Rent They Made Me a Fugitive (1947)

The Coffin Fits - They Made Me a Fugitive review by CH

A brick viaduct, rain, a wandering cat, noisy pubs, backstage dressing rooms, scant furniture in tiny lodging-house rooms. This is the stuff of noir - and a great English use of these, and more, is Cavalcanti's They Made Me a Fugitive (1947). This Brazilian-born director has become better known in recent years for the films he made here, such as Went the Day Well?, although his French works are harder to find (there was once a National Film Theatre season). And now, such is the circle of death, it coincides with renewed interest in the novels of Jackson Budd, some of which have been reissued in the British Library's crime series.

One of these, yet to appear again, was adapted for the screen by Noel Langley for this film, and perhaps he hit upon the surreal turns which this seemingly gritty work takes. Here are many scenes with notices on doors, and framed sentiments on walls, including Auden's “It's Later than You Think”. All of which pale beside the opening scene which finds some functionaries who sigh and sweat as their overcoated shoulders bear a coffin into the, yes, Valhalla Undertakers; its rooftop surely defies all Planning laws, for upon it there are the huge, vertical letters R I P.

One does not give away much by saying that this coffin will cause many more deaths; it conceals contraband cigarettes; in a variant on those who carry violin cases, the top-hatted men are part of a gang headed by Griffith Jones who announces that the operation needs the added class which will be provided by an RAF veteran down on his luck after escaping from a Prisoner of War camp: Trevor Howard.

As with all gangs (and much of human society), factions emerge, partly fostered by rivalry for the women in their midst. Howard's end is precipitated by his balking at a coffinload of drugs. A stint in a misty West Country gaol only determines him to prove his innocence.

Everything – dialogue, pace, light and shade – coheres, including a scene in a house on the Moors which could be a film in itself. If one had to sum up the theme of this remarkable film in a phrase, it is that in this world and the next it is hard for all concerned to rest in peace.

Gangster Noir. - They Made Me a Fugitive review by Steve

Tough, dirty gangster noir, which also explores the experiences of the heroes returning home from war and prison camps. Trevor Howard plays an ex-RAF pilot and POW who can't adjust to the banality of peacetime or a country where it seems everyone is on the make. He falls in with a gang running a black market operation.

One of the stalwarts of Brit-noir is the wide boy who dealt in contraband during the war while others were fighting, and later spins his small time enterprise into something more profitable. In this case, cocaine. Griffith Jones is the ruthless mob leader who is doing a whole lot better than the demobbed forces looking for jobs.

When the two men fall out over the ethics of running illegal drugs, Jones frames Howard for killing a copper. Then the fall guy escapes from Dartmoor with retribution in mind. It's a fairly simple revenge story, but violent, with sweet repartee and a lot of style. Sally Gray brings her usual sullen glamour as the moll who changes sides.

The unsubtle symbolism evokes the Hollywood gangster films of the early '30s. It has the look of American noir, but is more violent, and even dares an unjust resolution. And these mean streets are very British.  Plenty of credit goes to the star. Howard is so good it feels like he could have made a career out of playing tough losers.

Great noir - They Made Me a Fugitive review by JA

Surprisingly bleak noir, but really well done giving a real sense of place and time. A forgotten gem.