Victory (1919)
Directed by Maurice Tourneur

Film Review

Film noir is a style that became prevalent in European and American cinema from the late 1930s to the mid-1950s but its origins can be traced back many years prior to this, German expressionism of the 1920s being cited as a key influence.  But even before this, the themes and visual tropes that characterise film noir can be seen in many films made on both sides of the Atlantic, including the films made by Maurice Tourneur, one of the great pioneers of early American cinema, between 1915 and 1925.  The crime films that Tourneur subsequently made in France - Au nom de la loi (1932), L'Homme mystérieux (1933) and Justin de Marseille (1935) - are all exemplary examples of French film noir that would strongly influence many of his countrymen (Julien Divivier especially) and help to establish a style that would become intimately wedded to crime thrillers and psychological dramas for the next two decades.  The first of Tourneur's films that can be classed as a fully fledged film noir is probably Victory, based on a novel by Joseph Conrad that had been published just four years previously.

Conrad's literary work, renowned for its pessimistic tone, labyrinthine plots and ambiguous, tortured characters, is a natural subject for film noir, although, curiously, Tourneur's film significantly downplays the darkness of its source novel and even concludes with an upbeat ending.  Devotees of Conrad's work will no doubt be appalled by the liberties that screenwriter Jules Furthman (credited as Stephen Fox) takes with the original book, reducing the complex central characters to thinly sketched archetypes and ditching the unimaginably bleak ending for something more likely to find favour with a mainstream cinema audience.  Yet, whilst Tourneur's Victory bears scant resemblance to Conrad's work of the same title, it still retains something of its unrelenting darkness, which is carried by two essential elements: some recognisably noirish photography and Lon Chaney's arresting physical presence as the central villain of the piece, one of the most chillingly realistic of his demonic screen portrayals.

All of Maurice Tourneur's films of this era deserve to be noted for their sublime visual artistry but Victory stands apart as being particularly beautiful - it is certainly one of the best of the director's independently produced films.  (How fortunate we are that a virtually pristine print of the entire film has survived when so many of Tourneur's early films have been lost).   Each shot is meticulously composed to seize your attention and ensure the story has as much dramatic power as possible.  The work of Tourneur's gifted cinematographer René Guissart prefigures those film noir classics of the 1940s, with slick lighting effects that fill the screen with tension and menace.  The noir impression is felt most keenly in the shadow-webbed scene where the vindictive hotelier Schomberg  (Wallace Beery) and knife-throwing fiend Ricardo (Chaney) seal their satanic pact, but it recurs in later scenes, first when Ricardo attempts to rape Alma (an ambiguous temptress who is more femme fatale than romantic heroine) and then when the muscle-bound Pedro takes a gruesome revenge against his employer.

Shadows and silhouettes form an essential part of Tourneur's art and here they are used to stunning effect to suggest the presence of evil and the darker, more savage side of man's nature, whilst also lending an eerie, dreamlike feel to the film.  Two decades on, Tourneur's son Jacques would achieve a similar effect, again with an exotic setting steeped in menace, with his supernatural thriller I Walked With a Zombie (1943).  The contrast between the island paradise where the hero Axel Heyst lives out his solitary days and the darker, corrupt world inhabited by the vile quartet of villains - Schomberg, Jones, Ricardo and Pedro - is striking.  The demarcation between good and evil is thunderingly apparent - as it would be in Tourneur's subsequent adaptation of another literary classic: The Last of the Mohicans (1920).  This is where film noir begins and ends, with light and dark, symbolising the two distinct halves of the human psyche, placed alongside one another in bold and fierce opposition, a universal conflict that never ends.

Film Synopsis

For two years, Axel Heyst has lived the life of a total recluse on the small remote island of Samburan, a lonely outpost in the Dutch East Indies.  He spends his long, solitary days immersed in his books, some written by his father, a renowned writer.  The only companions he permits himself are his cat and his Chinese houseboy, Wang.  From time to time, Heyst ventures into Soerabaja, a busy town on another island, to pick up supplies or conclude business matters.  It isn't long before others suspect him of having a shady past and August Schomberg, a mean-spirited hotelkeeper, is convinced the loner has something to hide.  Schomberg has good reason to take against Heyst when he absconds with Alma, a member of his hotel orchestra on whom he has his own amorous designs.  An opportunity for Schomberg to get even with Heyst presents itself when a suspicious looking trio arrives at his hotel.  These comprise Mr Jones, a gambler, Ricardo, his secretary, and Pedro, his strong-arm man.  Persuaded by Schomberg that Heyst's island harbours a hidden fortune, these three ruthless adventurers take a boat to Samburan and quickly gain Heyst's confidence.  Alma has by now grown weary of her new life on the remote island and having tried and failed to stimulate Heyst's libido she finds herself on the receiving end of Ricardo's naked animal lust.  Apparently taken in by Ricardo's charms, Alma agrees to help him and his cohorts rob Heyst of his secret treasure...