In A Lonely Place (1950)

is where a hat-check girl (Martha Stewart) was murdered and her body unceremoniously dumped, but as it turns out this is barely a background detail in what ultimately becomes an almost-Hitchcockian Suspicion (1941) like story.

This, however, is not a film overly concerned about protecting a handsome leading man’s carefully crafted, studio persona, and coyness in playing his directorial hand is nowhere in evidence in Nicholas Ray’s work, (though similarly, an alternate and bleaker conclusion was at one time also considered and apparently, for personal reasons and not due to studio interference, was changed.)

Supposedly a veiled autobiographical portrait of the relationship between Gloria Grahame and director Nicholas Ray, this is a dark and disturbing film, but also very funny at times. (Robert Warwick as an alcoholic has-been is hardly the single comedy relief element.)

The story instead becomes that of a candle which by virtue of burning brighter burns out that much quicker.

Sure, Hollywood writer Dixon Steele (Humphrey Bogart) could be the murderer, but there is also enough of additional evidence on display that he is a man prone to violent and potentially deadly outbursts to keep away, (the attack on an unconscious man with a rock to bash his brains in should be enough for anyone to get a clue about this, though there is also an early, smaller, altercation between two vehicles... And add to that numerous other indications.)

Bogart gets down and dirty, and it is simply a matter of time before we get to see how ugly things can get.

In the meantime, an attractive neighbor of his (Gloria Grahame) is called in to vouch for him on the night the girl was murdered.

Dix and his alibi fall in love, not making things any easier for a couple of detectives on the case, one of which is an old army buddy (Frank Lovejoy.)

The hat check girl’s boyfriend is also being questioned, but our focus remains on the new couple and the efforts from the law to get incriminating evidence on them, (cries of help coming from his apartment have curiously not been reported, though we suspensefully wait for this detail to come out at some point, at least some acknowledgement of it in someone’s dialogue.)

She becomes his muse and, much to his agent’s (Art Smith) delight, Dix tirelessly begins to write a screenplay adapted from a novel he has been contracted to do.

She is a once-bitten, runaway bride living incognito in an apartment, hiding from a previous, abusive relationship.

Little by little, she begins to see and experience his violent side and, maybe, to suspect that he could actually be the killer.

The film has switched gears now to become the story of her emotional devastation.

His agent corroborates Dix's problematic side: He has put up with it for twenty years, judging it merely to be one of the pitfalls of an artistically temperamental client, ...maybe she could put up with it as well?

Easier said than done.

A Bogart classic, and easily one of the best Noirs out there.