The Stranger

Let us suppose that among the leaders of Nazi Germany there was a man named Franz Hindler, who all by himself originated the theory and practice of genocide. Let us further suppose that after the war Herr Hindler disappears from Europe and turns up in a sleepy Connecticut town, where he teaches German history at a fashionable prep school and marries the daughter of a United States Supreme Court Justice. Finally, let us imagine that a relentless War Crimes detective traces Hindler to the town, identifies him by his passion for tinkering with clocks, and then waits around examining antiques for a few weeks while the fugitive kills a man and a dog, terrorizes his wife, and is at last grotesquely and ironically destroyed.

If you can believe all this, you will undoubtedly tingle with suspense every minute that The Stranger is on the screen. If not, you'll probably still enjoy laughing at the incredibly cold-blooded antics of Orson Welles and Edward G. Robinson, not to mention all the weird townspeople who are around to watch the fun.

Robinson, as the detective, is dutifully inhuman throughout. The relish with which he shows movies of the Nazi gas chambers would delight any red-blooded ghoul, and his poker-face in delivering such lines as "You're shocked at my cold-bloodedness" is, for some inexplicable reason, hilarious. Welles is suitably desperate as the Nazi, even though he fails to exhibit any quality which could conceivably have inspired his wife's animal-like devotion to him. Loretta Young plays the animal.

The movie's best single performance, though, is by the supporting actor who plays the town clerk. Sitting in his store and cheating at checkers all day, he contributes a jovial ghoulishness that contrasts ideally with Robinson's deadpan variety.

Even normally warm-blooded people should enjoy one aspect of this movie. Produced way back in 1946, it affords today's moviegoer a rare chance to watch a political villain who is something other than a Communist.