L'homme que j'ai choisi

John H Auer was a major director at Republic Pictures and gave some good films, with the major star of the studio, John Carroll, who also served under Allan Dwann's direction. In this film noir, he is not brilliant but good enough to face Broderick Crawford, whom I did not expect in a Republic film. A classic story for a film noir, with a tepid Vera Ralston performance. Only the ending is very interesting, dark, gloomy and reminds me the end of LE DOULOS, from film maker Jean-Pierre Melville.

So dull I spent the middle part of the action re-casting the lead roles to James Stewart as Barry, Ingrid Bergman as Carlotta and Clark Gable as George, Broderick Crawford escaped the cull. The plot starts brightly, the house, the amazing staircase and the uninspiring Barry's organ playing are so 'Dracula's Castle' but the middle thirty or so minutes is so heavily padded with superficial and insincere romantic interludes it becomes mind numbingly dull. How do the characters manage to afford an appartment with designer furniture, modern lighting and curtains (if they bother to ever draw them) when they are scraping around for ten bucks ?

The Flame is an interesting test of the theory that in cinematic art, style matters more than story. If it does, The Flame should be a near masterpiece. Graced with a generous budget despite its Poverty Row origins, the movie offers complex camera moves (starting with its impressive opening shot), elegant lighting, slick art design, and first-rate cinematography. So it's a winner, right?

Meh, not so much. All that eye candy can't make up for a slow-paced, listless, overly familiar story, which generates no dramatic tension and little emotion of any kind, other than a quasi-religious sentimentality that seems weirdly out of place in a film of this genre.

The performances are okay, with Crawford the standout and the much-maligned Vera Ralston doing a capable job. But given the decent cast, high production value, and stylistic razzle-dazzle, The Flame should be a lot better than it is.

Surprisingly interesting and fascinating for being branded as a B-feature, this is a fascinating web of relationships and how they get disturbed. John Carroll is a better actor than his reputation, and here he smears his part with a suavity which greatly enhances the general intriguing character of the plot. Robert Paige is his half brother, who apparently suffers from some incurable and mortal disease and constantly plays the organ in his rich millionaire's mansion by the sea - the settings here are extremely romantic and luxurious, like in "Rebecca". It appears that the brothers are in love with the same girl, Vera Ralston, who is engaged as a nurse for Paige, who falls in love with her and wants to marry her, strongly against his aunt's wishes, who rules the house. The fact that Carroll hasn't given up on Ralston is observed by a blackmailer, Broderick Crawford, as nasty as ever, which complicates things. He on his side has another girl, Constance Dowling, who makes a spectacular performance in a night club - this film is made in the "Gilda" year - which could be seen as the highlight of the film. The rhythm of the film is dead slow, you don't understand much of the intrigue to begin with, until gradually the skies are clearing and the clouds lifting, and the plot appears as gloomy and fatal as you could well wish for any classical noir. This is definitely underrated and should deserve a place in the canon of the best noirs.

"The Flame" is a dark but disappointingly routine melodrama of the seen-it-a-million-times-before variety. A French nurse, in cahoots with her sleazy American lover, agrees to marry his ailing half-brother in order to gain his wealth. Guess what -- she begins to fall for the bore (who whiles away the hours playing dirges on his Hammond organ).

John Auer was one of the more talented directors working in the B-movie mill of the 40s, and he injects the picture with enough visual panache to give it a professional veneer and subtle moodiness. But what can you do with this cast from hell -- particularly Vera Ralston, at her most wooden (her voice-over narration is practically indecipherable).

A couple of reels into the film, things briefly perk up when a young Broderick Crawford unexpectedly slides into the narrative as a dour potential blackmailer who gets wise to the scam. Even better, his sometime girlfriend is a sexy cabaret performer played by the always fascinating Constance Dowling -- her Gilda-style song and dance routine gives Auer a chance to show his licks. But the brittleness all dissolves pretty quickly into some very unwelcome sentimentality towards the end.