Al filo de la noche

In New York, the spoiled Leona Stevenson (Barbara Stanswick) is the invalid wife of the VP of a pharmaceutical industry Henry J. Stevenson (Burt Lancaster)and becomes aware of a murder that would be committed late night of that day through a "cross-wire", when she overhears two men planning the murder.

Leona tries to find the right number to tell the police and she discovers that her former friend and ex-girlfriend of Henry, Sally Hunt Lord (Ann Richards), had lunch with him. She recalls the first encounter with her husband and parts of her life with him through flashbacks. Along the night, she learns dirty secrets about Henry and she finds that she might be the intended victim.

"Sorry, Wrong Number" is a great film-noir with a suspenseful story and top-notch performances. The screenplay and the direction are excellent and keep the attention of the viewer until the end of the last scene. This movie deserves to be watched more than once and is highly indicated for fans of film noir. My vote is nine.

Title (Brazil): "A Vida Por Um Fio - O Clássico" ("The Life for One Line - The Classic")

Note: On 29 September 2013, I saw this movie again.

Alfred Hitchcock himself praised this movie that was for him one of Barbara Stanwyck's most extraordinary parts.Besides,he did include Lucille Fletcher's short novel in his anthology "stories not for the nervous"(sic)

The story of this woman in her bed,who has heard on the phone someone is in danger,and who little by little discovers the horrible truth,is a first-class screen play which requires the viewer's attention,,or else he may lose the vital lead.The first people who enjoyed it had no pictures,since it was originally a radio broadcast,so they had to show a lot of imagination.The movie remains talky but the numerous flashbacks give it substance.The phone,is along with Stanwyck ,the star of Litvak's work;Burt Lancaster,a great actor though,only serves as a foil to both of them.50% of the dialogue consists of phone calls,that's what makes this thriller unique.

A strong connection with Hitchcock's work is the father's part(Ed Bigley).He is some equivalent of the Mother in many movies of his.The stuffed animals in his desirable mansion are a symbol of his daughter's lifelessness.(Coincidence?There will be such hunting trophies (and more) in his "psycho" twelve years later,and the topic is present in "the man who knew too much"(2nd version))

If you are fond of suspense,this is an unqualified must!

Chrome-plated hokum, Sorry, Wrong Number works despite itself. And works and works. Starting out as a radio drama by Lucille Fletcher in the 1940s, it boasted umpteen performances plus a 1946 production in the nascent medium of television before Anatole Litvak turned it into film noir. During most of its earlier incarnations, Agnes Moorehead created the role of the hysterical, bedridden heiress, the `cough drop queen,' but the film fell into the lap of the First Lady of Film Noir, Barbara Stanwyck. Moorehead was more than a strong enough actress, but Hollywood required a star.

The Irony is that Sorry, Wrong Number is far from her finest hour on screen. Rarely has one been made so aware of Stanwyck `acting' in the most unabashedly actressy way. And the same can be said of Burt Lancaster who, when a role didn't set well with him, communicated his discomfort blatantly. In The Rose Tattoo, against Anna Magnani, he was ingratiating and unconvincing ; here, he's almost as awkward as the henpecked husband in whom the worm has at long last turned.

But maybe Fletcher's slice of devil's food cake calls for mannered histrionics. Ensconced in her bedchamber one sweltering Manhattan evening, her pill bottles and her telephone at her elbow, Stanwyck eavesdrops on a sinister conversation – a murder is being plotted – thanks to a crossed line. This makes her even more restive, and she starts working the phone, tracking down her tardy husband. Litvak `ventilates' these calls, turning them into a series of flashbacks filling in the background to what will prove a very bad evening for Stanwyck. (The sequences on Staten Island, however, could have sprung from the pen of Franklin W. Dixon, the Hardy Boys' puppeteer.)

Unavoidably talky, owing to its source, Sorry, Wrong Number moves inexorably to its preordained end. Basically, it's a gimmick, and one that Hitchcock might have fine-tuned into a nifty infernal machine. Litvak doesn't do badly, though, and the movie's shock value outlasts its staled conventions. Its most chilling moment comes when Stanwyck frantically dials a number that she thinks will give her solace. But her answer is `BOwery 2-1000 – the City Morgue.'

Barbara Stanwyck (as Leona Stevenson) is a neurotic woman, confined to her bed. She is married to the very attractive, and mysterious, young Burt Lancaster (as Henry Stevenson). Ms. Stanwyck relies on a state-of-the-art 1940s corded telephone to help communicate her needs. One evening, she picks up her phone and overhears two men plotting a murder; eventually, the crime moves too close to Stanwyck for comfort…

Stanwyck is excellent as the spoiled, arrogant, and wealthy, but, ultimately, helpless heroine of Lucille Fletcher's adapted radio play (the part was originated on radio by Agnes Moorehead). The story picks up some flaws in its extension into a feature film; it is most frustrating as (flashbacks) ((within flashbacks)) (((within flashbacks))) occur; and, the story becomes a little confusing. Still, Stanwyck's fine performance carries the film to an exciting, tense, conclusion.

******** Sorry, Wrong Number (9/1/48) Anatole Litvak ~ Barbara Stanwyck, Burt Lancaster, Wendell Corey

Sorry, Wrong Number (1948)

You can tell this thriller was once a radio play--it is mostly talk, and often over the telephone. But what drama can be built on a string of conversations around the office, in cars in the rain, out on a lonely beach on Staten Island, and on the telephone, often filled with mystery and doom.\

Not that it's not a visual movie, either. There is a big gloomy house, and lots of dark city streets. Shadows and moving camera and close-ups of faces and telephones, all keep you glued and increasingly worried. By the end, the really jarring, memorable end, you are ready for what you can never be ready for.

Beware, the plot is confusing. Even seeing it twice I had to pay attention to who was who, and what turn of events had just taken place. Part of the reason is there is a bewildering use of flashbacks, even flashbacks within flashbacks, told by all kinds of different characters. The plot is laid out methodically, but take notes as you go, or at least take note. The initial overheard phone call is key to it all, and it gets reinforced later somewhat, but pay heed there.

And the person on the phone? A sharp, bitter, convincing Barbara Stanwyck, who really knows how to be steely and vulnerable at the same time. Burt Lancaster is more solid and stolid, and maybe less persuasive overall, but he carries a more practical part of the story. It keeps coming back to Stanwyck in bed, and the telephone which is her contact with the facts, as they swirl and finally descend.

Director Anatole Litvak has some less known but thrilling dark dramas to look for, including Snake Pit. But this is his most sensational winner, partly for Stanwyck, and partly for the last five minutes, which is as good as drama gets.