New York’s leading movie house for independent premieres and repertory programming
A nonprofit cinema since 1970
| PREVIOUSLY AT FILM FORUM |
|
![]() |
|
|
|
|
“QUITE SIMPLY, ONE OF THE FINEST FILMS EVER MADE! Calling this one of the finest movies ever made may be one of the most obvious statements ever made, akin to saying the sky is blue, a presidential campaign is bound to turn dirty, or Donald Trump has a comb-over. But the joy this film provides is so magnified when it's projected in a movie theater that seeing it on the big screen is like watching it for the first time.” (1949) “In Switzerland they had brotherly love, five hundred
years of democracy and peace. And what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.” In rubble-strewn postwar Vienna, its occupation divided among four powers, Joseph Cotten’s pulp Western writer Holly Martins arrives to meet up with his old friend Harry Lime only to find that he’s dead — or is he? And as the supremely naive Cotten, a monoglot stranger in a strange land, descends through the levels of deception, and as he discovers his own friend’s corruption, the moral choices loom. With its Vienna locations, including the gigantic Prater ferris wheel and the dripping sewers, shot over a five-week period of double shifts (8PM to 5AM, then 10AM to 4PM), this is a triumph of atmosphere, with its tilted camera angles (“to suggest that something crooked was going on” – Reed), its Robert Krasker-shot shadows, and Anton Karas’s unforgettable zither theme. And with its stars in perhaps their most iconic roles: bereted Trevor Howard at his most Britishly military; Alida Valli, after her unsuccessful Hollywood period (Hitchcock’s The Paradine Case), here truly enigmatic and Garboesque; and Welles’s Harry Lime arriving in one of the greatest star entrances ever, and adding the famous “cuckoo clock” speech to Graham Greene’s original script. With the whole topped by its legendary, almost endlessly drawn-out final shot, imposed by Reed over Greene’s original objections. “One of that handful of motion pictures (Rashomon, Casablanca, The Searchers) that have become archetypes—not merely a movie that would go on to influence myriad other movies but a construct that would lodge itself deep in the unconscious of an enormous number of people, including people who’ve never even seen the picture. The first time you see it, your experience is dotted with tiny shocks of recognition—lines and scenes and moments whose echoes have already made their way to you from intermediary sources. If you have already seen it, even a dozen or more times, the experience is like hearing a favorite piece of music—you can, as it were, sing along. The Third Man is in fact a brilliant succession of dice throws, a borderline counterintuitive combination of disparate elements that somehow come together as if they had been destined to do so. It is a singular object, a fluke, a well-oiled machine, a time-capsule item, Links: |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
THIRD MAN 50th Anniversary posters (1999) available exclusively from Posteritati.