Third Man, The (1949)

reviewed by
James Sanford


Post-WWII America was a place of prosperity and hope. But in Europe, the conditions were quite different, and few films have captured the grim atmosphere of the late 1940s as memorably as "The Third Man," director Carol Reed's 1949 classic. Shot on location in the war-ravaged streets of Vienna and written by Graham Greene ("The End of the Affair"), the movie succeeds both as a thriller and as a mood piece, evoking a joyless world in which almost everyone has a past they won't discuss and a future they can't fathom.

For years, we've been watching a 93-minute cut of "The Third Man," but now Criterion has reissued the film with 11 extra minutes previously seen only in the European release. The additions prove you can never have too much of a good thing.

Set at the time of the Allied occupation, the story begins with American author Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) arriving in Vienna to take a job with his long-lost buddy Harry Lime (Orson Welles). But within minutes of getting off the train, Martins is told Lime recently died in an accident. The conflicting stories of the alleged witnesses to the death make Martins suspicious and, despite protests from British officer Calloway (Trevor Howard), Martins tracks down Lime's girlfriend Anna (Alida Valli) and begins searching for the truth about his friend's fate.

Elements of German Expressionism, Italian Neo-Realism and American film noir pop up regularly throughout "The Third Man," but Reed forges them all into a magnificent whole. The titled camera angles beautifully express Martins' sense of disorientation as he makes his way through the city and sound and shadow become as much a part of the action as any of the characters. Decades before Dolby Stereo, Reed managed to find a way to make it appear voices were coming at the villain from all directions during the movie's final chase through the sewers.

Unforgettable images and scenes abound: an angelic-looking little boy accusing Martins of murder; a taut meeting between two men on a ferris wheel; the unnerving sight of fingers poking up through a grate in the street like blades of grass struggling to sprout in a rocky bed. The music, performed entirely on the zither by Anton Karas, is some of the most striking ever heard in a film.

Meanwhile, Greene's dialogue crackles with grim humor and frankness. "You were born to be murdered," Calloway tells Martins, while the utterly disillusioned Anna's entire outlook on life is summed up in one of her first lines: "I don't know anything anymore, except that I want to be dead, too," she murmurs to Martins when he questions her about Lime's untimely demise.

While the mystery is certainly compelling enough, the relationship between Anna and Martins is truly the heart of the film. He falls hopelessly for her and makes a difficult sacrifice in the hopes of winning her affection, but she's too nihilistic to put any stock in love. Were it made today, a happy ending would probably be imposed on these two, but Greene and Reed understood that in real life people who don't want to be saved rarely thank those who try to rescue them. James Sanford


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