We’re not strangers to discussing film noir around these parts, and one of the more interesting ideas that come about when looking at this genre that has undergone so many different shifts in conventions and style over the decades is that there isn’t one singular formula that makes for a great entry, but rather a variety of elements that tend to define it, both as a film on its own and within this particular genre. One of the hallmarks of a great film noir is often being able to have a more absurd premise, but still execute it with nothing but the most ferocious and meaningful conviction, which is often the case with some of the more notable works that have defined the genre. The Madonna’s Secret is a film that is distinct in its peculiarities, but never feels too excessive, always maintaining a consistent tone that draws the viewer into this world. Wilhelm Thiele is a remarkably versatile director, and while there aren’t many flourishes that distinguish it from other similarly-themed films from the period, the film is a well-crafted journey into the seedy underbelly of contemporary society, carefully facilitated by a director who works with the excellent script by the director in conjunction with Bradbury Foote, and a group of fantastic performances from a cast that rise to the occasion of playing these roles that require them to voyage through a range of emotions that are not often found quite as vividly as they are here, each detail feeling drawn explicitly from a genre that often thrives on conventions, but is never against some originality, which is exactly what we are offered countless times throughout The Madonna’s Secret, a film that knows its audience enough to understand that some slight deviation from tradition will be well received and celebrated amongst those who appreciate a more bespoke approach to this kind of story.

Every film noir tends to centre on a particular theme, even if it is slightly more tenuous. In the case of The Madonna’s Secret, it is art that is the focus. The main characters are all ingrained in the world of artistic expression – whether artists or enthusiasts, everyone that we encounter in this film has some relationship to it, which makes for a very different kind of thriller. The victims are models, the main suspect an artist accused of killing his muses as a result of some deep-seated trauma – and at the helm of the film is an investigator who has dedicated his personal life to finding beautiful paintings, which leads him to discover what appears to be a long string of murders that all point him back to the same source. Perhaps not the most captivating in terms of a mystery (especially since it becomes increasingly quite absurd, numerous flights of fancy being seen throughout the film), but it does come to be one of the more fascinating psychological thrillers produced at the time, specifically because of how internal so much of the film is, which is primarily what differentiates it from nearly every other film noir, and situates it more in the region of early psychological thrillers, which is a more accurate description, even though they are not mutually exclusive terms. Scenes are executed in a way that is a lot more intimate, and much of the mystery revolves around the details that are left almost entirely unsaid, the kind of unspoken but poignant clues that offer guidance to the eventual resolution of the central mystery.

It is almost inappropriate to refer to The Madonna’s Secret as being a film noir, since it has theoretical and stylistic impurities that prevent it from being entirely adherent, meaning that it exists as a marginal member of this expansive genre, rather than one of its most notable and definitive examples. It is an oddly expressive film, which is likely due to the influence of artistry. Thiele is blending many genres into the fabric of this film – it is oddly more romantic than a more conventional film noir, having a sense of melodrama that is often missing in the traditional, undistilled entries into the genre. The performances are also much less conventional, with the shift between the characters played by Francis Lederer and Edward Ashley throughout the film showing that the story is less concerned with finding the culprit responsible for these murders, and more focused on drawing parallels between these two men who occur as almost direct opposites, existing in contrast with one another. The use of a more ensemble-based story allows The Madonna’s Secret to be a much stronger offering than we initially expect, and the director is constantly provoking a more intimate form of character development, one in which the narrative follows a few of them, rather than having a more hierarchical structure where they are ordered in level of importance. These are smaller details that may not be noticeable from afar, but become integral to the overall experience, which is much more disquieting as a result of the meticulous attention paid to not only the mystery at the heart of the film, but the smaller, more intricate touches that support (and often intentionally contradict) the narrative structure.

It seems almost inexplicable that The Madonna’s Secret remains so obscure. Arguably, one could make a case that the lack of major stars in the prominent roles, and the very uneasy tone lead to a film that was more appropriately aligned with cult films rather than cherished entries into a genre that is already filled with unimpeachable classics – but even with this in mind, it’s still a film that warrants much more attention. It has its shortcomings, especially since it begins to lose momentum midway through, once it becomes clear that it is not going to go the direction that we initially imagine it will – but through actively engaging with the audience (who are invited to occupy the role of passive observers, rather than merely viewers looking in from the outside), the film accomplishes something very special. Well-written and directed with a lot of dedication to making us believe absolutely every frame, The Madonna’s Secret is a truly intriguing film that manages to overcome some flaws, flourishing into a tightly-wound, exceptionally compelling thriller that runs at a paltry 78 minutes, and feels exceptionally economical in both its sensibilities and the ultimate approach it took to telling this story. It has moments of genuinely profound brilliance, as well as an indescribably bizarre tone that works very well in the context of the story – and it ultimately becomes an impenetrable but deeply fascinating film that knows how to navigate some very treacherous narrative territory with an incredible degree of pathos and panache.