“In a Lonely Place” is a 1950 noir directed by dramatist Nicholas Ray and starring Humphrey Bogart as Dixon Steele, a screenwriter prone to enraged outbursts. One night he invites a woman over to his home. The morning after she is discovered murdered, though he claims not to have committed it. As police investigate his activities, he meets and falls in love with his beautiful neighbor Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame), who vows for his innocence as his alibi. However, as their love progresses, Laurel recognizes Dixon’s unhinged nature and begins to regret their relationship.
Alongside John Ford and Howard Hawks, Nicholas Ray has a reputation as one of Classic Hollywood’s few auteurs by the critical community, particularly the Cahiers du Cinéma filmmaker-critics of the 1950s/60s. They espouse his films, such as “Bigger Than Life” and “Rebel Without a Cause,” pushed boundaries at the time of the Hollywood Code that restricted mature content, by exploring tormented characters. Ray lets intense moments breathe more than other directors of his era, namely this film’s best scene when Dixon monologues about a fictional murder to his friend. The camera slowly dollies into Bogart’s hauntingly calm delivery, with less manipulative music than most other noirs of the era (though admittedly still excessive for my taste). Bogart excels here, giving his second-greatest performance after his turn in “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.” His oscillating mannerisms between collected and agitated create a perpetual unease surrounding Steele, one that isn’t quite provided by the script. “In a Lonely Place” lives and dies around Bogart, and it’s all the better for it.
Ray clearly emphasized character work over noir aesthetics. The film isn’t nearly as harshly lit as the genre often demanded, instead emphasizing performance over visual expression. However, Ray remains too restrained by the Code. It’s abundantly evident that he wants more visceral violence in Steele’s outbursts and even darker self-reflection, but simply can’t push through. While Steele is certainly more unstable than most characters of the era, he remains too tight and watered down. In excessively simplistic terms, the character work is strong, but not that strong.
I also found the second act quite meandering, with too little story to fill its runtime. I think a brisk 90-minute structure would actually call greater attention to Steele’s inner turmoil. As is, the outbursts seem too spread out to efficiently accentuate his dangerous nature. While the film insists he’s a lost soul, he generally feels more like a reserved man with poor temperament, at least during that middle section.
Ultimately, I think the film’s wild acclaim comes more out of respect for Ray’s efforts than the final product itself. True, it’s certainly more defiant as a drama than most films of the era, but it remains too constrained in its maturity. Nevertheless, while the film never quite coalesces into a true classic for me, its significance in film history is unquestionable.
B