The Lady in the Lake (1946)
Somebody says to detective Philip Marlow “what you’ve read and you’ve heard is one thing, the real thing is something else.” This is Robert Montgomery’s directorial experiment, generally considered a failure. But like Hitchcock’s Rope it’s a noble one. It seems to forecast modern mock documentaries. The camera is the protagonist, so everyone is talking to the camera and conscious of how they are representing themselves. The acting is great. Montgomery as Marlowe doesn’t act much. But Audrey Trotter does. (Who was she?) Well apparently all she did, basically, was play hard-boiled dames in film noir, and when they went out of fashion so did she; but she’s gorgeous, and she runs away with The Lady in the Lake. Raymond Chandler wrote the script after writing Double Indemnity, but they filed his screenplay in the vertical file -- which pissed him off. I’m writing short sentences here. Keeping to the point. Raymond Chandler is infectious. Robert Montgomery is a detective — and a writer — and when someone asks him — “What would you say your story is full of?”, he says: “short sentences." It’s strange that hard boiled detective novels were considered realistic, and even more strange that the short sentences favoured by Hemingway were considered reportage. They are not. They are as stylistically manipulative as long ones. I can’t stop writing like this. Partially it’s because this is also a film about writing — because Raymond Chandler is a self-conscious writer. His style is so pervasive that you find yourself thinking about it. Then suddenly you are in it. Trotter tries to get Montgomery to explain his motivation for writing his book, and he says — “It was for 500 bucks.” Marlowe, like Raymond Chandler, only writes for money, because after all what are real guys interested in? Only money and dames. I’m reeling because I’ve been watching so many bad movies lately; so I wasn’t prepared for Raymond Chandlers virtuoso style. When Trotter and Montgomery finally kiss, they both close their eyes. This is significant. And Trotter says “Ever since I was a little girl I’ve been reading books about love like this, but I never believed it.” And there’s some sort of religious-choir-movie-stuff playing, and things get more and more intense because Montgomery doesn’t trust Trotter, and why should he? There are so many unanswered questions. And she is flirting with him from the start. And she seems to have flirted with a lot of other people. But she’s a smart one — that’s the kicker, and at one point she let’s down her hair, literally, and it’s quite a tumble. Anyway, after they get the kissing over with, Audrey says “I’m scared, but it’s wonderful,” which also makes a return as the last line of the film. Chandler is trying to get at something here. Montgomery is attracted to Trotter because she scares him. She might be a killer, and she might be just downright evil, and she might not be in love with him at all. But aren’t we are told by sentimental poets, and bad novelists, and our mothers (sometimes) that love should be exactly the opposite: we should only give our heart to someone who does not frighten us? I’ve had my share of dangerous moments. I met a guy once when I was in drag who told me he had thrown his last ‘girlfriend’ out the window. I dropped him like a hot potato — and have often congratulated myself on the sagacity of my move. I also once did it with a guy who liked to hit me. In the face. I can frankly handle getting hit almost anywhere else but that. And this was a slap. In the face — over and over again. I said 'No thank you.' I never saw him again. Which was good. Then there was the boy who screwed me up the ass too hard and too long — all the time — and one of my friends volunteered to beat him up. He didn’t want the guy hurting me. So I just broke up with the guy. I was scared of all these guys. Like I’m scared when I go to the darkroom at the bar. Not terrified. “Scared and it’s wonderful"; like Trotter and Montgomery. So is it true love when the person makes us feel secure, or when the person makes us as frightened? The Lady in the Lake has the answer. After they kiss, Trotter says: “this is what the world is really like, isn’t it?” It’s that eye opener that occurs when you fall in love for the first time. It’s why Shakespeare thought true love was the definition of virtue. I didn’t understand love songs until I fell in love. For 28 years I kissed women. I would listen to those damn corny lyrics and think — what are they gettin’ so upset about? Why are they frettin’ and cryin’ and threaten’ suicide? Then I kissed Glenn and I understood immediately. He was tawny, fawny teenager, and he eventually rejected me sitting on a stone chair, by a stone table at the rear of Toronto Western Hospital. (I can’t go past that building without thinking of him.) He was a brilliant young poet with curly brown hair, and a bold shyness that was mysterious, and insulting. He loved someone else, from the start, but he kept coming back to me. So yes of course I was terrified he would stop loving me. But I learned to love from my mother’s penchant for alcoholics. She once told me how lousy my father was in bed. Apparently he was a ‘premature ejaculator.’ I know you didn’t need to know that. Neither did I. But she told me. Ever since then, I’ve feared being a ‘premature ejaculator.' For years I thought I was one. Then I figured out — hey — I just like orgasms! There could be worse things to like. The title of Philip Marlowe’s novel —the one Montgomery brings to Audrey Trotter before he gets mixed up in lies, and guns, and dames -- is “If I should die before I live.” It’s an interesting concept — especially in these trying times, when kids— despite the propaganda to the contrary, are unlikely to die of COVID-19, but the rest of us are likely to experience a virtual death, i.e. a death in the virtual world, as increasingly our real lives become extinguished, and we find ourselves sprouting angel wings and floating up to digital heaven. And maybe that’s what’s at the heart of all of this. We’ve spent our lives being told we should all find a nice person, settle down, have kids, get a secure job, buy a house that is identical to everyone else’s, look forward to what’s on Netflix tonight, and never never again be afraid. And most of us do that. Then the ‘virus’ comes along and suddenly we’re afraid. And in a kind of a perverse — but very human way — “it’s wonderful.”
