La rue rouge

I've seen LA CHIENNE, and although most of SCARLET STREET is a remake, the two are entirely different films. LA CHIENNE is virtually a comedy. In fact, it begins with an introduction by puppets (!), so we know we're not to take the plot very seriously. Renoir's film is light and fun, and is very interesting to watch for comparisons of 'moral standards' between France and Hollywood.

By now, you probably know the story. A sad little man gets involved with a prostitute and her pimp. Hollywood toned down the fact that Robinson and Bennett were involved in a sexual relationship, and the ending of the film had to live up to Hollywood's standards of 'morality'. I won't spoil it for those who haven't seen it yet, but needless to say, the endings between the two films differ in a major way.

What makes SCARLET STREET so outstanding in my opinion, is that given the repressed nature of the protagonist, the film works better because of the changes. You can better understand the pressures of what living as a human doormat has done to this man, and how coiled up he really is. Edward G. Robinson gives one of the best performances of his career, which is saying a lot! I know, there will always be those who will insist on seeing him as the cigar-chomping tough guy only, and won't accept him as anything else, but SCARLET STREET showcases his more subtle talents and his enormous range. Joan Bennett is pure charm and snake oil in this, and Dan Duryea out-weasels Richard Widmark in KISS OF DEATH [in fact, I'll bet good money that the weasel toons in WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT were based on Dan Duryea's character!]. Hollywood films will always falter in comparison to other country's films because the industry's fear of offending audiences always dulls the blade of truth. But, at least during the classic era of Hollywood, the talent usually made up for the story flaws. What do you get when you put Fritz Lang, Edward G. Robinson, Joan Bennett and Dan Duryea together? Magic!

Christopher Cross, in middle aged, and in a life going nowhere and devoid of love and inspiration. Till one evening he rescues Kitty March from a mugger, it's the start of a relationship that has far reaching consequences for them, and those closest to them.

The previous year director Fritz Lang had made The Woman In The Window, a film that was hugely popular with critics and fans alike. Here he reunites from that excellent film with Edward G. Robinson, Joan Bennett and Dan Duryea, the result being what can arguably be described as one of the best exponents of Film Noir's dark sensibilities. Adapting from works by André Mouézy-Éon and Georges de La Fouchardière (novel and play), this story of desperate love and greedy deceit had already had a big screen adaptation from Jean Renoir in 1931 as La chienne, which appropriately enough translates as The Bitch! Now there's a Noir title if ever there was one! What Lang does with this adaptation is drip his own expressionism all over it, whilst crucially he doesn't ease off from the harsher aspects of the story. This is nasty, cruel stuff, and with Lang at the time feeling a bit abused and used by the studio system he was slave to, who better to darkly cloak a sordid story with a biting edge? Is it purely coincidence that Lang took on this film about a struggling artist who's vision is stifled by another? Possibly not one is inclined to feel.

Edward G. Robinson is fabulous as the pathetic Chris Cross. Married to a wife who constantly heckles and belittles him (Rosalind Ivan), Robinson's take on Cross garners empathy by the shed load, so much so that once Kitty (Bennett) and her beau, Johnny Prince (Duryea), start to scheme a scam on Chris, the audience are feeling as desperate as Cross was himself at the start of the movie. Few noir guys have so meekly fell under a femme fatale's spell as the way Cross does for Kitty here. But such is Lang's atmospherics, you not only sense that it's going to go bad, you expect it to, and naturally Robinson is just the man to punch us in the guts with added impetus. Bennett and Duryea are very convincing, almost spitefully enjoying taking the hapless Robinson character for everything they can, and the visuals, especially during the bleak, shadowy last couple of reels, cap the mood perfectly.

This film is in truth probably saying more about its director than anything else that he made. And in fact it was said to be one of his all time favourites. That's nice to find out because it finds him on particularly good, and yes, devilish form. Grim, brilliant and essential film noir. 9/10

It is often said of Fritz Lang that his American films aren't as good as the ones he made in Germany, and judging by the films of his that I've seen so far; this analysis is proving itself to be true...but damn, this one isn't far off. Scarlet Street is simultaneously compelling and unpredictable for it's duration; Lang truly knows how to plot a film, and that is evident throughout. The story follows a banker and aspiring painter, played to perfection by Edward G. Robinson, who saves a young woman from a purse snatcher one night while on his way home from a party. The two begin talking to each other, and the banker 'accidentally' tells the girl that he's paints pictures and gets a lot of money for doing so (Lang shows us the pitfalls of trying to impress young women by way of lies). However, all was not what it seemed with the purse-snatcher, and he's actually the young lady's fiancé; and when he learns that his girlfriend has a man with money after her.... he's out for all he can get!

A lot of Lang's American oeuvre is concentrated on the American justice system and various other crime related things, and this one is no different. Scarlet Street professes that nobody can ever 'get away with murder', and the fantastic climax to the movie shows this masterfully; much more so than many other films that have tried to convey the same message have. Scarlet Street is drenched with irony throughout (ironically, it took a non-American to make an ironic American film). This irony ensures that the film stays interesting, as the audience is never able to guess what's around the corner. There's nothing worse than a predictable film, and Scarlet Street is certainly anything but. The movie is packed with stand out moments, but non stand out more so than the ending. I'm a big fan of horror films and have seen many; but many of those fail to be as chilling as the ending of Scarlet Street. The atmosphere that Lang creates is incredible, and it ranks one of the most powerful psychological mind games that I've ever witnessed on screen. If Fritz Lang set out to put people off murder with this film; I dare say he succeeded. I know I won't be murdering anyone after watching this!

Overall; Scarlet Street is another Fritz Lang masterpiece. While not as mind blowing as Metropolis or as powerful as M; Scarlet Street fills a niche all of it's own. I rate this film as a 'must see', and I can almost guarantee that you will not be disappointed after seeing it.

It's hard to see that your youth has escaped you. It happens to us all. The sad personage of Christopher Cross is very touching. He has seen his life pass with a nice gold watch all he has to show for it. His wife is ugly and mean spirited, his work is dull. He is quite a good painter but hasn't time to do anything about it. Them "she" comes into the picture. All those charms, sexy, vulnerable, and evil, with a connection to Dan Duryea (what a cad) to boot. When the Robinson Character comes to her rescue, it's Johnny (Duryea) who is slapping her around. She is perceptive enough to believe that the well dressed older man must have money, and, if she plays her cards right, she can squeeze him for money. He falls, hook, line, and sinker, and really believes she cares about him. Not only is she an opportunist, she even uses his art as her own to get more money. Because he is moonstruck, he lets her go on and on. There is a subplot concerning his wife's first husband and some other things, but he slowly descends the path to destruction. Everyone watching the movie knows that the poor sap is going to get his at some point. The way it happens is a bit of a stretch. Chris should really feel very little guilt; he is victimized all long the way. But in film noir, the dark elements demand their pound of flesh. He is paid for his foolishness and trust.

Chris Cross is a bank cashier who has just been given a gold watch by his boss for years of faithful service. Chris has three gifts, which are highly sought and cannot be bought: honesty, integrity and talent. The first two earned him the gold watch but the third is something he keeps to himself. He's a "Sunday" painter who paints from the inside out as a means of escaping his colorless life and loveless marriage. Chris is a man who loves beauty but has none himself, and so he fantasizes about some pretty girl that might see beyond his exterior to the man inside. And so one late rainy night chance places a beautiful damsel in distress in this path, and after saving the girl from the villain, he falls desperately in love and to his amazement, the girl loves him back. But things are not what they seem, and in a short while, Chris will trade in the three gifts he does possess for something he can never have. One of the defining films of Classic Film Noir.