La double énigme

As stated in everyone's write-ups, this is a story of a murder with a twist; the perp is one of two identical twins. One alibis for the other, and since both can't be prosecuted for the crime, the guilty one walks. This does not sit well with Insp. Thomas Mitchell, who tries to think of a way to implicate the guilty one - whichever one that is. And so he enlists the help of psychiatrist Lew Ayres.

At first, the murder is presented as an unsolvable conundrum and in a light-hearted vein, but things get serious thereafter and, unfortunately, the plot begins to bog down over some technical psychological data. But Olivia DeHavilland saves the day and the movie with a splendid performance (or two) as the twins. Gradually there appear personality differences so that even the audience can tell the difference between the two. Not many actresses could have pulled off the layered performances of the twins, but not many actresses are as proficient or as skilled as DeHavilland.

This is another neglected gem from Universal's cobwebbed movie vaults that needs to be put into circulation by that comatose studio. It is one of Ms. DeHavilland's best performances and raises an average, talky movie to classic status.

The Dark Mirror is directed by Robert Siodmak and adapted to screenplay by Nunnally Johnson from a story by Vladimir Pozner. It stars Olivia de Havilland, Lew Ayres, Thomas Mitchell, Richard Long and Charles Evans. Music is by Dimitri Tiomkin and cinematography by Milton Krasner.

A man appears to have been murdered by one of the identical twin Collins sisters, but both of whom have an alibi. The police and the psychiatrist have their work cut out...

Straight out of the corner of postwar Hollywood that began to take fascination with mental illness, The Dark Mirror triumphs more as a technical exercise than as anything resembling thought provoking analysis. The simplistic Freudian elements aside, film is impressively mounted and performed by Siodmak and de Havilland respectively. Story follows the trajectory of a cat-and-mouse game, with the makers nicely putting us the viewers into the same struggle the authorities have in sussing out which sister is the damaged killer.

Siodmak's (The Spiral Staircase) attention to detail and grasp of mood setting really lifts the piece to greater heights. Aided by the considerable photographic skills of Krasner (The Set-Up), Siodmak creates a world of psychological disturbance, a place aligned with suspense and symbolism. Right from the doozy of an opening scene to the denouement, Siodmak manages to keep the contrivances to the rear of the play and let de Havilland and the visual textures be the prime focus.

The effects work is very good, with de Havilland having to quite often play off against herself. Sure in today's age of High Definition et al, you don't have to stretch your viewing experience to see how the effects were done, but why would you? Just enjoy de Havillland's riveting performances in the dual roles (see also her excellence in The Snake Pit two years later), her skillful little subtleties as she deftly plays out the respective psychological traits of sibling rivalry gone astray.

Is it a gimmick movie? Well no not really, it's honest about what it wants to achieve in terms of psychiatric observations and treatments. Yet lesser lights than Siodmak, Krasner and de Havilland would have struggled to make it work, especially as the romance angle in the screenplay nearly derails the requisite mood come the finale. Thankfully, in spite of some obvious negatives, it's still well worthy of viewing investment. 7/10

Psychology is a dubious science as it is, but, when a Hollywood screenwriter gets his hands on it, anything even closely resembling fact is thrown out the window. In the mid-1940s, Freudian psychology reached the peak of its popularity, and films such as Hitchcock's 'Spellbound (1945)' and Lang's 'Secret Beyond the Door… (1947)' utilised their own versions of psychoanalysis to provide easy answers for their characters' delusions. Robert Siodmak's 'The Dark Mirror (1946)' is no different, in that we are offered a half-baked pseudo-scientific dissertation on why even identical twins can be anything but identical when it comes to personality traits. In fact, screenwriter Nunnally Johnson (who also wrote and directed 'The Three Faces of Eve (1957)') actively pumps the familiar but questionable notion that twins respectively represent the good and evil sides of man. This duality is similar to that explored in the earlier versions of 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920/1931/1941),' though the two sides of the human coin are here separated from their mutual shell and allowed to behave as independent entities.

Olivia de Havilland excels in dual roles as Terry and Ruth Collins, twin sisters who might just have pulled off the perfect crime, even if only one knows it. When the sisters' shared boyfriend is murdered in cold blood, two witnesses place one of the twins at the scene of the crime, while three more provide a solid alibi for the other. The only problem is that nobody can tell the pair apart. A police detective (Thomas Mitchell) is torn apart by the case: how can he charge either woman with murder if he can't decide which of the sisters is, in fact, a murderess? Only through Hollywood's good friend Dr. Freud can the true nature of the crime be exposed. The distinction between the "good" and "insane" twin is clearly drawn early in the film, with de Havilland playing one sister, Terry, as a cocky dominator, and the other, Ruth, as more softly-spoken, with eyes always downcast and hands delicately clasped together. Clarifying the dual relationship is some convenient symbolism used in the film's climax: Terry is dressed in black, and Ruth in white.

Convincing optical effects and the use of body doubles are employed successfully to create the illusion of two Olivia de Havillands. The actress does well as both characters, perhaps channelling her dislike of sister Joan Fontaine to portray the snarling, psychotic and homicidally jealous "evil sister." Though they start out perfectly alike, it doesn't take long for the two Collins sisters to develop distinct personalities in the eyes of the audience, and Siodmak should quickly have dispensed with the obvious name-tags (either a necklace or a single letter pin) added to ensure that the audience could follow who was who. Perhaps misguidedly, the presence of twins is at first played largely for laughs, with composer Dimitri Tiomkin keeping the atmosphere surprisingly light and fluffy. Fortunately, however, the mood darkens substantially in the film's second half, as the hatred simmering slowly within the darker twin threatens to spill over into reality. Though the unlikely psychology behind 'The Dark Mirror' tests one's credulity at regular intervals, the strong acting and unique storyline make this one worth seeking out.

When Dr. Frank Peralta is found stabbed to death straight to the heart in his apartment, two neighbors swear to the veteran Lt. Stevenson (Thomas Mitchell), who is charge of the investigation, that they saw Ruth Collins (Olivia de Havilland) leaving his apartment late night. The detective interrogates Ruth and she has the alibi of three witnesses that she was walking around in the Jefferson Park during the night. Then he visits Ruth in her apartment and discovers that she has an identical twin sister called Terry. Lt. Stevenson does not know who the killer is and the prosecutor does not accept to open the case. The sisters can not find a job and Dr. Scott Elliott (Lew Ayres), who is a specialist in twins that had been contacted by Lt. Steenson and has a crush on Ruth, offers a reasonable allowance to the sisters to be submitted to a series of tests for his research of personalities of twins. Scott finds through the results that Terry is a psychotic woman and Ruth might be in danger.

"The Dark Mirror" is a tense psychological film-noir with an intriguing story that has excellent beginning and conclusion. The impressive performance of Olivia de Havilland in a dual role is top-notch, using different attitudes for each sister; and the direction of Robert Siodmak is tight as usual. My vote is eight.

Title (Brazil): "Espelho d'Alma" ("Mirror of the Soul")

THE DARK MIRROR is a lesser-known entry into the canon of films noir that dominated Hollywood in the mid-Forties. Directed by Robert Siodmak (THE KILLERS), it is a psychological thriller focusing on the attempts of Lt. Stevenson (Thomas Mitchell) and psychiatrist Dr. Scott Elliott (Lew Ayres) to discover the killer of a well=established doctor. The only snag is that the chief suspects are a pair of identical twins, Ruth and Terry Collins, both played by Olivia de Havilland, who refuse to divulge any further information. Siodmak's narrative focuses in detail on the twins' psychology, by deliberately frustrating our desire to find out who is the 'good' and the 'bad' twin. The costume-designs apparently make this process of distinguishing quite straightforward - one wears white, the other black as the film unfolds - but the twins' responses to Elliott's psychological tests challenge our preconceptions. De Havilland has a rare chance to play the role of a 'bad' woman and grasps it with both hands; her Chicago accent is both harsh yet beguiling. It's clear that, as the 'bad' twin, she can seduce anyone she likes, even those men who proclaim their ability to see through any psychological games. Nunnally Johnson's script is taut and fast-moving (in the print I saw, the film lasts only eighty-one minutes), while Siodmak makes clever use of atmospheric lighting, especially shadows projected on the back will behind the twins, to suggest that they are somehow pursued by internal demons. THE DARK MIRROR might not be as celebrated as other films of similar genre, but it nonetheless captures some of the emotional uncertainties and moral that characterized the material of that period; its ending is particularly cleverly structured.