Many is the film which has, on initial release, been critically dismissed and largely ignored, only to be later heralded as a masterpiece of cinema. Such is certainly the case with The Night of the Hunter, a film so poorly regarded upon its original 1955 release that its director—the actor Charles Laughton—was never again afforded the opportunity to stand behind a camera.
Now regularly regarded as one of the finest examples of film noir, The Night of the Hunter is a powerful childhood fable that tackles issues of religious fanaticism, the innocence of youth, and loyalty to one's past and principles. Joining its sibling protagonists as their father arrives home with a gunshot wound and a handful of money which he demands they keep secret, the film sees the children attempt to evade the efforts of a suspect preacher to claim their fortune as he successfully ingratiates himself within their community.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of The Night of the Hunter is its titular character, and the thematic concerns addressed through him. Shown early in the film to be the cellmate of the children's father before his execution, Reverend Harry Powell is a villain of extraordinary depth. Quickly betrothing himself to the newly widowed mother, he is charming, charismatic, and utterly confident in his belief that he is an instrument of God. That his status as a preacher is not one he has simply adopted in order to attain his goals introduces to the film the theme of religion and the questions of the evil that can be created when faith is misdirected and dogma misinterpreted. In his own eyes, Powell is conducting the lord's work, the crimes he commits justified, even directly suggested, by the need to continue spreading his faith. It is this unabashed zealotry which endears him to Willa—the children's mother—and her employer Mrs Spoon, who is particularly insistent that Willa settle with a man of God in order to repent for her husband's sins. Powell is a terrifying antagonist, not for the ills he commits, but rather for his belief that they are righteous; that his implementation of such hideous violence is morally vindicated. The deep- seated fury inherent in the preacher is marvellously articulated in the performance of Robert Mitchum, bringing the various stages of the character to life, from benign guardianship to homicidal rage. Mitchum is, however, just one of the film's considerably many facets. Brimming with the visual hallmarks of film noir, the German Expressionist heritage on which the genre so heavily draws is here abundantly apparent. Distorted and surreal angles fill many of the darkly lit sets, their twisting contortions physical realisations of the more sinister side of the film. A particularly memorable sequence sees the children slowly floating down a river as they escape the Reverend, a miasma of natural beauty framing their slow journey in time to the orchestral score. Music, it should be noted, is of crucial importance to the film's effect, hymns used throughout. Powell's regular renditions lend a sombre sense of impending dread, his voice casting him as the omnipresent force of inescapable terror. A chorus of unseen children provides the antithesis to his haunting song, their innocent chanting endowing the film with the quality of an ethereal fantasy, providing an escape from the depths of darkness which fill the film so heavily.
Part extraordinarily dark film noir, part childhood adventure fantasy, The Night of the Hunter raises important questions about the darker side of religious faith and the chilling ways in which people condone their actions through their belief. Expressing as much through its effulgent lighting as through its haunting themes, it is a film of incredible visual appeal.
Now regularly regarded as one of the finest examples of film noir, The Night of the Hunter is a powerful childhood fable that tackles issues of religious fanaticism, the innocence of youth, and loyalty to one's past and principles. Joining its sibling protagonists as their father arrives home with a gunshot wound and a handful of money which he demands they keep secret, the film sees the children attempt to evade the efforts of a suspect preacher to claim their fortune as he successfully ingratiates himself within their community.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of The Night of the Hunter is its titular character, and the thematic concerns addressed through him. Shown early in the film to be the cellmate of the children's father before his execution, Reverend Harry Powell is a villain of extraordinary depth. Quickly betrothing himself to the newly widowed mother, he is charming, charismatic, and utterly confident in his belief that he is an instrument of God. That his status as a preacher is not one he has simply adopted in order to attain his goals introduces to the film the theme of religion and the questions of the evil that can be created when faith is misdirected and dogma misinterpreted. In his own eyes, Powell is conducting the lord's work, the crimes he commits justified, even directly suggested, by the need to continue spreading his faith. It is this unabashed zealotry which endears him to Willa—the children's mother—and her employer Mrs Spoon, who is particularly insistent that Willa settle with a man of God in order to repent for her husband's sins. Powell is a terrifying antagonist, not for the ills he commits, but rather for his belief that they are righteous; that his implementation of such hideous violence is morally vindicated. The deep- seated fury inherent in the preacher is marvellously articulated in the performance of Robert Mitchum, bringing the various stages of the character to life, from benign guardianship to homicidal rage. Mitchum is, however, just one of the film's considerably many facets. Brimming with the visual hallmarks of film noir, the German Expressionist heritage on which the genre so heavily draws is here abundantly apparent. Distorted and surreal angles fill many of the darkly lit sets, their twisting contortions physical realisations of the more sinister side of the film. A particularly memorable sequence sees the children slowly floating down a river as they escape the Reverend, a miasma of natural beauty framing their slow journey in time to the orchestral score. Music, it should be noted, is of crucial importance to the film's effect, hymns used throughout. Powell's regular renditions lend a sombre sense of impending dread, his voice casting him as the omnipresent force of inescapable terror. A chorus of unseen children provides the antithesis to his haunting song, their innocent chanting endowing the film with the quality of an ethereal fantasy, providing an escape from the depths of darkness which fill the film so heavily.
Part extraordinarily dark film noir, part childhood adventure fantasy, The Night of the Hunter raises important questions about the darker side of religious faith and the chilling ways in which people condone their actions through their belief. Expressing as much through its effulgent lighting as through its haunting themes, it is a film of incredible visual appeal.