Director: Billy Wilder
Producer: Joseph Sistrom (Paramount)
Writers: Billy Wilder & Raymond Chandler (script), James M. Cain (novel)
Photography: John F. Seitz
Music: Miklos Rozsa
Cast: Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, Edward G. Robinson, Porter Hall, Jean Heather, Tom Powers, Byron Barr, Richard Gaines, Fortunio Bonanova, John Philliber
“I killed him for money and for a woman. I didn’t get the money, and I didn’t get the woman.”
Never has a line better summed up its genre than Fred MacMurray’s classic film noir confession in Double Indemnity. The money is a $100,000 equity on an accident insurance policy. The woman is Barbara Stanwyck’s beautifully rotten Phyllis Dietrichson, the best example of a femme fatale that’s ever hit the screen.
Together, these elements of greed and lust fuel a complex murder scheme that fulfills the film’s fatalistic promise: “It’s a one-way trip and the last stop is the cemetery.” Film historian Eddie Muller put it best, “If I had one movie to explain to people what noir is, it’s Double Indemnity.”
The title comes from the details of the murder plot, a rare “double indemnity” clause that awards extra money to the beneficiary should the insurance holder suffer a fatal accident under rare circumstances. In this case, the holder is Mr. Dietrichson (Tom Powers), a chauvinistic husband who has no idea his second wife Phyllis (Barbara Stanwyck) wants to kill him. If executed properly, she could get $50,000 in insurance money, or twice that amount should he die in an extremely rare manner (i.e. falling from a moving train).
This is the danger awaiting insurance salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) when he arrives at the doorstep of the Dietrichson estate in sunny Los Angeles. For Neff, it’s just another stop in his door-to-door sales trip, until he sees Ms. Dietrichson standing atop her staircase, wearing nothing but a towel and a sexy anklet. They immediately hit it off, burning with the desire of forbidden romance.
Before long, they devise a scheme to knock off Mr. Dietrichson and run off together, carefully concocting what they think is the perfect crime, as Walter knows the ins and outs of the insurance world, while Phyllis knows the ins and outs of her husband. But their clever scheme faces three main hurdles: Phyllis’ sweet step-daughter Lola (Jean Heather), her jealous boyfriend Nino Zachetti (Byron Barr) and Walter’s claims manager Barton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson), who’s got a “heart as big as a house” and a “Little Man” intuition that suspects something is awry.
Voted the WGA’s #26 Greatest Script of All Time, Double Indemnity was a collaboration between three of history’s sharpest writers. First, we have the author of the source novel, James M. Cain, the brainchild behind subsequent adaptations like Mildred Pierce (1945) and The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946). It was Double Indemnity that proved Cain’s novels could become noir successes on the big screen, contributing a complex murder plot where one of the plotters tries to beat his insurance company at its own game.
The second crucial cog was the incomparable Billy Wilder, one of greatest writer/directors in movie history. Like Orson Welles in Citizen Kane (1941), Wilder reinvented the notion of fractured narrative, starting the script with the chronological end of the story, as Neff recounts the plot events into a recorder in a recurring framing device that’s intercut with flashbacks via voice-over narration. Note how each time we return to this framing device, the blood stain on Walter’s shoulder grows wider.
The third and perhaps most important script contributor was legendary pulp detective novelist Raymond Chandler, who had a knack for sprinkling sharp one-liners into his novels: “It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.” In 1944, Chandler made the leap from literature to Hollywood, as a pair of his Philip Marlowe detective novels were adapted to the screen. His 1940 novel Farewell, My Lovely became the noir film Murder My Sweet (1944, while his 1939 novel The Big Sleep became a film of the same name with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.
In Double Indemnity, Chandler is on the other side of the equation, adapting someone else’s novel. And if there’s a razor-sharp quip in the film, it probably owes credit to Chandler. Some of the hardboiled lines definitely carry a little cheese (like Walter’s constant use of the word “baby”), but that was noir, baby. With words as smooth as his match-lighting technique, Walter Neff fires double entendres about “coverage” (the insurance kind and the towel kind) and how he hates talking with the staircase between them (or anything else between them, including clothes). Sexual references had to be made as discretely as possible in 1944, most famously an automobile metaphor when Dietrichson reveals her first name and Neff decides he’ll “have to drive it around the block a couple times.” When Neff hints that he would like to see her again, Phyllis returns serve with the same vehicle analogy:
Phyllis: There’s a speed limit in this state, Mr. Neff, 45 miles an hour.
Neff: How fast was I going, Officer?
Phyllis: I’d say around 90.
Neff: Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket?
Phyllis: Suppose I let you off with a warning this time?
Neff: Suppose it doesn’t take?
Phyllis: Suppose I have to whack you over the knuckles?
Neff: Suppose I bust out crying and put my head on your shoulder?
Phyllis: Suppose you try putting it on my husband’s shoulder?
Neff: That tears it…
Having lost this duel of false confidence, Neff leaves the house entirely smitten, as MacMurray’s voice-over narration asks, “How could I have known that murder can sometimes smell like honeysuckle?” In just a few short moments, Double Indemnity has showcased screenwriting that puts other scripts to shame.
Of course, all the snazzy dialogue would mean nothing if Wilder didn’t case the proper actors to pull it off. In this regard, Edward. G. Robinson steals the show, rattling off entire monologues in long single-takes that prove his knack for memorizing complex dialogue. Just watch this little fire pistol go to work!
Robinson no doubt steals the show, ironic considering he was reluctant to play a supporting part. At the time, he was a major leading man, after the success of his Rico gangster in Little Caesar (1930). But Wilder convinced him to play the part, beginning a successful string of supporting roles from Key Largo (1948) to The Ten Commandments (1956). His Barton Keyes is aptly named, as his relationship with Walter is the key to the film. He is the film’s conscience, and we feel his heartbreak at having been deceived by his best friend, a bond symbolized by lighting a match with the snap of a finger:
WALTER NEFF: You know why you couldn’t figure this one, Keyes? I’ll tell ya. ‘Cause the guy you were looking for was too close. Right across the desk from you.
BARTON KEYES: Closer than that, Walter.
WALTER NEFF: I love you, too.
The other half of that equation is Fred MacMurray, who’s so likeable that he carries our sympathies despite some very immoral decisions (adultery, murder, insurance fraud). Modern viewers will be surprised to see such dastardly deeds done by the man they know as the father figure in TV’s My Three Sons (1960) or the Disney favorite in The Shaggy Dog (1959) and The Absent-Minded Professor (1961). In today’s terms, it would be like Bob Saget plotting a murder with Angelina Jolie. This is a darker side to MacMurray, brought out again by Wilder as the philandering husband to Shirley MacLaine’s mistress in The Apartment (1960). But he was never better than here in Double Indemnity.
Why would Wilder choose a killer for his protagonist? Better yet, why would his protagonist commit more murders in the film than the antagonist? It’s because Double Indemnity is quintessential noir, where nobody is all good or all evil. There’s a certain moral ambiguity in the air, hanging almost as thick as the dust in the Dietrichson living room. It’s an atmosphere where even the innocent ones can be corrupted by the femme fatales of the world — all it takes is a little false confidence. As scholar Thomas Shatz writes, “The generic character is psychologically static — he or she is the physical embodiment of an attitude, a style, a world view, of a predetermined and essentially unchanging cultural posture.” (A)
While MacMurray carries the narration and Robinson steals the show, the film’s most legendary performance comes from the one and only Barbara Stanwyck. It was the part she was born to play, having starred with MacMurray previously in Remember the Night (1940) and having played a two-faced woman before alongside Henry Fonda in Preston Sturges’ comedy The Lady Eve (1941). Stanwyck generated plenty of steam by playing with Fonda’s hair, but she outdoes herself here, staring lustful daggers at MacMurray, smoking post-sex cigarettes on the couch and exiting his apartment, leaving the corner of the rug bent underneath as a clue to their lovemaking. This is so much hotter than any explicit sex scene.
Stanwyck was, of course, a natural brunette, but her cheap blond wig is perfect for the phony Phyllis. Her patient manipulation epitomizes the femme fatale, paving the way for Joan Crawford in Mildred Pierce (1945) and Jane Greer in Out of the Past (1947). Few actress deliver better “walk-off home runs” as Stanwyck in the grocery aisle, removing her sunglasses as she says with chilling eyes, “Nobody’s pulling out. We went into this together, and we’re coming out together. It’s straight down the line for both of us. Remember?” No doubt, David O. Russell had this scene in mind when he scripted Amy Adams’ walk-off line to Christian Bale in American Hustle (2013): “Maybe I like him. Maybe I like him a lot. From the feet up, right? Baby.”
Noir Lighting & Directing
While the hardboiled male and femme fatale are archetypal noir characters, the film’s visual design is also distinctly noir. Wilder routinely allows Walter’s shadow to precede him, the visual version of his dead-man-walking monologue about not being able to hear his own footsteps. Note how Walter appears in silhouette during the opening scene at the insurance office.
Later, during the climax, note how Walter’s shadow precedes him into Phyllis’ house.
Viewers should not be surprised that Walter is a dead man walking in the above shots. Wilder foreshadows it the very minute he enters the Dietrichson house. Oscar-nominated cinematographer John Seitz actually filled the air with aluminum filings to create the illusion of dust and to better reflect the light coming through the venetian blinds. The result is a series of diagonal light beams, enveloping Neff like jail bars.
These venetian blind jail bars return later in a scene with Keyes. You’ll note how Walter is the one painted with the stripes of a prison uniform, while Keyes is not.
Director Billy Wilder possesses that rare ability of visually expressing his characters’ emotional relationships. Note how Phyllis looks down on Walter from the staircase when they first meet, as Walter views her on a proverbial pedestal. Watch how Stanwyck moves forward just enough that the swirling pattern of the railing highlights her crotch. And note how the railing swirls match the curls of her phony blond wig, sucking the protagonist in like the swirling hairdo of Kim Novak in Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958).
These same swirls transfix Walter as he watches Phyllis descend the staircase. His eyes become transfixed on her anklet, which becomes a key familiar image.
Once down the stairs, we get another classic noir icon — the mirror double. As Phyllis looks in the mirror, she says, “I hope I got my face on straight,” foreshadowing her own two-face deception. A similar technique is used in Vertigo (1958), when Kim Novak looks into a mirror and says, “I’ve got my face on.”
This foreshadowing is fully realized during the climax, as Wilder cuts to an omniscient high-angle. This is the only time we break Walter’s first-person flashbacks, as we now look down from above as if fate watching. The 19-second shot holds while Phyllis descends the stairs, unlocks the door and turns off the lights. She proceeds into the living room, places a gun underneath the sofa cushion and sits on it, recalling Walter’s earlier line about “sitting on a hot poker.”
Once Walter arrives, Wilder makes brilliant use of slow disclosure, slowly revealing things that lie in waiting off screen. As Walter closes the windows, he turns to see what we already knew was out of the frame — Phyllis holding the gun. Shortly after, he flips it, as Phyllis decides she can’t kill Walter and pulls him in close. Fittingly, the gun remains off screen, and as Phyllis stiffens up with fear in her eyes, we know Walter has pressed the gun up against her belly. We don’t have to see it. We know it.
Wilder uses a similar “out of the frame” technique during the death of Mr. Dietrichson. Wilder camera holds on Phyllis’ evil eyes as she honks the horn, while Walter strangles Mr. Dietrichson off screen. Sometimes it’s more powerful not to show it.
Other times, it can be enormously suspenseful to show what’s “off screen” to certain characters, but which is “on screen” to we the viewers. Take the scene where Phyllis hides behind Walter’s open door, as Walter speaks to Keyes in the hallway. Keyes does not know how close he is to catching her, but we do. It’s a similar construct as Grace Kelly’s apartment break-in in Rear Window (1954) or Tippi Hedren’s safe heist in Marnie (1964) where we can see someone coming dangerously close to catching them, but they cannot.
Finally, Wilder feels most Hitchcockian during his tracking shot following Walter down the center of the train car, mirroring the opening credits. This increases the tension as we the audience worry he will be spotted, only for Wilder to reveal a man on the back of the train, eagerly waiting to talk to Walter.
The slow train walk on crutches obviously echoes the opening credits. And what would the opening credits be without the brooding score by Miklos Rozsa?
The score earned him his sixth of 17 total Oscar nominations, of which he would win three for Spellbound (1945), A Double Life (1947) and Ben-Hur (1959). Still, his score for Double Indemnity is my personal favorite, not simply because it is ominous. Listen how it also turns mysterious at the 1:50 mark. Then, allow yourself to be swept away by the beautiful strings at the 2:10 mark. As the piece continues, it returns to the ominous tone with a thundering conclusion.
The film was highly acclaimed upon its release, earning seven Oscar nomination, including Best Picture. While it went home empty-handed, you could argue that it was directly responsible for Wilder winning Best Picture the following year with The Lost Weekend (1945).
Over the years, its pop culture impact grew and grew. The plot was revived for the very good Body Heat (1981), staring William Hurt and Kathleen Turner. It’s hard to imagine other adult thrillers, from Fatal Attraction (1987) to Disclosure (1994) to Unfaithful (2002), without this one. And the notion of a fine-print murder clause was later influential on Double Jeopardy (1999). But it’s not just adult tales of affairs that reference it. The kid character Mike TV mentions the film in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971).
Double Indemnity will remain on movie best lists as long as they are written. It ranked No. 38 on the AFI’s original Top 100 in 1997, and then jumped up to No. 29 when the list was revised in 2007. It holds a key place in film history on a number of fronts. As suspense, it’s nail-biting. As romance, it’s passionately intense. And as noir, it’s as good as it gets. The Maltese Falcon (1941) may have begun film noir, but it was 1944 that gave us Edward Dmytryk’s Murder My Sweet, Otto Preminger’s Laura and Wilder’s Double Indemnity masterpiece. Which brings us back to Muller’s statement: “If I had one movie to explain to people what noir is, it’s Double Indemnity.” Muller insists that noir is Hollywood’s only organic artistic movement. And if that’s the case, what does that say about this amazing film, the epitome of Hollywood’s only organic artistic movement?
CITE A: Braudy & Cohen, p. 696, Film Theory and Criticism
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Double Indemnity is a 1944 film noir directed by Billy Wilder, co-written by Wilder and Raymond Chandler, and produced by Buddy DeSylva and Joseph Sistrom. The screenplay was based on James M. Cain's 1943 novella of the same name, which originally appeared as an eight-part serial in Liberty magazine, beginning in February 1936.
The film stars Fred MacMurray as an insurance salesman, Barbara Stanwyck as a provocative housewife who wishes her husband were dead, and Edward G. Robinson as a claims adjuster whose job is to find phony claims. The term "double indemnity" refers to a clause in certain life insurance policies that doubles the payout in rare cases when death is caused accidentally, such as while riding a railway.
Praised by many critics when first released, Double Indemnity was nominated for seven Academy Awards but did not win any. Widely regarded as a classic, it is often cited as a paradigmatic film noir and as having set the standard for the films that followed in that genre.
Deemed "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant" by the U.S. Library of Congress in 1992, Double Indemnity was selected for preservation in the National Film Registry. In 1998, it was ranked #38 on the American Film Institute's list of the 100 best American films of all time, and in 2007 it placed 29th on their 10th Anniversary list.
In 1938, Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray), a successful insurance salesman, returns to his office building in downtown Los Angeles late one night. Visibly in pain and sporting a gunshot wound on his shoulder, he begins dictating a confession into a Dictaphone for his friend and colleague, Barton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson), a brilliant claims adjuster. The story, told primarily in flashback, ensues.
Neff first meets the alluring Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) during a routine house call to remind her husband (Tom Powers) that his automobile insurance policy is up for renewal. They flirt, until Phyllis asks how she could take out an accident policy on her husband's life without his knowledge. Neff deduces she is contemplating murder, and makes it clear he wants no part of it. However, he cannot get her out of his mind, and when Phyllis shows up at his apartment, he cannot resist her any longer. Neff knows all the tricks of his trade and devises a plan to make the murder of her husband appear to be an accidental fall from a train that will trigger the "double indemnity" clause and pay out twice the policy's face value.
After Dietrichson breaks his leg, Phyllis drives him to the Southern Pacific's Glendale train station for a trip to Palo Alto to attend a college reunion. Neff is hiding in the backseat and strangles Dietrichson when Phyllis turns onto a deserted side street. Neff then boards the train posing as Dietrichson and using his crutches. He makes his way to the last car, the observation car, and steps outside to the open platform to supposedly smoke a cigarette. A complication ensues when Neff posing as Dietrichson meets a passenger named Jackson (Porter Hall) there, but he manages to get Jackson to leave. Neff then throws the crutches onto the railroad tracks, jumps off the rear train car at a prearranged spot in Burbank to meet up with Phyllis, and drags Dietrichson's body onto the tracks.
Mr. Norton (Richard Gaines), the company's chief, believes the death was suicide, but Keyes scoffs at the idea, quoting statistics indicating the improbability of suicide by jumping off a slow-moving train, to Neff's hidden delight. Keyes suspects foul play on Phyllis' part because he suspected that she was having an affair with another man. Keyes' instincts, which he refers to as the "little man," pointing to his abdomen, continue to nag him about Dietrichson's death. Norton does not suspect foul play at first, but later does and refuses to pay off the accidental death clause, which becomes a problem for both Neff and Phyllis. Like Keyes, Norton also wonders why Dietrichson did not file a claim for his broken leg, and deduces Dietrichson did not know about the policy. Keyes tells Neff of his theory outside Neff's apartment, while Phyllis hides behind the door. Keyes soon concludes that Phyllis and some unknown accomplice murdered Dietrichson for the insurance money, but needs more proof.
Keyes, however, is not Neff's only worry. The victim's daughter, Lola (Jean Heather), comes to him, convinced that stepmother Phyllis is behind her father's death. Lola's mother also died under suspicious circumstances, when Phyllis was her nurse. Neff begins seeing Lola, at first to keep her from going to the police with her suspicions. This later changes because he is plagued by guilt and a sense of responsibility to protect her from Phyllis. Neff suspects she will murder Lola because of both her suspicion in her parents' murder and to take the inheritance for herself. Before his death, Mr. Dietrichson found out that Phyllis planned to kill him for financial gain and to changed his will to prevent it. In his will, he left both his business and money to Lola as his primary beneficiary, leaving Phyllis with nothing.
Keyes brings Jackson to Los Angeles, suspecting that the man aboard the train had not been Dietrichson, but rather had been Phyllis' accomplice in Dietrichson's murder. After examining photographs of Dietrichson, Jackson is sure that the man he met in the observation car was at least ten years younger. Now certain that he can prove murder, Keyes is eager to reject the claim and force Phyllis to sue. Neff warns Phyllis not to pursue the insurance claim in court and admits that he has been talking to Lola about her past. Phyllis, however, insists on filing suit to pursue the claim despite the risk to both her and Neff. Lola eventually tells Neff that she has discovered that her boyfriend, the hotheaded Nino Zachetti (Byron Barr), has been seeing Phyllis behind her (and Neff's) back.
When Neff learns that Keyes suspects Nino of being Phyllis' accomplice, Neff sees a way out of his predicament. He arranges to meet Phyllis at her house. He informs her that he knows about her involvement with Nino, and guesses that she is planning to have Nino kill him. He tells her that he intends to kill her and put the blame on Nino. She is prepared, however, and shoots him in the shoulder. Seriously wounded but still standing, he slowly comes closer and dares her to shoot again. She does not, and he takes the gun from her. She says she never loved him "until a minute ago, when I couldn't fire that second shot." Neff does not believe a word she says, and as she hugs him tightly, Neff says, "Goodbye, baby," and shoots twice, killing her.
Outside, Neff waits for Nino to arrive (something Neff had orchestrated). Neff advises him not to enter the house and instead to go to Lola, the woman who loves him. Nino is reluctantly convinced and leaves as told. Neff drives to his office and starts speaking into his Dictaphone, as seen at the film's opening. Keyes arrives unnoticed and hears enough to know the truth. Keyes sadly tells him, "Walter, you're all washed up." Neff tells Keyes he is going to Mexico rather than face the gas chamber, but sags to the floor from his injury and blood loss before he can reach the elevator. A weakened Neff tells Keyes that the reason why he could not figure the case out was that the guy whom he was looking for was "too close, right across the desk from you." When Keyes replies "closer than that, Walter," Neff declares that he loves Keyes, too. As Neff had done, lighting Keyes' cigars for him throughout the film, Keyes lights Neff's cigarette as they await the police and an ambulance.
James M. Cain based his novella on a 1927 murder perpetrated by a married Queens, New York woman and her lover whose trial he attended while working as a journalist in New York. In that crime, Ruth Snyder persuaded her boyfriend, Judd Gray, to kill her husband Albert after having him take out a big insurance policy – with a double-indemnity clause.[a] The murderers were quickly identified, arrested and convicted. The front page photo of Snyder's execution in the electric chair at Sing Sing has been called the most famous newsphoto of the 1920s.
Double Indemnity began making the rounds in Hollywood shortly after it was published in Liberty magazine in 1936. Cain had already made a name for himself the year before with The Postman Always Rings Twice, a story of murder and passion between a migrant worker and the unhappy wife of a café owner. Cain's agent sent copies of the novella to all the major studios and within days, MGM, Warner Bros., Paramount, 20th Century-Fox, and Columbia were all competing to buy the rights for $25,000. Then a letter went out from Joseph Breen at the Hays Office, and the studios withdrew their bids at once. In it Breen warned:
The general low tone and sordid flavor of this story makes it, in our judgment, thoroughly unacceptable for screen presentation before mixed audiences in the theater. I am sure you will agree that it is most important…to avoid what the code calls "the hardening of audiences," especially those who are young and impressionable, to the thought and fact of crime.
Eight years later Double Indemnity was included in a collection of Cain's works entitled Three of a Kind. Paramount executive Joseph Sistrom thought the material would be perfect for Wilder and they bought the rights for $15,000. Paramount resubmitted the script to the Hays Office, but the response was nearly identical to the one eight years earlier. Wilder, Paramount executive William Dozier, and Sistrom decided to move forward anyway. They submitted a film treatment crafted by Wilder and his writing partner Charles Brackett, and this time the Hays Office approved the project with only a few objections: the portrayal of the disposal of the body, a proposed gas-chamber execution scene, and the skimpiness of the towel worn by the female lead in her first scene.
Cain forever after maintained that Joseph Breen owed him $10,000 for vetoing the property back in 1935 when he would have received $25,000.
After Paramount purchased the rights to the novella for Wilder, the next step was a screenplay. The material was widely regarded around Hollywood as unfilmable due to its iniquitous characters and the restrictions imposed by the Motion Picture Production Code. Although he had worked on the treatment, Charles Brackett decided it was too sordid and bowed out of the project, leaving Wilder to find another collaborator. His first choice, James M. Cain himself, was already working for another studio and unavailable (although Cain claimed he was never asked). Producer Joseph Sistrom, an avid reader and an admirer of The Big Sleep, then suggested Raymond Chandler.
Wilder would later recall with disappointment his first meeting with Chandler. Envisioning a former private detective who had worked his own experiences into gritty prose, he instead met a man he would later describe as looking like an accountant. Chandler was new to Hollywood, but saw it as a golden opportunity. Not realizing that he would be collaborating with Wilder, he demanded $1,000 and said he would need at least a week to complete the screenplay, to which Wilder and Sistrom simply looked at one another in amazement. To help guide him in writing a screenplay, Wilder gave Chandler a copy of his own screenplay for the 1941 Hold Back the Dawn to study. After the first weekend, Chandler presented eighty pages that Wilder characterized as "useless camera instruction"; Wilder quickly put it aside and informed Chandler that they would be working together, slowly and meticulously. By all accounts, the pair did not get along during their four months together. At one point Chandler even quit, submitting a long list of grievances to Paramount as to why he could no longer work with Wilder. Wilder, however, stuck it out, admiring Chandler's gift with words and knowing that his dialogue would translate very well to the screen.
Chandler and Wilder made considerable changes to Cain's story. For one thing, the ending was overhauled. And the character of Barton Keyes was transformed from Walter Neff's fairly clueless co-worker into his mentor and eventual nemesis.
Initially, Wilder and Chandler had intended to retain as much of Cain’s original dialogue as possible. It was Chandler who first realized that the dialogue from the novella would not translate well to the screen. Wilder disagreed and was annoyed that Chandler was not putting more of it into the script. To settle it, Wilder hired a couple of contract players from the studio to read passages of Cain’s original dialogue aloud. To Wilder's astonishment, Chandler was right and, in the end, the movie’s cynical and provocative dialogue was more Chandler and Wilder than it was Cain. Chandler also did a lot of fieldwork while working on the script and took large volumes of notes. By visiting various locations that figured into the film, he was able to bring a sense of realism about Los Angeles that seeped into the script. For example, he hung around Jerry's Market on Melrose Avenue in preparation for the scene where Phyllis and Walter would discreetly meet to plan the murder.
The tumultuous relationship between Wilder and Chandler only enhanced the product of their collaboration. Wilder, in fact, believed that discord, a tug-of-war, was a vital ingredient necessary for a fruitful collaboration: "If two people think alike," he once said, "it's like two men pulling at one end of a rope. If you are going to collaborate, you need an opponent to bounce things off of." His tugging with Chandler did have a softer side, it seems: over 60 years after the film's initial release, it was discovered that Chandler had agreed to appear in a fleeting cameo at 16 minutes 12 seconds into the film, glancing up from a book as Neff walks past in the hallway. This is notable because, other than a snippet from a home movie, there is no other footage of Chandler known anywhere.
When Chandler came to work with Wilder he was already a recovering alcoholic. As Wilder noted, "He was in Alcoholics Anonymous, and I think he had a tough time with me – I drove him back into drinking..." By the time the picture was released, Chandler was thoroughly disillusioned with the writers' lot in Hollywood; he published an angry piece titled "Writers in Hollywood" for The Atlantic Monthly in November 1945 in which he complained: "The first picture I worked on was nominated for an Academy Award (if that means anything), but I was not even invited to the press review held right in the studio." He neglected, however, to mention that the studio had kept him on salary during the eight-week shooting schedule and that no changes to the script were allowed without his approval – a very rare accommodation for screenwriters, particularly newcomers, in those days. Offended, Wilder responded by saying, "We didn't invite him? How could we? He was under the table drunk at Lucy's," a nearby watering hole for Paramount employees. This relationship with Chandler is what drew Wilder to his next project, the Best Picture-winning The Lost Weekend, about an alcoholic writer. Wilder made the film, in part, "to explain Chandler to himself."
Cain himself was very pleased with the way his book turned out on the screen. After seeing the picture half a dozen times he was quoted as saying, "... It's the only picture I ever saw made from my books that had things in it I wish I had thought of. Wilder's ending was much better than my ending, and his device for letting the guy tell the story by taking out the office dictating machine – I would have done it if I had thought of it."
Wilder's and Brackett's estrangement during Double Indemnity was not a permanent one. Years later Wilder would characterize their time apart as just another kind of adultery: "1944 was 'The Year of Infidelities,'" he said. "Charlie produced The Uninvited...I wrote Double Indemnity with Raymond Chandler... I don't think he ever forgave me. He always thought I cheated on him with Raymond Chandler." Brackett spun the breakup in a decidedly different light, saying, "Billy got so despondent at being without me that we did The Lost Weekend, a depressing film about a writer who has trouble writing."Lost Weekend was a distinguished offspring for the reconciled couple – they left Oscar night with three Awards: Best Picture for producer Brackett, Best Director for Wilder, and a shared pair of statuettes for both for Best Screenplay. They worked together through Sunset Boulevard in 1950, then split for good.
Wilder and Chandler's Double Indemnity screenplay was included in Library of America's second volume of Chandler's work, Later Novels and Other Writings (1995). This volume also includes the aforementioned "Writers in Hollywood" piece by Chandler.
Having the two protagonists mortally wound each other was one of the key factors in gaining Hays Office approval for the script: the Production Code demanded that criminals pay, on screen, for their transgressions. In addition, Double Indemnity broke new cinematic ground on several fronts, one of those being the first time a Hollywood film explicitly explored the means, motives, and opportunity of committing a murder. It would take skillful performers to bring nuance to these treacherous characters, and casting the roles of Walter Neff and Phyllis Dietrichson would be a challenge for Wilder.
Sistrom and Wilder's first choice for the role of Phyllis Dietrichson was Barbara Stanwyck. At the time, Stanwyck was not only the highest-paid actress in Hollywood, but the highest-paid woman in America. (Her eventual co-star MacMurray matched Stanwyck's prominence at the pay window: in 1943, he was the highest-paid actor in Hollywood, and the fourth highest-paid American.) Given the nature of the role, Stanwyck was reluctant to take the part, fearing it would have an adverse effect on her career. According to Stanwyck,
I said, "I love the script and I love you, but I am a little afraid after all these years of playing heroines to go into an out-and-out killer." And Mr. Wilder – and rightly so – looked at me and he said, "Well, are you a mouse or an actress?" And I said, "Well, I hope I'm an actress." He said, "Then do the part". And I did and I'm very grateful to him.
The character of Walter Neff was not only a heel, he was a weak and malleable heel – many Hollywood actors including Alan Ladd, James Cagney, Spencer Tracy, Gregory Peck, and Fredric March passed on it. Wilder even recalls "scraping the bottom of the barrel" and approaching George Raft. Raft was illiterate, so Wilder had to tell him the plot. About halfway through, Raft interrupted him with, "Let's get to the lapel bit." "What lapel bit?" a bewildered Wilder replied. "The lapel," the actor said, annoyed by such stupidity. "You know, when the guy flashes his lapel, you see his badge, you know he's a detective." This was his vision of the film, and since it wasn't part of the story, Raft turned the part down. Wilder finally realized that the part should be played by someone who could not only be a cynic, but a nice guy as well.
Fred MacMurray was accustomed to playing "happy-go-lucky good guys" in light comedies, and when Wilder first approached him about the Neff role, MacMurray said, "You're making the mistake of your life!" Playing a serious role required acting, he said, "and I can't do it." But Wilder pestered him about it every single day – at home, in the studio commissary, in his dressing room, on the sidewalk – until he simply wore the actor down. MacMurray felt safe about his acquiescence since Paramount, who had him under contract and had carefully crafted his good guy image, would never let him play a "wrong" role. His trust, however, was misplaced: his contract was up for renewal at the time, and ever since his friend and co-star, Carole Lombard, had shrewdly and successfully taught him how to play hardball with the studio bosses, he wasn't the pliable pushover of old. Paramount executives decided to let him play the unsavory role to teach him a lesson. A lesson was indeed taught, but not the one Paramount had in mind. MacMurray made a great heel and his performance demonstrated new breadths of his acting talent. "I never dreamed it would be the best picture I ever made," he said.
Edward G. Robinson was also reluctant to sign on for the role of Barton Keyes, but not for the same reasons as MacMurray and Stanwyck. Having been a star since Little Caesar in 1930, this role represented a step downward to the third lead. Robinson would later admit, "At my age, it was time to begin thinking of character roles, to slide into middle and old age with the same grace as that marvelous actor Lewis Stone". It also helped, as he freely admitted, that he would draw the same salary as the two leads, for fewer shooting days.
The original ending to the Cain novella called for the characters to commit double suicide. Suicide, however, was strictly forbidden at the time by the Hays Production Code as a way to resolve a plot, so Wilder wrote and filmed a different ending in which Neff goes to the gas chamber while Keyes watches. This scene was shot before the scenes that eventually became the film's familiar ending, and once that final intimate exchange between Neff and Keyes revealed its power to Wilder, he began to wonder if the gas chamber ending was needed at all. "You couldn't have a more meaningful scene between two men", Wilder said. As he would later recount, "The story was between the two guys. I knew it, even though I had already filmed the gas chamber scene... So we just took out the scene in the gas chamber," despite its $150,000 cost to the studio. Removal of the scene, over Chandler's objection, also removed the Hays Office's single biggest remaining objection to the picture, since they regarded it as "unduly gruesome" and predicted that it would never be approved by local and regional censor boards. The footage and sound elements are lost, but production stills of the scene still exist.
The look of the film was achieved through the work of cinematographer John F. Seitz. At the time, Seitz was the premiere director of photography on the Paramount lot; his work extended all the way back to the silent era. Wilder had worked with Seitz on his previous film, Five Graves to Cairo, in which Seitz was nominated for an Academy Award and Wilder praised Seitz's willingness to experiment and fail. Here Wilder taps into his 1920s Berlin roots, and he and Seitz give the film a look subtly reminiscent of German expressionism, with dramatic deployment of light and shadows. "He was ready for anything," Wilder said. "Sometimes the rushes were so dark that you couldn't see anything. He went to the limits of what could be done." They would contrast the bright sunny Southern California exteriors, shot on location, with dark, gloomy, rotten interiors shot on soundstages to give the audience a sense of what lurks just beneath the facade – and just who is capable of murder. The contrast was heightened, in Wilder's words, by "dirtying up" the sets. Once the set was ready for filming, Wilder would go around and overturn a few ashtrays to give the house an appropriately grubby look. Wilder and Seitz also blew aluminum particles into the air so that, as they floated down, they looked just like dust.
Another technique Seitz used was "venetian blind" lighting which almost gives the illusion of prison bars trapping the characters. Barbara Stanwyck later reflected, "...and for an actress, let me tell you the way those sets were lit, the house, Walter’s apartment, those dark shadows, those slices of harsh light at strange angles – all that helped my performance. The way Billy staged it and John Seitz lit it, it was all one sensational mood."
For Neff's office at Pacific All Risk, Wilder and set designer Hal Pereira conspired to create a little in-house joke, typical of Billy Wilder. In the opening scenes, as Walter Neff stumbles off the elevator on his way to his office to record his confession, the vast two-tiered office is empty and dark. With the camera following him, Neff lurches towards the balcony railing overlooking rows and rows of uniform corporate desks. Neff turns left, but the camera continues forward until it reaches the brink and stares down for an anxious moment into a colorless American business purgatory. Here, Pereira is said to have copied an existing office: the corporate headquarters of Paramount Pictures in New York City.[b]
Wilder also decked Stanwyck out in the blonde wig "to complement her anklet...and to make her look as sleazy as possible." This wig has been cited by some as being the picture's biggest flaw claiming that it looks too “fake”. According to Wilder, this was exactly what he was going for when he chose the wig wanting to project, "the phoniness of the girl – Bad taste, phony wig," with cheap perfume to match. Unconvinced, Paramount production head Buddy DeSylva was overheard to say, "We hired Barbara Stanwyck, and here we get George Washington."
The production was not without its lucky accidents: The company had just finished shooting the final segment of the sequence where Phyllis and Walter make their getaway after dumping their victim's body on the tracks. The crew was breaking for lunch before striking the set. In the script, the pair get in their car and simply drive away. But as Wilder got into his own car to leave, it wouldn't start. Inspired, he ran back and ordered the crew back. Wilder reshot the scene, only this time as Phyllis starts the car, the motor stalls and won't turn over. She tries several more times, but the car won't start and the two look at each other in growing panic. Walter desperately reaches over, turns the key and guns the motor, finally starting the car. Only then do they speed away from the crime scene. The result was one of the most suspenseful scenes in the film, but was not in the original script. MacMurray was surprised when he first saw it onscreen: "... When I ... turned the key I remember I was doing it fast and Billy kept saying, 'Make it longer, make it longer,' and finally I yelled, 'For Chrissake Billy, it's not going to hold that long,' and he said, 'Make it longer,' and he was right."
Wilder managed to bring the whole production in under budget at $927,262 despite $370,000 in salaries for just four people ($100,000 each for MacMurray, Stanwyck, and Robinson, and $70,000 – $44,000 for writing and $26,000 for directing – for himself).
The nervous running figure for tremolo strings sets off each of Neff's flashbacks to represent the conspirator's activities.
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The score to Double Indemnity was composed by Miklós Rózsa, whose work on Wilder's previous film, Five Graves to Cairo, had been his first real Hollywood engagement for a major studio. Wilder had praised that work and promised to use Rózsa on his next film. Wilder had the idea of using a restless string fugue (like the opening to Franz Schubert's Unfinished Symphony) to reflect the conspiratorial activities of Walter and Phyllis against her husband which Rózsa felt was a good one (and the Symphony is actually used with a very melodramatic effect in the scene with Lola and Walter in the hill above Hollywood Bowl, 1:23–1:26). As work progressed, Wilder's enthusiasm about Rózsa's score only grew, but the studio's Musical Director, Louis Lipstone, was of a different mind; he and Wilder had previously clashed over some post-production cuts he had made to the Five Graves score which created problems with the music's continuity and logic. Now the two were coming to loggerheads again.
When it came time to record the score for Double Indemnity, Lipstone made no secret that he despised what Rózsa had done, to which Wilder finally turned to him and snapped, "You may be surprised to hear that I love it. Okay?" Lipstone then disappeared and was not seen at the sessions again. He later summoned Rózsa to his office and reprimanded him for writing "Carnegie Hall music" which had no place in a film. Rózsa took this as a compliment, but Lipstone assured him it was not – and suggested he listen to the music from Madame Curie to learn how to write a proper film score. When Rózsa pointed out that Double Indemnity was a love story, Lipstone suggested his music was more appropriate to The Battle of Russia. Lipstone was convinced that as soon as the studio's Artistic Director, Buddy DeSylva, heard the music he would throw it out. At a screening soon after, DeSylva called him over: expecting heads to roll, Lipstone eagerly huddled with his chief – only to have DeSylva praise the music, saying it was exactly the dissonant, hard-hitting score the film needed. The boss's only criticism: there was not enough of it. By this time Lipstone had an arm around DeSylva, asking unctuously, "I always find you the right guy for the job, Buddy, don't I?"
The score would go on to be nominated for an Academy Award, and the success brought Rózsa offers to do as many films as he had time for.
Exteriors of the Dietrichson house in the film were shot at a 3,200-square-foot (300 m2), Spanish Colonial Revival house built in 1927. The house can still be seen today and is located at 6301 Quebec Drive in the Beachwood Canyon neighborhood of Los Angeles. The production team copied the interior of the house, including the spiral staircase, almost exactly on a soundstage at Paramount.
The exterior of the train station in the film was the Mission Revival Style Southern Pacific Railroad Depot in Glendale, California built in 1923. The station can now be seen as part of the Glendale Transportation Center and was added to the National Register of Historic Places on May 2, 1997.
Other locations around Los Angeles used in the film were an apartment building at 1825 N. Kingsley Drive in Hollywood where Walter Neff lived and the building on the southwest corner of Hollywood Blvd. and Western. That building still stands, but the Newman Drug Store originally on the ground floor is no longer there.
Double Indemnity's first theatrical engagement was at the Keith's in Baltimore, on July 3, 1944. The film then opened nationwide on July 6, 1944, and was an immediate hit with audiences – despite a campaign by singer Kate Smith imploring the public to stay away on moral grounds. As James M. Cain recalled, "there was a little trouble caused by this fat girl, Kate Smith, who carried on a propaganda asking people to stay away from the picture. Her advertisement probably put a million dollars on its gross."
The film was re-released on July 19 & 20, 2015, as part of the "TCM Presents" series by Turner Classic Movies.
Reviews from the critics were largely positive, though the content of the story made some uncomfortable. While some reviewers found the story implausible and disturbing, others praised it as an original thriller. In his mixed review of the film in The New York Times, film critic Bosley Crowther called the picture "Steadily diverting, despite its monotonous pace and length." He complained that the two lead characters "lack the attractiveness to render their fate of emotional consequence", but also felt the movie possessed a "realism reminiscent of the bite of past French films".
Howard Barnes at the New York Herald Tribune was much more enthusiastic, calling Double Indemnity "one of the most vital and arresting films of the year", and praising Wilder's "magnificent direction and a whale of a script". The trade paper Variety, meanwhile, said the film "sets a new standard for screen treatment in its category".
Influential radio host and Hearst paper columnist Louella Parsons would go even further, saying, "Double Indemnity is the finest picture of its kind ever made, and I make that flat statement without any fear of getting indigestion later from eating my words."
Philip K. Scheur, the Los Angeles Times movie critic, ranked it with The Human Comedy, The Maltese Falcon, and Citizen Kane as Hollywood trailblazers, while Alfred Hitchcock wrote to Wilder saying that "Since Double Indemnity, the two most important words in motion pictures are 'Billy' and 'Wilder'".
The film's critical reputation has only grown over the years. In 1977, notably terse critic-historian Leslie Halliwell gave it an unusual 4-star (top) rating, and wrote: "Brilliantly filmed and incisively written, perfectly capturing the decayed Los Angeles atmosphere of a Chandler novel, but using a simpler story and more substantial characters." In his 1998 review, film critic Roger Ebert praised director Wilder and cinematographer Seitz. He wrote, "The photography by John F. Seitz helped develop the noir style of sharp-edged shadows and shots, strange angles and lonely Edward Hopper settings."
Double Indemnity is an important (and some say the first) example of a genre of films called film noir. According to Robert Sklar, a former chairperson of the Department of Cinema Studies at New York University, classic film noir is marked by major thematic elements: a plot about how a crime told from the point of view of the criminal, psychosexual themes are explored, and a visually "dark and claustrophobic framing, with key lighting from sources within the mise-en-scène casting strong shadows that both conceal and project characters’ feelings".Double Indemnity includes all of these traits.
Double Indemnity has been compared with Wilder's other acclaimed film noir, Sunset Boulevard. The narrative structure in both films begin and end in the present, but the bulk of the plot is told in flashback narrated by their protagonists. Sklar explains, "[T]he unusual juxtaposition of temporalities gives the spectator a premonition of what will occur/has occurred in the flashback story. ... Besides Double Indemnity and Detour, voice-over is a key aspect of Mildred Pierce, Gilda, The Lady from Shanghai, and Out of the Past ... as well as many others."Wendy Lesser notes that the narrator of Sunset Boulevard is dead before he begins narrating, but in Double Indemnity, "the voice-over has a different meaning. It is not the voice of a dead man ... it is ... the voice of an already doomed man."
Academy Award nominations
At the 17th Academy Awards on March 15, 1945, Double Indemnity was nominated for seven Oscars, but did not win any.
Wilder went to the awards ceremony expecting to win even though the studio had been backing their other big hit of the year, Leo McCarey's Going My Way, and studio employees were expected to vote for the studio favorite. As the awards show wore on and Double Indemnity lost in category after category, it became evident that there would be a Going My Way sweep. McCarey beamed as his picture won award after award and when he was named Best Director, Wilder could no longer take it. When McCarey got up to make his way to the stage to accept the award for best picture, Wilder, sitting on the aisle, stuck out his foot and tripped him. "Mr. McCarey...stumbled perceptibly," he gleefully recalled. After the ceremony while he and his wife Judith were waiting for his limousine to arrive, he yelled out so loudly that everybody could hear him, "What the hell does the Academy Award mean, for God's sake? After all – Luise Rainer won it two times. Luise Rainer!"
American Film Institute included the film on these lists:
The Writers Guild of America ranked the film's screenplay as the 26th greatest ever written.
Double Indemnity was adapted as a radio play on two broadcasts of The Screen Guild Theater, first on March 5, 1945 with Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck, then five years later on February 16, 1950 with Stanwyck and Robert Taylor. It was also adapted to the October 15, 1948 broadcast of the Ford Theatre with Burt Lancaster and Joan Bennett and the October 30, 1950 broadcast of Lux Radio Theater with MacMurray and Stanwyck.
Other films inspired by the Snyder-Gray murder include The Postman Always Rings Twice (also based on a Cain novel) and Body Heat (1981). Both Postman and Double Indemnity were remade: Double Indemnity was a telemovie in 1973 starring Richard Crenna (who also starred in Body Heat), Lee J. Cobb, and Samantha Eggar;[user-generated source?][c] and is included on a bonus disc in the American DVD release of the original film. The Postman Rings remake was a 1981 theatrical release directed by Bob Rafelson and starring Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange. An Indian film, Jism (2003), was also inspired by the film.
Double Indemnity is one of the films parodied in the 1993 film Fatal Instinct; the hero's wife conspires to have him shot on a moving train and fall into a lake so that she can collect on his insurance, which has a "triple indemnity" rider. Carol Burnett parodied the film as "Double Calamity" on her TV show.
Imitators, rivals, reflections
After the success of Double Indemnity, imitators of the film's plot and style were rampant. In 1945, Producers Releasing Corporation, one of the B moviestudios of Hollywood’s Poverty Row, was set to release a blatant rip-off titled Single Indemnity starring Ann Savage and Hugh Beaumont. Paramount quickly slapped an injunction on the cut-rate potboiler that remains in force to this day. PRC eventually edited its film down to 67 minutes, re-titled it Apology for Murder, and sold it to television in the early 1950s as part of a syndicated half-hour mystery show.
So many imitations flooded the market, in fact, that James M. Cain believed he deserved credit and remuneration. Instead he led a movement within the Screen Writers Guild to create the American Author's Authority, a union that would own its members' works, negotiate better subsidiary deals, and protect against copyright infringement on behalf of its members. This was, however, the depth of the Red Scare in Hollywood and Guild members rejected the socialist notion and ran from the attempt.
It was not uncommon at the time for studios to take out ads in trade journals promoting the virtues of their own films. David O. Selznick, no stranger to self-aggrandizement, frequently sought to put a high-culture patina on his pictures with "trade-book" ads. At just the time Double Indemnity was released, Selznick's latest tearjerker, Since You Went Away, was enjoying some box office success. In his ads, Selznick quoted various dignitaries claiming it was the finest picture they had ever seen, how it served such a noble purpose, how it elevated humanity to new levels – no high-toned platitude was too lofty to invoke. Indeed, the ad averred, the words Since You Went Away had become "the four most important words uttered in motion picture history since Gone with the Wind." The petulant Wilder despised such ostentation, so he placed an ad of his own: Double Indemnity, it claimed, were the two most important words uttered in motion picture history since Broken Blossoms, thus comparing D. W. Griffith's artistic 1919 classic with his own sordid story of iniquitous murder. Selznick was not amused and threatened to stop advertising in any of the trades if they continued to run Wilder's ads.
Wilder himself considered Double Indemnity his best film in terms of having the fewest scripting and shooting mistakes and always maintained that the two things he was proudest of in his career were the compliments he received from Cain about Double Indemnity and from Agatha Christie for his handling of her Witness for the Prosecution.
Wilder was not only proud of his film, he was plainly fond of it as well: "I never heard that expression, film noir, when I made Double Indemnity ... I just made pictures I would have liked to see. When I was lucky, it coincided with the taste of the audience. With Double Indemnity, I was lucky."
- ^Sikov, Ed (1998). On Sunset Boulevard: The Life and Times of Billy Wilder. New York: Hyperion. ISBN 978-0-7868-6194-1. p. 211
- ^ abcdef"Shadows of Suspense". Double Indemnity Universal Legacy Series DVD. Universal Studios. 2006.
- ^Hoopes (1982), Cain.
- ^Gallo, Bill (2005). "When 'Dem Bums' Were Kings," New York Daily News, October 4, 2005.
- ^Lally, Kevin (1996). Wilder Times: The Life of Billy Wilder. New York: Henry Holt and Company. pp. 125–26. ISBN 978-0-8050-3119-5.
- ^Lally, p. 126
- ^Phillips, Gene D. (2010). Some Like it Wilder: The Life and Controversial Films of Billy Wilder. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky. p. 54. ISBN 978-0-8131-2570-1.
- ^Lally, p. 127
- ^Hoopes, Roy (1982). Cain. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. pp. 347–48. ISBN 978-0-03-049331-7.
- ^McGilligan, Patrick (1986). Backstory: Interviews with Screenwriters of Hollywood's Golden Age. Los Angeles: University of California Press. ISBN 978-0-520-05689-3. p. 127
- ^Lally, p. 128
- ^Phillips, Gene D. (2000). Creatures of Darkness: Raymond Chandler, Detective Fiction, and Film Noir. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky. p. 170. ISBN 978-0-8131-2174-1.
- ^While the story certainly used the Snyder case as a framework, it lacked an important ingredient of the Double Indemnity structure: the "inside-guy accomplice" to the murder – the Walter Neff character. Cain later recalled this key innovation stemmed from a conversation he had years earlier with reporter Arthur Krock about Krock's days at the Louisville Courier-Journal. An ad for ladies underwear was typeset to read: IF THESE SIZES ARE TOO BIG, TAKE A TUCK IN THEM. But when the paper hit the street, the T in tuck had been changed to an F. A furious Krock reset the ad for the next edition and demanded an explanation on how it happened. After two days of bullying the printer, the man finally confessed, "…you do nothing your whole life but watch for something like that happening, so as to head it off, and then, Mr. Krock, you catch yourself watching for chances to do it." Cain also recalled another conversation he had with some insurance men in Los Angeles while verifying facts for Postman. Said one: "[People] think this stuff all comes from the police. That’s wrong. All the big crime mysteries in this country are locked up in insurance company files, and the writer that gets wise to that... is going to make himself rich." And thus was born Neff, who jumped the tracks after fifteen years playing it straight in the insurance business. Armed now with a sense of his hero-gone-wrong, Cain sat down to begin writing the story in 1934.
- ^Sixteen years later, Wilder would score notability again with the design of an insurance company office: in 1960's The Apartment, he and art director Alexandre Trauner constructed a huge office made even more intimidating by bending "parallel" lines inward and using progressively smaller and smaller desks – and smaller and smaller extras to populate them – farther back from the camera, to make the cavernous, harshly-lit space seem even more vast.
- ^Passenger travel by train was so passé by 1973 that the latter-day scripters had to add an exchange where Phyllis asks Neff about the role of the train in his plan, and Neff answers that there is still a passenger train that runs up the West Coast.