Night of the Hunter

A queer duck of a classic, this one.  1955's NIGHT OF THE HUNTER would be celebrated actor Charles Laughton's lone directorial effort due perhaps to the chilly reception it received from critics and audiences during its original run. Underrated then, and overrated ever since, in my opinion.  As quick as I tend to be to dismiss those earlier eyes as misguided and daft, I quite understand their reaction.  What appears to be a noirish thriller is in fact a really strange tale that resembles some twisted fairy tale done in the style of the German silents.  This is intriguing, and frustrating.

The movie is said to have influenced directors like Rainer Werner Fassbinder.  Robert Altman, too.  Laughton's stew admirably confounds expectations at every turn, but I'm still not exactly sure what he was going for, or it succeeds in this unknown goal.  A forboding thriller transforms into a child's fantasy, grisly and otherwise.  The striking use of light and composition by cinematographer Stanley Cortez (who also worked with Orson Welles) does give an expressionistic feel to the movie that rather makes it feel more art house, less of a quick and dirty low budgeter.  Perhaps at odds with its subject matter - a serial murdering "reverend" seeks a small fortune, and will kill anyone, even children, to get it.

Robert Mitchum's formidable presence is perfect for the role of Harry Powell, a self appointed man of the pulpit who caresses switchblades as he sings hymns and damns sexual intercourse for anything but procreation.  A deeply twisted soul whose greed drives his every action, justifying his killing in the name of spreading God's word.  When Powell learns from his cell mate, a condemned robber/killer, of ten grand that he has hidden in his daughter's rag doll, he's soon charming the new widow (Shelley Winters) and her small town with his homespun wit and morality.  But the dead man's son, John (Billy Chapin), immediately recognizes a fraudulent creep when he sees one.

Mitchum is appropriately menacing, but often goes too far in his eccentricity.  And his voice was all wrong; he sounded more like someone doing a comical impression of a co-worker than Evil Itself.  He has many fine moments - including the explanation of why he has LOVE and HATE spelled out on his fingers - but too many others where he just seems intoxicated.  It diluted the suspense.  But NIGHT OF THE HUNTER's tone is all over the place, often favoring a patently fantastic feel, as if these events are occurring in some Bizarro Universe, or a children's author's nightmare.  When Lillian Gish turns up late in the film, it's clear that what appeared to be a thriller is more of some lyrical poem.  A darkish nursery rhyme of sorts.

I admire the unusual approach, which begins with James Agee's unpredictable screenplay.  I appreciate eccentric films from later decades.  Maybe I just haven't seen enough pre-1960s oddball cinema.  Maybe NIGHT OF THE HUNTER was way ahead of its time.  It certainly will bear re-evaluation at a later date.