Rent D.O.A. (1950)

Snares and Symbols - D.O.A. review by CH

It is a great opening – as is all that follows, and went before. This is D.O.A. (1949). In fact, Edmond O'Brien is still alive when he arrives at the San Francisco police headquarters to report a murder: “my own”. In his end is our beginning, for the story cuts back to proceed through the events which brought him to the police. A suburban insurance agent, who has left his secretary (Pamela Britton) behind, he is in the city for a holiday when he finds himself caught up in a neighbouring room's party which decamps to a brilliantly-filmed jazz dive, where he becomes ill.

This is no surprise, for, amidst some furious drumming, the camera has cut to the switching of the drink bought for him at the end of the bar. For a small-time agent, he is to discover that he has become unwittingly caught up in murderous events. Should he be asked, he can testify, with the aid of a document in his possession, that a jump from a balcony was a push. Time is not on his side. In what remains of it, he has to scour the city, and make a détour to Los Angeles, in a quest for his killer. All the while assuring his lovelorn secretary by telephone that he is all right.

The plot might sound preposterous, but there are slow-acting poisons and the fast pacing of this film leaves scant room for doubt. Written by Russell Rouse and Clarence Greene, it is directed by Rudolph Maté in a way which makes full use of the city as seen by cinematographer Ernest Laszlo (some terrific runs through crowded streets) during day and night.

Film noir is a term which occludes its variety, and this one turns many of these upon the familiar retinue of Mr. Bigs and their mercilessly self-seeking, smartly-dressed women with a cigarette between manicured nails which also serve to scratch. Nobody is above suspicion. Malevolence pervades society. Even the viewer feels guilt by association.