British Noir [Installment No.1]

On the Night of the Fire (1939)

[Draft No.2 ⅝ ]

Since watching the original “Brighton Rock”ⁱ, I have become interested in what has been termed British noir. It therefore caught my eye that this film, “On the Night of the Fire,” had been proclaimed the first British noir. I have always wondered whether British cinema of the '30s-'50s could ever dislodge my full-on obsession with American cinema of that same era, particularly within the boundaries of the noir genre. I can't say I am any closer to answering that question – although, to be honest, that sort-of-question only counts as a typical sort-of-game I play inside my own head – but with films like “On the Night of the Fire,” so-called British noir is looking pretty good. I think this film fails as a tragedy, but succeeds as a noir. I should very much like to see this film again. I will make three points, and call it a day.

First, the really wonderful cinematography: please do not let this escape your notice. As it happens, the exquisite cinematography is done by Günther Krampf – the man responsible for the cinematography in “Pandora's Box”, a good portion of “Nosferatu”, and so on. When Kit comes-to (from having fainted following the realization that her husband Will Kobling, the town barber, has committed murder), the shot that Krampf frames is almost avant-garde and completely breathtaking. Perfectly paranoid close-ups and clever use of montage: there is much to admire in the cinematography alone, and with such a range of types of shots on display, it's no small feat that every shot feels masterfully but not arrogantly handled.

Second, the film isn't gripping throughout. There are moments that feel strange and misplaced – at times, the mundane/domestic is given a jarring feel, as though this softer side of life is what should actually be questioned. The scene in which Will Kobling is given his mince supper – or whatever that was, you Brits tell me – illustrates the point. Perhaps we're not supposed to see the quieter moments in a murderer's life. Next we'll probably be seeing his wife darn his socks with ambivalence in her heart, with him going back and forth both guiltily and listlessly, unable to decide whether to put them on because, see, this marriage is crumbling under the weight of something too unexpectedly dark for direct communication. Allow me to explain: when Will Kobling is given his mince supper, it's a dull moment because he's being given his supper, but also an important moment because it is one of several following scenes that depict their bittersweet alienation from one another. The pressure builds, and it is heartbreaking. All the same, you half expect to see a murderer sharpening knives in his spare time – perhaps smashing delicate porcelain objects, sweating, or, as Pinky does with great aplomb in "Brighton Rock," playing Cat's Cradle. There are, of course, sparks of anger in Kobling's eyes (particularly when you should expect it, as he confronts Pilleger and accuses him, correctly, of attempting to “bleed” him). But he is a loving husband and doting father – you see him, as his marriage and inner life are undoing themselves, just as often picking up and putting down cutlery more like a little child sensing it is in trouble than someone who has just killed a man with his bare hands*. There is nothing menacing about Will Kobling, the barber. Crucially, neither is he a dolt to be written off – he has an acerbic sense of humor about the fix he's gotten himself into, as in the scene with Kobling's last customer, as it were: “I'm going to make you pretty.”

Let me pull things back in from the digression: it is this bizarre intimacy on the director's part that makes this film so unusually good, the intimacy of portraying these characters and their situation just this way. What I like about the treatment of the dramatic pulse is that it varies erratically, as it should when exploring the psyche of someone who isn't a real criminal, but a person of mangled expression who hasn't played his cards right. While one may be tempted to call these moments of indecision in the film a failure, they are in fact well-crafted. It is amazing how this film progresses from a missing coat button to murder, untimely death, and suicide, without losing anyone on board; a plot like this would normally strain audience credulity. When Kobling strangles Pilleger to death, I must say I have seen only one gramophone murder scene that's betterⁱⁱ – e.g., when Moe (played by the incomparable Thelma Ritter) has her head blown off by a commie in “Pickup on South Street”. Unlike Moe, whose gramophone is another warm aspect of her being and a symbol of the simple indisputable (not to be taken for good, sensible) things to which her life is dedicated, Pilleger's gramophone represents his exacting nature: the tremendous pleasure he takes in the petty strands of peoples' lives he is able to manipulate, and the irritating perfectionism it comes with, make him a great candidate for being killed off.

Third, what impresses me about this film most of all – even more than the fact that the marriage feels real throughout the occasionally conventional mechanics of melodrama – is its smart, subtle exposure of the conflict between the outer and inner lives. This point extends from the second. Revealing conversations take place between Will and Kit that could easily demonstrate my point. But – more impressively – there are two scenes not centered around dialogue that achieve this. They both involve the use of Kobling's curtains: the border, the guise, the line between commodity and sanctity … bustle and gossip on one side, hope and hypocrisy on the other ... indicating the psychological space, where for more settled lives only a slight friction exists, but for Kobling results in an explosion of fear and resentment. In the first scene, as I recall, Kobling has just walked back home from the murder. He is disoriented. He has been walking through the rain without bothering to try to shield himself, drenched in guilt and fatigued bewilderment. In a black-and-white film, the droplets of rain on his skin look briefly like beads of sweat – that split second of ambiguity is nice, even though it is not a meaningful, sustained illusion. As he looks up, his face covered in droplets, the rain is crawling down the window pane, which is ever so slightly perceptible through the drawn curtains. The second scene that brings out the paranoia – the paranoia is full intensity now – is when the community / mob of men decide to take matters into their own hands and turn Kobling in to the police by force [(in reference to the police) “Catch a murderer? They can't even catch a cold”]. The community has it all figured out on its own; it has its own conception of meeting the standard of proof. The mob of men takes the reward notice and presses it against Kobling's shop window. A member of the mob slowly paints his name across the warrant: K-O-B-L-I-N-G. The curtains remain drawn closed in both scenes; Kobling watches the rain crawl and the mob paint his name through the curtains. The outer world encroaches; his inner world has collapsed.

i Much to my horror and disdain, a remake is on its way to theatres near us all.

ii I should also mention, since I have brought up “Brighton Rock” in this piece, that there is an incredible gramophone scene in that one as well – it doesn't involve murder, otherwise it would be in competition with these other two scenes. Ralph Richardson gives a brilliant performance in "Brighton Rock" as well.
* I should make fun of my own sentence here - he is both! And it is the latter that has triggered the former.

Addendum:

Director: Brian Desmond Hurst
Cinematographer: Günther Krampf
Will Kobling: Ralph Richardson
Kit (Mrs.) Kobling: Diana Wynyard

*No one will be convinced of Richardson and Wynyard as lower-middle-class cockneys.

**The first film-still above is not from "On the Night of the Fire," but is so wonderfully manic I had to post it.

***What do they say about this film? => Brian McIlroy: "From the above summary, it may appear a simple 'crime does not pay' production, but Hurst spends considerable time on the main character - his desire to please his wife, his hopes to escape the back streets, his gradual deterioration, and his decision to let himself be killed by the police, once he learns his wife has died from injuries in a car crash (escaping newspapermen who are following her husband's story) - and the result impresses the viewer as an intense psychological analysis of the first order."