The Sleeping Tiger

1954, UK, directed by Joseph Losey (under the pseudonym Victor Hanbury)

As so often, a viewing choice inspired by David Cairns, this is an enjoyably ripe melodrama, over-stuffed with plot and challenges to logic, but Dirk Bogarde does good sleaze, Losey directs with great energy, and the climax has a nice bit of visual poetry to it.

The Man Who Cheated Himself

1950, US, directed by Felix E. Feist

A pretty classic, B-level noir, in which Lee J. Cobb's cop is bewitched and betrayed by a femme fatale, again a classically misogynistic trope of the genre. Cinematically, it's worth a look, with some striking shot choices, especially as the film reaches its climax, while there's surely a nod to Hitchcock's Suspicion in the prominent appearances of several glasses of milk. There's also a nice mix of San Francisco location work and back projection shots.

La Poison

1951, France, directed by Sacha Guitry

One of the most extraordinarily misogynistic films I've seen, as well as being very much of the postwar tradition of bitter, black, self-lacerating social examination in French film (the two may be linked, of course; several of those key French noirs are hardly kind to their central female characters, who are at times depicted as taking advantage of the men in their lives -- men rarely seem to have to take responsibility for themselves). 

Ginette Vincendeau's Criterion piece that accompanies the DVD of the film is extremely useful in providing the context for Guitry's tone, without ever defending the writer/director. 

Of note in the background: a rare non-comic role for Louis de Funès.

The Million Pound Note

1954, UK, directed by Ronald Neame

Something of an Ealing knockoff, this is a generally charming fable about the chaotic consequences of a bet/social experiment as to how a penniless American will handle the titular banknote (Trading Places followed a similar template, albeit with more 1980s grit and volume). The fun mostly comes from the reactions of other people to Gregory Peck's dilemma -- one sequence in a restaurant is especially good -- and the supporting cast is, predictably, very strong, with many familiar faces of the period given some work.

The Bigamist

1953, US, directed by Ida Lupino

An unusually frank film, for its time, with respect to social mores, focused on a salesman who is attempting to juggle two relationships, though the picture has to stretch credibility a little to accommodate this situation in a manner that keeps the central character sympathetic.While the film seems to start out as a justification for male misbehaviour, as the narrative unspools it becomes something a good deal more interesting, a discussion of how the standard boxes don't work for every situation, and where women, in particular, are likely to fall foul of social regulations that determine acceptable behaviour. The film is quite up front about this, engineering situations in which conversations about stifling convention are reasonably credible, while Lupino makes ample time for us to hear from the two women -- they're anything but subordinate to the story. It might make a good pairing with the slightly earlier That Brennan Girl.

Touchez pas au grisbi

1953, France, directed by Jacques Becker

One of the true marvels of the French gangster genre, with its own codes and conventions, quite different to the American counterparts -- impossible to imagine the wonderful scene of two men sharing a late-night sandwich, never mind the subsequent scene when they brush their teeth, in an American movie of the period. As magnetic as Gabin was in the pre-war years, he's rarely been as magnificent as on this occasion -- every moment he's offscreen you sense his influence, even with the wonderful supporting cast (Dary, Ventura, Moreau, Frankeur and more).

Sudden Fear

1952, US, directed by David Miller

A film that I'd wanted to see after reading Farran Smith Nehme's very engaging appreciation in Film Comment, this did not disappoint, a noir with a deep vein of high-pitch melodrama. Joan Crawford is excellent in one of the strongest roles of her later career, reacting to the most alarming of circumstances and setting in motion a plot of her own, while she gets particularly good support from Jack Palance, so angular here that he looks like an actor as drawn by Picasso at times.

Maigret tend un piège

1958, France, directed by Jean Delannoy

The first of Gabin's outing as Maigret, and the strongest of the trio -- certainly more distinctive than Gilles Grangier's routine contribution, which used Gabin well but did little more.  Delannoy, by contrast, creates a strong sense of atmosphere, particularly emphasizing the claustrophobia of the corner of Paris being terrorized by the events of the film. More surprising is the mobility of his camera, especially in the early stages of the film -- elegant movements that create neat moments of visual shorthand, while also, on occasion, underpinning the sense of menace felt by the characters. The film's a fine example of Gabin's ability to seamlessly play both sides of the law in this period: there's not a great deal of difference between his Maigret and, say, Max from Touchez pas au grisbi, with both characters elegant, methodical, and willing to pause to savour a decent sandwich.

French Cancan

1955, France, directed by Jean Renoir

Renoir reunites with Gabin after a fifteen-year gap, with the actor in a classic later-period Gabin role, roguish yet charming, and almost startling in the rich colours that Renoir employs. Though French in its frame of reference -- the songs, the locations -- there's an echo of classic Hollywood putting-on-a-show spectaculars, albeit with an air of melancholy that's entirely specific to Renoir's film (the wonderful scene where Gabin relaxes backstage, satisfied that things have come together but fully aware the public has no need to see him).

Les Enfants terribles

1950, France, directed by Jean-Pierre Melville

I had forgotten how intoxicating this film is at times, and that sensation grows as the movie unspools -- the final half hour or so really breaks free from reality at times, and yet Melville's mastery of tone ensures that it never acquires the oddball texture of, say, Chabrol's Les Godelureaux. I found myself completing forgetting my surroundings as the world of the film enclosed me, only to be shocked out of it again in the finale. There are some very interesting names in the credits, too, whether it's Henri Decaë shooting his second feature or future directors Michel Drach and Claude Pinoteau, with the former seeming rather closer to Melville in terms of his approach/output.

King of the Coral Sea

Australia, 1954, directed by Lee Robinson

A Chips Rafferty pic that also marked Rod Taylor's debut, and it's not hard to spot the nascent star quality. Very formulaic, and at times very wooden, but with a distinctive location in the Torres Straits, and some excellent marine photography. It was apparently a big hit in its home country back in the day.

Madame de...

1953, France/Italy, directed by Max Ophuls (aka The Earrings of Madame de...)

There's not much for me to add to the thousands of words already written on this wonderful film, featuring perhaps the most significant object in cinema, around which Ophuls constructs an exceptional human drama.

Kiss Me Deadly

1955, US, directed by Robert Aldrich

A deeply cynical, and ultimately exceptionally bleak, film -- though of a piece with much pulp writing of the 1940s and 1950, this must have felt like a real cinematic slap in the face in 1955, with its generally anti-heroic characters, easy betrayals and casual violence, and the pall of broader threat. The location work is also striking -- some fascinating shots of mid-century LA.

Un Condamné à mort s'est échappé

1955, France, directed by Robert Bresson

My first viewing of the Criterion Collection restoration of this remarkable film -- and as much as the visuals are striking, it was the soundscape that came across even more strongly on this occasion (particularly in the tension of the titular escape). I still find Bresson to be tough going at times, primarily for his unique and uncompromising approach to performance, but this is one of the key texts. Bresson's star, François Leterrier, went on to a career as a director in his own right, though in a very different register, helming several scattershot popular comedies in the 1980s. 

Woman on the Run

1950, US, directed by Norman Foster

A modest but distinctive San Francisco-set noir; as with so many films in the genre there's plenty to chew on, in particular the location work (which occasionally evokes the feel of Charles Willeford's novel Pick-Up), as well as Ann Sheridan in strong form. The ending sequences struck me as a possible influence on the dockside section of Ida Lupino's The Hitch-Hiker -- in both films, an atmospheric location available at a low price for the budget-minded filmmaker. 

Deux hommes dans Manhattan

1959, France, directed by Jean-Pierre Melville

Melville at his loosest, and despite the cynicism and world-weariness on display, the picture is really rather fun by the director's astringent standards, with wonderful historical in the on-the-fly location work (though the incongruity between the actual New York exteriors and the obviously French studio scenes is amusing at times). Melville's own amusingly lugubrious presence in one of the starring roles recalls, at times, Renoir's highly effective self-casting in La Règle du jeu. 

Retour de manivelle

1957, France, directed by Denys de La Patellière

One of those noirs where you find yourself wanting to advise the protagonists that their scheme may not go entirely to plan, though this in no way detracts from the pleasures of this bitter, often quite claustrophobic picture, scripted by Michel Audiard. Daniel Gélin is the patsy, who makes the rather critical mistake of trusting an icy Michèle Morgan; Bernard Blier has a relatively small, but enjoyably cynical, role as the policeman assigned to investigate the whole mess.

En cas de malheur

1958, France, directed by Claude Autant-Lara

Based on a novel by Simenon and scripted by the legendary Jean Aurenche and Pierre Bost, though it's hardly a career highlight either in behind or in front of the camera (Jean Gabin and Brigitte Bardot, both of whom are barely stretched by their roles, are the focus on the latter side). The film comes across as something like a 1950s French version of The Woman in the Window or The Strange Affair of Uncle Harry, without the restrictions of the American Production Code, though the sourness of the end does suggest a more interesting film could have been crafted by a director less self-consciously provocative than Autant-Lara.

Sans laisser d'adresse

1951, France, directed by Jean-Paul Le Chanois

Another entry in the Bernard Blier filmography, the actor playing a cabbie who ends up getting more than he bargained for when he picks up a young woman at the Gare de Lyon. Directed by Jean-Paul Le Chanois, very much a middlebrow fellow, though the use of extensive location shooting here lends a surprising pre-nouvelle vague sensibility to Paris's streets (Pierre Granier-Deferre was one of the assistant directors, though I didn't detect too many signs of his more astringent presence). There's a quite wonderful verbal joust between Blier and Danièle Delorme, with Julien Carette, no slouch with a good line himself, watching on with a wry smile, and there's also a brief, early appearance from Louis de Funès, testing out his grimaces and his hand gestures (the latter are always much more amusing to me than the former). 

La Maison Bonnadieu

1951, France, directed by Carlo Rim

An enjoyable satire of bourgeois mores, with Bernard Blier as the head of the aforementioned house, dealing with his wife's infidelity. The comic aspects are generally to the fore, though as James Travers notes the (very fine) photography seems to owe more to dramatic, even noir, territory at times -- and several sequences, including those snapshotted here, are very nicely staged from the visual perspective. The direction is by the unfamiliar-to-me Carlo Rim, though on the strength of this film he bears further attention. 

Blier is, predictably, excellent, though Yves Deniaud steals several scenes as his right-hand man, while Berthe Bovy makes a delightful appearance as that rarest of plot devices, the grande-mère ex machina. It's also very interesting for its period in that the film places women squarely as the center of domestic power, without also implying that they are to be feared; Danielle Darrieux sparkles much as one would imagine, with both her wit and her beauty.