Critical popcorn

I’ve mentioned my love of The Third Man before – it’s my favourite film of all-time, with Graham Greene‘s sardonic script finding a perfect partner in Carol Reed‘s lively direction and Robert Krasker‘s stark photography making a bombed out Vienna setting especially memorable, as well as pitch perfect performances from Joseph Cotten, Trevor Howard, Alida Valli and Orson Welles as the charmingly amoral Harry Lime. As such, it’s only fitting that I choose its unforgettably bittersweet final scene for this piece.

It’s easy to forget because Cotten is so damn charismatic that Holly Martins is something of a heel. A hapless, shambling, hopelessly optimistic heel, maybe – but decidedly unheroic. He ends the film betraying his best friend after trying, unsuccessfully, to steal his girl, Anna (Alida Valli). The tragedy is that in turning in his friend Harry, he is demonstrably doing the right thing, and yet he is punished. Having witnessed first hand the tragic effects of Lime’s black-market dealings, he sells him out to secure Anna’s safe passage out of Vienna. This doesn’t matter to Anna of course, who denounces Holly as an informer, leading to the breathtaking chase in the city sewers, that ends with Harry’s death.

The final scene follows Harry’s funeral. Martins is being driven to the airport, back to his life of pulp crime novels, when the car passes Anna, walking back to the city. Martins gets out, waiting for her at the roadside as she approaches from the middle distance. Reed shoots Anna’s approach in a single, uninterrupted take, and as Anton Karas’ unique zither theme swells, surely you think, this is the moment where the two lovers will reconcile, in the closing seconds of the film. Reed stretches this moment out for what seems an eternity as Anna draws nearer, and eventually, without a glance in his direction, passes Martins, and walks out of his life forever, without even a glance in his direction.

It’s one of the most indelible endings in cinema history, and the embodiment of everything that makes The Third Man great – it’s understated, subversive, and devastating. It also distills the film’s entire worldview: that doing the right thing can still leave you utterly alone. Martins goes into this with the best of intentions, and all he gets for his troubles is a plane ticket home.

It feels right to end my time with Critical Popcorn with such a bittersweet moment. Like Anna walking past Martins, there’s a quiet finality in saying goodbye to this site. For the past six years, this site has been a space where I could write freely about my personal responses to films old and new, something that is becoming increasingly rare. Writing here has been a joy, offering me amazing opportunities, a freedom within my writing, and invaluable experience. I’m going to miss it deeply, along with all the people who made it what it was.

Nick Bartlett