Apparently, Cornell Woolrich was not a happy man. Born in New York in 1903, Woolrich would go on to become a successful writer. In his mid-20s, he would attract the attention of Hollywood, making his first mark as titles writer for the silent film, “The Haunted House” (1928).
His words made it into movie theatres many times over. Val Lewton (“The Leopard Man” – 1943), Robert Siodmak (“Phantom Lady” – 1944), François Truffaut (“The Bride Wore Black” – 1968), and, most famously, Alfred Hitchcock (“Rear Window” – 1956) were among the many to shepherd Woolrich’s work on to the big screen.
But, about that unhappiness. Like many of the stories Woolrich himself wrote, his parents’ marriage was a short one – divorcing when he was just a kid. Dark feelings of doom also made an early appearance in his life – one night, when he was 11 years old, he found himself feeling, “…like some sort of a poor insect that you’ve put inside a downturned glass, and it tries to climb up the sides, and it can’t, and it can’t, and it can’t.”
Woolrich was a closeted homosexual and for good reason – back then, being gay was criminalized by the U.S. government. From 1923-1966 (Woolrich died in 1968), some 50,000 gay men had the cuffs slapped on them for cruising – aka hooking up.
Gay men were effectively hunted by the police and risked everything simply if they dared to be themselves. How much of a role that constant emotional and psychological pressure contributed to Woolrich’s feelings of self-loathing and of being doomed is not certain, but I think it’s safe to say it did not help.
Woolrich would live out his days with his mother, Claire, in a hotel suite in New York. When she died in 1957, his urge to write all but left him. A heavy drinker, Woolrich died in September of 1968.
In 1948, JP Lippincott and co. published a new collection of short stories from Woolrich’s prolific pen – here using the pseudonym William Irish – under the title, “Dead Man Blues.”
In that collection is a short story called, “The Boy Who Cried Murder.” A modern take on the famous fable by Aesop called, “The Boy Who Cried Wolf”, Woolrich’s urban retelling was quickly snapped up by Hollywood and made into a film called, “The Window” (1949).
9 year-old Tommy Woodry (Bobby Driscoll) has a very active imagination. One fantastical tale after another slips from his lying lips. His dishonesty is so frequent and so troubling that he’s got his parents – Ed (Arthur Kennedy) and Mary (Barbara Hale) – worried to death. So, when Tommy tells them that he just witnessed a murder, it makes perfect sense that his parents are more eager to send him to a doctor than to the police. There is just one problem – this time, Tommy’s telling the truth.
A decent set-up leads to much of the same as “The Window” struggles to turn up the temperature more than a degree or two.
Oh, Tommy finds himself in plenty of peril – that much is true. His parents may not take him seriously, but the murderers – Joe (Paul Stewart) and Jean Kellerson (Ruth Roman) – certainly do and that means trouble for Tommy. It’s just that Paul Stewart and Ruth Roman are just ok as the cancerous couple. They are fine hitting that one predictable villainous note, but roles like these always benefit from a tune with a little more variance – think Robert Walker in “Strangers on a Train” (1951) or Joseph Cotten in “Shadow of a Doubt” (1943). Ah, but then we’re talking Hitchcock and that really isn’t fair, is it?
Mind you, there are a few memorable moments – the delight Joe takes in watching Tommy struggle with a coat hanger as he tries to pull in the key to his locked bedroom door, all the while not knowing that he’d be better off inside. There is also the surreal touch of a collapsing staircase in a later scene.
Director Ted Tetzlaff was a cinematographer, first, with 115 credits to his name and it shows in a few striking compositions and a good use of shadows.
The murder scene, however, so central to the film, is a dud. Maybe that’s because Tetzlaff cuts the music for its entirety or the fact that, because Tommy witnesses the dark deed through a sliver of an opening at the bottom of a pulled down shade, we are kept from seeing the faces of the killers and their doomed victim. Or maybe it’s the awkward choreography of the struggle itself. Or maybe all of the above. Regardless, there is a desperation and intensity missing from the scene that renders the moment as impactful as a raindrop on the back of an elephant.
Besides the obvious theme revolving around the trouble you invite when you tell one too many tall tales, “The Window” is a film about parental neglect and the awful places that can lead. Tommy’s parents mean well and are trying to teach him an important lesson in life, yes, but ironically this lesson gets him into life threatening trouble. Parental responsibility morphs into parental deficiency leaving Tommy to fend for himself.
This is not to say that the filmmakers dive into the deep end of these themes. This is solely a sit on the edge of the pool and splash away with your feet operation. Lots of potential to explore, the filmmakers, instead play it straight and narrow.
A word or two about Bobby Driscoll. He was 12 by the time this film was released and he’s probably the best thing in it. That may have more to do with his competition than any particular thing he does in the film, but, nonetheless, Driscoll keeps us watching when things get dull.
His next role would be Jim Hawkins in “Treasure Island” (1950). A few years after that, he would voice the character of Peter Pan for Disney’s celebrated animated retelling of J.M. Barrie‘s classic play. Sadly, the role that would dominate the rest of his life would be that of an addict. Hollywood, however, may share some of the blame, “I was carried on a satin cushion and then dropped into the garbage can.” That’s adult Bobby Driscoll bluntly reflecting on the town that made and then unmade him.
Years passed, work dried up and soon Driscoll would turn to heroin. His body was discovered in a grubby apartment by some children. Kids finding a young man who used to be a big deal when he was a kid like them. Awful. It was 1968 and he was only 31. Oddly enough, Cornell Woolrich died that same year just 6 months later. The two had more in common then they likely knew.
Brief, with few scenes that stand out, “The Window” is a decent ride through a shadowy world that leaves most of its dark places unexplored.
