TIME WITHOUT PITY: Blu-ray (Eros Films, 1957) Indicator/Powerhouse

Deftly scripted by blacklisted screenwriter, Ben Barzman, and even more swiftly directed by Joseph Losey, Time Without Pity (1957) is a haunting Brit-based film noir that stars Michael Redgrave as a recovering alcoholic and father, desperate to spare his son the hangman’s noose after he is convicted of murder. The Bristol-born Redgrave, who marked his official debut at Liverpool’s Playhouse in 1934, and rounded out a superb career in 1975, before the onslaught of Parkinson’s deprived us all of his immeasurable talents, herein – as failed author, David Graham, lets the abject pain and suffering of an absentee father show through all the gin-soaked malaise. Redgrave is a tower of self-imploding pity, from underneath to emerge with a steely resolve, seeking justice for his twenty-something son, Alec (Alec McCowen).  Redgrave, well regarded, and even more well-informed - and liked - described by Losey as “an intellectual, a poet, a literary man, an innovator in the theater,” joined up to do his part during the war, foregoing a decade’s long sojourn from novice player to seasoned thespian. But Redgrave’s stint in the navy barely lasted a year, due to health concerns.  In the post-war years, his career – both on the stage and in movies – blossomed. In retrospect, Redgrave is just one of the superb actors on tap in Time Without Pity; the cast, to include the luminous Ann Todd, dressed fashionably, and yet, slightly dowdy as Honore Stanford, the put-upon wife of boorish automobile distributor, Robert (played with particularly manic venom by Leo McKern), who also holds dominion over an adopted son, Brian (Paul Daneman).

Despite Redgrave’s top billing, McKern’s presence remains the most possessive and dominating in the picture. In Robert Stanford, McKern delivers a man so crudely consumed by his own ego, his air of entitlement brutishly to rage against a devoted wife and fearful offspring, he assumes he can get away with anything: even, killing one of his discarded play things, frame an innocent man for his crime, and then, shadow and wear down the accused’s father to the point of inducing his self-destruction. Based on Emlyn Williams’ play, Someone Waiting, Barzman’s screenplay is unflinchingly bleak. Perhaps all too aware of the crippling influence of bureaucracy, Barzman presents the wheels of justice grinding to an excruciatingly troubled and indifferent pace; the Home Office, presiding judge, jailer, and, attorneys, even mildly disinterested to see real justice served, but rather calculatingly focused on just another execution for the books.  Indeed, the prison governor (Hugh Moxey) sees very little in David’s earnest appeal for a stay of execution – just 24 hrs., so he might investigate the crime on his own terms, interviewing potential witnesses, and do all he can to ensure Alec will not swing for Robert’s crime of passion.  Time Without Pity equally benefits from its superb supporting cast, a veritable who’s who of familiar faces, later to go on and have extra-special careers: Peter Cushing, as the empathetic attorney, Jeremy Clayton; Lois ‘Miss Moneypenny’ Maxwell – uncharacteristically, playing the twenty-cent tart, Vickie Harker; Joan Plowright, as the victim’s burlesque-hall sister, Agnes Cole; Scottish wit, Renée Houston, as Vickie’s shrewish mum, and, Christina Lubicz, as the murdered girl, Jennie – dispatched with in an eerily pantomimed strangulation in half-shadow (implied, though never seen) before the main titles.

From here we pan to a sweaty and frantic Robert Stanford, leaning into the body – obviously, the killer – back lit by a Goya-esque painting of charging bulls, and then, the main titles. Immediately thereafter, we are introduced to David Graham, newly arrived from his latest stay in a sanitarium in Canada. David missed his son’s trial. But now – very recently recovered – he is met at the airport by Alec’s attorney, Jeremy Clayton, who quickly escorts him to the prison where his son is awaiting execution. Expecting to be reunited on friendly terms, what David discovers instead is Alec in a state of near catatonic ambivalence; having resigned all hope, and strangely bitter over the long separations he has endured throughout his youth, placed in boarding schools, and, later, merely cast aside while his father indulged in strong drink and intermittent bouts of ‘recovery’ in his many failed attempts to cure him of his alcoholism once and for all. David is committed to unearthing clues that he is certain will exonerate Alec. He has barely 24 hours before Alec’s hanging, and begins in earnest with a visit to the burlesque club where the late Jennie’s sister, Agnes is employed as a hooch dancer. Agnes is, at first, frightened of David; then, mournful and passionately against him as she condemns Alec for the murder of her sister. David next looks up Brian Stanford, who also happens to be Alec’s best friend. At the automotive showroom run by his father, Brian passes off David as his newly acquired tutor, Mr. Gauge. Honore is exceedingly polite. But her husband, Robert, is decidedly less so. Indeed, the self-absorbed Robert is pompous and condescending toward ‘Gauge’, ordering his wife to accompany him to the test track. When Honore positively refuses to budge, Robert has a momentary meltdown: inklings, he can be easily goaded into losing his temper – perhaps, even to the point of violence.

Returning to the scene of the crime – the Stanford’s fashionable apartment – Brian nervously allows David to search for clues until Robert, newly arrived, and, having found out David’s true identity, confronts them both with his manic resolve. In the meantime, Vickie Harker – Robert’s ‘secretary’, who has been given a promotion by him, has come to inquire as to her ‘lover’s whereabouts. When David mentions this to Robert in front of Honore it creates another moment of unease, as Honore knows well the philanderer she has married. Robert has never been faithful. Ordered out of the apartment by Robert, David seeks out Vickie, hoping to inquire as per the full extent of her relationship with Stanford. Instead, he encounters her unsuspecting, but shrewish mother, who repeatedly tries to force a drink into his hands, but offers no tangible evidence that might exonerate Alec of Jennie’s murder. The rest of Time Without Pity is an insidious game of cat and mouse as Robert, feigning compliance in David’s search for the truth, shadows him about London, all the while pretending to be on his side. The men travel from pub to pub, David becoming increasingly hooked on strong drink. Alone, David returns to Vickie’s flat at night, confronting Mrs. Harker and Vickie with his suspicions about Stanford. Vickie echoes these concerns, despite her mother’s protestations. Knowing, yet unable to prove, Stanford murdered Jennie, David confronts Agnes with ‘his truth’ – that Alec and Honore were lovers who spent the night together on the eve Jennie died. Hence, Alec could not have committed the murder. Rather bewildered, but knowing he is telling her the truth, Agnes apologizes to David.

But it is still no use. Alec will die the next day. Hurrying to the test track, David attempts to confront Robert with what he knows. Instead, Robert climbs into his Mercedes and erratically drives the car several times around the concourse, pushing it to its limits. Emerging from the vehicle, Robert chides David with renewed vigor, even goads him.  He still has no concrete evidence to overturn the verdict.  Undaunted, but suffering from the ill effects of too much drink, David follows Robert back to his office. He telephones Jeremy along the way, imploring him to bring Honore and Brian to the Stanford building with all speed. In Robert’s private office, David produces Robert’s gun, taken earlier from the apartment. He holds Robert at gunpoint until, hearing the sound of Jeremy’s arrival; then, deliberately begins a staged struggle with Robert for the revolver; allowing Robert to possess it again. Forcing his hand and calculatingly turning the gun’s barrel on himself, David presses Robert’s finger to pull the trigger and fatally shoot him in the chest. “Did you think I would let my son die?” a fast fading David confides, knowing he has framed Robert for his own suicide before slumping onto the floor. The law will concur that if Robert ‘murdered’ David, it stands that he did so to conceal the earlier crime for which Alec was framed. In the final moments, Honore, Brian and Jeremy rush into the office to find a frantic Robert attempting to wipe the gun clean of his fingerprints and replace the pistol in David’s dead hand. Robert’s desperate pleas for clemency are ignored as Brian telephones the Home Office to offer definitely proof Alec is innocent of Jennie’s murder, as a deeply distraught Honore and Jeremy look on.

Time Without Pity is one of the most sobering film noirs ever made. In Losey’s own words, “Emlyn William’s play was a straight forward thriller which Barzman and I, and, the producers, most notably, Leon Clore, turned on its head.” Time Without Pity was born of Losey’s frustrations regarding capital punishment. “It’s unbelievably stupid that …any society could any longer believe human beings have the right to take the lives of other human beings under any circumstances…I suppose all the of my fury about the world as I saw it…got into the film.” For decades, Time Without Pity remained largely unseen in the U.K. and all but unknown to North American audiences; a distinct pity, as it remains one of the finest efforts put forth by all concerned: a highly complex character study, fraught with excellent performances and capped off by Freddie Francis’ superb cinematography.  A Wisconsin native, Joseph Losey, who began his career as something of an eminent figure in New York’s political theater, marked his movie directorial debut with a political allegory, The Boy with Green Hair (1947), before being hired to remake Fritz Lang’s 1931 classic, ‘M’ in 1951. HUAC's suspicions, that Losey was a thriving communist supporter, eventually led to his being blacklisted in Hollywood. Howard Hughes, who owned Losey’s contract, refused him work, but held on to his contract – thus, preventing him from seeking employment opportunities elsewhere. Under Dore Schary’s auspices, Hughes was encouraged to let Losey go. Losey then entered a 3-picture deal at Paramount. Again, unceremoniously outed, Losey retreated to Europe, finding work in Italy. Attempting reentry to the U.S. after more than a year’s exile, Losey found no employment, and retired, first to Italy, then London, to pursue other offers. At first working under a pseudonym - ‘Victor Hanbury’ – Losey swiftly directed several movies before unequivocally marking his return to picture-making under his own name with Time Without Pity.

Time Without Pity arrives on Blu-ray via Indicator in an impressive 1080p remaster, provided by Euro London, the current custodians of a movie originally distributed by Eros Films. The hi-def transfer sports excellent contrast and tonality. The 1.66:1 B&W image is mostly crisp, with a light smattering of film grain looking very indigenous to its source. Close-ups reveal a remarkable amount of fine detail in skin, hair and clothing.  While a few dissolves, fades and other transitions suffer from a sudden – if brief – loss of detail, and, are plagued by blown out contrast, the image, on the whole is exceptionally pleasing and should not disappoint. The audio too, in 1.0 DTS mono, is quite adequate for this presentation, illustrated by clean, crisp dialogue, occasionally overwrought by Tristram Cary’s deliberately heavy-handed score. Music is a key player here. Indeed, a single, strident, and mounting chord drowns out Jennie’s screams during her murder at the start of the picture – hauntingly effective. Some of the remaining cues are less so; indulging, what critics called Losey’s ‘baroque’ style; a criticism Losey vehemently denied in subsequent interviews. Indicator’s verve for packing on Criterion-styled extras is rather scant on this outing. We get another gorgeous, and lavishly appointed collector’s booklet with new essays by Robert Murphy and Jeff Billington, plus, an interview with Losey, conducted by Tom Milne in 1967, and a litany of ‘critical’ reviews on the picture, published upon its release in 1957. On disc, we also get an audio commentary by Neil Sinyard, and a brief ‘reflection piece’ by the director’s son and filmmaker, Gavrik Losey; plus, an 80 min. audio only ‘conversation’ piece with Losey, conducted in 1973. It plays over the movie. It’s a small complaint, but I would sincerely encourage Indicator to author subsequent Blu-ray’s with searchable chapter stops, which their current presentations do not support. Otherwise, Time Without Pity on Blu-ray comes very highly recommended. A great, sadly underrated movie whose time has decidedly come – without pity – to be appreciated again.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

4

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

3