Pulp Fiction and Grave-digging: The Third Man (1949) by Carol Reed
When I watched The Third Man, I didn’t know what to expect. Quite frankly, it was the first proper noir film I had watched in quite a while since The Maltese Falcon; and boy, oh boy did I love it.
Let me make some bold statements regarding this film before I actually get into the nitty-gritties of it all. (And as a warning, there are spoilers in this article)
- In my opinion, this film is the third-best British film of all time (The first two are Trainspotting and Lawrence of Arabia; if you’re curious about the fourth it’s Hot Fuzz and fifth is Shaun of the Dead)
- This film features cinematography that quite frankly has not been matched by many films except for say, Citizen Kane (and that tells you a lot about the film already)
- There’s Orson Welles in this film and Orson Welles is just…welle…he’s just Orson Welles. Must I say more?
So with that, let’s get down and dirty.
The Third Man is not your standard issue noir film, as much as it sports elements of it (More or less a “Femme Fatale”, the evil guy, the really cool cinematography, a lot of bowler hats and mackintoshes). Most of the time, The Third Man prefers to walk on cynical grounds instead, keeping a private eye over it’s own logic and order – and as the story progresses to its stunning conclusion chapter (and I’ve not seen a concluding third act of a film that grand since Cameron’s Titanic) we see how the film transforms into something more peculiar and strange. It’s not just a simple story of a happy-go-lucky pulp novelist solving a murder. It’s something stranger.
Take the premise of the movie for instance. Why a pulp novelist? There are no detectives in this film (the one “detective” is a police officer) and it’s a fiction writer who solves a mystery that ironically falls into Chandler territories (it’s a pulp fiction of sorts, isn’t it). Already there’s something offbeat about the film that ought to catch a bit of attention. And my theory is this: maybe The Third Man isn’t just about a mystery. It’s about creating mysteries.
We see this pulp novelist come into London for a job, but the person who hired him is found to be dead. He visits his burial, drinks afterwards in solemn mourning together with a police officer, and tries to find out what happened. As investigations proceed and the novelist digs deeper into this peculiar, off-tangent mystery, he begins writing a novel called The Third Man. Well, it doesn’t just stop there. One could see this story not just about the novelist’s investigation, but rather a story about an act of creation – a form of epistemology which is to uncover that which is buried – the secrets and lies that are hidden behind all that murk and darkness and push it out into the light. Cinematographically we keep seeing this motif of darkness to light – and coffin to freedom. Take the iconic shot of Welles in the sewage tunnels at the end of the film, with light flashing before him creating a brilliant silhouette.
Perhaps it’s about fabulations and uncovering second truths. What is so unsettling about The Third Man is this whole idea that if the novelist had not bothered about investigations, none of what had occurred on-screen could have come to life. Perhaps the idea is this – the novelist created this story for himself. As a desperate, unsuccessful man in need for a job he got one; a fresh, brilliant idea for a novel, that resurrects not just the character of Orson Welles, but his own character as a novelist as well. He had the perfect story – fitted together thanks to the creative impulse of the novelist. Hence, what is Carol Reed trying to say? The Postmodernist critic will say, Hey! It’s saying that Detectives make things up as they go along!
At the beginning of the film, we see the novelist mourning for the death of Harry Lime. At the end, the novelist makes sure that Harry Lime was dead all along, as though he were saying, “Hey, you stay right where you are.” Cyclically, the novelist ensures that logic is held – even at the expense of emotional dissatisfaction – consequently affirming Lime’s death. In attempting to understand who killed Harry Lime, the novelist killed Harry Lime for sure.
Sure, Lime was a heinous villain. But by the end of the film we all love him as much as any one else because his death was a tragedy in our eyes. He wasn’t the villain. He was a victim of epistemology – a victim of pulp fiction – a victim of a metaphorical grave-digging.
Apart from that literary analysis which might leave some scratching their heads, there is also a stunning level of technical splendor in this film. All those dutch angles! Some critics didn’t like the films brilliant use of tilts and non-linear composition, but I thought that the visual structuring was very evocative and atmospheric. I loved the dutch angles Reed used during the scene where the novelist meets Baron at the restaurant – they were so unusual and funny.
Furthermore, the performances are outstanding. I don’t need to comment on Orson Welles. For the rest of the cast: perfect. The acting was rock-solid and so was the film as a result. Though noir films aren’t the most believable of all genres of films, the acting’s stylistics and nuances gave the film a sense of naturalism rarely achieved in ensembles such as this (Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles, really? I mean, really?).
I may be geeking out over The Third Man too much. Maybe I’m just making things up as I go along as well. But who cares! It’s a brilliant film and you ought to check it out as well.
So to wrap it all up, here’s my score for this film (which is undoubtedly):
100/100
Tharun Suresh's Cinema Verite 