At its peak, film noir was one of the most popular genres – whether extracted from the wildly entertaining pages of pulp fiction novels that were consumed at a rapid pace by readers of all ages, or more high-concept, experimental works that saw various filmmakers taking on more original ideas, these films were extremely popular, and simply watching any of the myriad of entries into the genre can easily confirm the reasons they were so successful. However, as is often the case with popular genres, it would grow to develop a set of quirks that would become definitive of this kind of film, which would eventually cause it to go out of fashion, especially as audiences would inevitably seek more exciting works as the industry developed. Yet, there is always merit in looking slightly deeper and finding that the idea that film noir is solely characterized by a few very cliched components is not only incorrect, it is truly misguided. Not every film in this genre consisted of a brooding man who is either a detective or criminal, immersing himself in the seedy underworld of post-war America while interacting with a range of villainous goons and femmes fatale – some of them are set in carnivals. This is essentially the starting point for Nightmare Alley. the adaptation of the novel of the same name by William Lindsay Gresham, which is not much more than a common pulp fiction novel on its own terms, but which managed to earn a level of respect as a result of the big-budget screen version that was directed by Edmund Goulding, who found a great deal of merit in the story of a young carnival worker who uses his penchant for manipulation to trick himself into a position of wealth and fame, only to see it come crashing down around him the moment he lets his guard down, which proves to be his ultimate downfall.

For all the reasons that we tend to enjoy film noir, Nightmare Alley challenges it in constructive and meaningful ways, and emerges as an effective addition to a genre that can often feel oversaturated, almost to the point of fatigue. A tightly-constructed and very memorable, Nightmare Alley has a certain resonance that makes it one of the more engaging films noir produced during this time, and one that still holds a very special place as a cult classic, which has only recently started to be questioned, since more viewers are seeking out this film and enjoying it as a result of a reinvestment in interest after the recent adaptation of the novel – it may even be on the precipice of being considered one of the defining works of the genre, should this re-evaluation continue. However, what makes Nightmare Alley such an interesting film is how it is really an experiment more than anything else – most similarly-themed films would tend to take place within cityscapes and amongst very urban areas, which is why the decision to set this film in a range of unconventional locations, whether it be behind the scenes at a travelling carnival, the ersatz office of a sinister psychologist or the manor a wealthy recluse, leads to some tremendously fascinating conversations around how the genre functions when it is moved slightly out of its comfort zone, which happens from the first moments of this film, and which remains consistent throughout, despite the film constantly shifting between locations, which immediately makes it an outlier in a genre that often spends a lot of its time in more restrictive settings. There are many fascinating ideas lurking just below the surface of this film, which is steady in its forthright commitment to a premise that could have very easily led to a much more inconsistent result.

The director maintains a wonderfully strange tone, and uses the film to carefully call into question the fundamental tenets of a genre that is very often weighed down by conventions – and taking on a more peculiar set of ideas (while not entirely committing to the madness in the way we’d see in a film like Dark Passage this same year), we’re able to decode the many ways in which Nightmare Alley is a particularly inventive use of the format as a way to bring up the inherent flaws that were present, without actively abandoning those elements, knowing that the best way to challenge is to subvert, which is exactly what we see throughout this film. Nightmare Alley has many of the same qualities as other entries into the genre, but what sets it apart is that this is a film about opportunity more than anything else – the characters undergo radical shifts in personality, with the protagonist of Stanford Carlisle going from a dashing hero to the most deranged, pitiful villain by the shocking final moments of the film, and it is all centred on the concept of greed, which was a subject that we found often in films produced around this film, likely a result of the cataclysm of the Great Depression and the Second World War, which proved the well-worn adage that this world is truly every man for himself, which is where Nightmare Alley takes many of its cues, exploring how the seed of greed and corruption can be planted almost unintentionally, and flower into a fully-grown set of delusions and blatant disregard for the world around them – and while it is far from the most definitive film on the subject, it is one that is easily the fundamental theme that propels the film, leading to a series of conversations around the nature of human survival in challenging social and cultural terrain, which is one of the primary reasons behind the incredible success of this story.

There are two kinds of film noir that we tend to see during the genre’s peak – there are those that are propelled by the story, and those that are more focused on developing interesting characters. It’s not often that we find one that is equally strong, since having an inventive premise often means that commitment to character development is often considerably subdued, and vice versa. However, there are instances of this occurring, as evident in this film, with Nightmare Alley finding a happy medium between the two, and as a result succeeds relatively well in both regards. Here is where the film is at its most insightful, since the story facilitates some very interesting personalities, with a range of eccentrics populating the film and making it such a wonderfully disquieting adventure. At the heart of the story is Tyrone Power, the quintessential conflicted main character in a film noir, a man who is slowly sinking into insanity as a result of his own greed. Not necessarily the strongest actor in most films, he brings a certain rugged charm to this film that is necessary, especially since he is able to match it with the darker sides of the character, which is vital to the progression of the story. Acting alongside him are a group of equally tremendous actresses with Joan Blondell, Coleen Gray and Helen Walker being formidable co-stars, and often come very close to overtaking Power as the most memorable parts of the film. Nightmare Alley belongs to the female characters, since they are the impetus for much of the story, and the people who essentially operate the narrative machinery – whether blissfully ignorant to the evils of the outside world, or someone who is responsible for an abundance of despair through her own perverse interests, the supporting characters in this film are absolutely unforgettable, and add an unquestionably brilliant level of nuance to a film that benefitted more from casting these smaller roles well than it did with its protagonist, who is solid but more of a reactionary than an actively interesting character in his own right.

Nightmare Alley is certainly a very interesting film, and not for the reasons many may expect – it does contain the qualities that we’d anticipate from a classic era film noir, but in the same ways that it honours the genre in which it was made, it also subverts many conventions. It would be more appropriate to view this as a film that exists somewhere between the peak of film noir, and the earlier days of the psychological thriller genre, with many of the details in this film lending themselves to some of the formative aspects of both, which not being too dependent on either in terms of constructing something meaningful. It is a very cerebral film, and one that is focused less on the internal conflict that lurks beneath a deeply damaged protagonist, and more on his journey from decency to debauchery, all because he saw the opportunity to lift himself out of a position without giving a second thought to the many people who helped him get there. It’s a stunning engaging and beautifully-constructed film, and while there are various areas in which it could’ve been fleshed out more (which were subsequently rectified in Guillermo del Toro’s adaptation of the novel, which is different enough to this film to avoid conversations about it supposedly being pale in comparison), the final product is still a wildly entertaining, deeply complex odyssey through the darkest recesses of the human condition, a subject that film noir knew better than perhaps any other genre, and which is all perfectly tied together in this challenging but fascinating film.