Cat People, directed by Jacques Tourneur, USA, 1942. Review by Julian 4/10/08.
I once told a friend that the essence of film noir could be explained with one word: shadow. There are of course the shadows that can be seen: the silhouettes cast by streetlights, the bars of a jail cell scarring an inmate’s face, the crook of a bannister or other innocuous object turned sinister by a play of the light. But more importantly are the internal shadows, the secrets and desires and burning frustrations that inhabit the characters of film noir, propelling them across the screen with the fury and drama that make the genre (or cycle, or mode, or series–whatever you want to call it) a personal favorite of mine.
The shadows that lie at the heart of noir often crop up in strange places: in Westerns like High Noon, science fiction epics like Blade Runner, even comedies like Arsenic and Old Lace. In Cat People, a B-movie unfairly marketed to the horror crowd, noir doesn’t have very far to travel. The film follows Irena (Simone Simon), a troubled Serbian immigrant who falls in love with American Oliver Reed (Kent Smith) but can’t quite shake the superstitions of her homeland.
One of the now-appreciated collaborations between producer Val Lewton and director Jacques Tourneur at RKO Radio Pictures, the film is a masterpiece of low-budget filmmaking. DeWitt Bodeen’s script exploits universal themes while propagating a psychological viewpoint that is all the more charming for its slightly dated simplicity. The film is, above all else, psychological, deftly uncovering the various characters’ neuroses at a gradual pace that is all the more impressive given the film’s 73-minute runtime.
Tourneur’s visuals are likewise a treat. Shadows fill every corner, lurk behind every lamppost, and, in arguably the film’s most effective scene, swim through the darkened waves of an indoor pool. The film makes no attempt to startle, or to overwhelm its audience with pathos or gore. It’s just a subtle, masterful reminder that the greatest fears man can know lie in the realm of the unseen.
