User Reviews

The Scarf (1951)

A peculiar but sometimes charming movie, filled with empty moments, people sitting and talking, the wind whistling through trees in the desert, and a possible killer on the loose. The best parts for me were the odd pairing of a loner woman played by Mercedes McCambridge and the leading man on the run, John Barrington (John Ireland). Later, both of these characters appear in different places, sometimes crossing paths. McCambridge is a sharp, funny, slightly tragic actress, and Ireland is a super sweet guy. They make a surprising pair.

The setting for all this is a nice little village on the edge of the desert, and a dry turkey farm out of town. As Barrington suffers with his guilt and doubts about having committed a murder (strangling someone with a scarf), he bounces from place to place, just barely avoiding trouble. People are rough and Barrington can't get his head together, but he plugs along, butting against McCambridge at times, and the tensions grows before you realize it.

It isn't quite a Hitchcockian innocent man on the loose. We doubt him, too. We are unravelling the problem as they go. It isn't always a remarkable unfolding of events, but it has remarkable moments, and a strange, spare mood that is possessing. At first I almost stopped watching it because it was a bit clumsy and raw, but that becomes smoother and more essential over time. Eventually it becomes downright idiosyncratic in the best ways, just on the happy edge of weird. There's even a barroom scene with McCambridge singing a simple blues song, pretty amazingly.

The plot takes on some forced twists toward the end, but they are still dramatic ones. "The doctor is allergic to irrelevant laughter."

Two years after appearing in All The King's Men, John Ireland and Mercedes McCambridge reunite in The Scarf. Talented actors both, neither of them would enjoy, in number or in quality, movie roles commensurate with their gifts. A recondite find today, The Scarf could hardly have been much less so in 1951; under the `Gloria Productions' imprint, it fell to a German-born director of little reputation, E.A. Dupont.

But while not every emigrant from middle Europe was a Fritz Lang or Robert Siodmak or Billy Wilder, most had tradition behind them and a touch of inspiration, like John Brahm and Edgar G. Ulmer – and even Dupont. Though The Scarf starts off dead slow – a long, quasi-philosophical dialogue between a turkey-ranching hermit in the California desert (James Barton) and an escapee from an asylum for the criminally insane who has sought refuge with him (Ireland) – soon enough the movie picks up its pace and shows flashes of originality and style. The cinematography is by Frank (Franz) Planer, another refugee steeped in Expressionism who had behind, and ahead of, him several noirs.

Not coincidentally, the quickened pace comes with McCambridge's arrival, as a singing bar waitress who hitches a ride with Ireland. With her distinctive organ-pipe voice and her instinct for biting off her lines clean, she brings both quirkiness and force to this standard role (tough gal, good heart). Though some of her best known roles showed noir influences (All The King's Men, Johnny Guitar) she only appeared in two obscure noirs (Lightning Strikes Twice was the other). The cycle is poorer for her rarity.

The Scarf's plot, alas, falls under the rubric far-fetched. It involves Ireland's not quite remembering the crime for which he was committed – strangling a girl with her scarf – and a sinister psychologist ( Emlyn Williams) somehow in the employ of Ireland's powerful father. Dupont can't do much with the bulk of it (who could?), but along the way sneaks in some arresting sequences. The best occurs when McCambridge has been ordered to leave town on the 11 p.m. bus for Los Angeles; as she vacillates, looking down the dark road at the sign reading `sheriff's station,' it turns into a lure for her to sell out Ireland for the reward on his head, with `$5000" spelled out in beckoning neon.

Unfortunately being a psychiatrist myself kind of ruined this movie content wise (the first part where insanity is debated--shows only people who know absolutely nothing of mental illness). But maybe that was the point as John Ireland hadn't a trace of mental illness--just some sort of PTSD and amnesia.

The British Doctor as the paranoid schizophrenic was a stupid cartoon version but much closer the mark and what most B audiences would view as mental illness (fortunately this idiotic denouement only lasts for about the last 5 minutes of the movie.)

John Ireland is very handsome and the movie clips right along...the other two actors--the philosopher turkey farmer especially and the barmaid are very sympathetic characters as well.

It is very competently filmed and worth a watch. Leagues above the average B movie. Ignore the actual content of philosophy. I once heard that a good educated British accent reading a phone directory sounds intellectual to the average American; this is the same sort of effect you have in this film...just enjoy the flow of the movie and imagine deep things are being said.

RECOMMEND

The previous reviewer said it was a shame this film was never shown on any cable channels. I just saw it today on TCM (Turner Classic Movies). I had never seen it before, and have to agree it is a great example of the films noir of the '50s. There is a lot of suspense in the film with a "did he do it or not?" theme, where the protagonist has a loss of memory and can't recall the crime. Mercedes McCambridge is excellent in the film, and the bar scenes give us lots of the '50-era atmosphere. There are so few movies with Mercedes McCambridge that one can see anymore, so this movie is a treat if only for being able to see her. So don't give up hope. TCM's website is a great source for info on classic movies, and you can look up the dates and times they will be showing this film again.

John Ireland stars with Mercedes McCambridge in "The Scarf" which features Emlyn Williams and Lloyd Gough.

Ireland plays an escapee from a mental institution who is sure he didn't strangle his girlfriend with a scarf, but unfortunately, he can't remember anything. He hides out in a cabin owned by an isolated old man (Ezra Thompson), helps out raising his turkeys, and eventually goes to Los Angeles to see his friend David Dunbar (Williams), a psychiatrist. Along the way, he picks up a hitchhiker (McCambridge) en route to a job as a singing waitress. She's wearing the exact same scarf, but he still can't remember strangling his girlfriend.

This is a fairly convoluted story, cashing in on the interest in psychiatry after World War II. Ireland looks very handsome here and does a good job in this small movie. The character of Ezra, the old man, is interesting and likable.

This may sound silly, but for some reason, McCambridge singing "Summer Rains" was the high point of the film for me. I thought she really created an atmosphere with it and raised the level of the film.

Decent performances, but check this film out for McCambridge.

If you've read this far, you know what "The Scarf" is about, so I'll only add that after a not-so-promising start it gets wonderfully weird in so many ways that I stuck with it to the rather silly ending. Worth seeing for the actors involved and the priceless and sometimes witless dialog. John Ireland is surprisingly good in a lead role for a change and Mercedes McCambridge is wonderfully cast against type as something of a good-time girl/waitress/singer of sultry songs. John Barton has a chance to really shine in this film during a career consisting of mainly bit parts on television. You can see "The Scarf" on the Netflix instant service, as of 5/14/12.

Edwald Andre Dupont began his career as part of the German expressionismus and it shows ,notably in the first sequences in an almots cold desert where the cactus trees cast ominous shadows; another remarkable sequence takes place in the psychologist's office when he raises the blind !

This is a very original story of amnesia ;clues are given to the viewer very slowly and they are few and far between;it takes McCambridge 's appearance (too often relegated to supporting acts where she was always memorable:"Johnny Guitar" " suddenly last summer" "giant") ,she's a strong principal),after 30 min , before one gets the first clue, the vital key to the hero's predicament (check the title) ; both she and the poultry farmer have no direct connection to the plot ,and the characters who have (the foster father,the psychologist) work behind the scenes in the first part.

Although the ending is predictable enough ,there's a good use of the deja vu experiment (and without flashbacks ,at that!) and John Ireland' s tormented face is very convincing.

I liked this movie.

Having seen my share of hogwash from this period of American filmmaking, I can say that the movie kept me interested, which I can't say for a lot of the dreck from this period.

We are constantly kept wondering who this escaped, supposedly insane, criminal is, and that question is what sustains our curiosity throughout the movie.

There is a certain amount of philosophizing in the script, but it never rises to an arcane level, nor does it interfere with plot development.

Casting is excellent. John Ireland is a very capable and underrated character actor. The star of the show is definitely James Barton as the hermit turkey farmer. You can't take your eyes of him, and he is the linchpin. Mercedes McCambridge shines as the loose woman with a heart of gold, and she is an excellent singer.

My caveat is with the convoluted finish, with too many plot threads wrapped up in an unconvincing and contrived manner. However, the first three quarters of the movie is good enough to carry us through to the weak ending.

It's worth a watch.

Perhaps the script could have used a re-write, but otherwise this is a great movie with an excellent performance by James Barton, who has an intriguing back story, including being named one of Bing Crosby's favorite actors. McCabridge and Ireland have chemistry and are solid in their roles, and the former sings a fine song called "Summer Rain." It has a cynical view of human behavior, which, depending on your worldview, may be warranted, but the intelligently written script (despite some lapses) uses the three main characters to partially mitigate the cynicism. Recommended. P. S. If you are looking for non-stop action, this is probably not for you. There is a lot of dialogue, like a play, and Barton's character has some great lines as a farmer/philosopher.

It was rumored that after his role in ALL THE KING'S MEN, John Ireland had demanded too much from the studios. This smaller production is filmed in the same slow mist of the hero's memory. Mercedes McCambridge is excellent as the female support. James Barton gives great support on the male side. It is a strong well acted performance. It should be shown more often. It is a shame that features like this are not shown on today's cable systems or available in any format.

Odd and very Strange Film-Noir. An Independent Production with a Low-Budget but High on Expressionism and Striking Scenes of Low-Brow, Everyday People in Their Environment.

John Ireland and Mercedes McCambridge are an Iconic Noir Couple. He of Intensity showing a Film-Noir Staple, Amnesia. Escaping from a Mental Institution and Confused about His Guilt (imprisoned for strangling a girl with a scarf and deemed "criminally insane").

McCambridge shows up in a Flashback (another Noir staple) Hitch-Hiking on a Road to Nowhere (a gig as a singer/waitress in a Dive). Her Nickname says it all, "Cash and Carry Connie". She is as Odd as Ireland with Her "Common and Unclassical" Look, Speaking in Short Clipped Sentences that Reveal Street Knowledge, Strength and a Fearful Cynical Attitude.

The Settings are Dismal and Bleak (prison, turkey ranch, and bar). James Barton, as the Turkey Ranch Owner, takes Ireland Under His Wing as the Search for the Truth Unfolds. All of the Characters in this Noir World are Offbeat and Interesting. Besides Our "Heroes", the Cops, Doctors, Farmer, Bar-Keep, and even the Piano Player are Bizarre and Noir.

Overall, this is an Off-Kilter Movie in every sense. Disturbing, Other Wordly, Shady, and Weird. Mercedes McCambridge, in this Underseen Gem, can Walk Alongside Ann Savage in "Detour" (1945) as a Quintessential B-Girl in a B-Movie with Style, Shocks, and Suspense. One of Film-Noir's Least Known and Unacknowledged Entries.

John Ireland and Mercedes McCambridge who were together in All The King's Men are cast together in The Scarf. Ireland plays an escapee from a mental asylum who is there because he strangled a woman allegedly. Mercedes McCambridge plays a woman who helps him out as does James Barton who gives him refuge at his turkey ranch.

Ireland reasons that while he has no memory of the event he also has no feelings of guilt and would if he actually did the deed. From this premise he seeks answers.

A lot of very good players are in this story, but it could have been a lot better plotted than it was. I was also not satisfied with the ending, it was definitely a let down. It's also obvious who the real killer is.

Fans of any of the cast members should like The Scarf, but it definitely deserved better writing and direction.

I saw this film while catching up on classic film noir. I was not expecting much--a little B film. And Maltin's summary did nothing to encourage my expectations. However, I found a solid film here.

It has an intellectual patina, which is surprising in an American film from 1951. The characters actually talk about some serious issues, though this talk may not be agreeable to some viewers. New York Times critic Bosley Crowther, in his review of this film (April 23, 1951), wrote that the film "expresses in several thousand words of dialogue. . .perhaps the least measure of intelligence or dramatic continuity that you are likely to find in any picture, current or recent, that takes itself seriously." Obviously, I don't agree.

The film is well cast and acted by an unusual combination of actors: John Ireland, Mercedes McCambridge, Emlyn Williams (the English actor), and Ezra Thompson in the leads.

Even the song, "Summer Rains," sung by McCambridge, is perfect for this film: a solid, torchy number in a minor key. Why wasn't this recorded by Peggy Lee or Julie London or Chris Connor? It would have suited them fine.

I was taken totally by surprise by John Ireland's appearance here. This is the only film I've seen Ireland in in which the man is hot, sexy, alluring--certainly not words that one would normally use in discussing John Ireland's appearance. A good part of this is due to cinematographer Franz Planer, though Ireland got some help from his costumes, too. Planer is careful to light Ireland's face in a flattering way, and Ireland just shimmers in the shadow and light of the sharp black and white photography. There is one close-up of Ireland that is stunning--a pure Hollywood glamour shot in the Hurrell tradition: Ireland is sitting at a table in a bar. He has his hat cocked so that it hides one of his eyes and throws half of his face into shadow. He slowly looks up at the camera. This kind of glamour close-up was usually reserved for top female stars in Hollywood's Golden Era, but Planer gave it to Ireland here.

In addition to these shots of Ireland's face, which make him truly handsome, he is wearing throughout most of the film a white t-shirt that makes clear that even at age 37 he still had a nice, in-shape body--nice chest, nice biceps. (Ireland started his career performing as a swimmer in a water carnival.) Later on Ireland is shown wearing a black turtleneck sweater that compliments his chest and a black leather jacket. And who put those pants on Ireland? They aren't expensive--just cheap cloth, but in every scene, those pants just hug the long, lean lines of his butt and his upper thighs. Hot stuff!

I found the film totally absorbing, so much so that I got through the final movie hokum scene which reveals the villain. I can see how some would react negatively to this film. For instance, critic Manny Farber writing in The Nation (May 26, 1951) called "The Scarf" "a disjointed, monstrously affected psycho-mystery freak show." Ha! That comment could be considered a reason to see this film today, Manny.

There is a satisfactory plot summary and commentary on this film on pages 152-3 of Robert Ottoson's The American Film Noir (Metuchen, New Jersey: The Scarecrow Press, 1981). However, Ottoson misidentifies Dr. David Duncan as "the prison psychiatrist." He is, in fact, a psychiatrist in private practice and a friend of Cyrus Barrington. Ottoson says that actor Lloyd Gough plays "the detective." Gough plays Dr. Gordon, who is the prison psychiatrist.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about this film is that it is about very common people, a singing bar hostess at a sultry bar, an old eccentric raising turkeys in the desert, and a helpess fugitive from a madhouse crippled by his loss of memory, but these very common and casual types are being enacted by very outstanding actors, and they make a stunningly great job of it. This could be both John Ireland's and Mercedes McCambridge's best performance and film. Mercedes is always outstanding with a voice out of this world in its suave almost shrill intonation, but I never saw her sing before - her perfomance here is more than equal to that of Ida Lupino in "Road House". John Ireland was always a difficult actor, always somewhat untouchable for his detachment in both gangster and serious roles, but here he is the front page all over the film. Emlyn Williams makes a difficult role as his friend and doctor but also comes through well in the end, although anyone could see him through from the beginning. But the most enjoyable character is the glorious James Barton as Ezra Thompson, the eccentric turkey farmer, who is the greatest treat and saves the show from the beginning. It's a great script, the dialog is enjoyable throughout, and above all Mercedes McCambridge's diction is always honey to the ears. They all contribute to make this off-the-track B-noir into actually a major masterpiece of the genre.

This weird item begins on a turkey farm. The farmer is a philosopher.

The movie is a turkey with pretensions of philosophical wisdom. Every line, virtually, is an epigram, but, though it was made around the same time, this sure ain't no "All About Eve."

The dialogue is like that of a mediocre off-off-Broadway play: full of meaning, full of -- well, something else.

The story is interesting enough. Nice guy framed by friend. Nice guy is, inexplicable at least in the surviving print, son of rich man. Decent men triumph and reveal the guilty party.

Among the other oddities is the casting of Mercedes McCambridge, a fine character actress, as the gorgeous dame. Gorgeous she ain't, though she turns in a game -- no, not gamy -- performance. She was a far better actress than, say, Cleo Moore, but surely someone more convincing was available.

The whole thing is entertaining but annoying. It could have stood on its own, minus the pretension that abounds.

This is probably best described as a psychological thriller, although, it does not have too many thrills. It does have a trio of lead characters that are fun to watch. John Ireland (Hero or Villain?), Mercedes McCambridge (Sexy Girl who's not as tough as she thinks) and Ezra Thompson (cynical desert hermit who's not as cynical as he thinks)give delightful and skillful performances.

There's nice cinematography and good direction here. The dialog is generally clever and snappy. The musical score works well to accent the scenes with a sense of humor and some suspense.

The narrative could have been a little tighter. The relationship of Ireland and McCambridge takes a long time to define. The first 3/4ths of the film moves rather slowly, and the final 1/4 of the film seems too quick with too many twists. There are plot holes that stand out much more now than they probably did in 1951. For example, how did they know that Mercedes' laughing would set off the bad guy and cause him to reveal himself. Still, it is no more gimmicky than "Spellbound" or other Hitchcock psychological crime stories of the period.

If you're a fan of the 1950's-60's television show "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" you'll probably enjoy this film a lot.

I'll be blunt. The plot of this film is based on one of the oldest and dumbest clichés in movies. Again and again, I've seen movies where some criminal breaks out of jail and a total stranger agrees to help them--even though they KNOW the guy is an escapee. Practically no one is THAT stupid! However, this one takes this cliché one step further. In this case, the escapee is a mental patient who reportedly killed someone!!! Now WHO on this planet would shelter and help an escaped mental patient....unless, they, too, are crazy! This really hinders the film and the viewer is most likely unable to look past this.

The mental patient is played well by John Ireland--a guy who was great in old film noir films. Apart from him, the only other name in the cast is Mercedes McCambridge--an Oscar winner but a lady who is practically forgotten today. Both do fine jobs--but are impaired by the plot. In other words, though well done you just can't ignore the dumbness of the central idea--and I sure couldn't ignore it.

The opening scene at the turkey farm between grizzled old Ezra (Barton) and asylum escapee Barrington (Ireland) made me think this would be a special movie. Unfortunately, the remainder doesn't reach that level. Barrington's fled an insane asylum because he's going through the same trauma as when he strangled a girl. His recollection of the earlier act is clouded, and now he seeks a better understanding on the outside. Even his self-identity seems at stake. Gruff old Ezra befriends him and helps. Along the way, he meets down-and- out waitress Connie (McCambridge) who doesn't know what to make of his strange behavior. The story's remainder is an attempt to clear up the mystery.

Too bad that the script soon bogs down after the opening scene into lots of talk and murky developments. Plus, the barroom brawl comes across as a clumsy action interlude amid the talk. On the actors' side, McCambridge gets an Ida Lupino type role, namely as a working girl with both edge and heart. It's an unusual leading lady part for the usually mannish actress. Still, she does well enough, and dare I say it, is almost sexy at times. To me, Barton is the big surprise, a really enlivening presence, without going over the top. His Ezra is a bit like Walter Huston's feisty old codger in Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948). At the same time, Ireland gets a non-villainous role for a change. Too bad he lacked leading man good looks since he had the required screen talents.

All in all, the cast is superior to the clumsy script, especially the awkward reveal part. The end result is a mediocre movie clearly in need of a rewrite.

Mercedes McCambridge was asked by a fan magazine, in the days before her stardom faded, which of her post-"All the King's Men" roles she enjoyed most. Her answer: Connie Carter in "The Scarf." It's not hard to see why, considering the rogues' gallery of villains and madwomen, or villainous madwomen, she played, including of course the infamous Emma in "Johnny Guitar," all of whom came variously but invariably to a bad end: shot down in a gunfight; killed in a car crash while fleeing the police; kicked to death by a horse, etc. Connie not only lives at the end, she smiles at the camera. That smile is the point. "The Scarf" is considered, when it is considered at all, a minor noir. It is, in its way, a noir. It is not, in my view, minor. Rather, it is unique, a noir whose message is redemption. On the surface, the plot is trite: an amnesiac, gaslighted, locked away in an asylum for a crime he didn't commit, escapes to try to clear his mind and find the truth. A little zigzag murder mystery solved after the fact. "The Scarf" is more than that. It is indeed a story of redemption. All three major characters, John Ireland's escapee John Barrington, James Barton's recluse Ezra, and Mercedes McCambridge's world-weary and world-wary waitress Connie, are damaged goods. Three mismatched people come together to find an unlikely salvation. They are trapped, they have trapped themselves, in isolation and fear. They have run away from the world or steeled themselves against the world. They have cut themselves off. All three, and possibly a fourth, David Wolfe's cynical saloon-keeper Level Louie, find release. A nondescript noir becomes an uplifting film. It deserves much more consideration and appreciation than it has received.

The acting is top-notch. In the supporting cast we have Emlyn Williams. Who better for the part than he who starred on the stage carrying a mysterious hat-box containing something other than a hat? We have Lloyd Gough, who was soon to disappear from the screen. He and David Wolfe sat on the edge of blacklisting. Lloyd Gough along with his wife Karen Morley defied HUAC. David Wolfe along with Will Geer defied Hollywood, being among the only professional actors to assist in the only blacklisted film, Herbert Biberman's "The Salt of the Earth." E.A. Dupont's direction is solid, Herschel Gilbert's music evocative, a recurrent insanity motif punctuated by flutes in the low or piano in the high register. John Ireland is quite good. James Barton, as always, is terrific (see him in "The Shepherd of the Hills"). Mercedes McCambridge steals the movie, as she stole many others. (Joan Crawford's jealousy was justified.) Her character, Connie, does not enter until well into the story. Once she does, she dominates the rest. She defines herself in her opening monologue - or so it seems - a hoary Hollywood type: bad-girl-with-a-heart-of-gold, a stock character as old as the commedia dell'arte. But it is not what it seems. The cold-hearted woman, however gilded her heart, is vulnerable. She denies it: "I'm no lily. Underneath this hard-boiled surface of mine (you think) there must be something softer than a powder-puff. There isn't." It's a fake, a façade. The hard woman is terrified of the hard world she claims to embrace. Barrington the escaped inmate is presumably the one who needs counsel. Slowly we see it is Connie who needs help. The tough girl reveals a crumbly interior. In the barroom fight scene she all but loses control. Then, as soon as the police arrive, the flippant woman-of-the-world veneer returns. We see her at Level Louie's café. She never smiles. At each upset she reaches for a drink, scotch, straight. She warbles her song distractedly - Claire Trevor singing for the mobsters in "Key Largo." A bedraggled barfly (Iris Adrian) comments significantly: "What's she got that I don't? Nothing." She's right. There's nothing, only a shell shielding a small timid creature within. The climax is Connie's catharsis. She sings again. She's no Maria Callas, but no longer Claire Trevor. She smiles.

All three characters are redeemed. Curmudgeonly Ezra rediscovers faith in humanity. Barrington recovers his sanity. There is no love story cliché. Hero and heroine do not embrace (as far as I can tell Mercedes McCambridge never got to do that in the movies, though she probably did vocally in her radio career). Barrington rejoins Ezra in the desert. Connie finds life not love. "The Scarf" is not a great film noir. But it is a unique one. The denouement, admittedly, is abrupt. It's implausible. Don't let that diminish the rest. When's the last time you left a Noir feeling good about people?

It is the dialog what ruins this movie. In what way? There is too much of it. This motion picture strikes me as a mite to philosophical for its own good. From the very beginning the two characters are loquacious and each with plenty to say in a vocabulary no-one has heard spoken in real life ever by anybody and hardly by a desert hermit and an escaped ex-con whom we are supposed to believe has almost died in the Sonoran Desert. It must have been inspired by Franz Kafka: "If I have no sense of guilt, and I haven't, then maybe I didn't do what they accuse me of. Maybe I'm innocent" (12:20). Three more characters enter from stage left and the play continues with, not one but, two quoting a Harvard medical professor. ... Sorry, I heard enough of this in Metaphysics 101 every Monday and Thursday morning in the Aula Maxima. I'm outa here guys. Life calls.