BERLIN EXPRESS: derailed by reality

With the benefit of hindsight BERLIN EXPRESS looks like a fairytale, but even when it was first released in 1948 it must have seemed to many cinema-goers to be hopelessly and naively optimistic.
At the heart of this post war thriller set among the ruins of a defeated Germany is the notion that the four victorious allied powers can co-exist peacefully if they just spend a little time and get to know each other personally.
When a German diplomat with a plan for peaceably reuniting his divided homeland is kidnapped by Nazi fanatics while en-route to an important conference in Berlin four of his fellow passengers about the titular train team up to track him down and thereby save Europe from another conflict.
Conveniently the four comprise a brash, confident American (Robert Ryan), a stereotypical "toot-toot toodle pip old chum" British school teacher (Robert Coote), a rigid and suspicious Soviet army officer, and a feisty little Frenchman called Perrot (Charles Korvin). They're initially reluctant to work together, basing their assumptions of each other on national stereotypes, but urged on by the diplomat's loyal secretary Lucienne (Merle Oberon) - who keeps the four guessing about her nationality - they rapidly coalesce into an effective if unorthodox search and rescue team.

Unfortunately real life events were conspiring to undermine the film's message almost from the moment it hit cinema screens in May 1948. The already shaky relations between the Soviet Union and the three Western powers occupying Germany had become increasingly belligerent since the British, French and Americans unveiled plans to unify their zones of occupation, and in late June the Soviets cut off all western access to Berlin. The Allies responded by launching the Berlin airlift.and the frosty relations between the former partners froze into the Cold War.
Outside of the unfortunate timing BERLIN EXPRESS works reasonably well as a taut little thriller. Director Jacques Tourneur keeps the action moving briskly along and makes good use of the on-location shooting. Apart from a few glaringly obvious back projections early on most of film is actually shot where it's set and it's shocking to see just how devastated big cities like Frankfurt and Berlin remained almost three years after the end of the war. 
Robert Ryan is solid and dependable but doesn't really shine, although that's more the fault of the part than his acting. Merle Oberon, meanwhile, is adequate but hardly enticing as the object of her male co-stars attentions. The real star is Paul Lukas as the kidnapped German diplomat. He effortlessly exudes old world charm, dignity and sense of duty and dominates every scene he's in simply by standing there.
After watching Lukas in BERLIN EXPRESS you'll want to see more of him. 

ACT OF VIOLENCE: a thriller more taut than something really taut

The name and the face of Robert Ryan should be familiar to any self-respecting admirer of film noir. If you are and they're not you should be ashamed of yourself. Ryan is one of the finest actors ever to grace the genre. He made dozens of movies big and small in the 1940s and 50s in a range of genres and he gave a great performance in everyone one of them but he was never better than when he was prowling the dark streets of film noir-town.
Ryan had a face that was perfect for expressing a tightly coiled anger, bitterness and frustration which could explode into violence at any moment. His expression told us his character's backstory without the need for lengthy exposition - here is a man with a cynical mistrust of anyone who wants to do good; who believes that everyone has a price, and the only way to get ahead is to disregard emotions like compassion, love and consideration for others.
ACT OF VIOLENCE from 1948 is a superb example of his work. Ryan plays Joe Parkson, an embittered ex-soldier out for murderous revenge against his former commanding officer who betrayed an escape attempt by his men to their German captors, resulting in their deaths. Parkson is relentless in his quest and his complete lack of concern for his own welfare makes him an even more unnerving figure.
Van Heflin is equally impressive as the increasingly terrified object of Parkson's obsession. His Frank Enley is a family man, community leader and war hero, hiding a guilty secret from everyone including his naive young wife, played by Janet Leigh. Parkson's reappearance causes a nervous breakdown which takes Enley on a bizarre and disturbing detour through LA's skid row and an encounter with an unrecognisable Mary Astor in a performance so devoid of glamour or beauty that it's disturbing.
Director Fred Zinneman doesn't waste a minute of screen time on unnecessary or self indulgent story-telling. ACT OF VIOLENCE is as taut as a drumskin and totally compelling. In the context of the late 1940s it's also a brave piece of mainstream cinema. At a time when any criticism of the American way of life was increasingly being viewed as unpatriotic and even treasonable, this film dares to suggest that not every American performed nobly and heroically while in uniform; that the pressures of war pushed some to acts of cowardice and treachery, and deformed others mentally as well as physically.
What's even more surprising is that ACT OF VIOLENCE was made by MGM, that flagwaving bastion of patriotic conservatism and home to wholesome stars like Judy Garland, Fred Astaire, Clark Gable and Ava Gardner.
Tension, terror, a gripping tale, and standout performances - this film has it all. ACT OF VIOLENCE is essential viewing for anyone who claims they're serious about cinema.

LONELYHEARTS: more hot air than the Hindenburg

What a cast! - Montgomery Clift, Myrna Loy and Robert Ryan - and what a drag! LONELYHEARTS (1958) is so overloaded with grandiloquent, mind-numbingly boring dialogue that it's a real struggle to stay awake for more than twenty minutes at a stretch.
This who-cares? tale of Adam White, an ambitious young journalist whose youthfully innocent (Adam = first man, White = pure, get it?) aspirations are shattered by the cynical reality of his first bigtime newspaper job is a totally yawnfest. It pained me to see three such talented actors drowning in a sea of overly wordy metaphors, allusions and similes. They talk like characters in a really badly written stage play with pretensions to serious "adult" drama (sample; "Has anyone ever tried to figure out how many tears you cry in a lifetime?")
The worst offender is Ryan's verbally vicious newspaper editor. Not once does he actually say what he means, preferring instead to blather on like a man who's swallowed not only a dictionary but also "The Dummy's Guide to Philosophy." No wonder his wife (Loy) has become an alcoholic.
Clift is miscast as the reluctant "Miss Lonelyheart" agony-aunt/uncle columnist. He's wide-eyed enough (possibly the result of the plastic surgery on his face after a bad car smash 18 months earlier) but too old for the part, and his constant twitching is distracting. Presumably Clift's intent is to convey his character's discomfort in his own skin but it comes across like some kind of musclar control disorder.
Windy and pretentious in the extreme,  screenwriter and producer Dore Schary may have believed he was creating high art but the result is totally arse.