JOURNEY INTO FEAR: Blu-ray (RKO, 1943) Warner Archive

Orson Welles once claimed, “A film is never really any good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet.” Alas, what Welles’ genius failed to grasp is that, in Hollywood, profit trumps poetry every time. And thus, Welles, whose career began so promisingly at the outset of his arrival in the film mecca, was, a scant three years later, considered practically persona non grata. Not that the movie merchants were ready to oust Welles from their kingdoms entirely; not before they could glean all the knowledge, ambition and skills Welles had to contribute, with lesser and lesser degrees of creative control allotted him over the films in which he would ultimately appear.  

Arguably, Welles’s career is best summarized by its maniac impetus, amputated by outwardly willful conspiracy and a streak of self-destructiveness. No other aspiring filmmaker arriving at the golden foothills of Hollywood was ever as widely embraced. And no other was as pilloried as an absolute failure just a few scant years later. Yet, as diverse as Welles talents were (actor, director, producer, star) his was a legacy systematically and deliberately dismantled behind the scenes almost from the moment he had crossed that threshold into the land of make-believe. To what extent Welles contributed to his own downfall remains a topic open for discussion. He was, perhaps, ill-prepared to deal with the pecking order of the moguls.

And his privileged birth, having opened many doors with ease in his youth, possibly had tainted his perceptions of the latitude he would be afforded to make mistakes thereafter; also, his ego and his level of expectations, especially at RKO – a studio, desperate for re-establishing their eminence among the Hollywood majors. Welles was barely 25, when the keys to the studio were pretty much handed over to him, and dubbed the “would-be genius” by gossip columnist (and William Randolph Hearst mouthpiece) Louella Parsons. But with Citizen Kane, Welles had bitten the hand that had fed so many. Henceforth, the ensuing blood-feud between Hearst and Welles would taint the former’s reputation, but stammer the latter’s abilities to get better films made under such uncompromised circumstances.  Welles’ genius would not be allowed to flourish. It would, however, be tolerated, and mined for its ‘name above the title’ marketability.

Director, Norman Foster’s Journey into Fear (1943) picks at the tatters of Welles’ reputation after the back-to-back fiscal fiascos, Citizen Kane (1940, but prematurely pulled from distribution by RKO, under threats from William Randolph Hearst, before the true merit of its box office could be properly assessed) and The Magnificent Ambersons (1942, crushingly taken away from Welles before he could fashion its somber finale and hacked into by Robert Wise, from a 2 ½ hour epic into barely 88-minutes of thoroughly disjointed storytelling), did all but dismantle Welles’ credibility in the industry as a bell-ringer.  

Journey into Fear is a thriller – sometimes. A melodrama – mostly. And, predictably tinged with Welles’ unusual contributions, concentrated on material far lesser than his talents. RKO bought the film rights to Eric Ambler’s novel of the same name back in 1941 as a vehicle for Michèle Morgan after the American debut of Joan of Paris was postponed. Then, Ben Hecht was signed to write it, and, Robert Stevenson to direct. At intervals thereafter, Fred Astaire and Dennis O'Keefe were marginally discussed for the lead. However, after Joseph Cotten’s incredible debut in Citizen Kane, producers elected to cast him in Journey into Fear. Stevenson left the project and Morgan was greenlit for Joan of Paris. Welles was in the throes of shooting ‘Kane’ so ‘Fear’ went into turn-around at the studio. On the initial success of Kane (it was a mammoth hit with critics and audiences), RKO leaked a story to the trades, Welles would do Journey into Fear just as soon as he wrapped shooting on The Magnificent Ambersons. But then, tragedy. Hearst threatened a lawsuit, RKO balked and pulled Citizen Kane from distribution (effectively to bury it for the next several decades), and ‘Ambersons’ became embroiled in endless rewrites and reshoots, costing the studio thousands per day.  

In a last-ditch effort to regain his standing, Welles scrapped Hecht’s screenplay, wrote a new one himself with Cotten, and hired Paramount expat, Jack Moss to produce. Welles recast the project. Morgan was replaced with Dolores del Rio. Remaining roles went to his Mercury Players: Ruth Warrick, Agnes Moorehead and Everett Sloane. Welles’ creative gridlock on ‘Ambersons’ forced him to drop out of the running to direct Journey into Fear.  So, Norman Foster, who had impressed Welles with his screenwriting for It's All True, became Welles’ hand-picked replacement. In later years, Welles would minimize Foster’s contributions on Journey into Fear, claiming, virtually ‘anyone nearest the camera’ was involved in shaping the final product. For certain, co-writing/co-starring and producing credits are owed Welles.  But during post-production, Welles was fired by RKO and his Mercury unit ordered to vacate the premises. So, the final movie was edited without Welles’ input or complicity.

Unusual for its time, Journey into Fear begins with a pre-title prologue. We witness the assassin, Banat (Jack Moss) loading his gun in preparation for a fresh kill. What follows after the titles is the tale of Howard Graham (Joseph Cotten), an American armaments engineer, conveyed in flashback, via a letter Graham has written to his wife, Stephanie (Ruth Warrick). While on route from Europe back to the U.S., Graham and Stephanie are introduced to Kopeikin (Everett Sloane), a Turkish employee from Graham’s company. Under the pretense of discussing business, Kopeikin takes Graham to a nightclub where he meets dancer, Josette Maretl (Dolores del Rio) and her partner, Gogo (Jack Durant). Banat’s attempt to kill Graham is foiled. Nevertheless, Graham is brought before the Turkish secret police for questioning. Colonel Haki (Orson Welles) accuses German agents of the murder plot and shows Graham a photograph of Banat, presumably hired by a Nazi named Muller (Eustace Wyatt). Haki orders Graham to travel secretly to Batumi while he secures safe passage for Stephanie back to America.

On this trip, Graham is accompanied by Josette and Gogo, a Turkish tobacconist named, Kuvetli (Edgar Barrier), archeology professor, Haller (who is actually Muller), a henpecked husband, Matthews (Frank Readick) and his French wife (Agnes Moorehead). Unknowing of his marital status, Josette draws nearer to Graham. Haller warns Kuvetli is not as he appears. At dinner, Graham recognizes Banat as the man who tried to kill him and pleads with the ship's captain (Richard Bennett) and purser (Stefan Schnabel) to put him ashore. Regrettably, neither is convinced Graham’s life is in danger. Request ignored. Request denied. Now, Graham turns to Josette for help. She has Gogo engage the assassin in a poker game while Graham unsuccessfully searches Banat's cabin for evidence of his plotted crime.

Returning to his own cabin, Graham is confronted at gunpoint by Haller, whom he now realizes is Muller. But Muller again suggests it is Kuvetli who is the real threat, and offers to spare Graham’s life by having him committed to a local hospital, supposedly with a bad case of typhus. Overhearing this conversation, Kuvetli suggests to Graham in private, Muller’s plan is to get Graham off the ship to kill him. Kuvetli’s alternate plan is for Graham to superficially agree to Muller’s plan, then conceal himself in an empty cabin while Kuvetli arranges for Turkish agents to arrest the Germans. This, seems the better alternative. However, when Graham retreats to the empty cabin to hide, he finds Kuvetli dead. With nowhere to turn, Graham confides in Mathews to deliver a message to Haki at the Turkish consulate.  Mathews gives Graham his pocketknife. Now, Muller and Banat strongarm Graham into a waiting car. However, when the car develops a flat, Graham uses the pocketknife to jam its horn, before driving the car into a nearby shop window to create a scene.

Graham escapes into the night, reunited with Stephanie at a nearby hotel. Now, Banat intimidates Graham from checking out. Muller also encourages Stephanie to join Haki in the lounge, leaving Graham to be murdered by Banat. Instead, an impromptu visit from Gogo results in his being killed by Banat. Escaping to the window’s ledge, but cornered by Banat and Muller, Graham is spared when Haki takes dead aim and kills Muller. Banat and Graham struggle. But the rain has made the ledge slippery and Banat falls to his death. Sometime later, Graham and Haki reunite – their journey into fear, at an end.

Journey into Fear’s last act is more than a tad contrived. The espionage gets sandbagged by the delirious struggle between Banat and Graham in the pouring rain. It’s expertly staged and photographed superbly by cinematographer, Karl Struss who could lay claim to having a career in pictures from the early silents to the fifties’ dawn of 3D. Alas, the plot here is rather lopsided, beginning with the casting of Joe Cotten as the lead. In a movie campaign featuring Welles’ name in lettering as big as the star, one expected more from Welles than a mere cameo. But that’s all we really get from Welles in Journey into Fear, leaving Cotten to carry the load. Does he? Sort of. If not always.  The Virginia native was always more adept at playing congenial every-men to men of action. Herein, Cotten is given the opportunity, though hardly the impetus, to play the latter. But it’s decidedly at odds with his pre-ascribed screen persona.  Cotten is solid. But he just is not all that convincing, neither in the faux romantic scenes with Dolores del Rio, or in this final showdown against the meatier, Jack Moss.

A word about Moss here, who, prior to his association with Welles, had been a magician, agent and film producer. Welles’ own fascination with illusionists brought them together. But then, Welles hired Moss as something of his ‘wrangler’, overseeing, not only his productions, but also manage certain aspects of his private life. This did not bode well with Arnold Weissberger, the man handling Welles’ legal affairs, nor Welles’ personal physician, Maurice Bernstein – both believing Moss did not have Welles’ best interests at heart. Welles, heavily in debt, was given sound advice by Weissberger, all but ignored by Moss, who chose not to burden Welles with particulars. This put Welles in a precarious position with the IRS. And when the dust finally settled on Welles’ failed tenure at RKO, Moss’ apathy over the dire reality of Welles’ financial situation seems, at least in hindsight, to have been realized to Welles’ own detriment. It is unclear when Moss and Welles stopped being friends. However, shortly after Journey into Fear, Moss was no longer a part of Welles’ inner entourage. Though he would remain active in the picture-making biz, Moss’ contributions were easily forgotten with the passage of time, and, considered second-rate at best in their own time. Welles, mercifully, went on – arguably, to ‘better things’ and, regrettably, even more folly, eventually to devastate his greater aspirations on a comeback for good.   

“I’ve wasted the greater part of my life looking for money and trying to get money,” Welles later reminisced, “…trying to make my work on this terribly expensive bait box which is a movie. And I’ve spent too much energy on things that have nothing to do with making a movie. It’s about 2% movie making and 98% hustling. It’s no way to spend a life.”

Journey into Fear ended Welles ‘first act’ as Hollywood’s irrefutable enfant terrible. In the pending decades, Welles would morph from genius a much sought after actor for hire. Plying his craft in front of the camera throughout the late 1940’s and early fifties, Welles’ passion for the work lapsed into artistic purgatory, later salvaged by the resurrection of his body of work on home video. Journey into Fear isn’t top-tier Welles. Indeed, the picture belongs to Cotten and the rest of the cast, foreshadowing the future trajectory of Welles in Hollywood.  The picture showed a loss of $193,000 on RKO’s ledgers, further proof for the industry’s big wigs and pop culture mandarins of their time that Welles could not be entrusted with anything beyond movies made by others – more commercially sound, and made primarily for others who considered the movies, merely as something to pass the time while they snack on their popcorn and potato chips.  Viewed today, Journey into Fear is an interesting failure, rather than an artistic one. It falters, not because of Welles’ telescopic devotion to make a good movie, but rather, because of the intervention of too many non-creative forces, tugging in opposing directions to ensure a financial – rather than an artistic – misfire.

Journey into Fear arrives on Blu-ray in a handsome 1080p transfer from the Warner Archive (WAC). Black levels are exceptionally nuanced, giving full breadth to Karl Struss’ cinematography. Overall image clarity could scarcely be improved. Film grain is naturally realized and contrast is uniformly excellent. There are no age-related artifacts. The DTS 2.0 mono is vintage Westrex with all of its inherent shortcomings, but beautifully remastered with zero extemporaneous distractions. Extras are limited to 3 Mercury radio broadcasts of Dracula, Treasure Island, and, A Tale of Two Cities. Aside: it would have been prudent of WAC to provide us with an audio commentary. Alas, no. Bottom line: Journey into Fear is more than passable as an entertainment. But it lacks the spark one imagines Welles might have delivered, if given the full scope of his film-maker’s faculties. WAC’s Blu is pristine. Judge and buy accordingly.

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

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

1