Despite reigning supreme as one of the most sought-after directors during the Golden Age of Hollywood as a result of his enormous versatility of a filmmaker, Frank Borzage has been continuously under-appreciated in recent years, with his films not receiving as much attention as those of his contemporaries that have held a more significant cultural cache. However, once we’re fully immersed in Borzage’s world, we are witness to a masterful storyteller, a filmmaker that weaves together form and content to concoct atmospheric narratives that keep us engaged and interested. One of his finest achievements is Moonrise, the adaptation of the novel by Theodore Strauss (here adapted by Charles F. Haas) which tells the story of a young man battling the demons of his past, doing his best to rid himself of the spectres that haunt him, not realizing that history has a tendency to repeat itself, even when he actively tries to avoid it. A complex and thrilling film noir that stands as one of the best of its era, and anchored by a few remarkable performances, Moonrise is a triumph, a heartbreaking and emotionally-complex character study of a man doing whatever it takes to build a good future for himself, only to discover that there is very little room to hide when your secrets start to become uncovered, which leads to one of the most thrilling explorations of the human condition of the 1940s, helmed by a director whose keen eye for detail and ability to evoke a particular mood and atmosphere situated him at the top of his profession, as evident by this remarkable and challenging work of socially-charged storytelling.

On the surface, Moonrise doesn’t seem like a traditional noir – the title itself does imply a form of darkly brooding storytelling, but by way of an almost ethereal approach. with the bewitching nature of the images evoked by the concept of “moonrise” leading to the film’s generally off-kilter atmosphere. The film is also not set in a large metropolitan area like Los Angeles or New York City (which are often considered classic locations used in the genre), but rather in a small, quaint town in Virginia, with the surrounding mountains looking down on a closely-knit community as they go about their daily routine, which is eventually disrupted with the murder of a young man, and the manhunt to find the perpetrator, who just so happens to be our protagonist. In every way that this film adheres to conventions of film noir, it also steps away from them, becoming a very different kind of story that still retains much of the same tone and atmosphere, just transposing it onto another setting, and in the process adding a level of detachment from other films in the genre, which makes for a more nuanced deconstruction of film noir conventions. This is even more peculiar when we realize how this film came decades before reconstructing the genre was popular, with Borzage managing to keep the spirit of what made film noir popular, while also extending them beyond these boundaries, reconfiguring them into essentially an early forerunner of the psychological thriller genre, which is done an enormous service by this film and its unique approach to looking at the internal machinations of a young man frantically searching for some meaning in a world that has lost all joy, leading him down a path of self-destruction, which the film captures beautifully.

Another way Moonrise deviates from conventional film noir is in how the focus is less on the crime itself, or the subsequent mystery that comes about as a result, but rather is much more personal in terms of looking at the main character and the aftermath of a brutal act of self-defence that launches him into something of an existential crisis, as well as his interactions with a variety of characters, some of whom figure out the truth, others remaining hopelessly oblivious. This is a character study about a young man who is not only on the run from the law, but also from himself, finding out that his own worst enemy is himself. The past and present collide throughout this film as we navigate a few days in the life of the protagonist as he works through the emotions of having killed someone – and whether it counts as murder or self-defence (which is the central conflict on which the film makes it seem like it is hinging, since it would be in bad taste for a major studio film to have a film that asks audiences to take a compassionate view on a cold-blooded homicidal maniac) is entirely irrelevant, since the film is far more invested in exploring the mind of someone undergoing such a crisis. This is done in terms of both their impending legal troubles should they be caught (which is another area in which the film is actively focusing), and the more internal processes that someone in this position would likely be experiencing during this ambigious period where they are caught between innocence and guilt, not yet having been put through the system that determines the difference between murder and self-defence. Borzage was a filmmaker with a tremendous grasp on defining characters, and working closely with Haas, they create an unforgettable adaptation of the source material.

At the heart of the film is a tremendous performance from Dane Clark, who may not be the most recognizable actor from a modern perspective, but embodies the idea of the journeyman performer who exceeds all expectations and delivers a stunning performance. The character of Daniel Hawkins is not one that necessarily lends itself to much external acting, with the extent of this performance really being kept to the small moments that occur between the protagonist and other characters, as they inch closer to discovering not only who the murderer is, but what drove him to commit this act in the first place. Clark is supported by a terrific cast, with veteran star of stage and screen Ethel Barrymore being as commanding as ever in her small role as the only voice of reason in Daniel’s life, while Gail Russell is his tender-hearted love interest who can’t handle the thought of someone seemingly so good being capable of as dreadful a crime as cold-blooded murder. Lloyd Bridges is also excellent in his own scene as the soon-to-be victim of Daniel’s apoplectic rage, having only a few minutes on screen but developing the character into a formidable and terrifying villain, whose presence lingers over the entire film. Borzage has a knack for drawing out excellent performances from his actors, and Moonrise is certainly not an exception, each individual in the cast creating memorable characters that create a distinct and brooding atmosphere that propels the entire film.

Despite being a relatively small and intimate film, both in production and narrative, Moonrise is a major achievement. This is proof that a film noir does not need to be solely brooding and rough around the edges, but that it can also be capable of being moody and poetic, which Borzage effortlessly establishes through both the visual scope (the framing is most notable, as are is the use of shadows and lights to create an almost otherworldly image of this small Virginia town) and the narrative, which is deeply complex, both as a character study and as a satirical look at life in a hamlet. The town at the heart of this film is one of those in which everyone knows their neighbour, so setting a story that explores the concept of immorality and murder amongst such a community leads to an abundance of fascinating ideas, which the director packages into this striking and unforgettable crime drama that is built not only on the concept of revenge, but also on the psychological state of those who exist in close proximity to this world. Beautifully made, well-acted and directed with precision by one of the great filmmakers of his generation, Moonrise is a terrific and unexpectedly moving film that warrants every bit of acclaim it has received, and perhaps even more, especially in comparison to lesser films noir that dominated during this period, while having barely a fraction of the brilliance that resides at the heart of this film.