‘It’s a hard world for little things…’
I’ve watched many classics from the golden age of Hollywood now, and I’ve watched many early horror films, and yet, I’ve never seen anything quite like The Night of the Hunter. But then, it isn’t a horror film, not really. In fact, I’m not really sure what it is. Tonally, it’s all over the place. Some of these characters feel like they’ve been plucked from different eras across the cinematic landscape and each of the clearly defined three acts feel very different from each other. What’s not up for debate; however, is the effect this film has on the unsuspecting viewer. This strange movie gets under the skin in a way that had me idly returning to Robert Mitchum’s eponymous hunter long after the credits had rolled…
Harry Powell (Mitchum) is a preacher whose only God seems to be himself. Rather than spreading the word of the Lord, he instead moves from town to town marrying widows and then killing them for money. Upon hearing about a massive stake from fellow con Ben Harper (Peter Graves), Harry goes in search of the Harper family and inevitably marries the matriarch Willa (Shelley Winters). Can she survive long enough to protect her children from this monstrous man?
An odd premise then and one that is executed in a way that is often bewildering, but is never not compelling. Director Charles Laughton was better known as an actor, indeed, this is his only directing credit, but he puts all his experience in front of the camera to good use here with some haunting and memorable shots throughout. The supporting cast are incredible with Evelyn Varden’s zealous neighbour Icey Spoon the highlight, but honestly, this is very much an ensemble piece. When Lillian Gish shows up in the third act as a surrogate mother to the Harper children, she nearly steals the whole movie from under the nose of Mitchum and the two child actors. Having said that, it is Mitchum’s unforgettable performance that has ensured that The Night of the Hunter endures all these years later. It is an oddly bewitching turn that is very much in keeping with the uncanny feel of the rest of the movie.
The Night of the Hunter throws a bunch of stuff at the wall and most of it sticks. I can only imagine what audiences of the ’50s made of it, because I was utterly dumbfounded by the whole experience. And the songs are creepy as fuck.