The greatest lie about the movies is that you can’t make a great film without a big budget and an extraordinary script. In 1941, Jacques Tourneur was at the end of his commercial rope, having delivered flop after flop to MGM since he’d emigrated from France in 1934. The only gig he could get was churning out B-movie schedule fillers for RKO Studios, where he got stuck with a tiny budget and a script with an impossibly silly name. But what he delivered a year later was a psychosexual masterpiece that uses mood, shadow, and captivating performances to turn what could have been a forgettable monster flick into a landmark. Cinema doesn’t get eerier than Jane Randolph being pursued around an empty swimming pool.
– Richard Whittaker
Oct. 19-20
