The Night of the Hunter is southern Baptist noir. A grim American fairytale cast as a gothic nightmare that was too nasty, too stylised and too strange for 1955 America and has only since been rediscovered as a lost masterpiece.
Cast in starkly lit expressionistic shadows and shot in high contrast black and white by cinematographer Stanley Cortez (The Magnificent Ambersons); it’s a visual tour de force transforming the Deep South into a seedy simmering malevolent nightmarish world that’s not safe for children.
It’s the first and only film from English actor/ director Charles Laughton, famed for his performance as The Hunchback of Notre Dame. It posses an Orson Welles level of debut film audaciousness, attempting to create a new cinematic language, an allegorical fable that’s a melting pot of the thriller and melodrama genres with noiresque German Expressionist set design, with the odd spot of humour thrown in.
Robert Mitchum is truly terrifying as the sadistic misogynist preacher Harry Powell, playing against type, preying on vulnerable widows, all sinister charm and snake oil menace. It’s truly the performance of his career, one of the few times he doesn’ appear to be playing an extension of himself. He’ possibly one of the least sympathetic villains in cinematic history, with his tattooed fingers, love for the right, and on the left hate – and the left is his stabbing hand. Finding himself incarcerated with a convicted bank robber soon for the hangman’ noose, Powell’ search for the missing money finds him seducing and marrying the widow then terrorising the children. It’s all part of the lords plan.
Whilst understandably much has been made of the films remarkable visual language, using a stunning highly stylised, highly artificial set that represents the internal world of the children, the sonic world of The Night of the Hunter is equally as fascinating.
An ominous fanfare erupts when you first see Mitchum’ name in the credits. It softens somewhat for Shelly Winters (Lolita) before stabbing again as The Night of The Hunter title appears – making it clear we’re in dark noir territory. This isn’ particularly unusual for 50′ thrillers, where bombast of horns usually signals an entrance into a depraved morally questionable world. What is unusual is that the music then descends into a gentle church choir chorus singing the words “Fear is only a dream so dream little one dream.â€
This sequence is a musical metaphor for the film as a whole, and those final words lend credence to the notion that Night of the Hunter is something of a dark fairytale, an archetypal bedtime story designed to put fear into children when they are most vulnerable. Religious hymns are repeatedly interwoven with the score throughout the film, often from the mouth of babes – though most notably from Powell himself. Rather than devotional and reassuring, in his voice they’re a tool of intimidation, the false prophet, the wolf in sheep’ clothing, a further reminder of the power of religion when used for evil.
There’ a real playfulness to the score by Walter Schumann (Dragnet), equal parts sledgehammer brass and subtle reoccurring motifs seemingly derived from the hymns. Often it’s working counter to the images, referencing the inner turmoil of the characters. Schumann reportedly stayed on set during the filming, apparently playing pieces for the cast to set the mood. There’ also some evidence to suggest that he had a hand in the way Mitchum phrased “Chil-dren†when on the hunt for the kids, and if that’s true he earnt his pay check right there, because it’s equal parts creepy and menacing.
Religious allusions, a sadistic killer, babes lost in the woods (or on the river in this case), The Night of The Hunter is a truly idiosyncratic film that veers outside cinematic conventions and comfortably exists its own very strange and beautiful world.
