In 1947, the world was not quite ready to see the ever-popular romantic leading man and swashbuckler star, Tyrone Power, as a con man antihero whose psychological urgings ultimately overpower his conscience. With the film noir masterwork,
Nightmare Alley, however, the iconic actor, eager for more realistically substantive roles after his service in World War II, stepped up to the plate for his second collaboration with Edmund Goulding, who had directed him the previous year in
The Razor's Edge. The end result, a marvelous exercise in nastiness, based on an even nastier novel by William Lindsay Gresham and serving as a spiritual successor to Tod Browning's
Freaks (1932), did not fare well with audiences upon its release, but has since emerged from obscurity to claim its rightful prestige as a doomed character study.
In present day, when businessmen, influencers, and even Presidential candidates thrive on sensationalism and behave like carnival barkers, this screen story of Stanton Carlisle, a grifter who sees every person in his path as a mere stepping stone while he ascends from employment with a traveling sideshow to the position of an esteemed nightclub phenomenon, takes on a timely resonance. Thanks to the inherent charisma of Power in the lead part, we the viewers find ourselves pulling for Stan even when he looks over the shoulder of each conquest to the next big thing.
I love the fictional carnival world of
Nightmare Alley, where the sideshow hawkers operate within their own closely-knit set of ethics, even though they make a living by tricking the ordinary rubes who pay for admission to their exhibits. Zeena, a mentalist played by Joan Blondell, is openly having an affair with Stan, but remains fiercely protective of her alcoholic husband. Molly, a young performer played by Coleen Gray, initially thinks that Stan hung the moon and stars, but yearns for a return to the simplicity of the sideshow when she sees Stan flying, in the manner of Icarus, too close to the sun. In this case, the “sun” in question is Lilith, a psychologist, played by Helen Walker, who has a chillingly giddy spark in her eyes when she is beating our deceitful lead at his own game.
The genre of film noir can be defined simply with the phrase,
“This will not end well.” Astute moviegoers will sense the life path of Stanton Carlisle during the first few minutes of this particular feature. I wish that
Nightmare Alley could have committed in full to the downward spiral and ended a couple of minutes earlier than it does, instead of being bound by Hays Production Code parameters, but what we do see is horrific and heartbreaking enough.
Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! This black-and-white slice of postwar cinema is still a true journey into darkness.
Criterion is no shill here, giving us more treasures than we expect with a fantastic high definition presentation that makes a geek out of my old DVD. Noir expert Imogen Sara Smith provides the most insightful supplement here, but the commentary track by historians James Ursini and Alain Silver also delivers an informative look at this movie's place in noir, if it is even to be considered a noir. Do not overlook the interview with Coleen Gray, who reminisces about 1940s B movie studio life.
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