A tall, gangling man, sporting a wide-brimmed hat and the words “love” and “hate” scrawled on his knuckles – these are iconic images imprinted into the minds of any film lover, or even those who have just casually taken journeys into the world of the Golden Age of Hollywood, of which these are some incredibly unforgettable emblems of a very specific time in filmmaking history. They’re signifiers of The Night of the Hunter, one of the finest films of its era, and one that is a distinctive work for a number of reasons. Primarily, it’s the directorial debut (as well as the swan-song) of the greatest character actor to ever work in the medium, Charles Laughton (and I’ll discuss exactly why he was a superb choice to helm this film, despite it being his first and only foray into directing), who did some magnificent work with James Agee’s screenplay (based on the novel by Davis Grubb). However, it is also one of the finest unconventional noirs ever committed to film, a daring psychological thriller that takes some bold risks and emerges triumphant, and a deeply enduring work of unhinged terror that has inspired many of the great horrors of subsequent years, where the beautifully complex screenplay and Laughton’s assured direction created something entirely unforgettable. More than anything else, The Night of the Hunter is a film that has stood the test of times – no matter how many times someone has watched it, there is always something new to discover, some unseen detail or underlying theme that wasn’t present previously, but is now glaringly obvious. It’s a timeless work that never fails to launch us into the realm of the profoundly unsettling, from where Laughton is able to assert his truly demented vision and provide us with something so complicated and enduring, it’s truly difficult to divert our attention away from it.

When discussing any canonical work of art, there’s an inherent problem of trying to find something new to say about it – it’s an issue that many face when looking into something for the first time, and constantly revisiting it doesn’t help clarify what it is precisely that can be said about it. The Night of the Hunter is an enduring work because it lends itself to an endless amount of discussion, not only in terms of the film itself, but also its timely themes, with the messages conveyed in this film being directly related to many that are faced in the contemporary era. Any film that can forego the specific social and cultural milieu enough to make it resonant to future generations is immediately going to be an unimpeachable classic, so whether we’re viewing The Night of the Hunter as a piece of warped Americana, or as a powerful fable on the greed and corruption of wayward souls who allow their inner demons to take control of their actions, this is a film that speaks to us on a profoundly human level. Furthermore, Laughton’s incredible control of the material means that there isn’t much need for an over-emphasis on any of these themes, with the simplicity of the story, and the might afforded by various factors (such as the screenplay and the performances tasked with interpreting it) all converging into an absolutely stunning film that never quite lays all its intentions bare, having some truly hideous surprises in store for us along the way, which only makes the experience of sitting through this film (whether for the first time, or being compelled to see it again) all the more enriching, and truly captivating in its own unique way.

Normally, when referring to The Night of the Hunter, the most common aspect that immediately comes to mind is the performance given by Robert Mitchum – which is entirely appropriate, since nearly everything that helps this film succeed can be traced by to his ferocious portrayal of Reverend Powell. Mitchum was an actor who wasn’t a stranger to playing villains – but most of his antagonists were effortlessly cool bad boys with a strong sense of humour and a reserved dignity that made them so compulsively fascinating, almost as if they were yearning to be seen as anti-heroes. However, Powell is an entirely different situation – he isn’t a human as much as he is a vicious, feral beast of a character, who slinks through the lives of these characters with a deft precision normally reserved for apex predators stalking their prey. It’s a spirited performance that has so many layers to it – and while Mitchum may not have been the first choice for the role, it’s difficult to imagine anyone else bringing the same unique energy to the part, especially when so much of the character is built on the actor’s incredibly dark sensibilities that were undoubtedly drawn from his own experiences on the other side of the law. This is one of the defining performances of the 1950s, and from his entry into the film, to his final confrontation with the protagonists and their protective adoptive guardian (played by an exceptional Lillian Gish, who commands the film, despite having only a few minutes of time on screen), where Mitchum is shot and lets out the most haunting, animalistic whimper ever heard in film, we’re entirely engaged with his portrayal of one of cinema’s greatest villains. It’s career-defining work from an actor whose rugged masculinity hid a very complex set of skills that were never better utilized than they were in this film, where they were under the direction of a first-time filmmaker who undoubtedly managed to craft something so memorable through his own decades-long career under the guidance of some of cinema’s finest authorial voices, giving him both the experience and knowledge needed to harness a truly iconic performance from one of film’s finest actors.

The Night of the Hunter is a film that covers a lot of tricky territory without becoming too heavy-handed in its themes, and a lot of this can be attributed to Laughton’s dedication to the film. This is so much more than just an experiment by an esteemed actor interested in stepping behind the camera – it’s an intricate and terrifying work of unrestrained terror that revolutionised the psychological thriller genre before it was even a legitimate form of storytelling – so it stands to reason that this film helped pioneer an entire genre that has yet to show any signs of weakening, over half a century since this film came out. It touches on many fundamental ideas that we may not notice at first – it’s framed as a gothic horror set in the suburbs and river-side homes of ordinary people, taking the form of the small-town thriller that uses simplistic mentalities as a tool to further the very specific story, in a way that setting this film in a bustling metropolis may have softened the blow far too much. The theme of Christian belief is pertinent throughout – and it navigates a narrow tightrope, being neither respectful nor dismissive of religious belief, instead showing the dangers that come with radicalization on one side, as well as the beautifully uniting nature of holding onto one’s faith, using religion as a framework on human behaviour as a whole, which makes for an oddly compelling work on its own terms, where the depths of our existence are plumbed by a filmmaker who was driven by, more than anything else, his insatiable curiosity to show the darker side of life from the perspective of the one concept that is supposed to inspire joy, comfort and ease. It’s a difficult feat to accomplish, but Laughton does it so exceptionally well with The Night of the Hunter, it’s simply impossible to look away from the brilliantly-curated chaos he places on screen.

As a work of truly historical significance, The Night of the Hunter is a magnificent film, and one that truly never ages, since its timeless themes and very creative approach to the material has made it a prime candidate to be considered one of the finest thrillers ever put on film. Laughton was one of the truly great one-time directors, and his work hinted at serious potential to become one of the great directors of his generation – but lamenting on how he should’ve continued in this vocation only detracts from the fact that, beyond the novelty of it being a film directed by a great actor, The Night of the Hunter is an utterly exquisite film that finds the nuance in a story that could’ve so easily been a hackneyed, unconvincing muddle of ideas that never quite settles on a specific theme. Instead, Laughton and his collaborators (as this was clearly the work of a few individuals working in tandem, such as screenwriter Agee, and leading actor Mitchum, both of whom were equally responsible for the fascinating thematic and structural avenues this film travels down) create something that has a depth that may not be expected from similarly-themed dramas, where the ideas are often more important than the story itself. As a singular work, The Night of the Hunter is astonishing, and in the most intimate moments, it manages to convey a wide range of emotions, whether it be unmitigated fear, horrifying despair and (as the uplifting final scene indicates), unrestrained hope. There’s not much that can be said about The Night of the Hunter, since so much as been said already – but there’s very little harm in once again remarking on how it earns every claim of being a masterpiece, and stands up better than many films from its era, making it perfect for both first-time viewers, and devoted fans who want to venture into this unsettling world once again, which is always a riveting experience.