Borderline (1950); or, The Noir Remake of It Happened One Night (1934)?

March 1, 1950, release date

Directed by William A. Seiter

Screenplay by Devery Freeman

Based on a story by Devery Freeman

Music by Hans J. Salter

Edited by Harry Keller

Cinematography by Lucien N. Andriot

Fred MacMurray as Johnny Macklin

Claire Trevor as Madeleine Haley

Raymond Burr as Pete Ritchie

Jose Torvay as Miguel

Morris Ankrum as Bill Whittaker

Roy Roberts as Harvey Gumbin

Don Diamond as Deusik

Nacho Galindo as Porfirio

Pepe Hern as Pablo

Grazia Narciso as Porfirio’s wife

Clifton Young as the suspect questioned by Whittaker

Charles Lane as Peterson, the customs officer

Johnny Indrisano as Gumbin’s henchman

Chrispin Martin as Pepi, the hotel clerk

Distributed by Universal International

Produced by Republic Pictures

Borderline has so many of the characteristics common to noir: murder, smuggling drugs across the U.S.-Mexican border, cops and federal agents working undercover. Claire Trevor, Raymond Burr, and Fred MacMurray were all veterans of film noir by the time Borderline was released in 1950. But the film has a plotline that I don’t find very often in films noir: romance fulfilled!

The film starts very specifically at the U.S. Treasury Department, Customs Agency Service. An agent interviews two dope smugglers, a couple, about their confiscated stash. The man is led away to be booked because he refuses to talk. The woman, on the other hand, agrees to talk, but she doesn’t know a whole lot about the agents’ main concern, a drug smuggler named Pete Ritchie, and she is led away to be booked, too.

The interview is observed through a two-way mirror by two agents, a police officer, and one woman (Madeleine Haley). Haley is with the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD). These four join the interviewer when he is finished with the two suspects, and Haley offers to go undercover to gather some information about Pete Ritchie. The police officer and the federal agents often talk about Haley in the third person, as if she is not even present (it helps to remember that this film was released in 1950). But Haley is persistent and insists on speaking for herself. She wants the undercover work. She has already proved herself as a capable Office of Special Services (OSS) agent during World War II. Finally, all the men agree, without consulting her, that Haley will go to Mexico to find out what she can about Pete Ritchie—but only because a woman might have better luck ensnaring a man, any man, including a dope smuggler.

Haley looks for Pete Ritchie in Mexico and finds him. She also meets another smuggler, Johnny Macklin, who gets his narcotics from Harvey Gumbin to smuggle from Mexico to the United States. Macklin and Gumbin are stealing the narcotics from Ritchie. Macklin’s latest haul, hidden in the bottom of a birdcage and in a music box, is ready to go across the border. He kidnaps Madeleine Haley and forces her to go with him—along with the birdcage and the music box—to the United States because he thinks she is Ritchie’s girlfriend and would be a good source of information. Of course, Macklin has no idea that Haley is a police officer and was never Ritchie’s girlfriend, and Haley knows very little about Macklin except that he’s another drug smuggler.

The two leads in Borderline are first repulsed by one another because of this mistaken identity. Both of them are agents working undercover in Mexico, and they are so good at their jobs that they fool one another. Macklin believes that Haley is the girlfriend of the notorious drug smuggler Pete Ritchie; Haley believes Macklin is Ritchie’s rival drug smuggler. Macklin is taking his latest drug haul, the one hidden in the bottom of the bird cage and in the music box, to the United States. But Macklin is also on the run from Ritchie and his gang of thugs. Ritchie has discovered that Macklin is stealing from him, and he won’t let this theft go unpunished. Macklin now has Haley for company; Ritchie also assumes that she will talk and figures he’ll kill her, too.

(This blog post about Borderline contains all the spoilers.)

Macklin and Haley are slowly drawn toward one another while they head north for the U.S.–Mexico border. Macklin never once suspects Haley of trying to escape and rejoining Ritchie, even though he thinks Haley is Ritchie’s girlfriend. While they are on the run, they stop for the night at a hotel, and Macklin allows Haley every opportunity to leave. When she gets ready to go to the communal bathroom down the hall, he tells her, “Don’t talk to strangers.” Haley’s response: “I don’t know any strangers.” Her wisecracking keeps Macklin on his toes, and he learns to appreciate her sense of humor.

Macklin and Haley’s trip north is not a smooth ride. They pose as a married couple so that Macklin will attract less suspicion and can smuggle the narcotics successfully. Their plans are nearly thwarted at almost every point, and not just because Ritchie is pursuing them. One of Macklin’s friends, who joins them on the road, dies of his injuries after a shootout with Ritchie. Macklin and Haley are forced to abandon their car and walk to the nearest airport. On the way, they flag down a ride with the local sheriff, who takes them the rest of the way to the airport. They find a pilot with a four-seater willing to take them to the United States, but the plane runs out of gas and they are forced to land on an empty beach until they can take off again during daylight hours with the spare tank. Finally, they find another car to drive across the border.

Macklin and Haley learn each other’s true identity at the border, in the U.S. customs office. Macklin still has to work undercover and deliver the smuggled narcotics to his connections. He is backed up by the customs office and the LAPD. Law enforcement plans to go in after the criminals in their hideout, with Macklin taking the lead because the criminals already know him and still think he is one of them. A shootout ensues when the rest of the law enforcement officers arrive at the hideout. Macklin survives, and he and Haley are reunited.

Do any of these plot points sound familiar to you? I know a lot of romantic comedies have similar storylines, but I am thinking specifically of It Happened One Night, the 1934 film starring Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable and directed by Frank Capra. The plots of both films are remarkably similar. As far as I know, Borderline is not a remake of anything, let alone It Happened One Night. But I sure kept thinking of It Happened One Night both times that I watched Borderline. It wasn’t hard for me to develop the two lists below, showing the similarities between the two films.

So many things—not just the similarity to It Happened One Night—about watching Borderline were a surprise for me. One is the chemistry between Fred MacMurray’s character, Johnny Macklin, and Claire Trevor’s, Madeleine Haley. I have seen MacMurray in other noirs (Pushover, Double Indemnity) and I can never quite believe him as an homme fatale or a romantic interest. Romance is not the main point of a noir, but the attraction is supposed to sizzle and then burn because it is often the impetus for the commission of a crime or two. I can never be convinced of it, however, between MacMurray and Kim Novack in Pushover, and between MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity.

That changed with Borderline. The chemistry between Johnny Macklin and Madeleine Haley carries the film. Claire Trevor is fantastic in almost every movie of hers that I have seen, so maybe some of the on-screen magic can be attributed to her remarkable talent. Or maybe MacMurray has finally met his true leading lady.

The lighthearted mood was another surprise. In fact, Borderline could be called a film noir comedy or a noir romance—one without a femme or an homme fatale. The guns, undercover intrigue, betrayals, drug smuggling, murder, attempted murder, and other assorted crimes make Borderline a film noir, but it could also be called a noir romantic comedy. Some of this must be attributable to the screenwriter, Devery Freeman.  The copy of the DVD I watched included a text featurette called quite simply “Film Background.” From it, I learned that Devery Freeman worked on three Red Skelton pictures: The Fuller Brush Man (1948), The Good Humor Man (1950), and Watch the Birdie (1951). In 1956, he wrote the final Abbott and Costello film Dance with Me, Henry. And the text featurette makes the following point:

“. . . In Borderline, Freeman injects quite a bit of humor into the usually humorless film noir.”

I must confess that I didn’t find myself laughing out loud during Borderline, but it certainly has its humorous moments.

And then there’s that believable romance between Johnny Macklin and Madeleine Haley. Borderline is worth a look just for the chance to see a noir romance and to see Claire Trevor in another great performance.

 

Double Indemnity (1944): Film Noir after Seventy-Five Years

September 6, 1944, release date

Directed by Billy Wilder

Screenplay by Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler

Based on the novel Double Indemnity by James M. Cain

Music by Miklós Rószsa

Edited by Doane Harrison

Cinematography by John Seitz

Fred MacMurray as Walter Neff

Barbara Stanwyck as Phyllis Dietrichson

Edward G. Robinson as Barton Keyes

Porter Hall as Mr. Jackson

Jean Heather as Lola Dietrichson

Tom Powers as Mr. Dietrichson

Byron Barr as Nino Zachetti

Richard Gaines as Edward S. Norton, Jr.

Fortunio Bonanova as Sam Garlopis

John Philliber as Joe Peters

Raymond Chandler as man reading a magazine (cameo)

Bess Flowers as Norton’s secretary

Betty Farrington as Nettie, the Dietrichson’s maid

Teala Loring as Pacific All-Risk Insurance telephone operator

Sam McDaniel as Charlie, the garage attendant

Distributed by Paramount Pictures

Produced by Paramount Pictures

Billy Wilder directed many great films, some of which happen to be my personal favorites: Sunset Boulevard (1950), starring Gloria Swanson and William Holden; Some Like It Hot (1959), starring Marilyn Monroe, Jack Lemmon, and Tony Curtis; The Apartment (1960), starring Shirley MacLaine and Jack Lemmon. I have seen these films numerous times, but I hadn’t seen Double Indemnity for the first time, from beginning to end, until earlier this year.

My sister couldn’t believe that I call myself a fan of noir and I hadn’t seen the film for so long. I find it a little hard to believe myself. I often like to say that I prefer the book to the film and that I want to read the book before I see the film version. But I had read James M. Cain’s book, and I still balked at seeing the film for the longest time. And now that I have seen Double Indemnity, I see that it deserves all the praise that is directed its way. But I must confess that I struggled with writing this blog post.

It has to do with the actor playing the male lead: Fred MacMurray as Walter Neff. MacMurray is wonderfully slimy as Jeff D. Sheldrake, C. C. Baxter’s (Jack Lemmon’s) boss who offers career advancement in The Apartment only if Baxter allows his apartment to be used as a love nest for company executives. But I just cannot see MacMurray as a romantic lead or as an homme fatale. Did his starring role in the television series My Three Sons (1960–1972) ruin him as a man capable of dangerous passion? It may be part of the reason, but I am not entirely convinced. I have seen MacMurray in Borderline, a film noir in which he is paired with Claire Trevor, and I think he succeeds as a romantic lead in that film. I suspect, however, that some of the credit may be attributed to Trevor because she is fantastic in everything in which she appears. And MacMurray’s part in Borderline didn’t require lust and a lack of ethics.

(This blog post about Double Indemnity, both the novel and the film, contains spoilers.)

James M. Cain’s novel Double Indemnity, the story that is the basis for the film, is hard to beat for its noir characteristics, specifically its lack of redemption for all its characters. (Click here for my blog post about James M. Cain’s novel.) If I had to choose between the novel and the film (if I were stranded on a deserted ship and forced to lighten my load to avoid sinking!), I would have to pick the novel. It is pessimistic, it is bleak, it is thoroughly noir.

The ending is but one example of why I like the book more: Barton Keyes arranges an escape to Mexico via ship for Walter Huff (Walter Neff’s name in the novel), but instead Huff finds himself on board a ship that is also carrying Phyllis Nirdlinger (Phyllis Dietrichson’s name in the novel). Keyes had arranged both Phyllis’s and Walter’s ship passages; he wants to get rid of them rather than sully the name of the insurance company, his employer, by prosecuting a crime, murder, committed by one of its employees, namely, Huff. The ending isn’t stated explicitly, but Huff seems resigned to following Nirdlinger overboard into shark-infested waters because neither one of them have any other options other than the death penalty. And death by shark would be decidedly quicker than navigating the legal system.

Billy Wilder made some changes to the story in the novel because the Motion Picture Production Code, also known as the Hays code, that prevailed in the film industry at the time wouldn’t allow the subject of suicide and other topics deemed sensitive by the censors to be portrayed on-screen. (Click here for a discussion of the production code in relation to four of Wilder’s films, including Double Indemnity, at the blog site Dial M for Movies.) In the film, Barton Keyes does catch up with Walter Neff and learns that he is responsible for the murders of both Phyllis and her husband, but he is deeply disappointed because he considers Walter a friend and is rather fond of him. Keyes’s interest in Neff struck me as paternal; he takes an interest in his career path, for example, when he suggests that Neff become a claims adjustor and join his department.

In his commentary on the DVD, film historian Richard Schickel maintains that the most important relationship in the film is not the one between Phyllis and Walter but the one between Walter and Barton Keyes. Lem Dobbs states the same in the commentary he almost shares with Nick Redman (I say “almost” because Dobbs does almost all the talking), although Dobbs feels that the relationship between the two is based on an equal footing and not a father-son dynamic. But these observations just emphasize how hard it is for me to see Fred MacMurray as a man capable of passion. His portrayal of Walter Neff just doesn’t make me believe there is any lustful passion involved. Walter Neff wants the money; he wants to prove that he can beat the insurance industry at its own game. But I’m not sure he wants Phyllis Dietrichson quite as much.

Double Indemnity has earned high praise from many, and my copy of the film on DVD from Universal Studios Home Entertainment comes with not one but two audio commentaries: one by Richard Schickel and one by film historians Lem Dobbs and Nick Redman. The seventy-fifth anniversary of the film’s release has received plenty of attention. Click here for an example from National Public Radio (NPR).

Many film noir scholars consider Double Indemnity to be the first true film noir, the first in a genre that was yet to be named when the film was released in 1944, seventy-five years ago. Film noir is a category that is very difficult to define, however, and people define it in different ways. Even trying to define a film noir period is difficult to do. Click here for a different opinion published by The Guardian: “After The Maltese Falcon: How Film Noir Took Flight.”

There is no doubt, however, that Double Indemnity stands up to scrutiny after seventy-five years (eighty-three years for the novel). Even after several decades, the stories in both the print and film versions are absorbing, and I think it’s because they focus on the relationships among the characters. With the novel, readers can imagine the setting anyway they want to; with the film, the out-of-date styles for just about everything—from clothes to cars, even to office furniture—are clear and obvious. Yet the story still commands attention. In his audio commentary, Richard Schickel maintains that the changes to the novel for the screenplay owe their cohesion and success mostly to Billy Wilder, that he was the one who kept the focus on the characters and especially on the relationship between Walter Neff and Barton Keyes. I have to agree, and Schickel’s points are probably some of many reasons why Double Indemnity still appeals to so many fans after seventy-five years.

This blog post about Double Indemnity is my entry for the Classic Movie Blog Association’s 2019 Fall Blogathon: The Anniversary Blogathon. It’s a celebration of ten years of the Classic Movie Blog Association. Click here for the complete list of blogathon participants and links to their entries.