“A PINT OF BRITISH NOIR”

By Raymond Benson

Film noir wasn’t just relegated to American Hollywood films of the forties and fifties. It was something of an international movement, albeit an unconscious one, for it wasn’t until the late fifties that some critics in France looked back at the past two decades of crime pictures and proclaimed, “Oui! Film noir!”

Britain was doing it, too. Carol Reed’s 1947 IRA-thriller-that-isn’t-an-IRA-thriller Odd Man Out is one of the best examples of the style. Robert Krasker’s black and white cinematography pulls in all the essential film noir elements—German expressionism, high contrasts between dark and light, and tons of shadows. Other noir trappings are present, such as stormy weather, night scenes, exterior locations, bars, shabby tenements, a lot of smoking, and a crime. And, for a movie to be “pure noir,” there must not be a happy ending. Odd Man Out fulfills that last requirement with shocking bravura.

James Mason stars as Johnny, the leader of “the organization” in an unnamed Northern Ireland city; it isn’t difficult to connect the dots and assume the organization is the IRA and the city is probably someplace like Belfast (where much of the second unit photography was done on the sly; the rest of the film was shot in studios and locations in England). Johnny escaped from prison a few months back and has been in hiding, secluded in a house with his girlfriend Kathleen (the beautiful Kathleen Ryan) for months. He has gathered a small gang to rob a mill for money to support their cause. The problem is that Johnny has gone a bit “soft,” and isn’t properly prepared for the job. Nevertheless, the four men pull off the caper, but of course it goes wrong. Johnny is shot in the shoulder, he unwittingly kills a man in self defense, and he is separated from the other gang members. The rest of the film is a D.O.A.-style story of the next twenty-four hours or so as Johnny eludes capture from the police on the streets, all the while losing blood and his life. So we know he’s probably not going to make it and we wait for the inevitable—but what happens until that fateful ending (which manages to surprise us anyway with an unexpected twist in how it’s done) is incredibly suspenseful.

Odd Man Out is one of the most engaging and thrilling British films of the 20th Century. Period. It certainly rivals Reed’s The Third Man, which is also an excellent model of British noir. Mason is terrific as he stumbles around the streets, delusional and suffering, practically bouncing from one obstacle to another with no safe haven in sight. Other familiar British and Irish faces crop up—Robert Newton, Cyril Cusack, Dan O’Herlihy, F. J. McCormick—and Kubrick fans might recognize a younger Paul Farrell (the tramp from A Clockwork Orange) as a bartender named Sam.

Criterion’s high-definition digital restoration looks marvelous, naturally. Once again, the company’s mastering for Blu-ray outdoes the competition. The image is sharp and without blemishes for the most part, and appears as if the film was made yesterday. Extras include a new interview with British cinema scholar John Hill on the picture; “Postwar Poetry,” a new short documentary; a new interview with music scholar Jeff Smith about composer William Alwyn and his gorgeous score; a nearly-hour-long 1972 documentary featuring James Mason revisiting his hometown in Ireland; and a radio adaptation of the film from 1952, starring Mason and O’Herlihy. The essay in the booklet is by critic Sara Smith.

All of these supplements are very good, but the reason to run out and buy this Blu-ray release is the film itself. Odd Man Out is a landmark crime picture with wonderfully eccentric Irish characters, lush atmosphere, and film noir traits galore. Highly recommended.

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