Fatalité

It's hard living up to such a broad yet existential title as SUSPENSE; but the very beginning does it perfectly... albeit lasting only several seconds as an armed woman, flanked by two goons, aims her pistol at a ratty-looking fella, and then fires... hitting a target and winning the teddy bear prize, handed over by her "victim" working the stand...

Who then gives homeless-looking loser Barry Sullivan's Joe Morgan directions to an ice skating rink/auditorium... and what follows are the best sequences as Sullivan talks his way from being a popcorn vendor to security guard to practically running the show by making it more dangerous and thus... suspenseful...

Of course being a Noir he soon falls head-over-heels for a taken woman, and that's where real life ice skating champ Belita, married to the always-menacing Albert Dekker, comes in... she's the showcase star and he's the wealthy, enigmatic owner... and we eventually learn that Sullivan's quick climb was for reasons other than his fast-talking charm...

A shame since his character needed more spontaneous con artistry since, once he and Belita realize they're both equally smitten with each other... despite her husband's deadly intentions and a shady dame from the past (Bonita Gransville)... SUSPENSE, directed by THIS GUN FOR HIRE Frank Tuttle, in becoming a full-blown sport-propaganda/romantic melodrama, leaves those initial crime-genre origins on ice.

Suspense doesn't promise to live up to its generic title until its last half-hour, when director Frank Tuttle (This Gun for Hire his only other noir) turns up the voltage and generates some, yes, real suspense. A Monogram release with a big budget (for Monogram), the movie casts the unlikely Belita – an ice-skating 'novelty' star like Sonja Henie – against Barry Sullivan; they would reunite the next year in The Gangster. Albert Dekker and Bonita Granville fill out the other principal roles.

Dekker's the impresario of The Ice Parade, a revue in which his wife Belita stars. A peanut vendor (Sullivan) offers a suggestion for sprucing up the act (a ring of swords through which Belita will jump) and gets offered in turn a management job. Dekker can't help but notice the sparks between his wife and his new hire, especially when Sullivan turns up uninvited at their mountain lodge. When they're off frolicking in the winterscape, he takes at shot a Sullivan but triggers an avalanche, which buries him.

Or does it? Back in her Los Angeles penthouse, Belita senses his presence. Sullivan, meanwhile, copes with another specter from his past – Bonita Granville, whom he ditched in Chicago (he has an unsavory background which she threatens to divulge – though never to us).

What with all this baggage, the romance sours, and Belita begins to suspect Sullivan of having killed Dekker, if in fact he's still among the living....

With Suspense, you have to take the bad with the good. The skating numbers, while eye-popping (a left-handed compliment), bring the action to a halt every quarter-hour or so. On the other hand, Tuttle anticipates by a year Anthony Mann's basement light in Desperate, swinging like a pendulum from glare to shadow. Still, he plays fast and loose with a key plot point – Dekker's reemergence. The dance of the seven veils he performs adds a supernatural touch to the spooky atmosphere, but it falls short of success: there's information missing that by every right ought to be included.

One last note: Suspense marks the last movie, out of well over two hundred, for portly, bassoon-voiced Eugene Palette, a welcome – and all but unavoidable – presence through the 1930s and early 1940s. In this, his swan song, he shows himself once more to be every pound the pro.

My God, Bosley Crowther's an idiot. The one thing in this good noir from scenarist Phil Yordan and director Frank Tuttle that the former New York Times critic liked, namely the ice skating stuff, is the one thing in the film that is truly ordinary. Everything else is either better than expected (i.e. Belita's acting) or fairly compelling (i.e. Barry Sullivan and Eugene Palette's performances). And while the film did not, ironically, contain much suspense it had plentiful supplies of darkness and disturbance courtesy of Yordan's terse dialogue and Tuttle's three AM of the soul direction. Indeed, the general Woolrichian look and feel of the film has caused me to want to view more of this unknown director's work (only film of his that I can recall viewing is "This Gun For Hire" with Ladd/Lake, which I also liked). Give it a B.

PS...Wonder why Barry Sullivan never made it (in movies, that is) while less talented contemporaries with the same look, like Stack, Mature and Wilde, did?

Super-aggressive Joe Morgan tries to take over impresario Frank Leonard's ice show and his girl, for good measure, resulting in some strange consequences.

With all the interest in 40's noir, I'm not sure why this genuinely exotic little number is too often overlooked. Maybe it's because its pedigree is not the best, (cheap-jack Monogram), or because its cast is non-movie star, (Sullivan, Belita, Dekker), or the fact that it doesn't turn up on cable (to my knowledge). Nonetheless, in my book it's one of the best examples around of the lost art of b&w cinematography.

Consider, for example, what Belita's surreal, death-defying skating number would look like in color, or that distance shot of the noirish mountain bowl where Frank stalks his prey, or the big neon panel blinking through the fog. In fact, consider the values that would be lost if the entire film were in color. I think one reason many of us return to 40's noir is because of those dream-like shadings,(among other values), that simply can't be duplicated in reds and greens, etc. Then too, these b&w shadings are a perfect complement to the ambiguities pervading the best noir.

But it's not only the photography in this movie, it's also the art direction (Paul Sylos) and the set decoration (George Hopkins). Thanks to them, the spooky ice rink plus the cavernous apartment and lodge interiors achieve real visual distinction with their attention to artistic detail. And even after multiple viewings, I haven't figured out how they did that eerie mountain bowl with its rink at the bottom. That tableau remains unlike anything I've seen in film. All in all, these elements add up, in my book, to a superior slice of visual exotica from noir's golden age.

To me, the most notable part of the story itself is how basically unsympathetic Joe (Sullivan) is with his overweening aggressiveness as he cuts in on everything Frank (Dekker) owns or values. At the same time, I don't buy the climax that looks like some version of the Hollywood Code in action, even if only in diluted form. Nonetheless, it's a great cast from the gimlet-eyed Sullivan (he doesn't look like anyone else in movies) to the commanding Dekker to the froggishly likable Palette. And must not forget Belita's eye-catching wardrobe or the deglamorized Granville getting jilted every five-minutes. And please tell me when ace screen-writer Yordan ever drew a breath away from the typewriter since his name pops up on just about everything from this period.

Anyhow, in my book, the movie remains a real sleeper and visual treat, and TMC would do well to slip it somewhere into their evening schedule.

A very trippy film noir.

Noiristas, make this a must because it has an inventive approach to it's noir story. Plenty of ice skating, rumba music and lions. The leading lady, Belita, is a treat. Barry Sullivan is superb. My favorite Sullivan performance.

Director Frank Tuttle and his cinematographer Karl Struss provide plenty of visual panache to make up for writer Philip Yordan's so-so script.

Yordan does deliver plenty of great noir lines for the actors to chew on.

I've seen Suspense three times now and appreciate it a little more each time. It's weird. I'm recommending a freaking ice skating noir.