By the time Orson Welles made Touch of Evil, the film noir genre was in its final stages – the peak wasn’t quite over yet, but it was gradually becoming clear that the genre that had ruled over much of Hollywood for roughly two decades was slowly going out of fashion, especially with the spectre of New Hollywood on the horizon, only about a decade in the future. However, if there is going to be someone who makes a film strong enough to essentially define the last breaths of a genre, you’re not likely to find a better candidate than Welles, who put effort into so many different genres over the years, and defined them in his own way, its difficult to argue against his position as inarguably one of the most important filmmakers to ever work in the medium – not that this is a contentious matter at all. Touch of Evil, which is based on the novel Badge of Evil by Whit Masterson (although many would argue this is only a loose adaptation, and that Welles only used the source material as a guiding framework for the rest of the work that he’d be doing over the course of this film’s creation), is one of the most definitive films produced in the noir genre, and through some fascinating directorial flourishes, a couple of dedicated performances, and a general uneasiness that makes for incredibly compelling viewing, it stands as one of the finest works of its era, and a film that continues to persevere as the pinnacle of filmmaking, provocative in both form and content, and creative beyond any expectations one may have when entering into a film that is so strong and self-assured, any attempt to layer criticism on it, positive or negative, feels inappropriate.

When looking at a film directed by Welles, its helpful to choose a particular place in the film – whether the top or the bottom – and working from one side to the other to determine all the areas in which it strove to achieve something interesting, and how it almost always succeeded, with only a few outliers in his career being notable enough to warrant genuine concern. Touch of Evil is a fascinating film, because it combines Welles’ two most significant talents, that of a director and as an actor. We’ve seen him thrive numerous times on both accounts – but while Citizen Kane or The Magnificent Ambersons are undoubtedly his best work as a director, and Chimes at Midnight his strongest performance, Touch of Evil is the one that best embodies both of them in tandem. One of the few filmmakers whose vanity was entirely earned, since he was always willing to put in the work, regardless of the disdain the dissenters had for his tendency to place himself at the centre of all of his work, this film presents us with a plethora of fascinating insights into his process on both sides of the camera, and there are certainly arguments to be made in all regards that this could be his finest work. Personally, I am more hesitant to join those steadily-growing voices that are re-evaluating this as not only a masterpiece, but a defining work in the career of a very important filmmaker, but there’s very little doubt that what Welles does with Touch of Evil is more than enough to validate the many words of praise frequently thrust upon this film, especially in later decades, where the initial negative reactions were seen as misunderstandings, and the restoration that took place in later years that reconfigured this film to the director’s original vision, ensuring the legacy of Touch of Evil would only become stronger as audiences found their way through this demented world into which Welles immerses us.

Where the film thrives is in how Welles is simultaneously embracing and challenging the conventions of the genre, which he does in some very creative ways. The first is obviously the setting – rather than dimly-lit corridors and smoke-filled alleyways of some major American metropolis, Touch of Evil takes place in a small town on the border between Mexico and the United States, which brings with it not only a fascinating change of locale, but also the possibility to layer on some commentary surrounding foreign virtues. The film looks at the contrast between the two cultures with a lot of laborious effort, finding time to manoeuvre in a few interesting ideas regarding the differences between the Mexican protagonist, who is shown to be the most principled and dedicated of the characters, and his American counterparts, who are demonstrated as far more corrupt and willing to sacrifice their virtues for the sake of getting the job done. In 1958, Mexico wasn’t always viewed as positively in terms of cinematic representation (some would argue Hollywood still has issues with how it portrays the nation, normally showing it in a less-positive light), and while it would be a strange position to defend Touch of Evil as some meaningful look into Mexican-American relations, but it would be misguided to imply that this didn’t hold some sway in the direction Welles was taking this film. As someone who always had a firm grasp on the collective pulse, there was always some degree of socially-charged commentary in his films, even those that weren’t directly related to more contemporary issues. It’s a simple but effective way of disseminating ideas into the population that may not immediately be evident from the themes or the general ideas that define them. There’s a degree of sophistication to this approach that elevates Touch of Evil and makes it even more interesting, since not only is it a fascinating film noir, it also has a degree of social commentary that we might not expect from films in a genre that often tend to draw from the same set of tricks.

Touch of Evil also affords Welles the opportunity to once again express himself as a profoundly gifted actor – and while it may be considered an act of vanity to have given himself the central role of Captain Hank Quinlan, the kind of character who any actor would be clamouring to play, when we see Welles in action, it’s difficult to argue against his decision. Using his large frame and tendency to play characters with a sinister streak, he portrays the antagonist with a conviction that we have come to expect from Welles when he’s in front of a camera. The role is a supporting one that has been elevated to the status of lead, solely by virtue of how Welles portrays him as the heart of the film – he’s constructed as the villain, but eventually becomes the conflicted anti-hero, someone we didn’t realize actually did have some principles beneath his self-serving actions. Welles is very good, but he’s barely the star of the show, since there is a very strong ensemble that occurs around him – so much that not even Charlton Heston and Janet Leigh, who are both incredibly charismatic and gifted actors, are that noticeable, despite giving some very strong performances. The likes of Marlene Dietrich (in one of her last film roles, playing an enigmatic woman who has a history with Welles’ character), Zsa Zsa Gabor and Mercedes McCambridge show up at different points and add to the vivid tapestry of the film. This isn’t even mentioning character actor Joseph Calleia, who secretly gives the best performance in the film as the conflicted detective who isn’t sure if he must remain loyal to his partner, or do what he knows to be right. Touch of Evil depends on its cast to deliver the complexities of the story, and they each rise to the occasion in their own way, and develop some truly captivating characters that are certainly worth the effort put into creating such a distinct set of performances.

By the end of Touch of Evil, we’ve been taken on a whistle-stop tour of all the talents of Orson Welles, since everything that makes him such a well-rounded cinematic figure are on display here. As a writer, he adapts a novel with precision, adding his own unique touch to what is essentially not much more than a pulp fiction detective novel, which he repurposes as a powerful crime drama with an undercurrent of social commentary. As an actor, he commands the screen in such a way that he leaves an impression, but also gives space to the actors around him to thrive as well. Finally, as a director, he adds a number of fascinating flourishes that prove that this film is equal parts style and substance. The camerawork is absolutely impressive, and the manner in which Welles and cinematographer Russell Metty capture the gorgeous rural Mexican vistas, as well as creating the illusion of a small border town, is incredible. A film noir made as if it was a western, in both appearance and plot intention, Touch of Evil is an incredible film, and one that certainly earns the title of masterpiece, at least in terms of how it manages to accomplish the near-impossible, by being a film that is both action-packed and intelligent, meaningful but still thoroughly entertaining, and terrifying without becoming too cliched. It may have been consolidated as an unimpeachable classic of cinema, but like every canonical masterpiece, its sometimes helpful to take a few steps back and figure out what it is precisely that makes a film like this so universal and resonant, and allows it to be definitive of an entire era of filmmaking all on its own.