The Damned Don't Cry (1950)
Directed by Vincent Sherman

Film Review

Whilst her best years were undoubtedly behind her as the 1940s drew to a close, Joan Crawford proved she was still a force to be reckoned with in this hard-edged film noir melodrama, in a role that might well have been custom built for her.  The Damned Don't Cry is vintage Crawford, the first of her three collaborations with Vincent Sherman, the other two being Harriet Craig (1950) and Goodbye, My Fancy (1951).  The film may have been panned by the critics on account of its ludicrous plot contrivances, but this didn't prevent it from being a significant box office hit.  This is one of Crawford's most popular films, appealing as much to fans of hard-boiled film noir as it does to devotees of the classic Hollywood woman's picture, the two ill-matched genres which the film straddles with improbable ease.

Ted D. McCord's cinematography is perhaps not as stylish and subtle as that seen in comparable film noir thrillers of this era but it is nonetheless effective in conveying the sense of entrapment that slowly builds around the central heroine as, motivated by an insane desire for independence, she becomes increasingly drawn into a life of crime and depravity from which there is no escape.  Crawford's penchant for playing gutsy, strong-willed females driven by an almost superhuman will to overcome adversity is superbly exploited by Sherman, and the actress has never appeared so tough and cynically motivated as she does here, the mink-coated gangster's moll who is more than a match for any hoodlum.  Yet whilst the actress has never looked more butch and indomitable, she never lets us forget that she is still a woman, with a woman's sensitivity and moral awareness, qualities that her male counterparts totally lack.  Crawford may be bad, as bad as she has ever been, but she is still the good guy, the one character not to be totally corrupted by the lure of power and easy money.

It is not hard to account for the popular appeal of The Damned Don't Cry.  The plot may be far-fetched and the characters absurdly exaggerated, but the film is otherwise well-constructed (using the familiar film noir device of the extended flashback) and well-performed by a well-chosen ensemble of acting talent.  Joan Crawford may dominate the proceedings by virtue of her unbeatable charisma and formidable acting prowess, but her co-stars David Brian, Kent Smith and Steve Cochran still have plenty of opportunity to shine as the three contemptible tough guys who use and abuse Crawford's feminist totem character.  For all its lurid film noir gangster trappings, the film ultimately boils down to a conventional morality play, showing that the pursuit of independence and money for their own sake is the most futile of endeavours, as it merely substitutes one form of imprisonment for another.  Compassion and guilt are what release the heroine from the personal Hell she has created for herself, and her ability to shed tears convinces us that she alone is not damned.  Only those who cannot weep for their sins are truly damned.

Film Synopsis

Investigating the murder of a notorious gangster, the police make a connection between the dead man and the wealthy socialite Lorna Hansen Forbes, a woman with an uncertain past.  Meanwhile, Lorna shows up in all her finery at a shack in a poor oil-drilling town, and receives a cool reception from her poverty-stricken parents.  They call her by her real name - Edith - and she recalls the terrible series of events that have driven her back home, the last place she would want to be.  It all began when Edith was married to a mean-spirited engineer named Roy Whitehead.  Money was so short then that Edith couldn't even buy her son a bicycle without her husband flaring up.  The couple are too busy rowing to prevent their son from being run over in the street.  After the funeral, Edith makes up her mind to leave Roy and start a new life in town, where she gets a job as a model.  The work isn't that well paid, but it brings Edith into contact with wealthy clients who are eager to exploit her services as an escort.  Edith lures her customers into the backroom of Grady's restaurant, where their wallets are emptied at the card table.  Grady ensures Edith is well rewarded for her efforts.  Edith takes a shine to Martin Blankford, a lowly paid accountant who takes charge of her employer's books.  Thinking that Martin should better himself, Edith introduces him to Grady, who takes him on as his bookkeeper.  Before he knows what is happening, Martin is in the employ of George Castleman, a gangster boss whose empire spans several states and includes countless illicit operations, including Grady's covert gambling den.  Martin agrees to work for Castleman, thinking that by doing so he will persuade Edith to marry him.  Edith, however, has set her sights somewhat higher.  Now a fully-fledged socialite, Edith sees herself as a consort to none other than Castleman.  She is therefore dismayed when the gangster boss coerces her into playing a part in bringing down one of his disloyal associates, Nick Prenta.  Realising she is just another pawn in Castleman's empire, Edith agrees to inveigle her way into Prenta's confidence, but as she does so she cannot help falling in love with him...