Sudden Fear proves a doubly unexpected pleasure: As one of the more inventive and effective suspense thrillers of the 1950s, and as a Joan Crawford picture from her last decade of real stardom in which she pulls from the full fetch of her long-seasoned acting skills.
Crawford plays San Francisco heiress-turned-playwright Myra Hudson, in New York for rehearsals of her latest hit play, Half-Way to Heaven. Producer and director find their new leading man (Jack Palance) an ideal mouthpiece for dribbling out her syrupy dialogue. But Crawford, repelled by the alarmingly Cubist planes of his face, has him fired (the off-screen Palance had been burned badly in the war and underwent reconstructive surgery).
But on board a train back to California, she not-so-serendipitously meets up with him again. They have a drink, play gin rummy, and soon are sharing their histories under the night sky of the observation car. Now an "item," they enter Crawford's upscale social whirl until the crafty Palance plays his hard-to-get card. Crawford falls for the ploy and makes him her husband.
Enter Gloria Grahame, some nasty unfinished business of Palance's from back east (`Kiss me Kiss me hard'). These two schemers plan to wrest a hefty divorce settlement from Crawford, but when it seems that her will specifies otherwise, they move to Plan B. Thanks, however, to the elaborately clunky recording equipment the author has installed in her study, Crawford learns not only that her bridegroom loathes her but that he plans to murder her for her money. In this audacious and prolonged scene, Crawford remains wordless as the taped voices hiss and sputter out (`I know a way...I know a way...I know a way'), letting her extraordinary eyes do the acting (and reminding us that her career started in the silent era). But once her hysteria subsides, Crawford puts her writer's wiles to work and starts some intricate plotting of her own....
Crawford starts out at her customary big-star wattage, that fan-magazine glamour which at this stage of her career had to be all but welded on. But as her illusory happiness crumbles, so does her armored facade. Pitiless closeups of her contorted, sweaty face show us the aging woman beneath the camouflage (and give a foreshock of her coming roles in fright films, particularly that other Hudson, Blanche, in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?). It was a courageous move for this notoriously vain and controlling actress; perhaps she recognized in Lenore Coffee's script the last role (with the possible exception of Blanche) that would ever test her mettle. Her instincts were right. Sudden Fear is testament that, no, Crawford was more than the talentless, drunken witch her idle detractors would have us believe. Once again she did what was expected of her as a star, and what she did for vehicles far less promising than Sudden Fear: She carried the picture on her broad shoulders, unassisted by shoulder pads.
Trivia note: This movie marks the film debut of Mike (here, `Touch') Connors, TV's Mannix.
Crawford plays San Francisco heiress-turned-playwright Myra Hudson, in New York for rehearsals of her latest hit play, Half-Way to Heaven. Producer and director find their new leading man (Jack Palance) an ideal mouthpiece for dribbling out her syrupy dialogue. But Crawford, repelled by the alarmingly Cubist planes of his face, has him fired (the off-screen Palance had been burned badly in the war and underwent reconstructive surgery).
But on board a train back to California, she not-so-serendipitously meets up with him again. They have a drink, play gin rummy, and soon are sharing their histories under the night sky of the observation car. Now an "item," they enter Crawford's upscale social whirl until the crafty Palance plays his hard-to-get card. Crawford falls for the ploy and makes him her husband.
Enter Gloria Grahame, some nasty unfinished business of Palance's from back east (`Kiss me Kiss me hard'). These two schemers plan to wrest a hefty divorce settlement from Crawford, but when it seems that her will specifies otherwise, they move to Plan B. Thanks, however, to the elaborately clunky recording equipment the author has installed in her study, Crawford learns not only that her bridegroom loathes her but that he plans to murder her for her money. In this audacious and prolonged scene, Crawford remains wordless as the taped voices hiss and sputter out (`I know a way...I know a way...I know a way'), letting her extraordinary eyes do the acting (and reminding us that her career started in the silent era). But once her hysteria subsides, Crawford puts her writer's wiles to work and starts some intricate plotting of her own....
Crawford starts out at her customary big-star wattage, that fan-magazine glamour which at this stage of her career had to be all but welded on. But as her illusory happiness crumbles, so does her armored facade. Pitiless closeups of her contorted, sweaty face show us the aging woman beneath the camouflage (and give a foreshock of her coming roles in fright films, particularly that other Hudson, Blanche, in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?). It was a courageous move for this notoriously vain and controlling actress; perhaps she recognized in Lenore Coffee's script the last role (with the possible exception of Blanche) that would ever test her mettle. Her instincts were right. Sudden Fear is testament that, no, Crawford was more than the talentless, drunken witch her idle detractors would have us believe. Once again she did what was expected of her as a star, and what she did for vehicles far less promising than Sudden Fear: She carried the picture on her broad shoulders, unassisted by shoulder pads.
Trivia note: This movie marks the film debut of Mike (here, `Touch') Connors, TV's Mannix.