The 1940s were inarguably the peak of film noir – the 1930s featured several thrillers that laid the groundwork, while the 1950s were all about experimenting with form and content, continuously searching for new ways to explore the genre and represent its many fascinating conventions. Squarely in the middle of these two eras was one in which some of the most solid and entertaining works were being produced, and everyone with any interest in film noir will point towards their favourite. Personally, the choice has always been difficult, but my taste has always been inclined towards the more surreal or experimental works, since the idea of using a genre that is known for its brooding, labyrinthine complexity in a way that is actively engaging and extremely different has always been a source of immense fascination. We’ve discussed him in the past, but Delmer Daves occupies a strange place in Hollywood history, being a reliable journeyman director who is covertly one of the most consistently brilliant auteurs to have worked during the era – and while most of his work was relatively reliable in terms of adhering to standards of whatever genre he was tasked with evoking, some of the films he made are actively challenging in a way that he deserves much more credit for pioneering. In this instance, we have Dark Passage, his adaptation of the novel by David Goodis, which tells the story of a convict escaping from prison and making his way back into society, which he does with the help of a sinister plastic surgeon that changes his appearance. Bizarre and compelling in ways that we sometimes may not expect, but consistently entertaining, the film piques our curiosity, and proves itself more than worthy of holding our attention with its ferocious commitment to its outright peculiarities.

Much like another film nor that Daves directed this same year, the unsettling The Red House, this film exists at the intersection between film noir and psychological horror. Obviously it is much more subdued in its efforts to scare the audience as opposed to the other film, but Dark Passage has its own genuinely bizarre sense of dread that persists throughout the film. Building on Goodis’ novel, which is in itself a very strange piece of unconventional pulp fiction, the film goes in search of a method of exploring the darker side of humanity through taking a common trope such as the hardened criminal escaping from captivity, and having it become a genuinely unsettling look into the mind of a psychopath, or rather someone who has been branded as such. The film is an actively engaging one that never feels like it is weighed down by its oddities, and actually seems to be willing to openly embrace them, which is not something that we commonly find with this kind of story. Most filmmakers adapting this text would be more inclined to find a way to smoothly assimilate the viewer into this world, as well as justifying its strange premise with extensive explanations. Moments of exposition are brief and marginal, and much of what makes this such an extensively brilliant piece of filmmaking comes in how Daves depends on the viewer to draw our own conclusions – we’re constantly being presented with a series of disjointed moments that at first don’t make much sense out of context, but gradually come together to form something that is both engaging and disconcerting, and it’s the quality that elevates Dark Passage to the point of being one of the most vivid and unforgettable entries into a genre that often depended on the feeling of discomfort and despair as a narrative tool to evoke a particular atmosphere in service of its story, which nearly always focused on the darkest recesses of the human condition.

Dark Passage is astounding in its commitment to a premise that may be considered too off-the-wall for many viewers. However, this is one of its primary strengths, since it aims to a tell a story that exposes the absurdist underpinnings of the world in which we live, which is far more peculiar than many of us would like to admit. Undeniably, it does require a bit of suspension of disbelief, and it acts less as a gritty slice-of-life crime drama, and more as a heightened, vaguely surreal parable about crime and punishment. We have to appreciate this era of film noir for its ability to often convincingly portray the more brooding side of humanity – so when one comes along that is built almost entirely on the more bizarre details, it can be seen as a bit more unconventional but still brilliant in its own right. We do need to keep the fact that not everything necessarily needs to make sense when telling such a story, since allegory and absurdity can sometimes be perfectly appropriate bedfellows when done properly – and Daves, in conjunction with a gifted cast and crew, manages to pull together quite an effective and challenging story of a man seeking retribution, as told through the most insidiously charming imagery imaginable – the way Sidney Hickox’s camera captures every detail of San Francisco (which has never looked more repulsive and terrifying than in these horrifying tableaux across which the events take place), which is rendered as the stomping ground for these genuinely insidious human beings that populate this film, all of which reveals darker and more disquieting truths about our world, as filtered through the lens of an increasingly dark and unsettling portrait of the criminal mind. One of the aspects that has allowed Dark Passage to hold some cultural cache is its status as one of the several pairings between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, and the first one they made together since their iconic work on The Big Sleep a year before, another brilliant film noir that banked on their tangible chemistry and ability to work off each other in a way that has enthralled audiences for three-quarters of a century.

However, the film is not always the most consistent showcase when it comes to acting, especially in the roles the characters play in the overall story. Much of this comes from how it is divided into three distinct chapters, each one placing us in a slightly different position to the other – the first act is told entirely from the main character’s point of view, as we watch him navigate the world in the direct aftermath of his escape. Here we only hear Bogart’s voice, which essentially means that Bacall is the one holding court in terms of being often the literal focus on our gaze, which is delivered through first-person perspective. The second act sees the transition into a more traditional visual style, but Bogart remains entirely wordless here, and his iconic visage concealed under a thick layer of bandages, meaning that he has to rely on his physicality, rather than the expressivity of his face or his distinctive handle of dialogue, proving to be a challenge that he was willing to undergo for the sake of turning in a strong performance. Then in the third act, it becomes much more traditional in terms of having Bogart operating at full capacity, but mostly without Bacall, who exits the film for considerable lengths. Yet, Dark Passage still functions as a very effective piece of acting on behalf of the two actors, as well as the supporting cast. Much like another surreal noir from about a decade later, Robert Aldrich’s Kiss Me Deadly, much of what makes this film so memorable comes on behalf of the actors that populate the smaller parts, with Agnes Moorehead being genuinely evil as the film’s villain, while Tom D’Andrea, Clifton Young and Houseley Stevenson have secondary roles, but leave such an impression as people who are woven into the main character’s life – it’s a tremendous cast for a film that turns out to be much more than just another pairing between two iconic actors, but a fully-formed psychological drama about some very dark themes.

Dark Passage doesn’t need to convince us that everything makes sense – any critically-thinking viewer will know that someone can’t simply undergo a routine procedure that gives them an entirely new face in the span of just over an hour. Instead, the film not only acknowledges this extremely bizarre premise, but gleefully leans into it, realizing that it may cause some confusion amongst those expecting something slightly more conventional, but safe in the knowledge that it will linger on in the mind of the audience. Part of what makes this film so appealing comes in how Daves refuses to give us the answers, instead focusing on the enigmatic realities that these characters are constantly confronted with – the genuinely unnerving tone, coupled with the darkly comical sense of humour and grotesque development of these characters, whether primary or those in the periphery, situates the viewer in this nightmarish version of the world, one that is familiar enough to be recognizable, but slightly detached from reality, leading us to find solace in every moment of vaguely human behaviour. It’s a striking, brooding film that uses its atmosphere to great effect, often finding new ways to challenge the viewer, meaning that its aims are more than just telling an interesting story, but actually seeing how far it can unsettle the audience into surrendering all logic and finding the absurdity that lingers beneath our world. Groundbreaking and absolutely spellbinding, Dark Passage is a triumph of film noir when it was at its peak, and a truly brilliant work of postmodernism before the concept was even considered a viable artistic movement, which only proves how much this film pioneered in the world of experimental storytelling, and its fascinating execution.