The Power of the
Social-Problem Programmer
By Dana Polan
Film historians like to
connect Jack Arnold’s Man in the Shadow (1957) to Orson Welles’s Touch
of Evil from the same year, produced both at Universal-International by
Albert Zugsmith. Each revolves around a murder somewhere in the South or Southwest
that ensues when a rich and prejudiced gringo capitalist tries to prevent a
romance between his daughter and a Mexican man. Each involves an intrepid squared-jawed
he-man law enforcement figure investigating that murder and fightin the
obstructions of a racist megalomaniac played in both cases by Welles.
But the differences are instructive.
For instance, in Touch of Evil, the Welles figure is, like the hero, a
lawman, but in this case corrupt yet often getting the job done even as he
bends the law to do so. In Man in the Shadow, in contrast, Welles’s character
Renchler is an imperious cattleman (Virgil Renchler) whose ranch was the site
of a killing he oversaw. He’s unremittingly corrupt from beginning to end. Touch
of Evil then is about moral ambiguity – Welles’s Hank Quinlan is good cop
and bad cop rolled up into one. Man in the Shadow is more certain of its
morality: if, at the film’s beginning, Sherriff Ben Sadler (Jeff Chandler) has
a somewhat jaded attitude to his job (he clearly couldn’t care a whit about the
presumed killing of a Mexican bracero), he nonetheless pushes on in his inquiry
and stands finally for ethical uprightness against the unambiguous immorality
of Renchler. If Jeff Chandler once played Native Americans (Cochise in three
films), thus crossing or confusing racial and ethnic lines, here he is the
all-American, initially disdainful of the lowly Mexican workers but coming
ultimately to defend their rights against fascistic Anglo over-reachers.
Conversely, in Touch of Evil, the good cop, played by sculpted macho man
Charlton Heston, is himself Mexican, a casting decision that has never made
sense even as it adds to the weird fun of Welles’s film. And indeed Touch of
Evil is weird in so many ways – curious acting, baroque editing,
overwrought compositions, convoluted plot, and on and on.
Man in the Shadow in
contrast is a straightforward 80 minute programmer shot in a generally sober
style: after an initial act of excessive violence (the murder of the bracero in
the shadows), the film settles down to offer a taut and tight morality tale played
often in daylight (until a final battle that is dark in look but clear in moral
stance) and in long takes that, instead of meandering like the ones in Touch
of Evil often do, frequently remain implacably fixed on the action in order
to take in the verbal sparring of Sadler and everyone who wants to prevent him
from getting at the truth.
In this pared-down narrative
of one intrepid man against the world, Man in the Shadow is in a lineage
of other such films that came out the complex context of the 1950s. For
instance, Sadler’s casting off of his badge when virtually no one in the town
comes to his defense seems inspired by High Noon while the paranoid
atmosphere of a modern Western town where deadly realities of racial violence
are being hidden away by the villagers reminds one of John Sturges’s man-against-conspiratorial-community-nightmare,
Bad Day at Black Rock. Yet, when an Italian barber announces his
allegiance to Sherriff Sadler and explains that over in Italy, they tried to
install a dictator in the 1920s and that’s why he prefers America, we can
readily see that Man in the Shadow is going in a different direction
than the paranoid narratives of the hunted hero alone against corrupt society. The
barber is the first crack in the mindless devotion to fascistic conformity. Like,
say, the Frank Sinatra Western Johnny Concho from the year before, Man
in the Shadow ultimately shows itself devoted to the cause of liberalism as
the townsfolk convert in their convictions and come to Sadler’s defense. This
liberalism against a conspiratorial conformity takes on new relevance and
resonance in today’s fraught political context as we see the townsfolk
initially disdaining the Mexican workers as undocumented and othering them
through xenophobic stereotypes while imagining whiteness as a fundamental
decency. That the white commonfolk can evolve ideologically and overcome
prejudice might well link the progressivism of Man in the Shadow to a
key earlier film by director Jack Arnold, It Came from Outer Space,
another liberal intervention into Cold War Culture that, similarly, is all
about turning fear of the other into inter-cultural tolerance.
Filmed in CinemaScope
black-and-white (like some other programmers just around this time), Man in
the Shadow looks great on Kino Lorber’s Blu-Ray edition. The only special features
are the original trailer (which, interestingly, pinpoints Sherriff Sadler and
not Orson Welles’s seemingly respectable but fundamentally corrupt capitalist
as the “man in the shadow”) and a breathless commentary track from movie critic
Troy Howarth. To my mind, Howarth is a bit too enamored of character actors’
filmographies, enumerating at length the career and date of death for virtually
anyone from within the film’s secondary cast, but he does offer helpful
insights about the film’s genre affiliations: for example, Horwath’s perception
that violence around a seemingly alien otherness insinuating itself into arid
small towns is common to a number of Jack Arnold films enables us to see the
xenophobia at issue in both Arnold’s Westerns and science-fiction.
Long unavailable (or
available only in pan-and-scan), Man in the Shadow in Kino Lorber’s fine
Blu-Ray edition offers anew a strikingly suspenseful social-problem film that
offers a trenchant glimpse of the politics of its time.
Click here to order from Amazon
(Dana Polan is the author of "Dreams of Flight: 'The Great Escape' in American Film and Culture". Click here to order from Amazon