July 5, 2018
The Informer – UK,
1929
John Ford’s 1935 film The
Informer, for which Ford won his first Academy Award for directing, is a
fairly straightforward film. It has a central character, the likable but
oafish Gypo Nolan, and it follows this character after he turns in his best
friend to the police in exchange for money that he hopes to use to take his girlfriend
to the United States. His actions become public, he becomes wrought with guilt,
and the ending is pretty obvious. Arthur Robison’s The Informer, made just six years prior to Ford’s film is a much
more layered story, with numerous double crossings, slow revelations, and an overarching
sense of tragedy. Like Ford’s remake, it can really only end one way. Justice
must be served, and I’m not talking about the kind involving a judge and
12-person jury.
Robinson’s film begins with the kind of tragic mistake that
few characters ever truly recover from, especially during times of great
animosity and uncertainty. In the aftermath of a chaotic shoot-out, a revolutionary
named Francis McPhillip (Carl Harbord) accidentally shoots the chief of police.
To spare the group from persecution, he is instructed to flee the city and become
an outcast. Some time later, after learning that the authorities are still
after him, he is given money and told to set sail for America. He is also
instructed not to return to the city, but when does anyone ever follow that
advice? So, on the eve of his departure, Francis sneaks back into the city,
intent upon saying one last good bye to his mother and perhaps convincing the
girl he loves to make the voyage abroad with him. Such acts rarely end well.
What follows is much more complex than what transpires in
Ford’s remake, a film that in retrospect I may have slightly over-praised.
There are multiple betrayals, emotional breakdowns, and one illicit offer that demonstrates
just how high the stakes are. The enemy is not some overwhelming evil, but two much
more human emotions: anger and jealousy, the kinds than can cause people to
react first and think second. And no one in the film is immune to them. Certainly
not Gypo Nolan (Lars Hanson), whose insecurities so severely overcome him that
he finds himself in a police station with every intention of telling the police
the whereabouts of his one-time best friend; and certainly not Katie Fox (Lya
De Putti), whose own actions, regardless of her intent, only increase Gypo’s severe
case of road rage, and whose own loose lips eventually contribute to the
tragedy unfolding in front of us.
Robinson, who directed 20 films before his death at just 52
years of age, gets excellent performances from his cast. De Putti makes you feel
her character’s angst and heartbreak, and Harbord gives his character the look
of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders who knows that no
assistance is coming. Modern audiences might quibble over the amount of time he
hangs his head in a few scenes, but this was a common technique that actors
from the silent period used to convey disappointment, so it is appropriate
here. The truly hard work is assigned to Hanson, for parts like his can all too
easily become parodies if not handled correctly. It helps that Hanson is tall
and physically intimidating. It also helps that we first really see him in a
jovial spirit, getting reading to eat dinner with Katie. We are immediately
struck by his rather romantic nature, and it is this initial impression that
augments the shock at his later actions. When Gypo’s emotions grow too big to
contain, Hanson takes on the figure of one of those classic monster villains,
with wide eyes, intense stares, and an almost zombie-like stride. It made me
think that Gypo is unaware that he is heading straight to the police station.
Robinson also shows great talent behind the camera, in once
scene, electing to have it follow Nolan as he stumbles his way along Ireland’s
crowded streets. He also makes excellent use of shadows. In one scene, we see
one on a door yelling insults; in another we see one creep up on McPhillip as
he gazes upon his own wanted poster. Robinson also gives us one of the greatest
cuts I can recall in movies, in which one person begins to write a name down
and another person much farther away finishes it, giving audiences the ability
to immediately contrast the purposes – and consequences – of each action. I
also admired the way Robinson uses long passageways as a metaphor for the long
road to forgiveness and redemption. In one example of this, Gypo must walk
between two rows of mourners to get to McPhillip’s grieving mother, and one
there, he is so overwrought with grief that he accidentally drops evidence of
his guilt in front of the very people who mean him harm. Robinson has his
camera follow this item, and then after Gypo picks it up again, we watch it as
it goes first in the direction of McPhillip’s mother and then is clumsily and
unwisely retuned to Gypo’s pocket.
It all leads to a tragic ending, but one that, like Ford’s
version, ends on a note of forgiveness. However, it would be wrong to describe
it as a happy ending. After all, just look at what remains in its wake. I was
left stunned and emotionally spent, and for this, I say job exceptionally well
done. (available on an all-region DVD/Blu-ray in the UK)
4 stars
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