The Sniper April 3, 2008
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1950s , trackback
You know you’re in for a bit of “social enlightenment” when a prologue comes up even before the studio logo. In the case of The Sniper, Edward Dmytryk’s 1952 return from the Hollywood blacklist, the viewer is promised a “man whose enemy was womankind.” In several ways, this is a novel approach. Here we have a movie about a man who was sent away to prison for violently going after a woman with a baseball bat, placed in the psych ward, and paroled despite still being under psychological care. The film’s point of view could easily have been that Edward Miller (played by Arthur Franz) was a product of either his own insanity or, alternatively, society’s. Even the idea that an unstable criminal might have a reason for his madness is unusual for movies of this era, when the bad guys are often portrayed as shadowy black hats without the need for analysis. We accept villains simply because they do unseemly things the same way we recognize cops because they carry a badge and retain a serious demeanor at all times.
The much more humanistic path taken by Dmytryk’s film, trying to understand what causes men like Miller to inflict pain on others, is a tricky one, especially when dealing with someone who’s shown killing pretty brunettes in cold blood. Though not elaborated on, the culprit of Miller’s irrational violence towards women is implied to be his mother. A handful of years before the screen’s most famous mother complex, in Psycho, a man is shown indiscriminately shooting women from afar because he’s apparently trying to repeatedly murder the one who gave birth to him. The audience witnesses a test run when Wilson aims his rifle from above, steadies a female neighbor in his sight, and pulls the trigger, resulting in an empty click. In the first of many hints of sympathy, the man copes with his psychosis by struggling for help. His prison shrink isn’t available so he intentionally burns his hand on the apartment stove.
By the time Miller actually does claim someone’s life, his reaction veers significantly from remorse. A friendly customer of the killer’s dry cleaning delivery job, played by the always welcome Marie Windsor, is coldly shot outside the club where she plays piano, her head breaking the glass that encloses an advertisement with her own picture on it. The images are bold, abrupt, and startling. The killer’s answer is to have a drink at a bar. He’s happier now than at any other point in the film, acting as though some pressurized force has finally been unleashed. The second killing is even more striking and follows soon after. A woman at the same bar writes her address on a coaster, but soon rebuffs him upon sensing his instability. She then goes home, fixes herself a drink and stands behind an uncovered window. She too is shot in the head, as an efficient bullet leaves behind shattered glass. As we’ve seen and read about serial killers in the decades since, Wilson is the type who begs to be caught, and even writes a letter to the police anonymously seeking capture.
At this point, about midway in, the film shifts from a character study about a mentally ill serial killer to a rather conventional, sometimes preachy police procedural. Most surprising is that the headlining actor playing the main detective is none other than political wingnut Adolphe Menjou, one of the loudest voices of the HUAC-supporting Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals. Showing his true stripes were dotted with green instead of faux red, white, and blue, Menjou here takes top billing in a movie directed by a man who was an admitted Communist for a brief period of time, and who had just recently been released from serving four and a half months of prison time for refusing to cooperate with the Congressional witch hunt. Values. Of course, Dmytryk by this time had groveled away his reputation (RIP Jules) and helped legitimize the whole sordid mess, so he was apparently “cured.” The involvement of message man Stanley Kramer as producer adds even more to the intrigue.
Reportedly shot, er, filmed in a remarkably quick amount of time (just 18 days according to this excellent article), The Sniper may have given Menjou a swift paycheck and top billing, but his character is underwritten and the true lead performance is from Franz as the troubled killer. Menjou’s most effective scene comes when a young punk is mistaken for the sniper and brought into the police station. The kid puts on a tough act, but Menjou gives him a good slap and he starts bawling. Is this the best way to handle those who have trouble coping with their problems? Give the whiners a swift kick in the pants so they’ll swallow their complaints? The crybaby is annoying, but the film still seems inconsistent. Miller can’t find anyone to save him from himself, yet he’s portrayed with incredible humanity given the circumstances. Menjou’s character slaps the potential junior sniper into place, but the entire movie bathes the actual killer in a warm glow of empathy.
Whether a result of intentionally ambiguous filmmaking or simply a sloppy narrative, The Sniper leaves quite a few blanks unfilled. Instead of seeming bothersome, it gives the film a tautness commonly found in such low-budget, quickly-shot films of the time. Proponents of the movie could easily argue that it urges the viewer to look deeper inside the killer’s mind and not be content to expect an explanatory flashback of the character’s various traumas. A criminal psychologist played by Richard Kiley preaches about the mentality of men like Miller, sketching out the makings of what we now know as profiling, and, though it can’t help but be slightly tedious, the scene is also fascinating because the methodology has proven true time and again. The Sniper was a decade or more ahead of its time, but it nevertheless resembles an early, truncated version of some of the finer serial killer films of the past two decades. The main difference, and the reason the film is still interesting, comes from the decision to spend well over half the runtime with the killer in a mostly non-judgmental tone, including a consistent, but still unexpected final scene that emphasizes him as a man more than a monster.
Comments»
I’ve never seen this film - I have seen it referenced in a few books and it sounds interesting. That’s a pretty comprehensive analysis you’ve given it and whetted my appetite. Any idea who owns the rights to this one?
It’s definitely Sony because it was made for Stanley Kramer’s production company at Columbia. Given Sony’s track record, the most conceivable way for a DVD might be in another Kramer box set like the one they recently released. I’m still pessimistic.
Though I think everything should be on DVD, this is particularly deserving.
I’m writing this comment here even though it has to do with the TCM Ten selections (I don’t know if the system alerts you if a comment has been posted or that you simply scroll down and check).
The Tin Star will be airing on TCM tomorrow morning and I don’t think you’ll be able to include it in your selections due its time slot. I was wondering what you thought of it. I have recently been watching the Mann-Stewart Westerns and they’ve all been spectacular so far so I’m very anxious to see The Tin Star.
I get an email every time a comment is made on any post, it’s then put in moderation and I have to approve it, as a prevention of spam.
As for The Tin Star, I don’t think it’s on the level of the Stewart westerns or Man of the West with Gary Cooper, but it’s still a Mann western so it should be seen. My main problem is with the casting because I’m not particularly fond of Anthony Perkins in that type of role and Henry Fonda, for me, doesn’t convey what Stewart or Cooper could in westerns. Those who feel differently about the two actors might enjoy it more than I did. Also, the kind of plot where an awkward, green kid in his over head is tutored by an older, more experienced and reluctant teacher has never been a favorite of mine either. I’ve only seen the movie once so I might warm to it more at some point later on (and it’s on DVD from Paramount at a reasonable price).