Touch of Evil

(1958)

Directed by

Orson Welles

Review by Zach Saltz

Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil (1958) begins and ends in magnificent fashion.  The opening sequence, one of the most famous in cinematic history, begins with a hand setting a timer on a bomb, placing it in a car, a man and a woman then getting into the car, starting it, driving it behind a building, coming toward the camera on the street, the camera then panning to Charlton Heston and Janet Leigh, who walk by border control, then we see the car once again as it drives by the guards (with the woman inside it complaining of a ringing noise), and finally Mr. Heston and Ms. Leigh talking about how wonderful their new married life is to be.  This virtuoso, uninterrupted shot lasting nearly four minutes is remarkable in the way that it never comes off as brash or overconfident; like the technical majesty of Citizen Kane, Welles has found a way to make even the most spectacular marvels of mise-en-scene seamless in their integration to the meat of the story.  They are amazing, yes, but we never forget the true focal point of what we’re seeing: The story and its characters, which initially seem arduous and labyrinthine, but are really more simple than we think.

I’ll get to the finale in a moment, but first let me describe the middle section of the film.  Touch of Evil is like a dry martini mixed with a little noir, a little B-grade schlock, a little Howard Hawks, a little Samuel Fuller, and a lot of Orson Welles.  The backlighting, the low angles, the excessive deep focus.  The ineffectual and self-destructive characters.  So many of Welles’ characters are giants destroyed by the brazen nature of hubris, and it is no different here, with old Orson playing the weary-eyed and helplessly drunk Hank Quinlan, a border sheriff who has secretly been planting evidence for fifteen years in order to indict seemingly guilty bystanders.  On the other side of the border, Mexican official Mike Vargas (Heston) grows skeptical and decides to take on the American force, even if it means subjecting his shiny new American wife (Leigh) to the shady dealings of not only Quinlan, but the band of Mexican hoodlums hot on the trail of the man who put away their beloved uncle.  The story is more than just a fruitless employment of good cop-bad cop because there are real moral issues at stake, articulated nicely by the gypsy madam (played shamelessly by the only gypsy madam this side of Heidi Fleiss, Marlene Dietrich) who says that Quinlan is more of a cop than an enforcer of the law.

Then there is the final sequence, which is a masterful exercise in set decoration and cinematography.  Vargas has tapped a partner of Quinlan and tape records their conversation, as the characters walk through one of the strangest and most austere canals I’ve ever seen.  There are two vital instances where Vargas (and the viewer) think that the drunken Quinlan has caught on to the scheme and we hold our breath in complete suspense -- only to see that Quinlan is still aloof to the plan.  Only moments later, though, the inevitable confrontation comes, but in a way we could never foresee.

Touch of Evil lacks the edge of Citizen Kane -- both in story and filming technique -- but it’s hard to compare any film to the latter, and Touch of Evil succeeds admirably in combining many different elements to create a mood and atmosphere reminiscent of a shady bar at 3:00am in the morning.  It’s gritty and unnerving, especially in scenes where character’s underlying motives lie in the subtext of what is happening.  It’s the type of film where characters go to fortune tellers to ask what the future has in store for them.  It’s also the type of film where the fortune teller responds that your future is all used up.

Rating:

# 1 of 1958