Wednesday, December 14, 2011

The Third Man


Harry Lime. Harry Lime. Harry Lime. The name is spoken so frequently in Carol Reed's The Third Man that it becomes a mantra, a way of signifying the continuing importance of a man whose absence defines the film and drives its plot. The war is over, and as the pseudo-documentary introduction describes it, the city of Vienna is in turmoil, bombed-out and divided, split into sectors by the victorious Allied powers (just getting ready for the colder war to follow) and rife with corruption and black market dealings. The pulp fiction writer Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) arrives in the city at the behest of his friend Harry, who has offered him a job, but virtually the first thing that Holly learns when he arrives in Vienna is that Harry is dead, the victim of a strangely suspicious traffic accident. Harry's left behind Anna (Alida Valli), the beautiful girl who loves him, plus a string of business associates who seem very shady and evasive, and a dogged police inspector (Trevor Howard) whose interest in Harry's illegal activities hasn't quite faded now that the man himself is beyond his jurisdiction.

So Holly — who Anna instinctively and repeatedly calls Harry, evidence of Harry's ubiquity and also a suggestion that she's already beginning to think of this newcomer as a possible replacement — stumbles into a shadowy, foggy Vienna where sinister dealings are obviously happening down every dark alley and in every night club. The people Holly meets, his friend Harry's former associates, like the solicitous "baron" Kurtz (Ernst Deutsch), radiate menace and sinister intentions, drawling out seemingly banal dialogue that barely disguises the unspoken threats and insinuations hiding just behind their friendly surfaces. It's instantly obvious that something strange surrounds Harry's mysterious death, something much more sinister than the traffic accident that everyone insists it was, and Holly becomes particularly obsessed with discovering the identity of an unknown "third man" who carried his friend's body away from the accident along with the baron and his fellow conspirator Popescu (Siegfried Breuer).

Interestingly, this mystery, which gives the film its title, ultimately seems incidental to what's really going on here, and isn't even resolved explicitly within the film. The film's first half is driven by mystery and investigation, but the specifics of this mystery don't seem nearly as important as the general sense of tension and intrigue generated by Holly's attempts to discover the truth. The script, adapted by Graham Greene from his own novel, crackles with suggestive, potent dialogue, particularly in the exchanges between the mourning Anna and Holly, who is clearly falling in love with his dead friend's girlfriend even as he probes deeper and deeper into the sordid truth about Harry Lime. Although Harry himself is the central, unseen presence for much of the movie, Anna and Holly (with his strange name so resonant with Harry's) get most of the screen time, dealing with Harry's absence and trying to make sense of life now that he's gone. In one great scene, a tearful Anna asks Holly to tell her things about Harry when he was younger, and Holly tells a series of incomplete, faltering stories that amount to moments and glimpses rather than full scenes in themselves. It seems even when he was alive, Harry was a somewhat enigmatic figure, difficult to understand or describe. (Much like the "third man," who is described by the one person who saw him as entirely normal and non-descript.)


Of course, in the movie's final third it turns out that everything is not as Holly and Anna had thought, and after being an unseen presence/absence for over an hour, Harry Lime himself finally makes his first appearance, incarnated in the smug smirk and cheery eyes of Orson Welles. Harry's first appearance is iconic and unforgettable, first as a shadow in the night, a pair of shoes standing in the shade of a doorway, the rest of his body vanishing into the surrounding shadows. Then a light comes on and illuminates his face, and there's that playful smile, those twinkling eyes, devilish and rakish, a sinister face hovering in the darkness. Having an actor as powerful and iconic as Welles play Harry, and holding back his first appearance for so long, really intensifies the effect. The audience is as stunned as Holly is, in a way, because just as Holly is shocked to find his friend alive, the audience, who might have suspected as much, is simply shocked by the impact of Welles' arrival and the oversized charm that he brings to Harry.

That's even truer in the subsequent scene, later in the film, where Harry finally gets his first lines — and is revealed not as the loving boyfriend idealized by Anna or the fun, steadfast friend described by Holly, but an amoral sociopath who willingly snuffs out lives just to make some money. Harry feels no guilt that the black market medication he was selling killed many and drove others mad. As he and Holly ride a ferris wheel, he looks down and speaks as though he's a god, as though other people are simply abstract dots to him, their lives and deaths of no import to his schemes. Harry is a real product of the war, a lowlife echo of the Nazi indifference to life and the god-like delusions that drive some men to believe their desires are more important than the very lives of others. Harry is a demon, a charming demon, and the sinister vibe of his friends is echoed in his own demeanor. His first conversation with Holly is infused with just-barely-unspoken threats and telling looks. He maintains a casual air as he opens the ferris wheel's door and tells his good friend that he has a gun, that he could eliminate him if he wanted to. And then, when Holly tells Harry that the police have dug up the latter's grave and found the man buried inside it — essentially telling Harry that his problems wouldn't end by getting rid of Holly — Harry's demeanor changes entirely, and he once again becomes solicitous and charming, the menace in his voice replaced by syrupy good cheer and friendly offers. He's good old Harry again, the merry prankster Holly had earlier described in those fragmentary stories from the good old days.

The film climaxes with a crawl through the sewers, in which the witty dialogue and insinuations are replaced by a nearly dialogue-free chase sequence in which Harry is pursued by an army of police with dogs and flashlights, with Holly accompanying them. The sewer sequence is a marvel of noir style, all striking angles and shadows, occasionally pierced by the blinding white light of the pursuers. Harry's face, now not so dashingly confident, is striped by shadows in the dark of the sewer, his eyes wide with fear as he runs this way and that, hemmed in and cut off everywhere, attempting with mounting desperation to find a way out. His earlier smirk is replaced by a grimace of terror. In the sequence's most unforgettable image, a wounded, crawling Harry reaches for a sewer grating, and Reed cuts away to the street above, where Harry's fingers stick up through the grate, waving around like stalks of grass in the wind, which whistles by on the soundtrack, the eerie only noise. It's a haunting ending for a legend who was disappointingly revealed as just another corrupted man, a sad echo of the war's evils.

18 comments:

Joel Bocko said...

You zero in on an important fact? How can we make the real Harry Lime live up to the legend that has been created for half an hour or more of screentime? Simple: cast Orson Welles.

Of course there's also the fact that we barely get to see him. From the famous Welles-Bogdanovich interview:

"In theatre, you know, the old star actors never liked to come on until the end of the first act. Mister Wu is a classic example--I've played it once myself. All the other actors boil around the stage for about an hour shrieking, 'What will happen when Mr. Wu arrives?,' 'What is he like, this Mr. Wu?,' and so on. Finally a great gong is beaten and slowly, over a Chinese bridge, comes Mr. Wu himself in full mandarin robes. Peach Blossom, or whatever her name is, falls on her face and a lot of coolies yell, 'Mister Wu!!!' The curtain comes down, the audience goes wild, and everybody says, 'Isn't that guy playing Mr. Wu a great actor!' That's a star part for you! What matters in that kind of role is not how many lines you have, but how few. What counts is how much the other characters talk about you. Such a star vehicle really is a vehicle. All you have to do is ride."

Joel Bocko said...

Not sure why that first question mark is there.

Jon said...

"The sewer sequence is a marvel of noir style, all striking angles and shadows, occasionally pierced by the blinding white light of the pursuers. Harry's face, now not so dashingly confident, is striped by shadows in the dark of the sewer, his eyes wide with fear as he runs this way and that, hemmed in and cut off everywhere, attempting with mounting desperation to find a way out."

This is spectacular stuff Ed and also my favorite film right now. One thing I like to zero in on is the constant mispronunciation of people's names which for me highlights just how little these people really know about each other. Just a tidbit. Wonderful stuff.

Ed Howard said...

Joel, that's a great Welles quote, and he's perfectly right about this role and roles like this in general. By the time Harry Lime appears, he's practically mythic, and Welles' mere presence becomes nearly overwhelming.

Jon, that's a good detail, for sure. There's a lot of little nuances like that woven through the film.

Sam Juliano said...

"Interestingly, this mystery, which gives the film its title, ultimately seems incidental to what's really going on here, and isn't even resolved explicitly within the film. The film's first half is driven by mystery and investigation, but the specifics of this mystery don't seem nearly as important as the general sense of tension and intrigue generated by Holly's attempts to discover the truth."



Indeed! Hello Ed. I'm happy to see you are back on the movie beat, and as always expand the literature on classic cinema. I guess we can safely say without even a hit of contrarian perspective that THE THIRD MAN is one of the greatest of all films, certainly a prime choice for the greatest British film. So much has been written Robert Krasker's brilliant cinematography and lighting, and the iconic turns from the cast, the riveting and myesterious Graham Greene story, and the unique and atmospheric zither score by Anton Karras. While it is true that Harry Lime is missing through most of the film, his spectre haunts the fabric from inside and out. I agree with you that he is a 'charming demon' of course. Some of the cinema's most justly famous compositions are part of the film, and I applaud your terrific description of the centerpiece sequence in the sewers, dominated by noirish shadows.

Whenever I see a review of the film, I always think to myself, 'what more can I say?' You approached it with a fresh perspective, presented as always with conciseness.

Ed Howard said...

Hey there, Sam. Yes, this is definitely one of the greats, and like you say it's hard to find new things to say about such an iconic movie.

I adore that zither score, too. Such a strange choice for a movie like this, and somehow it totally works.

Joel Bocko said...

The zither score was an obstacle for me the first time I saw it - seemed so out-of-place and off-tone. Now it's probably my favorite element, despite the stiff competition from, well, every other element in this brilliant film.

Joel Bocko said...

Once you catch on to the fact that that IS the tone - that there's a cavalier jauntiness hand-in-hand with the visual darkness and moral quandaries of the characters, it works like a charm.

Curious said...

I have always said that unless Orson Welles had shouted, "Curtain up, light the lights," and started doing a 2-step with Ethel Merman, his introduction to the movie could not have been any more startling or any less "iconic." With one look, one smirk and just a few seconds, Orson or Carol Reed was able to say, "Okay, I'm here. Want to join me for the rest of the ride?" and take what had been a fairly humdrum and mundane mystery into a roller coaster of intrigue and possibilities. This was a cinematic game changer if ever there was one.

You've picked a great movie to review and the way that you write about it only shows the love that you have for it. Sure every idiot remembers when Calloway is insulted by Holly when he calls him Callaghan, but you've pointed out that everyone is calling everyone else by the wrong name and not really taking the time or effort of knowing who they are talking to or even about. Maybe a metaphor for the cold war that was coming, I don't know. What I do know is that this was a pleasure to read and I thank you for it.

Ed Howard said...

Well said re: the zither score, Joel. It's weird as hell but really transforms the movie into something different. Welles' twinkly eyed menace especially seems very in sync with the music.

Curious, Welles' appearance is definitely the defining moment of this film, and it purposefully kicks things up to a new level. I should point out, it was Jon, not me, who cited the constant wrong names in this movie.

DavidEhrenstein said...

Welles of course later took up the entire atmosphere and much of the plot mechanics of this film for his grea maudit, Mr. Arkadin. I don't know how much you've read in and around The Third Man ,Ed, but I've always found it gobsmacking that Selznick -- who came on board to bring it to the U.S. -- and put Alida Valli under contract in the process hoping to make her "the new Garbo" -- objected to the entire premise of the story. He claimed the only reason Holly Martins would be trying to find out what had happened to Harry Lime was if they had been gay lovers. "Buggery! Pure Buggery!" he's quated as having said. Now that's positively demented. For the life of me I can't figure out why he thought that.

Time this blog spent more time on Alida Valli who after this signature perfornance went on to a number of teriffic things. I especially love her late period work for Bertolucci (The Spider's Startegem, 1900) Dario Argento (Suspiria) and Patrice Chereau (Flesh of the Orchid)

Ed Howard said...

David, that's a pretty amazing story. It never ceases to baffle me the things that people will read into things in a seeming quest to be offended.

Alida Valli's fantastic, of course, not to mention gorgeous, and she was great in the very interesting Spider's Stratagem. I could definitely gladly write about her some more.

David said...

One of my all time fav

Deemelinda said...

Hubert Dreyfus' reading of the film using existentialism as a context is very insightful. The last shot of the movie is amazing in the way it is framed and the statement it makes. Truly a film that one can have repeated viewings of!

Ed Howard said...

Thanks for commenting, Deemelinda. I'll have to track down Dreyfus' writings on this film.

Joel Bocko said...

I discussed the Drefyus reading of the film (which I find compelling, but differ with somewhat) in my December review here: http://thedancingimage.blogspot.com/2011/12/third-man.html

Not sure if there's any written copies on the web, but you can download Dreyfus' lecture on iTunes - I think his "Philosophy 7" course (he also discusses Breathless & Hiroshima Mon Amour - I think he's most on-target with that one).

Ed Howard said...

Thanks for pointing me to your thoughts on the film and the Dreyfus reading, Joel. Very fascinating stuff. It sounds like I'd agree with you - it's interesting but ultimately too limiting to try and fit these characters into tight moral/ethical frameworks of the kind that Dreyfus seems to construct around them. The film's very ambiguity about why these people are doing, or not doing, what they're doing, is what makes it so great.

Joel Bocko said...

In particular, I find the overwhelmingly negative reading of Holly - while common - to be reductive. I see him more as somebody trying to do the right thing and bungling at times, but I think his good intentions count for something. Indeed, I think he and Anna have a lot in common - both are innocent in a way, but resigned to the consequences of their actions. She knows that by honoring Harry's memory, she is dooming herself, and he knows that by doing the socially responsible thing he is cutting himself off from personal connections (both Harry's and hers). They represent two ethical paths, and I'm not sure either is totally illegitimate. Ironically, what they have in common - the lack of straight-ahead simplicity both Calloway and Harry (in their very different ways) embody - is also what makes it impossible for Holly and Anna to reconcile at the end of the film. I see Holly's situation as poignant rather than (merely) pathetic.