Acte de violence

Van Heflin plays a land developer in Los Angeles in the booming years after WW2, whom we see cutting the ribbon on a new sub-division that's opening up. He has a beautiful young wife played by Janet Leigh who adores everything about him and a toddler son as well. When an army buddy played by Robert Ryan unexpectedly shows up, it throws Heflin's little paradise into chaos. His wartime history emerges, presenting a disturbing picture of cowardice and betrayal, things he's kept hidden from everyone, including his wife, but which his own conscience and Ryan as well, won't let him escape. It turns out Ryan's been trailing him from coast to coast. Heflin's disintegration is awesome, one of the finest acting jobs ever. It's all perfectly capped off when he's trying to explain what happened to his unbelieving wife. He winds up on LA's skid row, meeting a party girl who's seen much better days played by Mary Astor, who gets him to confide in her and introduces him to Johnny (Berry Kroeger), someone who can arrange to have all his problems taken care of for a hefty price. The conclusion, a classic western style noir showdown on a breezy night on the railroad tracks, is beautifully done.

In "Seventh Cross" director Fred Zinnemann depicted the isolation of a concentration camp escapee (Spencer Tracy) with MGM studio sets stepping in for actual locations - that would have been impossible at the time. In "The Search" he made use of a ruined Berlin to tell the story of a very young concentration camp survivor - a young boy separated from his mother - using the ruins as a metaphor for the many ruined lives.

In "Act of Violence" Zinnemann returns to the aftermath of war - this time telling of two prisoner-of-war camp survivors, one of whom was a Nazi collaborator, the other one a vengeful fellow prisoner who takes it upon himself to track down and kill his former friend. Cinematographer Robert Surtees makes great use of Los Angeles' seedier parts of town - I was reminded of how his son Bruce Surtees made similar effective use of San Francisco in "Dirty Harry" - this is noir at its best, not only in cinematic terms, but with those "only come out at night" characters you expect in a top notch thriller.

Mary Astor is most effective as the barfly (couldn't make her a prostitute, though it is more than obvious) - and after her performance in the garish "Desert Fury" it's nice to see her in black-and-white again. We first meet her in a pub in which Van Heflin runs for sanctuary, the lighting there has us admiring the way she has held up, but when we move to the harsher lighting of her apartment (the lamp hanging on a cord is unshaded), we realize that the first impression was too kind. It's a magnificent performance - perhaps the best that I've seen of her.

Barry Kroeger, whose altogether too infrequent appearances included such noir classics as "Cry of the City" and "Gun Crazy," makes the most of his few moments as an underworld "enforcer" who would be quite willing to kill Ryan for a price. While Ryan seems to be a man who is on the verge of violence at any second, barely able to restrain himself, Kroeger is even more chilling. His calm, rational demeanor puts him in a different class of predator - he's good at what he does and he's used to doing it, like Alan Ladd's character in "This Gun For Hire" we can be sure that when committing murder, he feels "Fine, just fine."

Janet Leigh appears as Heflin's wife - it's an early turn for her, and while it is a most stereotypically written "wifey" role, she invests it with all that she has, but the ending is such that we have to wonder just how she will react. Right before that we have a taut scene with Heflin about to confront Ryan while Kroeger is watching. The tension is almost unbearable, all done through editing and camerawork and not one line of dialogue.

Zinnemann would continue to look at war's effects on those who came home in "The Men" as well as "Teresa" and in "Hatful Of Rain" - the man may be the most unheralded of classic film directors, but his resume includes Oscar winners such as "High Noon" and "A Man For All Seasons" as well as such nailbiters as this film and the original "Day of the Jackal."

Act of Violence is directed by Fred Zinnemann and adapted for the screen by Robert L. Richards from a story by Collier Young. It stars Van Heflin, Robert Ryan, and Janet Leigh, with support coming from Mary Astor, Phyllis Thaxter & Berry Kroeger. Robert Surtees photographs it from various California locations and Bronislau Kaper provides the music that is conducted by André Previn.

An Embittered former POW (Ryan) is hell bent on revenge against his former commanding officer (Heflin) who betrayed his men's planned escape attempt from a Nazi prison camp.

Superior film noir piece that is not only boasting a taut, intelligent and suspenseful story to work from, but also a collective group of film makers on tip top form. The film primarily looks at the point of view of the troubled soldiers who upon returning from war are mentally and physically shot. Some are thriving as the economy in the post war times has picked up, while others are carrying the legacy of battle - - with deep long memories gnawing away with every battle scarred step. They say time is a big healer, particularly with the passing of loved ones and the willingness to forgive those who have done you wrong. But the makers here are not in that frame of mind. The ghosts of the past are not content to sit around in Surtees' menacing shadows, they want out, and with Ryan & Heflin deftly channelling different, yet very flawed, characters, the result is a tough, and at times, fascinating viewing experience.

Zinnerman, one can reasonably assume, gave his heart for this one. Having fled Austria to escape the Nazis, his heart would be shattered as his parents would become part of that dark piece of history that encompassed the Holocaust. The grim texture {Surtees again dealing in genius like mood enhancements} of the piece carries an air of realism, a need to cast out some demons in the form of cinema. The ending will cause some consternation to first time viewers: definitely! But personally I think it's closure for the director; and to us the viewers it should (has) make for an interesting conversation piece about noir and the way to finish off one of its dark offspring. As for the cast? Ryan & Heflin are superb, two of the finest character actors from the golden era of Westerns and Noirs. But rest assured that here the girls are also their equal. Leigh gives gravitas to the role of the courageous, loving and fretful wife of Heflin's tortured soul. Thaxter blends common sense with anguished loyalty as the girlfriend of Ryan's malevolent cripple. While Astor almost steals the film from the guys as a brassy woman of the bars and streets who takes Heflin in off the now dangerous avenues and alleyways.

Smart, pangy and dripping with noir style, Act Of Violence has so much going for it, and equally as much to say. 8/10

This grim look a couple of demobbed soldiers continuing their private war at home rarely get mentioned in lists of essential noirs; maybe, upon release in 1949, it was just a little too close for comfort -- hinting a truths the victorious American public were unwilling to acknowledge. If so, the film has yet to be rediscovered --or reappraised. Van Heflin is living out the modest American dream in sunny California when into his life strides an old combat buddy, Robert Ryan (at his most menacing, which is nothing to sneeze at). To his wife's (Janet Leigh's) consternation, Heflin takes it on the lam, and slowly we learned what happened, or may have happened, over in a POW camp in the European Theater of War. As Heflin's flight takes him into seedier and more sinister surroundings, he links up with Mary Astor, living on the vague border of prostitution. (After helping to launch the cycle with her spectacular turn as Brigid O'Shaugnessey in The Maltese Falcon, Astor appeared in disappointingly few film noir; her expert performance here makes one wonder why, why, why?) Though the script opts for a strange and bitter "redemptive" ending, the acrid taste of Act of Violence lingers long.

"What is it, love trouble or money trouble?" a burnt-out good-time-gal asks the man she just picked up in a bar. She's seen all the troubles in the world, she tells him, "And they boil down to just those two. You're broke, or you're lonely." Most noir films confirm this: the hero is brought down by lust or greed or some combination of the two; by the temptations of crime or the lure of a femme fatale. But this time the world-weary hooker is wrong; her man's problem has nothing to do with love or money. It has to do with the war, when, as the man tells his wife, "A lot of things happened...that you don't understand."

World War II is an undercurrent in many post-war noirs. A generation of men had faced violence and death; they couldn't settle back into their ostentatiously wholesome communities, and they were all too ready to pull out their service revolvers to solve peacetime problems. ACT OF VIOLENCE offers the most direct analysis of the war as a source of noir angst, becoming both one of the best examples of the genre and one of the best films about the effects of war. Four years after America's victory, it was still daring to admit that not all of our boys behaved honorably overseas, and that our prosperity might rest on corrupt foundations.

Frank Enley (Van Heflin) is a perfect image of postwar success, a war hero with a thriving business, a nice house in the suburbs, a beautiful wife and a young son. This idyll of fishing trips and checkered aprons is invaded by Joe Parkson (Robert Ryan), a creepy, limping, gun-wielding, apparently deranged stalker. He was with Frank in the army and in a P.O.W. camp, and holds a mysterious, murderous grudge against him. The first part of the movie plays like a horror film, using magnified sounds--especially the slow, shuffling drag of Parkson's lame leg--in eerie stillness to heighten suspense. As we learn more about what really happened in the war, the black-and-white scenario of threatened innocence unfolds into a complex moral puzzle. Can desperate circumstances or good intentions mitigate an act of betrayal and moral cowardice? Is violent revenge ever justified?

Robert Ryan starts out in typical form: intense, tightly-wound, scary, seething with hate. But we also get to glimpse the suffering and moral outrage that underlie his tortured obsession. His anger might be righteous, but he's still a figure of terror. Van Heflin has the richer part, and he reveals the full measure of his under-appreciated brilliance. He doesn't look like a movie star--he was well described as "attractively homely"--and he doesn't act like a movie star either. He's so transparent and direct; he never advertises what he's doing. Like Arthur Kennedy, he specialized in ambiguity, playing nice guys with something shifty and unreliable about them, or unscrupulous heels with decent cores. Here he evolves from an amiable pillar of the community to a man so sick with self-loathing that he can hardly stand up straight.

In a classic noir trajectory, he moves from the sunny suburbs to the wasteland of an urban night, where the desolate streets around L.A.'s Angel's Flight mirror his state of mind. (The suburbs too have dark shadows and unsettling overtones, like the background motif of the Enleys' baby screaming behind the bars of his crib or playpen, trapped and helpless as his father.) At the end of his rope, Frank meets a friendly, worn-out barfly (a shockingly weathered and tawdry Mary Astor.) Astor works wonders with a clichéd part, all nervous tics and generosity pinched by fear and bad memories. She keeps talking about "getting her kicks"--it's all she has left. "Gee, there's no law says you gotta be happy."

In this seedy underworld, the man with the tortured conscience meets a man with no conscience, a killer-for-hire with a smooth voice and plump, evil face (Barry Kroeger) who plays the part of Satan, tempting Frank to get rid of his problem the easiest way. Heflin manages to retain sympathy for his weak and sometimes despicable character, through the honesty and vividness of his anguish. Fred Zinneman keeps the suspense mounting through taut, spare direction: no excessive music or flashy visuals or extraneous flourishes, just a relentless focus on the collision courses of the main characters, who include Frank's wife (the girlish, gorgeous Janet Leigh) and Parkson's girlfriend (Phyllis Thaxter), who doesn't want her man to be a murderer.

What would you do if you were starving, literally fighting for survival, and you had a chance to save yourself? What if you had done something terrible and knew that only one living witness knew about it? What if you were that witness? There are no easy answers in this movie, which attacks the popular notion that when a war is over it's over, and people can just get on with their lives. An "act of violence" is never the end, it always leads to another.