A Taste of Film Noir Cinematography
A short analysis on cinematography of two forgotten film noir classics
Backstory
I think you should know, I’m a huge cinephile. I study computer science at university, but instead of reading books on AI or C++, I take long walks through the DVD section of the library, ticking every movie I’ve watched on my checklist, while steadily packing up all the ones unchecked. Back home, I slide those movies into my DVD player that’s hooked up to my projector, and that — along with some popcorn — is what I call a good movie night.
Funny thing is, people around campus started noticing my obsession over film, and to my surprise, have encouraged it wholeheartedly. In fact, one of my friends recently asked me to help her with a major assignment she had to complete on the history of Jewish redemption through cinema, wondering if I could make some notes on the cinematography of two underperforming film noirs starring Hedy Lamarr, A Lady Without Passport (1950) and The Conspirators (1944). Now, I have no expertise in cinema, not the least bit in cinematography, but I said To hell with it! Why not? And so, what started out as a favor ended up being an analysis on the lighting and cinematography of these two films. This was the outcome.
Cinematography & Lighting Analysis
A Lady Without Passport (1950)
The lighting and cinematography of A LADY WITHOUT PASSPORT ensnares its audience in the same rabbit hole that its characters fall victim to. From the beginning, the composition is laid in a way such that the shots are framed within frames, whereby the audience assumes the role of the stalker, anticipating every move. Oftentimes, the camera is disguised between objects to achieve this stalking effect.
Exaggerated long-shots further establish this observational mood that replicates that of the secret agents involved in the plot. In fact, this technique is implemented to the extent that the observer becomes the observed, whether it be in the streets of Havana or an aerial view of Jacksonville’s jungles.
Furthermore, tracking, accompanied by long-shots, plays a vital role in establishing the observational mood, notwithstanding the introduction of characters — at least all the major roles — where at first we only get a glance of them from a distance before getting closer to them as the plot progresses.
The audience must determine when a character is worth observing, just as the detectives must determine which suspects are worth investigating. In other words, the camera work is maneuvered so that the audience is granted information at the same rate the story’s mystery develops. A good attempt at accomplishing a consistently film-noir feeling.
Another important attribute in the direction of photography is color. Impossible, you think, given the 1950’s black and white nature; but in truth, these two options, and all the shades between them suffice to cause an environment worthy of film-noir suspense, as well as to identify characters’ intentions.
The former point is quite basic: contrast, a quintessential film-noir device, is used in occasions of suspense, where lights are minimized to maximize the thrill of action sequences. The latter point, however, is an interesting choice, worthy of investigation.
Throughout the film, it is noticed that when a character wears white — not simply a flannel or buttoned shirt, but more of an overstated suit or dress worthy of attention — the character tends to lie or assume a role intended to exploit another character.
The moment the Frenchmen, played by Steven Geray, looking for John Hodiak’s character (Pete), following the incident at the embassy, the audience thinks it is a coincidence: a gentleman of class taken aback by the scene, perhaps in search of more information; yet, the audience soon realizes the Frenchman is one of our antagonist’s (George Macready’s character, Palinov) men, hunting for his next victim to exploit by offering an escape to the US. He vanishes before the plot commences and Hedy Lamarr’s character (Marianne) is introduced, wearing an elongated white dress. Not only does Marianne prove to do anything to ensure an exit to the US, but she also accepts Palinov’s command to maintain a Hungarian façade to fool Pete.
Interestingly, it is Pete who stands as an exception to this pattern while we see him pretending to play a Hungarian in search of an immigration visa; however, we soon see him in search of Marianne, his lead suspect, in the following scenes wearing a white suit, ready to seduce her to gain information, as if catching the disease that is dishonesty.
Ultimately, the color white is a motif that indicates dishonesty, which is ironic given the way this color is commonly interpreted. The choice is a direct critique against the flashiness of the American Dream, an illusion so many of our characters fall victim to. Ironically, it is in the streets of Cuba that the brightest lights shine, where the nightlife is vivid and lively, as opposed to the dark, dangerous, life-threatening jungles of the US that the audience experiences — the means by which the dream is shattered.
Light is a critical device that is manipulated to create these tones throughout the film. The day is serene, hopeful, optimistic, even idealistic, as we see Marianne and Pete roam the pier, falling in love. In contrast, the night is dark, realistic and eventful, witnessing even death. It is no surprise that the movie turns progressively darker, where even the happy ending is curtained in fog and Marianne’s white clothing becomes soiled and ragged as her motives are revealed and lies no longer hold.
Here, I wanted to make some notes on Hedy Lamarr’s failed femme fatal character, but was urged to stick to the cinematography and lighting.
The Conspirators (1944)
There is little, if anything else to say of THE CONSPIRATORS’s cinematography, other than acknowledging that it was a work of a master story-teller. Sometimes the craft of an art is not how much attention it draws to itself, but on the contrary, how easily it goes unnoticed. In truth, Arthur Edeson’s cinematography — the same man who directed photography in classics such as All Quiet on the Western Front, Casablanca, and The Maltese Falcon — is seamless and efficient, skillfully matching the film’s progression, from quick, fast-paced shots matching editing in the beginning, to slower, longer tracks in the end.
The seamlessness of the work is apparent from its beautifully arranged composition, which presents all the necessary information in an aesthetic consistency. Zooming in/out, panning, and tracking is also used effectively to reveal information slowly, rather than using multiple unnecessary cuts. In fact, the use of long takes makes conveying emotion more effectively when cutting to one person, such as when we cut to Hedy Lamarr’s character as she lays in bed reminiscent, after she confesses to her husband that she spent the day with our protagonist. Therefore, the camerawork is not only efficient in a seamless way throughout the film, but it also adds to a more sympathetic, emotionally moving scene when contrary methods are introduced.
Another interesting choice is the assignment of interior versus exterior lighting. Firstly, it is no surprise that day typically conveys light-heartedness and an optimistic tone, whereas the night is commonly scary and cruel. Likewise, the interiors, with their flashy lighting and bright colors exhibit the bright side of the war, or at least in a pretentious, upper-class sense. The indoors are reserved for civilized, high society where politics governs the story. On the other hand, the exterior is seen as if keeping the wilderness and chaos out, possessing a more realistic view of a world at war.
Of course, these two worlds clash as we approach the climax when everyone rushes from the classy estate to the outside as police flood in the premises and gunshots echo in the garden. Then, as the audience would expect, the character run ever so deep into the foggy, dark surroundings so often directed for the exterior.
The message of the impossibility of there being any kind of civility in a world at war is moving and eye-opening, where the audience feels guilty at times when it grows too accustomed to the flashiness of the interiors; however, the effect of this message would be fruitless were it not for the consistently masterful camerawork displayed throughout the picture.
I hope you liked my analysis, and possibly inspired some of you to check these movies out. I don’t know if there’s a career in film-critique for me, but at least my passion got me into viewing movies from one more angle. Till the next one!
