by Tyler Smith
One of the key elements of film noir is a downbeat ending that is so cynical, it turns its story into an oddly entertaining exercise in fatalism. It seems counter intuitive that the audience would enjoy such a dark end for its protagonists, but, somehow, the inevitability of failure in these films can be surprisingly satisfying.
In these tales of greed, lust, and murder, we are reminded at their conclusion of the importance (and pragmatism) of a virtuous life. There are a few exceptions to this rule; films whose finales are so maliciously misanthropic that the audience is left feeling disturbed and depressed. More notable examples of this are Sunset Blvd, Out of the Past, and Gun Crazy. But perhaps the most openly malevolent is Fritz Lang’s Scarlet Street.
Like many other films of the genre, Scarlet Street revolves around an everyman drawn into a shady scheme by a beautiful yet dangerous woman. It’s a familiar formula but rarely is it so gleefully perverse, first with its casting. Our protagonist is a mild-mannered, unhappily married bank clerk named Christopher Cross and played by Edward G. Robinson. To cast a reliable tough guy like Robinson in such a simpering, milquetoast role is itself evidence of a certain playfulness on the part of the director. Cross is so beaten down by life that not only is he completely dominated by his battle-axe wife but frequently while wearing a flowery apron and carrying a feather duster.
Things don’t improve when a sultry woman named Kitty (Joan Bennett) walks into his life, capturing his attention and loyalty. That such a beautiful woman would give him the time of day at all does not give him a boost of confidence but, instead, someone new to worship. Kitty takes full advantage of Cross’ position at the bank to get a little money for herself, egged on by her real boyfriend, Johnny (a devilish Dan Duryea). As is required in film noir, plans go awry, the truth is revealed, and hearts are broken. It all ends, as it inevitably must, in tragedy.
It is in this final development that Scarlet Street really distinguishes itself among its peers. While we are certainly expecting a dark ending, Fritz Lang turns the cliches on their head and crafts a finale so unsettling that it haunts us long after the film is over. Yes, we expect the guilty to be punished, but not to punish themselves. And when the characters whose comeuppance we’ve so desperately wanted throughout the film finally get it, it is in a way that is not only unsatisfying, but disturbing. This film is not interested in a tidy resolution, in which all the loose ends are tied up and we can easily move on. It is more interested in showing us the true consequences of evil. They are messy, violent, and inescapable. While most film noir is content to merely show us the sinful nature of man, Scarlet Street wants us to feel it. Every oppressive, inevitable, heartbreaking part of it. We certainly do feel it, and it shakes us to our core.
