Phantom Lady (1944)

Nothing in this movie makes any sense at all, except maybe as a catalogue of psychological disorders. You could examine it from all different angles, but that could be a long article, and even then, it might not all add up. So, I’m looking at it from a narrow perspective—the Ella Raines character point of view. Her name is Carol, but her boss calls her Kansas, since that’s were she’s from (and people keep telling her to “go back to Kansas”—as if the insanity of big city New York is Oz at its worst). Her boss’s wife is murdered—the police bungle the investigation and pin it on him—and also, the real murderer bribes all of his potential alibis, including the “Phantom Lady” of the title. A better title would be Nancy Drew and the Copious Nutbox—because Carol initiates her own investigation with the brashness of that precocious sleuth—and… everyone she comes into contact with seems insane. And that includes the actual killer—Franchot Tone—who doesn’t appear until halfway through! With his twitches, headaches, and hands that seem to have a mind of their own, he may as well be wearing a black sweatshirt that says “Psycho.” The funny thing is, he’s Carol’s main sidekick while sleuthing, along with a nice cop who realizes they collared the wrong guy—so we have one of the oddest trios since the Stooges.

One theory I entertained, after the happy ending, is that Carol is actually the wife who is murdered (as we never meet the wife at the beginning)—and so she’s, then, essentially solving her own murder—only to be murdered again—in an endless loop. And she’s not only the victim, but she’s also the angel of death—because everyone she comes into contact with ends up dead. Maybe that’s a bit much, but it kinda works. Anyway, the movie (directed by Robert Siodmak) looks great, excellent moody sets, good locations, and Ella Raines is fun to watch. The best (and probably most famous) scene is when she goes undercover as a somewhat bimbo-ish jazz groupie, picking up one of the potential alibi witnesses, drummer, Cliff (Elisha Cook, Jr., in his best-ever part). He takes her to an afterhours club with wild jazz improv going on. Her floozie act is so awkward (chomping gum and using bad grammar) it makes her normal acting (which is pretty overwrought, in this movie) seem natural and restrained. The scene culminates with Cliff’s awesome drum solo, Carol egging him on with obscene gestures—the whole thing reaching a frenzied climax. If the censors in 1944 had been attuned to allegory, this movie would have earned an “X” rating!

5.30.24