OH! Hi there!
My first exposure to Laura came in a "Music in Film" class I took in college. The professor used it as an example of film makers going to strange lengths to shoe-horn music into their movies. In the scene he showed as an example, Dana Andrews' Det. McPherson walks into the home of the titular Laura (Gene Tierney), whose murder he is investigating. While he looks around and talks about the case, he turns on her phonograph and pipes in music. When watching it yesterday, I especially noticed that he did that again in another scene. It's an odd man who goes around turning on strangers' radios for ten seconds before shutting them off.
For this reason, I wish I had seen this in tandem with Masked and Anonymous. It accomplishes a lot of that movie's goals with seemingly a lot less effort (and a 579% reduction in plodding monologues). When I wrote about that movie, I noted that the casting was eclectic but predictable. Well, how about this? Webb, an open homosexual (I didn't even know they existed in 1944 America), plays Lydecker as a person who at least carries a prissy narcissism with him at all times. At most, he's a full-blown caricature of homosexuality. At the same time, he's fiercely protective of Laura, his ...what, exactly, is she to him?
Similarly, McPherson's relationship to Laura is odd, even by the low standards of romantic subplots. He falls for Laura while investigating her murder. Lucky for him, it turns out Laura is alive. The woman who was murdered wasn't Laura after all, but a model having an affair with Laura's fiance. Still, the characters lack any chemistry, so when they kiss near the climax, it's a forced moment, like the characters are doing things out of some kind of obligation. Up to that point, Laura showed no interest in the detective. It becomes another odd detail in a movie full of them.
Laura herself is an odd character, so perhaps it isn't so strange that her relationships are a little off, too. Played with detachment by Gene Tierney, she is hailed by Waldo, and her fiance as being a kind and radiant person. Her housekeeper is so grief-stricken at her "death" that she comes off as a nervous wreck. She's so wonderful, remember, that the detective falls for her a little while he still thinks she's dead. Later, the maid is absolutely terrified at the apparently alive Laura. Laura's reaction? About a minute of comforting words and a request for eggs. When Laura shows up midway through the movie, she's a curiosity precisely because she doesn't live up to the hype.
There apparently was a scrapped studio-mandated ending where the whole thing was a dream. This ending was scrapped because it was hard to understand. What's interesting is that the movie itself very much has its own internal logic, much like a dream. So many little things fall apart under scrutiny, whether it's the characters, their motivations, etc. To nitpick a movie like this ("Why didn't McPherson try harder to find the woman who was with Laura's fiance once he found out about her?") is to miss the point. It's a tightly-wound, pulpy little mystery that casts suspicion on everyone. When a movie has me wondering if the most minor of characters are the criminal, it's doing something right.
My first exposure to Laura came in a "Music in Film" class I took in college. The professor used it as an example of film makers going to strange lengths to shoe-horn music into their movies. In the scene he showed as an example, Dana Andrews' Det. McPherson walks into the home of the titular Laura (Gene Tierney), whose murder he is investigating. While he looks around and talks about the case, he turns on her phonograph and pipes in music. When watching it yesterday, I especially noticed that he did that again in another scene. It's an odd man who goes around turning on strangers' radios for ten seconds before shutting them off.
But then, Laura is a strange movie. It's a noir that deals with a murder, but its characters are played to a campy effect. Not only that, but its main characters almost all seem to belong in their own separate movies. Yet, they all make sense together and form the cast of a genuine classic. The most interesting of the bunch is Clifton Webb's Waldo Lydecker. The film starts with his narration, but eventually that gets dropped. He also narrates a flashback, which includes scenes that he is not present to witness. It's an odd inconsistency, but it works within the film because the whole thing is so surreal by 1944 standards.
For this reason, I wish I had seen this in tandem with Masked and Anonymous. It accomplishes a lot of that movie's goals with seemingly a lot less effort (and a 579% reduction in plodding monologues). When I wrote about that movie, I noted that the casting was eclectic but predictable. Well, how about this? Webb, an open homosexual (I didn't even know they existed in 1944 America), plays Lydecker as a person who at least carries a prissy narcissism with him at all times. At most, he's a full-blown caricature of homosexuality. At the same time, he's fiercely protective of Laura, his ...what, exactly, is she to him?
Lydecker's relationship with Laura is poorly defined. He's shown to be a mentor to her; it's implied they might be lovers. They at least live together and have a set weekly routine. But the age difference is enough to make it strange. His demeanor is so distant, one wonders what Laura sees in him. From his nastiness during their meet-up to the odd moment where he reminisces about reading his own articles to her, the relationship is somewhat amorphous and vague.
Similarly, McPherson's relationship to Laura is odd, even by the low standards of romantic subplots. He falls for Laura while investigating her murder. Lucky for him, it turns out Laura is alive. The woman who was murdered wasn't Laura after all, but a model having an affair with Laura's fiance. Still, the characters lack any chemistry, so when they kiss near the climax, it's a forced moment, like the characters are doing things out of some kind of obligation. Up to that point, Laura showed no interest in the detective. It becomes another odd detail in a movie full of them.
Laura herself is an odd character, so perhaps it isn't so strange that her relationships are a little off, too. Played with detachment by Gene Tierney, she is hailed by Waldo, and her fiance as being a kind and radiant person. Her housekeeper is so grief-stricken at her "death" that she comes off as a nervous wreck. She's so wonderful, remember, that the detective falls for her a little while he still thinks she's dead. Later, the maid is absolutely terrified at the apparently alive Laura. Laura's reaction? About a minute of comforting words and a request for eggs. When Laura shows up midway through the movie, she's a curiosity precisely because she doesn't live up to the hype.
There apparently was a scrapped studio-mandated ending where the whole thing was a dream. This ending was scrapped because it was hard to understand. What's interesting is that the movie itself very much has its own internal logic, much like a dream. So many little things fall apart under scrutiny, whether it's the characters, their motivations, etc. To nitpick a movie like this ("Why didn't McPherson try harder to find the woman who was with Laura's fiance once he found out about her?") is to miss the point. It's a tightly-wound, pulpy little mystery that casts suspicion on everyone. When a movie has me wondering if the most minor of characters are the criminal, it's doing something right.
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