The plot takes its good time to meaningfully show up, about forty minutes. Once it does, the scene that follows is such a flurry of dialogue, movement, and somber themes in the music that I feel like the reasoning of the beat gets lost, such that we can only take the kickstart at face value. All that while, Ketti Frings' screenplay gives us some choice lines, and I observe dependable strength in Robert Siodmak's direction, George Barnes cinematography, the production design and art direction, hair and makeup, and wardrobe - all smart and fetching, a real treat as a viewer. I'm also a big fan of Victor Young's score that lends tremendously to the tension. I'm less fond, however, of the narrative itself as penned by Marty Holland. It's great in the broad strokes, but it struggles at no few times with the details; I think too much of the length passes a little blithely to start - then, more significantly, passes elsewhere without wholly, convincingly laying the groundwork for the distinct story beats. Male protagonist Cleve is decidedly indiscreet, for example, but is never called on it; the more details that Holland adds, building convolution, the flimsier the plot feels, and suspension of disbelief becomes difficult to maintain.
Thankfully the movie is indisputably strongest where it matters most; at almost exactly the one-hour mark, at another particular turn in the narrative, the prime beating heart of the tale finds its legs and advances unswervingly for (almost) the entirety of the remainder. I still see the same issues: the minutiae of the film's craft is superb; the minutiae of the storytelling is less pristine. Those issues are substantially lessened, however, as the ferocity of the feature swells, and they become more forgettable by comparison. In that last act especially, the cast give excellent performances, above all Barbara Stanwyck and Wendell Corey as the titular character and the beleaguered prosecutor Cleve. I surely would like to see more pictures of both, and that might say more than anything else.
So I'm disappointed, then, that after 'The file on Thelma Jordon' roars to life, it nevertheless concludes with a sad whimper. To whatever extent Holland's story is less sturdy in the finer points earlier in its runtime, the last several minutes make me second-guess my praise. In theory the ending is fine, a resolution for the tale and these characters that we've seen elsewhere, and will again, not least in film noir. In practice, I don't think there's been any meaningful establishment of the character arcs in the first place - no progression - so that when Thelma and Cleve's paths reach their destination before credits roll, that destination feels inauthentic, an invention of Movie Magic. I rather wonder if Holland had initially written a different ending, and Paramount executives or censors required a rewrite for this or that reason without revising the preceding length. Whether true or not, that's how out of place the last moments feel to me of the two chief characters' stories.
I do like 'The file on Thelma Jordon,' but I think it's noticeably uneven. At its best it's fantastic, an exemplar of the genre; at its worst, it's also highly demonstrative, but to opposite ends. On the balance I certainly believe this is better than not, but again the value of the craftsmanship, and of the storytelling at its best, must be weighed against the weaker facets of the storytelling that are peppered throughout. Whether one wishes to pin the blame on Holland or on screenwriter Frings for failing to pick up the pieces, this simply isn't as solid as it could and should have been. Granted, it's possible that I'm being too harsh as it is. I just know that I anticipated an absorbing story and a good time, and that's more or less what I got - but incompletely. 'The file on Thelma Jordon' remains worth exploring if you have the chance to watch, but there are also many other pictures (in film noir alone) that are more immediately deserving of one's time.
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