A Touch Of Evil - An analysis of the "border motif" evident in the film.

[Jon Lap]

A Touch Of Evil (10/10)

"The partition between the sage and the fool is more slender than the spider web."
[Kahlil Gibran]

Orson Welles, a Renaissance man of the arts, further proves his filmic genius with A Touch of Evil -- propounding that the borders, and lines constructed in everyday life, do not fully and properly represent the people and places they define. Many great scholars and other respected men and women of higher education often conpartmentalize and label people by the way they dress, their way of employment -- or in the case of A Touch of Evil, their ethnicity and the color of their skin.

Hank Quinlan (played by Orson Welles), the all-American cop who can do no wrong, is of course "white-American." Separated by invisible lines, as well as the actual line of the Mexican-U.S. border is Mike Vargas (played by Charleton Heston), the Mexican -- who must be a bit shady (due to his ethnicity) despite his clean and highly regarded record of police duty. It is these hidden lines of race and power that Welles delves into, propagating that there may be "more than meets the eye," once a label has been set on a person. In Quinlan's case, we see a decorated police captain, who not only has prior records of account displaying how precise his intuition is, but also an entire community who salute him and his work. Underneath this label, this reputation, is an insidious, obese man, who needs a cane to properly balance himself. His eyes look just about swollen shut, and he partakes stealthily in the dreadful act of abusing the power he was granted with his badge. Vargas is basically an upstanding man, and certainly a fine, honest, "good" cop. He is filled to the brim with integrity and courage, yet his presence on the U.S. side of the border creates an uneasiness for Quinlan. The question stands -- who is the fool, and who is the sage that Gibran describes in his quote? Quinlan? Vargas? Or a complex melange of each characteristic, existing in both Vargas, and Quinlan, making them ever more close, and similar, than any border could separate, or label could falsely represent.

In the famous opening sequence (noted for it's length of 3.5 minutes), Welles immediately forces the viewer, subconsciously, to be aware of an invisible partition, or center-divide, through the framing of the action. The first object in vision is a parked car, which by no coincidence is positioned directly in the middle of the frame, on a slight slant -- setting up two motifs: one dealing with two-sides or a double-sidedness, and the other dealing with the stinging sense of frustration and alienation of the border, accentuated by the slant of the car. Welles' choice to shoot high-angle also creates an omniscient, creepy ambience. As the car pulls onto the street, the driver moves strictly down the center of the frame. When the camera pulls back we see rooftops, iconographic of a personal domain, or territory -- which further builds on the motif of a partitioned land and space. As the camera tracks, we see rows and rows of columns, framed as imposing structures that act as a force of separation or bulwark -- again Welles plants iconographic seeds in the minds of the audience, and without a spoken word, already establishes powerful visual motifs of confinement.

Once we are introduced to Vargas and his American wife, Susan (played by Janet Leigh), their color code is also suggestive of separation -- Vargas in dark colors; Susan in light. The car seen in the beginning of the sequence passes them, and drives through the center-island Office of Immigration -- again framed down the middle. Adding to this visual motif of centeredness, is Vargas' position as he continues walking and travels between (or in the middle) of two constructs. The camera dolly's into Vargas and Susan kissing in the center of the frame, and then the explosion -- to which Vargas attends by running through the center of the street. The camera is hand-held briefly, and shakes -- for the first time the center of the frame, or invisible border is disrupted. An acute viewer can now assume that this burst of flames will ignite a battle between two opposing sides -- Quinlan and Vargas.

Aside from the framing of the opening sequence, Welles uses many techniques to set up shots with not only compositional interest, but in conjunction with other motifs and themes. Some examples include the huge billboard that reads "Stranger," framed directly behind Vargas, suggesting his being out-of-place; and the red-fire-type lettering of the word connotes a volatile and dangerous environment for Vargas. When Susan is on her way to the first motel, we see a Mexican baby's face, then Susan's face, and then a blinding flash from a camera. Here, Welles integrates U.S. with Mexican iconography, and with the flash, suggests a blinding incongruity. Throughout the film are shots of self-reflexivity, forcing the characters and the audience to examine their shameful actions. Welles uses mirrors (Grandi and Susan at the meeting spot; Grandi uses his rearview mirror in his car), and windows (we see Susan with luggage waiting for Mike; we see voyeuristically into Sanchez's house; then we see Quinlan crossing the street in similar voyeuristic fashion; the Norman Bates-like hotel operator peers through windows throughout the film). With other crane shots, we see other compositional points of interest, underpinning the motif of two opposing sides separated by a border -- Grandi's car, and Vargas' car are situated head to head against one another, as if they were anthropomorphically, ready to fight. In almost every crane shot the lines of the road seem to present themselves fully, with an almost tactile quality. Also throughout the film are several shots which depict a sort of frame with in a frame visual motif --externalizing the internal sense of ossification and entrapment felt by each character. After Quinlan is accused of being false, he raises his cane at Vargas in a threatening manner -- and at this moment Vargas' upper body to his head, are framed in by the door frame. At the police station, when Quinlan calls Pete, in the background are two officers who are blatantly etched out in the frame of the borders by the doors to separate rooms. And when Mike is visiting his wife in jail, we again see him looking as if he is confined by the framing of the cell. These shot compositions suggest a claustrophobic border that, as if it had a life of it's own, wishes to constrict and suppress.

In this film, it is Quinlan and Vargas who are confined by the cookie-cutter, schematic roles their respective societies would have them play. Quinlan, is seen as the dudley-do-right captain, yet he craves sex from hookers, eats to the point of unhealthy obesity, needs a cane to support himself, secretly holds himself accountable for the death of his wife, and uncouthly plants evidence on possibly innocent suspects. Vargas is all that is falsely represented by Quinlan -- the all-good cop, with a heart of gold, and courage of steel. Yet, Interestingly enough, when put in the situation where his wife, Susan, is held captive and missing, Vargas becomes as wildly violent and disorderly as Quinlan, when he interrogates his suspects.

What's important to note is that Quinlan was not as lucky as Vargas; his wife was not spared by fate. So? Would Vargas have become like Quinlan if he suffered an identical fate? Vargas, while assaulting a young Mexican hood, yells, "I'm not a cop now, I'm a husband." Herein lies a very possible suggestive force that puts forth the idea that, indeed, yes, Vargas is just as capable, of say, planting evidence on Grandi, if Susan was killed -- after all, it would be intuition that told Mike the identity of Susan's killer. And so, as Kahlil Gibran wrote: The partition between the sage and the fool is more slender than the spider web.

More importantly, who can say who the fool is, and who is the sage? Can one exist without the other? Welles concludes with A Touch of Evil that one is the same, and one can not separate that likeness, however implicit or buried it is with a border, or make it any less obvious with labels. It's as Tanya (played by Marlene Dietrich) says, "What does it matter what you say about people." This corroborates the idea that people are who they are by nature, no matter what -- and any man put in the right situation may act like the person he so self-righteously condemns.