This film noir – directed by Robert Montgomery (who also starred) and shot by Paul Vogel, ASC – is a run-of-the-mill interpretation of the Raymond Chandler novel of the same name. You’d be missing nothing if you didn’t see it, but for followers of this blog it’s memorable for one reason: The story is told exclusively from the point-of-view of the main character, Philip Marlowe. Save for several plot-explaining moments and a few instants in which he’s glimpsed in a mirror, the movie plays in his own first-person-camera perspective. It’s an odd device in which the cast always seem like they’re auditioning, and I never got comfortable watching them directly address the lens. I can’t imagine it was much fun for them to do either, and there are many moments that support this contention.
One of them takes place at about forty-eight minutes in. Character Derrace Kingsby (played by Leon Ames) stands camera left as he speaks to femme fatale Adrienne Fromsett (Audrey Totter), to the right. Marlowe – ostensibly, the camera – moves toward them and chats with Kingsby (who replies straight to the lens). Kingsby’s performance is credible, but in the instant he turns his attention back to Fromsett, you can see the difference between faking it and doing it for real. His acting demeanor suddenly takes on a new dimension. Once again relating to a person as opposed to a hulking Mitchell BNC, he becomes more convincing than he had previously been. It’s a telling moment that calls to mind the challenging issues many modern actors have when working in FX environments, which often sees them emoting to green screens or LED walls. Lady in the Lake is filled with similar examples, and they’re precisely why the movie doesn’t work. Even the sound is a distraction. The room tone of Montgomery’s unconvincing, off-camera dialogue never matches the location you see, which takes you yet another step out of the moment.
As for cinematographer Vogel (1899-1975), not much is known about him. He began in the 1920’s and worked mostly at MGM until his retirement in 1967. Among his notable titles are Angels in the Outfield (1951; Clarence Brown), The Tender Trap (1955; Charles Walters), High Society (1956; Charles Walters), The Time Machine (1960; George Pal) and The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (1962; George Pal\Henry Levin). His work on Lady in the Lake is clean and professional, and two years later he’d win the Oscar for Battleground (1949; William A. Wellman).
I don’t want to condemn Lady in the Lake too harshly, but it would take a more imaginative director than Montgomery to make the first-person-camera palatable. Later that year, Delmer Daves took a swing with it on Dark Passage (Sid Hickox, ASC), and somewhat succeeded. By restricting its use to the first thirty-seven minutes of the movie (then reverting to the traditional technique), he delivered a less intrusive experience in a fair-to-middling narrative. Others have trodden this road more recently, but these early examples are required viewing for anyone seriously interested in filmmaking.
Thanks for putting it into words, Richard.
I’ve had the same uncomfortable experience with The Lady in the Lake.
Although, I’m not completely put off by the Dark Passage first reel, as I understood it was to keep Humphrey Bogart face under wraps both physically and and story wise.
Recently, we had a script on our show “Happy’s Place” about shooting a local commercial for the bar.
Actors had to talk directly into camera and into a mobile phone for the piece.
The actors were much more comfortable with the phone than with the Venice and an 11-1 Primo.
I can’t imagine how difficult it was for the actors in The Lady in the Lake.
I have given them a pass on their somewhat forced and uneasy performance
Having no real memory of the film, and not quibbling with your analysis, is it possible, whether intentionally or not, that in turning back to the actor from the BNC, it signifies a change in nervous demeanor from speaking to the detective to the other actor?**
**Character Derrace Kingsby (played by Leon Ames) stands camera left as he speaks to femme fatale Adrienne Fromsett (Audrey Totter), to the right. Marlowe – ostensibly, the camera – moves toward them and chats with Kingsby (who replies straight to the lens). Kingsby’s performance is credible, but in the instant he turns his attention back to Fromsett, you can see the difference between faking it and doing it for real. His acting demeanor suddenly takes on a new dimension. Once again relating to a person as opposed to a hulking Mitchell BNC, he becomes more convincing than he had previously been.
Greg – Possibly… But what I described happened over and over again throughout the movie. I used only one example, but it indicated something of a pattern.
Gary – Yeah, that sort of technique is a rarity, probably for the very reasons we both touch on. It’s interesting for a few minutes, but gets very self-conscious – and boring – very quickly.