Irene212

What a perfect title for a movie photographed by John Alton. Noir means black and film noir is famous for shadowy cinematography, but Alton goes the distance here. There are few daylight shots and I'm sure I have never seen so many frames that are dominated by blackness. He also makes use of a favored technique: having the brightest object in the frame set far back in the frame, to exaggerate the depth of field. It's a glorious display of the darkness inherent in noir, which is why neo-noir films, which are mostly in color, need a separate designation.

Tangentially based on the crime spree of Erwin "Machine-Gun" Walker in 1945-46, the story is a suspenseful police procedural. The cast lacks famous names but not familiar faces: a host of character actors went on to have careers in television, most notably Jack Webb who was inspired to develop the first police drama, "Dragnet," after his role as a forensic adviser in this film.

But the hard center of this tight 79-minute movie is Richard Basehart doing his usual bang-up job. As an elusive thief and murderer, his preternatural radar for police presence almost matches his dog's. The plot kicks off when he shoots a patrolman which launches a full-scale manhunt that includes substantial footage in the Los Angeles drainage tunnels, some wide enough for cars.

An absolute must-see for cinéastes if only for one scene: When the film projector invented by William Friese-Greene (Robert Donat) works for the first time, he runs from his lab into the night, excited to show someone, anyone what he's created. A bobby on the beat (Laurence Olivier), assuming he's got a nutjob on his hands, cautiously follows him to the studio and-- you have to see the scene to appreciate it-- becomes the first person to see a motion picture. His reaction could not be improved upon. Well, of course not. It's Olivier. "That's Hyde Park," he says in blank astonishment, "I recognize it" and I got chills as I realized all over again the power movies have, even flickering, silent, outdoor black-and-white footage-- essentially a home movie. Add lighting, editing, a story, performers, and eventually sound and color in the hands of skilled directors, and no wonder cinema is the most powerful art form we have yet devised, a luminous combination of photography, storytelling, music, acting, and even dance with the right DP and editor.

Unfortunately, the movie over-reaches. Eric Ambler's screenplay is twisted out of chronological order with a flashback within a flashback, so we begin with Willie as an old man and a failure visiting his estranged second wife. The result, instead of making him a poignant figure, taints him. His dedication and excitement about capturing motion in pictures is overshadowed by his inevitable decline. Far too much time is spent on his money problems, real though they were. He was not alone developing camera and projector technology, and was overshadowed by Edison, who is mentioned in the movie as is Jules Duboscq, a pioneering French inventor, but that adds more novelty than sustained quality.

Donat is fine in the role, enthusiastic in his youth, dignified in his dotage. His wives (Maria Schell first, then Margaret Johnston) leave less of an impression, and no one else is in it long enough to leave much of an impression at all-- Olivier excepted. Filmed to be shown at the Festival of Britain, producer Ronald Neame gathered England's greatest talents for the movie, most in cameo roles, non briefer than Peter Ustinov who appears for about 1.5 seconds.

John Boulting directed with Jack Cardiff behind the camera, but this is far from their best work. It's a visually loud movie, made just a few years before Eastmancolor replaced Technicolor, so the color is garish-- which, given that this movie is about the origins of cinema, is forgivable. It shows the artform after about fifty years of development, colorful warts and all.

After a successful career behind the scenes on television (Have Gun-Will Travel, The Rifleman, and especially Mission: Impossible), Bruce Geller made one movie, a film about criminals who have little dramatic edge: pickpockets. But Geller manages to make it not just interesting but almost glamorous, filming it great old hotels in Seattle, Salt Lake City, and Victoria, B. C. He and his frequent collaborator, DP Fred Koenekamp (Patton, Papillon), capture the look and ambiance of those cities in the early 1970s in a way that make it a must-see for natives.

A novice pickpocket, Ray (Michael Sarrazin at his best, for what that's worth), hooks up with a free spirit, Sandy (Trish Van Devere), and they wind up under the wing of a veteran dip, Harry (James Coburn), and his cocaine-addicted partner Casey (Walter Pidgeon, snorting at age 76). Ray and Sandy learn the ropes in a series of entertaining vignettes on the streets, but they eventually bridle under Harry's strict rules, the key one being "Harry does not hold." When Harry picks a pocket, he hands the loot off within ten seconds because another rule is, If you get nabbed, you're out. The training scenes are brisk and amusing as well as mildly suspenseful, an essential dimension.

Besides learning pickpocket slang, you'll gain considerable respect for Trish Van Devere. Her Sandy is self-assured young woman, attached to Ray and lusted after by Harry. She willingly struts her stuff as the gang's mini-skirt-clad 'stall' without ever losing an ounce of dignity. Well, except for being a thief.