Full of fun, mystery and menace and with an almost unique script, quipped with an unequaled touch by Clifford Odets, not known for his cinematic writing, and directed by
The history and definition of film noir remain complex, filled with contradictions and shifting interpretations. Though often described as an American invention emerging from a synthesis of hard-boiled fiction and German expressionism, noir's roots and reach are far broader.
The term itself, coined by French critics in 1946, encapsulates a mood, aesthetic, and narrative style rather than a fixed genre. This fluidity is exemplified by Deadline at Dawn (1946), a film that encapsulates the tension, ambiguity, and artistry of noir while challenging conventional definitions, ways of making films, varieties of strange and menacing subject matter, underclasses, women and their roles, and shadowy production, where possible.
How do we know this is film noir?
The characters are losers from the off, as if from Tom Waits songs, social flotsam, general jetsam, there is plenty of drink, focuses on money, struggle, isolation, lack of confidence, and a bluff amnesiac soical everyman of youth in the rather silly and hopeless character of the biff-head serviceman lost after a glass of beer.
Thus again it is noir, solid and classic film noir, in every respect you'd throw at it, and not the least of this will be around the fact that it is Susan Hayward's film
Directed by Harold Clurman and adapted by Clifford Odets from a Cornell Woolrich novel, Deadline at Dawn reflects the quintessential noir aesthetic—low-key lighting, wet city streets, and morally complex characters. Yet, it diverges from many noir conventions, offering a glimpse into the evolving nature of the form. The film unfolds in a single night, a narrative structure common to noir, heightening the sense of urgency and inevitability. However, unlike many noirs steeped in cynicism, Deadline at Dawn carries an undercurrent of hope, embodied in its protagonists' quest for redemption.
A few other tags which need be made to this movie, spoiled for tags you see, exceeding 200 characters, we have more and more to say, largely about:
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. . . for Deadline At Dawn (1946) is every bit the flashback classic. This is among the more essential of the movies of the noir style, for what might be called the naked genre, the naked style, the essence of the entertainment, hereso with something of a theatrical and fantastical twist.
For it is a fantasy trip, a walk on the wild side, a fact of the forties, and an effect of the lots and sound stages of the studio, which made the street look real and unreal at the same time, perfect for the noir dreamscape.
The story follows Alex, a guilt-ridden sailor, and June, a world-weary but compassionate woman, as they navigate the shadowy streets of New York City to clear Alex’s name in a murder investigation.
Their journey showcases the hallmark traits of noir: moral ambiguity, flawed characters, and the oppressive weight of fate. Yet, Deadline at Dawn diverges in its treatment of human connection. Where many noirs revel in isolation and despair, this film emphasizes solidarity, as Alex and June’s unlikely partnership becomes a beacon of light in the darkness.
Visually, the film exemplifies noir’s artistry. The cinematography by Nicholas Musuraca, renowned for his work on Cat People (1942) and Out of the Past (1947), employs deep shadows and stark contrasts to create an atmosphere of unease. New York’s streets become a labyrinth of menace and mystery, where every corner harbors potential danger. This visual style, borrowed from German expressionism, reinforces the characters’ psychological turmoil and the film’s themes of entrapment and redemption.
Steven Geray appears as herring it's true but his scenes, especially that in the dance hall, offer an insight into prehistporic dating and the scam and sham of that
The femme fatale archetype, a cornerstone of noir, is notably absent or subverted in Deadline at Dawn. June, played by Susan Hayward, defies the trope by being a source of support rather than seduction or betrayal. Her character’s complexity and moral strength challenge the notion that noir women must embody danger and deceit. This deviation enriches the film, offering a nuanced portrayal of gender dynamics rarely seen in the genre.
Thematically, Deadline at Dawn reflects noir’s preoccupation with guilt, innocence, and the search for truth. The film’s dialogue, crafted by Odets, brims with existential angst and poeticism, capturing the characters’ internal struggles. However, unlike the nihilism prevalent in many noirs, the film suggests that redemption is possible through courage and connection. This optimism, though subtle, sets Deadline at Dawn apart, offering a counterpoint to the genre’s darker tendencies.
The broader cultural and historical context of Deadline at Dawn also underscores its significance. Released in 1946, the film emerged during noir’s so-called golden age, a period marked by post-war disillusionment and anxiety.
Its themes resonate with a society grappling with the aftermath of global conflict and the moral ambiguities of modern life. Yet, the film’s emphasis on human resilience reflects a yearning for hope amidst despair.
The paradox of noir—its simultaneous clarity and elusiveness—is epitomized by Deadline at Dawn. Critics have long debated what constitutes film noir, often questioning its origins and boundaries. As Alain Silver and Elizabeth Ward argue in Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference to the American Style, the category resists definition, encompassing a wide array of films that share stylistic and thematic elements but defy strict classification.
Deadline at Dawn, with its blend of traditional noir tropes and unique departures, exemplifies this tension. It is both quintessentially noir and strikingly individual, a testament to the genre’s flexibility and enduring appeal.
In the rich history of film noir, Deadline at Dawn (1946) often remains an overlooked entry, its brilliance overshadowed by more prominent titles. Yet, this atmospheric and character-driven mystery stands as a gem of post-World War II cinema, offering a unique blend of noir's quintessential elements with an unexpectedly human touch.
Set against the backdrop of a sweltering New York summer night, the film, directed by Harold Clurman and written by Clifford Odets, weaves an intricate tale of guilt, redemption, and the search for truth, anchored by strong performances and Odets' signature poetic dialogue.
The plot revolves around Alex Winkley, a naive sailor on shore leave played by Bill Williams, whose innocent demeanor masks a troubled situation. Alex wakes up in a haze, $1,400 inexplicably in his pocket, and with fragmented memories of a drunken evening. His hazy recollections lead him to a dance hall, where he encounters June (Susan Hayward), a hard-boiled yet compassionate taxi dancer.
Together, the unlikely duo embarks on a desperate quest to return the money to its rightful owner—Edna Bartelli (Lola Lane)—only to discover her lifeless body. With time running out before Alex must catch a 6 a.m. bus to his naval base in Norfolk, the pair races through the labyrinthine streets of Manhattan to unearth the real killer and clear Alex's name.
What sets Deadline at Dawn apart from other noirs is its wonderful balancing of classic genre conventions with a more introspective exploration of morality and human connection. The film's atmosphere is quintessential noir, superlative noir, super-noir and even metanoir, with Nicholas Musuraca's cinematography bathing the city in deep shadows and moody light.
Manhattan’s streets become both a character and a setting, their darkness and chaos reflecting the uncertainty and danger Alex and June face. Yet, while the visuals evoke classic noir, the film's tone and character development challenge traditional expectations.
Susan Hayward’s performance as June is the heart of the film. Tough and street-smart, yet capable of great empathy, she transcends the archetype of the femme fatale. Unlike many noir women who manipulate or deceive, June becomes Alex's protector and partner, her sardonic wit masking a deep sense of justice.
Hayward’s portrayal captures the complexity of a woman hardened by life yet willing to believe in Alex’s innocence and goodness. Her chemistry with Williams adds depth to their partnership, elevating the narrative from a mere whodunit to a story of shared humanity.
The film also boasts a strong supporting cast. Paul Lukas shines as Gus Hoffman, a philosophical cab driver who becomes an unlikely ally in the investigation. Gus's reflective musings add a layer of moral complexity, offering viewers philosophical nuggets on life, justice, and human imperfection.
Joseph Calleia delivers a memorable performance as Val Bartelli, a suave yet sinister gangster whose involvement deepens the web of deceit. The array of colorful secondary characters—ranging from a blind, bitter ex-husband to a stalker lurking in the shadows—creates a vivid portrait of urban life, where everyone harbors secrets and no one is entirely innocent.
Clifford Odets' screenplay, with its lyrical and idiosyncratic dialogue, is another standout element. The characters speak in a way that feels simultaneously real and heightened, capturing the rhythms of city life while imbuing the narrative with a poetic quality.
Lines like June’s wry observation, “Such things have been known to happen,” when discussing the possibility of rain, encapsulate the film's blend of humor, pathos, and existential unease. This distinctive dialogue style may alienate some viewers, but for others, it is a key part of the film's charm and sophistication.
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Joe Sawyer in Deadline At Dawn (1946) |
Despite its strengths, Deadline at Dawn is not without flaws. The narrative occasionally falters under the weight of its own ambition.
Yet, even these imperfections contribute to the film’s unique identity, reflecting the messy, unpredictable nature of life itself.
One of the most compelling aspects of Deadline at Dawn is its focus on moral ambiguity and redemption. Unlike many noirs steeped in nihilism, the film suggests that even in a world of shadows, there is room for hope and humanity.
Alex’s journey is not just about proving his innocence but about grappling with his own doubts and fears. June’s decision to help him, despite her cynicism, underscores the possibility of compassion and connection in a fragmented world. The film’s ending, which juxtaposes justice with imperfection, leaves viewers reflecting on the gray areas of morality.
From a historical perspective, Deadline at Dawn holds a significant place in the evolution of noir. As the only film directed by Harold Clurman, a prominent figure in Broadway theater, it blends cinematic technique with theatrical sensibilities, resulting in a film that feels intimate yet expansive.
Musuraca’s cinematography and Hanns Eisler’s score enhance the film’s mood, creating a sensory experience that immerses viewers in its nocturnal world. Though not as well-known as other noirs, the film influenced later works, including Jules Dassin’s The Naked City (1948), which similarly captures the pulse of urban life.
Deadline at Dawn (1946) is a lesser-known but captivating entry in the film noir canon. Directed by Broadway veteran Harold Clurman in his only cinematic outing, and scripted by playwright Clifford Odets from Cornell Woolrich’s novel, this film delivers a rich tapestry of intrigue, atmosphere, and flawed but endearing characters.
Set against the sweltering, nocturnal streets of New York City, Deadline at Dawn combines a convoluted murder mystery with poetic dialogue and philosophical musings, creating a unique viewing experience that resonates with fans of classic noir.
The story unfolds during a single, tension-filled night. Alex Winkley (Bill Williams), a naïve sailor on 24-hour leave, wakes up at a newsstand with a hangover, $1,400 in his pocket, and no memory of how he acquired it.
Haunted by hazy recollections of a card game, a drunken blackout, and a visit to the apartment of Edna Bartelli (Lola Lane), Alex is horrified to discover that Edna has been strangled. Convinced that he will be the prime suspect, Alex enlists the help of June Goth (Susan Hayward), a cynical but compassionate taxi dancer, to clear his name before his 6 a.m. bus back to Norfolk.
The duo’s investigation quickly escalates into a race against time as they encounter a colorful array of suspects, including Edna’s blind ex-husband Sleepy Parsons (Marvin Miller), her gangster brother Val Bartelli (Joseph Calleia), a limping blonde named Helen Robinson (Osa Massen), and a sleazy Broadway producer (Jerome Cowan).
Their journey through the shadowy streets of Manhattan is guided by Gus Hoffman (Paul Lukas), a philosophical cab driver who takes a paternal interest in the pair and becomes an integral part of their sleuthing. As the night deepens, the trio uncovers a tangled web of motives, lies, and blackmail, all leading to a shocking and unpredictable conclusion.
At its core, Deadline at Dawn is a film about human connection and redemption, themes that set it apart from more nihilistic noirs. Alex’s boyish innocence and moral turmoil contrast sharply with June’s hardened exterior, creating a dynamic that is both poignant and compelling.
Hayward, in one of her earliest leading roles, delivers a standout performance as June, balancing toughness with vulnerability. Her character’s sarcastic wit and reluctant sympathy for Alex add depth to the narrative, and her protective instincts lend the film a surprising emotional warmth. Bill Williams, though less charismatic, effectively portrays Alex’s earnestness and confusion, making him a relatable anchor for the story.
Paul Lukas, however, steals the show as Gus Hoffman. His quiet dignity and philosophical musings elevate the film, providing moments of reflection amidst the chaos. Lines like “Don’t move!
The human body bleeds very easily” and his tender observations about life and humanity add layers of meaning to what could have been a straightforward crime thriller. Gus’s presence not only grounds the narrative but also serves as a reminder of the moral complexities inherent in the noir genre.
Visually, Deadline at Dawn is a triumph of atmosphere. Cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca, renowned for his work on Cat People (1942) and Out of the Past (1947), creates a richly textured world of shadows and light. Though the film was shot entirely on studio backlots, it convincingly evokes the gritty vibrancy of Manhattan at night.
The dark, claustrophobic streets and dimly lit interiors mirror the psychological tension of the characters, while the oppressive heat of the summer night adds to the sense of urgency and unease.
While some may find the language overly theatrical, it adds a distinct charm and intellectual depth to the film.
Despite its many strengths, Deadline at Dawn is not without flaws, in the opinion of some! The plot is undeniably convoluted, with a surplus of red herrings and coincidences that strain credibility. But that is noir. The pacing falters in the second half, as the narrative becomes increasingly tangled.
Yet, these shortcomings are offset by the film’s emotional resonance and character-driven storytelling. The ending, while improbable, is both surprising and thought-provoking, underscoring the imperfect humanity of the characters and leaving viewers with much to ponder.
Historically, Deadline at Dawn occupies an intriguing place in the noir tradition. As a one-off directorial effort by Clurman, it bridges the worlds of theater and cinema, blending stagecraft with visual storytelling.
The film also reflects the broader cultural anxieties of post-war America, exploring themes of guilt, identity, and moral ambiguity in a society grappling with rapid change. Its blend of suspense, romance, and social commentary makes it a unique and memorable entry in the genre.
Deadline at Dawn is a flawed but fascinating film that deserves greater recognition within the noir canon. Its combination of atmospheric visuals, compelling performances, and philosophical undertones makes it a standout example of the genre’s potential to transcend mere crime drama.
While it may not achieve the perfection of classics like Double Indemnity or The Maltese Falcon, it offers a distinctive take on the noir formula, infused with humanity, poetry, and a touch of hope. For fans of noir and classic cinema, Deadline at Dawn is a hidden gem worth rediscovering—a film that lingers in the mind long after the final frame.
Deadline at Dawn is a flawed but remarkable entry in the noir canon, distinguished by its rich characterizations, atmospheric visuals, and philosophical underpinnings. It may not have achieved the iconic status of any of the famous noir heavyweight hitters but it deserves recognition as a daring and inventive film that pushes the boundaries of the style.
Its blend of mystery, poetry, and humanity ensures that it lingers in the mind long after the credits roll—a testament to the enduring power of noir to illuminate the complexities of the human condition.
Ultimately, Deadline at Dawn illuminates the multifaceted nature of noir as both a cinematic legacy and a conceptual framework. The film’s exploration of morality, identity, and redemption resonates across time, proving that noir is not confined to a single era or style. Rather, it is a dynamic, evolving discourse shaped by cultural, historical, and artistic forces.
In this sense, Deadline at Dawn is not just a film but a reflection of noir’s capacity to adapt and endure, a masterpiece that continues to challenge and inspire.
Deadline At Dawn (1946)
Release Date: March 1946 | Premiere Information: New York opening: 3 Apr 1946 | Production Date: mid May--mid Jun 1945 | Copyright Info: RKO Radio Pictures, Inc.1 January 1946LP255 | Duration (in mins): 82-83 or 85