The opening scenes of Michael Curtz’s Mildred Pierce are marked by a tense narrative ambiguity, heightened by classic noir visual techniques that entice the audience. Mildred Pierce is dominated by the melodrama form, but the opening scenes are striking in their noir atmosphere of shadow, moral complexity and surprising characterizations.
The opening credits feature a looping shot of waves lapping onto a sandy shore, washing away the names with a dramatic score. The beaches of California will be an important setting in the film, as the place of life-changing events; the waves can then be seen as a metaphor as to the constant changes we experience over time. The credits fade to black before we are throttled directly into the story in classic noir style. Gunshots ring out, a darkened beach house is lit in shadows, and we see a man collapse muttering his final words: “Mildred.” As he calls out this name, we are not sure of the tone - is it an accusation? Is he looking at this Mildred with a tinge of damning regret, or is he fondly recalling her as he dies? Tantalizingly close views of the killer refuse an answer, as the camera cuts between the broken mirror behind him and a car escaping. Questions are immediately raised, and the following shot is one that seems to suggest an answer. A darkened, humid pier with seedy neon lights appears, and we begin to follow a beshadowed female figure. She is a regal-looking woman with a devastated face, one that appears to be strain with guilt. We instinctually know this to be Mildred, but we do not know her role quite yet. The score swells with harps and pathos. With her tears and her determination to drown herself, we are still not sure of her motives. When she heart-breakingly mutters to the policeman that stops her “leave me alone”, our sympathies are established, but our suspicions are raised.
Meandering back from the pier, she is stopped by her apparent ex-business partner into his shabby club, a crowded, smoky joint. The following conversation between the two is a terse, hard boiled affair, yet full of melancholy and apology. When she says that he can “talk his way out of anything,” he responds with a casual, almost flippant, “In my business you have to be.” The exchange is marked by a tinge of accusation on her behalf, and forced aloofness from him. When he blatantly makes a sexual approach to her and we learn that this is a common occurrence, his profile in the audience’s mind is diminished into sleaze. Our impression of Mildred becomes more complex when she downs her drink in a single gulp, sighing that she has ‘learned a lot these last few months’ and invites him to her home, the scene of the murder. “Is that a dare?” he asks coyly, and we realize that we do not trust either of these characters.
The beach house is enveloped in angular, flickering shadows, and the camera follows them from low angles. Mildred is painted as a black widow, leading Wally into her trap - but with a striking tinge of melancholy. In their conversation, she flimsily explains that her husband is ‘away’. Wally begins to suspect that something is awry. We anticipate him to accuse her of malice, but instead he continues his pathetic sexual approaches. The screenplay is playing with the audience, and it is delicious. The atmosphere becomes even more tense after she throws his glass when he attempts to kiss her and she announces that she wants to change her dress, coded language for sex. He seems aloof as ever, but when she ducks into her room she is panicked. Is she regretting her actions? Is she nervous about what she is going to do?
The following sequence is one of claustrophobia and classic noir technique, with heavy nods to German Expressionism. Realizing that he is locked in the house, the score picks up and the editing quickens. Shadows dominate, and a striking shot of Wally running up the stairs creates an atmosphere of claustrophobia and panic. The ‘elephant in the room’ is literally illuminated when he knocks a lamp over, revealing the body, and a revealing shot of character occurs when he unplugs a ringing phone. Police pull up to the house and hit it with a spotlight, just as Wally breaks through a window. With little warning, the police shoot at him. First impressions, it seem, can have undesirable consequences.
Mildred pulls up to a mansion, and the connection is obvious; wealth is always to be met with suspicion, especially from women. The police are waiting for her, and we are introduced to her daughter, dressed in virginal white complete with flower in her hair, contrasting her mother’s lavish fur coat. The relationship between mother and daughter which features so prominently in the film is already evident, as Mildred eloquently attempts to protect a shrill Veda. The role of the femme fatale is dissected between the two characters. Mildred is lead out of the house, where the reason for their visit is announced: her husband is dead. Her reaction is one of genuine concern, and we still do not know what to make of her as she drives off into the blackness.
The opening scenes of Mildred Pierce play with the audience and revel in ambiguity. Any possibility seems as likely as the next, and whenever we are lead into one conclusion about a character, an alternative is suggested. This sense of intrigue submerges the audience into the world of Mildred Pierce, where melodrama and noir collide with delightful results.
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