I’m not a huge fan of 3D. I’ve seen it used effectively on occasion, Coraline is one recent example that quickly comes to mind, but when it comes to modern films I am not in any rush to see the 3D version over the standard version, and I don’t think I’m alone in that feeling, no matter how many directors claim they will only film in 3D from now on. It seems more and more likely that the hopes of the medium ride on Avatar, though with two major theatre chains converting entirely to digital by 2012, it may mean a long slow death for 3D, as studios desperately attempt to jam the format down audience’s collective throats.
But while I’m not going to cheer for modern 3D, and don’t even get me started on those red and blue anaglyph abominations of the 60′s, 70′s and 80′s, I am a huge fan of the original style of presenting 3D. That being two prints being projected simultaneously on an aluminized screen (Quick note: originally they were projected on a silver screen, hence the term silver screen) with the audience wearing polarized glasses.
Now modern theatres setup for 3D boast of having “aluminized” screens, but let me assure you they are nothing like they used to be. The old school screens looked like giant sheets of polished silver (while modern screens look like polished aluminum) and you will find nothing like that in today’s multiplexes. You might be wondering just why that matters. Well, let me tell you.
3D projection is inherently dimmer than standard film projection. This is an important issue because when a moving picture is dimmer, your eyes automatically attempt to correct this by focusing harder on the film. This increased effort directly leads to the infamous “eye strain” problems that so many viewers complain of. Modern 3D projection typically increase the bulb brightness to compensate for this, as well as partially aluminize their screens to help better reflect the images. But as horticulturists, herpetologists and all sorts of people know, few things reflect light better than polished aluminum. And those old school screens, which were highly polished, made the image literally pop off the screen. Rather then squinting to see the images, you practically bathe in them. After watching Vincent Price’s House of Wax saturate me in celluloid flames, I was hooked.
Donald Whitley Carson III (Robert Ryan) has a bit of a problem. Injured while out horseback riding with his wife Geraldine (Rhonda Fleming) and their close friend Joseph Duncan (William Lundigan), they have left them so they can get him medical help. Only that was hours ago, and it is finally slowly dawning on Donald that Geraldine and Joseph have no intention of ever returning.
When Inferno was released in 1953 it was considered a technological marvel, outfitted with state of the art picture quality and sound (Inferno was one of the first films that used stereophonic sound), that coupled with its 3D release would have made it the Jurassic Park of its time. But Inferno has a lot more going for it then simply being a technological marvel.
What might be surprising is that Inferno is a film noir, complete with unseemly characters, anti-heroes and femme fatales, all in glorious 3D. But the noir staples Inferno doesn’t have are the dark alleyways, oppressive fog and artistic shadows that are so often present. You see, when you film takes place in the Mojave Desert those qualifications tend to run a bit thin on the ground. But this separation from your standard noir film doesn’t end there, rather, Inferno’s stark visual look compliments its surprisingly straight forward narrative. Their aren’t any twists and turns, no sudden double crosses, everything in this film is laid out right before your eyes, explained to you, and it still manages to grab hold of you while it ratchets up the tension.
Inferno wastes no time in informing the viewer that they are about to witness a decidedly different take on a noir film. Opening with Geraldine and Duncan creating a fake crime scene that will corroborate their tall tale, Inferno plum drops you in the middle of this decidedly unhealthy three-way. The bad guys are revealed in the opening scene, so much so that they might as well have had a sign saying “These two suck!” pointing right at them. Their web of lies and deceits is long since past, as they are now firmly in the third act of their sordid tale. All that’s left for them now is to wait and see their plan blossom. But when things begin to take longer then they expected, the cracks begin to show. Will their love survive?
From that opening Inferno introduces the police officers who are investigating the scene with Geraldine and Duncan. Far from being naive or incompetent, these are highly trained and qualified men of the highest skill. Their failure to divine the plot is no fault of their own, they simply have run up against a duo who have truly managed to pull off the perfect crime, perfectly.
Which brings us to our intrepid hero. A man left for dead, but in such a manner (with water, a pistol and a somewhat competent shelter) that he won’t possibly realize it until it is to late. Crippled by a broken leg, he can’t possibly survive in the desert for long, but what kind of a man must he be to be killed in such a torturous manner? Donald isn’t an anti-hero so much as he is a spoiled brat. Obscenely rich, with the attitude to match, Donald has taken everything and everyone in his life for granted, and his quest to survive this terrible predicament is utterly captivating, and even more impressive that such a despicable character can be someone whom the audience will root for.
While I didn’t see Inferno in 3D, I can confidently say that I had a lesser viewing experience because of it. Modern 3D simply can’t compare when it comes to drawing the audience into the film, and Inferno’s backdrop is clearly meant to draw the viewer into the protagonist’s dilemma, which is one of the most effective demonstrations on how the audience would be drawn to such a revolting character. Director Roy Ward Baker uses the Mojave Desert as if it is the true villain in this tale. It is not simply a backdrop, but an unending terror that is constantly at siege with your senses. If only John Ford had used 3D, who knows what some of his films would have looked like.
Echoing my House of Wax experience, there is yet another fire sequence that no doubt would have looked incredible. There are few things like watching a 3D inferno in which it appears as if the audience in being engulfed by the flames. And while Mark Kermode likes to complain that 3D films constantly point at the viewer rather then immerse them, Inferno is incredibly restrained at not breaking the 4th wall outside of one ridiculously fantastic moment involving a lantern screwballing towards the audience. Its one of the few blatant breaks from an otherwise engrossing and saturating viewing experience. And while this singular sequence does draw you out of the film for the briefest of moments, the rest of the film is a seamless and brilliant ride.
While Inferno is a 3D film, a term that is seemingly evolving into a perverse term in film circles, Inferno uses 3D to a degree rarely seen in the medium. It clearly is able to separate from the notion that 3D is merely a gimmick and stand alone as a great film on its own terms. 3D isn’t a gimmick when it is used to skillfully, it isn’t even an enhancement. No, Inferno is the remarkable and rare exception that proves 3D, at its most effective, is a requirement.
