Dennis O'Keefe (Joe), Claire Trevor (Pat), Marsha Hunt (Ann), Raymond Burr (Rick), John Ireland (Fantail), Whit Bissell. Directed by Anthony Mann.
When the dark stars of noir aligned, and the genre's most gifted screenwriters, cinematographers, and directors pooled their respective skills - creating formidable cinematic dream teams - glittering gems like 1948's under appreciated Raw Deal were often the result. Replete with some of the cycle's most darkly gorgeous and painstakingly designed compositions - courtesy of master John Alton - the film is a semi-hallucinatory plunge into the murky depths of an escaped convicts nightmarish final days - his tortured psyche reflected in the story's shadowy, danger-charged locations.
As much the tale of a faithful moll's emotional suffering as it is a standard revenge yarn, the powerful narrative drive kicks in almost immediately, when within her tense inner monologue Pat (Trevor) reveals that she will assist in the scheduled jailbreak that will prematurely free her man Joe (O'Keefe). A sacrificial lamb for his sadistic racketeer-boss Rick (a chilling Burr), Joe is told that upon arriving at a post-break meeting spot he'll be rewarded 50k - with which he will begin a new life in Panama with Pat. But to the scheming Rick, Joe is actually a loose end that must be snipped.
Fresh-faced legal assistant Ann Martin (Hunt), who took a keen interest in Joe's case - and possibly Joe himself - is understandably startled when she awakens in the middle of the night to find the convict leaning over her prone figure. Their getaway car disabled by prison guards bullets, Joe and Pat need Ann's wheels to meet up with Rick's #2, Fantail (Ireland), and abduct the reluctant accomplice to make sure she stays quiet. To Pat's chagrin, Joe's reasons for bringing Ann may be twofold.
The slow-burning-fuse of a plot underway, Mann employs Alton regularly to integrate his signature museum-worthy shots, which intensify the sense of dread and inescapable imprisonment. Telephone lines shot from low angles divide and constrict open skies, while dark pine trees loom like massive cell-bars. Though 'free,' Joe is shackled to both his shady past, and mine-field of a future - his love triangle-on-wheels only muddying up matters more.
The Pat/Joe/Ann dynamic is an exquisitely composed plot element, and one of several things that elevate Raw Deal above the mix. Pat is clearly a doting and supportive gal-pal, but no amount of unconditional love can dampen the sparks traded between Joe and his not-so-secret admirer. Representing both a fresh start and a link to 'clean' society, Ann is also presented as more

Warning: Spoiler in video below
Written by Dave


1 comments:
Raw Deal is one of the better film noir flicks, but seems to hide in the shadows of obscurity.
The flick kicks off with minutes of howling existential audio: prison-yard steam whistles, screaming freight trains, blasting train whistles, blaring prison sirens, cracking gun-shots, screeching get-away tires, and wailing police sirens. It's a noisy jungle of break-out escape from prison. You know you're in for a raw deal just listening.
When the chaos of prison escape lets up, we're shoved into the doomed love triangle. Tension grips and shakes hard and fast. Good, bad, and evil sit side-by side in the get-away car.
The characters are doomed. They've been dealt a bad hand. But, their choices are just plain lousy too. Claire Trevor's character goes from hard to soft, and pays for it. Marsha Hunt's character goes from good to bad. O'Keefe's character uses the two dames when he needs them. Raymond Burr's tough-guy is just plain raw. He don't treat his dames right. Just about everybody ends up in no-wheresville.
UFA shadows are everywhere. And towards the end of the flick, there is strange scene of a kid on roller skates skating past a killer standing in a foggy alley. It's surrealism pasted on expressionism laced with deadly amounts of existentialism. The frogs gotta be liking this.
Raw Deal is one my favorites. I wish Rita, Lauren, Linda, Veronica, Marie, Lizabeth, and Ava could watch it with me. We'd drink high-balls, have fun, and maybe go dancing down at Santa Monica pier after the show.
Hard-Boiled Dick
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