Fourteen Hours (1951) doesn’t mess about getting to the central incident of this drama – a young man, Robert, standing on a ledge on the 15th floor of a skyscraper in New York City. From this incident erupts a number of psychological studies: of Robert, his mother, his father, the traffic cop trying to talk him down, the crowds below, even a divorcing couple. Each is a reaction to this central incident, as Robert battles his daemons, his despair, and his insecurities, while the cop deals as an old-time cop should with the barriers in his way – hard-nosed bulldozer when he can, otherwise talking his way around those who have their own ideas.
In terms of characters, some have that important feel that they have a life once the cameraman stows his instrument, while the rest are more drawn only for their roles; most of the leading cast feels quite lifelike. The story, if you like solid, if unspectacular, tension, is filled with mystery, refusing to reveal everything in the first ten minutes, leaving us to wonder what is driving this man to waver about on the ledge – and this cop to sit there with him.
The cinematography is quietly spectacular, utilizing, without overusing, unusual camera angles that illuminate the scene as various people might see it, from Robert’s view to that of a photojournalist searching for that perfect shot.
This is not a perfect movie. I wasn’t sweating with tension, sitting on the edge of my seat, sucking the enamel off my – nevermind. An occasional aside from the audience is not out of the question. But I enjoyed the exploration of the sick crevices of this man’s mind – and what appears to be motivating this sad behavior.
It’s listed as film noir, but I don’t think it quite qualifies. Regardless, if you like that sort of atmosphere, where a man’s life balances on the edge of a building, you could do worse than Fourteen Hours.
Having now read the Wikipedia entry, I’m a little scared. Too many deaths during production.
