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If there were ever a serial with a film noir theme or a film noir touch and style, and one of course from the Golden Age of movie serial adventures, it was The Whistler.
The Whistler is great because we never see The Whistler themselves, but we see their shadow, which is a most film noir manner of appearance, and this character, invisible and present, does speak to the noir losers and saps that are the heroes of these films, always and with one exception played by Richard Dix.
This formula of conscience suggestive of psychological guilt and tinged perhaps with the madness of descent into the amoral world of the film noir sucker, loser or fatal target, works well and is as absolute as a film noired mainstream concept, a simple shadow, that speaks to you, that reminds you of your guilt, your failings, the inevitability of your unravelling.
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| Richard Dix in The Whistler (1944) |
A prosperous yet despondent businessman, drowning in sorrow after the tragic loss of his beloved wife in a boating mishap, engages the services of a shadowy assassin to orchestrate his own demise. He's a noir heel of another sort, and throughout the The Whistler series, the multiple readings of doubt on Richard Dix's face create tone galore.
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To prove that this is full fat noir, fate takes a cruel and ironic twist when he uncovers that his wife, thought to be lost to the capricious waves, is miraculously alive. Richard Dix makes another sorry and longing face.
In another cruel stroke of fortune, the intermediary—a man who served as the solitary link between the despairing husband and the enigmatic hitman, both of whom have never laid eyes upon each other—meets an untimely end in a police shootout in a film noir sound stage alleyway.
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This unfortunate demise leaves our film noir businessman in a perilous predicament, with no means to retract the deadly contract he has unwittingly set in motion.
Orson Welles stands as the towering muse for many 1940s movies and serials, an emblematic force at the intersection of cinema and radio, a fitting homage to the dark symphony of both mediums.
"I... am the Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night," goes the The Whistler refrain. The Crow's Nest, a seedy harbor tavern ripe for clandestine encounters, serves as the stage where a desolate industrialist (Richard Dix) meets "a man whose business is death."
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| This book appears in several of the The Whistler movies |
Having lost his wife to the unforgiving sea, he contracts his own assassination in a solid weird noir move, that can only go wrong in the most fateful manner. The hired killer (J. Carrol Naish), a man of meticulous habits masquerading as an insurance agent, unwinds at home with a copy of Studies in Necrophobia in his hands.
His colleague, sensing the morbid descent in this noirman's mind, suggests a more benign pastime: "Why don't you try raising orchids for a hobby?"
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| The Whistler (1944) |
The sudden demise of the hitman middleman throws the gears into disarray when the grieving client has a change of heart, but the assassin remains unyielding—his professional code demands he fulfill the contract. "I was paid, I gotta deliver." This is what he says, and he is psycho enough to mean it.
The film sustains an atmosphere of creeping paranoia, a shadowed labyrinth of sinister figures and foreboding sets, all orchestrated by William Castle in one of his early, show-stopping tricks.
The lovelorn secretary (Gloria Stuart) is a great and typical film noir touch, the after-hours telephone repairman, the executioner awaiting on flophouse bed 13—all contribute to a chilling tableau.
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"Ever hear the theory that it's impossible for anyone to go into a room without leaving behind some trace of their presence?" This is a crazily marvellous idea where spirituality and noir meet in the thick of fate.
Meanwhile, the narrative weaves through themes of resurrection and expiration, from the brutal realities of a Japanese prisoner camp to a widow's harrowing journey off-road (Joan Woodbury).
The deaf-mute youth, three years ahead of Tourneur's Out of the Past, sits at the counter engrossed in a Superman comic-book, an enigmatic detail amid the film’s ingenious, and fun, low-budget spectacles.
In one striking sequence, a vagabond lures the weary protagonist to a warehouse, a gunshot echoes, a body collapses over a flickering candle, and darkness consumes the screen. "My psychological experiment is going great!"
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| The birth of serial noir with The Whistler (1944) |
This brand of lethal terror would become Castle's signature motif, echoing through later works like Macabre, House on Haunted Hill, and The Tingler. The film, steeped in monochromatic dread, like any decent film noir worth its shadows might be, features a robust supporting cast including Alan Dinehart, Robert Emmett Keane, Don Costello, Trevor Bardette, and William Benedict. In black and white.
This cinematic offering marks the inaugural entry in Columbia's illustrious octet known as the The Whistler series. True to the form of its successors, the narrative's brush with the fantastic is embodied solely by the spectral presence of the Whistler, who weaves this tale of inexorable fate.
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This installment, however, subtly intensifies its supernatural aura, as the characters momentarily sense the eerie presence of The Whistler—a sensation that tantalizes but ultimately does not fully manifest. It's a shadow, he's a noir shadow, a fateful hand, a cut out in a hat, although for the weirdness of the ages, The Whistler does not smoke, it might be important.
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The plot is ingeniously constructed, populated with a host of intriguing characters, and brought to life by commendable performances, with J. Carrol Naish delivering a particularly compelling portrayal of the hitman, who derives dark pleasure from testing whether he can terrify his quarry into a premature demise.
In the grand era before television reigned supreme, Hollywood's B units were in some respect quick and wonderful powerhouses, churning out a plethora of movie series—brisk, electrifying features often steeped in crime and intrigue, drawn from the vibrant world of pulp fiction or the immensely popular radio dramas of the day.
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| Richard Dix in The Whistler (1944) |
These cinematic gems included the iconic Perry Mason, the brilliant Philo Vance, the intrepid Torchy Blane, and, standing slightly above the rest in sheer production grandeur, the ever-sophisticated Thin Man.
Then came the mid-1940s, a time when Universal Studios dared to unleash upon the world a series of six Inner Sanctum Mysteries, starring the incomparable Lon Chaney Jr. But don’t be fooled by the name—these films bore no relation to the wildly successful radio show that gripped audiences from 1941 to 1952.
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| The Whistler (1944) |
In fact, Universal had a different vision for this series, one that capitalized on Chaney’s stature as the studio's reigning and all-time undisputed terror-fricken master of horror. These films were not mere mysteries; they were dark, twisted tales that ventured into the realms of science fiction and the supernatural, each story a standalone masterpiece with Chaney transforming into a new and enigmatic character with every film.
Meanwhile, across town, Columbia Pictures was plotting its own conquest of the silver screen. They took aim at another titan of the airwaves: The Whistler, a radio show that kept listeners on the edge of their seats from 1942 to 1955.
Over five years, Columbia released eight films under The Whistler banner—though none dared to simply rehash old radio scripts. Instead, they boldly forged new paths, crafting original screenplays with a dash of Cornell Woolrich's literary genius. Like Universal's Inner Sanctum, The Whistler films were anthological in nature, with the legendary Richard Dix donning a different persona in each of the first seven films, only to be replaced by Michael Duane after Dix’s untimely death.
The first Whistler film stands apart from its successors in several ways, particularly in its notable supporting cast, which features recognizable names alongside Richard Dix, who anchors the story by portraying a different character grappling with unique troubles in each installment.
In this debut, J. Carrol Naish delivers a chilling performance as the hired killer, while Gloria Stuart plays Alice Walker, the protagonist's loyal secretary. Alan Dinehart rounds out the cast as the dubious friend of the hitman.
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In this initial entry, Richard Dix takes on the role of Earl C. Conrad, an industrialist whose life has spiraled into depression mania and despair, which appears partially scarred across his brooding face in tyhe dive bar where he begins his adventure.
The plot reveals that Conrad’s marriage was in turmoil, leading the couple to embark on a cruise. Tragically, his wife went missing at sea, and upon returning alone, Conrad found himself shunned by his friends, who suspected him of foul play.
After enduring three years of isolation and suspicion, Conrad reaches the point of wanting to end his life but lacks the courage to do it himself. Desperate, he hires a hitman through a middleman, arranging for his own assassination without knowing when, where, or by whom it will occur.
However, a sudden twist occurs and noirs-up everything: Conrad receives a telegram informing him that his wife has been found alive in a Japanese internment camp, and she will soon be brought home by the International Red Cross.
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With this news, Conrad’s life takes on new meaning—his wife will return, and he will be vindicated in the eyes of his friends. But a cruel twist of fate intervenes: the middleman who arranged the hit is killed in a police shootout, leaving Conrad with no way to cancel the assassination contract.
To make matters worse, the hitman is not just in it for the money. Fascinated by criminology, he is determined to see if he can terrify Conrad to death by making his presence known, stalking him relentlessly.
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| Skid Row in The Whistler (1944) |
While most Whistler films are known for their special twists and ironic noirlike turns, this first installment largely unfolds as an extended manhunt, lacking the complexity of later entries. Despite this, Naish’s portrayal of the hitman is memorably unsettling and a fine mad addition to the noir scene. Additionally, this film stands out for another reason: the eerie whistling of The Whistler himself, which intriguingly becomes part of the plot.
Columbia, with its pedigree in horror, notably through the bone-chilling mad scientist movies starring the one and only Boris Karloff, took a different route with The Whistler. They eschewed the darker elements of the radio show, opting instead for a smoldering film noir atmosphere—a world where suspense ruled and doom hovered ominously over the protagonists, their fates often sealed by the consequences of their own tragic missteps.
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Yet this technically excellent and fun suspense mystery dark and noir tale of murder and depression in the darks of the urban and technoifed human mind, does ship still with the following taglines:
RADIO'S MASTER OF MYSTERY...NOW ON THE SCREEN! (original poster-all caps)
WHEN HE WHISTLES...SOMEONE DIES! (original lobby card-all caps)
RADIO'S MASTER OF MYSTERY WHISTLES A NEW TUNE OF MURDER ON THE SCREEN! (original lobby card-all caps)
SHOCKS YOU SENSELESS! (original poster-all caps)
"I Am the Mastery of Mystery! You Cannot Hide. You Can Never Escape...For Wherever You Go, I Will Walk Beside You!" (original window card)
RADIO'S MASTER OF MYSTERY! (print ad - Lubbock Morning Avalanche - Texan Theatre - Lubbock, Texas - September 20, 10944 - all caps)
He Hired a KILLER...in a terrifying deal with DEATH! (Print Ad- Warsaw Daily Times, ((Warsaw, Ind.)) 12 May 1944)
Here ends the first The Whistler tale, an angry and dark secret of worry and paranoia, the very fabric of noir commodified into a movie serial theme, a tale of the expected as posed as unexpected, and delivered in the noir tone, made serious by the frivolity of faked up screen paranoia.
In The Whistler, the enigmatic narrator weaves in and out of the narrative, bringing a palpable darkness to the screen that had previously only been psychological on radio. This visual portrayal of shadowy streets, disillusioned heroes, and desperate souls struggling to survive lays bare the harsh realities of the world. Richard Dix's character, shrouded in mystery, hires a man for $1,000 without revealing that the intended target is himself.
However, when the hired man is killed by the police, his vengeful widow sets her sights on Dix, planning her own form of retribution.
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The hitman, receiving instructions through a deaf mute, doesn't just aim to kill Dix but rather intends to frighten him to death. As the story unfolds, Dix’s descent into darkness deepens—he even finds himself in a homeless shelter, where another destitute man attempts to rob him. With each new twist, the film plunges further into the shadows, culminating fittingly at the docks of the unnamed city where it takes place.
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For fans of the 1997 Titanic, a young Gloria Stuart makes an intriguing appearance as Dix's concerned secretary, while B-movie staple Joan Woodbury delivers a captivating performance as the femme fatale widow out for revenge. Billy Benedict, known from the Bowery Boys series, leaves a lasting impression as the deaf mute, who, engrossed in his comics, remains oblivious to the moral implications of his actions.
J. Carrol Naish is menacingly understated as the hitman, and Charles Wagenheim adds another layer of menace as the would-be pickpocket in the flophouse, who later tries to manipulate Dix into leaving with him, only to rob him again.
The film was a popular box office attraction and seven sequels were produced over the ensuing four years:
- The Whistler - 1944, directed by William Castle
- The Mark of the Whistler - 1944, directed by William Castle
- The Power of the Whistler – 1945, directed by Lew Landers
- Voice of the Whistler – 1945, directed by William Castle
- Mysterious Intruder – 1946, directed by William Castle
- The Secret of the Whistler – 1946, directed by George Sherman
- The Thirteenth Hour – 1947, directed by William Clemens
- The Return of the Whistler – 1948, directed by D. Ross Lederman
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The Whistler (1944)
