Lady in the Lake

I'll get the obvious out of the way first. Robert Montgomery's 'Lady in the Lake (1947)' is most renowned for being one of the only mainstream films to unfold almost entirely from the first-person perspective of the main character, in this case Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe. The technique had been used before, albeit on a lesser scale, in the opening five minutes of Rouben Mamoulian's 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931).' In 1947, shortly after the release of Montgomery's film, Delmer Daves would take an enormous risk by filming the first hour of 'Dark Passage (1947)' without showing the face of Humphrey Bogart, though the star's status was such that he was eventually forced to emerge from the shadows (after which point, it must be said, the film becomes more conventional and marginally less interesting). Montgomery, in his last film at MGM, was also given the opportunity to direct, and he doesn't flinch from his chosen gimmick. Marlowe's face is seen only during several brief explanatory interludes, and whenever he happens to catch his reflection in the mirror.

Setting aside the gimmick – which MGM optimistically hailed as the greatest cinematic innovation since synchronised sound – 'Lady in the Lake' doesn't quite measure up to other popular Chandler adaptations of the time. Robert Montgomery may have been a great actor – I honestly can't say, this being my first film with him – but his Philip Marlowe doesn't possess the toughness of Bogart in 'The Big Sleep (1946),' nor the cocky swagger of Dick Powell in 'Murder, My Sweet (1944).' The awkwardness of the role is only accentuated by Marlowe's constantly being behind the camera, though even the occasional direct-to-camera interruptions seem to miss the mark. I don't expect that the supporting actors had much experience in speaking directly to a piece of equipment, and so their performances are capable without being particularly memorable. The chemistry between Montgomery and Audrey Totter, the potentially-villainous femme fatale, was mostly stale for this reason, as we're really only seeing one side of their conversation.

Perhaps the film's greatest weakness – and, once again, this all comes back to Montgomery's chosen gimmick – is that everything moves so slowly. One would expect those 1940s movie cameras to have been incredibly clunky, and so, in these pre-Steadicam days, Marlowe ambles from A to B with devastating sluggishness. The first-person technique, however, did work wonderfully in the sequence where Marlowe is being pursued in his car, and also when he must drag himself across the gravel to a public telephone. There are lots of prolonged silences where nothing happens, and, despite striving for realism, the film should have conceded more of a musical soundtrack to fill these voids. The one piece of music put into use, however, was an eerily effective choir song that reminded me of György Ligeti's "Requiem" from '2001: A Space Odyssey (1968).' Overall, 'Lady in the Lake' is a fascinating film noir experiment that doesn't quite manage to pull it off. Even so, it's worth a look for its unique take on Philip Marlowe and several scenes of inarguable excellence.

Shatteringly clumsy and agonizingly inept treatment of a Chandler story, totally lacking in style, variety and excitement. First impressions, for once, can be trusted: the disastrous opening scene in which Marlowe sits at his desk and *addresses the camera* gives you an utterly correct impression of the kind of cinematic screw-up you are in for. Next disaster: Robert Montgomery is a wholly uninteresting and un-charismatic actor whose attempts to portray the fast-talking, back-chatting Marlowe frequently come across as merely nasty. Failure Number Three is the ludicrous decision to film the entire story as a series of 'point-of-view' shots, giving us a 'Marlowe's-eye-view' of what little there is to see (Don't miss the bit where Marlowe crawls on his hands and knees - and we see the backs of his hands - before going on to use a telephone - when, gosh, we find ourselves looking at a telephone...). The two-fold pointlessness of the continual P.O.V. beggars belief: first, because it throws the weight on supporting players whose third-rate skills cannot carry it; second, because the fact that we have to watch a series of long, unbroken, unvaried, UNINTERESTING takes - in which whoever Marlowe is talking to simply faces the camera 'square-on' and talks 'back' to it - make vast stretches of the film UNBEARABLY TEDIOUS to watch and the details incredibly difficult to take in. Directors don't cut, employ 'reverse angles', reaction shots, profiles and so on for no reason. Fourth problem: removing Marlowe almost entirely from the visible action removes a lot of useful possibilities and adds PRECISELY NONE. Fifth problem: when Marlowe *is* actually visible, all we see is some lug talking to the camera - whereas a 'voice-over' would at least let us see something *different* happening. And why angle the story as a 'solve-it-yourself' mystery when *everyone* tries hard to work out a Chandler plot anyway? All in all, the results are so abysmal that one asks oneself how it could possibly have come to be done that way. Well, here are my suggestions. First, Bogart is a tough act to follow: by putting Marlowe out of view here, someone must have thought they were avoiding unfortunate comparisons. Second, look who the director is: yes, it's wooden leading man Robert Montgomery, who plainly can't see how bad his direction is when he's acting, and won't see (or hear) how bad his acting is when he's directing. Someone has bitten off more than they can chew - and this is the result: an unwatchable, saggy mess that manages to be significantly less interesting than 90 minutes spent putting your books in alphabetical order.

For a suspense writer whose observations of mid-20th-century Los Angeles proved so gimlet-eyed that he has been enshrined as the city's unofficial bard, Raymond Chandler had a bumpy fling with Hollywood. The first of his five major novels to be filmed during the classic period of film noir, Farewell, My Lovely was first turned into an installment in the Falcon series of programmers, then into Edward Dmytryk's 1944 Murder, My Sweet (a success, but too short; to do justice to Chandler's atmospherics and milieu demands longer time spans than the movies allot them).

From 1946, probably the most adroit blending of style and content taken from his works was Howard Hawks' The Big Sleep. But its popularity, then and now, owes as much to the chemistry between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall – and to the frisky, irreverent tone Hawks brought to the movie – as to Chandler, whose outlook was one of dispassionate observation tinged with disgust.

The following year, The Brasher Doubloon, from the book The High Window, can be deemed a failure. That leaves the odd case of The Lady in the Lake, also from ‘47, which Robert Montgomery, starring as Philip Marlowe, ill-advisedly decided to direct himself. The movie labors under two huge handicaps: one of technique, the other of tone.

Cited often (and often by those who may not have actually seen the movie) for its subjective use of the-camera-as-character, The Lady in The Lake flounders on an idea that may have sounded good when initially floated but had to have looked bad once the first rushes came in.

Except for an explanatory prologue (the necessity for which should have raised red flags) or in scenes where he's caught in a window or mirror, Montgomery's Marlowe remains unseen. We, through the camera lens, are the detective. Conceivably, this gimmick might have worked at a later date, when swift, lithe Steadicams were part of Hollywood's technical arsenal. But in1947, the camera lumbers along as though it were being shoved through wet sand. As a result the pace slows to deadening, as though a senescent Marlowe were tracking down clues from the rail of an aluminum walker.

In consequence, time that might profitably been expended on filling in missing pieces of the puzzle gets wasted on Marlowe's getting from point A to point B. Vital and evocative parts of Chandler's novel take place in the summer resort areas of Puma Point and Little Fawn Lake; that snail of a camera, however, was not up to a hike in the great outdoors, so the movie preserves none of them.

And in tossing away chunks of the novels to accommodate budgets and shooting schedules, movie versions (like this one) mistake Chandler's strengths, which did not lay in plot. (The scriptwriters on The Big Sleep, including William Faulkner, couldn't figure out who killed one of the characters, so they asked Chandler, who didn't know either.)

His strengths were in weaving intricate webs of duplicity and deceit shot through with corruption and dread. That was heavy fare for Hollywood – even during the noir cycle. So stories tended to be simplified and atmosphere lightened: the freighted response gave way to the wisecrack, suggestive tension between two characters turned into a meet-cute, the brooding loner became a red-blooded American joe.

So, in The Lady in The Lake, the icy and questionable Adrienne Fromsett of the book (Audrey Totter) is now a sassy minx to Marlowe's snappy man-about-town, and so on. The plot deals with Marlowe's attempts to find a missing woman (an off-screen character whom the Christmas-card credits, in a droll fit of Francophone humor, call Ellay Mort).

Is a verdict possible? Some viewers find the movie's conceits and distortions amateurish and self-congratulating, while others overlook them to find a vintage mystery from postwar vaults. The Lady in The Lake remains a flawed experiment that over the years has developed its own distinctive – if not quite distinguished – period bouquet.

Out of the many Marlowe novel adaptations, this must be one of the closest to the spirit of the original. Unfortunately Chandler himself does not seem to have had the opportunity to contribute to the screenplay - although there are plenty of Chandleresque wisecracks. The film, unlike most of the other adaptions reflects the original author's full dislike of the cops (although the tough police chief having to answer a telephone call from his daughter during an interrogation is an unusual appeal for the viewer's understanding), and mistrust bordering on pathological hatred of women (I suspect that the ending is an uncharacteristic 'cop out' to assuage the producer's or popular taste). Director/star Robert Montgomery shows great self-restraint by appearing only briefly in the action. When he does show himself, mainly in mirror-reflections, the star appears (as in that other great latter day film noir, China Town) battered and bruised and not at all flattering. The plot is suitably twisted and confusing - just like the novels. And the concept of timing the whole dark affair against the backdrop of the Christmas holidays only emphasises the bleakness of the subject matter. Incidentally the idea of continuing the opening titles' jolly Christmas carol chorus in darker, more disturbing tones throughout the soundtrack is fascinating and I think unique. Audrey Totter (whatever happened to her?) makes a very sexy femme fatale. And as she plays most of her lines to camera we are seduced just as protagonist Marlowe. On top of that, her gowns are absolutely magnificent examples of forties chic. Lloyd Nolan deserves special mention as a superb heavy. What a wonderful example of Hollywood film noir.

If you want a great, serious Philip Marlowe mystery, go check out "The Big Sleep." If you're in a lighter mood, however, this one is well worth watching. The POV is cute and leads to some decent effects, but it's also tremendously goofy sometimes. The dialogue really sells it though. The lessons I learned from this movie were 1) Only men can handle guns. 2) Having four thumbs is bad. 3) Never, ever tell anyone the time. 4) If you try hard enough, you can drink whiskey through your eyes. I'm sure there are hundreds more gnomic sayings, easily applicable to daily life, scattered through it!

Seriously, though, it was a lot of fun to watch, mostly because of the problems with it, and I'd highly recommend it.