Poor Farley Granger. He's memorable largely because of three pictures he made: "Side Street," "Strangers on a Train," and "They Live by Night." (In two of them he played opposite Cathy O'Donnell, as he does here.) The roles were almost the same. Innocent young guy gets swept up in all kinds of murderous shenanigans, pursued by cops, wanting only peace of mind and his girl friend.
This one is really more of a crime drama than a film noir, depending on the generosity of your definition. Granger steals what he believes to be two hundred dollars out of an unguarded filing cabinet. It turns out to be thirty large, blackmail owed by a prominent figure to a, well, a working girl. Stricken by conscience, Granger tries to return the money. But what a schlemiel he truly is. He could have simply kept the money because, after all, nobody has any idea he took it. And the blackmailing girl having been killed by her boyfriend, the money now belongs to nobody. He could have mailed the victim the remaining funds. He certainly knows the name and address since he was the mailman. Failing that, if he insisted on returning the money in person, the last thing even a low-mimetic type like Granger would do is waltz into the victim's office, announce his name and address, and then claim he was merely a "go-between" acting for a "friend" who wanted to give back the loot.
Granger is saddled with a young wife and a brand new baby, who is only in the film long enough for us to witness his display of paternal pride. He needs the dough, you see.
But every time he thinks he's being smart, posing as someone else, ferreting out the address of someone he needs to talk to, he gets outwitted, bopped on the head, and at the end he's taken for a ride towards the East River. He escapes, but barely.
Paul Kelly provides the Reed Hadley narration at the beginning and the end. "This is a man who is a little weak, like some of us. A little foolish, just like most of us." (I wonder how often Rod Serling saw this.) There is a nicely staged climactic chase and shoot out while cop cars zoom after a taxi. It ends in front of the New York City Courthouse. Granger is only wounded and while O'Donnell weeps and tries to smooch him through the ambulance window, Kelly reassures us, "He'll be alright." Sure he will. As soon as he finds a way to beat the raps for grand theft larceny, breaking and entering, and several charges of felony obstruction of justice.
Yet I kind of liked it. Neat location shooting. Manhattan in 1950, more smog than today but fewer people. The bartender knows your name, although you can't trust him. One murder every day, Kelly tells us, as if this were shocking. (In 1990, there were 2,245 murders, or 6.2361111 every day.) Not a sign of the potential energy the city was pregnant with, just about to become kinetic -- Kerouac, Burroughs, Cassidy, Ginsberg, Pollack. There isn't much location shooting but what there is, is effective. When Granger looks at a phone book, we see New York in 1950, when the phone numbers has real NAMES for exchanges. Names like Plaza. And Murray Hill. And Circle. And Grammercy. What do you find now? More NUMBERS, that's what you find! 21212324680! You call that a telephone number? And you're lucky to get the (212) instead of that new-fangled low-class one. Where did it all go? Pass those Kleenex, would you? Thanks. (Sob)
Anyway, the plot at times becomes a bit twisted and hard to follow as everyone tries to track down everyone else, but you'll probably enjoy it.
This one is really more of a crime drama than a film noir, depending on the generosity of your definition. Granger steals what he believes to be two hundred dollars out of an unguarded filing cabinet. It turns out to be thirty large, blackmail owed by a prominent figure to a, well, a working girl. Stricken by conscience, Granger tries to return the money. But what a schlemiel he truly is. He could have simply kept the money because, after all, nobody has any idea he took it. And the blackmailing girl having been killed by her boyfriend, the money now belongs to nobody. He could have mailed the victim the remaining funds. He certainly knows the name and address since he was the mailman. Failing that, if he insisted on returning the money in person, the last thing even a low-mimetic type like Granger would do is waltz into the victim's office, announce his name and address, and then claim he was merely a "go-between" acting for a "friend" who wanted to give back the loot.
Granger is saddled with a young wife and a brand new baby, who is only in the film long enough for us to witness his display of paternal pride. He needs the dough, you see.
But every time he thinks he's being smart, posing as someone else, ferreting out the address of someone he needs to talk to, he gets outwitted, bopped on the head, and at the end he's taken for a ride towards the East River. He escapes, but barely.
Paul Kelly provides the Reed Hadley narration at the beginning and the end. "This is a man who is a little weak, like some of us. A little foolish, just like most of us." (I wonder how often Rod Serling saw this.) There is a nicely staged climactic chase and shoot out while cop cars zoom after a taxi. It ends in front of the New York City Courthouse. Granger is only wounded and while O'Donnell weeps and tries to smooch him through the ambulance window, Kelly reassures us, "He'll be alright." Sure he will. As soon as he finds a way to beat the raps for grand theft larceny, breaking and entering, and several charges of felony obstruction of justice.
Yet I kind of liked it. Neat location shooting. Manhattan in 1950, more smog than today but fewer people. The bartender knows your name, although you can't trust him. One murder every day, Kelly tells us, as if this were shocking. (In 1990, there were 2,245 murders, or 6.2361111 every day.) Not a sign of the potential energy the city was pregnant with, just about to become kinetic -- Kerouac, Burroughs, Cassidy, Ginsberg, Pollack. There isn't much location shooting but what there is, is effective. When Granger looks at a phone book, we see New York in 1950, when the phone numbers has real NAMES for exchanges. Names like Plaza. And Murray Hill. And Circle. And Grammercy. What do you find now? More NUMBERS, that's what you find! 21212324680! You call that a telephone number? And you're lucky to get the (212) instead of that new-fangled low-class one. Where did it all go? Pass those Kleenex, would you? Thanks. (Sob)
Anyway, the plot at times becomes a bit twisted and hard to follow as everyone tries to track down everyone else, but you'll probably enjoy it.