The Third Man (1949)
Director: Carol Reed
Had I seen this before: Yes
I want to quickly point out--and I don't know whether this is a brag or a sheepish admission--that this is the 1000th entry I have posted here since 2010, and furthermore, I'm going to kick it off by discussing the zither.
Your relationship to the sound of the zither will go a long way in determining your relationship to the 1949 film The Third Man. Personally, I enjoy it (although perhaps not as much as mid-century Britain, who collectively went so wild for Anton Karas's bouncy score that he became a top-selling musician of the era, then opened a nightclub called The Third Man which he ran for the rest of his life). As the opening credits roll and the strings of the zither sing, I feel that I am being promised pleasant and lively European vacation. It isn't at all ominous, like the opening notes of many noirs, but it is appropriate. For as much as this film is about dark opportunism and elastic morality, the structure holding it all together--essentially the main character of the movie--is post-war Vienna itself, with its 18th century busts and paintings and marble and tight spiral staircases and rainy cobblestone streets, all in various states ranging from timeless elegance to age-worn disrepair to literal piles of rubble. The juxtaposition of the shady dealings of a desperate post-war population and the towering Old World grandeur surrounding them gives the movie its vibrant tension, and the cheerful strings contribute to the sense that no matter what becomes of any of these people, Vienna will go on, shimmering and zithering far into the future.
It also serves as a constant reminder that if you weren't mixed up in some nefarious nonsense--the "you" in this case being Joseph Cotton's dime novelist Holly Martins--you could simply take one step to the side into das Cafe and have a lovely evening. In fact, various characters spend the movie encouraging Martins to forget about his concerns and go back home, which emphasizes the degree to which he truly is not as trapped as anyone around him, until of course he is. But it's also hard to blame the guy--he shows up in Vienna looking for his dear old friend Harry Lime, who theoretically has a job lined up for him there, only to discover--hat and coat still on and suitcase still in hand--that his dear old friend Harry Lime has very recently been struck by a car and killed. So recently, in fact, that Martins goes directly to Lime's funeral--suitcase very much still in hand--and stoically dumps a scoop of dirt onto his casket.
One would think that Martins would find himself utterly alone in this foreign city, with his one friend unexpectedly deceased and his prospects apparently vaporized, but one would be wrong. By the end of his first day in town, he has been given a lift and treated to a perhaps inadvisable amount of alcohol by a British police officer, been both punched in the face and complimented on his writing by another officer, been offered a guest lecturer gig by the concerningly-titled head of cultural reeducation, and received a phone call from a baron friend of Harry's. He has also started to notice that not all of the pieces of what happened to Harry add up in a satisfying way, and that different people seem to have different versions of what occurred. Is anything as it seems? Generally not, in this genre. The police have strongly indicated to him that Harry was mixed up in some sketchy business and it's better for everyone that he's gone; Harry's friend the baron calmly responds to this by informing Martins that "everyone in Vienna is--we all sell cigarettes and that kind of a thing."
Martins soon connects with Harry's grieving girlfriend Anna, a stage comedienne with a fake passport, a preposterously beautiful apartment, and a landlady who is, for me, the most relatable character in the film--just showing up to yell in irritated German about the cops and so forth trampling through her building, always wrapped head to toe in what can only be described as a large duvet (I don't want you to picture a regular blanket here, this thing has some real heft). Who hasn't wanted to scold annoying people while wearing a full set of bedding? Anna seems sad but also stoic and world-weary, one of several people to tell Martins "You shouldn't get mixed up in this." What Martins soon wants to get mixed up in is Anna herself but she politely declines his advances, sadly and stoically throughout, even when he drunkenly tries to engage with a cat in a manner that is, to me, extremely charming.
The Vienna of The Third Man is a city where everyone is a little suspicious but almost no one is directly menacing. As Martins begins to tie some of the various threads together, the action naturally picks up, including a chase scene through the bombed remains of buildings, another through the intricate underground sewer system, a very tense conversation on a moving Ferris wheel car, an absolute crash and burn stint as a guest lecturer, and one of the greatest character introduction shots in all of cinema. Dutch angles abound. The rumor that both the producer and director of this film were on a great deal of speed at the time is interesting, because I don't find anything particularly frantic about the pace of the film--if anything, as I said, there is almost a sort of amused detachment from the frenzied goings on of the tiny humans and their wee dramas--but maybe operating on two hours of sleep a night is sometimes what it takes to make a movie this good. Come for the cobblestones and the high ceilings and the gleaming marble, stay for Orson Welles pronouncing the phrase "cuckoo clock." You won't be disappointed.
Line I repeated quietly to myself: "I don't want another murder in this case and you were born to be murdered so you're going to hear the facts."
Is it under two hours: Yes
How fatale is la femme: Poor Anna is not a femme fatale, she's just a pretty lady with questionable taste in men, trying to get by in a city back on its heels and minding her own business. No scheming, no double-crossing, not a single corpse to her name, but she does make cigarettes look very appealing and if she ever had a mind to start causing the downfall of greedy saps I really believe she could do it. 2/10
Sacher Torte from King Arthur Baking
Martins mostly--say it with me now--smokes and drinks. But one of the buildings prominently featured in this film is the Sacher Hotel, as it served as the British headquarters during Vienna's occupation. Aside from being a world-renowned luxury hotel, it is primarily known for producing the Sachertorte, an apricot-filled dark chocolate cake and one of Austria's most famous exports. Between this movie and this cake, the fact that I have never been to Vienna grows increasingly distressing by the second.
Up next: Some French ladies getting up to no good
