The Morning After (1986)

December 25, 1986, release date

Directed by Sidney Lumet

Screenplay by James Hicks, David Rayfiel (uncredited)

Music by Paul Chihara

Edited by Joel Goodman

Cinematography by Andrzej Bartkowiak

Distributed by 20th Century Fox

Produced by Lorimar Motion Pictures

Jane Fonda as Alexandra “Alex” Sternbergen, also known as Viveca Van Loren, an actress

Jeff Bridges as Turner Kendall

Raúl Juliá as Joaquin “Jackie” Manero, Alex’s husband

Diane Salinger as Isabel Harding, Jackie’s new lover

Richard Foronjy as Sgt. Herb Greenbaum

Bruce Vilanch as Harry, the bartender

Geoffrey Scott as Bobby Korshack

James Haake as Frankie, a cross dresser and friend of Alex’s

Don Hood as Mr. Hurley, the lawyer

Kathleen Wilhoite as Red, Jackie’s assistant at his salon

Kathy Bates as Korshack’s neighbor

Frances Bergen as Mrs. Harding, Isabel’s mother

The Morning After is a story full of suspense and plot twists. A female lead carries most of the film, which is a bit different from most noirs that more often feature male leads, a femme fatale, and maybe one more female character whose goodness serves to contrast with the femme fatale. Alex Sternbergen, the lead character in The Morning After, fails repeatedly to get her acting career off the ground and can’t seem to stay away from the bottle, but she is a sympathetic character and viewers care about her predicament.

Alex, whose stage name is Viveca Van Loren, is an alcoholic who drinks so much that she often blacks out and can’t remember what happens while she is drunk. Viewers learn details of her current situation as the film progresses, but The Morning After starts with one particular morning, when Alex wakes up and finds a bloody corpse lying beside her. The rest of the film involves her attempts to figure out how she knows the corpse and what happened the previous evening.

Brilliant colors are used in interesting ways, especially at the start of the film and especially during the opening credits, to highlight Alex’s loneliness and her being alone in a desperate situation. The long shots of Alex leaving the crime scene and walking past brightly colored buildings are especially effective. At one point during the opening credits, Alex passes a handwritten message on a wall: YOU ARE ALONE. Although the message is in capital letters, it’s easy to miss. I noticed it for the first time while watching The Morning After on DVD, even though I have seen the film several times on television. It’s more subtle than this mention here might lead viewers and readers to believe, and it works well in combination with the long shots of Alex walking alone in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Sidney Lumet returns again and again throughout the film to Los Angeles landscapes filled with vivid color, an emphasis that is another departure from traditional neo-noirs.

(This blog post about The Morning After contains spoilers.)

Alex’s predicament is the basis for her confusion, self-doubt, and angst. She isn’t quite sure who to trust, with the exception of her estranged husband, which proves to be a liability for her. She meets and accepts the help of Turner Kendall, an ex-cop with some problems of his own. But he is attracted to Alex and wants to help her. They begin a tentative love affair while they try to prove Alex’s innocence. Alex slowly lets down her guard with Turner and begins to reveal her true self. The following exchange even has Turner using the film noir term dame to describe Alex:

• Alex: “What do we do now, Turner?”

• Turner: “Wait for Greenbaum [Turner’s friend in L.A. Homicide] to do his stuff.”

• Alex: “Waiting for Greenbaum. I think I saw the play.”

• Turner: “You’re a rare dame, Viveca.”

• Alex: “Listen, Viveca’s my fake name. I’m really . . . I’m Alex Sternbergen.”

Alex’s self-identification is part of her confusion and self-doubt. Is she Alex Sternbergen, the woman who tried to become a successful actress and instead drinks to forget, or is she Viveca Van Loren, the woman she wants to be and keeps trying to shore up? The film doesn’t spend a lot of screen time exploring this feature of Alex’s character directly. Viewers know that Alex drinks, that she hasn’t become a famous actress, and that she’s struggling to find work. But there aren’t frequent references to the person that she used to be.

When Alex turns to Jackie, her estranged husband and a famous hairdresser, for help in changing her appearance to evade the police, she specifically requests that he change her hair back to its natural color. He complies, and she is very pleased with the results; the way that she expresses her pleasure is to say that she recognizes the person in the mirror as Alex, not Viveca. She is finally accepting herself as she truly is and not the image that she has manufactured for herself over the years. Jackie Manero is an homme fatale, however; Alex trusts him implicitly, which sets her up for manipulation and ultimately for betrayal. Jackie is also manipulated and betrayed, and the plot twists involving this duality provide one surprise after another.

The two lead characters, Alex Sternbergen and Turner Kendall, are flawed in their own ways. If they had been played by other, less well known actors, maybe their flaws would have been bigger features of the film. I have seen The Morning After several times on television, and it was great to see it, uninterrupted and complete, on DVD. Fonda and Bridges are fantastic in their respective roles. But I have to admit that it was hard for me to forget that I was watching Jeff Bridges and Jane Fonda. I’m not going to count that as a liability for the film, however; I can still recommend The Morning After wholeheartedly. Maybe others won’t find the two famous leads quite as distracting as I did. The story is compelling, and I remember being completely surprised by its plot twists the first time I saw it.

And it was great to see a neo-noir where the main character is a woman doing most of the things that male leads in most neo-noirs do. She’s trying to clear her name after finding herself in dire circumstances—but without a gun. I guess the one drawback is that the male lead has the gun, but even he is limited in its use. You’ll know what I mean if you see the film.

Mildred Pierce (1945)

September 24, 1945, release date

Directed by Michael Curtiz

Screenplay by Ranald MadDougall, Catherine Turney (uncredited)

Based on the novel Mildred Pierce by James M. Cain

Music by Max Steiner

Edited by David Weisbart

Cinematography by Ernest Haller

Joan Crawford as Mildred Pierce Beragon

Jack Carson as Wally Fay

Zachary Scott as Monte Beragon

Eve Arden as Ida Corwin

Ann Blyth as Veda Pierce Forrester

Butterfly McQueen as Lottie

Bruce Bennett as Albert “Bert” Pierce

Lee Patrick as Mrs. Maggie Biederhof

Moroni Olsen as Inspector Peterson

Veda Ann Borg as Miriam Ellis

Jo Ann Marlowe as Kay Pierce

Distributed by Warner Bros.

Mildred Pierce opens with gunshots and the murder of a man whose dying word is “Mildred.” The killer, who is off screen, throws the gun at the body. The film cuts to a woman driving away into the night and arriving at a bridge. She contemplates jumping over the railing, but a patrol officer stops her.

When Mildred returns to the beach house with Wally Fay (played by Jack Carson), she knows that Monte is already dead, and her hope is to pin the murder on Wally. Viewers see the light and shadow that is so characteristic of noir, and these lighting effects are the result of diegetic light: reflections from the ocean off screen, flickering flame from the fire in the fireplace, headlights from a car (complete with horn honking) passing by the front of the beach house. All these effects draw viewers into the story and especially into Wally’s predicament when he discovers that he is alone in the beach house with a dead body. Mildred Pierce was released in 1945, but it showcases some sophisticated production techniques that would be worthy of any film. They are especially effective at enhancing the film’s noir characteristics.

(This blog post about Mildred Pierce contains spoilers.)

After leaving Wally, Mildred returns home, only to be met by police detectives who take her to headquarters for questioning. Other characters are also brought in for questioning, and they pass by Mildred, now seated in an uncomfortable chair waiting for her interrogation to begin. The setup of the shots in the police station show the lead actors most often framed by police officers—in other words, hemmed in by authority figures. The change in the sound is subtle: Now, at the police station, there is a slight echoing to everything, which emphasizes Mildred’s discomfort and the gravity of her situation. Conversations and all the other sounds are slightly exaggerated: the clock ticking, an officer sharpening a pencil, the crackling of newspapers folded and unfolded by others (witnesses? suspects?), an officer whistling. The lighting is dim, but it brightens when Mildred starts telling her story in flashback; the change in lighting emphasizes the transition.

Most of the story is told in flashback (a hallmark of noir), from Mildred’s point of view. The only people who have any idea who killed Monte, the man in the opening shots, are the police officers and detectives investigating the crime. Mildred talks of the events leading up to that fateful night, and viewers aren’t sure whether she killed Monte or if she knows who did. The story is written so anybody and everybody could be a suspect, including Mildred.

Did I mention that the story line heaps betrayal (another hallmark of noir) on betrayal? Mildred endures the ultimate betrayals in this film. Is it fate that deals her such hardships? Or does she bring tragedy upon herself because of her own flaws? Joan Crawford plays the title role so expertly that it’s hard for me to say whether fate plays the bigger part or whether Crawford’s performance brings out the character’s flaws so clearly. When she and her daughter Veda argue on the staircase of their home over a check that Mildred just tore into pieces, Veda slaps her mother, and Crawford, while falling backward, sends the pieces of paper flying and then grabs at the railing. The expression on her face throughout it all shows how stunned she is by her daughter’s actions. When Mildred is on the bridge contemplating suicide in the opening sequence, the expressions on her face do the most to reveal her intentions. Viewers really don’t need the patrol officer to talk about what he thinks Mildred is contemplating when he interrupts her. But even that bit of dialogue reveals the noir characteristics of the film: The patrol officer stops Mildred because he doesn’t want to have to dive in after her! He doesn’t show much sympathy for her state of mind.

I have not read the novel by James M. Cain on which the film is based. I want to now because the film is that good. I have heard that Mildred Pierce, the film, doesn’t bear much relation to the novel, but that has not changed my mind. I have also heard that some don’t consider Mildred Pierce to be film noir. They would rather classify it has a drama, a murder mystery, a melodrama. But I am happy calling it film noir for several reasons: murder, near suicide, betrayal, flashbacks, chiaroscuro lighting. Crawford’s performance alone is worth seeing. She apparently revitalized her career with her performance as Mildred, and it earned her an Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role. And it really doesn’t matter how one classifies it (I’m still happy calling it film noir): Mildred Pierce is still a great story that keeps first-time viewers guessing until the very end.

The Narrow Margin (1952)

May 2, 1952, release date

Directed by Richard Fleischer

Screenplay by Earl Felton

Story by Martin Goldsmith and Jack Leonard

Music by Gene Rose, Leith Stevens, Dave Torbett, Roy Webb (uncredited stock music composers)

Edited by Robert Swink

Cinematography by George E. Diskant

Charles McGraw as Detective Sgt. Walter Brown

Don Beddoe as Detective Sgt. Gus Forbes, Brown’s partner

Marie Windsor as Mrs. Frankie Neall

Jacqueline White as Ann Sinclair

Peter Virgo as Densel

Gordon Gebert as Tommy Sinclair, Ann’s son

Queenie Leonard as Mrs. Troll

David Clarke as Joseph Kemp

Paul Maxey as Sam Jennings                     

Distributed by RKO Pictures

The Narrow Margin has one of the best opening sequences of any film. A train whistle, no music, is heard over the RKO logo. Viewers hear another loud whistle behind a blinding headlight that fills the screen, and then they see the film’s title card. In 1950s movie theaters, the effect must have been especially effective. Then a train moving slowly on railroad tracks passes onscreen behind the opening credits. When the credits are completed, the train stops and Detective Sergeant Brown, played by Charles McGraw, steps off the train and onto a platform. It is a seamless opening and perfect for a movie about two police detectives responsible for picking up a witness against the mob and bringing her to Los Angeles to give her testimony.

(This blog post about The Narrow Margin contains spoilers.)

Detective Sergeant Walter Brown and his partner Detective Sergeant Gus Forbes have arrived in Chicago to pick up Mrs. Neall. Her husband has been killed by the mob, and now several mobsters are after her. Both Brown and Forbes are aware of the danger to their own lives, but they are committed to their work and to their assignment. The lighting in the foyer of the witness’s apartment building accentuates the building tension. The camera, from the upstairs landing, shows the two detectives climbing the stairs cautiously, with shadows of railing slats falling across them.

The witness, Mrs. Neall, is hostile to both detectives. She is concerned about her own safety, but she doesn’t stop playing her jazz music and thus bringing attention to herself. All of them have reason to worry: A shooter is waiting in the dark in the first-floor hallway of Neall’s apartment building. When the detectives and the witness head down the front hallway stairs, Detective Forbes is shot and killed. The killing of a main character, and a member of law enforcement, so early in the narrative is very noir.

The scenes on the train are claustrophobic. In one sequence, Brown is trying to evade a mobster, Joseph Kemp, who is wearing a plaid overcoat. The camera lurches as though it is handheld. The jarring movement adds to the tension and sense of impending violence. The fight scene later in the film between Detective Brown and Joseph Kemp is a long one, but it is realistic. It takes place in a cramped railroad compartment. At one point, Detective Brown kicks Kemp in the face: We see the sole of his shoe coming at the camera, at the viewer. It’s a bit of first-person point of view (POV) that works well.

While on board the train, Detective Brown meets Ann Sinclair and her son Tommy. Ann’s presence creates some confusion. The mobsters tailing Detective Brown on the train begin to think that she is the witness who will give her testimony at the trial in Los Angeles, and Brown is forced into the position of having to protect two people, and without any help because his partner has already died in the line of duty.

Jennings is traveling on the same train as Detective Brown and Mrs. Neall. At one point, suspicion is cast on his character because he and Brown argue over Brown’s double accommodations. In one scene, the camera lingers on Jennings, with bars of light falling across him, as he stares after Detective Brown in a rail corridor. Viewers learn later that he is a special agent for the railroad, but Jennings’s character at first helps to add more tension to an already tense situation. Jennings also gives some comic relief, however, when he says that no one likes a fat man: He is a portly gentleman traveling on a train with small spaces, and he and Detective Brown get stuck once or twice in a narrow train corridor.

What I really noticed about The Narrow Margin, in addition to the claustrophobia, is the way Detective Brown’s attitude toward the two women changes. He drops his snappy one-liners and his hard-boiled edge. By the end of the film, neither Mrs. Neall nor Ann Sinclair is a “dame.” He has new-found respect for the undercover policewoman who died protecting him and the whole operation. When Detective Brown and Mrs. Neall get off the train in Los Angeles, Mrs. Neall doesn’t want to hide any more. When other police officers meeting Detective Brown and Mrs. Neall protest her decision, Detective Brown says, “You heard the lady,” and he and Mrs. Neall walk away together. Not a completely noir ending maybe, but it’s a very satisfying one.

Jerichow (2008)

September 7, 2008 (Toronto International Film Festival), January 8, 2009, release dates

Directed by Christian Petzold

Screenplay by Christian Petzold

Based loosely on the novel The Postman Always Rings Twice by James M. Cain

Music by Stefan Will

Edited by Betinna Böhler

Cinematography by Hans Fromm

Benno Fürmann as Thomas

Nina Hoss as Laura

Hilmi Sözer as Ali Özkan

André Hennicke as Leon

Claudia Geisler as Sachbearbeiterin

Marie Gruber as Kassiererin

Knut Berger as Polizist

Produced by SCHRAMM Film Loerner & Weber, Bayerischen Rundfund und Arte

Jerichow is loosely based on the novel The Postman Always Rings Twice, by James M. Cain, which puts this film automatically in the neo-noir category. Betrayal is a major theme of Cain’s novel, and it is a major theme of Jerichow. But the film has some surprises, even for readers like me who have read Cain’s novel. I blogged about the novel on September 7, 2016, and you can find the post by clicking here. (You can also click on the arrow for 2016 in the left-hand column of this screen and then click on the arrow for September.)

(This blog post about Jerichow contains spoilers.)

The opening of the film is eerie and sinister. It starts with a man named Thomas being questioned by two other men, one of whom apparently lent money to Thomas. The sequence could end in violence or not because viewers have no idea what to expect, and it sets the tone for the rest of the film. It also shows Thomas’s capacity for deceit. Viewers learn later that Thomas was dishonorably discharged from the military, which is another mark on his character.

Thomas meets first Ali, who offers Thomas a job. Thomas then meets Ali’s wife Laura, with whom he begins an affair. Later in the film, Laura tells Thomas that Ali was the only respectable man that she had met before she married him, but this declaration of hers also paints a very dismal world for Jericho. None of the characters are either all good or all bad, but many of them would do almost anything to get ahead or to get what they want. Ali in particular spies on Laura, always testing her integrity and honesty, and he beats her. Thomas was a soldier fighting in Afghanistan, and his military expertise comes in handy later in the film: He shows surprising loyalty to Ali by defending him from one of his customers. All the characters are complicated, but Thomas may be the most complicated. He earns Ali’s trust by defending him, but he has an affair with his wife and the two of them plot Ali’s murder.

Fate plays a large role in Jerichow. Ali and Thomas meet by chance, and their relationship starts right away with lies and deceit. Thomas is walking home from the grocery store when Ali has a minor accident, with two of his wheels spinning in mud at the edge of what appears to be a river. Thomas offers to help him, and after he gets into the driver’s seat to get the car out of the mud, a police officer stops to ask Ali if he needs a ride to the police station. (The implication is that the police officer is targeting Ali because he is not a native German.) Ali tells the officer that he wasn’t driving; Thomas was. And Thomas goes along with the lie. Later in the film, after Thomas and Laura have planned to murder Ali and have already set their plan in motion, Ali tells Laura that he is terminally ill and has two, maybe three, months to live. Thomas and Laura don’t have to go through with their plan at all, but their affair is discovered, which leads to tragic consequences.

I liked this film version much more than I thought I would. It changes the plot of Cain’s novel in very satisfying ways, although it is obviously based on the novel. I found Jerichow much more believable than the 1946 film version starring John Garfield and Lana Turner. It’s possible that one of the best reasons to see Jerichow is that reading the novel doesn’t give the film’s ending away. The writer (Christian Petzold, who is also the director) updated the story, and not just the ending, while staying true to the themes and to the characters themselves. It’s almost like the characters (yes, the characters) read the novel along with Petzold and told him what they would change and what they would do in their current modern situations. The world of Jerichow, although inspired by Cain, is complete and current and stands on its own.