Frank Enley (Van Heflin) seems to have it all, celebrated as a war hero for piloting bombers mission over Germany, a thriving successful business building housing for the exploding Baby Boom generation, the respect of his community, and adoration from his lovely young wife, Edith (Janet leigh). And yet a mysterious stranger (Robert Ryan) has come across the continent to murder him. Frank is about to learn that the past is never very distant and that some betrayals are utterly unforgivable.

I believe that I first learned of this film when it was mentioned on Karina Longworth’s Hollywood history podcast You Must Remember This. Intrigued and curious about a noir that focused on misdeeds during the second world war, particularly a noir produced when the wat was not yet five years in the past, I have searched for this movie for years. I once found it on a commercial supported streaming service, but the poor video quality and very constant interruptions made viewing it there impossible. This week I located a file, with apparently fan produced Spanish subtitling, on the Internet Archive and at last watched this nearly forgotten film noir.

There is very little fat on the slim 82-minute feature and the stakes and tension are established very quickly. Several times I wondered how this was going to make it to feature length when it seemed that Joe, our mysterious man intent on murder, was about the ambush the unaware Frank. With a decent budget director Fred Zinneman, who three years later, also made one of my all-time favorites High Noon, and cinematographer Robert Surtees, have crafted a mood, atmospheric film that moves from the bright sunny California mountains to the dark, grimy, and dangerous back alleys of Los Angeles with ease, carrying the audience of a visual descent into literal darkness as Frank’s shameful past stalks him, forcing him to confront and confess his ugly truth.

My favorite scene in the film is when finally forced to tell Edith precisely why Joe is determined to kill him, Frank not only reveals the truth about himself but a universal one about humanity. That our to captivity rationalize, to create ‘reasons’ for our misdeeds, is a self-deception and that all too often the only life we are looking to save is our own.

The gangster subplot in the third act, introduced by the incomparable Mary Astor, is a bit far-fetched, exposing the hand of screenwriter Robert Richards, but allowing that to slide in the interest of suspension of disbelief is not a difficult task.

Overall, I very much enjoyed Act of Violence, finding the film to be tense, with a surprising empathy for all the characters.

Act of Violence is not, at the moment, streaming anywhere.