Vienna, in the immediate post-war period. The failed writer Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) arrives in the semi-destroyed Austrian capital, now under the control of the four victorious powers, lured by a vague job offer made by his close friend Harry Lime (Orson Welles). Martins quickly discovers that Lime has died in a murky car accident and, irritated by what seem to be insinuations made by British Army Major Calloway (Trevor Howard), decides to investigate the true causes of this apparent tragedy alongside his friend’s lover, Anna (Alida Valli).
As dangers and threats close in around him, and his desire for Anna grows stronger, Martins will painfully discover that the appearances dictated by a sense of friendship for the late Lime are not exactly the truth. A truth that becomes increasingly uncomfortable and disturbing…
Deservedly part of both the collective imagination and the pantheon of essential masterpieces, The Third Man is the result of the fortunate blending of various aesthetic influences and factors: a director (Reed) at the peak of his career in the late 1940s (consider the splendid and almost unknown Odd Man Out from 1947), a group of actors (including those in minor roles) perfectly suited to their parts, a gripping and extraordinary story (based on a novel by Graham Greene and co-written by the author along with the director and Welles), a location that still bore the scars of conflict, and Robert Krasker’s superlative black-and-white cinematography, awarded the Oscar in 1951.
But Reed’s masterpiece is much more: besides encompassing at least three genres (noir, thriller, and spy story) and transcending them into a fiercely romantic tale tinged with acidic irony – and in this sense, Anton Karas’s sly and obsessive zither score is also essential – the film can be interpreted on various levels: existential in Martins’ disorientation, caught between a manly friendship and unrequited love for a woman; political in Lime’s predatory and cynical personality, seen by many as an embodiment of the worst of U.S. imperialism (yet conveniently shielded along with his shady dealings in adulterated penicillin by the Soviets); and anthropological in its depiction of a criminal underworld and unscrupulous wheeler-dealers.
Thus, it is coherent within the context of a nocturnal Vienna, a symbol of the ruinous fall of European civilization, the dual finale: the seal of both Martins’ redemption and his failure, as he kills – or rather, executes – his friend and is met with scornful silence by the woman he loves, in an ironically twilight scene.
Memorable are the glimpses of Vienna at night, the baroque and wide-angle perspectives that give the story a dreamlike and hallucinatory quality, and Lime’s irreverent and cynical comparison – reportedly improvised by Welles – to justify his reprehensible behavior, between the violent yet splendid Italy of the Borgias and peaceful Switzerland, a country that in 500 years of brotherly love “produced nothing but the cuckoo clock.”
The enormous and well-deserved international success led Welles to participate in a 39-episode radio show between 1951 and 1952 titled The Adventures of Harry Lime, not only one of the first “prequels” in history but also practical proof of how much his sulfurous character had captivated the public, even more so than the unfortunate yet positive protagonist played by his friend and colleague Cotten.
And this too is a sign of the singularity of a truly unique masterpiece.
Claudio Ceriani
