Fate, Desire, and Inescapable Will: The Noir Aesthetic of Robert Siodmak’s Criss Cross 1949
Robert Siodmak is the unheralded master of noir, and Criss Cross 1949 can be considered his crowning achievement. Eddie Muller called the above shot where De Carlo looks directly into the camera ” noir’s defining moment.” They have the potential to be happy, and Lancaster is willing to forget the money if they can be together, but she just can’t let it go. Their fate is irrevocably sealed as they drift towards the nihilistic ending, and despite a handful of playful moments, Siodmak never lets up on the heavy, oppressive atmosphere.
“ Its pleasures are so subtle and so sublime you almost have to earn your way to this film, which deserves its place on any list of top 5 noirs of all time. The structure is complex and engrossing. Every facet of the filmmaking is superb. The cast is perfect, from stars to bit players – it has one of Miklós Rózsa’s most haunting scores, and the whole thing is realized by director Robert Siodmak in a way that makes the viewers feel they’re dreaming the story rather than having it told to them. “ – Eddie Muller
Criss Cross 1949 stands as a testament to Robert Siodmak’s mastery of the film noir aesthetic. One of the genre’s most influential stylists, honed from his German Expressionism roots, Siodmak fashions a visual language of composition and camera work that is, as Eddie Muller calls it, ‘ominous yet graceful.’
His expert manipulation of light and shadow, a hallmark of his expressionistic style, transforms ordinary settings into suspenseful landscapes. Consider Phantom Lady 1944, The Killers 1946, and Cry of the City 1948. Three of his most potent noirs, which are on my list of the best film noir, helped define the visual vocabulary of the American crime thriller.
Ella Raines in Robert Siodmak’s Phantom Lady 1944.
Victor Mature and Richard Conte in Siodmak’s Cry of the City 1948.
According to French film critics Raymond Borde and Etienne Chaumeton, who wrote the influential book A Panorama of American Film Noir, Siodmak’s complex understanding of human nature “ demonstrates… that even within the framework of film noir, we’re in the presence of one of the finest psychologists of the screen.”
Robert Siodmak’s ability to infuse each scene and weave complex, non-linear stories with a sense of unease and moral ambiguity through purely visual poetry demonstrates to me why he should be considered one of the most influential directors of the noir era.
Siodmak’s films, like Criss Cross, reveal a keen awareness of what drives his characters. They often examine themes of obsession and betrayal within the gritty context of urban decay, and his brazenly bleak Criss Cross represents the height of a fertile and vibrant moment in film noir during the 1940s.
“ Criss Cross should have been the crowning achievement of producer Mark Hellinger, the flashy Broadway columnist who’d come to Hollywood in the late 1930s and taken the place by storm, producing some of the toughest and hard-boiled pictures of the early 40s – things like They Drive By Night, and High Sierra.”– Eddie Muller
Mark Hellinger, who had a particularly masterful eye for a good story, made his journey into film noir In 1946 when he made the pivotal move with a modest investment to acquire the rights to Ernest Hemingway’s short story The Killers, the only work to by the renowned author within his budget. This perceptive decision led to the creation of the eponymous film starring Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner, which became a cornerstone of the noir genre.
Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner in Robert Siodmak’s The Killers 1946.
In his debut film, Burt Lancaster plays Pete “Swede’ Lund in The Killers, an ex-boxer and a noir chump, much like Cross Cross’s chump – Steve Thompson. Swede falls for a smoking seductress in the form of Kitty Collins (Ava Garnder), who plays Lancaster for a fool. Both guys embody the quintessential protagonist – a fatalistic character trapped by their own desires and who make really bad choices. Like Yvonne De Carlo’s Anna in Criss Cross and Ava Gardner’s Kitty Collins, they are two of the most striking noir femme fatales who both manipulate and ultimately betray Lancaster’s characters.
Robert Siodmak’s The Killers (1946): Brutal Noir- The First 12 Killer Minutes!
Hellinger’s success with The Killers paved the way for two more noir masterpieces, both helmed by the extraordinary director Jules Dassin. The first was Brute Force (1947), a gritty prison drama that pushed the boundaries of on-screen violence and social commentary.
The second, and perhaps Hellinger’s crowning achievement, was The Naked City (1948), which revolutionized the police procedural genre with its groundbreaking on-location filming in New York City. This innovative and influential approach lent an unprecedented level of authenticity to the film, effectively transforming New York City itself into a character.
Hellinger’s narration in the film, coupled with its documentary-style cinematography, created a unique viewing experience that captured the essence and realism of post-war New York.
Eddie Muller referred to The Naked City as Hellinger’s ‘ black valentine.’ In my view, alongside Robert Siodmak, Jules Dassin stands as one of the greatest directors of film noir, each contributing uniquely to the genre’s rich legacy. Another of Dassin’s films that I consider a criminally underrated noir is Thieves’ Highway 1949.
Robert Siodmak is on the Criss Cross set.
The Killers and Criss Cross share several notable similarities. Both were directed by Robert Siodmak. Both starred lead actor Burt Lancaster, marking his film debut in The Killers and solidifying his noir credentials in Criss Cross. They both employ the flashback narrative, using multiple layers to complete the picture of Lancaster’s downfall. Both Gardner and De Carlo are two of the most compelling femme fatales that bring about Lancaster’s fateful demise. Both films explore the themes of betrayal, doomed love, and the inescapable consequences of past actions. Siodmak does this masterfully. However, Criss Cross is often considered more intense in its noir elements. As one critic notes, it is “much more fraught with noir anguish and tough-guy bravado” compared to The Killers.
The film brought together the creative team behind The Killers but tragically lacked Mark Hellinger, who passed away from a heart attack at 44 just as the project was about to proceed. When Hellinger died unexpectedly, his widow sold the rights to Universal.
It’s not hard not to imagine what Hellinger would have been capable of after his extraordinary handiwork with The Naked City.
Don Tracy’s novel about a bold racetrack heist tangled up with romantic desires served as Hellinger’s inspiration. Following Hellinger’s untimely passing, the studio hired Michael Kraike (Desperate 1947), who stepped in as producer while Daniel Fuchs crafted the screenplay, revamping Don Tracy’s 1934 pulp fiction novel of the same name. They changed the original premise of a racetrack heist into an armored car robbery.
An extraordinary noir about a racetrack heist would come along in 1956, directed by Stanley Kubrick, based on the story Clean Break by Lionel White. That would be the masterpiece known as — The Killing.
31 Flavors of Noir on the Fringe to Lure you in! Part 4 The last Killing in a Lineup of unsung noir
Author John Updike referred to writer Daniel Fuchs, – “Nobody else writes like Daniel Fuchs. I think of him as a natural—a poet who never had to strain after a poetic effect, a magician who “made magic look almost too easy. “
Siodmak also enlisted the help of William Bowers (Pitfall 1948), who contributed, though uncredited, to the dialogue. The film was shot almost entirely on location in Los Angeles and opens with a haunting score by Miklós Rózsa, echoing the despairing tones of his work in Double Indemnity. The opening credits feature a nighttime aerial view that hovers over downtown Los Angeles. Miklós Rózsa’s evocative score signals the noirish fatalism and darkness coming right from the opening aerial shots.
It may outwardly appear to be a heist thriller, yet it holds a darker parable of obsessive love, betrayal, and the tragic consequences of desire.
“Criss Cross is arguably the most complete noir of the classic era. It combines archetypal characters—a doomed protagonist, a calculating femme fatale, a reptilian hoodlum—with the tale of a meticulously planned, then botched heist, all seasoned by a complex flashback and Lancaster’s self-deluding voiceover. For the perfect introduction to classic Los Angeles noir, there can be no better place to start than here” (Ballinger and Graydon 78).
“ Director Robert Siodmack has an avid eye for the glamorously grungy.” (Brody). Siodmak’s successful transition from studio sets to on-location filming manifested itself in Cry of the City, but it reached its full potential in Criss Cross. Collaborating with cinematographer Franz Planer, known for his work on The Chase (1946), Siodmak creates a naturalistic noir tone throughout by blending exterior and interior locations with studio sets. The daylit exteriors of Angel’s Flight, where Thompson lives, and the full-lit shots of him at work are all naturalistic in their lighting composition. Siodmak’s structural style and Planer’s innovative and nuanced layers of spacial depth of light and shadow render each frame with remarkable clarity and rich, deep focus.
The camera rolls over a hazy cityscape, guiding us toward the Bunker Hill neighborhood. Siodmak’s vision and Planer’s camera work mirror the precarious nature of the streets, capturing them at perilous angles. The film showcases numerous authentic locations, including the iconic Union Station and the renowned Angel’s Flight funicular.
Originally, when Mark Hellinger was in control of the project, he envisioned the macro essence of the entire city of LA. However, director Robert Siodmak opted to focus on the oppressive atmosphere of Bunker Hill and its rooming houses and endless climb up the narrow old stairs, using this setting to symbolize Steve’s dwindling choices, representing a more working-class neighborhood that stood in stark contrast to the sprawling suburbs that began to emerge around Los Angeles after World War II. Stylistically, the tone effectively mirrors Steve’s renewed discontent with his uninspired environment.
Burt Lancaster’s on-screen masculinity can be described as a complex interplay of unrefined machismo—a term that captures his raw, often uncomfortable embodiment of traditional masculinity.
Unlike the polished, suave archetype often associated with leading men, Lancaster’s portrayal is marked by an edgy intensity that feels both vulnerable and imposing. Critics have noted that Lancaster’s performances often eschew the conventional charm of Hollywood masculinity for something more authentic and gritty. This unrefined machismo manifests in his physicality and emotional depth, where his brooding presence hints at inner turmoil rather than effortless confidence.
In films like Criss Cross and The Swimmer, he navigates the complexities of male vulnerability, showcasing a man whose strength is often undercut by existential dread and personal failures. Lancaster’s characters are not merely heroes; they are flawed individuals grappling with their desires and insecurities, making his brand of machismo feel both relatable and unsettling.
— “ He always suggested an imminent eruption beneath this implacable (unyielding or relentless disposition) machismo. When he left the wariness of Dark City behind, his fearlessness could result in awe-inspiring vaults to the heights of hamminess.”
— “ Lancaster had been a trapeze artist, for god’s sake. In noir, where he usually played, a predator turned into prey.”
— “ Although he first disdained acting as “sissified” after knocking around as a circus acrobat, he got a small part on Broadway in a play that closed in three weeks. But, the short run resulted in 7 Hollywood contract offers for him. He spent most of the 40s appearing in a series of hard-hitting noirs “in which the main attraction was the somewhat kinky spectacle of a chiseled Adonis mercilessly flogged, either by brutal authority or treacherous women.”
– (Eddie Muller).
As Steve Thompson, Lancaster’s wasted machismo and his yearning, lovesick expression reveal a world of heartache as he watches De Carlo whirl around the dance floor doing the rhumba with Tony Curtis. Her every move is an aching reminder of what he lost and what he longs to possess.
He is dominated by his mother and completely inadequate when it comes to navigating Anna’s overpowering sensuality.
Dan Duryea was renowned for his roles in film noir, often portraying complex and morally unambiguous characters. In films like Scarlet Street (1945) and The Woman in the Window (1944), he played manipulative and charming villains that audiences loved to hate – In the first of two films, Duryea collaborated with Fritz Lang, Edward G Robinson, and Joan Bennett, Woman in the Window, Duryea plays a slimy blackmailer Heidt. In Scarlet Street, he plays the dangerously unctuous Johnny Prince, a manipulative pimp and boyfriend to his ‘lazy legs’ Kitty Marsh (Joan Bennett). Johnny is a despicable character who exploits the naivety of Chris Cross, a lonely cashier played by Edward G. Robinson.
Joan Bennett and Dan Duryea in Fritz Lang’s Scarlet Street 1945.
Throughout the film, Johnny’s cruel and calculating nature is revealed as he pressures Kitty to con Chris, leading to a dark and twisted love triangle that ends in violence. Duryea truly shines when he is a scheming, ruthless creep, delivering his most compelling performances when he embodies the despicable noir antagonist. Even as the weakling Leo Hubbard in Lillian Hellman’s The Little Foxes, a role he recreated on screen from his Broadway stage performance, Duryea knew how to inhabit any challenging role that dared us to like him, though, in real life, he was the nicest of actors.
‘’ The lanky Duryea, dangling like a jackal in a zoot suit.’’ (Muller)
Yvonne publicity Song of Scheherazade’, 1947. (Photo by Silver Screen Collection/Getty Images).
Yvonne De Carlo, a name synonymous with the iconic Lily Munster from the 60s television sitcom The Munsters, was once celebrated for her breathtaking beauty and talent. Before her television fame, she dazzled audiences as the lead in “Salome, Where She Danced,” showcasing her exceptional dance skills in a series of exotic roles. Despite her yearning for more substantial parts, De Carlo’s career took an unexpected turn when she was cast as Anna Dundee in Criss Cross, a decision made to honor a promise by producer Mark Hellinger.
Criss Cross also features Stephen McNally (Johnny Belinda 1948, No Way Out 1950) as Lt. Pete Ramirez and character actors Percy Helton (The Set-Up 1949) as Frank, the bartender; Griff Barnett as Pop; John Doucett as Walt; Tom Pedi as Vincent, both part of Duryea’s gang; Alan Napier as Finchley, an alcoholic idea man and omnipresent on the bar stool; is Joan Miller (Caged 1950), who is credited as the “lush.” She adds a bit of color to the noirish mood.
Warning Spoilers!
The Short Wind Up!
Steve Thompson, an armored car guard, is hopelessly drawn to his ex-wife Anna and struggles to move on a year after his divorce from her. She still haunts his thoughts. Steve has “a slick instinct for the wrong girl, the wrong choice, all the while blaming it on fate” (Buford 92).
After two years of marriage that last seven months and too many fights, Steve goes on a self-imposed exile but is irresistibly drawn back into Anna’s web despite his mother’s concerns, “ Out of all the girls in Los Angeles, why did you have to pick her?” ” She’s alright. She’s just young.” ” In some ways, she knows more than Einstein.”
While drowning his sorrows at a nightclub they used to frequent, he unexpectedly spots her on the dance floor and learns she plans to marry Slim Dundee, a wealthy gambler with connections to the mob. Despite her new life, Anna hints at her dissatisfaction with Dundee and that their chemistry is nothing like she had with Steve. It prompts him to rekindle their affair, though he is strongly warned off of her by his family and friend, Detective Pete Ramirez, who tells him she’s no good.
After Anna is scared off by his friend Pete, she decides to marry the abusive Dundee. But even the slick gangster can’t keep the lovers apart. When he catches them at his mother’s house, Steve comes up with the ingenious lie and bluffs his way out of being caught by telling Dundee about an armored car heist where he works.
He asks for Dundee’s help. But Anna sees it as a way out of Bunker Hill and convinces Steve to go ahead with the plans for real so they can run off together with the money.
Dundee asks him, “ Why come to me!” Steve tells him.“ because you’re the only crooks I know.” Duryea, in his stylistically glib tone, as if wounded by the comment, asks his thugs, “ Is that polite?” Duryea, as usual, is unctuous noir magic.
After hearing about the six-figure payroll job, Dundee puts together a gang of recruits, including Alan Napier as an expert who devises the perfect plan.
Dundee isn’t stupid, though; he still believes Anna and Steve Thompson are having an affair and plans to double-cross him. During the chaotic robbery, the whole plan goes awry, and Dundee’s men kill Steve’s partner, Pop, and wound Steve, who kills two of them.
Although Steve is hailed as a hero at the hospital, suspicions loom as Pete suspects his involvement in the robbery. After Anna disappears with the stolen cash, one of Dundee’s men kidnaps Steve, but he bribes him to take him to Anna’s hideout instead. Terrified that Dundee will now be tipped off, Anna is furious at Steve and gets ready to abandon him to his fate.
But before Anna can escape, Dundee shows up and dishes out a double dose of noir fatalism.
The Fatal Intersection: The Plot
” From the start, the camera swooped down like a nightbird to catch Lancaster and De Carlo in a secret embrace in the parking lot of Slim’s club – he infuses the drama with an urgent dreaminess that gets under your skin like a narcotic.” (Eddie Muller)
Miklós Rózsa’s evocative score signals the noirish fatalism and darkness coming right from the opening aerial shots.
The film begins with an all-seeing, high-angle gaze of Los Angeles, presenting the sprawling city as a mere collection of insignificant details. It invites us to contemplate its insignificance and the futility of the lives that play out beneath its sprawling skyline.
As Siodmak’s directorial credits fade at the top of Criss Cross’s aerial shots of the darkened urban landscape of LA, the camera gradually descends like ‘an angel of death’ (Todd Erickson) upon a small nightclub parking lot where Steve Thompson (Lancaster), and Anna (De Carlo) whose embrace is lit up by the arrival of a car’s headlights—two figures who are caught in the film’s anticipated determinism.
Miklós Rózsa’s intensely frenetic musical score accompanies this descent, slowly fading into the dance music from inside the club. This visual and auditory movement creates a sense of inexorable movement, hinting at the fatalistic themes typical of film noir.
We plunge ourselves into their point of view and isolate the moment, mixing the dread of being found out with erotic intensity.
It’s the night before the heist. As they embrace, their whispered conversation hints at a fragile plan about to unfold. Steve and Anna discuss their desire to be together, hinting at a plan to escape their current lives.
She longs for it all to be over, her words heavy with anticipation and dread. He instructs her to wait in a secluded cottage by the beach, miles away, emphasizing that they must not be seen together. Every shared glance feels risky. Steve’s afraid that Anna’s husband, Slim Dundee, will get wise. Steve warns, ” The last minute, you’ll ruin everything.” She tells him that she slipped out while he was dancing. She tells him, ” I’m so worried about you. I’m all sick inside.” She wishes it was only over now, if it were only this time tomorrow. Steve tells her to remember to go to the cottage at Palos Verdes. She tells him, “ I’ll hate it. I’ll hate it every minute until you’re with me again.”
“Steve, all those things that happened to us, everything that went before, we’ll forget. You’ll see. I’ll make you forget it after it’s done, after it’s all over, and we’re safe. It’ll be just you and me, you and me, the way it should have been all along from the start. “
We are struck by the close-ups of Anna and Steve, which evoke a jarring intimacy. A stylized hyperreal visual approach combined with a starkly realistic exploration of two lovers in emotional or psychological conflict.
The image of the alarmed lovers and Anna’s passionate declaration—“After it’s all over, it’ll be just you and me… the way it should have been all along from the start”— is a visual and artist echo setting up the dramatic finish.
Enter Slim Dundee as the third key character in the narrative triangle. Siodmak now introduces us to this dapper thug dressed to the teeth in a white tuxedo with a boutonniere and filmed from a low angle; Dundee is contrasted with the high-angle shots of Anna and Steve in the earlier parking lot scene. This cinematic technique immediately establishes him as a self-assured figure within the environment he reigns over, highlighting the disparity between him and Steve, who is depicted as the typical noir victim.
Inside his club, Dan Duryea’s gangster exudes a slick charm in his pristine white dinner jacket. He berates the maitre’d for not keeping tabs on Anna. His demeanor quickly turns sharper and more distrustful as Anna appears descending the staircase, strutting like a confident peacock, still dolled up in her furs and jewelry after secretly meeting Steve in their parking lot tryst. Suspicious and confrontational, he bombards her with probing questions, establishing the tension in their relationship.
Steve walks into the club and meets his old buddy, now a cop, Lt. Pete Ramirez (Stephan McNally), who tries to save Steve from making a huge mistake when he sees a fight brewing between him and Slim Dundee. He tells him to stay out of trouble and not to come looking for Anna, or he and Dundee will start swinging. When Steve shuns Pete’s warning, he tells the bartender Frank (Percy Helton), “ Ah, let them punch their heads off; I don’t care anymore.” Steve and Dundee stage a fake fight. Then Pete sees Dundee drop a knife. He threatens to arrest him, but neither Steve nor Dundee admits to the conflict, not wanting to get the cops involved. No one saw a thing… They all take their tensions out into the alley and wash themselves off in a large iron sink.
Stephen McNally and Tom Pedi as Vincent.
Pete tells Steve, ” If you should happen to change your mind before he leaves… ” Steve responds, ” I’ll let you know, Lt.” he doesn’t even call his friend by his name, and Pete calls him a “chump.”
As Dundee, his men, and Steve wash up, we learn that the entire show was staged to throw the cops off their trail, a phony strictly for the cop’s benefit, so Pete can’t connect that they are both in a scheme as partners. The deal is a payroll heist. They talk details while they’re splashing themselves with water. Vincent worries that Dundee’s temper flaring up would have spoiled everything, ” Let bygones be bygones; do you realize how much dough there’s gonna be in that truck tomorrow morning? Six figures. Six figures!… (he asks his boss) Why should you throw away our only chance in a lifetime? After all the planning, all the hopin’. What I say is… let’s not be foolish. I say, let’s go right ahead.”
When Dundee admits, his temper got out of hand. He went off his head, and Steve assures the gang it’s all set on his end; Vincent is as happy as a clam. ” That’s the way to talk. That’s the ticket!”
In the two back-to-back scenes, Siodmak effectively establishes the sexual chemistry that surrounds Steve and Anna, while also showcasing Anna’s contempt for Slim Dundee. At the same time he highlights the control Dundee exerts over her, along with his increasing suspicion and paranoia regarding both Anna and Steve.
Following their embrace in the parking lot and the decoy fight with Dundee, the film shifts to Steve Thompson returning to Los Angeles after a year of drifting across America, taking odd jobs along the way. Steve resumes his position as a driver for an armored truck company, a move to show his desire to lead a normal life despite his feelings for Anna.
Back at his old job, Steve is talking to his friend Pop (Griff Barnett). They are riding in the Armor payroll truck; the deal with Dundee has already been set in motion. Pop is worried that there are only two men on this run, him and Steve. Steve has set it up that way.
Criss Cross possesses a dreamlike quality, thanks to Siodmak’s 48-minute flashback where Steve tells the story while driving the armored truck to the Bliss Plant on the day of the heist.
In Criss Cross, we first see Steve’s flashback of his ended marriage to Anna after the armored truck heist begins to unfold. As Steve drives the armored truck, he starts to hear Anna’s comforting words in his head, prompting him to narrate a flashback that provides insights into their past relationship. This flashback reveals the passionate but tumultuous nature of their marriage and how they ended up apart, setting the stage for their current clandestine affair and the events leading to the heist.
The intricate dynamics of Steve Thompson and Anna’s relationship are gradually revealed through a series of carefully placed retrospectives, which progressively unveil their complex history. This moment echoes the initial scene’s blend of anxiety and passion, ultimately revealing Steve’s destructive and all-consuming obsession with Anna.
Through a dreamlike lens, the scene transcends mere visual perception, transforming Steve’s gaze into a psychological landscape. The distorted imagery—stretched and suspended in slow motion—reveals more than what eyes can capture: it’s a raw projection of Steve’s obsessive desire and impending doom. This moment is crucial to understanding Criss Cross and foreshadows Steve’s eventual downfall, a window into the fatal trajectory that will consume him.
The flashback is initiated by Anna’s opening scene line echoing in Steve’s mind (“After it’s all over…”), with Steve repeating the words “from the start” as his narration begins.
His voice-over is laden with the trope of noir’s fatalistic sensibility, contrasting sharply with the bright daylight we are immersed in throughout the film.
Cue Steve’s voice-over flashback. “ From the start. From the beginning… ”
He gets off the trolley and climbs the steep steps to his Bunker Hill family home. Steve Thompson narrates:
“From the start. The beginning. It all happened so fast… I’d been all over the country… Until finally, I got her out of my system. …I wasn’t gonna go looking for her; I didn’t expect to run into her. I didn’t particularly want to see her. I was sure of that if I was sure of anything. But then…it all went one way. It was in the cards, or it was fate… or a jinx or whatever you wanna call it.”
The incessant focus on “the start” in both the dialogue and Steve’s voiceover serves as a haunting reminder of the ill-fated nature of his connection with Anna, which cleverly foreshadows their unavoidable tragic end.
He moves back into his mother’s house, insisting that he’s come home for personal reasons, denying that it has anything to do with seeing Anna again. He reconnects with his younger brother (Richard Long) and his childhood friend, now a police detective (McNally).
Steve finds himself lured back to the flashy and cunning operator Slim Dundee’s club, the very place where he and Anna’s fiery passion once ignited.
Revisiting the bar and nightclub that were once his regular haunts before he left town in his self-inflicted absence seems to be an uncomfortable comfort to him. The club is a dance hall called the Round-Up, a place where he and Anna used to spend time together. This setting is significant as it symbolizes their past relationship.
He first calls up his old buddy, Pete, the cop who usually works the night shift, who would have been around, but today, he’s on the job. Steve heads over to The Round Up instead.
The nightclub is a social wasteland during the daylight hours, with only Frank, the bartender (Percy Helton), and the lush (Joan Miller ) who warms the bar stool at all hours. Steven enters the bar, standing in the doorway, a silhouette of the past; amidst the dark passage, there’s a small sliver of light cast along the floor as he approaches the threshold. Steve’s narration holds a sense of longing and a dreamlike reverie as he reminisces, “And then somehow, there I was in the Round-Up, the old place, the old hangout. There I was, all right, looking for her.”
We enter his reverie, and as he sits alone at the bar, we get a glimpse of his inner world.
The bartender’s reluctance to believe Steve’s a genuine customer, along with the stark void of the nightclub within in the daylight, adds to the the scene’s dreamlike atmosphere. “ It was a little strange to see the place in the daytime – empty, quiet, dim.”
Steve asks Frank, the bartender, about the old crowd, and then Pete finds him there. Carrying on small talk, Pete gives him a dig about coming home to see Anna. Steve insists that his reasons are because his mom is getting older and that his kid brother Slade is getting married.
Back at home, having dinner with the family, they are talking about his younger brother getting married. That night, he decides to go back to The Round-Up, where he sees Anna for the first time since he’s been back.
Amidst the smoky atmosphere, the camera zeroes in on a single pair of dancers.
Steve sees Anna dancing with another man (an uncredited Tony Curtis). He is immediately captivated by her, revealing the powerful influence she still has over him.
During the dynamic and expertly edited rumba sequence, reminiscent of the kinetic jive fever dream sequence with Elisha Cook in Siodmak’s Phantom Lady, Anna loses herself in the rhythm while Steve stands by, only able to watch.
After the dance, Anna notices Steve and calls out to him. Despite his initial hesitation, he turns back to her, leading to their reunion. They engage in conversation, reminiscing about their past and rekindling their feelings for each other. She asks why he never answered her letter. They talked about every fight they had. Sounds like it was just foreplay, and the making-up was where their relationship’s fiery sexuality was truly ignited. Dundee interrupts them. Steve says maybe I’ll see you around.
Frustration simmers beneath her calm facade, a storm brewing against his nonchalance. ” I made the first move, Steve; you don’t have to be proud.”
Steve meets Anna at the neighborhood drugstore after she calls him up to meet her there. As she sits on the stool at the lunch counter and dangles her legs, she looks like a teenager on a date. The two begin to argue, ” Don’t you think I know what went through your mother’s mind when she heard my voice on the phone.” When she sent him that letter, seeing him come home, she hoped it meant that they could start all over again. His concern, “ Can’t you see what trouble you’ll get into running around with fellas like Dundee? Sooner or later, you’ll be breaking your neck.” Annoyed, she says, “ Thanks for taking an interest.”
At the end of the little argument, he invites her to go swimming. He tells her that no one, his mother, Pete, or the LAPD can do anything about him seeing her. They begin their affair.
When he shows up at the bar to meet Anna, the lush on the bar stool makes herself known as always. Steve tells Frank, the bartender, that he’s waiting for Anna, but Frank has the lousy job of telling Steve that Anna went off and married Slim Dundee.
Frank comments while pouring his drink on the house, ” I guess nowadays a girl’d go off with anybody that asks ’em. Imagine a guy like Slim Dundee. A man with his known character.” Steve’s voice-over tries to convince himself –“ He kept on talking, jabbering away. I didn’t hear a word of it. I couldn’t think. So she went to Yuma. So she married Slim Dundee. Of course. He had all the dough, and that’s all she ever wanted. I told myself, fine. It was a lucky break. It was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. I told myself that someday I’d look back and realize it. But I was wrong. It was in the cards and there was no way of stopping it.”
But after months. It wasn’t finished. It wasn’t water over the dam. In the chaotic swirl of Union Station, filled with the daily travelers, the blur of movement, and Siodmak’s collage of visual distractions, Steve spots Anna for an instant before she slips away into the crowd. As chance would have it, if the guy selling cigarettes wasn’t out of a pack and didn’t bend down to grab a new one, Steve would have missed her. It was all about timing and how fate steps in.
At the crosswalk, they run into each other outside of Union Station, but she doesn’t want Dundee’s man, Vincent, to see them talking. Vincent waits in a car at the intersection next to Anna, poised for a green light, while a Chinese restaurant named Dragon’s Den looms in the background over Anna’s shoulders, its large white letters painted on the brick wall.
Vincent tells her to take a cab because he can’t take her home. The sequence ends with a brilliant deep-focus shot of Steve in the foreground looking at Anna as she stands next to a STOP sign. After the sequence ends, we understand that they wind up together.
Anna cries, ” How did it happen? How did I get so mixed up?” Steve holds her, ” I didn’t know Anna. I didn’t know.”
Steve asks her if she’s happy and if Dundee gives her everything. Sarcastically, she tells him, ” Diamonds.” Steve: “ I take my hat off to you.” Anna: “ Yeah… yeah, I’m a prize.” Steve “ Tramp.” Anna: “ Tell me all about it.” Steve “ Tramp! Cheap little no good tramp!” Anna: “ Stick around. You make it all so nice and sad.”
He asks why she married Dundee, and Anna gives him a tirade of resentment about his mother, the family, and Pete. That’s when Steve learns that Pete threatened her and warns her to stay away from him: “ he was afraid I was poison. Get out of LA and stay out.”
Pete told her that if he saw her, he’d run her in. Every time he saw her, he’d remind her of that. He’d frame her and send her to the women’s prison. “ My hair cut short, and I’m wearing striped cotton and digging potatoes.”
Steve asks her why she didn’t come to him. She tells him she is sick and tired of waiting around for him, sick of his mother and his ‘wonderful’ Ramirez (Pete). Every day, he wasn’t around; Slim was there. Slim Dundee was always after her. He had always wanted her. “ I got sick and tired of being a fool.” She lowers her blouse to show him her back. Dundee’s been abusing her. They both give in and finally embrace.
” They’re killers… killers. I can’t even sleep. Look at the way he treats me.”
At the bar, belligerent and drunk, Steve makes a scene, provoking Frank and the lush. Frank calls Pete to come down.
” Is that nice trying to throw a scare into the girl? Bluff? ” I wasn’t bluffing.” ” Ah, you meant it!” Steve throws a punch and falls off the bar stool. In the bar’s alley, Steve confronts Pete about Anna. Pete warns him that Dundee will “ throw a knife into him.”
” I tell ya, I know it when I see a bad one.” ” Do I gotta sock you again?… I’m gonna see her anytime I want. Anytime I please. And you, and Dundee, and nobody else is gonna tell me what to do, see!”
Later, when Anna goes to see Steve at his mother’s house, she is distressed about all the crazy chances they took. She warns him Dundee’s coming back. He found out about them. They embrace. Steve tells her that he’ll tell Dundee to let her go. She tells him that Dundee will kill him. He’s got ways the minute he sees him. But Steve tells her that they’ll leave, get away. She tells him with what? They have no money. Suddenly, Dundee is there at the house. The whole gang is in the kitchen waiting for them. They emerge like rats.
In a moment of quick thinking, Steve devises a clever strategy to divert attention from their secretive lover’s meeting.
Anna, the quintessential femme fatale, stokes the flames of conflict between her two suitors. When Dundee stumbles upon Steve and Anna in a compromising situation, Steve hastily concocts a cover story. In a moment of desperation, he offers to play the role of an inside man to give Dundee a chance at a big score – the heist of one of his own company’s armored cars, where the gang of thieves can plunder the cargo of the truck he’ll be driving.
Dundee’s gang gathers to strategize the robbery. They discuss each of their roles and logistics, with Steve acting as the inside man.
In the shadowy world of criminals and con men, Finchley stands out – not for his sobriety but for his unparalleled expertise. The dapper Finchley is brought to life by the talented Alan Napier. His character is that of an intellectual loner who teeters on the edge of destitution, and his brilliance is constantly at war with the bottle. He surrounds himself with books and a chessboard and wields his refined manner of talking and demeanor as a solitary elitist who loves to drink.
Despite his penchant for alcohol, Finchley commands respect from Dundee’s gang. They recognize his skill and treat him as a valuable asset rather than a liability as long as they supply him with a bottle of Scotch, which does the trick. And so the heist begins to take shape. The planning session stretches from dusk till dawn in an empty apartment next to the Angel’s Flight funicular.
Finchley plots out the scheme with mathematical precision. While the gang hovers about drinking their beer, Anna looks on, terrified, knowing escape with Steve is impossible. Tension grips her as she faces the inevitable consequences if they don’t pull off the heist.
The plan includes driving the armored truck at a specific location and time, which will hook up with Vincent driving, a decoy ice cream truck used to transport the stolen money. There will be a few men waiting in manholes who will set off smoke bombs while they wear gas masks. The deal was that Pop mustn’t be harmed and that there would be no shooting, but the gang brought plenty of firepower with them.
Steve tells Anna to meet him at Palos Verdes and stay there until the job is done. She tells him that she wishes she never met him.
The film lifts us out of Steve’s flashback; he’s on his way in the truck, and the heist begins.
Steve’s got a slick scheme brewing: double-cross Dundee, snatch the loot, and bolt with Anna. But Dundees has his own deadly plan, plotting to ice Steve right in the middle of the heist—a classic noir double-cross where only one man walks away alive. Shifting back to Steve, who is driving the armored car, he chats with Pop, who is riding in the back with the day’s load of cash. They head down the highway in the truck, and as he drives, his mind wanders. Then, it cuts to an unsettling extreme high-angle shot from atop one of the buildings, tracking the truck’s winding route to its destination. Meanwhile, at ground level, Dundee’s gang is disguised and positioned, ready for the armored truck’s arrival.
As if the birds are watching this all go down, the truck tilts at an unexpected angle, forcing us to tilt with it. At that moment, it appears like it could fall off the screen.
Unsettling our perception, we already get a sense that this heist is going to end in disaster.
The heist unfolds in broad daylight, captured with documentary-like realism. It employs stark, objective cuts to show the gang members disguised as utility workers and an ice cream man; from an overhead angle, the armored car weaves through a narrow, crowded street, mirroring the grim viewpoint introduced at the film’s outset.
Siodmak’s expressionistic orchestration of the robbery, marked by its surreal violence, is shrouded in darkness. Within the dark space, phantoms covered in masks begin firing blindly into the shadows and haze and move chaotically through the smoke-filled scene. As tear gas canisters erupt around Steve and Pop, the emergence of the masked gang from the thick smoke seems like something out of a nightmare.
Dundee double-crosses Steve during the robbery, leading to a violent confrontation where Steve is shot. Steve takes a slug, watches his partner Pop go down in a hail of gunfire, and manages to blast a couple of Dundee’s goons before collapsing. And Steve winds up with half the score.
Siodmak seamlessly transitions the nightmarish sequence into the next scene, shifting from the blurred chaos of the robbery to the stark clarity of Steve’s hospital room, where he lies in traction, delirious from a severe gunshot wound he took to the shoulder. Wounded, Steve is mistakenly hailed as a hero for injuring one of the robbers.
A series of tight, claustrophobically anxious close-ups captures Steve bound to his hospital bed and his feverish paranoia.
Drifting in and out of sleep, he’s interrupted by Pete, who tells him to call him Lt.
Pete visits to deliver Steve’s epitaph. Essentially, for Siodmak’s purposes, he warns him that Dundee will now be after him. He knows the whole deal stinks and that Steve is the inside man. If maybe Anna double-crosses him and is now with Dundee and the loot, then he’ll be safe because Dundee would have no reason to risk getting caught. But if it’s the other way around and Anna’s doubled-crossed Dundee, then he will kill both of them. Steve doesn’t want to hear it and tells him to get out.
He spends the night on edge, listening to every sound in the hospital, knowing that Dundee will soon be coming for him. But Anna? She’s already making off with the loot, leaving Steve stranded—just another victim in a long line of noir misfits and losers.
When Lancaster brings to life his character “Swede” in The Killers, unlike Sysphus, who keeps going, Swede just decides to lie down and not struggle anymore; he surrenders to his bed and calmly waits for his fateful moment of death to come blasting through the door in flashes of bright gunfire.
Here In Criss Cross, Steve lies in traction. Desperate to escape, before Dundee sends someone to grab him. He asks a man whose wife has been injured in a car accident to stand and look out for him. The ‘visitor’ (Robert Osterich) is actually one of Dundee’s men who snatches Steve right out of his bed.
But before this two-bit hood can drag him to Dundee, Steve offers him a fast bribe—a juicy carrot: ten grand of the grab if he’ll take a detour and bring him to Palos Verdes boathouse where Anna’s hiding out.
Steve is taken to his hidden beach house, thinking Anna is waiting with their stolen loot. But she has other plans.
Once there, Anna acts like a caged tiger. She wastes no time packing. Her final betrayal of Steve, she gets ready to leave him behind and take the money. ” What do you want me to do? Let him get us back! would that make you happier?
She tears into him, her voice sharp as a razor: “ Don’t you see? Don’t you know what’s going to happen?” Her eyes blazing, she rips apart his pathetic fantasy—she’s not sticking around; she’s not his salvation. She’s about to shatter his illusions and leave Steve holding nothing but broken dreams, taking the money with her.
She’s not done: “ Why did you have to come here in the first place? Why? Why? It was all working out. Everything was fine. Papers said you’d be in the hospital for weeks!”
Anna: ” I have to pack. I have to hurry.” Steve: ” You’re going away? You’re gonna leave me? Here?”
Anna: ” How far could I get with you? What kind of a chance would we have? You can’t move. You couldn’t last a day!” He whimpers, “ You love me.” But she corrects him, “ Love, love – you have to watch out for yourself, I’m sorry. You just don’t know what kind of a world it is. I’m sorry I’m not like you. I wasn’t born that way!”
Steve tells her, ” Yeah you’re right. I never wanted the money. I just wanted you. After we split up. I used to wander the streets in strange cities at night. i used to think about you. I just wanted to hold you in my arms, to take care of you. It could have been wonderful. But it didn’t work out. What a pity it didn’t work out.
Anna says, ” I’m sorry… I can’t help it.”
Anna’s eyes are wild, and she is panicking as she stuffs her bags. She explains what’s about to happen to a helpless Steve, “He’s on his way back to Slim—he’ll tell Slim where I am right this minute!… Why’d you have to come here in the first place?” But all Steve can say is, “ I never wanted the money; I only wanted you.”
Suddenly, Dundee appears, bathed in an eerie moonbeam with the blackest space behind him from where he crept out of. He pulls the trigger three times, extinguishing Anna’s cynical hope for survival and shattering Steve’s naivete. Anna screams, her worst fears realized, as she collapses into Steve’s lap. As the camera pans down slowly, the doomed lovers slump down in a deathly pose.
In an ironic nod to her opening soliloquy. ” After it’s all over… it’ll be just you and me.” And now it is…
Dundee says, “You always wanted her, didn’t you, Thompson? You really loved her. I did, too. But you won. She’s all yours now. Hold her… hold her tight.”
As police sirens wail in the distance, Dundee runs out to meet them. Osterloh’s character has sold him out, too. The last double-cross.