Synopsis
The inside story of London after dark.
Londoner Harry Fabian is a second-rate con man looking for an angle. After years of putting up with Harry's schemes, his girlfriend, Mary, becomes fed up when he taps her for yet another loan.
Londoner Harry Fabian is a second-rate con man looking for an angle. After years of putting up with Harry's schemes, his girlfriend, Mary, becomes fed up when he taps her for yet another loan.
Richard Widmark Francis L. Sullivan Gene Tierney Googie Withers Stanislaus Zbyszko Herbert Lom Hugh Marlowe Mike Mazurki Charles Farrell Ada Reeve Ken Richmond Alan Tilvern Derek Blomfield Clifford Buckton Ernest Butcher Peter Butterworth Naomi Chance Edward Chapman Clifford Cobbe Patricia Davidson Maureen Delaney Aubrey Dexter Stanley Escane Thomas Gallagher Rex Garner James Hayter George Hirste Hamilton Keene Kay Kendall Show All…
Die Ratte von Soho, I trafficanti della notte, Noche en la ciudad, Siniestra obsesión, Les Forbans de la nuit, 四海本色, לילה ועיר, Η Νύχτα και η Πόλη, Foragidos da Noite, Ночь и город, Noc a město, Sombras do Mal, 밤 그리고 도시, Gece ve Şehir, Noc i miasto, Natten och staden
“Night and the City” is not a work by a wronged director re-emerged as triumphant. It’s the work of a man so beat down by the world that even his art has lost all hope.
This is the fate of Jules Dassin’s “Night and the City,” his first film made during the period he was blacklisted after fellow noir director Robert Siodmak named him as a practicing Communist. “Night,” shot in London, since Dassin could not find work in America, follows Richard Widmark as an itinerant hustler who can’t seem to help himself but to fail again and again.
“Night” stacks every odd against Widmark’s character, Harry Fabian. Deemed “an artist without an art,” he is the Van Gogh of…
An artist without an art. One of the sweatiest, most desperate and panicked noirs I've seen; thoroughly depressing scumbag failure cinema.
To be someone must be a wonderful thing,
A famous footballer, a rock singer,
Or a big film star, yes I think I would like that.
To be rich and have lots of fans,
Have lots of girls to prove that I'm a man
And be number one - and liked by everyone.
The Jam: To Be Someone
Even when Richard Widmark stops running in Night And The City, you always feel as though he's standing on his tip-toes ready to launch himself towards the nearest exit and away from the latest person that he's diddled.
Widmark's performance, one of the very best in a stunning career that surely has never received the extremely high level of praise that it…
Dassin goes back to the underworld, a realm where danger lurks around every corner and anyone can betray you at any time. Nobody is to be trusted, not even oneself, for giving in to one's own impulses and inclinations might be deadly. Just ask Harry Fabian, an American hustler and con man who, in his arrogance and ambition, becomes a "dead man" when he steals from the wrong person.
The film noir aesthetic relies heavily on the playfulness and high contrast provided by lighting and shadows to create an air of mystery and almost psychological horror of all things, and in this regard, Max Greene does a terrific job delivering a low-key great work on this film. The acting is…
"You had brain, ambition, you worked harder than any other man, but the wrong things, always the wrong things."
For Jules Dassin, everything is work and money. Night and the City is all about growing up and making a living (regular, steady labor) vs. quick, easy, big money (all capital, no labor). The protagonist is right in between: he puts a lot of labor into his endeavors, but the endeavors he invests in are always the kind of ill-advised but exciting projects that promise a lot but deliver a little. He has an amazing energy, but he doesn't know how to direct it. His only flaw is not being able to live a boring life—perhaps the central tragedy of film noir.
"You've done a sharp thing. Sharp enough to cut your throat."
I’m assuming that Vince McMahon watched this as a kid and said this scumbag Harry Fabian guy is exactly who I want to be.
My main complaint with the film is two sweaty half naked men holding each other gets more screen time than 2nd billed Gene Tierney
Totally impeccable craft, the climactic wrestling match is right up there with the heist in Rififi, just heart-stopping (who knew an AFS crowd could get so invested in wrestling), but it still gains so much from Widmark's performance. He plays a hustler so edgy and desperate to make good he doesn't even seem to have the luxury of any internal thoughts, it all comes out one way or the other. Highest caliber noir.
Spoilers ahead for both Night and the City and, in the second section, House of Bamboo.
SPACES
Night and the City is a film of which every frame is a work of art. Each moment is meticulously composed, from the camera placement and its angle to the objects that clutter (or don't clutter) the screen. From the body shapes and positions of the people confined within the cell of the frame to the threats and memories that loom outside. It's intimidating in its mastery, and ferociously effective in its chilly perfection.
Each and every set is dressed and designed within an inch of its life.* Nosseross' (Francis L. Sullivan) office is jarring from almost every angle, with the odd mix…
Harry Fabian is always running. Running from one mess right into the next. Though it’s hard to understand how he can run so fast without a spine. Always moving, scheming, swindling. Desperately seeking a life of ease and plenty. What a sorry sight. Richard Widmark has a fascinatingly manic, sweaty, nervous energy. Like an addict. He’ll say or do whatever he has to in order to get his fix. Money money money. His engine runs on the fantasy of a prosperous future. Though it's running on empty. This is what happens when you worship the god of capital above all else. Grim flick, this one.
75/100
A.V. Club review. I go back and forth on Tierney's role here. She's given squat to do, and the inclusion of Hugh Marlowe as her character's replacement fella—it's not even clear why that dude is in the movie until he shows up to embrace her at the end—reeks of studio-dictated compromise. At the same time, though, her unfailing virtuousness feels almost radical in this context: anti-fatale.
One to file swiftly under my favourite noir sub genre of ‘man who can outrun all but stops short of out-running only himself’ anchored by a truly sweaty, slimy Richard Widmark; sliding through these grubby, caved-in cobbled streets of London’s fair city with all the skittish moxie of the grease monkey who’s stung his last swindle and knows it all too well, but trips up on his own pool of childish ambition meets smoke-up-the-ass smarm dressed in the ill-fitting suit of well-earned charisma regardless — like the kid who just can’t say no to kicking the bees bonnet knowing he’ll get stung every time without fail.
Such unrestrained, strike a match and you’ll find a fire chaos, that any whiz…
“born a hustler, you will die a hustler.”
the con man’s world is one where no one is to be trusted and where alliances are as changeable as the moon's phases. within this shadow-clad world, the very notion of trust disintegrates, atomized into a nebulous haze of suspicion and paranoia; it’s a realm where the handshake of friendship can quickly turn into the grip of a traitor, where a smile can be as dangerous as a dagger concealed in velvet. in the hands of the con artist, trust is a malleable commodity to be shaped and reshaped in order to suit their whims. the air is thick with unspoken suspicions and every living soul is a closed book wrapped in a…