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Rating: Billy Wilder was undoubtedly a versatile auteur, someone who never settled for being trapped in a single genre. He didn't want to be a “master of suspense” like Hitchcock, preferring instead to span from noir to drama to comedy, always with that touch of cynicism that made him unique. Even his comedies are imbued with a sarcastic detachment that saves them from falling into a jar of honey – because Wilder is certainly not the director who makes you believe in the innate goodness of human beings.
His comedies can be debated – and maybe even argued over – but it's hard to deny that Wilder particularly shone in noir and drama. Witness for the Prosecution is a striking example: a solid courtroom drama based on a story by Agatha Christie. At the center of the story, we find three main characters: the irascible and arrogant Sir Wilfrid Robarts, the affable but ineffectual Leonard Vole accused of murder, and his wife Christine, cold and inscrutable.
The casting is practically perfect. Charles Laughton is sublime as Sir Wilfrid, a lawyer as brilliant as he is unbearable; Tyrone Power embodies Leonard, the classic charming loafer; and then there's Marlene Dietrich, icy and magnetic in the role of the wife Christine. In short, a cast that leaves no room for criticism.
The plot is compelling: Sir Wilfrid, just recovering from a heart attack, decides to defend the seemingly hopeless case of Vole, a man for whom all the facts seem aligned against. And here's the magic of cinema: the audience always roots for the underdog, especially if he's affable and played by a Tyrone Power in top form.
Christine, on the other hand, is another story. Her Teutonic coldness, coupled with the fact that at the time the Anglo-Saxon audience had not yet shaken off post-war traumas, makes her immediately suspicious. Here Wilder plays with the viewer's prejudice in a brilliant way, upending expectations with a memorable plot twist – when plot twists made sense and weren't churned out to hold together flimsy plots.
And here the slight fractures begin. Sure, the twist is excellent, but Christine's emotional breakdown in court seems a bit too sudden, almost a textbook way of quickly solving a narrative knot. And the content of her letters? Miraculously, they manage to erase all doubt in the jurors' minds, leading them to reason with prejudice rather than facts – an element that perfectly fits Wilder's cynical view of human nature.
Then there are the squabbles between Sir Wilfrid and his nurse Miss Plimsoll, played by Elsa Lanchester, Laughton's real-life wife. Could it be a touch of nepotism? Or perhaps Wilder was giving a preview of his future comedies? In any case, Miss Plimsoll is irrelevant to the plot and adds a humor that might appeal to the more indulgent but risks clashing with the overall tone of the film. Perhaps the more cynical audience is unable to appreciate these light moments – or, more likely, Wilder was reminding us that even in the tensest dramas there is room for a disenchanted smile.
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