L'homme que j'ai choisi

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.

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 ?

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.

"The Flame" from 1947 is a B film starring John Carroll, Vera Ralston, Robert Paige, Broderick Crawford, and Victor Sen Yung.

In the beginning of the story, George McAllister (John Carroll) shoots someone. He goes home, calls the cops to report it, and then, while waiting to be arrested, reads a letter sent to him by Carlotta (Ralston).

The film dissolves into flashback. Carlotta is a nurse in the home of Barry McAllister (Paige). He apparently has some disease and not a tremendous amount of time to live. On this particular evening, Carlotta has some harsh words for Barry. However, the next day, he proposes, and she accepts.

Turns out the harsh words were to express her discontent with living there and force him into a proposal. Carlotta is actually in love with Barry's brother George. Since George is not in Barry's will, having Carlotta marry him is the way to get to his money.

Things - no surprise - don't go as planned. First of all, Carlotta begins to realize that all the stories George has told her about Barry aren't true, and that he does care about his brother.

Then, Broderick Crawford enters the scene and blackmails George.

Vera Ralston was Czech; here she's supposed to be French, though she has a Czech accent. Though limited as an actress, she is okay in this role. Victor Sen Yung has a small part, but he is effective. Carroll is a good bad guy, and Paige is a good nice guy.

Barry's big house lends some neat atmosphere.

"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.