Let’s cinematically step back in time with ‘The Third Man’

 

Editor’s note: Peter Lewis has agreed to use whatever it is you call his writing style to provide some measure of analysis to those folks who still go to a theater to see a movie. Enjoy.

review by Peter Lewis

I have received many gifts in my life, but one of the more treasured happens to be a Criterion Collection copy of Carol Reed’s film noir, “The Third Man.” While I do enjoy the film, it’s cherished more for extraneous or even sentimental reasons. It somehow embodies or features roughly a half-dozen things of which I’m generally fond, namely: noir cinema, Graham Greene, pre-1950s Europe.

Before watching “The Third Man” recently, I confidently assured a friend that they’d undoubtedly recognize the score. “Even if you weren’t sure of its origin prior, you’ll recognize it. It’s pretty famous.”

Naturally, my confidence proved false as my friend swore that the music was not remotely familiar. Whether one has familiarity prior to viewing the film, Anton Karas zither sticks. And despite world class cinematography, direction, and acting, it is often the most immediately tangible recollection viewers associate with the film. The remark isn’t meant to be laudatory, but neither is it meant as a lamentation. It is merely an observation.

The genesis of the story begins with Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) arriving in post-war Vienna at the behest of his friend, Harry Lime (Orson Welles). Holly is a down on his luck dime novelist and Harry, looking to help, had offered Holly a job with him in Vienna. However, upon his arrival, Holly finds that his friend had died not long before his arrival.

Like much of central Europe at that point, Vienna was divided up between the world “powers,” France, Britain, America, and the USSR. Divvying city sectors, coupled with the continental-wide devastation caused by six years of war, created a thriving marketplace for unscrupulous and entrepreneurial souls. Thinking that the police have the wrong idea about his friend and are doing little to find the truth, Holly begins a personal investigation into Harry’s death.

What stands out the most in the film is the cinematography. In an age of limitless on screen possibility, it’s often difficult to truly understand and appreciate the technical acumen of cinematic pioneers like director, Carol Reed and cinematographer, Robert Krasker (in short, their work was nothing less than remarkable, rightly winning Krasker an Oscar). Using askew angles and heavily shadowed shots, Krasker’s cinematography is distorted magnificence, evenly folding itself into the overall framework.

The story for “The Third Man” comes from Graham Greene, an acclaimed 20th century British author. Like much of his work, “The Third Man” is an exploration of morally ambiguous terrain. Dropped into a situation not of his making, nor some may argue of his concern, Holly struggles to makes sense of the actions and deeds of those around him while simultaneously grappling with the changed character of his erstwhile best friend.

Throughout the film there is a back and forth between the tense excitements and moments of introspection or dialogue.  Shots are never wasted. Tension is adeptly ratcheted as the story of Harry Lime slowly becomes known to Holly.

The entire production is redolent with cynicism, adeptly evoking the existentialism of a post war world and the crushing weight of its attached ennui. Within this framework, Holly’s character functions as a redemption story in many ways. In the face of an otherwise unfulfilled existence, he begins a plight for tangible attainment.

Reed holds steadfastly to the truth of existence throughout the film. Every action has a consequence and all too often those consequences are brushed aside or glossed over for the sake of the audience. In stark contrast, “The Third Man” closes on a note of crushing irony. As the credits roll, there are no warm feelings of happiness, just unsettling honesty. Ambiguity may be tough to stomach, but it is the bittersweet and beautiful reality of life.

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