Museu de Horrores

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.

A thriller in the popular post-war noir style, CRACK-UP (1946) is not a top-grade film noir, but it does incorporate some interesting ideas, like x-raying paintings to determine if they are forgeries.

Pat O'Brien (ANGELS WITH DIRTY FACES) is a WWII vet and art curator who gives lectures on paintings at an art museum. While trying to account for his actions one strange night, he finds himself pretty deep in some kind of criminal racket. On the lam from the law, he decides to get to the bottom of things on his own. (O'Brien is a street-smart art curator, knowing how to evade the police, sneak into and out of buildings, and arrange meetings in shady places.) He's mixed up in something serious. He knows too much. His life is in danger. Can he trust *him*? Can he trust *her*? Should he be trusting anybody at this point?

There are a handful of secondary characters, but the film doesn't take the time to explain who they are or what their deal is. We only know that they are associated in some way with O'Brien and/or the museum. And we know that one of those people in the room must be the "bad guy". And so the guessing game begins.

Why is Herbert Marshall so interested in O'Brien's activity? What was that person doing on the night of the murder? Is that a crooked cop? Why didn't the cigarette boy recognize him? Who's that lurking in the shadows? Could O'Brien be betrayed by *them*?

The final solution to the art theft mystery seems like too much work, too much risk, and too much bloodshed to be worth it all. (And what good is a painting that's too hot to be displayed for anybody?) But what do I know about great art?

Pat O'Brien is past his 1930s prime and looking a bit William Bendix-y around the edges. He is joined by the lovely Claire Trevor, a film noir staple, as an old friend and his only true ally. The cast also includes Herbert Marshall, Wallace Ford, and Ray Collins. The film has some typical noir touches, and the art theme is unique. Seeing the x-rayed paintings is fascinating, so the movie has that going for it. But the film overall doesn't stand out. It's okay, but not great.

Atmospheric both in Visual Style and Dialog this Film-Noir is One that was Made just at the End of WWII and there are many Lines that Cynically Reference the Conflict with a Snap-Patter that is a Noir Trademark. There are Many Noir Flourishes to Enjoy in this Murky Plot. Amnesia, Drug Induced Mind Control, Low-Brow Settings like a Penny Arcade in Mix with High-Brow Museum Art.

Pat O'Brien does His best as a Slightly Miscast and Overaged Lover that Requires some Physical and Emotional Stretches. But when He is not Romanticizing or Climbing Walls, it Works.

The Highlights of the Film are Noir. The Surreal Train Sequences, the Creepy Docks, and the Night Time Exteriors are Layered in Shadows and Render Foreboding Scenes. A Strong Cast and a Visually Arresting Movie with some Great Quotable Noir Dialog Elevate this Above a Muddled Plot. It is a Crackerjack Film-Noir and One that has been Mostly Ignored and Given Only Cursory Consideration.

Note...Film-Noir was an Organic Style that was Subconsciously Spawned Unknowingly by its Creators in a Collective Conceit Formed Unintentionally by the Artists who Drew from the Ether and Manifested a Sub-Genre of Movie-Making that has Endured. It is was not Pre-Fabricated and that Honesty is Forever On Display in a Genre, that was only Realised After the Fact, and it took French Film Critics to Piece it Together and Fans have been Thankful Ever Since.

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

There is a scarifying nightmare undercurrent to this postwar thriller that makes it a cut or two above the average. Pat O'Brien is an art curator who gets involved with some unsavory highbrow types, and suffers what may be either a mental breakdown, a train wreck, or both. It was directed by the very able Irving Reis, though Eddie Dmytryk or Robert Siodmak might have handled the suspense scenes somewhat better. John Paxton, who often worked with Dmytryk, co-authored the script. There are a couple of Orson Welles-Mercury alumni in the cast (Ray Collins, Erskine Sanford). O'Brien is oddly cast, and very good in his emotional scenes, though I might have liked this better had Dick Powell played the lead. Claire Trevor is solid as the romantic love interest, yet Gloria Grahame would have done just as nicely. Herbert Marshall plays what had become by this time a Walter Slezak part. The movie is in other words good but could have used a little more fine-tuning and slight adjustments in casting. As it stands it's okay. The payoff isn't nearly as good as the build-up, unfortunately, but there are two lengthy scenes involving O'Brien on a late night train that would have done Lang or Hitchcock proud.