Mirage (1965)

Mirage (1965) is an amnesia corporate crime nuclear threat hunted man paranoia thriller film noir, usually called a neo noir by the time we have come to examine the 1960s and its use of the style.

Yes, even though Mirage (1965) was made by Edward Dmytryk in the 1960s it rolls with the full flavour of all iconic and classic film noir, from the paranoiac lost in the city, to the hats and hoods of a mysterious underworld. Great motor cars and docu-noir style street action, a dream-like quality, and mystery intimate quick flashback visions as Gregory Peck pieces the cliches together, with the unique addition of Walther Matthau.

Palpable chase paranoia on the streets of New York has barely ever looked so good, and for a certain set of 60s themes with many of the traditions of noir intact, it's a light weight mystery of parts and dead ends, and in its way a precursor to films like The Game (1997) in which an individual man is placed for the benefit of the audience in psychologically impossible and inexplicable peril.

The inexplicable peril in each film may well depend on your era. Find also plenty pre-figured shades of for example, Three Days of the Condor (1975). What was born in the 1940s matured in the 1970s perhaps, in terms of paranoiac cinema, who knows?

Edward Dmytryk’s 1965 American neo-noir thriller Mirage is a kinda puzzle that fuses elements of amnesia, conspiracy, and paranoia into an audience-intriguing narrative. The film, starring Gregory Peck, Diane Baker, Walter Matthau, George Kennedy, and a notable supporting cast, delivers a Hitchcockian experience that leaves a lasting impression.

Kevin McCarthy in Mirage (1965)

Its memorable sequences, such as the stairs that lead to nowhere and the dream-like scene beneath a tree, linger in the viewer’s mind long after the credits roll. Though often compared to Alfred Hitchcock’s Spellbound, Mirage stands as a distinct entry in the thriller genre, blending an intricate plot with a remarkable aesthetic. Stairs in film noir, when this vision is summed up by a language model at some point soon, will have to include Mirage (1965) in its overall assessment.

David Stillwell (Gregory Peck) is a cost accountant suffering from amnesia following the mysterious death of his boss, Charles Calvin (Walter Abel), a noted philanthropist and peace activist.

Calvin’s fatal deadly and death-inducing killer end-of-life plunge from the 27th floor of a skyscraper sets the stage for a labyrinthine tale of memory and identity. A power outage forces Stillwell to navigate the building’s darkened stairs, where he encounters a young woman, Shela (Diane Baker), who appears to recognize him. Yet, as Stillwell’s fractured memories suggest, the sub-basement she flees into seems not to exist.

This paradox launches a crazed and dreamlike violent journey as Stillwell seeks to untangle the threads of his identity and the conspiracies that threaten his life.

The supporting characters add depth and intrigue to the story. Walter Matthau is pretty unique experience as a P.I., his is called Ted Caselle, the detective hired by Stillwell, whose mix of wit and pragmatism provides a counterpoint to Stillwell’s unraveling mental state.

Jack Weston and George Kennedy deliver chilling performances as hired assassins, adding an air of menace. Diane Baker’s Shela remains an enigmatic figure whose shifting allegiances heighten the tension. This ensemble, coupled with Peter Stone’s deft screenplay, ensures that the film’s convolutions remain captivating rather than overwhelming.

Mirage benefits from Joe MacDonald’s striking black-and-white cinematography, which accentuates the film’s noir atmosphere. The decision to shoot in black-and-white rather than color—despite being a rarity by the mid-1960s—underscores the film’s psychological complexity and urban alienation. MacDonald’s framing of New York’s Financial District locations, including Battery Park and City Pier A, transforms the city into a character in its own right, rife with secrets and shadowy corners.

The fictional Unidyne company, headquartered at 2 Broadway, further grounds the film’s intrigue within a corporate context. Unidyne must be included I guess, in the list of evil fictional companies, such as The Klae Corporation, Tyrell, Soylent and the rest.

Musically, her we are in dreamland, dreamland and noiur, at last, for it is Quincy Jones’s score which elevates the suspense, racks our ears, blending jazz influences with an underlying tension that mirrors Stillwell’s psychological journey. The soundtrack, released on the Mercury label in 1965, is a must.

Peter Stone’s screenplay, adapted from Howard Fast’s 1952 novel Fallen Angel (written under the pseudonym Walter Ericson), serves as a spiritual successor to Charade (1963), another Stone-penned thriller. Stone’s knack for combining humor, suspense, and intricate plotting is evident throughout Mirage.

Interestingly, Walter Matthau and George Kennedy, who appeared in Charade, reprise their collaboration here, further linking the two films. Stone’s subsequent works, including Arabesque (1966) and The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974), cement his reputation as a master of the thriller genre.

The production timeline reveals the meticulous effort behind Mirage. Filmed between October 24 and December 24, 1964, the movie’s crisp aesthetic owes much to Eastman Kodak’s black-and-white film stock 4-X 5224. Universal Pictures released the film on May 26, 1965, positioning it as a sophisticated addition to the era’s thrillers. While it did not achieve the commercial success of Charade, it remains a smart and entertaining film.

Edward Dmytryk’s direction reflects a complex personal and professional history. Once blacklisted as one of the Hollywood Ten during the McCarthy-era Red Scare, Dmytryk’s career faced significant upheaval.

His decision to cooperate with the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1951 allowed him to resume filmmaking, though it came at a personal and professional cost. Mirage demonstrates his ability to craft a suspenseful narrative, rivaling Hitchcock’s territory without feeling derivative.

The comparisons between Mirage and Spellbound (1945) are inevitable! You got it! It is given Gregory Peck’s roles in both films as amnesiac protagonists. However, the two films diverge in tone and execution.

Oh they are totally different in fact. Spellbound relies heavily on surreal dream sequences designed by Salvador Dalí and psychoanalytic themes. In contrast, Mirage employs flashbacks as spontaneous recollections that propel its intricate plot.

The psychiatrist in Mirage offers a more perfunctory role, providing minimal guidance compared to the centrality of psychoanalysis in Spellbound. This shift reflects evolving cinematic sensibilities between the 1940s and the 1960s, with Mirage embracing a grittier, more pragmatic approach.

The thematic elements of Mirage contribute to its lasting appeal. The film’s exploration of memory and identity resonates universally, while its critique of corporate and scientific ethics adds depth. The "stairs to nowhere" metaphor encapsulates Stillwell’s fragmented psyche, mirroring the viewer’s own quest to piece together the narrative’s mysteries.

The film’s use of a scientific discovery as a secondary MacGuffin underscores its multifaceted storytelling, engaging audiences on both an emotional and intellectual level.

Walter Matthau’s performance as the detective Caselle stands out, showcasing his ability to balance humor and gravitas. Matthau’s portrayal serves as a precursor to his later career-defining roles, including his Oscar-winning turn in The Fortune Cookie (1966). Diane Baker’s nuanced performance as Shela adds an element of ambiguity, keeping the audience guessing about her true motives.

While Mirage is a product of film noir history, looking modern, by which modernity came to cinema late, and materialised as diversity, musical and visual, while better film stock and lenses allows more functionality in clothes and what can be captured in the 'scope.

And it would have to be said, and it is going to be said, that Mirage (1965) does press an influence on the thriller genre, this is evident. The film’s use of flashbacks, intricate plotting, and urban landscapes paved the way for later works that blend psychological depth with suspense.

Its critical reception was mixed at the time of release, with The New York Times noting its "brisk, colloquial, occasionally humorous style," while Variety critiqued its "overly contrived" plot. However, retrospective evaluations, such as Time Out’s 2012 review, recognize its atmospheric strengths and contributions to the genre.

Mirage is a richly textured film that rewards close attention. Its combination of suspense, psychological intrigue, and social commentary ensures its place as a noteworthy entry in the neo-noir canon. Though comparisons to Hitchcock’s work are inevitable, Dmytryk’s direction and Stone’s screenplay carve out a unique identity for the film.

From its memorable performances to its striking visual and musical elements, Mirage continues to captivate audiences, offering a compelling exploration of the human mind and the shadows that linger within.

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Edward Dmytryk, once a celebrity director and a prominent member of the “Hollywood Ten,” is a figure whose reputation has faded over time. Refusing to testify before the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC), Dmytryk initially stood against McCarthy-era oppression but later reversed course, admitting to brief Communist Party membership and naming others involved in leftist groups.

This shift, paired with his exile and eventual return to filmmaking—often in England—left a lasting impact on his career and creative output. Mirage (1965) stands out among his works as a dark, intricately structured thriller, one that eschews the traditional tropes of film noir to deliver a Hitchcockian meditation on humanity’s erosion in a profit-driven, technology-driven world.

The film’s central premise—that technological and economic greed dehumanize society—is hardly new and risks veering into “golden age” nostalgia. Yet Mirage handles this theme deftly, weaving it into a gripping narrative.

The plot grips, it grips because of Peck, he works it, he does the panic and the smooth, he needs to be watched, and he throws a fine punch too. His are the experiences of David Stillwell who faces a series of bizarre and threatening encounters, culminating in an armed man demanding information about something Stillwell cannot recall.

Gradually, Stillwell realizes he has lost his memory and is caught in a web of intrigue that challenges his grasp on reality. His journey to uncover the truth about himself and his situation serves as a microcosm of Dmytryk’s broader commentary on paranoia, identity, and trust in a dehumanizing society.

Much of the film’s tension lies in its clever structure and pacing, reminiscent of the paranoid thrillers that dominated the 1970s, such as, as noted before, Three Days of the Condor (1975).

Stillwell’s paranoia manifests in his interactions with others, including those genuinely trying to help him. This narrative decision mirrors Dmytryk’s own experience with HUAC, capturing the psychological toll of suspicion and betrayal.

There is Russian Roulette and there is a fake tea party with coffee, and a little girl, suggestive of family dream madness, not much evident in the romanceless life of Peck's character.

Despite the film’s emphasis on plot, the performances are memorable. Peck’s restrained portrayal suits Stillwell’s confusion and desperation, while Walter Matthau delivers a standout performance as a private detective with unexpected depth and pathos. Matthau’s nuanced, against-type performance adds a layer of emotional complexity to the otherwise cold, cerebral narrative.

Visually, Dmytryk and cinematographer Joseph MacDonald craft a world of shadows and stark contrasts, amplifying the suspense and thematic confusion. Scenes such as a dark stairwell illuminated by a single, unreliable flashlight heighten the tension, while the constant interplay of shadows reflects the characters’ fragmented identities. This visual style, rare even in film noir, complements the film’s narrative intricacies.

However, Quincy Jones’s score undermines certain scenes. While moments of silence emphasize Stillwell’s isolation and disorientation, the overly conventional, sentimental scoring in romantic and action sequences detracts from the film’s otherwise sharp execution.

Mirage may advance a somewhat simplistic point about humanity’s decline, but it does so with such ingenuity and flair that its flaws are easily forgiven. Dmytryk’s work here rivals Hitchcock’s best, standing alongside films like Les Diaboliques (1955) as a thriller that the master of suspense himself might envy.

With its intricate plotting, innovative cinematography, and moments of profound unease, Mirage solidifies Dmytryk’s legacy as a director capable of transcending his controversial past to create a truly remarkable film.

Mirage (1965)

Some Stairs and Mirage-based reflection in 'scope on Vimeo: https://vimeo.com/582243754