Frank Johnson (Ross Elliott) is an ordinary man who finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time when he inadvertently witnesses a murder. The police want Frank to serve as a key witness to the trial of who they believe the perpetrator to be (a man heavily involved in organized crime). Not wanting to be involved in this at all, Frank makes a run for it and disappears. Very soon, the investigators swarm around his wife, Eleanor (Ann Sheridan), a housewife who knows just as much as the police about her husband’s mysterious disappearance – but despite the apparent growing dissolution of their marriage, Eleanor is coerced by the police into locating her husband so that he may be of assistance to the police. Over the course of the next few days, Eleanor learns more about her husband than she ever knew, uncovering his secrets and coming to conclusions that would have otherwise gone unnoticed had he not accidentally found his way into the path of a murderer.

Woman on the Run is an absolutely extraordinary film. Norman Foster made a film so brilliant in both its story and the way it is executed and delivered what I consider to be the first traditional noir film I didn’t merely respect and revere, but also truly adored. There was a lot of internal debate as to whether or not I should assign this film a perfect score, because there are moments when I consider it to be a perfect film, one without many flaws (and those that do exist are so minor), and a work that tells a lucid and complete story without ever overstaying its welcome (at a mere 77 minutes,  Woman on the Run is a breeze to get through). It isn’t only the brevity and coherency of this film that makes it such a masterpiece – it is also its ability to be a compelling and highly-entertaining film noir that dares to subvert some of the genre’s most notorious qualities all the while remaining well within the confines of the conventions it challenges. It is an astonishingly brilliant film, an overlooked gem that deserves reappraisal as one of the finest film noirs ever committed to film, and that is not hyperbolic in the least. It is both an intricate character study and a thrilling crime story that is unrelenting in its simplicity and unwavering in its unhinged brilliance. Woman on the Run is the kind of film that reminds me of the limitless boundaries films are capable of achieving, and I’d be dishonest if I didn’t readily admit that this was one of the most enthralling cinematic experiences I’ve had over the past few months.

What is most striking about Woman on the Run is how, despite being very much within the definition of what qualifies for a great film noir, it often transcends the strict meaning and instead of relying on tropes and conventions that were tried and true at the time, dismantles the underlying concepts in a way that is hardly noticeable at first glance, but eventually flourishes into a unique and perhaps even whimsical subversion of the genre, doing exactly what any great postmodernist work does when inspired by another: taking fragments and rearranging them in a way that allows for something highly original to be evoked. In the case of Woman on the Run, it isn’t that Foster strictly took directly from other films, but rather borrowed generously from the genre and its multitudes of constituents, taking some of the most well-known traits of the film noir and transferring them into an entirely new setting, which obviously makes for extremely compelling viewing.

It would appear as if Foster did something nearly impossible with Woman on the Run, namely to take a very simple concept and transform it into a film with several different moving parts, without ever letting the omnipotent narrative machinations distract from the central plot. There is a great deal going on throughout the film, many different plot threads are woven throughout and ultimately contribute to the calculated chaos present throughout. As a crime film, it is astonishing – it differs from a great deal of noir films insofar as it isn’t particularly raw and gritty for the most part. I can’t help but think of another underrated, female-led noir film viewed recently, Too Late for Tears, which would form a fascinating double feature with Woman on the Run, insofar as rather than being filmed in squalid apartments and mysterious alleyways, a large portion of this film is done on location, with the tensest moments coming when the characters find themselves on the sunny streets of San Francisco, or at the crowded fairground. This is not the alluring, elegant and seductive noirs of Sam Spade or Phillip Marlowe, but rather a raw, almost Expressionist subversion of popular tropes – just consider the scene towards the end where the camera shows Eleanor rushing through the bare-bones of the fairground in search of her husband, or her wild thrashing when she realizes Frank is about to be killed – this evokes The Cabinet of Dr Caligari more than many films, which is hardly surprising when you consider film noir has its roots in the deeply mysterious shadows and fog established during the peak of German Expressionism.

Purely on a narrative level, Woman on the Run is a fascinating piece – this is a film about crime, yet the only true acts of it occur in the opening moments. Neither of the main characters is shown to be criminals at all – yet both of them are evading the law, hence the title of the film. Its quite peculiar that the title mentions a woman being on the run, when in actuality it is her husband that is on the lam – yet when we realize that Eleanor herself is also running, trying to escape her routine and go in search of answers to the enigmatic problems he never realized she harboured, it becomes clear. Of course, we soon learn that all is not what it seems. Woman on the Run has one of the most brilliant twists I’ve ever seen in a noir film, mainly because I didn’t see it coming – one aspect of this film that we can say with full confidence is that it is never entirely predictable, whether in the broad instances of plot progression, or in smaller moments of exposition or foreshadowing. It is a film that extends far deeper than just being a traditional noir, with a storyline that focuses on a central mystery. While it does involve a character using some vague clues and memories, along with her keen sense of observation and acute intuition, to solve a mystery, it is less about the whereabouts of her husband and more about his reasons for going on the run. It is a brilliantly inventive work and a glowing achievement of unique crime fiction.

Beyond being a crime film, Woman on the Run is also a terrific character study. It is one of the rare noir films that focuses almost solely on the psychology of the characters, rather than being overly concerned with the plot, which isn’t secondary but rather is prioritized by the characters and their varying motives. The main characters in this film are a married couple who seem to be incapable of being in love with anyone other than themselves. The focal point of the film is on Eleanor, the sardonic and cynical wife who finds herself learning about her husband not through their marriage, but rather through the threat of it ending. Frank appears in the first few scenes, before disappearing towards the end – and even though he is not seen until the very end, he looms heavily throughout the film, with the atmospheric mood of the film lending the character the status of the proverbial “present-absent” – a figure that may not appear much (or at all), but lingers as a spectre, being omnipotent to the story, and very often the impetus for the plot. We never know if Frank is dead or alive, whether he has left town or if he is lying dead in a ditch. Much like Eleanor, we don’t have much to go on, and the only guidance we receive, much like our heroine, is based on Frank’s behaviour and habits (she says early in the film that she and her husband are creatures of habits, and this seemingly disposable comment is much more significant in light of the story as a whole). The character-driven nature of the film makes it even more captivating, because while a good crime story may be gripping, what truly means the most is a cast of well-written characters that extend beyond the confines of the plot, and instead of serving the story, the story serves them.

If we look slightly deeper, we can find a unique undercurrent to Woman on the Run that makes it even more unique and subversive. Once again, I’d like to refer to Too Late for Tears, an unofficial companion to this film, as both deal with common issues, both in terms of the story, and the themes of the films. Both look at bored housewives growing disillusioned with the suburban ennui, going in search of some thrills, even if it means getting caught up in dangerous activities. Both see the disappearance of a husband (but from different sides), as well as focusing on our main character going from hopeless housewife to frantic femme fatale when paired with a dubious but vulnerable male partner that offers her the chance to escape the burden of routine, even just momentarily. The reason to draw comparisons between these two films is because while film noir has harboured some astonishing performances by women (who can forget Lauren Bacall’s performance in the greatest noir of all time, The Big Sleep?), its not a genre that ultimately prioritizes the female characters, normally relegating them to roles such as the seductive femme fatale, or the blissfully unaware wife, or the frumpish spinster who aids or impedes on the central mystery. Very few noir films at the time cared enough about female characters to characterize them beyond stock characters – and this is why these two films are special, because not only do we see female characters in the leading roles, we see them developed into fascinating figures with complexities and idiosyncrasies. Its a shame these two films have remained relatively underseen because they’re not only brilliant in their own right, their treatment of female subjects was revolutionary for the time.

In a year that featured two of the finest screen performances of all time – Bette Davis in All About Eve and Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard, how it is possible that Ann Sheridan managed to give my favourite female performance of the year? There is something about her performance here that is so deeply compelling – whether it be her transition from cynical housewife with a bitter swagger, to an anxious, broken woman willing to protect herself and her husband at all costs, or her ability to give a performance that is so heartbreaking, yet so warm, without resorting to anything other than her natural charms and her effortless ability to interpret the character without any excess. As a whole, Woman on the Run has a terrific cast, and not only are the individuals well-crafted (who could’ve seen Dennis O’Keefe’s morally-dubious but charming and genial reporter turn out to be the main antagonist coming?), but the relationships between them are exceptional. Bringing attention back to The Big Sleep, there is a common element I found with both of these films which goes back to the long-held belief that The Big Sleep is not merely a noir, but also a screwball comedy in a way. There isn’t much to laugh at in Woman on the Run, other than a few moments of whimsy and some small jokes peppered throughout. Yet, it is written with the witty dialogue and character focus that is not normally given attention in these kinds of films, or at least not sufficiently. What makes this film so remarkable isn’t that it is a great noir – its that it is a brilliant character study disguised as a run-of-the-mill noir film, making the viewing experience that much more enthralling.

Woman on the Run is a beautiful film – a complex but brilliant rendering of a marriage going sour, told through the deliberate absence of one party, forcing the other into searching for answers. This film really pushes the boundaries of the film noir genre, ignoring many of the conventions and defying expectations to the point where it becomes almost rebellious in its approach. It is, first and foremost, a terrific social drama about marriage, and then a strangely endearing screwball comedy, filled with colourful characters and crackling dialogue. After this, we can see it as a great noir, one that goes against what we’d predict, and devolves into something akin to a post-war era fairytale, a compelling and slightly magical story fable of a film. I unabashedly adore this film – it is a gripping, enticing and utterly chilling work, and certainly as entertaining as it is thought-provoking. Film noir is not a genre known for its simplicity, yet Foster deconstructed enough to allow for a fascinating and multifaceted work to come about, but only through careful development of a story driven by interesting characters. This is by no means the definitive work of the genre, but if there was ever a film that warranted revisiting by audiences, it is undoubtedly this terrific work that relishes in its simplicity, soars on its commitment to a solid and satisfying premise.