauer

"Playhouse 90"-style drama of Vittorio Gassman trying to enter our country after World War II. He meets Gloria Grahame as she is stealing a coat (!) and finds her shabby room gloriously comfortable. I found it all quite entertaining: great music (jazz), cinematography, grubby characters who are nice to look at. The immigration theme is well-done but with a few annoyingly goofy plot turns.

The Glass Wall (1953)

A great idea, and two great leads--Gloria Grahame as a down and out single girl and Vittoria Gassman as a Eastern European illegal immigrant. And one mediocre directing job--by Maxwell Shane. I had just seen another Shane film that was pretty good, with some great performances ("The Naked Street" with a terrific Anthony Quinn) so I was looking forward to this. It has a great theme (facing the immigration system) and it turns our attention to the new world presence for justice, the United Nations. It also features some real musicians--Jack Teagarden and Shorty Rogers--and one straight small combo big band jazz number. (I put it that way because by 1953 the real scene in New York was bebop, this this style predates it.)

So, the best parts of this movie are terrific, mainly the middle section where the two leads help each other and start to fall in love, with hints of an urban "They Live by Night" in mood. But there are parts where you can't help but laugh, because they are either so improbable or the editing and acting is ridiculously off key. Director Shane also co-wrote this adventure, and here there are hiccups, too, even down to the central premise of a man facing deportation even though he has nowhere to go and has been on the run for a decade. For one, it's hard to believe the immigration laws were so blindly inflexible, but let's say they were. They have the reputation. But certainly New York City wouldn't get turned upside down for one man, not considered dangerous, who has slipped from custody. There are APBs and front page photos and a general panic on the order of Son of Sam.

But we understand the dilemma anyway. It's one man against the system, and that's always an easy one for choosing sides. Grahame plays a woman on the outs with great sympathy and conviction, and she's just the kind of hardened, soft-hearted girl you'd want to fall in with if you were on the lam. And the ending, as badly directed and edited as it is (you'll see), is pure Hitchcock for its setting and high drama. We are taken inside the new United Nations building called the Secretariat in Manhattan (the International Style Le Corbusier skyscraper was finished in 1952), in what must be the first Hollywood movie to do so (and perhaps the last in this manner until "The Interpreter" in 2005, the site being secret and guarded enough that Hitchcock himself in 1958 had to use a model instead of the real location).

This is one case where someone could re-edit it and have something of a minor gem, with high points making it worth the effort. As it is, the speed bumps are nearly fatal.

A pungent period flavor of post-war New York elevates Maxwell Shane's The Glass Wall. If it's not quite noir (its idealism disqualifies it), it sure looks and feels like noir. As well it should, coming from the writer/director of those unambiguous noirs Fear in the Night (1947) and its remake Nightmare (1956).

In his first American film, Vittorio Gassman plays a stateless stowaway who's caught before his ship sails into New York harbor. Detained by immigration authorities, who won't believe his story that he qualifies for special consideration for aiding the Allies during the war, he's due to be returned to Trieste and certain death. But he jumps from the deck onto the docks, smashing his ribs, and starts stumbling around the city looking for the G.I. who can vouch for him (Jerry Paris). All Gassman knows is Paris' first name, and that he plays clarinet somewhere near Times Square (when we catch up with Paris, he's auditioning for Jack Teagarden's band).

During his nocturnal search, he runs into Gloria Grahame, who's very down on her luck. A sharp little minx who used to affix the tips to shoelaces for a living, now she steals coats from Automats (it's one of her more captivating performances). Grahame's at first wary of Gassman but quickly won over – his tale of woe makes her troubles look paltry, and he's the first guy to treat her decently. So she lets him hide out in her garret room (his escape makes the front pages) and helps him search for his old pal.

There's a beat-the-clock element that keeps the story moving: Gassman doesn't know that Paris has seen the tabloids and will vouch for him – or that his options will expire at dawn. And Shane stews the path with obstacles as well as with good Samaritans (Robin Raymond as a stripper with a heart of gold – another `Hunkie' – touchingly among them).

As the sky lightens, the desperate Gassman reaches the place he thinks will be his salvation: The forbidding `glass wall' of Wallace K. Harrison's just-completed United Nations Headquarters. But the building's empty of all but janitors, and Gassman still doesn't know that he's still safe....

The Glass Wall's a modest movie that overcomes the handicaps of its dated and idealistic `message' to succeed as a well told and acted human interest story. But it triumphs in its presentation of mid-20th-century Manhattan, as vividly raffish as in any movie of its period.

Aboard a Liberty ship, Vittorio Gassman passes the Statue of Liberty, prior to docking in New York, only to be informed that as a stowaway, the authorities are not at liberty to grant his liberty and accuse him of attempting to take liberties. What a liberty!

Desperate to avoid deportation and sustaining broken ribs in the process (just to add to the missing finger nails and bayonet wound he has already received courtesy of Hitler), Gassman succeeds in jumping ship and escaping into the city. His objective is to locate Tom, (Jerry Paris), a jazz clarinetist and former soldier, whose life he saved during the war. Proof that he contributed to the allied cause will allow him permanent residency in the U. S., but it is a manic race against time and in a city of eight million people, the odds are not in his favour.

Enthralled by the razzle dazzle, the affluence, opulence and optimism of Times Square by night, including the shot of a cinema showing Alan Ladd and Lizabeth Scott's Red Mountain, he remains, nonetheless immersed in the trauma of his own past and uncomfortably isolated. His search leads him to several jazz joints, where we are treated to cameos by Jack Teagarden, Shorty Rogers and the all too fleetingly glimpsed vanguard of the quiet avante-garde, groundbreaking saxophonist Jimmy Giuffre.

Along the way, he befriends misfit and kindred spirit Gloria Grahame, on the run from unwisely stealing burly Kathleen Freeman's coat, which would have looked like something from Rent a Tent draped over her comparatively sleek frame. Ignoring Petula Clark's advice they decide that the subway is the safest place to spend the night, before the anguished immigrant makes his last-ditch attempt to reach the U. N. building.

Gassman ticks all the boxes as the troubled, insecure loner, haunted by a tortured, mysterious past, injured, on the lam and embroiled in a race against the clock. The rest of the cast consists of officialdom, Gassman sympathizers and jazz musicians. Not even a whiff of a femme fatale, a corrupt syndicate or a hoodlum in this unusual noir. The closest we come to a gangster is an acne ridden teenage street punk, who hopes that Grahame gets hit by a garbage truck.

There is much to applaud in The Glass Wall, but it's not all good news....and on that subject, would one illegal immigrant REALLY be the hottest story in New York, dominating all the front pages? Whilst Joe Turkel's swaggering, over the top tirade smacks of an 'I'm way too cool for THIS movie' bravura. Gassman himself falls victim to the over acting bug, delivering a tsunami of idealistic platitudes concluding with an impassioned 'Nobody listens!' before promptly scarpering from the people who ARE prepared to listen and taking the world's fastest elevator to the roof.

However, the compassionate nature of the subject matter, the performances of Grahame and Gassman, with their 'You and me against the world' mantra, sharply tapping into our empathy with the underdog, the sights and sounds of Times Square under darkness and the jazz vignettes, all synergize to carry this movie over the line. Confronted by The Glass Wall, can those who love and support Gassman provide him with... The Glass Key?

The movie came as a rather pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting much, not having heard of it among Grahame's usual list of noirs. Nonetheless, it's imaginatively directed and generally suspenseful, despite a one-note plot. Refugee Kaban (Gassman) arrives in New York as a stowaway, but will be deported if he doesn't track down a musician friend. So he searches the dives along Times Square looking for the guy he last saw in Europe. While he's tracking his friend, however, the cops are tracking him. There's also a number of sub-plots concerning people he meets on the way, who sort of drift in and out.

There's atmosphere a-plenty as director Shane takes the camera crew along Times Square's night beat, which amounts to a dazzling b&w light show. At the same time, Gassman's gaunt frame and few words add to the carnival of characters. Grahame has a sympathetic role, for a change, which may be why the film remains obscure. Here, she's mostly a tag- along with Gassman and then with the cops. But I really like the unknown Robin Raymond as the personality-plus stripper who lights up the screen in a brief role.

At first, I thought "the glass wall" referred to Kaban's inability to enter the country as a stowaway. But then, the many imposing shots of the glass slab of the UN building changed my reference. Nonetheless, it looks like a number of scenes were actually filmed in the UN, lending the story even more visual appeal. All in all, the movie's a pretty good dramatic travelogue of downtown NYC, slim on plot and dialog but fat on inventive visuals. It's also reminiscent of a time when Europe's post-war DP's (displaced persons) were much in the news.