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Love & Loneliness – An Examination of Brokeback Mountain, the Book & the Film

Brokeback Mountain is about the simultaneity of love and loneliness, and is a story filled with contradictions and juxtapositions. It begins at the end, with a memory, a dream. The main character, Ennis del Mar, awakes and recalls his murdered lover, Jack Twist. The remainder of the story then revolves around the memory of Ennis and Jack’s deep and troubled homosexual love affair, which began during a summer when the two men worked as ranch hands on Brokeback Mountain in Wyoming.

Author Annie Proulx’s renowned and heartbreaking short story Brokeback Mountain was first published in The New Yorker magazine in 1997. It was awarded the O. Henry Prize in 1998, and later adapted into a highly publicized, award-winning film by screenwriters Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana and director Ang Lee, released in 2005.

Much has been said about this moving film, or as it has come to be commonly called, “the gay cowboy movie.”  However, Jack and Ennis were not working as cowboys when they met and fell in love, but rather as shepherds, who have often been portrayed as living on the margin of society. The story is about two these young Wyoming ranch hands who unexpectedly (for the reader and characters alike) fall in love as teen-age boys and continue their ill-fated affair in secret for the next 20 years, until Jack is murdered.

Jack and Ennis fall deeply in love on Brokeback Mountain, but they are unable to articulate their feelings or overcome their fears, or even admit to each other or themselves that they are homosexual. And so they leave the mountain and part ways at the end of the summer of 1963, trying to lead the lives deemed “acceptable” by society – lives filled with work, marriage and children. Yet Ennis and Jack discover that they are unable to forget or truly separate from one another, or the memory of the happiness, fulfillment and love they experienced on Brokeback Mountain. They sneak away together intermittently for short trysts in the wilderness, but their existences primarily consist of emptiness, frustration and misery; and finally the two men’s lives are destroyed, along with their families. Ennis’ marriage ends in divorce, and Jack’s become a sham as he secretly seeks affection from other men, and then is ultimately murdered by those who discover he is gay. Additionally, in the film adaptation, we see the ill affects on Ennis’ daughters and girlfriend.

The story has been compared by some critics to a Greek tragedy or the story of star-crossed lovers, similar to Romeo and Juliet, But more accurately the story is about two rugged men living in a rugged terrain and a homophobic society, and it is a story about a relationship that simultaneously transcends and destroys both heroes as they try understand what drives their love and desire for one another and strive to have some kind of satisfactory relationship in the face of fear, denial and cultural stigma.

When Proulx first presents us with Ennis and Jack together, they are being told by their new employer, Joe Aguirre, to “pitch a pup tent on the q.t. with the sheep, out a sight and he’s a goin a SLEEP there. Eat supper, breakfast in camp, but SLEEP WITH THE SHEEP, hundred percent, NO FIRE, don’t leave no sign” (Proulx 6). From the beginning of the story, Ennis and Jack are being instructed to sleep where they are not supposed to – to sneak around out in the wilderness.

The notion of place and the role of nature are crucial in Proulx’s work, perhaps more than almost any other contemporary American writer. As she herself stated in an interview with the Missouri Review,

"Geography, geology, climate, weather, the deep past, immediate events, shape the characters and partly determine what happens to them, although the random event counts for much, as it does in life. I long ago fell into the habit of seeing the world in terms of shifting circumstances overlaid upon natural surroundings. I try to define periods when regional society and culture, rooted in location and natural resources, start to experience the erosion of traditional ways, and attempt to master contemporary, large-world values. The characters in my novels pick their way through the chaos of change. The present is always pasted on layers of the past.

Nature plays a crucial role both in Proulx’s original story as well as in the film adaptation of Brokeback Mountain. Proulx uses nature expertly within her short story to create a great economy of words, allowing for the concentration of meaning in these images as symbols. Wyoming’s wide-open and rough terrain becomes an important backdrop to the story. Brokeback Mountain itself, of course, is the most significant natural symbol in the story. It looms before Ennis and Jack, beautiful but massive and unattainable, representing a place they can never revisit and a time and feeling they can never recapture after their first summer together. While the two are only truly happy here in the wide-open spaces of a natural setting, they are also miniscule in the mountain’s presence. Nature is much larger than either of them. Proulx writes, “During the day Ennis looked across a great gulf and sometimes saw Jack, a small dot moving across a high meadow as an insect moves across a tablecloth; Jack, in his dark camp, saw Ennis as night fire, a red spark on the huge black mass of mountain” (Proux 9).

However, Ennis and Jack also believed that Brokeback offered them the protection to carry out their relationship unobserved by society. “There were only the two of them on the mountain flying in the euphoric, bitter air, looking down on the hawk’s back and the crawling lights of vehicles on the plain below, suspended above ordinary affairs and distant from tame ranch dogs barking in the dark hours. They believed themselves invisible…” (Proulx 15).

While Proulx tells us in her story that Jack and Ennis visit many other mountain destinations during their getaways together, they never return to Brokeback Mountain. Ennis and Jack are never able to return to the place where they were most happy together.  This is less clear in the film, and in fact, in contrast to the book, it is suggested that the pair do return to Brokeback. The mountain depicted on their last trip together appears to have the familiar peaks of Brokeback, and Jack angrily states, “All we have is this,” sweeping his hand across the vast and beautiful landscape that stretches out before them.

Throughout the book, the wind is an unsettling and driving force, underscoring several of the scenes. In the beginning of the story, the wind accompanies our first introduction to Jack in Ennis’ waking memory: “The wind strikes the trailer like a load of dirt coming off a dump truck, eases, dies, leaves a temporary silence” (Proulx 4). An early snow is the precursor to Jack and Ennis being called down off the mountain and once again the mountain and the wind portend a dark future for the couple: “The mountain boiled with demonic energy,” writes Proulx, and she describes the wind as having a “bestial drone” (Proulx 16-17).  As Jack and Ennis part at the bottom of the mountain, “The wind tumbled an empty feed bag down the street until it fetched up under his truck (Proulx 18). Wind also attends Ennis’ imagination of Jack’s murder: “Under the wind drone he heard steel slapping off bone, the hollow chatter of a settling tire rim” (Proulx 46). 

A storm frames the return of Jack to Ennis four years later. As Ennis waits for Jack to arrive, we are told, “The day was hot and clear in the morning, but by noon the clouds had pushed up out of the west rolling a little sultry air before them” (Proulx 20). Thunder rolls in as Jack arrives, and as they lie together in the hotel room, “A few handfuls of hail rattled against the window followed by rain and slippery wind” (Proulx 23). Proulx utilizes the image of rain, often used in literature and film to signify change, cleansing or a re-birth, to underscore Jack’s return and the rebirth of Ennis’ and Jack’s relationship. But, her use of the term “slippery wind” tells us that this union will be a fleeting one, soon wrapped only in memory.

Interestingly, this device of menacing weather to frame these scenes was not used in the film. However, nature and place do play crucial roles in the cinematography. For marketing purposes, the film’s tagline is “Love is a force of nature.” This suggestion that that Ennis’ and Jack’s love was a force of nature over which they had no control might be one meaning of the use of nature as symbol in this story. But, neither Proulx nor the film’s director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto, uses nature to represent this message solely. Rather Prieto’s photography captures the magnificence of the natural setting, while successfully echoing Proulx’s use of the outdoor environment to suggest both natural beauty as well as the feeling of remoteness, isolation and loneliness of the American western terrain.

By contrast, just as the outdoors is represented as expansive, beautiful and overwhelming, the domestic scenes are portrayed both in the book and the film as dull, claustrophobic and constraining. In the film, whenever Jack and Ennis are depicted in their homes, they look cramped and boxed in. Ennis is also often portrayed in reflection in a mirror in these scenes, perhaps suggesting the double life he is leading, or that his life only an image, not a real or full life.

Following Jack’s death, when Ennis travels to Jack’s parents house to try to retrieve his ashes to take them to Brokeback Mountain (as Jack has requested), we see the house in which Jack grew up. It is stark and completely whitewashed, inside and out. Jack’s father sits nearly motionless and unexpressive, and it is as though the whitewashed house represents his denial of his son’s true self. Here the first of two heart wrenching scenes featuring Ennis in a closet takes place. 

In the first of these scenes, Ennis is invited by Jack’s mother to visit Jack’s old room. In the back corner of Jack’s small closet, he discovers two shirts — his own and Jack's, from their summer on Brokeback Mountain. Both have bloodstains from their tussle on one of their final days there. In the film, Ennis mentions that he believes he has lost his shirt on the mountain.  In the book Proulx writes:

"It was his own plaid shirt, lost, he’d thought, long ago in some damn laundry, his dirty shirt, the pocket ripped, buttons missing, stolen by Jack and hidden here in Jack’s own shirt, the pair like two skins, one inside the other, two in one. He pressed his face into the fabric and breathed in slowly through his mouth and nose, hoping for the faintest smoke and mountain sage and salty sweet stink of Jack but there was no real scent, only the memory of it, the imagined power of Brokeback Mountain of which nothing was left but what he held in his hands" (Proulx 52).

In the film, Ennis is shown standing inside Jack’s small closet in his parent’s whitewashed house, grieving Jack, holding the shirts and weeping silently.

The second scene featuring Ennis and a closet, and another piece of lost clothing does not take place in Proulx’s original story, but is a powerful and poignant addition to the film adaptation. At the end of the film, Ennis is in his trailer and is visited by his now-grown daughter, Alma Jr., who comes to tell him that she is getting married, and asks him to attend the wedding. Ennis at first refuses then agrees, and they have a toast. After Alma leaves, Ennis discovers she has forgotten her sweater. He opens his closet door to put it away, and we see that he's created a small shrine to Jack inside his closet.  Now we are returned to Proulx’s original:

"He pinned it up [the postcard of Brokeback Mountain] in his trailer, brass-headed tack in each corner. Below it he drove a nail and on the nail he hung the wire hanger and the two old shirts suspended from it. He stepped back and looked at the ensemble through a few stinging tears. 'Jack, I swear –' he said, though Jack had never asked him to swear anything and was himself not the swearing kind."  (Proulx 54).

Proulx’s and the filmmakers’ use of actual closets to symbolize Ennis’ inability to “come out of the closet” might at first seem to be a heavy-handed metaphor, but in both instances, these scenes are effective and very touching.

Proulx’s book ends shortly after this, with another of Ennis’ dreams. But, while his dream at the beginning of the story steeps him in reverie, with fond and happy memories of Jack, in his dream at the end of the story, there is a darker and menacing feeling, one of grief and sorrow, danger and death.

The film ends differently than Proulx’s short story. The camera pulls back from Ennis at his closet door to show us a wider view of the interior of his small cramped trailer, and then focuses in on a tiny window, which frames a constrained view of a field of bright yellow flowers and the blue mountain and sky in the background. This scene of the exterior – of the great outdoors stands in sharp contrast to the small and enclosed private interior where Ennis seems trapped, standing in his closet with his shrine to his dead lover.

There are other significant differences in the film adaptation of the story. In addition to echoing Proulx’s use of place and nature to enhance the story, the film also used music very effectively as an enhancement. A beautiful, simple score by Gustavo Santaolalla features a lone guitar, with long silences in the melody, a perfect complement to the themes of the story. The filmmakers did not choose to try to re-create Proulx’s device of book-ending the beginning and ending of the story with descriptions of Ennis’ reminiscences of Jack. Also, the character of Ennis’ oldest daughter, Alma, Jr., is developed much more in the film version than the book, and she is portrayed as a counterpoint to Ennis. Quiet like her father, “Junior,” as Ennis calls her, also has a difficult time expressing herself. However, the message seems to be that despite their similarities, she is promised a happy and fulfilled life of love with her new husband, in stark contrast to her lonely, homosexual father.

Other major variations from Proulx's original story are a few scenes that seem meant to portray Jack and Ennis as “real men” and more appealing and accessible to the majority of the American movie-going public. Ennis has an encounter with a bear on Brokeback Mountain. Later, in a completely incongruous scene, he picks a fight with two rowdy, drunken bikers at a Fourth of July celebration, a scene that concludes with Ennis standing larger than life and victorious against a backdrop of exploding fireworks. Ennis’ relationship with a girlfriend following his divorce is further developed in the film than the book, and we also see Jack challenge his father-in-law at a Thanksgiving celebration, in a depiction of a typical family scene in which he supports his wife’s wishes and disciplines his son.

Still, with all these additions and variations, for the most part the film stays remarkably close to the original text, and brings both Proulx’s dialogue and the characters to life. Proulx was impressed with the film adaptation, despite her initial concerns. She commented, “I feared the landscape on which the story rests would be lost, that sentimentality would creep in, that explicit sexual content would be watered down. None of that happened. The film is huge and powerful. I may be the first writer in America to have a piece of writing make its way to the screen whole and entire.”

While it is interesting to examine the similarities and differences in form and interpretation between the original short story and the film, it is also important to ask how and why this little story lent itself to such a critically-acclaimed, successful film at this time and what real impact on American culture the film was able to accomplish.  Proulx mused on this in a recent interview: “There are a lot of people who see movies who do not read. It used to be that writing and architecture were the main carriers, permanent carriers, of culture and civilization. Now you have to add film to that list, because film is the vehicle of cultural transmission of our time. It would be insane to say otherwise, to say that the book is still the thing. It isn't.” 

So, although Proulx’s original work enjoyed critical acclaim and a large audience of readers, it is undeniable that the impact of the film has been much broader.  It has received numerous awards, including the Golden Globe for Best Director and three Academy Awards for Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Original Score. It has been seen and discussed by millions of movie-goers, but as Susan Wloszczyna wrote in USAToday.com article “Film Spurs Culture of Gay Cowboy Jokes”:

"'I wish I knew how to quit you' is the new 'Show me the money.' Gay cowboys are now the new penguins. Movie poster spoofs featuring every male couple from cartoon hero He-Man and foe Skeletor (Grayskull Mountain) to lobbyist Jack Abramoff and Rep. Tom DeLay (in Kickback Mountain) litter the Internet. Against all odds, a Western romance about two men, Brokeback Mountain, has corralled the cultural zeitgeist, making it safe for our national funny bone to come out of the closet." 

And, so it would seem that while the film adaptation introduced this story to a significantly wider audience than the original written work, this new audience has not been able to truly experience the power and depth of Proulx’s story. There is certainly nothing humorous about this tale, yet Brokeback Mountain has, in many cases, become the foundation for a national joke. Characters in the film were transformed into larger-than-life manly stereotypes in order to become more palatable to the movie-going public (as in the scene with Ennis standing tall with fireworks blazing behind him) and there seems to be the need to define and market this as a “universal” love story rather than a story specifically about the tragedy of a homosexual affair in a homophobic society.      

After Ang Lee received the Golden Globe Award, he stated, “This is a universal story. I just wanted to make a love story.” But that is really not the case. Brokeback Mountain is not a universal love story, as Daniel Mendelsohn notes in his review, “An Affair to Remember,” which appeared in The New York Review of Books.  Brokeback Mountain is a tragedy about the specifically gay phenomenon of the ‘closet’ — about the disastrous emotional and moral consequences of erotic self-repression and of the social intolerance that first causes and then exacerbates it.”

The tragedy of this story is that not only do Ennis and Jack lose each other, but they also lose themselves, and are unable to clearly articulate their love or live satisfactory lives. They are lost in memory, fantasy, fear and the constraints of their society. “It’s because of you that I’m like this – nothing, nobody,” cries Ennis toward the end of the story. And, Jack longs to be freed of his feelings, pleading, “I wish I knew how to quit you,” trying to deny the depth of his affection for Ennis, as Mendelsohn points out in his essay.

Brokeback Mountain indeed is riddled with numerous contradictions and juxtapositions: a short, 55 pages that were turned into a film of epic proportions that infiltrated contemporary American culture. It is a story written by a female author about two men. It is a romantic love story, yet the characters are two rough, inarticulate Western men who are never able to communicate their love for one another. The story begins in the 1960s – a time in American history typically associated by free love and experimentation. But clearly that freedom did not extend to two young gay men in the American West. It focuses on the desolation and loneliness of the West, yet the harsh landscape of this environment is also representative of the natural beauty and the love and closeness between Ennis and Jack. Proulx’s descriptions of the landscape are at once poetic and beautiful and hard and desolate. The book’s prologue is an epilogue; the tale begins at the end, book-ended by Ennis’ dreams that represent both happy reverie and gut-wrenching grief.

Ultimately the story is one of love and loneliness, and this is the most poignant juxtaposition of all, for those in love are just not supposed to be so devastatingly lonely.

Works Cited

Mendelsohn, Daniel, “An Affair to Remember, NY Review of Books, Volume 53, Number 3, February 23, 2006. 

Proulx, Annie, Brokeback Mountain, Scribner, New York, 2005

Proulx, Annie “Getting Movied,” Brokeback Mountain: Story to Screenplay, Scribner, 2005.

TMR Staff, “Interview with Annie Proulx,” The Missouri Review, Volume XXII, Number 2, 1999.

Wloszczyna, Susan, “Film Spurs Culture of Gay Cowboy Jokes, USA Today.com, January 25, 2006.

Lonely Love: Reflections on the 1950 Classic Film, In a Lonely Place

In a Lonely Place (1950) is a film about man and his inner demons, a tragic portrait of the artist, a lonely soul who sees his chance for love slip irrevocably away from him as the result of his uncontrollable anger. But, more than that, the film is about people’s desperate need to reach out to others across isolation. When In a Lonely Place was made, the world was just recovering from the horrors of World War II. Joseph McCarthy was beginning his crusade against Communists, and blacklisting was occurring in Hollywood. This disturbing film not only illustrates the end of a romance in post-war America, but, in the big picture, addresses new post-war tensions in American society.

Humphrey Bogart plays Dixon Steele, a World War II vet and almost washed-up-screenwriter with a reputation for violence. Steele is presented with the opportunity to script a best-selling romance novel, Althea Bruce for a Hollywood movie. But instead of wasting his time actually reading the novel himself, he brings home an enthusiastic, young and guileless hat-check girl, Mildred Atkinson (Martha Stewart), to tell him the plot. Later that night, after leaving Steele’s apartment, Mildred is found murdered, and of course Steele becomes the prime suspect. But, his beautiful neighbor Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame) provides him an alibi, and their relationship quickly transforms from fleeting acquaintance into love affair. Interestingly, the film focuses far less on the murder of the young girl than on the investigation's effect on Steele and Gray and their new and tenuous romance, and in the end In a Lonely Place has come to be known more as “an existential love story” than a murder mystery.

Bogart’s role represents a significantly different form of noir than his portrayal of Philip Marlowe in the 1946 film, Big Sleep. Building on his characterization of the tough, sarcastic, world-wise, detective with integrity, Philip Marlowe, Bogart’s Dixon Steele embodies the violence of an angry, paranoid, cynical, self-destructive writer and suspected murderer. Nicholas Ray said of Bogart “he was much more than an actor – he was the very image of our condition. His face was a living reproach.” (p. 12)

Much of post-WWII American culture seemed to take on a jaded attitude. Often film noir’s characters become hardened loners after experiencing physical, moral or emotional trauma|, and this is certainly true for the characters in In a Lonely Place.

Film critic Kim Morgan writes:
“Noir love — the kind that causes characters to throw caution to the wind — frequently is just a cynical fancy that won't survive the angst and ugliness inside the man or outside the world. Its happiness is typically intense, but brief.  Love or lust often motivates action in noir. But it also holds up a mirror to myriad themes, largely existential, that hang over characters with profound malaise. Ray’s study of the delicacy of true love, but the delicacy of creativity, violence, trust, and a person's own position in an often ugly, alienating world.”

“The film is filled with all sorts of losers and loners,” states Polan, about In a Lonely Place. But, Dixon Steele is not a loser, but rather a neurotic, paranoid, angry artist. Bogart’s Steele is a complex blend of brooding tortured-soul, highlighted with touches of warmth, compassion and light-hearted humor. We see this side of Dix early in the film, in the scene with the autograph-seeking children outside the Hollywood restaurant, Paul's; and in his protective friendship with the older actor with a drinking problem. But these moments are, in the end, of course overshadowed by Dix’s erratic angry behavior.   

The film is shot in classic 1950s Hollywood style, with an emphasis on medium shots, a mix of sometimes claustrophobic scenes with on-location scenes, typical of post-war open-air filming, according to Polan (p. 10). The classic noir visual elements emerge over time as the storyline progresses and gets darker. Noir films’ dark plots are usually enhanced by their equally dark visual style, generally consisting of sharp contrasts between light and dark, distinct shadows, and odd, often dramatic lighting. In In a Lonely Place this type of lighting is most evident in the scene in which Dix recreates Mildred’s murder for his friends policeman Bubb (Frank Lovejoy) and Sylvia (Jeff Donnell) Nicolai. The opening scene is also typical noir, with Bogart driving through Hollywood at night, with his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror.

Place is of course also important to this film.  Director, Nicholas Ray studied with Frank Lloyd Wright, and his love of architecture reveals itself in this film. He chooses to re-create his own first Hollywood apartment complex, as the homes of Dix and Laurel. The design perfectly reflects the theme of the film. Their apartments are mirror images, separated by a courtyard, but still visible to one another. This fact becomes evident when Dix comments to Madeline, "You've got me at a disadvantage. You can see into my apartment but I can't see into yours." "I won't take advantage of it," Laurel says. "I would if I were you," Steele responds.

The telephone is another important and interesting element. Early in the film Dix’s character mentions that he commonly ignores the telephone. But, in the end, the telephone calls cannot be ignored. A telephone call alerts Dix of Laurel’s plans to leave him and a call brings them news that Dix has been cleared of suspicion of murder (although by then, as Laurel wearily states, “It just doesn’t matter.”). And, ultimately a telephone call saves Laurel, for it is not clear why Dix stops himself from strangling her at the end of the film. Is he just interrupted by the ringing telephone?

Three paintings in Laurel’s apartment also become very noticeable in the second half of the film, appearing in several scenes. The first is a serene image of a woman, the second suggests a voyeuristic scene, depicting a woman with a man behind her looking through binoculars, and the last depicts a man struggling with a yoke.  The  images Ray chose as a backdrop in Gray’s apartment seem to reflect the themes of the film and the deterioration of the characters’ relationship, but perhaps they also represent the deterioration of Grahame’s and Ray’s real-life love affair. (The two were divorced shortly after the film was produced.)  The images in Laurel Gray’s apartment are highly contrasted with those in Steele’s – swords hanging on the walls of Steele’s apartment, reinforcing the feeling of danger and impending violence.

During one of their early scenes together, Dix tells Laurel that when he met her, "I said to myself, there she is. The one who's different. She's not coy or cute or corny." Damaged, but hopeful, the two fall in love. Dix begins to write prolifically with Laurel as his muse.  We want to believe that the power of love will prevail, and that they will live happily ever after. In these scenes, we see the couple blissfully together in Laurel’s somewhat expansive and bright apartment, and we want them to stay together and be happy, especially with the backdrop of the jaunty “Leave it to Beaver” 50’s-TV style music playing in the background as Laurel flits across the screen, playfully turning off the light on his desk while he is working with him absent-mindedly turning it back on. She takes care of him, tends to his needs, greets company and teases him about being ‘dopey.’

But Dix soon begins to show signs of his violent temper, and Laurel begins to fear him. Her fear leads her to question whether Dix might be actually be guilty of the murder. When he begins to feel her slipping away from him, he almost desperately proposes marriage, and Laurel seems too frightened to refuse him, but secretly makes plans to run away. Dix discovers she is planning her escape, and is so hurt and angry that he loses control and nearly strangles Laurel to death, in much the same way that Mildred was killed. Just then they receive a phone call informing them that the real killer, Mildred’s lover, has confessed, clearing Steele as a possible suspect, but leaving in question his ability to become a killer.

A schizophrenic musical score underpins the beginning of this final scene of the movie. As Dix walks back and forth from Laurel’s bedroom to the living room, trying to maintain his fantasy that everything is fine and he will soon be marrying his true love, and realizing that the relationship is falling apart, and becoming increasingly agitated, the music alternates between a sort of twisted 50’s sitcom melody to harsh, low foreboding strains.

Dix Steele in many ways reflects Nicholas Ray in this film. Both are products of Hollywood. Grahame was Ray’s muse, just as the character of Laurel played by her becomes Dix Steele’s muse in the film. Dix lives in Ray's first Hollywood apartment.

“By the end of the 1940s the American public was jaded, and it was getting harder for Hollywood to sustain many of its driving myths, one of the most important of which had had to with the miracles of love and romance (p. 19).  In the wake of many hasty wartime marriages, there was now a new American phenomenon of divorce. A happy marriage and family were not the only possible outcome for lovers, as is evidenced by the marriage between Grahame and Ray, which was breaking up during the making of this film, with Grahame eventually marrying Ray’s son by a previous marriage. (p. 20). 

One of the most chilling scenes of In a Lonely Place occurs when Dix Steele loses control after discovering that Laurel has spoken to the police captain about the murder case and Steel’s possible involvement. He abruptly runs from the beach, jumps in his car and begins to drive away. Laurel barely catches up with him and jumps in the car to join him. Dix speeds away, driving dangerously. The camera pans from the dark and windy road to the speedometer – he is driving 70 miles an hour. Laurel looks frightened but gets out a cigarette, lights it with a shaking hand and tries to give it to Dix, but he refuses. He screeches around the corner and the camera pans down to Laurel’s foot as she presses down hard into the floorboards as if trying to break. Dix and Laurel have a near-collision with another car. Dix stops, gets out and starts beating the other driver in an uncontrollable fit of rage. He picks up a rock and is ready to smash the young man’s head in when Laurel screams, “Dix, stop, you’ll kill him!”  And at that moment, they know, and we know, that was the only reason he stops.

As they drive away, Laurel holds her head in her hands, her composure is gone. They come to a stop, and Dix puts his arm around her neck. Far from comforting, it seems chillingly reminiscent of his recreation of the murder scene with his policeman friend, Brub and his wife, Sylvia.

“I’ll take that cigarette now,” he says, and he offers her one as well. This time it is Laurel who refuses. “I’ve been in a hundred fights like this one,” he tells Laurel, asking her to drive. In this moment we see her in control not only of the car, but the future of the relationship. And then, in a touching, but heartbreaking scene, Dix shares some of his latest writing:

“I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived for a few weeks while she loved me,” he recites. “Like it?” he says, and asks her to repeat it.

Laurel tries, but is unable to speak the last line. He says he wants to use it in the script, but doesn’t know where. She suggests “a farewell note.” We know that this love will not last. Dix has already written the end of the story.

Laurel finally does repeat the last line of Dix’s poem at the very end of the film, as Dix walks away, she watches him and whispers, “I lived for a few weeks while you loved me. Goodbye, Dix.” And, still he does not hear her speaking these heartbreaking words – the final line in the film.

As much as In a Lonely Place is Bogart’s film, it is clearly Gloria Grahame’s as well. Grahame’s Laurel is worldly, and while looking out for herself, she clearly wants to believe in true love. One key icon of American film noir is, of course, the femme fatale, a symbol of fatal attraction and moral corruption. The image of the sexually attractive, strong woman represents danger in noir. But, although Grahame’s character coolly embodies these characteristics, she is not a femme fatale in this film. Laurel is not the cause of Steele’s undoing. Rather, her love for him might have been his salvation. But in the end, Laurel’s character is destroyed by her love for Dix, as his love-turned-obsession brought out the worst in him. As Polan suggests at the end of his book: “Just as we might wonder where Dix will go next, we could also wonder about the woman’s future. What is love for her now? What can it mean?” (Polan p. 66.)

In a Lonely Place is a frustrated love story, a heartbreaking example in the American film noir genre. Nicholas Ray is said to have used this murder mystery to indict Hollywood and the Hollywood system, but he also made a larger statement about American society. “There’s no sacrifice too great for a chance at immortality,” states Dix Steele early in the film.  Sometimes all it takes to achieve immortality is true love, and that is why this story is so tragic.