There is always something encouraging about an artist being plucked from obscurity and having their career reassessed. Sometimes, this only occurs decades after their passing, but it is better late than never when it comes to giving certain creative individuals the credit they deserve. Tay Garnett is not a name known to many of us, and the majority who are familiar with his work will probably find themselves viewing them as the products of a journeyman filmmaker who was working under a stringent system long before directors were considered the ultimate authority on a film set. This isn’t entirely untrue, since Garnett was a prolific director who was known to be hired to helm a wide range of productions, which he got through his ability to adapt his style to any material, as well as his willingness to tackle just about any material. However, what we don’t often realize is how he was also a director known to take many risks, and few films from this era are more profoundly exciting and unique than One Way Passage, in which Garnett collaborates with screenwriters Wilson Mizner and Joseph Jackson to tell the story of Dan and Joan, two strangers who meet by chance in a squalid Hong Kong bar and immediately fall in love, and when they discover that they are both setting sail on the same cruise back to the United States the following day, it seems likely that they will run into one another again. Yet, both of them have a secret – their deaths are both imminent, as he is a murderer being sent to prison to be executed, while she is terminally ill and seemingly undertaking this holiday as her final victory lap in life before her death. Despite lingering over them both like a spectre, they fall in love on the high seas and find comfort in one another. Beautiful, poetic and often quite funny, One Way Passage is an absolute masterpiece, a film willing to take a few bold risks in favour of a strong story that carries so much weight and honesty about very serious issues and an earnest attention to detail that brings these ideas to life.

At a cursory glance, it is certainly easy to view One Way Passage as a relatively conventional melodrama, since both its story and style adhere quite closely to the tropes of many romantic dramas produced at the time. The plot is exceptionally simple – two people find themselves falling in love despite major challenges that stand in both of their ways, and they manage to defy all odds to create something meaningful and captivating, overcoming the obstacles and proving that their love was written in the stars. If anything, we can look at this film and see it has just a jumble of cliches since this is exactly what the premise conveys, and for anyone who is not entirely sold on the concept of melodramas (myself included), this can appear to be quite an ordeal. However, from its first moment it becomes increasingly clear that this isn’t a conventional film in any way, and that while it is rooted in melodrama, there is something much more profound scattered throughout the film. We’ve spoken extensively in the past about the Pre-Code era, and how this was a period where filmmakers were allowed to be more experimental and subversive – but an additional benefit from this more lax moment in film history is that we could see genres being blurred, with many different concepts weaving together to create layered and captivating narratives. One Way Passage has some tremendously strong ideas, which it develops in conjunction with several unique qualities – this is a very funny film, and there are moments when Garnett is playing into the more eccentric humour that comes along with such an idea. We were still a couple of years away from the establishment of the screwball comedy (interestingly both pioneering works were also films about two star-crossed lovers travelling and falling in love along the way), but it seems like a lot of those early elements are present in this film, even if it veers towards the dramatic side on more than one occasion. More than anything else, we find that One Way Passage is a film with an intense and captivating sense of mystery, almost as if it was trying to imply a sense of mystery and intrigue governing this film. It’s not always clear what it means, but purely in terms of genre and style, there is something quite fascinating about how these aspects are combined to create something much more vibrant and intriguing.

There is something so profound about how this film handles certain ideas, and its simplicity is one of the main aspects that make it so captivating. There isn’t any need for convoluted storylines or an unnecessarily dense approach to the narrative process, but rather all of its attention is put into defining the main characters, as well as a few that exist on the periphery, giving them all something valuable to do, and allowing the story to go in many different directions from this point. Ultimately, One Way Passage is a film about two individuals making a deeply human connection. Love is a concept that is difficult to define in words, but it is something we can all recognize, and this film draws on the more ethereal, underlying themes that come with falling in love, creating a beautiful and complex depiction of humanity as seen through the eyes of two lonely people seeking some solace in the past, which brings them a lot of comfort as they approach their imminent deaths. These themes are very dark, and it is almost a miracle that this film managed to feel so lighthearted and funny at times, since there is a bleakness that underpins the narrative that many of us may not have noticed at a cursory glance, a sense of curiosity for the darker aspects of the human condition that Garnett and his cohorts seem to be very interested in exploring. There is a heartbreaking moment midway through the film when we realize these two people aren’t only falling in love because of a shared attraction, but rather because they see the spark that exists between them, making this the final meaningful human connection that they are likely to make, which is a harrowing thought, but one that the director finds a lot of beauty in exploring, finding the unexpected joy in the sadness that encompasses most of this film and makes it so extraordinarily engaging and captivating in ways that would be surprising to find replicated elsewhere, at least with this same attention to detail and profound humanity.

You could certainly not find any two actors better suited for the assignment that accompanies this film than William Powell and Kay Francis, who were at the peak of their careers at this point (although both would have more notable performances in the imminent years, this representing relatively early work for both actors), and were the perfect candidates to help Garnett realize this exceptional story. These are challenging roles – not only do the actors need to balance romantic melodrama, subversive comedy and other intangible tones and ideas that were revolutionary for the time, but they also had to do so in a way that complimented each other, making the chemistry between the two leads extremely important. Mercifully, Powell and Francis have a connection that is nothing short of electric – every moment they are on screen together feels profound and enthralling, and we are plunged into the world of these characters with such incredible fervour, that it is impossible to not fall under their spell. They balance all the elements exceptionally well, and whether it be through the sometimes dense, rapid-fire dialogue, or the moments of silent reflection (for which Francis is most appropriately suited – her doeful, expressive eyes say more than any spoken words ever could), there is such depth to these performances, and while I do try and avoid hyperbole, this may be the best performances either actor has ever given, or at least stands as works that define their careers and make it very clear why they are such incredible remnants of this astonishing era in Hollywood history. They are joined by a small but substantial supporting cast, which includes Aline MacMahon, Frank McHugh and Warren Hymer, who all play more comedic roles, but still add a lot of depth to a film that builds itself on the talents of its actors.

If there was ever a good time to rediscover Garnett and his exceptional gifts, One Way Passage is the perfect candidate. It is a challenging film, and one that we can never quite fully comprehend in terms of narrative direction or thematic intention – these romantic melodramas often did have some kind of social message, even if it is tucked away neatly into a corner, only revealing itself at key moments when the director feels confident enough that they can infuse an otherwise delightful story with something slightly more sobering. We can look at this film as a manifesto on the challenges of loneliness, and the feelings of inadequacy and despair that usually punctuate our culture – but this is only a fraction of what makes this film so incredible. Instead, we have to resign ourselves to the fact that Garnett has somehow managed to compress the entire human condition into 67 stunning minutes of pure visual poetry – every line is meaningful, every movement is purposeful and we find ourselves being drawn into the world of this film. The fluidity of the camera is revolutionary on a technical level and places us in the position of observers the lives of these people as they spend a month navigating a relationship that is built on something authentic, but will always have the caveat of being nothing more than a fleeting romance, solely because they are both standing on the threshold of death, doomed to die alone. Yet, the film suggests that there is a possibility for fate to keep these lovers together – the striking final moment is chilling and heartbreaking, and just as beautiful as the rest of the film. Exceptionally powerful and always very meaningful, few films are quite as affecting as One Way Passage, which is an absolute masterpiece, and a film that deserves to be viewed as one of the most striking and revolutionary films of its era.