Film Review: The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946)

The 1934 novel The Postman Always Rings Twice by American writer James M. Cain has proven to be one of the more perennially popular and malleable literary sources for filmmakers, resulting in a number of adaptations across various countries and decades. Interestingly, the first two cinematic adaptations – the French Le Dernier Tournant (1939) and the Italian Ossessione (1943), the latter hailed as a foundational work of Italian neorealism – were European productions. Cain's native America had to wait over a decade for its own version, primarily because the novel’s graphic depictions of raw sexuality and outright immorality made it profoundly incompatible with the strict censorship standards of the Hays Office and its infamous Production Code, which then governed Hollywood. Even for screenwriters accustomed to creatively circumventing these rules, Cain's tawdry, amoral tale was considered a formidable challenge. It was not until 1946 that MGM finally produced a version sufficiently bowdlerised to pass the censors and hit the big screen. Directed by Tay Garnett, this film is nowadays considered, if not the absolute pinnacle of the form, then certainly among the most iconic and enduring works of classic film noir.

Like so many entries in the genre, the plot is ushered in by the world-weary narration of its antiheroic protagonist, Frank Chambers (John Garfield). He is a drifter, aimlessly wandering through California and supporting himself with odd, menial jobs. After hitching a ride with District Attorney Kyle Sackett (Leon Ames), Frank finds himself near Twin Oaks, a rural petrol station and diner owned by the affable, middle-aged Nick Smith (Cecil Kellaway), who happens to need an extra hand. Frank takes the job, staying less for the pay and more due to his immediate, electric attraction to Nick's much younger and strikingly beautiful wife, Cora (Lana Turner). The attraction is mutual, and this inevitably leads to a torrid affair, hidden from Nick thanks to his tendency to drink and spend long hours away from home.

Cora, however, finds the clandestine situation intolerable and decides to end it by leaving Nick during one of his absences. Her resolve quickly evaporates when she realises she cannot face a life of poverty on the road. Frank, rather reluctantly, proposes the alternative: murdering Nick and making it look like an accident. An initial, botched attempt only serves to make the unsuspecting Nick more of a sympathetic figure, and he further motivates the lovers by announcing plans to sell Twin Oaks and move Cora to live with her sick sister. A second, more deliberate plan involves staging a car accident, which Frank successfully executes, killing Nick. Sackett, ever suspicious, charges them both with murder. At a sensational trial, the ruthless but brilliantly efficient defence attorney Arthur Keats (Hume Cronyn) manages to secure a verdict of manslaughter only for Cora, who receives a suspended sentence. With their financial woes solved by an insurance policy they hadn't known about, the lovers are free to be together. Yet, their relationship is poisoned by notoriety, blackmail, Frank's fleeting infidelity with Madge Gorland (Audrey Totter), and a deepening, corrosive distrust. A seeming reconciliation occurs when Cora becomes pregnant, but in a final, bitterly ironic twist of fate, she dies in a genuine traffic accident. Frank is charged with and sentenced to death for a murder he did not commit, but in a moment of grim epiphany before his execution, he accepts that this fate is what he ultimately deserves.

The Postman Always Rings Twice exemplifies film noir by deploying all of its central tropes: the weak-willed antihero who ruins himself by acting against his better judgement; characters consumed by greed and carnal passion; and, quintessentially, the femme fatale. The latter was embodied by Lana Turner, then one of Hollywood's biggest stars, in what is widely regarded as the most iconic role of her career. Despite being a blonde in an archetype often dominated by brunettes, Turner oozes a steely, controlled sensuality. The costume design insistently clothes her in white in almost every scene, creating a stark visual contrast with her character's moral corruption. The rural, coastal setting provides a convenient excuse for her to appear in swimsuits and other revealing attire that could just barely pass the scrutiny of the Hays Code, allowing suggestion to do the work that explicitness could not.

John Garfield, who took a role that several more prominent actors had refused, is remarkably effective as Frank Chambers. He brings a particularly tragic authenticity to the part, informed by his own real-life experiences as a young man adrift during the Depression. His relatively ordinary, everyman looks make it entirely believable that a man of his station could be utterly ensnared by a siren like Cora. The brief, passionate off-screen romance between Garfield and Turner undoubtedly fed into their volatile on-screen chemistry, lending a palpable, dangerous charge to their scenes together. It is these two central performances that form the bedrock of the film's success, elevating material that elsewhere can feel merely serviceable.

The supporting cast is competent but unexceptional. Leon Ames is solid as the dogged district attorney who always seems to be in the right place at the right time, while Hume Cronyn is somewhat more convincing as the cynical, pragmatic defence attorney Keats. Cecil Kellaway, however, generally fails to elicit the necessary sympathy for the cuckolded victim of the lovers' scheme, his performance leaning a touch too heavily on a benign, almost comic simplicity that undermines the tragedy.

Director Tay Garnett, who reportedly struggled with a serious drinking problem during production, delivers work that is solid but fundamentally uninspired. The "noirish" vibe of the story is somewhat compromised by the sun-drenched, rural setting, which lacks the oppressive, shadow-drenched urban geometry typical of the genre. The film's most significant flaw is a complicated, overlong second act that sags under the weight of its own plotting. Frank's tryst with Madge Gorland feels like an underdeveloped afterthought, wasting the considerable presence of Audrey Totter in what amounts to a single scene; her role was apparently more substantial, but her scenes were cut following disastrous test previews.

Despite these flaws, and despite the understandable ire of some purists over the changes made to placate the censors, the 1946 The Postman Always Rings Twice was a considerable hit. James M. Cain himself was reportedly pleased with the adaptation and personally thanked Lana Turner for bringing Cora to life on screen. The film's success represented a breakthrough in the battle against screen censorship, proving that Cain's dangerous themes could be suggested powerfully within the Code's restrictions.

In 1981, Hollywood attempted to exploit the new permissive post-Code era with a more faithful, sexually explicit adaptation starring Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange. This version, directed by Bob Rafelson from a screenplay by David Mamet, was poorly received upon release, with many deeming it a wasted effort that failed to capture the taut, charged elegance of its predecessor. Lana Turner herself reportedly resented how the studio had "turned it into such pornographic trash."

RATING: 6/10 (++)

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