Women's Prison (1955)

Women's Prison (1955) is a high period women's prison drama film noir, with a wealth of noir talent and an outré head of steam as it tackles psychopathically sublimated sexual suppression in the form of a violent warder played by Ida Lupino.

Jan Sterling, Audrey Totter, Juanita Moore, Cleo Moore make a cell block of sass and noir dialogue, while outlandish banter and bravado make stir seem fun, although not for the mortally bullied cracked up manslaughter case of a gentle woman cast into hellish chokey, played by Phyllis Thaxter.

Howard Duff plays a pipe pokin heart throbbin prison doctor, who is deeply concerned for the welfare of in particular Phyliss Thaxter's broken form, as she is strait-jacketed, broken, and psychologically torn apart.

Down in the laundry the action is hot, as the girls drag bales of stunken cloth, press and flatten clothes and sheets.

The film deftly accentuates the enigmatic presence of Ida Lupino, whose central role, though diminutive in scale, resonates profoundly. She adeptly embodies the archetype of the hardened, self-absorbed dame, a persona she masterfully portrays across her oeuvre, distinguishing herself from her peers. 

Barry Kelley in Women's Prison (1955)

In this instance, she assumes the character of a resolute prison warden, eschewing the campiness associated with Bette Davis or the overt sensuality exhibited by other actresses (even when such allure is intentionally invoked). Lupino’s performance, while lacking idiosyncrasies akin to Gloria Grahame’s, paradoxically contributes both positively and negatively to the film’s overall impact. Her unwavering presence, akin to a steadfast pillar, consistently upholds her end of the dramatic bargain without overshadowing her fellow actors.

Woman’s Prison, a 1955 American film noir crime drama directed by Lewis Seiler, weaves a gripping narrative within the confines of a maximum security prison. Let’s delve into the intricacies of this cinematic work:

In the female wing, Jan Sterling portrays Brenda Martin, a returning inmate with a striking peroxide blonde appearance. Alongside her is Phyllis Thaxter as Helene Jensen, a first-time offender—a plain housewife convicted of vehicular manslaughter after a tragic accident involving a child. 

Wallace Stevens in Women's Prison (1955)

Meanwhile, in the men’s division, Warren Stevens plays Glen Burton, an armed robbery convict attempting to reach the women’s side, where his wife Joan (portrayed by Audrey Totter) serves time as an accomplice.

The formidable presence of Ida Lupino as the sadistic prison director, Amelia van Zandt, looms over the female inmates. Clad in a turned-up collar and high heels, Lupino’s portrayal is both cruel and captivating. However, her harshness finds balance in the compassionate prison doctor, Howard Duff (Dr. Crane).

Howard Duff in Women's Prison (1955)

Despite its intentions, Woman’s Prison leans more toward amusement than hard-hitting realism. Producer Bryan Foy seems to have aimed for a blend of authenticity and sensationalism, resulting in a delightfully perverse viewing experience. Performances are intentionally stilted, aligning with the film’s tone. 

Director Lewis Seiler and cinematographer Lester White deftly capture pivotal moments, including an inevitable riot triggered by a simple command: Throw the master switch that opens all the gates.

In this intriguing ensemble, 1930s star Mae Clarke (Matron Saunders) adds depth with her insightful commentary on prison pictures. As the drama unfolds, the film invites us to explore the human psyche within the confines of incarceration—a world where cruelty and compassion collide, leaving an indelible mark on both characters and audience alike

In our discerning analysis of the celluloid opus titled Woman’s Prison, we find ourselves inexorably drawn to the character of Helene Jensen, portrayed with poignant nuance by the estimable Phyllis Thaxter. Jensen, a newly admitted, timorous denizen of middle-class provenance, bears the weight of a tragic past—a vehicular mishap that claimed the life of a child. 

Jan Sterling and Phyllis Thaxter in Women's Prison (1955)

The penal system metes out its judgment, assigning her a punitive sentence of one to ten. Yet, our sympathies waver, for Jensen’s disposition proves somewhat resistant to endearment. Her vulnerability, while undeniable, is overshadowed by an exaggerated, almost histrionic response to the prison milieu—a wearisome spectacle, especially when juxtaposed with her congenial fellow inmates. 

These women, in their welcoming camaraderie, engage in lively discourse, offering support and even indulging in impromptu impersonations to alleviate the carceral monotony.

However, our narrative compass veers resolutely toward the formidable figure of Superintendent Amelia van Zandt, a woman both ruthless and beguiling. Ida Lupino, with her cunning beauty, inhabits this role with aplomb. 

Women's Prison (1955)

Van Zandt’s demeanor toward her female charges is unapologetically severe, a calculated brutality that consistently clashes with the compassionate ethos of Dr. Crane (embodied by the venerable Howard Duff), the prison’s resident physician. Dr. Crane, in a moment of clinical insight, posits a diagnosis: Van Zandt’s envy of the women, each having tasted love in some measure, fuels her authoritarian zeal. We, as discerning observers, defer to his medical acumen.

Conversely, the film’s primary male counterpart—a physician portrayed by Howard Duff—exists within the predominantly feminine narrative fabric. However, it is the ensemble of incarcerated women who truly shine as the celestial luminaries. 

Phyllis Thaxter in Women's Prison (1955)

Jan Sterling in Women's Prison (1955)

Phyllis Thaxter in Women's Prison (1955)

These women, a diverse array of characters embodying confidence and vulnerability, collectively form the pulsating heart of the narrative. Notably, Juanita Moore, known for her role in Imitation of Life, graces the screen. Their collective rebellion against Lupino’s malevolence becomes the fulcrum upon which the film pivots, delivering a riveting and emotionally charged drama.

Women's Prison (1955)

In summary, the interplay of Lupino’s nuanced performance, the ensemble cast, and the thematic tension between gender dynamics culminates in a cinematic experience that resonates deeply with our shared desires and emotions.

Ida Lupino in Women's Prison (1955)

Compared to the women in prison movies that followed in the 1970s, this is very, very tame stuff, even if the publicity campaign at the time if its release tried to position the film as if it wasn't. The still I chose to illustrate the film implies atmosphere and situations that are nowhere to be found in the film (while demonstrating that Cleo Moore was literally the poster-girl for Columbia Picture's marketing department when it came to sexing things up--her part in the film is very small, yet she is the subject of a publicity still). 

Phyllis Thaxter in Women's Prison (1955)

The prisoners here seem more like members of a professional association on a retreat than hardened criminals worthy of being locked away, the guards are all professional and appropriately concerned with the well-being of prisoners, the prison is neat and clean and well-lit. If not for the hell-beast of a warden, the prison in this film and the people in it are nicer than some places I've been on vacation at.

In fact, the prisoners are so nice that the over-the-top hysterics of the poor housewife who is sent up for killing a child with her car become very irritating after a while. While she doesn't deserve to be straight-jacketed or thrown in solitary for being frightened, it's a mystery where her over-reaction to normal prison procedures came from, since every prisoner she meets is nice and chatty and no different than the girls at the hair salon or in the grocery store checkout line. 

Cleo Moore and Jan Sterling in Women's Prison (1955)

Audrey Totter in Women's Prison (1955)

Adelle August and Vivian Marshall in Women's Prison (1955)

Cleo Moore and Jan Sterling in Women's Prison (1955)

Hell, one prisoner could even find work as a tour guide, I'm certain, given how quickly she steps up to show the new kid ropes.

Women’s Prison, a 1955 American film noir, portrays the harsh life of female inmates under the ruthless warden, Amelia van Zandt. The film contrasts the decency of prison staff with the cruelty of the women’s warden, Ida Lupino. Lupino’s performance as the aggressively cruel warden stands out. The movie delves into themes of brutality, rebellion, and the struggle for justice. 

Well-acted and well-scripted, it’s worth watching if you appreciate Ida Lupino’s work and can tolerate melodrama. However, if you’re seeking sleaze à la Roger Corman or Jess Franco, this isn’t the right choice."

For most of us a film like Women's Prison is going to be a super exciting treasure trove of sexism, misogyny and the fragile and farcical gender plays of the 1950s. Academics and pseudo thinks alike should rush to this production with the natural air of superiority we all feel about such subjects: because this is the 1950s, we are going to be so much more advanced and so the morals of this film noir are going to be as easy to expose as fish tipped out of a barrel on to the cobbles.

Howard Duff in Women's Prison (1955)

To ask questions as to what degree this might be true, would seem absurd. As progressives it is embedded in our thinking that morals are better today than they were in 1950s. This era, we believe, was one that confined itself with so much sexism and racism, that a film such as this is going to be a blast, as we laugh our way through its mores and representations.

But is this correct? Is it right to believe that 2030 is more sophisticated in its gender ethics than 1950? Are we ready to say without argument, that matters have progressed? We might be able to say that, but only as progressives. To be a progressive is to believe in progress and to believe in progress is to say that things are better now.

A more relativist approach might be however to compare a film like Women's Prison (1955) with the films of its day rather than the films of our own. At least, it could be said, decent parts for female actors were provided in film noir, and it could easily be argued that female roles have become more cliched the more they try to free women didactically from the shackles of '55.

Women's Prison (1955)

The barometer for this may be camp. What is camp today might not have been intended as such, but expressive fun, and there is a lot of expressive fun in Women's Prison. First off, all of the prisoners in Women's Prison are cheery salt of the earth types, and in fact there are no bad asses or threatening and bullying cons, as typical to the prison movie style. Other than the psychopathic warden, there is in fact not much to complain about in this girly chokey.

Light the cigar with Barry Kelly and Wallace Stevens in Women's Prison (1955)

The psychopathic warden played by Ida Lupino is a different kettle of chips altogether, and IRL hubbie Howard Duff does a good job of eking out her homosexuality, rather manipulatively suggestive of criminality in itself, and her ending, while camp in its excess and incredibility, is suggestive of all the crazy mental-flip scenarios of film noir and melodrama, presenting a type-fusion of divine retribution and human stress-on-the-job as her character 'goes mad' and receives the fate of course that she had been dishing out so gleefully to her poor girls. As such then we have nothing approaching realism, as well expressed buy the two prison guards in the following much quoted exchange:

Ida Lupino in Women's Prison (1955)

Instead of realism, rises an easily grotesque fantasy; all the girls are lookers, and cunningly bonded by their normativity, as each seems to rely on the security of a man on the outside, or in Audrey Totter's case, one on the inside. The normativity is repeated in a fashion that is simply embarrassing to a society that has come to appreciate there are many other modes of living other than the prescribed man and wife model. 

But yet the people of the 1950s were not gender-barbarians. You could argue that what is being reinforced is punitive because with such women being confined, it might be natural that they should love and comfort each other. 

Instead though, they talk about the men, because they are the same as the men, who talk about the women. Whenever some kind of equality emerges, some inequality is the corollary result.

Ida Lupino in Women's Prison (1955)

Although the strangely gentile nature of the inmates seemed a bit odd to me, I did appreciate the fact that the film didn't try to paint them as victims of the justice system like some other prison movies I've watched. Most of the inmates are exactly where they belong, and they make no bones about it. I also liked the fact that the matrons and guards were shown as decent human beings who were just doing their jobs.

Yet, consequences unfurl like tendrils of fate. Helene Jensen, ensnared in the unforgiving embrace of a straitjacket, succumbs to a coma—an affliction perhaps disproportionate to her transgressions. Meanwhile, Joan (the luminous Audrey Totter), wedded to Glenn, languishes in the adjacent men’s prison. Glenn, desperate to glimpse his imprisoned wife, faces the implacable barriers erected by Van Zandt and the stern Warden. 

His clandestine attempts to infiltrate the women’s domain yield mixed results, culminating in a clandestine encounter with Joan amidst the laundry’s dimly lit storeroom. Their passion, akin to the hot pressing of fabric, ignites a clandestine flame—one that bears unexpected fruit as Joan finds herself with child. The film has a lotta heart.

In this female madness of confinement, where love and cruelty intersect, Woman’s Prison unfurls its tapestry of human frailty and resilience. The celluloid canvas captures the human condition in all its shades, leaving us pondering the delicate balance between retribution and redemption

The film Women’s Prison delves into the intricate realm of psychological borders and their permeability. By establishing binaries and parallels, the movie highlights the fragile nature of boundaries from the outset. Notably, the dividing wall between male and female prisoners becomes a central motif, challenging traditional notions of confinement.

Jan Sterling in Women's Prison (1955)

It's one of those films where walls symbolise obstacles to freedom, Women’s Prison portrays them as barriers to Eros—the powerful force of desire. Brock and van Zandt, ruthless and loveless wardens, fear not only losing their jobs but also intimacy. Their obsession with filling the hole in the wall serves as a metaphor for sexual repression.

The film Women’s Prison masterfully captures the anxiety of its era by illustrating how swiftly circumstances can transform and cross over into their opposites. Within this context, the movie explores several thought-provoking themes:

The film critiques the rigid regulation of desire and behavior, emphasizing the tenuous nature of boundaries.

Unlike Caged, which delves into the blurred line between heterosexuality and homosexuality, Women’s Prison validates straight desire and marriage.

Notably, the film portrays very few same-sex relationships or masculinized women. Instead, the female characters dream of vacations with their husbands in Hawaii, reinforcing traditional gender roles.

While critical of the institutional wall separating men from women, the film subtly argues for heterosexual conjugal visits. Children become an issue, yet no babies are conceived or born out of wedlock. Helene’s emotional sensitivity contrasts with van Zandt’s emotional detachment.

Dr. Crane, positioned as the film’s moral center, embodies rationality and humanity.

So yeah that's the sketch here, Women’s Prison navigates the complexities of sanity, desire, and societal norms, inviting viewers to question the boundaries that shape their lives. Women’s Prison, released in 1955, faced initial dismissal from the New York Times reviewer as a cliché-ridden tale told by Hollywood-style penologists. 

Howard Barry Kelley droopy cigar loser in Women's Prison (1955)

However, the film cleverly incorporates meta-commentary about prison movies themselves. A guard’s humorous admission that she enjoys spotting flaws in prison pictures highlights Hollywood’s struggle to depict prisons realistically.

The film’s opening voice-over, set against an exterior shot of the prison, resembles a therapist analysing unconscious drives: All prisons look alike from the outside, but inside, each has a different character. Women’s Prison ostensibly focuses on a central issue: the separation of caged men and women by a thick wall. While the state’s budget constraints prevent separate institutions, the female superintendent, Amelia van Zandt, and male warden, Warden Brock, become hyper-strict parental figures.

The portrayal of prison in the 1950s took an unexpected turn in Walt Disney’s animated film Lady and the Tramp (1955). While the movie may seem light-hearted, it subtly reflects societal norms and gender roles of the time.

In the film, Lady, a pampered Cocker Spaniel, finds herself in the dog pound after a night out with Tramp, a streetwise mutt. Her crime? Essentially, premarital sex. Surrounded by lower-class dogs like Nutsy, the Communist Borzoi, and the loose Peg, Lady grapples with the consequences of her newfound sexual maturity. 

The film suggests that a female’s responsibility lies in promising sexual gratification to males only after they commit to settling down and raising a family—a reflection of the prevailing gender norms.

Lady’s shame deepens when she seemingly becomes pregnant from her reckless escapade. To regain respectability, she rejects marriage proposals from older, upper-class neighbor dogs, Trusty and Jock. Her salvation hinges on persuading Tramp to embrace responsibility. In true solid reliable conservative normative lovely Disney fashion, she succeeds, leading to a happy ending where Lady and Tramp, surrounded by their puppies, join their owners in domestic bliss.

However, this idyllic outcome contrasts sharply with the reality faced by most incarcerated women in 1950s films. Lady’s success is partly due to her ability to learn from her mistakes, but it’s also influenced by the presence of a supportive male figure. 

Unfortunately, such supportive men are often absent in the majority of women’s prison movies, which primarily focus on the relationships between women and the harm caused by men.

The film defies easy categorization, employing camp to explore sex, borders, and desire regulation. Its deconstruction of binaries begins with the induction of two prisoners: Helene, a middle-aged housewife who accidentally killed a girl, and Brenda, a repeat offender. Helene’s conservative attire contrasts sharply with Brenda’s provocative appearance.

Brenda, straight and likable, guides Helene, who suffers a mental breakdown and faces sadistic treatment from van Zandt.

Warren Stevens in Women's Prison (1955)

Helene, a fellow prisoner, stands in stark contrast to van Zandt. Initially empathetic, she experiences profound grief over accidentally killing a child. In contrast, van Zandt, a psychopath, remains emotionally detached. As the film unfolds, van Zandt’s cruelty and lack of remorse reveal his true insanity, while Helene’s sensitivity proves her sanity.

Women’s Prison masterfully explores the blurred boundaries of sanity and madness. As van Zandt sits in the same padded cell where Helene once awaited a straightjacket, the film underscores that appearances can deceive—the woman who seemed mad was sane, and the one who appeared sane was mad all along.

Women's Prison (1955)

Directed by Lewis Seiler

Genres - Crime, Drama  |   Sub-Genres - Film Noir  |   Release Date - Feb 1, 1955  |   Run Time - 80 min. 

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