‘The dead are happier dead…’
Some films look better in black and white. They just do. Or maybe it should be some actors look better in black and white. Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles just wouldn’t look right in colour, would they? Welles in particular needs to be able to emerge from and disappear into the shadows, a half-formed ghost, a picture in white static. The Third Man, directed by Carol Reed (a man giving off strong A Boy Named Sue vibes with his feminine Christian name) from Graham Greene’s screenplay, would lose some of its old fashioned movie magic if rendered in colour. And that’s what this is. It’s magic. A magical, shimmering beauty from a time when Hollywood really was a dream factory…
When Harry Lime (Welles) goes missing under mysterious circumstances, his friend Holly Martins (Cotten) travels to Vienna to seek him out. There he will encounter an obstinate detective, a beautiful woman and an actual cat. What a time to be alive.
As with The Big Lebowski, it’s best not to concern yourself too much with the plot. Instead, allow Reed’s vision of Vienna to wash over you in an awesome wave of monochrome magnificence. Enjoy too, Anton Karas’ haunting score, Greene’s genuinely wonderful script and Welles’ iconic appearance in the third act. I could point out that this is a spoiler but in actuality, Welles arrivals feels more like a reward than a twist. A true ace up the sleeve of a film that is already majestic. I could watch Harry Lime saunter around Vienna for hours. Alas, I had to make do with around thirty minutes.
The Third Man is rightly considered one of the greatest films of all time and it is easy to see why. They truly, madly, deeply, don’t make em’ like this anymore.