La banda dei falsificatori

Crack-Up is directed by Irving Reis and collectively written by John Paxton, Ben Bengal and Ray Spencer from Fredric Brown's story Madman's Holiday. It stars Pat O'Brien, Claire Trevor, Herbert Marshall, Ray Collins, Wallace Ford and Dean Harens. Music is by Leigh Harline and cinematography by Robert De Grasse.

Art curator George Steele (O'Brien) believes he has been in a train crash, but he's told that no such crash has occurred. Is he cracking up, or the victim of something sinister?

I'm not trusting anyone this week.

Out of RKO, Crack-Up is an above average film noir that is apparently under seen. It thrusts George Steele on a crusade to prove he is not losing his mind and on his way to residency at Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital. As he trawls around the city with a foggy head, his thoughts still remembering his service in WWII, he tosses off sarcastic quips and evades tricky situations with guile and ingenuity. Who can he trust though? If anybody?

I'm outta my head. I drive around in cars picking up psychopathic killers.

His journey encompasses a number of locations that are expertly born out for noirish purpose. Smokey steam train, dimly lighted station, a ship of many murky corners, the harbour as well, a penny arcade and of course many damp streets at night that are ripe for conversations; both hushed and threatening. With Reis (The Gay Falcon) and De Grasse (The Body Snatcher) using chiaroscuro effects, the atmosphere is suitably eerie, dovetailing perfectly with George's psychologically paranoid funk.

About as smart as cutting my throat to get some fresh air!

Set to the backdrop of the art world, the narrative has an opinion on art styles and snobbery while wrapping the plot around the crooked line of forgeries. It's not wholly successful for dramatic worth or intrigue, and in fact the visual presentation and very good performances of O'Brien and Trevor deserve a more cohesive story and a motive revelation of the crimes considerably stronger in substance.

However, with its technical attributes most positive, some very well constructed scenes (the train crash sequence is excellent) and noir staples in place (amnesia, shady characters, sleuthing for truth et al), Crack-Up is well worth checking out. 7/10

Pat O'Brien is a war veteran and art expert who may just be on the verge of going nuts in "Crack-Up," also starring Claire Trevor, Herbert Marshall, Ray Collins and Wallace Ford.

After breaking down the door at the museum where he works and smashing a statue, George Steele (O'Brien) is knocked out. When he comes to, he believes he was in a train wreck.

A man on mysterious business at the museum (Marshall) convinces the police (Ford) to release Steele and watch him. Steele investigates matters and begins to undercover some dirty work at the museum.

This is an okay noir that has good performances, atmosphere, and a decent plot. O'Brien is a character man who is not usually the lead in a film; it's possible that "Crack-Up" would have been stronger with a true leading man, perhaps Van Heflin, who certainly would have been believable as an art expert and had some panache as well.

O'Brien, a solid actor, nevertheless pulls off the role and gets strong support from Marshall and Claire Trevor as his girlfriend, who add the sophistication that befits the high-brow museum plot.

"Crack-Up" could have used a little more spark, but it's entertaining.

Art critic O'Brien is menaced by unseen forces and must find out who and why.

No doubt about it, that train wreck scene is brilliantly conceived and edited. In fact, the whole train sequence amounts to an atmospheric triumph. Catch the passenger car interior when O'Brien opens the door—it fairly oozes closed-in flesh, along with that shrewish wife scolding her hubby on the evils of drink. Few films manage a truly memorable sequence, but this one does.

Otherwise, it's a decent noir, though I agree it's also over-plotted and under-explained. Plus, many of those many narrow escapes are simply too contrived to stick. The movie's more one of compelling parts than a successful whole. Nonetheless, O'Brien handles his part in suitably restrained fashion, besides few actors were better at "drop dead" brush-offs, of which he gets to do several. Looks like the normally fast-talking Irishman was refashioning his image to align with the post-war crime drama craze.

But my money's on the great Ray Collins. Was there ever a smoother actor, from Citizen Kane (1941) to TV's Perry Mason of the 50's and 60's. Here, he delivers in sinister spades. Then there's poor Mary Ware as the loyally devious secretary. I'm sure she was cast for her totally innocent demeanor and looks, the better to hook the audience. But then, oh my gosh, she has to speak her lines.

The movie's subtext is in line with the war's common effort and everyman spirit. The villains act as properly outspoken elitists, first cousins presumably of the recently defeated Nazi's. At the same time, I thought art critic O'Brien's little lecture on the role of "art is what I like" made good sense.

All in all, it's a strongly visual, if somewhat turgid, noir that probably did train travel no favors.

Back in 1946, when this film was released, it got very mixed reviews. The notable Bosley Crowther, in particular, panned it. I find it to be a better than average film-noir with a few twists to make it interesting. First off being the topic -- art forgeries -- not your typical underworld target in films. And, for me, it was enjoyable watching Pat O'Brien in the latter third of his career, after movies became a little more sophisticated.

A test for movie mysteries for me is, is there real suspense, or do clues just inexplicably pop up so that the movie can come to a conclusion. Using reverse on the DVR, I was able to go back several times and see when certain clues came up if it was logical or simply convenient. This film passed that test.

It has a surprisingly strong cast. Claire Trevor is interesting, as is Ray Collins. Herbert Marshall is always good, but one thing to take note of here is his real limp, which in most films is not noticeable (Marshall lost a leg in WWI).

Another thing that made the film interesting was how it portrayed life back in 1946. For example, the very good scene filmed at an arcade was very era-oriented, and certainly more interesting than had the scene just been shot in a restaurant or something of the sort...which most directors would have done. The night dock scene was also nicely done. And, these "location shots", though undoubtedly done at the studio, did look real.

So why do I rate this only a 7? Well, while Pat O'Brien is good, he seems a bit old for the part. For example, in one scene he shimmies down a very long chain that would be rather unlikely for someone nearly 50 years old (and clearly out of shape). And, he's not totally convincing as an art expert. But still, it's a decent performance.

The title of Irving Reis' Crack-Up sums up two elements of its plot: the wreck of a train carrying Pat O'Brien and the psychotic episode he throws in its aftermath. He gives lectures at a New York museum, demystifying art for the masses, who obligingly moan reverently at Monet but hoot derisively at Dali. When a phone call (sick mother) summons him upstate, he boards a train on which he freezes like a deer in the headlamp of a renegade engine hurtling straight at him. Oddly, he survives, but upon his return hurls a fire extinguisher through the gallery doors, assaults a policeman, and babbles incoherently about the accident. Trouble is, Mom's in fine fettle, and there was no crash.

The movie joins him in sorting out the dramatic turns his life has taken. Helping him is Claire Trevor, a fixture in Manhattan art-snob circles. Herbert Marshall purports to help, too, but he keeps his cards close to his vest. Quite candidly not much help are the museum's board and its snooty benefactors, among them Ray Collins, who were never keen about the democratic spirit O'Brien breathed into their mausoleum and use his erratic behavior to halt his series of light-hearted talks. The police, too, have a stake; O'Brien did, after all, throw that punch....

One of the felicities of Crack-Up is that it takes its canvases seriously, putting them at the core of the story. (A similar respect for art, music and theater, and for audiences assumed to have some acquaintance with them, routinely elevated films of the 1940s; times, plainly, have changed.) Of course monetary rather than esthetic value drives the villains here, as O'Brien slowly uncovers an international art scam, which is why he was derailed in the first place.

The train crash itself – a very scary sequence, brilliantly handled by Reis – emerges, in the final wrapping-up, as the weakest point of the movie, a baroque twist too far-fetched to convince. Because of this contrivance, the movie cleaves to the over-plotted mysteries of the 1930s and early 1940s rather than to the emergent noir cycle that, in its look and many of its devices, it otherwise resembles. But then there's the always toothsome Claire Trevor, whose ensembles take inspiration from the uniforms of the just-won war; festooned in military braid and berets, she tilts the scales towards noir. Either way, Crack-Up offers some suspenseful fun spiked with a surprising note of sophistication.