In the 30s and 40s, when Warner Brothers got hold of a social or political philosophy they didn't monkey around. In "Espionage Agent," released in 1939 when America was neutral and would remain so for another couple of years, Warners gives us a heads up on who the bad guys are.
Brenda Marshall, desperate and broke, in the middle of the Spanish Civil War, stumbles into the German Consulate and begs them for shelter. They give it to her -- forged passport and all -- with the proviso that she go to America and spy for them.
On the ship, she meets all-American Joel McRea, they fall in love and get married. She forgets about her agreement with the Germans until one of them shows up and reminds her of it -- and don't forget those forged papers. She tells all to her husband. The couple travel to Switzerland to unravel this tangled web of bent allegiances and threats.
The Nazis are never named, although the uniforms are suggestive. I'm not sure Germany is even mentioned. It's mainly "them" and "they" and "their kind." The Nazis come in three types. The thugs, the most numerous, are brutal and slimy. They do the wet work. Their skulls are misshapen or their jaws too large for their faces. The middle men are like Martin Kosleck, icy, smiling, holding his cigarette in a fancy European way, and so forth. Kosleck himself, born into a Jewish family, was a refugee from Hitler who looked so much like Goebbels that he managed to play him on screen five times. There is always a Nazi boss who runs the spies. As usual, he's tall, distinguished looking, gray haired, suave, and has a thin black mustache. He speaks with a British accent and carries a Luger.
Joel McRea could never play a Nazi. Not only didn't he look or sound enough like a Nazi -- that wouldn't necessarily have been a hindrance -- but he didn't have the acting range to pull it off. No, he could never play a Nazi. He would have had to stretch to play a man with devalued impulses, no matter how well he stifled them.
Brenda Marshall is the dame caught in a moral vice. She cares nothing for the Nazis but in revealing her circumstances she may lose the man she loves or, at the least, cause him to end his career with the Foreign Service. Like McRea's, her acting is reliable and straight out of the Hollywood lost wax process. She has a piercing stare, no matter what the rest of her features are doing. I'm not sure the camera ever catches her blinking. At the same time, she looks more attractive here than in any of the other films I've seen her in, like "The Sea Hawk" and "Captains of the Clouds." She looks spotless, dry cleaned and pressed, even sexy. She was married for years to William Holden, whom she evidently nagged constantly.
You know, though, taken all in all, the movie isn't as exciting as it ought to be. The tempo is fast. The scenes don't drag. Warner Brothers' scenes never drag. But the plot is surprisingly dull and director Lloyd Bacon adds little vitality to the proceedings. There is no subtlety in it. The actors hit their marks and say their lines. The camera is placed where it is most effective. A more talented and innovative director, Hitchcock, for instance, could have turned this into much more than it is.
Brenda Marshall, desperate and broke, in the middle of the Spanish Civil War, stumbles into the German Consulate and begs them for shelter. They give it to her -- forged passport and all -- with the proviso that she go to America and spy for them.
On the ship, she meets all-American Joel McRea, they fall in love and get married. She forgets about her agreement with the Germans until one of them shows up and reminds her of it -- and don't forget those forged papers. She tells all to her husband. The couple travel to Switzerland to unravel this tangled web of bent allegiances and threats.
The Nazis are never named, although the uniforms are suggestive. I'm not sure Germany is even mentioned. It's mainly "them" and "they" and "their kind." The Nazis come in three types. The thugs, the most numerous, are brutal and slimy. They do the wet work. Their skulls are misshapen or their jaws too large for their faces. The middle men are like Martin Kosleck, icy, smiling, holding his cigarette in a fancy European way, and so forth. Kosleck himself, born into a Jewish family, was a refugee from Hitler who looked so much like Goebbels that he managed to play him on screen five times. There is always a Nazi boss who runs the spies. As usual, he's tall, distinguished looking, gray haired, suave, and has a thin black mustache. He speaks with a British accent and carries a Luger.
Joel McRea could never play a Nazi. Not only didn't he look or sound enough like a Nazi -- that wouldn't necessarily have been a hindrance -- but he didn't have the acting range to pull it off. No, he could never play a Nazi. He would have had to stretch to play a man with devalued impulses, no matter how well he stifled them.
Brenda Marshall is the dame caught in a moral vice. She cares nothing for the Nazis but in revealing her circumstances she may lose the man she loves or, at the least, cause him to end his career with the Foreign Service. Like McRea's, her acting is reliable and straight out of the Hollywood lost wax process. She has a piercing stare, no matter what the rest of her features are doing. I'm not sure the camera ever catches her blinking. At the same time, she looks more attractive here than in any of the other films I've seen her in, like "The Sea Hawk" and "Captains of the Clouds." She looks spotless, dry cleaned and pressed, even sexy. She was married for years to William Holden, whom she evidently nagged constantly.
You know, though, taken all in all, the movie isn't as exciting as it ought to be. The tempo is fast. The scenes don't drag. Warner Brothers' scenes never drag. But the plot is surprisingly dull and director Lloyd Bacon adds little vitality to the proceedings. There is no subtlety in it. The actors hit their marks and say their lines. The camera is placed where it is most effective. A more talented and innovative director, Hitchcock, for instance, could have turned this into much more than it is.