Touch of Evil (1958)

by Orson Welles

An Analysis

Pete Menzies and Hank Quinlan

Orson Welles' Touch of Evil is the corruption of legendary local detective Captain Hank Quinlan (Orson Welles) who works the American side of twin border towns. Mexican narcotics officer Mike Vargas (Charlton Heston), newly married to American Susie Vargas (Janet Leigh), is on his honeymoon when a bomb explodes, involving a drug family he is investigating. Touch of Evil is infused with fabulous side stories: Mike and Susie Vargas navigating their new marriage, Quinlan's re-introduction to his long-ago girlfriend Tanya (Marlene Dietrich), and perhaps the most important side story: Sergeant Menzies' (Joseph Calleia) devotion to Hank Quinlan, who took a bullet for Menzies years ago. 

Director Welles' camera and composition shape this films' mood and story at least as much as its dialogue. This writing examines choices Welles made in creating Touch of Evil.

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Please see the films

Touch of Evil, Psycho, and The Third Man

before reading further

Harry Lime (Orson Welles) emerges in The Third Man

Hank Quinlan's arrival is not quite that of Welles’ Harry Lime in The Third Man (1949). Quinlan is revered prior to his arrival, but instead of waiting half the film to make his entrance, he is on the scene in under eight minutes. His entrance is the most dramatic of any character in Touch of Evil because Welles uses a low, up-angled shot of Quinlan emerging from his car, which gives his character enormous presence (and it is not as if Hank Quinlan gets lost in a crowd—he is a large, imposing detective). For Batman (1989) fans, its corpulent, unshaven Lt. Eckhart (William Hootkins) is a nod to Touch of Evil's Hank Quinlan.

We know Quinlan is flawed from the beginning, “I'm no lawyer. All lawyers care about is the law.” Some might think his line a cynical joke, but Quinlan is quite serious. This defines his character, the film's central character, for the rest of the film. Like His Girl Friday (1940), the murder case is merely a plot device whose outcome about which we really do not care. This story is about busting the corrupt detective, not the accused murderer.

Al Schwartz (Mort Mills, right) in Touch of Evil

Janet Leigh and Mort Mills in Psycho (1960)

Susie Vargas (Janet Leigh) enters the Mirador Motel

Touch of Evil (1958) has so many connections with Hitchcock's later Psycho (1960) that Touch of Evil may have greatly influenced Joseph Stefano's Psycho script. The most obvious similarity is the casting of Janet Leigh as the lead actress. In both pictures she is shown wearing lingerie and later watched while undressing. Less obvious is the casting of Mort Mills in both, as the truth-curious, if not always assiduously truth-seeking, assistant D.A. Al Schwartz in Touch of Evil, and as Psycho's highway patrolman, though also an officer of the law, a potentially menacing character.  Psycho's Bates Motel is remarkably similar to the Mirador Motel: no one has registered all week because they're well off “the new highway.”  Welles' location shooting does what Hitchcock's set shooting can not, take a low-level camera shot of Janet Leigh at the motel, then surprisingly raise it above the motel on a crane to show us, rather than tell us, that the motel is indeed frighteningly isolated. Each motel also features a nervous, stuttering manager who is all but completely inept with women. In each film, Janet Leigh's character is put in the most precarious cabin: Cabin 1 in Psycho so that Norman Bates can peep through the adjoining wall to feel tempted by Marion, and Cabin 7 (the farthest cabin from the office) in Touch of Evil guaranteeing that Dennis Weaver's “the night man” is unable to notice Susie's peril, or be close enough to do anything about her situation were he to grow a spine. 

Uncle Joe Grandi, Mrs. Bates

Two crucial characters are revealed as dead in a similar manner, namely Uncle Joe Grandi in Touch of Evil and Mrs. Bates in Psycho.  Close-ups coupled with innovative lighting join the films. Grandi is revealed upside-down by a slowly-flashing light, grotesquely posed from strangulation, giving him a ghoulish look; whereas, Mrs. Bates is revealed with a naked, swinging incandescent bulb, which constantly changes the lighting across her “preserved” face, almost making her seem a bit alive (and in a way, she is).

Welles' camera is a key story-telling component, when the camera lingers on one character while off-screen dialogue is being spoken (to show us the most important aspect of the scene—Mike Vargas's reactions in the second lengthy scene in Sanchez's apartment), or when the camera's movement or unusual angles are used to add depth and a particular perspective to a scene.  Welles' composition is meticulously planned, and vital to appreciating the full meaning of the story.

Opening Scene

The famous opening scene is infused with music blaring from the street's bars that the camera's focal subject passes, be it the doomed car or the Vargases. The film's studio-botched version for years presented a constant, single piece of Mancini-scribed music played over this opening scene. Many thanks to Walter Murch for the restoration, and to Orson Welles for leaving the 58-page restoration memo.

Sanchez's Apartment

Most viewers laud the opening scene in this film, which is no doubt impressive, but the two more complicated long-take scenes are the initial and third scenes inside Sanchez's apartment. At 5:15 and 5:30, they are longer than the opening shot, film as many as eight different actors per scene who each navigate a tiny space, have very specific marks to hit, and have significant numbers of lines. The two lengthy scenes, accomplishments of fine acting and camerawork, are far more interesting than had Welles decided to use numerous cuts. These long takes give us an understanding of the space in which they operate (the apartment) and lend the scene greater tension.

The Lady from Shanghai (1947)

Like Hitchcock's Psycho and Welles' earlier The Lady from Shanghai (1947), Welles uses many reflections to help tell his story. The first scene between Grandi and Susie stands out. We see Grandi's face on the left side of the screen, looking left, while behind his head on the right side of the screen, we see a mirrored reflection of Susie (who is actually in Grandi's line of sight) yelling at him. We see a close-up of Grandi's fat, sweaty head, and a newly-fierce, smaller-headed Susie. The camera pans, revealing a more conventional two-shot of them. She is seemingly on both sides of him at once, as if her ferocity is surrounding him! Despite her husband's earlier pleading that she not come closer to the burning car and to "be careful," partly because he is a law officer, and partly of a modicum of chauvinism, Susie shows her strength to Uncle Joe Grandi.  

We see the other notable reflection after the Sanchez apartment scenes. After Vargas accuses Capt. Quinlan of planting evidence, we see from outside the window a close-up of Menzies' head on the right of the screen. On the screen's left we see a reflection in the window glass of what he's watching: Quinlan walking off, buddied up to Uncle Joe Grandi. This beautiful, telling composition shows us Menzies appearing larger and taller than Quinlan for the first time in the film. Prior to this, Menzies was obsequious to Hank, always appearing behind and smaller than Quinlan. This is the first time Menzies considers doubting his friend, hero, and mentor.

Process shots, an unfortunate technical element, Welles uses often and early in this film. Then suddenly, halfway through the film, Mike Vargas and Al Schwartz are shot on location (a “practical” shot) while driving.  Heston and Mills are not really driving, and are probably on the back of a flatbed truck, too high off the ground to be believed to be driving--never mind Vargas' unnecessary, erratic steering on a narrow, one-lane road--but the effect is much more realistic than a process shot. In the car's chrome we see reflections of passing buildings. We see shadows flying through the car, and real wind affecting the hair and clothes of the car's driver and passenger. One can argue that Welles chose a practical shot because it seems real, and because its timing follows the first instance in the film that others start to learn that Hank Quinlan is a phony, a liar, and a fraud, just like the process shots. Quinlan's F for Fake ways, once exposed, begin his descent toward demise.

Grandi and Quinlan conspire

Soon after Menzies doubts Quinlan's integrity, Vargas presents evidence of Quinlan's corruption to the D.A., the police chief, and the assistant D.A. in a hotel room. Quinlan crashes the party, and understanding he's been exposed, turns in his badge and storms out. In the next shot, Quinlan, having loomed large in frame the entire film, walks away from being in medium close-up, many steps away from the camera, appearing minuscule and helpless. Vargas takes Quinlan's place in the foreground, clearly the victor. Not 90 seconds later Quinlan is back in closeup, having hatched a plan to save himself and bring down Vargas.  

Quinlan, having shot Menzies

In the last scene, Quinlan's undoing, two techniques demand mention.   Quinlan, having discovered Menzies' personal betrayal, shoots Menzies, who falls out of frame, revealing Vargas as quite literally behind Menzies' wire-wearing. Having shot one good guy, another good guy stands in Quinlan's way--a pattern that, this time, will not relent. Second, Al Schwartz finds and plays back the Menzies-induced, Vargas-taped Quinlan confession as Quinlan stumbles backwards, weak from having been shot. As the tape ends, Schwartz snaps shut the tape recorder's lid, signifying a metaphorical end to Quinlan. Welles cuts quickly to Quinlan falling backwards into the polluted river, his life actually ended, with the polluted river as the metaphor. Quinlan and his career were inseparable, and dirty.

Touch of Evil is a dark, ingenious film I will not soon tire of watching. Show your friends. Tell them nothing. Just play it for them.

New York Times' Critics' Picks video

(no trailer was available)

The Tourist (2010)

by Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

A Review

A cloaked Elise (Angelina Jolie)

International woman of mystery, Elise Clifton-Ward (Angelina Jolie), attracts into her orbit an unsuspecting American mathematics teacher, Frank Tupelo (Johnny Depp), whom gangsters and MI6 mistake for the elusive former mafia accountant Alexander Pierce, Elise's boyfriend. Set on Venice's beautiful canals, bridges, and rooftops, The Tourist has hopes of being a charming thriller of old, but manages only to be an unintentional parody of itself.

Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, the writer/director of his Oscar-winning debut film The Lives of Others (2006), has made a poor second feature film, a remake of Anthony Zimmer (2005) (unavailable on DVD). The production went through at least two leading men and one leading woman prior to settling on Depp and Jolie, as well as multiple directors, including von Donnersmarck's own departure and return.

Following stupendous success with his first film, von Donnersmarck's decision that his second film remake a recent French film as a big-budget American film is seemingly unprecedented. Apparently for good reason. Perhaps lured by Hollywood's brightest--or did he lure them?--and working with a different crew (writer, cinematographer, and composer, to name the three most glaringly different), The Tourist fails to deliver the suspense and character development of The Lives of Others. It blows three kisses to Hitchcock's North by Northwest (1959)--via its case of mistaken identity (“the wrong man”), with its train as the romantic setting where our two lead actors first meet and woo, and by ending with a visual double-entendre. The Tourist lacks North by Northwest's charm, humor, and romance. Though Jolie simmers in a Grace Kelly role, Depp stumbles in his parallel role to Cary Grant's John "The Cat" Robie (To Catch a Thief (1955)). When a director has such great success as a writer/director, “remake” should not be the first opportunity siezed.

Frank Tupelo (Johnny Depp) and Elise Clifton-Ward (Angelina Jolie) cruise Venice

Too many parts of this film we have seen before, all of them superior to The Tourist's attempts. 

• Venice has been shot many times, and much-accomplished Director of Photography John Seale has beautifully shot Italy before (The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)), but this latest effort pales against what the rest of cinema offers. 

• Having been shot in Italy, it seems appropriate to note that some scenes could have benefited from Michelangelo Antonioni's preference of silence from the orchestra, challenging von Donnersmarck to create mood without cheap assistance of a musical score at odds with the scenes' lack of power. With Vittorio De Sica's son in the cast, perhaps his presence in post-production might have taught how powerful silence can be, especially when the alternative is this particular James Newton Howard score.

• Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989) shot a much more compelling Venice motorboat chase scene. Perhaps it is true, but does von Donnersmarck expect us to believe that Venice canals are abandoned at night, especially during motorboat chases?

• Quentin Tarantino's own hands gave us cinema's greatest strangulation scene in Inglourious Basterds (2009), so von Donnersmarck, and all subsequent directors, must expect his/her strangulation scenes to be measured against Tarantino's.

Clichéd plaza pigeons

Tupelo's dumb American use of Spanish-as-Italian went unnoticed at first by my audience, but multiple visits to the joke got older each time we heard a “gracias” or a “Bon Jovi” instead of a “grazie” or “buon giorno.”  The lone exception was a bellhop, upon receiving Tupelo's "gracias" responded with a very funny confused/amused "de nada." The importance of understanding multiple non-English languages spoken in a scene is perhaps best experienced in Godard's Le Mepris (a.k.a. Contempt) (1963), but surely it has been used to greater humorous effect than in The Tourist. And how many times must we see the clichéd man traversing a plaza, only to scatter the mulling-about birds? For goodness sake, Seinfeld made fun of this scene more than a decade before it was shot.

To revisit Hitchcock briefly, The Tourist features a substantial MacGuffin, the thing in a movie that all the characters care about, but about which the audience does not.  For instance, the audience does not actually care what happens to the missing $40,000 in Psycho (1960) or to the Death Star plans in Star Wars (1977), but all the characters in the movie who know about the money or plans certainly care. If von Donnersmarck knows it's a MacGuffin at all—the identity of Alexander Pierce (if Pierce even exists)--he mistakenly thinks we care about it. We do not. And treating it as if we do, hurts this film.

Elise (Angelina Jolie)

In The Lives of Others, every move its characters make are not only unexpected, they feel more real than all the clichés the brain imagines.  By contrast, the characters' actions and dialogue in The Tourist are painfully predictable or unnecessary. The film's strongest feature is the sculpted beauty of Elise, who has numerous costume and hair changes—each more elegant than the previous.  Though she is worth seeing, her beauty is insufficient to carry this film.

The only commonality The Tourist has with von Donnersmarck's earlier The Lives of Others is a faint nod to Germany via Tupelo's fictitious pulp read The Berlin Vendetta.  Nothing else in this movie looks or feels like it was shot or written by the same man who so beautifully crafted The Lives of Others.

I hope von Donnersmarck's subsequent films see a return to self-penned screenplays with his initial director of photography and music composers, if not the rest of his The Lives of Others core crew.  We need him to create his own films, not to reluctantly remake the films of others.

The Tourist trailer

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