The Third Man (1949)

I love film noir. Horror is my favorite genre, and as I get older I seem to be falling more and more in love with science fiction as well, but noir just accesses something in me that seems to need letting out once in a while. The tough guys, the dangerous women, the human frailty, and of course the light and shadow, always put me slightly, deliciously on edge.
The Third Man, written by the great Graham Greene and directed by Carol Reed, didn't invent the noir, of course. It didn't come out until 1949, years after The Maltese Falcon, Double Indemnity, and Out of the Past. What it did, though, was perfect it. I'm not calling it my favorite, but no noir (and almost no movie, period) was ever more well-made.
Start with Greene's screenplay, based on his own novella. It's pretty nearly perfect, and if I was teaching a class on screenwriting, I'd start with this script. It's got absolutely no fat, not a wasted line or tangential scene. Everything we see or hear advances the story, yet Greene doesn't rush through, doesn't ignore any important details. Reed is very much his partner in this, maintaining a very steady pace and only pausing occasionally to let us breathe and to show off a particularly nice bit of cinematography.
And, oh, what cinematography! When I say that this film perfected the noir, this is what I mean. The film is just masterfully shot and lighted. The shadows on the Vienna streets, stretching to impossible lengths, vanishing into deeper shadow...the oppressiveness of the sewers...the ever-present rubble. Plus, even half-destroyed by Allied bombing, Vienna is such a beautiful city, one of the loveliest in the world. The images of this film really are magical. And Reed experiments so much with where he places his camera, and at which angles, that rumors have always persisted that Orson Welles actually directed the film, or at least participated in the direction. I don't believe that, myself, but it's clear that Reed was a student of Welles' work, and had learned his lessons.
But the film isn't just a technical marvel. Greene's story is engaging: an American writer of pulp westerns, Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) has come to occupied post-war Vienna in search of his old school friend, Harry Lime (Orson Welles). Holly's novels aren't terribly successful, and Harry knows he's a bit short of cash, so he's offered Holly a job. Holly shows up in Vienna to discover that Harry has been killed by a car, but suspects that the death might not have been an accident. The local police don't seem to care much, taking the stance that Harry (who, they allege, was a black marketeer) deserved what he got and they have more important things to do, even if it was murder, than track down the man who killed one of the worst criminals in Vienna. So, Holly sets out to reconstruct the last days of his friend's life, and ends up causing all kinds of trouble.
Cotten is very good as Holly Martins. He's an unusual sort of hero; he's a bumbler, a drunk. He's arrogant but also incompetent. He is occasionally capable of an insight or a penetrating question, but for the most part he gives the impression of being the only person in the whole city who doesn't know what's really going on. He's as far removed from Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe as any noir hero could be. Spade, for example, is always two steps ahead both of the audience and the other characters throughout The Maltese Falcon. At the end of the movie we learn that he knew who the killer was very nearly as soon as the murder took place, but we don't know who it was 'til he confronts the murderer at the end of the picture, by which time we've gotten so caught up in the hunt for the falcon that we've almost forgotten that the movie began with Spade's partner gunned down in an alley.
That's not true of Holly. He's very much the audience, a part that would usually be played by a supporting character; he's the fool, and we learn what's really happened through him because he isn't capable of any great leaps of logic that we can't follow. Not only does he not know anything that we don't know; if we've been paying attention, he knows a good bit less than we know. Also, whereas the noir hero is typically a tough guy, able to stand up to punishment and dish it out, we never see Holly successfully use violence in the whole film. The only time he tries, he gets put on his ass with a single punch and has to be helped up. Otherwise, whenever there are threats of violence, he's the target, trying to escape it. He's not a larger-than-life hero, but he's the lead in a larger-than-life movie and his presence keeps us engaged in the story. That makes him one of the most interesting leads in the history of the genre, in fact, and if he's less worthy of emulation than Philip Marlowe, he is much more accessible, all the same.
His character arc is fascinating. At the beginning of the movie he's very much the ugly American, certain that only he is in the right, intent upon imposing his will onto the Allied authorities and the city's underground. During the course of the film, though, he is ground down. He is humiliated at nearly every turn. He is constantly reminded of how out-of-place and helpless he is. His amorous advances are rejected, and he finds himself becoming more and more contemptible in the eyes of his would-be lover. Ultimately he is faced with a choice, to betray his principles, or to betray his other principles, a dilemma with no answer he can live with. He is resilient, and we don't find him a broken man at the end of the film, but he is a changed man, an aged man, one who might never be quite sure of himself again.
Alida Valli is also quite good as Anna Schmidt, a performer in a comic opera and Harry's lover. Her character is interesting, far more competent and aware than Holly, but deeply flawed herself. She is so in love with Harry, dead or alive, that she remains blind to his faults even when they're placed directly in front of her. She is not an emancipated woman. In fact, for most of the film she is very much property to be traded or dealt for. Harry has discarded her, offering her to the Russian authorities for his own benefit. The police use her as a bargaining chip to make Holly do what they want. It is interesting, though, that she rarely takes Holly's advances seriously, and on the rare occasions that she does, it seems that she's using him to replace Harry. She even calls him “Harry” a couple of times. She is simply not interested in him; she's too in love with Harry. Her affections are obviously misplaced, but it's a relief that she doesn't fall into Holly's arms. She sees him as clearly as we do, whatever blinders she might be wearing otherwise.
And then there's Orson Welles. I wouldn't rank him among the screen's greatest actors, but he had few equals as a pure screen presence. According to the filmmakers, Welles was a bit of a handful during production, not showing up on set, not cooperating when he did show up, but you don't see that on the screen. When that kitten finds him, when the light across the street comes on and we see his face, the look of surprise instantly fading into a mischievous smirk, the movie suddenly belongs to him. I read somewhere that he's only on screen for eight minutes total, and yet he's what we remember when we look back after watching the film. I personally consider this the best on-screen work he ever did, and Harry Lime is one of the screen's most memorable characters. If I ever get around to making my personal all-time Oscar list, I suspect that Welles will win Best Supporting Actor. He'll at least get a nomination.
The rest of the cast is perfectly fine. Trevor Howard is Major Calloway, the chief of the English authorities. He's, well, very much the picture of a gentleman soldier. It's not an earth-shaking performance, because it isn't an earth-shaking part, but Howard is exactly what it requires. Bernard Lee is extremely enjoyable as his right-hand man, Sgt. Paine. He's got a bit of a tough-but-cheerful, Brendan Gleeson air about him, and is probably the only genuinely likable character in the film (except, guiltily, for Harry himself). Ernst Deutsch and Siegfried Breuer are appropriately sinister as Harry's criminal associates, and also interestingly effeminate. That's a bit of a trope in the classic noir, presumably because of Peter Lorre and Sidney Greenstreet.
Paul Hörbiger is great as Karl, the porter of Harry's building. The actor couldn't speak English very well, and Reed supposedly used that to add realism to the picture. It's fun, watching him try to communicate with Cotten. Actually, one of the best things about the film is that it's full of actual Austrian actors, outside of Cotten, Welles, Howard, and Lee (well, Valli is Italian, but to American ears of the forties, foreign was foreign). As result, a large part of the dialog is in German. Reed never bothers to translate any of it, and it's okay; we can understand perfectly well what's being said, even if we don't speak the language, and it adds a great deal of realism to the picture. Hedwig Bleibtreu as Anna's landlady is equally entertaining, and for the same reason. She spends all her scenes ranting about the police and Anna bringing shame upon the house, and somehow we get it.
It's also nice to see Wilfrid Hyde-White in a very small (but in a way important) part as the head of the Cultural Reeducation Society, a propaganda service for “civilizing” the former Nazis. He always plays the same guy, and I always enjoy it. But, if I'm going to be honest, the supporting actor I like the most is the little boy who thinks that Holly has committed a murder that occurs halfway through the film. That kid is amazing, with a big booming voice and a great, round, expressive face. I hate child actors, but that little boy makes me so happy. I laugh every time I watch him. In fact, they don't give out an Oscar for “Best Actor under Ten Years Old,” but if they did he'd win my all-timer for that even more surely than Welles would get Best Supporting Actor.
I suppose I can't write about this movie without mentioning the zither. Every time I watch the movie, when it starts off, I hear the music and think, “Oh, that's a bit cheesy, isn't it?” but five minutes in it just seems to fit. It's certainly unique. I've heard many people praise its originality, how expressive the instrument is or whatever. I won't go that far, but I like it okay, and I agree that the movie would be very different, and possibly not as good, with a typical orchestral score.
I also love the ending of the film, and if you haven't seen it you might want to skip the paragraph between the asterisks:

* * * * * * *

We've just left Harry's funeral. Anna is present, as is Holly. Afterwards, Reed sets his camera at the end of a long street. The street is lined with trees, and leaves are gently falling. In the far distance, we see Anna walking towards us, and in the left foreground, we see Holly leaning against a cart on the side of the road, waiting for her. It takes her forever to get to him, and Reed never cuts away. Finally she reaches Holly, and us, and she just walks right past without even looking at him or the camera. He stands for another second, then lights a cigarette. It's one of the best endings in the whole history of movies. Absolutely perfect.

* * * * * * *

Some classic movies are hard to watch for modern audiences. Sometimes it can be hard to engage with the styles and preferences of an earlier age, and we miss the advances film has made in the intervening decades. But this one...this is still great. It's pleasure to watch almost sixty-five years after it was made, and I suspect it always will be.

BEST THING ABOUT THE FILM: The scene between Cotten and Welles on the giant Ferris Wheel. Welles is magnificent. The menace on his face while Cotten's back is turned, the switch to the open, friendly smile when Cotten turns to face him. The simple admission, when Cotten suggests that he'd be easy to get rid of: “Pretty easy.”

Look down there. Would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? If I offered you £20,000 for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money? Or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spend?

If Holly hadn't mentioned that the police had dug up his grave, Harry would have killed him on that ride. He's charming and completely without conscience. He says evil things with an affable face. I can't even call him one of the great villains, because he's impossible to see as a villain. Holly takes a lot of convincing of the awful things Harry has done, and Anna never really is convinced, or maybe doesn't care. We're with them. Surely he isn't that bad. Surely he can be redirected. The police must be exaggerating; how could that smile hide a heart so black?
He is contemplating the murder of his oldest (and possibly only) friend as a regrettable necessity, and possibly he won't even regret it all that much. And we see him the same way: we know he must be stopped, imprisoned if not killed, but it really is regrettable. That smile just won't be the same seen through the bars of a cell.

WORST THING ABOUT THE FILM: There's really nothing serious to complain about in the picture. The only reason it isn't a perfect ten is that, for reasons I don't completely understand, it doesn't move me the same way that The Maltese Falcon does. But objectively, the film is flawless; it deserves to be called the best noir ever made.

SCORE: 9/10. I recently learned that the Criterion edition of this film has gone out of print. That's inexplicable and unforgivable.

LISTS: Favorites of the Forties, My Top 100(ish).