Nocturne

A piano composer is killed in an apparent suicide, and George Raft is a detective who searches for the truth among the composer's many past girlfriends. Lynn Bari plays opposite as a dark haired, beautiful prime suspect.

The plot needed a bit of work. Even after seeing the conclusion of the film, it is difficult understand exactly what happened. Despite this one shortcoming, the film is really watchable and moves well. The dialog is sharp and a lot of nice details are worked into the film. Look for Myrna Dell, who plays the "Tehachapi Debutante" in a supporting role.

Joan Harrison was the producer, and the film bears her unmistakable stamp. This is a noir film, though not as dark as her earlier "Phantom Lady", which was a superior film in terms of acting and overall dynamics.

The opening shot is technically interesting for a 1946 film as it opens up on the night skyline and continuously glides into the the composer's penthouse living room as he plays piano.

Tough and dogged detective George Raft investigates a composer's death. It was ruled a suicide but Raft doesn't buy it. Despite being ordered off the case, he continues to look into it and tracks down some of the women the composer had "relationships" with.

George Raft gets a lot of flack for being stiff or playing the same role over and over, but I happen to like most of his movies that I've seen. He had no pretenses about being a Shakespearean actor. He knew what he was good at playing and worked with it quite well. His earlier WB successes in gangster movies and the like were always fun. Here he's playing a film noir detective, which isn't too far removed from those older roles come to think of it. He's quick with a snappy comeback and doesn't back down from anybody. It's a part Raft plays with ease but that shouldn't be taken as a put-down, as is often the case. Several tough female roles in this one. Lynn Bari and Virginia Huston (in her film debut) get the juiciest parts but honorable mentions should go to Myrna Dell as a wisecracking maid and Mabel Paige as Raft's mom, who helps him with his investigation.

Good script with some punchy noir lines, interesting characters, and a good ending. A nice fight scene, too. By the way, the film's title refers to the song the composer writes for his latest conquest. The guy wrote songs for all the women he screwed. They had a classier kind of douchebag in the old days, I guess.

A spectacular aerial nightscape of Los Angeles opens Nocturne, finally gliding down over a cliffside house and zooming right into the living room. There, a playboy songwriter sits at the piano while giving the brush-off to the latest in his string of lady friends. (She's veiled in black, but get a load of her instep.) A shot rings out....

Nocturne has a great, hard look; coupled with a nice feel for its milieu (piano bars, courtyard apartments, photography and movie studios), it adds up to one of the more vivid L.A. movies, especially when the dry winds rattle the leaves and stir up the rubbish. If in the end Nocturne doesn't quite redeem its promise, it's not for want of trying.

Part of its problem lies in its star, George Raft, as the police detective assigned the case. A 40ish bachelor who lives with Mom (scene-stealing Mabel Paige), he has a sharp eye for willing women, including his suspects. No one ever mistook Raft for a great actor, but sometimes he fits, sometimes he doesn't. Here he's so-so, a smart-mouthed Dapper Dan who leaks not a clue as to why he's always in hot water for insubordination and excessive force (it would have been a terrific Dick Powell part).

Raft's sleuthing takes him through the dead man's stable of exes (all of whom, for reasons that stay unexplained, he used to call `Dolores'). Among them Raft meets up with a sister act: hard-boiled brunette Lynn Bari and sweet blonde Virginia Huston, who sings in a night spot where Joseph Pevney (later to direct Shakedown, Meet Danny Wilson and Female On The Beach) entertains from a rolling piano, muscled from table to table by big, dumb Bernard Hoffman. But Raft keeps following false leads and encountering dead ends....

One of the chief pleasures of film noir must also be counted among its drawbacks: all too often, there's a lot more style than sense. With Nocturne, that's hard to overlook, so it falls just short of being a classic installment in the noir cycle.

I found this movie in my local video shops "film Noir" section. It is considered so rare I had to plunk down a hundred dollars in deposit just to take it out the store. It was worth it! Lush characters, a wardrobe to die for, it's a charmer. There's a hardboiled detective, a sassy, sarcastic maid, a lovely starlet, and plot twists to die for! At times the banter is so sarcastic and cutting you just can't help but laugh, a pulp novel comes alive, and worth every penny! Though the mystery is a bit formulaic and at times you feel you are spinning your heels a little, there are more than enough moments to make up for it. My favorite moment is when the detectives mother, and another older lady try to figure out how the crime was made to look like a suicide, it's like having two Mrs Marples on screen, very funny!

This would have been a better film. It opens with that stunning shot of L.A. then slowly zooms in on the composer in his hilltop home for a mesmerizing beginning, but spends the rest of its running time spinning its wheels. Part of the problem is the confused script which lacks urgency and never brings the story into any kind of focus. There's the occasional flash of excitement or an injection of atmosphere, but then it drifts. It's a film with a very short attention span; it doesn't seem to care much about its own story and seems to be in search of anything it can find to distract it.

And then there's Raft. He was adequate in the similarly well-shot 1945 noir Johnny Angel, also directed by Marin, because in that film he's motivated by a thirst for revenge against the man who killed his father, a simple and rather easy emotion to play. But here he's a detective who's supposed to be obsessed with finding the murderer of the playboy composer, who is killed in the middle of writing one of his songs (a nifty little premise) though the police believe it's a suicide. This is a trickier set of emotions to play and Raft can't pull it off. Why does he care so much? Is he a frustrated musician? It's never explained. There are no layers to Raft, no sense of vulnerability, no dimension or mystery - he's about as wooden as they come. He's only effective when he's acting tough - pushing a guy into a pool or taking on some thug twice his size. When he's asked to do more than that he's not so much lost as he is simply unwilling or constitutionally incapable. He just doesn't have it in him.

One of the pleasures of noir is watching a tough guy getting in over his head and discovering to his horror that there are some foes he can't lick, or allowing his commitment and dedication turn into obsession. A Bogart or a Dick Powell or a Ralph Meeker or a John Payne or a Dan Duryea or even a Mark Stevens could've supplied the necessary psychological complexity to make the detective in Nocturne a memorable and tragic figure. Raft, unfortunately, isn't in their league.

One last thing: the most interesting presence in the film is piano player Joseph Pevney, who later went on to become a very busy TV and movie director. He's only in two or three scenes, but he makes the most of them.