Incrocio pericoloso

This is one of those post-War noir films about a soldier with amnesia. The film is chiefly notable for its excellent expressionist noir cinematography by Austrian émigré John Alton, with some splendid scenes such as two people tensely talking to each other in bold silhouette. Sometimes the stark lighting and dramatic shots are almost too much, as in the beginning when the psychiatrist who has treated John Payne in the Veterans' Hospital tells him as starkly as the lighting of the scene that there are two types of amnesia, organic and psychological, and he has the organic type which cannot be treated because he has shrapnel in his brain. Knowing only that he enlisted in the Army from Los Angeles (he later discovers it was under a false name, which is why the Army cannot discover anything to tell him about his background), Payne is released from hospital and goes back to his origins to see if he can discover anything about who he is. The film moves right along and does not waste time with exposition, so as soon as Payne steps off a train at Union Station, he is recognised by some cops who haven't seen him in five years. Payne then has the shocking realization that he had been a criminal, and he is immediately sucked into dangerous and compromising situations, involving people who want him dead. Ellen Drew is excellent as his former wife who has trouble believing that he is not pretending to have lost his memory, and doesn't want to help him at first. Two of Payne's strong points as an actor were looking bewildered and looking resolute, so he is well cast, as he has to do both in turn. Sonny Tufts is terrifying as a vicious criminal who wants to kill Payne, and one suspects that the film crew must have been scared to death of him. This is a good B thriller of modest pretensions. John Payne was a very nice man with excellent manners and a pleasant personality. I only met him once. My mother and I called on him backstage after he had been in a play. She and he had known each other when growing up in Roanoke and Salem, Virginia. She told me Payne was from what used to be called 'a good family', he was a glamorous young man whom all the girls were chasing, but he got bored with Virginia and decided to become an actor. She had a very high regard for him, and my impression of him was that he was a fine fellow.

One measure of The Crooked Way's obscurity may be that the only copy I could track down was subtitled – in Hebrew. That obscurity is puzzling, because the movie is, if not a superior, certainly an above-average entry in the noir cycle. It boasts John Payne as its star, but before Phil Karlson groomed him into an archetypal noir protagonist. What's more, none other than John Alton was cinematographer, casting his customary shadowy spell; while he doesn't scale the dark peaks he did in collaboration with Anthony Mann, he makes French-born director Robert Florey's film look very good – very ominous – indeed.

But The Crooked Way stays eclipsed by a movie of three years earlier eerily close in theme and milieu, Somewhere in the Night, starring John Hodiak. Hodiak and Payne both play amnesiac veterans trying to reconstruct their troubling pasts in journeys through the underbelly of Los Angeles.

In The Crooked Way, Payne, having won a Silver Star but lost his memory, gets discharged from a veterans' hospital and heads `home;' that he hails from L.A. is all he knows about himself. But at Union Station, two police detectives meet him, calling him Eddie Riccardi (so far as he knows, he's Eddie Rice). Five years earlier, as it turns out, Payne worked for mob boss Sonny Tufts, whom he set up then fled to the Army; he was married to Ellen Drew, also connected to the syndicate. Ultimately, Payne finds himself hounded by the police and beaten by the mob, then framed for murder. He's running for his life and out of people he's told he can rely on....

Payne, with his brooding eyes and impassive visage, makes a more convincing vet and victim than Hodiak, but, apart from that, the story gets told conventionally. That raspy-voiced gnome Percy Helton scuttles around as one of Tufts' eye-and-ear operatives, and Drew gets some tough moments in strapless gowns (though inevitably, when her character softens, she goes bland). Still, it's a solid noir that deserves rehabilitation – if for no other reason than that it preserves Alton's precious photography.

War hero Eddie Rice returns to his home town as a result of a serious head injury that has left him with no real memory of who he is and nothing in his files that suggests where he should go. He decides to hang around ad hopefully meet someone he knows who will introduce him to another and another until his life is back in focus. What he doesn't reckon on though is that the first people to recognise him will be the police – who don't buy the idea that violent hood Eddie Riccardi has "lost his memory". This is a sentiment that gangster Vince Alexander shares when he discovers that the man who turned states evidence against him is back in town.

An interesting concept in this film. The idea that a "war hero" comes back to discover that really he was a violent criminal, a man he himself would have disliked and that he has to deal with the consequences of a past that he has no recollection of. In theory it could have been tough and morally complex and indeed I was hoping that these aspects would make for a dark and strong crime drama. In a way the actual product was both satisfying and a bit disappointing. The plot provides some good drama. It doesn't all ring true and it lacks the moral uncertainty that I had hoped for but it does still work well enough for what it is. If anything the script doesn't totally deserve Florey as director because the latter does do a solid job of working in the shadows and of framing shots to maximise the darkness within them.

The script doesn't make this same effect work within the story or characters though and indeed ethically it is perhaps too simplistic, with Eddie himself being disappointedly disconnected from his past. Of course I have to acknowledge that in this regard John Payne is miscast. He never convinces as a man struggling with anything (other than a sleepy delivery) and there is never a connection to his past in anything he does. Contrast his performance (and indeed what this film does) with Mortensen in "A History of Violence" and you can see where he and the material really don't deliver all they could (should) have done. Tufts works better but in fairness perhaps has a simpler character to pull off. He is a typically tough bad guy, full of patience and menace in his delivery – I liked his scenes but he conspires to make Payne seem weaker by comparison. Drew, Williams, Helton and others all do well enough for what is asked of them but the main expectation was on Payne and the film cannot shake the feeling that he is just not up to the task.

Overall then a solid enough drama but not up to the standard that it had the potential to be. Florey's direction works well with the cinematography (which is perhaps typical for the genre but still good) and it is just a shame that neither the script nor Payne are able to make more out of the potential within the sweep of the story and characters.

The Crooked Way is directed by Robert Florey and adapted to screenplay by Richard H. Landau from the Radio Play "No Blade Too Sharp" by Robert Monroe. It stars John Payne, Sonny Tufts, Ellen Drew, Rhys Williams, Harry Bronson and Hal Baylor. Music is by Louis Forbes and cinematography by John Alton.

World War II veteran Eddie Rice (Payne) is suffering from permanent amnesia after a piece of shrapnel was lodged in his brain. With no recollection of his past life, he heads off to the only place he has a link with, the army registration office in Los Angeles. No sooner does he arrive there he is picked up by the cops, and soon his past life slowly begins to piece together, and it doesn't make for good news at all…

The amnesia plot device is served up once again for a film noir make-over, with mixed results. As a story it just about registers as interesting, there's not nearly enough made of the premise, with much of Eddie's memory recollections a bit too convenient for comfortable dramatic purpose. The smart hook is that Eddie, now a genuine nice guy, begins to find out he was something of bad man, very much so, and there are plenty of people displeased with him. There's also some considerable violence dotted throughout, aggression is palpable, while lead cast performances are more than adequate for the material to hand.

However, on a visual level The Crooked Way is on a different planet to the screenplay. John Alton brings all his skills as a film noir cinematographer here, photographing the whole film through a noir kaleidoscope. Characters move through shadows and light, or are bathed in various dark reflections, with the interior sequences brilliantly adding an aura of mental fog. With Florey throwing his bit in the mix as well, with canted angles and isolated lighting of the eyes, it's a top draw noir of the film making style. Their work deserves a better story, but regardless, because of the tech quality and the safe nature of the premise, this has to be a comfortable recommendation to anyone interested in film noir. 7/10

In the series of tough crime melodramas he made during the late 1940's and early 1950's John Payne invariably seems to be looking for something. In Kansas City Confidential (1952) it was the stolen loot from a robbery. In 99 River Street (1953) it was the thug who framed him for murder. In The Crooked Way (1949) it was something much more basic -- his very identity.

Payne plays Eddie Rice, a WW II veteran recovered from the physical effects of a head wound but suffering a complete and permanent amnesia. He has no memory of his life before regaining consciousness in a hospital. All he knows about himself is what the Army has told him, that he enlisted in Los Angeles. When discharged from the hospital, he takes a train to L. A. to try and find out who he is. What he finds is more than he really wanted to know! That he was a hoodlum named Eddie Riccardi. That he has a wife (Ellen Drew), but she now hates his guts. That his former gangster partner, played with evil oozing from every pore by Sonny Tufts, is bent on beating him up, framing him for murder, and even more nasty things.

How Eddie muddles though this dark nightmare of a past coming back to haunt him and how it is presented by director Robery Florey and cinematographer John Alton adds up to a classic forgotten gem of a noir thriller. The Crooked Way exhibits the classic elements of film noir -- a morally ambiguous protagonist, a femme fa-tale, a grim, brutal story, and the most starkly shadowed and obliquely angled cinematography found in any movie. Most of the scenes are at night, and Alton's camera throws a tenebrist gloom over every shot with only the speaker's face lighted. Sometimes all figures are silhouettes, then the face gradually comes to light. A tall man looks down at a short man, and the view is as from a second story window. All this dark, oblique cinematography is not only arty and thrilling on its on to noir groupies, but it works perfectly to portray the dream-like state Eddie is experiencing. The story moves along briskly under Florey's direction and Frank Sullivan's editing. The action is explosively sharp and brutal.

John Payne was perfectly cast in the part of Eddie, maintaining a blank, confused expression you would expect from an amnesiac, even when getting tough. Getting tough was an item that John Payne, an ex-boxer and a WWII veteran in real life, was good at in spite of his mild, laid back manner. He was at this point starting to mature as a tough guy actor after abandoning his original song and dance career at least in part because he got too weathered and muscled up. Payne seems to be an acquired taste amongst present day lovers of classic movies, but I've acquired it and am now looking for all of his pictures.

The Crooked Way, while a cut below Kansas City Confidential and 99 River Street, is one of John Payne's best.