As critics at the time were quick to point out, this noir-esque
suspenser is painted in Hitchcockian hues, from the story’s echoes of Suspicion and the presence of an homme fatale, to Miller’s assured handling
of the fraught closing scenes.
Sudden Fear is far-fetched in many ways,
but the notion of a whirlwind romance between the characters played by Crawford
and Palance – beauty and the beast – is not necessarily among them. Indeed, the
story is cleverly set up as a way of exposing shallow assumptions based on
appearance: Myra, a famous playwright, rejects Lester’s casting as romantic
lead in her latest Broadway play because he doesn’t look like a ladies man; he
points out even Casanova, in his portraits, was no oil painting.
They meet again, seemingly by chance, on a cross-country
train journey from New York to San Francisco. Miller gives their relationship
breathing space, and his patience pays off. A kind of chemical reaction occurs –
remarkably persuasive given the leads did not get on in real life – and, by the
time they disembark, Lester has beguiled Myra with his cultured and self-effacing
manner. So disarming is Palance in these scenes that defences are lowered, a
false sense of security engendered, in heroine and audience alike.[i]
The first half has the feel of an inspirational Hollywood
romance by way of star-crossed melodrama. Myra, rich, successful but lonely,
believes she has found her soul mate, but the air of mutual contentment is
disturbed when Lester, a better actor than even Myra realises, plays the
self-pitying “I don’t belong in your world” card. He makes a show of leaving
(this assertion of his power over the love-struck heroine is set on a staircase
– Palance at the top, shot from a low angle, Crawford halfway down, grasping
the rail for support). Myra forthwith marries him, her blissful ignorance restored.
The catalyst for the darker turn of events is the viperous
Irene Neves, played by Grahame at her iciest, who slithers into the narrative and
contaminates it with the gutter mentality of noir. She and Lester go way back –
as lovers and criminal confederates – and she demands a slice of whatever action
he is planning. (None of Lester’s sweet talk for Irene: “I’m so crazy about
you, I could break your bones.”) They concoct a scheme to murder Myra to
relieve her of her millions, but they’ll have to move fast – in three days she’ll
donate much of it to charity. When Myra discovers their plan – accidentally captured
on her dictating machine – her horror is magnified when she smashes the
incriminating disc. With no evidence, the writer does some plotting of her own…
An authoritative (and polarising) figure in postwar
Hollwood, Crawford nurtured this project from its inception. She pressed Edna
Sherry’s novel on producer Kaufman, hired screenwriter Coffee and director Miller,
insisted on Lang’s involvement as DP and oversaw the casting. The script plays
to her strengths – Myra is both victim and aggressor, moving Mildred Pierce-like
from a position of weakness to self-assertion, although the character never
hardens completely, ensuring she retains audience sympathy. The fact she cannot
go through with shooting Lester as planned – luring him to Irene’s apartment in
the dead of night, supposedly to meet his co-conspirator, thereafter to blame
the crime on Irene – both demonstrates her enduring humanity and precipitates
the pulse-quickening chase finale.
In noir terms, Sudden
Fear offers the best of both worlds, shuttling between dynamic location shots
– San Francisco’s undulating streetscape makes a menacing cameo in the nocturnal
conclusion – and oppressive interior set-ups swathed in treacherous shadows. Miller
makes intelligent use of objects – a clock pendulum, its enlarged shadow swinging
across Myra as she fantasises about putting her revenge plot in motion; the newfangled
dictating machine, Myra’s pride and joy turned mechanical tormentor; a wind-up toy
dog with which Lester passes the time in Irene’s apartment while Myra cowers in
the closet – for which, inevitably, the dog makes a beeline.
Both leads were Oscar-nominated. Having astutely disguised Lester’s
intentions, Palance never overplays the character’s wickedness – with that
baleful physiognomy, there was no need for emphasis. (A lesson the actor ignored
in later years, in lesser projects, after typecasting had set in. Sudden Fear was only his third feature.)
Crawford’s own countenance was a powerful tool. The devastating
recording-machine scene is a masterpiece of reactive acting – as Lester and
Irene’s voices echo from the speakers, Myra’s expressions of shock, the depth
of despair in her eyes, visualise the disintegration of a dream life. Her
scenes with Lester, so warm in the early stages, become strained thereafter; his
every action, however innocuous, loaded with menace.
The denouement may strive a little too strenuously for
ironic effect but, overall, Crawford backed a winner here. Is it triumph that
creeps into Myra’s expression at the end?
Kevin Grant
[i] Clark
Gable had been approached for the role of Lester, but both he and director
Miller realised the plot would have suffered with a conventionally handsome
leading man
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