January 10, 2018
The
Hitch-hiker – U.S., 1953
In Ida Lupino’s 1953 film, The Hitch-hiker, the faces of the lead
characters are crucial to the film’s themes of survival and resilience. Perhaps
this is why for the first few minutes, we see almost no faces at all, the first
one being that of a suspect in a wanted poster. And what a face he has –
rectangular; scared by a rough, yet mostly unexplained set of awful life
experiences; one eye permanently open, making it difficult to make out whether
he is asleep or awake, a perfect symbol of the permanent presence of danger in
post-World War II America.
Early in The Hitch-hiker, the villain, later revealed to be Emmett Myers
(William Talman), accepts the generosity of two men traveling somewhere near
the Mexican border, and their faces are equally telling. When we first see
them, their eyes and head seem to hang low, and there is an exhaustion in their
bodies and almost joylessness in their expressions. These are men who have been
worn down, first by the war and then by the peace. In them, we see loss and
perhaps longing. The first smile we see spreads across one of their faces as he
thinks about his previous jaunts in Mexico. In other words, the past, not the
present, is his source of satisfaction.
As the film progresses, Emmett’s face
remains recognizable, giving us a sense of the permanence of evil and credence
to the notion that some of those that embrace it are utterly irredeemable. The
faces of the two victims, Gilbert Bowen (Frank Lovejoy) and Roy Collins (Edmond
O’Brien), become almost unrecognizable, and in the utter disappearance of the
features we saw initially, we get an excellent assessment of the mental changes
each character is undergoing. In the case of Collins, that change is
particularly drastic.
As the film progresses, the focus expands
slightly. While the majority of screen time is devoted to the plight of Bowen
and Collins, Lupino intersperses their story with the perspective of law
enforcement in both the United States and Mexico. We watch as they pick up
clues, talk to the few witnesses there are, and form a picture of their
location and possible destination. Interestingly, we, as well as Myers, also
learn a lot about Bowen and Collins from these scenes, and while the film does
not ask us to make a moral judgement of them, it does give their situation an
added sense of tragedy. If they had only
gone where they told their wives they were going…
In a surprise, Lupino and her writing
partner, Collier Young, never fully explain Myers’ ultimate goal. In fact, he
ends the film no less of an enigma than he was when it began. To me, this was a
wise choice. Without a motive, Myers becomes a symbol, a physical representation
of the horrible fate that may await us even as we go about doing what should be
safe, routine actions – in this case, picking up hitchhikers. In a way, the
film is the horror version of Jack Kerouac’s 1957 novel On the Road, a tale prophesizing the end to Sal Paradise’s “naïve”
way of traveling cross-country, as well as an early precursor to Javier Bardem’s
killer in No Country for Old Men.
Lupino gets excellent performances from her
lead actors, yet what is most remarkable about the film is her crafting of a
noir-ish world of light and shadows. At key moments in the film, faces are
almost entirely obscured, and what light we do see streaks across just enough of
the face to reveal the characters’ eyes or disheveled beards. The result is
eerie. We feel as if we are watching something authentic. Add to it, the
chilling dialogue that comes out of Myers mouth (at one point, he tells his
prisoners that they are going to die – it’s just a matter of when), and the
sense of dread is palpable. And it says something about Lupino that she was
willing to end the film with ambiguity. Our heroes walk away not into the
safety of authorities or the waiting arms of their loves one, but rather into
the pitch black night, into an uncertain future, and a world utterly shattered
by the ever-present nature of evil.
The
Hitch-hiker is often referred to as the first noir film
to be directed by a woman. Frankly, we’ve lost too many films for this
statement to be verifiable. However, what is particularly galling about it is
that it seems to suggest that The
Hitch-hiker is some sort of novelty act, one more important for its place
in history rather than its quality. Do yourself a favor, and rid yourself of
such notions. The Hitch-hiker should
not be watched as if it were a museum artifact; it deserves to be seen and felt
for what it is – a tense, gripping film that gets under your skin and makes
your heart race. I felt for these characters, and I found myself concerned for
their well-being. Lupino created that, and in doing so, earned a place in film
history not as the first female so-and-so, but as a skilled storyteller and an accomplished
crafter of worlds. I can’t wait to discover her other films. (on DVD)
3 and a half stars
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