Lang, renowned for phantasmagoric expressionistic
masterpieces such as M and the Dr. Mabuse trilogy, holds back his
wilder impulses for completely calculating purposes. What could go wrong when
Bannion is merrily tucking his adorable daughter into bed under bright lighting
as a jolly tune whistles away on the soundtrack? The horror that breaks this
scene is all the more horrific for the preceding images and sounds of serene
domesticity. Ford gives a great against-type performance as Bannion—and there
are also brilliant supporting turns from Jeannette Nolan as the widow of a cop
who committed suicide (maybe) and Lee Marvin at his sleaziest as a mobster’s
right-hand scuzzbag— but I think we can all agree that The Big Heat belongs to Gloria Grahame. Recalling Miriam Hopkins’s
similarly crushing performance in Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Grahame’s Debby Marsh transitions from a charmingly fun-loving
gal to utterly devastated being, but unlike Hopkins’s Ivy, Debby fights back like
Charles Bronson. The Big Heat is extraordinary for the meaty,
stereotype-smashing roles it allows its women, and Grahame is unforgettable in
this film.
The Big Heat may
not be one of Fritz Lang’s most visually imaginative films, but it is beautifully
shot with Charles Lang’s deep contrast black and white photography. Twilight
Time’s new blu-ray looks absolutely fabulous. The presentation is perfectly organic,
and I don’t think I noticed a single scratch, spec, or flaw in the picture. The
disc comes with two director appreciations: a pretty in-depth eleven-minute one
from Michael Mann and a more basic six-minute one from Martin Scorsese, who, as
I do, tends to remember the film as being more expressionistic than it actually
is, probably because its splatter of grotesque images are the ones that linger
longest on the brain. Get it on Twilight Time films.com here.
