Production for use

Add rebound caught in the crossfire to the list of screwball tropes. Think some pathetic hick. Or someone who otherwise contrasts one of the partners who’ve just split up so drastically that we harbor a desire for a reconciliation with the person whom they’re better matched with—even if the relationship itself seems problematic, because hey it’s not real life, it’s the movies. 

     Think about Heat (1995, Michael Mann). The last time I saw Heat in the theater, more than anything else, for the first time I laughed harder than I ever had before during the fight between Vincent Hanna and his wife. With all the yelling and cussing between them, the way there’s this totally random perfectly cast Xander Berkeley character as the other guy, who has no idea what he’s walked into. It’s even funnier because Berkeley plays it as this boring, poor sap who we feel sorry for due to the excessive amount of abuse he’s obliterated with. Screwball is pretty dark sometimes. 
     Ralph Bellamy has been typecast in this exact role twice. In both The Awful Truth (1937, Leo McCarey) and His Girl Friday (1940, Howard Hawks). And what is Xander Berkeley’s character’s name in Heat? Ralph. Have I stumbled onto something here?
 

His Girl Friday is a cyclical codependent narcissistic abuse screwball copkiller comedy that ultimately proves yet another emerging screwball trope: that those best suited for successfully maintaining a romantic relationship with their partner also happen to be the most unscrupulous. 
     Even among Hawks’s screwball trifecta—the other two are Twentieth Century (1934, Hawks) and Bringing Up Baby (1938, Hawks)—His Girl Friday is the one that’s the most relentlessly fast-paced. Both in terms of the delivery of its dialogue and the narrative’s plot. HILDY (Rosalind Russell) and WALTER BURNS (Cary Grant) have just divorced. And in the blink of an eye it seems she’s already become engaged to a rebound. And their train leaves in 2 hours for Albany where they’re getting married the next day. So the conniving Walter has to break them up, remarry Hildy, get a reprieve for a man sentenced to the electric chair for murdering a cop whom Walter believes is not guilty by way of insanity but really has an ulterior motive based on a corrupt sheriff and mayor getting re-elected by the end of the movie. Now that’s how you craft a ticking clock plot device.
     This is my favorite Cary Grant role. The suave effervescent gaslighting defines Walter Burns. The slicked hair, double-breasted gray suit, and cigarette smoking to be forever iconic. Walter lies, steals, traffics in counterfeit money, prostitutes, hired guns, and by all appearances himself a louse conman. But we like him? He prefigures the Scorsese anti-hero. Everything in His Girl Friday is so maddeningly thrown into a frenzy that we accept all of this nasty stuff part and parcel with the comedy. Even more than EARL WILLIAMS, think about that girl MOLLY who is so exasperated by this whole rotten system, this whole rotten world, that she jumps out the window. And we’re right back to laughing the next minute. How does this movie get away with it? Is Hawks a Walter Burns? Does Walter want Hildy back more as reporter or wife? Does this question even matter?
     I don’t know where else to fit this in but another screwball trope: Williams’ backstory leads us to understand that he lost his mind because he lost his job of 20 years. Tough times. But His Girl Friday is also this shimmering example of a comedy still able to laugh at all manner of tragic human vice right before the war. When Hildy gets her scoop Walter barks “Throw the front page out. Never mind the European war we got something more important that that. Take Hitler and stick him on the funny page.” It’s a little prophetic. Because soon, the war would be too horrific to laugh about. To Be or Not to Be (1942, Ernst Lubitsch) pokes fun, but by Inglourious Basterds (2009, Quentin Tarantino) Hitler is indeed on the funny page.
     Another tenet of screwball is that through all the insanity, to highlight the insanity of real life and adequately convey it, at the end of the film, the couple are right back where they started. Hildy outs Walter as thinking she’d be stupid enough to buy him pushing her out as a reverse psychology ploy, while simultaneously falling into it. She accepts his second marriage proposal on the contingency that this time they get a honeymoon and the next second he reneges. And she concedes to it nevertheless. Right back where they started. Doomed to repeat for eternity their same roles. 
     Beneath all this toxicity I find His Girl Friday the kind of cynical mockery of romantic relationships to be the most romantic of all. The crook scamming his mark to defeat her as just another of his criminal enterprises to keep him afloat in a sea of other sharks just as blood-thirsty as he.

What man has done man can do

Adding to the list I’m compiling of characteristic screwball elements how could I forget lavish digs? Especially when it’s someone who’s new to the life led by people with tons of money. Rags to riches is one of the oldest premises though. I was surprised when I first realized Down and Out in Beverly Hills (1986, Paul Mazursky) is a remake of a 30s Renoir film.
     Oh and snap judgements. Meeting a complete stranger for the first time and then instantly deciding to get engaged or married. Mark it part of the list. And mental illness as a comedic device.

Holiday (1938, George Cukor) is a prestige picture adapted from the stage heavy philosophical romance film situated among the American capitalist ruling class interrogating its ethics in the domestic sphere. The tone is serious. Vacillates between tender pathos and maudlin pining. It's set in this gorgeous amazing enormous palatial mansion. But like The Philadelphia Story (1940, Cukor) also adapted from the stage, you might like me sometimes be bummed like oh great we’re stuck in this set for the whole thing.
     JOHNNY CASE (Cary Grant) meets a rich socialite on the streets of New York and impulsively they get engaged that very moment. What happened to when people used to be this decisive? When he shows up in her mansion and Katherine Hepburn is playing LINDA the sister, we know its she who will end up with Grant’s character because they’re both big stars, Grant can’t marry the nobody. It’s not a spoiler. Just look at the poster. 
     Neither of the parents approve of the engagement. (Well Johnny doesn’t have parents but he has these cool eccentric friends NICK and SUSAN and Nick is played by Edward Everett Horton). But it’s JULIA’S business tycoon (do people still use that word?) father who has a major problem with Johnny’s “strange new spirited type of work today. A spirit of revolt.” Is the rich dad’s objection coded as being opposed to Marxism? But so okay Holiday deals with some real hefty stakes: love bundled with noble virtue ideology pending the approval of the rich family. Unless that is, if you disapprove of Johnny’s life goals.
     Johnny’s self made. Been working since he was 10. Wants to earn a small fortune so that by 30 he can stop working and go after his goal of finding out what life’s really about. There’s no way Julia or her rich father are going to be okay with this. And we know he’s going to end up with Linda anyway. But what about Linda? She’s supposedly deranged. The family doesn’t let her out of the playroom because it’s too risky she’s likely to cause a scene in front of guests. The film leaves it to our imagination though. We never know what she suffers from or anything about her history. Those events are only ever vaguely referred to. Her mental illness isn't played for laughs in this movie. There are a few close-ups of Hepburn in the playroom near the end of Act II where her tears sparkle like the diamonds in her necklace and her distantly removed forlorn yearning tell us what she wants, who she wants.
     This thing is so well acted. And I’m invested and moved and all for the crazy rich black sheep daughter and the freethinker who doesn’t want to work going off sailing into the happily ever after. But sometimes the whole message about how money being the god of the rest of the family is too heavy handed. That’s my only quibble. Doesn’t stop me from cherishing it as a totally satisfying escapist love story depicting a dream after my own heart.

I'm in love with love

The Awful Truth (1937, Leo McCary) is a divorce screwball comedy that flourishes as a romantic ideal wherein adultery and dishonesty can make for a great marriage. It’s got a message too: in marriage, if you’ve lost faith, you’ve lost everything. Yet in this film, this married couple prove the exception to that rule.

     Theodora Goes Wild (1936, Richard Boleslawski) established Irene Dunne’s screwball vitality. Enter Cary Grant. (Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn are the funniest actors and have that affected manner of speaking that feels so far removed from real life but precisely why I love them.) Throwing Irene Dunne and Cary Grant together in the whole Manhattan formal tuxedos, gowns, and posh penthouses milieu delivers more production value than any billion dollar IP cashgrab ever will. They have a tangible onscreen chemistry.

     The narrative opens with a custody case for their dog. How screwball is that? Wait is it absurd or do people really do that? Nevermind. Who cares? Thusfar I’ve been touting the fundamental elements in screwball are deception, mistaken identities, misleading appearances, false assumptions; so, a divorce between a couple who’ve chronically lied and cheated on each other makes for a marriage made in screwball heaven. When our story begins, there’s 59 days left until the divorce is final, the ol’ ticking clock plot device. That’s 59 days for them to realize how perfect they are for each other, as we do. They’re too charming and cool for anyone else.

     Rebound is the bunk. Ralph Bellamy plays this hick whom LUCY WARRINER (Dunne) has no business with whom JERRY WARRINER (Grant) derisively refers to as Buffalo Bill, ongoing gags poking fun at the Midwest. Buffalo Bill’s mother in law hears the tea about Lucy being promiscuous and subsequently disapproves of their engagement. So after this plot twist we have to wonder how can Lucy and Jerry wind up back together if they’ve already failed at their marriage? 

     The answer is when Grant has that amazing pratfall out of his chair in the concert hall and we laugh, as does Lucy. The other thing I’ve been touting about screwball is making each other laugh is true love. Now we’re past the point of no return. (Oh yeah I forgot to mention that scene with Grant whipping that dude’s ass with jiu jitsu. Yes really.) So we get the key sentiment of the movie when Lucy says “I’m still in love with that crazy lunatic and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

     Preceding the Act II break the sequence with Dunne hiding the hat and the dog after it is iconic. In real life I don’t even like dogs. I love certain dogs. MR. SMITH is one of them. When that dog finds the hat it exceeds beyond my capacity to imagine what a scene can do with a cute animal.

There’s the 2 men in her bedroom farce that takes us into Act III. And here, when Irene Dunne has to masquerade as Grant’s sister, combining the whole Dixeibelle thing with her quasi Grant impersonation wins her the benefit of the doubt and prevents us from ever again doubting her well-earned comedic status again. And the plot twist affording her the opportunity to deliver such a hysterical turn is adept because she’s getting back at Jerry for his Buffalo Bill hijinks by sabotaging his rebound. So where are we headed? Will this be a spite marriage once they inevitably reconcile? Probs. Also very screwball here drunk driving, taunting and scamming the police. Anyways. The last scene in that cabin is hot. We know when Dunne in bed gives that inviting come hither look sex is what’s to save the marriage. 

     The black cat on the bed is harbinger. The faulty lock Lucy says is “not so practical but I guess it’ll serve its purpose” is metaphor for infidelity. The film’s saying bad luck and society’s definition of immorality can’t keep us apart. 

     Big problem with the ending is do people change? If they lied and cheated on each other in their marriage, what led to that? Furthermore what did they do to address it? What’s to say it won’t happen again? Or do they care? I know I know. They’re selling us the dream. True love overcomes. But why can’t I shake the feeling this time it won’t last? This narrative seems cynical like because this couple failed at marriage that makes them an ideal match for marriage? In screwball anything goes. Don’t overthink it like me.

     

No quaking rabbit was ever happy

Theodora Goes Wild (1936, Richard Boleslawski) is a woman’s picture screwball comedy where a chaste Sunday school teacher needs to let herself live, love, learn, and laugh—embrace power, fame, dress extravagantly, and pry the man she desires free of that pesky marriage he’s in so she can have him to herself. 

     Comedienne Irene Dunne is perfect in this. Most of the movie she’s this mousy THEODORA LYNN. She resides in a small Connecticut town that might be named after her family? In a way the film feels like it’s placed her in hiding here. And the way Melvyn Douglas’ MICHAEL GRANT arrives (after stealing her cookies) there is like the trope of the blackmailer showing up threatening to blow her cover. Could be something straight out of a film noir, except here this shady character represents her latent sexual urges. The way he takes up residence in that guesthouse in her backyard and his whistling agitates her is a mating call she blocks out with her aggressive piano mashing. 
     Going fishing is the midpoint. Point of no return. We know they’re in love and nothing can prevent them from being together by the end of the movie. But it can’t be that easy. And sexual frustration manifests itself as that whistling that refuses to go away; or the way the dog chases the cat around; or the way Jay wants that cheese in the mousetrap. The small town Theodora hides in is like an anthill full of femcels. That literary circle is a mob. A cheeky touch is the coded montage that cuts between the old maids and close-ups of each of their cats.
     The precursor to Theodora going wild is when she gives that speech and Dunne’s eyes boldly bulge in indignation. But it’s act III where she transforms into her free, relentlessly assertive, take charge CAROLINE ADAMS self that gives the film its modern uproarious edge. And that’s the most screwball thing about Theodora Goes Wild: we think she’s Eve being tempted by the servant early on, but it’s not that she abandons her virtue, it’s that she breaks free of the femcel cult and fulfills the film’s promise of awakening her to let herself truly live. “Be free. Express yourself. Take your life in your own hands and mold it. The world will try to rob you of your freedom but fight for it. That’s all you have to live for. That’s all for the modern girl.”
     And what’s so screwball is at first we think Theodora adopts this Caroline Adams exaggerated persona as a ploy to get Michael back, but it’s not: it’s really her. She ends as this persona. As heightened and ridiculously rollicking as it is, she doesn’t go back to her old self. And that’s the way screwball comedy works best. Deception and disguises. Characters performing roles that liberate their true selves.
     Again authority is oppressive. Why does Theodora have to hide ADELAIDE’S baby? Adelaide is married, and her husband is going to school but her mother doesn’t approve. Why does Michael hide his marriage? And keep up the sham? For a politician. Screwball is about overthrowing power structures that prevent us from being happy. And the eternal object of desire: two people who can make each other laugh falling in love. And for good measure a nightclub scene where they get slobberingly sauced.

Green in judgement cold in blood

Back during the Golden Age of Hollywood a double standard emerged: when a character pursues a love interest who’s hard to get, it depends on their sex. If a man goes after a woman who’s unattainable, it turns out to be a trap and his life is ruined. On the other hand, when a woman sets her sights on a man who isn’t the right fit, it’s up to her to be patient, so that in the end he changes for her and they live happily ever after.

She Married Her Boss (1935, Gregory La Cava) isn’t quite the sexual harassment comedy one might expect based on its title, but its frank depictions of a woman’s role are played to the height of their potential as scandalous confrontation in the guise of a distinctly provocative screwball woman’s picture. At its core is the tradwife vs. career trope. And its moral is bluntly overt: business crushes the life out of people. 
     Or like this film tells us: the true career of a woman is marriage. (Brilliant. At my most cynical I’ve always suspected love is nothing more than a deceptive way of hiding what’s actually nothing more than two people using each other.) So JULIA SCOTT (Claudette Colbert) has designs on her boss RICHARD BARCLAY (Melvyn Douglas) which she executes as a shrewd businesswoman. She has waited 6 years for her shot. One night she calculatedly gets herself invited to Barclay’s house for business. Then she steps in as department of household efficiency and fires most of his domestic staff and earns herself a position in his cabinet. Next they’re married. But offscreen of course. We don’t need to see a wedding because this is business, it’s just another line item. 
     The conflict presents itself when Julia reveals her ulterior bait and switch strategy. Her department of household efficiency ploy was a trojan horse to get her in. She reveals her next phase as stay at home wife, wearing excessively ornate frilly feminine gowns, refusing to go back to work (Barclay’s promoted her to vice president of his company at this point), until she finally surprises him at the office demanding to be taken out to lunch. 
     Barclay balks. But conveniently for Julia this whole time there’s been this guy ROGERS whom she was sent earlier to handle the merger of a failing business of his in Philadelphia, that’s been aggressively courting her at her office and home. And here like any great screwball comedy She Married Her Boss explores that moment with their main character finding themselves in desperate need of sex. Going into the second act break, the scene in the shop window is so creative.  There’s a living room set, and the dummies mirror Julia’s empty existence that her life of luxury has allotted her. So she enlists Rogers to get completely wasted—the aftermath cut to with all of the mannequins holding drinks and falling over is so sad and poignant and fun. At the dummies party, there’s a beat where Julia and Rogers are singing songs and after there’s that female mannequin presenting her posterior frozen in lordosis and Julia corrects it, “Abigail, really.” That coded scene tells us Julia’s needs.
     So what does Barclay do after giving up on his marriage? No one could have guessed this one. He gets extremely drunk, kidnaps Julia, goes on a wild drunk driving rampage and coerces her into throwing bricks vandalizing the storefront of his luxury department store then whisks her off to Cuba. Marriage salvaged. Julia’s happy. They’ll undoubtedly live happily ever after. 
 
I hope not to neglect doing my best to emphasize how well She Married Her Boss works as a screwball woman’s picture. The dialogue is ferociously malicious hysterical. This takes the whole insult angle of the screwball even further than thus far scene elsewhere. My favorite. 
     Julia’s catty best friend MARTHA provides useful counterpoint arguments as advice, and my favorite quip is when she pops off to the little girl and has that line about cannibalism: the only way you’d be nice is roasted, or something like that. 
     But the little girl ANNABEL BARCLAY is played by this child star Edith Fellows and is such a spoiled evil brat it’s uproarious. Her intro she’s a chronic fibber and accuses the cook of serving cat. She also insults every other adult who comes in their home, calling them stupid and holding her own to the end. Of course at the very beginning when Julia’s cleaning house there’s this memorable scene when she gives the little girl a spanking; the camera pushes in on Annabel; what we hear offscreen is terrifying. But at least this narrative doesn’t skimp on conflict. And it’s always a comedy.
     But what’s up with the femcel sister? I love how when her brother Richard gets drunk and she sees him she faints we never see her again. She hates Julia. And that beef is never resolved—that to me is like a bonus joke. It’s not that this movie is saying women shouldn’t work and belong in the home, it’s saying no one should. It’s a fun rebellion.

A lingerie model named Mildred Plotka

At this point, and based on It Happened One Night (1934, Frank Capra), the screwball comedy foremost has that cut down your rival verbal jousting humor thing going for it. Maybe it’s because I’m Gen X, or maybe it’s because that was prevalent in my hometown growing up, but I find it endearing and relatable. It’s meant to be harmless. But how fun is that?

 

Twentieth Century (1934, Howard Hawks) is a toxic screwball comedy about emotional abuse played for laughs. And boy does it work. Going back through my favorite Golden Age Hollywood comedies, Twentieth Century stands out as an example of the entire work as a whole anywhere you land on the board the joke is mesmerizing.
     The structure of Twentieth Century is adept in that Hawks is able to craft controlled chaos that manages to be both pure anarchy and build to its climax. And Hawks is the first to capture the true spirit of madcap. He’s advancing comedy into the next age, hence the name of the express train and why the narrative boards it and no one is allowed off (including us). Anarchy as comedic device is also recognizable in the way the film’s bookended with the identical scene: nothing changes, we’re right back where we started.
     Another staple of screwball is the man and woman ideally matched as conduit of emotional telepathy for us to yearn for their romantic fulfillment. But think about how clever the variations are. In Twentieth Century, JAFFE turns LILY into a carbon copy of himself—once again the ideal match. I am still appreciating how creatively inspired this touch is. So now both leads are rotten to the core control freak divas with gigantic egos deranged by their fame obsessed destructive bents. This mutual desire is so dark when you think about it. And to be able to laugh at that is truly a riot. This is an atypical plot element for screwball: sex doesn’t drive the duo, abuse does.
     Jaffe is chronically manipulative, possessive, paranoid and prone to suicide threats. Lily is hostile, condescending, defiantly self-important, and prone to physical assault. (When that detective McGonigle returns with clothes torn, sleeves ripped, and welt from his forehead dripping blood after Lily found out about the wiretap, it’s played for laughs.) Domestic violence and suicide threats are constantly played for laughs. Yet it’s sweet and innocent. I’m not being sarcastic when I say I think it’s adorable when Lily says stuff like “If you ever bother me again I’ll get a gun and shoot you.”
     And in the end there’s no way we could particularly like Jaffe or Lily, but it’s impossible not to love the performances by John Barrymore and Carole Lombard. What’s sexier than a beautiful woman who’s also funny? She has that line like: we’re only alive between the curtains. They’re playing characters who can never experience real life because they’re only capable of performance. That makes me buy it even more.

brat

It Happened One Night (1934, Frank Capra) is a broad screwball comedy, completely lacking in subtlety, full of moralizing speeches, and a message, about a couple of narcissists who are supposedly redeemed in the end through their love for each other (but really marriage). Either that or it’s the ultimate delayed gratification sex comedy dressed up like a road movie.

     There’s also this kinky infantilization aspect to it. Ever notice the first time PETER WARREN admits to ELLIE ANDREWS that he has feelings for her is right after he’s told her the island story and deflected her, when she’s sobbing tears and he finds her asleep sucking her thumb? Or how his pet name for her is brat?

Screen chemistry, acting compatibility, call it what you will, but Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert are what keep me coming back to this movie time and time again. I don’t know how screwball comedies work or why, but I do know for certain that the man and woman non-stop trading insults is both hilarious and somehow signals I want them to be together. It’s nonsense. Illogical. It’s called screwball for a reason. 
     And they’re young. The way Peter’s editor mirrors Ellen’s dad in the sense of both being inciting incident catalyst that causes each to run away is kinda punk. The longer they cut each other down, the more they prove equally matched, the more something inside us desires for them to be together.
     By the time they get to the hitchhiking scene, something about that set piece always makes me feel like I no longer care where they’re going or what happens next. I’m right where I wanna be. Day exterior however many hours it takes for them to catch a ride, I am delighted to enjoy the moment—and that’s the secret of life. In that one scene that’s what It Happened One Night does that makes it so worthwhile. And when they hop in the car it’s that same moment the driver knows they belong together, mistaking them for being married; and we know they outta be. Now we’re past the point of no return. Nothing can keep them apart. Even when the driver turns out to be a road thief. Say, that’s where Showgirls (1995, Paul Verhoeven) must’ve got it. Perils of hitchhiking. 
     The comment made by the road thief also sets up way later the last scene in the movie’s twist. For he claims they must be married because of their incessant quarreling, however the wife at the auto court says “If you ask me I don’t believe they’re married,” and when we ask what could have caused this drastic turn in their mood, it could be true love, or it could be the walls of Jericho tumbling and them finally after waiting for it throughout the entire movie are about to get what they’ve really been waiting for.

Like the Sharks Mad with Their Own Blood Chewing Away at Themselves

The fifth film in the Orson Welles retrospective was projected from a DCP. The negative was immaculate. Only five in and it's already the end of Welles's Hollywood phase.

In The Lady from Shanghai (1947, Orson Welles) Welles tones down his expressionist camera somewhat; because there are less abstract angles or compositions; but, the locations are truly influenced by German Expressionism through their nightmare quality. And the locations used in The Lady from Shanghai also indulge Welles's passion for exotic locale, especially the picnic detour up the coast of Mexico. The Mexicans in that sequence appear so authentic, they must be locals. And the latter half of the film boasts some historical treasures by getting to see the streets of San Francisco as they looked in the late Forties.

The Lady from Shanghai is nightmare noir; although the only other noir I can think of that fits this description is Detour (1945, Edgar G. Ulmer). Some professors of screenwriting argue that movies must have an active protagonist. Or in other words, they maintain that a protagonist cannot passively progress through a narrative where other characters are responsible for actions against him or her; they say a character has to make choices. Do you act in your dreams? I don't. In my dreams stuff just happens. There are no rules in filmmaking, and The Lady from Shanghai is one of my favorite examples of the successful use of a passive protagonist: Michael O'Hara (Orson Welles).

A key ingredient in this noir is the overwhelming sense of paranoia that surrounds O'Hara. It constantly feels like everyone is lying, manipulating him, and out to get him like a bunch of sharks. And they are. The other key to The Lady from Shanghai is the titular femme fatale, Elsa Bannister, played by the sultry, created for the gaze of celluloid Rita Hayworth.

Elsa introduces herself as a princess after O'Hara rescues her, and tells him that she'd like to hire him as a sailor. But then she reveals that she's married. And her husband is the top criminal lawyer in California. And he's rich. And he's much older than her. And he's crippled, walking with two canes. Incidentally, her husband Arthur Bannister is played by Everett Sloane. Sloane was a part of Welles's Mercury Theatre, appeared in Citizen Kane, and Journey Into Fear, and rarely do I say this about actors, but damn I love Everett Sloane. Recently I was on a Twilight Zone bender and that led me to discover an amazing early teleplay that Rod Serling wrote for Kraft Television Theatre called Patterns from 1955 starring Sloane. Patterns is about a heartbreaking changing of the guard in a big business potboiler of a live program. Okay, I'm getting off topic, but when else will I have the chance to talk about Everett Sloane?

So, Arthur Bannister, his socialite buddy Grisby, and Mrs. Bannister exploit the hapless O'Hara. But what lures him into this madness? The femme fatale, Elsa. This might be as old of a movie I've seen where the sex appeal is still intact. Rita Hayworth is framed and photographed to look timeless. She's in her prime and radiates glamor and a disarming feminine allure. She's dynamite in her close-ups, her repose in wet clingy black bathing suit, and coos with feigned vulnerability that eats up the screen. The Lady from Shanghai is a nightmare also because Elsa deceives O'Hara into falsely believing she is attracted to him, yet she's duplicitous, and she's dangerous; but, even though he suspects all of this, he keeps following her further and further. This parable's got teeth.

Welles the thespian has another scene-grabbing monologue, and when he tells the surreal tale of the sharks of the coast of Brazil uncontrollably devouring each other, turning the sea red with their blood, he once again distills the essence of an entire film into a vivid cipher--a nightmare within a nightmare.

Welles's lasting impression as visual stylist is found during the funhouse climax, where the protagonist O'Hara stumbles down a winding dragon of a slide, and gets caught in a shootout in a maze of mirrors.

--Dregs