Monday, August 28, 2006
This is my second time seeing The Fallen Idol this year, and actually in my entire life. The first time I caught a glimpse of this 1948 black and white beauty from director Carol Reed was at Film Forum, but on this occasion the film was enhanced by its surroundings. The best traditional movie venue in the city of Chicago, The Music Box Theatre, made this already great movie even better. My companion remarked that he enjoyed the film, but that he thought Reed's subsequent, and classic flick, The Third Man (1949) is better. It's a good argument, though I'll reserve judgement on that subject for another day.
The way I think of this film is like a collage of moments. Sharp cuts of comedy: the prostitute at the police station who reacts in surprise to the little boy, Phillipe (Bobby Henrey), who reveals his father is the Ambassador to England, "I know your father!" Or the whimsy of the boy himself as he trails after his butler, affectionately whining his name, "Baines? Oh, Baines?" Intercut with moments like these is the terror of Mrs. Baines (Sonia Dresdel), hovering above Phillipe's pillow, disheveled and demanding the whereabouts of her husband; her stringy black hair streams down at the boy as he wakes terrorized from sleep, and the cold, thin thud of her hairpin hitting his soft white sheet is the only image we initially see to know she's there; a singed moment of adrenaline through our viens.
All of this amidst a fantastic story of deceit and infidelity, mystery and curiosity, and the most fascinating moments of French dialogue between Baine's mistress (Michele Morgan) and petite Phillipe where no one amidst the crowd of cops and investigators can understand a word, not even us, as the film provocatively rejects subtitles.
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