L'agente confidenziale

Good old black and white Graham Greene based people in dangerous times doing heroic and mysterious things. Hardly a shot fired or a punch thrown and a hundred time more interesting than the glop that's being minted by Hollywood today. Bacall lights up the screen of course and Boyer is entirely engaging. They don't make movies like this any more.

An underrated addition to the Graham Greene cinematic canon - its perceived faults can now be seen as virtues. Director Shumlin, theatrical director, frames his action with an oppressive rigidity appropriate to the material, and the seemingly inept compositions compellingly suggest unease. Both a dark thriller and a story of moral regeneration (for the female character! In a 40s thriller!), the film has an upright hero who turns mad and murderous (and possibly paedophiliac), brilliantly brings the faraway ideologies of the Spanish Civil War into jolting dangerous reality, has one horrific murder, an astonishing insights into class and capitalism, clever theatrical metaphors, a rare approximation of Greene's God, and an ending that is only happy if you know nothing about history.

Even though I am a fan of its stars, I had never watched "Confidential Agent" prior to last night. It certainly is a good film noir with an engrossing story, but it was hard to accept Charles Boyer and Peter Lorre playing Spaniards, and young Lauren Bacall from the Bronx playing a British Socialite.... Top marks for Katina Paxinou pity that she hasn't appeared in more than a handful of Hollywood films.

Charles Boyer is supposed to be Spanish, and he's come to London to buy coal in "Confidential Agent," a 1945 film also starring Lauren Bacall, Katina Paxinou, Peter Lorre, Dan Seymour, and Wanda Hendrix.

Boyer is Luis Denard, and everyone is out to stop him except Bacall. His papers are stolen, he's accused of murder but he's determined to get coal for his people so that they can fight the Fascists.

This film has its good and not so good points. It rates high for atmosphere and for suspense, and it is highly entertaining. Bacall is incredibly beautiful, Boyer is passionate, Paxinou is mean, Lorre is slimy, Hendrix appropriately pathetic, and Seymour outrageously wonderful.

The not so good points: Bacall is supposed to be English, and Boyer Spanish. Uh, no. Boyer is terrific in his role even with the wrong accent, but Bacall is 100% American, not of the British upper class. The two have no chemistry.

Conclusion: Bacall is somewhat miscast. Her acting isn't up to snuff either; she's better in other films. But she's an astonishing looking woman, and much can be forgiven.

Paxinou is nearly over the top and hateful. Dan Seymour almost steals the entire film as a hotel guest who studies human nature. It's a great part and his performance is perfect, while some of the direction of the other actors isn't as good.

This was definitely a case of no small parts, only small actors. Seymour wasn't a small actor.

Definitely worth seeing even with its flaws.

I watch a lot of films, good, bad and indifferent; there is usually something of interest to fixate upon, even if it is only set design, or the reliable labor of a good character actor, or the fortuitous laughter that emerges from watching ineptitude captured forever.

However, I was quite pleasantly surprised by this film, one I had never seen before. Graham Greene has been translated into film many times of course, in such masterpieces as "Thin Man" and in lesser vehicles. "Confidential Agent" is one of those lesser vehicles, yet it manages to get me somewhere anyway, despite lackluster direction, the incongruity of Bacall and Boyer's depictions as (respectively) British and Spanish, and the almost complete non-existence of any chemistry between the two leads. In some ways, this last "problem" actually begins to work in the film's favor, for how can love really blossom in the killing atmosphere of fascism and capitalism meeting about one person's tragedy? The most compelling aspect of the film arises directly from Greene's complex and guilt-ridden psychology, which pervades the film. I know some see the deliberate pacing here as dull, and I can understand that. Yet I found that plodding accentuated rather than detracted from what is a claustrophobic world. I was compelled to watch, not by any great acting (although Boyer is marvelous as usual, managing to convey a rich mixture of world-weariness, tragedy, hope, and fervor with his magnificent voice and yearning eyes), but by the down-spiraling rush of one man's slim hopes against a world of oppression and money. What is a thief? What good is love in the face of death? Where does mere profit-taking end and exploitation begin? The film does not rise to the level of art, and thus cannot hope to answer such questions, but it is much more than mere entertainment, and its murders and guilts are very grimly drawn. The lack of glitz, of "bubble," of narrative "bounce" help to make this movie very worthwhile.

And there is no happy ending, for history wrote the ending.