Maybe I should just drink this beer and go home.
The Sniper (1952) is an odd near-success of a movie. The problem is not in the performances making up the tale, as the actors are all competent or even more than competent in their parts, in that relaxed fulfilling of roles that many 1950s movies achieved so effortlessly. The technical aspects are also all very good, from staging to cinematography. The characters, although unsuccessful in conveying the feeling that they don’t disappear when the movie stops, do have lives with details, tics, and various motivations, all of which contributes to the feeling of reality necessary to this movie.
The story is mostly good, but the lead character may not be entirely believable to today’s viewer. The eponymous character, Eddie Miller, is torn between his ache to be a normal man, with a wife and a future, and his suspicion, even hatred for women, particularly those of the brunette variety. Add in a definite problem with impulse control, and it all ends in periodic bouts of violence against the women who drive him to anger. He already has a history of violence when we see his first killing, his prowess with a sniper rifle giving us the title of the movie. But he doesn’t take joy in the act, and injures himself in an attempt to stop himself; later, he writes a note for the police to find, begging them to stop him, and this is where I start having problems with the character. Perhaps the criminally insane really do these things, but I find that a little hard to believe. However, I appreciated the nuanced lead character.
But the movie’s greatest failing may be in that it is explicit in its purpose, which is to alert contemporary society to the number of sexually driven criminals embedded in society. This is accomplished through a short, to the point introduction to the movie, and it drains the movie of some of the tension it might otherwise have had, which is unfortunate, despite the good intention.
But contrariwise, it has a very good unstated theme, made apparent in a monologue during the metaphorical crucifixion of the police department. It is to recognize that crime is not isolated incidents, but are often a sequence of lesser crimes leading to greater crimes. An advocacy that “sex crimes” (my Arts Editor suggested “gender crimes” as more accurate) result in immediate removal to a psychological institute for immediate treatment and release only on cure is rejected by the assembled “pillars of the community” because it would result in higher taxes, and By God We Can’t Have That. More abstractly, penny-wise, pound-foolish; or the results of greed are unpredictable and vicious.
The echo in today’s society, particularly with the background of the failure of Kansas despite lowering taxes, is particularly surprising, interesting, and believable.
In the climactic ending, there’s an appreciated lack of frenzied gunfire, and, indeed, a return to the lead’s tortured mental state (I hesitate to call it a conscience), leading to an ending of some delicacy. Indeed, this ending may be more effective at attracting the viewer to a more intellectual discussion of the movie’s themes – and perhaps some hoped for actions.
