Released in 1943, The Seventh Victim is not Val Lewton's best. His previous films were directed by Jacques
Tourneur, and now Mark Robson is at the helm, and something is missing. Lewton’s work with Tourneur had a surreal
quality which did not quite survive after RKO assigned Tourneur elsewhere. Tourneur regretted the move, stating that his
work with Lewton was a “perfect collaboration”.
Aside from The Body Snatcher, Lewton’s early work is superior to his later
films. Still, The Seventh Victim bears
his distinct touch, enhanced by the uncredited final script draft he wrote for
all his films.
Schoolgirl Mary (Kim Hunter, in her first film role) learns that her only living relative, her beautiful and wealthy sister Jacqueline (Jean Brooks), is missing. Mary travels to New York City to find out what happened. Her inquiries lead her to Gregory Ward (Hugh Beaumont, better known as Beaver’s father), a helpful if rather slick gentleman who claims to be a paramour of the missing woman.
Several of Lewton’s regulars are present, including Tom
Conway, who gives a nice performance as Dr. Louis Judd, a debonair but sinister
psychiatrist with a pencil-thin mustache.
Conway
had the same seedy role in The Cat People (1942) and was a player in I
Walked with a Zombie (1943), Lewton’s best.
Judd leads Mary to her sister’s location, but after a brief wordless
encounter, Jacqueline disappears again.
This and a hanging noose in a rented room lead to suspicions that
Jacqueline is mentally disturbed. Has
she fallen victim to the loneliness and claustrophobia that can strike in the
midst of a big city? Or is there an even
more sinister explanation?
The Seventh Victim is slow getting started. Something is missing – not just Mary’s
sister, but something from the script.
Is it the usual Lewton charm of engaging bit characters and
subplots? There are some amiable Italian
restaurant owners, a failed poet, and others, but they lack interest. Or is it a general lack of menace and too much
of the commonplace? Most of the movie is
bland and feels like filler.
That said, there are redeeming qualities, as there always
are in Lewton’s films. While the indoor
scenes are dull, outside it is rich in Lewton atmosphere, a shadowy, deserted
city where it is always night and the few passersby are faceless men in hats
and overcoats, unlikely to be of help.
Early on, a sinister late-night subway train is used to excellent
effect. A few scenes foreshadow later,
better films: a slightly creepy shower scene long before Psycho, and a pre-Rosemary’s
Baby use of a sinister cult of commonplace people.
In the last fifteen minutes, The Seventh Victim becomes
what it should have been throughout. Jacqueline
flees silently from shadowy pursuers through the dark streets, the quiet
punctuated jarringly by a foraging dog, screeching brakes, and rowdy chorus
members bursting from a theater. Instead
of blandness, the film ends with menace and sadness. It’s a pleasant surprise, but it leaves the
viewer wishing this atmosphere would permeate the entire film.
