Of all Kirk Douglas' many films, and I have seen many, this one, his first, is my first choice. Of all his acting, this, I think, his first turn, is most impressive. At the very start of his Hollywood career, he had not yet been typed into the tough-guy, villain ("I Walk Alone," "Out of the Past"), or hero. Walter O'Neil is vulnerable, conflicted, troubled. Kirk Douglas catches the character perfectly. Some comments wonder that he could play so unmanly a role. Walter is not a weakling. He is not, despite Sam's repeated assertion, a "scared little boy." Yes, he has been browbeaten, first by his father and then his wife. He takes to drink. But he shows force and determination, both in his boyhood scenes and as an adult. He takes immediate and violent action as soon as he encounters Sam's return. He has committed reprehensible acts, covering up a murder, prosecuting an innocent man. He is not cowed but guilt-ridden. Guilt, not scared-little-boy fear, accounts for his shakiness, his taking refuge in the bottle. He loves Martha. She torments him. For that love, and for what he has done, in vain, to seek her love, he hates himself. In the end, he kills what he loves. Then he kills what he hates. Kirk Douglas played an edgy, troubled character again in "Detective Story," but not with such nuance as he does here. This one is his masterpiece.
Oddly, it's a shame Kirk Douglas is so good in this film. He overshadows the others. And they too are magnificent. Barbara Stanwyck also embraces a complex character. Martha is headstrong. She's fiercely single-minded. She's determined to be herself, a Smith not an Ivers. She craves power not so much for her own sake but as revenge for the power her grandmother wielded over her. In the adolescent episodes Janis Wilson endows Martha with a terrible ferocity. Martha feels no guilt. Her obsessions have burned her out. "I've lived inside myself for so long," she tells Sam, "I'm desperate for air and room to breathe." Once the past returns, she cannot endure the present. For a moment, as Sam leaves, she tries to go on. "Things will be different now between you and me," she turns to Walter. "Just like nothing ever happened." Then she realizes the futility. Her last look as she guides the gun to a fatal position on her body speaks the tragedy of Martha's life.
In the supporting cast, Janis Wilson as young Martha stands out. She is the perfect complement; she hands Stanwyck a character already formed. Roman Bohnen as Walter's father manages to be both obsequious and overbearing, which is quite a trick. A sparkling crew of character actors is on board to lighten the drama and keep it grounded in humanity: Frank Orth as the jocular hotel clerk, Tom Fadden as the cab driver, Olin Howland in the newspaper morgue, and the ever-dependable Ann Doran who does a marvelous bit as Walter's secretary Miss St. John. Van Heflin deftly underplays his role. Passions surround him. He remains detached, with an underlying air of cynicism that makes his character, like the others, flawed and ambiguous. He dismisses the past. Lot's wife, he says, looked back. She turned to salt. But when he learns the past, he seizes a chance for blackmail. Lizabeth Scott, often underrated, is memorable. Toni Marachek would seem to be a simple role, lost lady in distress. She adds a deeper dimension. There is a pervading loneliness. "I'm so lonesome I like to have died," she says. But there's also a stubborn hopefulness. Adversity has not extinguished that flame. She waits for Sam when waiting seems pointless. At her lowest moments, we still read hopefulness in her eyes. This was Lizabeth Scott's strongest character type. She did it splendidly in "Dead Reckoning" with Bogart, with Dick Powell in "Pitfall," and again with Kirk Douglas in "I Walk Alone."
"The Strange Love of Martha Ivers" is a story of fate. The past, out of darkness and rain, returns inescapable. What if Sam had not run away before the murder, if he had not years later crashed his car on the outskirts of town ("the road curved and I didn't")? But it had to be. He had to run. The road had to curve. Martha, Walter and Sam are caught in a deadly spiral. Lewis Milestone spins that story relentlessly. His pacing and Robert Rossen's screenplay never let it bog down in its twists and turns. Victor Milner's cinematography is perfect, from the opening scenes, thunderstorm and blackout, to the final image, Martha and Walter's ironic Liebestod. The climax is unexpected. Yet it's inevitable. It's a film you need to see more than once. The pieces fall into place.
Oddly, it's a shame Kirk Douglas is so good in this film. He overshadows the others. And they too are magnificent. Barbara Stanwyck also embraces a complex character. Martha is headstrong. She's fiercely single-minded. She's determined to be herself, a Smith not an Ivers. She craves power not so much for her own sake but as revenge for the power her grandmother wielded over her. In the adolescent episodes Janis Wilson endows Martha with a terrible ferocity. Martha feels no guilt. Her obsessions have burned her out. "I've lived inside myself for so long," she tells Sam, "I'm desperate for air and room to breathe." Once the past returns, she cannot endure the present. For a moment, as Sam leaves, she tries to go on. "Things will be different now between you and me," she turns to Walter. "Just like nothing ever happened." Then she realizes the futility. Her last look as she guides the gun to a fatal position on her body speaks the tragedy of Martha's life.
In the supporting cast, Janis Wilson as young Martha stands out. She is the perfect complement; she hands Stanwyck a character already formed. Roman Bohnen as Walter's father manages to be both obsequious and overbearing, which is quite a trick. A sparkling crew of character actors is on board to lighten the drama and keep it grounded in humanity: Frank Orth as the jocular hotel clerk, Tom Fadden as the cab driver, Olin Howland in the newspaper morgue, and the ever-dependable Ann Doran who does a marvelous bit as Walter's secretary Miss St. John. Van Heflin deftly underplays his role. Passions surround him. He remains detached, with an underlying air of cynicism that makes his character, like the others, flawed and ambiguous. He dismisses the past. Lot's wife, he says, looked back. She turned to salt. But when he learns the past, he seizes a chance for blackmail. Lizabeth Scott, often underrated, is memorable. Toni Marachek would seem to be a simple role, lost lady in distress. She adds a deeper dimension. There is a pervading loneliness. "I'm so lonesome I like to have died," she says. But there's also a stubborn hopefulness. Adversity has not extinguished that flame. She waits for Sam when waiting seems pointless. At her lowest moments, we still read hopefulness in her eyes. This was Lizabeth Scott's strongest character type. She did it splendidly in "Dead Reckoning" with Bogart, with Dick Powell in "Pitfall," and again with Kirk Douglas in "I Walk Alone."
"The Strange Love of Martha Ivers" is a story of fate. The past, out of darkness and rain, returns inescapable. What if Sam had not run away before the murder, if he had not years later crashed his car on the outskirts of town ("the road curved and I didn't")? But it had to be. He had to run. The road had to curve. Martha, Walter and Sam are caught in a deadly spiral. Lewis Milestone spins that story relentlessly. His pacing and Robert Rossen's screenplay never let it bog down in its twists and turns. Victor Milner's cinematography is perfect, from the opening scenes, thunderstorm and blackout, to the final image, Martha and Walter's ironic Liebestod. The climax is unexpected. Yet it's inevitable. It's a film you need to see more than once. The pieces fall into place.