3rd

The Third Man. Directed by Carol Reed. 1949

 

Classic Film Noir does not always give us clas­sic artis­tic noir. We don’t always get the dra­matic chiaroscuro, the bril­liant angles, the expres­sion­is­tic camera-​​work that makes one think of Kafka as Surrealist painter. In the case of The Third Man, we get the whole enchi­lada, taut direc­tion, sus­pense, off-​​kilter music and off-​​kilter scenes.

Set in a Post-​​War Vienna, divided up into four sec­tions of inter­na­tional con­trol, Graham Greene’s story takes us through the city nights and shad­ows and sharp con­trasts, and under­neath that night into the sew­ers. The angles, the dis­torted streets, the high human shad­ows launched against old city build­ings, sends us deeper into a sin­is­ter and absurd realm with­out mirth. A sort of heart of dark­ness in the mid­dle of a recently dec­i­mated “civilization”.

Joseph Cotten stars as Holly Martins, an American writer of pulp Westerns, who comes to Vienna to look up an old friend, Harry Limes, played by Orson Welles. Martins soon learns that Limes has been killed in an acci­dent, goes to the funeral, and there meets some of Harry’s friends, includ­ing his girl­friend, Anna, played by Alida Valli. Something doesn’t feel right about the whole thing, and Martins starts to dig for infor­ma­tion about his old friend. This puts him on the wrong side of sev­eral dan­ger­ous char­ac­ters involved in the Viennese under­ground. The British police try to get Holly to leave, but he won’t take their advice, and that puts him on a col­li­sion course with the author­i­ties and those friends of Harry. Complicating mat­ters even more, Holly falls for Anna.

In one of the most famous scenes from the film, Harry tells Holly about cuckoo clocks:

 

You know what the fel­low said — in Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had war­fare, ter­ror, mur­der and blood­shed, but they pro­duced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had broth­erly love, they had five hun­dred years of democ­racy and peace — and what did that pro­duce? The cuckoo clock.”

 

Orson Welles wrote that part, not Graham Greene. He said years later that when the film came out, the Swiss very politely told him they don’t make cuckoo clocks. It’s still one of those movie speeches peo­ple remem­ber long after the lights dim.

The time for the film is inter­est­ing. It’s after the war, but before the lines of the Cold War have been drawn. There are hints about that, as Anna is a Czech whose pass­port was forged to avoid being “repa­tri­ated” by the Russians. Holly tries to help her, and his choice — Anna or his old friend — becomes the cen­tral dilemma of the movie. Perhaps the choice of eras adds to the over­all sense of sus­pense, of being in the mid­dle of things, with­out clear cut goals and with far too many mov­ing tar­gets. It’s not a war. It’s not peace. And the char­ac­ters are trapped in between night and day, truth and fic­tion, lies and the light.

The Third Man is a won­der­ful film. Like cuckoo clocks, they don’t make them like that anymore.

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