Know how I feel about film noir? Love it to death! To me, it's not so much a genre, more a way of life. The inescapable reality, however, is that in the natural, universal scheme of existence, there is inevitably a percentage of crud at the bottom of the barrel. Indeed, the grating noise of a barrel being scraped, would provide a pertinent soundtrack for this dreary movie.
'Walk East on Beacon!' is a truly dour, dull docu-noir. A movie entirely devoid of personality. There are no strong characters, smart one-liners or wittily deadpan ripostes. In short, a gaggle of good grey men seek to smoke out a gaggle of gruesome greyer men (and women), who, despite being on the same page, exude as much warmth as a Siberian snowstorm in their dealings with each other. The sole striking performance comes from Finlay Currie as the ageing, vulnerable scientific genius, who has defected to the U. S. and is anxious about the plight of his son in East Berlin. Currie is fairly sound, but this is no Abel Magwitch and hints of native Scottish can be detected within his generic Eastern European brogue.
If one scene personifies the movie's relentlessly lacklustre tone, it's a conference room adorned by a group of middle-aged, largely bespectacled Communists, glumly listening to a reel to reel tape recording of Currie waxing lyrical about his revolutionary, life changing breakthrough, at the end of which they exit, with the same blank, glum indifference.
Released when blacklisting was at its peak: As a tirade against the rising tide of Communism, it makes for pretty tedious viewing. A missed opportunity, a damp squib of a picture. Not so much a film noir, more a film gris!
'Walk East on Beacon!' is a truly dour, dull docu-noir. A movie entirely devoid of personality. There are no strong characters, smart one-liners or wittily deadpan ripostes. In short, a gaggle of good grey men seek to smoke out a gaggle of gruesome greyer men (and women), who, despite being on the same page, exude as much warmth as a Siberian snowstorm in their dealings with each other. The sole striking performance comes from Finlay Currie as the ageing, vulnerable scientific genius, who has defected to the U. S. and is anxious about the plight of his son in East Berlin. Currie is fairly sound, but this is no Abel Magwitch and hints of native Scottish can be detected within his generic Eastern European brogue.
If one scene personifies the movie's relentlessly lacklustre tone, it's a conference room adorned by a group of middle-aged, largely bespectacled Communists, glumly listening to a reel to reel tape recording of Currie waxing lyrical about his revolutionary, life changing breakthrough, at the end of which they exit, with the same blank, glum indifference.
Released when blacklisting was at its peak: As a tirade against the rising tide of Communism, it makes for pretty tedious viewing. A missed opportunity, a damp squib of a picture. Not so much a film noir, more a film gris!