As far as influential figures in the history of cinema go, there are few individuals more interesting and impressive than Ida Lupino, one of the few people whose reputation as a pioneer is not hyperbolic praise, but an objective fact drawn from her groundbreaking work on both sides of the camera. During a time when most films were directed by men, she dared to cross that gender boundary by helming her own films, many of them existing in genres that were not only rare for a female director, but also a filmmaker who subscribed to the burgeoning auteur theory, rather than journeyman directors hired by studios to handle certain genre productions. One of her crowning achievements, and perhaps the work that most people associate with her directorial career, is The Hitch-Hiker, in which Lupino crafts a film based on the true story of Billy Cook, a career criminal who takes advantage of the gullible and generous nature of a pair of ordinary men, hitching a ride with them into Mexico. His hosts are oblivious to the fact that he is actually a violent murderer who will very likely make them his next victim, intending to use them purely as a means to facilitate his escape to Central America, after which they will just become another casualty in what has proven to be a horrendous spree of theft and murder. Changing the names and specific events to be more traditionally cinematic and adhere to a more consistent structure than could be offered by the tabloid’s style of reporting on such stories, but retaining much of the same horrifying content that shook the country in the late 1940s, The Hitch-Hiker is a brilliant film, a simple and effective psychological thriller that not only manages to be genuinely surprising in how it handles some of its more challenging content, but also the form the film takes, which immediately confirms that Lupino was a truly gifted artist, and a singular talent with a vision that is both impossible to define and incredibly interesting to explore. Taking this shocking true story and weaving it into an unforgettable film noir that is both intellectually challenging and deeply visceral is an astonishing achievement, and one of the many reasons why she is considered such a formative filmmaker.

The Hitch-Hiker was not Lupino’s first directorial endeavour, and before taking on this film, she had already been at the helm of nearly half a dozen other films, all of which were produced by the company she formed with a few close collaborators, based on her desire to see films that reflected important social and cultural issues. Both stylistically and narratively, there is a sense of urgency that drives this film and makes it so profoundly captivating, even at its most unsettling. Lupino has a very peculiar approach to genre, crafting this film to adhere to certain narrative restrictions, but not being entirely defined by them at the same time, which is an incredibly challenging way to make such a film, but one that sets the foundation for the story and its sometimes off-kilter execution. Despite its roots in film noir, which is usually a genre we associate with dimly-lit corridors and harsh cityscapes enshrouded by night, most of The Hitch-Hiker takes place in broad daylight and occurs over wide-open spaces between the United States and Mexico, which serve as the stage on which this terrifying and dramatic story transpires. One would imagine that such an approach would prevent the film from being able to achieve a darker, more sinister tone, but from the first few scenes, when we are introduced to the characters and essentially given the surface-level premise, we are already entirely enraptured by the fear and terror that will soon come to envelop the film. Lupino’s command of tone is incredible – her ability to infuse a scene with unhinged fear and paranoia in one moment, and then sardonic dark comedy is another, is borderline revolutionary as far as crime stories go, and this proves to be the foundation of the entire film, which is an audacious and shocking excursion into the deepest recesses of the human condition, focusing on the fickle boundary between sanity and psychopathy, particularly in times of immense desperation.

The Hitch-Hiker occupies a number of different genres, each one having a very different purpose in her approach to telling this story. Primarily, we find that the film is designed in the image of the darkest and most sinister recesses of film noir, with elements of psychological horror and buddy comedy thrown in to enrich the narrative, turning it into a more layered and experimental work that becomes less about retelling the story of Cook and his crime spree, and more about the underlying concepts, such as the idea of two innocent men being embroiled in this violent criminal’s attempts to evade the law, beginning to question their own role in helping him escape. At which point does one transition from a hostage forced to help a criminal escape, to a getaway driver that essentially becomes an accomplice? Obviously, the film doesn’t provide all the answers, and it’s in this ambiguity that Lupino finds some of the most intriguing ideas – this is a film about morality and the ethics of survival. There is never any ambiguity that the character based on Cook is a maniacal villain without any redeemable qualities, but in focusing on the three central characters as a collective, Lupino can make some brilliantly subversive observations on the nature of society and how the careful balance of existence can go awry at a moment’s notice. Lupino is willing to experiment with both form and content, and the boldness of this film does not go unnoticed. Even the mere fact that a British filmmaker could make something that feels so quintessentially American, particularly in how it captures the sweltering, dusty sensation of traversing the region between the Southwestern United States and Mexico, is impressive. Both formally and tonally, The Hitch-Hiker is an incredible achievement, and Lupino’s direction is primarily the reason it is elevated beyond mere tabloid sensationalism, a common tendency for a lot of films based on similar subjects at the time. Her crisp, earnest approach to the material does not go unnoticed, and it becomes the basis for a film that pushes several boundaries with seemingly very little difficulty.

The approach taken in The Hitch-Hiker places equal emphasis on the tone and visual aspect as it does the characterisation, which was quite a change of pace for a genre that didn’t often put much work into defining its subjects. The film is designed as a three-hander, focusing almost entirely on the central trio of characters, their dynamic being the root of many of the film’s most ambitious and provocative ideas. Ultimately, this is a story about how two men found themselves overpowered by a single individual, a drifter who wields his gun as if it were his partner in crime, and who intimidates our well-meaning protagonists into a state of subservience. As much as the violence and action-infused thrills may be entertaining, the aspect that makes The Hitch-Hiker so compelling is how the characters interact with one another, and it isn’t long before Lupino gradually steps away from focusing on the action, and places much more emphasis on the interpersonal communication and growing dynamic between the characters, which shifts in several different directions and is responsible for some genuinely subversive commentary into the psychological states of these people, who are surprisingly well-constructed and far from archetypes. Naturally, the actors deserve the lion’s share of credit, with Edmond O’Brien and Frank Lovejoy being wonderfully endearing protagonists who manage to play these morally ambiguous, often quite scruffy everyman (the decision to have the protagonists be ordinary character actors rather than dashingly handsome, valiant heroes was one of the several elements that separates this film many more derivative works) with such incredible candour, whereas William Talman is one of the most terrifying villains in the history of film, committing wholeheartedly to a role that is profoundly unappealing, but yet undeniably memorable. Lupino draws out some incredible performances from these actors, and they prove to be the heart and soul of this film, which would have been a far less intriguing affair without their dedication to bringing these complex individuals to life on screen.

As hackneyed of an expression as it may be, it has to be said: they quite simply do not make films like The Hitch-Hiker anymore, and the existence of this very specific kind of B-movie, which were allowed to be raw, nasty and genuinely unsettling in ways that could be disturbing to those who were not prepared for such a vivid assault on our senses, is unfortunately something restricted almost entirely to the past. Lupino’s career as a director allowed her to work in several different genres, and while some tend to prefer The Bigamist from this particular year (which proved to be a banner year for the director), something is enticing about this film that draws us into this world, holding our attention and keeping us deeply intrigued. At only 70 minutes, this is a compact and curt film that moves at a rapid pace and keeps the action flowing, rarely stopping for more than a brief moment (and in the instances where the story does become less intense, it does not feel like a reprieve from the terror – in fact, it only heightens the tangible tension that encompasses the entire film), and reaching its conclusion with incredible skill. Lupino is a director who has received a lot of praise, but there is always time for us to draw attention to her revolutionary style and how she almost single-handedly opened the door for women as directors in Hollywood. She was not the first female filmmaker to work in the industry, but the grit and determination she demonstrated, as well as her subversion of genre and narrative tropes, made her such an intriguing figure, with The Hitch-Hiker being one of her most notable and inventive films. Complex, daring and deeply unsettling with an atmosphere of terror and intrigue, there aren’t many films that stir quite as diverse a set of emotions in the viewer as this one, which is one of countless reasons why it deserves its place within the canon of truly ambitious works.