“This is what they call the point of no return, my friend.” Nightfall presents a series of striking contrasts in tone and style that ultimately create a disarming effect—you’re charmed, perhaps even unsettled, but unsure how to interpret it all. The film begins with nighttime scenes set against the vibrant, neon-lit backdrop of Los Angeles, showcasing familiar Hollywood locales like Miceli’s, Firefly, and Musso & Frank, before transitioning to the stark, snow-covered wilderness of Wyoming. It pits an older doctor and his younger artist friend against two criminals: one a violent psychopath driven by bloodlust, and another a more composed killer whose casual demeanor borders on likable. A fashionable show is featured alongside a quaint bus ride where the lovers express their romantic feelings after waking up with decidedly unglamorous facial hair. The film includes acts of cruelty inflicted upon innocent bystanders, interspersed with sharp one-liners and surprising moments of dark humor. And it also involves Anne Bancroft falling in love with Aldo Ray—an unlikely pairing that somehow feels perfect, resulting in exceptionally romantic scenes. Overall, Nightfall is a journey, but a rewarding one, and a significant addition to director Jacques Tourneur’s body of work, which includes acclaimed films like Cat People, I Walked With a Zombie, and Out of the Past. Adapted by Stirling Silliphant from David Goodis's 1947 novel, and beautifully photographed by Burnett Guffey, the film is sometimes considered a minor noir entry—a judgment that has always seemed perplexing to me. Released in 1957 as part of the genre’s later cycle, it skillfully weaves together a complex story, harsh violence, existential themes, naturalistic performances, and tender romanticism without feeling contrived. As mentioned earlier, the film also features a soundtrack song that feels somewhat overblown ("Nightfall…and you!”—a tune more suited to a Ross Hunter production), but even that works within the context of the entire picture, echoing Tourneur’s own understated sense of humor. The narrative unfolds similarly to Out of the Past, with the protagonist, Rayburn Vanning (Ray), recounting his complicated story to a woman. In this instance, the woman, Marie Gardner (Bancroft), is somewhat bewildered. Pretending to be in distress to deceive two thugs waiting to ambush Ray, she inadvertently sets him up. Vanning is then confronted by Red (Rudy Bond) and John (Brian Keith) and taken to an isolated oil derrick—a bizarre yet amusing scene—where he’s slated for torture. They demand to know the location of some money, which Vanning insists he doesn't have. He manages to escape, finds his way to Marie’s apartment, and explains his predicament in detail. Earlier, while on a camping trip with Dr. Edward Gurston (Frank Albertson), they encounter a car accident involving two suspicious men—Red and John. After Doc attempts to treat John’s arm, it becomes clear that they are bank robbers. Tragically, Doc is shot dead and Vanning is injured. The criminals inadvertently grab the doctor's bag instead of their own money, allowing Vanning to hide the funds and flee. As suspicion falls on him for Doc’s death, Vanning moves from town to town, eventually landing in Los Angeles, where he's being tracked by insurance investigator Ben Fraser (James Gregory), who tells his wife that Vanning doesn’t seem like the type to commit such a crime. Aldo Ray embodies this “not your typical” kind of man perfectly. One of the most remarkable aspects of Nightfall is its casting choices, and Ray, with his imposing physique and natural acting ability (evident in his early leading role in George Cukor’s The Marrying Kind and Anthony Mann’s Men in War), immediately stands out as a gifted performer. He portrays the quintessential good guy who finds himself in over his head. His raspy voice combined with a youthful charm—he appeared to have just stepped off a football field, which is why Cukor had him take ballet lessons for The Marrying Kind—gave him an air of mystery unlike that of actors like Mitchum, Ryan, or Widmark, who rarely seemed “ordinary.” Ray, a former Navy Frogman who served in Iwo Jima, possessed a strong masculine presence but also hinted at a deeper nature—a soul of an artist or poet hidden beneath his tough exterior. Appropriately, in Nightfall, he is portrayed as an artist. Brian Keith delivers another memorable performance and, like Ray, is someone I always wished was my father (and not just for the TV show Family Affair). He’s remarkably agreeable here—his delivery manages to be both detached and witty rather than rapid-fire. When he humorously attributes Red’s violent tendencies to a lack of childhood playtime (“When Red was a kid they didn’t have enough playgrounds. He’s sort of an adult delinquent”), his comment is both insightful and teasing. His playful jabs at Red are cleverly critical: “The top of your head never closed up when you were a kid. Neither did your mouth.” Their banter, filled with veiled threats, resembles the exchanges between criminals in some of Tarantino's films. Despite their verbal sparring, they face more dire consequences, including a fatal gunshot and death by snowplow. Such unpredictable twists of fate were a hallmark of Tourneur’s work, stemming from his unusual upbringing. As detailed in John Wakemen’s “World Film Directors Vol. 1 1890-1946,” Tourneur believed that the bizarre treatment he received at the hands of his filmmaker father shaped his cinematic obsessions. He recounted being sent to a subpar school and relentlessly teased for wearing square suspenders, claiming: "I think this is what prompted me to introduce comic touches into the dramatic moments of my films…Mixing fear and the ridiculous can be very exciting.” Indeed, as Red prepares to torture a terrified Vanning, he sings in a sinister yet absurd manner: “The tougher they are the more fun they are tra-la.”

Source on TMDB