Pris au piège

Just count the number of daylight scenes in this unusually dense and dark slice of international intrigue. No doubt about it, noir has come to South America. And by golly, revenge-obsessed Laurence Gerard (Dick Powell) is going to track down his wife's killer, a Nazi collaborator, even if he has to turn Argentina upside down. And what's more, he's about as humorlessly driven as any grim character from that grim decade.

As good as Powell is, it's Walter Slezak as the slippery operative Melchior Incza who steals the show. I've seen the movie several times and I still can't figure out what side he's on. But never mind, he's all either oily politeness or hulking menace, to the point that for once I enjoyed watching a bloody beating. In fact, the 90 minutes is full of sinister foreign types, all polished gentlemen sporting high-class suits and slinky ladies modeling 40's high fashion. Nonetheless, you may need a scorecard to keep track of who's winning.

There are a number of nice touches, but maybe the most inventive is the subway scene. Gerard is trying to get important information from the untrustworthy Mme. Jarnac. Okay, she seems ready to cooperate and he's warily hanging on every word. But before she can complete a sentence, a noisy train rumbles by. They wait. She tries again. Same thing. Could it be that the Nazis are running the Buenos Aires subway? Of course, by this time the frustration has spread to the audience who may never ride a subway again.

The movie's message comes at the end and is reflective of the time (1945). Gerard may be pursuing justice, but the allies who help him are chasing Nazism itself. Following war's end, the survivors have escaped to Latin America and must be apprehended before the Third Reich festers all over again. (In fact, the West was unsure of Hitler's actual demise until 1956 when the Soviets finally released conclusive proof that he hadn't escaped his bunker.)

The identity of these pursuers is never disclosed, probably a touchy topic given the politics of writers Wexler and Paxton, subsequent victims of the Hollywood blacklist. In fact, the whole production crew reads like a Who's Who of the list, including producer Scott and director Dmytryk, two members of the high-profile Ten. Seems odd, finding Republican- conservative Powell in this leftish mix-- but then it's true that the war had enlisted Americans of all political stripes.

Politics aside, it's a crackling good yarn, even if a bit heavy-going at times. And for fans of noir, the lighting comes across as a textbook of shadow and menace. So much so, I doubt that the electricity bill for the entire production exceeded 10 bucks. Sure, the details seem dated but the sinister characters, passionate convictions, and convoluted schemes still entertain.

A lot of the Hayes code seems destined for the trash heap in this film. We see women who are obviously willing to sleep with our protagonist. There's blood. There are bodies, right out in the open. Burned up or riddled with bullet holes, there they are. One of our characters gets slugged in the mouth and we see a bloody drizzle escaping his lips.

Yes, the Hayes code took a beating with this one.

There are dark, sinister looks, from dark sinister people. Gerard (Powell) is surrounded by murderous people and we don't know who is for him or against him. At least not until the end of the film.

This one film is proof positive that the innocence of America is long gone. No one is smiling. No one is truly happy. Everyone is on edge because, even though the war is over, our cast is headed for a long torturous road to normalcy. We are all hoping they make it.

During the war, Gerard (Powell) is returned to friendly territory were he recovers from his wounds. While in hospital, he receives a letter from his wife's father, telling him that his wife is dead. Gerard knows something isn't right and that "Dad" isn't telling the whole story.

He applies for a visa and is told a background check (his) will take a month. He returns to France illegally, to get answers. And thus the fun begins.

This is excellent film noir told from the perspective of writers, a director, and producer who have been affected by real war.

It shows.

Dick Powell was one of those classic Hollywood actors who was so laid back, so cool, so quick with the one-liner that he made most other actors seem positively dull. Even in the tightest of corners, he could always manage a suitable quip – and in this outing (as Laurence Gerard), he has his fair share...

He's ably supported by Walter Slezak (as Melcior Incza – what a name!) who once again plays a double-dealing con artist always looking for the main chance – in this case, trying to make a few more dishonest bucks helping – or is he hindering? -- Gerard track down the dirty traitor Marcel Jarnac (a short but fine performance from Luther Adler) who is responsible for Gerard's wife's death in France towards the end of World War II.

So, the quest in on. Along the way, Gerard travels from London, to France, to Switzerland and finally to Argentina where he finally begins his search in earnest. From that point until the end, the twists and turns in the plot remind me of the confusion that permeated The Big Sleep (1946). Cornered, however, does arrive at a satisfactory conclusion, unlike the Bogart classic which still puzzles viewers today (I've read that even Bogart remained unclear about the plot of The Big Sleep also).

However, back to this one...

Overall, I liked this film for its great use of darkness, shadows, excellent mise-en-scene, as befitting film-noir, and the sharp dialog; I thought, however, the pacing of the story was a bit slow at times and that some of the cuts were often very jerky, thus resulting in uneven narrative transitions. And the really big omission is the absence of an effective femme fatale. The rest of the production was okay and, for 1945, was equal to other B-movies of the genre.

Dick Powell went on to do more film noir (Johnny O'Clock, Pitfall, Rogues' Regiment and others) until 1954 when he opted for the emerging TV juggernaut. So, if you've missed this one up till now, it's worth the 102 minutes out of your life just to listen to Dick Powell and watch him grimace while he cracks sardonic jokes...

It seems as if Dick Powell is almost forgotten today, which is a shame. A wonderful actor, singer, and incredible producer, he gave Sam Peckinpah and Aaron Spelling their starts, and his "Dick Powell Theatre" on TV was marvelously entertaining. Unfortunately, cancer would take him at the age of 59. But he packed a lot into those years.

Transitioning out of the Warner Brothers singing juvenile, Powell made "Murder, My Sweet" with the same director responsible for "Cornered," Edward Dmytryk, who would find himself blacklisted later on.

Here, Powell plays a Canadian flyer, Laurence Gerard, who goes to France after the war to find out who is responsible for his wife's death. He learns it is a Vichy collaborator, Marcel Jarnac, now dead himself.

Gerard doubts that Jarnac is dead, and his search for Jarnac takes Gerard to Argentina, where many Nazis have settled. Before long, Gerard realizes that he is unable to trust anyone, even those who claim to want to help him.

This is a very good movie, which also stars Walter Slezak as a man who sells information, as well as two Broadway stars, Luther Adler and Morris Carnovsky. Carnovsky was named as a communist by Elia Kazan but enjoyed a great stage career, dying at the age of 94.

Well worth seeing for the good performances, direction, and story.

If it was post-war disillusionment that fuelled the booming film noir movement of the 1940s, then 'Cornered (1945)' might just be the most bitter, disillusioned noir of them all. Though I can't claim to be Edward Dmytryk's greatest fan, I enjoyed 'Murder, my Sweet (1944)' because of its evocative atmosphere and Dick Powell's cocky, swaggering Philip Marlowe. This film gets the atmosphere angle right, but is so utterly devoid of humour that there's little entertainment to be found through watching it. Powell, in his second and final film for the director, seems to be taking the role so seriously that he's almost bored with the material. His exceedingly grim performance has shades of the sleepy-eyed austerity that Robert Mitchum did so well – unfortunately, only Mitchum could ever pull it off correctly. Nevertheless, the shadowy photography of Harry J. Wild {who has many noirs to his credit, including 'The Woman on the Beach (1947),' 'They Won't Believe Me (1947)' and 'Macao (1952)} is predictably gorgeous and enigmatic, re-enforcing the murky themes at the film's heart.

When Canadian pilot Laurence Gerard (Powell) is released from captivity at the end of WWII, he is understandably grief-stricken to learn that his wife has been executed by Nazi conspirators. Though the man responsible, Marcel Jarnac, is presumed dead by authorities, Gerard suspects deception, and travels down to Beunos Aires to uncover the truth. What Gerard encounters is a party of dubious Frenchmen, whose continued loyalty to greed and corruption are keeping the Nazi spirit well-and-truly alive. Our hero's approach is not the most subtle of tactics – he never bothers to hide his true intentions, and so deliberately places his own life in constant jeopardy, rushing determinedly into danger without ever considering the possibility that he's walking straight into a trap. Is Jarnac's beautiful wife (Micheline Cheirel) really as innocent as she claims to be? Is the city's leading "tour guide" (Walter Slezak, in another terrific role) an impartial operator who can be trusted with secret information? Is the German collaborator Jarnac right before Gerard's very nose?

I've always found Dmytryk to be a very workman-like filmmaker, though there's little doubt that his 1940s noirs constitute the creative peak of his career. Clever stylistic touches, like the climactic bashing that slides out of focus in an adrenalin-charged delirium, complement the narrative nicely, and Wild's cinematography can do nothing but enhance the film's merits. However, the story itself dwells too long in gloomy territory, such that there's little of the usual entertainment or invigoration to be derived even from the richly-crafted atmosphere. Only in the blood-soaked climax is Dmytryk able to build up some degree of momentum, and Luther Adler's enigmatic cameo role is certainly memorable; he has a strong, deep voice that occasionally suggests that it is Satan himself speaking diabolically from the shadows. 'Cornered' is a worthwhile film noir, with solid craftsmanship throughout, but the unrepentantly dark tone makes for somewhat empty, unsatisfying viewing. Just like the story it depicts, I suppose. Once the adrenaline of war has worn off, there's nothing left but sadness, regret… and shadows where our loved ones once stood.