Le fils du pendu

MOONRISE shines. Borzage brings expressionist silent movie technique to bear on what is really more a melodrama than a film noir, a tale of guilt and redemption ultimately close to his romantic concerns. The difference is the degree of psychological angst we have to go through with the protagonist in order to reach it. Borzage's technique brings us into the hero's mind, from the stunning opening (flashbacks within flashbacks) to the hero's guilty visions. That opening is one of the finest I've ever seen, building up an unbelievable pressure in the first couple of minutes of the picture, leading to a thirst for revenge which the hero, and the audience, can spend the rest of the film regretting.

Although the story could have easily been adapted into a gritty film noir, director Frank Borzage turns it into a dreamlike, and even romantic, saga of guilt and expiation. The plot is simple and uncomplicated. No cynical, wisecracking dialogue; no hard-boiled detectives or double-crossing femme fatales. The small town setting with frequent rural scenes creates a world far removed from the unusual noir cityscape. The love story unfolds with both strong sexual attraction and delicacy. Imbued with a strong atmosphere and vision all its own, MOONRISE resists easy classification. Like THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER, it succeeds in creating a drama of mythic resonance in an American rural setting.

Directed by Frank Borzage and adapted from the novel by Theodore Strauss, Moonrise sees Dane Clark playing Danny Hawkins, the son of a man who was hanged for his crimes. Tormented by his father's past and bullied about it as a child, Hawkins grows into a confused and resentful man. Striking out at anyone foolish enough to cross his fractured state of mind, tragedy is quick to strike, sending Hawkins deep into the Southern mire. Can solace come in the form of Gilly Johnson? (Gail Russell) or is it simply too late to rejoin the human race?

We open with a hazy reflection that merges into the feet of walking men, men walking to the gallows as Danny Hawkins' father is hanged. The mood is well and truly set for Borzage's dreamy film noir. It's something of an oddity in many ways for it most assuredly is film noir, certainly in texture and on the technical issues it is, yet an overtly poetic heart and a distinctly less than broody ending almost steer it to being fanciful fluff. Borzage and his cinematographer, John L. Russell (in one of his first prominent assignments), do wonders with the atmosphere of the piece. Set in the steamy South, shadows and darkness are a constant and rewarding part of proceedings, while swinging lights and conversations filmed at midriffs further enhance the skew whiff state of Dane Clark's protagonist. Also of note is that some scenes showcase why Borzage was rightly held in high regard back in the day, a Ferris Wheel, a car crash and a Racoon tree top sequence (that upset and engrossed me simultaneously) are just some of the reasons why this is a must see for Borzage enthusiasts.

Coming as it does out of the Republic Pictures house of "B" moviedom, it's natural to expect some low budgetary issues. However, this is a splendid production belying its "B" movie worth. The cast are fine, with Clark particularly doing well as his character battles with anger and warmth issues, and the sets and location work are effective and benefit the story greatly. Thankfully, and even though it has no restoration, the picture quality is very good, the sound mix is a bit down at times, but by and large this one has transfered well to prints being shown on British TV. With a support cast containing Ethel Barrymore, Allyn Joslyn (excellent), Henry Morgan, Harry Carey Jr and a brief Lloyd Bridges, this is a recommended film of course. But I can't, and will not, vouch for the ending appeasing all comers. 7/10

Plagued by his father's crime and ridiculed by others, Danny Hawkins (Clark) confronts an outcast's life in a small southern town.

When old Mose addresses the dog as Mr. Dog or the guitar as Mr. Guitar, we realize a long suppressed desire for human dignity and respect. If the black man Mose (Ingram) can't get that from the larger community, at least he can create his own little world where all worthy things get respect. I think that's why he lives alone. But despite his estrangement, he hasn't lost perspective. As he says, he wants to rejoin the human race, and it's easy to suppose the larger community needs to change by rising to his level, rather than vice-versa. Then too, when he says dogs should not be used to hunt humans, there's a veiled echo of Jim Crow, covert Hollywood style.

It's only natural that another outcast Danny Hawkins would be drawn to Mose, his only friend. Their scenes together are beautifully performed and sensitively scripted. Note how the subject of "bad blood" and free will comes up elliptically. Danny is haunted by his father's crime and fears it has become his own destiny (the Sykes murder). In Danny's eyes, it's as if he's fated by the blood he's inherited. But Mose knows something about the racial aspect of "bad blood", and insists that blood is no more than "red" and doesn't tell you "what you have to do". This means Danny must overcome the spectre of genetic determinism by becoming his own person and taking responsibility for his own actions. It's only then, by acknowledging a sense of free will, that Danny can escape the burden of inherited guilt.

Of course, it's through Gilly's (Russell) unconditional love that Danny finds the redemption he needs. By releasing himself to that bond, he experiences an emotion strong enough to overcome the haunting sense of inherited fate. At the same time, he can only overcome the anguish of personal guilt for the crime he has committed by owning up to the crime, and confronting the inevitable I-told-you-so's". In Mose's terms, there's a heavy price he must pay for rejoining the human race.

The character of Billy Scripture (Morgan) is often overlooked, but remains a mysterious and profound presence. A simple-minded mute, he's another outcast and frequent figure of ridicule. However, unlike Danny, he remains sweet-tempered and forgiving despite the provocations. Even when nearly strangled by a desperate Danny, he responds with a difficult yet forgiving smile, a touching and unforgettable moment. In his own mute way, he appears to understand an underlying theme—that anger and alienation are symptoms and not causes. His name, I believe, is no accident.

In terms of the movie itself, the cast is superb. Clark may not have been director Borzage's first choice; nevertheless he comes up with a vivid and nuanced performance. Catch his many anguished expressions. Just as importantly, he doesn't look like a Hollywood leading man, nor does he bring the associations of a big-name star to the role. In short, he's perfect. Also, the famously edgy Russell shows none of that here. In fact, she projects one of the rarest qualities found in any love story, namely, genuine warmth. Her ethereal good looks also fit perfectly into the plot, and it's no stretch to see Danny changing his life for her sake. Then there's the quiet dignity of Ingram's Mose. His sterling character now looks like evolution from the caricatures of the 1930's to the assertive civil rights movement of the 50's. Too bad, the actor is largely forgotten. I guess my only reservation is with Barrymore. Her grandma strikes me as too stagey and "grand" (an apt term from another reviewer). Still and all, it's a fine, colorful cast, even down to bit players.

Now, as good as these elements are, it's because of director Borzage that they're lifted into the realm of cinematic art. From hypnotic opening to pastoral close, the visual enchantment wraps around like an enveloping dreamscape— (the eerie sets are also a testament to lowly Republic's art department, the glittering impressionist photography to John Russell). Borzage's enclosed world is a world of artistic imagination that's at once both mesmerizing and compelling. But just as importantly, he's a filmmaker who clearly believes in the material. As others point out, he's that rarest of the breed, a director who genuinely believes in romantic love and its redemptive power, and not merely as a movie cliché. At the same time, it's the power of that vision that merges the movie's elements into a single dynamic whole.

There are so many memorable moments and characters—the "hep-cat" soda jerk, the Methuslah old man, the gallery lined-up for arriving trains. But, I guess the high point for me is when Danny must shake the raccoon from the safety of the tree, seeing his own fate in the hapless animal and knowing that if he doesn't he may betray his own guilt. Here, script, acting, and direction come together brilliantly to create a truly shattering moment. All in all, the film may not rise to the level of a masterpiece, but it does stand as a work of considerable artistic achievement, and one that's stayed with me since I first saw it as a boy. And I'm glad the internet provides an opportunity for me to share that appreciation in a public way.

During all his childhood ,Danny had only known ragging.Being the son of a hanged man was not easy when your school pals kept laughing at you.We can comprehend Danny's hate for Jerry Snykes ,the boy born silver spoon in hand ,whose father is a banker .

The resentment had been building up for years.Not only Danny was an innocent victim ,but he also showed compassion for the half-wit,the town youth's punching bag.As grandma says,he is a good guy ,and so was his father,another unfortunate victim of fate .

When Danny tries to join the human race,that is to say when he falls in love with Gilly ,it's too late: "why do you always take me far from the others?" she complains.The scene at the fair could be a respite : this is a place dear to Borzage;you may remember Margaret Sullavan on a carousel in "little man what now? " and there's a similar scene in "Liliom" .But the big wheel is also a trap.

Filmed in black and white ,often in the dark,in a desperate atmosphere ,"Moonrise" is an extraordinary film noir.It nearly matched the brilliance of Borzage's precedent decade.