The
Third Man
Not Rated
Cinema 21, 616 NW 21st Ave. 223-4515.
7 and 9 pm, Friday-Thursday,
with additional showings 2:15 and 4:30 pm Saturday-Sunday,
Sept. 3-9.
$6.
In 1948, British novelist Graham Greene wrote this bit of
character description for a movie treatment on which he was
working: "Don't picture Harry Lime as a smooth scoundrel.
He wasn't that. The picture I have of him...is an excellent
one: he is caught by a street photographer with his stocky
legs apart, big shoulders a little hunched, a belly that has
known too much good food for too long, on his face a look
of cheerful rascality, a geniality, a recognition that his
happiness will make the world's day." A year later, that rascal
later turned out to be Orson Welles, and the movie became
The Third Man, a film that in spirit matches the lilting
recklessness of Greene's character.
The Third Man is an exquisite work of discordant
power crammed full of shifting moods. An expressionist film
noir, it reveals a dark, unsettling pessimism in its ravaged
night atmosphere. A jaunty, bittersweet comedy, it conveys
a soulful playfulness among its likable characters. A stylistic
achievement, it is a baroque composition of the absurd,
a tilted wonder of visual anxiety. It is dreamlike and sensible,
seamless and jagged, heartbreaking and hilarious and oddly,
mockingly wistful, despite its sad ending. Greene's words
that Lime's happiness "will make the world's day" are key.
It isn't simply that Greene wrote a likable villain; he
wrote a lovable story--even though it revealed the paranoia
and unease that would later characterize the Cold War.
Directed by Carol Reed, photographed by Robert Krasker
and scored by Anton Karas (all three Englishmen), The
Third Man is a rare work of art that tickles as much
as it torments. The story takes place in Allied-occupied
Vienna. During the film's opening moments, a narrator (voiced
by director Reed) states it's "the classic period of the
black market when the city is divided into four zones, each
occupied by a power--the American, the British, the Russian,
and the French. But the center of the city--that's international,
policed by an International Patrol. What a hope they had,
all strangers to the place and none of them could speak
the same language. Vienna doesn't really look any worse
than a lot of other European cities, bombed about a bit."
Enter an American into this rubble of sadness and crooked
opportunity: American hack novelist Holly Martins (Joseph
Cotten), a jobless "poor chap, happy as a lark and without
a cent," seeking out his old friend Harry Lime (Welles),
who has promised him a job.
Unfortunately, Holly learns that his school chum was run
over by a truck, a death that seems increasingly unlikely
to the American. A conspiracy emerges--that of the mysterious
"third man," who supposedly helped carry Harry's dead body
out of view--and the naive Holly is impassioned (or stupid)
enough to become entrenched in it.
In an odd, unconventional teaming, Holly develops a relationship
with both Harry's lover, Anna (Alida Valli), to whom he's
sexually drawn, and a British investigating officer named
Calloway (Trevor Howard), who wishes the hayseed American
would mind his own business. Holly also meets an assortment
of exotic characters--friends of Harry's--and they aid in
developing the film's humorous predicament of Western writer
Holly attempting to work with such bizarre Kafkaesque visions.
Crooked, gargoyle-like and most certainly not American,
these multilingual characters further exemplify how ridiculous
Holly's American optimism is. Externally and internally
there is a cynicism presented to Holly, who, like the characters
in his pulp novels, attempts to work on basic levels of
good and evil. However, the complexities that Holly faces
are neither black nor white. The film makes sure to display
both character and situation with a jaunty and
jaundiced flavor. There is no such thing as simplicity
in The Third Man, a concept that's continually underscored
by the film's style.
Visually, it is an off-kilter intersection of vertical
and horizontal lines (some scenes feel framed by the tilt
of a man's hat) and a textured variety of high-contrast,
low-key lighting techniques. Characters emerge from and
duck back into shadows, a visual device Reed uses metaphorically
to represent moral complexity.
Karas' score is also wonderfully unpredictable. Bouncy,
beautiful, ugly and panicky, the music follows and responds
to the action like an id let loose. The score also conveys
the irresistible, crooked charm of Harry Lime--a figure
so prominent that you forget he is in just a half-hour of
the film. Reed gave Orson Welles one of the most famous
entrances in film history: A cat walks down the street,
spies a man's shoes in a darkened doorway, curls up at his
feet and meows loudly enough for Holly to notice from across
a street. A window opens, and light flickers on Lime, and
the camera holds a mysterious smiling face and eyes that
look back at Holly as if the two men were kids again. This
moment is suspended with an overwhelming sense of rapture
and makes you understand what Anna later says about Lime:
"Harry never grew up. The world grew up around him." You
forget about the terrible things he's done. You just want
to follow him, anywhere, no matter what the repercussions.
These complicated emotions might cause anxiety and hardship,
but they may result in delight, which is what makes The
Third Man so unique among movies. The film is about
expressing the inexpressible feelings that are gnarled in
our psyches as fantasies or nightmares. It gets to the heart
of that "obscure object of desire" without ever delineating
just what it is we yearn for. A timeless masterpiece, The
Third Man both restores your hope and breaks your heart.
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Willamette Week | originally
published September 1,
1999
|
