Background
![](jpg/inalonelyplace.jpg) In
a Lonely Place (1950) is maverick director Nicholas Ray's
and Columbia Pictures' well-respected, bleak, mature, and dramatic
film noir, although it was not a box-office hit and received no
Academy Award nominations. The dark melodrama, Ray's fourth feature
film (and his second collaboration with Humphrey Bogart after Knock
on Any Door (1949)), is a poignant story of an isolated, alcoholic,
hot-tempered and embittered 'lonely' Hollywood screenwriter with
great talent who also had a dual nature - a hidden, inner existential
black side to his outer facade. [Note: The film's working title
was Behind This Mask.]
The weighty melodrama had all the perquisites of basic
film noir: fatalism, and a doomed and eroding love affair and attraction
between an unstable, flawed hero with a haunted past, and a femme
fatale - an aspiring actress hiding from an ex-lover. It also examined
the roots and nature of violence within an atmosphere of extreme
paranoia.
In the same year, two other more highly-regarded films
were also self-reflexive and sardonic about the dark and damning
side of Hollywood and its illusory lure of celebrity, including Billy
Wilder's Sunset Boulevard (1950) (about
another cynical Hollywood screenwriter), and Joseph Mankiewicz's All
About Eve (1950). All the films followed the critical attacks
of the US government's House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC)
on actors and screenwriters in 1947, which had left Hollywood paranoid
and rife with rumors, mistrust and surveillance.
The hard-drinking, liberal Democrat Bogart had himself
been questioned and the subject of negative press after the Congressional
hearings for allegedly defending the blacklisted Hollywood Ten. In Photoplay magazine
(March 1948 edition), he published an article titled: "I'm No
Communist"
- admitting only that he had been in Washington DC solely to speak
out for First Amendment rights, and not to defend the Hollywood Ten,
or to "defend Communism in Hollywood":
So long as we are opposed completely to Communism
and do not permit ourselves to be used as dupes by Commie organizations,
we can still function as thoughtful American citizens. In the final
analysis, this House Committee probe has had one salutary effect.
It cleared the air by indicating what a minute number of Commies
there really are in the film industry. Though headlines may have
screamed of the Red menace in movies, all the wind and fury actually
proved that there's been no Communism injected on America's movie
screens. As I said, I'm no Communist. If you thought so, you were
dead wrong. But, brother, in this democracy, no one's going to
shoot you for having thought so!
[Note: Other films critical of Hollywood appeared in
the next few years: The Bad and the Beautiful
(1952) (featuring an Oscar-winning performance from Gloria
Grahame), Singin' in the Rain (1952),
and A Star is Born (1954). Latter-day
critiques include Robert Altman's The Player (1992), and David
Lynch's dream noir Mulholland Drive (2001).]
In the film's story, the main character was a world-weary,
acerbic, alienated, struggling depression-plagued Hollywood screenwriter
and laconic anti-hero named Dixon Steele (Humphrey Bogart). Unofficially,
he had been 'blacklisted' by Hollywood for his belligerency, personal
attitude, and violent streaks. He was planning to adapt a trashy
best-selling romance novel when he became the prime suspect in a
murder case of a simple-minded, night-club hat-check girl Mildred
Atkinson (Martha Stewart). Symbolic of Hollywood's pulp-fiction audience,
she had been invited to his apartment to provide a synopsis of the
lightweight, second-rate book he hadn't read himself and was about
to reluctantly adapt into a script, when she was found brutally murdered
the next morning. His romantic relationship with a lovely neighbor/would-be
starlet Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame) in his housing complex grew
stronger when she confirmed his alibi, but ultimately was put to
the test as she became increasingly suspicious of his disintegrating
and violent self. His rage at the growing cloud of suspicion over
him eventually caused him to drive her love away. The film's motif
was expressed in one of the film's most unforgettable lines, recited
by Dix from his script to Laurel: "I was born when she kissed
me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved
me."
The main roles in the compelling and taut noir with
marvelously intelligent dialogue were played by:
- the esteemed
Humphrey Bogart (or
"Bogey") in one of his last great film roles as a volatile,
hard-drinking, self-destructive and highly paranoid individual with
suppressed rage, who shared some of the characteristics of the character
he played; and
- 27 year-old Gloria Grahame, a frequent sultry
and irresistible femme fatale in film noirs, who was married
to director Nicholas Ray. During filming, the couple was in the midst
of a bitter and stormy marital dispute, which soon led to their separation
in 1951 and their divorce in 1952. [Eventually in 1960, Grahame married
Ray's own son Anthony, her former stepson from Ray's first marriage!]
It is very probable that the problems of Grahame and Ray were transferred
to the on-screen troubled relationship and doomed romance between
the two main players. Bogey's wife Lauren Bacall had been considered
for the female part, but she was under contract to Warner Bros (who
refused to release her) - and the studio was disgruntled that Bogart
had produced the film with his own independent company, Santana Productions.
Its complex script by Edmund H. North and Andrew Solt
was an adaptation of mystery writer Dorothy B. Hughes' 1947 novel
of the same name. In the original book version (told from the killer's
viewpoint), the main protagonist was a charlatan only posing as a
novelist. He was also a violent, misogynistic serial killer, psychopath
and rapist. In the film version (with an ending revamped and reshot
by director Ray himself), the off-beat, temperamental, sometimes
belligerent screenwriter was suspected of a brutal murder (off-screen),
but was judged to be innocent.
The book's cover headlined:
"The Classic Noir Tale of American Machismo Gone Mad," while
the film's tagline hinted that there was a different, non-violent surprise
ending: "The Bogart Suspense Picture With the Surprise Finish."
Issues and Themes: The Two Main Protagonists
Dixon Steele and Laurel Gray
|
Dix's Nature: |
WWII veteran Dix (possibly
suffering shell-shock or PTSD) was mostly friendless and living
a lonely, stressed-out life. He was emotionally distant, except
for contact with his long-time nurturing, aging agent Mel Lippman
(Art Smith), old army pal and Beverly Hills detective Brub
Nicolai (Frank Lovejoy), Brub's wife Sylvia Nicolai (Jeff Donnell),
and restaurant headwaiter-owner Paul (Steven Geray).
Brub recalled how difficult it was to know
Dix: "It's hard to tell how Dix feels about anything.
None of us could ever figure him out." Brub's wife Sylvia
thought:
"He's a sick man...There's something wrong with him...He's
exciting because he isn't quite normal." Deputy Barton
(William Ching) thought:
"I could see why that guy gets into a lot of trouble."
Laurel also observed: "Dix
doesn't act like a normal person...I'm scared of him. I don't
trust him. I'm not even sure he didn't kill Mildred Atkinson...Why
can't he be like other people? Why?"
However, Dix sometimes exhibited a sympathetic,
humanist, generous side, especially with outcasts and losers
(like himself) and those less fortunate, and was often tender,
kind and sweet to Laurel, bringing her packages. He also bought
two dozen white roses for Mildred's funeral, and purchased
a postal money order for $300 to pay for a new paint-job after
side-swiping a UCLA student's car. |
Dix was intransigent,
bitter and disturbed with a dual personality, rapid mood swings,
and simmering-below-the-surface anger issues that erupted with
ferocious speed and intensity. His major problem was his misogynistic,
abusive possessiveness of women, and his demanding need to
be in charge - if thwarted, he lashed out with anger.
In the opening scene, Dix revealed his anger
at an intersection. At Paul's restaurant, he punched out
Junior (Lewis Howard, uncredited), the cruel son-in-law of
a studio head for insulting, taunting and bad-mouthing his
sad, alcoholic, washed-up "thespian" friend, Charlie
Waterman (Robert Warrick), who was from the classic "old
school"
of Shakespearean acting.
Everyone wanted to believe that Dix was not guilty
of Mildred's murder, but he continually alienated his admirers,
actually hinted that he had committed the crime during a dinner
re-enactment scene, was violent tempered, and difficult to
know.
Doubts about him grew as the film progressed.
Captain Lochner sensed: "Killing has a fascination for
him."
Long-suffering agent Mel admitted: "Always
violent. Well, it's as much a part of him as the color of his
eyes, the shape of his head. He's Dix Steele, and if you want
him, you've got to take it all, the bad with the good!" |
Dix's Wasted Talent: |
Dix was a talented, intelligent,
down-on-his-luck mercurial screenwriter, but artistically depleted
and without a bankable screenplay or hit in years (since the
war).
He cultivated and maintained a pretense of
eliteness and greatness, professed that he had an "artistic
temperament"
that set him apart, and claimed that his dry spell was, allegedly,
due to his integrity and his disdainful refusal to produce
the "popcorn" schlock that an exploitative Hollywood
required. Vulgar, low-class Mildred's retelling of the best-selling
trashy novel's story was representative of the world that he
had contempt for.
He was frustrated that his superior gifts were
too often treated as a commodity by the profit-motivated, materialistic,
philistine film-industry that had mostly shut him out and been
disdainful of his artistic talents. He felt entrapped that
he had to betray his talents for money by writing a script
for a cheap romance novel. |
He disdainfully insulted Hollywood
director Lloyd Barnes (Morris Ankrum) as an exploitative "popcorn
salesman,"
and disrespectfully assaulted another producer/director, the son-in-law
of a studio head, after the hotshot insulted his alcoholic friend
Charlie.
He was upset by the false, social hierarchies
of a hostile Hollywood that rewarded only the rich and famous.
He sometimes deliberately upset and provoked
his loyal agent Mel, who was eager to support and cover for
him (for 20 years). Mel knew him best: "Dix has a tremendous
ego. He can't take defeat...If Dix has success, he doesn't
need anything else."
He often refused to work on projects, didn't
answer the phone when it rang, slept late, and frequently engaged
in arguments and fights. |
Dix's and Laurel's Hidden Secrets
and Personal Histories: |
Laurel provided an alibi for Dix,
claiming that he had an amiable facade ("I like his face").
When he saw her face in a casting directory, he also exclaimed:
"Wonderful face." He later told her: "It's a good
thing you like my face. I'd have been in a lot of trouble without
you."
She believed he could save her, and that she
could fix or heal Dix's own brooding and deep issues (including
uncontrollable, volatile rage), although stated right at
first that she was a "get out before you get hurt" type
that didn't like to be rushed: "I think twice before
I get into something." He commended her: "I suppose
you save yourself a lot of trouble that way."
Both were unreliable and had hidden secrets and
calloused personal histories that they kept from each other
- they were their own worst enemies. Her search for a movie
career, marriage and love had already proved elusive. For both
of them, their love seemed their 'last chance' to find happiness.
She told him she was "not hiding, just avoiding"
things from her emotionally-scarred past. She could look down
into his apartment better than he could see into her upper-floor
apartment. He expressed his curiosity in her: "I'd try
to find out who you're hiding from."
Later, Laurel expressed her confusion and worry: "There
is something strange about Dix, isn't there? I keep worrying
about it. I stay awake nights trying to find out what it is." |
Dix had a suspected psychopathic
layer hidden beneath. He had a long history and record of violent
outbursts ("He plays rough"), and frequent arrests
or detainments for assault and domestic abuse (he broke his
ex-girlfriend Fran Randolph's (Alix or Alice Talton, uncredited)
nose, but she denied and dropped the charges).
Acting like a "madman," he was murderously
aggressive and about to smash in the face of young UCLA college
star John Mason (Don Hamin, uncredited) with a rock during
an incident of road rage, following a minor car accident
that he himself caused. He almost killed the young student
for a silly insult when he was called "a blind, knuckle-headed
squirrel." Dix claimed he'd been in over a hundred similar
fights - "I'm usually in the right. I was this time."
Laurel’s 'secret life' in the past that
she was hiding and avoiding involved being with a wealthy real
estate tycoon named "Baker" who bought her a pool
for her rented house. (She was thinking of marrying him, but
sensed: "It wouldn't have worked.") She had also
been in a couple of low-budget pictures.
She was possibly in a 'coded' lesbian relationship
with her sadistic, 50-ish, butch masseuse Martha (Ruth Gillette,
uncredited) (who repeatedly called Laurel "angel").
Martha showed distaste for men and wanted to break up Laurel
and Dix, by recalling Dix's past history of beating up a former
client, Fran Randolph. When Martha was thrown out during a
massage session with Laurel, the masseuse predicted: "You'll
beg me to come back when you're in trouble. And you will, angel,
because you don't have anybody else." |
Their Self-Destructive Relationship: |
Dix came
out of his cynical malaise and withdrawal after meeting neighbor
Laurel, who had provided him with a life-saving alibi. When
asked about a possible relationship with Dix, she replied: "I'm
interested."
He craved female companionship
and an escape from his "lonely place." He told
Laurel:
"I've been looking for someone for a long time. I didn't
know her name or where she lived. I'd never seen her before...
I found what I was looking for. Now I know your name, where
you live, and how you look."
With peace of mind, he was now able to get back
to writing with renewed self-respect, since he had been inspired
to return to his creative work with which he was fully identified
- and he was able to feel redeemed and truly alive (with Laurel
as his script typist). Sylvia suggested to the loving couple: "Dix
needs you, Laurel. You ought to marry him."
But the more she (and others) distrusted him,
his erratic behavior, isolation and simmering anger grew and
endangered their star-crossed, fatalistic pairing. |
Once the couple had fallen in
love, the two teased each other. They traded caustic barbs
with each other, joking and revealing the issues that divided
them:
Laurel: "You're a horrible, conceited
good-for-nothing, and I don't love you."
Dix: "If you don't let me alone, I'm gonna kick you right
outta here...You go when I tell you to go, and not before.
Remember that."
Her distrust grew about his sanity, however,
especially after the vicious beating of the young UCLA driver
John Mason.
Laurel told Sylvia what she couldn't bear to
say to Dix: "'I love you but I'm afraid of you. I want
to marry you but first convince me that Lochner's wrong, that
you didn't kill Mildred Atkinson.'"
|
Their Uncertain Futures: |
Dix's new script was a "raving" success,
and he had found professional recognition. He was on the verge
of coming out of his depression and cynicism after meeting
Laurel. He was also exonerated and cleared of the crime when
Mildred's boyfriend Henry Kesler confessed.
The final ambiguous view of Dix exiting his
apartment complex illustrated his desolation and uncertain
future. Mel's prophetic words were proven wrong: "If
Dix has success, he doesn't need anything else." |
Dix's personal life was in shambles
after revealing his dark side (from his past) to Laurel. He
found her about to leave him on the day of their engagement
party, and he interpreted it as distrust and betrayal. But
she was entirely justified - she was fearful that he was a
"maniac" unable to control his volatile impulses.
He flew into a blind and murderous, abusive
rage and started strangling her, destroying any hope of their
relationship. Without Laurel's inspiration to be with him
- he now had no motivation to write any further and he was
facing a bleak future.
And Laurel herself, after briefly sharing in
the glitzy and privileged world of Hollywood film-making with
scripter Dix, was now left love-less and facing uncertainty
herself. |
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