Anthony Mann at the Helm
Several years ago, when I was a guest on a podcast, the hostess asked me to name my favorite film noir directors. I don’t know why, but I felt like a deer caught in the headlights, and my mind went completely blank – the only director I could even think of was Alfred Hitchcock! And no shade to Sir Alfred, who is definitely a favorite, I don’t exactly consider him to be a “film noir” director – although I certainly love his films like Strangers on a Train and Shadow of a Doubt.
If my brain hadn’t taken a coffee break in the middle of the interview, I’d have been able to come up with several names, including Fritz Lang (Scarlet Street, The Big Heat, Human Desire), Robert Siodmak (Criss Cross, Phantom Lady, Cry of the City), Billy Wilder (Double Indemnity, Sunset Blvd., Ace in the Hole), and Otto Preminger (Laura, Fallen Angel, Where the Sidewalk Ends).
But any list of the noir directors I love best would not be complete without the name of Anthony Mann, who specialized in the kind of low-budget features that were a hallmark of the classic film noir era. This month’s Noir Nook takes a look at three of my favorite Mann noirs.
The Great Flamarion (1945)
Actor-turned-director-turned-actor Erich von Stroheim stars in the title role as an expert marksman who headlines a popular act on an upscale vaudeville circuit. Flamarion is a hard-nosed loner who doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but he finds his world turned inside out when his married assistant (Mary Beth Hughes) gets tired of her hubby (Dan Duryea) and sets her sights on her boss.
The film was based on a short story fittingly titled “Big Shot,” by Vicki Baum, who wrote the 1929 novel, Menschen im Hotel, that became the hit MGM film Grand Hotel (1932). Although The Great Flamarion is seldom mentioned when discussing the era of shadows, it serves up a unique and engaging story and a veritable masterclass in film noir how-tos, including flashbacks, voiceover narration, a classic femme fatale, and enough interplay of shadows and light to satisfy any noir aficionado.
Interestingly, the film’s star reportedly was not a fan of the flashback framing and tried to convince the filmmakers to tell the story in a conventional linear fashion. Of further note is the fact that The Great Flamarion was produced by W. Lee Wilder, better known as William (Wilhelm) Wilder, and even better known as the older brother of director Billy Wilder (whose Christian name was Samuel, not William). Reportedly, Billy Wilder later accused his sibling of ripping off the Great Flamarion’s flashback device from Double Indemnity, directed by Billy the year before. Ah, family drama. You gotta love it.
Favorite quote: “The only excuse she could have had was death. Otherwise, she had double-crossed me.” – Flamarion
Desperate (1947)
This underrated gem has at its core a husband and wife desperately (if you will) trying to flee from a seemingly inescapable fate. Steve Brodie (in one of his few, and certainly his best, starring roles) plays Steve Randall, a hard-working truck driver with a magazine-perfect wife, Anne (Audrey Long), and a baby on the way. Life is just a bowl of cherries for Steve until he runs into an old pal from his childhood – Walt Radak (Raymond Burr). Radak offers Steve a sweet deal making a simple truck delivery, but the delivery turns out to be a robbery, the childhood reunion turns into a shootout with police, and when Walt’s kid brother winds up on death row, Steve and Anne discover the meaning of “getting the hell out of Dodge.”
Desperate was born from a 66-page treatment called “Flight,” penned by Mann and Dorothy Atlas (who apparently had no other writing credits, before or after this outing). The treatment was adapted by Harry Essex (an ex-newspaper reporter who would later write the screenplay for Kansas City Confidential [1952]), and additional dialogue was contributed by Martin Rackin (whose later credits included Loan Shark [1952], starring George Raft).
The film’s distinctive look was courtesy of cinematographer George E. Diskant, whose noir pedigree included Between Midnight and Dawn (1950), On Dangerous Ground (1951), and The Narrow Margin (1952). On Desperate, he created a number of standout visuals, including a scene where Walt Radak is viewed in a low-level shot through the slats of a wooden chair, and the film’s climax, which features an unforgettable spiral staircase shootout in a rundown apartment building.
Favorite quote: “I’m sorry I can’t give you a choice of food, Steve, but it won’t make much difference. You’re not going to live long enough to get any nourishment out of it.” – Walt Radak
Raw Deal (1948)
Dennis O’Keefe – known as much for his roles in light comedies and action/adventure films as for crime dramas – stars here as Joe Sullivan, an escaped convict determined to collect his $50,000 share of a robbery from Rick Coyle (Raymond Burr, again), the underworld boss for whom Joe took the rap. But Joe soon discovers that he’s not only being pursued by the cops, but by the goons Coyle has sent to finish him off. Complicating matters is the fact that Joe is accompanied by Pat (Claire Trevor), the devoted, streetwise, girlfriend who aided him in his prison escape, and Ann (Marsha Hunt), the refined social worker who is igniting Joe’s growing feelings.
Raw Deal’s origin was a 62-page treatment called “Corkscrew Alley,” which was purchased by Poverty Row studio Eagle-Lion as a vehicle for Richard Basehart. Little of the original treatment remained after the property was taken over by producer Edward Small, who produced Anthony Mann’s gritty 1947 noir, T-Men. Credit for the finished product went to John C. Higgins – who would pen the screenplay for Mann’s Border Incident the following year – and Leopold Atlas, who’d earned an Oscar nomination for the 1945 war-time drama The Story of G.I. Joe – he lost to Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett for The Lost Weekend. (Sadly, Atlas would die of a heart attack in 1954 at the age of 46, a little more than a year after he testified as a cooperative witness before the House Un-American Activities Committee.)
The film’s cinematographer was famed cameraman John Alton, teamed here for his second of four films with Anthony Mann. He is credited for being one of the pioneers of the use of shadows and light in film noir and wrote the lighting guide Painting With Light in 1949. Alton’s distinctive touches can be seen throughout the film; my favorite comes near the end, when Pat is torn between sailing off into the sunset with Joe or risking her relationship by taking an action that will save Ann’s life – her conflict and the concomitant race against time are illustrated by Pat’s pensive profile juxtaposed against the face of a ticking clock. For my money, it’s one of the most memorable shots in all of noir.
Favorite quote: “What do you know about anything? You probably had your bread buttered on both sides since the day you were born. Safe. Safe on first, second, third, and home.” – Joe Sullivan
The next time you come across one of these Mann-directed noirs, treat yourself and check it out. You’ll be glad you did.
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– Karen Burroughs Hannsberry for Classic Movie Hub
You can read all of Karen’s Noir Nook articles here.
Karen Burroughs Hannsberry is the author of the Shadows and Satin blog, which focuses on movies and performers from the film noir and pre-Code eras, and the editor-in-chief of The Dark Pages, a bimonthly newsletter devoted to all things film noir. Karen is also the author of two books on film noir – Femme Noir: The Bad Girls of Film and Bad Boys: The Actors of Film Noir. You can follow Karen on Twitter at @TheDarkPages.
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