As Bernard Hermann's towering and troubling fox hunt symphony crescendos over the opening credits, Ray thrusts us into a hellish, nighttime film noir world of the city as three cops prowl the streets in search of a cop killer. Robert Ryan's Jim Wilson is a cop ready to crack at the seams. He is fed up and one step from suicide or murder as he mauls suspects in search of evidence. Ryan's rage is like a spinal tap as he screams in pain to the next victim of his questioning, 'Why do you make me do it?' Beating the suspect into a ruptured bladder, Wilson is sent upstate to cool off and assist in finding the killer of the daughter of a local hothead -- the angry and suspicious Walter Brent (Ward Bond) -- who tramps around with a loaded rifle like an upcountry version of the city Jim Wilson. Bathed in snow-white purity, Wilson tramps through the snow and comes upon a lonely home, where the divinely blind Mary Malden (Ida Lupino) welcomes him. Wilson quickly transforms and discovers redemption, forgiveness, and understanding.
Ray shifts gears from noir to peaceful country white, and the shift couldn't be more jarring. Ray shoots the city through speeding police car windshields and jumpy handheld shots, fracturing the atmosphere as Wilson's character is fractured inside. But then the church-like quiet of the snow-covered expanse upstate shifts the film from noir to a minimalist art film character study. Ray emphasizes the difference by lingering on a long shot of Ryan and Bond trying to run through the snow and barely making headway, each step a struggle. Ryan wouldn't have had this problem making tracks in the city alleys and scum dens. And when Mary is introduced, the staccato dialogue of the city is replaced by Lupino's mannered delivery, where ever word in a line of dialogue is punctuated by... slow... emphatic... line readings. Mary's holy presence forces Ryan's Wilson to curb his psychosis down, particularly when he has to rein in the crazed Brett.
Lupino's Mary is a religious force of purity whose bond with nature is so clear and undiluted that she even has a tree in her parlor. When Ray introduces her, it is as if she is making an appearance from another planet. Wilson and Brett stare at her as if they had just seen God. Brett doesn't fall for it (he just wants to kill the murderer of his daughter), but Wilson falls for it -- hook, line, and sinker. And although Ray uses shorthand with the tree and Lupino's ethereal close-ups, it's still not completely convincing that Wilson would have such an immediate character shift after years of inner city rage. The contrast with Brett helps, but the change of gears is never completely successful.
What succeeds in On Dangerous Ground is the raw emotionalism that bleeds out from the screen, unmatched in any of Ray's other films. Ray's characters are in extreme emotional pain and looking for salvation. On Dangerous Ground doesn't offer salvation but at least provides solace for his troubled souls in a frozen, white expanse.
The DVD features an audio commentary by Glenn Erickson and the theatrical trailer.
Dangerous living room.
