Le criminel mystérieux

I think what I like about this film is while its structure certainly reeks of noir style, its execution strays from it. There's little sentimentality here; and even in "classic" noir, sentimentality is there if you look hard enough and know when to spot it. This film is like a 180 from that.

For me, it's gritty and grinding. There's a certain, relentless quality to it. There's also a strong sense of dread and drudgery permeating almost every scene. On the outset, it offers virtually no hope for the damned.

I personally found the acting top drawer. Zachary Scott totally surprised me with his consistency and devotion to the role; and Mary Boland delivers the goods wholeheartedly, reminding me of the caliber of Esther Howard's performance in Born To Kill. Fay Emerson's performance was solid but not exemplary.

This is for die-hard noir fans only. A small majority will focus on its flaws; the rest of us will revel in its restored--literally--glory. Get over the ending upfront.

Zachary Scott is an ex-cop with a bad case of alcoholism. He's a house detective at a sleazy hotel, sleeping one off, when his ex-wife, Faye Emerson wakes him to tell him their son has been kidnapped, his ex-colleagues are sympathetic, but it's up to Scott to track the abductors through the Skid Row world and rescue his son.... and himself.

This movie benefits from a strong, sympathetic story, and location shooting on the low-rent streets of downtown New York. There's a lot of talking, though, for such a usually visual genre, and the performances, while appropriate, are not terribly interesting. Scott and Miss Emerson start out with low-affect performances. Miss Emerson mumbles her lines in a tired and hopeless manner, and Scott spends the first half with subdued reactions. It's how a lot of depressives act, but it's not terribly interesting to watch.

The cast is eked out with some good performers, Mary Boland plays the sort of down-on-heels ex-floozie that Esther Howard usually did for Paramount Noirs, Sam Levene is the police captain who can't help because of the rule book, and J. Edward Bromberg, Kay Medford, and Jed Prouty have memorable roles. The result is a film noir that is highly watchable.

This is a film about alcoholism. And, Zachary Taylor, playing an alcoholic, ex-cop, who has abandoned his family, plays the role very well.

Taylor's Max Thursday is told by his ex-wife that their son and her brother are missing. Thursday wants no help from the cops who he feels will take an apathetic approach to a case of a missing child and its uncle.

Along the way, Thursday, formerly a top cop, battles the bottle more than the untrustworthy, criminally-inclined, underworld figures he meets. One such figure is fellow alcoholic Angel, played brilliantly by Kay Medford. Angel almost steals the film, but is unfortunately quickly tossed aside (literally and figuratively) by the filmmakers.

Faye Emerson came out of retirement to act alongside Taylor. The two made the fabulous noir Danger Signal together five years earlier. She's excellent as the woman trying to find her son (and brother), and forced to rely on her disease-ridden ex-husband, who, by the way, she still loves. (She never declares it, but Emerson's acting, while nuanced, delivers the message.)

Mary Boland deserves mention here, too. The flop house proprietor has given Thursday room and board to be her "house dick."

Too bad, the film doesn't give much for the great Sam Levene to do. He played the police captain who's is noticeably absent after the first act. In fact, there's a couple of scenes where you expect his presence, but he's not there. I suspect the nickels and pennies budget created blemishes like this.

TCM is screening a pristine restored version of the film. Cinematographer Russell Harlan, ASC (Gerald Hirschfeld is also credited) does a super job of lighting gritty, real locations including interiors of abandoned tenements and New York's subway system.

Director Joseph Lerner botches the third act with help from screenwriter Don Ettlinger. But, I commend them for their success at guerrilla filmmaking as TCM's Eddie Muller points out the production could not afford any permits to shoot in the city's streets so the filmmakers did it without.

Overall, the film's fails to meet expectations, but is a gem for genre fans.

Watchable microbudget noir shot largely on location in New York City and taking maximum advantage of subway stations, back alleys, and warehouse districts. The story is hard to follow, even though the big reveal - the identity of the mysterious St. Paul - is pretty easy to guess. Longtime character actor Jesse White makes a brief appearance as an unsuccessful pickup artist at a bar.

I was surprised to see Dmitri Tiomkin credited with the score on such a small movie. I was even more surprised by how much I disliked the score. To me, it felt all wrong for noir - overblown and portentous even when nothing much is happening, excessively romantic and "pretty" at odd (almost random) moments. It's a rare case of film music that seems to have little to do with the action on the screen.

Another reviewer wonders how this movie ended up on a list of the best 250 films noir. I know how. If you make a list of 250 (!) noirs, you'll be including basically all of them. Hollywood made a lot of noirs, but certainly not 250 that qualify as the "best" of anything.

"Guilty Bystander" is neither the best nor the worst of the genre, but there are worse ways to spend an hour and a half.

Incidentally, I'd like to think that when "Dragnet" was taking shape in his mind, Jack Webb saw this movie and thought, "Max Thursday, hmm? Maybe tweak it just a little ..."

This movie presents a curious case. It obviously was made on a rock-bottom budget (and looks it); its plot -- about a kidnapped boy -- is as hard to follow as The Big Sleep's, without any of that movie's big-studio glamour and high gloss; and prints of the movie in circulation, with poor sound and visuals, don't help its reputation either. Nonetheless, Guilty Bystander has a few very strong points in its favor. Chief among them is the old pro Mary Boland as Smitty, the proprietress of a fleabag hotel several notches below the threshold of respectability; she's a scheming old battleax who has more going on under her unkempt wisps of grey hair than she wants her cronies and go-fers to know. Next there's Zachary Scott, as Max Thursday, an ex-cop now sleeping off benders in the same fleabag, where he's kept on as the house dick; an underrated actor, he invests his loser's role with a painful intensity, stumbling and limping from skid row to waterfront to warehouse in pursuit for the son he hasn't seen in years. As his ex-wife and mother of the kidnapped boy, Faye Emerson (Mrs. Elliott Roosevelt to you), brings more than her fabled bone structure to the part. In fact, with better acting than you have any right to expect (plus an unrelentingly depressing milieu), Guilty Bystander is more than a curio; it's as if the cast knew what a lousy movie they signed up for and decided to go for broke anyway.